Trailers (It's All in the Cast Edition): "Winged Creatures," "Rachel Getting Married," and "Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist"

WINGED CREATURES

Casting: Holy hell, talk about a cast. What looks most encouraging--other than 2006 Oscar winners Jennifer Hudson and Forrest Whitaker returning in meaty-looking roles that take full advantage of their talents--is the casting of Dakota Fanning. Anyone else really see the young Jodie Foster in that trailer? Now that she's 14, it's time she attacked some roles that grapple with adult subjects (in the right context) and this looks just right.

RACHEL GETTING MARRIED

CASTING: Like most of America, I'm starting to fall a little more in love with Anne Hathaway with each successive movie she makes. She takes on a role here that hasn't shown up on her resume yet: problem child. This ain't no Princess Diaries, that's for sure. This looks a little tricky, though. Perhaps I'm still smarting over those horrible two hours of life I spent watching Margot at the Wedding, but I can see this crashing and burning almost as much as I can see it working beautifully. A lot of it is up to the usually dependable Jonathan Demme. But, at the very least, Midge!

NICK AND NORAH'S INFINITE PLAYLIST

CASTING: We all love Michael Cera but isn't he way too young for this role? And doesn't this look a little too...I don't know...stupidly earnest for the people involved?

Kinda Obsessed: Last Week of July

GIRL TALK'S FEED THE ANIMALS

You know I'm a sucker for a good mash-up, but this is ridiculous. Girl Talk nee Greg Gillis, uses around twenty samples per song on his new album (that may be a conservative estimate, too.) Lil Wayne's "Lollipop" flowing "Under the Bridge"? It's there. "Whoomp! There It Is In a Big Country"? It's there, too. Earth, Wind, and Fergie? Yup. There's so many amazing mashes and mixes on this album--available through his myspace using a Radiohead-style pay-what-you-feel system--that it's easy to get caught up listening to each song over and over in order to identify all the samples. Plus, with its tendency toward pulsating beats, it makes for a great workout mixtape.

WEEDS' NEW DIRECTION

Anyone watching Weeds? I was one of the few believers last season; I heard a lot of complaints that the show was too uneven and too wacky in season 3, but I enjoyed every twist and turn. It all felt like a big puzzle coming together. But the puzzle wasn't done yet. The new season is getting a stronger reception and it is, I must say, superior television. It's the only half hour show I can think of where every episode feels like a short movie. Not that it's self-contained; on the contrary, the show weaves characters and themes and motifs in and out and back around almost as much as The Wire. (Monday's casually featured a character--Nancy's former housekeeper--that we haven't seen since early season 2.) Taking the show to the Mexican border has upped the stakes and brought about a ton of great scenarios. And the production quality of this show is impressive, too: they go through a ton of sets for a half-hour series. Nancy Botwin, add me to your customer fan base.

SOLANGE'S VIDEO FOR "I DECIDED"


I was (somewhat) aware that Beyonce had a sister. I was unaware that she had any talent. The song itself is good, a nice R&B throwback that doesn't require too much vocally but highlights its girl-group ready hook. It's the music video, though, that I've fallen in love with, even if Solange probably just watched her sister age through the decades in Dreamgirls and said, "Neat, let's do that." The animation and design is pretty electrifying, even if you need a doctorate in Freudian analysis to relate it to the song. (So...Castro fits in how?) But it's a pop art wonderland and though her posturing for the camera can be a tad much--and that what-the-hell section on the moon is just random--it's worth watching just to relive events most of us never witness, in living color.

WASEEM (ASSAF COHEN) ON BURN NOTICE

Based on imdb, it looks as though Waseem may have just one episode on the Miami spy story. I can't remember the last time, though, that I've wanted a bit character to return as a regular so badly. (Actually, I think the last time was Guillermo on Weeds, and that worked out nicely.) Cohen's Waseem, a Pakistani spy who works on American soil at the consulate, is a bizarro version of our hero, Michael Westen (left). Waseem is a slick player and I would love to see him give Mike a run for his money. Cohen is a lot of fun to watch (Cohen amusingly played Yair Marx on last year's otherwise-unbearable Cannes-themed episodes of Entourage) and he would make a great addition to what is a pretty small regular cast. Should we start sending in yogurts to the USA offices?

Don't Want to Be All By Myself Anymore: Anyone Else Dislike The Dark Knight?

I’m putting this out there because I know there must be others like me and I want to stop feeling so alone in the world.

I didn’t like The Dark Knight.

I didn’t hate it. I’d give it a B-, a grade that most interpret as “average,” “underwhelmed,” or “unambitious.” But The Dark Knight was none of the things. It was ambitious, overwhelming, and wildly above-average in almost every area. And yet…

Let me quickly get to the business of separating the wheat from the chaff. We’ll start with the wheat: the acting throughout was unsurprisingly fantastic. Ledger was, as he was built up to be, a magnetic, exciting presence; everything he does is captivating, and I don’t mean every one of his actions. Every time he licks his lips or cocks a brow and even when he sits still, it sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine for what he’ll do next. Because he’s so good, it’s too easy to overlook other performances. Gyllenhaal brought class and dignity to Rachel Dawes and thank God she did; the script barely gave her anything to do, but you wouldn’t know it by watching Gyllenhaal. And Gary Oldman is the unsung hero of both of Nolan’s Batman films. He’s a believably heroic everyman who nicely walks the line between too gee-golly grateful or too wisely noble. (But gosh, he’s a dead ringer for Bryan Cranston in Breaking Bad, huh?) And if I had actually liked the Harvey Dent storyline, I would probably be more enthusiastic about Eckhart’s performance. The man’s chimple usually works wonders. And Michael Caine has made Alfred integral to the emotional balance of everything. I will hate every future Alfred that is not Michael Caine.

(I still think Christian Bale is the least interesting actor making movies today, but I liked him so much in Rescue Dawn that I will let it all slide for now.)

And, you know, I rarely get to say this, but I’m calling it now. This film will, for sure, win Best Sound and Best Sound Editing at the Oscars. I saw it at the Vista, which is a pretty old theater (but with nice seats, a huge screen, and $6.50 tickets, suckas!) and it sounded amazing. Every grumble of the Batmobile, every shattering pane of glass, every exploding explosion: they all sounded crystal clear and startlingly real. The cinematography, too, was gorgeous—it ain’t easy to be that dark and that pretty—and the make-up, costume, and production design were all of the highest quality.

