Because I don't want to go into the weekend on a grumpy note over that CDC nonsense, here's some Friday goofiness.
This World of Warcraft as text adventure piece is both hilarious and alarmingly accurate.
And who doesn't like mean cats? Be sure to read the captions.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Elf Needs Lobbyist, Badly
Let's see, the bird flu is coming, obesity is on the rise in children, and New Orleans is awash in contaminated ground sediment, so what do Senators Lieberman, Clinton, and other bipartisan supporters want to task the CDC with?
An exhaustive study on the "impact of electronic media use."
The CDC?!
Videogames and movies don't make me want to go postal. But ill-informed political posturing?
The misappropriation of an agency who, frankly, has bigger and more lethal fish to fry?
The first step of anti-videogame legislation (because, let's face it, that's what this is about, not movies or cell phones) masquerading as research?
Those make the IGDA, the ACLU, and the angel puppies cry.
An exhaustive study on the "impact of electronic media use."
The CDC?!
Videogames and movies don't make me want to go postal. But ill-informed political posturing?
The misappropriation of an agency who, frankly, has bigger and more lethal fish to fry?
The first step of anti-videogame legislation (because, let's face it, that's what this is about, not movies or cell phones) masquerading as research?
Those make the IGDA, the ACLU, and the angel puppies cry.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Look! Up in the Sky! It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's... a Methodist!
From the Too Much Free Time Department comes an exhaustive list of comic book characters and their religious affiliations.
For extra fun, check out the catalog's visual reference. The most pathetic supergroup has to be the Legion of Lutheran Superheroes, which consists of Mastodon and, um, Jimmy Olsen.
For extra fun, check out the catalog's visual reference. The most pathetic supergroup has to be the Legion of Lutheran Superheroes, which consists of Mastodon and, um, Jimmy Olsen.
Orchestrating Gold
The LA Times has an interesting article on how CRASH won Best Picture.
No crazy conspiracy theories here, just careful research and marketing by Lionsgate, who treated the race for the Academy Awards' top bauble like a political campaign.
CRASH won, the article asserts, because the right people saw it, specifically LA-based actors and editors, two key voting blocs.
The network effect also comes into play: Paul Haggis and the movie's large cast have been in the business for a long time, with associated relationships and friend-of-friending.
Relationships alone won't guarantee a vote, but word of mouth is perhaps the most powerful type of marketing. I'd wager that World of Warcraft is the first of such games for many millions of its players, who got into the game because a friend recommended they try it out.
Of course, no one's going to vote for a movie they think is terrible, even if it is set in LA, highlights actors, and a friend recommended it. Lots of people didn't like CRASH, but lots did, and Lionsgate made a strategic effect to connect to those lots.
Those 130,000 screeners, a joke in some circles when they came out, seem much less foolish in the cold hard light of post-Oscar March. The CRASH DVD was at #3 on Amazon when last I looked.
No crazy conspiracy theories here, just careful research and marketing by Lionsgate, who treated the race for the Academy Awards' top bauble like a political campaign.
CRASH won, the article asserts, because the right people saw it, specifically LA-based actors and editors, two key voting blocs.
The network effect also comes into play: Paul Haggis and the movie's large cast have been in the business for a long time, with associated relationships and friend-of-friending.
Relationships alone won't guarantee a vote, but word of mouth is perhaps the most powerful type of marketing. I'd wager that World of Warcraft is the first of such games for many millions of its players, who got into the game because a friend recommended they try it out.
Of course, no one's going to vote for a movie they think is terrible, even if it is set in LA, highlights actors, and a friend recommended it. Lots of people didn't like CRASH, but lots did, and Lionsgate made a strategic effect to connect to those lots.
Those 130,000 screeners, a joke in some circles when they came out, seem much less foolish in the cold hard light of post-Oscar March. The CRASH DVD was at #3 on Amazon when last I looked.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Oscar, Warmed-Over
The Boyfriend and I visited Hollywood and Highland on Saturday to see the preparations, which was pretty nifty. The carpet is pinker than it appears on TV, and the swooshy faux-deco set pieces fronting the enclosed tent (security check? Car wash?) far more chintzy looking.
Yes, the Oscars are held in a mall. They hide it all remarkably well on TV, but directly above the grand, gold-swathed entryway you can grab a plate of nachos before you hit the Sunglass Hut.
Various young, apple-cheeked show workers were snapping the occasional picture of each other in front of giant Oscar statues, which I found endearing. Even if you're on the other side of the velvet rope, it must still be pretty magical.
The techie-roadie-Teamster types were rather less enthralled. A par can is a par can, no matter whose boobs it's lighting up.
