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Some movies age sadly, some with style, and some do not at all. James Cameron, as director of the first two cinematic installments of the Terminator franchise, admits how the focal ideas of this tale are gravitating towards the works of author Harlan Ellison, who delivered numerous stories for the sci-fi series Outer Limits, back in 1963. James Cameron was 13 then, and this television program surely must have given him quite a few retina stigmas and a lot of quality fiction to chew on. After all, quality science-fiction really should be able to offer you a fictional language and a collection of ideas you find intriguing and entertaining at the same time, and this exactly is what the Terminator movie was doing, - in fact, does still - back in-, and from- 1984.
Prior to that date, popculture robots were good fellers, cute sidekicks, friendly household appliances, or similar mechanical constructs of the sort that are seeking your bidding and amusement, ready to carry out your commands without hesitation. The Terminator movie rejected this view utterly, creating the then-fresh idea of sophisticated machinery that gets conscious of itself and recognizes its creator as something the world would be more easily manageable without. Machine sends a cyborg assassin back through time with the agenda of eliminating the current leader of the human Resistance. Though the ancient tale of the Golem may come into mind, the idea of intricate and "evil" machinery is unknown to the popular culture of the early 80's.
"Evil?" Why would The Terminator be "evil?" It is not. It is carrying out a Command, which is to eliminate the future leader of The Resistance. Yet, from a human point of view, - did you have any other sort of view than that so far? - evil is the capacity to harm without remorse. Since The Terminator has no awareness of such a vague concept as remorse, because remorse has no function nor relevance in spite of carrying out its mission with efficiency, the titular character indeed becomes the worst nightmare human can face: a nightmare that knows no mercy, simply because it does not know mercy, indeed.
Fortunately, it was Arnold Schwarzenegger who could cement the extremely rare Popculture-Demigod status with his paradigmatic portrayal of the cyborg assassin, the T800 Terminator, as originally Cameron wanted a Terminator figure that blends in more easily. He wanted Lars Henriksen, among others - this concept became realized in the Aliens, two years after The Terminator.
If one wants to be honest AND a Terminator geek at the same time - and let us want that, for a moment - then it is safe to state that a Terminator movie simply is not a Terminator movie without Schwarzenegger, since the heart and soul of the entire franchise is Schwarzenegger, as he is methodically-, thoroughly clears out an entire police station with a shotgun, wearing cheap sunglasses, T800 haircut and a black leather jacket.
The Terminator movie gains a pure-musculature continuation via its 1991 sequel Judgment Day, as director James Cameron has a masterful sense of what to offer-, what to show to deliver an installment that has no other agenda than to entertain with fresh and inventive elements he found, as result of going on with the story. This time, the T800 model becomes a good guy, while the main baddie is coming for you through the introduction of the state of the art T1000 model, the perfected cybernetic organism. As of now, the T800's assignment is to protect the leader of the Resistance from the death clutch of an even more efficient cyborg assassin, a construct Cameron uses to deliver inventive, state of the art special effects, revealing narrative brilliance and related playfulness at the core.
The T2 movie is a cybernetic rat race really, orchestrated-, and operated by the simple conflict of the urge of Termination and the confronting urge of Termination-Prevention: the idea is as grateful as it is elegantly simplistic, and Cameron has a whole lot to tell about how good of a time he has with all the significant elements he brings to the fray. The T2 movie does everything with the largely abused term: action packed-, and THEN does some more with it. The reason the movie remains an accomplishment of truly slick qualities, is the accumulated result of Cameron's sense of how to give an extremely sharp character to a scene "simply by" throwing in masterful elements that can't help but support a set via their mere presence and their slickly chosen functionalities.
In the exceptionally memorable chase sequence, for example, Arnold rides a good, old fashioned Harley Davidson bikebeast, removing the obstacles in his way via his favorite good, old fashioned shotgun, reloading it in a way that gives male viewers an immediate extra layer of hair to the chest via every buckshot implemented. Meanwhile, the state of the art T1000 model bids in radical proportions when the moment whispers lies about a second of peace, just to be shattered utterly-, and quite literally. Not to mention how Edward Furlong invents the "Emo" subculture without having any knowledge about that.
T2 delivers decently from a storytelling point of view as well, as the primal portrayal of the bond between the exceptionally strong mother figure and her son eventually invites the narrative to a satisfactory emotional culmination the whole franchise could settle idle upon, with - spoiler warning - Arnold giving you the thumbs.
- spoiler ends -
The Terminator tale goes on of course, to entertain its fans further on, but the franchise is yet to see an actor and related character who surpasses-, or even approximates the gravitational pull of the so far unrivaled canvas presence Arnold Schwarzenegger stigmatized the Terminator mythology with.
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Showing posts with label film. Show all posts
Showing posts with label film. Show all posts
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Friday, December 18, 2009
Inglourious Basterds
Situation Normal: All Things Reek THC
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Inglourious Basterds is not a World War II movie made by Quentin Tarantino, it rather is a Quentin Tarantino movie taking place in a World War II era that has all the comic book charms in the galaxy to it. Quentin has a masterful understanding of comic book character handling and related dialog development, but, to be honest, he usually has little more than that to offer which is the most fruitful trait of this delivery, yet ends up as its necessary constraint as well, since Quentin satisfies with delivering Ultimate Badassness, failing to notice the moment by which he already told everything worth to be told about it.
Other than that, the movie really has no actual shortcomings. It is crystal-solid, crystal-clear comic book cinema that Quentin made for himself to entertain himself, primarily. I find nothing wrong with that. A beautiful cinematic accomplishment with a narrative language which, as hinted, gives you all worth to be given on the semi-superhero comic book register, almost inviting you, mocking you to realize that there is one and only ONE character in the entire film and that is: The Badass.
Not just a random Badass. The Ultimate Badass. In Quentin Tarantino's mind, dialog has no other narrative channel to flow through than fluffing a character's ego twice as big as her/his verbal challenger succeeded doing that one sentence earlier. Everyone has a set of carefully researched, total brutal oneliners begging to be delivered, in fact, one has the impression that Quentin makes his movies in order to be able to deliver his most recent-, total brutal oneliners.
But, at the end of the day, - and during all that, mind you - you see the exact same character in every one of them, in case you were wondering, it is: The Badass. Tarantino's Badass archetype puts on precisely drawn cartoon masks you call mannerisms, expressing their harshly limited, though entertaining dimensions from the exact same-, yet sadly separate THC private-Universe as the others inhabit. Connections in these separate private Universes are happening through carefully staged acts of fragile causality. In other words: if you are Tarantino and you are about to deliver a five minute "dialogmonologue", first you showcase how Badass your character is - because this is the only character you have a concept of, remember? - then, when you managed to draw your Badass character, you will be busy returning to the plot by finally putting two sentences into her/his mouth that has relevance to the plot.
These weed-driven self-declarations of individual awesomeness are of focal importance in this movie, which, ultimately, is a firm Tarantino delivery with elegant plot twists and purified WW2 novelty vibes to it. The movie has no particular, rigorous seriousness, yet, fortunately recognizes that it does not even have any need for those to be a film worth scrutinizing.
- end of post, but you can click Read more! if you want to see something -
WTF?!
If you enjoyed this here article, check out my comic: Planetseed
If you are to circulate magnificently pleasant vibrations: Buy me Beer
Read more!
Order a Sieg Heil! from Amazon
Inglourious Basterds is not a World War II movie made by Quentin Tarantino, it rather is a Quentin Tarantino movie taking place in a World War II era that has all the comic book charms in the galaxy to it. Quentin has a masterful understanding of comic book character handling and related dialog development, but, to be honest, he usually has little more than that to offer which is the most fruitful trait of this delivery, yet ends up as its necessary constraint as well, since Quentin satisfies with delivering Ultimate Badassness, failing to notice the moment by which he already told everything worth to be told about it.Other than that, the movie really has no actual shortcomings. It is crystal-solid, crystal-clear comic book cinema that Quentin made for himself to entertain himself, primarily. I find nothing wrong with that. A beautiful cinematic accomplishment with a narrative language which, as hinted, gives you all worth to be given on the semi-superhero comic book register, almost inviting you, mocking you to realize that there is one and only ONE character in the entire film and that is: The Badass.
Not just a random Badass. The Ultimate Badass. In Quentin Tarantino's mind, dialog has no other narrative channel to flow through than fluffing a character's ego twice as big as her/his verbal challenger succeeded doing that one sentence earlier. Everyone has a set of carefully researched, total brutal oneliners begging to be delivered, in fact, one has the impression that Quentin makes his movies in order to be able to deliver his most recent-, total brutal oneliners.
But, at the end of the day, - and during all that, mind you - you see the exact same character in every one of them, in case you were wondering, it is: The Badass. Tarantino's Badass archetype puts on precisely drawn cartoon masks you call mannerisms, expressing their harshly limited, though entertaining dimensions from the exact same-, yet sadly separate THC private-Universe as the others inhabit. Connections in these separate private Universes are happening through carefully staged acts of fragile causality. In other words: if you are Tarantino and you are about to deliver a five minute "dialogmonologue", first you showcase how Badass your character is - because this is the only character you have a concept of, remember? - then, when you managed to draw your Badass character, you will be busy returning to the plot by finally putting two sentences into her/his mouth that has relevance to the plot.
These weed-driven self-declarations of individual awesomeness are of focal importance in this movie, which, ultimately, is a firm Tarantino delivery with elegant plot twists and purified WW2 novelty vibes to it. The movie has no particular, rigorous seriousness, yet, fortunately recognizes that it does not even have any need for those to be a film worth scrutinizing.
- end of post, but you can click Read more! if you want to see something -
WTF?!
If you enjoyed this here article, check out my comic: Planetseed
If you are to circulate magnificently pleasant vibrations: Buy me Beer
Read more!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
(a good old fashioned beating on) Wall-E
Math of Emotion
Wall-E is 111% professionalism, THEN some more. This is the animation that has a perfect understanding of a consensus stock-psyche, thus the installment pulls you through a series of mathematics spontaneity, each coming to you via masterful calculations, eager to - effectively - toll your strictly expected reactions for the precise outlines of complex emotions. Emotions presented with all the risk free tones of a pink ink, spilled with pinpoint accuracy on a risk free pink canvas.
Wall-E offers no minutes, seconds, not even stolen nanoseconds to any form of freedom you could longing for as an appreciator of this solid CG accomplishment. You are not granted the fluidity to interpret the happenings on the screen in any other way than the way they ARE happening by indeed. Each movement and/or vibe you see or feel on the canvas is placed in front of you because of crystal clear intent. Yet, in reality, Wall-E offers but a harshly limited set of the usual, radical CG emotions, making sure though to squeeze and present the holy pink frick out of them, THEN some more. (For your amusement, by the way.)
The vibes Wall-E collides you with are already declared rigorously, you are but the mirror that will justify how precisely the intended emotions are sought for, how precisely they are provoked out of you. Remember, you are the viewer and you will be tolled for your empathy. Surely, you will laugh when you are wanted to submit to laugh. Surely, you will feel pity when you are wanted to submit to feel pity. This all should be normal. Causing emotions is crucial aspect of art. Wall-E though, I think, does little more than overkills, rapes the usual CG emotions via a perfect understanding of them. And you, as viewer, end up as living justification of how flawless of an understanding of superficial emotional channels the creators do possess.
