These colors don't run, but they do fly.
Going Rate: Worth matinee price
Starring: Cuba Gooding, Jr., Terrence Howard, Nate Parker
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: World War II aerial combat injuries, mild language
George Lucas modeled the space battle sequences in Star Wars after World War II aerial dogfight footage, so a film paying tribute to the Tuskegee Airmen -- the Army's elite black flying squadron -- seems like a good fit for his production banner. But that's before I realized the film felt like an extended Star Wars fighter sequence that just so happened to include a plot, characters and a few compulsory clichéd scenes exploring the racial realities of the WWII military.
The Airmen racked up one of the most impressive records of the war, but as we meet them they are relegated to garbage-collector duty, shooting easy targets with patched-up used aircraft. A military report finds them nearly unfit for duty. We can see they are being set up for failure. It's a scenario the Axis would love to brag about through Hitler's propaganda machine.
Major Emanuelle Stance (Gooding, Jr.) is the pipe-smoking leader of what the Army considers an experiment -- a black fighting force that exists solely to placate somebody's call for racial equality in the military. But Bullard is not one to dwell on racial politics. He sees his fighters as recipients of great privilege in getting to fight and possibly to die for their country. As for his scrappy pilots, they are looking for real action beyond blowing up munitions trains. They have a strong ally in Col. A.J. Bullard (Howard), their Pentagon representative who knows how to tread through the combat zone of racial politics in an nearly all-white military.
The Army is dealing with a big problem in the air: bombers aren't getting through to their targets as German squadrons lure cocky pilots into dogfights when they should be sticking beside the heavies. Major Stance offers a deal: get us new planes and a real mission and "we'll light up the board." The Army delivers shiny, brand-new fighters which the squadron adorns with red tails, "to make them stand out."
We spend plenty of time with the Airmen on the ground, enough to make the film a black Top Gun: "Easy," the ace pilot, "Junior," the aspiring ace, along with "Lightning," "Joker," and "Smokey." They live for the fight and the wisecrack, and we see plenty of them. They have their issues, true, and their beef with Uncle Sam and The Man, but all that's secondary to the mission. This and the battle sequences are where Red Tails flies, but at times it sputters with ditzy pedestrian dialogue -- "I hope those Red Tails are with us next time!" The racism in this movie is soft-pedaled, save for a token barfight between one of the Airmen and a white bigot which is discussed in the next scene and then tossed away like a live grenade.
About those air battles: they are nothing short of thrilling, even though most of the action is CGI-based. I read George Lucas went back to studying WWII footage to prepare for this film, and it shows. Lucas also stepped up to fund the movie and its marketing when Hollywood studios shied away. Early box office reports hint he may barely break even, but it's not like he's hurting for cash.
Red Tails is a labor of love and heroism, and it does justice to its subject matter. But it doesn't into the category of epic war film, as much as some of us would desire. If this film has any stereotypes, they're not based on race but on Hollywood laziness and the lack of a good script doctor.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
Reel To Reel: War Horse
Riding off to war.
Going Rate: Worth full price admission
Starring: Jeremy Irvine, Emily Watson
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: World War I violence
Do horses know how to act? Do they even know they're in a movie? I'm not sure, but the equine stars of War Horse certainly know how to tug at our emotions, just as in Black Beauty and The Black Stallion. Yet director Steven Spielberg clearly wants to add to his roster of epic war pictures, which includes Empire Of The Sun, Shindler's List, Saving Private Ryan, and unfortunately, 1941. So we get a picture that's never completely about either war or a horse but a mixed mash-up of both, incorporating several side stories into the main narrative.
The film parachutes us into Ireland just before World War I, green and beautiful. An alcoholic Irish farmer, Ted Naracott (Peter Mullan), pays out the nose for a thoroughbred horse instead of a work animal. His wife Rose (Watson) despairs, knowing the old fool is putting the family farm on the line. Both Ted and his son Albert (Irvine) sense some sort of greatness in the animal that will be their deliverance. Albert is a natural-born horse whisperer. He knows exactly what to say to his new equine friend Joey (more than a dozen horses played the role), and he's not above putting a collar around his neck to show Joey how it's done. The two of them share a deep resolve and strength. A sequence where Albert and Joey must plow a rocky field to save the farm has a sports-film quality to it, two underdogs banding together to achieve the impossible.
All of Joey's and Albert's work are not enough to keep Ted's finances above water, so the reluctant father sells the horse to the British army as troops march out of town for the Great War. Albert longs to go with Joey, but his age keeps him from enlisting, so an officer pledges Joey will receive great care until horse and rider can be together again. So begins a picaresque journey that takes us from Ireland to France and through the trench-warfare, horror and disillusionment of WWI with a horse who just happens to be along for the ride -- or two horses, actually. Joey finds a companion after shipping off for the front, and the two of them bond like war buddies.
A couple of other war movies entered my mind as this film unspooled. An early battle scene reminded me of the climatic assault in Gods And Generals, and a sequence where soldiers on opposite sides must work together to rescue Joey recalls Joyeux Noel. I'm sure many of you will also make comparisons to National Velvet.
I liked War Horse, but I felt the film needed focus. A recent opinion column in the Los Angeles Times theorized the dearth of WWI movies is due to the war's moral ambiguity, its lack of clearly defined good and bad guys which doesn't make good commercial cinema. Spielberg tries introducing some of that into War Horse, particularly in a subplot involving two German deserters. This is where it detours from Joey's perspective to try to include some larger truths of WWI, and that's where it falters. Black Beauty took us through a journey of several owners, but at least the title character narrated his own story. War Horse is also adapted from a novel and a stage play, but I'm not familiar with the source material to tell you whether the flaws originated there. What isn't flawed is Spielberg's touch for creating emotional bonds and characters we care about, and that ultimately redeems the movie.
Going Rate: Worth full price admission
Starring: Jeremy Irvine, Emily Watson
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: World War I violence
Do horses know how to act? Do they even know they're in a movie? I'm not sure, but the equine stars of War Horse certainly know how to tug at our emotions, just as in Black Beauty and The Black Stallion. Yet director Steven Spielberg clearly wants to add to his roster of epic war pictures, which includes Empire Of The Sun, Shindler's List, Saving Private Ryan, and unfortunately, 1941. So we get a picture that's never completely about either war or a horse but a mixed mash-up of both, incorporating several side stories into the main narrative.
The film parachutes us into Ireland just before World War I, green and beautiful. An alcoholic Irish farmer, Ted Naracott (Peter Mullan), pays out the nose for a thoroughbred horse instead of a work animal. His wife Rose (Watson) despairs, knowing the old fool is putting the family farm on the line. Both Ted and his son Albert (Irvine) sense some sort of greatness in the animal that will be their deliverance. Albert is a natural-born horse whisperer. He knows exactly what to say to his new equine friend Joey (more than a dozen horses played the role), and he's not above putting a collar around his neck to show Joey how it's done. The two of them share a deep resolve and strength. A sequence where Albert and Joey must plow a rocky field to save the farm has a sports-film quality to it, two underdogs banding together to achieve the impossible.
All of Joey's and Albert's work are not enough to keep Ted's finances above water, so the reluctant father sells the horse to the British army as troops march out of town for the Great War. Albert longs to go with Joey, but his age keeps him from enlisting, so an officer pledges Joey will receive great care until horse and rider can be together again. So begins a picaresque journey that takes us from Ireland to France and through the trench-warfare, horror and disillusionment of WWI with a horse who just happens to be along for the ride -- or two horses, actually. Joey finds a companion after shipping off for the front, and the two of them bond like war buddies.
A couple of other war movies entered my mind as this film unspooled. An early battle scene reminded me of the climatic assault in Gods And Generals, and a sequence where soldiers on opposite sides must work together to rescue Joey recalls Joyeux Noel. I'm sure many of you will also make comparisons to National Velvet.
I liked War Horse, but I felt the film needed focus. A recent opinion column in the Los Angeles Times theorized the dearth of WWI movies is due to the war's moral ambiguity, its lack of clearly defined good and bad guys which doesn't make good commercial cinema. Spielberg tries introducing some of that into War Horse, particularly in a subplot involving two German deserters. This is where it detours from Joey's perspective to try to include some larger truths of WWI, and that's where it falters. Black Beauty took us through a journey of several owners, but at least the title character narrated his own story. War Horse is also adapted from a novel and a stage play, but I'm not familiar with the source material to tell you whether the flaws originated there. What isn't flawed is Spielberg's touch for creating emotional bonds and characters we care about, and that ultimately redeems the movie.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Reel To Reel: The Artist
Silence is golden.
Going Rate: Worth full price admission
Starring: Jean Dujardin, Bérénice Bejo, John Goodman, James Cromwell
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: One very brief crude gesture and some potentially disturbing images
It's hard to believe people in the film industry considered "talkies" a passing fad when they arrived in the late 1920's. Motion pictures were works of art, and like their still counterparts, why would anybody on earth want to hear them speak? Oh, but they did. The Artist is a loving and painful tribute to that turning point in movie history where art gave way to innovation and demand.
George Valentin (Dujardin) -- named so we will conjure up the memory of Rudolph Valentino -- is the king of the silent movie swashbucklers in 1927. With the help of his little dog Uggie, he's invincible on the screen and adored off of it, but his home life is suffering. His wife is unhappy with her walk-on role in the marriage, especially when she sees George on the front page of Variety getting a kiss from a mystery girl.
That girl, Peppy Miller (Bejo), idolizes Valentin to the point of sneaking into his dressing room while playing an extra. She shares a dance with him in a wordless sequence of scenes that depicts their blossoming relationship more economically than a Hallmark greeting card. George gives her a valuable piece of advice along with a beauty mark to her face. Miller shoots up the credit list, from extra to star. Is it that fake mole, or is it something else, like hearing her presumably golden voice?
Valentin's career heads in the opposite direction. His studio scraps silent films at the behest of a cigar-smoking topper (Goodman) who can see the future and it talks. George, one of those people who consider silent film an art, sets out to save his career and his own beloved medium while Peppy looks to save George from ruin.
The Artist is faithful to silent films in so many ways, leading off with title and cast cards in addition to the obligatory dialogue cards. It has so much love for its inspiration, we don't need much convincing to see why Valentin considers a talking film noise pollution. A key scene turns the most mundane of sounds into obnoxious intrusions, interrupting a symphony of music and lighted images.
Silent films forced filmmakers to pay more attention to nuance and gestures, and director Michel Hazanavicius doesn't miss a beat. Neither does Ludovic Bource, who composed the film's soundtrack with all the intensity and emotional pull of original silent films, which were designed to play with your emotions.
I enjoyed the world of The Artist. So many films talk so much and say so little. Here's a film that talks little and speaks volumes.
Going Rate: Worth full price admission
Starring: Jean Dujardin, Bérénice Bejo, John Goodman, James Cromwell
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: One very brief crude gesture and some potentially disturbing images
It's hard to believe people in the film industry considered "talkies" a passing fad when they arrived in the late 1920's. Motion pictures were works of art, and like their still counterparts, why would anybody on earth want to hear them speak? Oh, but they did. The Artist is a loving and painful tribute to that turning point in movie history where art gave way to innovation and demand.
George Valentin (Dujardin) -- named so we will conjure up the memory of Rudolph Valentino -- is the king of the silent movie swashbucklers in 1927. With the help of his little dog Uggie, he's invincible on the screen and adored off of it, but his home life is suffering. His wife is unhappy with her walk-on role in the marriage, especially when she sees George on the front page of Variety getting a kiss from a mystery girl.
That girl, Peppy Miller (Bejo), idolizes Valentin to the point of sneaking into his dressing room while playing an extra. She shares a dance with him in a wordless sequence of scenes that depicts their blossoming relationship more economically than a Hallmark greeting card. George gives her a valuable piece of advice along with a beauty mark to her face. Miller shoots up the credit list, from extra to star. Is it that fake mole, or is it something else, like hearing her presumably golden voice?
Valentin's career heads in the opposite direction. His studio scraps silent films at the behest of a cigar-smoking topper (Goodman) who can see the future and it talks. George, one of those people who consider silent film an art, sets out to save his career and his own beloved medium while Peppy looks to save George from ruin.
