I was going to start this blog with a picture of a certain shitty new fall TV show, but all I could find was this GAP AD:
Oh wait, no - excuse me. At first glance I thought those were models but upon further analysis I find they are something much worse: Desperate older unknown actors embarking upon yet ANOTHER failing TV adventure. However, like gap ads these days, I'm pretty sure proceeds from this adventure are going to CHARITY.
Lets just start the numbering game NOW:
1. Kate Walsh - you are sexy. Your character WAS sexy. Unfortunately now she is not. Unfortunately now you have taken your character from her place as the mysterious and powerful embittered soon-to-be-ex-wife and put her in a new place: a SITCOM - but the only JOKE is on YOU! These new less interesting characters that surround you now are going to dismantle everything interesting about you that it took 2.5 seasons of Grey's Anatomy to establish. You were part of an ENSEMBLE. Who the hell did you sleep with to get this job? And why? I hope it was good.
2. Maybe its for the best - those GA writers seem like they're dropping ACID all over that script these days. Please - next time Meredith almost dies why don't you just kill her completely and then have Derek Shepherd have sex with her inanimate corpse in a sick posthumous Snow White kind of way, thereby reanimating her, since thats the ONLY thing she seems to LIVE FOR. "Derek why are we having sex in the morgue?" (cue force feeding of scene-destroying pretentious soundtrack here)
3. SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL SUPERNATURAL! Nobody should even care about ANY OF THIS SHIT when there is a show 20x BETTER on the CW in the same time slot as GA. Alright I'm going for the picture. LADIES: Hold onto your VAGINAS:
IN YOUR McDREAMS, BITCH!
AND - they're going to be accompanied by two FEMALES this coming season. GUYS: Its your turn - Hold onto your VAGINAS:
AND THEY HAVE SPECIAL WEAPONS TRAINING - KATHERINE HEIGL, WHO?
But I digress as usual.
4. Can anybody tell me anything about Private Practice? NO - because everything you've seen so far (with the exclusion of the first episode) has to do with Gray's anatomy shit. The producers at ABC are expecting all of the fans of GA to follow like sheep over to this show so they can rake in even MORE dough!
5. Well ABC, once upon a time a few years back, after the finale of friends NBC had become a joke and you staked your claim over the airwaves. BUT - this season NBC is back, and they are about to throw you a SERIOUS BIONIC CURVEBALL.
Just push play:
Need I say more?
YEA - This fall, one way or another, ABC: YOU ARE GOING DOWN.
I intended to be a good future film critic and critique Eastern Promises, but as I fell into my usual pattern of procrastination and let a whole week go by since the film's official release, it's seems pointless to continue on that end. Instead I shall address a recent epidemic. No, not herpes spread by pantiless talentless Hollywhores, but something far more sinister...
There has been a tragically lazy trend in mainstream film reviewing lately in which a film that can be easily categorized (i.e. western, romantic comedy, CGI action, crap etc.) is blindly compared to an epic classic. The worst offender so far is the claim that 3:10 to Yuma is "the greatest western since Unforgiven." UGH! for starters. Second, seriously? I think Unforgiven is a great western, and I know many would agree. Of course there are those who are unimpressed with the film, but for the sake of my argument I will proceed as if those people do not exist. The reason why this comparison is lazy shall be broken down in the following manner:
A. Unforgiven was released in 1992. This implies that Tombstone (1993) and Wyatt Earp (1994) are not the balls of awesome that they are. They are! Watch a clip of Val Kilmer as Doc Holliday and tell me his gentlemenly southern accent and unabashed cock-wielding manner doesn't make you feEEel gooOOOOd.
B. This also implies that 3:10 to Yuma is just the best western since Unforgiven because there pretty much were no other westerns made since 1992. False! This Western flick resurgence kicked up in 2005 with the release of THREE independent features: Down in the Valley, The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada and God's Gift to Me AKA The Proposition. {see also: Previous blog entry entitled "Ride It Again"} I have no problem saying this again: What those three movies possess that 3:10 to Yuma DOES NOT is a flare for capturing the sense of classic westerns but presenting it in a modern and grittier fashion. Even Down in the Valley has it's ups before devolving into crapulence.
C. Cannot say it enough THE PROPOSITION is awesome and brutal and FAR more deserving of that absurd title being draped upon 3:10 to Yuma. All that flick has that's memorable is Christian Bale's wonderous face and skillz, which are WASTED. Anyone who knows me knows I loves me my Christian Bale, and if his presence alone does not satisfy me, then there are serious issues with the film. Go see it for yourself, even Russel Crowe knows how lazy the whole project is. I don't care what he says in interviews, it's clear on screen how he feels cuz he's barely trying.