You will render the emotions, as will the other viewers in the audience. You will endure the same dramaturgical fabric you have seen a 642387462384 times before. While this extremely strait field of interpretation could be viewed as the narrative strength of this animation, in total, Wall-E does not yet aspire, and, as such: naturally does not succeed at presenting more complex emotions than what you already have seen being delivered by the genre on numerous occasions.
At the end of the day, Wall-E is a reasonably solid CG beast taking you by the neck, forcing you to lick up all the foam of risk free, pre-calculated fun and risk free, pre-calculated melancholy it brings to the - presumably - risk free table. It makes sure that the color of your memory of it, and that of the secret inner puke you will deny it caused to eject out of you in a weak moment of escapist realization - will conform nicely to the commanding shade of this installment. Math of Emotion, baby. Pink math of pink emotion to be specific.
Oh, and in case you have wondered, Wall-E is a masterfully calculated and carefully synthesized torpedo of risk free fun for the Whole Family. No irony here at all. And this is the problem, too.
If you enjoyed this here article, check out my comic: Planetseed
If you are to circulate magnificently pleasant vibrations: Buy me Beer
Read more!
Wall-E is 111% professionalism, THEN some more. This is the animation that has a perfect understanding of a consensus stock-psyche, thus the installment pulls you through a series of mathematics spontaneity, each coming to you via masterful calculations, eager to - effectively - toll your strictly expected reactions for the precise outlines of complex emotions. Emotions presented with all the risk free tones of a pink ink, spilled with pinpoint accuracy on a risk free pink canvas.Wall-E offers no minutes, seconds, not even stolen nanoseconds to any form of freedom you could longing for as an appreciator of this solid CG accomplishment. You are not granted the fluidity to interpret the happenings on the screen in any other way than the way they ARE happening by indeed. Each movement and/or vibe you see or feel on the canvas is placed in front of you because of crystal clear intent. Yet, in reality, Wall-E offers but a harshly limited set of the usual, radical CG emotions, making sure though to squeeze and present the holy pink frick out of them, THEN some more. (For your amusement, by the way.)
The vibes Wall-E collides you with are already declared rigorously, you are but the mirror that will justify how precisely the intended emotions are sought for, how precisely they are provoked out of you. Remember, you are the viewer and you will be tolled for your empathy. Surely, you will laugh when you are wanted to submit to laugh. Surely, you will feel pity when you are wanted to submit to feel pity. This all should be normal. Causing emotions is crucial aspect of art. Wall-E though, I think, does little more than overkills, rapes the usual CG emotions via a perfect understanding of them. And you, as viewer, end up as living justification of how flawless of an understanding of superficial emotional channels the creators do possess.
You will render the emotions, as will the other viewers in the audience. You will endure the same dramaturgical fabric you have seen a 642387462384 times before. While this extremely strait field of interpretation could be viewed as the narrative strength of this animation, in total, Wall-E does not yet aspire, and, as such: naturally does not succeed at presenting more complex emotions than what you already have seen being delivered by the genre on numerous occasions.
At the end of the day, Wall-E is a reasonably solid CG beast taking you by the neck, forcing you to lick up all the foam of risk free, pre-calculated fun and risk free, pre-calculated melancholy it brings to the - presumably - risk free table. It makes sure that the color of your memory of it, and that of the secret inner puke you will deny it caused to eject out of you in a weak moment of escapist realization - will conform nicely to the commanding shade of this installment. Math of Emotion, baby. Pink math of pink emotion to be specific.
Oh, and in case you have wondered, Wall-E is a masterfully calculated and carefully synthesized torpedo of risk free fun for the Whole Family. No irony here at all. And this is the problem, too.
If you enjoyed this here article, check out my comic: Planetseed
If you are to circulate magnificently pleasant vibrations: Buy me Beer
Read more!
Sunday, March 15, 2009
The Wrestler
Challenging Time Again
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Darren Aronofsky's latest installment, The Wrestler inspects human body and inherent spirit. Once you are in the wrestling show business where all focal attractions do demand a body of granite and a soul of masterfully mimicked super-dominance, then you and all your Fans know that your body can't quit on you. That it truly NEVER will. You are not a mortal, rather a super-product, a mythical phenom, a Demigod. Did you believe that? According to popular belief, even better/worse, experience: every body quits. That's why everybody quits. Uhm. It is a question of when, not a question of if. According to our current knowledge, at least.
Sci-fi author Stanislaw Lem concludes that not knowing the exact date by which a body quits on a mortal - makes the mortal an immortal. Cool design huh? Darren Aronofsky, on the other hand, decides to tell a tale using delicate Cronenbergian tones, though metaphor decides to bite this time, as opposed of whispering silhouettes of subtle thoughts into your masterfully sized ears.
The name of the game is rather straightforward here: this is good, old fashioned, raw cinematic narration without all the detail work Aronofsky is fond of using. Not this time though: the rawness of the environment - inner/spiritual and outer environment - this story unfolds in demands to place you in a position in which you could scientifically relate to the imminent/evident stench of colliding male bodies. The bodies that are criticized by many, having no clue with two lost holes in it about how demanding it is to do what these entertainers are doing. And there is no proper place and proper time to rest, either. The next match is always coming up, regardless how well the wrestler performed a couple of weeks ago. The protagonist of the story is in a constant escape. He escapes from a painfully blank, solitary reality on a match-to-match basis, exhibiting his run in front of the Fans, FOR the Fans. There is no quitting for the spirit, there is no quitting for the body, neither.
Mickey Rourke's portrayal of '80's Wrestling Phenom Randy "The Ram" Robinson is as close to flawless as you will ever care wishing for. This is a hardened, still-muscular, wrinkly soul in a hardened, still-muscular, wrinkly body. Body though ages, and the soul may remain playful. So eager to deliver. So ready to please the grateful Fans or to fuel the passion of everyday average haters. Does not matter.
What matters is: to be reacted to. Being reacted to is what defines a Star. Once reaction time is over: Stardom is over. When you finally check on your watch though to see if time indeed have passed you by, then there is the painfully blatant potentiality of a possible realization - shocking you to the very core, needles to say - that it just: had, indeed.
The film delivers solid humane drama as you witness a Randy Robinson who has absolutely NO ONE and NOTHING in his life. No one and nothing except the Fans, whom are distant admirers of a distant, pretty much mythological figure. They have zero relation towards- and interest in Randolph Robinson. A Superstar Wrestler is not a human, oh, come on, did you truly believe that they are? No. They indeed pack considerate charisma and consorting, absolutely amazing human autonomy, each blown deliberately to Larger Than Life, even Larger Than You Could Imagine size.
The point comes when Rourke's character has to face with the fact that his Over The Top Persona is no longer sustainable by the body his spirit is occupying. A spirit that is forced to be restless, a spirit that always have been forced to be restless, so it could generate profit in a ring that dictates rules by the amount of pain one signs on for. The film reveals necessary ignorance towards what the body would recognize as a comfortable pace, as result of the constant necessity to perform. The necessity to deny the – check this - reality of reality. Because only the Fans do represent the aspect of reality that the Wrestler lives and performs for.
What fuels this inner stance is the constant urge, even need, to force the body to function as that of a Superhuman. Rourke's character challenges Time, telling the Ultimate Conqueror that he is still capable of doing what he could do in prime times. Time accepts the challenge.
As mentioned, The Wrestler is solid drama. Raw and honest drama. The best aspect of the installment is that it remains entirely truthful to its main agenda of keeping these admirable qualities intact, non-tinkered with. The Ram's extremely scarce interpersonal relationships are portrayed precisely. A disappointed daughter is delivered as an acceptable aspect, yet, the relationship between Rourke's character and a prostitute acquaintance tells even more about the Ram. There is a scene in which the protagonist has absolutely no one to turn to, so he chooses to express his doubts and feelings towards his prostitute acquaintance. The woman's reaction is a perfect representation of how Rourke's character is situated in this world.
Aronofsky's newest delivery to date does not want you to drop your jaw in amazement, neither it wants to pick it up and put it in places a decent girl never even heard of. Instead, this motion picture delivers a thorough portrayal of a human state of saddening solitary and remembered, dim fame. The Ram remains a Fighter, nevertheless. A Fighter who has Faith, a Faith that remains Indestructible. You know what Faith is? It is the thing you lose if you did not even have it.
The Ram remembers joy, and there is nothing more sour than but the remembrance of joy. This particular remembrance comes to the protagonist as a persistent shadow, leaving us to wonder if is it but the shadow, or is it the tired flesh that tells us more honestly about who the Wrestler really is. A dim fame may always come back to haunt you in its full glory, once you start to long for it for the sufficient time and with the sufficient passion. The question is, which The Ram has to face with, as well: is it advisable to desire that fame again, or is it more fruity to let it go?
If you enjoyed this here article, check out my comic: Planetseed
If you are to circulate magnificently pleasant vibrations: Buy me Beer
Read more!
Order a Ram Jam! from Amazon
Darren Aronofsky's latest installment, The Wrestler inspects human body and inherent spirit. Once you are in the wrestling show business where all focal attractions do demand a body of granite and a soul of masterfully mimicked super-dominance, then you and all your Fans know that your body can't quit on you. That it truly NEVER will. You are not a mortal, rather a super-product, a mythical phenom, a Demigod. Did you believe that? According to popular belief, even better/worse, experience: every body quits. That's why everybody quits. Uhm. It is a question of when, not a question of if. According to our current knowledge, at least.
Sci-fi author Stanislaw Lem concludes that not knowing the exact date by which a body quits on a mortal - makes the mortal an immortal. Cool design huh? Darren Aronofsky, on the other hand, decides to tell a tale using delicate Cronenbergian tones, though metaphor decides to bite this time, as opposed of whispering silhouettes of subtle thoughts into your masterfully sized ears.
The name of the game is rather straightforward here: this is good, old fashioned, raw cinematic narration without all the detail work Aronofsky is fond of using. Not this time though: the rawness of the environment - inner/spiritual and outer environment - this story unfolds in demands to place you in a position in which you could scientifically relate to the imminent/evident stench of colliding male bodies. The bodies that are criticized by many, having no clue with two lost holes in it about how demanding it is to do what these entertainers are doing. And there is no proper place and proper time to rest, either. The next match is always coming up, regardless how well the wrestler performed a couple of weeks ago. The protagonist of the story is in a constant escape. He escapes from a painfully blank, solitary reality on a match-to-match basis, exhibiting his run in front of the Fans, FOR the Fans. There is no quitting for the spirit, there is no quitting for the body, neither.
Mickey Rourke's portrayal of '80's Wrestling Phenom Randy "The Ram" Robinson is as close to flawless as you will ever care wishing for. This is a hardened, still-muscular, wrinkly soul in a hardened, still-muscular, wrinkly body. Body though ages, and the soul may remain playful. So eager to deliver. So ready to please the grateful Fans or to fuel the passion of everyday average haters. Does not matter.
What matters is: to be reacted to. Being reacted to is what defines a Star. Once reaction time is over: Stardom is over. When you finally check on your watch though to see if time indeed have passed you by, then there is the painfully blatant potentiality of a possible realization - shocking you to the very core, needles to say - that it just: had, indeed.
The film delivers solid humane drama as you witness a Randy Robinson who has absolutely NO ONE and NOTHING in his life. No one and nothing except the Fans, whom are distant admirers of a distant, pretty much mythological figure. They have zero relation towards- and interest in Randolph Robinson. A Superstar Wrestler is not a human, oh, come on, did you truly believe that they are? No. They indeed pack considerate charisma and consorting, absolutely amazing human autonomy, each blown deliberately to Larger Than Life, even Larger Than You Could Imagine size.
The point comes when Rourke's character has to face with the fact that his Over The Top Persona is no longer sustainable by the body his spirit is occupying. A spirit that is forced to be restless, a spirit that always have been forced to be restless, so it could generate profit in a ring that dictates rules by the amount of pain one signs on for. The film reveals necessary ignorance towards what the body would recognize as a comfortable pace, as result of the constant necessity to perform. The necessity to deny the – check this - reality of reality. Because only the Fans do represent the aspect of reality that the Wrestler lives and performs for.
What fuels this inner stance is the constant urge, even need, to force the body to function as that of a Superhuman. Rourke's character challenges Time, telling the Ultimate Conqueror that he is still capable of doing what he could do in prime times. Time accepts the challenge.
As mentioned, The Wrestler is solid drama. Raw and honest drama. The best aspect of the installment is that it remains entirely truthful to its main agenda of keeping these admirable qualities intact, non-tinkered with. The Ram's extremely scarce interpersonal relationships are portrayed precisely. A disappointed daughter is delivered as an acceptable aspect, yet, the relationship between Rourke's character and a prostitute acquaintance tells even more about the Ram. There is a scene in which the protagonist has absolutely no one to turn to, so he chooses to express his doubts and feelings towards his prostitute acquaintance. The woman's reaction is a perfect representation of how Rourke's character is situated in this world.
Aronofsky's newest delivery to date does not want you to drop your jaw in amazement, neither it wants to pick it up and put it in places a decent girl never even heard of. Instead, this motion picture delivers a thorough portrayal of a human state of saddening solitary and remembered, dim fame. The Ram remains a Fighter, nevertheless. A Fighter who has Faith, a Faith that remains Indestructible. You know what Faith is? It is the thing you lose if you did not even have it.
The Ram remembers joy, and there is nothing more sour than but the remembrance of joy. This particular remembrance comes to the protagonist as a persistent shadow, leaving us to wonder if is it but the shadow, or is it the tired flesh that tells us more honestly about who the Wrestler really is. A dim fame may always come back to haunt you in its full glory, once you start to long for it for the sufficient time and with the sufficient passion. The question is, which The Ram has to face with, as well: is it advisable to desire that fame again, or is it more fruity to let it go?
If you enjoyed this here article, check out my comic: Planetseed
If you are to circulate magnificently pleasant vibrations: Buy me Beer
Read more!
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Taken
Who's Your Daddy?
In Taken, Liam Neeson gives you a former superspy who now faces very mundane issues. These are common, nevertheless quite warm and quite pressing questions like coming up with the right birthday present for her late adolescent daughter.
The superspy's family is split by the time we join in, Neeson's figure gets thoroughly embarrassed when the stepfather delivers his very robust and very alive gift to the girl. Now shame on you if you got the wrong idea.
The daughter shortly will approach his father with a request to let her leave the country for a while. Though Neeson is hesitant at first, - this is everyday average superspy functionality, a so called: "Factory Default" - he finally agrees. Her daughter shortly will be Taken - hence the title, I suspect scientifically - by remarkably bad Albanian people, but Neeson gets enough information from his daughter in those very crucial moments to start his own crusade for the beloved kidnapped.
Liam Neeson looks and feels highly credible in this acceptable spy flick, though it is more precise to regard the installment as an average action film with a lot of similar fights and a lot of similar facial expressions in it. Perplexedly, the spy characteristics of the film come from nowhere except Neeson's raw elegance and consorting charisma, if the movie would lack his presence, then the results surely would be remarkably shallow and utterly predictable. Though the case remains similar nevertheless, Taken at least tries to look for openings to make the narrative more interesting, and even manages to find some extra moments of bitterly sought novelty shocks along the way.
The main problem with Taken is - if this is a problem at all - that it satisfies happily with the uninventive action directions concerning flashy car chases and profound strikes to the face performed by skillful hands and bathroom sinks in rapid succession. Thank God it is not the same face all the time. One might seem to molest the depths of an amazingly deep ineptitude if to blame an action flick for delivering action.
The drawback of this style of narrative though is that you know you are free to steal a glance at your watch, - if you do have one, I never had - because Liam will kick all hostile butts and will have the woman in the end, too. OK, will have his daughter. From this point on, it is the redefinition of action is the least I would anticipate from such a classic recipe, but that, Taken does not deliver.
- Hey, it's SHANNON from LOST! You may want to reconsider saving her ass.
- Oh My God! YOU ARE SO RIGHT!!
At the end of the day, this film behaves more predictably as it approaches its own focal points in the narrative, but this is - sadly - normal behavior from present day action flicks. Initially, Taken is a film of solid acting and sane conflicts - from a narrative point of view - between its characters, but quickly will unfold to Luc Besson style car chase action, once the central conflict is introduced. I wouldn't call it a bad movie, though. I would call it a movie which Liam Neeson skillfully saves from being bad.
If you enjoyed this here article, check out my comic: Planetseed
If you are to circulate magnificently pleasant vibrations: Buy me Beer
Read more!
In Taken, Liam Neeson gives you a former superspy who now faces very mundane issues. These are common, nevertheless quite warm and quite pressing questions like coming up with the right birthday present for her late adolescent daughter.The superspy's family is split by the time we join in, Neeson's figure gets thoroughly embarrassed when the stepfather delivers his very robust and very alive gift to the girl. Now shame on you if you got the wrong idea.
The daughter shortly will approach his father with a request to let her leave the country for a while. Though Neeson is hesitant at first, - this is everyday average superspy functionality, a so called: "Factory Default" - he finally agrees. Her daughter shortly will be Taken - hence the title, I suspect scientifically - by remarkably bad Albanian people, but Neeson gets enough information from his daughter in those very crucial moments to start his own crusade for the beloved kidnapped.
Liam Neeson looks and feels highly credible in this acceptable spy flick, though it is more precise to regard the installment as an average action film with a lot of similar fights and a lot of similar facial expressions in it. Perplexedly, the spy characteristics of the film come from nowhere except Neeson's raw elegance and consorting charisma, if the movie would lack his presence, then the results surely would be remarkably shallow and utterly predictable. Though the case remains similar nevertheless, Taken at least tries to look for openings to make the narrative more interesting, and even manages to find some extra moments of bitterly sought novelty shocks along the way.
The main problem with Taken is - if this is a problem at all - that it satisfies happily with the uninventive action directions concerning flashy car chases and profound strikes to the face performed by skillful hands and bathroom sinks in rapid succession. Thank God it is not the same face all the time. One might seem to molest the depths of an amazingly deep ineptitude if to blame an action flick for delivering action.
The drawback of this style of narrative though is that you know you are free to steal a glance at your watch, - if you do have one, I never had - because Liam will kick all hostile butts and will have the woman in the end, too. OK, will have his daughter. From this point on, it is the redefinition of action is the least I would anticipate from such a classic recipe, but that, Taken does not deliver.
- Hey, it's SHANNON from LOST! You may want to reconsider saving her ass.
- Oh My God! YOU ARE SO RIGHT!!
At the end of the day, this film behaves more predictably as it approaches its own focal points in the narrative, but this is - sadly - normal behavior from present day action flicks. Initially, Taken is a film of solid acting and sane conflicts - from a narrative point of view - between its characters, but quickly will unfold to Luc Besson style car chase action, once the central conflict is introduced. I wouldn't call it a bad movie, though. I would call it a movie which Liam Neeson skillfully saves from being bad.
If you enjoyed this here article, check out my comic: Planetseed
If you are to circulate magnificently pleasant vibrations: Buy me Beer
Read more!
Monday, December 1, 2008
Stalker
In Beautiful Dirt They Pay
Order a Wish! from Amazon
Arkadi and Borislav Trugatsky wrote the novel Roadside Picnic in 1971, a fiction released to the public by the very next year. A work sewn of subtle inventiveness to confront quite substantial indications of an alien intelligence with the political-, and even spiritual considerations human society and individual must face with in spite of such an encounter. In Roadside Picnic, the aliens use Earth to get rid of certain stuff they prefer to keep elsewhere than their immediate surroundings, yet these packages have the trait of dramatically affecting the regions they land on. It is not sure nor it seems particularly important if these objects and apparitions are solely alien garbage-elements or items that were of effective use for their originators at some time - the fact of the matter is that all seem to manipulate the behavior of earthy reality itself in a certain vicinity. These vicinities are referred to as Zones. Each Artifact the aliens have left behind - creates such a Zone.
These regions necessarily get under political-, and finally, under military control, making them forbidden territories that are very hard to enter, but even more hard to leave from. Places known to, or at the very least: rumored to possess both the gravest of dangers and the most precious of treasures. As such, illegal trespassers are to emerge shortly, risking both their sanity and their lives either for loot, or for those more delicate findings the Zone is rumored to possess.
These scavenger individuals are called Stalkers. Scouts with knowledge about the Zone they are resident around. Science, of course, is massively interested in gaining relevant information about the Zones, being constantly baffled both by its findings and via the realization of its current incapacity to properly account the results and phenomenons it encounters.
Notice how this 1971 work of the Trugatsky brothers sketched out the fictional outlines of an eerie, yet evidently unconscious prediction of future real life events that occurred in 1986. Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant, surrounding area: a region which is almost completely vacant, giving place to the two ghost cities of Prypiat and Chernobyl. The Zone that does exist in reality. The Zone that came to existence seven years after Andrei Tarkovski delivered his motion picture variant on the related textual fiction-originator by the Trugatsky siblings.
Tarkovski regards time as the most important tool a director has, pointing out that every single frame of a motion picture has an inherent time in it, a period the given frame or sequence of frames is worth showing for.
Time is both fond and abundant here, as it has a whole micro-world to showcase. The Zone is the place which houses the demons you create for yourself. Understands what you anticipate from it and acts accordingly.
You possess constant capacity to alter the way you perceive reality around you, and the Zone is the place that invites you to seek out the truth of this very notion. The Zone will serve your anticipations, punishing you if you feel deserved to be punished, or grant the most secretive wish of your soul if you sincerely feel you could get away with the inherent fruit or the inherent burden of that desire more deservedly.
- Aren't you afraid the bus will EXPLODE??
- I'm afraid it WON'T!
The roamers of the Stalker universe are usually either the most desperate or the most reckless individuals, yet, there is a very thin line separating these rigid, nevertheless playful categories. As the Stalker states: the Zone seems not to be too fond of "good" people, or "bad" people. It is more fond of "hopelessness".
What is hope? Hope is fragile conviction, but the promise of conviction and the promise of potentiality - waiting to have the chance of claiming a slice of reality to finally manifest in.
Once someone remains free of hopes that one's negative or positive preconceptions have strong enough of a validity/warranty to unravel unto consensus reality, - necessarily bestowing an influence on the fabric of things, - then the Zone is likely to be fond of that visitor.
Concepts are formed to give the inventor of the concept a more comfortable way to approach and perceive reality, yet, imposing the concept necessarily constrains reality and may prove to be a hindrance rather than benefit once the ultimate source of the perceived is scrutinized. By accepting- and worshiping certain beliefs, one methodically narrows oneself to observe reality with all kinds of boundaries mounted on the apparatus one commands. Believing is: expecting.
