Tarsem Singh’s name may not be familiar but that’s because his last film was 2001’s The Cell. Even before then he was working on his dream project, The Fall, without the aid of studio backing or professional stars (save for the then little-known Lee Pace). Apparently, working with J.Lo was hell. But just because The Fall doesn’t have any big guns behind it doesn’t mean that Singh’s film is without its big ideas and bigger visuals. The Fall builds on the concept of Zako Heskija’s Yo Ho Ho (1981), the story of a sick man using Arabian Nights-like storytelling to entice a child into assisting his suicide. Where The Cell was a hackneyed story with dense, fantastic dream sequences, The Fall is a fully developed nightmare, one where the narrative framework can’t simply be tossed aside for the dream to entrance the viewer.
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Despite being part of an obscenely important demographic and therefore ruling the mainstream media with a large beer- and pizza-stained fist (slightly bent out of shape from playing too much Halo), the 18-24-year-old American male has his insecurities. “Iron Man” is, on many levels, a great superhero movie–it’s shiny, it never stagnates in exposition, faux-philosophy, or “drama,” and it invests you just enough in its characters for you to care (slightly) about the outcomes of its various explosions. But it’s also, I think, eerily thorough at playing to, and briefly (though vicariously) placating, the specific desires of its audience–to the point that it often feels like cinematic Valium or a cinematic handjob. Consider Tony Stark, and think about how obscenely fucking close he comes to a hidden, haunting archetype.
We want, desperately, to conquer the technology that seems to enslave us on a daily basis; to become masters of machines.
With celebrity easily and most often obtained through slimy means, we want to be rich and famous for something substantive, something we’ve done on our own (most likely involving technology; see: Steve Jobs).
Forget stoicism, depression, guardedness: we want to be cocky, funny, and endearingly sarcastic at all times.
We want enough power over women to justify having a system for ushering them out the door in the morning–but we also want meaningful relationships.
We want a morality (and even a pacifism) that somehow still allows us to kick some ass and set things on fire.
We want a geopolitical climate (actually, an understanding of the geopolitical climate) that clearly establishes good and evil; we want Iron Man’s civilian/terrorist targeting system.
And yet, we also want to be impossibly fucking smart–we want to have knowledge that no one else has, hording blueprints, ideas, expertise in the workshops under our giant Malibu mansions instead of feeling lost and useless amidst the cacophonous noise of everyone else’s expression. We want to build a prototype and hold a copyright.
We want, finally, to be strong–but not Superman strong, not Hulk strong, not steroid strong. Not even Batman strong, because Batman gets all his shit from Morgan Freeman. We want sovereignty and informational mastery; certainty and autonomy—we want to know how to get power and we want to attain it by ourselves.
Tony Stark has his cake and eats it too. He has many cakes, in fact; the secret to “Iron Man” is that he eats them one-by-one in front of our faces while pointing at their paradoxically undisturbed existence.
Harmony Korine, the writer of “Kids” and director of “Gummo” and “Julian Donkey-Boy” marks his return to filmmaking after a nearly decade long absence with “Mister Lonely.” And, put simply, there has never been anything quite like this story of celebrity impersonators living on a commune in the Scottish highlands (the main characters are a Michael Jackson impersonator played by Diego Luna and a Marilyn Monroe one portrayed by Samantha Morton). In what essentially amounts to a dramatization of celebrity theory, though one rendered with the poetry and grace of an artist and not the comprehensiveness of an academician, Korine captures an extreme facet of the obsessive cultural quest for ever more intimate familiarity with our icons.
With “Roman de Gare,” Claude Lelouch, the French New Wave icon best known for directing “A Man and a Woman,” continues to stand alongside contemporaries Eric Rohmer, Claude Chabrol and Jean Luc-Godard in actively pursuing a fifth decade in filmmaking. His first feature released in the United States since 2002’s “And Now…Ladies and Gentleman…,” the film stars Dominique Pinon as a murderer interested in finishing off a woman (Audrey Dana) he meets in a gas station. Or maybe he’s a writer unconventionally researching his next novel. It’s never particularly clear, nor is it meant to be. The film, a playful meta-thriller, blends a conventional stylistic sheen with the sort of convention defying narrative aesthetic Lelouch and his colleagues made famous. WSN sat down with the filmmaker at the February press day.
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Last season, the controversial episode “The Jerk” had House pitted against a POW as mean as him; for the show’s return after the strike, the POW is so nice that House is claiming his amiability is a disease in itself.
