The Shopocalypse

I've always wondered what Jesus would buy if he ever went shopping on Black Friday:

What Would Jesus Buy?

When Tyler Durden met his fate at the end of Fight Club's loaded gun back in 1999, I never thought anyone would have the audacity to resurrect him. Wrong. As it turns out, Tyler's anti-consumerism message has once again returned to the celluloid world in the form of an evangelical preacher named Reverend Billy, who is determined to convince America to stop shopping in the latest documentary produced by Morgan Spurlock, What Would Jesus Buy?.

CHANGEOVER.
THE MOVIE GOES ON.

NO ONE HAS ANY IDEA.

In 2004, director Rob Vanalkemade and his camera crew started following Reverend Billy and his Church of Stop Shopping across the country on their mission to save Christmas from the "Shopocalypse." Joining Billy on his 6 week tour from New York to Los Angeles in a couple of bio-diesel buses is his gospel choir, the Not Buying It Band, helping him warn the American people about the evils of their prodigal shopping ways.

ADVERTISING HAS US WORKING JOBS WE HATE SO WE CAN BUY SHIT WE DON'T NEED.

Who is Reverend Billy? The good Reverend (AKA Bill Turen), was just another New Yorker disgusted at how the retail industry had turned his neighborhood into a mall. But, instead of sitting idly by and watching the "Disneyfication" of New York City, Billy decided to take matters into his own hands by dying his hair blonde, finding a clergy collar to match his catering jacket, and preaching to the masses. What's his mission? To save us from the false idols and ridiculous consumerism ideals we've mistaken for the Christmas spirit.

WE ARE CONSUMERS.

WE ARE BY-PRODUCTS OF A LIFESTYLE OBSESSION.

MURDER, CRIME, POVERTY, THESE THINGS DON'T CONCERN US.

WHAT CONCERNS US ARE CELEBRITY MAGAZINES, TELEVISION WITH 500 CHANNELS, AND SOME GUY'S NAME ON OUR UNDERWEAR.

Reverend Billy's message is one we've all heard before. It's just a message we choose not to heed, and the retail industry doesn't want us to hear - especially at Christmas time. He just delivers it in a way that's entertaining as well as educational. But, maybe that's what we need. Maybe it's going to take an over-the-top preacher and a gospel choir from the Church of Stop Shopping to make us realize we've been reading the scripture and missing the message.

IF YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT,

YOU END UP WITH A LOT YOU DON'T.

Of course, his message for everyone to stop shopping has irritated a couple of noteable retail chains. In 2003, Reverend Billy became the only reverend to have a court order preventing him from entering any Starbucks in the state of California. Two years later, he was banned from every Disney property in the world. But, then again, that's what happens when you shout "Mickey Mouse is the anti-Christ" in the middle of a Disney store.

WE ARE THE ALL-SINGING, ALL-DANCING CRAP OF THE WORLD.

Obviously, evangelical preaching can be rather disruptive at times, but Vanalkemade doesn't leave Billy's message buried in the comical antics of a soapbox preacher. In between Reverend Billy's assorted spectacles of shopping confessionals, arrests, and car accidents, Vanalkemade addresses the other important issues that play into our skewered sense of ideals. Long before the end of the film, Reverend Billy will make you realize that shopping malls may be the biggest symbol of everything that's gone wrong with Christmas, but they're only part of the problem.

YOU'RE NOT YOUR JOB.
YOU'RE NOT HOW MUCH MONEY YOU HAVE IN THE BANK.
YOU'RE NOT THE CAR YOU DRIVE.
YOU'RE NOT THE CONTENTS OF YOUR WALLET.
YOU'RE NOT YOUR FUCKING KHAKIS.

Why is it that in some countries, it's illegal to advertise to children under the age of 12; yet, in the US, we spend $15 billion marketing to children alone? Stop and think about it. Advertisers' main target demographics are children under the age of 8 who can't tell the difference between advertising and entertainment. Personally, I don't see how merely limiting the number of commercials during children's television programs does anything to effectively curb advertisers. They've just resorted to the same type of product placement schemes they use in regular adult programming.

THAT OLD SAYING, "YOU ALWAYS HURT THE ONE YOU LOVE."
WELL, IT WORKS BOTH WAYS.

Since American children today absorb 40 hours of media exposure and less than 40 minutes engaged in meaningful conversations with their parents every week, it's no mystery as to why we've become a nation of consumers. But, even more disturbing than the lack of communication between parent and child is the message that's actually being sent. If parents keep justifying their outrageous spending behaviors under the pesudo-Christmas philosophy of "I don't care if I go broke. It's for the kids," how can we expect our kids to grow up to be financially responsible adults? We can't. It's almost as bad as that commercial I saw on the Disney channel last week for a new Monopoly board game that has 5 year-old players swiping fake credit cards. How fucked up is that?

