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Saturday, June 01, 2002 ( 6/01/2002 05:16:00 AM ) Bill S. “CAN I HAVE YOUR AUTOGRAPH . . .” – I read that E! Entertainment is planning to jump on the day-in-the-life celebrity exploitathon that gave us prime time poppa & presidential pal Ozzy Osbourne’s hit MTV series – with a late summer series devoted to the daily doin’s of zaftig former supermodel and direct-to-video actress Anna Nicole Smith. I’ve yet to watch an ep of The Osbournes: I suppose I will at some point, but it’s not a show that’s called to me. (Friends have indicated that it’s pretty funny, but watching some geezer with drug-induced neurological impairment is not my idea of entertainment – perhaps I’ve seen too many interviews with Brian Wilson.) I will likely check out Anna Nicole’s E! show (why, hey, the show’s producers even compare it to Mary Tyler Moore, so you know it's gotta be good!) Though given the Texas oil widow’s reputation for mental instability, perhaps I’ll watch with the sound off and some suitable music on instead. First tune that immediately came to mind: The Velvet Underground’s “New Age.” I’m soliciting additional selections. # | Friday, May 31, 2002 ( 5/31/2002 05:49:00 AM ) Bill S. L.A.P.D. NOIR – Its season finale set for Tuesday, FX has been re-running all preceding eps of its hard-boiled cop show The Shield two per night – so I’ve been catching up on the series, which I’d earlier only managed to watch in dribs and drabs. A pretty decent cop series: definitely tougher than anything the mainstream nets have been showing and the first real reason outside of Buffy reruns for FX to even exist. Never paid much attention to Michael Chiklis before (didn’t watch The Commish and that Wired flick has been rigorously scoured from my brain), but as the show’s immoral center, Vic Mackey, he’s got the James Gandolfini thug-with-a-heart-of-gold thing down. When he shoots into the face of a undercover cop, his blinking blue eyes tell more about this character than we think we wanna know: unlike Tony Soprano, he knows the horror of what he’s doing even as he’s convinced that what he’s doing is “necessary” – which makes him a more deeply immoral (and ultimately more interesting) protagonist. Also nice to see C.C.H. Pounder get a nice hefty role in a series after years of playing distraught mothers and the occasional supporting professional character. I read in EW that the conservative Parents Television Council has been calling for an advertisers’ boycott of the show. I cannot take these idiots seriously. Sure, the show has violence, morally ambiguous characters and language that you won’t hear on Seventh Heaven – but it’s on the last hour of prime time on a cable network! The Shield has advisories strewn all over it: any parent who allows their kid to watch it is either 1) a bad parent or 2) (just as likely) one who knows that even this foul-talking series is not as real as the reality their own children face every day on the way to school. Jeez, this is FX – they’ve been repeating Married, With Children since they started! This is the network PTC is trying to bully into showing “family friendly television”? The thirteen episode series won’t be returning with new ones until 2003, though I suspect that FX will run the first batch until every one in its audience base has had a chance to view each entry five times. Catch it in one of its run-thrus, why don’t you? # | Thursday, May 30, 2002 ( 5/30/2002 09:30:00 AM ) Bill S. I CONTAIN MULTITUDES – It wasn’t intentional, but looking down at the last two days, I find myself devoting space to two of the most dissimilar artistic visions imaginable: Cronenberg and Kolchalka. Who sez this isn’t the Marvel Age of Bi-polar Blogging? # | ( 5/30/2002 09:24:00 AM ) Bill S. ”MY DIARY IS MY ENEMY” – The second volume of James Kochalka’s Sketchbook Diaries (Top Shelf) has been released recently, and after a month of trying to track it down in area comic book stores (it’s not a book that gets the big shop orders of, say, Dark Knight 2), I was finally able to pick up a copy. An autobiographical comic, Diaries consists of a series of daily four-panel strips drawn in the artist/musician’s beguilingly primitive style. Each strip is designed to catch a moment of that day: sometimes a conversation, a passing thought or feeling, or just a cool image that happened to catch the artist’s eye. Both volumes in the series collect a little more than a year’s worth of daily strips, though the second book contains a gap between March 2000 and May 2000 (“My diary was a vampire,” Kochalka explains in an introductory strip, “and I decided to quit.”) Kochalka’s diary strips are best read in long stretches. If I land on any one out at random, my reaction is frequently ick! – Kochalka draws himself as an elvish figure called Magic Boy, for one, and if you started thinking of the Happy Little Elves, too, then you can see the potential problems here. The strips work best cumulatively, catching the rhythm of an artist life, the moments of inspiration and of pure pouty pettiness, the juxtaposition of mundane and sublime. A strip about fruit fly infestation will be followed by a summer moment of philosophical reflection. A strip about watching TV on the couch with wife Amy is then followed by one about a fan punching him