But then there’s the story. I think if you strip Ledger’s performance from this movie, you have a shockingly flimsy little franchise film that panders. And panders. And panders some more.

The Dark Knight hits upon an interesting theme, it just hits it with an wood bat. Eighty-four times. The dichotomy of good and evil—the argument for their very existence in a world of shifting perspectives—is worth exploring, especially in the world of Batman, “a vigilante” as the film calls him. I like the question the film poses initially: does the existence of a singular heroic individual, who works outside the law, breed an equal and opposite force? And what must a hero be willing to compromise? Sure, the shadows that Batman has always operated in are gray areas and, like so many heroes before him, he creates his own moral code, one that is always called into question by the public. But I didn’t need to see this take so many forms throughout the movie. In voiceover, in opening scenes, in expository scenes…so many of those 152 minutes were blantantly devoted to really making you think.

Speaking of numbers, here’s a word problem for you: if you have one boat full of ten thousand convicts—who have souls!—and one boat full of ten thousand innocent citizens—whose souls are always up for grabs!—and a bomb is strapped to each and both will go off at midnight unless one boat blows up the other, then at what point are you so f***ing sick of the theme of this movie???

So there’s one problem. Another, arguably larger problem, is that there was no need for this movie to be so long. It’s essentially 2, 2 ½ decent movies instead of one great movie. If they had held off on the Two-Face storyline and not given the Joker storyline 3 endings, the film could have been given more focus. And it could have been truly great. There are also several shots that are completely unnecessary and pander to the audience much in the way that fake Michael Bay script did. The kids in the car fake shooting? Cut it. The guy eating a sandwich right before Batman and Rachel land on his car? Cut it. Those are Brett Ratner shots, Christopher, and you’re so much better than that. (Remember when you made Memento? Remember how perfectly constructed and edited that was?) I was getting restless because unnecessary shots and unnecessary plot points kept the movie going when it could have so easily been a thrilling, chilling wham-bang 110 minutes.

And seriously, they’re just going to put the Joker in a holding cell when they get him? Even Paris Hilton gets put in solitary. I know it didn’t affect the story, but c’mon. And why give talent like Cillian Murphy a cameo and William Fichtner (underappreciated badass extraordinaire) only one scene? And why were all the bad guys minorities except for the really smart bad guy?

Anyone, out there, somewhere in the universe, want to make me feel less alone? Or am I totally alone? Chime in.

Blogs Nice With Others: Most Likely to Be Awesome is Blog #2

Just a heads up, everyone: A couple friends and I have started up a new blog to which we post music/movie/tv/internet obsessions. It very similar to my "Kinda Obsessed" feature, except it occurs may more often and you're getting (theoretically) multiple points of view. I do double post something every now and then if it's applicable to both blogs (see: my Frank Miller rant), but it's mostly just quick obsessions and discussions. It's pretty new so we haven't taken full advantage of the opportunities yet, but we'll get around to it. Click here to enjoy the goodness.

I Don't Get It: Someone Explain "The Spirit" to Me

Fanboys, pick up your torches. I'm here to demystify the work of Frank Miller and I may have to draw some (vibrantly red) blood here.

New Spirit Trailer

I've really kind of reached my end with Mr. Miller after viewing the above trailer for The Spirit. Perhaps I should preface this by noting my deep disdain for Sin City, the kind of sick-'n'-twisted testosterfest in which slick style cancels out any need for a beating heart of a worthy story or moral center. Even brainless slasher films usually have their own sense of morality and character, no matter how dimly it shines. Sin City, though, is flashy, pop-art violence matched with revenge-fueled fantasies which are simply "narrative" excuses to get to more pop-art violence. There's no beating heart, no significant emotional connection, no worthwhile thematic statement, not even a cliche one. (300, though, I don't really have a problem with because in the end it's just a neat feature-length music video. It also delivers, with a wink, a series of never-back-down messages and a little sisters-are-doing-it-for-themselves empowerment on the side.)

And then here comes the trailer for The Spirit. I'm all for beefier female roles, especially in genre films. However, do we need a whole army of emaculately styled fighters who all use sexuality as their main weapon? Every Single One of Them? Every female in Sin City was an oversexualized prostitute or stripper; now we get a whole movie where barely clad women coo come-ons and double entrendees because they're all just so f-ing devoted to some man named The Spirit. I think (hope/pray) that most women will role their eyes at the film's gender relations, but there's a cult of Miller devotees out there--many of the film buff fanboys--and I wonder how Miller's works are shaping their idea of women.

And why, exactly, does Miller almost exclusively see sex as a weapon? (There's the rape in 300 and various sexual misconduct in Sin City; is love even on this guy's radar?) Has anyone bothered to ventured down that dark highway?

But maybe I'm reading into this all wrong. Is there something in The Spirit that I'm missing? Is there a good reason for Samuel L. Jackson to show up looking a villian more suited for "Kim Possible" than a supposedly adult film? Please, I want to hear a good reason for why these films shouldn't be considered completely irredeemable (other than they look neat.)

Late Clinton-Era Films & My Faith in Democracy

During my formative years, the words “Bill Clinton” were either the punchline to a saucy joke or an expression of lament regarding the deconstruction of Regan-Era surface morality. Upon his election, I knew probably only three hard facts about the guy: he was a Democrat, he was from Arkansas, and he played the saxophone[1]. But I was in for a political awakening and, even though I was only 13 years old, I was apparently ready for the media tidal wave that was about to wash over us all. When the Lewinsky story broke on January 17, 1998, it was gleeful validation for the “right-wing conspirators” and payday for anyone running a news station. It was also a dream for anyone in the business of satire and comedy.
On New Year’s Eve of that year, our family visited some friends, as was tradition. In about 1996, the ban on The Simpsons had been lifted on my brother and I and we had a good two years of smart-ass humor and cultural references tucked under our belts. We knew that it was going to be a tough audience—the friends’ kids were quite sheltered—but we had no idea just how tough it was going to be. When one of us pulled out a Lewinsky joke, which should have been a sure bet, we got blank looks. “Who’s Monica Lewinsky?” My brother and I were shocked. Shocked! What was wrong with these kids? What did they talk about in social studies at school? And why weren’t they watching Saturday Night Live? It took a while to get over our dismay—I’m not sure my brother has yet—because humor in the form of political commentary was such an intrinsic part of our adolescent experience. Linda Tripp was the Lewinsky friend who leaked their taped conversations to Kenneth Star, but more importantly, she was John Goodman in a wig.
It wasn’t until later in life that I realized how much political humor was shaping my views on democracy[2] and not just in the form of late-night sketch comedy featuring cross-dressing sitcom stars. During those years of scandal-saturated media, there were three films that grabbed my attention and, despite seven-and-a-half-years in Dubya-fueled wariness (or, perhaps, because of it), they still haven’t quite let go. They were (arguably) all satires, and their winking take at the way things work, for good and bad, didn’t so much kill my idealism as rearrange it.