WE USED TO SIT IN THE BATHROOM WITH PORNOGRAPHY.
NOW WE SIT IN THE BATHROOM WITH IKEA CATALOGUES.

Reverend Billy's message goes even further than financial responsibility and tackles the globalization of our consumer economy. By exorcising the demons out of Wal-Mart, holding a funeral for small town America, and marching through Disneyland with a bullhorn, Reverend Billy shows us how the driving forces behind consumerism have become an ugly symbol of today's Main Street USA – empty, shuttered, and outsourced. Corporations and advertisers have turned EVERYTHNG into a commodity, even Christ himself.

A HOUSE FULL OF CONDIMENTS AND NO REAL FOOD.
HOW EMBARRASSING.

It shouldn't take a psychologist or an evangelical preacher to tell us that we as a society are addicted to shopping, that buying is NOT acquainted with love, or that happiness is NOT just the next purchase away. So, how do we fight the evils of consumerism? Maybe Reverend Billy is right. Maybe we just need to buy half as much and give twice as much - real gifts like time & love, not the latest gaming system. Corporations stole Christmas from us. Isn't it time we take it back?

THE THINGS YOU USED TO OWN, NOW OWN YOU.

I KNOW THIS BECAUSE TYLER KNOWS THIS.


© Left From Hollywood 12/7/2007

SYNECDOCHE, NEW YORK

Image courtesy of Sony Pictures Classic

No, Charlie Kaufman didn’t misspell the title of his latest film. It’s meant to be a play on the name of the real town in New York. But, then again, this is Charlie Kaufman we’re talking about, which means there’s always a method to his madness. Just don’t count on him to blatantly tell you what it is. Much like Kaufman did in Being John Malkovich and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, he is once again testing the boundaries of logical extremes. But, instead of body hopping or erasing memories, Kaufman is exploring the existential realm of a theater director’s very existence in his new film Synecdoche, New York.

For those of you who haven’t pulled out the dictionary and looked up the meaning of “synecdoche” yet, it’s a figure of speech where a part of something represents the whole. Synecdoche, New York does just that by utilizing the design paradigm of the nested doll principle wherein similar objects lie within similar objects: the name within the name, the scene within the scene, the play within the play, the life within the life. Everything in the film either represents or becomes a part of someone or something else.

In Synecdoche, the life of theater director Caden Cotard (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) is falling apart in the real Schenectady, New York. His wife Adele (Catherine Keener) has taken their daughter Olive and left him to pursue her “miniscule” painting career in Berlin with her friend Maria (Jennifer Jason Lee). His therapist, Dr. Gravis (Hope Davis), is more interested in plugging her own self-help books than actually giving Caden any type of real counseling therapy. On top of all that, a mysterious medical condition is systematically shutting down each of Caden’s autonomic body functions.

So, how does Caden cope with this world that’s crumbling around him? He takes the MacArthur Grant he received for one of his previous plays, rents a warehouse the size of an airplane hangar, erects a mockup of New York City inside it, and starts working on a ridiculously massive theatre piece he calls, “a celebration of the mundane.” Why? Like the rest of us, Caden is an over-achieving underachiever who is afraid that he will die at any moment without ever accomplishing anything important with his life.

At first, Caden tries to make something profound emerge from the collective struggles of ordinary life in his new play by having each actor live out their constructed lives in his city within the city. Over time, Caden’s focus turns more inward and he starts restaging his own life, resulting in the people from his personal life reemerging as doubles within the play. Before long, identities merge, the lines separating fantasy and reality begin to blur, and Caden’s own existence takes a wild detour into the realm of symbolic existentialism. Ultimately, because Caden is so busy creating his imaginary world, he forgets to live in the real one.

Caden is never able to fully connect with any woman currently in his life because he's always lingering on a previous relationship. When Caden is with Hazel (Samantha Morton), he thinks about Adele. When he’s with Claire (Michelle Williams), he thinks about Hazel. When Caden finally realizes he can’t be with Hazel, he turns to Tammy (Emily Watson), Hazel’s understudy. By the time Millicent Weems (Dianne Wiest) makes her way into Caden’s complicated world, you’re not even sure if she (or Caden for that matter) even exist.

Yet, even though you might often find yourself laughing at the irony of Caden’s surreal world, by no means is Synecdoche a feel-good film. Overall, his never-ending cycle of missed opportunities, missed moments, and missed connections is enough to make your heart break and your head spin simultaneously. His journey is as much about death as it is about life. So much of Caden’s sad existence stems from the duplicitous characters in his life within the play that it takes him 17 years before he’s even willing to show his opus to an audience, and that’s only because the cast has to remind him to do it.

