Sunshine

Way back in the comments section of my last movie review, fellow movie-watcher Winter recommended the movie Sunshine to me.  Now, I had never heard of this movie before, and when I looked it up on IMDB, I found that there are actually two different movies called “Sunshine.”   So I wasn’t really sure which one of them Winter was recommending.  One of the movies was about a family of Hungarian Jews living through the Holocaust, starring Ralph Fiennes.  And the other one wasn’t. 

So I went with the other one.

Other Sunshine is about a team of astronauts on a mission to save the Earth.  From Ralph Fiennes. (No, I’m just kidding. Ralph isn’t even in this movie.) The astronauts are actually on a mission to save the sun. You see, the sun is dying, which is sad. And without the sun’s hot steamy rays, the Earth is all cold and snowy, all day every day. You might even say the Earth is in a state of… Constant Winter. (Thank you, I’ll be here all week. Try the veal.)

So this team of Super Terrific Astronaut Scientists are on a mission to fly right into the middle of the sun, so that they can detonate a ginormous bomb which will “reignite” the sun’s passion (or some such nonsense) and the Earth will get to keep on keepin’ on.

As far as Science Fiction stories go, this one wasn’t bad. Sure, certain elements of the story seem vaguely familiar, if not completely lifted from other movies, and/or old episodes of Star Trek. But overall, not a bad flick.

I did have a couple observations though. First and foremost, the spaceship is named “Icarus.” Now, if I remember my Greek mythology (and/or 1980’s Nintendo games), Icarus was a dude who could fly, but he flew a little too close to the sun, which burned off his wings causing him to plummet to his death.  So my question is this: Is “Icarus” really the best name for a spaceship that’s headed toward the sun? Don’t you think that’s a little, I don’t know, foreboding? I mean, what were your other choices: the “SPF Zero”? Or maybe the “S.S. Kingsford Match-Light”?  How about “Operation: Who Wants Some S’mores?”

Oh right.  There was another spaceship 7 years ago, called the The Icarus I. Like any good Sci-Fi cliché, that first ship disappeared somewhere between “flying towards the sun”, and “possibly suffering a gruesome fiery death.”  So of course this spaceship is the Icarus II.  Because why not roll the dice a second time, am I right?

Whatever. Minor complaint. Let’s get back to the story. These astronauts, who despite being like 25 years old, are all brilliant scientists tasked with saving the planet. And they each have very specific scientific specialties. One guy is a psychiatrist. Another guy is an engineer of some sort. There’s even a wacky Asian chick who tends the hell out of her vegetable garden.  Stay in school, kids!

Some stuff happened, the mission was in peril, the fate of mankind was in question, blah, blah, blah.  You know, I have to admit I was a little disappointed in this movie. Visually, it was quite stunning. And the plot had all the elements in place to be a taut, suspenseful thriller. But it just wasn’t.  The movie was very predictable. Everything you thought was going to happen, happened.

And why the hell weren’t there any robots? I would have liked to see some robots. I mean, that’s just Sci-Fi 101.

Gattaca

I had forgotten how much I liked this movie, but as luck would have it, it was on cable the other day, on one of the 800+ movie channels I’m apparently paying for each month. (Remind me to punch the Verizon Fios sales guy in the head the next time I see him.) Anywho, this movie came out way back in 1997. But it takes place “in the not-so-distant future,” which, by 1997 standards, probably means 2009. So there you go. Maybe this is an old movie; maybe it’s a new release. Who the hell knows.

Before I get into this movie, let me talk about Science Fiction for a minute. Science Fiction (or “Sci-Fi” for all you dorks out there) is one of my absolute favorite genres. However, it is very often misclassified. For example, whenever I’m trolling Internet movie chatrooms, 12-year-old boys grown adults are always saying things like, “OMG Star Wars is the best Sci-Fi movie EVER!!” Well here’s the thing: Star Wars is in no way shape or form a science fiction movie. People just assume that space ships + aliens = science fiction. But it doesn’t. If you were to take the plot of Star Wars (wide-eyed young boy taking on bad guys to rescue a princess), and changed the setting to Medieval England, or even the Old West, the story works just fine. Star Wars is a fantasy adventure that just happens to be set in outer space. Big difference there.

True Science Fiction is more complex than that. The “science” (whatever type it may be) has to be an integral part of the plot. Whether it’s time travel, or artificial intelligence, or even radioactive insect-based superhuman strength, the “science” has to impact the characters, and even drive the story. The best Sci-Fi movies, in my opinion, are those that make you question reality, or what it means to be human. And I don’t mean that in the Michael Jackson sense of the word. (What- too soon?)

So let’s get back to Gattaca. The “science” in question here is Genetics. In this futuristic version of (let’s say) 2009, children are created in genetics laboratories. Scientists can take all of the “good” genes from the mother and father, and ensure that their offspring will be free of any and all genetic defects. On the surface, this seems like a good idea. I mean, what parent wouldn’t want to eliminate the probability of heart disease, or cancer, or any other potential health problems in their child? I’d do that right now, and so would you. Yes you would. Stop lying to yourself, Church-y.

But genetic predetermination is a slippery slope, my friends. Why stop at disease elimination? What if you could pick the sex of your child? Or ensure that your child had a high IQ, or was a star athlete, or had farts that smelled like cupcakes? You can see where this is going, right?

Our story is about a guy named Vincent, who, despite these scientific advances, was conceived the old fashioned way: in the backseat of Chevy. (His parents were romantics, what can you do.) So he’s what you call a “God baby”, or “degenerate.” (Get it? de-gene-erate? Yeah, apparently isolation of the comedy gene hasn’t quite been perfected in Future 2009.) But as a natural born human, Vincent is discriminated against due to his inferior genetic makeup. He wears glasses, has a heart condition, and occasionally forgets to put the cap back on the tube of toothpaste. Thus he is forced into Society’s underclass, where his genetic average-ness predestines him for a life of blue collar, menial labor.

But that’s not good enough, you see. Vincent wants to be an astronaut. And no one is going to stand in his way. So he gets his inner “Skee Lo” on and decides that he would like to be a little bit taller. (Also, a baller.)  So he finds himself a black market genetics dealer, who is willing to hook him up with some fancy-pants new DNA. (By the way, the term “black market” is a bit misleading, because there don’t seem to be any racial minorities in this Future Utopia. I’m just reporting the facts here people. You can interpret that however you wish.)

Vincent is introduced to some guy named Jerome, who is the very definition of genetic perfection. He’s brilliant, athletic, has 20/20 vision, etc. However, Jerome was in some sort of car accident some years back, and is now confined to a wheelchair. So Jerome is willing to sell his genetic identity to Vincent, so that Vincent can play football at Notre Dame become an astronaut.

So Vincent “becomes” Jerome, and goes to work at the Gattaca School for Astronauts Who Are Genetically Awesome. Hey, here’s an interesting fact: The name “Gattaca” is composed entirely of the letters used to label the nucleotide bases of DNA. The four nitrogen bases of deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA) are: guanine, adenine, thymine, and cytosine. I know! How clever is that?  It’s like I always say: Come for the fart jokes, stay for the science lesson. (Right, MJenks?)

