DJ Earworm's "No More Gas"

A super cool mash-up that's actually about something? DJ Earworm--potentially the best masher out there at the moment if you don't count Girl Talk (and maybe even if you do)--throws Rihanna, Ne-Yo, Estelle, Lupe, and more in a blender and creates, if you listen closely and pay attention, a song about America's dependence on gasoline. Check it out.



I love the clever reference to fossil fuels (you cut me open where the dinosaurs lay) among other ingenious lyrical splices. Check out all his stuff here.

Initial Reaction to Oscar Noms

Ugh.

So...going for even lower ratings than last year, I see?

I actually did think The Reader was a better film than The Dark Knight, but for the sake of relevancy, couldn't you have nominated the film people cared about?

TWO AND A HALF HOURS LATER:

Ok, now I've had some time to think it over and make sense of it all. Let's start with...

1. The Reader??? The motherf***ing Reader? While I don't think it's the Academy's responsibility to nominate the most popular movies every year, I feel like, in order to stay relevant, it was their responsibility to nominate The Dark Knight this year (my personal feelings on the film notwithstanding.) But ok, fine, you're going to nominate the Holocaust film. How ballsy, Academy! It's really important that you bring attention to such a horrible event.


Go to the 2:50 mark
At least nominate Christopher Nolan. Stephen Daldry took a powerful script with a lot of potential and really screwed some things up. (That Ralph Fiennes framing device did. not. work. at. all.) I could have directed that script better with my ass...and I'm only barely joking.

2. Brad Pitt for Benjamin Button. Not a big surprise, but still disappointing for me. It's like nominating the volleyball from Cast Away. He was only there to BE A FACE. Pitt, God bless him, is not an actor who triumphs with subtlety (Jesse James notwithstanding). Poor, poor Leo and Clint (and Michael Sheen, too.)

3. No Rachel Getting Married for Original Screenplay? I saw this predicted a few places, but was unwilling to believe it. Jenny Lumet's script has maybe the best dialogue of the year. I haven't seen Frozen River, so I can't comment on that, but for In Bruges to get a spot? Don't get me wrong, it was a perfectly adequate movie, but it followed a lot of tropes and not a moment in it even approaches just one of the AA meetings in Rachel Getting Married.

On the plus side...

1. "O Saya" for Best Song. Slumdog's "Jai Ho" has been getting all the attention, but it's this number, performed by A.R. Rahman and M.I.A., that's my favorite. Can't wait to see both songs performed live at the ceremony.

2. Really disappointed that Dev Patel wasn't nominated--people probably didn't know if he should go under Actor or Supporting Actor--but at least it opened up a slot for Michael Shannon, whose two scenes in Revolutionary Road are the two best scenes in the movie. He's an actor that's been quietly consistent for years--remember Bug?--and I'm happy to see him get recognized.

3. The Academy actually ignores a campaign and places an actor in the category they should be in. I thought pimping Kate Winslet for Best Supporting for The Reader was completely ridiculous. I mean, I get why--don't make her compete against herself--but she's in nearly every scene. I'm glad the Academy ignored Harvey's FYCs and followed the logic. It means Penelope isn't up against Kate and can't rightfully win.

My Top 10 Films of the Year (and a lament)

List-making, especially when it involves rankings and cinema, is usually one of my favorite sports pastimes. Creating my Best Films of the Year List is typically a satisfying reflection on my year in the darkened theaters and the most exciting storytelling that took place within them.

But this year: not so much. To be honest, it was a bit of struggle to find films that were clearly, in my mind, outstanding. While I was only greatly disappointed by a few films, I was moved by very few as well. It’s as if, quality-wise, everything this year shifted a bit toward the middle. Last year, I couldn’t even contain my list to 10 so I extended it to 12. The year before that, I kept it at 10, but I would classify #1 through #10 as outstanding films. Only the top 3 of my 2008 List could even compete with that one.

I know that a large part of the problem is that I simply didn’t get to see many of the lauded films this year because, no big shock, they were in theaters very briefly, if at all. The Edge of Heaven, Happy-Go-Lucky, Frozen River, Ballast, Trouble the Water, Wendy and Lucy, Let the Right One In? Sorry, none of these made it to my local Cineplex and I live in freakin’ Hollywood. To be fair, if I had pursued screenings of these vigorously, I probably could have found a lead. But I work full time, people. Bring the mountain to Mohammed. (I’m trying to supplement with FYC screeners at the moment, but there’s only so much I can do.)

So now that your expectations are set ridiculously low, let me get on with it: My Ten Favorite Films of 2008.

