I'm slowly but surely starting up a new blog address, so head on over there from here on out (the Barone's World tag started feeling a bit tired, and not specific enough considering this entire blog has morphed into a film-related thing, which was the intention all along). First it'll be another three-part, long address, but soon enough it'll be it's own surname-less addy:
TheaterofMine.wordpress.com
[There is a link back to Barone's World in Theater of Mine's blogroll, or "The Essentials," so you can always head back here to check out the archives, catch up, or whatever.]
THEATER OF MINE
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
Coming down from the nice high of Star Trek
Time to take a break from Relapse, which I'm seriously on the verge of playing out a mere five hours after it leaked----I'm loving the record that much.
One of the latest television commercials for J.J. Abrams' Star Trek featured a critic's quote to the effect of "This year's Iron Man!," a claim that actually underplays how great of a time Trek is, how well it welcomes newcomers while giving longtime Trekkers plenty to love. Iron Man, basking in the undeniable-cool of Robert Downey, Jr., had all the potential in the world to not alienate those who didn't grow up with the superhero's comic books; Star Trek, on the other hand, with its mostly B-list cast and polarizing source material, could've left crossover audiences in a solar dustball. Totally not the case. Not being a Trek head myself, how would I know that the film so successfully pledges allegiance to the franchise's loyal minion? By the enthusiastic applause and feminine squeals elicited from the souls of the middle-aged fanguys crowding the AMC this afternoon. The truly impressive part: I was right there with them joy-wise, wrapped up in every Enterprise missile battle, James Tiberius Kirk one-liner, and inexpressive emotion delivered so effectively by Zachary Quinto (Heroes) as half-Vulcan/half-human Spock.
Star Trek is, bottom line, a fast, loose, smart two-hour spectactle that washes over your senses while you're in its presence, and then, unless you're an uber-fan wearing a "Live Long and Prosper" t-shirt, leaves your memory bank without damaging anything. Breakneck fun, popcorn goodness. The plot involves an evil Romulan named Nero (played by an unrecognizable Eric Bana) who is out for revenge against Spock, who, decades later in the future, will inadvertently cause the destruction of the Romulan's homeland. Nero and his space-thugs are sent time-traveling through a black hole, first to do battle against the Starfleet's (Star Trek's version of the military) ships under the brief command of Captain George Kirk and then again 20-some-odd years later as Kirk's son, Jim (given tons of charming snark by Smokin' Aces co-star Chris Pine, surely bound to explode thanks to his work here), is a Starfleet cadet alongside a same-aged Spock and several other hotshot students on the U.S.S. Enterprise vessel.
If that's all a bit cloudy, it's most likely because you're entering this film's lexicon with little or no Star Trek mythology knowledge (or, I just explained the film terribly, either or). Which is fine, because Abrams and screenwriters Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman (also the scribes behind Transformers) keep the franchise's narrative complexities at bay here, sprinkling the movie with tons of Easter eggs references and homages while ultimately reeling in Trek virgins with sheer visual pleasantry. The pace is snappy, the dialogue witty and lighthearted. The performances click on all cylinders from a cast of quite-likeable familiar faces (Harold & Kumar's John Cho, Shaun of the Dead's Simon Pegg, Alpha Dog's Anton Yelchin, Tyler Perry randomly). Even the potentially-confusing time travel plot device is far more tangible than expected.
And then there's the special effects, where Abrams and his behind-the-camera team excel. Each exterior spaceship shot looks unlike a video game, a stroke of CGI wizardry that thankfully comes only a week after the sketchy effects seen in the even-sketchier X-Men Origins: Wolverine. One minor moment, in particular, feels bone-crunchingly real----in an effort to save his family back on Vulcan as Nero is sending the land into a black hole of evaporation, Spock "beams" (Trek's means of body transportation from one location to another, the original Jumper trick decades before that shitty movie) back to Vulcan and corrals his parents, but as they're fleeing from a cave, we see a large pillar-statue falls to the floor on top of a running Vulcan man, and the impact is brutal. Blink and you'll miss it, but, if you catch it, the impact pummels.
