Humbug.

So, Christmas has come and gone, with nary a mention in my blog. Some of you may be asking yourselves why: do I have some ulterior motive? Do I secretly hate Christmas? Am I part of the massive liberal conspiracy to wage war on the celebration of the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus H. Christ? Am I a secret Muslim?

The answer to all of these questions is simple: if you're asking those questions seriously and without irony, your name is probably Glenn Beck and you can fuck right off.

In any case, I am what many people would call a Scrooge or a Grinch or a generally crotchety bastard. This is due in large part to the fact that what is frequently referred to as "the Christmas Spirit" just pisses me off. Bitches love Christmas ("bitches" being used here to mean "the majority of the American public")--and instead of just allowing themselves to enjoy that love, people have a tendency to go batshit crazy over it. Case in point: Black Friday stampedes. People have actually died trying to get deals on clothing and electronics and other shit that is fun and shiny and useful (sometimes) and NOT ACTUALLY WORTH YOUR LIFE. You'd think that maybe a "good Christian" would notice if he was stepping on someone's face, but no. Apparently the warm fuzzy Christmas Spirit doesn't extend to not trampling your fellow man.

This shit happens every year. And even if no one dies, there are always violent altercations and verbal abuse. Always. Some people are just assholes, and you can dress that up as much as you want with talk about Santa and Jesus and Christmas, but they're still assholes, and will turn into even bigger assholes if you're standing between them and that 50" plasma TV.

Next in line are the douchebags who blather about "keeping the Christ in Christmas" and get extremely offended whenever someone wishes them "happy holidays" because it's godless and liberal and pagan (though I'm sure they believe those words are pretty much synonymous). Well, funny thing about that: Christmas was a pagan holiday that was wrapped in proverbial swaddling clothes and appropriated for Christianity. People who say "happy holidays" generally mean it as a compliment, so get off your goddamn high horse and deal with it. The same goes for people who get offended when people wish them a merry Christmas--they really do mean well, unless they're dicks. Hell, I'd have no problem with someone wishing me a happy Hanukkah, and I'm pretty far from being Jewish.

And then you have the well-meaning but extremely passive-aggressive people who judge you if your Christmas decorations aren't up to their standards. But you know what? Not every house has to have Christmas lights--or even a wreath on the door, for that matter. Different people celebrate in different ways, and we don't all have to have giant inflatable Santas on our lawn that wave to passersby and shit candy canes, because some of us find that sort of crap tacky as hell. It has no reflection on how much we love our families or our fellow man; we just don't consider pretty lights absolutely necessary. And yes, we are still aware that it's Christmas. Thanks for your concern, and kindly piss off.

So why the ire on my part? Because people are using the holiday as an excuse to lie to themselves.

The prettiest tree in the world won't mend a broken family. Expensive presents don't make you a good parent. Pretending that everything is wonderful and filled with holiday cheer just because it's December does not mean that troubled children will stop doing drugs and setting shit on fire or that unhappy spouses will suddenly want to stay together and fix everything. Christmas is less about letting yourself be filled with the magical Christmas Spirit than it is about being a decent human being.

Stop looking at the fucking animatronic reindeer for a minute and look at your family. Look at your friends. Look at your life. Do you like what you see? If not, maybe you should do something about it that doesn't involve ribbons or wrapping paper.

So, yeah, apparently thinking this way makes me a Scrooge. But hey, the surplus population of jackasses could stand to be decreased, so bah freaking humbug. I wear the mantle proudly.

Merry belated Christmas, everyone, and happy New Year.

My SpiDURRR Sense is Tingling

Okay, it's time to clear something up. Raise your hands if you thought that a Broadway musical about Spider-Man was a good idea.

Be honest, now.

All right. If you raised your hand, congratulations! You're either Julie Taymor, Bono, or a complete fucking moron. You get a special prize if you can figure out which category you fall into! (Protip: celebrities don't read my blog.)

On the heels of this revelation, I have some good news and bad news. The good news is, if you're too scared to go see Black Swan, you can go see a real-life instance of crazy people putting performance ahead of their physical well-being. And the bad news? The privilege will cost anywhere between $75 and $145, and you may or may not get to see a full performance.

Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark has finally opened (kinda) on Broadway after some massive delays, and guess what! They can't even run the damn show all the way through without crippling technical difficulties and/or actors plummeting 30 feet into the orchestra pit. Add that to the estimated $65 million budget, and you have the makings of one of the most expensive and spectacular failures of all time.

But really, is anyone surprised? There's a reason that it took Spider-Man thirteen years longer than Batman to get a big-screen adaptation--to do it well, you need some rather extensive CGI. He's not even some generic flying superhero like Superman, either--he's kinetic, constantly swinging and bouncing and flipping like a parkour practitioner on crystal meth (though that last part might be redundant). In other words, that's some difficult shit right there. A musical takes all of the post-production magic out of the movie-making process, meaning you have to do all those crazy stunts live at every single performance.

It's a dumb fucking idea.

Seriously.

And just because I enjoy kicking people while they're down, I would just like to say that "Turn Off the Dark" is a terrible title. I mean, yes, it sounds appropriately trippy in a Julie Taymor kinda way, but really? It has no relation to Spider-Man at all. His powers really have nothing to do with light or darkness; he climbs walls, he jumps hella high, and does other spider-related stuff.

You know who does have light-based powers? Dazzler. Why don't they make a musical about her?

Oh, that's right: because she sucks.

But then again, by all accounts, so does Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark. Maybe I'm on to something here.

Cinema Snark: Tron Legacy

I'm going to say it right off the bat: Tron was my favorite movie when I was a young lad. God only knows why, really--it had a slow pace and a whole religious subplot going on, and was surprisingly short on action. Everyone always remembers the light-cycles and the disc-fights, of course, but they make up a depressingly small portion of the movie. There's a lot of talking and running and hiding and dystopian computer-generated landscapes, making Tron something of a spiritual precursor to the Beast Machines TV series. (That's probably going to be really funny mildly amusing to the three other people in the world who ever watched that show.)

In any case, I loved the damn movie anyway, even though liking it apparently put me in a category with various fat, sweaty mouthbreathers who subsisted on diets of Mountain Dew and Doritos. Because that's what all nerds are like, right? Right.

Flash forward fifteen years.

I was intrigued by whispers of a sequel, which culminated in the release of a teaser trailer at Comic-Con 2008. (That link is actually the more polished version shown at Comic-Con 2009, but you get the idea.) Better visuals, check. Better color palette (neon on black works so much better than neon on white), check. Cool action sequences, check. And hey, look, it's Jeff Bridges!

So much awesome. Needless to say, I have been giddy ever since, with subsequent trailers only increasing my fanboyish glee. And, upon its release, did it live up to my expectations?

Short answer: Yes. I loved it.

Long answer: While it is by no means a perfect movie, Tron Legacy improves upon the original in a number of ways. As previously stated, the color scheme and visual aspect have been vastly improved, and the movie makes good use of the 3D/IMAX technology without resorting to those cheapass "this will look great in 3D but will look absolutely retarded on a normal screen" moments. It also helps that the movie was actually filmed in 3D instead of just shoehorning the 3D elements in in post-production to make an extra buck. (I'm looking at you, Clash of the Titans. And no, you can't come out of the box of shame yet. Stop asking.)

The thing about this movie is, I can't help but view it through the lens of the original. So when people say that Tron Legacy is boring and has pacing issues, I can't help but laugh--because in comparison to the original, Legacy is a non-stop adrenaline-fueled thrill ride. The thing is, Tron and Tron Legacy tell two completely different stories with radically different intentions. Legacy uses several characters and gimmicks from the original, of course, but it's a completely different animal. Here's what I mean:

Tron begins as a story of corporate corruption and greed, and a man trying to regain his intellectual property. When Kevin Flynn is sent to the game world, it becomes a high-tech fantasy with gladiators and messianic themes. Imagine a futuristic team-up between Spartacus (Tron) and Jesus (Flynn), where they have to fight Robespierre Mark II (the Master Control Program) and end his Reign of Terror. [Actually, you know how I said "God only knows why" I liked Tron? Scratch that. Any movie awesome enough to draw that last analogy is pretty much the best movie ever.]