MAN ON WIRE
This documentary about Philippe Petit’s (highly illegal) 1974 tightrope-walking routine between the Twin Towers tries to be—and is—many things. It’s a quirky and suspenseful heist film. It’s an ode to the double-helix nature of purpose and obsession. It’s Petit’s biopic, chronicling his life from childhood to his many acts of derring-do. But what resonates most are the simple images of Petit, on the wire between those now-fallen towers: they’re startling and wondrous because they cast the human form in a position of such playful triumph, looming skyscrapers sprouting around him but not underneath. Petit’s act is so innocent in its intentions that it’s ultimately deeply inspirational. He’s the anti-David Blaine; his joyful performances aren’t about making you ask how he did it, they’re about opening you up to new possibilities.

IRON MAN
Iron Man executes its buttered-popcorn formulas so well and with such exuberance that it almost feels…old-fashioned. While other blockbusters, namely superhero movies, have felt the need to bring the big questions about identity and purpose and good and evil and blah blah blah up to the surface, Iron Man refreshingly lets them simmer in the subtext and it became, rightfully, a word-of-mouth event, something for which audiences weren’t willing to just wait for the DVD. Robert Downey, Jr. anchors the film with charm and wit that always manage to stay on just the right side of sleazy and Jon Favreau, meanwhile, has grown into one of the most commercially clever directors a studio can hire. He’s not about lighting up all your senses, he’s about lighting up all the ways you can engage with a movie: it’s a deft balance of excitement, suspense, humor, romance, and melodrama, always cohesive and always rewarding.

TRANSSIBERIAN
Speaking of blockbusters, Transsiberian is a Hollywood actioner in indie’s clothing. Writer and director Brad Anderson adds so much character development and smart tension amidst his train-set caper, that it feels like the movie Sydney Pollack forgot to make in the 70s. How such a smart, twisting (but never manipulative) script didn’t end up at a major studio, I don’t know, but I’m grateful. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have starred Emily Mortimer and Woody Harrelson (ok, maybe Woody would have been in it still) who work wonderfully as a married couple. They’re less upfront about their demons than they let on and when a shifty young couple befriends them on the ride to Russia, one troublesome thing leads to another. Transsiberian is clever enough, but even more impressive is the way it builds its thrills around characters that defy tired archetypes.

THE BAND’S VISIT
There are “quiet movies” and then there’s The Band’s Visit. Not a whole lot happens, per se. An Egyptian police band that’s playing at the opening of an arts center gets on the wrong bus and ends up stuck in a sleepy hollow of an Israeli town. Some of the locals provide them shelter for the night and, in simple scenes that utilize immensely talented actors, the exchange begins. Except the exchange isn’t so much cultural as personal: individuals who seem to have little in common provide each other with insight and healing. Sure, that’s been done before, but The Band’s Visit does it with such grace and beauty—the cinematography is sometimes jaw-droppingly gorgeous, especially considering all the interior and night shots—that it actually makes you believe in the power of fleeting, across-the-border human connections again.

MILK
I’ve never seen archival footage worked into a film as well as I have with Milk. Old news footage is spliced in with original footage in such a way that, rather than reminding you to feel something since this really happened, it simply drives the plot forward and builds on the story’s momentum. It’s clever and effective, much like the moves that Harvey Milk himself made while in office. The film is most engaging when it focuses on the political strategies behind his courageous moves (and the courage behind his strategies) and as Harvey, Sean Penn does, arguably, the best work of his career. Josh Brolin, too, provides remarkable moments of bubbling fear and anger in a slightly underwritten role. Milk is the rare biopic that knows where and when to shift the focus, and how to show the man behind the movement rather than glorify the man as the movement.

BIGGER STRONGER FASTER*
The critics who decried that this thorough and winning documentary is pro-steroid are missing the point completely. Filmmaker Chris Bell, who’s like a Michael Moore with perspective and decency, investigates the long history of illegal steroid use because it’s not only suddenly very topical, but also very personal. His brothers, aspiring weightlifters and pro wrestlers, are steroid-users themselves and Bell uses their stories to augment his investigative social history of “the juice.” Bell never argues for steroid use, but he makes a compelling case for steroids-as-scapegoat. And then Bell goes even deeper and looks at steroids not as the problem itself, but as a symptom of the American psyche and its obsession with record-breaking. The fact that Be All You Can Be isn’t quite enough; you should be able to be more. The doc covers a lot of ground in terms of ethics in performance enhancement (in education, business, sports, etc.) and all of it is fascinating. Bell asks tough questions that might catch you off guard and the time with him is an enriching experience.

