In the Coen Brothers’ latest exercise in esoteric cynicism, “A Serious Man,” Larry Gopnik (Michael Stuhlbarg) is trying to do the right thing. He goes to work, comes home and, like the passive little worker bee he is, seldom tinkers with anything outside of the cozy confines of his suburban Jewish community. He’s the type of old-school neurotic who views the outside world as a secular, hyper-sexualized volcano waiting to erupt over the sacred values he once held dear. His wife has fallen for their close friend, his son would rather smoke pot and listen to Jefferson Airplane than be bar mitzvahed and his job as a Physics professor hangs in the balance following a student’s ill-advised attempt at bribery. The only thing keeping him grounded is the glimmer of hope that somehow, some way, his faith in Hashem will lead him to salvation.
In the past, critics have accused the Coens of showing little compassion for their characters, but this time things aren’t so cut and dry. We get the sense that they feel for Larry even though his misfortunes are played for biting comedic effect and they manage to craft an impeccable meditation on life through the eyes of a man whose quest for clarity is derailed by a string of spiritual speed bumps. No matter how many temples he attends or how many rabbis he talks to, he’s forced to discover that the true answer lies in one’s ability to wrestle their way out of any situation regardless of how bleak things get and Stuhlbarg conveys all of this with effortless resonance and panic.
It may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but it should challenge anyone who appreciates comedy that isn’t so much manufactured as it is a by-product of what R.E.M. fans already know as “life’s rich pageant.”
- **** out of 4
How’s this for a script?
We’ll take the endearing everyman mystique of Paul Blart and combine it with the post-Vietnam psychosis of Travis Bickle to create a static tale of an overweight mall cop with a creepy penchant for assault weapons and date rape. It’ll be a good, old-fashioned celebration of the second amendment and how anyone can take the law into their own hands whenever the mood strikes.
Sold yet?
If not, you’re probably wondering what exactly the point of it all is. Is it an argument in favor of gun control or a gratuitously brash comedy from Jody Hill and Seth Rogen called "Observe and Report" that makes the mayhem in “Pineapple Express” look tame in comparison? Is it both? I could take the time to explain whatever merits the creators think they have here but, outside of Rogen’s dedicated performance, the well runs dry rather quickly.
- ** out of 4
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Michael Jackson's "This Is It"
Since “The T.A.M.I Show” was released on December 29, 1964, the film industry has been trying to capture the definitive cinematic concert experience.
In the 70’s, we had “Woodstock” and “The Last Waltz.” In the 80s, we had “Stop Making Sense” and “U2: Rattle and Hum.” In the 90s, we had “Madonna: Truth or Dare” and the appalling, flag-burning abattoir known as Woodstock ’99 on pay-per-view.
Now, in 2009, we have Michael Jackson’s “This Is It,” an electrifying last-minute exercise in self-aggrandizement from an embattled visionary desperate to reclaim his throne as the undisputed “King of Pop.”
If you ask me, the tagline for this film should’ve read “Caution: Mad Genius At Work,” because that’s exactly what we’re seeing here.
It’s a lavish eruption of whimsical sights and vociferous sounds guaranteed to make you question every drug-addled, skeletonian image trotted out by Nancy Grace during the months following his death.
We’re given a behind-the-scenes glimpse into the opus of a 50-year-old artiste in search of whatever sense of absolution he can attain and, had the concerts been able to go on as scheduled, I think we would’ve been looking at one of the greatest musical endeavors of modern times.
Whether it was the towering, Peter Jackson-esque production value or the pulsating finesse of 24-year-old Orianthi Panagaris on guitar, everything seemed to be pointing toward Jackson’s return to prominence. He had the look, energy, personnel and ever-present air of youthful exuberance needed to pull off such an ambitious task, which director Kenny Ortega makes sure to highlight on more than one occasion.
The only thing standing in his way appeared to be his reluctance to surround himself with people willing to tell him “no,” because the more he wanted, the less likely it became for others to resist giving into his demands. He lived his entire life in the midst of people so enamored by his genius that they seldom questioned what direction he was taking, so I guess it’s only appropriate that the circumstances of his death be clouded by a sea of proverbial “What ifs.”
As for the set-list, does it really need to be revealed?
You know the songs, you know the albums. Go experience it for yourself and, hopefully, you’ll gain a deeper appreciation for just how unique he really was.
- **** out of 4
In the 70’s, we had “Woodstock” and “The Last Waltz.” In the 80s, we had “Stop Making Sense” and “U2: Rattle and Hum.” In the 90s, we had “Madonna: Truth or Dare” and the appalling, flag-burning abattoir known as Woodstock ’99 on pay-per-view.
Now, in 2009, we have Michael Jackson’s “This Is It,” an electrifying last-minute exercise in self-aggrandizement from an embattled visionary desperate to reclaim his throne as the undisputed “King of Pop.”
If you ask me, the tagline for this film should’ve read “Caution: Mad Genius At Work,” because that’s exactly what we’re seeing here.
It’s a lavish eruption of whimsical sights and vociferous sounds guaranteed to make you question every drug-addled, skeletonian image trotted out by Nancy Grace during the months following his death.
We’re given a behind-the-scenes glimpse into the opus of a 50-year-old artiste in search of whatever sense of absolution he can attain and, had the concerts been able to go on as scheduled, I think we would’ve been looking at one of the greatest musical endeavors of modern times.
Whether it was the towering, Peter Jackson-esque production value or the pulsating finesse of 24-year-old Orianthi Panagaris on guitar, everything seemed to be pointing toward Jackson’s return to prominence. He had the look, energy, personnel and ever-present air of youthful exuberance needed to pull off such an ambitious task, which director Kenny Ortega makes sure to highlight on more than one occasion.
The only thing standing in his way appeared to be his reluctance to surround himself with people willing to tell him “no,” because the more he wanted, the less likely it became for others to resist giving into his demands. He lived his entire life in the midst of people so enamored by his genius that they seldom questioned what direction he was taking, so I guess it’s only appropriate that the circumstances of his death be clouded by a sea of proverbial “What ifs.”
As for the set-list, does it really need to be revealed?
You know the songs, you know the albums. Go experience it for yourself and, hopefully, you’ll gain a deeper appreciation for just how unique he really was.
- **** out of 4
Antichrist
It’s been almost a month since I’ve seen Lars Von Trier’s “Antichrist” yet I’m still not quite sure what to make of it.
Is it the most vibrantly insulting decimation of society’s moral fiber ever created? Does Von Trier deserve to be institutionalized for even suggesting that civilized filmgoers would find entertainment in a soporific tale involving the slow-motion death of a child and female genital mutilation?
Honestly, I wouldn’t know where to begin with those questions, but I can say that the veracity with which the material is handled makes it one of the most challenging cinematic experiences you’ll find all year.
Willem Dafoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg star as a couple who retreat to a cabin in the woods following the tragic loss of their son and what unfolds is frightening, appalling and mesmerizing all at once, because the plot is always measured and never simple.
I’m fighting the urge to reveal just an iota of what the plot entails, because a film this dichotomous deserves to be seen minus any preconceptions. The austere reality present here is so stunningly alive that I can’t help but think of it as a piece of gothic performance art that won’t be appreciated until much later on down the line.
- *** ½ out of 4
Is it the most vibrantly insulting decimation of society’s moral fiber ever created? Does Von Trier deserve to be institutionalized for even suggesting that civilized filmgoers would find entertainment in a soporific tale involving the slow-motion death of a child and female genital mutilation?
Honestly, I wouldn’t know where to begin with those questions, but I can say that the veracity with which the material is handled makes it one of the most challenging cinematic experiences you’ll find all year.
Willem Dafoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg star as a couple who retreat to a cabin in the woods following the tragic loss of their son and what unfolds is frightening, appalling and mesmerizing all at once, because the plot is always measured and never simple.
I’m fighting the urge to reveal just an iota of what the plot entails, because a film this dichotomous deserves to be seen minus any preconceptions. The austere reality present here is so stunningly alive that I can’t help but think of it as a piece of gothic performance art that won’t be appreciated until much later on down the line.
- *** ½ out of 4
Thoughts on Health Care #2
In my opinion, changes in the public perception of physicians are becoming more and more common as the years progress, because everyone has their own idea of what a doctor’s purpose should be. While shows such as “House” and “ER” often portray them as unflappable, all-knowing gurus who can effectively tackle any illness in front of them, the reality is that they aren’t always as personable or confident as the media leads you to believe.
People need to realize that they are fallible human beings who use their knowledge and intuitive skills to help people to the best of their ability, which is rarely accomplished in the course of one evening visit. Gone are the days when being a doctor was universally considered as an elite status symbol because, if the recent death of Michael Jackson taught us anything, it’s that doctors can cause more harm than good if they succumb to the pressure.
Cases such as the Michael Jackson debacle can be seen as major contributors to the growing distrust of people in the medical profession, because the public is already skeptical of health care and seeing Dr. Conrad Murray become somewhat of a professional drug dealer only adds to the hysteria.
With so many people turning to home remedies or alternative medicine, it appears that the idea exists that people no longer have to trust or rely on their family physician to solve every problem, especially with health insurance rates skyrocketing out of control.
I know plenty of people who would rather consult Web MD than take time out of their day to wait at a clinic, so I think that the more information people receive from outlets such as newspapers or the Internet, the more they’ll begin to second guess a doctor’s ability to treat them successfully.
People need to realize that they are fallible human beings who use their knowledge and intuitive skills to help people to the best of their ability, which is rarely accomplished in the course of one evening visit. Gone are the days when being a doctor was universally considered as an elite status symbol because, if the recent death of Michael Jackson taught us anything, it’s that doctors can cause more harm than good if they succumb to the pressure.
Cases such as the Michael Jackson debacle can be seen as major contributors to the growing distrust of people in the medical profession, because the public is already skeptical of health care and seeing Dr. Conrad Murray become somewhat of a professional drug dealer only adds to the hysteria.
With so many people turning to home remedies or alternative medicine, it appears that the idea exists that people no longer have to trust or rely on their family physician to solve every problem, especially with health insurance rates skyrocketing out of control.
I know plenty of people who would rather consult Web MD than take time out of their day to wait at a clinic, so I think that the more information people receive from outlets such as newspapers or the Internet, the more they’ll begin to second guess a doctor’s ability to treat them successfully.
Thoughts on Health Care #1
What irritates me most about American health care is the amount of statistics that are often unjustly downplayed by the national media. Facts such as “1/3 of all deaths are attributed to infectious disease” and “life expectancy in the United States has increased from 47 to 77.8 since 1900” are both upsetting examples of how even a technological superpower like the United States can be so unequivocally behind countries that are less complacent in their superiority (The US ranks 45th in life expectancy).
We’re constantly fed words and images portraying America as being the greatest place on Earth yet this country’s true prominence should really be measured by its ability to recognize weakness and, in turn, discover ways to rectify the crisis before it spirals out of control.
People think that Michael Moore is nothing but a shameless self-promoter who profits from the very institutions he condemns, but when he put forth the notion that “America has the best health care in the world until you get sick,” he may have been onto something.
Another element I find particularly illuminating is the idea that Malaria had been all but eliminated by 1965, because it’s one of the most treacherous diseases in the world today. With over 400 million people infected each year, I can’t help but wonder how exactly the medical community deemed it to no longer be an international threat.
It seems that political pandering has a lot to do with the way society views certain diseases, because while cases such as SARS and the so-called Swine Flu are paraded ad nauseum in the public eye, Malaria is simply accepted as a part of life allowed to persist unabated.
Policy makers have the ability to control how certain stories are covered, so I would like to believe that the obligation to truth would overtake everything else, but rarely do things ever play out in such uncontroversial fashion.
I’ve long been fascinated about health care in America and I have an eerie feeling that the more I learn, the less likely it is that I’ll be enamored by what I’m finding out.
We’re constantly fed words and images portraying America as being the greatest place on Earth yet this country’s true prominence should really be measured by its ability to recognize weakness and, in turn, discover ways to rectify the crisis before it spirals out of control.
People think that Michael Moore is nothing but a shameless self-promoter who profits from the very institutions he condemns, but when he put forth the notion that “America has the best health care in the world until you get sick,” he may have been onto something.
Another element I find particularly illuminating is the idea that Malaria had been all but eliminated by 1965, because it’s one of the most treacherous diseases in the world today. With over 400 million people infected each year, I can’t help but wonder how exactly the medical community deemed it to no longer be an international threat.
It seems that political pandering has a lot to do with the way society views certain diseases, because while cases such as SARS and the so-called Swine Flu are paraded ad nauseum in the public eye, Malaria is simply accepted as a part of life allowed to persist unabated.
Policy makers have the ability to control how certain stories are covered, so I would like to believe that the obligation to truth would overtake everything else, but rarely do things ever play out in such uncontroversial fashion.
I’ve long been fascinated about health care in America and I have an eerie feeling that the more I learn, the less likely it is that I’ll be enamored by what I’m finding out.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Seven Day Faith reunites for hometown fans
In the winter of 2004, one could say that Niagara Falls-based power-pop quartet Seven Day Faith had reached the pinnacle of local prominence.
They had two full-length albums, a string of delectably saccharin hits on Buffalo’s Kiss 98.5 and even a spot opening for Avril Lavigne in front of 20,000 people at the station’s annual “Kissmas” Bash. They were an act on the rise, an engaging group of twenty-something dreamers who combined the melodic sentimentality of Bon Jovi with the hard-partying haste of Motley Crüe to create what sounded like the Boy Band of the Sunset Strip.
So why, then, nearly five years later does the name not permeate the eyes and ears of every fervent 14-year-old girl from here to Seattle?
While some might attribute their dissolution to mismanagement, dwindling interest or just plain bad fortune, their performance at the Hard Rock Café last Friday night leads me to believe that they were no longer jelling together on a creative level.
At numerous points in the set, it seemed as if they were all traveling in their own musical direction, only to reconvene at a time when the song was in need of a bombastic finish.
Songs such as “Wake Up” and “I Can’t Stand It” that usually sound crisp and clean instead came off as muffled and uneven, so moderate fans may have been left with a somewhat distant feeling of what the band is really like.
Then again, lead vocalist Rob Bilson, guitarists John Rosini and Rob Burgio (both now of Ransomville) and drummer Rob Ferenc have played together sparingly over the last few years, so was anyone really expecting a well-oiled musical machine?
Don’t get me wrong, I thought they definitely brought it on certain songs (“Forever and a Day” and “Nobody Else” come to mind), but the intangible aura of cohesion that all great bands possess didn’t appear to be there. Rosini and Burgio rip seamlessly through the fretboards yet feel like they’re in two totally different bands and Bilson no longer sounds emotionally invested in the material, so maybe their time together has indeed come and passed. I can say that Ferenc’s extended drum solo provided the evening with a much-needed kick, because rarely is the rhythm section given total control over the proceedings.
Was it their best work? No, but they sure as hell played with more pep than Theory of a Deadman did at Crue Fest which, in my book, has to count for something. I prefer to think of the first time I saw them back in April 2004 and how revved up they were on stage, because there’s something inherently likable about such a radiant homage to 1980s arena rock that makes you wonder where it all went wrong.
They had two full-length albums, a string of delectably saccharin hits on Buffalo’s Kiss 98.5 and even a spot opening for Avril Lavigne in front of 20,000 people at the station’s annual “Kissmas” Bash. They were an act on the rise, an engaging group of twenty-something dreamers who combined the melodic sentimentality of Bon Jovi with the hard-partying haste of Motley Crüe to create what sounded like the Boy Band of the Sunset Strip.
So why, then, nearly five years later does the name not permeate the eyes and ears of every fervent 14-year-old girl from here to Seattle?
While some might attribute their dissolution to mismanagement, dwindling interest or just plain bad fortune, their performance at the Hard Rock Café last Friday night leads me to believe that they were no longer jelling together on a creative level.
At numerous points in the set, it seemed as if they were all traveling in their own musical direction, only to reconvene at a time when the song was in need of a bombastic finish.
Songs such as “Wake Up” and “I Can’t Stand It” that usually sound crisp and clean instead came off as muffled and uneven, so moderate fans may have been left with a somewhat distant feeling of what the band is really like.
Then again, lead vocalist Rob Bilson, guitarists John Rosini and Rob Burgio (both now of Ransomville) and drummer Rob Ferenc have played together sparingly over the last few years, so was anyone really expecting a well-oiled musical machine?
Don’t get me wrong, I thought they definitely brought it on certain songs (“Forever and a Day” and “Nobody Else” come to mind), but the intangible aura of cohesion that all great bands possess didn’t appear to be there. Rosini and Burgio rip seamlessly through the fretboards yet feel like they’re in two totally different bands and Bilson no longer sounds emotionally invested in the material, so maybe their time together has indeed come and passed. I can say that Ferenc’s extended drum solo provided the evening with a much-needed kick, because rarely is the rhythm section given total control over the proceedings.
Was it their best work? No, but they sure as hell played with more pep than Theory of a Deadman did at Crue Fest which, in my book, has to count for something. I prefer to think of the first time I saw them back in April 2004 and how revved up they were on stage, because there’s something inherently likable about such a radiant homage to 1980s arena rock that makes you wonder where it all went wrong.
The Trews show WNY some love
“You took a gamble on the weather and you won” said lead singer of The Trews Colin MacDonald prior to their show at Artpark back in July and, believe me, the deafening ovation that followed showed just how aware the audience was of their improbable kismet.
I say improbable, because the day had been consumed by unremitting rains and ominous skies that showed no sign of letting up until the concert was already underway.
Call it divine intervention or just plain coincidence, but the sun blazed through the hazy Lewiston air just as the band tore into their opening number “Dark Highway” and instantly set the tone for what was to be a dynamic evening of potent Canadian rock music.
Out to support their latest release “No Time for Later,” The Trews were on fire from the start and seemed to know exactly what the diehard followers wanted to hear. “Not Ready to Go,” “So She’s Leaving,” “Paranoid Freak” and “Can’t Stop Laughing” were all flawless in their operation, so the chances of anyone going home disappointed were eradicated rather early in the proceedings.
What I’ve always liked about this modest band from Antagonish, Nova Scotia is its aversion to anything resembling the bloated, over-sensationalized rock and roll we’ve become accustomed to hearing on commercial radio as of late.
No pyrotechnics, no synthesizers and certainly no electronic voice manipulation to make MacDonald sound like T-Pain or Akon.
They’re simply an awesome, no-frills bar band that is finally getting the attention they deserve and the timing couldn’t be better.
High points of the set include a timely yet chilling acoustic take on Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” as well as scorching covers of Humble Pie’s “30 Days in the Hole” and the Rolling Stones’ “Gimme Shelter.”
