Middlebrow historical tripe. Good acting, with the exception of Wes Bentley, and a scattering of good scenes; but in general this is Hollywood Oscar-wannabe pap frontin’ on Merchant-Ivory and/or David Lean. I suspect the source material is pretty feeble to begin with (and dated? written in 1902), but it also feels like Kapur turned in a four hour opus and Harvey & Bob slashed it down to two. A lot more time needed to be spent explaining certain parts – not that the plot was unclear, more that the Heath Ledger character’s motivation was very unclear, to put it mildly. To put it properly, his character was an idiot. Disgraced because you don’t want to go to war? Why not go down to the battlefield and ass around like a total nitwit and do things that, by virtue of their stupidity, are waaay more dangerous than war itself? Moreover, if you want to get all revisionist, pick a better story. And steer away from the cliches of historical epicity. Kapur may have had some interesting points about colonialism, but they are buried beneath the Oscar-moment speechifying and the cursory soldierly fellowship and the tedious slow-motion emo-photography.
Anger Management spokesman Wolf Hardeyk has a brand new video available on his site.
That’s what I’m talkin’ aboot: Don Coscarelli directs Bruce Campbell as old man Elvis. Plot: Elvis didn’t die, he got sick of his life and traded places with an Elvis impersonator – who then crapped out on the toilet, while the real Elvis lived on, eventually breaking a hip on stage and landing himself in a nursing home. When an ancient mummy begins sucking the souls of the old folks, Elvis teams up with fellow retiree John F. Kennedy (Ozzie Davis) and has a chance to become the hero he’d always meant to be.
This is a great film, no question. Campbell makes a bang-up Elvis, Davis a top-class JFK, and as a crime-fighting team, they’re unsurpassed. Who’s kidding who, you can’t beat Elvis and his walker matched with black JFK in a wheelchair. As good as those cats are, the tone of the film is what sets it apart – the script is inventive and routinely hilarious, yet filled with genuine emotion, and gracefully renders the concerns of aging, life ambition, and self-respect. It stops short of getting into the titular mummy’s head – the ancient undead villian to our old dying heroes – but there’s some fanciful speculation about what you shit out if all you eat is souls, and hey, that’s good enough for me.
So, to sum up, if this flick finds a distributor, go see it, babe. Here’s the official site, and the good ol’ IMDb page. Here’s Joe R. Lansdale’s homepage – he wrote the short story on which Coscarelli based the film, and as an added bonus it looks like he teaches martial arts.
It’s a cliché that music video directors can’t carry a story for more than five minutes, and Jonas Akerlund proves it true, unfortunately. Spun feels like the same ten minute film played nine times over. The plot goes something like this: white trash shitbags take crystal meth; cue Cra-Z visual technique and wacky druggie antics, play it for broad comedy; then, two-minute Billy Corgan song over wistful montage, a repeatedly failed attempt to generate sympathy for the poor little meth heads, since the script itself was unable to, and frankly, never even tries.
There are a few nice things, of course. Mickey Rourke does a great job as a trashed-out cowboy drug scientist, and there are a number of funny parts. But the techniques – although flashy as all get out and nice to look at – get stale the third time they are reused (hey, if we want to make these cats look really high, let’s do a quick psychedelic animation scene, that always looks crazy! Hey, let’s do that again! And again! And again!)
The event itself was a blast. The line wrapped around the block: we went to the Uptown proper and then walked for ten minutes to find the end of the line. The T-dot film geeks were out in full force, Colin did a nice intro and then hauled Ackerlund and his cast out to say a quick word. A great event, a shit film.
The Toronto International Film Festival‘s about to kick into high gear, and lucky D’s sitting on a stack of tix. First off we’ll hit up Spun, then on saturday it’s Elvis and JFK vs. the mummy. Sunday rears its ugly head, and with it comes The Four Feathers, “helmed” by Elizabeth director Shekhar Kapur. Monday’s a double-bill: Cronenberg’s Spider, then The Eye, by the beautifully named Danny and Oxide Pang. At that point, unless I get comped again, I sit out until friday’s Volcano High, a South Korean teen kung-fu picture I’m quite excited about (and it’s probably more exciting to call it Whasango!) So, that being that, I’ll write about films extensively over the next week, at the expense of everything else. But isn’t that really what it’s all about, here, now?
Finally, those unelected bastards do something right. Go Canada!
UPDATE: I’ve been thinking about this.One of the report’s recommendations: “introducing legislation to stipulate conditions for obtaining licences for producing and selling cannabis.”
So who would be qualified for this plum job? Will higher-ups in the grass industry be presenting their resumes: 1974-present: self-employed weed distribution agent; oversaw millions in sales to the neighbourhood’s indolent? Does it mean The Weed Store will open up next to The Beer Store? Will the Americans invade, Columbia-style?
Aw man… it’s all happening, man!? Those hippies in the Senate have really pulled one over, man!!
My new demonchild computer came in. I’m tricking it out as we speak. As I speak, rather. Or, rather, as I blah blah blah… and now back to the out-tricking.
Let me geek out for a sec: I’ve reinserted the correct doctypes and appear to have a display problem on at least some browsers (IE6/Win2000, but not on Mozilla 1.0/Mac). Basically, the “main” div that holds all the entries is showing up south of the right-hand column. Get back up there, bastard! Of course, I’m a long, long way from XHTML validation, but I think TrackBack may be causing a problem somewhere in there. If anyone has any ideas about what’s wrong, let me know.