But wait! The folks at Gattaca are all sorts of careful about keeping genetically inferior people out, like fat girls at a high school prom.  So Fake Jerome has to constantly scrub all the dead skin and hair off his body so that he doesn’t leave any evidence of his Non-Jerome-ness. In addition to the Silkwood showers, he has to carry around pouches of Original Jerome’s blood and urine everywhere he goes, so that he can pass the numerous random DNA screenings at Gattaca. Which isn’t all that bad, I suppose. I mean, I’m carrying around a few bags of urine right now and I’m not even at work!

So anyway, lots of stuff happens. Someone gets murdered. The police start searching for Fake Jerome because they think he did it. Most of the movie is very predictable, but still entertaining. Overall, this is a very good movie. Plus, Uma Thurman makes an appearance, which back in 1997 was kind of a big deal I guess.

But I’m going to wrap this review up here. Time is of the essence– I think someone in my office is baking cupcakes.

Gran Torino

Sometimes I like movies that are dumb. No really, it’s true! And I very much enjoyed Gran Torino, despite the fact that it’s probably the dumbest movie I’ve seen all year. (Okay, all week.) Seriously though, I fully recommend this movie.

Let’s start with my man Clint Eastwood. I’m going to be honest; Clint is one of my all-time favorite actors. I think I’ve seen every single movie he’s ever made that didn’t have the words “Bridges” or “Madison County” in the title. He’s just a solid actor.

My favorite Clint Eastwood movie– by far– is Unforgiven. For those of you that haven’t seen Unforgiven: Stop reading my blog right now and go rent it. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Good? Okay then.

Clint’s character in Unforgiven was William Muny, a retired gunslinger from the Old West.  I’m bringing this up because Clint really knocked that role out of the park. He nailed the whole “aging-badass-living-out-his-twilight-years” thing, and brought a real sense of humanity and believability to the character. Nice work, Clint!

In Gran Torino, Clint took that same basic William Muny-esque role, and exaggerated it to the point where he was just an over-the-top caricature of himself. Here, Clint plays Walt Kowalski, a retired auto worker in Detroit. Walt’s wife just died, leaving Walt all alone to putter around the house and act all curmudgeonly towards his family, and his *gasp* Asian neighbors.

You see, Walt is a Korean War veteran, and so naturally he hates the Asians. He especially hates the Asian gangs who, when they’re not plotting to kill Stanton Sweet, walk around looking Asian, and speaking Asian, and acting all Asian all the time.

So Clint does a lot of scowling and grunting during the opening act, just so there’s no confusion about him being a curmudgeonly old man. It honestly got to the point where I expected Clint to tell those damn neighbor kids to “stay the hell off his lawn”. Oh hey wait! He does say exactly that. And he has a shotgun with him too! Sometimes the comedy just writes itself, I guess.

The movie gets pretty ham-fisted from there. (And not in the good, Jenna Jameson way either.) You see, underneath his cold, bigoted exterior, Walt actually has a heart of gold. (Note: of course he does.) It’s just that in 80 years of life, no one has ever touched him quite like a teenage Asian girl. Wait, that came out wrong. What I mean is, spending hours alone in a dank garage with a young Asian boy changes a man. And so Walt befriends his nubile young neighbors, stands up to the menacing Asian gang members, and learns the true meaning of Christmas along the way.

I know! I never would have seen that coming either!  I don’t know what it is about Asians and Happy Endings, but they just seem to go hand in hand.  (Metaphorically.)

Surprisingly, this movie works well as a comedy too. There are some genuinely funny scenes, which I’m pretty sure were intentional.  Like when Walt takes his young boytoy to the local barber shop to learn how to become a man.  That scene cracked me up.  And on the “unintentional comedy” side of the fence, we get treated to Old Man Clint singing the movie’s theme song over the closing credits. Seriously. Clint wrote and performed the song “Gran Torino” with his real-life son Clint Junior. (Note: I’m far too lazy to look up his real-life son’s actual name. So Clint Junior it is.) Also, I’m only relatively sure that it was Clint singing; it may have been Cookie Monster.

Regardless, this movie was very entertaining.  In fact, I sincerely hope the movie’s success spawns a TV sitcom spin-off.  I already have the idea:  It could be called “Stay Off My Lawn!”, and star that guy who played Quincy from Quincy, M.E. (I bet he’s available.)  Of course there would have to be some far-fetched setup in the first episode, like maybe Quincy gets into a car accident while driving his…wait for it… Gran Torino, and ends up killing an Asian couple.  So as restitution, Quincy has to adopt the couple’s three adorable Asian children (ages 5, 8 and 12), who slowly melt the ice around Qunicy’s cold, dark heart.  And every week wacky hijinks would ensue, like one of the Asian children would try to cook up the family dog, or make pee pee in Quincy’s Coke.   But by the end of the half hour, everyone would be hugging and learning to be more tolerant of each other’s cultures.

Are you telling me this wouldn’t be a great idea for a sitcom??  I mean, Perfect Strangers lasted for 8 seasons, and that show was terrible. (And yes, Perfect Strangers is absolutely the Gold Standard for inter-cultural race relations.)

I hope you’re listening, Hollywood.   Now get the hell of my lawn.

Sir Crazy!

For some inexplicable reason, I’ve been watching a lot of Ben Kingsley movies recently. (Well, two of them anyway. I consider that a lot, given that my previous record was “zero.”) No real explanation. I mean, I guess the guy’s a good actor and all. And he is nobility after all. But most of his movies look like colossal snooze fests and/or chick flicks. Whatever, let’s just pretend I’m trying to impress all the ladies out there with my sensitive side, okay? Good.

Here’s an interesting tidbit: For a long time, I thought that Ben Kingsley was the same guy who played “Steve” on Married With Children.  Seriously. They kind of look alike, don’t you think?

    

Whatever.  Here’s my two-for-one, Sir Ben Kingsley double feature: Elegy and The Wackness. Giddy-freakin-up.

In Elegy, Sir Ben plays David Koresh Kepesh, a college professor and world-renowned expert on “culture”.   Art, theater, literature, you name it- Sir Ben is the man.   He kind of reminds me of myself in that respect. I’m wicked cultured and shit.

If Sir Ben’s life were a book, it would be called “Women are idiots.” You see, Sir Ben knows that impressionable young women always fall for pretentious douchebags sophisticated older men. So each semester he picks out one hot young student from his class, and begins planting the seeds of woo. By the time the semester ends, all he has to do is host a cocktail party at his fancy-pants New York condo, and the women instinctively flock to him like the salmon of Capistrano. (“He’s so cultured! And sophisticated!! OMG if he starts playing the piano, I’m totally going to have sex with him LOL!”)

So that’s Sir Ben’s master plan. Each year he charms the pants off one unsuspecting honey from his class, seduces her, and then starts the process over the following semester. And really, God bless him for that. He’s like that guy Mystery from VH1, only minus the black nail polish and giant velvet hat.

But wait! This semester’s unsuspecting prey is none other than Penelope Cruz.  She’s a naïve young Cuban hottie who naturally falls for Sir Ben. And can you blame her? I mean, what hot young model wouldn’t want a man who is 60 years older than her, afraid of commitment, and insanely jealous and neurotic? He’s quite the catch!!

So anyway, long story short: Penelope and Sir Ben get their relationship on, and she boobs him into a boobs and then boobs the boobs with some boobs. And they live Happily Ever Boobs.

