Konsum: Terrified, She Waited
March 5th, 2008
Two reviews of movies opening this week just went up on About.com: David Gordon Green’s drama Snow Angels and the Jason Statham heist flick The Bank Job. This afternoon, I’m seeing Michael Haneke’s U.S. remake of his own Funny Games, and press screenings for New Directors/New Films start tomorrow.
In the meantime, a few items of note:
- Fresh off of etree, listen to a track from last week’s MMW show.
- David Hudson reports that Kriemhild was stabbed!
- Major Cyrillus’s Mystic Trip to Mars finds its tragic end, just in time for Commander Koenig’s birthday. Herzlichen Glückwunsch — just don’t celebrate with this guy! (NSFW)
- Dan Sallitt on Michael Clayton
- Lars von Trier’s music video for the Kingdom theme song.
- HiddenTrack’s Cover Wars feature Not Fade Away.
- In case you managed to miss these mashups: Saul Bass does Star Wars and The Red Crayola meets Thunderbirds.
- K. Silem Mohammad on Lone Wolf and Cub: Baby Cart to Hades.
- Joseph Campbell’s Ten Commandments for Reading Myth.
- Faust image swiped from Tom Sutpen.
Snow Angels. David Gordon Green, 2008. **
The Bank Job. Roger Donaldson, 2008. **
League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Black Dossier
January 30th, 2008
I shelve my Alan Moore books next to Thomas Pynchon, Umberto Eco, and Jorge Luis Borges, and I am sure all three postmodern masters would get a healthy kick out of this wildly imaginative third book to Moore’s Gentlemen series, which draws on a vast storehouse of influences and blends them into an ecstatic new whole. The last time around, I wrote “Just when you thought you understood the parameters of where the story can go, Moore pulls another fast one” — and that was when we were still with the original Victorian group of heroes (Allan Quartermain, Mina Harker, Captain Nemo, the Invisible Man, and Mr. Hyde) and happily confined to Kevin O’Neill’s clear, appealing artwork.
Black Dossier explodes all that. Framed by a storyline set in an alternate version of the 1950s, the book concerns the theft of a book that, in the comic, looks like the one you’re holding in your hands. Along with the comic book adventure, the Dossier also contains a facsimile of a lost Shakespeare play (Fairie’s Fortunes Founded), fascist propaganda booklets warning of sexcrimes, the life of Viginia Woolf’s Orlando in nine illustrated chapters, a sequel to the erotic classic Fanny Hill, a few pages from a Beat novel featuring our heroes, reprinted postcards from Shangri-La, cutaways of the Nautilus, and section in 3-D (goggles are provided.) While the first two books concerned a Victorian team of heroes, Moore uses Black Dossier to sketch, through the various fragments, the history of several British incarnations as well as French and German teams that included the likes of Fantomas and Rotwang.
The ease with which Moore accesses high and low culture is truly mind-boggling: Ian Fleming, Herman Hesse, Charles Chaplin, H.P. Lovecraft, and George Orwell are added to the already impressive list of influences (and I’m pretty sure I missed a good third of them.) Any imaginary creation is fair play for Moore’s ambitious tale, and the density of ideas is absurdly high, as if Moore was cramming an entire series’ worth of characters and storylines into a single book.
A word about Moore and the movies: he’s famously taken his name off all adaptations, and rightfully so — most of them have been dreadful (worst of all, incidentally, League of Extraordinary Gentlemen). Moore’s best effects are always inextricably bound up with the medium of comics, and this holds especially true for Black Dossier, which is essentially unfilmable (and wouldn’t work as a novel, either.) I positively dread Zach Snyder’s upcoming Watchmen.
Like The Tempest, Black Dossier ends with a monologue by Prospero (himself an Extraordinary Gentleman), who celebrates one of Moore’s grand themes: the power and paradoxical reality of imaginary characters. “If we mere insubstantial fancies be, how more so thee, who from us substance stole? On Dream’s foundation matter’s mudyards rest. Two sketching hands, each one the other draws: the fantasies thou’ve fashioned fashion thee. Intangible, we are life’s secret soul.”
