stevengharms

We saw “Hellboy 2: The Golden Army” last weekend. I disliked it. It is for movies such as this that the 2.5 star rating was invented. There were some good ideas, in spots, but never that unified, compelling vision thing ( apologies Poppy Bush ) just never really materialized ( like Jr. Bush ).

So here’s the gig. Humans are greedy and destroy the earth’s natural sylvan beauty. Elves and goblins, understandably tired of this, put together an unstoppable army that numbers, in the Lovecraft ordinal series, “seventy by seventy” unstoppable soldiers. After these clockwork and aurium terminators lay waste to such a degree that the beloved elven woods are actually damaged by the excess of blood, the Good King, his Moody Son, and his Good Daughter ( the twin of Moody Son ) decide to split up the crown which entitles the wearer to command the horde and put the army into a slumber.

Moody Son is not too happy about this but Good Sister agrees with Wise Father-King and thus began a truce lasting unto the present day.

Guess which unspeakable crime Moody Son must inflict? Guess who he must hunt to get that elusive missing piece? The movie telegraphs its arc in the first 8 minutes. But they don’t call hero stories archætypal for no reason, so I don’t bear this as a mark against the film.

The movie’s art direction is excellent.

The entire backstory I recounted above is told in a “reading of a story come alive” with a stripped–down animation that looks like ornate chess pieces acting out this tableaux from the forgotten pre-pagan yesteryear. It was a great start. It was a compelling, and eerily child–like setting of the story’s parameters.

Now, in time I believe that director Guillermo del Toro’s notebooks will be revered like so many sticky-pages of “Heavy Metal” magazine. His eye for creatures presents a large section action set in “The Troll Market”, a cross between the Mos Eisley cantina and Diagon Alley.

Stunning art direction is also seen in the unbelievable “Angel of Death” who recalls some of the more disturbing elements of “Pan’s Labyrinth”:

Finally I loved the soldiers of the Golden Army as steampunk Terminators. The meticulous attention to the gearwork appearance worthy of Gabriel “Sylar” Grey was something not required but which really showed that del Toro loves the material and great art design.

On these levels, the movie is a stunning success and I would love to see a fan edit that turns this into 5 minutes of a deliciously beautiful visual nightmare.

Ron Perlman also deserves some kudos for playing the working class Apocolypse-bringer Big Red himself in a realistic way.

But here’s the counterpoint, and I think I could do no better to quote Dustin Rowles at Pajiba

Guillermo del Toro throws a ton of eye candy at you, and it’s difficult to digest the true mediocrity of a film when the director keeps plinking you in the forehead with shiny pennies. But more than that, del Toro makes the shiniest pennies in Hollywood—golden pennies that reflect sunlight like a funhouse mirror in Alice’s Wonderland.

Well said, the visuals aside, the story, quite honestly, is entirely lame…and I liked the first one!

First, important questions are brought up, and never answered. Red and Liz’s relationship is explored and some fairly significant issues ( at least to the mind of anyone who’s been in a real grown-up relationship ) surfaced that require some delicate and sensitive discussion or couples therapy.

Some things like “Why am I the only one who cleans up the dishes” cannot be replaced by “whew, we narrowly avoided death there, I love you!”

Further, mentors give advice that is supposed to come in as important at a tell-tale moment, when the character chooses to evolve, you know, “use the force” style, to stop being so immature and be a better man / woman / demon–but. Those moments never surface. Instead we have these sagacious chestnuts that never get converted into kinetic utility.

The dialog is also jarringly inconsistent. Seth MacFarlane (over-)plays a Stewie goes to Salzburg voice as ectoplasmic doctor Krauss. Krauss is a by-the-numbers paranormal investigator who inspires a major intellectual man-er,fish-crush in æsthete and polymapth Abe Sapien. Krauss has great learning, great technology, and a rigid adherence to “Just Following Orders”.

Now why, in Anung An-Rama’s good name would such a character ever have conceivable reason to utter: “Suck my ectoplasmic schwanstuker”. Verily, the studio was assured this would get those 12-year-olds in the aisle rolling. For the 30+ set it merely set the eyes a’so.