There was the shift party (thanks, marijke!), then Georgian Bay (thanks, Ms. L & LES!). Noted, for whatever reason:
- Webloggers sure like to talk about their traffic. Shut up, all of us! We’re boring.
- Bedewed guitars. The rim gleams when struck by a flashlight’s beam, whereas starlight leaves it alone.
- If there’s wind enough, it blows on the mouths of beer bottles like a phantom rummy.
Oh wow. The hockey pundits. There’s never enough hockey talk on sportsfilter, after all. (via adampsyche)
I’m sorry to hear that stavrosthewonderchicken is leaving his bottle. But I’m happy to hear he plans to do something better with his time, as that would be better than great.
I’d also like to welcome the mysterious ÿ to the sankey.ca rodeo. Youdamannow, cowperson.
Portugal 1, Nickelback 0. (via kwota.net)
Finally, it’s here: the wine of choice for the downwardly mobile.
*And, yes, by titling this entry thusly I hope to cement my absolute dominance of google’s search results for shitbag. (But also, let me say: if you discovered this site by googling for “shitbag”, let me know. I’ll come over to your house, kiss you, and then make sweet love to you until the morning sun comes bombing through the window like a drunken fighter pilot.)
Are there any rude numbers? I think 9 should be considered a swear. Mr. P. and I were toying with this: “fucking 9, man!” It sounds great. Even just yelling “niiiiine” as loud as you can is pretty fun. — Then again, yelling anything as loud as you can is pretty fun, isn’t it? It’s like being a baby again.
I stumbled across the transcript of G. W. Bush’s June address to West Point grads, and noted this passage:
Enemies in the past needed great armies and great industrial capabilities to endanger the American people and our nation. The attacks of September the 11th required a few hundred thousand dollars in the hands of a few dozen evil and deluded men. All of the chaos and suffering they caused came at much less than the cost of a single tank.
Is war, like publishing, music, film and television, being ‘democratized’? This is the term we use when the tools of an industry become suddenly accessible. Steve Jobs: “Final Cut Pro has democratized professional video editing by bringing the capabilities of a $50,000 editing bay to everyone for under $1,000.” (Apple to win daytime emmy) Sept. 11, however, was not predicated on technological change but rather a mental change amongst the ass-bastard rat-fuck terrorists who decided to target the US at home rather than abroad. That, and their techniques were unprecedented. Although terrorism itself has always been cheap (and therefore ‘democratized’), and people can generally stab, shoot, burn, or bomb whomever they want if they don’t concern themselves with the consequences , this particular effort was above and beyond your average terrorist attack, I think we can agree. Not that it was war, but still.
The point, then: can industries be democratized through profound mental shift, and nothing more?
Consider that enterprising entities could alter, say, a ladybug’s markings via shadowy genetic manipulation. How long until Coke® brand doves are seen on city streets? Gatorade brand cheetahs seen racing through traffic? How long until Pepsi-sponsored guerilla geneticists unleash Coke brand raccoons and shithawks? How long until the infringing vermin are put down for being living, breathing trademark violations? How long, I asks ya?
Poor Kitten Natividad. Talk about your typecasting: some of her films include Tittilation, Tittilation 3, Big Busty 3, Bodacious Ta-Tas, Famous Ta-Tas, Best of Big Busty, Thanks for the Mammaries, Ten Years of Big Busts 2, Big Boob Lottery, Wild Wild Chest 3, The Double-D Avenger, and Fresh Tits of Bel-Air. Ladies – think of her before you get that boob job. Those things hang on her like – well, like a couple of severely overweight albatrosses.
Great thread on MeFi about the RIAA’s perpetual battle with digital music distribution. Dig it. (Boy, that guy “D” sure seems like he knows his shizznit.)
Cra-Z videos from Vice mag. King‘s right, the Orson Welles rushes are motherfucking un-fucking believable. (sorry, too much Wolf lately)
Summary of the last 5 years of climate research in Canada = bad, bad news. Water shortages in summer = a) higher risk of contaminants, b) reduced hydroelectric output; meanwhile higher temperatures = increased AC use = increased power consumption. Reduced output + increased consumption = brownouts. Throw imminent hydro privatization into the mix and hmmm… California party in Ontario, Enron-style! (here‘s the actual Environment Canada document)
Take 30 minutes, and get a concise, emotional summary of the threat copyright poses to free culture in the information age, courtesy Lawrence Lessig’s presentation from OSCON. (via a.wholelotta)
World’s Greatest Music Video? (QT file)
that to study philosophy is to learn to die. Read at own peril.
I’m trying to figure out how to celebrate this particular holiday. Should I take out my bank card and kiss it? Burn all my bank statements? Go to the ATM and withdraw, deposit, withdraw, deposit? Surely there was something worthy of celebration that didn’t yet have its own day. I’m thinking Michael Moriarty Day, Clean Genitals Day, hell, This Shit is Heavy Day. Or, National Day of Hot Pantsing.
This site is so unbelievably well-made it turns Egyptology into a fucking nonstop high-octane thrill ride. Wow. Made by Second Story, who must be the elder gods of web design. (via MeFi)