The cover portion of the show is an opportunity for guitarist John-Angus MacDonald to unleash his chops and disappear to a planet that hasn’t even been discovered yet. He becomes a one-man show whose instrument takes on a feral existence of its own throughout each searing tinge of the solo, while the bystanders have no choice but to look on in deep approbation.
I've caught them twice this year and both shows were as high-energy as they come, so I urge you to check them out the next time they’re in the area.
For those who can’t wait, The Trews will be at the Water Street Music Hall in Rochester on Sept. 26 and just a quick jaunt over the border in Hamilton, Ont. on Nov. 11 for a show at The Studio at Hamilton Place.
See ticketmaster.com or ticketmaster.ca for details.
I say improbable, because the day had been consumed by unremitting rains and ominous skies that showed no sign of letting up until the concert was already underway.
Call it divine intervention or just plain coincidence, but the sun blazed through the hazy Lewiston air just as the band tore into their opening number “Dark Highway” and instantly set the tone for what was to be a dynamic evening of potent Canadian rock music.
Out to support their latest release “No Time for Later,” The Trews were on fire from the start and seemed to know exactly what the diehard followers wanted to hear. “Not Ready to Go,” “So She’s Leaving,” “Paranoid Freak” and “Can’t Stop Laughing” were all flawless in their operation, so the chances of anyone going home disappointed were eradicated rather early in the proceedings.
What I’ve always liked about this modest band from Antagonish, Nova Scotia is its aversion to anything resembling the bloated, over-sensationalized rock and roll we’ve become accustomed to hearing on commercial radio as of late.
No pyrotechnics, no synthesizers and certainly no electronic voice manipulation to make MacDonald sound like T-Pain or Akon.
They’re simply an awesome, no-frills bar band that is finally getting the attention they deserve and the timing couldn’t be better.
High points of the set include a timely yet chilling acoustic take on Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” as well as scorching covers of Humble Pie’s “30 Days in the Hole” and the Rolling Stones’ “Gimme Shelter.”
The cover portion of the show is an opportunity for guitarist John-Angus MacDonald to unleash his chops and disappear to a planet that hasn’t even been discovered yet. He becomes a one-man show whose instrument takes on a feral existence of its own throughout each searing tinge of the solo, while the bystanders have no choice but to look on in deep approbation.
I've caught them twice this year and both shows were as high-energy as they come, so I urge you to check them out the next time they’re in the area.
For those who can’t wait, The Trews will be at the Water Street Music Hall in Rochester on Sept. 26 and just a quick jaunt over the border in Hamilton, Ont. on Nov. 11 for a show at The Studio at Hamilton Place.
See ticketmaster.com or ticketmaster.ca for details.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Crue Fest 2
Ah, the wonders of Crue Fest.
10 Bands, two stages and 20,000 partially inebriated metalheads chomping at the bit to experience what are supposed to be today's finest hard rock ensembles.
Seriously, what could be better than seven hours of balls-to-the-wall distortion and predictably morose lyricisms?
Well, if the crowd at Darien Lake on Saturday meant anything, there aren't too many things ambitious enough to fit that bill. The vibe was raucous from the onset and people were anxious to get down to business. Keep in mind that a festival atmosphere enables you to pick and choose which bands are deserving of your attention, so not only do you get music, but you also end up purging calories running back and forth between each stage.
This must be what Quiet Riot had in mind when they wrote "Metal Health," but I could be wrong.
Due to scheduling, I was only able to catch seven bands on the bill and,sadly, not all of them performed at the same level of ferocity. Some rocked, some shocked and some were just glad to be out of the house.
Rather than compose a traditional review, I decided to go through the bands one by one and give you a snapshot of what they're all about.
Here it goes:
Charm City Devils - I arrived just as they were jumping into their last two numbers, so I can't really offer too much detail. However, I heard enough to know that overly-simplistic arrangements and cheese-filled choruses can only get you so far before people start clamoring for the exit.
16 Second Stare - Deafening riffs, plentiful F-bombs and Atreyu-esque throat contortions sum-up this portion of the program, but a lot of fans seem to enjoy that sort of thing. Comedian George Carlin once wonderedwhat a wolverine would sound like on PCP, so maybe that gives you an idea of what this band focused on.
Drowning Pool - The bodies were literally hitting the floor during their signature track, so it was pretty cool seeing how far the audience would take the mayhem. Although the rest of the set droned on at times, they still kicked it pretty hard when necessary.
Theory of a Deadman - As someone who likes this band a great deal, I was disappointed with their lackluster showing on Saturday. Frontman Tyler Connolly's voice sounded way too coarse and high-pitched during songs like"Bad Girlfriend" and "So Happy," which threw off the entire feeling usually conveyed through their music. Maybe it was the sound system or maybe it was the fact that they'd been on tour for three months, but something was definitely off.
Rev Theory - This explosive five-piece stole the show behind searing vocals from Rich Luzzi, because they actually emitted an aura of appreciation. They embraced the crowd, they sounded fantastic and they left every ounce of energy on the stage behind them. Given that they had such a small window with which to work, I can only imagine what they would do as a headliner.
Godsmack - Let me preface this by saying that I like Godsmack. I really do, but it's hard to envision this band's existence without taking into account everything Alice in Chains did during the early 1990s. The mystical vocal range, the depressing thematic range and the love affair with Drop-D are all reminiscent of Staley and Cantrell's metallic brilliance, so keep that in mind every time you listen.
As for their set, it was filled with the usual hits like "Awake," "Keep Away" and "Voodoo," but Sully Erna was a little too standoffish to make the performance seem like anything other than a routine procedure. He kept inciting the crowd to get crazy by hurling cups of beer and getting upset when they didn't catch them, so I guess there's just no pleasing some people. Musically, they sounded great, but the overall stage presence just wasn't up to par.
Motley Crue - Nearly 30 years into their career, the bad boys of the Sunset Strip are still kicking out the jams. Vince Neil, Nikki Sixx, Mick Mars and Tommy Lee can always be counted on for a party and their double set to close out the festival was certainly an energetic endeavor. The Dr. Feelgood album was performed in its entirety followed by a mixture of old and new hits that kept people wanting more which, to the haters, couldn't have been a good sign.
10 Bands, two stages and 20,000 partially inebriated metalheads chomping at the bit to experience what are supposed to be today's finest hard rock ensembles.
Seriously, what could be better than seven hours of balls-to-the-wall distortion and predictably morose lyricisms?
Well, if the crowd at Darien Lake on Saturday meant anything, there aren't too many things ambitious enough to fit that bill. The vibe was raucous from the onset and people were anxious to get down to business. Keep in mind that a festival atmosphere enables you to pick and choose which bands are deserving of your attention, so not only do you get music, but you also end up purging calories running back and forth between each stage.
This must be what Quiet Riot had in mind when they wrote "Metal Health," but I could be wrong.
Due to scheduling, I was only able to catch seven bands on the bill and,sadly, not all of them performed at the same level of ferocity. Some rocked, some shocked and some were just glad to be out of the house.
Rather than compose a traditional review, I decided to go through the bands one by one and give you a snapshot of what they're all about.
Here it goes:
Charm City Devils - I arrived just as they were jumping into their last two numbers, so I can't really offer too much detail. However, I heard enough to know that overly-simplistic arrangements and cheese-filled choruses can only get you so far before people start clamoring for the exit.
16 Second Stare - Deafening riffs, plentiful F-bombs and Atreyu-esque throat contortions sum-up this portion of the program, but a lot of fans seem to enjoy that sort of thing. Comedian George Carlin once wonderedwhat a wolverine would sound like on PCP, so maybe that gives you an idea of what this band focused on.
Drowning Pool - The bodies were literally hitting the floor during their signature track, so it was pretty cool seeing how far the audience would take the mayhem. Although the rest of the set droned on at times, they still kicked it pretty hard when necessary.
Theory of a Deadman - As someone who likes this band a great deal, I was disappointed with their lackluster showing on Saturday. Frontman Tyler Connolly's voice sounded way too coarse and high-pitched during songs like"Bad Girlfriend" and "So Happy," which threw off the entire feeling usually conveyed through their music. Maybe it was the sound system or maybe it was the fact that they'd been on tour for three months, but something was definitely off.
Rev Theory - This explosive five-piece stole the show behind searing vocals from Rich Luzzi, because they actually emitted an aura of appreciation. They embraced the crowd, they sounded fantastic and they left every ounce of energy on the stage behind them. Given that they had such a small window with which to work, I can only imagine what they would do as a headliner.
Godsmack - Let me preface this by saying that I like Godsmack. I really do, but it's hard to envision this band's existence without taking into account everything Alice in Chains did during the early 1990s. The mystical vocal range, the depressing thematic range and the love affair with Drop-D are all reminiscent of Staley and Cantrell's metallic brilliance, so keep that in mind every time you listen.
As for their set, it was filled with the usual hits like "Awake," "Keep Away" and "Voodoo," but Sully Erna was a little too standoffish to make the performance seem like anything other than a routine procedure. He kept inciting the crowd to get crazy by hurling cups of beer and getting upset when they didn't catch them, so I guess there's just no pleasing some people. Musically, they sounded great, but the overall stage presence just wasn't up to par.
Motley Crue - Nearly 30 years into their career, the bad boys of the Sunset Strip are still kicking out the jams. Vince Neil, Nikki Sixx, Mick Mars and Tommy Lee can always be counted on for a party and their double set to close out the festival was certainly an energetic endeavor. The Dr. Feelgood album was performed in its entirety followed by a mixture of old and new hits that kept people wanting more which, to the haters, couldn't have been a good sign.
Friday, August 28, 2009
End of the Summer Film Frenzy
A time will come in every person’s life when they’re forced to look inward and discover just how concrete their ability to navigate through tough times really is. For the haughty, well-to-do siblings in Olivier Assayas’s gorgeous new film “Summer Hours,” that time proves to be testier than expected when their 75-year-old mother dies, leaving them to quarrel over a collection of priceless artifacts she leaves behind. To call it a sibling rivalry would imply that they all feel entitled to a piece of the pie, but that’s simply not the case here.
Two of them are eager to let go of the past and allow the pieces to go their separate ways, but one isn’t quite ready to relinquish a life he once cherished. Watching them sort through the debris, both physical and emotional, is heartwarming to the core and something I have more than a modicum of experience with.
Beautifully shot, debonair in its production and boasting eloquent work from Juliette Binoche, Charles Berling and Jérémie Renier, I suggest you seek it out and revel in its sheer majesty.
- **** out of 4
It’s been referred to as Judd Apatow’s “death movie,” his unconcealed attempt at meriting the respect of Hollywood’s elite as well as devout film scholars who find his brand of cinema to be less than artful. Sure, the fragility of being is explored at times, but the reality of “Funny People” is one that defies such asinine prejudgment. The much-heralded comedic genius behind “Freaks and Geeks” and “The 40-Year-Old Virgin” has crafted an astute celebration of life through the cynical, self-loathing eyes of a millionaire actor who returns to his stand-up comedy roots after being diagnosed with a rare form of Leukemia.
For the first time in his career, Adam Sandler embodies a character that is undoubtedly a living, breathing grown-up and he knocks it out of the park. He makes George Simmons a well-rounded smart-ass who uses humor to avoid dealing with the harsh reality in which he finds himself, so when the occasion comes for him to finally open-up, the movie becomes much more than a raunchy battle of wits. The camaraderie he develops with up-and-comer Ira Wright (played brilliantly by Seth Rogen) makes for a sea of hysterical moments involving Judaism and dick jokes, which both seem to be synonymous with the Apatow brand.
As someone who was on the fence about Sandler’s dramatic potential, I can’t say enough about his performance here and would love to see the Academy reward him for the effort.
- *** ½ out of 4
Just when I thought J.J. Abrams had all but sealed the deal on Science Fiction for 2009, along comes British director Neill Blomkamp with a work so raw, so distinctive and so shocking that I won’t hesitate to call it an early candidate for my year-end column. His “District 9” is an ascetic window into a world overrun by soulless bureaucrats who can’t resist the opportunity for profit when aliens touch down over Johannesburg, South Africa. Not even a national crisis can keep the human thirst for dominion at bay, so the real-life parallels drawn here are sure to have audiences foaming at the mouth over the appalling display of power. The outlook is bleak, the creatures are the epitome of grotesque and the only chance for survival comes down to a shrill, pusillanimous company man who suddenly finds himself at the center of chaos.
Sharlto Copley gives one of the most riveting performances of the year as Wikus van de Merwe and deserves to have his name thrown around come award season. He’s cocky, irritating and downright moronic at the outset, but something happens during the second act that brings out the best in his character. Wikus goes from zero to hero and becomes a vulnerable, determined fugitive who discovers how disposable his existence really is. We feel his anguish and, despite prior intolerance, are with him until the bitter end.
Dystopian films such as “Children of Men” and “The Road” certainly come to mind, but the extraterrestrial presence adds a much crazier dimension to the narrative that sets it apart. Anytime a filmmaker is ballsy enough to introduce inter-species prostitution as a possible outlet for stress, I’m inclined to believe that we’ll never see anything remotely similar ever again. There’s something refreshing about a filmmaker who’s willing to obliterate all conventionality and I can only hope that future Sci-Fi pictures follow suit.
- **** out of 4
“Movies are so rarely great art that if we cannot appreciate great trash we have very little reason to be interested in them” – Pauline Kael
I quote the great Pauline Kael, because her words make me feel less irate over watching the latest “Fatal Attraction” facsimile “Obsessed,” starring Idris Elba, Beyonce Knowles and Ali Larter (stunning, as usual). The film tries to be sleek, sexy and every other provocative concept in the book, but how much tension can possibly be generated when the supposed affair is just a wicked hallucination drummed up out of loneliness? Can you get emotionally invested knowing that the two characters in question never actually had a relationship? I certainly wasn’t but, then again, I’m probably not the target audience for a film like this anyway.
- ** out of 4
“The Haunting in Connecticut” is supposedly based on true events, but I have difficulty believing that everything went down exactly the way it’s portrayed on screen. Sources have even come out since and stated that no paranormal activity has been reported in the house since the Snedeker family left, so who really knows for sure? I can say that the film is chilling enough in spots to make it passable and Virginia Madsen’s presence is always a welcomed sight.
-** ½ out of 4
I know it may be sacrilegious to say so, but Greg Mottola’s infinitely delightful ode to summer romance “Adventureland” is much better than his 2007 romp “Superbad.” He captures the sights and sounds of 1987 to a tee and hits just the right note when exploring a budding relationship between Jesse Eisenberg and Kristen Stewart. Upon seeing the trailer, I honestly didn’t care to give it a second look, but it’s one of those films that comes out of nowhere to steal your heart and I’d recommend it to anyone looking for a sweet little burst of nostalgia.
- **** out of 4 (Bill Hader and Kristen Wiig are stellar yet again)
Iron Maiden is often billed as “the biggest band in the world” and watching an endless array of metalheads from Mumbai wail the chorus to “Aces High” makes that sentiment quite difficult to dispute. Tack on concerts in Italy, Japan, Latvia, Costa Rica, Denmark, Croatia etc. and you get a semblance of what their captivating new documentary “Iron Maiden: Flight 666” is all about. They’re incredible on stage and the film gives you a behind-the-scenes view of their day-to-day operations while on tour, so if you’re a fan of the music, you’ll love every minute of it.
- **** out of 4
Two of them are eager to let go of the past and allow the pieces to go their separate ways, but one isn’t quite ready to relinquish a life he once cherished. Watching them sort through the debris, both physical and emotional, is heartwarming to the core and something I have more than a modicum of experience with.
Beautifully shot, debonair in its production and boasting eloquent work from Juliette Binoche, Charles Berling and Jérémie Renier, I suggest you seek it out and revel in its sheer majesty.
- **** out of 4
It’s been referred to as Judd Apatow’s “death movie,” his unconcealed attempt at meriting the respect of Hollywood’s elite as well as devout film scholars who find his brand of cinema to be less than artful. Sure, the fragility of being is explored at times, but the reality of “Funny People” is one that defies such asinine prejudgment. The much-heralded comedic genius behind “Freaks and Geeks” and “The 40-Year-Old Virgin” has crafted an astute celebration of life through the cynical, self-loathing eyes of a millionaire actor who returns to his stand-up comedy roots after being diagnosed with a rare form of Leukemia.
For the first time in his career, Adam Sandler embodies a character that is undoubtedly a living, breathing grown-up and he knocks it out of the park. He makes George Simmons a well-rounded smart-ass who uses humor to avoid dealing with the harsh reality in which he finds himself, so when the occasion comes for him to finally open-up, the movie becomes much more than a raunchy battle of wits. The camaraderie he develops with up-and-comer Ira Wright (played brilliantly by Seth Rogen) makes for a sea of hysterical moments involving Judaism and dick jokes, which both seem to be synonymous with the Apatow brand.
As someone who was on the fence about Sandler’s dramatic potential, I can’t say enough about his performance here and would love to see the Academy reward him for the effort.
- *** ½ out of 4
Just when I thought J.J. Abrams had all but sealed the deal on Science Fiction for 2009, along comes British director Neill Blomkamp with a work so raw, so distinctive and so shocking that I won’t hesitate to call it an early candidate for my year-end column. His “District 9” is an ascetic window into a world overrun by soulless bureaucrats who can’t resist the opportunity for profit when aliens touch down over Johannesburg, South Africa. Not even a national crisis can keep the human thirst for dominion at bay, so the real-life parallels drawn here are sure to have audiences foaming at the mouth over the appalling display of power. The outlook is bleak, the creatures are the epitome of grotesque and the only chance for survival comes down to a shrill, pusillanimous company man who suddenly finds himself at the center of chaos.
Sharlto Copley gives one of the most riveting performances of the year as Wikus van de Merwe and deserves to have his name thrown around come award season. He’s cocky, irritating and downright moronic at the outset, but something happens during the second act that brings out the best in his character. Wikus goes from zero to hero and becomes a vulnerable, determined fugitive who discovers how disposable his existence really is. We feel his anguish and, despite prior intolerance, are with him until the bitter end.
Dystopian films such as “Children of Men” and “The Road” certainly come to mind, but the extraterrestrial presence adds a much crazier dimension to the narrative that sets it apart. Anytime a filmmaker is ballsy enough to introduce inter-species prostitution as a possible outlet for stress, I’m inclined to believe that we’ll never see anything remotely similar ever again. There’s something refreshing about a filmmaker who’s willing to obliterate all conventionality and I can only hope that future Sci-Fi pictures follow suit.
- **** out of 4
“Movies are so rarely great art that if we cannot appreciate great trash we have very little reason to be interested in them” – Pauline Kael
I quote the great Pauline Kael, because her words make me feel less irate over watching the latest “Fatal Attraction” facsimile “Obsessed,” starring Idris Elba, Beyonce Knowles and Ali Larter (stunning, as usual). The film tries to be sleek, sexy and every other provocative concept in the book, but how much tension can possibly be generated when the supposed affair is just a wicked hallucination drummed up out of loneliness? Can you get emotionally invested knowing that the two characters in question never actually had a relationship? I certainly wasn’t but, then again, I’m probably not the target audience for a film like this anyway.