in the stomach. All part of the world around Kochalka. Reading batches of the Diaries, I still find myself picking out favorite individual entries afterwards. One such strip involves the artist realizing that he hasn’t left the house in 48 hours. “That can’t be good,” he decides, so he picks up his coat and steps outside. The fourth panel shows him looking up at a tree branch. “Pretty,” he says. “It’s almost worth it.” That “almost” is the word that separates Kochalka’s willful naiveté from arrested childishness (well, that and fact that he openly likes his wife’s ass). I enjoy Sketchbook Diaries, though I’m fairly certain the project would be deadly in the hands of a less open-hearted artist. According to Kochalka, a third volume has already been finished: if he remains true to format, the book should cover most of 2001. Though most of the strip’s in Volume Two avoid larger current events, there are a few that mention 2000’s presidential election contretemps. Can’t help but wonder how he’ll handle an even more event-strewn year. # | Wednesday, May 29, 2002 ( 5/29/2002 01:07:00 PM ) Bill S. LINEAR LISTENING – Bought a copy of the new Sloan CD, Pretty Together, the other day – because it was five bucks cheaper than the new Weezer. Listening to these guys transports me to the glory days of seventies guitar-based power pop (Pezband, Plimsouls, et al), which in turn takes me back to the days of sixties American Britbeat wannabes. Not a bad disc (only one dud song: a nattering “Rock is not dead” screed), though typically I prefer my pop-rock a tad less straightforward. The ethereal “Are You Giving Me Back My Love?” is worth the low-budget price of admission, though. # | ( 5/29/2002 12:59:00 PM ) Bill S. ALL HAIL THE NEW FLESH – Some provocative thoughts from onetime horror flick fan Lileks on reasons he no longer relates to the genre. For him, horror movies moved into a disturbingly physical direction when that baby Alien popped out of John Hurt. Most hardcore horror heads know, though, that the writing had been on the wall long before that mainstream popular hit: David Cronenberg’s They Came from Within (a.k.a. Shivers) predates Ridley Scott’s outer space creepshow by three years. The monster baby birth in that drive-in classic was directly stolen by Alien writer Dan (Dark Star) O’Bannon. I’m a big Cronenberg fan: a fact that probably says more about me than I’d care to admit. One of our most consistently disturbing directors, Cronenberg frequently gets placed in the horror niche, though some of his movies are too slippery to remain there. His biggest mainstream success, the Jeff Goldblum version of The Fly, owes its popularity more from name recognition than from Cronenberg. His second biggest, Scanners, was the first flick I recall to show a man’s head telekinetically exploding. It spawned a series of mediocre sequels, for which I hope Cronenberg made a lot of money because not a one of ‘em is close to the original. What makes Cronenberg flicks such memorable, frequently uncomfortable, experiences is his horrified fascination with the human body. His films are filled with images of physical decay and mutation, visions of the human body somehow gone horribly wrong. In his best film, The Brood, this manifests itself as stigmata borne out of anger; in Videodrome, it most memorably appears as large vaginal openings/videotape slots on the characters’ torsos. It’s Cronenberg that we have to thank or blame for the bio-physiological obsessions of more recent horror flicks, though nearly every one that’s followed in his stead has been but a weak reflection of the original. Whether it’s the disturbing gynecological imagery of Dead Ringers or the more gonzo Burroughs-ian physical breakdown fantasy of his most recent release XistenZ, the man retains his own darkly twisted vision. Even at his weakest (his adaptation of J.G. Ballard's Crash, which at least managed to piss off Ted Turner), Cronenberg takes us places where we’re not sure we want to go. For better or worse, he’s the source to examine when it comes to considering the mutant nature of horror films today. # | Tuesday, May 28, 2002 ( 5/28/2002 01:59:00 PM ) Bill S. LIKE A BIRD ON THE WIRE – Scanning Carina Chocana’s salon.com piece on upcoming network teleseries, I noted that another comic book-inspired series is on the fall schedule: DC’s Birds of Prey will be premiering on WB. A Batman spin-off, the comic book BoP focuses on Barbara Gordon, the wheelchair-bound ex-Batgirl who has parleyed her librarian’s know-how into the field of cyber-surveillance. Babs sends other agents (most frequently, the Black Canary) into the field to perform undercover ops. She remains part of the ongoing Gotham City cast that includes the Batguy, Robin, et al, but is also an independent character on her own right. As a comic book, Birds of Prey only occasionally depends on super-powered characters: it just as frequently features straight stories of crime and intrigue. As such, it is probably the one Bat book capable of making the transition onto television that could avoid the baggage of the Adam West series. Done right, a TV BoP could grab the same audience that favors tough gal series like Alias. Or it could be another Snoops. Word has it that advanced copies of the pilot’s script are already circulating on the web. I’m not