My biggest complaint is a lack of connection to the Hellboy mythos. I love the Hellboy mythos. Black cult Nazi’s are manipulated by dæmonic elements into opening the gateway to Hell. They think they’ll get demons to defeat the Allies, but the demons plan no such thing, but rather to let their reign on Earth begin. The Nazi’s black ritual is interrupted and the plan is thwarted. By accident a single demon does come through, but it turns out it’s a young, naive, demon who incidentally happens to be the one who’s supposed to open Hell’s gate. Thwarting his destiny is the fact that he’s raised by loving and kind humans and thus is set up all sort of angst around Destiny, Duty, Fate, and to what degree a man can beat his fate ( probably explains my like of God of War, as well ).

Is that not some compelling mythos or what?

I can parallel this to the “X-Files” back in the day. You’d tune in for the show, but the ones that were like crack were the ones that advanced the mythos that covered the Scully abduction or featured The Smoking Man ( there was even a song about it ).

In “Golden Army” we get only but brief reminders that this red-chested Hudson Hawk is something of a Biblical–scale bad–ass but only once or twice ( Abe sees his flaming crown through special glasses, the Angel of Death calls him by his demon name, and Good Princes asserts his royal blood by naming him as a demon and heir to the Fallen One). These unique elements of his background never played into his motivation or into how he handled situations ( except for the Right Hand of Doom occasionally illustrating its superior ability as a bludgeon ). It was like watching an entire X-Files season and not seeing Mulder…who would want to watch that?

Lastly there’s a really irritating battle between the forces of myth here. So much of the movie hinges on just how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. Hellboy, a demon, with an indestructible stone hand is beating a Middle Earth-worthy troll. In some ways it makes me think about debating who would win in a fight Terminator or Neo. Or would the Easter Bunny beat Santa Claus’ ass if he knew ninjitsu. It makes the audience’s appreciation and ability to scale threats accordingly difficult and, as a result, a lot of dramatic tension goes down the crapper.

Two-point-five stars.

Here’s something from the embarrassed and ashamed section of my Netflix queue.

We’re watching the “Degrassi High” series and there’s nothing like hearing the endless litany of “Suurries” and seeing Amanda “Spike” Stepto’s beautiful haircut.

What can I say about “Degrassi”?

For some of us growing up in Jesusland there were a lot of questions that didn’t get answered questions that, well, concern hormones, and girls, and, uhm, Kotex. To be fair, it’s not because my parents were prudish, religious, or too–embarrassed to talk, but there are some things you just want to not to have to ask about.

“Degrassi” provided that outlet, or input.

In the first episode we deal with the topics of:

• Abortion
• Pregnancy Test
• Teen pregnancy
• Periods

In other episodes we cover:

• Handicap accessibility
• Breaking up
• “Just Being Friends”
• Abusive friends
• The utter baloney of content in girl magazines

in a realistic, sensible, neutral way. The dialog, while delivered through a lens woodenly, is legitimate dialogue through the issues: Pro is given, con is given, traditional is given, moderate is given, and the characters make a decision that, while you may disagree with it, is understandable.

Instead of the topics being over–emotionally they’re dealt with in a polite and, well, Canadian manner ( “please, thank–you, and sourrey”)—even the girlfriend-batterer say “could I please speak with you” before the beating commences.

Footnote:

1. This is a pale, weak version, in text, to capture the Canadian accent’s infamous “sorry”.

Friend mike sent in this winner as “Worst Fight Scene Ever”.=

The one that really sticks out in my mind is, why does the bad guy ( we can tell, he’s the one with the mullet ) lick the knife before engaging our hero ( are those Z Cavaricci’s? ) in morta combat?

Is this to inspire the fear of staph infection in his opponent?

While I lauded “Control” in the previous post, we also caught “Get Smart” and “Baghead”.

June, in the run up to the 4th of July hot zone of movies, seems to go through a doldrums just as the air truly begins to stultify. Left few other choices, we saw “Get Smart”. It wasn’t especially bad, but it wasn’t especially good either. I had the same feeling I had when I caught “Evan, Almighty”.

I wanted Steve Carrell to do well, and I wanted it to be funny, it just, well, failed to deliver. Not even the cute Anne Hathaway in ( I am told ) Chanel could really keep me interested. Steve, my man, get you back to Apatow lest you be relegated to Shamalyan-dom.

In what shall serve as a wooden circus-tent stake through the heart of Indydom, the Duplass Brothers’ latest film “Baghead” was also seen, and was deemed to be just about the same as “Get Smart” ( take that, indie film hipster scum ).