Guest “Sir” Rating: MC Sir Loin says, “This one is For Da Shorteez!”

Sir Ben then grew his hair out to hippie-level proportions, and started chewing scenery in The Wackness.  Here Sir Ben plays a psychiatrist with a weed addiction. And his drug dealer is some doughy white kid from Nickelodeon, who is in love with Sir Ben’s step-daughter, who happens to be that girl from Juno. (No, not that one.  The other one; Juno’s friend.)

Hey remember that episode of South Park where the kids find a frozen “caveman” from like 1996 or something? And so they create a habitat for him at the zoo, complete with flannel shirts, a dial-up modem, and Ace of Base music? This movie is EXACTLY like that. You see, the Wackness is a Period Piece, but with the time period being: “just a couple years ago.” I’m too lazy to look up who wrote and/or directed this movie, but I’d be willing to bet it’s his first movie ever.  That sort of forced nostalgia is pretty typical of first time filmmakers, especially Indie filmmakers. It does absolutely nothing for the plot of the movie. Instead, the characters all seem to have some sort of “1990s Tourettes Syndrome”, where they’re just going about their everyday lives and suddenly blurt out “Biggie Smalls!” or “Kurt Cobain!”, and we’re supposed to think they’re super hip and cool.

The movie itself isn’t bad, I actually liked it. Doughy White Kid from Nickelodeon is surprisingly very good here, and has real chemistry with that cute chick from Juno. Who, incidentally, was like 30% hotter here, and 100% more naked. That’s what you call a win-win.

But that brings me back to Sir Ben Kingsley. He’s freakin’ dreadful here. Maybe it’s just the hippie hair throwing me off, but he spent the whole movie with a “I get paid in cash for this, right?” look on his face. Plus in the movie he’s married to Famke Janssen, who is totally smoking hot, but he has an affair with one of the Olsen Twins (I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter which one), who stopped being hot like 6 years ago.

Guest “Sir” Rating: Sir Charles says, “Turrable.  Just turrable.”

Slumdog Millionaire

In case you hadn’t heard, Slumdog Millionaire won the Best Picture Oscar this year. So obviously that means it’s a good movie. You should go see it sometime.

And to be honest, I actually really enjoyed this movie, despite the fact that it combines two of my least favorite things in the whole world: reality television and foreigners. Ha ha, of course I’m kidding. I’m just thinking of the band Foreigner. Don’t they have their own game show? Head Games, maybe? I don’t know. Whatever.

So our story begins thusly: These two kids live in India, which by all accounts is the worst place on the planet. By far. I mean, it’s not even close. The list of the Worst Places on Earth probably looks something like this:

1. India
2. That place in Africa with all the starving children and the AIDS
3. Communist Russia
4. The part of India where white people go on vacation
5. Yankee Stadium
6. That place with all the slave children from Indiana Jones & the Temple of Doom.  (Wait, that was also India? Good God.)

Alright, so the main character is Jamal. He and his brother Salim are a couple of orphan grifters who traverse the Indian countryside in search of adventure, solving mysteries along the way. As you’d expect, wacky hijinks ensue early and often.

The female lead in the movie is Latika, and let me tell you, she is one fine piece of Indian curry.  I’d like to Mola Ram her Taj Mahal, if you know what I mean.  Especially later in the film when she stops being 6 years old.

Our man Jamal shares this opinion, and makes it his life’s mission to be with Latika. And by “be with her,” I mean that in the biblical sense.  And by “biblical sense,” of course I mean complete and utter bullshit fantasyland. Maybe I’m just not good at math, but doesn’t India have like eleventy billion people living there?  Well the laws of probability are no match for young Jamal’s love. He tracks Latika down over and over again, using only his grifter’s cunning and three of the five Sankara Stones. But each time he finds her, she rips his beating heart out of his chest and throws it into a bottomless pit of fire to appease Kali Ma.  Metaphorically, of course. Because that would be ridiculous if it actually happened.

So anyway, grown-up Jamal finds work as a chai boy at one of the local telemarketing firms, which I imagine exist on every street corner in India given the amount of phone calls I receive on a daily basis. (And seriously- Chai Boy? That has to somehow be derogatory, right? No matter. I’m wicked accepting of other people’s cultures and whatnot. Chai Boy it is.)

Somehow, Chai Boy Jamal gets picked to appear on the biggest game show of 1997: Who Wants to be a Millionaire.  Only in India, the term “millionaire” is a tad misleading, since their currency is the Rupee (I would have guessed Slurpee), and the Rupee to Dollar conversion is something like 47 to 1.   But “Who Wants to be a 47-Million Rupee-aire” just doesn’t have the same ring to it I suppose.  No matter.

Jamal ends up kicking major ayshe on the game show, and so of course everyone thinks he’s cheating. The police step in and torture the hell out of poor Jamal, because again, India is a freakin awesome place to live. But it turns out, Jamal is not cheating, he just knows all the answers.  Amazingly, all of the questions are somehow linked to events of his past. So the story unfolds through a series of cut-away flashback sequences, kind of like an episode of Family Guy. It’s more convenient than that time I found a quarter on my way to the vending machine at work.

In the end, Jamal and Latika are reunited. She realizes that she’s in love with Jamal mere moments after he wins the 47 million rupee fortune. (See, our cultures aren’t so different after all.)  And then they all have a big celebratory dance routine in the subway station, and live happily ever after.  The End.

Reader(s) Choice!

Hey there everybody!  I keep forgetting to update this dern blog.  Sorry about that.  I’m what you might call “bad” at “doing things.”   Look, it’s hard enough having one blog to ignore.  But I have TWO blogs that need ignoring!  So how about a little compassion there, Judgy?  I mean, I don’t come over to your blog just to complain, now do I?  (What’s that?  You don’t have a blog?  Huh.  You’re obviously a lot cooler than me.  We should hang out sometime.)

Despite my prolonged non-reviewance, I have watched quite a few movies in the past month.  And so I figured I’d make this blog a little more interactive.  Plus, I’m relatively new to this whole WordPress dealie, and have been dying to try out the “Poll” feature.  (Ha, that’s what she said.)  Anywho, behold the Poll.  Do it!  Start beholding!! 

Also, anyone who is currently thinking “Why don’t you just review all 5 movies, Jackass?” should please lower their expectations a significant amount. 
Thank you.

Watchmen

 

There are two groups of people that are always going to be disappointed with a movie, no matter how good it is:

 

1. People that read the book
2. Sci-fi/Comic fanboys

 

And if the book happens to be a graphic novel, worshipped by millions of obsessive fanboys everywhere, well, it’s pretty much the perfect storm of astronomically high expectations.  (Like when Jesus was in the Super Bowl.  Same thing.)

 

While I’m pretty far from a fanboy, I do like comic books quite a bit.  I read Watchmen about a year ago, and really enjoyed it.  The story was very entertaining, and the book was an easy read (small words + lots of pictures = right in my wheelhouse.) 

 

Watchmen was first published about 20 years ago, and is widely regarded by People Who Read Graphic Novels as The Best Graphic Novel Ever.  Of course, to the rest of the literary community (of which I am clearly not a member), that’s sort of like coming in last place at the Special Olympics—sure, you’ll still get a hug, but no one’s really all that proud of you.  Although, Watchmen did win something called the Hugo Award, which may or may not be noteworthy.  I have no idea what a Hugo Award is, so let’s just pretend it’s good. 