But, as usual, the A-plot is nowhere near as interesting as the subplots revolving around House’s life. Wilson is still with Amber, which has House feeling ignored; in one of the cutest moments this season, he and Chase rock (non-matching, sadly) bowling shirts and gloves.
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As per tradition, Tribeca overlaps with the last week of classes, so school obligations will ensure these updates (which I’ll be providing every other day until the fest’s conclusion) are never as comprehensive as I’d like them to be. That being said, I anticipate being able to get to a fair percentage of the 120 features being offered this year. In keeping with the festival’s eclectic tradition, the first two movies I’ll be covering online could not be more different.
The opening segments of Christopher Bell’s “Bigger, Stronger, Faster” inspire some major skepticism. A film by an admitted gym rat, about his steroid ingesting gym rat brothers, it at first seems like a de facto apology for their actions. Taking a page out of Michael Moore’s playbook, the filmmaker visits all sorts of selectively chosen experts who decry the outlandish fear mongering in the mainstream media’s portrait of the dangers of steroid use. At the same time, he makes some of its strongest opponents, like U.S. Rep Henry Waxman, one of the lead voices on the issue in Congress, look completely foolish.
Fortunately, in spite of the fun and games Bell recognizes the larger issue at hand. He shifts focus from the steroid issue to the broader concern it signifies: the American public’s obsession with the “perfect” image, in all of its forms. Rather than serving as an immature apologia for a subculture of musclemen and power lifting, the film interrogates the reasons those involved feel so propelled to change their bodies, very often at steep personal cost. To do so, the filmmaker takes the audience on a journey through everything from pop culture’s most familiar macho imagery to an exploration of his own family and the complex reasons his brothers have gone on the drugs. Improbably, in spite of the superficial opening, Bell reveals himself to be a perceptive observer of society and the man behind the first documentary in some time that ought to really make you think.
Plays Wed April 30 at 4pm at AMC Village VII and Sat May 3 at 9:30pm, AMC 19th St. East
Daniel Myrick, co-director of “The Blair Witch Project,” returns to big screens with “The Objective,” a rather similar enterprise. It sacrifices the woods of Maryland for the Afghani desert, the filmmaker protagonists for American troops and the cheap black and white aesthetic for slightly more aesthetically pleasing color DV, but the underlying premise remains the same. A group is hopelessly lost in a mysterious setting and subsequently tormented by unexplained supernatural phenomena. The concept works a bit better here, as the filmmaker’s casting ability has improved exponentially (the star is Jonas Bell, so memorable in “The Killing of John Lennon,” the first of this year’s two Mark David Chapman films) and within the low budget parameters his FX team creates some creepy otherworldly imagery that facilitates the characters’ mental debilitation. Unfortunately, the movie otherwise suffers from its lack of funds. Visually, it too often resembles behind the scenes footage rather than a polished finished project. One would be hard pressed to fault its maker for his financial constraints, but their evidence throughout the film makes it difficult to become fully involved in the proceedings. Also, the entire project too often smacks of conceptual repetition, even if it does, as previously noted, on the whole improve on Myrick’s widely overrated (though historically significant) debut.
Plays Wed April 30 at 4:45pm, AMC Village VII
If you’re into Michael McCullers
Director and writer of “Baby Mama”, try “Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me”, starring Heather Graham as the love interest and Mike Myers as pretty much everyone else. It’s 1999 when we meet our hero, Austin Powers, international man of mystery, but we quickly revert back to the swinging sixties when Austin must travel back in time to prevent Dr. Evil from stealing his mojo. For without his all-powerful libido, Powers is, well, powerless. Along the way he meets smokin’ secret agent Felicity Shagwell, who prances around in knee high boots and sexy go-go outfits while mentioning sleeping with men as “just part of her job”. And yes, this is the one with Dr. Evil’s mini-me. The second movie in the epic Austin Powers saga, this film is “groovy baby, yeah!”
If you’re into Greg Kinnear’s killer grin
Try “Sabrina”, the 1995 remake of the 1954 classic also starring Julia Ormond and Harrison Ford. Sabrina Fairchild (Ormond) is the mousy daughter of the chauffeur to the Larabees, a grand Long Island family. She fruitlessly pines for the attentions of their dashing son, David Larabee, but is soon sent off to Paris to learn photography and forget all about him. However, when she comes back with a new coif and chic duds, David falls head over heels for her. The only glitch is that he already has a very eligible fiancée. Enter Linus Larabee (Ford), David’s responsible and business minded older brother who plans to steer Sabrina’s affections away from David, but ends up falling in love with her himself. The film captures all the delight of the Cinderella story while adding the prince’s older brother into the mix creating one of the most titillating love triangles in fairy tale history.