Star Trek isn't without it's flaws, though. Pegg is totally underused as "Scotty," unfortunately stricken with marginally-humorous comic relief lines for the few scenes he does have, and the Nero character doesn't register enough on the "intimidating nemesis" scale. Nero isn't given much to do other than look aggravated and snarl fiery commands to his generic Romulan henchmen. He's a serviceable foe that operates more as a plot-mover than an actual living, breathing opposition that the audience fears. Orci and Kurtzman's script handles the U.S.S. Enterprise's crew so well, though, that the ho-hum nature of their enemies isn't a lasting party foul.
With Star Trek, the summer movie season has officially kicked into motion. That Wolverine flick made bagloads of money last weekend, sure, but the film itself isn't one that'll be praised for months, if not years, to come; Abrams' Star Trek most certainly is. It's made a believer out of yours truly....hell, I'm intrigued enough now to toss the entire Trek filmography into the Netflix and play catch-up. Millions of so-called "nerds" should now feel vindicated, the bullies and cool kids who once slapped them around both apologizing and requesting to borrow their former punching-bags' DVDs and VHS dubs.
Thanks to Abrams and company, we're all nerds this summer. And that's just wonderful.
One of the latest television commercials for J.J. Abrams' Star Trek featured a critic's quote to the effect of "This year's Iron Man!," a claim that actually underplays how great of a time Trek is, how well it welcomes newcomers while giving longtime Trekkers plenty to love. Iron Man, basking in the undeniable-cool of Robert Downey, Jr., had all the potential in the world to not alienate those who didn't grow up with the superhero's comic books; Star Trek, on the other hand, with its mostly B-list cast and polarizing source material, could've left crossover audiences in a solar dustball. Totally not the case. Not being a Trek head myself, how would I know that the film so successfully pledges allegiance to the franchise's loyal minion? By the enthusiastic applause and feminine squeals elicited from the souls of the middle-aged fanguys crowding the AMC this afternoon. The truly impressive part: I was right there with them joy-wise, wrapped up in every Enterprise missile battle, James Tiberius Kirk one-liner, and inexpressive emotion delivered so effectively by Zachary Quinto (Heroes) as half-Vulcan/half-human Spock.
Star Trek is, bottom line, a fast, loose, smart two-hour spectactle that washes over your senses while you're in its presence, and then, unless you're an uber-fan wearing a "Live Long and Prosper" t-shirt, leaves your memory bank without damaging anything. Breakneck fun, popcorn goodness. The plot involves an evil Romulan named Nero (played by an unrecognizable Eric Bana) who is out for revenge against Spock, who, decades later in the future, will inadvertently cause the destruction of the Romulan's homeland. Nero and his space-thugs are sent time-traveling through a black hole, first to do battle against the Starfleet's (Star Trek's version of the military) ships under the brief command of Captain George Kirk and then again 20-some-odd years later as Kirk's son, Jim (given tons of charming snark by Smokin' Aces co-star Chris Pine, surely bound to explode thanks to his work here), is a Starfleet cadet alongside a same-aged Spock and several other hotshot students on the U.S.S. Enterprise vessel.
If that's all a bit cloudy, it's most likely because you're entering this film's lexicon with little or no Star Trek mythology knowledge (or, I just explained the film terribly, either or). Which is fine, because Abrams and screenwriters Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman (also the scribes behind Transformers) keep the franchise's narrative complexities at bay here, sprinkling the movie with tons of Easter eggs references and homages while ultimately reeling in Trek virgins with sheer visual pleasantry. The pace is snappy, the dialogue witty and lighthearted. The performances click on all cylinders from a cast of quite-likeable familiar faces (Harold & Kumar's John Cho, Shaun of the Dead's Simon Pegg, Alpha Dog's Anton Yelchin, Tyler Perry randomly). Even the potentially-confusing time travel plot device is far more tangible than expected.
And then there's the special effects, where Abrams and his behind-the-camera team excel. Each exterior spaceship shot looks unlike a video game, a stroke of CGI wizardry that thankfully comes only a week after the sketchy effects seen in the even-sketchier X-Men Origins: Wolverine. One minor moment, in particular, feels bone-crunchingly real----in an effort to save his family back on Vulcan as Nero is sending the land into a black hole of evaporation, Spock "beams" (Trek's means of body transportation from one location to another, the original Jumper trick decades before that shitty movie) back to Vulcan and corrals his parents, but as they're fleeing from a cave, we see a large pillar-statue falls to the floor on top of a running Vulcan man, and the impact is brutal. Blink and you'll miss it, but, if you catch it, the impact pummels.