We’ll work backwards, chronologically-speaking, and begin with Dick, a semi-forgotten satire labeled as teen comedy. For the uninitiated—and sadly there are too many—it’s a what-if tale in which Deep Throat, the formerly unknown person whose inside information helped Woodward and Bernstein link Nixon to Watergate, is revealed to be two teenage girls. Two very naïve teenage girls who, by being in the right place at the right time, become the president’s dogwalkers (and Secret Youth Advisors). But when he turns out not to be the kind, “dreamy” president they thought he was, they screw him over. Dan Hedaya plays a hilariously skittish version of Nixon and Kirsten Dunst and Michelle Williams are comedy gold. Will Ferrell, Ana Gasteyer, Dave Foley, and Ryan Reynolds show up too. This is the film I’ve probably seen the most times by choice (in other words, there are movies I’ve seen more times, but every time I’ve seen Dick it’s because I put the DVD in the player.) What has made the film so addictive to me, aside from a lot of great lines[3], is how it portrays scandal in the office of the presidency. The film offers the point that presidents usually don’t get away with anything because, well, they’re too damn busy to get away with anything.
It goes beyond that, though. In the film, the highest offices in the land are plagued by corrupt individuals, but it’s a plague that’s ameliorated by the people’s eventual access to the truth[4]. A burning desire for the truth, however, has to be set up in the first place, as do people willing to make sacrifices to find it. Asking questions, probing deeper, staying informed—those are the actions that make democracy, or at least its forms of justice, work. Checks and balances are built into the three branches, but it’s the people’s checks on their leaders that should have the greatest effect. I realize that, at the time, it was a national loss of innocence, the singular most resonating example of the public losing faith in its leaders. But I wasn’t even a fetus yet. I was 14, though, when I saw the movie for the first time, just one year younger than the characters, and it was easy to imagine that, though I was not yet of voting age, I could still have a hand in democracy if I was willing to put forth the effort.[5]

Looking back on it, I’m still surprised that, at 13, I was so excited to see Primary Colors. (Probably because it had been on the cover of Entertainment Weekly and I was just starting my subscription…which is still going today.) It came out in February so the timing (seemingly) couldn’t have been more perfect, but it kind of faltered at the box office. I guess people didn’t want to see an expose on their current president while he was still in office[6] and still fairly popular.[7] But I did.
I can’t remember if I saw it in the theater or not—if I did, way to go, Mom and Dad!—but I know that I’ve watched it about once a year since it came out. Based on the book by Anonymous/Jow Klein, the names-have-barely-been-changed account of the Clinton-for-president campaign is a riveting look inside the hype machine. There’s sex, a gun, and a certifiably crazy lesbian is the film’s whacked moral compass, but the real intrigue lies at the heart of the Stanton’s strategic, ruthless grab for power. They’re not unsympathetic characters; the charming personas on which they’ve based their campaign are, indeed, real aspects of their personalities. It makes their political “achievements”—such as discovering and leaking another candidate’s sordid but probably irrelevant past—feel like battles lost, the energetic contender opting for the moral low-ground.
I wasn’t so foolish as to think that image wasn’t top priority at any campaign headquarters, but it was the first time I saw it deconstructed so well. The Stantons—and the dream team of idealists working for them—are fragile and human. But the candidate-version of the Stantons is just human enough to be relatable. Working in a post-Watergate world, they know that the public is wary and untrusting, so their façade has to be crack-less. The demands of selling the sizzle are far more soul-crushing, it seemed, than the straightforward demands of selling the steak. The pressure from the public—channeled through its relationship to the candidates through the media—is based on the hope that the candidate (and his/her spouse) is able to be who they (subtextually) promised s/he could be. The importance of likability suggested a higher bar set for the highest office: don’t screw things up and, for God’s sake, smile.
Primary Colors highlights a number of scandals, both behind the scenes of the campaign and at press conferences, but expert spin is able to turn each scandal into a moment of charm or televised grace. Scandal, in the world of Primary Colors—and, I began to see, in the real world—was not a threat but a challenge. Spin the scandal correctly—as Jack and Susan do with the help of Libby Holden (Oscar nominee Kathy Bates[8])—and you’re not only a fighter, but you’re far more interesting. And when the public takes an interest in the person, it usually gets informed, by extension, about the country’s politics-at-large. Between Colors and Lewinsky, it would have been far too easy to become jaded with the office of the president or democracy in general, especially in its modern form. But I found the whole thing…exciting. And oddly hopeful. It wasn’t that I craved scandal—although it can certainly spice up a slow news day—but it brought new elements into the public’s and the government’s checks and balances game. Every aspect of your life is now on trial, we said. Defend yourself and do so eloquently. We will listen and we will judge. And while we’re listening, we may accidentally take an interest in the issues. Like I said, my idealism wasn’t crushed, just rearranged. And if Wag the Dog, which came out about three months before Primary Colors, wasn’t going to make me lose faith in the system, really, what was?