Obviously, Synecdoche, New York is a thinking man’s film. Kaufman purposely layered the film with so many inside jokes and non-linear symbolism, that it is impossible to fully absorb all of them in a single viewing. This is one of those movies where you’ll find something new every time you watch it. Because the film can be viewed on a colossal or miniscule scale, a metaphysical labyrinth or an emotional simplicity, even as an epic journey or an introspective view, Synecdoche can be as simple or as complex as each audience member wants to make it.

From a philosophical standpoint, the film covers every basic principle of existentialism. Caden’s story is the classic example of an existential attitude being grounded in “a sense of disorientation and confusion in the face of an apparently meaningless or absurd world.”[1] Whenever Caden attempts to focus on his own concrete existence, the concepts of dread, bad faith, free will, facticity, the Other and the Look, reason, and absurdity each play a part in the world within Caden’s world. Or, more simply put, Caden’s existence literally engulfs the essence of his being.

Yet, as smart as Kaufman’s latest film is, it’s not for everyone. Synecdoche doesn’t have your standard assortment of action sequences underscored by arias. Nor, is it littered with slang-infested dialogue or shameless product placement. So, if you’re looking for that type of mindless entertainment, this isn’t the flick for you. However, if you’re in the mood to flex your brain a little bit, you may want to check out Synecdoche, New York, where everyone is everyone, playing leads in their own stories as they struggle to come into existence before slowly fading out of it. Hopefully, you'll realize before Caden does that no one is watching. They never were.

© Left From Hollywood 11/7/08

[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Existentialism

Choke

Image courtesy of Fox Searchlight Pictures

Believe it or not, studio execs weren’t very receptive to Fight Club when David Fincher brought author Chuck Palahniuk’s first novel to the big screen in October of 1999. Things didn’t get any better when the critics gave it mixed reviews and Fight Club was deemed “controversial.” At that point, 20th Century Fox considered the film a box office failure because it didn’t meet the studio's expectations. They were wrong.

Fight Club‘s smirking revenge didn’t come until June of 2000 when it was released on DVD and became a cult hit. Consequently, the film’s success also launched Palahniuk’s writing career; and, in 2001, Palahniuk sold the film rights to his then unpublished novel Choke. Seven years later, Palahniuk’s second novel is finally ready to make its theatrical debut. Like Fight Club before it, Choke delves into the dark, twisted world of a self-destructive antihero struggling with identity issues.

Obviously, the biggest draw to the film will be its connection to Fight Club and its literary creator. But, what audiences need to remember is that Choke is NOT Fight Club, and Victor Mancini is NOT Tyler Durden. Tyler’s gone. Tyler went away. Choke is Victor’s theme park. Instead of space monkeys and boxing clubs, Victor’s version of Colonial America is littered with “safe” words, obstructed bowels, and the airline sex circuit.

In Choke, we meet Victor Mancini (Sam Rockwell), the backbone of Colonial America…so to speak. Victor and his best friend Denny (Brad Henke) work as “historical interpreters” (i.e. tour guides) at a New England theme park where Victor spends his days ogling Ursula the milk maid (Bijou Phillips) and trying to keep Denny from being locked up in the stocks.

When these phony 17h century miscreants aren’t busy sporting their tacky Colonial-era wigs, sex addict Victor and chronic masturbator Denny attend 12 step meetings for their sexual addictions. Of course, neither of them seems to be able to stay “recovered” longer than a couple of days. Denny’s hand finds its way into his pants about as often as Victor slips out of meetings to have sex with fellow addict Nico (Paz de la Huerta).

Unfortunately, Victor’s menial day job at the theme park doesn’t pay enough to cover the costs of keeping his mother Ida (Angelica Huston) in a private healthcare facility. So, in order to make up the difference, Victor runs one hell of a scam to help make ends meet – he stages his own near-choking death in restaurants. After he allows some noble bystander to feel heroic by saving him, Victor then cons these Good Samaritans into becoming benefactors by getting them to send money out of concern for his well-being.

As if that wasn’t enough to keep Victor occupied between sexual escapades, his dementia laden mother no longer recognizes him. The other patients in the hospital have given Victor a messiah complex. His mother’s doctor, Paige Marshall (Kelly MacDonald), wants to have sex with him, which wouldn’t be a problem, except that Victor can’t get it up when he’s with her. All the while, Victor’s facing a rather unusual identity crisis that I won't reveal here.

Choke isn’t a film for everyone. Since the protagonist is a sex addict, sex scenes and boob shots are the crux of his cinematic world. Another issue to take into consideration before rushing out to see Choke is the raunchiness of its humor. To a lot of people, sex is funny. So is fecal matter, but it's not for everyone. If you have issues with any of this, you might as well go see a different movie.