Star Trek isn't without it's flaws, though. Pegg is totally underused as "Scotty," unfortunately stricken with marginally-humorous comic relief lines for the few scenes he does have, and the Nero character doesn't register enough on the "intimidating nemesis" scale. Nero isn't given much to do other than look aggravated and snarl fiery commands to his generic Romulan henchmen. He's a serviceable foe that operates more as a plot-mover than an actual living, breathing opposition that the audience fears. Orci and Kurtzman's script handles the U.S.S. Enterprise's crew so well, though, that the ho-hum nature of their enemies isn't a lasting party foul.
With Star Trek, the summer movie season has officially kicked into motion. That Wolverine flick made bagloads of money last weekend, sure, but the film itself isn't one that'll be praised for months, if not years, to come; Abrams' Star Trek most certainly is. It's made a believer out of yours truly....hell, I'm intrigued enough now to toss the entire Trek filmography into the Netflix and play catch-up. Millions of so-called "nerds" should now feel vindicated, the bullies and cool kids who once slapped them around both apologizing and requesting to borrow their former punching-bags' DVDs and VHS dubs.
Thanks to Abrams and company, we're all nerds this summer. And that's just wonderful.
Rejoice: I'm absolutely loving this.....
Run-on sentence alert!!! It's like an audio case study profile of an unhinged man gone totally off the deep end courtesy of too many pills.
"Bagpipes from Baghdad"
Hell yeah. Just the level of random, tongue-twisting, pounding dementia that I've been banking on with Relapse. Bonus points for "going in" on Nick Cannon (pause or no pause) and the Children of the Corn reference. And that entire third verse is off the charts.
Then there's this one....."Medicine Ball"
Hits harder than Chris Brown watching Rihanna flirt with Shia Labeouf after CB was struck by gamma rays.
Here's one for the laughs: Keanu Reeves as "Dr. Jekyll"
When I was a wee lad, picking out my choice costume for Halloween was more important than holding onto my entire-elementary-school-career-long Spelling Bee Champion title (and that was a belt I wore with pride and vigor). Even if the final decision was far from innovative (yes, I was Jason Voorhees one year, shamefully), I made sure that my incarnation stood out from the others. For Sir Voorhees, I dabbled on tons of fake-blood smears across the hockey mask and dipped my plastic machete in the same store-bought life liquid. Not exactly a visionary tweaking, but it was something, at least.
The proudest costume in my personal history, though, was the homemade Mr. Hyde get-up I whipped together during my eleventh year. You see, Robert Louis Stevenson's classic Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde story was, and still is for that matter, a tale that I cherished, picking up copies in hardcover, pocket-size, kiddie versions, and whatever other versions Barnes and Noble concealed. My only gripe with the Jekyll and Hyde text, however: there has never been a good film adaptation in my lifeitme. Both Fredric March's iconic performance in the 1931 black-and-white version and Spencer Tracy's a decade later (each titled Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, naturally) are quality, but those was many moons before my conception; I'm talking a modern-day take on the tale that doesn't suck. To date, the top interpretation (and that word is used loosely in this case) is Abbott & Costello meet Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and that's only because my pops conditioned me to love the comedy of Bud and Lou. I want an actually-chilling 21st century Mr. Hyde on screen, though.
The source material is so ripe----a brilliant lab-man sips on a potion that unleashes his dark side, an inner madman that proceeds to murder. When word was announced a while back that Guillermo del Toro was developing a fantastical spin on the story, I felt content. del Toro can do no wrong in my eyes. But now, a second in-development Jekyll and Hyde has hit the news circuit, and this latest one is going to star Keanu Reeves......Keanu fucking Reeves?!?! Sigh squared. Yes, I love Bill & Ted as much as the next twenty-something, as well as Speed, but don't let anybody fool you into thinking that Reeves has the necessary acting chops to pull off the double-sided emotions of Jekyll and Hyde. There's a reason why I consider his emotionless alien role in that mediocre The Day the Earth Stood Still remake to be typecasting.
Reeves' film will be titled Jekyll, simply, and is said to be a "modern-day" update, meaning the original story's Victorian setting will be ditched for today's landscape. Sigh, again.
Let's see.....actors more suited to play this two-for-one character: Clive Owen, Sam Rockwell, and Michael Shannon, for starters. Keanu Reeves would place about 87th on my wish list. Sigh fucking sigh.