 

Despite the critical acclaim, Watchmen somehow stayed under my radar during my awkward teenage years.  I’m not sure how that happened; I guess I was just busy doing other things back then, like playing sports and having sex with girls and whatnot.  (“whatnot” = your mom.)  Anyway, even as a relatively recent fan of the graphic novel, I was pretty damn excited to see the movie adaptation.  So yesterday, my lovely wife and I braved the hoarding masses of acne-riddled comic book dorks to check out Watchmen in all its IMAX-laden glory.  Awww yeah. 

 

And you know what?  The movie was pretty damn good!  Even Angie liked it, and she’s the real litmus test here.  You see, I love me some superhero movies.  But Angie?  Not so much.  So if she likes a movie, you know it’s good. 

 

For those of you unfamiliar with the story, Watchmen is about a team of aging, semi-retired crime fighters, living in an Alternate Reality 1985.  Richard Nixon is still President, nuclear war is looming over America, and teams of gorgeous supermodels hang out at the local comic book store reading graphic novels.  (Okay, I made that last part up.)

 

The plot is thus:  One of the Watchmen gets murdered.  Mysteriously murdered.  And the other Watchmen are all like OMG! WTF!! PWN3D!!!  And so they get their Detectiving On, and start fucking shit up.  The End. 

 

I’ll be honest here.  The story itself is good, but it’s not anything groundbreaking; just your standard Law & Order-level murder mystery.  You know what is awesome though?  Those hot dogs with the cheese inside of them.  Seriously, those things are the best, aren’t they?  You know what I’m talking about.  I don’t know who invented those things, but someone needs to get that guy a Hugo Award, stat. 

 

Sorry, where was I? Oh right, the movie. So like I was saying, the plot is almost an afterthought here. The real genius of Watchmen is the characters. Unlike most superhero movies, the “heroes” in Watchmen are regular people, flaws and all. And these are some seriously flawed people here, let me tell you– murderers, rapists, sociopaths, you name it. There’s even a giant radioactive blue man who lives on Mars in a fortress made out of math.

 

The acting was very good, for the most part.  Jeffrey Dean-Morgan Downie, Jr. was fantastic as the Comedian.  Jackie Earle Haley stole every scene he was in as Rorschach.  Billy Crudup was surprisingly believable as the god-like Doctor Manhattan.  Cameron Diaz Malin Akerman got naked, which was about all I was expecting from her.  Nite Owl was okay, but I didn’t really like the guy who played Ozymandias.  Whatevs.

 

Speaking of Doctor Manhattan, I did have one minor complaint about him in this movie.  And, no, it’s not that he walked around naked the whole time, like many other critics have pointed out.  In fact, it’s just the opposite.  You see, the big blue science project was sent to Vietnam during the war, to kick ass and take names.  Yet for some reason, this was the only time in the whole movie that he wasn’t naked.  (He wore some sort of space-age banana hammock while on foreign soil.)  In my opinion, that would have been the perfect time for him to go commando.  He could have magically appeared in the rice paddy and slapped around the Viet Cong with his gigantic blue freedom missile, while “Ride of the Valkyries” played in the background.  USA! USA! USA!  (I don’t know.  I guess maybe I’m just a little more patriotic than Zack Snyder.)

 

Anywho, phallic war strategies aside, this movie was very dark.  And that’s a good thing.  Watchmen doesn’t spend a lot of time explaining why seemingly-normal people decide to dress up in a capes and masks to fight crime, like so many other superhero movies.  Rather, it explores what happens to these heroes once they take their masks off.  Feelings of detachment, isolation, impotence—these are the metaphorical cheese in Watchmen’s metaphorical hot dog.  Metaphorically. 

 

The recent success of The Dark Knight showed that the movie-going public likes a little humanity mixed in with its costumed vigilantism.  Watchmen isn’t going to be nearly as accessible to the mainstream as Batman was, but that’s okay.  This movie probably isn’t for everybody.  It’s violent and disturbing, and certainly not meant for the Burger King cup-collecting children out there. 

 

And for all you fanboys out there, no need to worry– the movie stayed very true to the source material, almost to a fault.  In fact, if I had to make one complaint about the movie (other than the aforementioned schlong-less warfare), it would be that Zack Synder was almost too focused on recreating the comic book pages shot-for-shot.  Even with a running time of nearly 3 hours, the pacing seemed a little rushed, with a lot of details just sort of thrown in there for the sake of inclusion.  

 

But that’s a minor complaint.  The movie was really good.  Go see it.  Or go read the book.  I don’t care.  The book was better anyway.  (Ha! I’ve always wanted to say that.)

 

Donnie Darko

This was an interesting movie for me to review. I originally saw it about 4 or 5 years ago and absolutely hated it. Seriously, I thought it was one of the dumbest movies I’ve ever seen. But then I watched the “Director’s Cut” of the film the other night, and you know what? It was less terrible. In fact, I’m pretty sure that was the quote on the DVD jacket: “Donnie Darko Director’s Cut: Now Less Terrible!”

Let’s start with the plot, shall we? Suburban high school student gets possessed by giant demonic rabbit, interrupts space-time continuum.  [yawn]  We’ve all seen this storyline a thousand times, am I right?

Donnie is played by Jake Gyllenhaal, and honestly he’s pretty good here. He pulls off the whole “weird, confused, detached loner” bit very well. It’s just like his role in Bubble Boy, only instead of the bubble being made of plastic, it’s made of sanity. And instead of being in the bubble, he’s nowhere freakin’ near it.

Jake’s real-life sister Maggie plays his movie sister, which is a little bit lazy if you ask me. Luckily, the casting director was able to catch Maggie Gyllenhaal during the brief phase between 2001, and later in 2001, when she was at least borderline attractive.

Patrick Swayze has a pretty funny cameo as well. He plays Jim Cunningham, a Tony Robbins-esque motivational speaker, who also dabbles in kiddie porn. Jim is a major player on the infomercial/high school lecture circuit, peddling such wisdom as:

1. Never underestimate your opponent. Expect the unexpected.
2. Always take it outside.
3. Be nice. Until it’s time to not be nice.

(Okay, fine. Maybe I’m getting my Patrick Swayze movies mixed up. What can you do; the guy is such an accomplished thespian.)

Hey, remember those wacky “snakes-made-of-water” Alien thingys from the movie The Abyss? They make a guest appearance here too, playing the role of “Ambiguous time travel mechanisms.” You see, this movie is all about time travel. Or more specifically, it’s about a breach in time, and the subsequent creation of tangent universe.

At least that’s what I think this movie was about. To be honest, the first time I watched this flick I had no effing idea what was going on. The movie was good right up until the very end, when all of a sudden I was completely lost.  (Similar to Mulholland Drive, only minus the fantastic lesbian sex scene.)  I didn’t bother turning on the director’s commentary on the DVD, but I can only assume it was nothing but maniacal laughter, with the sound of cash registers ringing in the background.