For everyone else who has already read the book, Choke is downright hilarious, and Palahniuk’s fans will appreciate Clark Gregg’s faithful adaptation of his twisted characters. The altered segments are minimal, additions were done only out of necessity, and the nonlinear narrative is streamlined just enough to keep viewers from getting lost among its sequence of events. Yet, as close as Choke remains to its literary source, it’s obvious that something important is missing.

Transferring written material to a visual medium is never an easy task because omissions must be made. When Gregg wrote the screenplay for Choke, he chose to focus on the character relationships, the love story, and the manifestations of Victor’s identity crisis. Overall, the film works with just those elements. However, the one element Gregg chose to eliminate happens to be the one element that really ties everything together – the psychology of Victor’s addiction. Without it, there’s no real depth to Victor’s world.

Audience members who haven’t read the novel may have a hard time understanding the driving force behind Victor's self-destructive behavior. But, then again, they still might not be able to understand the psychological subtext of the book even it was in the film. Look at Fight Club. I’m still amazed at how many people can’t see how the film thematically uses the violence in the fight clubs as a metaphor for the aggressive feelings that stem from the conflict between a generation of young people and their value system of advertising.

In any case, those who appreciate dirty-minded satires will probably enjoy Choke. Whether or not you get anything out of the film other than a good laugh is entirely up to you. All I know is that I’ll never be able to say the word “poodle” with a straight face ever again.

© Left From Hollywood 9/26/2008

Hancock

Image courtesy of Columbia Pictures

Check out this blog about Hancock:

http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=60468281&blogID=413793396&Mytoken=515B8525-22A1-4C97-9CD7B0AE5B98BE38139681309

The first time I read it, I giggled at all the spelling errors. The second time I read it, I was convinced the author was a moron who didn't think before he wrote. When I went back and read his blog a 3rd time, the arrogance of the author's ignorance finally pissed me off.

First of all, he is only reiterating what informed viewers already know – film critics are out of touch with audiences. This is nothing new, and there are several reasons for it:

1) The biggest factor contributing to the growing distance between critics and audiences is how audiences today have reached the point where they are too fragmented to benefit from one overall review. Black films target black audiences, chick flicks target female viewers, gamers are targeted by the new sub-genre of films based on video games, and family films are aimed at households with younger demographics. If these niche audiences even bother to read a review before watching a movie, most of them are frequenting internet fan sites. They've already figured out that reviews written by mainstream critics don't benefit them at all.

2) Take a look at American film critics in general. Because most of today's nationally published critics are over the age of 35 (many in their 50s), their opinions do not accurately reflect the opinions of the average 18-35 year old audience member. What happens when we start throwing race and gender into the mix? How many of these critics are female? How many are of an ethnicity other than white? If you do the research, the numbers will surprise you.

3) Another distancing factor between critics and fans is the difference in education levels. On one hand, you have college-educated critics and journalists who are trained to think analytically as they review the same formulaic movies over and over and over again on a weekly basis. On the other hand, you have the typical 18-35 year-old movie consumers, two-thirds of which don't have a college education and are incapable of seeing that Hollywood is selling them the same ideological message dressed up in a different movie package week after week after week.

Which brings me to my next point of contention with the author's blog – subjectivity:

A) All film is art - it may be high art, it may be low art, but it is art nonetheless.

B) All art is subjective.

What does this mean? From a subjective standpoint, there is NO such thing as a “good” film or a “bad” film. Why? The subjectivity of movie watching boils down to one factor and one factor only: The only reason anyone likes any film is because that film’s ideological message tells them what they ALREADY want to hear. That’s why the author's claim that “sometimes the mark of a good movie is how enjoyable it was,” is ignorant. He is only stating a subjective opinion.

Yet, the part of the blog that really got under my skin was his comment that "Critics need to get off their fucking high horses, come down to our level when reviewing a movie, don't over complicate the process, and have an open mind." Seriously!?! He wants me to come down to his level? No problem. Here's my dumbed-down review of Hancock (without any mention of plot, storyline, scope, or originality as per his request):

"OK, the Fresh Prince has like these really awesome superpowers. But, he doesn't like want to be like a superhero or anything gay like that. So, he just trashes a bunch of shit and calls people names. Dude, it's like fuckin' cool as hell. Hancock has to be like the sweetest movie fo shizzle because it made like a shitload of money over the 4th of July weekend. You know, that's like the only thing that makes a movie good – its box office numbers – and whether or not it was enjoyable to me."