Tron Legacy, on the other hand, is a much more straightforward story of a young man (Sam Flynn) looking for his missing father (Kevin Flynn, played once again by JEFF BRIDGES). I mean, sure, there's a brutal dictator with genocidal tendencies (CLU II) which his father created in his own image, but Sam's top priority the entire time is to get his dad home. They only really move into confrontation with CLU when he becomes a direct obstacle to their return to the real world.

In other words, Legacy has a simpler overall structure and less to discuss in terms of philosophy and other such high-minded concepts--but those things are less necessary if you're just looking to create a cool action-adventure that's fun for the whole family. And, as it turns out, that's exactly what Disney is looking to do these days. They took a big gamble by handing this project to an untested director like Joseph Kosinski, but I'd say it paid off: the movie looks great, although there are occasional points where things start to look like a futuristic Mac commercial (understandable, considering Kosinski's previous directorial experience was in advertising). Everything is sleek and shiny, and the updated costumes and frisbees of doom memory discs look great. Most of the vehicles from the first film reappear in Legacy as well, with a couple new models (there's a really awesome aerial combat section in the shiny new light-planes).

One cool thing from the original that didn't feature in the sequel was the idea that programs would look like their creators, so--in proper Wizard of Oz fashion--every major character in the real world also appeared as a program in the digital world. It added a bit of cohesion to the two different stories, and was a way of instantly making you sympathize with (or dislike) the programs. It doesn't happen in Legacy, because The Grid that Flynn created appears to be kept separate from the internet and the rest of the digital world (God, imagine what a clusterfuck that would be), so the new faces at ENCOM have no reason to appear as programs. I was hopeful that Cillian Murphy's cameo as Dillinger (the son of the rat bastard who stole Flynn's ideas in the first movie) would extend to an appearance as a digital antagonist, but no such luck.

On the other hand, however, the supporting characters in Legacy certainly have more personality than the ones in Tron--the most notable examples being Olivia Wilde's alternately badass and z0mg-adorable Quorra and Michael Sheen's glam-rock, drag-queen-fabulous Castor. (My reaction to the antics of the latter character was something along the lines of "what is this I don't even")

In terms of action, the violence is fast-paced and surprisingly brutal. Because we're dealing with programs here instead of actual people, Disney can get away with showing characters get cut in half or shot through the head--it's okay because there's no blood; they just crumble into pixels. Also, the integration of capoeira into the hand-to-hand fight choreography was an inspired choice, because the break-dance-like moves work reeeeally well with the soundtrack by Daft Punk.

Also, the sound track is by motherfucking DAFT PUNK. Do you really still need more convincing to go see this movie? (They even make a cameo. It's great.)

And now we come to The Dude. After all, I couldn't very well review this movie without talking in some detail about Jeff Bridges. Flynn is an odd character in this, oscillating back and forth between zen and zany, and occasionally achieving both at the same time. ("You're messing with my zen thing, man.") He has his moments of stern, Jedi-like badassery (the hooded robe helps), and then he turns into his character from The Big Lebowski at the drop of a hat. It's bizarre, but so fantastic that I can't bring myself to care. The CGI-bestowed youth that they use to turn him into CLU circa 1989 is a little jarring, because we really can't do perfect photo-realistic faces with computers yet. It's functional, but you can definitely tell that CGI-witchery is at work. That would be fine in and of itself, because CLU isn't human, but they use the same effect for flashbacks of Flynn himself, and he definitely is human. (Not to mention that none of the other programs look like that.)

Long story short: It's definitely not a movie to be taken seriously, but sometimes you don't want to take things seriously. On the scale of pure fun movies this year, I'd put it ahead of Red.

Lastly, any movie that inspires THIS is pretty fucking cool in my book. Go see it, if you haven't already.

Cinema Snark: Final Thoughts on Black Swan

So, it occurred to me that there were a couple things missing from my last review--namely, any negative comments about the movie at all. Having recently seen it a second time, it has been refreshed in my mind, and there are a couple things I think should be said (not all of them negative). So, here goes:

As an opera singer, I certainly sympathize with ballet dancers. The two traditions are closely linked in the history of musical performance, and modern performers are faced with the problem of championing these art forms to a public which frequently views them as elitist or simply archaic. Let's be honest here: unless you are in the profession, directly associated with or related to someone who is, or a die-hard fan, you probably don't know much about ballet. God knows I don't, and I do feel rather guilty on occasion for not taking a greater interest in opera's sister art form--that is, when I'm not watching movies about ninjas or explosions or Christopher Walken.

In any case, I'm not particularly qualified to judge the caliber of the actual dancing done onscreen, because I know next to nothing about ballet. That being said, however, I know how snarky I usually get when opera is featured prominently in a movie ("This guy is supposed to be an amazing tenor and his voice-over is Juan Diego Florez? What a joke."), and would hazard a guess that many ballet aficionados feel similarly about Black Swan. It's a movie for the general public, for the uninitiated, and I'm sure those who are intimately acquainted with the art form would bristle/raise an eyebrow at several things in the movie. The things that got my raised-eyebrow-attention were few and far between, but I should probably mention them just to prove that this isn't actually a perfect movie:

- Vincent Cassel summarizing of the plot of Swan Lake to his company. It's very obviously for the audience's benefit, because Christ knows that all of those skinny bitches onscreen know the story inside and out. It's necessary information because it's relevant to the plot, but it feels a little clumsy because of the circumstances. It's kind of like Cassel turning to the camera and saying "HERE IS SOME EXPOSITION IT IS THEMATICALLY SIGNIFICANT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT"
- The arm-flapping. This is the one major thing I agree with the Washington Post article on: there's a lot of arm-flapping in the choreography, and it feels... not so balletic. Beyond that, I shan't comment on the dancing, due to my previously stated ignorance.
- The old man on the subway. It has no relevance to the rest of the movie, and it's just kinda weird. But hey, if I were an old rich guy alone in a subway car with Natalie Portman, I'd probably touch myself and make kissy-faces too. Oh, wait, no I wouldn't, because it's sketchy as fuck.

So, yeah. There actually were things about this movie that weren't completely perfect, but really... I can't complain. This could very well go up there with In Bruges as one of my favorite movies of all time. It's well-written, visually engaging, scary as hell, and full of symbolism and shit and the like.

What it isn't, on the other hand, is snooty. It may not be a movie for everyone (read: not for jackasses), but it's visceral and pretty easily approachable if you can handle the fear and the plot-related weirdness. But it's about ballet, so someone's bound to completely miss the point and treat this like it's esoteric and pretentious because COME ON ballet is so boring and only rich old people like it. Amirite?

Aaaaaand cue MovieBob. While I may not agree with all his reviews (Watchmen and Inception for movies I think he overrated, and the newest Star Trek for one he underrated), I tend to like him. He generally justifies his opinions, and is pretty open about his biases as a nostalgic, misanthropic nerdboy. His Black Swan review, however, places him squarely in the Realm of Douchebaggery. It's not about what he says, of course, but the way he says it. He gives the film a glowing review (and rightfully so), but decides that the proper way to go about reviewing this movie (because it's about high culture and all) is to put on a shitty British accent, play classical music in the background, and talk like he's some old rich patron of the arts. Oh, but of course he resumes his normal voice to talk about the lesbian sex and how hot it was.