The Director’s Cut wasn’t drastically different, but it expanded just enough on the whole time travel/tangent universe storyline for me to not feel like Evander Hollyfield taking the SATs. Here’s the best explanation I can come up with:

There can be breaches in time, where an object from the future (jet engine, terminator, Gooback, etc.) passes through a wormhole in the space-time continuum, and winds up in the past. When such a breach occurs, a parallel, or tangent, universe is formed in which the consequences of the breach take effect. The tangent universe runs its course until time gets to the point at which the breach occurs. (Or occurred. Whatever.) At this point, one universe or the other prevails, and Father Time keeps on keepin’ on.

So Donnie finally figures out that he’s the Chosen One, and it’s up to him to ensure the correct universe takes effect. So he uses his magical super powers (read: heavy prescription drugs) to send the jet engine that should have killed him the first time, back through time a second time to finish the job, thereby ensuring his girlfriend will live. Which is an awfully nice gesture, given that they’d only been dating for like 2 weeks, and he already got to bang her. (If I was Donnie, I’d have been all like, “Of course I’ll love you forever, baby!” knowing full-well that “forever” in this case was only like 6 hours from now.  But I digress.)

But wait just a dern minute now!  You’re probably asking yourself, “What about the whole notion of a Predestination Paradox, Jon?”  How can Donnie use the information he learned in the tangent universe to send the jet engine back through time, in order to kill himself before the tangent universe was even created? That act would have negated all the activity that occurred between the appearance of the jet engine and the breach in time!  And why the hell did the Pistons draft Darko ahead of Carmelo Anthony in 2003?

Alas, some questions may never be answered.

Man on Wire

 

My love of documentaries has been pretty well…uhhh… documented.  I don’t know why, but for some reason I find real life more interesting than fiction.  Maybe, deep down, I’m just a voyeur at heart.  (Unless you’re a Baltimore County Judge, in which case: No I’m not.)

 

Anywho.  Man on Wire is the story of Phillipe Petit, a French street performer who sashayed his way across a tightrope stretched between the two World Trade Center towers back in 1974.  And really, that’s about it.  All of the relevant information you’ll need can be found right there in the movie title:  Man.  On.  Wire.  The End.

 

What separates Man on Wire from other documentaries (The Highlander, for example) is that the events depicted don’t take place in real time.  That might not seem like a big deal, but keep in mind this is story about a guy walking across a tightrope 1,300 feet above the ground.  There’s not really much in the way of drama or suspense, since Phillipe himself is the one telling the story 34 years later.  Obviously his stunt was a success.

 

So, with the outcome never in doubt, we’re left only with the story.  And to be honest, it’s still pretty compelling.  The tightrope walk itself lasted about 40 minutes, yet it took several years of careful planning and preparation.  Phillipe was performance artist, sure, but this stunt was more bank heist than circus act.  There were inside men on the payroll, phony costumes and ID badges, security diversions and even aerial stakeouts.  It was just like Oceans Eleven, only instead of robbing a casino, some effeminate Frenchman walked back and forth on a wire cable. 

 

The movie combines interviews with present-day Phillipe and his merry band of accomplices, along with some laughably terrible video reenactments (complete with Sabotage-esque 70’s getup) and even some archival footage of Phillipe frolicking through a field, topless, on a warm summer’s day. 

 

[Random aside: Phillipe goes out of his way to prove his “staunch heterosexuality” by including a video reenactment of him having sex with a woman to celebrate his accomplishment.  In a movie chock full of unbelievable feats, that was BY FAR the least believable.  Seriously, that guy is so gay, I’m surprised he wasn’t wearing men’s Capri pants and an “I [heart] Zac Effron” T-shirt.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that of course.  I’m just saying.]

 

So the tightrope walk goes off without a hitch.  Phillipe is arrested for his stunt, but gets off with little more than a slap on the wrist for “disturbing the peace.”  At the end of the day, nothing is really changed.  It’s a triumphant story, but so what?  The one question that we never really get answered is: Why?  Why was Phillipe so obsessed with the Twin Towers?  What compels a man to risk his life for a few fleeting minutes of glory (and possibly a made-for-video sex reenactment?)  Phillipe never answers, other than the philosophic “because it was there.”

 

As a society, we’ve become so jaded by the Internet/Reality television/Instant celebrity phenomenon.  Turn on any channel, and there’s a never-ending supply of jackasses waiting to eat a mountain goat’s testicles, or wrestle a bear in a wet T-shirt for the TV cameras.  It’s sad, really.  But perhaps the 1970’s were just a simpler time.  It’s possible, I suppose, for a person to chase their dream for no other reason than because it’s their dream.  

 

And really, so what if walking across a tightrope won’t make your lawn fuller, or your teeth whiter?  That doesn’t make it any less noble a pursuit.  Phillipe Petit was a man with a goal.  And he was completely single-minded in his quest to accomplish that goal.  While it’s not something I can relate to specifically, I have a world of respect for the man.  In his own words: “If I die, what a beautiful death—to die in the exercise of your passion.”  Amen, little French man.  Amen.

 

(Of course, if we get a sequel with Phillipe searching for true love on a bus full of strippers, I’ll probably change my mind.)

The Fountain

My wife bought me a silly-money Blu Ray player for Jebusmas, so I figured it was about time I got back on the movie review horse. (Metaphorically, of course. I never did get that damn pony I’ve always wanted.)

First up was some movie called The Fountain. I had never heard of this flick, but a coworker of mine recommended it. He said it was a great Science Fiction/Time Travel story, which sounded interesting, so I decided to qway it up.

Here’s the movie’s official summary, from IMDB: “Spanning over one thousand years, and three parallel stories, The Fountain is a story of love, death, spirituality, and the fragility of our existence in this world.”

Now under normal circumstances, I try to avoid movies that use any combination of the words “love”, “spirituality”, and especially “fragility of our existence.” But like I said, this one came highly recommended, so what the hell.

As it turns out, my coworker did a lot of drugs in the 60’s, and cannot be trusted when it comes to movie recommendations. This movie was barely science fiction, and had absolutely nothing to do with time travel. It was a sappy love story mixed with quasi-existentialism, metaphysical theology, and various other possibly-made-up words that make me sound like a pretentious douchebag.  Transcendent theosophy, bitches!

The main character is a guy named Tom, played by Hugh Jackman. Tom’s wife Izzy (Rachael Weisz) is dying of a brain tumor. And in a “holy-crap-I-never-saw-that-one-coming” twist of irony, Tom is some sort of research scientist trying to find a cure for…wait for it… brain tumors! OMG!! Will he be able to save his wife in time?? Or will he be too late?? I can barely contain my excitement!!

Tom is also Tomas, the 16th Century Spanish Conquistador, trying to save Queen Izzy Isabella from dying at the hands of a brain tumor the Grand Inquisitor. (Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition, am I right?) Tomas must journey deep into the Mayan jungle to find the Tree of Life, because anyone who eats the Tree’s bark will become immortal.  And Tomas and Queen Isabella totally want to be immortal, despite the fact that the Mayan Priest claims “death is the road to awe.” Psshhaw. Who wants “awe” anyway? And exactly what kind of “awe” are we talking about? Those damn Mayans can’t be trusted; they don’t even speak English! Not like the Spaniards, anyway. Those Spanish-folk are some English-speaking mo-fo’s.

