If one were to assign a crack team of sociologists, professional actors, and expert filmmakers to make the most cloying, insulting and twee love story that they could, they still couldn't match the level of irritation created by "Paper Heart". The film, which purports to be a documentary about finding the true meaning of love, is instead a pointless and extremely creepy narrative about the feeble, imagined romance flowering between Charlene Yi and Michael Cera, as recorded by "documentary filmmaker" Nicholas Jasenovec(Jake Johnson, playing the film's actual director).
The problems start at the get-go, as "Jasenovec" immediately begins taking a disturbingly profound interest in Yi's social life (or lack thereof), as established at an opening sequence set at a depressing, acoustic guitar-drenched LA house party. "Jasenovec" coerces Yi, who is collaborating with him on the aforementioned love documentary, into letting him document all the interactions between the prudish, spineless Yi and the puppydog-like, personality-free Cera. Between brief interludes of couples explaining their perceptions of what true love is and cutesy paper figure sequences, "Jasenovec" begins adopting increasingly stalker-inspired means of capturing of every tedious moment between Cera and Yi, whose concept of courtship apparently extends to eating pizza together whilst perhaps (*gasp*)...dare I say it? ... holding hands. Potential for cooties? High. High indeed.
The narrative nadir arrives when "Jasenovec" purchases tickets for Yi and an increasingly uncomfortable Cera to make a trip to Paris on the film's dime, with an aim of generating some kind of limp-dick coda francais. How he paid for the tickets (much less the reels and reels of film he purchased to capture the couple dramatically traversing every single aisle of the grocery store) is never fully explained and thus it is at the audience's discretion to guess whether it was: a large withdrawal from a trust fund; the hefty settlement resultant from "Jasenovec"'s lucrative tort against the doctor who left him mentally handicapped; or, quite simply, a grant from his wealthy father. The just-totally-sick-of-it-man! Cera finally bolts on the production, perhaps worried about the damage it would do his cred with alt-comedy or Year One fans. I would be hard-pressed to imagine a more self-congratulatory ending than Yi and "Jasenovec" travelling to Cera's native Toronto to invade his parents' home, with "Jasenovec" smugly patting himself on the back for not invading with camera and microphone on the pair's reunion.
There are so many things wrong with this movie that it's simply not worth cataloging any but the most heinously offensive of them, that being: why did ANYONE think that this story should be told as a pseudo-documentary? Did the real Jasenovec think he was one-upping Charlie Kaufman by creating an irritating, obsessively self-important character like "Jasenovec" in order to tell a trifling tale that says absolutely nothing novel about a well-worn subject, a subject which has been cinematically examined in much more interesting ways by the likes of Jon Favreau and Jennifer Aniston?
Sadly, this movie probably has enough box office (largely thanks to the inchoate Cera performance) that this maroon is going to be able to toot out another offensive, wretched pellet of a film. The true tragedy of "Paper Heart" is that while the real Jasenovec surely believes himself to be standing on the shoulders of giants, he is actually swimming through the sewage from Rob Reiner and Steeve Coogan's pipes.
23 December 2009
22 December 2009
Proto gonist.
This series of seven videos, in which this dude deconstructs both why The Phantom Menace is so utterly awful as well as what makes the original trilogy great and runs a total of almost 70 minutes, is excellently edited, well written and genuinely entertaining. The voice of the narrator is unnecessary, as is the whole kidnapping motif, but the series more than redeems itself by the halfway point.
Parts six and seven are the highlights, and I do recommend watching the whole thing. While this guy isn't exactly Joseph Campbell, he clearly knows what he is talking about.
Parts six and seven are the highlights, and I do recommend watching the whole thing. While this guy isn't exactly Joseph Campbell, he clearly knows what he is talking about.
18 December 2009
INGLORIOUS BASTERDS (2009)
Have you ever finished watching a movie on DVD and immediately regretted not having seen it in the theatre? Quentin Tarantino returns to form after the pitiful DEATH PROOF in this straightforward action narrative, most certainly intended to be experienced in a movie house, powered by spartan yet effective performances and a lean script. It struck me how different this movie would have turned out had brad Pitt not been cast as the figurehead of the titular band of guerrillas; aside from Mr. Pitt, the cast has zero name actors (unless you count Eli Roth). Knowing that Mr. Pitt was having a blast as the inexplicably effective ignoramus Aldo Raine made the movie much more enjoyable. While Mr. Pitt shines, it's Christoph Waltz, playing Col. Hans Landa, who is the driving force of the events in the film.