- ** out of 4
“The Haunting in Connecticut” is supposedly based on true events, but I have difficulty believing that everything went down exactly the way it’s portrayed on screen. Sources have even come out since and stated that no paranormal activity has been reported in the house since the Snedeker family left, so who really knows for sure? I can say that the film is chilling enough in spots to make it passable and Virginia Madsen’s presence is always a welcomed sight.
-** ½ out of 4
I know it may be sacrilegious to say so, but Greg Mottola’s infinitely delightful ode to summer romance “Adventureland” is much better than his 2007 romp “Superbad.” He captures the sights and sounds of 1987 to a tee and hits just the right note when exploring a budding relationship between Jesse Eisenberg and Kristen Stewart. Upon seeing the trailer, I honestly didn’t care to give it a second look, but it’s one of those films that comes out of nowhere to steal your heart and I’d recommend it to anyone looking for a sweet little burst of nostalgia.
- **** out of 4 (Bill Hader and Kristen Wiig are stellar yet again)
Iron Maiden is often billed as “the biggest band in the world” and watching an endless array of metalheads from Mumbai wail the chorus to “Aces High” makes that sentiment quite difficult to dispute. Tack on concerts in Italy, Japan, Latvia, Costa Rica, Denmark, Croatia etc. and you get a semblance of what their captivating new documentary “Iron Maiden: Flight 666” is all about. They’re incredible on stage and the film gives you a behind-the-scenes view of their day-to-day operations while on tour, so if you’re a fan of the music, you’ll love every minute of it.
- **** out of 4
The Charlie Daniels Band rocks the locks
The Molson Canal Concert Series was transformed into a good old-fashioned hoedown on Friday night as the attendees were treated to a rousing 90 minutes of Southern-fried rock courtesy of the Charlie Daniels Band. The heat was on, the drinks were cold and the vitality of Daniels’s fiddle playing was enough to entice music lovers to endure what felt like the most sweat-soaked evening of 2009. People may not have known the name of every song, but they sure knew the lyrics once the opening riff hit, so needless to say there was no shortage of audience participation.
At 72 years young, Daniels displays more zest on stage than I would expect and has the innate ability to turn any number into a riotous jam session whenever the mood strikes. Songs like “The South’s Gonna Do It” and “Long-haired Country Boy” showed tremendous bite as the band lost itself in the groove and even the lesser-known tunes were able to bring the crowd to a roaring applause. They could’ve come out and played a country-infused version of “The Nutcracker” and fans would’ve been into it, because the group was exceptionally tight and it’s not everyday that a legendary musician gives a free show in the unassuming city of Lockport.
Then again, it didn’t take much to rile this crowd, because first opener Ransomville delivered a commanding, well-received set that, to me, resembled more hard hock than country. Guitarists John Rosini and Rob Burgio (both former members of Seven Day Faith) each treat the instrument like their own personal playground and somehow find a way to make country music seem less predictable.
Their spirited take on Big and Rich’s “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)” was impressive, while the original material worked even better than on the album. It might sound strange, but a few of their heavier tunes came off as a twangy Buckcherry at times, so I’m interested to see how they progress in the future.
Second opener Her and Kings County was just as lively as radiant vocalist Monique Staffile led the band through a series of whimsical party tunes that showcased how diverse the event really was. The combination of a unique stage presence and her dynamic vocal ability set the tone for an entertaining set featuring some killer work on both the banjo and steel pedal guitar.
As someone who doesn’t even like country music, I can’t deny the stellar array of musicianship offered by all three groups and wouldn’t mind if they wound up on next year’s schedule. It was the perfect alignment of music, ambiance and weather, so here’s hoping this Friday’s finale with Randy Bachman is up to the challenge.
At 72 years young, Daniels displays more zest on stage than I would expect and has the innate ability to turn any number into a riotous jam session whenever the mood strikes. Songs like “The South’s Gonna Do It” and “Long-haired Country Boy” showed tremendous bite as the band lost itself in the groove and even the lesser-known tunes were able to bring the crowd to a roaring applause. They could’ve come out and played a country-infused version of “The Nutcracker” and fans would’ve been into it, because the group was exceptionally tight and it’s not everyday that a legendary musician gives a free show in the unassuming city of Lockport.
Then again, it didn’t take much to rile this crowd, because first opener Ransomville delivered a commanding, well-received set that, to me, resembled more hard hock than country. Guitarists John Rosini and Rob Burgio (both former members of Seven Day Faith) each treat the instrument like their own personal playground and somehow find a way to make country music seem less predictable.
Their spirited take on Big and Rich’s “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)” was impressive, while the original material worked even better than on the album. It might sound strange, but a few of their heavier tunes came off as a twangy Buckcherry at times, so I’m interested to see how they progress in the future.
Second opener Her and Kings County was just as lively as radiant vocalist Monique Staffile led the band through a series of whimsical party tunes that showcased how diverse the event really was. The combination of a unique stage presence and her dynamic vocal ability set the tone for an entertaining set featuring some killer work on both the banjo and steel pedal guitar.
As someone who doesn’t even like country music, I can’t deny the stellar array of musicianship offered by all three groups and wouldn’t mind if they wound up on next year’s schedule. It was the perfect alignment of music, ambiance and weather, so here’s hoping this Friday’s finale with Randy Bachman is up to the challenge.
Friday, August 14, 2009
A Tribute to John Hughes
I thought long and hard about how I wanted to do this, but what can really be said about writer/director John Hughes that hasn’t already been put forth? He was the impassioned voice of a generation, a pensive, level-headed auteur who brought the plight of the American teenager into the mainstream without all the sneering condescension. He shunned the “young and stupid” cliché by treating youths with the respect they deserved and rarely fashioned a script that didn’t contain a surplus of downcast yet quotable anecdotes reflecting the human condition. His characters were one-of-a-kind in their eccentricity which, to me, only makes his death more difficult to swallow, because we’ll never know what oddball creation he might have introduced next.
After all, we’re talking about the same guy who scoffed at authority in “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” tackled class differences with “Pretty in Pink” and made the phrase “neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie” part of the pop culture lexicon. Furthermore, I don’t think there’s a guy between the ages of 25 and 45 who doesn’t get excited just thinking about Kelly LeBrock standing in Wyatt’s doorway toward the beginning of “Weird Science,” so the impact Hughes had goes beyond mere entertainment value.
His success was the product of a Reagan-controlled universe in which kids either acquiesced to the corporate lifestyle or risked being called a “burnout” the rest of their life.
Some call it exploitation, but that implies a degree of mean-spiritedness on Hughes’s part that didn’t exist in the slightest. He simply constructed a cinematic world where high-schoolers could be themselves and not have to be ashamed of going against the grain. For once, someone in the media wasn’t treating them like second-class citizens and they loved every minute of it.
Instead of doing a full-on retrospective, I’ve decided to highlight five films and quotes that I feel best define the legacy of this beloved filmmaker. If your favorite doesn’t appear on the list or you’d like to add your own thoughts to the mix, feel free to comment at your leisure. I’m always looking for a good debate, so bring it on…
*I love “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” as much as anyone, but it’s been talked about to death, so I decided not to include it here.
Films –
“National Lampoon’s Vacation” – Hughes didn’t direct this instant classic, but he did pen a script that showcased Chevy Chase’s ability to elicit a laugh from any situation imaginable. Whether it’s the picnic scene or the babbling father-son talks, it’s difficult to watch without emitting even the most temperate giggle.
“The Breakfast Club” – Since this happens to be my personal favorite, I’ll defend its quality to no end simply because of the filthy one-liners that spew out of Judd Nelson’s mouth at every turn. His rugged exterior makes for an array of laugh-out-loud moments and the fact that everybody knows he’s full of it only adds to the hi-jinx. If you’re one of the few people on Earth who hasn’t seen it, consider it a must, because Hughes’s ability to blend humor with irascible parental issues has never been better.
“Pretty in Pink” – Once again, he only wrote the script, but with a cast featuring Molly Ringwald, Jon Cryer, Andrew McCarthy, James Spader and Annie Potts, how can you possibly go wrong? The age-old tale of forbidden love is played out expertly as Ringwald and McCarthy pursue a relationship despite coming from opposite ends of the economic spectrum, while Cryer creates a character sure to live forever in the minds of women who wish they had a “Duckie” to turn to in times of despair. Great stuff.
“Planes, Trains and Automobiles” – The pairing of Steve Martin and John Candy is pure genius from beginning to end. Enough said.
“Uncle Buck”/”Home Alone” – Both films feature John Candy and Macaulay Culkin and they’re both hysterical works that have a high-volume of repeatability. I love both of them dearly and feel they should be staples for any budding film fanatic young enough to idolize Kevin McAllister.
Quotes –
“Does Barry Manilow know that you raid his wardrobe?” – John Bender (The Breakfast Club)
“Drinking and driving don’t mix. That’s why I ride a bike.” – Duckie (Pretty in Pink)
“Will milk be made available to us?” – John Bender (The Breakfast Club)
“How 'bout a nice greasy pork sandwich served in a dirty ashtray?” – Chet (Weird Science)
“Can I borrow your underpants for 10 minutes?” – The Geek (Sixteen Candles)
After all, we’re talking about the same guy who scoffed at authority in “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” tackled class differences with “Pretty in Pink” and made the phrase “neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie” part of the pop culture lexicon. Furthermore, I don’t think there’s a guy between the ages of 25 and 45 who doesn’t get excited just thinking about Kelly LeBrock standing in Wyatt’s doorway toward the beginning of “Weird Science,” so the impact Hughes had goes beyond mere entertainment value.
His success was the product of a Reagan-controlled universe in which kids either acquiesced to the corporate lifestyle or risked being called a “burnout” the rest of their life.
Some call it exploitation, but that implies a degree of mean-spiritedness on Hughes’s part that didn’t exist in the slightest. He simply constructed a cinematic world where high-schoolers could be themselves and not have to be ashamed of going against the grain. For once, someone in the media wasn’t treating them like second-class citizens and they loved every minute of it.
Instead of doing a full-on retrospective, I’ve decided to highlight five films and quotes that I feel best define the legacy of this beloved filmmaker. If your favorite doesn’t appear on the list or you’d like to add your own thoughts to the mix, feel free to comment at your leisure. I’m always looking for a good debate, so bring it on…
*I love “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” as much as anyone, but it’s been talked about to death, so I decided not to include it here.
Films –
“National Lampoon’s Vacation” – Hughes didn’t direct this instant classic, but he did pen a script that showcased Chevy Chase’s ability to elicit a laugh from any situation imaginable. Whether it’s the picnic scene or the babbling father-son talks, it’s difficult to watch without emitting even the most temperate giggle.
“The Breakfast Club” – Since this happens to be my personal favorite, I’ll defend its quality to no end simply because of the filthy one-liners that spew out of Judd Nelson’s mouth at every turn. His rugged exterior makes for an array of laugh-out-loud moments and the fact that everybody knows he’s full of it only adds to the hi-jinx. If you’re one of the few people on Earth who hasn’t seen it, consider it a must, because Hughes’s ability to blend humor with irascible parental issues has never been better.
“Pretty in Pink” – Once again, he only wrote the script, but with a cast featuring Molly Ringwald, Jon Cryer, Andrew McCarthy, James Spader and Annie Potts, how can you possibly go wrong? The age-old tale of forbidden love is played out expertly as Ringwald and McCarthy pursue a relationship despite coming from opposite ends of the economic spectrum, while Cryer creates a character sure to live forever in the minds of women who wish they had a “Duckie” to turn to in times of despair. Great stuff.
“Planes, Trains and Automobiles” – The pairing of Steve Martin and John Candy is pure genius from beginning to end. Enough said.
“Uncle Buck”/”Home Alone” – Both films feature John Candy and Macaulay Culkin and they’re both hysterical works that have a high-volume of repeatability. I love both of them dearly and feel they should be staples for any budding film fanatic young enough to idolize Kevin McAllister.
Quotes –
“Does Barry Manilow know that you raid his wardrobe?” – John Bender (The Breakfast Club)
“Drinking and driving don’t mix. That’s why I ride a bike.” – Duckie (Pretty in Pink)
“Will milk be made available to us?” – John Bender (The Breakfast Club)
“How 'bout a nice greasy pork sandwich served in a dirty ashtray?” – Chet (Weird Science)
“Can I borrow your underpants for 10 minutes?” – The Geek (Sixteen Candles)
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Angels and Demons, Brüno and Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
When Ron Howard’s “The Da Vinci Code” hit theatres in May of 2006, I called it a “wildly entertaining story full of twists and intellectual intrigue guaranteed to make devout followers of Christ gasp when presented with such nonsense.” Sure, it had its issues regarding chemistry and a demented, self-mutilating Paul Bettany, but at least it provided two-plus hours of harmless summer entertainment that kept me breezily entranced.
With “Angels and Demons,” however, I got the feeling that Howard was riding high on the heels of “Frost/Nixon” and made a conscious decision to mail in an effort void of all vigor and narrative cohesion. I struggle to think of one aspect that genuinely moved me, because it felt more like a third-rate, ecclesiastical scavenger hunt than a popcorn flick deserving of so much undivided attention.
The film flat-out stinks worse than the time Chris Matthews tried to bust a move on “Ellen” and I’d hate to think that, at age 53, Tom Hanks has resigned himself to this type of cookie-cutter production. The film moved along at such a humdrum tempo that I had to propel myself to keep watching because, in the end, the story tacked on one crooked clergyman too many and could’ve used about 20-30 minutes worth of cuts to make things less convoluted.
Oy vey!
- * ½ out of 4
Sacha Baron Cohen takes “Bruno” to places that I never thought I’d see in a mainstream comedy. Actually, he takes the contemptible mockumentary to places that I never really wanted to see in a mainstream comedy but, then again, it’s that utter disregard for taste and societal acceptance that makes him one of the funniest comedic artists on the planet. The humor in this shameless saga of a gay Austrian fashionista provides a few of the craziest laugh-out-loud moments I’ve seen from any medium all year and will likely end up as the most divisive movie of 2009 not called Lars Von Trier’s “Antichrist.”
Does he go too far? Probably, but did anyone expect him not too? Whether it’s Bruno or Borat, the whole point of Cohen’s shtick is to make both the participants and the audience feel as ill at ease as possible while highlighting the idiocy of people from all walks of life. I can’t really say any more than that because, if seeing is believing, this is one shocker that needs to be seen before the censors decide to kill the first amendment indefinitely.
- *** ½ out of 4
Rather than rail on director David Yates for taking a few audacious liberties with J.K. Rowling’s beloved source material, I’ll just say that “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince” is, to me, the most humanistic (If that’s even possible) film yet to be made about the world of Hogwarts.
For the first time, the three main characters are allowed to be compassionate, full-fledged teenagers who are just as concerned about romance as they are wizardry and somehow that little bit of muggle savvy provides the missing piece of the Potter puzzle. The capricious element is balanced beautifully against the newfound backdrop of teen angst and the only thing that keeps it from being the finest of the series is the gross overuse of Nicholas Hooper’s dreary musical arrangements.
Luckily, Jim Broadbent was available to liven things up, because his Oscar-worthy portrayal of Professor Horace Slughorn radiates with the kind of manic irreverence that keeps the story from becoming too much like an episode of “Degrassi: The Next Generation.”
He’s the idyllic antidote to Severus Snape’s über-deathly disposition and I can’t say enough about the luminosity of his work here. One can only hope that the next guest they bring in can match his level of pub-induced gusto, because the secondary players are often the most interesting to watch.
As for the story itself, Yates picks up the action directly where “Order of the Phoenix” left off as Harry is reeling after the murder of Sirius Black by Bellatrix Lestrange (My personal favorite) as well as beginning to ease into his role as the so-called “chosen one.”
He’s absolved himself of the whole Cho Chang debacle and now has his sights set on Ron’s younger sister Ginny, who is just as eager to move forward with the relationship. His gravest challenge remains figuring out how to defeat the Dark Lord once and for all with Ron and Hermione prepared to help him every step of the way.
Daniel Radcliffe makes strides in his sixth stint as the title character, but his performance doesn’t demand your attention the way some of the unsung people do.
Personally, I’m more entertained watching Helena Bonham Carter unleash the zaniness as the aforementioned Lestrange and Evanna Lynch exude the most endearing presence of all as Luna Lovegood. These are the people I come to see because, with the laundry list of talent these movies tend to boast, it’s easy for the three leads to get pushed aside when the showier roles take center stage.
In theory, this installment had the potential to be the best yet, but ultimately suffered from a botched final act that packed the emotional punch of a National Enquirer cover story. All the darkness that had been building up through the years never quite manifested itself the way I hoped it would so, if Yates wants to redeem himself, he needs to make The Deathly Hallows as close to the book as possible. I’ve read the final installment and, if Yates does it the right way, we could be looking at something that’ll force the Academy to finally take notice.
- *** out of 4
With “Angels and Demons,” however, I got the feeling that Howard was riding high on the heels of “Frost/Nixon” and made a conscious decision to mail in an effort void of all vigor and narrative cohesion. I struggle to think of one aspect that genuinely moved me, because it felt more like a third-rate, ecclesiastical scavenger hunt than a popcorn flick deserving of so much undivided attention.
The film flat-out stinks worse than the time Chris Matthews tried to bust a move on “Ellen” and I’d hate to think that, at age 53, Tom Hanks has resigned himself to this type of cookie-cutter production. The film moved along at such a humdrum tempo that I had to propel myself to keep watching because, in the end, the story tacked on one crooked clergyman too many and could’ve used about 20-30 minutes worth of cuts to make things less convoluted.
Oy vey!
- * ½ out of 4
Sacha Baron Cohen takes “Bruno” to places that I never thought I’d see in a mainstream comedy. Actually, he takes the contemptible mockumentary to places that I never really wanted to see in a mainstream comedy but, then again, it’s that utter disregard for taste and societal acceptance that makes him one of the funniest comedic artists on the planet. The humor in this shameless saga of a gay Austrian fashionista provides a few of the craziest laugh-out-loud moments I’ve seen from any medium all year and will likely end up as the most divisive movie of 2009 not called Lars Von Trier’s “Antichrist.”
Does he go too far? Probably, but did anyone expect him not too? Whether it’s Bruno or Borat, the whole point of Cohen’s shtick is to make both the participants and the audience feel as ill at ease as possible while highlighting the idiocy of people from all walks of life. I can’t really say any more than that because, if seeing is believing, this is one shocker that needs to be seen before the censors decide to kill the first amendment indefinitely.