Now, for those of you who want something a little more intelligent:

In keeping with the simpleton's request, I'm not going to talk about Hancock's plot which gets more than a little muddled in the 2nd half of the film when the ridiculous factor kicks into overdrive. Since "storyline" is synonymous with "plot," addressing Hancock's storyline would be redundant. So, I'm not going to mention that either. I'm not going to harp about originality because Hancock doesn't have any (it's the 4th superhero movie Hollywood has released in the last 5 months). That just leaves scope, which I'm hoping will get rid of the bad taste Hancock left in my mouth.

Bad puns aside, it's a good thing he never said anything about stereotypes. (WARNING – This is where I jump back on my 'fucking high horse' and 'over complicate' things a bit.)

In the movie Hancock, Will Smith drops his trademark 'coon' role (on which he's banked his entire career) to try his hand at the 'black buck' / 'magical negro' stereotype Hollywood has incorporated into the vigilante superhero of Hancock. What the hell? Coon? Black Buck? Magical Negro? If you raise yourself to my level for a minute, I'll let you in on a little secret about the darker side of Hollywood typecasting.

Since the early days of film, African-Americans have been negatively stereotyped in movies and television as one of the following stock characters [1]:

Black Buck – a highly sexualized, immoral or violent stereotype, usually portrayed as a hypermasculine black man who is a threat to the white establishment because of his strength and alleged sexual prowess, often shown to be brutal, animalistic, and less than human (EX: Terry Crews in White Chicks).

Coon – a carryover from the minstrel show; a ineffectual and lazy stereotype that suggests black men are singing, dancing, jive-talking simpletons who will do anything to avoid work (EX: Will Smith in "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air").

Magical Negro – (the "safe" black man) is "in some way outwardly or inwardly disabled, either by discrimination, disability or social constraint (usually a janitor or prisoner) who has no past and simply appears one day as a plot device to help the white male protagonist. To counterbalance the lazy criminal stereotype he portrays, he usually has some type of vaguely defined magical power or words of wisdom that he uses to help the white male protagonist either get out of trouble or to recognize the white character's faults and overcome them" [2] (EX: Will Smith in The Legend of Baggar Vance).

Uncle Tom – a black house slave who serves his white master faithfully (EX: Robert Guillaume in "Soap").

Mammy – the counterpart to the Uncle Tom stereotype, usually an overweight black woman who takes care of the white master's children without concern for her own (EX: Nell Carter in "Gimme a Break").

Tragic Mulatto – is the product of a mixed race marriage or sexual union who is both a promiscuous and tragic figure who invariably dies at the end of her story as punishment for her "sin" of being of mixed race and for being sexual (EX: Helen Morgan in Showboat...or Halle Berry in real life).

Why is it important to know this?
Because stereotypes are used to create subtext within films.

1) Did anyone else notice the message against interracial unions imbedded within Hancock? If the Black man (Will Smith) and white woman (Charlize Theron) unite, they lose their superpowers and become mortal. Separate them, and they get to keep their powers. Better yet, any offspring these two have will automatically fall under the stereotype of 'tragic mulattos.' How convenient is that?

2) Sometimes the mere absence of African-American characters can have a negative effect. In the Pirates of the Carribbean trilogy, why were the Voodoo priestess and the cannibals the only people of color? What exactly was Disney trying to tell us? Only Black people create maelstroms and eat other people? Gee, that's not offensive. You could even go as far as to classify the Voodoo priestess Tia Dahlia as a 'magical negro' who helps the white pirates reunite with the white male protagonist.

3) Even worse is when Hollywood casts African-American actors in non-racial roles and turns them into ideological villains. The role of Dr. Miles Bennett Dyson could've gone to anyone in Terminator 2; yet, Tri-Star Pictures chose to cast Joe Morton, an African-American actor, as the scientist responsible for Judgement Day. Trust me, it's no coincidence the only Black person in the film is the one blamed for wiping out the human race. What's the message here? If you give a brother a PhD, he'll blow everyone up? Yeah, right.

The writing is on the wall, people. Wake up and read the fucking subtext.

So what do we do as informed viewers? Like I said earlier, all art is subjective. The extent of what you're willing to overlook is entirely up to you. Movies provide us with an escape from everyday life by giving us the opportunity to become immersed in someone else's fantasy world for a couple of hours. That's not always a bad thing. All of us need to escape reality every now and again. So, that being said, I don't have a problem with anyone who liked Hancock. What I have a problem with are the people who don't know why they enjoyed the film or what they were really laughing at.

That's why the blog pissed me off as much as it did. Instead of dealing with the true scope of the film, the author wants critics like me to "get off my...high horse and come down to his level" when reviewing a movie. Fuck that. I could care less if people like him want to remain blissfully ignorant and blindly absorb every message Hollywood sells him. What I will NEVER do is lower myself or my standards to anyone else's lack of intelligence. Unlike the author, I'd rather think for myself and allow my mind to remain informed instead of empty.