What impressed me the most at the Kodak Theater was the incredible cross-section of onlookers who were crowding the area, both American and international. The movies this year may not be the mass market's bread and butter, but glamour and celebrity clearly are compelling and evergreen to a wide swath of humanity.
I was going to live-blog the Oscars for all three of my readers, but between errands and squeezing in a song or two on Guitar Hero I ended up TiVo-speedwatching the whole thing.
The masses of people at Trader Joe's were either doing the same thing, or -- gasp! -- did not care that the Oscars were unfolding mere miles away while they bought their Two-Buck Chuck.
Onto the show itself...
So CRASH won Best Picture. I can't say I'm not disappointed.
I need to see CRASH again -- I first watched it on a laptop on a plane, admittedly not ideal viewing conditions -- but while I thought it contained some strong scenes and performances, I found it overall manipulative, safe, and too redolent of movies that came before such as MAGNOLIA and SHORT CUTS.
Okay, many movies are manipulative, but I find CRASH's flavor really hard to watch, because it's full of a pervading sense of menace that finally erupts to destroy the person who least deserves it. I knew who the redshirt would be by his second scene, the poor bastard.
And yes, safe. The message? Racism is bad. What's risky about that?
And while the movie poses a challenge to the viewer, it doesn't offer any suggestions or solutions either, and precious little hope, other than to contrive to get yourself into a charged conflict with someone of another race and therefore Come To an Understanding. Either that or hug your housekeeper.
That's another thing: there's a slight whiff of the misogynistic about CRASH. The female characters are all either one-note racial sketches, bitchy, and/or victims of personal violence.
I do think time will vindicate BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, as well as the bumper crop of other excellent movies from 2005 like CAPOTE and THE CONSTANT GARDENER.
Other notes on the night:
Jon Stewart was fine but not nearly as funny as he can be (a Bjork/Cheney joke? Dusty stuff). Loved the attack ads, though.
Huh. The orchestra is playing that go away music as the winner starts to speak. That sound you hear is Oscar peeing on your special moment, kids!
Yay! Go Rachel Weisz! A great character in a great movie. Way to leave that THE MUMMY RETURNS stink behind.
Amy Adams was also amazing -- go rent JUNEBUG right now -- but she'll have more chances, I've no doubt.
Can George Clooney really be that classy and charming and politically aware? Gads, I hope so. And I hope the cloning people start with him.
Naomi Watts' dress looked like a manic badger was set loose on it.
Holy cats, did those interpretive dancers just recreate the assault scene from CRASH during the Best Song performance? Kill me now.
I didn't know Tim Burton was dating Elizabeth Taylor.
Sucked for him and the Wallace and Gromit guys, stuck in the cheap seats by the sound board.
Were Keanu's eyes always that teeny-tiny?
Hated Charlize's look. Like Brigitte Bardot being attacked by someone's home ec project.
Meryl Streep's intro of Robert Altman with Lily Tomlin went on too long (we get it, already, it's Altmanesque), but they were gracious and looked fabulous. Terrific dress on Meryl.
My inner snark was kind of hoping that Altman would unleash a little on Hollywood, an establishment he's famously been at odds with for many years, but he took the high road, as befits one of our greatest directors.
Jessica Alba needs a sandwich.
When will they abandon that horrible creepy-cheesy moment when the animated characters du jour "appear" onstage to present an award? Stop. Just stop.
The stuffed penguins were cute, and the movie was lovely, but MURDERBALL should've won best doc.
Yay! Cleaned-up pimp song rocks the house, despite yet more sketchy interpretive dancing. Seriously, I thought there was a moratorium on that stuff.
See, Larry McMurtry is a writer. He's in jeans.
And in closing, what is up with all the gum-chewing? Half the stars they showed in cutaways were chomping like Holsteins.
Get some class, Hollywood. We're watching. Well, except the mob at Trader Joe's.
Yes, the Oscars are held in a mall. They hide it all remarkably well on TV, but directly above the grand, gold-swathed entryway you can grab a plate of nachos before you hit the Sunglass Hut.
Various young, apple-cheeked show workers were snapping the occasional picture of each other in front of giant Oscar statues, which I found endearing. Even if you're on the other side of the velvet rope, it must still be pretty magical.
The techie-roadie-Teamster types were rather less enthralled. A par can is a par can, no matter whose boobs it's lighting up.
What impressed me the most at the Kodak Theater was the incredible cross-section of onlookers who were crowding the area, both American and international. The movies this year may not be the mass market's bread and butter, but glamour and celebrity clearly are compelling and evergreen to a wide swath of humanity.