The Artist is faithful to silent films in so many ways, leading off with title and cast cards in addition to the obligatory dialogue cards. It has so much love for its inspiration, we don't need much convincing to see why Valentin considers a talking film noise pollution. A key scene turns the most mundane of sounds into obnoxious intrusions, interrupting a symphony of music and lighted images.
Silent films forced filmmakers to pay more attention to nuance and gestures, and director Michel Hazanavicius doesn't miss a beat. Neither does Ludovic Bource, who composed the film's soundtrack with all the intensity and emotional pull of original silent films, which were designed to play with your emotions.
I enjoyed the world of The Artist. So many films talk so much and say so little. Here's a film that talks little and speaks volumes.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Reel To Reel: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy
It's all in your head.
Going Rate: Worth matinee price
Starring: Gary Oldman, Colin Firth
Rated: R
Red Flags: Some brief language, two violent scenes, and one graphic sex scene shown from a distance
"Watching this movie was like watching paint dry," observed my Queen Mother as we walked out of the theater. But my Royal Father liked it. Your humble servant had mixed feelings. This a movie that deserves a split rating, like grading a figure skating performance: one rating for technical merit, another for artistic impression. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is a superbly made movie about its subject matter. But as such, it's disappointing to audiences fed four decades of James Bond. As a cloak and dagger thriller, it's more cloak than dagger.
The film takes place in 1973, in a slightly warmer Cold War, and British Intelligence is trying to find a Soviet mole high in "the Circus," as spooks call it. An operation to learn the double agent's identity ends bloodily in Budapest, and when that happens, a head has to roll at the top. Mr. Smiley (Oldman) is forced out of the Circus, consigned to a life of mediocre post-spy existance. But the mole is still there.
Smiley's former superiors ask him to conduct an under-the-wire investigation to root out the mole. This is the point where a conventional spy movie would be submersing us in danger and beautiful women at exotic locations. Instead, it takes on more of the feel of a detective novel. We see many shots of Smiley walking and carrying a satchel, walking some more, walking again, and asking a few choice questions of a few spook sources.
We learn this mole may or may not have something to do with a top-secret information clearinghouse designed to milk a particular Soviet source who's thought to be providing a gusher of valuable intelligence -- or is it just well-phrased garbage?
Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy ia a psychological thriller in the purest sense of the word, where the action takes place in your brain as you process its endless stream of information and clues trying to figure out what's going on. And yet this film still feels bloated, like something could still be trimmed. No doubt that's due to the involvement of John Le Carre, who serves one of the producers on this adaptation of his novel. You will also hear a lot of praise for Oldman's performance, but it's hard for me to award a laurel to a performance which has only one mode.
I really enjoyed this film's treatment of the 1970's world of intelligence gathering, where people still hacked away at Olympia typewriters and teletypes and used land-line dial phones. Intelligence workers will tell you their jobs are mostly analytical and not exciting. In real life, yes, but most moviegoers will expect something more.
Going Rate: Worth matinee price
Starring: Gary Oldman, Colin Firth
Rated: R
Red Flags: Some brief language, two violent scenes, and one graphic sex scene shown from a distance
"Watching this movie was like watching paint dry," observed my Queen Mother as we walked out of the theater. But my Royal Father liked it. Your humble servant had mixed feelings. This a movie that deserves a split rating, like grading a figure skating performance: one rating for technical merit, another for artistic impression. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is a superbly made movie about its subject matter. But as such, it's disappointing to audiences fed four decades of James Bond. As a cloak and dagger thriller, it's more cloak than dagger.
The film takes place in 1973, in a slightly warmer Cold War, and British Intelligence is trying to find a Soviet mole high in "the Circus," as spooks call it. An operation to learn the double agent's identity ends bloodily in Budapest, and when that happens, a head has to roll at the top. Mr. Smiley (Oldman) is forced out of the Circus, consigned to a life of mediocre post-spy existance. But the mole is still there.
Smiley's former superiors ask him to conduct an under-the-wire investigation to root out the mole. This is the point where a conventional spy movie would be submersing us in danger and beautiful women at exotic locations. Instead, it takes on more of the feel of a detective novel. We see many shots of Smiley walking and carrying a satchel, walking some more, walking again, and asking a few choice questions of a few spook sources.
We learn this mole may or may not have something to do with a top-secret information clearinghouse designed to milk a particular Soviet source who's thought to be providing a gusher of valuable intelligence -- or is it just well-phrased garbage?
Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy ia a psychological thriller in the purest sense of the word, where the action takes place in your brain as you process its endless stream of information and clues trying to figure out what's going on. And yet this film still feels bloated, like something could still be trimmed. No doubt that's due to the involvement of John Le Carre, who serves one of the producers on this adaptation of his novel. You will also hear a lot of praise for Oldman's performance, but it's hard for me to award a laurel to a performance which has only one mode.
I really enjoyed this film's treatment of the 1970's world of intelligence gathering, where people still hacked away at Olympia typewriters and teletypes and used land-line dial phones. Intelligence workers will tell you their jobs are mostly analytical and not exciting. In real life, yes, but most moviegoers will expect something more.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
I Resolve To Make More Predictions
I originally made the following post in response to Tom Prezelski's tounge-in-cheek look at the year to come on TucsonSentinel.com. And this time, I will take full responsibility for these musings and not lay them onto the staff of The Lightning Round.
* In effort to dispel Tucson’s business-unfriendly image, Mayor Jonathan Rothschild proposes TCC be turned into Arizona’s largest indoor swap meet.
* Unable to come up with congressional and legislative districts to satisfy Arizona Republican demands that every last Democrat be wiped off the map, independent redistricting commitee throws up its hands and outsources work to Peggy from USA Prime Credit.
* Occupy movement, left with no place to occupy, moves into the Tucson Exposition Center. Barely anyone notices.
* Tucson Sports Authority flirts with idea of luring pro curling tournament to town. When that idea fails, it turns its attention to luring Linda Ronstadt back.
* Pirates take over whatever is playing on 92.9 FM, demanding Tucson get a “real” oldies station like the one that once occupied that frequency.
* Russell Pearce mentioned as possible new judge on “American Idol.”
* State GOP left scratching its collective noggins when Clap The Wonder Seal wins Arizona’s Presidential Preference Election.
* Massive haboob hits Tucson for a change. Phonecians laugh. Right-wingers complain about the use of the word “haboob” because it comes from that “durn terror-istic lang-gu-age.”
* Jim Click announces he’s entering the commercial space business. “Hi Folks! Now’s a better time than ever to go into orbit!”
* Monsoon downpour washes away grandstand at Rillito Downs and deposits it in Marana. Debate rages over whether it’s some sort of celestial suggestion.
* Southern Arizona’s state legislative contingent introduces bills regulating the way Phoenix holds elections, renews its downtown and educates its children. When Phoenix-area lawmakers complain, the local contingent presents a rousing rendition of Ugly Kid Joe’s “I Hate Everything About You” on the House floor.
* Fatburger, Humongoburger, Superburger, Wonderburger, Cardiacburger and three other fast-food chains move into town and are greeted with lines out the door from day one.
* As the Wildcat football team struggles to come around, Arizona fans demand the U of A appoint a man as coach who is guaranteed to finally get the team to the Rose Bowl: Lute Olsen.
Happy New Year!
* In effort to dispel Tucson’s business-unfriendly image, Mayor Jonathan Rothschild proposes TCC be turned into Arizona’s largest indoor swap meet.
* Unable to come up with congressional and legislative districts to satisfy Arizona Republican demands that every last Democrat be wiped off the map, independent redistricting commitee throws up its hands and outsources work to Peggy from USA Prime Credit.
* Occupy movement, left with no place to occupy, moves into the Tucson Exposition Center. Barely anyone notices.
* Tucson Sports Authority flirts with idea of luring pro curling tournament to town. When that idea fails, it turns its attention to luring Linda Ronstadt back.
* Pirates take over whatever is playing on 92.9 FM, demanding Tucson get a “real” oldies station like the one that once occupied that frequency.
* Russell Pearce mentioned as possible new judge on “American Idol.”
* State GOP left scratching its collective noggins when Clap The Wonder Seal wins Arizona’s Presidential Preference Election.
* Massive haboob hits Tucson for a change. Phonecians laugh. Right-wingers complain about the use of the word “haboob” because it comes from that “durn terror-istic lang-gu-age.”
* Jim Click announces he’s entering the commercial space business. “Hi Folks! Now’s a better time than ever to go into orbit!”
* Monsoon downpour washes away grandstand at Rillito Downs and deposits it in Marana. Debate rages over whether it’s some sort of celestial suggestion.
* Southern Arizona’s state legislative contingent introduces bills regulating the way Phoenix holds elections, renews its downtown and educates its children. When Phoenix-area lawmakers complain, the local contingent presents a rousing rendition of Ugly Kid Joe’s “I Hate Everything About You” on the House floor.
* Fatburger, Humongoburger, Superburger, Wonderburger, Cardiacburger and three other fast-food chains move into town and are greeted with lines out the door from day one.
* As the Wildcat football team struggles to come around, Arizona fans demand the U of A appoint a man as coach who is guaranteed to finally get the team to the Rose Bowl: Lute Olsen.
Happy New Year!
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Finally, The Justification I've Been Waiting For
For the last three years, I've dressed up in my full kilt on New Years' Eve, explaining it as the most festive outfits I have on one of the year's most festive occasions.
But finally, I realized I have a better excuse: "Auld Lang Syne," which so many of us croon at the stroke of high midnight, was penned by Robert Burns -- a Scotsman! Hopefully I can remember this for next New Years' Eve.
As for the one that just happened, it found your humble servant and his family in San Diego's Gaslamp District enjoying dinner at The Field and wandering aimlessly through the revel that comprises the end-of-year frivolity. As usual, my kilt is longer than most of the skirts I see on the ladies.
Of course, the kilt got many looks, and many mentions. Of note are two: one from a proud Basque man who was eager to remind me a Scottish dance step comes from his people.
The other thought I was a pirate. Yes, a pirate. I wasn't even wearing my tricorn, fercryinoutloud.
But finally, I realized I have a better excuse: "Auld Lang Syne," which so many of us croon at the stroke of high midnight, was penned by Robert Burns -- a Scotsman! Hopefully I can remember this for next New Years' Eve.
As for the one that just happened, it found your humble servant and his family in San Diego's Gaslamp District enjoying dinner at The Field and wandering aimlessly through the revel that comprises the end-of-year frivolity. As usual, my kilt is longer than most of the skirts I see on the ladies.
Of course, the kilt got many looks, and many mentions. Of note are two: one from a proud Basque man who was eager to remind me a Scottish dance step comes from his people.
The other thought I was a pirate. Yes, a pirate. I wasn't even wearing my tricorn, fercryinoutloud.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Reel To Reel: Sherlock Holmes: A Game Of Shadows
Now the real mystery begins.
Going Rate: Worth full price admission
Starring: Robert Downey Jr., Jude Law
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Victorian-flavored martial arts violence, gunplay and bawdiness
I will admit to you quite sheepishly that I've only read a couple of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories: "The Three Garridebs" and "The Red-Headed League." So I am relying on my Royal Father's considerable Holmes knowledge base when I tell you the sequel to the 2009 hit mashes up three Holmes stories, including one that Doyle hoped would be his last.
It also gets back to basics. Gone from this edition are the steampunk influences that made the first film trendy but abnormal. However, director Guy Ritchie doesn't mess with a winning formula. It still holds on to the characterization of Holmes as a skilled fighter and while adding his (Downey) greatest arch-nemesis, the sinister Professor Moriarty (Jared Harris), a criminal genius who really is a genius.
As the picture opens, France and Germany are at each other's throats in the late 1800's, and the rest of Europe could be pulled in if Moriarty's fiendish plot plays out. Holmes is the thorn in his side, but simply killing him is too easy... or too tough depending on your perspective. The two meet in a pre-game parlay like the commanders of two colonial armies taking the battlefield. "Do you want to play this game?" Moriarty asks of Holmes. Of course he does, especially after finding what the doctor did to his love interest.