© Left From Hollywood 7/14/08

[1] All stereotype definitions with the exception of "Magic Negro" are taken from Benshoff and Griffin's America on Film (Blackwell Press, forthcoming).

[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magic_negro

'la douleur exquise' of Sex and the City

Image courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures

After being spoiled by the quiet, reflective, unobtrusive arena of press screenings over the last couple of years, I've definitely developed a taste for their reclusive atmosphere. For film geeks like me, it's the way movies were meant to be seen. Unfortunately, I don't always have the opportunity to screen every film I want to with the rest of the media, leaving me to decide whether or not it's worth the effort to tolerate a gathering of inconsiderate, herd-like commoners in their usurping of the local multiplex on any given opening weekend.

Every once in awhile, though, an opportunity presents itself where I can use the local movie theatre to conduct my own little sociology experiments. Friday was one of those days. It was the day every Frau in America invaded theatres across the country to see Sex and the City: the Movie on opening day. Having been a fan of the early seasons of the show, I have to admit I was a little intrigued by a film version promising to tie up all the show's loose ends; and, since I had missed the press screening for SATC, I headed over to Cinemark Friday morning for the 10:30 showing.

The circus started the minute I set foot inside the theatre where I was literally greeted by what had to have been the largest human feeding trough I have ever seen. Even though I was only 15 minutes early, the Fraus had already filled up the entire first row (right behind the aisle railing where everyone props their feet); and, damn near all of them were chowing down on giant tubs of popcorn they had wedged between their thighs. Choking back vomit, I quickly headed up the steps to the back row, found a seat, and hoped no one would notice me laughing at them.

As for the film itself, I really don't see the point in discussing the narrative because there isn't one interesting or unique plot twist. Carrie and Miranda have relationship issues, Samantha has sex issues, and Charlotte's life is fairy tale perfect. (Can anyone say redundant?) The only joke that made me laugh during the entire movie was a poop joke courtesy of Charlotte, and the only new element is Louise (Jennifer Hudson), the personal assistant Carrie hires to add some "color" to the mix. God, don't even get me started on that mess. After sitting through Hudson's flattened performance, it was painfully obvious Hudson should have netted a Grammy instead of an Oscar last year. Believe me, the girl can NOT act.

What does it say about a film when its audience is more entertaining than the film itself? I actually saw 2 men among the sea of women, both were elderly (probably in their 60s), both were dragged there by their wives, and both aptly utilized the film's 148 minute run time to take a nap. (At least someone had the right idea.) While the two boys slept, the rest of the Fraus were hard at work texting all their friends (who weren't there) as they went ga-ga over all of the labels flaunted by their favorite group of anorexic, Cosmo-chugging fashionistas.

Speaking of labels…. What irritates me more than anything else associated with SATC over the years is how the fans have gotten so caught up in the fantasy of the show, they are no longer thinking for themselves. It amazes me how many women can't (or refuse) to see that 5th Avenue is only using the phenomenon as a marketing platform to showcase grossly overpriced designers…designers most of the fans can't afford.

What I did like about SATC when it first hit the HBO airwaves in 1998 was how the show went against mainstream ideology by celebrating instead of chastising the successful single gal in her 30s. It didn't call us "sluts" for being sexually active, and it didn't tell us we were "stupid bitches" for choosing to wake up "40 and alone." Ironically, it was the male members of the media who called female fans of SATC these lovely names. (FYI, that's what happens when ideology tells you something you already don't want to hear.)

However, since change and character development are mandatory for TV shows to last more than one season, SATC had to evolve to survive. Apparently, writer Michael Patrick King took that to mean the ladies needed to stop sleeping around on the show, settle down, and have a couple of them get married by the time the series ended in 2004. How twisted is it that the TV show that started out as a valentine to single women ended up turning its back on them by letting the film become a valentine to marriage?

Of course, the hypocrisy doesn't stop there. Another one that drove me nuts was how the characters spend the entire movie preaching "fairy tales don't exist," yet all 4 of them manage to live happily ever-after. Even better, how about the one where Carrie continually stuffs her face and remains a size 0 without ever exercising? Or, my personal favorite: all it takes is the "right woman" to cure Big's fear of commitment even though he continues to make and break up with Carrie so many times I've actually lost count. Bitch, please.

As for all the women holding "SATC parties" before rushing out to see the film, I just don't get it. It's only a movie. But, then again, I've never had a problem separating fantasy from reality unlike most SATC fans. The way I look at it, the bastards may have gotten $5 out of me for a movie, but there's no way in hell they're ever going to get me to cough up $500 for a pair of fucking shoes.