I was going to live-blog the Oscars for all three of my readers, but between errands and squeezing in a song or two on Guitar Hero I ended up TiVo-speedwatching the whole thing.
The masses of people at Trader Joe's were either doing the same thing, or -- gasp! -- did not care that the Oscars were unfolding mere miles away while they bought their Two-Buck Chuck.
Onto the show itself...
So CRASH won Best Picture. I can't say I'm not disappointed.
I need to see CRASH again -- I first watched it on a laptop on a plane, admittedly not ideal viewing conditions -- but while I thought it contained some strong scenes and performances, I found it overall manipulative, safe, and too redolent of movies that came before such as MAGNOLIA and SHORT CUTS.
Okay, many movies are manipulative, but I find CRASH's flavor really hard to watch, because it's full of a pervading sense of menace that finally erupts to destroy the person who least deserves it. I knew who the redshirt would be by his second scene, the poor bastard.
And yes, safe. The message? Racism is bad. What's risky about that?
And while the movie poses a challenge to the viewer, it doesn't offer any suggestions or solutions either, and precious little hope, other than to contrive to get yourself into a charged conflict with someone of another race and therefore Come To an Understanding. Either that or hug your housekeeper.
That's another thing: there's a slight whiff of the misogynistic about CRASH. The female characters are all either one-note racial sketches, bitchy, and/or victims of personal violence.
I do think time will vindicate BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, as well as the bumper crop of other excellent movies from 2005 like CAPOTE and THE CONSTANT GARDENER.
Other notes on the night:
Jon Stewart was fine but not nearly as funny as he can be (a Bjork/Cheney joke? Dusty stuff). Loved the attack ads, though.
Huh. The orchestra is playing that go away music as the winner starts to speak. That sound you hear is Oscar peeing on your special moment, kids!
Yay! Go Rachel Weisz! A great character in a great movie. Way to leave that THE MUMMY RETURNS stink behind.
Amy Adams was also amazing -- go rent JUNEBUG right now -- but she'll have more chances, I've no doubt.
Can George Clooney really be that classy and charming and politically aware? Gads, I hope so. And I hope the cloning people start with him.
Naomi Watts' dress looked like a manic badger was set loose on it.
Holy cats, did those interpretive dancers just recreate the assault scene from CRASH during the Best Song performance? Kill me now.
I didn't know Tim Burton was dating Elizabeth Taylor.
Sucked for him and the Wallace and Gromit guys, stuck in the cheap seats by the sound board.
Were Keanu's eyes always that teeny-tiny?
Hated Charlize's look. Like Brigitte Bardot being attacked by someone's home ec project.
Meryl Streep's intro of Robert Altman with Lily Tomlin went on too long (we get it, already, it's Altmanesque), but they were gracious and looked fabulous. Terrific dress on Meryl.
My inner snark was kind of hoping that Altman would unleash a little on Hollywood, an establishment he's famously been at odds with for many years, but he took the high road, as befits one of our greatest directors.
Jessica Alba needs a sandwich.
When will they abandon that horrible creepy-cheesy moment when the animated characters du jour "appear" onstage to present an award? Stop. Just stop.
The stuffed penguins were cute, and the movie was lovely, but MURDERBALL should've won best doc.
Yay! Cleaned-up pimp song rocks the house, despite yet more sketchy interpretive dancing. Seriously, I thought there was a moratorium on that stuff.
See, Larry McMurtry is a writer. He's in jeans.
And in closing, what is up with all the gum-chewing? Half the stars they showed in cutaways were chomping like Holsteins.
Get some class, Hollywood. We're watching. Well, except the mob at Trader Joe's.
Friday, March 03, 2006
The Greatest Game Never Made?
The rumors are true! There really was an unreleased Penn & Teller Sega game. Smoke and Mirrors is (was? Would have been?) a collection of postmodern minigames in the inimitable P&T style.Chief among them is the fabled Desert Bus, in which you drive a bus across the Nevada desert to Las Vegas-- in real time. Make the 16 hour roundtrip, the legend goes, and you score one point.
Screenshots, commentary, and a torrent for the brave on Something Awful's forums.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
MATCH POINT
I'm probably going to writer hell for this (what would that be, I wonder? Nonstop screenings of Joe Eszterhas movies?), but I didn't love MATCH POINT.
Not bad, just meh. But the Woody Allen of THE PURPLE ROSE OF CAIRO, ZELIG, and of course MANHATTAN and ANNIE HALL is (or was) certainly capable of more than meh.
And he owes us more after inflicting CELEBRITY on us.
SPOILERS and blather follow.
The questions MATCH POINT raises are interesting: what would (or wouldn't) we do to protect what we've worked hard to achieve? What is really important in life, comfort or passion? Does love stop being love when it becomes inconvenient?