It was one of those movies shot on the cheap that professes to be a send up of LA types by being an indie movie about LA types. At the end we’re supposed to feel smug and Sundance-y, but instead I thought it was needlessly self-obsessed, self-referential, and self-reverential. This proves yet once more that if you stick around long enough, you too will be the enemy you once raged against.

Here’s the plot. 4 people in LA leave self-congratulatory indie film festival and decide to make their own movie—for real, no fooling around. They go up to a cabin with a ton of booze ( always a great start for serrrious work ) and plenty of latent sexual tension. In the midst of writing a story about a murderous “man with a bag on his head” they are beset by, uhm, a murderous man with a bag on his head. Thanks to the IndyScope jostleCam and badMakeUpVision, we get motion sick as the adventure(?) plays exhaustingly out. At the end, guess what, LA people are rubes obsessed with their own promotion and will do anything to break out of the rank of anonymous extra-dom. I restrain myself from sighing.

Not biting satire, not particularly insightful, just kinda, boring, really. I’d rather watch other peoples’ vacation slides.

“Hancock” is Will Smith’s summer vehicle:

The notable attributes of Hancock are that he is:

• Homeless
• Surly
• Prone to intoxication

I thought this was a bit of a predictable gag, the Juno-fication of the myth of the superhero. Instead of doing the right thing ( or, freaking the-hell-out when teenage daughter is pregnant ), witticisms will abound and the surly pregnant-teen ( or, superhero ) will grow on you. The Jason Bateman factor seemed all but to ensure this.

But the other day I listened to the “In Our Time (Radio 4)” podcast with Melvyn Bragg on Kierkergaard and was reminded of the sheer terror and weight underlying the “Fear and Trembling” thesis and I thought: “How would you respond to the proposition if you were a superhero, that is, if you were objectively better than everyone else?

Coloring this thought is the masterful “Superman Scene” from the noir “Kill Bill II”.

As you know, I’m quite keen on comic books. Especially the ones about superheroes. I find the whole mythology surrounding superheroes fascinating.

Take my favorite superhero, Superman. Not a great comic book. Not particularly well-drawn. But the mythology… The mythology is not only great, it’s unique.

Now, a staple of the superhero mythology is, there’s the superhero and there’s the alter ego. Batman is actually Bruce Wayne, Spider-Man is actually Peter Parker. When that character wakes up in the morning, he’s Peter Parker. He has to put on a costume to become Spider-Man. And it is in that characteristic Superman stands alone.

Superman didn’t become Superman. Superman was born Superman. When Superman wakes up in the morning, he’s Superman. His alter ego is Clark Kent. His outfit with the big red “S” - that’s the blanket he was wrapped in as a baby when the Kents found him. Those are his clothes. What Kent wears - the glasses, the business suit - that’s the costume. That’s the costume Superman wears to blend in with us.

Clark Kent is how Superman views us. And what are the characteristics of Clark Kent? He’s weak… He’s unsure of himself… He’s a coward.

Clark Kent is Superman’s critique on the whole human race.

If you were objectively stronger, faster, smarter, and in Hancock’s case, “Fresher” than the entire population of this pathetic planet of small-minded monkeys, how could you act with anything but contempt?

What is the ape to man? A laughingstock or a painful embarrassment. And man shall be just that for the overman: a laughingstock or a painful embarrassment. You have made your way from worm to man, and much in you is still worm. Once you were apes, and even now, too, man is more ape than any ape. —Friederich Nietzche ( Kaufmann Transl. )

Just as Robinson Crusoe style adventurers come to accept the presence of the lesser creatures ( a helper-monkey, a parrot, etc. ), so the solitary superhero must accept the piddling company of sub-species companions against the deafening loneliness of being the last / the only / etc.

Wilson, a sub-species of companion

I should suppose the only rational emotions would be contempt for them and yourself, and as an emollient for the latter only copious amounts of booze would suffice.

I hope that this idea is explored in the movie.

If ever I get to cast a “History of New Wave” music, I already have Michael Score to be portrayed by Macauly Culkin, but who to play Colin Moulding of XTC?

Answer: Jon Heder

Lauren and I took to calling that “eye klav-divs” towards the end of the series ( 13 episodes ). It’s an excellent mini-series, truly showing the capability of television to deliver high art, quality acting, and subtle direction to the masses.

Let all the poisons that lurk in the mud hatch out!

Instead of the sublime, we now choose to stew in the mud.