RACHEL GETTING MARRIED
The moment Kym’s parents pick her up at the rehabilitation clinic to attend her sister’s wedding, you know this weekend is doomed. But the psychological battles that ensue between family members—hard-living Kym, wise and confident Rachel, and their overemotional father and estranged mother—is not only riveting stuff; it’s occasionally downright profound. Jenny Lumet’s screenplay is packed with dialogue that cuts and stabs but never feels inauthentic, especially when delivered by a cast that seems to truly operate like a real family. (In my opinion, Anne Hathaway and Debra Winger give the performances of the year.) Jonathan Demme captures it all in voyeuristic handheld shots that bring us into the family unit in such a way that we can actually sense their intimacy—and almost feel as if our presence is violating it. As the emotional wounds are ripped open, rubbed with alcohol, and then finally left to heal, we understand the pain these people have caused each other and what exactly their capacity for forgiveness is, if any.

FROST/NIXON
Frost/Nixon was much slicker than I thought it would be and I mean that as a high compliment to Ron Howard. Sure, it’s still white guys sitting in a room talking, but they’re talking with such passion! It’s a tennis match of a mind game and there are moments that sizzle with electricity. The beauty, of course, comes from the fact that Nixon and Frost each see the other as the key to his own redemption. Nixon knows exactly what he needs to do; Frost, however, can’t quite figure out how to escape his talk show host box. He’s an entertainer for God’s sake. Peter Morgan’s script gamely blends personal issues into the narrative, but he stops short of trying to overhumanize anyone. Nixon and Frost are two men quite aware of the fact that image—coiffed or sweaty—has played a more important role in their life than they’d like. The film is, in many ways, a courtroom drama and a fascinating character study, but it’s also an exploration into the ways we seek truth through the media and also how we disguise it there.

SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE
No need to gripe about implausibility when the film hints within its very first frames that it’s a fairy tale, an ode to the unexplainable magic of fate. And it’s a kinetic fairy tale at that, pulsing with cinematic energy. I could go on for paragraphs about my respect for the craftsmanship—the vibrant cinematography, the assured editing, the exhilarating score, and Danny Boyle’s brilliant direction—because they elevate the movie into the extrasensory, global experience it has become. The modern, violent romance of the story though—of lives that scrape by, holding onto only the intangible motivators of love and vengeance—is what swells the heart. As it tracks the key events in the lives of the resourceful brothers at the story’s center—their Shakespearean conflicts played out against a corrupt, developing India—the film gets you invested by lacing each moment with a tender, recognizable humanity. And the moment in which crowds around India flock to TV sets to watch our hero’s attempt at winning the grand prize is the moment in which I, for one, felt a part of the world’s great audience, excited to find this film and thrilled to root for it.

WALL-E
Putting these Top 3 in order wasn’t an easy task, but in the end, I found the most fair way I could to break the tie: the ways in which I connected to the film. Frost/Nixon was a movie of the mind and Slumdog was very much a movie of the heart. Wall-E, though, connected on both levels and I’m still in awe of its ability to do so (and to continue doing so.)
Wall-E is, for the first half anyway, nearly an experimental film. The lack of dialogue, the apocalyptic landscapes, the tiny, quirky life of a robot—it almost sounds like a film Dieter would have pitched. And yet, Wall-E is instantly and deeply emotional in its quiet movements. It’s a Chaplin film in which the slapstick is understated and the world is vast and gorgeously colored. And, good Lord, the inventiveness involved is simply staggering, from the overall concept to those incredibly tender moments using—of all things!—footage and music from Hello, Dolly! Almost single-handedly, it reminded me just how wondrous the cinematic experience can be.
Wall-E, in its second half, sharply addresses waste-lot/want-lot culture with satire that’s so playful it becomes hopeful. Too many wrongly pigeonholed Wall-E as An Inconvenient Robot; it’s about far more than environmental protection. It’s about clinging to our own identities as human beings rather than our identities as consumers. (Remember when the bloated future people were offered a new color in their bland, monochrome unitards? Brilliant!) It’s about the persevering force of optimism. It’s about the very value of life, and it’s revelatory in its presentation of the message. Wall-E feels like—and, I believe, is—a film that will be seen as a groundbreaking achievement in its flawless, technical beauty; in its bold, risky storytelling; and in its ability to ask mass audiences to set down their Extra Large Cokes and pay attention to the present and wonder—quite hopefully—about the future.

Best Performances of 2008: Part 2

Michael Sheen, Frost/Nixon
Langella, Shmangella. Too often in this industry, credit goes to the wrong people. And while the heaps of praise thrown onto Frank Langella’s astute portrait of Nixon aren’t undeserved, they’re a tad out of balance. Sheen plays the figure with whom the general public is far less familiar, so he’s not getting graded on accuracy of tics. Like in The Queen, Sheen creates wonderful moments from scenes in which his character is getting more than he bargained for. His quest is to be taken seriously, but it also fueled by his naive curiosity in the politics (and the entertainment!) of it all. He’s all charm, with bravado simmering under its surface.

Tilda Swinton, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Swinton is always reliable (and is consistently cast as women with icy edges). In Button, though, I found myself actually rooting for her over Blanchett’s Daisy, who came off far more chilly. Swinton brings a genteel warmth to her role that makes her the perfect mentor-in-love for Brad Pitt’s Benjamin. The character’s sadness and joy come from such a similar place, that they land with the same restrained softness. It’s a performance that’s so genuinely delicate, it seems to capture the film’s intent better than the film itself.

Max Richter, Waltz with Bashir
The animators do a vivid job of taking you to a time and place (the 1982 Lebanon War); the film is about, after all, reconstructing memories and animation is a brilliant tool for such an undertaking. The music, though, punctuates those visuals with the perfect blend of machismo and melancholy. Whether using simple piano pieces—especially for the unforgettable sequence that inspires the film’s title—or rougher, more experimental sequences with synthesizers, Richter’s music pulls you into the fractured memories and underscores the anxiety of those trying not to fully remember.

Kristen Bell, Forgetting Sarah Marshall
Even Judd Apatow-driven romantic comedies usually peg the female as a user-friendly archetype: the princess, the loon, the “shrew.” But Forgetting Sarah Marshall requires its title character to be a far more complicated creature. She’s a cheater, but she’s not evil. She’s shallow, but she’s trying not to be. She’s wildly confident and deeply insecure. Bell nails this woman with her shaded deliveries; it’s a performance of subtleties yet it never feels out of place is a slightly manic film. It’s proof that Bell could easily anchor a film of any genre, as long as it requires more from her than playing a female stereotype, something she’s deftly avoided so far.

Mickey Rourke, The Wrestler
I can’t remember the last time a role was so perfectly suited for the actor that played it. Rourke’s own career is certainly fodder for his character (a way past-his-prime pro wrestler), as is his over-charged body and bludgeoned-to-disfigurement face. You couldn’t have cast it any better. But beyond casting, there’s great acting, and Rourke gives Randy the Ram more gravitas than just a teddy bear with demons. He’s grabbing onto every human soul that passes through his life, desperately trying to make a connection. It’s more than a fear of loneliness; he quietly battles the fear of becoming irrelevant. Even though The Wrestler requires so much physical work from Rourke, it’s ultimately a very internal performance, a man not so much haunted by what he’s become as a man yearning to be something once again.

Jack Black, Kung Fu Panda
A vocal performance that belongs in the annals alongside Robin Williams in Aladdin and Eddie Murphy in Shrek. Black energizes the out-of-his-elements Po without ever making him manic or too silly. He’s a dreamer getting a dose of reality and Black does a superb job tracing that battered optimism. It’s a performance that undeniably, infectiously joyful.

The Women of Rachel Getting Married
That runway ready Hepburn-in-the-making you know from unapologetically commercial flicks is nowhere to be seen in Rachel Getting Married. Anne Hathaway’s Kym references herself in a wedding toast as “Shiva the Destroyer” and, as Kym’s emotional showboating cuts deeply into those around her, you understand how little she was kidding. Hathaway is a can’t-take-your-eyes-off-her wonder and she understands how Kym, out of rehab for the weekend, needs to make everything about her, despite (or because of) the fact that it’s her sister’s wedding. As the sister in question, Rosemarie DeWitt is wonderful; she gives Rachel’s psychoanalytical jabs an deep emotional touch. And Debra Winger, as the estranged mother both girls seek affection from, would be an Oscar frontrunner in a perfect world. Winger gives us a cruelly honest portrait of a woman we know: she’s able to fake her way through the life by clinging to its routines and never truly emotionally investing in anything or anyone.

Danny Boyle and Chris Dickens, Slumdog Millionaire
I am so amazed at how brilliantly this film was put together because so much could have been lost. I think, to be quite honest, the script is getting too much credit; the dramatic tension, the beats of romance and terror and excitement and wonder, work so well because of how Boyle (director) and Dickens (editor) brought them to life with thrilling energy that shrewdly combines Bollywood romanticism, gritty realism, and an (early) MTV pacing without the MTV gloss. Dickens splices together the beautiful footage to pull you into the slums and then push you back out, to guide you from present to past without losing any bearings. It’s no wonder it’s become such an accessible, stand-up-and-cheer film.

Robert Downey, Jr., Tropic Thunder and Iron Man
By rooting itself in Downey’s smart-alecky, wordy egotism, Iron Man became the best superhero film of all time. I can’t remember the last time I saw a hero that I got so excited to root for. And as Kirk Lazarus, in the gut-bustingly hilarious Tropic Thunder, Downey captures Hollywood narcissism with controlled glee. He’s so far in character (in another character) that you’re willing to believe that he was once actually found “in a refrigerator box in an alley in Burbank trying to re-enter the Earth’s atmosphere.”