Goddammit, things like this make me want to facepalm. People don't fucking understand that ballet and opera and classical music in general aren't the exclusive domain of obscenely wealthy geriatrics, mob bosses, and global networks of economic villainy. Those people may go to performances and throw their money around, but the performers themselves will dress up for gala receptions and fundraising parties before going home to their bare apartments and trying not to think about how hungry and cold they are. This is not a movie about audiences; it's a movie about dancers--and that gives you cattiness, backstabbing, backstage sexcapades, and a huge dose of insanity. And hell, the ballet is really a framing device for the real story, which is BITCHES ALL BE GOING CRAZY UP IN HERE.

But no. It's a movie about ballet, so it must be too cultured for us to treat it like any other movie.

Excuse me while I spout profanity for a while.

Cinema Snark: Black Swan

All right, I think enough time has passed for me to review Black Swan without babbling in incoherent horror or just plain having a verbal orgasm about how much I loved this freaking movie.

In short, Black Swan is a singularly unnerving and remarkably beautiful piece of work. From what little I've seen of Darren Aronofsky's work (The Fountain and bits of Requiem For a Dream), he has a remarkable sense of how to create a picture. He has an amazing instinct for using light and darkness to maximum effect, and knows how to create a surprisingly unified visual color palette, making his films visually engaging even as you ask yourself what the fuck is going on with the plot. To be honest, I could write several posts just analyzing his visual style, so for now I'll just keep it to this: Aronofsky makes visually rewarding movies, whether they be complex and fanciful or simple but elegant.

One review of Black Swan complains that the movie falls into too many ballet movie stereotypes, like having shots of the dancers' feet, or examining the mental and physical toll that ballet takes upon its practitioners. Rather than dismiss the writer as a complete fucking moron right away, I decided to wait until I had seen the movie so I could make my own decision.

It didn't take me long to realize that yes, she is a complete fucking moron. First of all, of course there are going to be shots of the dancers' feet. That's like watching Ray and complaining that the film shows him playing the piano, or watching Rambo and complaining that you see him murdering people. Second, perish the thought that there would be any emotionally or mentally fragile people in a psychological horror film. I guess since people have made movies about crazy ballerinas before, it means that no one can ever do anything like that again. It's a pity no one thought to tell Darren that he was wasting his time before he started working on this movie, much less before he released it. Wow, he must be really embarrassed right now.

Finally, maybe the reason that so many films suggest that ballet is emotionally and physically damaging is because OH HEY IT IS. Ballerinas have to maintain a figure that would make a Barbie doll look like the model for a Rubens painting, as well as achieve a stunning degree of technical prowess in doing shit that the human body does not do naturally. Oh, and there's always the danger of someone younger and prettier than you coming along and taking your place. So, yeah. If you're really serious about having a career in ballet, it will fuck with your head and with your body, and you'll be reaching the end of your career when most people are still twenty to thirty years away from retirement.

And that's just ballet. The performing arts in general--and oh hey, Van Gogh, I guess visual art works too--are a veritable magnet for crazy. Let's face it: well-adjusted people don't spend their lives pretending to be someone else. Or, to be more accurate, some people do--but they're not nearly as good at it. You can be a perfectly stable person and learn all the basic mechanics of performance--you can even be perfectly competent at it--but you're never going to be great. Greatness at anything requires some sort of innate quality that sets you apart from others, a different way of moving or thinking or reacting--because if everyone else can do it then it's not great at all; it's just average.

And wow, look at that--this ties right into the themes of the movie. Vincent Cassel's character Thomas is constantly telling Nina (Natalie Portman) that she needs to let go and stop being so straight-laced. She's perfect to dance the virtuous White Swan, but the Black Swan--the slutty evil twin--needs to have a darker, more wanton energy about her. It's not a coincidence that the company's previous prima ballerina (Winona Ryder) is unstable--Thomas admits that she's mesmerizing to watch onstage in large part because she taps into some sort of mental reservoir of crazy. She can go places that others fear to tread, and that makes her great. The problem is, once you let the crazy in, it's pretty damn hard to keep it under control (why so serious, Heath?*). I mean, sure, Thomas [SPOILER ALERT but not really because he makes it pretty obvious] is a lecherous bastard who wants Natalie Portman's mouth on and/or around his genitalia, but he's one of my favorite characters in the film because he actually knows what it takes to make great art.

Time and time again, history has shown us that art is more about expression of emotion than pure technique--and every time an art form gets too restrictive, someone shows up and takes it in a new and visceral direction. Art with no soul isn't art, whether it's ballet or painting or opera or flower-arranging. Christ, if I had a nickel for every time I've heard a beautiful voice sing an aria with no conviction or connection to the words, I would be Steve Motherfucking Jobs (yes, with a capital M). I don't care what degree of technical proficiency you possess: if you can't connect your emotions and intentions to your performance, you do not deserve to be onstage. Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau is the most renowned Lieder singer of the twentieth century, and it's sure as hell not because he had the best voice in the world. His technique was "meh," but he had a unique command of the music and language, and knew how to use the color of his voice to evoke the desired emotion in his audience. And thus: famous.

But I digress. Long story short: one of the main ideas of Black Swan is that you have to be willing to throw yourself completely into a performance, body and soul, in order to excel--and you may not come out of it intact. The film treats ballet as something visceral, something simultaneously beautiful and destructive, which definitely fits into the strong themes of duality. The two dominant colors in the film are, of course, black and white (there's a club scene where the color palette shifts drastically, but the lights alternately flash red and green, keeping the theme of opposites going). Aronofsky also juxtaposes madness and sanity, attraction and revulsion, youth and age, success and failure--and the prominent use of mirrors throughout the film (which makes sense to anyone who's ever been in a dance studio) definitely contributes to the idea of a divided self.

And beyond their symbolic use, the mirrors are used quite effectively in the "making you void your bowels in the middle of the theater" department. The visual effects in the movie are handled extremely well, in large part because many of them are subtle enough that you're not entirely sure that you really did see what you thought you did: shifting faces, reflections that move just a millisecond after they should, and other such relatively tame things (considering the content of most modern horror movies) somehow become much more unnerving than they should be. The same can be said for the stellar sound effects, such as the soft rustle of feathers in the sound of a passing metro, or the sound of peeling skin. Jesus it's freaky. Black Swan is one of those movies which spends most of its time putting you into an uncomfortable, tense place--so when the actual horror moments happen, they're at least twice as effective.

Also in the category of "things that shouldn't be scary but oh god oh god whyyyyy":

- Nail clippers.
- The phrase "sweet girl".
- Lesbian sex. (No but really. Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis are two very attractive women and the two of them getting it on has every right to be extremely hot, but the sound and visual effects used in that scene make it slightly terrifying.)

So, yeah. You should see it, but only if you have a high tolerance for fear--because it's one of the most legitimately scary movies I have ever seen in my life. It's also extremely well-made and well-acted, and is going to be a serious contender when Oscar season rolls around. Don't miss it.

(*Too soon? Yeah, I thought it might be.)

Adventures in Music Sales

This actually happened today. The dialogue that follows is recreated as faithfully as possible.

[Scene: The back of a music store. A Crazy Bag Lady, henceforth referred to as CBL, wanders into the Band/Orchestra Department, looking confused.]

CBL [loudly]: Do you have the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel's Messiah?

Charlie [from the Choral/Organ Department, through the window]: We have it back here. [CBL wanders back to the Choral Department.] Do you have a preferred edition?

CBL [still speaking loudly, with no concept of an indoor voice]: I want the one by Bernstein. [Editor's note: this does not exist.]

Charlie: Okay, I don't think we have that in stock, but I'll check. [Looks in the files.] Are you looking for SATB?

CBL: What's that?

[Charlie dies a little on the inside.]

Charlie: SATB means "soprano, alto, tenor, bass."

CBL: Soprano.

Charlie: What?

CBL: Do you have it for soprano?

Charlie: We have arrangements for all men, all women, and mixed men and women. Are you looking for an all-female arrangement? [CBL nods. Charlie looks through the H drawer and pulls out a folder.] We currently have one arrangement for women's chorus in stock.