- *** ½ out of 4
Rather than rail on director David Yates for taking a few audacious liberties with J.K. Rowling’s beloved source material, I’ll just say that “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince” is, to me, the most humanistic (If that’s even possible) film yet to be made about the world of Hogwarts.
For the first time, the three main characters are allowed to be compassionate, full-fledged teenagers who are just as concerned about romance as they are wizardry and somehow that little bit of muggle savvy provides the missing piece of the Potter puzzle. The capricious element is balanced beautifully against the newfound backdrop of teen angst and the only thing that keeps it from being the finest of the series is the gross overuse of Nicholas Hooper’s dreary musical arrangements.
Luckily, Jim Broadbent was available to liven things up, because his Oscar-worthy portrayal of Professor Horace Slughorn radiates with the kind of manic irreverence that keeps the story from becoming too much like an episode of “Degrassi: The Next Generation.”
He’s the idyllic antidote to Severus Snape’s über-deathly disposition and I can’t say enough about the luminosity of his work here. One can only hope that the next guest they bring in can match his level of pub-induced gusto, because the secondary players are often the most interesting to watch.
As for the story itself, Yates picks up the action directly where “Order of the Phoenix” left off as Harry is reeling after the murder of Sirius Black by Bellatrix Lestrange (My personal favorite) as well as beginning to ease into his role as the so-called “chosen one.”
He’s absolved himself of the whole Cho Chang debacle and now has his sights set on Ron’s younger sister Ginny, who is just as eager to move forward with the relationship. His gravest challenge remains figuring out how to defeat the Dark Lord once and for all with Ron and Hermione prepared to help him every step of the way.
Daniel Radcliffe makes strides in his sixth stint as the title character, but his performance doesn’t demand your attention the way some of the unsung people do.
Personally, I’m more entertained watching Helena Bonham Carter unleash the zaniness as the aforementioned Lestrange and Evanna Lynch exude the most endearing presence of all as Luna Lovegood. These are the people I come to see because, with the laundry list of talent these movies tend to boast, it’s easy for the three leads to get pushed aside when the showier roles take center stage.
In theory, this installment had the potential to be the best yet, but ultimately suffered from a botched final act that packed the emotional punch of a National Enquirer cover story. All the darkness that had been building up through the years never quite manifested itself the way I hoped it would so, if Yates wants to redeem himself, he needs to make The Deathly Hallows as close to the book as possible. I’ve read the final installment and, if Yates does it the right way, we could be looking at something that’ll force the Academy to finally take notice.
- *** out of 4
Monday, July 13, 2009
The Cult delivers despite placid crowd
From the moment frontman Ian Astbury said “Let’s show these Americans how to rock and roll,” you could feel the crowd starting to pull away. Whatever frenzied goodwill he and the rest of The Cult generated seemed to evaporate with each anti-American slip of the tongue and, believe me, there were plenty of ill-advised pot shots to go around. One could say that his remarks were in bad taste, but judging from the attendees’ overall lack of enthusiasm; I can’t really blame him for trying to ignite their nationalistic fire.
Opening with a fiery rendition of “Lil’ Devil,” The Cult immediately let people know that they’re still a force to be reckoned with in the rock universe. Astbury’s soulfully operatic vocal styling hasn’t lost one iota of its passion and lead guitarist Billy Duffy tears through the fretboard as if the guitar said that his mother wears army boots. Every power chord more torrential than the last, every solo navigated with the utmost attention to detail. The only thing absent was a little Mac and Jack’s Wonder Potion to get the crowd’s energy levels peaking (That’s my only Michael Jackson reference, I promise), because then the band would’ve had something palpable to feed off of.
About halfway through the set, Astbury began to imitate the comatose audience members by standing still with his arms folded to the side to signal the apex of his consternation. How they managed to put together 70 minutes of exuberant hard rock is a mystery to me, because it just didn’t have the anarchic vibe usually present at shows of this nature. Had it been 1988, things may have turned out differently, but I guess we’ll never know.
Highlights of the evening include an exquisite “Edie (Ciao Baby),” a boisterous “Fire Woman” and an immaculate one-two punch of “Love Removal Machine” and “She Sells Sanctuary” to cap off a perfect summer evening.
Usually, you need to be Christian Bale in “The Machinist” just to maneuver your way through the mess, but not on this night. On this night, the gaps were just begging to be filled by fans who know a killer rock show when they see one. Those who were there should cherish it, because if Friday’s tepid overtone meant anything, The Cult might never set foot in Lockport again.
Opening with a fiery rendition of “Lil’ Devil,” The Cult immediately let people know that they’re still a force to be reckoned with in the rock universe. Astbury’s soulfully operatic vocal styling hasn’t lost one iota of its passion and lead guitarist Billy Duffy tears through the fretboard as if the guitar said that his mother wears army boots. Every power chord more torrential than the last, every solo navigated with the utmost attention to detail. The only thing absent was a little Mac and Jack’s Wonder Potion to get the crowd’s energy levels peaking (That’s my only Michael Jackson reference, I promise), because then the band would’ve had something palpable to feed off of.
About halfway through the set, Astbury began to imitate the comatose audience members by standing still with his arms folded to the side to signal the apex of his consternation. How they managed to put together 70 minutes of exuberant hard rock is a mystery to me, because it just didn’t have the anarchic vibe usually present at shows of this nature. Had it been 1988, things may have turned out differently, but I guess we’ll never know.
Highlights of the evening include an exquisite “Edie (Ciao Baby),” a boisterous “Fire Woman” and an immaculate one-two punch of “Love Removal Machine” and “She Sells Sanctuary” to cap off a perfect summer evening.
Usually, you need to be Christian Bale in “The Machinist” just to maneuver your way through the mess, but not on this night. On this night, the gaps were just begging to be filled by fans who know a killer rock show when they see one. Those who were there should cherish it, because if Friday’s tepid overtone meant anything, The Cult might never set foot in Lockport again.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Summer Movie Catch-Up
"Drag Me to Hell" - *** 1/2 out of 4 (I was too tired to review it)
As someone who’s never seen a minute of the original “Star Trek” television series, I found J.J. Abrams’s frenetically paced update to be extraordinary in every facet of the game. The action is incendiary, the script is refreshing and the cast gels together as well any Best Picture winner in recent memory. I, for one, don’t think it’s a stretch to call it the most rewarding Sci-Fi experience since 1999’s “The Matrix,” but I’ll save that argument for a later date. If you haven’t seen it yet, I suggest going soon, because it just wouldn’t be the same without the chaotic magnitude of your local multiplex.
- **** out of 4
“The Hangover” takes what classics such as “Animal House” and “Bachelor Party” did to a level that is almost guaranteed to make the audience keel over in a way that most comedies can’t even imagine. Bradley Cooper, Ed Helms and Zach Galifianakis are the perfect trio of impetuous misfits, because they actually buy into the “what happens in Vegas” philosophy to the point that not even the most morally repugnant behavior is off limits. Their escapades lead them to an emergency room, a police station and even Mike Tyson’s living room, where Galifianakis experiences first-hand what it feels like to get decked by the “Baddest Man on the Planet.” Every scene is pitch perfect in its mirth and even the most prudish individual should find something to crack a smile at because, in the end, it’s pretty effing hilarious.
- *** ½ out of 4
Tony Scott’s remake of “The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3” is the kind of breezy, snarling hostage flick you’ve seen a thousand times. Denzel Washington is the calm, cool and collected city employee whose ethical veracity is tested as he tries to put his kids through college. John Travolta is the intelligent, overconfident ex-convict who thinks that everything will play out according to his wily little plan.
When their lives intersect, the plot thickens and allows both of them to indulge in performances that are essentially predictable by their standards. Washington has played the devoted family man before and Travolta has been living off the slimy, silver-tongued criminal persona since “Face/Off,” so while their sardonic banter is fun to watch, the overall product would be best served on DVD.
- ** ½ out 4
*For the record, in no way, shape or form was this review based on Hasbro Action Figures
Comedian George Carlin used to spend countless hours ranting and raving about the manufacturing of American bullshit and I can’t help but think that his contempt was inspired by Michael Bay’s brazenly haphazard approach to movie making. I say this not because of some misplaced sense of animosity I have toward Bay, but because I didn’t buy one second of his latest commercial mind eraser “Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen.”
Seriously, am I the only one who thinks a five-year-old in his bedroom could’ve come up with a more compelling narrative?
Then again, why should I even bother exhausting so much vitriol on a film that rakes in money faster than a prostitute at the Bunny Ranch? It seems that whenever audiences lock on to something, they throw all rationality to the wind and convince themselves that a bloated, wasteful excuse for a summer popcorn movie is worthy of their devotion.
Personally, I approach a Michael Bay picture like something from M. Night Shayamalan in that I never let hope get it in the way of something I know will be more bologna than filet.
Anyway, back to the task at hand. I know I might be violating some fanboy law by saying this, but I don’t find the “Transformers” mythology to be the least bit interesting.
To me, the robots are predictable, the plot takes itself too seriously and the actors have nothing to do except run around screaming bloody murder. There’s no inherent drama in the story, because Bay has yet to figure out how to stage a scene of genuine emotion. He can, however, explore the heavenly anatomy of Megan Fox with expert precision, so I guess he’s not too far gone in that respect.
Shia LaBeouf tries like crazy to hold the film together, but the objective is really just to blow up as many things as possible and leave the audience in awe over American military technology. I was constantly reminded of those navy commercials with Godsmack blaring in the background, which is okay to a certain extent, but I could’ve easily stayed home and watched the commercial on YouTube without spending $7.50 on a ticket. Had Spielberg directed, I think he could’ve made this work, but Bay’s vision feels like someone vomited their imagination all over the screen and called it a day.
I’d like to think that with a little focus and professionalism, Bay can return to being a must-see director, because “Bad Boys,” “The Rock” and “The Island” were all quite good in their own hyperactive way. I would also put forth the notion that the audience is as much to blame as anybody, but that’s something I’ve touched on many times before, so I won’t delve into that here. That’s enough for now. I need to go find a tighter shirt.
- * ½ out of 4
As someone who’s never seen a minute of the original “Star Trek” television series, I found J.J. Abrams’s frenetically paced update to be extraordinary in every facet of the game. The action is incendiary, the script is refreshing and the cast gels together as well any Best Picture winner in recent memory. I, for one, don’t think it’s a stretch to call it the most rewarding Sci-Fi experience since 1999’s “The Matrix,” but I’ll save that argument for a later date. If you haven’t seen it yet, I suggest going soon, because it just wouldn’t be the same without the chaotic magnitude of your local multiplex.
- **** out of 4
“The Hangover” takes what classics such as “Animal House” and “Bachelor Party” did to a level that is almost guaranteed to make the audience keel over in a way that most comedies can’t even imagine. Bradley Cooper, Ed Helms and Zach Galifianakis are the perfect trio of impetuous misfits, because they actually buy into the “what happens in Vegas” philosophy to the point that not even the most morally repugnant behavior is off limits. Their escapades lead them to an emergency room, a police station and even Mike Tyson’s living room, where Galifianakis experiences first-hand what it feels like to get decked by the “Baddest Man on the Planet.” Every scene is pitch perfect in its mirth and even the most prudish individual should find something to crack a smile at because, in the end, it’s pretty effing hilarious.
- *** ½ out of 4
Tony Scott’s remake of “The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3” is the kind of breezy, snarling hostage flick you’ve seen a thousand times. Denzel Washington is the calm, cool and collected city employee whose ethical veracity is tested as he tries to put his kids through college. John Travolta is the intelligent, overconfident ex-convict who thinks that everything will play out according to his wily little plan.
When their lives intersect, the plot thickens and allows both of them to indulge in performances that are essentially predictable by their standards. Washington has played the devoted family man before and Travolta has been living off the slimy, silver-tongued criminal persona since “Face/Off,” so while their sardonic banter is fun to watch, the overall product would be best served on DVD.
- ** ½ out 4
*For the record, in no way, shape or form was this review based on Hasbro Action Figures
Comedian George Carlin used to spend countless hours ranting and raving about the manufacturing of American bullshit and I can’t help but think that his contempt was inspired by Michael Bay’s brazenly haphazard approach to movie making. I say this not because of some misplaced sense of animosity I have toward Bay, but because I didn’t buy one second of his latest commercial mind eraser “Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen.”
Seriously, am I the only one who thinks a five-year-old in his bedroom could’ve come up with a more compelling narrative?
Then again, why should I even bother exhausting so much vitriol on a film that rakes in money faster than a prostitute at the Bunny Ranch? It seems that whenever audiences lock on to something, they throw all rationality to the wind and convince themselves that a bloated, wasteful excuse for a summer popcorn movie is worthy of their devotion.
Personally, I approach a Michael Bay picture like something from M. Night Shayamalan in that I never let hope get it in the way of something I know will be more bologna than filet.
Anyway, back to the task at hand. I know I might be violating some fanboy law by saying this, but I don’t find the “Transformers” mythology to be the least bit interesting.
To me, the robots are predictable, the plot takes itself too seriously and the actors have nothing to do except run around screaming bloody murder. There’s no inherent drama in the story, because Bay has yet to figure out how to stage a scene of genuine emotion. He can, however, explore the heavenly anatomy of Megan Fox with expert precision, so I guess he’s not too far gone in that respect.
Shia LaBeouf tries like crazy to hold the film together, but the objective is really just to blow up as many things as possible and leave the audience in awe over American military technology. I was constantly reminded of those navy commercials with Godsmack blaring in the background, which is okay to a certain extent, but I could’ve easily stayed home and watched the commercial on YouTube without spending $7.50 on a ticket. Had Spielberg directed, I think he could’ve made this work, but Bay’s vision feels like someone vomited their imagination all over the screen and called it a day.
I’d like to think that with a little focus and professionalism, Bay can return to being a must-see director, because “Bad Boys,” “The Rock” and “The Island” were all quite good in their own hyperactive way. I would also put forth the notion that the audience is as much to blame as anybody, but that’s something I’ve touched on many times before, so I won’t delve into that here. That’s enough for now. I need to go find a tighter shirt.
- * ½ out of 4
Friday, June 19, 2009
The Girlfriend Experience and Terminator Salvation
If you’ve ever wondered how call girls have weathered the economic collapse, Steven Soderbergh’s “The Girlfriend Experience” is the film for you. It follows the mundane day-to-day operations of a high-priced escort (Sasha Grey) who continues to rake in the dough while her clients complain about the stock market’s cataclysmic demise. She’s your typical materialistic pod person, motivated by a desire to have enough money to escape the world she finds such an utter disappointment. The relationship with her live-in boyfriend feels more like a fiscal arrangement than a genuine partnership and most of the picture consists of boring anecdotes surrounding their longing for social independence.
For an adult film star, Grey doesn’t bring much to the table in terms of acting and I couldn’t care less about another story diarizing the “woe is me” lifestyle of an upper echelon prostitute. I admire Soderbergh’s willingness to experiment with alternative techniques, but it doesn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know about the profession. It assumes we’re actually interested in a joyless hooker with a heart of stone and I wasn’t about to let it draw me in with its flashy camera angles. If you ask me, it’s a snoozer just waiting to be discovered on DVD.
- ** out of 4
My biggest issue with McG’s “Terminator Salvation” is that it feels more like a “Transformers” scrap heap than the “Terminator” we’ve come to know and love. All the horror and menacing obscurity is ditched in favor of gawky, earsplitting battle scenes designed to make you forget about the nonexistence of drama and sense of direction. Not even the halfhearted presence of Christian Bale could make things more engaging and, when that happens, you know you’re in for a long evening.
I remember feeling chilled to the bone following my first viewing of “Terminator 2: Judgment Day” (I was seven), but walking out of this I just felt distraught that such a riveting concept could be reduced to another overproduced summer let-down. I’ll admit that a few of the action sequences were outstanding and I did think Sam Worthington did his best with the limited development he was allowed. In the end though, everything seemed too hollow and diluted for my taste, so I guess all I can say to McG is better luck next time.
- ** out of 4
For an adult film star, Grey doesn’t bring much to the table in terms of acting and I couldn’t care less about another story diarizing the “woe is me” lifestyle of an upper echelon prostitute. I admire Soderbergh’s willingness to experiment with alternative techniques, but it doesn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know about the profession. It assumes we’re actually interested in a joyless hooker with a heart of stone and I wasn’t about to let it draw me in with its flashy camera angles. If you ask me, it’s a snoozer just waiting to be discovered on DVD.
- ** out of 4
My biggest issue with McG’s “Terminator Salvation” is that it feels more like a “Transformers” scrap heap than the “Terminator” we’ve come to know and love. All the horror and menacing obscurity is ditched in favor of gawky, earsplitting battle scenes designed to make you forget about the nonexistence of drama and sense of direction. Not even the halfhearted presence of Christian Bale could make things more engaging and, when that happens, you know you’re in for a long evening.
I remember feeling chilled to the bone following my first viewing of “Terminator 2: Judgment Day” (I was seven), but walking out of this I just felt distraught that such a riveting concept could be reduced to another overproduced summer let-down. I’ll admit that a few of the action sequences were outstanding and I did think Sam Worthington did his best with the limited development he was allowed. In the end though, everything seemed too hollow and diluted for my taste, so I guess all I can say to McG is better luck next time.
- ** out of 4
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Days 2 and 3 - Jazz and Indian Cuisine
I've really had nothing to complain about for the last two days, so something unusual must be in the air.
Thursday - I went to see former Yankees outfielder Bernie Williams perform a four-song set at Borders, which was quite a departure from my hard rock affinity, but very entertaining nonetheless. His approach to the guitar is cordial rather than in-your-face, so each song's Puerto Rican mystique translated beautifully to the unplugged format and left the audience wanting more. Despite the electric disdain I have for waiting in lines, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to meet one of my childhood heroes, so I decided to stay after and weather the storm.
Friday - Not much to report other than my first experience with Indian food, which was surprisingly pain free. I don't know how eager I am to give it another go but, for one night, the Tandoori chicken with white rice and spiced broccoli definitely hit the spot.
Also, I went to see Todd Phillips's new comedy "The Hangover," which I'll delve into at a later date, so stay tuned.
Thursday - I went to see former Yankees outfielder Bernie Williams perform a four-song set at Borders, which was quite a departure from my hard rock affinity, but very entertaining nonetheless. His approach to the guitar is cordial rather than in-your-face, so each song's Puerto Rican mystique translated beautifully to the unplugged format and left the audience wanting more. Despite the electric disdain I have for waiting in lines, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to meet one of my childhood heroes, so I decided to stay after and weather the storm.
Friday - Not much to report other than my first experience with Indian food, which was surprisingly pain free. I don't know how eager I am to give it another go but, for one night, the Tandoori chicken with white rice and spiced broccoli definitely hit the spot.