The Zone does not want to be expected.
The Zone demands that you throw your expectations and consorting hopes away, thus, similarly demanding that you exhibit the non-compromised capacity to be utterly surprised- and accept whatever events, apparitions or experiences the Zone chooses to cross you with. This is the place that demands you to RELEASE whatever you believed to be proper, and true. More strictly: it demands you to release yourself from yourself. Once you antagonize the Zone's demands, cheap kind of death is imminent - this is a quite faulty decision from the authors. It could have been more fun if the Zone would choose to release the ones freely if they prove to be incapable of releasing themselves. A life stained by the inner experience of not being able to throw away what is - probably falsely - believed to be the limit, is a much more miserable burden than the embrace of lazy, fat death is.
Stalker delivers you a Writer and a Professor, both having a profane crisis in their lives. Not the same crisis, though. It is like - they are having their respective crisis. They hope - heh! - that the Zone will yield them some answers on how to proceed with their earthy existences.
Stalker's dialog is packed with delicate spiritual material - sorry about that - to sink your grateful astral teeth into. The conceptualization of music: who, or what, and how recognizes the harmony of music, and why, and how does it induce pleasant vibes in you? What is the "you" that recognizes the pleasant vibe? Stalker states that Power and Hardness are companions of Death, while Weakness and Flexibility are the companions of Life. This observation recognizes Power and Hardness as unavoidable conclusions/possessions one could end up at/with, as one reaches Power and Hardness by determining what is beneficial and what is not for one, if one is to attain these traits. Thus one who is Hard and Powerful inevitably denied and/or threw elements of consensus away, thereby limiting oneself. Funnily enough, being Powerful and Hard are two limits right away, aren't they?
addendum: after completing this review, I discovered at the 15th of March, 2008 that Tarkovski was fond of Chinese wisdom by the Stalker days. The sacred Chinese text Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu, Pass 76 translates to this:
Man at his birth is supple and weak; at his death, firm and
strong. (So it is with) all things. Trees and plants, in their early
growth, are soft and brittle; at their death, dry and withered.
Thus it is that firmness and strength are the concomitants of
death; softness and weakness, the concomitants of life.
Hence he who (relies on) the strength of his forces does not
conquer; and a tree which is strong will fill the out-stretched arms,
(and thereby invites the feller.)
Therefore the place of what is firm and strong is below, and that
of what is soft and weak is above.
Tarkovski implemented the message pretty much on a word-by-word basis, so it is absolutely acceptable, yet the act certainly may inspire you to read the rest of the entries as well. Here is the link in case you are interested:
Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu
Tarkovski could not ever be bothered to deliver a motion picture output shorter and smaller than monstrous length and proportions, Stalker, fortunately, is no exception. A highly welcomed circumstance, as you can not have too much of a good thing, do not believe the hype.
- GOD, what HAPPENED to you!
- Huh? I'm around, I'm around.
Tarkovski recognizes the beauty of mud and dirt, or, to approach this seemingly controversial statement differently: this director shows you dirt, territorial neglect in such a calm, sober way that it becomes a thorough documentary of a place that has a blatantly powerful atmosphere to it. Beauty becomes neglect, neglect becomes beauty. The only thing that is really happening is that the Zone's blatantly powerful atmosphere gets recognized- and precisely presented to you. Tarkovski moves in this environment with the pace quite similar and harmonious to the mere rhythm of the region itself, including the strait, demanding lifestyle characterizing the surrounding settlements visitors are coming from.
Who is the Stalker here?
Stalker delivers quality character development. The Writer, offered by Anatoli Solonitsyn and The Scientist played by Nikolai Grinko are both doing a solid job of voicing a cleverly doubtful, and, oftentimes profoundly cynical intellectual and emotional stance towards existence in general, though all three men - Stalker: Aleksandr Kaidanovsky - have their own, quite cautious conceptualizations of the events that are likely to unfold and are worth preparing for on the road leading to the Goal.
There IS a Goal, indeed. A Room. More precisely: The Room. This is the place which fulfills desires, once reached. The two men will challenge each other, will even challenge the Stalker, forcing each one of the adventurers to express-, and to defend their respective attitudes/approaches they "hope" to cope with- AND within the Zone.
The Scientist reveals means he might be able to eradicate the whole Zone by. The Stalker gets frightened of this development - he wants to get a hold of the nuclear bomb the Scientist carries, - sorry for spoiling your enjoyment by the way - yet the Writer decides to defend the Professor instead of helping the Stalker to acquire the bomb. Why does he commit this? This is a very interesting question, which yields an even more interesting answer.
He probably does this because he believes that each one of them is entitled to have their very own agendas and attitudes represented in the Zone. Even a radical plan. All plans, all agendas the Zone is ready to give a place to. None of them should attempt to destroy-, or to question the legitimacy of any other attitudes or approaches. Only the Zone should judge, no man should. The Stalker wants to get hold of the bomb, so the place which is more important to him than his life, should remain intact. He confesses quite convincingly how he keeps everything of personal, intrinsic value here, a train of thought upon which he gets accused of pretending to be a God, a decision maker of who shall die and who shall live on this hectic territory, that which for he cultivates sentiments sewn of deluded selfishness.
By resonating the will to take the bomb away, the Stalker indeed exhibits the arrogant conviction that HIS faithfulness and personal attachment to the Zone should automatically "overwrite" the Professor's similarly legit conception and consorting plan of destroying the place. Loving and worshiping the Zone passionately - as the Stalker does - is a legit stance, but wanting to destroy it, IS a legit stance, as well. Denying the "right", the "spiritual right" to represent an agenda: is unacceptable. Either way, no Zone visitor is in the position to rightfully claim ultimate, superior legitimacy for her/his point of view, and for her/his agenda. The Professor actually has the legitimacy to blow the place apart, as much as the Stalker has the legitimacy to worship the Zone. The Professor can't neglect or destroy the Stalker's spiritual right to worship the Zone, but the Stalker can't take the bomb away from the Professor, thereby negating the spiritual right of wanting to destroy the Zone, either.
Stalker is a deeply spiritual output which plays on extremely atmospheric, high frequency registers when sensory assault is concerned, and it is concerned quite intensely in this here hypnotic effort. There is no pause, and here is why: the whole movie is a morose, prolonged pause. A moment to take a thorough look at the reflections this special Zone projects on the protagonists and on their respective agendas, also a moment to let you think if you would consider yourself prepared enough to enter this vibrant, capricious territory.
If you enjoyed this here article, check out my comic: Planetseed
If you are to circulate magnificently pleasant vibrations: Buy me Beer Read more!
Order a Wish! from Amazon
Arkadi and Borislav Trugatsky wrote the novel Roadside Picnic in 1971, a fiction released to the public by the very next year. A work sewn of subtle inventiveness to confront quite substantial indications of an alien intelligence with the political-, and even spiritual considerations human society and individual must face with in spite of such an encounter. In Roadside Picnic, the aliens use Earth to get rid of certain stuff they prefer to keep elsewhere than their immediate surroundings, yet these packages have the trait of dramatically affecting the regions they land on. It is not sure nor it seems particularly important if these objects and apparitions are solely alien garbage-elements or items that were of effective use for their originators at some time - the fact of the matter is that all seem to manipulate the behavior of earthy reality itself in a certain vicinity. These vicinities are referred to as Zones. Each Artifact the aliens have left behind - creates such a Zone.These regions necessarily get under political-, and finally, under military control, making them forbidden territories that are very hard to enter, but even more hard to leave from. Places known to, or at the very least: rumored to possess both the gravest of dangers and the most precious of treasures. As such, illegal trespassers are to emerge shortly, risking both their sanity and their lives either for loot, or for those more delicate findings the Zone is rumored to possess.
These scavenger individuals are called Stalkers. Scouts with knowledge about the Zone they are resident around. Science, of course, is massively interested in gaining relevant information about the Zones, being constantly baffled both by its findings and via the realization of its current incapacity to properly account the results and phenomenons it encounters.
Notice how this 1971 work of the Trugatsky brothers sketched out the fictional outlines of an eerie, yet evidently unconscious prediction of future real life events that occurred in 1986. Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant, surrounding area: a region which is almost completely vacant, giving place to the two ghost cities of Prypiat and Chernobyl. The Zone that does exist in reality. The Zone that came to existence seven years after Andrei Tarkovski delivered his motion picture variant on the related textual fiction-originator by the Trugatsky siblings.
Tarkovski regards time as the most important tool a director has, pointing out that every single frame of a motion picture has an inherent time in it, a period the given frame or sequence of frames is worth showing for.
Time is both fond and abundant here, as it has a whole micro-world to showcase. The Zone is the place which houses the demons you create for yourself. Understands what you anticipate from it and acts accordingly.
You possess constant capacity to alter the way you perceive reality around you, and the Zone is the place that invites you to seek out the truth of this very notion. The Zone will serve your anticipations, punishing you if you feel deserved to be punished, or grant the most secretive wish of your soul if you sincerely feel you could get away with the inherent fruit or the inherent burden of that desire more deservedly.
- Aren't you afraid the bus will EXPLODE??
- I'm afraid it WON'T!
The roamers of the Stalker universe are usually either the most desperate or the most reckless individuals, yet, there is a very thin line separating these rigid, nevertheless playful categories. As the Stalker states: the Zone seems not to be too fond of "good" people, or "bad" people. It is more fond of "hopelessness".
What is hope? Hope is fragile conviction, but the promise of conviction and the promise of potentiality - waiting to have the chance of claiming a slice of reality to finally manifest in.
Once someone remains free of hopes that one's negative or positive preconceptions have strong enough of a validity/warranty to unravel unto consensus reality, - necessarily bestowing an influence on the fabric of things, - then the Zone is likely to be fond of that visitor.
Concepts are formed to give the inventor of the concept a more comfortable way to approach and perceive reality, yet, imposing the concept necessarily constrains reality and may prove to be a hindrance rather than benefit once the ultimate source of the perceived is scrutinized. By accepting- and worshiping certain beliefs, one methodically narrows oneself to observe reality with all kinds of boundaries mounted on the apparatus one commands. Believing is: expecting.
The Zone does not want to be expected.
The Zone demands that you throw your expectations and consorting hopes away, thus, similarly demanding that you exhibit the non-compromised capacity to be utterly surprised- and accept whatever events, apparitions or experiences the Zone chooses to cross you with. This is the place that demands you to RELEASE whatever you believed to be proper, and true. More strictly: it demands you to release yourself from yourself. Once you antagonize the Zone's demands, cheap kind of death is imminent - this is a quite faulty decision from the authors. It could have been more fun if the Zone would choose to release the ones freely if they prove to be incapable of releasing themselves. A life stained by the inner experience of not being able to throw away what is - probably falsely - believed to be the limit, is a much more miserable burden than the embrace of lazy, fat death is.
Stalker delivers you a Writer and a Professor, both having a profane crisis in their lives. Not the same crisis, though. It is like - they are having their respective crisis. They hope - heh! - that the Zone will yield them some answers on how to proceed with their earthy existences.