But wait, there’s more! Tom/Tomas is also Tom Creo, a hairless spaceman from the future, who lives in a giant climate controlled bubble, along with his new life partner, The Tree. Spaceman Tom Creo is haunted by the death of his wife, so he wears his pajamas all day long, makes sweet, sweet love to The Tree, and meditates. All the while his giant space bubble is steadily hurling itself towards a dying nebula called Xibalbia. You see, if Spaceman Tom Creo can meditate hard enough, he and The Tree will reach Xibalbia in time to explode themselves across the universe, thus creating new life.

Confused? Good. So was I. The director intertwined theses three “parallel” stories together, jumping back and forth between them so that you’d think there’s some funky time travel business going on. Only there isn’t. It’s kind of like Pulp Fiction in that respect, only without all the F-bombs.

Anywho, this is one of those movies where you’re supposed to just take in the whole experience, and then interpret it however you want. So here’s my take on it. Feel free to stop reading now if you’re a big wuss who’s afraid of spoilers.

The only “real” storyline is the present-day plot about Dr. Tom and his dying wife Izzy. As she comes to terms with her own mortality, Izzy becomes very spiritual, and studies Mayan culture.  She writes a book (conveniently titled “The Fountain”) about Tomas the Conquistador trying to save the dying Queen Isabella.  Of course it’s a thinly veiled stand in for her own looming death and her husband’s work.  But Izzy can’t finish the book, so on her deathbed she asks Tom to finish it for her. He writes the last chapter, about the hairless spaceman hurling through space all alone, waiting for his own death so that he can be reunited with Izzy. The whole “future” storyline is Tom’s way of coming to terms with the loss of his wife.

So like I said, the whole movie boils down to a sappy love story between Tom and Izzy. Don’t get me wrong, it was reasonably entertaining, and the visual effects were pretty damn cool.  But it made me mad that there wasn’t any actual time travel.  I feel so mislead.  Lied to, even.   I mean, unless Spaceman Tom is going to travel back in time and take our jerbs, or even just kill us all Terminator-style, what’s the point?

The Last Dragon

The other day I was reading my brother’s blog (Our parents couldn’t be prouder of us, trust me.), and he was talking about the Rocky movies.  And he mentioned that Clubber Lang was possibly the greatest movie villain ever.   Which got me thinking.  Mr. T’s performance was certainly great; Oscar-worthy even.  But upon further review, I’d say Clubber was, at best, the third-best movie villain of all time.  I’d put Big Ern McCracken (Bill Murray’s role in Kingpin) slightly ahead of him at #2, since funny beats out not-funny every day of the week.

 

But at number 1, there can be no debate.  The single greatest movie villain of all time is Sho’nuff, the Shogun of Harlem from Berry Gordy’s The Last Dragon.

 

 

You’re probably thinking: “The Last what now?  Berry who’s that again??”

 

It never ceases to amaze me how many people out there in Blog Land have never seen, or even heard of, this cult classic.  Sure, it came out in 1985.  But at the time, it was the highest grossing martial arts film in American cinematic history.  Seriously!

 

Let’s start with the basics.  The movie is about a young karate student in Harlem, named Leroy Greene.  But everyone calls him “Bruce” Leroy, as a subtly racist homage to the great Bruce Lee.  You see, he’s searching for an elusive Kung Fu Master, so that he can complete his karate training and find “The Glow.” 

 

“The Glow” is kind of like a metaphor for having inner peace and strength in your aura, and not a fancy new all-purpose cleaner designed to remove calcium lime rust build-ups in your kitchen, as I initially thought.  Although, I suppose you don’t want any calcium lime rust building up in your aura either.  So the metaphor works on many levels.  Only it’s not really a metaphor, since Bruce Leroy’s body does actually glow like nuclear reactor once he finds it.

 

The main character is played by some guy named Taimak, which, believe it or not, is also not the name of a fancy new all-purpose cleaner.  (Apparently Berry Gordy’s son Rockwell wasn’t available.)  Regardless, Taimak was pretty good here as Bruce Leroy, despite not really knowing how to act.  He later went on to star in such roles as “the guy who valet parks your car” and “the guy who makes your coffee at Starbucks.”  I’m guessing he uses his last name nowadays too.  But for one brief shining moment in 1985, Taimak was the man.

 

The romantic lead in the film is played by another one-named wonder, Vanity.  Remember her?  God she was freakin’ hot back then.  I’d Action her Jackson, if you know what I mean.  Okay, that doesn’t make sense.  Shut up.

 

There were plenty of other ancillary characters, such as:

• The poor man’s Mr. Myagi, as “Bruce Leroy’s wise old sensei”
• The poor man’s Gary Coleman, as “Bruce Leroy’s little brother”
• That guy from Good Times, as “Bruce Leroy’s father”
• That guy who played Mental in Dumb & Dumber, as “Hired Goon #1”
• Rudy from the Cosby Show, as “Little girl with a mustache”
• Generic Asian Stereotype Guy, as “Fortune Cookie Factory Employee”

Now, I’ve never been to Harlem, but apparently during the mid-1980s it was chalk-full of African American kung fu masters, who were ruled by a funky badass shogun in football pads.  Perhaps someday this hidden period of our nation’s heritage will be fully covered during Black History Month, or possibly something presented by Tyler Perry.  One can only hope.

 

At first, I was a little confused by this movie.  It reminded me of one of those old Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup commercials.  You know, the whole: “You got African Americans in my Asians.  No, you got Asians in my African Americans!”  And it wasn’t just the kung fu either.  The black guy owns a pizzeria.  The goofy white guy breakdances all the time.  Down is up, left is right.  Cats are marrying dogs.  I don’t know. 

 

But what I do know is that back in 1985, the world wasn’t quite ready for a black kung fu master.  But the Last Dragon changed all that.  Like catching a bullet in your teeth, or breakdancing your way out of some rope, this movie was about challenging social norms.  It was about change.  The Glow doesn’t see skin color; it sees only your inner aura.  And wouldn’t you know it?  A mere 23 years later, our country elected a black man as President.  Coincidence?  Probably.

 

Look, this movie is so campy, it makes me want to go canoeing with young boys in the wilderness.  Wait, that may have come out wrong.  What I meant was, the movie is fully awesome in every way, and you should totally qway it up on Netflix.  

And for what it’s worth, the Last Dragon is currently being remade(!!!), with Samuel L. Jackson signed on to play the “meanest, prettiest, baddest mo-fo, low down, around this town.”  I think I can speak for America when I say, Thank you Baby Jesus.

Sho’ Nuff.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Dark Knight

Hey, did you know there’s a new Batman movie out? I’m serious– it’s in theaters right this very second. (I know! I hadn’t heard anything about it either!) Luckily I have a source deep inside the indie art film scene, who tipped me off about this movie before any real buzz was generated.

Ha ha, of course I’m kidding. Last weekend, I braved the storming masses of acne-riddled comic book dorks to go check out The Dark Knight, along with eleventy billion of my closest friends. And you know what? It was pretty damn good!

And since Christian Bale inexplicably modeled his Batman persona after Clint Eastwood’s “man with no name”, let’s break this movie down Good, Bad, and Ugly style. Aww yeah.

The Good
As far as directors go, Christopher Nolan is the freakin’ Man.  And I don’t mean “The Man” that’s keeping all the black people down either.  Nolan just flat out makes great movies. He took over a franchise that had become laughably terrible in the hands of Tim Burton and [shudder] Joel Schumacher, and completely turned it around. Honestly the guy’s so good, I bet he could turn the Vern Troyer sex tape into an Oscar winner. Maybe “Best Cinematography Featuring a Midget” or something.