Further Observances: Compare and Contrast
The Proposition
3:10 to Yuma
The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada
Which one makes you drool more? If you say none, please leave.
Moving on:
Eastern Promises is being compared to The Godfather. Why would someone even do that? Clearly some dude getting paid more than he deserves hears that the film deals with the Russian mob, thinks of a famous mob flick--Oh that one Scorsese thing-- and next thing you know I have to hear how Eastern Promisesis the new Godfather. Ugh. I liked Eastern Promises, especially because Viggo Mortensen turned out a career making performance, making me FORGET that he's not supposed to have a Russian accent. Name another A-List actor who can swing that at this point in their career. Daniel Day-Lewis is excluded. If you pay attention, the film is ultimately not about mobsters or a mob family or the rise of organized crime. Lazy.
Not to stray too far from the topic, but this also made me wonder about the existence of God. Because I feel that if God exists, as so many people claim, why A. Does this girl have a job? and B. Why is she allowed to be near David Cronenberg and Viggo Mortensen in any capacity whatsoever. Watch this video, and decide for yourself.
Now witness a professional: note- Viggo looks really thin, but I I love how childlike and uncomfortable he always looks in interviews.
part 1
part 2
Worth watching.
Oh my god, what was I talking about?
Yes, yes lazy comparisons in film reviewing. Another one that tainted my soul was the statement that "300 is the most groundbreaking film since The Matrix." Groundbreaking in the sense that disguised mediocrity broke so many box office records. Look, I am a Gerard Butler fan, I am also a fan of mostly nude men, but I got BORED! 300 the preview, with the Nine Inch Nails and the little bit of talking- GENIUS. 300 with the boring left over from Gladiator score and the no acting and excess of slo-mo action- LAME.
Whoever edited this trailer deserves an award.
I really really really anticipated the release of that film, and while it's not that I expected high art, I still expected a higher level of it than I got. Sin City came off as more groundbreaking to me. I love The Matrix, and I understand that that film isn't necessarily high art, but it's awesome, and it BLEW MY MIND when it came out. Shouldn't the most groundbreaking film after the last groundbreaking film give you the same feeling of "Holy shit I just saw something new?" Yes? Too much to ask? Apparently.
I'm having trouble retaining my train of thought, but the ranting has gone on long enough. Please share any other lazy comparisons you've come across. Let us compile a list of bitter hatred. That is all.
It’s hard to grasp if you jumped on the train around the time the Lord of the Rings trilogy rolled into town, but Viggo Mortensen languished in film limbo for-freakin-ever. He bounced around from crap after crap with a few shining moments here and there for two decades before landing the role of Aragorn in 1999. Since the trilogy’s release, it’s been great to finally see this talented individual get the recognition and film role choices he deserves. However, only recently, thanks to the twisted mind of David Cronenberg, it has become crystal clear that onscreen, Viggo Mortensen is better evil.
Look closely at all those slow motion close-ups Peter Jackson was addicted to; it’s not introspective contemplation but boredom in Viggo’s eyes.
Admit it, Aragorn is boring. After you discover his character is the half-elf lost King of Gondor and not a shady sword-wielding ranger, he’s not that interesting. The same sense of boredom is evident in Hidalgo (2004). There’s more life in his character when he’s a guilt-ridden drunken rodeo clown than when he’s America’s last hope in a giant desert race. Mortensen’s understated talent tricked millions into over-looking this boredom.
His evil really came out of the closet in A History of Violence (2005). There was the attractive family-man we were all supposed to know and love, and then out of nowhere he up and annihalates two serial killers with a gun and a pot of coffee. The true extent of his sinister flavor is revealed when, flat on his back on his own front lawn he goes from humble Midwestern man to Philly thug with one subtle facial expression, followed by an explosion of tactical violence. Pure Evil. Cronenberg clearly recognized his good fortune and had the sense to cast Mortensen as a more explicitly bad Russian mobster in his new film, Eastern Promises. I can’t even remember which film I had paid to see, but when the trailer for Promises came on I squealed with glee the moment Viggo’s tattooed body and menacing Russian accent showed up. Yes, I thought, he’s going to kill people.