****In a lighter, much cooler change-of-topic, here's the first official poster for Neill Blomkamp's District 9, a film I've been writing about a bit here lately. It's a great, nice and subtle eye-opener for the flick, clearly delivering the film's "aliens are social outcasts" theme. And it makes me smile amidst that awful Keanu Reeves item.
Both bits courtesy of: Empire Online
The proudest costume in my personal history, though, was the homemade Mr. Hyde get-up I whipped together during my eleventh year. You see, Robert Louis Stevenson's classic Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde story was, and still is for that matter, a tale that I cherished, picking up copies in hardcover, pocket-size, kiddie versions, and whatever other versions Barnes and Noble concealed. My only gripe with the Jekyll and Hyde text, however: there has never been a good film adaptation in my lifeitme. Both Fredric March's iconic performance in the 1931 black-and-white version and Spencer Tracy's a decade later (each titled Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, naturally) are quality, but those was many moons before my conception; I'm talking a modern-day take on the tale that doesn't suck. To date, the top interpretation (and that word is used loosely in this case) is Abbott & Costello meet Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and that's only because my pops conditioned me to love the comedy of Bud and Lou. I want an actually-chilling 21st century Mr. Hyde on screen, though.
The source material is so ripe----a brilliant lab-man sips on a potion that unleashes his dark side, an inner madman that proceeds to murder. When word was announced a while back that Guillermo del Toro was developing a fantastical spin on the story, I felt content. del Toro can do no wrong in my eyes. But now, a second in-development Jekyll and Hyde has hit the news circuit, and this latest one is going to star Keanu Reeves......Keanu fucking Reeves?!?! Sigh squared. Yes, I love Bill & Ted as much as the next twenty-something, as well as Speed, but don't let anybody fool you into thinking that Reeves has the necessary acting chops to pull off the double-sided emotions of Jekyll and Hyde. There's a reason why I consider his emotionless alien role in that mediocre The Day the Earth Stood Still remake to be typecasting.
Reeves' film will be titled Jekyll, simply, and is said to be a "modern-day" update, meaning the original story's Victorian setting will be ditched for today's landscape. Sigh, again.
Let's see.....actors more suited to play this two-for-one character: Clive Owen, Sam Rockwell, and Michael Shannon, for starters. Keanu Reeves would place about 87th on my wish list. Sigh fucking sigh.
****In a lighter, much cooler change-of-topic, here's the first official poster for Neill Blomkamp's District 9, a film I've been writing about a bit here lately. It's a great, nice and subtle eye-opener for the flick, clearly delivering the film's "aliens are social outcasts" theme. And it makes me smile amidst that awful Keanu Reeves item.
Both bits courtesy of: Empire Online
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Celebrity Crush of the Moment is.....
Not much to say here, other than to announce to whoever cares that I'm quite smitten by this gal, one Aubrey Plaza. Currently looking cute as hell and coming across awkwardly amusing on NBC's good-but-not-yet-anywhere-near-its-potential Parks and Recreation. Maybe the problem is that there's not enough Aubrey Plaza on the show yet. Or maybe I'm just biased. I'm guessing her role as Seth Rogen's girlfriend (the character she's reportedly playing) in this summer's Funny People won't be any more prominent, but at least it's something. From New York City's lo-fi stand-up comedy circuit (where she was a member of the Upright Citizens Brigade) to the aforementioned projects....nicely done, Ms. P.
Just something about this girl, can't exactly put my finger on "it." We just need more of her, though. Simple as that, Jack.
Just something about this girl, can't exactly put my finger on "it." We just need more of her, though. Simple as that, Jack.
Second cool short film for 5/6/09: Mama
Let's just call today Short Films Becoming Features Day, shall we?
Not only is true "visionary" Guillermo del Toro (Pan's Labyrinth, the Hellboy movies) currently developing The Hobbit film for directorial purposes, but the guy is also attached to about 500 other projects as a producer. Okay, maybe slightly less than that number, but Mexico's pride and joy won't have a free day to spare any time soon. The latest project that he's aligning himself with is, under the Universal Pictures umbrella, a feature length extension of a buzz-building Spanish-language short film called Mama, written and directed by Andy Muschietti and produced by his sister, Barbara. The Muschietti's will be writing, with a director to be determined.