Stalker's dialog is packed with delicate spiritual material - sorry about that - to sink your grateful astral teeth into. The conceptualization of music: who, or what, and how recognizes the harmony of music, and why, and how does it induce pleasant vibes in you? What is the "you" that recognizes the pleasant vibe? Stalker states that Power and Hardness are companions of Death, while Weakness and Flexibility are the companions of Life. This observation recognizes Power and Hardness as unavoidable conclusions/possessions one could end up at/with, as one reaches Power and Hardness by determining what is beneficial and what is not for one, if one is to attain these traits. Thus one who is Hard and Powerful inevitably denied and/or threw elements of consensus away, thereby limiting oneself. Funnily enough, being Powerful and Hard are two limits right away, aren't they?
addendum: after completing this review, I discovered at the 15th of March, 2008 that Tarkovski was fond of Chinese wisdom by the Stalker days. The sacred Chinese text Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu, Pass 76 translates to this:
Man at his birth is supple and weak; at his death, firm and
strong. (So it is with) all things. Trees and plants, in their early
growth, are soft and brittle; at their death, dry and withered.
Thus it is that firmness and strength are the concomitants of
death; softness and weakness, the concomitants of life.
Hence he who (relies on) the strength of his forces does not
conquer; and a tree which is strong will fill the out-stretched arms,
(and thereby invites the feller.)
Therefore the place of what is firm and strong is below, and that
of what is soft and weak is above.
Tarkovski implemented the message pretty much on a word-by-word basis, so it is absolutely acceptable, yet the act certainly may inspire you to read the rest of the entries as well. Here is the link in case you are interested:
Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu
Tarkovski could not ever be bothered to deliver a motion picture output shorter and smaller than monstrous length and proportions, Stalker, fortunately, is no exception. A highly welcomed circumstance, as you can not have too much of a good thing, do not believe the hype.
- GOD, what HAPPENED to you!
- Huh? I'm around, I'm around.
Tarkovski recognizes the beauty of mud and dirt, or, to approach this seemingly controversial statement differently: this director shows you dirt, territorial neglect in such a calm, sober way that it becomes a thorough documentary of a place that has a blatantly powerful atmosphere to it. Beauty becomes neglect, neglect becomes beauty. The only thing that is really happening is that the Zone's blatantly powerful atmosphere gets recognized- and precisely presented to you. Tarkovski moves in this environment with the pace quite similar and harmonious to the mere rhythm of the region itself, including the strait, demanding lifestyle characterizing the surrounding settlements visitors are coming from.
Who is the Stalker here?
Stalker delivers quality character development. The Writer, offered by Anatoli Solonitsyn and The Scientist played by Nikolai Grinko are both doing a solid job of voicing a cleverly doubtful, and, oftentimes profoundly cynical intellectual and emotional stance towards existence in general, though all three men - Stalker: Aleksandr Kaidanovsky - have their own, quite cautious conceptualizations of the events that are likely to unfold and are worth preparing for on the road leading to the Goal.
There IS a Goal, indeed. A Room. More precisely: The Room. This is the place which fulfills desires, once reached. The two men will challenge each other, will even challenge the Stalker, forcing each one of the adventurers to express-, and to defend their respective attitudes/approaches they "hope" to cope with- AND within the Zone.
The Scientist reveals means he might be able to eradicate the whole Zone by. The Stalker gets frightened of this development - he wants to get a hold of the nuclear bomb the Scientist carries, - sorry for spoiling your enjoyment by the way - yet the Writer decides to defend the Professor instead of helping the Stalker to acquire the bomb. Why does he commit this? This is a very interesting question, which yields an even more interesting answer.
He probably does this because he believes that each one of them is entitled to have their very own agendas and attitudes represented in the Zone. Even a radical plan. All plans, all agendas the Zone is ready to give a place to. None of them should attempt to destroy-, or to question the legitimacy of any other attitudes or approaches. Only the Zone should judge, no man should. The Stalker wants to get hold of the bomb, so the place which is more important to him than his life, should remain intact. He confesses quite convincingly how he keeps everything of personal, intrinsic value here, a train of thought upon which he gets accused of pretending to be a God, a decision maker of who shall die and who shall live on this hectic territory, that which for he cultivates sentiments sewn of deluded selfishness.
By resonating the will to take the bomb away, the Stalker indeed exhibits the arrogant conviction that HIS faithfulness and personal attachment to the Zone should automatically "overwrite" the Professor's similarly legit conception and consorting plan of destroying the place. Loving and worshiping the Zone passionately - as the Stalker does - is a legit stance, but wanting to destroy it, IS a legit stance, as well. Denying the "right", the "spiritual right" to represent an agenda: is unacceptable. Either way, no Zone visitor is in the position to rightfully claim ultimate, superior legitimacy for her/his point of view, and for her/his agenda. The Professor actually has the legitimacy to blow the place apart, as much as the Stalker has the legitimacy to worship the Zone. The Professor can't neglect or destroy the Stalker's spiritual right to worship the Zone, but the Stalker can't take the bomb away from the Professor, thereby negating the spiritual right of wanting to destroy the Zone, either.
Stalker is a deeply spiritual output which plays on extremely atmospheric, high frequency registers when sensory assault is concerned, and it is concerned quite intensely in this here hypnotic effort. There is no pause, and here is why: the whole movie is a morose, prolonged pause. A moment to take a thorough look at the reflections this special Zone projects on the protagonists and on their respective agendas, also a moment to let you think if you would consider yourself prepared enough to enter this vibrant, capricious territory.
If you enjoyed this here article, check out my comic: Planetseed
If you are to circulate magnificently pleasant vibrations: Buy me Beer Read more!
Friday, November 14, 2008
The Bank Job
Brain Robbing
Order a Heist! from Amazon
To say that life is among the greatest storytellers, probably would be an understatement, especially when you consider that Roger Donaldson's latest motion picture delivery to date, The Bank Job, is based on true events that took place in London, 1971.
The frame of the buildup is rather intriguing: the British Government finds itself in an untenable situation, being incapable to arrest a certain individual without exposing the United Kingdom to grave developments that could lead to a revolt. As you may have guessed, this particular person maintains very effective blackmail potential over the British Royalty, and, as such: over its Government, as well.
Information suggests that the blackmailer, Mr. X probably keeps the blackmail photos in a safe deposit box of Lloyd's Bank, Baker Street, but the Royalty would never make a move for them, as they don't even possess knowledge of those outrageous photos, even worse: these highest circles probably would collapse on themselves if they had. The Intelligence Agency comes up with a plan. What they want to do is to set up a bank robbery themselves, so the hired/involved villains could take all the loot they want in exchange for the "Royal Portfolio", taken from the safe deposit box of Mr. X.
If this sounds implausible already, then those past real life events are eager to amaze the viewer further on: the robbery is indeed instigated by the Government, but a radio amateur accidentally intercepts the transmissions taking place between the robbers. He informs the Police of his continuous findings, and, no further emphasis is needed: a quite convoluted-, nevertheless absolutely logical narrative carnage of intersecting, overlapping agendas begins.
The fabric of the movie is that of a matrix of organic relations between interests, in which each one of these parties must figure out what-, and how to react, and, most importantly: towards who to react. Roger Donaldson creates and offers quality screentime in this dualistic narrative effort. A massive, initial portion is dedicated to the presentation of the arrangements taking place before the heist, yet the robbers will have but a harshly limited time to resonate joy beside their suspected loot, and this is the point from which on Donaldson switches gears and pushes the pedal to the metal.
Thankfully, the film does not want to be an action flick, the real fun, and, for some degree: the real challenge here is to remain in the game without losing trace of the happenings, though worry is not necessarily to be invoked if at first you fail to set one particular aspect of the rather complex buildup in place. The work of Dick Clement and Ian La Fernais - the interpreters of these real life events - definitely deserves multiple sit-throughs.
Fortunately enough, Bank Job presents you all its considerable intrinsic values through a top notch cast, focally characterized by the key role of Jason Statham, probably one of the ten most charismatic masculine phenoms you could see on the contemporary big screen. While beautiful Saffron Burrows, the giver of the tip renders an absolutely solid performance as a female sidekick, Peter Bowles delivers a very memorable, albeit, sorrowfully not too prolonged interpretation of the head of the Intelligence Agency. No sober man would want to cross this man's path without a fake nuclear bomb in the pocket. Let it be too.
Donaldson's effort surprises consensus as a brave enough installment to dismiss usual action-novelties and stale dialog patterns you heard a million times before, choosing instead to entertain the viewer with its flamboyant, cleverly convoluted storyline. Even better: you can't even place the term "fictional" into the latter sentence, or, at least, that wouldn't cover recorded events. As for these recorded events: all should be clear in 2054, as this is the date by which the British Government will grant public access to the documents concerning this case from 1971. You either choose to wait around for that date, or, you could always follow the witty suggestion the actual bank robbers formed as a message sprayed on the wall on Baker Street:
"Let Sherlock Holmes solve this!"
Solid engagement for the eyes, definite delicacy for the mind: The Bank Job invites you to hop on that van, as there is always a free place to take.
If you enjoyed this here article, check out my comic: Planetseed
If you are to circulate magnificently pleasant vibrations: Buy me Beer
Read more!
Order a Heist! from Amazon
To say that life is among the greatest storytellers, probably would be an understatement, especially when you consider that Roger Donaldson's latest motion picture delivery to date, The Bank Job, is based on true events that took place in London, 1971.The frame of the buildup is rather intriguing: the British Government finds itself in an untenable situation, being incapable to arrest a certain individual without exposing the United Kingdom to grave developments that could lead to a revolt. As you may have guessed, this particular person maintains very effective blackmail potential over the British Royalty, and, as such: over its Government, as well.
Information suggests that the blackmailer, Mr. X probably keeps the blackmail photos in a safe deposit box of Lloyd's Bank, Baker Street, but the Royalty would never make a move for them, as they don't even possess knowledge of those outrageous photos, even worse: these highest circles probably would collapse on themselves if they had. The Intelligence Agency comes up with a plan. What they want to do is to set up a bank robbery themselves, so the hired/involved villains could take all the loot they want in exchange for the "Royal Portfolio", taken from the safe deposit box of Mr. X.
If this sounds implausible already, then those past real life events are eager to amaze the viewer further on: the robbery is indeed instigated by the Government, but a radio amateur accidentally intercepts the transmissions taking place between the robbers. He informs the Police of his continuous findings, and, no further emphasis is needed: a quite convoluted-, nevertheless absolutely logical narrative carnage of intersecting, overlapping agendas begins.
The fabric of the movie is that of a matrix of organic relations between interests, in which each one of these parties must figure out what-, and how to react, and, most importantly: towards who to react. Roger Donaldson creates and offers quality screentime in this dualistic narrative effort. A massive, initial portion is dedicated to the presentation of the arrangements taking place before the heist, yet the robbers will have but a harshly limited time to resonate joy beside their suspected loot, and this is the point from which on Donaldson switches gears and pushes the pedal to the metal.
Thankfully, the film does not want to be an action flick, the real fun, and, for some degree: the real challenge here is to remain in the game without losing trace of the happenings, though worry is not necessarily to be invoked if at first you fail to set one particular aspect of the rather complex buildup in place. The work of Dick Clement and Ian La Fernais - the interpreters of these real life events - definitely deserves multiple sit-throughs.
