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.”