Best Performances of 2008: Part 1

Sam Rockwell, Snow Angels

Rockwell’s charisma has always seemed to come from his ability to act simultaneously earnest and half-baked. In Snow Angels, though, that charisma is a skin his character slowly sheds. As a recovering alcoholic and newbie Jesus freak, he’s a man desperately trying to put his life in order. Rockwell makes sure we know the man only wants to believe he’s truly changed, and in doing so, he creates a devastating portrait of a man who’s an American tragedy.

Kat Dennings, Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist
Lots of actresses have spent their careers playing thinly veiled versions of themselves. Diane Keaton has done it a lot lately while Julia Roberts did it for most of the nineties. And now comes Kat Dennings, whose Norah is, it seems, as unassumingly smart and sweetly bitter as the actress herself. It’s a sweet performance, but it’s not gentle. Rather, Dennings laces her (endless?) charm with equal parts acid and sugar. Teen movies have found their newest relatable heroine.

Sean Penn, Milk
Penn does so much with…so much. The performance is, of course, a total transformation: voice, posture, mannerisms, even his face looks somehow different. And he does all those things with seamless grace. Most impressively, though, Penn does something he’s never done before; he exudes warmth in every frame.

Gavin Bocquet, The Bank Job
I’m disappointed at how overlooked this film was; it was marketed a little bizarrely. What seemed like a heist film was actually a far more complex based-on-a-true-story period heist film. One of the most fun elements of the film is the way it brings 1971 London to life through extensive (but never overbearing) production design. Bocquet’s various sets and designs give the movie just the right texture.

Penélope Cruz, Vicky Cristina Barcelona
I don’t know anyone who saw this movie and hadn’t wished that she’s been in it more. Hell, I would be first in line for Maria Elena Barcelona. As the jealous (and crazy) ex-wife of Juan Antonio, Cruz makes her every move, no matter how irrational, an act of artful seduction. I’ve never seen her bring this much energy to the screen before and, with this much fire behind her eyes, it’s difficult to not be entranced, even if she’s trying to kill you.

Thomas Newman, Revolutionary Road
The dialogue kind of felt like every other trapped-in-the-suburbs drama you’ve ever seen. Except maybe a little more Theatre-ish. So it’s understandable if the script couldn’t get you to feel the pain. The score, however, with its perfect piano flourishes, achieved it beautifully. The pain, beauty, and melancholy is all summed up in that simple but harrowing orchestration.

Jess Weixler, Teeth
She deftly handled a role that was, somehow, even more difficult than it sounded. Playing a sexually undereducated teen with, ahem, vagina dentate, Weixler had to consistently strike the perfect balance between humor and horror, drama and…dentate. She plays it straight, but never forgets what kind of movie she’s in either. It’s a star-making performance and she rightfully won the Sundance Acting Prize for it.

The Sound Department, The Dark Knight
I will say this about The Dark Knight: I’ve never had that kind of sonic experience in a theater before. Everything was cracklingly alive, from the revving engines of the Batcycle to the exploding hospital to the pop of every gun. The soundscape did so much to pull you into the film’s environment.

David Kross, The Reader
For his 18th birthday, he had to simulate sex with Kate Winslet. Good for him. Unbelievably, this is Kross’ first big role but you’d never know it. He’s brilliant, capturing the heightened emotions of a lovelorn--and lustlorn--teen who tries to challenge the world with his deeds. Kross says everything with his eyes, but he injects his character’s dialogue with a secretive passion and, later, tinges it with conflicted guilt. It’s not long before he’s a full-fledged lead actor.

Ricky Gervais, Ghost Town
He does his thing, and usually that would be enough, but he does it with such a touch of kindness (and great chemistry with Tea Leoni), that it resonates in both the funny bone and the heart. He also delivers the best final-line-from-a-movie this year.

Top 14 Albums of the Year

A little shallow and goofy? Perhaps. But with singles like "Kids," "Time to Pretend," and "Electric Feel," MGMT crafted off-the-wall, earthy odes to innocent seniments and they made the hipsters dance...until they became popular.












With her slam-the-drumstick-against-anything percussive beats and the childlike yearning of her lyrics and delivery, Lykke Li was an enigmatic import whose freshman effort was a tantalizing introduction. Through the course of the album, she seems to offer her heart and then lock it right back up.












The album dropped with the force of a feather. It was unfortunate; The Odd Couple is an album that grows richer upon repeat listens. It's the melancholy, introspective yang to St. Elsewhere's yin. There may not be a whole lot of singles but there's an abundance of original thought.