The entire film is a gigantic, violent game of chess with moves and counter-moves, each man trying to outsmart the other. Caught in the middle is Holmes' beleaguered best friend Dr. Watson (Law), who's just gotten married but has to put his honeymoon on hold to follow Holmes on a case that has ended up endangering both their lives. Naturally, the climatic scene throws in an actual game of chess.
A Game Of Shadows forces you to pay attention to all the details, because all those details are going to come back in the next scene, or some scene down the reel. Nothing gets by Holmes, who admits to us, "I see everything," while confiding it is both curse and blessing.
I have to admit I was drawn in by the lush costuming of this picture, which will draw an easy Oscar nomination. And naturally, I'm a sucker for a handsomely costumed ball scene, which this picture delivers right down to the servants in the breeches. Even if the film isn't exactly true to Doyle's dialogue and storylines of the Victorian era, it certainly delivers the style.
Going Rate: Worth full price admission
Starring: Robert Downey Jr., Jude Law
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Victorian-flavored martial arts violence, gunplay and bawdiness
I will admit to you quite sheepishly that I've only read a couple of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes stories: "The Three Garridebs" and "The Red-Headed League." So I am relying on my Royal Father's considerable Holmes knowledge base when I tell you the sequel to the 2009 hit mashes up three Holmes stories, including one that Doyle hoped would be his last.
It also gets back to basics. Gone from this edition are the steampunk influences that made the first film trendy but abnormal. However, director Guy Ritchie doesn't mess with a winning formula. It still holds on to the characterization of Holmes as a skilled fighter and while adding his (Downey) greatest arch-nemesis, the sinister Professor Moriarty (Jared Harris), a criminal genius who really is a genius.
As the picture opens, France and Germany are at each other's throats in the late 1800's, and the rest of Europe could be pulled in if Moriarty's fiendish plot plays out. Holmes is the thorn in his side, but simply killing him is too easy... or too tough depending on your perspective. The two meet in a pre-game parlay like the commanders of two colonial armies taking the battlefield. "Do you want to play this game?" Moriarty asks of Holmes. Of course he does, especially after finding what the doctor did to his love interest.
The entire film is a gigantic, violent game of chess with moves and counter-moves, each man trying to outsmart the other. Caught in the middle is Holmes' beleaguered best friend Dr. Watson (Law), who's just gotten married but has to put his honeymoon on hold to follow Holmes on a case that has ended up endangering both their lives. Naturally, the climatic scene throws in an actual game of chess.
A Game Of Shadows forces you to pay attention to all the details, because all those details are going to come back in the next scene, or some scene down the reel. Nothing gets by Holmes, who admits to us, "I see everything," while confiding it is both curse and blessing.
I have to admit I was drawn in by the lush costuming of this picture, which will draw an easy Oscar nomination. And naturally, I'm a sucker for a handsomely costumed ball scene, which this picture delivers right down to the servants in the breeches. Even if the film isn't exactly true to Doyle's dialogue and storylines of the Victorian era, it certainly delivers the style.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Reel To Reel: Hugo
Time for some movie magic.
Going Rate: Worth full price admission in 3D
Starring: Ben Kingsley, Sacha Baron Cohen, Jude Law
Rated: PG (but could pass for a G)
Red Flags: Some very mild references to marital infidelity
Why on earth would the man who directed Taxi Driver, GoodFellas, Casino, Gangs Of New York, and Mean Streets want to take on an imaginative 3D family film? Because, silly, Martin Scorsese is one of the greats. And great directors know great movies. This one is a homage to another great: Georges Méliès, a magician who saw film as a new medium for illusion and created the industry that powers so many of today's movies -- special effects.
To summarize the film's plot would rob you of its storybook qualities. Indeed, the entire film has a lovingly storybook vision, as it follows the young boy Hugo (Asa Butterfield) through the inner workings of a train station in 1931 Paris as he keeps the various clocks wound and oiled while dodging the Station Inspector (Cohen). I can tell you that Hugo is hoping to complete a job his father started, and in doing so, he will have a brush with the aforementioned magician. Joining him in his adventure is Georges' goddaughter Isabelle (Chloë Grace Moretz), who can't understand why she's not allowed to see movies.
The 3D effects are like seasoning on a fine meal. Steam from the railway station leaks onto the screen and bathes you in Hugo's world. The film is in absolute adoration for post-WWI France and the French people, and Scorsese goes to great lengths to make sure you enjoy every bite. Butterfield turns in a solid performance as Hugo, but what struck me the most was his piercing eyes, which are enhanced by the 3D effect. Cohen's comic station inspector has nuance and wit. He should be playing Inspector Clouseau, not Steve Martin if somebody decides to remake another Pink Panther movie. And what can I say about Ben Kingsley, except that I'm glad he's still making movies.
See Hugo in a theater, while you still can. Its magic will loose potency when it comes to Blu-Ray, even if you have a gigantic 3D capable big screen. Some movies are meant to be movies, and Méliès might very well agree.
Going Rate: Worth full price admission in 3D
Starring: Ben Kingsley, Sacha Baron Cohen, Jude Law
Rated: PG (but could pass for a G)
Red Flags: Some very mild references to marital infidelity
Why on earth would the man who directed Taxi Driver, GoodFellas, Casino, Gangs Of New York, and Mean Streets want to take on an imaginative 3D family film? Because, silly, Martin Scorsese is one of the greats. And great directors know great movies. This one is a homage to another great: Georges Méliès, a magician who saw film as a new medium for illusion and created the industry that powers so many of today's movies -- special effects.
To summarize the film's plot would rob you of its storybook qualities. Indeed, the entire film has a lovingly storybook vision, as it follows the young boy Hugo (Asa Butterfield) through the inner workings of a train station in 1931 Paris as he keeps the various clocks wound and oiled while dodging the Station Inspector (Cohen). I can tell you that Hugo is hoping to complete a job his father started, and in doing so, he will have a brush with the aforementioned magician. Joining him in his adventure is Georges' goddaughter Isabelle (Chloë Grace Moretz), who can't understand why she's not allowed to see movies.
The 3D effects are like seasoning on a fine meal. Steam from the railway station leaks onto the screen and bathes you in Hugo's world. The film is in absolute adoration for post-WWI France and the French people, and Scorsese goes to great lengths to make sure you enjoy every bite. Butterfield turns in a solid performance as Hugo, but what struck me the most was his piercing eyes, which are enhanced by the 3D effect. Cohen's comic station inspector has nuance and wit. He should be playing Inspector Clouseau, not Steve Martin if somebody decides to remake another Pink Panther movie. And what can I say about Ben Kingsley, except that I'm glad he's still making movies.
See Hugo in a theater, while you still can. Its magic will loose potency when it comes to Blu-Ray, even if you have a gigantic 3D capable big screen. Some movies are meant to be movies, and Méliès might very well agree.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Reel To Reel: Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol
Impossible mission? Not in the movies, no.
Going Rate: Worth full price admission
Starring: Tom Cruise, Paula Patton, Simon Pegg, Jeremy Renner
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Action violence, some mild sexuality and mild language
The fourth installment of the Mission Impossible film series may be the best so far. It's still over the top, but it's executed in a way that doesn't feel over the top. Along the way it finds a sense of dark humor, an okay-are-we-really-going-to-have-to-do-this vibe.
Ethan Hunt (Cruise) is back and still taking more bodily punishment than Wile E. Coyote on a bad day. His support team of the beauty, Jane (Patton) and the brains, Benji (Pegg), are with him busting him out of a Russian Gulag and then infiltrating the Kremlin to recover stolen nuclear secrets -- all in less than 24 hours. Now complain to me once more about all the Christmas shopping you have left to do.
The Impossible Missions Force doesn't always get away clean. This time, they end up fingered for a terrorist bombing at the Kremlin, but it's actually the work of a nuclear madman named Cobalt, who wants to detonate a nuke as part of a scheme to build some sort of new world order. After the Kremlin incident, the President disavows the IMF, which is just a diplomatic way of saying, "You're on your own, kids, until this stuff blows over."
Really, though, like Ethan and company need official permission to do anything. In fact, they pick up Brandt (Renner), a government analyst who fights pretty darn well for a desk jockey. With his skills, Jane's deadly charm and Benji's computer hacking skills, you've got just enough team to save the world.
Ethan still does most of the grunt work, including climbing up the Burj Khalifa in Dubai, the world's tallest building. If CGI is used in this scene, it's the best digital compositing I've ever seen -- or it's real. If that isn't enough, he also has to outmaneuvering an automated parking garage in India and run down a baddie in a familiar-looking sand storm. I kept waiting for the audience to yell out, "Haboob!"
Ghost Protocol is a summer blockbuster on winter vacation. It doesn't expect us to suspend a lot of disbelief, leading to many moments when you think, "Wow, this is really dangerous." Simon Pegg's character is nice touch to the film, adding some needed lighter moments. I heard one young lady telling her friends on the way out of the auditorium, "This is the best of the four." I think she's right.
Going Rate: Worth full price admission
Starring: Tom Cruise, Paula Patton, Simon Pegg, Jeremy Renner
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Action violence, some mild sexuality and mild language
The fourth installment of the Mission Impossible film series may be the best so far. It's still over the top, but it's executed in a way that doesn't feel over the top. Along the way it finds a sense of dark humor, an okay-are-we-really-going-to-have-to-do-this vibe.
Ethan Hunt (Cruise) is back and still taking more bodily punishment than Wile E. Coyote on a bad day. His support team of the beauty, Jane (Patton) and the brains, Benji (Pegg), are with him busting him out of a Russian Gulag and then infiltrating the Kremlin to recover stolen nuclear secrets -- all in less than 24 hours. Now complain to me once more about all the Christmas shopping you have left to do.
The Impossible Missions Force doesn't always get away clean. This time, they end up fingered for a terrorist bombing at the Kremlin, but it's actually the work of a nuclear madman named Cobalt, who wants to detonate a nuke as part of a scheme to build some sort of new world order. After the Kremlin incident, the President disavows the IMF, which is just a diplomatic way of saying, "You're on your own, kids, until this stuff blows over."
Really, though, like Ethan and company need official permission to do anything. In fact, they pick up Brandt (Renner), a government analyst who fights pretty darn well for a desk jockey. With his skills, Jane's deadly charm and Benji's computer hacking skills, you've got just enough team to save the world.
Ethan still does most of the grunt work, including climbing up the Burj Khalifa in Dubai, the world's tallest building. If CGI is used in this scene, it's the best digital compositing I've ever seen -- or it's real. If that isn't enough, he also has to outmaneuvering an automated parking garage in India and run down a baddie in a familiar-looking sand storm. I kept waiting for the audience to yell out, "Haboob!"
Ghost Protocol is a summer blockbuster on winter vacation. It doesn't expect us to suspend a lot of disbelief, leading to many moments when you think, "Wow, this is really dangerous." Simon Pegg's character is nice touch to the film, adding some needed lighter moments. I heard one young lady telling her friends on the way out of the auditorium, "This is the best of the four." I think she's right.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Francis At 40 -- You've Come A Long Way, Baby!
Lessons, ponderings and observations from the first four decades:
Experience doesn't necessarily equal wisdom. I'm still learning on the job.
Substitutions come with pitfalls. Don't try using dishwashing liquid when you run out of Cascade.
When you move up in your job, or in life, everything should move up. I passed on job offers from Wichita, Lexington and Ft. Meyers because they couldn't cut it.
Some people would rather live in their own world than face the truth -- too many examples to list.
I have to accept the limitations of my body. It took only one Scottish dance to trash my arm, and Ukrainian folk dancers can do things that would break my neck.
GOD answers prayers in ways people don't expect. And often that answer is "no."
Contentment prevents many problems.
I can wear a tricorn hat in my full Revolutionary War uniform and people will still call me a pirate.
I can serve GOD by serving others.
Passion is wonderful, as long as you're passionate about the right things. I still can't believe the fanaticism surrounding my appearance on The Price Is Right.
Shoveling snow like you're fighting a war is a sure way to end up in the Emergency Room.
I don't need to drink alcohol. I don't want to drink alcohol. GOD did not create me as a drinking person.