Wag the Dog sits on a shelf of limited space. That shelf is where I place films that have actually altered the course of my life. When I saw Wag the Dog[9] for the first time in 1998, I started planning my adulthood. Not only did it help me figure out just what the hell a producer does, but it made me feel that, perhaps, the world really is a stage, far more than we realize.
I actually don’t mean that in an everything-is-fake-we’re-all-being-duped-terrorism-is-a-hoax way. I mean it in the sense that we’re being told a million stories a day and we’re a captive but discerning audience. In the Mamet-written/Levinson-directed flick, a Hollywood producer is recruited to “create a war” to distract the media from an alleged sex scandal between the president and a Firefly girl (the movie’s version of girl scouts, I guess, so the victim must have been dramatically underage.) One scene in particular has always stood out to me: it’s a late-night brainstorming session for a bunch of various representatives from the field of “influence.” Dennis Leary (whose character is called the Fad King) discusses shades of green for the armbands that will show support for the troops, Dustin Hoffman looks through headshots to find a refugee, and Willie Nelson tries to rhyme Albania. And it all works.
The joke is supposed to be that the American public is ill-informed and has a short memory and by holding up something shiny over there, we’ll look until you tell us to stop[10]. And it is funny because a) it’s not wrong and b) you have to laugh to keep from crying.
But good Lord did I want to be in that room when I grew up[11]. Those creative powwows led directly to widespread cultural movements and if I was going to grow up to be a “creative type”—as teachers predicted—I wanted to contribute to nothing less than directing the general culture of America, like a backroom Oprah with a marketing degree. I realize now that I just wanted to be a writer/producer. At the time, though, having the rapt attention of the majority of the nation’s citizens, and constructing something that would engage them, seemed like a really fun job and I can trace my path toward writing, toward film school, toward a deep interest in social politics[12], back to watching Wag the Dog. It wasn’t the sole influence in any of those decisions but it definitely played a role.
Despite bearing a plot that would seem to jade any viewer toward the modern American political process, Wag the Dog felt like a warning in the same way that 1984 and Brave New World did. This is what could happen, although the “future” in Wag the Dog was far more immediate than the futures in either of those tomes. (I know this wasn’t the intention, but it’s the way I took it and I don’t see Mamet or Levinson would have a problem with that…although I think they would argue that that immediate future is now about six years in the past.) Wag the Dog isn’t so much a condemnation of a complacent public—after all, no one would really have any reason to question the fake war[13]--but of a system that rewards flash over substance. Thanks to the faux war and the president’s faux-heroism during it, he’s handily re-elected come election time, the film’s ticking clock. No actual issues are discussed. In fact, we never see the president (except from behind when he delivers a televised speech) and we only see his opponent via television. Coincidence? Wag the Dog was a reminder that leaders—and people in general—as we experience them through the media are sometimes no less produced than a Hollywood movie.
About two months later, Bill Clinton would blow that film’s premise to smithereens. A mushroom cloud off the coast of Jersey wouldn’t have made anyone less interested in Monica Lewinksy (probably.) A good ol’ fashioned sex scandal is grab-the-popcorn entertainment. It did all serve to highlight, though, Wag the Dog’s ideas about how the American public truly experiences its president: though newspaper headlines, Leno monologues, and talking heads on cable. And the more scandal, the more Leno gets joking[14], the more the heads get talking, and the larger and bolder the headlines. And the more we all start to pay attention again.

What these films bred in me is an appreciation for scandal. I don’t excuse it by any means, but I’ve come to see the way it brings the voters—and non-voters—into the fold. It’s certainly arguable whether the focus in is the right place. Indeed, I’ve heard more misinformed rants about Bush than I can count from individuals who, I know, get just enough surface politics from something like The Daily Show Moment of Zen to form what they consider a real opinion. All leaders are worth scrutinizing, though, especially when they’re running the most powerful nation in the world and I highly value our freedom to do so. To continue to be a part of the national conversation—as well as the one at the water cooler—we have to stay skeptical, we have to question what we see, we have to keep seeking the truth. Even when scandal isn’t afoot—can you remember such a time?—we’re becoming increasingly programmed to dissect the information we receive, to absorb but not necessarily trust.
That’s what I got from these three films, which all emerged amid an environment of presidential scandal, and it’s why I believe that democracy now works better than ever. Despite the presence of so many readily available mind-numbing timesuckers, I’d argue that there are more people educating themselves about the world, about politics, than ever before. Blessed are the truthseekers, for they shall keep the conversation going. Blessed are the cynics, for they shall preserve my faith in the system.

[1] Thanks to the opening credits for Animaniacs.
[2] My uncle once said, completely seriously, that Jon Stewart should be shot for treason. So clearly it doesn’t shape everyone’s views.
[3] “We have a very important school report on turquoise jewelry due in two days, and we can't find any books on it, and the President's having us followed. It's too much pressure!”
[4] I realize that the same could be said about the French Revolution, but just roll with me here.
[5] I wasn’t.
[6] Good luck, W.
[7] Oh wait, nevermind.
[8] She’s spectacular here, but I want to take a moment to name Travolta as the unsung hero of the 90s. He was the star of several of the decade’s best and most iconic films: Pulp Fiction, Get Shorty, Phenomenon, Face/Off, Michael, and A Civil Action. The guy deserves more props.
[9] Second Kirsten Dunst film. If you’re counting.
[10] Or look at something even shinier. Like a celebrity meltdown.
[11]CUT TO: Me getting a minor in advertising. See what I mean about altering the course of my life?
[12] And toward reading Malcolm Gladwell books.
[13] Though Chuck Klosterman argues, if we found out it was all fake, would we really do anything about it?
[14] Granted, debatable use of word “joking.”

Kinda Obsessed: Third Week of June

THE CAST OF GET SMART

I can’t remember the last time a trailer so undersold a film. Although I liked Get Smart’s pleasant preview, I was not prepared to laugh nearly as much as I did. Get Smart is a great surprise; it’s like if every joke in Austin Powers was deadpan. And what makes it work so well is the perfect casting: Steve Carell convinced me once again just how versatile he is. His Maxwell Smart isn’t a variation on Michael Scott; he’s his own silly but more-competent-than-meets-the-eyes character and he delivers every line with a straight-faced glee. Anne Hathaway is, more or less, in an eye candy role, but she shows off her comic timing almost as much as she shows off her more tangible assets. My favorite surprise was Alan Arkin, who pulled off some of the film’s best physical comedy and turned an underwritten role into a manic, watch-me-now delight. Even James Caan, playing a variation on George W. Bush, had me cackling along with the rest of the audience (especially because it was, perhaps, the most believable portrayal of Bush we’ve seen on screen.) Get Smart put together an amazing team and I will be first in line to see them reunite for the inevitable sequel.