If you’re into Baby Movies
Try “Bringing Up Baby” starring Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn in her most charming role. Of course the baby in this case is not an actual baby but a leopard that plays a crucial role in the frantic and hilarious plot of this classic film. Susan (Hepburn) is “inexplicably” drawn to paleontologist Dr. David Huxley (whose thick glasses do nothing to hide Grant’s infamous sex appeal). His nerdy disposition of course makes him absolutely averse to Susan’s desperate attentions, but when he some how gets carted away with her to Connecticut to return her Aunt’s leopard, the two are forced into situations after which neither one will be the same. With episodes that range from a disgruntled terrier hiding David’s priceless dinosaur bone, to ridiculous Connecticut Aunts, to what just might be true love, this is one of those original romantic comedies that make the whole genre worthwhile.
I’m of the opinion that renaissance fairs and other “historical” destinations are absolutely worthless unless they go all the way and feature war, disease, and slavery, so I suppose I can chirp with satisfaction at the recurring object of this episode’s cold derision: “Pioneer Village,” an inconceivably irritating Old West diorama whose employees never ever break character. Here “South Park” is, as always, the trusty neighborhood child molester, ready and more than willing to pounce mercilessly on the weak and undefended (or, in this case, indefensible) elements of our engorged American society. And we should rejoice: like a Spongebob bike helmet, the “edutainment” movement places an unbearable burden of loud, grating lameness on our collective heads. It is perhaps the single most obvious product of our short attention spans, our gluttonous materialism, and our general stupidity as a nation (besides, of course, the inflatable barbecue, whose significance John Oliver recently mulled over at hilarious, articulate length in his amazing new stand-up special). It’s good to exorcise this particularly aggravating demon, lest it continue to gnaw away at the edifice of whatever we’re calling civilization nowadays.
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Seems that “The Riches” has love on its mind, or at least a momentary jolt of bunny-lust. It’s spring, I guess. These things tend to happen.
Cal gets ensnared by the Irish Traveler version of a blond bombshell–i.e., the same kind of blond bombshell we’re all used to, but with an accent and a rustic nonchalance. Di Di finds herself enchanted by the wiles of the friendly neighborhood security guard, who just happens to be about 15 for whatever reason. And even the androgynous final sibling–oh, if only the show could find something to do with him–appears to have found a random girl who shares his interest in lipstick. Love for all! It’s like Cupid woke up socialist.
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If you’ve been dabbling in the Joker’s dirty work lately, chances are Lt. Gordon caught you in the recent sting and has you in his pocket. Check your inbox. He’s got a mission for us in the latest piece of viral marketing:
My friend,
Indictments are about to be handed down. If you don’t want your name on one, we’ll need your full cooperation in an upcoming operation.
In case you haven’t heard, we are struggling with a bit of corruption in the department. I’m not about to let the Gotham PD collapse in on itself, so we’re taking action. We’ve identified a group of offenders that need to be apprehended. Problem is, most of these cops are hightailing it out of the city. But a C.I. just like you just gave us some information on their last known whereabouts. Now all we need is to catch them. This is where you come in.
Consider yourself on deck. I’ll contact you next week, and let’s just say it’s in your best interest to play along. County’s not a place you want to spend the rest of your life.
Lt. Jim Gordon, MCU
Keep a keen eye for updates, citizen!
The folks over at Ain’t It Cool News nabbed themselves a sweet exclusive, giving us the new Spirit poster a day early. (It’ll officially premiere tomorrow during the panel.)
Frank Miller is resting on the Sin City-style a bit much, but I’m just thrilled that they’ve captured the essence of Eisner’s masterpieces, especially the explosive splash pages for all of his comics.
Will Eisner’s The Spirit chronicles a rookie detective who returns from the dead to fight crime and injustice in Central City as The Spirit (played by Gabriel Macht). Spirit battles the dastardly Octopus (played by Samuel L. Jackson) while fending off an army of babes, featuring Scarlett Johansson, Eva Mendes, Jaime King, Paz Vega and Sarah Paulson as Dr. Ellen Dolan. The controversial Ebony White will not be featured in the movie.
In an interview with the LA Times this past January, director Christopher Nolan confirmed the presence of three villains in The Dark Knight: Joker, Two-Face and Scarecrow.