If peanut oil comes from peanuts, and olive oil comes from olives, I hate to think about where baby oil comes from.
I can only remember 20 percent of what I learned in college. Glad I had a scholarship.
If I had my current interest in history back when I was 16, I would have gone to the prom dressed in a 1740's coat, powdered wig, white stockings and knee breeches. I kid you not. What would they do -- throw me out for being too elegant?
GOD gives us a compass, not a road map. All of us are free to follow our joys as long as we trust HIS guidance.
If I'm not supposed to eat the paste in Kindergarten, why did they make it so tasty?
If I can walk, I can dance.
Show me an old Radio Shack TRS-80 system, and I'll show you one slobbering nerd.
The evil genius who can manipulate the world's testosterone will be the one to rule them all.
A dog knows more than I would like to admit.
First you find your MASTER. Then you find your mission. Then you find your mate.
Across the infinite universe, much more is unknown than known, more undiscovered than visioned... but when the aliens invade this planet, they'll eat the fat ones first.
Experience doesn't necessarily equal wisdom. I'm still learning on the job.
Substitutions come with pitfalls. Don't try using dishwashing liquid when you run out of Cascade.
When you move up in your job, or in life, everything should move up. I passed on job offers from Wichita, Lexington and Ft. Meyers because they couldn't cut it.
Some people would rather live in their own world than face the truth -- too many examples to list.
I have to accept the limitations of my body. It took only one Scottish dance to trash my arm, and Ukrainian folk dancers can do things that would break my neck.
GOD answers prayers in ways people don't expect. And often that answer is "no."
Contentment prevents many problems.
I can wear a tricorn hat in my full Revolutionary War uniform and people will still call me a pirate.
I can serve GOD by serving others.
Passion is wonderful, as long as you're passionate about the right things. I still can't believe the fanaticism surrounding my appearance on The Price Is Right.
Shoveling snow like you're fighting a war is a sure way to end up in the Emergency Room.
I don't need to drink alcohol. I don't want to drink alcohol. GOD did not create me as a drinking person.
If peanut oil comes from peanuts, and olive oil comes from olives, I hate to think about where baby oil comes from.
I can only remember 20 percent of what I learned in college. Glad I had a scholarship.
If I had my current interest in history back when I was 16, I would have gone to the prom dressed in a 1740's coat, powdered wig, white stockings and knee breeches. I kid you not. What would they do -- throw me out for being too elegant?
GOD gives us a compass, not a road map. All of us are free to follow our joys as long as we trust HIS guidance.
If I'm not supposed to eat the paste in Kindergarten, why did they make it so tasty?
If I can walk, I can dance.
Show me an old Radio Shack TRS-80 system, and I'll show you one slobbering nerd.
The evil genius who can manipulate the world's testosterone will be the one to rule them all.
A dog knows more than I would like to admit.
First you find your MASTER. Then you find your mission. Then you find your mate.
Across the infinite universe, much more is unknown than known, more undiscovered than visioned... but when the aliens invade this planet, they'll eat the fat ones first.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Reel To Reel: The Muppets
It's time to raise the curtain... again.
Going Rate: Worth full price admission for Muppet fans
Starring: Jason Segel, Amy Adams, Chris Cooper plus oodles of cameos
Rated: PG (but really should be a G)
Red Flags: Two very mild adult jokes, one of which is referenced below
I don't think Muppet founder Jim Henson would've gone for Fozzie Bear showing off, to put it kindly, flatulent shoes. But he would have loved the rest of this heartfelt reunion and tribute film to his puppet empire starring Jason Segel, who co-wrote it for Muppet fans everywhere. It is a family film, not so much for the kids, but for the adults who invited the fuzzy-foamy characters to come into their living rooms on "The Muppet Show" every week and who begged to go see their first three movies.
Segal is Gary, a Muppet fan with a brother named Walter, who's an even bigger fan. Walter is also a Muppet himself, a fact conveniently overlooked until the proper plot point is achieved. I could make an interesting argument here that Walter is actually Gary's outward projection of his inner child, but family movies are not supposed to be that deep. Gary's in love with Mary (Adams), a school teacher who is still waiting for Gary to pop the question -- if Guy Smiley or Prince Charming doesn't come along and pop it first. All of them live in Smalltown, an idyllic community which should come with a disclaimer below the welcome sign: "Residents are prone to outbursts of song and dance."
Gary, Mary and Walter take a trip to Los Angeles, which includes a stop at the Muppet Studios. When they get there, the place is run down and shuttered. The Muppets themselves don't even work there anymore. Worse, Walter overhears corporate robber baron Tex Richman (Cooper) plotting to raze the studio and drill for oil beneath it unless the Muppets can raise $10 million to buy it back under a clause in their standard "Rich And Famous Contract," one of the film's several enlightened references to the original Muppet Movie.
Walter and his human pals track down Kermit the Frog to warn him and persuade the Muppet gang to do one more gig. In sequences reminiscent of The Blues Brothers, Kermit and company track down the gang who have split up and taken straight jobs, more or less. Fozzie is working a dead-end show at a Reno casino. Animal is in an anger management program (alongside Jack Black, to boot). Gonzo is a plumbing company executive. Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem are playing in the subways. Only Miss Piggy has vaulted upward, to editor of Vogue. We're still not sure if Kermit and Piggy are married, separated or in one of those it's-complicated relationships, but they still have plenty of romantic tension between them as the old gang hastily puts together what could be their last show.
The Muppets overflows with love and respect for Kermit and company's fans. It does not try to upgrade its characters to the CGI age: we continue to see them mostly from the waist up, reminding us that there are still puppeteers below them, operating their hands and mouths and lending the voices. Several of those voices are more than a touch different due to changes in the cast of performers over the years, and sadly, the death of Jim Henson. After Henson's passing, Rowlf the Dog dropped out of sight; Henson provided his voice and part of his hand work. I was glad to see him back in this film, and he's still a whiz on the piano.
Many, many Muppet characters also return, if only for a couple of silent scenes, including Uncle Deadly. To my knowledge, he only appeared in one episode of the TV series, alongside Vincent Price. Speaking of guest star spots, The Muppets honors that tradition faithfully. In addition to Black, the film's cameos include Mickey Rooney, Whoopi Goldberg and... James Carville? Charles Grodin is a notable omission. His appearance was planned but omitted due to either schedule or production issues.
Young children aren't going to have the same admiration for this film as their parents. That's all right. It wasn't made for them. They may still appreciate it though, in all its fun, fuzzy innocence. Please, Disney, do us a favor. Find a way to bring "The Muppet Show" back to television and give us a show we can truly enjoy with the kids.
(The PG rating on this film is overstated. Save for two mildly crude jokes that are pretty tame in the universe of today's films, this film deserves to be a G.)
Going Rate: Worth full price admission for Muppet fans
Starring: Jason Segel, Amy Adams, Chris Cooper plus oodles of cameos
Rated: PG (but really should be a G)
Red Flags: Two very mild adult jokes, one of which is referenced below
I don't think Muppet founder Jim Henson would've gone for Fozzie Bear showing off, to put it kindly, flatulent shoes. But he would have loved the rest of this heartfelt reunion and tribute film to his puppet empire starring Jason Segel, who co-wrote it for Muppet fans everywhere. It is a family film, not so much for the kids, but for the adults who invited the fuzzy-foamy characters to come into their living rooms on "The Muppet Show" every week and who begged to go see their first three movies.
Segal is Gary, a Muppet fan with a brother named Walter, who's an even bigger fan. Walter is also a Muppet himself, a fact conveniently overlooked until the proper plot point is achieved. I could make an interesting argument here that Walter is actually Gary's outward projection of his inner child, but family movies are not supposed to be that deep. Gary's in love with Mary (Adams), a school teacher who is still waiting for Gary to pop the question -- if Guy Smiley or Prince Charming doesn't come along and pop it first. All of them live in Smalltown, an idyllic community which should come with a disclaimer below the welcome sign: "Residents are prone to outbursts of song and dance."
Gary, Mary and Walter take a trip to Los Angeles, which includes a stop at the Muppet Studios. When they get there, the place is run down and shuttered. The Muppets themselves don't even work there anymore. Worse, Walter overhears corporate robber baron Tex Richman (Cooper) plotting to raze the studio and drill for oil beneath it unless the Muppets can raise $10 million to buy it back under a clause in their standard "Rich And Famous Contract," one of the film's several enlightened references to the original Muppet Movie.
Walter and his human pals track down Kermit the Frog to warn him and persuade the Muppet gang to do one more gig. In sequences reminiscent of The Blues Brothers, Kermit and company track down the gang who have split up and taken straight jobs, more or less. Fozzie is working a dead-end show at a Reno casino. Animal is in an anger management program (alongside Jack Black, to boot). Gonzo is a plumbing company executive. Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem are playing in the subways. Only Miss Piggy has vaulted upward, to editor of Vogue. We're still not sure if Kermit and Piggy are married, separated or in one of those it's-complicated relationships, but they still have plenty of romantic tension between them as the old gang hastily puts together what could be their last show.
The Muppets overflows with love and respect for Kermit and company's fans. It does not try to upgrade its characters to the CGI age: we continue to see them mostly from the waist up, reminding us that there are still puppeteers below them, operating their hands and mouths and lending the voices. Several of those voices are more than a touch different due to changes in the cast of performers over the years, and sadly, the death of Jim Henson. After Henson's passing, Rowlf the Dog dropped out of sight; Henson provided his voice and part of his hand work. I was glad to see him back in this film, and he's still a whiz on the piano.
Many, many Muppet characters also return, if only for a couple of silent scenes, including Uncle Deadly. To my knowledge, he only appeared in one episode of the TV series, alongside Vincent Price. Speaking of guest star spots, The Muppets honors that tradition faithfully. In addition to Black, the film's cameos include Mickey Rooney, Whoopi Goldberg and... James Carville? Charles Grodin is a notable omission. His appearance was planned but omitted due to either schedule or production issues.
Young children aren't going to have the same admiration for this film as their parents. That's all right. It wasn't made for them. They may still appreciate it though, in all its fun, fuzzy innocence. Please, Disney, do us a favor. Find a way to bring "The Muppet Show" back to television and give us a show we can truly enjoy with the kids.
(The PG rating on this film is overstated. Save for two mildly crude jokes that are pretty tame in the universe of today's films, this film deserves to be a G.)
Friday, November 11, 2011
Reel To Reel: J. Edgar
Guns, guts, and Mommy Dearest.
Going Rate: Worth full price admission
Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Naomi Watts, Armie Hammer, Josh Lucas, Judi Dench
Rated: R (but really should be a PG-13)
Red Flags: One short scene of brief strong language, two mild homosexual kisses
J. Edgar Hoover built the Federal Bureau of Investigation into a powerfully innovative crime-fighting agency, one that would do his own personal bidding, and yet this film portrays him as cornered by a long-rumored homosexuality and his relationship with his mother. This irony is the heart of J. Edgar, a Clint Eastwood-directed period piece that's a shoo-in for at least a couple of Oscar nominations.
Make-up should be one of them, as we see alternating images of Leonardo DiCaprio playing Hoover as a young Justice Department agent while the older, grizzled Hoover dictates his glory days for a book. As he did in The Aviator and Shutter Island, DiCaprio handles period roles and historical heavyweights with precision and ease. His Hoover obsesses over radicals and communist threats to America underneath every rock, and he laments that his Justice colleagues don't seem to understand it. He says people forget "the bombs," what we would call terrorist attacks by Bolsheviks in the early 1900's, before the word "terrorist" entered our lexicon. He finds evidence of subversion in the White House and the civil rights movement. One subplot involves Hoover wiretapping the hotel room of Martin Luther King Junior.
Information is Hoover's weapon of choice, as he ruthlessly compiles secret files on opponents and dissidents to gather information for leverage while pushing the FBI to develop groundbreaking techniques in forensic analysis. It is hard to imagine a time when police didn't check for fingerprints, let alone DNA, but it's even harder to imagine how sloppily authorities would treat a crime scene. Hoover uses the kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby as his proving grounds, the crime of the century that became the trial of the century, to show how criminals couldn't beat science.