Despite only being three minutes long, Mama is a creepy, unsettling little treat. One that even made me jump in a particular moment, I'm sure you'll be able to guess which after checking it out below. Basically, Mama a scene in which two little girls flee from their mother, who just happens to be some sort of ghostly ghoul. The ghoul effects are rather effective, especially for a self-financed short film. I'm curious to see how Muschietti and del Toro expand this into a fleshed-out ride----definitely tons of backstory available (Who are these girls? Is that really their mother? If so, is she dead or what?), and more money involved means even freakier visuals. The atmosphere of the short feels very much like another del Toro-produced winner, Juan Antonio Bayona's The Orphanage (2007), only the Mama short is less "touching" and much meaner.
Here it goes:
Mama
Not only is true "visionary" Guillermo del Toro (Pan's Labyrinth, the Hellboy movies) currently developing The Hobbit film for directorial purposes, but the guy is also attached to about 500 other projects as a producer. Okay, maybe slightly less than that number, but Mexico's pride and joy won't have a free day to spare any time soon. The latest project that he's aligning himself with is, under the Universal Pictures umbrella, a feature length extension of a buzz-building Spanish-language short film called Mama, written and directed by Andy Muschietti and produced by his sister, Barbara. The Muschietti's will be writing, with a director to be determined.
Despite only being three minutes long, Mama is a creepy, unsettling little treat. One that even made me jump in a particular moment, I'm sure you'll be able to guess which after checking it out below. Basically, Mama a scene in which two little girls flee from their mother, who just happens to be some sort of ghostly ghoul. The ghoul effects are rather effective, especially for a self-financed short film. I'm curious to see how Muschietti and del Toro expand this into a fleshed-out ride----definitely tons of backstory available (Who are these girls? Is that really their mother? If so, is she dead or what?), and more money involved means even freakier visuals. The atmosphere of the short feels very much like another del Toro-produced winner, Juan Antonio Bayona's The Orphanage (2007), only the Mama short is less "touching" and much meaner.
Here it goes:
Mama
The short film that spawned the great-looking District 9
Last week, I posted a new trailer for Neill Blomkamp's pseudo-documentary-style science fiction flick District 9, which anyone who has seen X-Men Origins: Wolverine in theaters has already caught on the big screen. District 9 has been high on my intrigue scale for months now, and is even more so atop now that the teaser trailer is out and about. And looking awesome, a profound, thoughtful, patient take on the same handheld camera conceit that Cloverfield kicked into overdrive so well.
After researching District 9 over the past week, to obtain as much info as possible, I've uncovered that the film, executive produced by Peter Jackson (Lord of the Rings mastermind), is actually an expanded, bigger-budgeted spin on Blomkamp's 2005 short film Alive in Joburg, a commentary on the Apartheid in South Africa set against the aftermath of an alien invasion. The government has forced the now-residential extraterrestrials into servitude, not exactly what the aliens came to Earth in hopes of. The ETs are looked down upon as smelly, unwelcome, and inferior. That opinion serving as a newfound line of commonality between once-bickering races and social classes, all at the expense of the unassuming aliens.
Blomkamp's short film is available on Youtube, thankfully, and it's quite good. Give it a look, it's hardly seven minutes long:
Now, for comparison's sake, here's the new District 9 teaser:
District 9 hits screens on August 14. I'll be there, possibly at a midnight showing if any are scheduled.
After researching District 9 over the past week, to obtain as much info as possible, I've uncovered that the film, executive produced by Peter Jackson (Lord of the Rings mastermind), is actually an expanded, bigger-budgeted spin on Blomkamp's 2005 short film Alive in Joburg, a commentary on the Apartheid in South Africa set against the aftermath of an alien invasion. The government has forced the now-residential extraterrestrials into servitude, not exactly what the aliens came to Earth in hopes of. The ETs are looked down upon as smelly, unwelcome, and inferior. That opinion serving as a newfound line of commonality between once-bickering races and social classes, all at the expense of the unassuming aliens.