This new Golden Age of Viggo Evil has plenty of presidence, but much of it was missed due to his lack of widespread recognition. Hollywood’s neglect went and forced him to become a character actor, and these are some of the treats he left in his wake:
The Indian Runner (1991)
Sean Penn exhibited tact in casting Viggo as Frank, the black sheep brother to David Morse’s upstanding lawman in his directorial debut, The Indian Runner. “Troubled” barely describes Frank as he floats back into his big brother’s life, fresh off a tour in Nam, and straight on the path to alcoholism, wife beating, theft and murder. While he is more tragic than straight up evil, he’s clearly the bad brother. The film as a whole falls short, due mainly to it’s bloated time, but it is hands down one of the best and most complex performances of Mortensen’s career. Ok, and he’s naked in it.
Carlito’s Way (1993)
While no one can take the whole picture away from Pacino, Mortensen comes close in one scene as the crippled and drug addled snitch, Lalin. Hunched meekly in a wheel chair snorting coke, with dark greasy hair, a biker mustache and Puerto Rican accent, Viggo makes no attempt to hold his head high as Lalin fails to trap Carlito with a poorly placed mic. The ultimate moment is when Lalin reveals he has to use diapers “Cuz I shit my pants everyday.” Mortensen is so deep into character, even now it’s hard to believe he’s the future hero of Middle Earth. Awesome.
The Prophecy (1995)
Before Christopher Walken figured he could make more money in comedy, he dabbled in B-movie horror. I remember something about archangel Gabriel wanting to create Hell on Earth and blah blah, whatever. But something else stuck out even more, this Charles Manson looking mo fo shows up a couple times, identifies himself as Lucifer and seems perturbed at the competition. He also ends up eating Walken’s heart. He doesn’t take a little bite like it’s filet mignon, he eats that thing like a lion tearing into a big kill. The totally unselfconscious animal noise of satisfaction makes the whole piece of crap movie worth one drunken viewing. Years later I discovered who this bad ass Satan was; Evil Viggo to the max.
He played Satan, and he played him well. Is this still the man you want rescuing your children?
G.I. Jane (1997)
Demi Moore looks crazy in G.I. Jane, but not crazier than the Master Chief who wants to tear her a new asshole. Mortensen adds on to the legacy of vein throbbing military shouters as the perpetually pissed off, seemingly chauvinistic Master Chief John James 'Jack' Urgayle. Anyone with a name that long is bound to be trouble. His peak of evil comes near the end of the film, during a final intense exercise in which the future SEALS are engaged in a capture/torture simulation. Annoyed that O’Neil has made it this far into training, and sensing the newfound respect her fellow male trainees feel for her, Urgayle very convincingly threatens to rape her in order to break the whole team. This dastardly and totally below the belt move is quickly thwarted by Moore’s freakish manliness. The film ends with O’Neil’s triumph, and Urgayle exhibits a softer side by giving her a book of poetry or some crap. Unfortunately, their implied friendship/truce kills the fun of Mortensen’s character and reminds the viewer that they just sat through a film called G.I. Jane starring Demi Moore.
In his personal life, Mortensen seems like an interesting and upstanding individual. He’s a talented artist and poet, publisher, and father. His god-like visage, though superior to mere mortals, lacks the pristine glossiness that has accompanied other Hollywood gods. Mortensen looks like he cut through a mountain with his fists. He simply is not, and will never be the hero Hollywood wanted him to be. Thank hell.
Seriously folks, whatever your preconceived notions of The Rez: whether you never liked him, used to like him, kinda like him, want to bare his child etc. etc. He has made it clear that he's on the side of the people, and I am CONVINCED that he will singlehandedly revolutionize the record industry up it's ass.
Take Note: you just need to hear the first minute or so. DO IT.
DAVID LACHAPELLE TOOK THIS PHOTO AND IT IS TRULY BADASS
Alright people lets face it: HANDS DOWN - the greatest thing that has come out of this century thus far is TV on DVD. Go to Target and you will find all of your lazyasscouchpotato fantasies staring you right in the face - and be able to take many of them home for the oh-so-modest price of 20$ a season.
Thats right. I stumbled over there the other day to buy the new season of the greatest TV series ever (SUPERNATURAL! - Here's to the death of GRAY'S ANATOMY!) only to find that they were out - So I bought Season 3 of another great show instead; Nip/Tuck.
I started watching this show when it first premiered - but then I didn't have FX for awhile and forgot about it. When I reobtained FX illegally I started watching it again, but could never keep the time slot straight. I think it was 8pm or something - it doesn't really matter, because NOW I HAVE IT ON DVD - Oh, the DRAMA, the SEX SCENES, the QUEST TO MAINTAIN VANITY - completely OVER THE TOP. Its the stuff that dreams are made of!