The opening sequence, in which Landa first crosses paths with with his future foil, Shoshanna Dreyfuss, vividly debuts the most cerebral and conniving villain of recent cinema. The nigh-monologue in which Landa convinces a seemingly sympathetic French farmer to give up the renegade Dreyfuss family hiding beneath his home is as effective a dialogue as Mr. Tarantio has ever written. Midway through the second act, we are treated to another scalpel-sharp sequence during a rendez-vous set in a subterranean bar, where cultural and class interactions along with flaring egos and short tempers cause a slow boiling atmosphere of discomfort to erupt into an inferno. Rare is the scene that is difficult to watch simply because of the fear of seeing an inevitable disaster unfurl before your eyes. The epic (in action rather than duration) third act, which whips along briskly despite a few unanticipated snags, gels so smoothly that it feels annotated when you realize that the end credits are rolling down the screen.
INGLORIOUS BASTERDS is a welcome departure from the recent output of Mr. Tarantino for numerous reasons, the most notable being the straightforward yet nimble approach to storytelling, showcasing an almost entirely linear sequence of events that immensely benefits the tempo of the film. While BASTERDS clearly exhibits some of the traits of other Tarantino projects, I hope that the narrative restraint shown here is a bellwether for his future projects. While not a single character here is one-half as well-developed as The Bride of KILL BILL, the experience as a whole is more enjoyable than almost any previous Tarantino venture. Keep up the good work, Mr. Tarantino, especially the not-casting-yourself part.
The opening sequence, in which Landa first crosses paths with with his future foil, Shoshanna Dreyfuss, vividly debuts the most cerebral and conniving villain of recent cinema. The nigh-monologue in which Landa convinces a seemingly sympathetic French farmer to give up the renegade Dreyfuss family hiding beneath his home is as effective a dialogue as Mr. Tarantio has ever written. Midway through the second act, we are treated to another scalpel-sharp sequence during a rendez-vous set in a subterranean bar, where cultural and class interactions along with flaring egos and short tempers cause a slow boiling atmosphere of discomfort to erupt into an inferno. Rare is the scene that is difficult to watch simply because of the fear of seeing an inevitable disaster unfurl before your eyes. The epic (in action rather than duration) third act, which whips along briskly despite a few unanticipated snags, gels so smoothly that it feels annotated when you realize that the end credits are rolling down the screen.
INGLORIOUS BASTERDS is a welcome departure from the recent output of Mr. Tarantino for numerous reasons, the most notable being the straightforward yet nimble approach to storytelling, showcasing an almost entirely linear sequence of events that immensely benefits the tempo of the film. While BASTERDS clearly exhibits some of the traits of other Tarantino projects, I hope that the narrative restraint shown here is a bellwether for his future projects. While not a single character here is one-half as well-developed as The Bride of KILL BILL, the experience as a whole is more enjoyable than almost any previous Tarantino venture. Keep up the good work, Mr. Tarantino, especially the not-casting-yourself part.
03 December 2009
This is the worst cereal on the market.
I like Rice Krispies (occasionally). "Multigrain" food products are (occasionally) better for you than the original version of that product. These airy puffturds masquerading as health food, however, took two occasionally not-awful things and forged them into the well-honed Hanzo steel of a poisonous, tooth-ruining, milk-souring mess of a grain product. I would feed the remainder of my box to the birds, but I like birds.
PS The only honey present in this product was produced by bees whose ancestors stung the honorable Ulysses S. Grant's first wife to death.
01 December 2009
HIGH NOON (1952)
High Noon was made in 1952. It was directed by Fred Zinnemann, written by Carl Foreman and stars Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly (who I just discovered was from Philadelphia; who knew!).
This was sitting on our DVD shelf for literally three or so months and I don't know why we never watched it until just last night. Get bent, Netflix. High Noon is on its way back to you now.
High Noon is the tale of the marshal of a small town, Will Kane (Cooper) who, on the day of both his retirement as a lawman and his wedding to a 30-years-his-junior Quaker pacifist/porcelain doll Amy (Kelly), is forced into a confrontation with the murderous marauder Frank Miller (Ian MacDonald) that he put away five years prior. Upon hearing his decision to return to his position as marshal until Miller is dealt with, Amy threatens to leave on the noon train out of town, and after a series of various personal confrontations, so does Kane's former lover (or as they call her in the picture, "friend"), Helen Ramirez (Katy Jurado). Kane spends most of the movie searching for people to populate his posse, an exercise in futility, and caps with a showdown with Miller and his gang of cutthroats at some particular time in the afternoon, a particular time which currently escapes my memory.