Blomkamp's short film is available on Youtube, thankfully, and it's quite good. Give it a look, it's hardly seven minutes long:
Now, for comparison's sake, here's the new District 9 teaser:
District 9 hits screens on August 14. I'll be there, possibly at a midnight showing if any are scheduled.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Me Against Me: Slap-Boxing With The Toughest Of All Enemies
It must be akin to losing your virginity. Popping that cherry, breaking the underpants seal. Getting that first one out of the way, freeing your once-blocked spout to unleash the overflowing beast. The nerves and anxiety that preface the first time are heavy enough to turn you into Quasimoto. Weights on your shoulders that feel like anvils yet have no physical appearance. Leave you shooting blanks, time after time. The hardest obstacles to conquer are those which we can't see, of course, so this Claude Rains-like invisible villain is quite the formidable foe. Defeating the "I can't do it," or "I don't know how, I'm going to be terrible" enemy isn't impossible, however; it just takes dedication and a fearlessness that can come at any time.
I'm not talking about sex here, though. Smacking that first back can be anything to anybody. In my world, the immovable-for-the-time-being elephant in my head's room is that initial vision. One of the two dozen I have jotted down in my notepad of imagination, the lucky story that I'll cock back my shotty for and bust through my laptop's keyboard. An explosion of narrative, dialogue, and conflict. Mushroom clouds of fantasy, leaving a trail of made-up corpses as if Napalm had sprayed through the Land of Make Believe. "It smells like victory."
I often wonder how masters such as Richard Matheson, Rod Serling, and Stephen King were ever able to churn out so much fictional product with the ridiculous quickness. Natural born tale-tellers, they are/were. I truly think I have that same mental-assembly-line quality within me, I just need that premiere to take place, that proverbial red carpet to unravel.
Plenty of options are within my fingers' grasp, just need to pick the characters and set-up that most intrigue me and then run with them, like Emmitt in his prime. Just that, that damn insecurity/self-intimidation always comes into foul play. The unavoidable foe, the dastardly cockblock. Not that I doubt myself in the extreme sense that I don't think I'm able to be a great fiction mind; the dilemma is that I dream up this crazy, wild, inspired-by-Serling's-Twilight-Zone-and/or-EC-Comics'-old-Tales-from-the-Crypt ideas that I want to make sure are airtight. Filled with as much with and intelligence as scares and surprises. If I were just fiddling with romance or "coming of age" bullshit, I'd have written volumes of drafts by now. But I'm the kind of guy who habitually watches David Lynch films and that awesome T-Zone episode "Five Characters in Search of an Exit." That's the kind of storytelling that I want to execute. Not the norm. Nothing cute, pleasant, heartwarming. Punishing and cold rather than pretty and comfy.
I can feel that first attempt on the horizon, and it feels good. The necessary educational steps are being set in motion, to take me to that informed state of consciousness, where the creativity pours and the mind soars. Hand-to-keyboard exercises like all I've just written are therapeutic at best, productivity-delaying at worst. But, ultimately, steps in the right direction.
We all have our own demons. The dreams and goals that we aspire to yet constantly hold ourselves back from. Unfortunately, there is no exact science as to how we can emerge victorious, champions in our own soul-searching tournaments. I know that I'm ready to try on the belt. It's been way too long coming.
The fight will undoubtedly last all 12 rounds, but I'm confident that I have both the stamina and the strength to not pull a Ricky Hatton. It's time to Pacquiao.
I'm not talking about sex here, though. Smacking that first back can be anything to anybody. In my world, the immovable-for-the-time-being elephant in my head's room is that initial vision. One of the two dozen I have jotted down in my notepad of imagination, the lucky story that I'll cock back my shotty for and bust through my laptop's keyboard. An explosion of narrative, dialogue, and conflict. Mushroom clouds of fantasy, leaving a trail of made-up corpses as if Napalm had sprayed through the Land of Make Believe. "It smells like victory."
I often wonder how masters such as Richard Matheson, Rod Serling, and Stephen King were ever able to churn out so much fictional product with the ridiculous quickness. Natural born tale-tellers, they are/were. I truly think I have that same mental-assembly-line quality within me, I just need that premiere to take place, that proverbial red carpet to unravel.
Plenty of options are within my fingers' grasp, just need to pick the characters and set-up that most intrigue me and then run with them, like Emmitt in his prime. Just that, that damn insecurity/self-intimidation always comes into foul play. The unavoidable foe, the dastardly cockblock. Not that I doubt myself in the extreme sense that I don't think I'm able to be a great fiction mind; the dilemma is that I dream up this crazy, wild, inspired-by-Serling's-Twilight-Zone-and/or-EC-Comics'-old-Tales-from-the-Crypt ideas that I want to make sure are airtight. Filled with as much with and intelligence as scares and surprises. If I were just fiddling with romance or "coming of age" bullshit, I'd have written volumes of drafts by now. But I'm the kind of guy who habitually watches David Lynch films and that awesome T-Zone episode "Five Characters in Search of an Exit." That's the kind of storytelling that I want to execute. Not the norm. Nothing cute, pleasant, heartwarming. Punishing and cold rather than pretty and comfy.