Heath Ledger has been getting a metric shit ton of critical acclaim for his portrayal of the Joker, and deservedly so. He was easily the best part of this movie, and stole every scene he was in. His Joker was the perfect blend of “criminal mastermind” and “bat-shit crazy psychopath.” Best Joker Ever. Take that, Matthew Modine!

The action was fantastic. The story was really good. All the supporting actors did a great job. Look, I could go on and on with “The Good” here, but it’s all been hashed and rehashed and then hashed again in other, mo’ better reviews, so there’s no point in me boring you with every single “good” point of the movie. (Despite how routinely you bore the pants off me, Internet.)

The Bad
Honestly, the only thing negative I have to say is that I liked the first one (Batman Begins) a little better. Which isn’t so bad a criticism, really. Here’s a list of some other movies that weren’t as good as Batman Begins:

1. All of them

And sure, I guess there were some plot points that seemed a little unnecessary. (Why was Batman in Hong Kong exactly?) But whatever. If I wanted to do things like “think”, I’d just read books instead of watching movies.

The Ugly
Look, I’m sure Maggie Gyllenhaal is a perfectly good actress. Really. But she just doesn’t do it for me in the eye candy department. Katie Holmes was at least somewhat cute. And you know there’s going to be a third installment. So where do you go after Maggie Gyllenhaal– Sandra Bernhardt? Rosie O’Donnell?? I just don’t know. Luckily the writers were able to “solve” the problem before it got too far out of hand.

Oops. I meant to say “Spoiler Alert” back there. Sorry about that. (Suckers.)

So there it is. GO SEE THE DARK KNIGHT RIGHT NOW!! Then come back here and high-five me because you’re so damn awesome.

Lars and the Real Girl

My basement is still undergoing dramatic awesome-ification, which means I’ve been slacking on my movie watching these past few weeks. Although, when the biggest “excitement” in your life is sitting in a dank basement watching DVDs by yourself, well, I suppose there’s nowhere to go but up.

The other night the Wife and I watched “Lars and the Real Girl” on our painfully-inadequate, non-hi-definition, upstairs TV. Seriously, Regular-Def is for suckers. But that’s okay, I like to “rough it” every now and again. Keeping it real and whatnot.

This movie stars Ryan Gosling as the title character, Lars. (You may know Mr. Gosling better as “Who?”, but apparently he’s a major player on the Chick Flick circuit.) Lars is your typical northern/mid-western introverted delusional crazy person. He sports a pretty strong porn mustache, wears a lot of sweaters, and lives by himself in the garage of his old family home. Not that any of those things by themselves make him crazy. But if you ever watch any of those shows about real-life murders (like Dateline or 48 Hours Mystery, etc.), there’s a pretty clear recipe for axe murderers: quiet loner, low-paying corporate job, lives in the garage, mustache, sweater vests. The ingredients are there, that’s all I’m saying.

Anywho, one day Lars decides that reality is just too damn lonely. So he goes online and buys himself a sex doll. (Because you know, why wouldn’t he? I mean, have you seen that dude’s mustache?) But here’s where things get weird. Lars thinks the doll (“Bianca”) is a real girl. (Hence the title of the movie, I suppose. Pretty convenient if you ask me.) But just to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lars is mentally ill, the film makes it clear that Lars just isn’t interested in sexing up his new inanimate friend. You see, a “normal” person in possession of a sex doll, might just… umm… well… there are certain natural things that people do, that… ummm… what I’m trying to say is, when a man and a doll love each other very much… they…. uhhh…. I don’t know. Let’s move on.

So Bianca “sleeps” at Lars’ brother’s house, on account of how religious Lars is. (Oh yeah, add “religious zealot” to the axe-murderer checklist.) And Lars dresses her as “Not a slut,” and totes her around town in a wheelchair. Because that’s less weird, I guess, if Bianca is handicapped. Oh, and constantly in a state of surprise, thus the perpetually open mouth.

Okay, so Lars is crazy, and that’s fine. Whatever. But here’s where the film lost me: The rest of the town just kind of goes along with it!! All the town folk treat Bianca like a real person, for the sake of Lars’ mental health. They invite her to parties, do her hair, and even elect her to the school board. (Note: WTF?) Sure, you could argue that it’s a sweet, endearing gesture. Everyone just cares about Lars so much, that they’re willing to accept his psychotic delusions. Awwww!! Small town America is just so damn cute and lovable, I could hug it forever!!!

Even the town doctor/psychiatrist tells Lars’ family that his delusions will eventually just “go away” on their own. Now, I’m not a doctor (despite what I tell teenage girls at the mall), but even I know that’s pretty piss-poor medical advice. Yeah, just ignore your severe mental illness, and everything will work out in the end. Brilliant effing strategy there, Doc.

I mean, if one of my friends ever came home with an imaginary girlfriend (Skip, I’m looking in your direction), of course I’d still be friends with him. We’d just be the kind of friends that see each other through plexiglass windows, during normal hospital visiting hours.

Now admittedly, I’m an East Coast guy. So maybe– just maybe– people who live in the frozen outskirts of the Mid-West are constantly straddling the line between sanity and insanity. Maybe a little mental illness is just par for the course, you know, because it’s cold and isolated, and there are a lot of Abominable Snowmen running around. It’s plausible, I suppose. I don’t know.

The point is, like any sane person, I rely on TV and movies to raise my children. And I want my kids to know that if they see a strange man with a molestache sitting under a tree, talking to his imaginary friend, they should keep their distance.

Won’t somebody please think of the children???

There Will Be Blood

It’s been a couple of days since I watched this movie, and I’m still mulling it over. Which is a good sign. I like to mull from time to time, and movies that provoke my mulling (mulleting?) are usually pretty good.

I just can’t decide what I thought of this flick. I mean, it was definitely good. But I think the critical acclaim surrounding the movie may have over-inflated my expectations to “football in the groin” level proportions.

Let’s start with the plot, shall we? Some guy drills for oil in the early 1900’s and becomes rich. The End.

But the plot doesn’t really matter all that much. The success of this movie has more to do with the riveting character study we get of the film’s protagonist. It’s kind of like Citizen Kane, only it’s not filmed in black-and-white, and therefore not quite as retarded artsy.

The main character is named Daniel Plainview, played by Daniel Day Lewis. Now usually, when a character in a movie has the same first name as the actor who portrays him, it’s because said actor is dumber than a pile of lawn chairs, and so the writers have to adjust accordingly. But Mr. Day Lewis is one of the best actors around, if you ask me. He certainly knocked this role out of the park. In fact, he may have even won an Oscar for the role. (I’d look that up, but as it turns out I don’t really care that much. Not to mention I’m extremely lazy.) Regardless, DDL was fantastic in this movie.

Still, I was disappointed about one thing. Every review I’ve read about this movie made Daniel Plainview out to be some horrible villainous monster. But I just didn’t get that from the movie. Aside from his Sinister Mustache—which was very sinister, don’t get me wrong— Daniel didn’t seem even the slightest bit evil to me. He made a metric shit ton of money, sure. But that’s the American Dream, isn’t it? And of course Capitalism is, by definition, exploitative. But that’s a good thing.