Hoover's personal life is less than triumphant. He hires underqualified agent Clyde Tolson (Hammer), who turns into his chief deputy and lover, a relationship he conducts with strategic secrecy to keep it from ruining him. His secretary Helen Gandy is his right-hand woman, keeping his schedule running and his personal files hidden. And then there's Mother: Annie Hoover (Dench) is not an overbearing figure, but she is the only woman Hoover can relate to. No doubt about it, J. Edgar is a mama's boy.
J. Edgar can drag at points, but overall, Clint Eastwood keeps the story moving while understanding we need additional insight in order to appreciate the complexities and ironies surrounding a man who served six presidents. Dustin Lance Black, who also wrote the biopic Milk, handles Hoover's suspected homosexuality in a discreet manner that one could argue, as former FBI man W. Mark Felt did, that they simply were engaging in brotherly love.
The film does not break new ground as much as it lets us see the world from Hoover's perspective, that of a dedicated public servant who lives and breathes crimefighting and will stop at nothing to keep Americans safe.
Going Rate: Worth full price admission
Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Naomi Watts, Armie Hammer, Josh Lucas, Judi Dench
Rated: R (but really should be a PG-13)
Red Flags: One short scene of brief strong language, two mild homosexual kisses
J. Edgar Hoover built the Federal Bureau of Investigation into a powerfully innovative crime-fighting agency, one that would do his own personal bidding, and yet this film portrays him as cornered by a long-rumored homosexuality and his relationship with his mother. This irony is the heart of J. Edgar, a Clint Eastwood-directed period piece that's a shoo-in for at least a couple of Oscar nominations.
Make-up should be one of them, as we see alternating images of Leonardo DiCaprio playing Hoover as a young Justice Department agent while the older, grizzled Hoover dictates his glory days for a book. As he did in The Aviator and Shutter Island, DiCaprio handles period roles and historical heavyweights with precision and ease. His Hoover obsesses over radicals and communist threats to America underneath every rock, and he laments that his Justice colleagues don't seem to understand it. He says people forget "the bombs," what we would call terrorist attacks by Bolsheviks in the early 1900's, before the word "terrorist" entered our lexicon. He finds evidence of subversion in the White House and the civil rights movement. One subplot involves Hoover wiretapping the hotel room of Martin Luther King Junior.
Information is Hoover's weapon of choice, as he ruthlessly compiles secret files on opponents and dissidents to gather information for leverage while pushing the FBI to develop groundbreaking techniques in forensic analysis. It is hard to imagine a time when police didn't check for fingerprints, let alone DNA, but it's even harder to imagine how sloppily authorities would treat a crime scene. Hoover uses the kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby as his proving grounds, the crime of the century that became the trial of the century, to show how criminals couldn't beat science.
Hoover's personal life is less than triumphant. He hires underqualified agent Clyde Tolson (Hammer), who turns into his chief deputy and lover, a relationship he conducts with strategic secrecy to keep it from ruining him. His secretary Helen Gandy is his right-hand woman, keeping his schedule running and his personal files hidden. And then there's Mother: Annie Hoover (Dench) is not an overbearing figure, but she is the only woman Hoover can relate to. No doubt about it, J. Edgar is a mama's boy.
J. Edgar can drag at points, but overall, Clint Eastwood keeps the story moving while understanding we need additional insight in order to appreciate the complexities and ironies surrounding a man who served six presidents. Dustin Lance Black, who also wrote the biopic Milk, handles Hoover's suspected homosexuality in a discreet manner that one could argue, as former FBI man W. Mark Felt did, that they simply were engaging in brotherly love.
The film does not break new ground as much as it lets us see the world from Hoover's perspective, that of a dedicated public servant who lives and breathes crimefighting and will stop at nothing to keep Americans safe.
Reel To Reel: Tower Heist
When you don't have Ocean's 11, four or five might work.
Going Rate: Worth matinee price
Starring: Ben Stiller, Eddie Murphy, Casey Affleck, Alan Alda, Matthew Broderick
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Language (mainly Murphy's dirty mouth), some sexual references
Tower Heist wants to be the Ocean's 11 of the Occupy Wall Street age, seizing upon our low opinions of banks, securities firms, and anybody stinking rich. It's also designed to be a comeback vehicle for Eddie Murphy, who has seen his career circle the drain ever since he taking up family-friendly movies like Haunted Mansion, Daddy Day Care, and space gobbler The Adventures of Pluto Nash. Neither concept works entirely, but director Brett Ratner at least holds the film together.
Josh Kovacs (Stiller) is the manager for one of New York's most upscale condo-plexes, a place where people aren't merely paying for living space but for the luxury of having a staff that knows them, knows their name, knows their birthdays, their quirks, their dirty little secrets and will unflinchingly deliver service with a smile. Kovacs' chief task is catering to the needs of penthouse resident Arthur Shaw (Alda), a Wall Street titan who is suddenly arrested for Bernie Madoff-style securities fraud. In headline-ripping style, Shaw is put under house arrest at the top of the tower, and it just so happens he was managing the pension funds of all the tower's employees.
Seeing that Shaw might beat the rap and not refund a dime to the tower workers, Kovacs devises a scheme to steal back the money by using his concierge smarts to devise a foolproof burglary and getaway plan. He pulls in several employees and a geeky ex-resident (Broderick) for help, but they need a criminal mind. So Kovacs turns to his profane street-crook neighbor Slide (Murphy), who is supposed to school Kovacs' gang in how to rob.
It's nice to see Eddie Murphy go back to his slick fast-talking persona that vaulted him to success on Saturday Night Live and a slew of hit movies including his best, Beverly Hills Cop. The only problem is, Murphy's more dirty than funny. His earlier films were crude, yes, but they didn't stretch him into some gansta-wannabe. Maybe Murphy is making up for all those family films by overdoing it here.
Stiller's performance is more believable, although I still have a hard time buying into his leap from personal assistant to aspiring thief. For that matter, I also have a hard time believing Alda -- one of Hollywood's most likeable actors -- as a heartless moneyed cretin, but doggone it if he doesn't try.
Tower Heist probably should have gone more of the con-job route like The Sting, relying more on the wits and problem-solving skills of its characters rather than trying to pull off the heist of the decade.
Going Rate: Worth matinee price
Starring: Ben Stiller, Eddie Murphy, Casey Affleck, Alan Alda, Matthew Broderick
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Language (mainly Murphy's dirty mouth), some sexual references
Tower Heist wants to be the Ocean's 11 of the Occupy Wall Street age, seizing upon our low opinions of banks, securities firms, and anybody stinking rich. It's also designed to be a comeback vehicle for Eddie Murphy, who has seen his career circle the drain ever since he taking up family-friendly movies like Haunted Mansion, Daddy Day Care, and space gobbler The Adventures of Pluto Nash. Neither concept works entirely, but director Brett Ratner at least holds the film together.
Josh Kovacs (Stiller) is the manager for one of New York's most upscale condo-plexes, a place where people aren't merely paying for living space but for the luxury of having a staff that knows them, knows their name, knows their birthdays, their quirks, their dirty little secrets and will unflinchingly deliver service with a smile. Kovacs' chief task is catering to the needs of penthouse resident Arthur Shaw (Alda), a Wall Street titan who is suddenly arrested for Bernie Madoff-style securities fraud. In headline-ripping style, Shaw is put under house arrest at the top of the tower, and it just so happens he was managing the pension funds of all the tower's employees.
Seeing that Shaw might beat the rap and not refund a dime to the tower workers, Kovacs devises a scheme to steal back the money by using his concierge smarts to devise a foolproof burglary and getaway plan. He pulls in several employees and a geeky ex-resident (Broderick) for help, but they need a criminal mind. So Kovacs turns to his profane street-crook neighbor Slide (Murphy), who is supposed to school Kovacs' gang in how to rob.
It's nice to see Eddie Murphy go back to his slick fast-talking persona that vaulted him to success on Saturday Night Live and a slew of hit movies including his best, Beverly Hills Cop. The only problem is, Murphy's more dirty than funny. His earlier films were crude, yes, but they didn't stretch him into some gansta-wannabe. Maybe Murphy is making up for all those family films by overdoing it here.
Stiller's performance is more believable, although I still have a hard time buying into his leap from personal assistant to aspiring thief. For that matter, I also have a hard time believing Alda -- one of Hollywood's most likeable actors -- as a heartless moneyed cretin, but doggone it if he doesn't try.
Tower Heist probably should have gone more of the con-job route like The Sting, relying more on the wits and problem-solving skills of its characters rather than trying to pull off the heist of the decade.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Reel To Reel: The Three Musketeers (2011)
All for one... and if they'd only stopped at one.
Going Rate: Worth matinee price
Starring: Milla Jovovich, Christoph Waltz, Logan Lerman, Matthew MacFadyen, Ray Stevenson, Luke Evans, Mads Mikkelsen
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Ye olde swordplay, mild language
I keep waiting for somebody to come up with an 18th Century version of "steampunk," that Victorian flavor of science fiction. This umpteenth remake of Dumas' classic may be as close as Hollywood comes for awhile, with not one but two flying ships sporting 17th-century automatic weapons. Oh yes, there's swordplay.
Director Paul W.S. Anderson's Musketeers are three of France's finest swashbucklers who I gather would align themselves with the other 99 percent. They're out of work, without direction, broke and drinking liberally. But when they get a mission, they're as dangerous as the IMF. Along comes D'Artagnan (Lerman), a young hotshot with a sword, and before long, they're back in action to save France from the sinister plan of Cardinal Richelieu (Waltz). He's aided by Milady De Winter (Jovovich), a limber double agent whose first name leaves one wondering if a bow is required every time it purses the lips.
Enjoying this film requires the kind of suspension of disbelief necessary to enjoy a weekend at the Renaissance Festival, otherwise you'll be left puzzling over the following things:
Going Rate: Worth matinee price
Starring: Milla Jovovich, Christoph Waltz, Logan Lerman, Matthew MacFadyen, Ray Stevenson, Luke Evans, Mads Mikkelsen
Rated: PG-13
Red Flags: Ye olde swordplay, mild language
I keep waiting for somebody to come up with an 18th Century version of "steampunk," that Victorian flavor of science fiction. This umpteenth remake of Dumas' classic may be as close as Hollywood comes for awhile, with not one but two flying ships sporting 17th-century automatic weapons. Oh yes, there's swordplay.
Director Paul W.S. Anderson's Musketeers are three of France's finest swashbucklers who I gather would align themselves with the other 99 percent. They're out of work, without direction, broke and drinking liberally. But when they get a mission, they're as dangerous as the IMF. Along comes D'Artagnan (Lerman), a young hotshot with a sword, and before long, they're back in action to save France from the sinister plan of Cardinal Richelieu (Waltz). He's aided by Milady De Winter (Jovovich), a limber double agent whose first name leaves one wondering if a bow is required every time it purses the lips.
Enjoying this film requires the kind of suspension of disbelief necessary to enjoy a weekend at the Renaissance Festival, otherwise you'll be left puzzling over the following things:
- Why is nobody bringing a pistol to a gigantic swordfight in the middle of the picture when we just saw one used a few scenes ago?
- How can Milady [bowing] De Winter run in that heavy late-Renaissance gown?
- Where on Earth are the French and English getting the helium for those flying airships? It has to be helium, because you won't see any Hindenburg disasters in this movie. Oh the humanity...
- How do they steer those things so well without constantly reconfiguring the sails?
- Why do all these Frenchmen speak with English accents? And why do the Musketeers sound the least French of anybody?
- Did the French really give out citations for horse droppings?
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Reel To Reel: The Ides Of March
True primary colors.
Going Rate: Worth full price admission
Starring: George Clooney, Ryan Gosling, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Paul Giamatti
Rated: R
Red Flags: Strong language, one sex scene
The Ides Of March is a 100-minute game of political chicken or no-limit Washington hold-em centered around a presidential candidate who talks a great game of integrity while his staffers realize there are only two requirements for political office: knowing how to win and knowing how to add. Playing dirty is not frowned upon but expected.