Fortunately enough, Bank Job presents you all its considerable intrinsic values through a top notch cast, focally characterized by the key role of Jason Statham, probably one of the ten most charismatic masculine phenoms you could see on the contemporary big screen. While beautiful Saffron Burrows, the giver of the tip renders an absolutely solid performance as a female sidekick, Peter Bowles delivers a very memorable, albeit, sorrowfully not too prolonged interpretation of the head of the Intelligence Agency. No sober man would want to cross this man's path without a fake nuclear bomb in the pocket. Let it be too.
Donaldson's effort surprises consensus as a brave enough installment to dismiss usual action-novelties and stale dialog patterns you heard a million times before, choosing instead to entertain the viewer with its flamboyant, cleverly convoluted storyline. Even better: you can't even place the term "fictional" into the latter sentence, or, at least, that wouldn't cover recorded events. As for these recorded events: all should be clear in 2054, as this is the date by which the British Government will grant public access to the documents concerning this case from 1971. You either choose to wait around for that date, or, you could always follow the witty suggestion the actual bank robbers formed as a message sprayed on the wall on Baker Street:
"Let Sherlock Holmes solve this!"
Solid engagement for the eyes, definite delicacy for the mind: The Bank Job invites you to hop on that van, as there is always a free place to take.
If you enjoyed this here article, check out my comic: Planetseed
If you are to circulate magnificently pleasant vibrations: Buy me Beer
Read more!
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Righteous Kill
Radical Liberty
Order High Profile Morale! from Amazon
Director of Righteous Kill, Jon Avnet is coming back to you shortly after he delivered 88 Minutes, the biggest mistake Al Pacino ever committed so far. Giving his face and name to that movie was a shocking development in the fabric of the known Universe, also it was one by which sanity performed an almost fatal illegal operation, thus a restart was unavoidable.
Now amazing Jon Avnet convinces yet another Big Gun to star in his latest, and - logically - freshest direction along with Al Pacino, who decides to stuck around to see if he can erase THAT 88 Minutes from his mind. Certainly you could help us doing the same, Al. If I recall correctly, Robert De Niro had/has a reputation of never turning down a role he is asked to play, either. He certainly had some shocking deliveries, like Showtime, where Eddie Murphy and him were supposed to be funny for 90 minutes. Thank the Upper Heavens it wasn't 88, though.
Fortunately, the results of De Niro and Pacino teaming up again since times immemorial makes for a solid crime story, with stable elements of murder mystery added to it. Many do claim that Righteous Kill writer Russell Gewirtz redefined the term: predictability with his work, but I tend to disagree: Gewirtz's narrative actually has a subtly playful fabric to it. Surely, you can announce yourself the Bad Enough Dude if you rip it apart, yet the plot works quite fluently if you let it to, dismissing the constant urge of thinking about where it might unravel to.
According to observations, no one, or at least very few is getting any younger, those of the latter class even seem to choose to stay away from showing themselves around for too long. The days by which De Niro and, particularly Pacino, could deliver credible action-oriented roles, are numbered. De Niro still has- and always will have the 1976 Taxi Driver Psychopath in himself, that adds an ageless quality to his persona, Al, on the other hand, lives- and acts on the respective shadows of his tremendous charm and passion, similarly timeless qualities that would be still present, in case Al wouldn't spend most of his time making everybody sure that they are still present.
Mannerisms are noticeable in Righteous Kill, but, you know what? I don't mind at all, I love to see Pacino and De Niro demonstrating the "best mannerisms" they think they possess. After all, why show a bad one of those, especially with millions of people watching. Fortunately, the script is aware- and fluent enough to offer relevant dialog work and corresponding screentime for both of these actor giants, while the supportive roles of Carla Gugino and popular/notorious American rapper 50 Cent are of further significance. Carla Gugino is an eloquent lady in real life, something that does not prevent her from committing brutal moments of overacting in this particular motion picture. At least this gives you something to remember her by. 50 Cent is great, since the character he plays is absolutely compatible with the Hip Hop culture 50 Cent is an essential part- and even noted representative of. Human Bull Brian Dennehy will be here, as well, to deliver his trademark Don't Even Try To Get Wise With Me, Boy! look. Here it is, as it is appearing in Righteous Kill:
Sorry, wrong order. This is the
- You Trying To Tell ME About Proper Roastbeef, Boy?
look. Let's try this one more time:
- Don't Even Try To Get Wise With Me, Boy!
Thank you Brian, you still have it, man! Sometimes the story is present in a movie only to make you/let you wonder where it is hiding. Fortunately, it plays an essential role in Righteous Kill. The buildup revolves around two cops, yet, one of them has a tendency of losing it, more precisely: he sometimes loses it, and loves losing it. Righteous Kill shares primal similarities with the classic movie Seven and its now-myriad variants.
The mutual prime element of these films are the mysterious punisher character who ruthlessly regulates sinner- or hedonistic butts according to the standards of a - given or invented - moral code. The nice thing about standards is that you can find one behind every single bush you encounter. The narrative here is quite similar. Righteous Kill focuses on a couple of crimes and their - closely - related criminals, whom, according to the punisher character, did not get satisfactory sentences for their misdeeds. The proper sentence the punisher cop is really fond- and keen at giving is: death, naturally. But not naturally.
Righteous Kill bears similarities with the great series Dexter, as well. The serial killer protagonist of the buildup in question needs to kill to satisfy his endless urge to do so. As Japanese people say: to live, you need to eat. So you eat, to keep on living. As with Dexter: to live, he needs to kill. So he kills to keep on living.
The peak sequences of Righteous Kill are very precious, but also are very short. Not a factor to blame the movie with, though. Their shortness is absolutely acceptable, even fruity, as their abruptness delivers an extra field of operation, making you realize that you just witnessed how the former dilemma of a lifetime informs you about having found the darkest answers. Having found the darkest ones - and loving them. You know what makes the darkest answer easy to spot? They are the ones that are frighteningly logical, and the punisher cop will paint HIS answers frighteningly logical, as well.
This protagonist character of Righteous Kill faces with the dilemma of how to handle his inner sense of justice when he sees it being totally ignored. The cop expresses that he always loved to kick the ass of rapists, bullies, video game designers and the likes, and he never could get away with seeing THEM getting away. Two options are given: first, be the good guy all the while, and see what THAT reality collides you with at the end of the line. Refused to take a peek? The punisher cop will tell you what prize is up to you: a handshake from the Mayor and your name engraved in a **** silver placket. The punisher cop refures to thread along this path. He chose to create a reality that offers much more satisfactory rewards than that - but all decisions come with a price.
In order to make this reality effective, the punisher cop must claim the radical liberty to take the position of one who properly judges and ruthlessly administers. Once again: the punisher cop is being asked how to handle his inner sense of justice when he sees it being totally ignored. The answer is to serve it anyway.
- Hey... hey... just... like... once, you know?
- .... what do you mean... just...o...once.....
If you enjoyed this here article, check out my comic: Planetseed
If you are to circulate magnificently pleasant vibrations: Buy me Beer
Read more!
Order High Profile Morale! from Amazon
Director of Righteous Kill, Jon Avnet is coming back to you shortly after he delivered 88 Minutes, the biggest mistake Al Pacino ever committed so far. Giving his face and name to that movie was a shocking development in the fabric of the known Universe, also it was one by which sanity performed an almost fatal illegal operation, thus a restart was unavoidable.Now amazing Jon Avnet convinces yet another Big Gun to star in his latest, and - logically - freshest direction along with Al Pacino, who decides to stuck around to see if he can erase THAT 88 Minutes from his mind. Certainly you could help us doing the same, Al. If I recall correctly, Robert De Niro had/has a reputation of never turning down a role he is asked to play, either. He certainly had some shocking deliveries, like Showtime, where Eddie Murphy and him were supposed to be funny for 90 minutes. Thank the Upper Heavens it wasn't 88, though.
Fortunately, the results of De Niro and Pacino teaming up again since times immemorial makes for a solid crime story, with stable elements of murder mystery added to it. Many do claim that Righteous Kill writer Russell Gewirtz redefined the term: predictability with his work, but I tend to disagree: Gewirtz's narrative actually has a subtly playful fabric to it. Surely, you can announce yourself the Bad Enough Dude if you rip it apart, yet the plot works quite fluently if you let it to, dismissing the constant urge of thinking about where it might unravel to.
According to observations, no one, or at least very few is getting any younger, those of the latter class even seem to choose to stay away from showing themselves around for too long. The days by which De Niro and, particularly Pacino, could deliver credible action-oriented roles, are numbered. De Niro still has- and always will have the 1976 Taxi Driver Psychopath in himself, that adds an ageless quality to his persona, Al, on the other hand, lives- and acts on the respective shadows of his tremendous charm and passion, similarly timeless qualities that would be still present, in case Al wouldn't spend most of his time making everybody sure that they are still present.
Mannerisms are noticeable in Righteous Kill, but, you know what? I don't mind at all, I love to see Pacino and De Niro demonstrating the "best mannerisms" they think they possess. After all, why show a bad one of those, especially with millions of people watching. Fortunately, the script is aware- and fluent enough to offer relevant dialog work and corresponding screentime for both of these actor giants, while the supportive roles of Carla Gugino and popular/notorious American rapper 50 Cent are of further significance. Carla Gugino is an eloquent lady in real life, something that does not prevent her from committing brutal moments of overacting in this particular motion picture. At least this gives you something to remember her by. 50 Cent is great, since the character he plays is absolutely compatible with the Hip Hop culture 50 Cent is an essential part- and even noted representative of. Human Bull Brian Dennehy will be here, as well, to deliver his trademark Don't Even Try To Get Wise With Me, Boy! look. Here it is, as it is appearing in Righteous Kill:
Sorry, wrong order. This is the
- You Trying To Tell ME About Proper Roastbeef, Boy?
look. Let's try this one more time:
- Don't Even Try To Get Wise With Me, Boy!
Thank you Brian, you still have it, man! Sometimes the story is present in a movie only to make you/let you wonder where it is hiding. Fortunately, it plays an essential role in Righteous Kill. The buildup revolves around two cops, yet, one of them has a tendency of losing it, more precisely: he sometimes loses it, and loves losing it. Righteous Kill shares primal similarities with the classic movie Seven and its now-myriad variants.
The mutual prime element of these films are the mysterious punisher character who ruthlessly regulates sinner- or hedonistic butts according to the standards of a - given or invented - moral code. The nice thing about standards is that you can find one behind every single bush you encounter. The narrative here is quite similar. Righteous Kill focuses on a couple of crimes and their - closely - related criminals, whom, according to the punisher character, did not get satisfactory sentences for their misdeeds. The proper sentence the punisher cop is really fond- and keen at giving is: death, naturally. But not naturally.
Righteous Kill bears similarities with the great series Dexter, as well. The serial killer protagonist of the buildup in question needs to kill to satisfy his endless urge to do so. As Japanese people say: to live, you need to eat. So you eat, to keep on living. As with Dexter: to live, he needs to kill. So he kills to keep on living.
The peak sequences of Righteous Kill are very precious, but also are very short. Not a factor to blame the movie with, though. Their shortness is absolutely acceptable, even fruity, as their abruptness delivers an extra field of operation, making you realize that you just witnessed how the former dilemma of a lifetime informs you about having found the darkest answers. Having found the darkest ones - and loving them. You know what makes the darkest answer easy to spot? They are the ones that are frighteningly logical, and the punisher cop will paint HIS answers frighteningly logical, as well.