The Caesars are the most reliable and reliably underrated band working today. Strawberry Weed--a 2 disc effort that surfaced in the States this year--is a smartly assembled pop discs. Psychadelic seventies touches and Fifties guitar pop often give texture to one song without ever sounding anything other than cohesive.












The haters lined up in one queue, the fanboys and -girls in the other. I'm in the other. From "Masnard Roof" through "The Kids Don't Stand a Chance," the proud Ivy Leaguers provide bouncy afro-touched pop/rock with detail-obsessive lyrics that holds up listen after listen.












Raphael Saadiq made the kind of album that usually wins Grammys: accessible, traditional, musically strong. He didn't get an album of the year nod, so maybe it was too soulful. This collection is self-consciously retro--it's trying hard to remind you of soul's power days. And you know what? With Saadiq's vocal prowess and impeccable arrangements, he does remind you of the best of soul music.












Just when you think you have Chris Martin pegged, he goes and gets himself some lush Eastern instrumentation. It's not quite Rush of Blood to the Head, but thank God it's at least trying to be. Ambitious and stacked with haunting melodies, Martin & Co.'s reflections on Death--and all His friends--is, thankfully, powerful.












We've seen Kanye go vulnerable before--I think...there was the one time, right?--but we've never seen him strip off bravado like he does in the eccentric and gutsy 808s and Heartbreak. Kanye's had a rough year and his tribute to the pain through Autotune is not the mess it so easily could have been. Instead, it's a rare look into the hurt of an artist who's more self-aware then he lets on.












Three Reasons Why Erykah Badu Might Have a Time Machine: 1) She references a "Fourth World War" in the album title. 2) The politically astute New Amerykah, Part 1 would feel perfectly at home in the late 60s or early 70s. 3) Her music feels even more fresh and relevant now than it did when Baduism came out in 1997.












I haven't always been a fan of Jenny Lewis; too often I found her acid-laced indie rock on the overly-smug side. But "Acid Tongue" seems to mark a turning point. The girl goes softer and the music goes right along with her. Folk touches and openhearted vocals wrap around the listener like a boa and it's hard not to marvel at the way Lewis has constructed an album in the truest sense of the word.












It comes down to this: you either appreciate Girl Talk's mainsteam mashing or you don't. It's more than simply throwing 50 hits into a blender; Greg Gills' deejay alter ego layers samples, beats, and vocals in such a way that you feel you're hearing them for the first time. Whether you're hearing Jay-Z rhymes or Earth, Wind and Fire hooks, they feel like that most magical musical moment for a listener: a discovery.












This might be unfair: I've been banging my head to this blonde's racy electro-pop for two years and change. But only this year was Robyn an official 2008 release in the USA, so (high) on the list she goes. Robyn's pop instincts are perfect: the album flows from gritty beat-driven boasts (that rival any rapper's) to passionate and pulsing dancehall numbers that weave in her vulnerability and her cutting cynicism. So what exactly are they putting in the water over in Sweden?












A songwriter and record exec for most of the last decade, Santi White became Santogold and decided to make the music herself. God bless her. Her self-titled debut is a genre-bending--genre-destroying?--tapestry of insight and wisdom. Never hesistating to experiment, each song has a lasting musical and emotional fingerprint. And they're all the kind you don't want to wipe off.












Should I feel bad that my album of the year isn't available for purchase? Wale wouldn't want me to. He leaked it for free online himself. Of all the pieces of pop culture that would provide the structure for a hip-hop album, Seinfeld would have been about my 9389th guess. But Wale uses his fandom--the album reguarly praises and reflects on ideas posed by the show--as a launchpad for what is one of the most inventive and lyrically dexterous albums I've ever heard. Dropping rhymes that rival, well, anyone's, Wale's light-speed pop poetry weaves a multitude of ideas and exciting details for the faithful re-listener. It's also sonically genius; I know I praise Mark Ronson more than his own mother does, but some of his work here is amazing. (Although, due to the mixtape nature, I'm not sure which tracks are his, but "The Freestyle (Roc Boys)" has his stamp, what with it's searing horn samples.) The samples, though, give Wale in edge in musicality as well as clever lines. Most importantly though, Wale uses The Mixtape About Nothing to scratch at complex social issues and he has no pat answers in his rhymes. Instead, he provides analyses that have as much thought as the average grad school thesis. (Check out "The Kramer," his history of the use of the n-word for proof.) Like his favorite show, Wale only pretends his work is about nothing. Rather, it's about so many complicated things, it's easier to give it the guise of "nothing." But we're onto you, Wale. We're onto you.

Also, Julia Louis-Dreyfus says "motherf---er" in an interlude.