© Left From Hollywood 6/2/08

Psycho Vader

Last October, the Angelika sponsored ’Hitchcocktober,’ a contest where artists were asked to submit works of various mediums (paintings, drawings, music, short films, etc.) influenced by Alfred Hitchcock. Being the HUGE Hitch fan that I am, I decided to put together a short little 3 minute parody of Hitchcock’s original Psycho. To make a long story short, my crappy little film won the contest - but, not "officially." (Don’t ask. I’m under oath not to discuss the details.)

Psycho Vader originated from one of my college audio projects in which we had to tell a story using only music and sound effects (no dialogue). Because I wanted an audibly recognizable character, I had Darth Vader sneak up on a woman who was singing in the shower. In the audio version, all Vader does once he’s inside the bathroom is flush the toilet to make the woman scream. (It was the only way I could get bathroom humor past Russ Campbell.) The film version of Psycho Vader has a different plot twist that I won’t reveal here for those who haven’t seen it yet.

In the film version, I took the opening CGI text from Hitch's Psycho and updated it (except for June 16th – a nod to the original’s 1960 release date). I also used the same type of slow zoom in through an open window to introduce the main character. For the rest of the film, I just incorporated Hitch’s traditional themes and motifs (voyeurism, suspense, and mistaken identity) as well as some of his cinematography (high angle shots, elongated shadows, subjective POV, canted angles, etc.)

The only overt Hitchcock references I put in the film were the book Hilary reads at the beginning and the 2 silhouettes (white on black seen downstairs, and its visual opposite upstairs) that I painted the night before the shoot. My intent was for the paintings to be a visual clue for the audience, but I over-thought the idea as usual. Also, the binoculars in the opening shot were actually taken from Rear Window instead of Psycho. Oh, well. Only anal-retentive film geeks like me even notice stuff like that.

Anyway, that’s the background story for Psycho Vader. I hope you like my half-assed tribute to my all-time favorite director. If not, suck it.

Best Pic or Biggest Piece of Shit?

1) Juno – Overall, I liked the eccentricity and sharp wit of this dialogue-driven film. I just didn't like it enough to agree with the Academy's decision to nominate it for best picture. The biggest problem is that the dialogue is too damn pretentious to be coming out of the mouth of a 16 year-old. It's funny as hell, but the character sounds like she's 16 going on 40. As for the story itself, it's cute but not very noteworthy. Even though the sequence of events aren't blatantly predictable, it's not very hard to figure out where things are headed either.

Another thing working against Juno is some sloppy cinematography. If you're going to use a slow tracking shot to distance the audience from the characters and end the film, for the love of God, use the rule of thirds! Apparently, cinematographer Eric Steelberg forgot about the golden rule of photography when his framing squished Juno & Bleeker like a couple of bugs in front of that looming house in the last shot. Not really a good way to wrap it up guys.

BOTTOM LINE: Over-hyped and too smart for its own good.

2) Michael Clayton – How in the hell did this piece of shit get nominated for best picture? It's utterly predictable, there's no originality, the narrative progression is stupid and confusing, and there's no supporting cast worth mentioning other than Tom Wilkinson. But, what really makes the movie fall apart is just overall bad writing, plain and simple…especially the character development.

I can see where director Tony Gilroy was trying to go by initially playing up Clooney's character as some loser to make the climax more dramatic, but he went about it the wrong way. If the change in character element was supposed to be the real climax of the film, Michael Clayton should've been portrayed as a typical, inept/loser stereotype that the audience could identify with up until the very end….then pull the old switcheroo. Instead, the character seems to have a type of swarthiness about him that he's not trying very hard to cover up.

BOTTOM LINE: I really wish the Academy didn't have so much of a hard-on for Clooney. Michael Clayton bites the big one.

3) No Country for Old Men – Compared to the other 4 films nominated for Best Picture, No Country has the best developed characters, the best plot structure, and the best overall cinematic effect. The Coen brothers are definitely on top of their game here. I loved how they were able to offset the slow West Texas pace with classic Hitchcock suspense and weave it through the film's central themes of chance, free-will, circumstance, and fate without losing any sense of direction or level of intensity.

The main reason the film works is because No Country is the epitome of ambivalence: it's a Western without all of the bullshit Western mythology, it's a crime thriller that's not thwarted by an unrealistic gumshoe, and its black comedy elicits laughter from sadness without mocking the ignorance of simple characters. Like Fargo before it, No Country accurately captures the idiosyncrasies of life in a rural town and knows how to play them like a violin.

Granted, the abruptness of the film's ending has probably caused more than a few audience members to scratch their heads in confusion; but, that's what the Coen brothers want us to do. They want us to stop and reflect on the dialogue in the final scene between Sheriff Bell and his wife when he says, "...and then I woke up." It's the Coens' final act of defiance…an ambiguous ending full of loose ends.