CBL: Is it by Bernstein?

Charlie: No; we don't have an arrangement by Bernstein. This is the only arrangement for women's chorus that we have.

[CBL looks through a copy of the arrangement.]

CBL: This is too short. It took us hours to get through when we were learning it in our chorus.

Charlie: It's a short piece. Would you like to see another arrangement?

CBL: I could have sworn there was one by Bernstein. He was the leader or something. You don't have anything with his name on it?

Charlie [sighing heavily]: No. We have an arrangement by Paul Bliss...?

CBL: Maybe that's it.

Charlie [handing her a copy]: Keep in mind that this is for mixed chorus, not just for women.

CBL: No, this isn't right. Handel Bliss. I was looking for Bernstein. [flips through it] Oh, yeah, this is a great arrangement. I forgot about the Bliss. [pause] This is still so short, though. Don't you have anything longer?

[Charlie contemplates murder.]

Charlie [taking out the Schirmer edition]: This edition is exactly what appears in the piano vocal score. It's not going to get any longer than this.

CBL: But I don't want the one by Schirmer.

Charlie: Schirmer isn't the arranger. It's the publisher.

CBL: Oh. It says Hal Leonard at the bottom. Maybe that's where I got Bernstein from. Did Hal Leonard arrange this?

Charlie: Hal Leonard is the distribution company.

CBL: Oh. Did I make up Leonard Bernstein? Is that a real person?

Charlie: No, he's definitely a real person. He composed Candide and West Side Story. He just didn't do an arrangement of the Messiah.

CBL: Oh. That man in West Side Story. I didn't know that was him. Do you have a tape of this Bliss arrangement you could play for me?

Charlie: I mean, you could look it up on Youtube, but most of the arrangements are going to sound exactly the same. It's the Hallelujah Chorus.

CBL: Okay. This Bliss is a great arrangement.

Charlie: That's great. Would you like to buy a copy?

CBL: No, I just wanted to refresh my memory. I used to be in a chorus and I was thinking about it today.

[CBL leaves.]

Charlie: *facepalm*

[End of scene.]

Triumvirate of Snark

You know how people say that good things come in threes? Well, they generally don't. People also say that they have free candy in the back of their unmarked, windowless vans, and that's generally not true either. The moral of the story is, you shouldn't listen to people when they talk because they're probably just lying, and also waiting for the moment when they can kidnap you and sell you into a life of WHITE SLAVERY.

But! Today happens to be one of those days where good things actually do come in threes. For behold: today, I wage a three-pronged snark war on current events that haven't been current for like a week and a half but I don't care so shut up because it's gonna be awesome. If this post were a rare item in World of Warcraft, it would be a legendary Trident of Vitriol, forged from bile, dry wit, and copious amounts of profanity. (No, really, this is probably a little more offensive than usual posts. Consider yourselves warned.)

Boom. Consider your minds blown.

Item the First: Stephen King has perplexing taste in movies.

We really shouldn't be surprised about this. I mean, the man has gone on record saying that he knows nothing about movies--and, as if that weren't enough proof, his list of the Top Ten Films of 2010 includes Jackass 3D. (Some of his choices for previous years include 2012 and the Jason Statham version of Death Race.) So yeah, "jackass" sounds about right. Anyway, his list is as follows, with my thoughts:

10. Green Zone: Supposed to be a taut, politically relevant thriller about the war in Iraq. Didn't bother to see it; it looked humorless and self-righteous. From everything I heard, it was.
9. Jackass 3D: Really, Stephen King? Really?
8. Monsters: Supposed to be the next District 9. It's apparently not.
7. Splice: Two scientists that have sex with each other create a partially human gender-confused hybrid creature and raise it as their child. And then they both have sex with it. Squick.
6. Kick-Ass: a.k.a. "Watchmen: The Early Years." Violent and ridiculous and pretty entertaining. There's a brainwashed 12-year-old girl that brutally murders just about everyone she meets, but for some reason, people are most offended by the fact that she says "cunt." Priorities, people. Get them in order.
5. Takers: A heist movie for black people. Because movies about white people stealing shit just aren't gangsta enough. Don't even get me started.
4. The Social Network: "Mark Zuckerberg Is A Douche: The Movie"
3. Inception: An ambitious but flawed movie, but regardless of your feelings about it, we can all agree on one thing: Christopher Nolan now has more money than God.
2. The Town: Boston accents and brutal violence seem to go hand-in-hand for some reason. I wonder what that says about people from Boston.
1. Let Me In: Good movie, but definitely not the best of the year. Hit Girl from Kick-Ass stars as a child vampire who murders and/or dismembers at least seven people over the course of the movie and drinks their blood as it steams in the winter air--but she doesn't say "cunt" this time, so it's perfectly socially acceptable.

Item the Second: Benedict XVI extends the hand of friendship to male prostitutes!

This is important, guys. Pope Benedict recently stated in an interview that in a world full of hunger, genocide, and disease, maaaaaaaaybe condoms aren't actually the worst thing ever to happen to mankind EVER. But of course, they're still awful and sinful and there are only a few very limited circumstances in which condom use is acceptable. The only real example he gave of such a circumstance was this: if you're a male prostitute in Africa, then using a condom is probably a good alternative to giving your customers AIDS.

That sound you hear (or rather, that sound you heard a week and a half ago when this story was current) is all the male prostitutes in Africa breathing a sigh of relief--because if anyone cares what the church has to say about The Secks, it's them. As for the rest of the world, condoms are still strictly off-limits, as are unorthodox sexual positions and enjoyment of sex in any way. The Secks is for MAKING BABIES and NOTHING ELSE. After all, who better to trust on matters of human sexuality than a worldwide organization of middle-aged-to-elderly male virgins?

Item the Third: John McCain is (still) a homophobic douche.

So this link is pretty current, but this is nothing new at all. Senator McCain stated a while back that he would be open to the repeal of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" under the correct circumstances--namely, if the proper surveys and studies were undertaken to determine the impact of repealing DADT--but has since become a much more vocal opponent of repeal. And hey, now these studies have been performed, and they say that two-thirds of the troops interviewed did not believe there would be significant problems if gays were allowed to serve openly.

So, yeah, McCain is going to stay true to his word and not oppose the repeal now, right? Because only a total asshole would keep supporting a policy that blatantly violates the civil rights of the American gay community, especially now that the studies he requested have been performed.

Yep. A total asshole indeed.

McCain continues to predict that letting gay troops serve openly would cause a mass exodus from the armed forces. Well, you know what? If any bigoted fucks decide that they don't want to serve their country because gays are allowed, then I say good fucking riddance. They aren't the sort of people I want representing our country overseas, because they only serve to reinforce the stereotype that all Americans are ignorant, violent cowboys who hate anyone who doesn't listen to country music and love Jesus in a totally hetero way.

News flash, assholes: there are already gays in the military. They're everywhere. They're sleeping in your barracks; they're next to you in your foxholes; they're fighting for freedom and truth and justice and the American way and all that happy shit. And you know what? They're actually more concerned about the mission than about taking your rectal virginity, so you can calm the fuck down.

And people wonder why I'm a misanthrope. Jesus.

[Also, I'm aware that the word "triumvirate" refers to a group of three people, not things. If you're still thinking about that after reading this entire post, you should find something else to do with your stupendous intellect instead of wasting your time reading this crap. Woooooo]

Thanksgiving Hates You.

Yeah, the title pretty much says it all. What with Thanksgiving vacation and the like, it would seem to be a perfect time to take a breather and update my favorite Internet Hate Machine. So much to mock, and a little more free time than usual.