Stephen Myers (Gosling) is a smart young press secretary for Gov. Mike Morris (Clooney, who also directs) who plays the system like Tiger Woods at the top of his game. He has a reporter in his pocket, great strategies for his boss and all the right things to say. But he needs 200 delegates to seal the Democratic nomination, something which will require the endorsement of Ohio's governor, and as you might expect, that endorsement won't come out of mere good will. That job falls to Morris' campaign manager Paul Zara (Hoffman), the prototypical chain-smoking political sage who you know belongs in some backroom somewhere making deals.
Myers thinks he's hot stuff, but not any hotter than he can handle until he secretly meets with Tom Duffy (Giamatti), campaign manager for the governor's opponent. Duffy indicates Morris' lead in the polls is soft and tips him off to the strategy that threatens to disintegrate that lead. However, Myers is also getting person with a campaign intern (Evan Rachel Wood). After the sex scandals of Bill Clinton and John Edwards, you would think Democratic campaign workers would know better. However, it's not Myers' fling that's the big problem, nor is it his fraternizing with the enemy. It's something much bigger, yet all too familiar.
The film's title draws from the famous warning to Julius Caesar in Shakespeare's iconic play of politics, power, and people with knives waiting to stab somebody in the back. Likewise, Ides' tension comes from characters who are armed with damaging information like hand grenades on their belts, and we're constantly watching to see who lobs the next bomb and who gets hurt while Gov. Morris models himself into the perfect candidate, and Clooney sounds absolutely presidential in those compulsory-element speech-making scenes. I'm wondering what's going to take this guy down. However, when I read Julius Caesar in high school, I considered it to be Brutus' tragedy, the story of noble motivations gone wrong. Et tu, Stephen? Yet all of this psycho-political brinksmanship takes place out of the public eye, even outside the 24-hour cable news cycle.
I saw this movie with my Royal Father and Queen Mother, who had a beef with a critical plot twist. She felt it more appropriate of a 1970's tensioner like Absence Of Malice. Your Majesty, I respectfully disagree. Part of the nature of a suspense film is that its characters aren't completely on the level, even if we think we know what they should do. If I had any problem with this film, it was that it ended abruptly as it was just beginning to take off. Maybe that's because I was so drawn into its moves and counter-moves that I wanted to see Election Night and not just the primary.
Going Rate: Worth full price admission
Starring: George Clooney, Ryan Gosling, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Paul Giamatti
Rated: R
Red Flags: Strong language, one sex scene
The Ides Of March is a 100-minute game of political chicken or no-limit Washington hold-em centered around a presidential candidate who talks a great game of integrity while his staffers realize there are only two requirements for political office: knowing how to win and knowing how to add. Playing dirty is not frowned upon but expected.
Stephen Myers (Gosling) is a smart young press secretary for Gov. Mike Morris (Clooney, who also directs) who plays the system like Tiger Woods at the top of his game. He has a reporter in his pocket, great strategies for his boss and all the right things to say. But he needs 200 delegates to seal the Democratic nomination, something which will require the endorsement of Ohio's governor, and as you might expect, that endorsement won't come out of mere good will. That job falls to Morris' campaign manager Paul Zara (Hoffman), the prototypical chain-smoking political sage who you know belongs in some backroom somewhere making deals.
Myers thinks he's hot stuff, but not any hotter than he can handle until he secretly meets with Tom Duffy (Giamatti), campaign manager for the governor's opponent. Duffy indicates Morris' lead in the polls is soft and tips him off to the strategy that threatens to disintegrate that lead. However, Myers is also getting person with a campaign intern (Evan Rachel Wood). After the sex scandals of Bill Clinton and John Edwards, you would think Democratic campaign workers would know better. However, it's not Myers' fling that's the big problem, nor is it his fraternizing with the enemy. It's something much bigger, yet all too familiar.
The film's title draws from the famous warning to Julius Caesar in Shakespeare's iconic play of politics, power, and people with knives waiting to stab somebody in the back. Likewise, Ides' tension comes from characters who are armed with damaging information like hand grenades on their belts, and we're constantly watching to see who lobs the next bomb and who gets hurt while Gov. Morris models himself into the perfect candidate, and Clooney sounds absolutely presidential in those compulsory-element speech-making scenes. I'm wondering what's going to take this guy down. However, when I read Julius Caesar in high school, I considered it to be Brutus' tragedy, the story of noble motivations gone wrong. Et tu, Stephen? Yet all of this psycho-political brinksmanship takes place out of the public eye, even outside the 24-hour cable news cycle.
I saw this movie with my Royal Father and Queen Mother, who had a beef with a critical plot twist. She felt it more appropriate of a 1970's tensioner like Absence Of Malice. Your Majesty, I respectfully disagree. Part of the nature of a suspense film is that its characters aren't completely on the level, even if we think we know what they should do. If I had any problem with this film, it was that it ended abruptly as it was just beginning to take off. Maybe that's because I was so drawn into its moves and counter-moves that I wanted to see Election Night and not just the primary.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Deal Me In!
Four years ago, I appeared on "The Price Is Right." Now I take on "Let's Make A Deal." And this time, I got the eligibility questions out of the way up front, so game-show fanboys, you don't get to hate on me this time.
5:30am – Wake up. Get into my Royal Stewart kilt. Chug some hot cocoa and hit the road. The show time on my ticket says 11:30am, but I don't know how early I need to be at the studio to make it into the taping. Nothing on the Internet gives any clues. I figure 3 to 4 hours in advance will be fine, if the lines are anything like “The Price Is Right.” But this is a less-popular show.
6:30am – On the road, I hit the first of several traffic congestion spots on “the ten.” All through Los Angeles, cars are backing up in certain spots with no discernible explanation. Maybe too many people are trying to merge into traffic, slowing everyone down, but I don't see that happening.
7:15am – It amazes me how Angelinos put up with this every single day, sitting in cars crawling around at a snails' pace, wasting at least an hour, more likely two, out of their workdays on a backed-up stretch of concrete. You would think a massive effort would go into telecommuting and shorter work weeks, but people aren't clamoring for that. I figure if we took only 20 percent of the cars off the road through alternative work schedules, you'd see a vast improvement.
8:00am – I've gone from the 10 to the 101, also known as the “Hollywood Freeway.” But through downtown, it's more like the Hollywood Parking Lot.
8:15am – I'm in the area of Sunset Boulevard and Van Ness. My destination is the Sunset Bronson Studios, also home to KTLA-TV. But first, I have to find a place to park. I am advised I can't park in the studio lot, so I have to find someplace on the street, someplace legal, someplace safe. I loop around a few blocks, hitting the brakes once to avoid hitting a teenager who walked out in front of me in the middle of a left turn. I find a place on the street near the studio's main guard shack. I park and walk up to it, in the full regalia.
“I have tickets to 'Let's Make A Deal,'” I say to a glass box full of security agents, some overweight.
“Go down and make a left,” one guard says. “The check-in is in front of the tower.”
I walk down that way, a lone Scotsman in the morning, and look for the check-in point. But underneath the iconic mock KTLA tower is nothing but a brick wall and a gate. I can see a trailer marked “Let's Make A Deal” through the bars. But nobody's there to check me in.
There is, however, one lady sitting on a bus bench.
“Are you here for 'Let's Make A Deal?'” she asks.
“Yes.”
“So am I! I'm the first one here!”
Angel, as she's called, has gotten here bright and early. She's a designer working out in Marina Del Rey, but she's also selling real estate – and she'd like to win some cash to help get her fashionable side going. She's wearing a costume of her own design: satin tinged with black, adorned with a giant butterfly on the front. It's classier than most of the costumes I see on the show.
9:00am – Others start arriving, some in costume, some unadorned. One lady is carrying around an M&M display box as part of her candy costume, and she's getting an offer of duct tape to hold it onto her.
Angel and I sit on the bench and watch buses roll by us with the people inside giving us a slightly puzzled stare, unaware of why were here. Hollywood power players cruise past in their luxury cars, phones pressed to ears. A man rolls up in a battered car and takes a cell-phone picture of the Scotsman and the Butterfly lady he just saw out his side window.
“I knew that was going to happen,” I say.
9:30am – The sun is reminding me that this is going to be an unusually hot day for October in Los Angeles. It should be 20 degrees cooler than it is, and I'm wearing three layers of clothing. But I'm willing to wait.
10am – One of the contestant coordinators comes out and starts passing paperwork down the lines. I know the drill. Read the rules, fill out the forms. This is where I have to make my full disclosure. Unlike last time, the rules are clear and on paper in front of me.
“I have an eligibility problem,” I tell one of the guys in the blue “Let's Make A Deal” polo shirts. “I work in the newsroom of a CBS affiliate. I don't have anything to do with the show, but I work for an affiliate.”
“I'll check,” he says. Maybe there's a chance. He ducks back behind inside the gate and returns a minute later.
“Sorry,” he says. “You're not eligible. But you're more than welcome to be in the audience.”
That's all I needed to hear. Just get my kilt and I on television.
10:15am – The contestant drill is a bit more comfortable than the “Price Is Right” routine. After passing through a metal detector – in which I have to take off all my clan badges and pins from my tartan sash – the staff leads us to a pair of trailers. In one, we turn in our paperwork and get two pictures taken: one for records purposes, and another for a souvenir. Stand in front of a green wall, look excited, and the photo wizards will superimpose you over a still picture of the LMAD set.
It's a costly memento: $20 for each print. But nobody has a choice, since cell phones and cameras aren't allowed inside the studio.
A small costume shop is located inside the first trailer for those who came unadorned. If it seems like the same outfits keep reappearing on the show, it's no coincidence. The shop rents simple outfits for about $10 to $20.
10:30am – We're led to the second trailer, where our contestant producers brief us on what makes good television. First, excitement is crucial. Second, any prize is a good prize, even if you don't want it or you already have one: “Take another!”
“A couple of weeks ago we had a lady on who got a $500 gift card to Bloomingdale's,” the producer tells us. “And she says, 'I don't like to shop!'”
“Did you rip that card out of her hand?” somebody asks.
“No, but I wanted to.”
Then the interviewing begins. It's just like “Price,” as the producer goes in groups of about 15 people down the line.
Angel, on my left, is prepared. I've coached her on what producers are looking for in a contestant on the bench outside. She is full of enthusiasm: “I wanna win some Mon-EY!” She does well.
Then the producer comes to me. “Christopher.”
I bow.
“Are you from Scotland?”
“No, but my ancestors are.”
“Why do you not want to be considered as a contestant?”
He says that because the contestant number card I'm wearing below my nametag has a giant X through it.
“I would like to be eligible,” I explain. “But they tell me I can't be. But I can do a Highland Fling, though!”
11:00am – The staff leads out out to sit on a long bench outside the studio, just like “Price.” We're advised of the location of the restrooms and the snack bar, which should be opening up any minute now. I make a run for the Necessary.
11:30am – I grab some water and chips for Angel and a hot dog for myself. It's getting hotter. “I'm wearing three layers of clothing,” I explain to people, typical for the 18th Century, but not the most comfortable for 21st Century Los Angeles.
11:45am – The wait continues. I'm hoping it won't be much longer, since all the coordination work is done. The time on my ticket said 11:30. I'm thinking that wasn't an actual taping time, but a deadline time to make it into the taping. I could've come two hours later and still made it on.
Noon – Another line of contestants is parked across the narrow walkway from us. People are forming yet another line to use the restrooms. It's hot and getting hotter. But everybody's still in good spirits, eager to win money or a car or some appliances. Angel is still pumped up. I'm conserving my energy.
“You took off your hat!” she observes.
I had to. It was trapping heat.
12:30pm – A lady next to me wonders what I do for a living, and I tell her I produce television newscasts. Before long, the conversation turns to how I got into the business, how I do what I do, and how I survive it.
“First, be willing to work in a small market,” I say, taking on the slight air of an old journalism professor. “When you move up, you're going to savor those times when you were working in Lincoln, Nebraska. Second, learn to do as many things as you can, so you can have a skill set. Be versatile. Third, find a life outside the business, whether it's church, preferably, or something else. Get away from the newsroom and get a fresh perspective on life.”
Angel, who has slipped off to get into an air-conditioned trailer for a few moments, returns during the tail end of my lecture, which is leaving people either spellbound or bored. I can't tell which.