Also, I went to see Todd Phillips's new comedy "The Hangover," which I'll delve into at a later date, so stay tuned.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
The Tragically Hip dazzles Artpark again
Sure, I could throw out a million little adroit adjectives to describe what the atmosphere was like inside the Artpark Mainstage Theatre on Tuesday night, but I don’t think all that fancy schmancy regress would begin to do justice to the experience. What occurred was transcendent. What occurred was sublime. What occurred goes beyond the thinking man’s tendency to rationalize all the world’s idiosyncrasies. What occurred was a concert from Kingston, Ont.’s own The Tragically Hip.
Sporting a jet-black suit reminiscent of Ringo Starr’s “Abbey Road” attire, bombastic front man Gordon Downie graced the stage determined to make everyone in attendance feel just a little bit better than when they came in and it certainly didn’t take long to make that happen.
Whether it was the melancholic yearning of “The Depression Suite” or the raucous vivacity of “Family Band,” the group as a collective unit seemed to be having a blast on stage and sounded tighter than their last few tours combined. At this point in their career, they’re just five guys whose abundant respect for each other fuels a creative fire to the point that nothing is too far out of reach.
Led by Downie’s refreshing, borderline-epileptic persona, the band proceeded to tear into gem after endlessly emotive gem and had the appreciative crowd in the palm of their hand for the remainder of the evening.
Bobby Baker and Paul Langlois are consummate professionals when in command of their axes, but even they managed to shed a smile here and there to acknowledge the awesomeness of the event. To say that their playing on this night was nothing short of flawless would imply that we expected any different, so I’ll just say that the more they played, the less I started to worry about what abominable condition the parking lot would be in after the show. I simply didn’t care.
Other first set highlights included a stirring rendition of “Gift Shop” and a rare appearance of “Throwing Off Glass,” but it wasn’t until the second set began that the immensity of the show was solidified.
To keep things new, the band decided to kick off every second set of this tour with a three-song acoustic breakdown to further add to the intimacy level. For this particular show, they chose “Thompson Girl,” “Fiddler’s Green,” and “Ahead by a Century as the tunes receiving the unplugged treatment and, judging from the crowd’s elation, you would’ve thought that they had just won the lottery.
Actually, they did in a sense, because “Fiddler’s Green” still strikes an emotional chord with Downie and seldom finds its way into a set. The fact that they broke it out speaks volumes about the integrity and unpredictability they’ve come to espouse through the years and the audience let them know it every step of the way.
If you’re wondering why I haven’t mentioned the thunderous rhythm section of Gord Sinclair and Johnny Fay, don’t worry. Since it’s so easy to get lost in Downie’s priceless theatrical stylings, I wanted to give them their due in a way that often goes underappreciated. The ability of Fay to pulverize the skins into submission gets taken for granted as something that will always be there and the fact that he’s a virtuous drummer often gets lost in the mix.
As for Sinclair, he’s always struck me as a reserved guy who lets the fluidity of his playing speak for itself and I’d say he’s found the perfect niche to conquer.
If you had told me on Monday that “Gift Shop,” “Bobcaygeon,” “Fiddler’s Green,” Nautical Disaster” and “Grace, Too” would all make appearances, I probably would’ve laughed in your face. Walking out of the theatre Tuesday night, I felt like I had just seen something that I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.
That’s how it is with a Hip show. It feels less like a concert and more like an exclusive gathering for 2,400 of their closest friends that everyone else missed the boat for.
With three shows to go, one can only imagine the room for expansion, because if the opener was any indication, this four-night stand will indeed become the stuff legends are made of.
Sporting a jet-black suit reminiscent of Ringo Starr’s “Abbey Road” attire, bombastic front man Gordon Downie graced the stage determined to make everyone in attendance feel just a little bit better than when they came in and it certainly didn’t take long to make that happen.
Whether it was the melancholic yearning of “The Depression Suite” or the raucous vivacity of “Family Band,” the group as a collective unit seemed to be having a blast on stage and sounded tighter than their last few tours combined. At this point in their career, they’re just five guys whose abundant respect for each other fuels a creative fire to the point that nothing is too far out of reach.
Led by Downie’s refreshing, borderline-epileptic persona, the band proceeded to tear into gem after endlessly emotive gem and had the appreciative crowd in the palm of their hand for the remainder of the evening.
Bobby Baker and Paul Langlois are consummate professionals when in command of their axes, but even they managed to shed a smile here and there to acknowledge the awesomeness of the event. To say that their playing on this night was nothing short of flawless would imply that we expected any different, so I’ll just say that the more they played, the less I started to worry about what abominable condition the parking lot would be in after the show. I simply didn’t care.
Other first set highlights included a stirring rendition of “Gift Shop” and a rare appearance of “Throwing Off Glass,” but it wasn’t until the second set began that the immensity of the show was solidified.
To keep things new, the band decided to kick off every second set of this tour with a three-song acoustic breakdown to further add to the intimacy level. For this particular show, they chose “Thompson Girl,” “Fiddler’s Green,” and “Ahead by a Century as the tunes receiving the unplugged treatment and, judging from the crowd’s elation, you would’ve thought that they had just won the lottery.
Actually, they did in a sense, because “Fiddler’s Green” still strikes an emotional chord with Downie and seldom finds its way into a set. The fact that they broke it out speaks volumes about the integrity and unpredictability they’ve come to espouse through the years and the audience let them know it every step of the way.
If you’re wondering why I haven’t mentioned the thunderous rhythm section of Gord Sinclair and Johnny Fay, don’t worry. Since it’s so easy to get lost in Downie’s priceless theatrical stylings, I wanted to give them their due in a way that often goes underappreciated. The ability of Fay to pulverize the skins into submission gets taken for granted as something that will always be there and the fact that he’s a virtuous drummer often gets lost in the mix.
As for Sinclair, he’s always struck me as a reserved guy who lets the fluidity of his playing speak for itself and I’d say he’s found the perfect niche to conquer.
If you had told me on Monday that “Gift Shop,” “Bobcaygeon,” “Fiddler’s Green,” Nautical Disaster” and “Grace, Too” would all make appearances, I probably would’ve laughed in your face. Walking out of the theatre Tuesday night, I felt like I had just seen something that I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.
That’s how it is with a Hip show. It feels less like a concert and more like an exclusive gathering for 2,400 of their closest friends that everyone else missed the boat for.
With three shows to go, one can only imagine the room for expansion, because if the opener was any indication, this four-night stand will indeed become the stuff legends are made of.
Day 1 - Why Flying Sucks
The flight itself is usually at the forefront of everyone's contempt, but my journey actually began at the security checkpoint. Never in a million years did I think I would raise a white flag, but apparently Aveeno Sensitive Skin Shave Lotion is evidence of Jihadist tendencies, because the cheerful bunch at the scanner decided that the public's right to feel safe on an airplane supersedes my desire to have a healthy, natural-looking complexion. The nerve!
So I'm sitting in coach and I can already feel the bumps starting to emerge from my jugular, but musing over it doesn't help and won't make the skin any smoother.
Luckily, I had two crossword puzzles at my disposal, so I was pretty content for the thirty minutes it took to solve them both. You never know how skilled you are until you have nothing to do except contemplate the various synonyms for colloquial.
I became so desperate for excitement that I started to envy John Lithgow (or William Shatner for all you Serling purists) in "Twilight Zone: The Movie," because at least he had that grotesque creature out on the wing to occupy his mind. All I had was a notebook, a magazine and a half-empty can of Welch's Cran-Apple to satisfy my creative yearnings.
I picked up a copy of this week's New York magazine and found solace in an article chronicling the history of self-loathing Jewish comedy, so maybe the constant griping of Larry David has rubbed off on me.
I think that's enough for now, because I have a feeling that the ultimate fighter to my right will kill me if I don't turn the light off soon.
I'll leave you with the following observations and tidbits:
When Minneapolis refers to itself as "the land of a thousand lakes," they're not joking.
If you happen to be flying Delta in a few weeks and find a decomposed lung lying around, it probably belongs to the guy sitting behind me who couldn't seem to shake an obnoxious coughing spit that lasted forever.
And finally, do terrorists have sensitive skin?
So I'm sitting in coach and I can already feel the bumps starting to emerge from my jugular, but musing over it doesn't help and won't make the skin any smoother.
Luckily, I had two crossword puzzles at my disposal, so I was pretty content for the thirty minutes it took to solve them both. You never know how skilled you are until you have nothing to do except contemplate the various synonyms for colloquial.
I became so desperate for excitement that I started to envy John Lithgow (or William Shatner for all you Serling purists) in "Twilight Zone: The Movie," because at least he had that grotesque creature out on the wing to occupy his mind. All I had was a notebook, a magazine and a half-empty can of Welch's Cran-Apple to satisfy my creative yearnings.
I picked up a copy of this week's New York magazine and found solace in an article chronicling the history of self-loathing Jewish comedy, so maybe the constant griping of Larry David has rubbed off on me.
I think that's enough for now, because I have a feeling that the ultimate fighter to my right will kill me if I don't turn the light off soon.
I'll leave you with the following observations and tidbits:
When Minneapolis refers to itself as "the land of a thousand lakes," they're not joking.
If you happen to be flying Delta in a few weeks and find a decomposed lung lying around, it probably belongs to the guy sitting behind me who couldn't seem to shake an obnoxious coughing spit that lasted forever.
And finally, do terrorists have sensitive skin?
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Gomorra and The Soloist
The nihilistic temperament of Matteo Garrone’s Italian gangster piece “Gomorra” is established early and often through a series of hellish collisions that make the depraved dealings of Michael Corleone seem like a Walt Disney production. Now, this is by no means a better film than “The Godfather,” but the lack of music as well the absence of alluring characters make the execution feel colder and less operatic than anything Coppola could’ve arranged.
These wise guys don’t drive Cadillacs, they don’t wear finely tailored zoot suits and they certainly wouldn’t spend 30 minutes a week spilling their guts to a psychiatrist a la Tony Soprano. They’re motivated by greed and the desire to control a dilapidated region of Naples that is there for the taking, so anyone standing in their way is just begging to be taken out with the morning trash.
Based on Roberto Saviano’s non-fiction account of his time with the Camorra crime syndicate, Garrone’s film presents the day-to-day business of various thugs in a cinéma vérité style that makes you feel as if what you’re seeing is nothing less than the real thing. The people are ordinary, the outlook is bleak and the hits are committed with frightening indifference. My only issue is that we’re given no reason to care about these characters and therefore must sit through the entire two plus hours with the same indifference as the miscreants we’re watching.
- *** ½ out of 4
Despite its aphoristic similarities to 2007’s “Resurrecting the Champ,” Joe Wright’s maudlin, look-at-me Oscar bait “The Soloist” operates somewhat effectively on two levels. The first is an inspiring tale of two men whose unlikely friendship awakens both of them to an assiduous spirit not experienced since their early days. The second provides the audience with a harrowing glimpse into the issue of homelessness in America, which of course is what urged Wright to tell this story in the first place.
I’d like to say that Universal’s decision to abandon last year’s November release date was a mistake, that the brilliant, soulful performance of Robert Downey Jr. would’ve propelled it to award season glory. However, I just can’t do it. What should’ve been a fully realized character study is nothing more than a sometimes great, but mostly dull and by-the-book account of a societal outcast being thrust back into a spotlight he’s not quite ready to respond to.
Like I said before, Downey’s expressive work as Los Angeles Times reporter Steve Lopez is essentially the only thing this film has going for it. He’s hilarious when he wants to be, vulnerable when he needs to be and, unlike co-star Jamie Foxx, presents a well-rounded character with a purpose that the audience can latch on to. When he comes across a schizophrenic cellist living on the streets of Los Angeles, his journalistic ambition takes over and he’s immediately pondering ways to bring this man’s story to the masses.
It turns out that Nathaniel Ayers Jr. (Foxx) was a former child prodigy who dropped out of Julliard for reasons known only to him and the voices in his head. He went from being a classical musician on the rise to a mumbling nomad trying to survive the hard-boiled streets of LA’s Skid Row district and Lopez wants the public to know why.
On paper, the story is as compelling as can be, but Foxx is entirely too one-note to offer any true moments of transcendence. Much of his dialogue consists of disjointed prattle, so it’s not until half way through that we begin to see the potential for prominence he possesses and, by then, I wasn’t in the mood to see it through. I know I’ve said this before, but it does seem like a lifetime ago that Foxx delivered dazzling work in “Collateral” and “Ray,” so here’s hoping the Academy Award-winning talent has a lot more left in the tank.
The conclusion is predictable as expected and the lovely Catherine Keener is relegated to a throwaway role that doesn’t offer much other than a female presence. We’ve come to expect more from Joe Wright (“Pride and Prejudice” and “Atonement”) and, frankly, he let us down.
- ** ½ out of 4
These wise guys don’t drive Cadillacs, they don’t wear finely tailored zoot suits and they certainly wouldn’t spend 30 minutes a week spilling their guts to a psychiatrist a la Tony Soprano. They’re motivated by greed and the desire to control a dilapidated region of Naples that is there for the taking, so anyone standing in their way is just begging to be taken out with the morning trash.
Based on Roberto Saviano’s non-fiction account of his time with the Camorra crime syndicate, Garrone’s film presents the day-to-day business of various thugs in a cinéma vérité style that makes you feel as if what you’re seeing is nothing less than the real thing. The people are ordinary, the outlook is bleak and the hits are committed with frightening indifference. My only issue is that we’re given no reason to care about these characters and therefore must sit through the entire two plus hours with the same indifference as the miscreants we’re watching.
- *** ½ out of 4
Despite its aphoristic similarities to 2007’s “Resurrecting the Champ,” Joe Wright’s maudlin, look-at-me Oscar bait “The Soloist” operates somewhat effectively on two levels. The first is an inspiring tale of two men whose unlikely friendship awakens both of them to an assiduous spirit not experienced since their early days. The second provides the audience with a harrowing glimpse into the issue of homelessness in America, which of course is what urged Wright to tell this story in the first place.
I’d like to say that Universal’s decision to abandon last year’s November release date was a mistake, that the brilliant, soulful performance of Robert Downey Jr. would’ve propelled it to award season glory. However, I just can’t do it. What should’ve been a fully realized character study is nothing more than a sometimes great, but mostly dull and by-the-book account of a societal outcast being thrust back into a spotlight he’s not quite ready to respond to.
Like I said before, Downey’s expressive work as Los Angeles Times reporter Steve Lopez is essentially the only thing this film has going for it. He’s hilarious when he wants to be, vulnerable when he needs to be and, unlike co-star Jamie Foxx, presents a well-rounded character with a purpose that the audience can latch on to. When he comes across a schizophrenic cellist living on the streets of Los Angeles, his journalistic ambition takes over and he’s immediately pondering ways to bring this man’s story to the masses.
It turns out that Nathaniel Ayers Jr. (Foxx) was a former child prodigy who dropped out of Julliard for reasons known only to him and the voices in his head. He went from being a classical musician on the rise to a mumbling nomad trying to survive the hard-boiled streets of LA’s Skid Row district and Lopez wants the public to know why.
On paper, the story is as compelling as can be, but Foxx is entirely too one-note to offer any true moments of transcendence. Much of his dialogue consists of disjointed prattle, so it’s not until half way through that we begin to see the potential for prominence he possesses and, by then, I wasn’t in the mood to see it through. I know I’ve said this before, but it does seem like a lifetime ago that Foxx delivered dazzling work in “Collateral” and “Ray,” so here’s hoping the Academy Award-winning talent has a lot more left in the tank.
The conclusion is predictable as expected and the lovely Catherine Keener is relegated to a throwaway role that doesn’t offer much other than a female presence. We’ve come to expect more from Joe Wright (“Pride and Prejudice” and “Atonement”) and, frankly, he let us down.
- ** ½ out of 4
Saturday, May 9, 2009
2009 Summer Movie Preview
2009 the number another summer, get down
Sound of the funky drummer - Public Enemy
May
“Star Trek” – Ever since his work on 1998’s “Armageddon,” J.J. Abrams has been carving his own little niche in the Sci-Fi genre and early reviews of this series reboot suggest a vivacious concoction of fanboy rapture that only he could manufacture. I recall seeing the teaser prior to the Abrams-produced “Cloverfield” and not thinking much of it, so here’s hoping that the overall presentation will be accessible to those who can’t rattle off the life story of every character to grace the Starship Enterprise.
“Angels and Demons” – I don’t think I’m alone in saying that 2006’s “The Da Vinci Code” left something to be desired. The dialogue, pacing and pseudo-chemistry between Tom Hanks and Audrey Tautou just didn’t live up to expectations and director Ron Howard appeared to be sleepwalking his way to the payoff. Howard has proven on numerous occasions to be a superb filmmaker, but other than “Apollo 13,” summer blockbusters just aren’t his thing. Although I’ve been told that this prequel is the superior novel of the two, I still find myself hesitant to expect something truly remarkable.
“Terminator Salvation” – I know it’s just innocent conjecture, but rumor has it that Christian Bale’s performance as John Connor doesn’t bring much to the table in terms of palpable substance. If that’s indeed the case, my interest in this film is evaporating quicker than when I first heard that glorified noisemaker McG was going to assume directorial duties. The desire by Hollywood to continuously re-hash old favorites ran out of steam years ago and I refuse to accept that this is the best they have to offer.
“Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian” – Say what you will about the first installment, but I actually enjoyed it and laughed often enough to justify the ticket price. I’m not expecting Ben Stiller to reach the same comedic heights that last year’s brilliant parody “Tropic Thunder,” but the addition of Amy Adams, Bill Hader (genius) and Jonah Hill to the cast should make it an event movie that both kids and parents can enjoy.
“Drag Me to Hell” – Judging from the trailer, director Sam Raimi appears to have livened up and returned to his B-movie roots with a macabre tale of a loan officer whose dream lifestyle is about to end on a nefarious note. His “Spider-Man” days were certainly successful, but there’s something very “Evil Dead”-esque about this film that has me counting down the days.
“Up” – Everyone has their favorite Pixar creation (“Ratatouille” would be mine) and I’m sure that within days of its release, the journey of a crotchety 78-year-old named Carl Fredricksen will find itself at the top of many Best of ’09 lists. Come to think of it, have the wizards at Pixar ever made a film that wasn’t universally lauded?
June
“Land of the Lost” – After clunkers like “Semi-Pro” and “Step Brothers,” I think it’s safe to say that the Will Ferrell comedy wagon has hit a speed bump. I may be alone in this, but other than 2006’s “Stranger Than Fiction,” I don’t think he’s given a great comedic performance since his uncredited appearance in “Wedding Crashers.” What used to be funny has now become musty and played-out, so I would like to think that a big-screen adaptation of a vintage television show is just what he needs to get him out of the funk. Oh wait, didn’t he already try that with “Bewitched?”
“The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3” – Apparently, John Travolta is starring opposite Denzel Washington in this Tony Scott-directed story of a hijacked NYC subway train. I’m just as surprised as you are, because I could’ve sworn that Travolta’s acting career ended following 2000’s “Battlefield Earth.” Maybe I was mistaken.
“Year One” – Jack Black and Michael Cera team up in this biblical era farce as two losers who find themselves banished from their village and forced to embark on an epic journey through the ancient world. It’s directed by Harold Ramis and produced by Judd Apatow, so expect the antics to be crude, outrageous and ultimately hit-or-miss.
“Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen” – I think I’m one of the only people in existence who hasn’t yet sat down to watch the first “Transformers” flick, so there’s not much I can say except “Hooray for Michael Bay!” Or not.
July
“Public Enemies” – Michael Mann’s last picture was the flaccid “Miami Vice” in which Colin Farrell and Jamie Foxx appeared lost in search of a better, more fully realized reason for exhausting so much energy (other than Gong Li). Somehow, I don’t think Johnny Depp and Christian Bale will have that problem, because they both appear to give performances worthy of further discussion. Mann is at his best when tackling stories of suave criminality and the legend of John Dillinger sounds like just the ticket for his return to form.
“Bruno” – Sacha Baron Cohen is out once again to make his case as the most fearless comedian working today and I think he may achieve that status hands down. As Austrian fashionista Bruno, he humiliates presidential candidate Ron Paul, has an awkward run-in with Paula Abdul and attempts to join the Alabama National Guard. Oh the possibilities.
“Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince” – Hopefully, the delay wasn’t a sign of things to come, because this has the potential to be the biggest smash of the summer. When we last saw the boy wizard, he was grieving after the death of Sirius Black and starting to realize what he would have to become in order to stop an all-powerful being like Voldemort. I find the darkness to be the series’ invaluable attribute and can’t wait to see Radcliffe get medieval on those meddling Death Eaters.
“Funny People” – This has the potential to be either the best or worst movie of the season. Written and directed by Judd Apatow, this raunch-fest with a heart follows the career of two comedians who form a bond after one of them is diagnosed with a terminal illness. The casting of Adam Sandler, Seth Rogen and Leslie Mann is promising as usual, but the length may become an issue if the plot starts to sag à la “Knocked Up.”
August
“G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra” – Director Stephen Sommers brings a decent resumé (“The Mummy” and “Van Helsing”) with him to this live-action adaptation, but the eclectic collection of actors is what peaks my interest. Dennis Quaid, Channing Tatum, Sienna Miller, Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Christopher Eccleston are all poised to challenge “Transformers 2” for the title of “Best Movie Made From a 1980’s Cartoon.”
“Inglourious Basterds” – I’m really hoping that Quentin Tarantino’s first film since 2007’s “Death Proof” is as fiercely composed as the marketing campaign has made it out to be.
“Final Destination: Death Trip” – It’s the fourth installment of “Final Destination.” It’s in 3-D and directed by the same guy who brought us “Snakes on a Plane.” Oh joy.
“H2” - Rob Zombie’s “Halloween” was a grimy, sadistic piece of snuff that did nothing to make we want to endure a sequel, but nothing screams summer like a psychologically unhinged maniac looking to slice and dice his way to a paycheck.
Sound of the funky drummer - Public Enemy
May
“Star Trek” – Ever since his work on 1998’s “Armageddon,” J.J. Abrams has been carving his own little niche in the Sci-Fi genre and early reviews of this series reboot suggest a vivacious concoction of fanboy rapture that only he could manufacture. I recall seeing the teaser prior to the Abrams-produced “Cloverfield” and not thinking much of it, so here’s hoping that the overall presentation will be accessible to those who can’t rattle off the life story of every character to grace the Starship Enterprise.
“Angels and Demons” – I don’t think I’m alone in saying that 2006’s “The Da Vinci Code” left something to be desired. The dialogue, pacing and pseudo-chemistry between Tom Hanks and Audrey Tautou just didn’t live up to expectations and director Ron Howard appeared to be sleepwalking his way to the payoff. Howard has proven on numerous occasions to be a superb filmmaker, but other than “Apollo 13,” summer blockbusters just aren’t his thing. Although I’ve been told that this prequel is the superior novel of the two, I still find myself hesitant to expect something truly remarkable.
“Terminator Salvation” – I know it’s just innocent conjecture, but rumor has it that Christian Bale’s performance as John Connor doesn’t bring much to the table in terms of palpable substance. If that’s indeed the case, my interest in this film is evaporating quicker than when I first heard that glorified noisemaker McG was going to assume directorial duties. The desire by Hollywood to continuously re-hash old favorites ran out of steam years ago and I refuse to accept that this is the best they have to offer.
“Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian” – Say what you will about the first installment, but I actually enjoyed it and laughed often enough to justify the ticket price. I’m not expecting Ben Stiller to reach the same comedic heights that last year’s brilliant parody “Tropic Thunder,” but the addition of Amy Adams, Bill Hader (genius) and Jonah Hill to the cast should make it an event movie that both kids and parents can enjoy.
“Drag Me to Hell” – Judging from the trailer, director Sam Raimi appears to have livened up and returned to his B-movie roots with a macabre tale of a loan officer whose dream lifestyle is about to end on a nefarious note. His “Spider-Man” days were certainly successful, but there’s something very “Evil Dead”-esque about this film that has me counting down the days.
“Up” – Everyone has their favorite Pixar creation (“Ratatouille” would be mine) and I’m sure that within days of its release, the journey of a crotchety 78-year-old named Carl Fredricksen will find itself at the top of many Best of ’09 lists. Come to think of it, have the wizards at Pixar ever made a film that wasn’t universally lauded?
June
“Land of the Lost” – After clunkers like “Semi-Pro” and “Step Brothers,” I think it’s safe to say that the Will Ferrell comedy wagon has hit a speed bump. I may be alone in this, but other than 2006’s “Stranger Than Fiction,” I don’t think he’s given a great comedic performance since his uncredited appearance in “Wedding Crashers.” What used to be funny has now become musty and played-out, so I would like to think that a big-screen adaptation of a vintage television show is just what he needs to get him out of the funk. Oh wait, didn’t he already try that with “Bewitched?”
“The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3” – Apparently, John Travolta is starring opposite Denzel Washington in this Tony Scott-directed story of a hijacked NYC subway train. I’m just as surprised as you are, because I could’ve sworn that Travolta’s acting career ended following 2000’s “Battlefield Earth.” Maybe I was mistaken.
“Year One” – Jack Black and Michael Cera team up in this biblical era farce as two losers who find themselves banished from their village and forced to embark on an epic journey through the ancient world. It’s directed by Harold Ramis and produced by Judd Apatow, so expect the antics to be crude, outrageous and ultimately hit-or-miss.
“Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen” – I think I’m one of the only people in existence who hasn’t yet sat down to watch the first “Transformers” flick, so there’s not much I can say except “Hooray for Michael Bay!” Or not.
July
“Public Enemies” – Michael Mann’s last picture was the flaccid “Miami Vice” in which Colin Farrell and Jamie Foxx appeared lost in search of a better, more fully realized reason for exhausting so much energy (other than Gong Li). Somehow, I don’t think Johnny Depp and Christian Bale will have that problem, because they both appear to give performances worthy of further discussion. Mann is at his best when tackling stories of suave criminality and the legend of John Dillinger sounds like just the ticket for his return to form.
“Bruno” – Sacha Baron Cohen is out once again to make his case as the most fearless comedian working today and I think he may achieve that status hands down. As Austrian fashionista Bruno, he humiliates presidential candidate Ron Paul, has an awkward run-in with Paula Abdul and attempts to join the Alabama National Guard. Oh the possibilities.
“Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince” – Hopefully, the delay wasn’t a sign of things to come, because this has the potential to be the biggest smash of the summer. When we last saw the boy wizard, he was grieving after the death of Sirius Black and starting to realize what he would have to become in order to stop an all-powerful being like Voldemort. I find the darkness to be the series’ invaluable attribute and can’t wait to see Radcliffe get medieval on those meddling Death Eaters.
“Funny People” – This has the potential to be either the best or worst movie of the season. Written and directed by Judd Apatow, this raunch-fest with a heart follows the career of two comedians who form a bond after one of them is diagnosed with a terminal illness. The casting of Adam Sandler, Seth Rogen and Leslie Mann is promising as usual, but the length may become an issue if the plot starts to sag à la “Knocked Up.”
August
“G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra” – Director Stephen Sommers brings a decent resumé (“The Mummy” and “Van Helsing”) with him to this live-action adaptation, but the eclectic collection of actors is what peaks my interest. Dennis Quaid, Channing Tatum, Sienna Miller, Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Christopher Eccleston are all poised to challenge “Transformers 2” for the title of “Best Movie Made From a 1980’s Cartoon.”
“Inglourious Basterds” – I’m really hoping that Quentin Tarantino’s first film since 2007’s “Death Proof” is as fiercely composed as the marketing campaign has made it out to be.
“Final Destination: Death Trip” – It’s the fourth installment of “Final Destination.” It’s in 3-D and directed by the same guy who brought us “Snakes on a Plane.” Oh joy.
“H2” - Rob Zombie’s “Halloween” was a grimy, sadistic piece of snuff that did nothing to make we want to endure a sequel, but nothing screams summer like a psychologically unhinged maniac looking to slice and dice his way to a paycheck.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
The Great Buck Howard and Tyson
Only an actor as quirky and idiosyncratic as John Malkovich could’ve tackled a character like “The Great Buck Howard.” His insistence on capturing every annoying, arrogant and overbearing attribute of this once-heralded mentalist is what keeps the film from becoming just another glimpse into how some former stars fade not-so-gracefully into obscurity. I doubt the Academy will take notice, but through the first four months of 2009, Malkovich has turned in what I think is among the top two performances of the year (Joaquin Phoenix in “Two Lovers” being the other).
Produced by Tom Hanks, “Howard” follows the dwindling career of Buck Howard, an aging mentalist who once performed more than 60 times on “The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson” only to find himself playing to half-full community centers following the coronation of Jay Leno as the new late-night mainstay.
Everyone around him knows that the gig is up and the whole act has become one pathetic ode to a time when the lights were just a little bit brighter. We get the sense that Buck knows his 15 minutes have come and passed yet he still charges on with all the brio and profanity you’d expect from a Hollywood prima donna.
When he hires an assistant played by Colin Hanks, their relationship is torrid from the start as Buck’s demands reach intolerable levels and Hanks does his best to keep up with Malkovich’s razor-sharp comedic timing.
As Tom Hanks’s son, the expectations are certainly high and Colin doesn’t falter under the pressure.
He’s likeable enough to make us believe that a kid like that would go to law school and later have the guts to tell his parents he dropped out to become a writer.
After months of pretending to support Buck’s desire for resurgence, he finally gets a break in the form of a publicist played by the wonderful Emily Blunt. From the moment Blunt appears, the story gets a much-needed boost in terms of holding the audience’s attention and the quality of Buck’s stage show is finally solidified.
While watching his act, we actually begin to understand how he was once the most sought-after mentalist around, because his tricks are perfectly executed. His most famous feat involves having his payment hidden somewhere in the audience and then finding it without the assistance of any sound or video equipment. Every night he does the trick and every night he finds the money, so for a while he appears to be back on the road to riches after all.
This is by no means a mainstream movie, so don’t be upset when you find out that the laughs don’t come as often as you’d like. Malkovich thrives on the sexual ambiguity of the character and doesn’t really care if people find him difficult to deal with. The public loves a comeback story and despite Buck’s prickly persona, he’s still a guy worth rooting for.
- *** ½ out of 4
You’ve seen the carnage, read about the decadence and heard the profanity-laced tirades, but how well do you really know former heavyweight champion of the world Mike Tyson? In the new documentary “Tyson,” director James Toback hopes to enhance your familiarity with the “baddest man on the planet” by portraying him as a sympathetic figure born and bred on the hardened streets of Brooklyn. Tyson employs a Gorbachev-esque style of transparency when telling the camera about the criminality and sexual conquests that got him to where he is today and his honesty is what makes this film worthy of your attention.
As he rattles on about everything from childhood to Evander Holyfield, the whole thing takes on a kind of confessional quality in which Tyson bares his inner most soul for all to see. Instead of an animalistic archetype, he becomes a multifaceted human being capable of acknowledging his mistakes and praying for forgiveness, which those around him view as a vast improvement from his younger days.
Does Toback condone or downplay the seriousness of Tyson’s behavior? No, but the nature of their relationship implies a degree of respect for a man who has always done things his own way regardless of the consequences. His actions in the ring are just as fascinating as his actions outside of it, so prepare to hear the story directly from the teary-eyed source himself.
Is it guaranteed to change your opinion? Of course not, but it surely influenced mine.
- *** ½ out of 4
Produced by Tom Hanks, “Howard” follows the dwindling career of Buck Howard, an aging mentalist who once performed more than 60 times on “The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson” only to find himself playing to half-full community centers following the coronation of Jay Leno as the new late-night mainstay.
Everyone around him knows that the gig is up and the whole act has become one pathetic ode to a time when the lights were just a little bit brighter. We get the sense that Buck knows his 15 minutes have come and passed yet he still charges on with all the brio and profanity you’d expect from a Hollywood prima donna.
When he hires an assistant played by Colin Hanks, their relationship is torrid from the start as Buck’s demands reach intolerable levels and Hanks does his best to keep up with Malkovich’s razor-sharp comedic timing.
As Tom Hanks’s son, the expectations are certainly high and Colin doesn’t falter under the pressure.
He’s likeable enough to make us believe that a kid like that would go to law school and later have the guts to tell his parents he dropped out to become a writer.
After months of pretending to support Buck’s desire for resurgence, he finally gets a break in the form of a publicist played by the wonderful Emily Blunt. From the moment Blunt appears, the story gets a much-needed boost in terms of holding the audience’s attention and the quality of Buck’s stage show is finally solidified.
While watching his act, we actually begin to understand how he was once the most sought-after mentalist around, because his tricks are perfectly executed. His most famous feat involves having his payment hidden somewhere in the audience and then finding it without the assistance of any sound or video equipment. Every night he does the trick and every night he finds the money, so for a while he appears to be back on the road to riches after all.
This is by no means a mainstream movie, so don’t be upset when you find out that the laughs don’t come as often as you’d like. Malkovich thrives on the sexual ambiguity of the character and doesn’t really care if people find him difficult to deal with. The public loves a comeback story and despite Buck’s prickly persona, he’s still a guy worth rooting for.
- *** ½ out of 4
You’ve seen the carnage, read about the decadence and heard the profanity-laced tirades, but how well do you really know former heavyweight champion of the world Mike Tyson? In the new documentary “Tyson,” director James Toback hopes to enhance your familiarity with the “baddest man on the planet” by portraying him as a sympathetic figure born and bred on the hardened streets of Brooklyn. Tyson employs a Gorbachev-esque style of transparency when telling the camera about the criminality and sexual conquests that got him to where he is today and his honesty is what makes this film worthy of your attention.
As he rattles on about everything from childhood to Evander Holyfield, the whole thing takes on a kind of confessional quality in which Tyson bares his inner most soul for all to see. Instead of an animalistic archetype, he becomes a multifaceted human being capable of acknowledging his mistakes and praying for forgiveness, which those around him view as a vast improvement from his younger days.
Does Toback condone or downplay the seriousness of Tyson’s behavior? No, but the nature of their relationship implies a degree of respect for a man who has always done things his own way regardless of the consequences. His actions in the ring are just as fascinating as his actions outside of it, so prepare to hear the story directly from the teary-eyed source himself.
Is it guaranteed to change your opinion? Of course not, but it surely influenced mine.
- *** ½ out of 4
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Record Theatre: Still kicking more than 30 years later
It’s 1976. President Gerald Ford is nearing the end of his first and only term, the face-melting wallop of “Frampton Comes Alive” can be heard blaring from stereos all across America and an independent venture known as Record Theatre first opens its doors to the people of Western New York.
In today’s technological market, it’s hard to imagine a record store playing such a vital role in the community, but at that moment in time, the shop served as a link between fans and the recording artists they loved.
Billed as “the biggest music store on Earth” with nearly 25,000-square-feet, it was able to single-handedly change the way music was brought to the masses in Buffalo.
“What I liked about Record Theatre was that they had stock imports from Canada and tons of local music,” says former employee Christine K. “It used to be the place to go for new releases, Saturday morning specials and even imports.”
Although its original location was at the corner of Main and Lafayette in Downtown Buffalo, it soon expanded to six locations scattered between Hamburg and North Tonawanda. The ‘70s and ‘80s proved to be an extremely profitable era for the store and many fans find that success to be a direct representation of the quality of music during that period.
“You’d pour over the lyrics back then looking to find insight as to what Jackson Browne was thinking when he wrote 'The Pretender' or what exactly 'the pompetus of love' was anyway,” says long-time music fan Ruth Eger. “I’m much too old for today’s music.”
Eger’s fervent reminiscence of the time is echoed by Record Theatre’s current Head Buyer Brandon Delmont, who has gotten an up close and personal view of just how drastically the industry has changed through the years.
“Nowadays, it’s become super fast to either plug your friend’s iPod into your computer and take all of their songs, or go to a blog and download a file,” says Delmont. “Within minutes, you have an artist’s entire catalog and it’s free. I really think that this has been the reason for the decline in sales.”
Delmont’s dismay with the present situation is evident in his tone as he goes on and on about how little specialized knowledge people have about the music they listen to, as well as how the Internet has altered the way most business is conducted.
While the onset of iTunes and other digital programs has signaled the end for some record stores, Record Theatre has decided to roll with the changes.
“As far as the Internet goes, it has been a way to connect with people that do not want to come into the store,” Delmont adds. “We have an e-mail list that we can run special coupons and promote certain artists/events directly to people that do enjoy the physical product.”
When it comes to online sales, Delmont leaves no area uncovered.
“We have a division that sells products on Amazon, EBay and half.com. Where we once had to depend on people to come to us, now we can get to them online. Now, with out-of-print and rare products we can make good money.”
His optimism about the future is a rarity among the record store community, but he firmly believes that the personal touch and camaraderie of the in-store atmosphere can’t be duplicated by any other format.
“Guys like me that studied music are the ones that end up with the knowledge to work in a store like ours,” he jubilantly declares. “I try to pass that attitude to the younger people that we hire, because they don’t necessarily have to be encyclopedias. They just need to retain information and help customers find what they need.”
Those familiar with Nick Hornby’s 1995 novel “High Fidelity” can probably relate to what Delmont is saying and Record Theatre even features a quote from the book on their web site. To those who haven’t read the book, it centers on a record store owner and how his obsession with music ends up influencing everything in his daily life.