08 Mixtape: 50 Favorite Tracks of the Year

Here are the 50 songs that were released in 2008 that kept my iPod's backlight glowing. More pop, hip-hop, and electronica-driven than last year, it seemed like a year for celebration. Or maybe I just didn't find as much great indie rock/mainstream rock this year while R&B and hip-hop had mini-revolutions. That being said, it was a good year for weaving smart satire with joyful hooks ("Black Barbie," "Wearin' My Rolex," and "The Kramer"), beat-driven contemplation ("Black & Gold," "Heaven for the Weather," and "Lost!"), or pop-friendly love songs full of yearning ("Mercy," "Bleeding Love," "Cold Shoulder," "Pumpkin Soup"--thank you Brit Chicks!). And let's not forget unabashed party bangers like "Low," "Let it Rock," and "Run ." Here's the mixtape, '08edition (links provided to songs that have especially good or inventive videos):


She & Him - I Was Made For You
Gnarls Barkley - Run (I'm a Natural Disaster)
Wiley - Wearin' My Rolex
Raphael Saadiq - Staying in Love
The Ting-Tings - Shut Up and Let Me Go
The Cool Kids - Black Mags
Kate Nash - Pumpkin Soup
The Fashion - Solo Impala
Adele - Cold Shoulder
Lykke Li - I'm Good, I'm Gone
Jamie Lidell - Hurricane
Beyonce - Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It)
Kraak & Smaak - Squeeze Me
Robin Thicke - Magic
Little Jackie - Black Barbie
Flo Rida - Low
Dizzee Rascal feat. Calvin Harris - Dance Wiv Me
Jenny Lewis - Carpetbaggers
The Streets - Heaven for the Weather
Santogold - Creator
Matt Nathanson - Come On, Get Higher
AR Rahman & M.I.A. - O Saya...
Rihanna - Disturbia
MGMT - Electric Feel
The All-American Rejects - Gives You Hell
Jordin Sparks & Chris Brown - No Air
Duffy - Mercy
Teddy Thompson - Can't Sing Straight
Bloc Party - Mercury
Ne-Yo - Closer
Santogold - L.E.S. Artistes
Death Cab for Cutie - I Will Possess Your Heart
Chester French - She Loves Everybody
Kevin Rudolph & Lil Wayne - Let It Rock
DJ Schmolli - D.O.A. or M.I.A. (Paper Planes vs. Wanted Dead or Alive.)
Pink - Sober
Girl Talk - Hands in the Air
Solange - I Decided
Coldplay - Lost!
Sam Sparro - Black & Gold
Alicia Keys and Jack White - Another Way to Die
Santogold, N.E.R.D. and Julian Casablancas - My Drive-Thru
MGMT - Kids (Soulwax Remix)
Leona Lewis - Bleeding Love
Kanye West - Love Lockdown
T.I. featuring Rihanna - Live Your Life
Jose Gonzalez - Killing for Love (Beatfanatic Remix)
Wale - The Kramer
Chris Brown - Forever


And my favorite single of the year was, unquestionably, "On a Cloud", a wonderful slice of throwback soul (that sounds very Mark Ronson, of course) featuring the lush, attention-commanding vocals of Karma. The Platinum Pied Pipers bumped their album's release date to 2009, but luckily, they released an EP with "On a Cloud" on it. Check it out...if you're into that kind of thing.

Top 10 Shows of the Year

So it's time for a Top 10 List, no? We'll start with television--still too many albums to listen to and movies to see. It's been a bit of a disappointing year for TV; the writers' strike crippled many shows in their first season and kind of stuck a fork in all the network's pilots. No first-season shows have really impressed me this year although I'll admit that I haven't given The Mentalist a serious look. Maybe it'll surprise me. I'll also own up to the fact that I haven't seen season 5 of The Wire, this year's installment. Otherwise, it would have likely hovered near the top of this list. Same goes for The Shield and Dexter and probably several others. (And, of course, I can't include the show I work on...that's a conflict of interest!) So, keeping all that in mind, here's my breakdown of the year's best television...

King of the Hill
Hank Hill has many values, but it’s no doubt consistency hovers near the top of the list. Even in its twelfth—and final?—season, King of the Hill has steadfastly mined humor from its well-drawn characters (no pun intended) and social commentary that’s winking more than stinging. The Hills are the truest modern American family on television—shut up, over there, Brothers and Sisters—and easily the funniest.

Survivor/Amazing Race
These lynchpins of CBS Reality provide an incredibly high number of nail-biting moments each season. Survivor is still the gold standard in social experiments for public consumption; the petri dish relationships and power plays are gripping television, especially as hosted by the underappreciated Jeff Probst. Going from island to globe, Amazing Race is a ride-along experience that provides both culture shock, culture awe, and couples bickering about how to paint a Cambodian taxi cart. Both could juice up their casting departments, but they never let you stray from the edge of your seat.