I can feel that first attempt on the horizon, and it feels good. The necessary educational steps are being set in motion, to take me to that informed state of consciousness, where the creativity pours and the mind soars. Hand-to-keyboard exercises like all I've just written are therapeutic at best, productivity-delaying at worst. But, ultimately, steps in the right direction.
We all have our own demons. The dreams and goals that we aspire to yet constantly hold ourselves back from. Unfortunately, there is no exact science as to how we can emerge victorious, champions in our own soul-searching tournaments. I know that I'm ready to try on the belt. It's been way too long coming.
The fight will undoubtedly last all 12 rounds, but I'm confident that I have both the stamina and the strength to not pull a Ricky Hatton. It's time to Pacquiao.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Character posters for my two favorite Basterds show their Nazi-killing faces
Per the script, these are my two favorite Inglourious Basterds. Quentin Tarantino's sure-to-be-insane flick comes out on August 21 (which can't get here quick enough), but screens first at the Cannes Film Festival in less than a month. Meaning, some reviews and feedback will hit the Internet, all of which I'll read, consume, get angry at for seeing this before yours truly.
X-Man Matt would have the power to invisibly transport into prolific directors' editing rooms to watch their latest films before anybody else. My name would be The Watcher.
Meet the Basterds: Lt. Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt) and Sgt. Donnie Donowitz (Eli Roth, the fella responsible for Cabin Fever and the Hostel films)
Spotted over at: /Film
X-Man Matt would have the power to invisibly transport into prolific directors' editing rooms to watch their latest films before anybody else. My name would be The Watcher.
Meet the Basterds: Lt. Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt) and Sgt. Donnie Donowitz (Eli Roth, the fella responsible for Cabin Fever and the Hostel films)
Spotted over at: /Film
Netflix Fix -- Metropolis (1927)
How this film was made in 1927 is something that I'm truly confused by (in a less-than-literal sense), because Metropolis (1927) has such a behemoth scope and is full of so many forward-thinking themes that it'd be impossible for today's filmmakers to ever up its ante with any remake or revision. Considered one of the, if not the, most influential of all silent films, Metropolis is a film that any person in love with science fiction, or just fantasy storytelling in general, must see at least once in his/her lifetime. Which is exactly why I recently bumped it to the top of the Netflix Queue, a necessary action to rectify the sad issue of having slept on it for so damn long.
German director Fritz Lang's "masterpiece" (as its hailed by film scholars and writers alike, rightfully so) is such an artifact that its original print is long gone, but thankfully a close representation of that print has been pieced together for DVD through negatives and other crafty means. For instance, scenes lost from the original print are explained in on-screen text, often times four individual paragraphs in a row for extended chunks of missing reel. This doesn't hurt the experience, fortunately. What Lang captured was so massive that, no matter what year or under what context the film is seen, Metropolis feels like a big budget spectacle. Realize that this was conceived in 1927, though, and it's downright mindblowing. The explosions are all convincing, the finale's huge flash flood that engulfs hundreds of acting extras is flawless, and the pre-Frankenstein laboratory lightshow scenes are visually extraordinary.
Even the plot is ahead of it's then-time. Set in the year 2026, the film takes places in Metropolis, a progressive fictional city run by Joh Frederson, a wealthy leader who operates with subdued coldness rather than any unhinged tyranny. Frederson has divided the city into two factions: the slave-like workers who are forced to live underground and the upper class that gets to enjoy the fruits of Metropolis' utopian-like landscape. His son, Freder, wants to unite the two groups, though, and decides to live amongst the lowly workers. But when a revolt begins brewing within the workers' society, Frederson and a mad scientist named Rotwang intervene in pretty wild sci-fi ways. Metropolis: Rise Against the Machines would've been a fitting longer title.