If you have the chance and want to be boggled at the astounding amount of treachery that members of the same family can visit upon one another, “I, Claudius” is a great tale. I loved Jacobi’s Claudius, he captures a vulnerability and fear through the first 10 episodes that inspire so much pathos and tenderness that you have to root for him all the way through — even when the necessities of his office drive him onto a path of corruption and bloodshed.

I also liked the amazing or impressionistic way the sets were designed. Being a mid-70’s BBC drama, the budget was assuredly tight, but with just a few paper-mâché effects of pillars we had no problem accepting “Ah, this is a palace” or “this is a desolate island cottage”.

Siân Phillips receives eternal praise as the scheming, murderous, materfamilias, Livia. Episodes without her lacked a certain punch and I can definitely see why De Laurentiis and Lynch cast her as the Reverend Mother Mohaim in “Dune”.

Listen here, Claud, er, Paul, I’ve got a little box for you…

It’s definitely worth a viewing if you have, uh, 13 hours for it.

This will be spoiler-laden, so if you want to keep the mystery, move on.

(more…)

Yes, that title is from a Radiohead song, which is meant to say that I saw their brilliant performance last week at the (mouthful) Cynthia Mitchell Woods Pavilion in Houston. I should write at length on the matter, but really, what is there to say about the act? You can find the setlist at ateaseweb.

1. They were punctual
2. They played two encores, which, is light of point #1, supra seems a bit indulgent
3. They were professional
4. They are English
5. They did not engage in mindless banter (“Hello HOUSTON, we’re Radiohead from the UK!”)
6. They did have a very well put together light show.
7. They are, in my estimation, likely to be the band, who like the Beatles, retains an interest in the hearts of the next generation

Come to think of it, those last two points are worth discussing.

The light show was terrific with a wide screen divided into 5 sections. In each section was a camera filming a band member or an activity. During certain songs, other light effects were overlain on the screen. They reminded me of some of the more experimental drawn-on-film animation that emerged in the early 20th century as part of the futurist or modernsist movements. Around and before the band hung tubing that contained lights that would vibrate with light in tune with the music.

SMercury98 on Flickr

The most powerful moment is when Thom sat at the piano and mugged it up, lazy-eyed and proud of it, while performing “You and What Army”: “Come on, Come on / Holy Roman empire”

inourhands on Flickr

About the time I discovered that my parents’ generation had some stunning achievements in Music, I realized that thanks to the technology and fidelity of music technology of their day, and all days subsequent, music is now able to last, effectively forever. unlike acetone or wax recordings that degrade exponentially, the LP and the CD and now the MP3 are all, effectively indelible. Therefore generations of the future will be able to evaluate the musical tastes of the preceding generations in a way that has never before been seen.

I ask myself, what is the music that they will like of my generation. I can say that I think few songs are as sweet as the Allmans’ “Melissa” and there is the de rigeur appreciation of the Beatles and the Stones. So the question again returns, what if mine is worth paying attention to. I had always suspected that it was Nirvana that would make it across the inter-generational void, but now I don’t think so. I think that Nirvana will remain perpetually stuck in a formaldehyde bath ( I’m looking at you 101X ), and, to be fair, it just doesn’t seem as relevant now. In the sense that every band today owes their life to Nirvana, yes they seem relevant, but whose mood, whose words, whose lyrics are timeless?

In the years since I heard “The Bends” and “OK, Computer” their messages have grown more potent. I think, now, Radiohead will be the ones that transcend. I remember one day walking down a street in Holland and I checked out the newsstand and saw that some British music press mag asserted in their list of the top 50 British albums ever that Radiohead’s “OK, Computer” was atop the White Album, “The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars”, T. Rex’s “The Slider” and I thought it was pure anathema. Well, I’m still not sure if it’s #1, but it’s definitely in the top 5. I hope that some day I’ll be able to say…

Me: “Wow, huh, that was from Radiohead’s “In Ranbows” right? Funny thing, that was a record they released on the internet first.”
Disbelieving Kids: First compared to what?
Me: Uh, nevermind. Yeah, we went and saw them live.
Disbelieving Kids: You (you tragic old dinosaur) saw Radiohead…live?

“Pamela will be an artistically rich and visually stunning series,” executive producer Randy Barbato said in a statement. “The series will offer an unprecedented look inside the life of one of today’s most iconic superstars in the style of a uniquely shot documentary film.”

While the series, as announced, promises to let viewers meet “the real woman behind the famous breasts,” it will draw a big line, and will not feature her and ex-husband Tommy Lee’s two children.