The League of Extraodrinary Gentlemen: Black Dossier. Alan Moore and Kevin O’Neill, 2007. *****
Major Cyrillus
January 13th, 2008
The first three installments of Major Cyrillus Mystical Trip to Mars are online at Es ist Mitternacht John, the blog of Commander Koenig a.k.a. my good friend Jochen Carbuhn. By way of introduction, here is his greeting:
Ich bin höchst erfreut Ihnen die Wiedereröffnung des Mad Scientist Memorial Theaters verkünden zu dürfen, die Bühne des gescheiterten Experiments, welche sich ausschließlich populärmetaphysischen Themen widmet, wie zum Beispiel: “Wer war nochmal der fünfte Reiter der Apokalypse?” Unter dem Motto “Schwarze Milch - aber sauer, bitte” versammeln sich Künstler, Autoren und Kiezgrößen, die unter Zwangsneurosen, Existenzangst und Schlaflosigkeit leiden, um Ihnen den “final Nightcap” zu verpassen: Es ist Mitternacht, James. Vorhang auf!
In Brief
August 7th, 2007
We’re about to embark on a longish trip, so expect the emphasis on muckworld to shift to photos and tidbits from the road for a little while. While we’re packing our bags and staying on the line with our cell phone providers to work out the kinks in the international roaming plan, let me catch up with last week’s viewing:
Children of Men
The incredible long takes at the heart of this film look slightly less impressive on the small screen, but there can be no doubt that it’s one hell of a movie. Stories set in alternate realities often rely heavily on Joseph Campbell’s monomyth, probably because the familiar stations of the Hero’s Journey allow us to better absorb the unfamiliar world surrounding it. Children of Men is a particularly potent example, a fully realized dystopia in which hope is hard won indeed. In honor of Theo’s ongoing footwear problems, here’s Cavern, which features one of the truest lines you’ll ever find in a rock song: “Whatever you do / take care of your shoes.” Alfonso Cuaron, 2006. *****
Almost Famous
Cameron Crowe’s sweetly romanticized memories of his early days as rock critic are anything but dystopian, but William Miller’s adventures with Miss Penny Lane and Stillwater are yet another Hero’s Journey, with Philip Seymour Hoffman’s Lester Bangs taking over the Magician/Hermit role that Michael Caine plays in Children of Men. It’s one of those movies I find impossible to turn off, no matter how many times I’ve seen it. Cameron Crowe, 2000. *****
Camp
Poorly paced and predictably told, this movie about teenagers in a performing arts summer camp failed to engage us. Todd Graff, 2003. *
The Gymnast
Feel the fabric! Wolfe Video is releasing this festival favorite about two aging gymnasts who find love while they’re swinging from the rafters. As much as I want to like true independent films like this, you’re bound to be underwhelmed unless you’re particularly fascinated by the world of gay aerialists. Ned Farr, 2006. **
Follow My Voice
Portrait of a group of gay teenagers at the Harvey Milk School in New York who are the beneficiaries of a cover album of Hedwig songs. With Frank Black, the Polyphonic Spree, Ben Folds, Ben Kweller, Yoko Ono, Jonathan Richman and John Cameron Mitchell. Earnest and likable, if overlong. Katherine Linton, 2006. ***
2 Days in Paris
The less said about Julie Delpy’s dreadful directorial debut the better. Julie Delpy, 2007. *
Persepolis
The second book of Marjane Satrapi’s coming-of-age graphic novel memoir doesn’t quite have the impact of the first (which is set in Iran), but anybody who has ever suffered culture shock will find plenty to recognize and love. I’m very much looking forward to the movie. ****
In the Shadow of the Moon
The real wonder here isn’t the Apollo program or the digitally restored footage from the NASA vaults, but the spirited and witty memories of the septuagenarian astronauts telling their unique stories. I’ll have a review by the time this opens on September 7. David Sington, 2006. ***
The Left Bank Gang
May 3rd, 2007
You never know what you’re going to find at Jim Hanley’s Universe, the comic book store on 33th street with one of the best selections of European graphic novels in the city. Yesterday, I picked up a book by a Belgian artist who simply goes by Jason. The Left Bank Gang reimagines Paris in the 20s as a haven for expat comic book writers in the shape of animals. Hemingway, Scott Fitzgerald, Getrude Stein, James Joyce, Ezra Pound et al. get drunk, make plans for Pamplona, struggle with poverty and obnoxious tourists and discuss the finer points of narrative captions and where do all the erasers go? It’s very funny and endearing, and then the story spins into a fragmented noir. I’ll be looking for more of Jason’s deceptively simple work the next time I’m midtown. You can browse a few pages here.