This protagonist character of Righteous Kill faces with the dilemma of how to handle his inner sense of justice when he sees it being totally ignored. The cop expresses that he always loved to kick the ass of rapists, bullies, video game designers and the likes, and he never could get away with seeing THEM getting away. Two options are given: first, be the good guy all the while, and see what THAT reality collides you with at the end of the line. Refused to take a peek? The punisher cop will tell you what prize is up to you: a handshake from the Mayor and your name engraved in a **** silver placket. The punisher cop refures to thread along this path. He chose to create a reality that offers much more satisfactory rewards than that - but all decisions come with a price.
In order to make this reality effective, the punisher cop must claim the radical liberty to take the position of one who properly judges and ruthlessly administers. Once again: the punisher cop is being asked how to handle his inner sense of justice when he sees it being totally ignored. The answer is to serve it anyway.
- Hey... hey... just... like... once, you know?
- .... what do you mean... just...o...once.....
If you enjoyed this here article, check out my comic: Planetseed
If you are to circulate magnificently pleasant vibrations: Buy me Beer
Read more!
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Meet Dave
Nanocomedy
Order a Facelift! from Amazon
Brian Robbins gives you Eddie Murphy in Meet Dave, a promising story written by Ron Greenberg and Bill Corbett. Though the basic assumptions are rather intact-, even inventive, a massively weak execution factor and an evident hard time of creating strong comedy all do make this movie something you must endure rather than something to find rampant, or even steady amusement in.
Eddie Murphy though still is Za' Man, thus his very presence and absolutely hilarious little, cite that I, herein: LITTLE moments of nevertheless huge comedy do save some - not too much though - of this superscarce effort at a sci-fi laughfest. Come, Meet Dave, then forget you ever saw him, as he will, too, forget that he was ever part of consensus reality.
Meet Dave takes a thorough glimpse at narrative suicide by the very moment the movie starts to reveal its core buildup. Murphy portrays both a giant spaceship AND the captain of the aforementioned construct, which is operated by tiny alien humanoids looking for a way to save their home planet by exploiting the salt resources of this here planet you likely read this on. If you read it from some other places, then please either contact me or a doctor.
The movie has a staggeringly hard time creating interest factor when it shows the cockpit of the spaceship, - which it does show thoroughly and persistently - giving you a crew discussing casual earthy matters with the casual poker face all around the intricate plastic instruments of inconceivable alien technology. I will even give you something to get mildly irritated about: notice that each time the cockpit is shown, some rather well framed chicks will roam around in the background. It always happening, every single time the cockpit is shown. I think it is just a coincidence that we are missing hearing the director yelling out: "OK guys, we're rolling, CHICKS, prepare to walk in my background casually! Aaaaaand: ACTION!"
Even Eddie sucks, even SUCKSES in these cockpit moments: he surely gives us his trademark eyeballing to the sides twice/second, but once you do realize that this very gesture is the best that you will observe in the cockpit: then you will follow his example and start eyeballing yourself, trust me.
Statement: the story itself invites you to shake hands with Decent Nausea, coated in the imminent stench of Staleness - Rampant. Solidification: once upon a time, there was this Pooooor little Feeeellaaa with Seaweed on Head, who have been bullied by the evil bigger dudettes in the school, and his father was a Hero but he died, but now he - the Poor Little Fella with Seaweed on Head - found an Alien Artifact which Murphy himself is looking for, so the little kiddo and Eddie will meet - Meet Dave - and the protagonist will teach the friendly little guy that:
You Should Take Pride In Being Different!
Eddie even will kick the hostile Big Fat Ass of the bullier, handkerchiefs are available at the reception, Thank you, please Come Again! The stale, and, fortunately long forgotten American Narrative Arrogance stalks you herein, and here is how: the real life Big Fatass Brada' will take Weirdo Google's lunch after Seeing Dave anyway, and others will laugh at Weirdo Google after the event. Every director implying that he won't take it and they won't laugh, did nothing but chose to reveal a Dreamworld which HE - the director - prefers to believe Life truly unravels as. Sorry, as of today, I tend to think that there is a Function in the Bully and there is a Function in the Bullied. All these aspects will form Life into what - Life truly IS. While the movie Hancock deals with this issue in an absolutely contemporary, honest, humorous and proper manner, Meet Dave takes a retrograde, pretentious stance which craves immense pleasure in its very own, meaningless, shallow salivation. Great. Not.
THIS expression by Eddie is Instant Classic though.
Creators of Meet Dave are immensely fixated to the respective concepts of a steadily unelaborate "Love" and uninventive Earth Fetishism, as the viewer would necessarily lack the capacity of feel "proper love" and/or being baffled by Earth's beauty either constantly or at will. Do I sound like an accomplished idiot by blaming the movie for these elements? I think these clumsy narrative assertions are absolutely mispresented and serve no purpose saved filling gaps - unsuccessfully - that the creators felt as present. They ARE present, sure. Main reason: the entire movie is a gap. A gap of Laughs that Should Have-, yet Never Happened.
At the end of day, the creators won't really have anything more to say to us than Earth is a whunnuderfull place and you should EMBRACE your latent homosexuality if and when need arises, and OH!, say YES and YES again to LIFE! But of course! We already did all these, - take your option(s) - that's why we decided to check out a new Eddie Murphy comedy, as he is famous to resonate exquisite registers of good laughs. He will do that here, as well, on some painfully rare occasions. On very brief occasions as well, as the excuse for a script naturally unleashes dire straits on him. Murphy will hilariously imitate the Bee Gees in the movie though, and he will even imitate the Bee Gees in a hilarious manner.
Other than that, though: he will take his part in absolutely unfunny and failed attempts at retarded humor on consecutive occasions. Getting the hint? Failing at revealing retarded humor is rather - unfortunate, yes? The handshake gesture. Please leave a comment if you managed to laugh at this particular joke which is a reoccurring one in the film. What an impotent attempt! It's a shame, truly, as I laughed for loong long minutes at the very first joke Meet Dave delivers. SPOILER! When the spaceship learns the gesture of smiling, and Murphy tries to mimic it. His amazing rendition is not something you can endure without well developed pains in the stomach. SPOILER!
Meet Dave had potential and promise, yet these possible benefits all have been victimized and been shortly, steadily killed along the way, the movie hardly reaches the point by which it should have been considered as an output with directions it is believing in. At the end of the day, I suppose we could say that Meet Dave is clumsy and impotent enough to gain some sympathy, thus, surely I offer the second Onion with Grace. Thank you Eddie, Please Come Again!
All right, dude! You got 48 hours to live!
- and the message arrived yesterday
If you enjoyed this here article, check out my comic: Planetseed
If you are to circulate magnificently pleasant vibrations: Buy me Beer
Read more!
Order a Facelift! from Amazon
Brian Robbins gives you Eddie Murphy in Meet Dave, a promising story written by Ron Greenberg and Bill Corbett. Though the basic assumptions are rather intact-, even inventive, a massively weak execution factor and an evident hard time of creating strong comedy all do make this movie something you must endure rather than something to find rampant, or even steady amusement in.Eddie Murphy though still is Za' Man, thus his very presence and absolutely hilarious little, cite that I, herein: LITTLE moments of nevertheless huge comedy do save some - not too much though - of this superscarce effort at a sci-fi laughfest. Come, Meet Dave, then forget you ever saw him, as he will, too, forget that he was ever part of consensus reality.
Meet Dave takes a thorough glimpse at narrative suicide by the very moment the movie starts to reveal its core buildup. Murphy portrays both a giant spaceship AND the captain of the aforementioned construct, which is operated by tiny alien humanoids looking for a way to save their home planet by exploiting the salt resources of this here planet you likely read this on. If you read it from some other places, then please either contact me or a doctor.
The movie has a staggeringly hard time creating interest factor when it shows the cockpit of the spaceship, - which it does show thoroughly and persistently - giving you a crew discussing casual earthy matters with the casual poker face all around the intricate plastic instruments of inconceivable alien technology. I will even give you something to get mildly irritated about: notice that each time the cockpit is shown, some rather well framed chicks will roam around in the background. It always happening, every single time the cockpit is shown. I think it is just a coincidence that we are missing hearing the director yelling out: "OK guys, we're rolling, CHICKS, prepare to walk in my background casually! Aaaaaand: ACTION!"
Even Eddie sucks, even SUCKSES in these cockpit moments: he surely gives us his trademark eyeballing to the sides twice/second, but once you do realize that this very gesture is the best that you will observe in the cockpit: then you will follow his example and start eyeballing yourself, trust me.
Statement: the story itself invites you to shake hands with Decent Nausea, coated in the imminent stench of Staleness - Rampant. Solidification: once upon a time, there was this Pooooor little Feeeellaaa with Seaweed on Head, who have been bullied by the evil bigger dudettes in the school, and his father was a Hero but he died, but now he - the Poor Little Fella with Seaweed on Head - found an Alien Artifact which Murphy himself is looking for, so the little kiddo and Eddie will meet - Meet Dave - and the protagonist will teach the friendly little guy that:
You Should Take Pride In Being Different!
Eddie even will kick the hostile Big Fat Ass of the bullier, handkerchiefs are available at the reception, Thank you, please Come Again! The stale, and, fortunately long forgotten American Narrative Arrogance stalks you herein, and here is how: the real life Big Fatass Brada' will take Weirdo Google's lunch after Seeing Dave anyway, and others will laugh at Weirdo Google after the event. Every director implying that he won't take it and they won't laugh, did nothing but chose to reveal a Dreamworld which HE - the director - prefers to believe Life truly unravels as. Sorry, as of today, I tend to think that there is a Function in the Bully and there is a Function in the Bullied. All these aspects will form Life into what - Life truly IS. While the movie Hancock deals with this issue in an absolutely contemporary, honest, humorous and proper manner, Meet Dave takes a retrograde, pretentious stance which craves immense pleasure in its very own, meaningless, shallow salivation. Great. Not.
THIS expression by Eddie is Instant Classic though.
Creators of Meet Dave are immensely fixated to the respective concepts of a steadily unelaborate "Love" and uninventive Earth Fetishism, as the viewer would necessarily lack the capacity of feel "proper love" and/or being baffled by Earth's beauty either constantly or at will. Do I sound like an accomplished idiot by blaming the movie for these elements? I think these clumsy narrative assertions are absolutely mispresented and serve no purpose saved filling gaps - unsuccessfully - that the creators felt as present. They ARE present, sure. Main reason: the entire movie is a gap. A gap of Laughs that Should Have-, yet Never Happened.
At the end of day, the creators won't really have anything more to say to us than Earth is a whunnuderfull place and you should EMBRACE your latent homosexuality if and when need arises, and OH!, say YES and YES again to LIFE! But of course! We already did all these, - take your option(s) - that's why we decided to check out a new Eddie Murphy comedy, as he is famous to resonate exquisite registers of good laughs. He will do that here, as well, on some painfully rare occasions. On very brief occasions as well, as the excuse for a script naturally unleashes dire straits on him. Murphy will hilariously imitate the Bee Gees in the movie though, and he will even imitate the Bee Gees in a hilarious manner.
Other than that, though: he will take his part in absolutely unfunny and failed attempts at retarded humor on consecutive occasions. Getting the hint? Failing at revealing retarded humor is rather - unfortunate, yes? The handshake gesture. Please leave a comment if you managed to laugh at this particular joke which is a reoccurring one in the film. What an impotent attempt! It's a shame, truly, as I laughed for loong long minutes at the very first joke Meet Dave delivers. SPOILER! When the spaceship learns the gesture of smiling, and Murphy tries to mimic it. His amazing rendition is not something you can endure without well developed pains in the stomach. SPOILER!