The film is quite a departure from what I consider the de rigeur story arc of a Western, and perhaps that is why I liked it as much as I did; it eluded my expectations quite deftly. I normally have a hard time understanding the purported charms of Gary Cooper, but he felt perfect as the wooden, stalwart straw man that he is called on to play in this. While he evokes the viewer's sympathy, it's also easy to see why all the townsfolk could care less if he gets blasted to bits by that guy who wrote Sin City. Kelly is an utter cipher in the bride role, as almost no background for the couple is provided. Their relationship, in fact, seems almost entirely manufactured to provide grist for the many moral conflicts that the movie whirs through. The unexplored yet seemingly more passion-filled relationship between Kane and his friend Ramirez, whose mahoganywood window-souls are as wide-set as those of the wisest owl, is much more intriguing. That so much of their past is obscured by the events of the day makes Ramirez' deep empathy for Kane a compelling component of the tale.
A lot of controversy followed this movie upon its release, and it was called "the most un-American movie [he'd] ever seen" by none other than the human incarnation of a star-spangled nutsack, John Wayne. The man-against-the-cowardly-world trope was supposedly a jab at both the fate of those persecuted by HUAC and those blacklisted during the high tide of the Red Scare. What's curious is that over time, the movie has come to be perceived rather as a one-against-the-world tale, showing that a single man with the spine of a Cooper can overcome almost all odds (with the aid of a [SPOILER ALERT] Quaker wife-turned-back blaster, of course). It is now one of the most historically loved movies by US presidents, most notably William Jefferson Clinton, who screened it a record 17 times over his tenure as prez.
This was sitting on our DVD shelf for literally three or so months and I don't know why we never watched it until just last night. Get bent, Netflix. High Noon is on its way back to you now.
High Noon is the tale of the marshal of a small town, Will Kane (Cooper) who, on the day of both his retirement as a lawman and his wedding to a 30-years-his-junior Quaker pacifist/porcelain doll Amy (Kelly), is forced into a confrontation with the murderous marauder Frank Miller (Ian MacDonald) that he put away five years prior. Upon hearing his decision to return to his position as marshal until Miller is dealt with, Amy threatens to leave on the noon train out of town, and after a series of various personal confrontations, so does Kane's former lover (or as they call her in the picture, "friend"), Helen Ramirez (Katy Jurado). Kane spends most of the movie searching for people to populate his posse, an exercise in futility, and caps with a showdown with Miller and his gang of cutthroats at some particular time in the afternoon, a particular time which currently escapes my memory.
The film is quite a departure from what I consider the de rigeur story arc of a Western, and perhaps that is why I liked it as much as I did; it eluded my expectations quite deftly. I normally have a hard time understanding the purported charms of Gary Cooper, but he felt perfect as the wooden, stalwart straw man that he is called on to play in this. While he evokes the viewer's sympathy, it's also easy to see why all the townsfolk could care less if he gets blasted to bits by that guy who wrote Sin City. Kelly is an utter cipher in the bride role, as almost no background for the couple is provided. Their relationship, in fact, seems almost entirely manufactured to provide grist for the many moral conflicts that the movie whirs through. The unexplored yet seemingly more passion-filled relationship between Kane and his friend Ramirez, whose mahoganywood window-souls are as wide-set as those of the wisest owl, is much more intriguing. That so much of their past is obscured by the events of the day makes Ramirez' deep empathy for Kane a compelling component of the tale.
A lot of controversy followed this movie upon its release, and it was called "the most un-American movie [he'd] ever seen" by none other than the human incarnation of a star-spangled nutsack, John Wayne. The man-against-the-cowardly-world trope was supposedly a jab at both the fate of those persecuted by HUAC and those blacklisted during the high tide of the Red Scare. What's curious is that over time, the movie has come to be perceived rather as a one-against-the-world tale, showing that a single man with the spine of a Cooper can overcome almost all odds (with the aid of a [SPOILER ALERT] Quaker wife-turned-back blaster, of course). It is now one of the most historically loved movies by US presidents, most notably William Jefferson Clinton, who screened it a record 17 times over his tenure as prez.
30 November 2009
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