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Saturday, January 04, 2003 ( 1/04/2003 07:00:00 AM ) Bill S. MAGICAL HE – Had a tooth extracted yesterday a.m., and in the afternoon I went to belatedly see Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets stoned on vicodan. (I recommend it that way.) We went as the guest of a four-year-old friend: she enjoyed the movie but not as much as the first, which she’s watched to death on tape. Me, I thought it was better and not just because of the painkillers. Because we don’t have to spend as much time establishing everything this time out, the movie is able to quickly start concentrating on its class-based conflicts. Book two in the series has a stronger plot, and the movie remains faithful to it (only player to get shorted: younger Wesley sister Ginny, who has a major role in the climax, though we barely see her in the body of the film). Glad to see Robbie Coltrane’s Hagrid receive more screen time (as before, he provides much of the movie’s heart), while Kenneth Branagh’s comically vainglorious Gilderoy Lockhart was a stitch. Can’t help wondering about the all-knowing wisdom of school headmaster Dumbledore, though, that they even let such a poseur through the doors of Hogwarts School. Outside of those occasional moments when I found myself wondering if the book’s main trio would be able to make it to the end of the proposed seven-book series (Daniel Radcliffe’s Potter already looks to be knocking on pre-pubescence), all three seem to’ve settled into their roles more comfortably than they had in the first flick. Watching Richard Harris’ Dumbledore, I couldn’t help thinking, Gee, he doesn’t look or sound that well underneath all that hair. Making a series like this, you have to work against the ravages of aging at both ends. As for the movie’s big fx setpieces, they were more elaborate and worked better than the ones in Sorcerer’s Stone, though as an adult viewer I had as much fun playing Spot the Source (a bit of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang here, some snippets from The Goonies there – and Harryhausen, lots of Harryhausen) as I did watching the action. McKayla, our four-year-old friend, had to climb on her mother’s lap during the climactic fight w./ the Basilisk. It was scary, she later said, but not too scary. # | Friday, January 03, 2003 ( 1/03/2003 06:11:00 AM ) Bill S. REPEAT THE GEEKS – Mark Evanier alerts us to the fact that Comedy Central has just started quietly re-running eps of Beat the Geeks in the early a.m. (8:30 EST). I share some of Mark’s reservations about the show, which takes the mocking tone established by Win Ben Stein’s Money and kicks it up a notch, but I’ve also grown to enjoy the knowing fannish smarts of its Geek Triumvirate. Over time the show has given them all opportunity to demonstrate their love for their chosen areas of expertise which, goofy robes or no, is kind of cool. Caught yesterday’s repeat on tape: turns out to be from the first season, which just doesn’t hold up as well as the second. Year two, the producers tweaked the game to make it a tad tougher in the first round, brought in the considerably more manic (and funnier) Blaine Capatch to be host and started giving its resident experts more air time to pontificate on various underrated pop culture faves (as when Music Geek Andy Zax extolled the virtues of Brit rocker Nick Lowe). Now that the show's developed its rhythm, its place on Comedy Central's schedule is reportedly in jeopardy. Wonder if there's an available slot on the Game Show Network? # | Thursday, January 02, 2003 ( 1/02/2003 01:46:00 PM ) Bill S. “YOU’RE THE ONE THAT MAKES ME SMILE!” – Our local Hastings is about to close down – done in by the presence of a brand-spankin’ Borders just one parking lot down the beltway. I was never that impressed w./ the store, which was inconveniently located, mediocre in terms of selection diversity & generally priced two to three bucks more than the warehouse stores. Stopped in regularly, but I seldom bought anything. This week, however, with everything in Hastings being sold at better than 50% off, I made a point of going. Naturally, the goods were heavily picked over by the Xmas shopping crowd. The books & DVD sections were pretty much depleted, but the CD area bore fruit. Wound up purchasing some discs that I probably wouldn’t have considered if they’d been full price (most dubious selection: a German import of Haircut 100’s debut album!) Also bought a batch of funk discs in a doubtless futile attempt at giving myself the groove. Even though I rarely spent much money in it, walking through the remains, I still felt vaguely depressed. Staffed w./temps or soon-to-be-laid-off workers who longer care about polished cleanliness or the niceties of shelving, haphazardly plastered w./ progressively more desperate mark-down signs, there was a palpable sense of sadness within the entire building. No matter how good the deals may've been, no matter how much I may’ve have disliked the place when it was fully operational, I still didn’t feel entirely good about myself, walking up to the disheveled cash register w./ my bargain discs in hand. It’s a different story once I got to the parking lot, though. Released from the momentarily oppressive aura of failed capitalism, I sliced open my first disc and happily deposited it into the car’s CD player. “Favourite Shirt (Boy Meets Girl)” – new wave disco at its cheesiest! Adios, Hastings. . . # | Wednesday, January 01, 2003 ( 1/01/2003 11:12:00 AM ) Bill S. “THEY’RE A WHOLE DIFFERENT SEX!” – Watched Some Like It Hot on New Year’s Eve. The pic was part of a series of cross-dress comedies that TCM was showing for the night. The lineup also included Victor Victoria & I Was A Male War Bride, though the latter was a bit of a cheat since Grant’s cross-dressing scene only comprises about five minutes of the flick. (It’s still a funny movie.) Because it's been topic of recent discussion on the web, I started out looking for moments in Hot where the dubbing that ace voice man Paul Frees did for Tony Curtis’ Josephine was obvious. Found some scenes where the sync ‘tween lips and words was off, but it ultimately didn’t diminish my enjoyment of the movie. In fact, by mid-pic I’d stopped even noticing it. # | ( 1/01/2003 10:40:00 AM ) Bill S. I LIKE MY CHICKEN DIXIE FRIED – Though there are times when I’ve considered ceasing regular visits to blogger Michele Catalano’s A Small Victory – especially when she starts overdoing her only half facetious Proud-To-Be-A-Member-Of-The-Vast-Right-Wing-Conspiracy mode – the woman still regularly reminds me why she’s one of my favorite Blogcritics. This past week, she started a discussion of her favorite comics, and it opens w./ a strong piece on Garth Ennis’ Preacher series. Because it ran in the mid-90's (as I’ve indicated in the past, my comics reading during that decade was plenty sparse), I didn’t catch Preacher when it was fresh. But over the past month, I’ve been acquainting myself with Ennis’ creation. Not for nothing does the character’s first collection contain an intro by Texas pulpster Joe R. Lansdale: the two share the same take-no-prisoners approach to plotting and aren’t afraid of using the broadest strokes possible when it comes to imagining dark deeds. The approach can be entertaining in a Tarantino-esque way, though at its most belabored it can grow tediously one-note. A problem for those of us coming to Ennis’s work for the first time: some of the elements that he uses effectively in his earlier work have since become shtick for him. One quick example: the pathetic teenager in Preacher who bobbles his Kurt Cobain-inspired shotgun suicide and winds up w./ a Really-Messed-Up-Mug & the sobriquet Arse-Face; the equally messed-up henchman in the recent Fury MAX mini-series who's been given the apt nickname Fuck-Face. (Me, I’m waiting for Ennis to go deeper and give us Clitoris-Face.) Where Ennis’ grim comedy makes thematic sense in the hellish Texas he imagines, more recently it’s felt like he’s merely re-visiting gross-out territory that was already thoroughly charted by undergrounders in the 70’s. Result: the “mature readers” comic book equivalent to a pack of Garbage Pail Kids cards, only sans that nutritious stick o’ gum. Ennis' current re-treading may’ve lessened Preacher’s luster, but mid-point in my first read of the series, I’m still reasonably engrossed. And I can see what Michele’s raving about even if I can’t get on board w./ her elevated estimation of its stature. Looking forward to further entries in her “My Year in Comics” series. # | Tuesday, December 31, 2002 ( 12/31/2002 11:48:00 AM ) Bill S. THE MYSTERIOUS FAN BOY & FRIENDS – End o’ the year, so I thought I’d do a quick look-see at some regular series comics I’ve been reading over the past twelve months that deserve some hey-check-this-out!-type acknowledgement. All five are from the mainstream companies and are being packaged as ongoing series (though, given the state of the industry, who knows if we’ll still be seeing all five this time next year). No Art Comics here (though some of the creators herein may’ve swiped from their less commercial peers), just some titles that’ve fulfilled my admittedly warped entertainment needs. In alphabetical order, they are: Alias (MAX): Scripter Brian Michael Bendis takes the ‘tec story mode that he polished in his Powers series and plunks it into the Marvel Universe. I have no clear memory of Jessica Jones as a superheroine (apparently, she was part of the Avengers at one point?), but that’s no real detriment. As a hard-bitten p.i. in the V.I. Warshawski mode, Jones finds herself in sordid noir-ish cases involving 2nd-tier Marvel personalities (in one story arc, she looks for Hulk & Captain Marvel hanger-on, Rick Jones). Bendis’ style is slow and deliberate – doesn’t always pay off in satisfying resolutions either – but I like his world-weary heroine and the mean streets tone of his book. Only complaint I have is with the writer’s use of frozen panels during long expositionary conversations: the technique, first utilized in Powers, may save a mess of drawing, but it too frequently draws attention to itself. I enjoy Michael Gaydos’ face 'n' shadow focused art too much to accept any cheats on this front.So there you go: five titles that likely won’t make any serious comics critic’s Best-of-the-Year list, and I’ve enjoyed every one of ‘em. Wouldn’t dream of pulling any of these titles out if I was in a Comics Can Be Serious Art debate. But, then, I also probably wouldn’t pull out the last issue of Crumb's Mystic Funnies to bolster my point either. Here’s to another year of panelogical pleasures . . . UPDATE: The current issue of Alias (#18) contains an exchange between Jessica and a dance club bouncer where the latter asks her if she's ever been in the Avengers. Our heroine denies this, so as Captain Spaulding notes in the Comments section below, Miz Jones' history is even murkier than I originally thought. # | Sunday, December 29, 2002 ( 12/29/2002 09:31:00 AM ) Bill S. “MEANWHILE, I’M STILL THINKING” – While so many writers cobble together their end-of-the-year Top Ten lists, I thought I’d some time revisiting a CD that received its fair share of attention last fall: Steve Earle’s Jerusalem (Artemis Records). The alt-country singer/songwriter earned press – and the reactionary indignation of at least one Nashville deejay – by releasing a disc of left-leaning political screeds. Number One With A Bullet on the kneejerks’ hate list: “John Walker’s Blues,” a first person account of the American-born Taliban soldier that commits the unforgivable sin of attempting to look at J.W. Lindh empathetically. One of the central ironies of the last year has been the way that ultra- and neo-con spokesfolk (after years of decrying the so-called oppressions of leftie political correctness) started heavily wielding their own version of the p-c club as a means of stifling debate about the War on Terror. Considering Earle’s political proclivities and his own willingness to openly express ‘em, it’s not surprising to see the man winding up a target for these folks. Okay for John Anderson or Charlie Daniels to engage in good ol’ American chest-thumping, but clearly it’s traitorous for Earle to even attempt to imagine what John Walker might be thinking. Jerusalem is not a Grade-A Earle album: been playing & replaying the thing all week, and the overriding sense I get is of a singer so overly concerned w./ the message of his songs that he’s unwilling to really cut loose on ‘em. (This is most apparent on the Tex-Mex numbers, which could’ve used a touch of Joe “King” Carasco to make ‘em take off.) Most of the disc’s players, like former dBs drummer Will Rigby, will be familiar to Earle fans, though the more subdued use of their talents is a disappointment. But even lesser Earle has its moments. I keep hearing comparisons to minor Dylan releases like Desire (which gave us both a protest song about “Hurricane” Carter and a puzzling folkie paean to thuggish mobster “Joey” Gallo), a disc that’s weathered much better than I would’ve expected on its ’75 release. Fringe pop has had a long noble history of nurturing lyrical cranks & risk-takers. (One of my personal faves – a singer/songwriter who shares a vocal affinity w./ Earle – is T-Bone Burnett, the fire-and-brimstone evangelical songwriter also responsible for the soundtrack to Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?) Earle, in stepping out on a limb that most sensible commercial songwriters would've avoided, is simply holding true to that tradition. Ya don't like the sentiments he's expressing, than stick to mainstream Nashville. Alterna-country & roots rock both hearken back to the folkie stream that’s helped feed popular music from the beginning. One of the standing traditions of folk music is the bandit song: a tale told from the perspective of someone outside the law. “John Walker’s Blues” clearly fits within that mode. In Earle’s take, we hear a confused kid trying to bolster himself as he’s being carried back to the “land of the infidel;” the song uses religious chanting as a chorus and a means of showing the ways righteousness can support dark deeds. The singer returns to this point in the disc’s title song, only less indirectly: “I don’t remember learnin’ how to hate in Sunday school.” Took some time before I actually started parsing the lyrics on this disc, and for all their vaunted political messages, I found most of ‘em frustratingly generic: more John Mellancamp than Neil Young. Best poli-screed to these ears was “America v. 6.0 (The Best We Can Do),” an angry & fatalistic talking blues rant that describes living paycheck-to-paycheck in a settle-for-2nd-best economy. I’d love to hear the song performed by a singer w./ more bite. Hey, Jon Langford, you busy? Perhaps Jerusalem’s biggest problem is one of timing. Released in the shadow of Bruce Springsteen’s post-9/11 take, The Rising, the disc can’t help but sound tenuous. Listen to The Boss’ comeback album, and you hear a man rediscovering the blunt power of his own voice & an unmatchable back-up band. Even if the disc has just as many nebulous lyrics as Earle’s release (and I believe it does), it sure as heck sounds it’s telling us more. In contrast, for all the outcry it’s aroused, Jerusalem could’ve benefited from at least another week in the recording studio. I’m bettin’ a lot of these songs'll rise up on-stage, though . . . # | |
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