really eager to read it, but, then, I also like foreplay. I did take a gander at TV Tome’s Birds of Prey website. From the looks of things, they’ll be messing with Gotham mythology, so it’ll be fun to watch the reaction of the hardcore Batfans. I know I’ll be giving the show a shot. UPDATE – Dan Frank has done a posting on BoP that indicates the show will be set in a futuristic "New" Gotham. I missed that detail reading the online press releases and am not even sure why the producers thought it was necessary: unless someone wanted to do Dark Angel times three (and look how successful that show wound up being!) Come to think of it: both series do feature a brain in a wheelchair . . . # | ( 5/28/2002 11:19:00 AM ) Bill S. EVERYBODY MUST GET CLONED – I went to Attack of the Clones as much out of sense of completist dedication than anything else. I was not, Lord knows, expecting any of the goshwow entertainment I associate with the first Star Wars trilogy. That I wound up gettin' some may be the biggest surprise of the movie summer. First half hour in, I wasn't sure I was gonna make it to the end. It takes a certain breed of actor to be able to sell the kind of extended expository dialog that comprises so much of the movie's opening – and I sure wasn't hearing anyone who approached that level of chops. (Ian McDiarmid's Palpatine came close. But when Christopher Lee's Count Dooku showed up, his ease with even the most ham-fisted exposition was sorely welcome.) Much of the opening played like a futuristic James Bond flick (menacing creepy crawlies slither across Amidala's bed, Obi-Wan and Anakin zip through the city after an unsuccessful assassin) only without that series' redeeming sense of hard-won hedonism. It wasn't until the film split its two male leads that I started to pay closer attention: Obi-Wan saved the movie for me. The scenes where he tracks down Jango Fett, the bounty hunter who has a contract out on Senator Amidala, were entertaining (and largely dialog-free). Every time the film'd turn back to pre-Darth Vader and his doomed romance, I found myself mentally dropping back from the proceedings. I'm not a real sharp gauge of movie chemistry: half the time, when critics say that an actor/actress combination have good chemistry together, I just nod and say okay. But Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman's young lovers had so much negative chemistry together that even a dolt like me could see it: they practically sucked the life out of the theater. Compared to the yearning romance of this year's Spider-Man – or the much more wittily played screwball triangle of the first Star Wars trilogy – Clones' love scenes were flat and unintentionally laughable. You expect a certain romantic awkwardness in action movies: it's practically a genre given (the action hero typically being much more adept with a gun or light saber than with expressions of emotion – even studly James Bond is more about sexual innuendo than love). But Clones expended so much screen time on this unsuccessful subplot that its gaucheness became irritating. It got that I was even welcoming Jar Jar Binks' presence over another miserable scene of aching adolescence. (A timely confession: I wasn't as bothered by Jar Jar in Phantom Menace as many fans and critics were. Truth to tell, I didn't find him much more grating than jabbery feybot C-3P0 was in the first flick – though, admittedly, Threepio didn't do any pratfalls in alien crap. Annoying comic relief tag-alongs are standard features in this kind of film. Actually, I was little disappointed in the J-man's subdued performance this time out, though I know I'm in the minority there.) As for the other major story-advancing subplot, Anakin's unsuccessful attempt to save his mother Shmi, I bought it more than I did the romance. Sure, it was inorganically shoehorned into the flick; sure, it lacked a real emotional payoff (the separation between young Anie and his mom in the first flick had more impact!) But the Tattooine setting so strongly resounds in my movie mad mind that just the sight of that barren landscape was enough to hold me. Clones winds up with an ultra-busy big battle pay-off (when Yoda and Count Dooku square off, I remember thinking this is what I came to see!), though the actual stakes of all this fighting remain calculatedly murky. Though supposedly attuned to the Force, the Jedi Knights are, after all, inadvertently working to ensure that a Republic'll be replaced by Imperial dictatorship (all in the name of Homeland Security!) I dug the gladiator/rodeo sequence where our heroes and heroine do battle with a trio of alien beasties, but a part of me was wishing for some herky-jerky Harryhausen-style stop-motion over the excessive CGI. Five films in, and I still remain a dunce when it comes to understanding the parameters of the Jedi Knights' power. Extended swordplay is cool and all, but the whole time I watched the flick's climactic battle scene, I kept wondering why don't the Jedi use their formidable mental power to blow the evil droids out of the arena? Perhaps I missed the explanation somewhere in all that exposition; I wouldn't doubt it since I know I glazed over more than once. I do know (because Yoda told me about FIFTEEN TIMES!) that the Dark Side is growing stronger, however. Bottom line? On the