Jason. The Left Bank Gang. Fantagraphics, 2006. ****
Batman Begins
April 18th, 2007
Pompous & bloated. When was it decided that superhero comics were now to be treated like Shakespearean tragedies? Oh, the agony of being Bruce Wayne, playboy millionaire with a bat complex! The guilt, the fear, the fateful choice between vigilantism and revenge! Even Ang Lee’s Hulk had some jokes (and primary colors.)
Perhaps the thudding seriousness would be acceptable if the movie wouldn’t keep asking us to believe more and more outrageous conceits: first there’s the bat thing, then there’s a secret clan of ninja criminals, a stolen superweapon, a mad doctor who uses bummer hallucinogens to attack a city that only exists in a comic book universe… and most ludicrous of all, we’re supposed to buy that Katie Holmes is a D.A.? Come on. Stiff pseudo noir does not suit a pop hero franchise. Tim Burton’s 1989 version was far superior because it embraced its silliness and had some fun with it. In the immortal words of Joker Jack: “What this town needs is an enema!” So does Nolan’s Batman.
Batman Begins. Christopher Nolan, 2005. *
- Batman Begins on RT: 84%
- Watch the parade from Tim Burton’s Batman (with Prince’s “Trust”) and Jack at the museum (with “Partyman.”)
Alien vs. Predator
March 26th, 2007
Two faltering eighties franchises are being remaindered for the price of one, but the H.R. Giger-designed Alien will always have a place in my heart as the greatest movie monster ever. AVP is shameless B movie fare without any of the polish and auteurist pretensions of the other installments, but at least it moves fast and has enough awareness of the history of the series to get a number of clever visual quotes in. I won’t bore you with the plot; as far as titles-as-pitches go, this is up there with Snakes on a Plane. The fanboys must’ve enjoyed it: there’s a sequel in the works. I’m tempted to give it three stars just because I remember the original Dark Horse comic book.
AVP: Alien vs. Predator. Paul W.S. Anderson, 2004. **
300
March 6th, 2007
Dulce et decorum est, the movie. A bunch of Spartans swear they’d rather die than surrender or retreat, and then they do just that. Like Sin City, the images of 300 have been heavily post-processed to closer resemble Frank Miller’s comic book, and when there isn’t a slow-motion battle going on, the camera lingers over tableaux of warriors on a mountainside, trees hung with corpses, a fleet tossed about in inclement weather, and sweaty nymphs doing double-duty as corrupt oracles.
It’s all about as exciting as a half hour of the Battle of Helm’s Deep, without the rest of The Lord of the Rings to support, y’know, the characters. Instead, there are lots of speeches, about how freedom isn’t free, about how the only glorious death for a soldier is on the battlefield, and about how, yes, Spartans never surrender. Which is too bad, because Sparta is under attack by the Persians, led by debauched and sexually ambiguous Xerxes (Rodrigo Santoro.) In waves resembling nothing so much as the levels of a video game, the good Spartan king Leonidas (Gerard Butler) has to fight the turban-wearing villains while he is being stabbed in the back by treacherous politicians who refuse to support the troops and send reinforcements.
I saw 300 on an IMAX screen, and I’m still wobbly from the intense overdose of machismo and stupidity. The best thing I can say for the movie is that it steals liberally from John Boorman’s Excalibur. It looks interesting enough, but so does Triumph of the Will. In the world of 300, there is no room for art, negotiation, or weakness; there is only room for the strong. At the screening, outright murder brought great applause, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to find an Army recruiting station outside the theater. Huah!
300. Zack Snyder, 2006. *