Well, if you think that, you wouldn't be the first person to be tricked by the deceptive lure of Thanksgiving. It beckons to you, like a beautiful courtesan from the second-story window of a red-light district house of sin, and you've already tumbled into her welcoming arms before the haze of cheap liquor lifts from your eyes and you notice the bulge--oh God, the bulge--and BOOM. You're suddenly in a low-budget remake of The Crying Game, and you don't know whether to run for the hills or stay and at least get your money's worth, because hey, you've already paid her. Him. Whatever.

Ahem. Not that that's ever happened to me.

What was I talking about again?

Thanksgiving. Right. So anyway, everyone always thinks Thanksgiving will be a time to get some much-needed relaxation, but in the words of everyone's favorite anthropomorphic squid of high nautical rank (no, not Davy Jones, goddammit), IT'S A TRAP. It's a short vacation (assuming you get a vacation at all), and much of it is spent in transit to your ancestral family home. The rest of the time is spent with family and friends, eating and drinking and being merry (and/or plague-ridden, if you're me), and possibly doing dome Black Friday shopping if you're feeling suicidal. Then suddenly it's Sunday and you have no idea where all the time went, because you were planning to get work done and catch up on your sleep and you haven't done either one. And then you stumble outside and shake your fists at the grey, wintry sky and curse God, and he smites you for your insolence.

And that's how Thanksgiving will kill us all.

Cinema Snark: Harry Potter and the Massive Box Office Returns

Funny thing about Harry Potter movies: they're pretty much guaranteed to do well, regardless of whether or not they're any good. Regardless of what reviewers say, or what the fans may think of the movie (I'm looking at you, Half-Blood Prince. Leave out the climactic battle scene my ass.), people are still going to shell out money hand-over-fist to see these films. I could call it the worst movie since From Justin to Kelly and it wouldn't mean a damn thing, but that's because I'm not a real movie reviewer and the three people who read this blog have probably already seen it. So, to make a more valid point: Roger Ebert could say that this is the worst movie ever made in the history of the universe, like the ungodly cinematic spawn of In the Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale and Bloodrayne 2, with a little Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull thrown in for an extra kick in the balls, and everyone in the world would still go see it. Hell, I'd probably go see it for the sole purpose of seeing for myself if it really was that bad.

In any case, it's not actually bad. In fact, considering what it is, it's pretty good. It certainly looks fantastic, with the exception of a few overly CGI-laden shots that hurt the atmosphere more than they help. The main problem I had with the movie is the same problem I had with the first half of the book: since it's not actually set at Hogwarts, the framing structure offered by life in a boarding school is completely gone. There's a lot of travel and camping out in rural locations, but there's really no indication that they're heading in any particular direction, and they generally have no goal other than "We have to find and destroy the Horcruxes. But we don't know where they are or how to destroy them. [awkward silence] ....yeah, we're pretty much fucked."

There are several setpieces that serve to advance the plot, which are well-executed and entertaining, but there's a lot of dead space. There's also a puzzling scene in which Harry kinda turns into Peter Parker from Spiderman 3, what with the angst and the inexplicable dancing. Maybe one of the Horcruxes is going to turn out to be an alien symbiote. (That clicking you hear is the sound of a million fangirls suddenly typing out Peter/Harry slash fanfics.) The mood is suitably bleak for most of the movie, though, and it has a lot of cool action scenes, but there are also a couple important things that happen off-screen and are only referenced later. I'd have to re-read the book to refresh my memory on how those things are supposed to happen.

My favorite scene is the diner "shootout" near the beginning, because it reminds you that Hogwarts and all these wizards and witches and shit are supposed to exist in the real world. You see glimpses of it in the books and movies, but it's generally just in passing, and it's nice to see magical conflict spill over into the non-magical (I refuse to say "Muggle") world. It felt a little Tarantino-ish, and I liked that. Similarly, I liked all the uses of magic without incantation, like Hermione flicking her wand over her shoulder and blowing shit up. It feels more visceral, and also serves to denote the ability of anyone who does it (it's established in the earlier books that only powerful witches and wizards can cast spells silently). It makes magic feel much more like a powerful force that you have to bend to your will, instead of sparkly lights that happen when you shout mangled Latin.

Actually, scratch that. My favorite part of the movie was the animation that they used for the fairy tale of the Deathly Hallows. It was somewhere between the puppet bedtime story from Hellboy II and this little gem, which was nominated for an Oscar. I like creepy animated segments. They're pretty awesome.

And of course, this being a Harry Potter movie, its full of accomplished actors and actresses who don't get nearly enough screen time. Brendan Gleason and Alan Rickman are fantastic as always, and Ralph Fiennes really seems to be enjoying the chance to be completely and utterly batshit insane. I look forward to more Snape in the next movie, because he gets some really great stuff in the book. Also, the second movie will be a return to more familiar locales, so we'll get to see more members of the supporting cast - and hopefully the pacing problems won't be an issue, because the second half of the book is more action-packed anyway.

So, yeah, you should go see it. It's a cultural phenomenon and the like, and it's not half bad. Of course, my previous comment still stands: you've probably all seen it already anyway.

As a side note: Shortly before seeing HP7, I commented to a certain ginger midget that I would probably be the most badass person at the midnight showing. Not that I'm usually particularly cool, but my proximity to so many pasty cosplayers would probably make me look like the goddamn Fonz himself. Damned if I wasn't right. [End narcissism here.]

Cinema Snark: Due Date

So, over on that wonderful black hole called TV Tropes (seriously, once you go on there, you lose hours of your life before you manage to pull yourself away) they have a trope listing entitled Chekhov's Gun. The trope namer for this article is a quote from Anton Chekhov, which is listed at the top of the page: "If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there." Basically, if you draw attention to an object, it damn well better get used at some point later.

After seeing Due Date, it occurred to me that TV Tropes should probably also have an article entitled "Chekhov's Dead Loved One." Whenever the physical remains of a dearly departed relative appear in a comedy (especially in ash form), you instantly know that there will be some sort of humorous desecration later in the film. Ashes will be spilled and/or unknowingly ingested, bodies will fall out of coffins, and there will be shock and consternation and possibly fainting if there are older ladies present. And oh, how the audience will laugh - unless, of course, it's not actually that funny, which it frequently isn't. (But let's be honest, the audience will probably laugh anyway, because the average modern movie-goer is a complete jackass. This has been proven by science, and by the continuing success of Tyler Perry's godawful cinematic abortions.)

The thing is, a Chekhov's Gun exists solely to add to the plot. A Chekhov's Urn (for lack of a better term) seems to exist for comedy's sake first, and any actual significance to the plot is tacked on to justify the joke. [EDIT: Holy crap it's real.] And that's what a lot of Due Date feels like: as if someone said, "Hey, wouldn't it be funny/wacky/gross if Zach Galifianakis did {X}?" and then they had to come up with a way to justify having {X} in the movie at all.

This movie will undoubtedly draw comparisons to Planes, Trains, and Automobiles because it's basically the same movie: an easily frustrated straight man and a zany, overweight nutcase embark on a cross-country trip to get the straight man home to his family for an important event (a holiday dinner in the old movie, and the birth of a child in the new one). And how does it stack up?

Well... Here's the thing. I'm a bit biased here, because I have a tendency to believe that everything Robert Downey Jr. touches turns to solid gold. He is incredibly talented, and has a huge range of personal experience to draw upon. Most of his characters have a snarky, tongue-in-cheek edge to them, which certainly contributes to my enjoyment of his movies, but he also has the ability to bring a surprising amount of believability into his performances. Yes, Tony Stark is a rich alcoholic douchebag with a badass suit of armor, and Sherlock Holmes is a witty, high-functioning autistic savant with possible homosexual tendencies and a drug addiction, but the characters are even more engaging because Downey imbues them with an undeniable humanity. They sure as hell test the limits of the public's willing suspension of disbelief, but they never completely cross into the realm of cartoon or caricature. Beneath their artifice, addictions, and sarcasm, they are as vulnerable as the rest of us - if not more so. This character is no exception: he's fun to watch, has some great monologues, and he's easy enough to relate to that the audience can feel his (often literal) pain.