“The customers, employees and artists sharing knowledge and tastes with each other, that’s where the community of a record store really works” says Delmont.
Despite having only three locations left, Record Theatre doesn’t plan on going away anytime soon. No matter how things play out with the industry, it's determined to continue getting music to the public in the most efficient manner possible.
To celebrate Record Store Day on April 18, Delmont urged people to come out to support the independent scene and celebrate the art of music while indulging in live performances from some of the area’s finest local bands and, as usual, they delivered the goods.
“At the end of the day, people will always want to go to a physical store because we have a basic need to be social and want to do something with our time. I love getting away from everything and hunting down records, it’s a great waste of time!"
In today’s technological market, it’s hard to imagine a record store playing such a vital role in the community, but at that moment in time, the shop served as a link between fans and the recording artists they loved.
Billed as “the biggest music store on Earth” with nearly 25,000-square-feet, it was able to single-handedly change the way music was brought to the masses in Buffalo.
“What I liked about Record Theatre was that they had stock imports from Canada and tons of local music,” says former employee Christine K. “It used to be the place to go for new releases, Saturday morning specials and even imports.”
Although its original location was at the corner of Main and Lafayette in Downtown Buffalo, it soon expanded to six locations scattered between Hamburg and North Tonawanda. The ‘70s and ‘80s proved to be an extremely profitable era for the store and many fans find that success to be a direct representation of the quality of music during that period.
“You’d pour over the lyrics back then looking to find insight as to what Jackson Browne was thinking when he wrote 'The Pretender' or what exactly 'the pompetus of love' was anyway,” says long-time music fan Ruth Eger. “I’m much too old for today’s music.”
Eger’s fervent reminiscence of the time is echoed by Record Theatre’s current Head Buyer Brandon Delmont, who has gotten an up close and personal view of just how drastically the industry has changed through the years.
“Nowadays, it’s become super fast to either plug your friend’s iPod into your computer and take all of their songs, or go to a blog and download a file,” says Delmont. “Within minutes, you have an artist’s entire catalog and it’s free. I really think that this has been the reason for the decline in sales.”
Delmont’s dismay with the present situation is evident in his tone as he goes on and on about how little specialized knowledge people have about the music they listen to, as well as how the Internet has altered the way most business is conducted.
While the onset of iTunes and other digital programs has signaled the end for some record stores, Record Theatre has decided to roll with the changes.
“As far as the Internet goes, it has been a way to connect with people that do not want to come into the store,” Delmont adds. “We have an e-mail list that we can run special coupons and promote certain artists/events directly to people that do enjoy the physical product.”
When it comes to online sales, Delmont leaves no area uncovered.
“We have a division that sells products on Amazon, EBay and half.com. Where we once had to depend on people to come to us, now we can get to them online. Now, with out-of-print and rare products we can make good money.”
His optimism about the future is a rarity among the record store community, but he firmly believes that the personal touch and camaraderie of the in-store atmosphere can’t be duplicated by any other format.
“Guys like me that studied music are the ones that end up with the knowledge to work in a store like ours,” he jubilantly declares. “I try to pass that attitude to the younger people that we hire, because they don’t necessarily have to be encyclopedias. They just need to retain information and help customers find what they need.”
Those familiar with Nick Hornby’s 1995 novel “High Fidelity” can probably relate to what Delmont is saying and Record Theatre even features a quote from the book on their web site. To those who haven’t read the book, it centers on a record store owner and how his obsession with music ends up influencing everything in his daily life.
“The customers, employees and artists sharing knowledge and tastes with each other, that’s where the community of a record store really works” says Delmont.
Despite having only three locations left, Record Theatre doesn’t plan on going away anytime soon. No matter how things play out with the industry, it's determined to continue getting music to the public in the most efficient manner possible.
To celebrate Record Store Day on April 18, Delmont urged people to come out to support the independent scene and celebrate the art of music while indulging in live performances from some of the area’s finest local bands and, as usual, they delivered the goods.
“At the end of the day, people will always want to go to a physical store because we have a basic need to be social and want to do something with our time. I love getting away from everything and hunting down records, it’s a great waste of time!"
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Is the album dead?
If you were shown a list of the ten best selling albums of 2008, how many of them would actually be a part of your own personal collection? How many would you honestly admit to having an intimate, well-rounded knowledge of?
Those of you scrambling to recall even one of the potential titles, you’re not alone.
Nielsen SoundScan reports that 2008’s top ten artists sold more than 40 million fewer albums than the top ten of 2000 and the decline doesn’t appear to be ending any time soon.
Apparently, consumers don’t find Lil Wayne, Taylor Swift and Kid Rock to be overly deserving of their time and money.
“In my opinion, the main reason for dwindling album sales is file sharing. All it takes
is for one guy in his dorm to find the new Peter, Bjorn & John and e-mail it to all of his friends weeks before the actual release date” says Brandon Delmont, head buyer for Record Theatre. “What could have been 50 sales of the album turns into zero sales at the record shop.”
The onset of programs such as iTunes and LimeWire tends to support Delmont’s popular assertion, but a closer look reveals something very different indeed. Consider the aforementioned Swift and Kid Rock.
To fans, they represent the pinnacle of American music at this point in time, but to outsiders they’re nothing more than glorified karaoke hounds that produce skin-deep pop songs aimed at hijacking a piece of your wallet.
“It’s so hard to find good bands these days” says college freshman Ben Thuman. “If people actually listen to and buy this crap, nothing within the system will ever change.”
Thuman’s passionate reflection is just a microcosm of what is happening in today’s market. For evidence of how differently some artists approach the business, look no further than Pearl Jam frontman Eddie Vedder and pop sensations The Jonas Brothers.
When Vedder composed the soundtrack for Sean Penn’s “Into the Wild,” he was driven by a strong dedication to the craft and ended up with an album that Rolling Stone writer David Fricke called “tracks that temper the romance of absolute freedom with an eerie foreboding.”
When The Jonas Brothers compose an album, they’re catering to an entirely different demographic and therefore aim to create catchy tunes that will make more money in the short-term.
Whatever people think of today’s pop artists, their commercial status hints at the ongoing shift from producing complex albums to simply making radio-friendly singles that fans can download in 30 seconds flat.
“Long gone are the days of bringing home an album with thought-provoking lyrics on a sheet of glossy paper tucked inside the jacket” says long-time fan Ruth Eger, when expressing her dismay with the current musical climate. “I remember when pop/rock/soul music had edgy lyrics and an instrumental bridge that everyone would be humming in the car.”
Eger isn’t the only one who sees a problem with today’s scene. Thuman also longs for a return to the days of great drumming and virtuoso guitar work.
“You really have to look hard for bands that are capable of making music that involves talent and originality” he says. “Most of them are more interested in making money than making good music and it’s a rip-off.”
Although the negativity abounds, Delmont doesn’t feel that mainstream music has dropped off all that much.
“I think it’s always sort of sucked. I can remember a gentleman in college that was in his 30s at the time and I would tell him how great the Beatles were. He said he never listened to them, because they were too “bubblegum” back then” says Delmont. “You’re always going to find great art, music and literature on the edges of society. You just have to look for it.”
Those of you scrambling to recall even one of the potential titles, you’re not alone.
Nielsen SoundScan reports that 2008’s top ten artists sold more than 40 million fewer albums than the top ten of 2000 and the decline doesn’t appear to be ending any time soon.
Apparently, consumers don’t find Lil Wayne, Taylor Swift and Kid Rock to be overly deserving of their time and money.
“In my opinion, the main reason for dwindling album sales is file sharing. All it takes
is for one guy in his dorm to find the new Peter, Bjorn & John and e-mail it to all of his friends weeks before the actual release date” says Brandon Delmont, head buyer for Record Theatre. “What could have been 50 sales of the album turns into zero sales at the record shop.”
The onset of programs such as iTunes and LimeWire tends to support Delmont’s popular assertion, but a closer look reveals something very different indeed. Consider the aforementioned Swift and Kid Rock.
To fans, they represent the pinnacle of American music at this point in time, but to outsiders they’re nothing more than glorified karaoke hounds that produce skin-deep pop songs aimed at hijacking a piece of your wallet.
“It’s so hard to find good bands these days” says college freshman Ben Thuman. “If people actually listen to and buy this crap, nothing within the system will ever change.”
Thuman’s passionate reflection is just a microcosm of what is happening in today’s market. For evidence of how differently some artists approach the business, look no further than Pearl Jam frontman Eddie Vedder and pop sensations The Jonas Brothers.
When Vedder composed the soundtrack for Sean Penn’s “Into the Wild,” he was driven by a strong dedication to the craft and ended up with an album that Rolling Stone writer David Fricke called “tracks that temper the romance of absolute freedom with an eerie foreboding.”
When The Jonas Brothers compose an album, they’re catering to an entirely different demographic and therefore aim to create catchy tunes that will make more money in the short-term.
Whatever people think of today’s pop artists, their commercial status hints at the ongoing shift from producing complex albums to simply making radio-friendly singles that fans can download in 30 seconds flat.
“Long gone are the days of bringing home an album with thought-provoking lyrics on a sheet of glossy paper tucked inside the jacket” says long-time fan Ruth Eger, when expressing her dismay with the current musical climate. “I remember when pop/rock/soul music had edgy lyrics and an instrumental bridge that everyone would be humming in the car.”
Eger isn’t the only one who sees a problem with today’s scene. Thuman also longs for a return to the days of great drumming and virtuoso guitar work.
“You really have to look hard for bands that are capable of making music that involves talent and originality” he says. “Most of them are more interested in making money than making good music and it’s a rip-off.”
Although the negativity abounds, Delmont doesn’t feel that mainstream music has dropped off all that much.
“I think it’s always sort of sucked. I can remember a gentleman in college that was in his 30s at the time and I would tell him how great the Beatles were. He said he never listened to them, because they were too “bubblegum” back then” says Delmont. “You’re always going to find great art, music and literature on the edges of society. You just have to look for it.”
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Lewiston Kiwanis Peach Festival
For 52 years, the Lewiston Kiwanis Peach Festival has offered residents and tourists alike the opportunity to indulge in some good old-fashioned fun, food and camaraderie toward the end of the summer season. Whether it’s playing games in the midway, listening to live music or simply basking in the local scenery, the event caters to people of all ages who are looking to take advantage of everything this area has to offer.
“We’ve been fortunate to add events through the years to make the festival bigger and involve more people and families. It’s grown to be a spectacular event,” says Festival Chairman Jerry Wolfgang, when discussing how popular the occasion has become since its inception. “We’ve always maintained over the years that this is for families.”
Wolfgang’s emphasis on family is cemented by the absence of a beer tent which, for many festivals, would mean a major hit to overall revenue, but Wolfgang isn’t worried. He points out that the Kiwanis Club alone uses “13,000 pounds of fruit to make the peach shortcake” and that the coveted dessert has a reputation for selling out rather quickly, so the fundraising efforts should be just fine throughout the three-day period.
In the past, the question of venue has come up among concerned members of the community, but this year the inquiries were laid to rest early.
At their Feb. 17 meeting, The Village of Lewiston Board of Trustees passed a motion to allow the Kiwanis Club to once again hold the event at Academy Park, which many residents feel is the best fit.
“Having it at the plateau was too congested and drew too many complaints,” says Trustee Michael Marra, referring to one of the festival’s prior locations. “Things such as facility contracts and other insurance issues can be complicated, so Academy Park seems to be the most accommodating.”
Trustee William Geiben also supports the use of Academy Park, saying that local businesses “wouldn’t be able to survive without festivals and spending from visitors,” so it’s important to create a situation where both attendees and vendors can view the festival as a success.
Although the festival has evolved, Geiben also says it’s important to remember that its original purpose was to support the farmers by promoting their annual peach crop. With vendors poised to go through 13,000 pounds of peaches, the initial intention remains firmly in tact.
Time: Friday Sept. 11 (5 p.m. – 11 p.m.)
Saturday Sept. 12 (11 a.m. - 11 p.m.)
Sunday Sept. 13 (11 a.m. – 10 p.m.)
Admission: Free
“We’ve been fortunate to add events through the years to make the festival bigger and involve more people and families. It’s grown to be a spectacular event,” says Festival Chairman Jerry Wolfgang, when discussing how popular the occasion has become since its inception. “We’ve always maintained over the years that this is for families.”
Wolfgang’s emphasis on family is cemented by the absence of a beer tent which, for many festivals, would mean a major hit to overall revenue, but Wolfgang isn’t worried. He points out that the Kiwanis Club alone uses “13,000 pounds of fruit to make the peach shortcake” and that the coveted dessert has a reputation for selling out rather quickly, so the fundraising efforts should be just fine throughout the three-day period.
In the past, the question of venue has come up among concerned members of the community, but this year the inquiries were laid to rest early.
At their Feb. 17 meeting, The Village of Lewiston Board of Trustees passed a motion to allow the Kiwanis Club to once again hold the event at Academy Park, which many residents feel is the best fit.
“Having it at the plateau was too congested and drew too many complaints,” says Trustee Michael Marra, referring to one of the festival’s prior locations. “Things such as facility contracts and other insurance issues can be complicated, so Academy Park seems to be the most accommodating.”
Trustee William Geiben also supports the use of Academy Park, saying that local businesses “wouldn’t be able to survive without festivals and spending from visitors,” so it’s important to create a situation where both attendees and vendors can view the festival as a success.
Although the festival has evolved, Geiben also says it’s important to remember that its original purpose was to support the farmers by promoting their annual peach crop. With vendors poised to go through 13,000 pounds of peaches, the initial intention remains firmly in tact.
Time: Friday Sept. 11 (5 p.m. – 11 p.m.)
Saturday Sept. 12 (11 a.m. - 11 p.m.)
Sunday Sept. 13 (11 a.m. – 10 p.m.)
Admission: Free
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
The Last House on the Left
With a piece of cringe-inducing torture porn such as "The Last House on the Left," you know exactly what you're getting. F-bombs will drop, grass will be smoked and people will be offed in the most grotesque fashion imaginable. That said, the result of this latest horror reimagining is surprisingly effective to the point that Wes Craven's 1972 original looks almost tame in comparison.
What I found interesting about the new film is that its tone is 180 degrees different than what Craven was going for. His work had an absurd sense of Manson-esque anarchy that made you unsure whether or not the obvious comedic elements should be laughed at, but the insanity here leaves no time for antics. When these girls embark on their boneheaded ganja quest, director Dennis Iliadis wastes no time testing the audience's tolerance for moral turpitude.
Those familiar with the original know what happens next, so I'll spare you the grimy details. The bottom line is that if you have the stomach for it, it's actually a pretty well-made, albeit disturbing addition to the genre.
- ** 1/2 out of 4 - It would've been 3, but that final scene was completely superfluous.
What I found interesting about the new film is that its tone is 180 degrees different than what Craven was going for. His work had an absurd sense of Manson-esque anarchy that made you unsure whether or not the obvious comedic elements should be laughed at, but the insanity here leaves no time for antics. When these girls embark on their boneheaded ganja quest, director Dennis Iliadis wastes no time testing the audience's tolerance for moral turpitude.
Those familiar with the original know what happens next, so I'll spare you the grimy details. The bottom line is that if you have the stomach for it, it's actually a pretty well-made, albeit disturbing addition to the genre.
- ** 1/2 out of 4 - It would've been 3, but that final scene was completely superfluous.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Watchmen
Disclaimer - I've yet to read the graphic novel, so every reaction is based solely on the film itself.
Now that I’ve had some time to digest all 162 minutes of Zack Snyder’s ponderous adaptation of “Watchmen,” I think it’s time to sort through the wreckage of this ambitious yet terminally flawed project. During the miraculously executed opening montage, I kept thinking that I was about to experience something truly fanciful and reflective, but it was only a matter of time before delight turned to despair. I wanted to like it.
Actually, I thought pretty highly of it walking out of the theatre and was eager to see it again just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. Alas, reality set in and what I initially believed to be an out-of-this-world piece of pulp noir was reduced to just another insipid riff on the superhero’s dilemma.
Instead of serving up a standard review, I decided to highlight what I liked and didn’t like about this film separately, because I’m admittedly a little unsure of the long-term impact this picture will have on critics and fanboys alike. But enough small talk. Let’s get down to business.
Likes –
The Opening Sequence – Set to Bob Dylan’s anthemic “The Times They Are A-Changin’,” the first ten minutes provide a splendid Gump-esque glimpse into the history of the Watchmen and how their intervention in such events as Vietnam and Watergate helped shape the bizarro 1985 in which the story is set. Watching Dr. Manhattan singlehandedly eliminate the North Vietnamese army is one of the more amusing sights here, but the coolness of it all is too great to last as Snyder is never able to recapture the thrill of this first act.
Rorschach – I’m probably not the first (or the last) to say this, but Jackie Earle Haley owns this movie. As the resident sociopath of the troupe, he narrates the film with an alarming tenor reminiscent of Christian Bale’s bat voice and patrols the streets looking to eviscerate every sordid scumbag in sight. It’s when his inkblot mask comes off that we really get the sense of an angst-ridden soul out for justice, but however fanatically blood-spattered the unmasking period is, the intrigue quickly evaporates once the mask goes back on.
The Comedian – He’s pompous, loutish, and despicable, but Jeffrey Dean Morgan dives into this character with reckless abandon. Although he’s shown mostly through flashbacks, we get the sense that Edward Blake enjoys being a boozing womanizer just as much as a supposed hero, because saving people just doesn’t feel as gratifying without a little something for the effort. Seeing as how most of the other characters are dull and uninspiring, I wouldn’t mind seeing a film based on The Comedian himself. At least that would have some soul.
The Soundtrack – Other than the aforementioned Dylan tune, here are some of the other songs littered throughout the film:
“All Along the Watchtower” – Jimi Hendrix
“The Sounds of Silence” – Simon and Garfunkel
“Hallelujah” – Leonard Cohen (During the sex scene, no less)
“Me and Bobby McGee” – Janis Joplin
“I’m Your Boogie Man” – K.C. and the Sunshine Band
“Unforgettable” – Nat King Cole
I enjoyed this eclectic mix of music a great deal, but still found the placement of certain songs to be awkward and clichéd.
Zack Snyder – From what diehard fans tell me, “Watchmen” is the most faithful comic book adaptation ever made and Snyder should be commended for taking on such a risky project. I agree with the latter to a certain extent, because if it’s really identical to the novel, it’s not Snyder’s fault that the material doesn’t translate well to the screen. I enjoyed his work on “Dawn of the Dead” very much and found “300” entertaining enough, so I don’t think it’s fair to blame everything on him. He made the film he wanted and, for me, it just didn’t pan out the way I hoped it would.
Dislikes –
Nite Owl, Silk Spectre II, Ozymandias, and Dr. Manhattan – None of these characters did anything to enhance my experience and I could’ve easily done without them.