Metropolis is also a haunting beast to sit with, due in no small part to its black-and-white, silent film aesthetic. Call me a bit soft, but silent films tend to creep me out more so than loud fare. No film has given me more nightmares than the FW Murnau/Max Schrek paralyzer Nosferatu (1922), and not many horror flicks can rip into the depths of my skin like Carl Dreyer's expressionist creepshow Vampyr (1932). Metropolis isn't scary in the same sense of those silent films, but Lang's movie features several images that are tough to forget. There's a Grim Reaper figure that stands alongside a lineup of minions that came out of nowhere and took Metropolis into an unexpected, momentary supernatural zone. The vacant black eyes of the cast, paired with the exaggerated acting needed to convey emotions in silent films, give the film an otherworldly quality inherent to unease, a trait used to perfection in a shot that fills the entire screen with floating, peeled-open-in-amazement eyeballs.
The lab scene (though with different music; this isn't the score heard in Lang's film):
Metropolis is two hours long (including an "Intermezzo," or intermission), but it doesn't feel that long. I'll admit, the two-hour-length was intitially intimidating. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to make it through a silent film of such length, only because it's been a long-ass time since I've watched a silent. In no way was I expecting the film to be as convincingly brolic in scope as it is, though, so its runtime became frivolous once the show got on the road.
It may have taken me much longer than it should have to sit down with Metropolis, free of distraction, but since when is lateness irreconcilable? Besides, I'll have plenty of time to catch up now that I'm unable to shake the film out of my brain.
German director Fritz Lang's "masterpiece" (as its hailed by film scholars and writers alike, rightfully so) is such an artifact that its original print is long gone, but thankfully a close representation of that print has been pieced together for DVD through negatives and other crafty means. For instance, scenes lost from the original print are explained in on-screen text, often times four individual paragraphs in a row for extended chunks of missing reel. This doesn't hurt the experience, fortunately. What Lang captured was so massive that, no matter what year or under what context the film is seen, Metropolis feels like a big budget spectacle. Realize that this was conceived in 1927, though, and it's downright mindblowing. The explosions are all convincing, the finale's huge flash flood that engulfs hundreds of acting extras is flawless, and the pre-Frankenstein laboratory lightshow scenes are visually extraordinary.
Even the plot is ahead of it's then-time. Set in the year 2026, the film takes places in Metropolis, a progressive fictional city run by Joh Frederson, a wealthy leader who operates with subdued coldness rather than any unhinged tyranny. Frederson has divided the city into two factions: the slave-like workers who are forced to live underground and the upper class that gets to enjoy the fruits of Metropolis' utopian-like landscape. His son, Freder, wants to unite the two groups, though, and decides to live amongst the lowly workers. But when a revolt begins brewing within the workers' society, Frederson and a mad scientist named Rotwang intervene in pretty wild sci-fi ways. Metropolis: Rise Against the Machines would've been a fitting longer title.
Metropolis is also a haunting beast to sit with, due in no small part to its black-and-white, silent film aesthetic. Call me a bit soft, but silent films tend to creep me out more so than loud fare. No film has given me more nightmares than the FW Murnau/Max Schrek paralyzer Nosferatu (1922), and not many horror flicks can rip into the depths of my skin like Carl Dreyer's expressionist creepshow Vampyr (1932). Metropolis isn't scary in the same sense of those silent films, but Lang's movie features several images that are tough to forget. There's a Grim Reaper figure that stands alongside a lineup of minions that came out of nowhere and took Metropolis into an unexpected, momentary supernatural zone. The vacant black eyes of the cast, paired with the exaggerated acting needed to convey emotions in silent films, give the film an otherworldly quality inherent to unease, a trait used to perfection in a shot that fills the entire screen with floating, peeled-open-in-amazement eyeballs.
The lab scene (though with different music; this isn't the score heard in Lang's film):
Metropolis is two hours long (including an "Intermezzo," or intermission), but it doesn't feel that long. I'll admit, the two-hour-length was intitially intimidating. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to make it through a silent film of such length, only because it's been a long-ass time since I've watched a silent. In no way was I expecting the film to be as convincingly brolic in scope as it is, though, so its runtime became frivolous once the show got on the road.
It may have taken me much longer than it should have to sit down with Metropolis, free of distraction, but since when is lateness irreconcilable? Besides, I'll have plenty of time to catch up now that I'm unable to shake the film out of my brain.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Eminem's "3 A.M." video.....
.....has actually made me like the song much more than before. Not sure why I was so resistant to the track since I'm usually all about conceptual lyricism. The visuals brought this one home, no question.
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