And then there's Zach Galifianakis. He plays pretty much the exact same person he did in The Hangover, except with a greater disconnect from social norms. His character is written less as a lovable oddball and more as a complete fucking lunatic with little to no knowledge of human customs and behavior. I'm sure this is very entertaining to a great many people, but this is where the movie loses me: his character goes beyond "zany" and lands well inside the realm of "complete and utter caricature". He's not a person; he's a twisted sketch of a human being, smeared in feces on a padded cell wall by a disturbed mental patient on one of the moons of Saturn. I would use the phrase "jumping the shark", except after seeing the movie I can't help but think how much that sounds like a euphemism for public masturbation. Do not want.

In any case, the movie is frequently entertaining, but believability is really a problem. Dinner for Schmucks (which also co-starred Galifianakis) suffered from the same ailment: people ceased to be people and started becoming cartoons. The thing with absurd comedy is that it works best in short-form - i.e. stand-up or sketches. You have to keep raising the stakes for it to keep being funny, and it's damn near impossible to do that when you're also trying to throw in a message about the importance of family: you either make the whole movie completely absurd, or you tone it down and keep it within the bounds of the suspension of disbelief.

But hell, a lot of this is a matter of taste. The funniest movie I can think of offhand is In Bruges, and that's not even really a comedy - but maybe that's why it's so funny.

Food for thought, I suppose.

....

(Nom nom nom.)

Suck it, Glenn Beck.

I'm just going to come right out and say it: I'm a whore for short fiction. Everyone loves novels and the like, but there's something incredibly elegant about a well-executed miniature. It's sleek; it doesn't have too much time to meander or get bogged down (unless it's written by H. P. Lovecraft); it gets right to the damn point. If I were a prostitute, I would most likely accept payment in the form of short fiction anthologies.

And here, you should probably keep in mind that I'm talking about good short stories. You know, with interesting plots and unique narrative styles - not just strings of declamatory sentences which happen to describe a series of events. It's why I'll take Neil Gaiman over Stephen King any day: even in my least favorite of his short stories, Gaiman is still a deeply inventive writer with an approachable but sneakily florid style. King, on the other hand, could be described as the Renee Fleming of fiction - he's famous and well-liked and his prose style is perfectly functional, but his writing has no soul. He writes mechanically instead of artistically, and so I could give a damn about his work.

So! Finally, we come to the point. I'm reading a lovely little book called Machine of Death, a collection of stories about people who know how they're going to die. The premise is simple: there's a machine which takes a sample of your blood, and tells you (with complete accuracy) how you're going to die. No time, no place - just a little slip of paper with a word or a phrase on it. The machine seems to enjoy fucking with people, though, because the predictions are often vague or have ironic double-meanings. But, long story short, if the machine tells you how you're dying, that's how it's gonna happen.

This anthology is the brainchild of a few webcomic artists who came up with the idea and asked for submissions on the theme. Out of 700+ stories, they chose 30, and added a few of their own. After unsuccessful attempts to find a publisher, they decided to publish the damn thing themselves, and started a grassroots internet campaign to get readers to make MoD the number one book on Amazon for a single day. It worked. They even beat Glenn Beck's new book, much to the whiny bastard's on-air dismay.

That was reason enough to be glad I bought the book - but now I'm actually reading it, and damn.

It's good. It's really good.

I've read six or seven of the stories so far, and I've been impressed with all of them. Each has a different take on the machine and how it affects the people who use it, and they range in tone from amusing and lighthearted to horrifically bleak - but they don't conflict with each other so much as give you a more three-dimensional picture.

This book is seriously awesome. You should order it, or read it online. Read a story or six, or listen the podcasts. It's good stuff.

Become part of the liberal culture of death - all the cool kids are doing it.

95 Theses (But a Bitch Ain't One)

As all of you should know, unless you're morons or you don't have a calendar (but if you're reading this, you're on a computer with internet access and can find out the date easily enough, so moron is really the only option here), it's Halloween. Om nom nom nom. However, unless you're one of those godless Protestant types, you might not know that it's also Reformation Sunday, which commemorates the nailing of the 95 Theses to the door of the cathedral in Wittenberg.

Luther was an interesting figure, to be sure. His intention wasn't to split Christendom into warring factions, but to bring the Church back to its original mission - and let's be honest here, the Church had certainly strayed. He was (and is) a divisive figure, a brilliant scholar, and also a little crazy. My favorite crazy Luther tidbit is something I read in one of his letters when I was writing a Music History paper on the theological significance of the Lutheran chorales. He was discussing Satan (as he was wont to do) and basically making the point that we always have to do the exact opposite of what we think Satan wants. His example: if I think Satan wants me to stop drinking, I go right ahead and have several more - because it's better to fall into some small sin of excess than to align with the Devil's wishes.

I just get this mental image of Luther standing near a pile of smoldering wreckage and ash and saying, "But I had to burn down that orphanage, you see, because Satan told me not to!" Obviously, they didn't have a concept of reverse psychology at the time.

So, here's to you, Martin Luther. You certainly weren't a perfect man, but you had the courage to stand up for what you believed was right, even though you were threatened with all sorts of earthly and divine punishments - and that's something we should all be able to respect. And besides, if you hadn't split up the Church, it would be a lot more crowded in heaven right now - and we Catholics like to have some leg room.

In Which Irrational Hatred is Displayed

So, this has come up in conversation several times recently, and I feel like it's something I should make an official statement on:

I hate the Midwest and it can go to hell.

There, I said it. And before anyone gets all offended, I would just like to point out that this view does not reflect on people who live there; rather, it reflects on the land itself. It is a piss-poor excuse for a geographical region and it should be ashamed of itself.

Why, you ask?

Because it's so unnaturally fucking flat. There are no hills. There are barely any trees. It's all just gently rolling fields of wheat and corn as far as the eye can see and it makes me want to shoot myself in the face. It's as if God was creating the world and suddenly ran out of ideas. "Screw it," he said. "I'll just make this part flat. It's not like anyone will notice." Well you were wrong, God. I notice, and it's terrible.

As if the flawless logic of my argument weren't already evident, take a moment and ponder the fact that the unusual flatness of the terrain directly contributes to the number of devastating tornadoes that go through the region every year. I mean, honestly - why the fuck anyone would live in a place known as "Tornado Alley" is beyond me. That's like moving to a place called "Murder Town" and being surprised when someone shanks you in the kidney so he can get the five cent deposit on that can of soda you just finished. (No offense to anyone who lives in Baltimore.)

God, I hate the Midwest.

Cinema Snark: Let Me In

This is the condensed version, because mama's going to bed early tonight. So, let's see how succinct I can make this.

Let Me In

So there's this boy. He's pretty much a serial killer/school shooter waiting to happen. He's bullied by other kids and acts out revenge fantasies (with knives) in his room. Then this girl (Abby, played by Chloe Moretz, whom I might have to marry [after she turns 18]) about his age moves in next door. They become friends, blah blah blah, she's actually a vampire. And then something resembling romance blossoms.

If this sounds like a weird premise for something that's supposed to be a horror film, you're absolutely right. It is weird, and different, and that's the biggest reason it's pretty damn good.

In short, it's a horror film that's not a horror film. It's got its fair share of blood (as any self-respecting vampire movie should), but it's not actually about the violence. Let Me In exercises an admirable amount of restraint in the gore department, choosing to make the film about characters and atmosphere instead. The horror is more in the premise than anything else - it's essentially a love story between two killers. The boy hasn't actually killed anyone yet, but he's well down that dark path when we first meet him, and the one ray of sunshine (as it were) in his relatively hopeless life is this mysterious girl, who will almost certainly make him into a killer in the future.