BOTTOM LINE: Yes Llewelyn, Chigurh is the ultimate bad ass…and, No Country for Old Men is the only one of the 5 that's worthy of the title 'Best Picture.'

4) Atonement – Even though it's slow and should've been 30 minutes shorter, I didn't completely hate this 2 hour embodiment of miscommunication. By contrasting a couple of different POV segments (Briony's vs an objective one) in the first half of the film, director Joe Wright gives the young girl some real character depth while also tricking the audience into thinking they've got the story figured out. However, once the three central characters (Briony, Cecilia, and Robbie) are torn apart, the story doesn't seem to know which one of the three to follow, making the plot wander as aimlessly as the characters do.

As is, the narrative structure literally forces the audience to view the film in only two acts: what happened before the character split, and what happened to the characters after they split…each part being an hour long. The story would have flowed much better if Wright had: A) better utilized the emotional triangle between the three to structure the 1st act and fill out the 2nd, B) placed Briony's false accusation (and resulting character split) as a big dramatic climax at the end of the 2nd act, and C) only spent the first 10-15 minutes of the 3rd act showing what happened to Briony, Cecilia, & Robbie during the war before revealing the epilogue as the film's true climax in the last 5 minutes.

BOTTOM LINE: Premature ejaculation and an extra-long refractory period keep Atonement from being a serious contender.

5) There Will Be Blood – What does it say about a film when I damn near fell asleep 20 minutes in, only perked back up when it looked like everything was about to go up in flames, then spent the last hour laughing at all the cheesy camp elements? There Will Be Blood doesn't just embrace America's tired ideology of white patriarchal capitalism…it marries it, has all kinds of nasty sex with it, kills it, buries it, digs it up, sodomizes it, buries it again, lets it fester in the ground for awhile, digs it back up, then commits necrophilia with it over and over and over again.

Honestly, I don't even know where to begin bashing this atrocity because nothing about this film made me care about its characters or their plight. First of all it's a Western, and I hate Westerns because they're based on the ridiculous mythology of the 'American Dream.' Do people really think the American Dream still exists? George Carlin was correct when he said, "it must be a dream because you have to be asleep to believe it." Apparently, Hollywood thinks I'm still asleep if they expect me to adulate a film that has only one female character who isn't allowed to speak, doesn't include any ethnicity other than 'whitey,' and preaches to us there's "more money in jugs (i.e. oil) than God."

Ultimately, Lewis' performance is compelling and the film does address the tendency for power to breed corruption. However, I just can't buy into a message that's delivered via a soulless oilman who sounds like the fake Sean Connery, a teenage evangelist who rolls around on the ground like a moaning cow, some idiot who calls himself the 'brother from another mother,' and a bunch of grown men who go around bitch-slapping each other like little girls. Not that it matters, but I would have liked it better if Hollywood didn't think I was stupid.

BOTTOM LINE: The only way this one will win is if the Academy is still asleep, dreaming the unattainable American dream.

© Left From Hollywood 2008

FINITE revisited

I first crossed paths with Dusty & Eric a couple of years ago when they asked me to review their short film FINITE. Of course, I said I'd check it out. I just didn't know what to expect since neither of the guys had been to film school. To make a long story short, FINITE blew me away; and, to this day it's still one of my all-time favorite short films.

My initial review: http://www.leftfromhollywood.com/ (under the "You Asked For It" link)

Anyways, when I was going through some old boxes, I ran across a stack of old press kits from various screenings I had been to over the last couple of years and found my original FINITE notes. Wow. I had forgotten just how anal-retentive I was when I initially reviewed the film. I'm talking about 7 pages of handwritten notes dissecting it shot … by shot … by shot. There were even a few diagrams where I had sketched out the mise-en-scène (placement within the frame) of two separate sequences just to follow thematic elements. What's even more pathetic is the fact that I was only being that anal because I wanted to know the meaning behind one particular CGI effect used at the end of the film.

Even though it was interesting to go back and re-examine my thought process at the time, it also made me realize some of the other motifs I saw but failed to mention in the initial review: the importance of the color desaturation used, the white visual design, and the carefully worded dialogue. I even went back and watched the film again on YouTube (for the hundredth time) after I re-read the notes and I'm still impressed. So many filmmakers forget that it's the careful attention to small details like these that turn a good film into a great one.

FINITE is one of those rare films that packs an emotional punch, especially for anyone who has ever experienced a significant loss. Maybe I'm just a little more sensitive to the subject matter now that I've lost 3 people I cared about within 4 months of one another, but Dusty & Eric's little 9 minute film has definitely had some staying power with me.

Nice work guys.