Greek
While everyone at ABC Family was giddily watching the numbers for Secret Life of an American Teenager, Greek coolly and confidently became one of the smartest teen shows of the past decade. Subversive and sarcastic, the show has surprising bite; the dialogue here challenges any of the funniest on television. Greek is also never afraid to tackle real issues—college debt, STDs, entry-level jobs, etc.—with soberness and laughs.

Weeds
I feel like I’m one of the few left championing this risk-taking half-hour but maybe that’s because it barely identifies as a comedy anymore. All the better, to be honest. The move to the Mexican border brought more charged danger into Nancy’s work while her parental neglect brought danger into the home. Severe consequences exploded weekly—sometimes literally so—as Nancy struggled to justify her actions. It felt like 13 short films rather than 13 episodes of a comedy…and I mean that as a high compliment.

So You Think You Can Dance
In most cases, the concept of a reality competition show is less important than the actual talent level of the competitors. SYTYCD featured unparalleled talent this year, dancers that, yes, brought a surprising level of art and craft to the small screen. A new crew of choreographers helped inject the show with a new energy and Cat Deely seemed to be having more infectious fun every week. For proof of the measure of talent, click here, here and here.

Breaking Bad
Less television and more a bizarre blend of auteur-led cinema and Albee-esque theatre, Breaking Bad seems like P.T. Anderson’s foray into basic cable. But it’s Vince Gilligan whose keen eye and ear lead this beautifully-shot series about a terminally ill chemistry teacher (Bryan Cranston, deserved Emmy winner) who cooks meth so that he can leave his family a bundle of cash when he dies. The individual scenes are long and emotionally hefty; Breaking Bad somehow balances sentiment and subtlety with ease.

Lost
I was never going to give up on it, but somewhere in the third season I just come to expect less from the once-dynamic show. But the creative energy generated by the third season finale carried over to season 4, and the island drama regained nearly all of its glory. With a new focus on the characters, we cared once again about the castaways (and the Others, and the Shipmates, etc.) and the plot twists felt more organic and less like shock tactics. The flash-forwards rewarded obedient viewers while wooing the interest of the un-converted. Talk about a resurgence.

30 Rock
Not that Tina Fey needs my attention anymore. 30 Rock has maintained its eccentric charm, still spinning one-liners and crazy scenarios with freshness that never feels “hip.” The end of the second season and the guest-star-heavy chunk of the third season have shown that the funny is mined from the honesty; Liz Lemon and Jack Donaghey’s lives bear the scars of modern sacrifices. But I’m underselling it: it’s, inarguably, the funniest show on television.

Friday Night Lights
The second season may have been clipped, but let’s say that’s a good thing. Between the silly murder plot and that really aggravating live-in nurse at the Saracens’ residence, FNL needed a breather before it put its cleats back on. And now, in its stellar third season, FNL has fully recovered. The show has done two farewell episodes for major characters that rank among the best farewells episodes I’ve ever seen. Meanwhile, the show has introduced new characters—that I was ready to hate, by the way—that are so much more complex and damaged than they initially let on that I found myself rooting for them. And then there are the several small, intimate moments that have come to define the show and the wholly real marriage between Coach and Tami. Don’t let yourself ignore this deep look into the rocky American heartland.

Mad Men
I once said—with no trace of irony—that I could write scores of essays on this series. My friend laughed at me, but only because she knew how true it was. Mad Men is so “cool” it’s cliché now; I fear the show’s obsessive style will be its ultimate legacy rather than the majestic storytelling from Matthew Weiner and his team. This is, bar none, the best narrative about American life since Raymond Carver’s short stories. So rich with metaphor and literary (and psychological) foreshadowing, the show can be watched multiple times and there will still be lovely moments that can go unappreciated. In the second season, the show has become, miraculously, even stronger: every character is trying to reconcile the person they are with the person they advertise themselves as. Rich theme for a show set in an ad agency. Don Draper approaches it quite literally; he battles the many archetypes he feels destined to fulfill—veteran, Lothario, Ken Doll—while “scratching around, never feeling comfortable” in any of them. My personal favorite is Elisabeth Moss’s Peggy, a woman who, against all precedents, is valued for her mind, but still feels that to be understood, she has to be either Marilyn or Jackie O. As we all try to craft our identities in a modern, consumer-driven culture where we can very specifically edit and design how we’re seen and perceived, Mad Men is more cutting and relevant than ever.

Back in Action: RntM Returns...

I'm definitely not M.I.A. anymore. I took a few months to focus on the job and, if I was going to write, I wanted to be working on scripts. Well, winter hiatus has started and, to be honest, I would lose my identity if I wasn't creating end of the year lists!

So, you'll start seeing a lot of postings from me soon. You can call me B.I.A.

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.