Meet Dave had potential and promise, yet these possible benefits all have been victimized and been shortly, steadily killed along the way, the movie hardly reaches the point by which it should have been considered as an output with directions it is believing in. At the end of the day, I suppose we could say that Meet Dave is clumsy and impotent enough to gain some sympathy, thus, surely I offer the second Onion with Grace. Thank you Eddie, Please Come Again!
All right, dude! You got 48 hours to live!
- and the message arrived yesterday
If you enjoyed this here article, check out my comic: Planetseed
If you are to circulate magnificently pleasant vibrations: Buy me Beer
Read more!
Thursday, August 28, 2008
The Promotion
Is Hell Other People?
Order a Name Badge! from Amazon
Steve Conrad have written and directed an extremely smart piece of lightweight entertainment, at least this is the wishful opening assertion he probably hoped to run away with. His latest effort to date, The Promotion delivers a flamboyant, cautiously balanced mixture of comedy and character drama, a blend operated in a thoughtful context which is quite easy and comfy to relate to. After all: who would have NOT thought about the attainable joys and pleasures of a possible Promotion as an everyday average grocery store employee? Conrad's recipe follows the good ol' Black and White/Jedi and Sith method, and here is how: he starts with TWO everyday average grocery store employees, both of them having the same desire of earning an important position at the new minimall which is about to open up in a district nearby. This is how conflict and comedy forms, since, as Sartre have said:
Hell Is Other People.
Let us see if he was right.
Fortunately enough, Rampeinsteinberger Strappenhergenson and Steve Conrad had a precise understanding of the basic character of this buildup, thus the director manages to tell his story without particular moments that would greet the - metaphorical - gear in the - metaphorical - middle position. Relying on trusty, solid actors Sean William Scott - see above - and John C. Reilly - see Below -, The Promotion delivers 85 risk free minutes of blatantly bad or blatantly pleasant surprises, though certain elements Conrad choose to utilize do work so well that even their ritualistic overkill becomes rather good fun to watch.
As hinted, lightweight drama which though speaks in a serious register and comedy chooses to step up against each other herein, while the resultant, symbiotic relationship fuels a final buildup that harvests and lives through keen enjoyment of the fact that it refuses to decide what direction - drama or comedy - should it primarily go for. While this particular refusal of submitting unto any of these focal genres is the primal appeal of the output, also it is the point of necessarily improbable origin that - unfortunately - keeps ("prevents?") Conrad from offering elements on the radical scale, let those be of humor, or of drama.
Now is the time to point out with the Pinny Index Finger of Ruthlessly Pointing Out that the movie has a neat little pack of totally hilarious elements, - I laughed my sitorgan off during the sack-on-the-head scene, for example - but Conrad's agenda evidently is to deliver a trusty, cleverly measured narrative of the primal genre elements, yet he balances sober comedy with sober drama. Is this a problem? Not at all. But imagine if he would have had mix radical comedy with radical drama.
- First interview?
- First TODAY.
Drama develops via the director's keen readiness to offer precise renditions about the crucial personality traits of his protagonists. Sean William Scott is the friendly, peaceful guy living next door to Alice, yet, much to the bewilderment of Scott's figure, John C. Reilly portrays an even MORE friendly, and, quite possibly: even MORE easily likable person. Or - DOES he?
Conrad made a very wise decision when he selected Reilly to render the "nemesis" character of the movie. In my opinion, there is something subtly wild and "subtly crude" in Reilly: while this actor is totally intact and credible at rendering friendly persons, whenever I see his face, I can't help but think of how masterfully he could perform as the Classic, Maniac Killer Clown Character. For a moment, I invite you to shut off the friendly Reilly, and unleash the evil one, unleash Carl Jung's Shadow concept on him, if you please. Remember how Jung put the concept of the Shadow? The Shadow is the part of your personality you would rather wish to hide than to show it or face it. Reilly's Shadow could be baaad bad news in my opinion, yet I am not aware if he has any movies yet in which he exhibits a mean/baddie character. I also would like to draw your attention to what I think is a striking similarity between Hungarian humorist giant Géza Hofi and John C. Reilly. Check and compare these dudettes:
Archetype, or is it just me thinking they are of the same?
Notice that even the hair pattern is the same. And now - for something completely different:
Redefine Elegance
Among The Promotion's two leading roles, it is evidently Reilly who renders the more significant performance. It is not to say that Sean William Scott would be bad - not at all, he is totally integral in the movie. Yet Reilly is the Question Mark, the Motive, the Driving Force in the buildup. The character both you and Scott must absolutely relate to. Conrad's narrative is smart enough to let you, even invite you to wonder if Reilly is indeed the superfriendly dude he is masterful-, and seemingly quite honest at giving. Your director even has the awareness to put William Scott into the very same shoes you do wear when approaching the Reilly character. Their relation is portrayed- and developed rather nicely during this 85 minutes, and don't you forget that their interpersonal connections are massively, even maaassively influenced by the fact that both of them are going for the very same goal.
Hopefully all these indications managed to give you the hint intended about the absolutely legit content The Promotion delivers as far as character drama. We also stated though that Conrad's latest work to date is one that tolerates no strict categorizations, therefore, though serious the drama may seem - a comedy element will surely wash it away before it would get way too serious, and vice versa: when comedy is about to get rampant - a drama element will reveal.
This rare, perhaps even unique quality which, no doubt, is possessed firmly by the output may very well represent the first crucial steps taken on a path that seem rather safe and promising to explore. Credit to Conrad for delivering intact, sober length characterized by entirely different genres, each coming with acceptable weight, emphasis and significance to them. While The Promotion already shows promising prospects, next time Conrad may want to unleash Efficiency - Rampant on all the genre elements he will choose to work with. A pleasant surprise, outlining a fresh direction that seems ready to evolve in spite of the feedback it gets. Don't forget: no Promotion is worth missing.
If you enjoyed this here article, check out my comic: Planetseed
If you are to circulate magnificently pleasant vibrations: Buy me Beer
Read more!
Order a Name Badge! from Amazon
Steve Conrad have written and directed an extremely smart piece of lightweight entertainment, at least this is the wishful opening assertion he probably hoped to run away with. His latest effort to date, The Promotion delivers a flamboyant, cautiously balanced mixture of comedy and character drama, a blend operated in a thoughtful context which is quite easy and comfy to relate to. After all: who would have NOT thought about the attainable joys and pleasures of a possible Promotion as an everyday average grocery store employee? Conrad's recipe follows the good ol' Black and White/Jedi and Sith method, and here is how: he starts with TWO everyday average grocery store employees, both of them having the same desire of earning an important position at the new minimall which is about to open up in a district nearby. This is how conflict and comedy forms, since, as Sartre have said:Hell Is Other People.
Let us see if he was right.
Fortunately enough, Rampeinsteinberger Strappenhergenson and Steve Conrad had a precise understanding of the basic character of this buildup, thus the director manages to tell his story without particular moments that would greet the - metaphorical - gear in the - metaphorical - middle position. Relying on trusty, solid actors Sean William Scott - see above - and John C. Reilly - see Below -, The Promotion delivers 85 risk free minutes of blatantly bad or blatantly pleasant surprises, though certain elements Conrad choose to utilize do work so well that even their ritualistic overkill becomes rather good fun to watch.
As hinted, lightweight drama which though speaks in a serious register and comedy chooses to step up against each other herein, while the resultant, symbiotic relationship fuels a final buildup that harvests and lives through keen enjoyment of the fact that it refuses to decide what direction - drama or comedy - should it primarily go for. While this particular refusal of submitting unto any of these focal genres is the primal appeal of the output, also it is the point of necessarily improbable origin that - unfortunately - keeps ("prevents?") Conrad from offering elements on the radical scale, let those be of humor, or of drama.
Now is the time to point out with the Pinny Index Finger of Ruthlessly Pointing Out that the movie has a neat little pack of totally hilarious elements, - I laughed my sitorgan off during the sack-on-the-head scene, for example - but Conrad's agenda evidently is to deliver a trusty, cleverly measured narrative of the primal genre elements, yet he balances sober comedy with sober drama. Is this a problem? Not at all. But imagine if he would have had mix radical comedy with radical drama.
- First interview?
- First TODAY.
Drama develops via the director's keen readiness to offer precise renditions about the crucial personality traits of his protagonists. Sean William Scott is the friendly, peaceful guy living next door to Alice, yet, much to the bewilderment of Scott's figure, John C. Reilly portrays an even MORE friendly, and, quite possibly: even MORE easily likable person. Or - DOES he?
Conrad made a very wise decision when he selected Reilly to render the "nemesis" character of the movie. In my opinion, there is something subtly wild and "subtly crude" in Reilly: while this actor is totally intact and credible at rendering friendly persons, whenever I see his face, I can't help but think of how masterfully he could perform as the Classic, Maniac Killer Clown Character. For a moment, I invite you to shut off the friendly Reilly, and unleash the evil one, unleash Carl Jung's Shadow concept on him, if you please. Remember how Jung put the concept of the Shadow? The Shadow is the part of your personality you would rather wish to hide than to show it or face it. Reilly's Shadow could be baaad bad news in my opinion, yet I am not aware if he has any movies yet in which he exhibits a mean/baddie character. I also would like to draw your attention to what I think is a striking similarity between Hungarian humorist giant Géza Hofi and John C. Reilly. Check and compare these dudettes:
Archetype, or is it just me thinking they are of the same?
Notice that even the hair pattern is the same. And now - for something completely different:
Redefine Elegance
Among The Promotion's two leading roles, it is evidently Reilly who renders the more significant performance. It is not to say that Sean William Scott would be bad - not at all, he is totally integral in the movie. Yet Reilly is the Question Mark, the Motive, the Driving Force in the buildup. The character both you and Scott must absolutely relate to. Conrad's narrative is smart enough to let you, even invite you to wonder if Reilly is indeed the superfriendly dude he is masterful-, and seemingly quite honest at giving. Your director even has the awareness to put William Scott into the very same shoes you do wear when approaching the Reilly character. Their relation is portrayed- and developed rather nicely during this 85 minutes, and don't you forget that their interpersonal connections are massively, even maaassively influenced by the fact that both of them are going for the very same goal.
Hopefully all these indications managed to give you the hint intended about the absolutely legit content The Promotion delivers as far as character drama. We also stated though that Conrad's latest work to date is one that tolerates no strict categorizations, therefore, though serious the drama may seem - a comedy element will surely wash it away before it would get way too serious, and vice versa: when comedy is about to get rampant - a drama element will reveal.
This rare, perhaps even unique quality which, no doubt, is possessed firmly by the output may very well represent the first crucial steps taken on a path that seem rather safe and promising to explore. Credit to Conrad for delivering intact, sober length characterized by entirely different genres, each coming with acceptable weight, emphasis and significance to them. While The Promotion already shows promising prospects, next time Conrad may want to unleash Efficiency - Rampant on all the genre elements he will choose to work with. A pleasant surprise, outlining a fresh direction that seems ready to evolve in spite of the feedback it gets. Don't forget: no Promotion is worth missing.
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