“What are you telling them?” she kids.
“How to make it in the news business.”
1pm – We're still waiting. It's still hot. I'm still wearing three layers of clothing, and even in the shade, with all of us sitting shoulder to shoulder, it's hard to stay enthusiastic. I don't know why it takes so long to get everything prepped. I'm hoping we're just a few minutes away from the studio.
“We'll be going into the studio in about 20 to 25 minutes,” a production assistant says.
I guess not.
A clipboard is circulating among us, asking us to put down our names and email addresses for future taping information. “Write quickly!” Angel announces. “The faster we get it signed, the faster we go in!”
1:30pm – Finally, we're inside Studio 1 on the Sunset Bronson lot. As always, the set looks smaller in real life than it does on TV. There's seating for about 200 people, all in costume. We won't need any paid seat fillers this day. LED lights are everywhere, along with Vari-Lites, scoops and spots overhead. Five studio cameras stand in front of the three curtains in front of us: two jib cameras and three traditional pedestal mounts. All of them are HD capable, I think, but LMAD is one of the few shows not recorded in HD.
Retro-rock warm-up music is pumping into the studio, staring with The Cars' “Just What I Needed.” And people are dancing. I'm still getting back in the spirit of things, sitting quietly and taking in the workings of a network TV production: our contestant producers are on the stage with their clipboards and pencils, making their final list of potential players. I spot a seating diagram in one of their hands, something presumably to help host Wayne Brady find those who make the cut.
1:45pm – Announcer Jonathan Magnum comes out and welcomes everybody, reiterating some of what we've heard before the contestant interviews about how to look great on TV. He introduces Cat, the show's new DJ and keyboardist, who is revving up the dance music to get everybody moving. It's a nice throwback to LMAD's early days, when Ivan Ditmars led a live band on the show.
2:00pm – Showtime at last! The crowd goes crazy for Wayne Brady, who begins the show right in the middle of the audience. He picks a couple – the man dressed as Popeye – to play the first game, “Panic Button.” They have a console with six buttons, and three open curtains with prizes in front of them. Three buttons do nothing, but three others close one of the curtains and forfeit the prize behind it. The task is to press three buttons and hope to close as few curtains as possible. The first press closes nothing. The second closes the curtain on a living-room set. But the third does nothing, leaving them with a hot tub and a motor scooter worth $10,000 total.
Wayne shows them two more buttons: one will open that closed curtain. The other will close the other two curtains. After some debate, with the lady making the decisions, they decide to take what they have and quit. It turns out the button they would've picked would've opened the closed curtains.
2:10pm – More music pumps in as the PA's get the stage ready for the next contestants and adjust some prizes behind the curtains. The commercial break takes a lot longer in the studio than it does on TV, so Cat's music keeps everybody enthused.
The next game involves three players, three envelopes, and three deals, all tradable for a curtain or a box. We see our first “Zonk” of the show, a trip to the nation's largest termite mound. According to the official rules, Zonks – the show's worthless prices – generally mean some small monetary compensation for the contestant who ends up getting them, although this isn't readily disclosed to the audience. But Wayne makes an exception for a Navy sailor who chooses a curtain and ends up with one.
“You chose to serve your country,” he says. “That's the best choice. I'm gonna give you $300.”
2:30pm – Two ladies are playing an elimination game to see who will end up with a car. Six boxes are in front of them, but only one of them has the word “Car” inside. They take turns choosing, turning down offers of money to stop. One of the ladies is somebody who has been sitting next to us all afternoon in line. Angel and I shout out numbers, but in the end, nobody ends up with the wheels.
2:30pm – “Want some candy?” Jonathan throws out Tootsie Roll pops and Tootsie Rolls as Cat spins some more music during a commercial break.
2:45pm – It's Wayne's Beauty Salon, a skit where the host and sidekick Jonathan get to dress up in fake wigs while offering a deal to a lady... who ends up getting zonked.
3:30pm – Jonathan holds a dance contest. As much as I want to do a Highland Fling, I don't get picked. Instead, three others make it, and they can dance – well.
3:45pm – Time for the Big Deal, and we're back to Popeye and his lady. Wayne asks them if they want to go for it.
“Is there a zonk?” Popeye asks.
Ugggh. Ugggh. Ugggh. If this guy actually watched the show – which Wayne points out – he'd know there's no zonks in the Big Deal, although it's possible to trade down. After hemming and hawing, this befuddled couple decides to go for it. They end up trading away the $10,000 in prizes they won for Door #3, which nets them something about $2,000 less. It's not quite a Zonk, but not the most satisfying conclusion.
3:55pm – Some audience members win money in the quickie deals if they have a make-up kit on them. One woman, unfortunately, does not. Wayne doesn't mind: “She doesn't need make up!” he announces and awards her a quick $100.
4:05pm – The PA's invite people to stay around for the second taping, but I have to hit the road. I don't want to be driving in Hollywood after dark, and I have a dinner engagement with my Dad. I came with nothing, I left with a picture, and I enjoyed the experience. Not a bad deal.
5:30am – Wake up. Get into my Royal Stewart kilt. Chug some hot cocoa and hit the road. The show time on my ticket says 11:30am, but I don't know how early I need to be at the studio to make it into the taping. Nothing on the Internet gives any clues. I figure 3 to 4 hours in advance will be fine, if the lines are anything like “The Price Is Right.” But this is a less-popular show.
6:30am – On the road, I hit the first of several traffic congestion spots on “the ten.” All through Los Angeles, cars are backing up in certain spots with no discernible explanation. Maybe too many people are trying to merge into traffic, slowing everyone down, but I don't see that happening.
7:15am – It amazes me how Angelinos put up with this every single day, sitting in cars crawling around at a snails' pace, wasting at least an hour, more likely two, out of their workdays on a backed-up stretch of concrete. You would think a massive effort would go into telecommuting and shorter work weeks, but people aren't clamoring for that. I figure if we took only 20 percent of the cars off the road through alternative work schedules, you'd see a vast improvement.
8:00am – I've gone from the 10 to the 101, also known as the “Hollywood Freeway.” But through downtown, it's more like the Hollywood Parking Lot.
8:15am – I'm in the area of Sunset Boulevard and Van Ness. My destination is the Sunset Bronson Studios, also home to KTLA-TV. But first, I have to find a place to park. I am advised I can't park in the studio lot, so I have to find someplace on the street, someplace legal, someplace safe. I loop around a few blocks, hitting the brakes once to avoid hitting a teenager who walked out in front of me in the middle of a left turn. I find a place on the street near the studio's main guard shack. I park and walk up to it, in the full regalia.
“I have tickets to 'Let's Make A Deal,'” I say to a glass box full of security agents, some overweight.
“Go down and make a left,” one guard says. “The check-in is in front of the tower.”
I walk down that way, a lone Scotsman in the morning, and look for the check-in point. But underneath the iconic mock KTLA tower is nothing but a brick wall and a gate. I can see a trailer marked “Let's Make A Deal” through the bars. But nobody's there to check me in.
There is, however, one lady sitting on a bus bench.
“Are you here for 'Let's Make A Deal?'” she asks.
“Yes.”
“So am I! I'm the first one here!”
Angel, as she's called, has gotten here bright and early. She's a designer working out in Marina Del Rey, but she's also selling real estate – and she'd like to win some cash to help get her fashionable side going. She's wearing a costume of her own design: satin tinged with black, adorned with a giant butterfly on the front. It's classier than most of the costumes I see on the show.
9:00am – Others start arriving, some in costume, some unadorned. One lady is carrying around an M&M display box as part of her candy costume, and she's getting an offer of duct tape to hold it onto her.
Angel and I sit on the bench and watch buses roll by us with the people inside giving us a slightly puzzled stare, unaware of why were here. Hollywood power players cruise past in their luxury cars, phones pressed to ears. A man rolls up in a battered car and takes a cell-phone picture of the Scotsman and the Butterfly lady he just saw out his side window.
“I knew that was going to happen,” I say.
9:30am – The sun is reminding me that this is going to be an unusually hot day for October in Los Angeles. It should be 20 degrees cooler than it is, and I'm wearing three layers of clothing. But I'm willing to wait.
10am – One of the contestant coordinators comes out and starts passing paperwork down the lines. I know the drill. Read the rules, fill out the forms. This is where I have to make my full disclosure. Unlike last time, the rules are clear and on paper in front of me.
“I have an eligibility problem,” I tell one of the guys in the blue “Let's Make A Deal” polo shirts. “I work in the newsroom of a CBS affiliate. I don't have anything to do with the show, but I work for an affiliate.”
“I'll check,” he says. Maybe there's a chance. He ducks back behind inside the gate and returns a minute later.
“Sorry,” he says. “You're not eligible. But you're more than welcome to be in the audience.”
That's all I needed to hear. Just get my kilt and I on television.
10:15am – The contestant drill is a bit more comfortable than the “Price Is Right” routine. After passing through a metal detector – in which I have to take off all my clan badges and pins from my tartan sash – the staff leads us to a pair of trailers. In one, we turn in our paperwork and get two pictures taken: one for records purposes, and another for a souvenir. Stand in front of a green wall, look excited, and the photo wizards will superimpose you over a still picture of the LMAD set.
It's a costly memento: $20 for each print. But nobody has a choice, since cell phones and cameras aren't allowed inside the studio.
A small costume shop is located inside the first trailer for those who came unadorned. If it seems like the same outfits keep reappearing on the show, it's no coincidence. The shop rents simple outfits for about $10 to $20.
10:30am – We're led to the second trailer, where our contestant producers brief us on what makes good television. First, excitement is crucial. Second, any prize is a good prize, even if you don't want it or you already have one: “Take another!”
“A couple of weeks ago we had a lady on who got a $500 gift card to Bloomingdale's,” the producer tells us. “And she says, 'I don't like to shop!'”
“Did you rip that card out of her hand?” somebody asks.
“No, but I wanted to.”
Then the interviewing begins. It's just like “Price,” as the producer goes in groups of about 15 people down the line.
Angel, on my left, is prepared. I've coached her on what producers are looking for in a contestant on the bench outside. She is full of enthusiasm: “I wanna win some Mon-EY!” She does well.
Then the producer comes to me. “Christopher.”
I bow.
“Are you from Scotland?”
“No, but my ancestors are.”
“Why do you not want to be considered as a contestant?”
He says that because the contestant number card I'm wearing below my nametag has a giant X through it.
“I would like to be eligible,” I explain. “But they tell me I can't be. But I can do a Highland Fling, though!”
11:00am – The staff leads out out to sit on a long bench outside the studio, just like “Price.” We're advised of the location of the restrooms and the snack bar, which should be opening up any minute now. I make a run for the Necessary.
11:30am – I grab some water and chips for Angel and a hot dog for myself. It's getting hotter. “I'm wearing three layers of clothing,” I explain to people, typical for the 18th Century, but not the most comfortable for 21st Century Los Angeles.
11:45am – The wait continues. I'm hoping it won't be much longer, since all the coordination work is done. The time on my ticket said 11:30. I'm thinking that wasn't an actual taping time, but a deadline time to make it into the taping. I could've come two hours later and still made it on.
Noon – Another line of contestants is parked across the narrow walkway from us. People are forming yet another line to use the restrooms. It's hot and getting hotter. But everybody's still in good spirits, eager to win money or a car or some appliances. Angel is still pumped up. I'm conserving my energy.
“You took off your hat!” she observes.
I had to. It was trapping heat.
12:30pm – A lady next to me wonders what I do for a living, and I tell her I produce television newscasts. Before long, the conversation turns to how I got into the business, how I do what I do, and how I survive it.
“First, be willing to work in a small market,” I say, taking on the slight air of an old journalism professor. “When you move up, you're going to savor those times when you were working in Lincoln, Nebraska. Second, learn to do as many things as you can, so you can have a skill set. Be versatile. Third, find a life outside the business, whether it's church, preferably, or something else. Get away from the newsroom and get a fresh perspective on life.”
Angel, who has slipped off to get into an air-conditioned trailer for a few moments, returns during the tail end of my lecture, which is leaving people either spellbound or bored. I can't tell which.
“What are you telling them?” she kids.