Joker and Two-Face are new to the party, but Scarecrow is a frequent guest, tormenting in Nolan’s Batman Begins and the animated Batman: Gotham Knight. But with the posthumous Oscar buzz for Heath and the new campaign trail for Harvey Dent, Scarecrow has been shoved to the wayside. Now, courtesy of the Mattel Toy Showcase at the Con, we have fresh news for Cillian Murphy fans.
The action figure, called Fear Shot Scarecrow, is a part of the Ages 4+ series, which provides a “softer” tone to the razor-sharp characters in Nolan’s world, but comparing the 4+ and 8+ sets of The Joker, we have a good indication of what to expect. (By the way the Ages 8+ Scarecrow was MIA.)
Scarecrow is packed with a wrist blaster in the same (or similar?) outfit in the climax of Batman Begins. But what’s most interesting is the villain’s ghoulish mug.
Gone is Cillian Murphy’s boyish looks, replaced with a horrific visage. What the hell happened? Scarring from Rachel Dawes’ taser shot? Injury in Gotham Knight? We’ll have to wait for The Dark Knight (or maybe Gotham Knight?) to find out.
Allow me to explain the delay. This week’s “South Park” was so engorged with magnificent–yet subtle, oh so subtle–ideas that I simply could not write about it without stepping back and bathing in its profane bliss for a day or two. And it was as subversive and hilarious as the late Bill Hicks in his otherworldly prime, so of course I’ve spent my waking hours laughing (and thinking) like a possessed marionette.
Actually, I’m just lazy, and this week’s “South Park” was, by and large, as tepid as a cup of warm piss. As a general rule, it is improper to attack “South Park” for obviousness or stupid vulgarity–the show should be treated as a particularly loud op-ed columnist who has been graced, by the will of some benevolent God, with a form that has none of the traditional editorialist boundaries (taste, decency, integrity, and elegance). Given that shifted rule set, however, it certainly deserves to be crucified for the occasional moment of lethargic, overcooked blandness.
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I suppose the show, having sampled a million little crunchy bits of plot like an insufferable dilettante, is already regretting its own indulgence. We find “The Riches” on a bit of a spartan diet this week, committed not to total mania but to the exposition of its Great Big Purpose. Two plot threads enter, one idea leaves. Before “Fight Club” mucked everything up with redundancy, schizophrenia, and ambiguity, arenas had simple rules. Let us never forget that TV is a coliseum, subject to our decisive thumbs.
I’ll refrain from detailed plot synopsis because it always feels a bit sadistic–if you’re reading this, you’ve wandered into a remote, desolate, backwards shantytown corner of the internet and therefore you’re probably bored, so I don’t want to add to that dreary burden with a prosaic laundry list of shit that happened. So know this: Wayne, in the pursuit of Happyness (that is, self- and family-preservation as well as, to some degree, phallic empowerment in this capitalist world of ours), continues to flirt with the ethical limits of gigantic criminal enterprise. On the other hand, Dahlia and Cal each flirt with moral legitimacy, in the eyes of the state and…the land, I guess, or whatever spiritual construct good Travelers adhere to. Respectively. There’s the same face on both sides of the coin, and it’s probably not Jesus–in each case, the results of the moral (or immoral) flirtation are about as muddled as you’d expect from a show that flaunts its sense of subjective morality. And that’s the Great Big Purpose, by the way–to show honor amongst thieves, despicable shenanigans amongst those who have attained social legitimacy, and all the other inverses that comprise the great ratio of Money:Soul. It’s either a timeless idea or a stale one, but “The Riches” is not a show about ideas so the petty distinction doesn’t really matter. It’s a show of alternating showmanship and atmosphere; it asks us, before we start thinking of big questions whose answers are readily apparent, to check out what’s revealed and concealed, what’s given in force and taken away.
Right now, we’re getting a lot of Hugh. He’s going to run for mayor! I’m excited, because each one of his actions increases his level of blissful degeneracy by an amount proportional to the weight of the action itself. At the current rate at which he does big, ridiculous things, he’ll be a manic, bipolar, paranoid, and possibly child-molesting Lucifer by episode 8.
Marjane Satrapi has long been acclaimed as a graphic novelist. It was perhaps natural that she would move into animated film. “Persepolis” is the animated film version of two of Sartrapi’s graphic novels, both based on her personal experiences growing up in Iran during the Islamic resolution. While the original version of the film in French was released some time ago, on April 11th Sartrapi and co-director Vincent Paronnaud released the English version. The stories of both versions are identical however the English version features some different voice actors including Sean Penn, Catherine Deneuve, and Gena Rowlands. Viewers of the original version will be pleased to know that Chiara Mastroianni reprises her role as the central character, Marjane.
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