It's not scary as such - it's disturbing. It tones down the disturbing-ness a bit from the original Swedish film (translated to Let the Right One In), which itself had toned down the disturbing-ness from the book it was based on, but it remains one of the most unnerving horror movies I've seen recently. Abby and her "father" do some pretty horrific things, but the worst acts of cruelty are reserved for the middle-school students who torment the main character.

It seems oddly appropriate, given what we've been seeing in the news recently.

So, to sum up: if you're looking for a different breed of horror movie, something that focuses on story more than tits and murder, see it. It's well-made and generally well-acted and it gives you a lot to think about. And then watch the Swedish version, because it's weirder and creepier. Because, you know. Sweden.

Cinema Snark: Red

I saw movies last weekend! Shocking, I know. My attendance at the movies has dropped considerably now that I actually have to pay for tickets, but I felt that Red and Let Me In warranted my attention. So, here's the first review.

Red

Okay, I've been drooling over this since I saw the trailer way back in June or July or whatever. It ran before Twilight: Eclipse, which struck me as an odd marketing decision - until I considered the possibility that they were comforting the menfolk in the audience who were only there because their womenfolk had threatened not to put out if they didn't get to go see Twilight as a couple. In that sense, you could say that the Red trailer was a testosterone shot to ward off the bitch flu. Either that, or the trailer was there because both movies are made by Summit Entertainment. (I like my first theory better.)

But basically, all you need to know about the movie is this: there are a bunch of old people, and they're complete fucking badasses. Bruce Willis plays the exact same character that he always does, and it somehow hasn't stopped being entertaining (a phenomenon known as the "Samuel L. Jackson Effect") - but this time, he's brought friends! John Malkovich is the resident batshit crazy one, Morgan Freeman is the resident cheerful black one, aaand then there's Helen Mirren. She arranges flowers and makes tea and kills shit dead with a variety of high-powered weapons. Not bad for the Queen of England. (In other Helen Mirren-related news, she's going to be Prospera in Julie Taymor's upcoming movie adaptation of The Tempest. I'm freaking out.) Rounding out the cast are Karl Urban, who gets lots of points for Lord of the Rings but loses so, so many for Doom and Pathfinder, Brian Cox, who was inexplicably absent from the entire marketing campaign despite having a bigger role than Morgan Freeman, and Mary Louise Parker, who is pretty entertaining despite spending so much of the movie with duct tape over her mouth.

Long story short, it's just fantastic to see "respectable" Oscar-winning actors letting their hair down (what little they have left, in several cases) and having a good time. Is Red a cinematic masterpiece? Christ, no - but it doesn't want to be. It exists pretty much solely for the purpose of letting audiences watch otherwise dignified AARP members beat the shit out of everyone who gets in their way. One-liners and impossible stunts abound, and it's basically a great 90's-style action-comedy in every way.

Unfortunately, that's also the movie's main weakness. It's an action-comedy, meaning that it's not particularly ground-breaking in in any way. The plot is simultaneously simplistic (little to no character development) and convoluted (government conspiracy, blah blah blah). It's not mind-screwy enough to gain a rabid fanbase, and the budget isn't big enough to make it a real blockbuster. The cast and the action sequences make the movie fun, but it never really goes above and beyond.

There's a scene midway through the movie which is very reminiscent of The Dark Knight Returns: Bruce Willis hears that Karl Urban "looks pretty tough," so he goes out of his way to find him and engage in brutal hand-to-hand combat. It's a pride thing: an aging man trying to prove that he's still the badass alpha male. They fight and there's blood and glass and shit getting broken, and then Bruce dislocates Karl's arm and gets away. In DKR, on the other hand, Batman does the same thing with the leader of the mutants - only to get summarily curbstomped. He barely escapes with his life, but he learns a lesson: he shouldn't try to fight like a young man anymore; he needs to fight smarter and use the benefit of his years of experience. That scene (and Batman's victory in the eventual rematch) made the story more interesting, because it added a layer of vulnerability to the protagonist - something that is sorely lacking in Red.

Red discusses the problems of retirement and aging, but more in terms of boredom than anything else. They're still just as good at shooting people as they ever were, if not better. Government assassins are apparently like fine wine, or possibly some kind of cheese - i.e., they only get better with age. The protagonists generally shrug off bullet wounds and make comments about how the Secret Service "used to be tougher." Sure, it's entertaining, but there's also no real sense of tension or drama. The song "Back in the Saddle Again" is featured prominently in the trailer and the fight scene discussed above, and it pretty much sums up the tone of the movie - they used to kill people, then they didn't for a while, but now they do again and it's never been easier.

Bottom line: Red is entertaining as hell, but it's not exactly a movie for the ages. In fact, it would be pretty damn forgettable if not for the wonderful casting. But hey, it still beats the hell out of The Expendables.

On Relationships (of the Fictional Variety), Part II

Okay. First of all, some of you may be wondering why I'm rambling about this. What could possibly be the point? After all, just about every story ever told, written, illustrated, or performed has some sort of depiction of love or relationships - and if the story is devoid of both, that tends to be a statement in and of itself. Hell, a story with no romantic elements whatsoever could actually say more about love than your average romantic comedy - in large part because most romantic comedies are shit, but also because love is so ubiquitous that its absence is arguably more noteworthy than its presence.

"But Charlie," some of you might whine, "you just went on a tangent instead of answering our question." And I would reply, "That's because the question is stupid, and so are you." I'm doing this for the hell of it, of course, not because there's any particular point. Also, I like the sound of my own voice - or rather, I enjoy the sound of my spite-filled fingertips going clickety-clack across the keyboard.

Any more questions? No?

Good.

II. Love = Something to Lose (this time, it's personal)

So, when I last left you, I had broached the subject of what happens when a hero's love interest is killed (this also often applies to family members and close bromances friends). The answer, of course, is revenge. Lots of it.

You see, sometimes people just want to tell a story about a guy who goes around killing everyone and everything that gets in his way. The thing is, though, most people don't really want to make their protagonists completely unrepentant killing machines with no values or moral code and no reason for their ongoing genocides other than boredom. Even Dexter "Bay Harbor Butcher" Morgan has a code, and he's one of the most accomplished fictional serial killers the world has ever seen. Actually, I think the only non-video-game example I've ever seen of the unrepentant-psycho-murderer-protagonist is Wesley Gibson, from the graphic novel Wanted (subtitle: And You Thought The Movie Was a Piece of Shit). Another writer might have gone with the dark, twisted, "holy shit, this guy is a monster, but a strangely fascinating one" route - but not Mark Millar. Oh, no. He went with "I used to be a pussy like you but now I'm awesome and can rape and/or murder anyone I want and I'm badass and rich and don't you wish you could be like me." No, actually, I really don't. You're an immature asshole with the mindset of a twelve-year-old school shooter. Also, while I'm on the subject: go fuck yourself, Mark Millar. People like you are the reason that so much of the public thinks all comic books are trash.

God, I hate Wanted.

Anyway, back on track. Given that unflinchingly genocidal protagonists are damn near impossible to write well, many writers turn to the tried and true formula of Murdered Loved One: Instant Moral Justification (now with Gravitas!). Sometimes this occurs late in the story, as the final act that pushes the hero over the edge, while many other movies and the like use it as the basic premise: man's girlfriend/wife/daughter gets dead, man goes on rampage, man finds and kills everyone responsible. But it's not really murder, right? It's justice. Because they totally started it.