“How to make it in the news business.”
1pm – We're still waiting. It's still hot. I'm still wearing three layers of clothing, and even in the shade, with all of us sitting shoulder to shoulder, it's hard to stay enthusiastic. I don't know why it takes so long to get everything prepped. I'm hoping we're just a few minutes away from the studio.
“We'll be going into the studio in about 20 to 25 minutes,” a production assistant says.
I guess not.
A clipboard is circulating among us, asking us to put down our names and email addresses for future taping information. “Write quickly!” Angel announces. “The faster we get it signed, the faster we go in!”
1:30pm – Finally, we're inside Studio 1 on the Sunset Bronson lot. As always, the set looks smaller in real life than it does on TV. There's seating for about 200 people, all in costume. We won't need any paid seat fillers this day. LED lights are everywhere, along with Vari-Lites, scoops and spots overhead. Five studio cameras stand in front of the three curtains in front of us: two jib cameras and three traditional pedestal mounts. All of them are HD capable, I think, but LMAD is one of the few shows not recorded in HD.
Retro-rock warm-up music is pumping into the studio, staring with The Cars' “Just What I Needed.” And people are dancing. I'm still getting back in the spirit of things, sitting quietly and taking in the workings of a network TV production: our contestant producers are on the stage with their clipboards and pencils, making their final list of potential players. I spot a seating diagram in one of their hands, something presumably to help host Wayne Brady find those who make the cut.
1:45pm – Announcer Jonathan Magnum comes out and welcomes everybody, reiterating some of what we've heard before the contestant interviews about how to look great on TV. He introduces Cat, the show's new DJ and keyboardist, who is revving up the dance music to get everybody moving. It's a nice throwback to LMAD's early days, when Ivan Ditmars led a live band on the show.
2:00pm – Showtime at last! The crowd goes crazy for Wayne Brady, who begins the show right in the middle of the audience. He picks a couple – the man dressed as Popeye – to play the first game, “Panic Button.” They have a console with six buttons, and three open curtains with prizes in front of them. Three buttons do nothing, but three others close one of the curtains and forfeit the prize behind it. The task is to press three buttons and hope to close as few curtains as possible. The first press closes nothing. The second closes the curtain on a living-room set. But the third does nothing, leaving them with a hot tub and a motor scooter worth $10,000 total.
Wayne shows them two more buttons: one will open that closed curtain. The other will close the other two curtains. After some debate, with the lady making the decisions, they decide to take what they have and quit. It turns out the button they would've picked would've opened the closed curtains.
2:10pm – More music pumps in as the PA's get the stage ready for the next contestants and adjust some prizes behind the curtains. The commercial break takes a lot longer in the studio than it does on TV, so Cat's music keeps everybody enthused.
The next game involves three players, three envelopes, and three deals, all tradable for a curtain or a box. We see our first “Zonk” of the show, a trip to the nation's largest termite mound. According to the official rules, Zonks – the show's worthless prices – generally mean some small monetary compensation for the contestant who ends up getting them, although this isn't readily disclosed to the audience. But Wayne makes an exception for a Navy sailor who chooses a curtain and ends up with one.
“You chose to serve your country,” he says. “That's the best choice. I'm gonna give you $300.”
2:30pm – Two ladies are playing an elimination game to see who will end up with a car. Six boxes are in front of them, but only one of them has the word “Car” inside. They take turns choosing, turning down offers of money to stop. One of the ladies is somebody who has been sitting next to us all afternoon in line. Angel and I shout out numbers, but in the end, nobody ends up with the wheels.
2:30pm – “Want some candy?” Jonathan throws out Tootsie Roll pops and Tootsie Rolls as Cat spins some more music during a commercial break.
2:45pm – It's Wayne's Beauty Salon, a skit where the host and sidekick Jonathan get to dress up in fake wigs while offering a deal to a lady... who ends up getting zonked.
3:30pm – Jonathan holds a dance contest. As much as I want to do a Highland Fling, I don't get picked. Instead, three others make it, and they can dance – well.
3:45pm – Time for the Big Deal, and we're back to Popeye and his lady. Wayne asks them if they want to go for it.
“Is there a zonk?” Popeye asks.
Ugggh. Ugggh. Ugggh. If this guy actually watched the show – which Wayne points out – he'd know there's no zonks in the Big Deal, although it's possible to trade down. After hemming and hawing, this befuddled couple decides to go for it. They end up trading away the $10,000 in prizes they won for Door #3, which nets them something about $2,000 less. It's not quite a Zonk, but not the most satisfying conclusion.
3:55pm – Some audience members win money in the quickie deals if they have a make-up kit on them. One woman, unfortunately, does not. Wayne doesn't mind: “She doesn't need make up!” he announces and awards her a quick $100.
4:05pm – The PA's invite people to stay around for the second taping, but I have to hit the road. I don't want to be driving in Hollywood after dark, and I have a dinner engagement with my Dad. I came with nothing, I left with a picture, and I enjoyed the experience. Not a bad deal.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
GOD Created Jobs
Steve Jobs was a Buddhist, not a Christan, but GOD made him. GOD uses people even if they don't know HE'S using them, and HE'LL use non-believers, too. HE used a lady of the night to help Joshua fight the Battle of Jerico (Joshua 2), so why not Steve Jobs to help us deal with technology?
In a commencement speech in 2005, Jobs reflected on mortality in a very secular, technological manner:
So he tells us to be ourselves and listen to ourselves, to that "inner voice, heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become." I gather he wasn't thinking of the HOLY SPIRIT, but that's what he's getting at. GOD equips each of us with a purpose and compass. But so much depends on us listening to HIM and using HIS compass, rather than letting the rest of the world kick us around.
The "dogma" that Jobs talks about can come from the world, especially politics. It can also come from churches. Dogma isn't harmful by definition, but it becomes that way when we start believing it without understanding why we believe it, or become enslaved to it so that we're unwilling to ditch what's not working.
We have two major political parties that are enslaved to dogma right now. We also have, unfortunately, a number of churches that are doing the same thing by treating man-made extensions to GOD'S WORD as gospel. The Bible warns us several times not to do this:
Deuteronomy 4:2 (NIV) -- "Do not add to what I command you and do not subtract from it, but keep the commands of the LORD your GOD that I give you."
Proverbs 30:5-6 (NIV) -- "Every word of God is flawless; he is a shield to those who take refuge in him. Do not add to his words, or he will rebuke you and prove you a liar."
And my favorite, 2 Timothy 2:15 (NIV) -- "Do your best to present yourself to GOD as one approved, a worker who does not need to be ashamed and who correctly handles the word of truth."
But people still add to GOD'S WORD. Maybe it's because they want to be set themselves above other Christians. Maybe it's because they don't think they're Christian enough. Maybe they have a hard time believing in GOD'S grace, and they're trying to earn their way into Heaven, aided and abetted by some denominations' belief systems. The truth is, nobody's good enough. We still need JESUS.
I read on Ed Stezer's blog that Jobs was baptized as a Christian, and he later converted to Buddhism. Steve Jobs would've made a better Christian than a Buddhist. We don't know if Steve Jobs came back to GOD in his final hours, but I wonder if he ever thought about who was really guiding him. It wasn't Buddha.
In a commencement speech in 2005, Jobs reflected on mortality in a very secular, technological manner:
"No one wants to die, even people who want to go to Heaven don't want to die to get there, and yet, death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because death is very likely the single best invention of life. It's life's change agent; it clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now, the new is you. But someday, not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it's quite true. Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma, which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice, heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."To him, it's like a continuous computer upgrade cycle, one where everyone is going to be obsolete like the old Apple II's he co-created, replaced by something new. Jobs doesn't tells us the new will be better; it will just be new.
So he tells us to be ourselves and listen to ourselves, to that "inner voice, heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become." I gather he wasn't thinking of the HOLY SPIRIT, but that's what he's getting at. GOD equips each of us with a purpose and compass. But so much depends on us listening to HIM and using HIS compass, rather than letting the rest of the world kick us around.
The "dogma" that Jobs talks about can come from the world, especially politics. It can also come from churches. Dogma isn't harmful by definition, but it becomes that way when we start believing it without understanding why we believe it, or become enslaved to it so that we're unwilling to ditch what's not working.
We have two major political parties that are enslaved to dogma right now. We also have, unfortunately, a number of churches that are doing the same thing by treating man-made extensions to GOD'S WORD as gospel. The Bible warns us several times not to do this:
Deuteronomy 4:2 (NIV) -- "Do not add to what I command you and do not subtract from it, but keep the commands of the LORD your GOD that I give you."
Proverbs 30:5-6 (NIV) -- "Every word of God is flawless; he is a shield to those who take refuge in him. Do not add to his words, or he will rebuke you and prove you a liar."
And my favorite, 2 Timothy 2:15 (NIV) -- "Do your best to present yourself to GOD as one approved, a worker who does not need to be ashamed and who correctly handles the word of truth."
But people still add to GOD'S WORD. Maybe it's because they want to be set themselves above other Christians. Maybe it's because they don't think they're Christian enough. Maybe they have a hard time believing in GOD'S grace, and they're trying to earn their way into Heaven, aided and abetted by some denominations' belief systems. The truth is, nobody's good enough. We still need JESUS.
I read on Ed Stezer's blog that Jobs was baptized as a Christian, and he later converted to Buddhism. Steve Jobs would've made a better Christian than a Buddhist. We don't know if Steve Jobs came back to GOD in his final hours, but I wonder if he ever thought about who was really guiding him. It wasn't Buddha.
Friday, September 23, 2011
No, You Won't Be Needing The Insecticide
A favourite of many English dancers who love Pride And Prejudice is this dance from the ball scene with Mr. Darcy: Mr. Beveridge's Maggot. It's a little too advanced for newcomers, which is why you won't see it at the Pride And Prejudice Ball, but it's beautiful to watch.
By the way, the term "maggot" refers to an idea, not a gross worm. Long long ago, people thought creativity came from creatures in the brain, and not just figments of our imagination.
HUZZAH to the lad in the kilt!
A variation of this dance was also popular during the Colonial period...
...as well as the Renaissance:
And here's a slightly slower version:
Finally, your humble servant gives it a try. I'm the lad in the blue outfit, dancing at the Jane Austen Evening last January in Pasadena:
Dance On!
By the way, the term "maggot" refers to an idea, not a gross worm. Long long ago, people thought creativity came from creatures in the brain, and not just figments of our imagination.
HUZZAH to the lad in the kilt!
A variation of this dance was also popular during the Colonial period...
...as well as the Renaissance:
And here's a slightly slower version:
Finally, your humble servant gives it a try. I'm the lad in the blue outfit, dancing at the Jane Austen Evening last January in Pasadena:
Dance On!
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Miss Austen Would Love It
Every year in Bath, England, a recreation of a Regency-era ball takes place, in full period costume and merriment. Of course, you don't have to go all the way to England -- just come to the Pride And Prejudice Ball this Saturday!
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Your Mother Should Know (If She Lived During The Regency)
"Let's all get up and dance to a song
That was a hit before your mother was born."
--The Beatles
As I pointed out earlier, many dances popular in the Regency era go back at least 100 years earlier, although I've seen one dancing expert argue to the contrary. Why would people want to groove to their grandmother's tunes? Isn't that like doing the twist at the disco? Well, even disco came back. Why not old English Dances?
So let's set the WABAC machine for the 1600's and watch the Newcastle Country Dancers perform their namesake dance: "Newcastle."
Now, here's how it would have looked like during Jane Austen's time:
By the way, the Newcastle dancers also perform a lively version of "Argeers."
That was a hit before your mother was born."
--The Beatles
As I pointed out earlier, many dances popular in the Regency era go back at least 100 years earlier, although I've seen one dancing expert argue to the contrary. Why would people want to groove to their grandmother's tunes? Isn't that like doing the twist at the disco? Well, even disco came back. Why not old English Dances?
So let's set the WABAC machine for the 1600's and watch the Newcastle Country Dancers perform their namesake dance: "Newcastle."
Now, here's how it would have looked like during Jane Austen's time:
By the way, the Newcastle dancers also perform a lively version of "Argeers."
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