Patrick Wilson – He’s a fine actor with a résumé that includes “Hard Candy,” “Little Children” and “Lakeview Terrace,” but he feels wasted behind a whiny character that resembles a middle-school science teacher more than a conflicted vigilante.
Malin Akerman – “Her interpretation of this character teeters between adorable and offensively annoying, but if that’s indeed how the character was written, she’s more than done her job.”
I wrote the above line about Akerman in my review of “The Heartbreak Kid” back in 2007 and I think it manages to sum up her work as Silk Spectre II just the same.
Matthew Goode – I don’t watch the show, but I have to think that the conniving women on “Gossip Girl” exhibit more sparkling malice that Goode does as Ozymandias.
Billy Crudup – The role of Dr. Manhattan doesn’t require much emotion, so I felt Crudup’s range wasn’t tested enough to warrant discussion. He’s buried by subpar effects and deserved better material.
Special Effects – The much-anticipated visual effects resulted in a mixed bag. At times, they’re the most incredible display you’ve ever seen and at others, they look like something out of Roland Emmerich’s “10,000 B.C.”
For example, the scene in which Dr. Manhattan and Silk Spectre II are having a discussion on Mars is just awful.
I think my biggest issue with the film is that too many stretches exist where I was left wondering why the creators let things slip away so quickly. The promise established by the first few scenes was tremendous to say the least and for a project that took this long to be developed, it should’ve been much more consequential.
- ** ½ out of 4
Now that I’ve had some time to digest all 162 minutes of Zack Snyder’s ponderous adaptation of “Watchmen,” I think it’s time to sort through the wreckage of this ambitious yet terminally flawed project. During the miraculously executed opening montage, I kept thinking that I was about to experience something truly fanciful and reflective, but it was only a matter of time before delight turned to despair. I wanted to like it.
Actually, I thought pretty highly of it walking out of the theatre and was eager to see it again just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. Alas, reality set in and what I initially believed to be an out-of-this-world piece of pulp noir was reduced to just another insipid riff on the superhero’s dilemma.
Instead of serving up a standard review, I decided to highlight what I liked and didn’t like about this film separately, because I’m admittedly a little unsure of the long-term impact this picture will have on critics and fanboys alike. But enough small talk. Let’s get down to business.
Likes –
The Opening Sequence – Set to Bob Dylan’s anthemic “The Times They Are A-Changin’,” the first ten minutes provide a splendid Gump-esque glimpse into the history of the Watchmen and how their intervention in such events as Vietnam and Watergate helped shape the bizarro 1985 in which the story is set. Watching Dr. Manhattan singlehandedly eliminate the North Vietnamese army is one of the more amusing sights here, but the coolness of it all is too great to last as Snyder is never able to recapture the thrill of this first act.
Rorschach – I’m probably not the first (or the last) to say this, but Jackie Earle Haley owns this movie. As the resident sociopath of the troupe, he narrates the film with an alarming tenor reminiscent of Christian Bale’s bat voice and patrols the streets looking to eviscerate every sordid scumbag in sight. It’s when his inkblot mask comes off that we really get the sense of an angst-ridden soul out for justice, but however fanatically blood-spattered the unmasking period is, the intrigue quickly evaporates once the mask goes back on.
The Comedian – He’s pompous, loutish, and despicable, but Jeffrey Dean Morgan dives into this character with reckless abandon. Although he’s shown mostly through flashbacks, we get the sense that Edward Blake enjoys being a boozing womanizer just as much as a supposed hero, because saving people just doesn’t feel as gratifying without a little something for the effort. Seeing as how most of the other characters are dull and uninspiring, I wouldn’t mind seeing a film based on The Comedian himself. At least that would have some soul.
The Soundtrack – Other than the aforementioned Dylan tune, here are some of the other songs littered throughout the film:
“All Along the Watchtower” – Jimi Hendrix
“The Sounds of Silence” – Simon and Garfunkel
“Hallelujah” – Leonard Cohen (During the sex scene, no less)
“Me and Bobby McGee” – Janis Joplin
“I’m Your Boogie Man” – K.C. and the Sunshine Band
“Unforgettable” – Nat King Cole
I enjoyed this eclectic mix of music a great deal, but still found the placement of certain songs to be awkward and clichéd.
Zack Snyder – From what diehard fans tell me, “Watchmen” is the most faithful comic book adaptation ever made and Snyder should be commended for taking on such a risky project. I agree with the latter to a certain extent, because if it’s really identical to the novel, it’s not Snyder’s fault that the material doesn’t translate well to the screen. I enjoyed his work on “Dawn of the Dead” very much and found “300” entertaining enough, so I don’t think it’s fair to blame everything on him. He made the film he wanted and, for me, it just didn’t pan out the way I hoped it would.
Dislikes –
Nite Owl, Silk Spectre II, Ozymandias, and Dr. Manhattan – None of these characters did anything to enhance my experience and I could’ve easily done without them.
Patrick Wilson – He’s a fine actor with a résumé that includes “Hard Candy,” “Little Children” and “Lakeview Terrace,” but he feels wasted behind a whiny character that resembles a middle-school science teacher more than a conflicted vigilante.
Malin Akerman – “Her interpretation of this character teeters between adorable and offensively annoying, but if that’s indeed how the character was written, she’s more than done her job.”
I wrote the above line about Akerman in my review of “The Heartbreak Kid” back in 2007 and I think it manages to sum up her work as Silk Spectre II just the same.
Matthew Goode – I don’t watch the show, but I have to think that the conniving women on “Gossip Girl” exhibit more sparkling malice that Goode does as Ozymandias.
Billy Crudup – The role of Dr. Manhattan doesn’t require much emotion, so I felt Crudup’s range wasn’t tested enough to warrant discussion. He’s buried by subpar effects and deserved better material.
Special Effects – The much-anticipated visual effects resulted in a mixed bag. At times, they’re the most incredible display you’ve ever seen and at others, they look like something out of Roland Emmerich’s “10,000 B.C.”
For example, the scene in which Dr. Manhattan and Silk Spectre II are having a discussion on Mars is just awful.
I think my biggest issue with the film is that too many stretches exist where I was left wondering why the creators let things slip away so quickly. The promise established by the first few scenes was tremendous to say the least and for a project that took this long to be developed, it should’ve been much more consequential.
- ** ½ out of 4
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Taken and Coraline
At less than 90 minutes, Liam Neeson's latest action vehicle "Taken" sure doesn't feel like much. Just as we begin to enjoy seeing the usually reserved thespian annihilate everyone in sight, the film comes to a squeaky clean conclusion that, in my mind, hinders its overall credibility. Are we really supposed to believe that he finds his daughter that easily amid a torrential sea of European sex slavery? And why does he only rescue his daughter when the number of hopelessly drug-addled women appears to be growing by the second?
These questions and more swirled around my head as I watched whatever plot there was unfold, but I don't think accuracy is the most important aspect here.
In today's flooded market, it's unrealistic to expect something wholly original every time out, so director Pierre Morel is forgiven for adopting the "high on violence, light on story" philosophy that so many filmmakers cling to. He has crafted a wildly crisp torture flick that doesn't aspire to be anything more and in the wake of characters such as Oskar Schindler and Dr. Alfred Kinsey, it's refreshing to see Neeson unleash the fury.
- *** out of 4
Henry Selick's "Coraline" is the first must-see film of 2009. Adapted from Neil Gaiman's book of the same name, it's a phantasmagorical collage of Burton-esque dreamscapes designed to make you laugh and squirm with equal tenacity. The stunning beauty of Selick's laborious stop-motion animation style is amplified by a 3-D format that is used to enhance the experience rather than serve as a gimmick trying to put people in the seats.
Spry voice work from Dakota Fanning, Teri Hatcher, and Ian McShane (HBO's Deadwood) provides a perfect blend of childlike wonderment and over-the-top wickedness as Coraline descends into an alternate universe full of voluptuous acrobats and other macabre oddballs.
Sure, there are stretches where the narrative slows down and takes on a moralistic sensitivity, but this film is a rare instance in which children and adults can indulge in the surreal without being bored out of their minds.
Now that's a feat!
- *** 1/2 out of 4
These questions and more swirled around my head as I watched whatever plot there was unfold, but I don't think accuracy is the most important aspect here.
In today's flooded market, it's unrealistic to expect something wholly original every time out, so director Pierre Morel is forgiven for adopting the "high on violence, light on story" philosophy that so many filmmakers cling to. He has crafted a wildly crisp torture flick that doesn't aspire to be anything more and in the wake of characters such as Oskar Schindler and Dr. Alfred Kinsey, it's refreshing to see Neeson unleash the fury.
- *** out of 4
Henry Selick's "Coraline" is the first must-see film of 2009. Adapted from Neil Gaiman's book of the same name, it's a phantasmagorical collage of Burton-esque dreamscapes designed to make you laugh and squirm with equal tenacity. The stunning beauty of Selick's laborious stop-motion animation style is amplified by a 3-D format that is used to enhance the experience rather than serve as a gimmick trying to put people in the seats.
Spry voice work from Dakota Fanning, Teri Hatcher, and Ian McShane (HBO's Deadwood) provides a perfect blend of childlike wonderment and over-the-top wickedness as Coraline descends into an alternate universe full of voluptuous acrobats and other macabre oddballs.
Sure, there are stretches where the narrative slows down and takes on a moralistic sensitivity, but this film is a rare instance in which children and adults can indulge in the surreal without being bored out of their minds.
Now that's a feat!
- *** 1/2 out of 4
A-Rod
Another day, another fallen hero in the world of sports. Sure, it was bound to surface sooner or later, but the timing of A-Rod’s latest steroid debacle smells an awful lot like someone’s malevolent attempt at eradicating whatever hope baseball fans had left. Think about it. He was supposed to be the game’s saving grace, the naturally gifted slugger who would eclipse every record in sight and make people forget that Barry Bonds ever put on a uniform.
Instead, he’s destined to become just another anabolically-enhanced mega man who cracked under the pressure and put the game further into a sea of uncertainty and anguish. The fact that the test results were originally said to be anonymous only exacerbates the issue, because once again we have a case where a man’s entire reputation is turned upside down in an effort to sell a few more magazines.
I, for one, can’t blame Sports Illustrated (SI) for breaking the story, because economic fragility has left many periodicals out in the cold and there’s nothing like a juicy exposé to get people buying again. Americans love to revel in the dysfunction of others, especially when those experiencing the meltdown are multi-million dollar athletes with little connection to the common man. What I find distressing about the discovery is the time at which it entered into the public domain. For those out there who haven’t been following, allow me to bring you up to speed.
Former Yankee manager Joe Torre recently released a tell-all book in which he recounts his tenure with the team and how A-Rod was so desperate to be accepted as a “true Yankee” that he developed a “Single White Female” obsession with teammate Derek Jeter. Whether this is true or not doesn’t matter, because the notion is out there and it’s only a matter of time before legend and fact become one and the same. What we do know is that ever since Alex Rodríguez inked a 10-year, $252 million deal with the Texas Rangers in 2001, he’s been a marked man subject to the type of drama and ridicule usually reserved for the halls of your neighborhood high school. He’s developed a persona as a soft, baby-faced golden boy who cares more about getting inside Madonna’s pants than performing in October, so don’t expect that perception to fade any time soon. Many experts used to believe that if he won a title in New York, the scrutiny would be put to rest, but now I’m not so sure.
SI’s decision to bring the hammer down on one of the greatest players in the history of the game less than a month after the book’s release is strategic marketing at its finest and the nail in the coffin for a player who deserved better. How did it get to this point? How did A-Rod’s name become tangled up with the likes of Barry Bonds, Mark McGwire, and other silver sluggers of the steroid era?
I don’t think we’ll ever know the truth about how everything went down, so the only chance A-Rod has of ameliorating the scandal is to come clean and, for once, not come across as a phony human being.
That’s always been my issue with him. I get the feeling that he’s so cautious in his approach to the media that he tells them what he thinks they want to hear rather than what really needs to be said. His desire to be liked and accepted by the baseball community constantly gets in the way and contributes to the “A-Fraud” mentality that so many sportswriters have adopted. He’s not Barry Bonds and shouldn’t be thrown into the same category.
Speaking of Bonds, how did his actions become tied up with A-Rod to begin with? I realize they both played in the steroid era, but the similarities are few and far between. First of all, Bonds has always been at odds with the media and he carries himself with an air of haughty entitlement that rubs a lot of fans the wrong way. He’s a bastard and he doesn’t care who knows it. Anyone who has read Game of Shadows can attest to that, so it baffles me how people deem A-Rod to be deserving of just as much hate. Deep down, I think he wants people to root for him and doesn’t care to use the media as his own personal puppet show.
As a lifelong Yankee fan, I'm upset that the upcoming season will be engulfed in another cloud of suspicion, because the acquisitions of C.C Sabathia, A.J Burnett, and Mark Teixeira should be at the forefront of discussion. GM Brian Cashman broke the bank in preparation for the new stadium and fans deserve to cheer for a team without wondering about who's currently on the juice.
Recently, MLB Commissioner Bud Selig released a statement condemning A-Rod for his behavior and expressing how he’s sick of everyone blaming the commissioner for what has happened to baseball over the last fifteen years. Okay Bud, whatever you say. You’re the same commissioner who many insiders believe turned a blind eye in the mid-90s as revenues soared and players started crushing the ball at unprecedented rates. You’re the same commissioner responsible for overseeing a 1998 campaign that saw Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa rake 70 and 66 home runs respectively without so much as a hint of investigation. As comedian Denis Leary would say, “Talk about the pot and the f@&^ing kettle!”
Selig is the George W. Bush of baseball. I’m not saying he’s entirely to blame, but how can he possibly deny any responsibility with a straight face? He sat back and allowed owners to profit from the long ball until it became politically incorrect to do so. When he realized the gig was up, he promptly came out to deliver a contrived spiel about the sanctity of records and why performance-enhancing drugs are wrong, but does anybody want to hear excuses at this point? Listening to Selig rant about steroids is like listening to Bush apologize for allowing corporate blowhards to suck the economy dry for the last eight years.
A lost cause indeed.
In the end, all that really matters is the truth and I think that’s what drove SI to run the story. Regardless of how it’s uncovered, the truth is something that will always come back to bite you in the ass, so all A-Rod can do is atone and hope it doesn’t have sharp teeth.
Instead, he’s destined to become just another anabolically-enhanced mega man who cracked under the pressure and put the game further into a sea of uncertainty and anguish. The fact that the test results were originally said to be anonymous only exacerbates the issue, because once again we have a case where a man’s entire reputation is turned upside down in an effort to sell a few more magazines.
I, for one, can’t blame Sports Illustrated (SI) for breaking the story, because economic fragility has left many periodicals out in the cold and there’s nothing like a juicy exposé to get people buying again. Americans love to revel in the dysfunction of others, especially when those experiencing the meltdown are multi-million dollar athletes with little connection to the common man. What I find distressing about the discovery is the time at which it entered into the public domain. For those out there who haven’t been following, allow me to bring you up to speed.
Former Yankee manager Joe Torre recently released a tell-all book in which he recounts his tenure with the team and how A-Rod was so desperate to be accepted as a “true Yankee” that he developed a “Single White Female” obsession with teammate Derek Jeter. Whether this is true or not doesn’t matter, because the notion is out there and it’s only a matter of time before legend and fact become one and the same. What we do know is that ever since Alex Rodríguez inked a 10-year, $252 million deal with the Texas Rangers in 2001, he’s been a marked man subject to the type of drama and ridicule usually reserved for the halls of your neighborhood high school. He’s developed a persona as a soft, baby-faced golden boy who cares more about getting inside Madonna’s pants than performing in October, so don’t expect that perception to fade any time soon. Many experts used to believe that if he won a title in New York, the scrutiny would be put to rest, but now I’m not so sure.
SI’s decision to bring the hammer down on one of the greatest players in the history of the game less than a month after the book’s release is strategic marketing at its finest and the nail in the coffin for a player who deserved better. How did it get to this point? How did A-Rod’s name become tangled up with the likes of Barry Bonds, Mark McGwire, and other silver sluggers of the steroid era?
I don’t think we’ll ever know the truth about how everything went down, so the only chance A-Rod has of ameliorating the scandal is to come clean and, for once, not come across as a phony human being.
That’s always been my issue with him. I get the feeling that he’s so cautious in his approach to the media that he tells them what he thinks they want to hear rather than what really needs to be said. His desire to be liked and accepted by the baseball community constantly gets in the way and contributes to the “A-Fraud” mentality that so many sportswriters have adopted. He’s not Barry Bonds and shouldn’t be thrown into the same category.
Speaking of Bonds, how did his actions become tied up with A-Rod to begin with? I realize they both played in the steroid era, but the similarities are few and far between. First of all, Bonds has always been at odds with the media and he carries himself with an air of haughty entitlement that rubs a lot of fans the wrong way. He’s a bastard and he doesn’t care who knows it. Anyone who has read Game of Shadows can attest to that, so it baffles me how people deem A-Rod to be deserving of just as much hate. Deep down, I think he wants people to root for him and doesn’t care to use the media as his own personal puppet show.
As a lifelong Yankee fan, I'm upset that the upcoming season will be engulfed in another cloud of suspicion, because the acquisitions of C.C Sabathia, A.J Burnett, and Mark Teixeira should be at the forefront of discussion. GM Brian Cashman broke the bank in preparation for the new stadium and fans deserve to cheer for a team without wondering about who's currently on the juice.
Recently, MLB Commissioner Bud Selig released a statement condemning A-Rod for his behavior and expressing how he’s sick of everyone blaming the commissioner for what has happened to baseball over the last fifteen years. Okay Bud, whatever you say. You’re the same commissioner who many insiders believe turned a blind eye in the mid-90s as revenues soared and players started crushing the ball at unprecedented rates. You’re the same commissioner responsible for overseeing a 1998 campaign that saw Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa rake 70 and 66 home runs respectively without so much as a hint of investigation. As comedian Denis Leary would say, “Talk about the pot and the f@&^ing kettle!”
Selig is the George W. Bush of baseball. I’m not saying he’s entirely to blame, but how can he possibly deny any responsibility with a straight face? He sat back and allowed owners to profit from the long ball until it became politically incorrect to do so. When he realized the gig was up, he promptly came out to deliver a contrived spiel about the sanctity of records and why performance-enhancing drugs are wrong, but does anybody want to hear excuses at this point? Listening to Selig rant about steroids is like listening to Bush apologize for allowing corporate blowhards to suck the economy dry for the last eight years.
A lost cause indeed.
In the end, all that really matters is the truth and I think that’s what drove SI to run the story. Regardless of how it’s uncovered, the truth is something that will always come back to bite you in the ass, so all A-Rod can do is atone and hope it doesn’t have sharp teeth.
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