“MY DRIVE-THRU" BY PHARRELL, SANTOGOLD, AND JULIAN CASABLANCAS
In a world where a gorgeously shot iPod commercial can help make “Viva la Vida” the song of the summer, I guess it’s no surprise that the best work Pharell has done of late is this promotional single for Converse. The new N.E.R.D. album is certainly competent, but the Pharrell seems to hit his stride when putting projects together for other vocalists and his bells-and-whistles dance floor beat is a keeper. Tossing in verses from personal favorite Santogold and Strokes frontman Julian Casablancas, it’s enough to make the most jaded indie kid get his Chuck-Taylor-covered toes tapping. Download it for free at Converse.com.

BIGGER STRONGER FASTER
I’m still surprised at just how little buzz this Sundance hit has generated in theaters; I’m crossing my fingers in hopes that it finds an audience on DVD. Chris Bell’s investigation into American steroid use is one of the most thorough documentaries I’ve ever seen. Not only does he get footage from seemingly every single authority on the subject, but his interviews are hard-hitting without delving into Michael Moore-style sloppy “journalism.” Bell’s brothers are both steroid users and Bell himself tried steroids but couldn’t stand the guilt. He deconstructs the myth of steroids—the physical damages of the drug are often overplayed—while holding fast to his personal moral compass. What makes this doc stand out is the way that, like any doc with a intriguing thesis, he investigates his topic as a cultural cause and effect. How much is steroid use—the ingrained competitive desire to be the biggest, strongest, and fastest—a symptom and a signpost of American life?

“FOREVER” BY CHRIS BROWN
I was blow away by his performance at the VMAs* last year in which he seemed to give gravity and other laws of physics a big middle finger, but I never thought I’d actually like one of his songs. Well, here I am, the latest victim to the forces controlling Chris Brown’s mega-stardom. His latest single, available only on a special release of his album, Exclusive—anyone think he should just call the special edition Even Exclusiver?—is the kind of song that makes those second coming of MJ prophesies seem like legitimate threats. The kid’s voice is adequate, but the production is a stunner. Enough classic R&B groove to feel retro, enough Timbaland-style drum-machine fun to be current, enough “dance floor”-referencing lyrics to remind you it’s danceable. Although I have no idea what “double your pleasure, double your fun” is supposed to mean in this context (are his dancing skills slowing time down by a factor of .5?) I can’t help but enjoy the song.
*the minstrel show theme, too, was obviously a statement on race in Hollywood. I mean, obviously.

10 Best Pop Culture Love Stories of the Last 10 Years

Three weeks later and I still find myself reflecting on the Lost finale, but not necessarily because of the episode’s most intriguing moments, such as the frozen donkey wheel(!). No, it was the happy ending—for now—of the time-spanning, time-jumping love story between Desmond and Penelope whose reunion was a teary conclusion to the events in the season’s earlier, insta-classic episode “The Constant.” The perfect execution of this love story (actually, considering Ben’s promise to Widmore, execution may be the next step) got me thinking about other great love stories pop culture has given us in the past 10 years. Lo and behold, I decided to make a list of them. I did have some criteria: it had to be romantic and reciprocal love, therefore nothing between a female boxer and her father figure trainer, a Southern pimp and rap music, or a boy and an intergalactic robot (sorry, Iron Giant). Also, it had to be about falling in love, so nothing where we watch an in-progress relationship…progress. Nothing based on true stories either: Walk the Line is a somberly redemptive love story but only because the actual Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash made it that way. Same for A Beautiful Mind.

I narrowed it down to 10. (Good try, Notting Hill, but you just missed the cut. You were just a movie, standing in front of a blogger, asking him to include you.) I feel pretty good about this list, which highlights TV, film, and books. There’s great acting and fantastic star chemistry here, as well as superb writing and nuanced direction. And one of these even spawned the cutest real life couple ever.

And no, I didn’t include The Notebook.

1998
Out of Sight: Jack Foley and Karen Sisco
Played by George Clooney and Jennifer Lopez; directed by Steven Soderbergh; written by Scott Frank based on the book by Elmore Leonard
You don’t get much more “other side of the tracks” than escaped prison inmate and U.S. Marshall, but Foley and Sisco are a match made in a car trunk. As they’re stuffed together in the back of the Ving Rhames-driven getaway car, Sisco and Foley talk about movies and other minutia. But every line crackles and the heat between them remains, even as she chases him across the country waiting to “tussle.” Without giving away the (sublime) ending, I’ll say that Karen never backs down from her duties but won’t let go of Jack either. It’s also Lopez and Clooney at their best.

Shakespeare in Love: Shakespeare and Viola
Played by Joseph Fiennes and Gwyneth Paltrow; directed by Joel Madden; written by Tom Stoppard and Marc Norman
Talk about setting a high bar for itself: the bet at the heart of Shakespeare in Love’s plot is whether or not a play can convey the true nature of love. The writer prepares Romeo and Juliet (decidely not a pirate’s daughter) and his inspiration for the wrenching, elegant, profound words are his own self discovery in the presence—and bed—of Viola. A beautiful love story which illustrates the majestic power of words (as well as the awesome relief of unbinding a female thespian's breasts).

2001
Shrek: Shrek and Fiona
Voiced by Mike Myers and Cameron Diaz; directed by Andrew Adamson; written by 7 different guys based on the book by William Steig
Shrek is more of a love story than anything Kate Hudson has even been in, even if it’s seemingly a laugh-driven family film. Shrek and Fiona’s journey through the forest is really a series of developing flirtations and dashed expectations. (Who knew princesses could bicycle kick?) And with a barrel of wit, they expose the Beauty and the Beast myth—once he's beautiful, it's happily ever after—by undermining it: once they're happy together, they're beautiful.

2002
Atonement (book): Robbie Turner and Cecelia Tallis
Written by Ian McEwan
I once recommended to a friend that she should read Atonement. Several days later, I had a voice mail when I got off work. Through her sobs, I could make out the words, “I just finished Atonement.” Yeah, it’s that kind of love story. Robbie and Cecelia’s courtship isn’t strikingly original at the outset—he’s a worker at her upper crust family’s summer house—but the layers (and layers and layers) of their psyches are pulled back, for the reader and for each other, and we see how desperately these two need one another in order make sense of their lives. Cecelia knows that, to Robbie, she is home which is why her desperate plea is always, “Come back to me.”