plus side: lots of ohboy! sci-fi imagery, some entertaining action sequences (asteroid chase, mano-a-mano duel in the rain between Obi-Wan and Fett, risibly perilous conveyor belt scene that cried out for some Carl Stalling music, Yoda & Dooku), better comic relief from the Droid Duo plus a few low-key foreshadowings of events to come. On the debit? Well, that should be obvious by now. In final balance, Episode II has me cautiously anticipating Ep Three. So I guess Lucas' middle flick did what it came to do. # | Monday, May 27, 2002 ( 5/27/2002 01:57:00 PM ) Bill S. OUT IN THE YARD – Lileks had an amusing page up for Memorial Day (won't bother linking to it since it's probably just up for the day), chiding anyone who ventured onto his web log for spending time on the Internet instead of being outside grilling something good. I chuckled at his words, but I didn’t feel in the least bit apologetic about “wasting” part of this beautiful day in my study. Because I’ve been doin’ yard work. Let me be clear about this: I loathe yard work. Call me a namby-pamby media nerd if you like, but my idea of a personal hell is yard work. I’m not talking riding mower girlyman yard work: this is clearin’-out-trees, loppin’- down-weeds, diggin’- fence-holes-in-the-far-back yard work. The kind of yard work that has you reassessing the whole home ownership deal, reminiscing about the days when you were a mere renter. I say, “fuck” a lot when I’m doing yard work. It’s my rhythmic, Blazing Saddles work song, so please keep the kiddies away. “Fuck!” on the downswing: clearly, yard work does not bring out the best in me. My wife tries to stay out of earshot as much as possible. Got up early this Mem Day to get a jump on the heat/possible rain: spent the morning and part of the early afternoon yard working. Hated every minute of it. So here I am at mid-afternoon, sitting at the computer with some sun tea, playing around before we leave for a matinee of Attack of the Clones, easing out of the pissed-off state that comes from a surfeit of yard time. After the movie I’ll be grilling a pair of rib-eyes, spending time contemplating the meaning of Memorial Day 2002 as I watch the meat brown. Most holidays are like this, I’ve discovered: family obligations, home responsibilities – they seize priority before you’re actually able to sit back and relax. Happy Memorial Day. # | Sunday, May 26, 2002 ( 5/26/2002 10:18:00 AM ) Bill S. X-FILES ADDENDUM – Daniel Frank and Jim Treacher have been involved in a discussion re: the characters on X-Files, and I thought I’d chime in on a few points concerning the nature of Dana Scully’s beliefs. The series was initially structured as a debate between scientific skeptic Scully and intuitive believer Fox Mulder, though over the years she eventually came around to Mulder’s way of thinking – so much so that when David Duchovny’s character left the series to be replaced by hardnosed cop John Doggett (Robert Patrick), Scully took on the role of crazy theorist. (In one ep, she even discusses trying to think like Mulder.) The character’s trajectory was not a smooth one: in the early “rationalist” years, it was common for audiences to see her as a stubborn killjoy (in part, because we were shown things she wasn’t), but even after her abduction the character stuck to her stance for quite some time. It wasn’t just bad writing for her to do this: Scully had been assigned to the X-Files as professional skeptic (it was her job!), and, besides, the facts behind her abduction remained too murky for any clear conclusions to be drawn. Too, when our deepest beliefs are challenged, the first reaction often is to retrench even more strongly. Skepticism can be just as much a knee-jerk response as true belief, the show was saying: neither Mulder nor Scully were shown as possessing the one correct way to approach a problem (Mulder was flimflammed more than once by his readiness to suspend disbelief). The answer resided in a combination of the two approaches. I have neither the patience nor the inclination to do a show-by-show analysis of Scully’s intellectual pilgrimage, though I suspect that this wouldn't be all that easy to outline, anyway. X-Files’ biggest disbelief strainer (as Jim Lileks has pointed out) was in the relationship between its stand-alone episodes and its ongoing conspiracy arc. Unlike the serial-minded Buffy or Lilek’s beloved Enterprise, Files tales don’t acknowledge a strict chronology. So while a stand-alone ep may’ve followed a three-part myth piece packed with Big Revelations, you seldom heard any mention of ‘em in the single story. This makes the stand-alones easier to view by themselves (tried watching some Enterprises out of sequence recently – and half the time I didn’t know what the hell was going on!), though I can understand how it might piss off more obsessive-compulsive fans. At its best, X-Files presented some neat dark fantasies, often with a satiric edge (e.g., the gated community where those who violated neighborhood association rules got a monster set after ‘em). At its worst, the writers resorted to randomly throwing conspiracy theories up against the wall. Over time, I found myself willing to watch the show at its most contrived, but I won’t fault anyone who chose not to. . . # | |
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