In some cases, the death of a loved one at the hands of criminals is handled well, and treated with the proper respect. But let's be honest: most people don't go to vigilante revenge movies to see interesting characters and thoughtful writing. People see them for the violence. Thus, in most cases, whatever "love" appears in such stories is a cardboard cutout, something that exists only to be taken away. The most blatant case I've seen recently is the Gerard Butler/Jamie Foxx movie Law Abiding Citizen. While most revenge movies take a good ten to fifteen minutes to give you a passing look at the characters before their horrible deaths, Law Abiding Citizen puts the murder and rape in the very first scene. It pretty much just slaps you upside the head and says, "FAMILY DEAD. YOU SHOULD CARE." Of course, then the movie turns into a psychotic and convoluted polemic against the American criminal justice system, so it clearly doesn't expect you to care about his family for much longer. And that's a good thing, because I didn't.

Jodie Foster's The Brave One, on the other hand, is an interesting piece of work. It's not a perfect movie by any stretch of the imagination, and it hits many of the same points as your standard vigilante justice movie, but the whole thing takes on a remarkably different tone because the protagonist is female - and not your Angelina-Jolie-type badass, but a relatively normal, everyday woman. She's horrified by what she sees herself becoming, and her vigilantism is just as much a result of her desire to regain control of her life as it is a quest for revenge. When it comes down to it, there's not much actual footage of Jodie's relationship, because the focus of the movie is the result of the attack which leaves her in a coma and her lover dead - and yet, the emotion seems much stronger and much more real than it would in another movie of a similar type, in large part because she's an actual actress and not just an action star. You realize quite quickly that it's a very different sort of vigilante movie, even as you recognize the familiar hallmarks of the genre.

Aaaaand that's all for the moment. If you're wondering why this installment didn't talk a whole lot about love, it's because the source material doesn't either. Which is kinda my point. Funny how these things work.

Part III looms on the horizon, after a couple movie reviews.

On Relationships (of the Fictional Variety), Part I

Speaking as someone who has gone through a string of girlfriends and become something of a family joke in the process (at least in the Washington-based circle of my relatives), I believe I can say with a certain degree of certainty that relationships can be extremely tricky things to navigate in real life. On one memorable occasion, I was dragged into a protracted argument with a particular girlfriend when I suggested that House and Wilson were totally gay for each other. It's amazing how something as harmless (and completely true) as that can cause heated tempers and fireworks of a nearly domestically violent variety. More than amazing, actually: it's completely fucking irrational.

But that's the whole point - love (not to mention lust, and everything related to the two) is something which operates outside the realm of rationality. It's full of ups and downs - some bigger than others - and often cannot be relied upon to conform to whatever rules or conventions you decide to impose upon it. If you're a biblical sort of person, you'll know that "love is patient, love is kind," but if you listen to Chris Rock, you should also know that "if you've never seriously considered murder, you ain't never been in love."

I. Love = Achievement Unlocked (way to level up, bro)

Love is a difficult and complex thing; even in the best of times, it's hard to understand in real life - which makes it damn near impossible to write (well) in fiction, especially of the serial variety. Movies can often neatly sidestep the issue by waiting until the ending to have people get together, and leaving the rest to your imagination. The same goes for operas and novels and such: like movies, they have a limited amount of time and/or space to tell their story, and the easiest way to treat love is as something to be achieved. Love is a prize, and the hero/ine has to overcome whatever obstacles are necessary to gain that love - whether those obstacles come in the form of societal pressure, emotional problems, or (most likely, considering my tastes in entertainment) zombies/men with guns/zombies with guns/snakes on a muthafuckin' plane/orcs. This tends to lead to a "happily ever after" mindset, where we're just expected to accept that since these people have just saved the world and they're kissing now, everything is going to be warm-fuzzy and shiny forever. Sequels will sometimes play with this trope, having a couple that was together at the end of the first movie be estranged by the beginning of the second (e.g. Ghostbusters 2. Yes, I know it's a shit movie, but it's the first one I could think of). This recognizes the whole "love isn't easy" thing, but it still sidesteps the issue of having to portray two people in a relationship - and thus, I call bullshit.

Of course, a certain British spy with a certain license to perform lethal acts of grievous bodily harm has a new love interest each movie, and never makes any mention of what became of the set of breasts woman from the preceding film. Strangely enough, I find this more acceptable (in a narrative sense) than the alternative, because it's a well-established character trait that he will have sex with just about anything that moves. Also, women are little more than objects to him, and he gets a new set of gadgets every movie - so having equally disposable women actually makes sense, in an unrealistic, misogynistic, how-do-you-not-have-sixty-different-varieties-of-syphilis kinda way. The whole idea of love as achievement makes relationships into a commodity anyway - things to be won, like plush toys at a carnival - but at least the Bond movies are open about it. It sure as hell isn't love, but it never really claims to be. There are a couple notable exceptions (cough Vesper Lynd cough), but they both die before their respective movies are finished, putting them in a different category of fictional relationships altogether.

And that brings me to the next segment, which you'll have to wait for. It's taken me too long to get this far anyway.

I like it... when it makes any sense.

Okay, I know I'm not the first person in the world to snark about this. But listen up, people: if you're trying to raise awareness of something, it kinda helps when people know what the hell you're talking about.

Yes, I'm talking about the new Facebook status meme, in which various people of the female persuasion flirtatiously state their preference on where to place their purse, e.g., "I like it on the floor" or "I like it with a ball gag" "I like it on the table." And somehow, this is supposed to make us big dumb men realize that breast cancer exists.

Well, you know what? We already know. In fact, anyone - regardless of gender - who hasn't been affected by it in some way (whether personally or through friends/family) has probably been living with wolves for the past twenty years, and wouldn't have a Facebook in the first place. I have this mental image of a man dressed in sack-cloth, with matted hair and wild eyes, suddenly returning to civilization and seeing one of these Facebook statuses for the first time. His first reaction isn't "What the hell is a face-book" or even "What the hell is a computer," but rather, "My GOD! How have I been unaware of breast cancer all these years? Quick, Robin--" [and here he's actually talking to a bird] "--to the Crazy-mobile!" And then he jumps out a window and runs away, and everyone is glad he's gone because he hadn't showered in years and he smelled like raccoon urine. Also, he may or may not have had rabies.

My point is, the purse thing doesn't work. It's absolutely pointless and doesn't accomplish anything, because everyone already knows that breast cancer is a huge fucking problem. Instead, maybe you could make your status about a loved one you lost - or, better yet, a loved one who survived breast cancer, thanks to the medical advancements that have been made in recent years. Or, if you want to be suggestive, be suggestive - but don't pretend that it's going to help the cause.

As for me... I just miss the days when innuendo was treasured on its own merits.

Hey, kids, it's the Eliot Spitzer Show!

First blog entries, as a rule, are terrible. They have this tendency to try too hard to be welcoming to their readers and explain what's going on, and then backtrack into self-deprecating "yeah but it's not like anyone will read this anyway" territory. (Spoiler alert: it's true.) The other possibility is that they won't actually acknowledge that no one is going to read their blog on a regular basis, instead choosing to live in a magical fantasy world where anyone gives a damn about their opinions.

Thankfully, CNN has been kind enough to give me fuel for my mockery engines, meaning that I have something to talk about other than "Oh hey... first post, y'all." They really couldn't have timed this more perfectly. All I can say is, someone at CNN is looking out for me - and by "is looking out for me" I really just mean "is a complete moron". But really, it all works out the same in the end.

The tagline for their newest political analysis show is "Never settle for one side of the story." The gimmick? One conservative host and one liberal host, discussing and debating issues on the air. The former is Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Kathleen Parker, and the latter is disgraced former New York State Attorney General and Governor and friend to prostitutes everywhere Eliot Spitzer.

Check it out!

...Really, CNN? I know he has a certain amount of notoriety in the political community, but it's NOT THE GOOD KIND. This is someone who spent $80K on prostitutes over a ten year period, and you're placing him on TV next to a Pulitzer winner. He's just a headset and a bitten tongue away from being the Sham-Wow guy, for God's sake.

But you know, maybe this will start a trend. Look for MSNBC's hot new show next month, which pits Rachel Maddow against Gov. Mark Sanford. Hell, I'd watch it.