2003
The Office (UK): Tim and Dawn
Played by Martin Freeman and Lucy Davis from 2001-2003; all episodes written and directed by Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant
All in all, this courtship was just inter-office flirting that culminated—in the Christmas special—with the one of the sweetest Christmas gifts ever. But what flirting it was! Tim and Dawn shared pranks, verbal cues, and stolen looks, letting the audience know that their best friendship was eating both of them alive. While we never really got to see the payoff, it’s impossible to argue that we didn’t watch these two fall in love for two seasons (and a Christmas special.) I just hope they show up together at Jim and Pam’s inevtiable wedding (as those British friends they’ve always neglected to mention.)

2004
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind: Joel and Clementine
Played by Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet; directed by Michel Gondry; screenplay by Charlie Kaufman
Most romances in which the couple spends the film bitterly psychoanalyzing each other star, oh say, Katherine Hepburn and there’s always a scene were a bunch of sly bickering leads to a passionate kiss. Sunshine’s bitter psychoanalyzing, however, contains all-too-human defensive attacks and attempts at redemption which, in the end, proves that the relationship is worth saving. After they’ve erased everything they had together, they have the chance to start over and screw it up again. But you know that they’ll screw it up right this time.

The Time Traveler’s Wife: Henry and Clare
Written by Audrey Niffenegger
If you haven’t read the book, please do so now. If you’re hesitant, here’s my argument: Henry suffers from a disease in which he lives non-chronologically. In other words, he inadvertently bounces around in time. His messy life becomes an unbelievable blessing when it intertwines with that of Clare, whom he meets when she’s just a little girl in a field. (Well, he’ll meet her other times, too.) Their love story is unique, playful, tragic and it nearly redefines the word “commitment” as it post-modernizes romance. Don't eff this up, Robert Schwentke.

2005
The Constant Gardener: Justin and Tessa Quayle
Played by Ralph Fiennes and Rachel Weisz; directed by Fernando Meirelles; written by Jeffrey Caine based on the book by John le Carre
I’ll ruin it now: she dies. The film begins, however, with him identifying the remains. Weisz and Fiennes have incredible chemistry and both of them give Oscar-worthy performances. (Oh yeah, she won.) His love for her is immediately easy to buy: she’s gorgeous, young, idealistic, and brings him out of his shell. It’s her love for him that's slow-building and surprising, but the actress and the writer reveal it with exquisite, heart-wrenching beauty. His decency and intellectualism are the potential she sees; his passion and determination to save the innocent is the gift that her love—and her death—offer.

2007
Once: Boy and Girl
Played by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova; written and directed by John Carney
You think I’m breaking my own rule because the love is supposed to be romantic. You’re kidding yourself, then, if you don’t accept that Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova’s working class Dubliners—for whom music is the only true form of communication—have found their true love in one another. While the relationship never gets intimate—despite the Boy’s efforts—you need only hear one verse of their duets to discover two souls intricately linked. His gesture at the end, too, is one of love just as hers is one of sacrifice. And in case you really hate that they don’t end up together, note this: at least they’re dating in real life.

2008
Lost: Desmond and Penelope
Played by Henry Ian Cusack and Sonya Walger; executive producers: Carlton Cuse and Damon Lindelof
To be honest, it didn’t seem that special at first. When we were first clued in to the Desmond/Penny love story at the end of the season 2, it seemed to be more about plot than emotion. But a funny thing happened on the way to the island: through flashbacks, videophones, and a time-shattering disease not unlike Henry’s above, we watched Desmond and Penny fall in love, fall out, and then reach back toward each other. They have become the show’s real symbol of love, not Kate and Sawyer or Kate and Jack (or Rose and Bernard.) Their reunion in the finale was an unexpected thrill as Desmond and Penny said each other’s names in single, tearful breaths.

I know I had to ignore several love stories. And there’s even more I don’t know about (I can only watch so much TV.) So fill me in and we can get this list to 15.

Trailer: "Death Race"

Sitting at work on a Sunday and felt obligated to expose you to the beauty of the trailer for Death Race. There are several elements of this trailer that make me want to see it opening weekend (with my brother, of course.) One is that the trailer starts with the badass presence of...Joan Allen. I love it. I can see the meeting she had with her manager where she stood up at the table--in a navy skirt suit--and went, "Hellz yeah I gonna do Nixon and The Crucible, spice it up with the Bourne franchise and cap it off with Death Race. Whateva, whateva, I do what I want." OK, that probably didn't happen, but it's fun to pretend.

I also love that a British guy was both a Nascar driver and in an American prison. I know it's possible, but I still laughed. I love that all the women from the women's prison are, of course, hot sassy supermodel types. Maybe they were all busted from the same prostitution ring...although I find it difficult to believe that prostitution is illegal in a future in which the country tunes in to watch inmates kill each other with cars and apparently considers it a sport*. I love that the trailer just happens to give away two seemingly major plot twists, although I'm guessing the plot is what the filmmakers called "the stuff between the car battles." I love that half the cars have devices that may very well be items and weapons Wile. E. Coyote bought from Acme at some point. I love that Ian McShane tries really hard to sell the line "I guess he didn't like the oatmeal" but knows it's futile. I love that Jason Statham is now a genre, not just an actor**. I love that even the release date is accompanied by a blood splatter.

I will be setting $14 aside now to catch this one on August {splatter} 22.

*I guess if Nascar's a sport...
**I just moved The Transporter to the top of my Netflix queue because while delivering a package to set the other day, I realized that The Transporter probably translates to Kickass Courier in some countries. FedEx really should have gotten on that instead of Cast Away. Jason Statham would have delivered all those packages from the island using only a very precise rocket launcher: his arm. (Is he the new Chuck Norris?)

Emmy, Please Don't Forget...

I planned to write this list before Popwatch encouraged me to, just for the record. After last year’s bizarre Emmys-in-the-round, with winners seemingly pulled from a hat (I’m still bitter that James Spader beat James Gandolfini), maybe they can redeem themselves this year by taking a long look at worthy performances that might be on struggling shows, un-buzzy networks, or stuck in such a dynamic ensemble, that it’s difficult to single out. There are plenty of incredible performances that the Emmys don’t neglect, so I’m not too worried about everyone on 30 Rock, Mad Men, or Lost’s Michael Emerson.

So, as Emmy votes start to get their nomination ballots in orders, I’m throwing this plea out into cyberspace: Please don’t forget about the following:

Ginnifer Goodwin (Big Love) for Best Actress in a Drama
Goodwin pulled off a helluva feat: while urging her husband to pursue a fourth wife, she came off as sensible and loving. She gracefully balanced Margene’s petulance and family-focused idealism and revealed the many layers of a character who once seemed to naïve for her own good. The third wife has pushed her way into the prime position.

Adhir Kalyan (Aliens in America) for Best Actor in a Comedy
As foreign exchange student Raja, Kalyan has, over the course of the first (and only) season, developed one of the best senses of comic timing on television. When his sweet, foreign earnestness gives way to the mania and frustration of teendom, Kalyan creates laugh-out-loud moments with his grand gestures and expressive eyes. And yet it never feels like he’s chewing the scenery.


Kerri Kenney-Silver (Reno 911!) for Best Actress in a Comedy
The fact that she’s improvised most of her best lines should be reason enough, but you could add the fact that Kenney-Silver’s portrayal of the completely hopeless—and useless—Deputy Trudy Weigel is one brave, unrelenting commitment to character, whether she’s topless and pregnant and hurtling down a crowded street stuck in a giant cake or, later, trying to sell that baby on the black market.

Vincent Kartheiser (Mad Men) for Best Supporting Actor in a Drama
Although Mad Men has been (rightfully) soaking up critical praise, I can see Jon Hamm being the only player in the cast to get any awards attention. Kartheiser, though, does the most nuanced acting on the show, letting man-boy Pete’s fractured ego steer the character’s misguided attempts at machoism. He even sips his Tom Collins as if he’s trying to impress, but with the broken spirit of a man who knows what everyone else thinks about him.

Kristen Wiig (SNL) for Outstanding Performance in a Variety or Musical Show
Maybe I’m being generous, but I feel like SNL has had a fairly strong season this year (see: Tina Fey and Ellen Page episodes.) I’m pretty sure I’d be singing a different tune, though, if it weren’t for Kristen Wiig. She turns every single skit into a showcase for her comic range. Just kidding. No, seriously though, rather than having a fallback character or style like so many SNL-ers in the past, she can take on any role—balloonist, Suze Orman, surprise party enthusiast—and make it feel like the centerpiece in a whole new franchise.



Tyler Labine (Reaper) for Best Supporting Actor in a Comedy
Ray Wise may be great as the devil, but it’s Tyler Labine who has the good time as Sock, the titular Reaper’s best pal. His delivery is always sharp; he’s like a toned-down Matthew Perry in a Jack Black bodysuit. But he also manages to often be the heart of the show. He’s one of the only actors on television that can deliver packaged life lessons with believable conviction and still come off as the funniest one on screen. Hopefully, there’s some awards in his future for the reaping.

Judy Greer (Miss Guided) for Best Actress in a Comedy
Yeah, it only lasted 8 episodes and it got by on charm more than anything, but Miss Guided was (finally) the vehicle that let America (or the fraction of America that tuned in to Miss Guided) see what a fresh, goofy, relatable actress Greer is. She played well with both the students and teachers in this high school-set comedy, using her penchants for physical comedy and humiliation gags to squeeze carefree laughs out of uncomfortable situations. Just watch her sing “Don Cha” in the bushes at prom.


Jeffrey Donovan (Burn Notice) for Best Actor in a Comedy
My guess is that USA will probably push Donovan in the Drama category which would be a big mistake, since his debonair wit is usually at the front and center of his scenes. Whether resisting torture or blowing up a coke kingpin’s yacht, he always delivers with a smirk, letting his colleagues—and the audience—in on the secret that Michael Westin, ex-spy, is having a whole lot of fun. He’s already got a big role in the next Eastwood movie; I hope his career continues to explode—like a illegal arms dealer’s black market helicopter—as long as it means he won’t be leaving Burn Notice for at least 7 seasons.

Rhys Darby (Flight of the Conchords) for Best Supporting Actor in a Comedy
He had me at, “G’day, mate.” Actually, I think the first thing he did was take attendance as Murray, the Flight of the Conchords’ incompetent, idealistic band manager. Darby is the bouncy ying to the Conchords’ droll yang and his (often) smiling/bewildered presence is the heart of the show. Also, he can deliver a “dimwit line” brilliantly.

Kyle Chandler, Connie Britton, and everyone having anything to do with Friday Night Lights
Kyle Chandler and Connie Britton do the best acting on television. I’m thisclose to believing that that is an inarguable fact. Subtle and lived-in, the two of them go through the emotional roller coaster of marriage and parenthood using just their eyes and body language. It’s near impossible to imagine that they’re not a couple in real life—in fact, I refuse to do so—so natural and intimate are their performances. But why stop there? Adrianne Palicki, Aimee Teegarden, Liz Mikel, Brad Leland, Gaius Charles, and even Taylor Kitsch deliver performances that are so…real, it feels like you’re watching a documentary at times. Any nomination for this show would thrill me, though, as it continues to be one of the most underappreciated shows on television.



So, who are your picks for dream Emmy noms?

Kinda Obsessed: Fourth Week of May

PETER DINKLAGE IN PRINCE CASPIAN

Unlike many I've spoken to, I thought the theatrical incarnation of Prince Caspian was a worthy-if-not-dynamic successor to Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe. Although dark, violent, and definitely not for the kiddies, it was compelling and well-constructed. (Haven't you ever watched Saving Private Ryan and thought, "I wish this was more allegorical"? No?) We lose James McAvoy's Mr. Tumnus this time around, but we do get Trumpkin, a DLF (dear little friend) who plays like Tumnus' grouchy next-door neighbor. Dinklage's dignified gravitas brings an emotional heft that's lacking elsewhere in the film. He ponders each moral dilemma with a quiet humility, but he's also a stubborn bastard. Dinklage's eyes alone--under the layers of make-up--cut through the special effects to portray the real problems, problems of leadership and faith and fear, that plague our four Pevensie children and the prince that inexplicably does a Mandy Patinkin-in-Princess Bride impression for two hours.

LYKKE LI

So far, she only has an EP available in America and whatever you can YouTube. This Swedish pop star is no Abba. Hell, she's not even Robyn. If anything she's closest to Bat for Lashes, with her ghostlike vocals, yearning lyrics, and propensity for awesomely weird music videos (see below). Plus, she's using non-traditional percussive beats better than anyone this side of The Neptunes. Already catching on here on indie radio, she could blow up big once she releases her debut album, Youth Novels, in the States. Then again, maybe she'll remain seim-obscure and I won't have to share her.

STATE OF PLAY ON DVD

I'm halfway through the incredibly gripping first half of the British miniseries State of Play (which will be a film next year with Russel Crowe and Ben Affleck.) It was on the BBC in 2003 and saw early performances from James McAvoy and Kelly MacDonald (No Country for Old Men) and a great, salty turn from Bill Nighy. Following a news story/case--depending on whether you side with the police or the journalists--it has the weaving government conspiracies and sense of urgency that the best episodes of 24 possess. It has the tangled city politics and intuitive investigative work of The Wire. And it has the random sexual partnering off of characters that, well, seems mandatory for a BBC production. It's a smart, addictive, wide-scope mini-series worth the 6 hours and 2 discs.

DAVID COOK WINNING AMERICAN IDOL

Well, duh, I'm happy. Made quite a few calls on his behalf and he will, without a doubt, be a top-selling recording artist. It was a good way to end a weird (and occasionally straight-up retarded) season.

Iron Man: Retro, Sexist, or Retro-Sexist?

Maybe those critical studies classes finally got to me. Or maybe, now that I’ve been writing more consistently, I’ve become a little more sensitive to the messages a film projects, something I keep an overprotective eye on while sorting out my own characters and their worlds. While everyone—well, mostly everyone—wants to avoid ugly stereotypes, there are those other, subtler stereotypes and easy generalizations that work their way into many films and TV shows. While I’d hardly call most of them destructive, it does bring up the argument of how art and society’s relationship should function. Should film show us who we are or who we should strive to be? Well, the answer, of course, is “Yes.”

Two sophomore series on NBC were actually the first examples to come to mind in terms of successfully tackling that relationship. Friday Night Lights’ consistent realism in its characters[1], social relationships (between genders, races, and classes), and its authentic visual style (except for the twentysomethings playing teens) bring a gritty, reflective weight to the way it tackles its real-world themes, even when they have to exhibit the ugly side of our American culture. Heroes, meanwhile, imbues its fantasy-laden storylines with a bit of progressivism; the cast is incredibly diverse in every sense of the word and while the quality of the show fell off quite a bit, at least it kept trying to undermine stereotypes (even when it accidentally did the opposite.)

But what does any of this have to do with the title of this article? Well, now I’m going to get to that. I really liked Iron Man; as far as the acting and direction go, it’s all A-class and the story is fun, perfectly-paced escapism. But here’s my bone to pick and I’m being really nitpicky about this bone: wasn’t Iron Man a little bit sexist?

I’m not saying that because (at least not only because) the hero and the villain are male while the sidekick—who’s a really awesome personal assistant!—is female. I recognize that that’s a pretty integral part of the source material and the movie plays this off so charmingly that it’s hard to cry foul. However, based solely on memory, there are three other female speaking roles in the film.

1. the female soldier (who blows up)
2. the Vanity Fair reporter (who sleeps with Tony after he makes a pretty chauvinistic come-on; later Pepper—and the movie—calls her “trash” )
3. a TV reporter (who works for E!...and is playing herself)

Even in a scene near the climax, in which Jeff Bridges’ character talks to the scientists about the mini-heart-generator-thing, not a single one of the scientists is female. Even the Spider-Man movies, which all feature damsel-in-distress climaxes, portray a number of female scientists. (Remember those Maxim models in lab coats who were zapping sand with gamma rays for some reason in Spider-Man 3?)

And here’s where you could argue, “But Aaron, isn’t Iron Man just trying to reflect the real world? The main fields that Iron Man explores—science, military warfare, and terrorism—are all dominated by males.”

And here’s where I reply, “What kind of awesome crack have you been smoking?” Nothing about Iron Man screams “real world” except for maybe the fact that Stark makes good money selling bombs to use on the Middle East. (I’m just sayin’, there's good money there.) A film that features obvious artificial intelligence (JARVIS was clearly A.I.[2]) and never even acknowledges it clearly takes place in either a really sweet-looking future or an alternate universe. Either way, Iron Man isn’t operating in any kind of reality, gritty or sleek.

But here’s where I would be willing to concede my point: if Iron Man was purposefully “going retro.” Pepper and Tony's relationship certainly has a Mad Men-ish quality to it. But was its portrayal of gender roles a knowing wink to the comics? Was Pepper Potts’ unrelenting loyalty[3] operating on a level of irony? Was the male-dominated science world a throwback to the comic’s world, which took place during Vietnam (though, decidedly post-women’s lib)? There are not enough clues around the film to suggest, besides maybe Pepper’s name and Tony’s house, which may have had the same interior decorator as The Jetsons, that the movie’s picking up a retro-kitsch vibe, and that the lack of strong females is the result of it. No, I think the oversight is all too modern.

In case my tone hasn’t made it clear, I’m simply using Iron Man as an example. I think its sin is completely forgivable; I just wish someone had told Central Casting to get a female in the mix when they were casting bio-robotics technicians. It’s less a quibble, in fact, than an observation that led to deeper consideration. When a movie that's so huge and is clearly asking questions in the vein of "Wouldn't it be cool if...", it would simply be nice for it to take the opportunity to use its power of suggestion and subconscious programming[4] on its mass audience and, without altering the plot, maybe debunk a stereotype or two.

But I’m anxious to hear your guys’ thoughts. Do you notice this stuff? Am I crazy for even bringing it up? And am I completely in the wrong/overreacting by pushing for some stronger female roles in tentpole films[5]? Have I gotten--holding back the vomit--ACLU-ish over here? Let me know.

[1] I love the way that, in season 2, a woman as seemingly progressive as Tami Taylor felt that “The World According to Garp” was too mature for her daughter to be reading, even though her newspaper advisor had recommended it. A nice little way of saying, “We’re still in Dillon, Texas, people.”
[2] And also male.
[3] She reaches into the guy’s chest even though it’s “Eww! So gooey and gross!”
[4] That reminds me. I have to go buy an Audi now.
[5] Like Cate Blanchett as a Nazi! No, seriously, that’s gonna rock.