Daniel wasn’t out killing people, or using some sort of Goon Squad to wipe out his competitors. By every indication, he made his money honestly and legitimately. He bought land with legal contracts, paid honest wages, and generally conducted himself like any other captain of industry. Why is that so evil, I ask you? Is it because you’re a dirty tree-hugging hippie? (It is, isn’t it?)

One of the more fascinating subplots of the movie deals with Daniel’s ongoing conflicts with the local Church. The town’s young preacher is Eli, who is played by that silent kid from Little Miss Sunshine (which was a terrible movie and you’re lying to yourself if you think it wasn’t.)  Anywho, Eli and Daniel square off in a number of exhilarating confrontations, aptly symbolizing the eternal power struggle between Big Business and Religion. I won’t tell you how it ends, but religion loses.

[Speaking of that Eli character, could someone who’s seen this movie please explain to me if he and his brother “Paul” were actually twins, or just dual manifestations of a split personality? Maybe I’m just a simple caveman, but I honestly couldn’t figure that one out. And it’s much more interesting if they’re the same person, don’t you think?]

Bottom line, this movie was good. The acting was great. The story was interesting. Even the cinematography was worth the price of admission, and I don’t fully understand what “cinematography” even is. (Of course, the price of admission in my case was $0 but whatever, but we’re not here to discuss the economy.)

I used to think dreams were like rainbows– only idiots followed them. But this movie has inspired me to follow my dreams; to be a better man. Not in the literal sense, of course. But figuratively, I’m going to go home this weekend and drill for oil in the depths of my own humanity. (In this metaphor, oil = my feelings, and drill = suppress with alcohol.)

King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters

When I was a kid, we had a Q-Bert video game in our basement. I don’t know why, but we did. And I can say without hyperbole or exaggeration that I was/am the greatest Q-Bert player in the history of the known universe.

Now, you’re probably thinking “But Jon, how did you find the time to play video games, with all those Q-Bert groupies throwing themselves at you every day?” That’s a good question. We’ll come back to that later.

Of course, by the time I turned 12, I had grown tired of the glamorous video game lifestyle: the terrifying lows, dizzying highs and creamy middles. And I haven’t touched a joystick in nearly 20 years. (Ha. That’s what she said.) But I was reminded of my former arcade prowess yesterday, as I watched The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters.

For those of you that haven’t heard of this brilliant documentary, it focuses on the lives of two lifelong video gamers, and their individual quests to be the World Champion of Donkey Kong.

I should point out, I’m a big fan of documentaries. True life is frequently more interesting than fiction. But an unfortunate part of many documentaries is that the filmmaker will inject his own views into the story, forcing the viewer to watch the story unfold from a specific perspective. (Michael Moore, I’m looking in your direction.) Where King of Kong succeeds is that its subjects are presented objectively, without prejudice or condescension. And trust me, it would have been REAALLLY easy to just poke fun at the whole lot of these video game dorks, and call it a day. But instead, we’re presented with a gripping human drama, as compelling as any other movie released in the past year.

The first character we meet is Billy Mitchell, the “Michael Jordan” of arcade games (pictured above, present day.)  Way back in 1982, Billy set the world record high score in Donkey Kong, and his record has stood for nearly 25 years. He is viewed by virtually everyone in the video game community (read: gigantic dorks) as the Greatest of All Time. The level of worship bestowed on Billy is virtually Christ-like, and not surprisingly, he comes across as arrogant, smug, narcissistic and completely out of touch with reality.

The film’s other main character is Steve Weibe, a recently-laid-off engineer in Seattle. Steve is the film’s clear protagonist- a likeable underdog, who turns to Donkey Kong after losing his job, and dares to challenge Billy Mitchell’s record. By all accounts, Steve seems like a normal guy; he has a family, friends, and possibly the most patient wife in history. Hell, just the fact that he has a wife and kids makes him stick out like a sore thumb among his fellow gamers.

There are some interesting ancillary characters as well:
1. Steve Sanders: one of Billy’s friends. Unbelievably, Steve Sanders looks exactly like the Steve Sanders from Beverly Hills 90210. (It’s uncanny in fact.)
2. Roy Shildt: former Missle Command record holder who goes by the name “Mr. Awesome”, and once released an instructional video on how to get women. Seriously. Read that last sentence again, for full comedic effect.
3. Brian Kuh: full-blown video game nerd, and one of Billy Mitchell’s disciples. Brian might just be the single worst human being ever. I’ve never wanted to reach into my television and punch someone as much as I did with Brian Kuh. Holy schnikes. Luckily, for humanity’s sake, there’s no chance Brian will ever talk to a real live women, much less procreate.

The whole arcade game subculture is strange, unconventional, and at times grotesque. But I suppose it’s no better or worse than any other obsessive compulsive hobby. (I mean, is Donkey Kong really any less noble than, say, Fantasy Football?) Besides, the video game subculture is merely the backdrop of the story. Steve Weibe and Billy Mitchell could be heavyweight boxers, or deep-sea fishermen, and their story would be just as compelling.

Here’s the gist of the story: Steve bests Billy’s “unbeatable” Donkey Kong high score, and records his record-breaking game on video, which he submits to the High Court of Video Game Dorkitude (or some such entity.) After 25 years, the “record that could never be broken” has fallen, and nerds everywhere rejoice like Princess Leia was handing out free pocket-protectors at the mall.

However, upon hearing the news, Billy Mitchell sends his goon squad over to Steve’s house, where they rip apart his Donkey Kong machine and accuse him of cheating.   And Steve’s record is invalidated.

So Steve, who never cheated to begin with, agrees to attempt another record-breaking game, but this time in a public setting, at “The Hall of Acne-Riddled Virgins”, a fully-sanctioned arcade in New Hampshire. And guess what? He breaks the record again.

BUT WAIT!!! Billy has another card up his sleeve. Moments after Steve breaks the record for a second time, Billy produces a highly-suspect video tape, in which he had “already” set a new world record high score that’s higher than Steve’s. Of course, no one witnessed it, and Billy never told anyone until after Steve broke his first record, and the video tape is clearly spliced together like a bad porno. But, since the entire Never Been Laid Brigade worships the ground Billy walks on, they accept this video as undeniable proof of the new world record.

Steve is understandably devastated. So he travels around the country, attending national arcade game events, all the while challenging Billy to play a game against him live and in person. But Billy never shows up. Not once. He even conspicuously drives through the parking lot outside the arcade, but refuses to come inside. We soon learn from Billy’s (shockingly well-endowed) wife that Billy has never played in live competition since that record-setting day in 1982.

Before long, it becomes clear how sad and pathetic Billy Mitchell really is. And not just in the “I play video games all day” kind of way. Billy’s entire life, his personality, how he defines himself as person, is all based on that single achievement from 1982. I mean, just look at his picture. It’s painfully clear how important that time in his life was to him. (Although his hair is fantastic if you ask me.) Without that record, he would be nothing. And as he watches Steve Weibe threaten to take the record away from him, you can see the fear and doubt eating away at his psyche. It’s not just an arcade game, it’s his entire self-worth as a human being slowly disappearing before his eyes. And the lengths that Billy goes to ensure his record remains intact make for a riveting character study.

Did I mention that Billy’s wife has huge boobs? So at least there’s that.