I command thee, readers - GO OUT - PARTAKE OF THIS WONDERFUL NEW EXPERIENCE. It is your DUTY as LAZY fame-addled AMERICANS to IGNORE whatever is going on in the news and go out and WATCH TV. I highly recommend Nip/Tuck. Dylan Walsh is the dad you never had and Julian McMahon is the pimp that you will never be. Throw into the mix Vanessa Redgrave as a potsmoking psychiatrist grandmother, Famke Janssen as a sexy transexual, and guest spots by Anne Heche, Brooke Shields and Alanis Morisette and you have got yourself HOURS of TV watching PLEASURE!!
If you care about music at all, you should know this man's name. And if you've ever tread through the streets of Detroit, you have no business not knowing it.
Fred "Sonic" Smith* September 14, 1948 - November 4, 1994 Father
"If you hear it you can play it." - Frederick D. Smith
He was a man who within himself understood the land, the sea, and the sky. He was a musician, a pilot, a golfer, a writer, a thinker, a man of many great things. While on land, he conquered the sky in pilot flight, and dreamed of sailing the sea someday. He had silent ideas of the future and knew what was to come in both the difficult and in the greatest of ways. He knew things that others only quickly passed by.
Somewhere I can only imagine he is at ease, doing all the things he dreamed of. He is both a noble pilot, in flight above us, and is a great captain, confidently sailing the waters the whole world around.
Having been on the verge of blowing even more money I do not have to orchestrate a trip to L.A., Carina Round did me a favor and decided to trek through the midwest. Hopping on a tour with some Scottish band who is way too generic for their own good, The Cinematics, Miss Round shimmied into the physical realm of my sad little world.
Round 1:
As a friend I can be terrible about keeping in touch, and it seemed lame as hell that I would drive about five hours to some po' li'l college town in Ohio and not pop by to visit my friend John. Though he was recently back from death's door, John ventured to travel with me to the unknown expanse of Athens, OH. I can confidently state; fuck that town. We were lost for an hour within it's walls alone and were able to catch only four songs of Carina's set, BUT I saw her. I saw her and I heard, giant near tornado perpetually dumping storm which followed us there (and back) be damned! Hands shaking as I morphed into a fourteen year-old (and because I hadn't eaten in ten hours), I snapped some proof:
I was pleased to see a group of young college girls swarm around the lady, but it was depressing to see such a minute and tame crowd at a FREE college show. Down and hermitized, it's how the midwest rolls. We must have seemed so depressing.
Round 2:
Grand Rapids, MI. Bane of my existence. Last show I saw there ended in Trent Reznor getting an unidentified object thrown smack at his face, which resulted in the prompt throw down of his keyboard and an abrupt end to "Hurt". Drunken motherfuckers ruin all! I expected trouble at full volume as my mother and I headed out on a considerably shorter trek than John and I had battled through.
Thank tha LORD things went well. Miss Carina played a solo acoustic set at a little record store called Vertigo Records in the early eve. There were four of us there to watch, but my god her voice was like angel wings gently brushing our faces. So many people missed out on true magic.
Round 3:
About two hours after the record store show/ second coming (I always figured everyone would miss that anyway) the main event began. A local band called The Mines opened. Terribly generic as well, in fact the singer had the SAME EXACT haircut as The Cinematics' singer, it was appallingly pathetic to behold. Carina looked extra unique sandwiched between the two most unoriginal bands to emerge since other unoriginal bands previous not even worth mentioning.
As I had predicted, Carina Round bitch smacked the band she was opening for beyond recovery. Well, maybe not for the fans who specifically came to see The Cinematics, but mi madre and I didn't even bother to stick around. John and I caught a few songs of their set in Athens, and despite the fact that we'd driven all that way, it was just BORING after the fire of "The Round". I told my mother that if we stayed for The Cinematics it would just make her angry.
Post show Carina and my mother had a moment. The kind of moment only people with social skills can share with artists. It was adorable to behold. My two favorite women in the world embraced, and all was good in the world. I left pleased and several dollars lighter, but I know exactly who's pocket they went into, and that's a really great feeling.
Look for CARINA ROUND everywhere, all the time.
*about a minute and a half of Stolen Car acoustic version (stupid low battery!)
Less than three weeks bitches: SEPTEMBER 25TH WHITE CHALK
I get the sneaking suspicion that Polly Jean Harvey used her black magic telepathy to eavesdrop on our perpetual bitching about the sad lazy state of Tori Amos' career, sat back and thought:
"Awl wriGHT then, Aye can play the Bluh'EY PEEahNO!"
More glorious sneak peaks from the mouth of the lady:
