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Saturday, October 04, 2003 ( 10/04/2003 06:44:00 AM ) Bill S. GROOVY! – Caught the second episode of Joey Pant's new series, The Handler, last night. Centered around an F.B.I. guy (Pantoliano) who recruits and oversees undercover agents, last night's offering focused on two cases: a fresh-faced blonde who works as a waitress to catch a corrupt judge and a frizzy-headed black guy who infiltrates a gang of rock 'n' roll playing band robbers (they carry a boombox playing Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels' "Devil in A Blue Dress" to every job). About the time that we got to the gang's booze-&-drug party, I realized that I was essentially watching an updating of The Mod Squad with just a little more air time being given to Link and Julie's boss than we would've gotten in that sixties era show. # | Friday, October 03, 2003 ( 10/03/2003 08:52:00 AM ) Bill S. THOSE DARN TREACHEROUS CORRIDORS – Like Darren Madigan, I taped this week's The West Wing in order to watch the season premiere of Angel. But unlike the Brown-Eyed Handsome Man, I haven't entirely given up on the Sorkin-free series yet. Watched E.R. at least a year longer than most smart viewers, too. If any question existed as to whether producer John Wells and the show's new writing staff were going to attempt to replicate Sorkin's breakneck dialog, though, it was answered on this second ep. Midway in, we have a scene where Deputy White House Chief of Staff Joss Lyman and his assistant Donna are doing the patented Sorkin speedwalk-&-talk through the corridors, breathlessly being followed by a new intern. "Do you always walk this fast?" he puffs, just before tripping and tumbling to the floor. Which I took as Wells' way of telling us that these types of scenes'd be downplayed in the future. At least they made John Goodman less phlegmatic in his swan-song episode. # | ( 10/03/2003 06:38:00 AM ) Bill S. SOUND OF THE IDEOLOGUE – So I'm listening to "Fresh Air" on NPR in the car yesterday, and Terry Gross is interviewing Grover Norquist, a big-name conservative mucky-muck who was a player in the 90's Republican created "Contract with America" and is a current voice in the Bush Administration's plans for revising our tax system. About five minutes into the program, Norquist is decrying how our current tax system "penalizes" the much-referenced upper two percent. (Just so the five readers who actually follow these infrequent political notes know: I personally have no problem with the idea that the ultra-wealthy theoretically have to pay a higher percentage for living in the country that gave them the opportunity to become ultra-wealthy in the first place.) To hammer how unfair the tax percentage is, Norquist compares the two-percent being taxed to the percentage of Germans killed in the Holocaust. Holy shit, I'm thinking from behind the wheel of my beat-up Buick LeSabre, did he just say that being taxed is equal to being gassed to death? Show hostess Terry Gross, bless her skinny little heart, is right behind me. Incredulous, she asks, "Did you just compare taxation to the Holocaust?" Now, does Norquist do what you might hope he'd do? Does he back off and say, "I'm sorry. That was an asinine point no better than some ultra-leftist spouting off and comparing the Bush Administration to Nazis." No, instead he tries to explain his hyperbolic comparison by stating that he meant to focus on the unfairness of treating two small percentages differently from the majority. The longer he tries to explain the more I realize: a.) with or without clarification, Norquist doesn't see how essentially demeaning his statement is; and b.) he's most likely used this same talking point in the past to great audience approval. And this man is a major voice in present public policy. . . UPDATE: Josh Marshall weighs in with an October 8 post that also asks why more hasn't been made of this. # | Thursday, October 02, 2003 ( 10/02/2003 01:09:00 PM ) Bill S.  "I TURNED AROUND AND MY EYES BUGGED OUT!" – Have no idea who the mysterious folks behind Germany's Buffalo Bop records are (none of the discs that I own have any production credits on 'em), but I've been buying their releases in funky li'l record stores for years now. A reissue label devoted to collecting obscure rockabilly and rock 'n' roll 45's, they've been putting out nicely mastered sets of stuff you probably wouldn't otherwise hear if it weren't for them obsessive European collector types.Two of the line's collections, Horror Hop and Monster Bop are particularly apt for this time of year. Gathering rockin' novelty numbers from a variety of defunct labels (Sandy, Brunswick, and so on), they take us to an era when teen-centric movie companies like AIP were drive-in staples – and rock could be as goofy as it wanted. Echo and sound fx, wolf howls, cackling laughter and choral screams, lots of lyrical riffs on characters beloved by an audience reared on Famous Monsters of Filmland: it's all there by the casket full on these two CDs.  Consider "The Mummy's Bracelet" by Lee Ross (from HHop), a country ballad in the style of Marty Robbins about a man who steals the title object and gives it to his girl, only to see the mummy return to retrieve it and then turn his girlfriend into stone. Or Jack Hammer's "Black Widow Spider Woman" (HH), a squawnkin' saxy rocker about a guy who falls for a real-life black widow and asks, "Do I get a love bite tonight?" Or Bobby Please's "The Monster" (on MBop), which describes Doctor Frankenstein's dismayed realization that the monster he thought dead is still alive and pursuing him ("Why do my feet move so slow?") until the final stanza delivers a punchline right out of an old Jack Davis comic illustration.Some of the material is probably familiar to fans of early rock 'n' roll: the Hollywood Flames' Coasters-styled "Frankenstein's Den" (MB) has appeared on more than one Halloween-themed oldies collection, as has the Revells' doo-woppy "Midnight Stroll" (HH). Kip Taylor's "Jungle Hop" (HH) is on a slew of rockabilly collections and has been covered by the Cramps besides. But most of these cuts will be new to all but the most diligent rockabilly junkie. A few forgotten Golden Throat ghastlies are even resurrected: Lon Chaney's fangless cover of Bobby "Boris" Pickett's "Monster Holiday" and Bert Convy's amusing original "The Gorilla" (both HH), which owes more than a little to "Flying Purple People Eater." Pure adolescent dumbness, in other words – and lots of laffs, too. Only pop-rock this disposable could be so cheerily attuned to the teen-aged monster lurking within its mass audience. (It isn't 'til we get to punk and metal that full-blown self-loathing enters the equation.) "I'd rather go to a horror show than a party or a dance with you," Eddie Thomas tells his girl in "Frankenstein Rock" (MB) 'cause it's the only time he gets to hold her tight. Horror and horniness: they go together like peanut butter and chocolate. # | ( 10/02/2003 08:58:00 AM ) Bill S. A DASH OF OTTER – The much-anticipated-in-my-house season opener of Angel was broadcast last night and, happily, it surpassed our expectations. Lots of comic moments (one of my faves: Angel flummoxed by his new office's phone system) as our merry band of do-gooders find their way around the belly of the beast (a.k.a. law firm Wolfram & Hart) – and a decent evildoer-to-be-thwarted plot, too. By melding the legal and urban supernatural settings, series creator Joss Whedon and crew have opened up their series' capacity to delve into realms of moral ambiguity that mundane legal dramas like The Practice can only suggest in passing. If the show can maintain half the wit and flair of Joss Whedon's written-&-directed opener, it should be one heckuva season. Some passing thoughts on the morning after: when I heard that former Sunnydale ditz Harmony was going to appear as Angel's executive assistant this season, my first response was a grimace. But with the first ep, our "single undead girl in the city" grabbed her place in the lineup and happily held onto it. I was also disenchanted by the news that Whedonverse regular Cordelia Chase was out of the picture for this season. I can only hope that they resolve the girlfriend in a coma plotline sometime over the year. (It's serious!) God, here I am, getting all continuity wonky – but Charisma Carpenter's Cordy has been a part of Sunnydale lore since the Buffy, the Vampire Slayer pilot, and she deserves to not be shuffled aside off-stage. # | Wednesday, October 01, 2003 ( 10/01/2003 09:09:00 AM ) Bill S. NEW KINDS OF KICKS – It's a jam-packed working Wednesday, so instead of writing something that requires connecting strands of thought longer than a paragraph, let's just bullet point it:
# | Tuesday, September 30, 2003 ( 9/30/2003 02:22:00 PM ) Bill S. "ONLY TIME I ENTER THE BUILDING IS TO STEAL SUPPLIES FOR THE CLINIC" – Pretty gutsy of the minds behind NBC's new lawyer drama The Lyon's Den to name their show after a firm and not the integrity-toting lead of the series, Jack Turner (Rob Lowe). After all, they're starting from scratch, why not call Lowe's character Jack Lyon and leave it at that? They tryin' to convince us this is an ensemble show or something? "Lyon," it turns out, comes from the full name of the law firm that employs Turner: Lyon, LaCrosse and Levine. The series opens with a shot of the firm's main office building – and a well-dressed man standing on top of it. Said suited gentleman does a gainer off the building as the camera inter-cuts to shots of Lowe running around the park in his jogging clothes. Our seeming suicide is the manager of LL&L, and his demise brings our joggin' hero – happily fighting the good fight in an inner city clinic – back into the backstabbing fold. Asked to take the place of the man he considers his mentor, Turner's initial response is to decline. He'd much rather be defending clients like the Nigerian mother who is facing deportation back to her country (a death sentence since the once raped woman is considered an adulteress) than doing the corporate law thing. But because his refusal to return to the big building will result in the clinic closing, we know by the end of the premiere he'll be changing his mind. Once we get a taste of the two offices – the friendly casual street-level clinic with its crusading and somewhat disheveled staff (repped by Matt Craven's George Riley, a wily-but-ethical street-scrapper) versus the slithery sleek affiliation of entangling alliances and double-dealing that's the Lyon's Den itself (best exemplar of this: Frances Fisher's Brit Hanley, who could single-handedly revive the Alexis Carrington Bitch Villainess) – we can understand our hero's reluctance. There's definitely some sleazy bizness goin' on at LL&L involving an Enron-esque corporation called Zero Tech (looks like someone's trying to pin the funny stuff on our hero's mentor, too!) not to mention a diligent homicide cop named Traub (Robert Picardo, always nice to see) nosing around the putative suicide. Also added to the stew: a naïve paralegal (David Krumholz) who Brit plans to use against our hero, plus an alcoholic ex-girlfriend (Elizabeth Mitchell) who likewise has been sent into the clinic as a spy. Turner's estranged father (Rip Torn, also always nice to see on series television) is a crotchety reactionary senator – no party affiliation is mentioned in the pilot, though we know he plays golf with the president – with his own agenda for a son he sees squandering his life "fighting for Jill and Joe Six-Pack." Plenty of soapish plot material, in other words, to flavor all the lawyerly action. As for Lowe, he slips into his lead role with ease. The actor's adept at playing guy-ish Ivy League earnestness, but whether the writers will be allowed to tweak Lowe's natural smoothness as much as Aaron Sorkin could on The West Wing may depend on how comfortable Producer Rob Lowe is with a healthy dose of writerly disrespect. Too much earnestness can be fatal, though: if you don't believe me, Rob, just ask Mister Sterling. # | ( 9/30/2003 10:44:00 AM ) Bill S. THE FIFTEEN-MINUTE COMIC – It's mini mayhem this week at the Gadabout, with several mainstream comics mini-series drawing to a close. The big 'un was Batman's "Hush," of course – placed in the character's primary title but packaged like a prestige event – but Sean Collins has already thoroughly demolished that particular misbegotten mini. (I will note that for a series marketed to offer readers a re-entry into the Gotham Universe, Loeb drops the ball more than once bringing characters into the story: a prime example being the appearance of the Riddler in the series' last chapter.) So here are three other quick takes on three other limited runs: Born (MAX) #4: Haven’t been following Ennis & Robertson’s Punisher series, so what brought me to this series was the chance to see the two do their usual hard-ass take on the Vietnam Experience. Nothing too surprising here – we learn that Frank Castle has always been the conscience-free killing machine we see in the superhero books and that fragging inept officers is an amoral imperative – but the execution is strong. I have no big argument with the politics expressed in ish four's opening narrative: Ennis exempts just wars from his war-as-business screed by tacking a "usually" onto his sweeping statements, giving those who feel the Iraq War (to pick an arbitrary example totally out of thin air) is justified some moral wiggle room. The full-page panel showing Frank in the aftermath of his last battle, and the reaction of those soldiers who come upon him, is the main justification for this four-part series, though.Also Briefly Noted: Kept trying to read the first issue of The Demon, but the overused sepia tones blocked me. It doesn't have to be all old school primary colors – Swamp Thing showed us you can do this stuff with a different pallet – but this propensity toward washed-out coloring has grown as clichéd as the Mad Max look in s-f movies. . .Haven't read Neilalien's take on Amazing Spider-man #58 yet, but I'm enjoying the interaction between our title hero and Doc Strange ("By the vapors of the Vishanti does it take a court order ro get a little silence around here?"), not to mention Romita Jr. & Hanna's version of the Dreaded Dormammu. Gives me hopes for JMS' upcoming Stephen Strange book (and, for the record, I found Garth Ennis' effete version of the character in the current MAX Thor: Vikings mini-series pointlessly revisionist). . .Some swell Hamilton & Russell art in the prestige prequel to Fables (The Last Castle), not to mention some decent Kipling-esque touches in Willingham's castle-under-seige script. But, like Johnny B., I've gotta wonder about the rules established in the Fable Town universe. If, as we've been told more than once, continued mundane interest in particular fables helps to keep 'em alive, then why is Red Riding Hood still dead? More in a week or so. . . # | Monday, September 29, 2003 ( 9/29/2003 01:50:00 PM ) Bill S. ABOUT A MILLION GIRLS – Not much to say about the death of Donald O'Connor that hasn't already been noted by every blogger who loves Singin' in the Rain. (Went through a period when I reacted against that movie's enshrinement as the Greatest Movie Musical Ever to the point where I even pooh-poohed O'Connor’s performance in "Make 'Em Laugh," but I want you to know that I'm all better now.) I did want to acknowledge my second-favorite O'Connor musical number, though: his rendition of Randy Newman's "I Could Love A Million Girls" in the movie version of Ragtime. # | ( 9/29/2003 12:52:00 PM ) Bill S. "ARE YOU A MEXICAN OR A MEXICAN'T?" – Despite the mixed reviews it's been receiving, I ventured out of the house to see Once Upon A Time in Mexico this weekend. Not a particularly good movie, but as always I'm entertained by director Robert ("Shot, Chopped and Scored") Rodriquez' willingness to throw himself wholeheartedly into the most scatterbrained nonsense (see also: From Dusk to Dawn). What the flick lacks in coherency, it makes up in breakneck bravado. I especially enjoyed a flashback featuring fearless mariachi "El" (Antonio Bandaras) and Sofia (a too-sparingly-seen Salma Hayek) descending a building while chained together. It had the laugh-out-loud gee-whiz timing of great Harold Lloyd. Johnny Depp has been singled out by a lot of critics for his hipster C.I.Agent, but in a lot of ways the soul of the movie belongs to Ruben Blades, playing a retired F.B.I. man brought into the action by professional shit-stirrer Sands (Depp). When he's captured by the pic's evil drug lord Barillo (Willem Dafoe), he's the only one you find yourself worrying about. El gets hauled in by bad guys more than once, but you never doubt he’s going to survive. Blades' Jorge is a different story. Depp's fun to watch, though: an opportunistic psycho so concerned with keeping "balance" in the world that he'll kill a too-good chef to maintain his sense of democratic order. In the first half, he's repeatedly shown wearing a fake arm to no discernible purpose, though naturally it gets used during one of the film's climactic showdowns. Sands gets a grisly comeuppance in the movie, one designed to mirror the skull-fixated Day of the Dead celebrations going on in the background. It's so strong I couldn't help thinking Rodriquez had scripted his film just to arrive at that scene. Like I say, not a great entertainment, but I had fun with it. (So will you, provided you're not bothered by rampant gore.) Between this and the Spy Kids franchise, I have to wonder whether the whole-hearted auteur approach Rodriquez has taken is entirely a good thing. Perhaps a collaborator or two could've encouraged the guy to take the script through one more draft – one that better fleshed out the tragic Sofia plotline and gave us more about secondary characters like Mickey Rourke's underused hired thug Billy Chambers. . . or showed us more clearly why our emotionally wounded hero is willing to stand up for the Mexican president threatened by a military coup. Having your hero simply state that El Presidente is a "good man" and leave it at that is a little too paint-by-numbers. # | ( 9/29/2003 07:48:00 AM ) Bill S. HUSH, HUSH. . . – Sean Collins does a funny, indignant rant against Jeph Loeb's plotwork on the recent year-long Batman "Hush" series. Back in May, I noted in a "Fifteen-Minute Comic" entry about the series: Only spiffy thing that scripter Loeb has done to date is to introduce a Previously Unseen Figure From Bruce Wayne's Past, convince us that he’s the hidden villain behind the goings-on, then kill him off mid-story.Only, as Sean points out, Loeb negates that play-on-our-expectations by resorting to a truly cheesy hole-gaping contrivance. So check out Mister C. as he goes medieval on DC's ass. # | Sunday, September 28, 2003 ( 9/28/2003 02:37:00 PM ) Bill S. KEEP YER PANTS ON – Just realized that my blogroll for D. Emerson Eddy's revitalized web log Don't You Hate Pants? was inadvertently permalinked to his Hauntings review. Checked what I thought was the home page of his site several times this week and kept hitting that review, so I foolishly assumed that the blog hadn't been updated. This morning, I discovered I was wrong, and that D. has indeed added several worthwhile postings over the week. Perhaps the best is his piece on critic Harold Bloom’s recent hissy fit over Stephen King being awarded a National Book Foundation prize for his contributions to literature. Read Bloom's article and you come away with the sense that King was receiving this honor on the backs of other neglected writers (So are you telling me that poor Tom Pynchon hasn't received any accolades from the literary world? Didn't he garner a National Book Award for Gravity's Rainbow?) and that contemporary awards are the sole means by which a writer's historical significance is measured. Nonsense. It's a fairly standard argument in academically focused criticism that popular entertainment ruins readers' ability to read anything more challenging, but I don't buy it. (You sometimes see a variation on this argument among comics critics decrying the prevalence of superhero titles.) Contemporary literary awards have never been without their own politics and received thinking. Consider how long it took fabulist fictioners like John Barth or (yes, him again) Pynchon to get noticed by the National Book Award: their work wasn't considered as serious as Saul Bellow or John O'Hara because it eschewed realism. In short, Bloom's screed comes across like the railings of an old academic poop. (For the critic to disparagingly compare King's prose to the sub-literate level of penny dreadful toilers shows he knows neither King nor penny dreadfuls.) Eddy offers a measured, well-read response. # | |
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