Unfortunately, these questions are voiced through dialogue that struck me as merely pedestrian. Joyless, missing that Allen wit. Characters speak exactly what's on their minds, with no hint of subtext. Worse, too many lines clunk awkwardly when they fall from the lips of the very pretty Jonathan Rhys Meyers and Scarlett Johansson.
I loved most of the character portraits, everyone layered and real and flawed, and Allen definitely knows how to make a loathsome guy still somehow sympathetic (Exhibit A, Sean Penn's jerk of a jazz guitarist in SWEET AND LOWDOWN), but Rhys Meyers' amoral social climber Chris is a sullen cipher, who tells us too much of who he is and shows us too little.
I kept expecting the way in which he plays tennis -- as the title indicates, the game's both a key plot element to the story and its central metaphor -- to reflect some of his ambition, ruthlessness, or manipulative nature.
One moment that does work is Chris' callous pretense of being on a cancelled vacation to avoid his hysterical mistress Nola. Why not give us more of those actions, and cut back on the "I have a very comfortable life with my wife that would be ruined if I left her for my pregnant girlfriend" spoken obviousness?
And why did we, after seeing the movie almost entirely through Chris' eyes, have to take a left turn and spend scenes with the not-suspicious-enough detectives? Why the clumsy ghostly confrontation--OOPS! It's a DREAM! And not even his dream, or the dream of anyone we've spent any time with.
Some of that just feels lazy. I like the sneaky reappearance of the neighbor's wedding ring, but what about Nola's coworker? She knows Nola's seeing someone ("Is it him?" she asks when Chris calls Nola to set her up for the murder), and appears to know about her situation. Wouldn't the police talk to her?
Maybe it's not fair to lay procedural mistakes at Allen's doorstep, since the movie isn't really about murder, but the movie begs it by shifting abruptly into crime drama territory and its important tiny details.
At the end of the day, I liked this movie better when it was CRIMES AND MISDEMEANORS. Or, for that matter, A PLACE IN THE SUN.
For this rehash, truly original movies like HUSTLE & FLOW and JUNEBUG -- which crackle with dialogue that's both realistic and lyrical, and which leave so much deliciously unsaid -- got shut out of a nom?
The Academy sure does love them some Woody. I did too, once.
Not bad, just meh. But the Woody Allen of THE PURPLE ROSE OF CAIRO, ZELIG, and of course MANHATTAN and ANNIE HALL is (or was) certainly capable of more than meh.
And he owes us more after inflicting CELEBRITY on us.
SPOILERS and blather follow.
The questions MATCH POINT raises are interesting: what would (or wouldn't) we do to protect what we've worked hard to achieve? What is really important in life, comfort or passion? Does love stop being love when it becomes inconvenient?
Unfortunately, these questions are voiced through dialogue that struck me as merely pedestrian. Joyless, missing that Allen wit. Characters speak exactly what's on their minds, with no hint of subtext. Worse, too many lines clunk awkwardly when they fall from the lips of the very pretty Jonathan Rhys Meyers and Scarlett Johansson.
I loved most of the character portraits, everyone layered and real and flawed, and Allen definitely knows how to make a loathsome guy still somehow sympathetic (Exhibit A, Sean Penn's jerk of a jazz guitarist in SWEET AND LOWDOWN), but Rhys Meyers' amoral social climber Chris is a sullen cipher, who tells us too much of who he is and shows us too little.
I kept expecting the way in which he plays tennis -- as the title indicates, the game's both a key plot element to the story and its central metaphor -- to reflect some of his ambition, ruthlessness, or manipulative nature.
One moment that does work is Chris' callous pretense of being on a cancelled vacation to avoid his hysterical mistress Nola. Why not give us more of those actions, and cut back on the "I have a very comfortable life with my wife that would be ruined if I left her for my pregnant girlfriend" spoken obviousness?
And why did we, after seeing the movie almost entirely through Chris' eyes, have to take a left turn and spend scenes with the not-suspicious-enough detectives? Why the clumsy ghostly confrontation--OOPS! It's a DREAM! And not even his dream, or the dream of anyone we've spent any time with.
Some of that just feels lazy. I like the sneaky reappearance of the neighbor's wedding ring, but what about Nola's coworker? She knows Nola's seeing someone ("Is it him?" she asks when Chris calls Nola to set her up for the murder), and appears to know about her situation. Wouldn't the police talk to her?
Maybe it's not fair to lay procedural mistakes at Allen's doorstep, since the movie isn't really about murder, but the movie begs it by shifting abruptly into crime drama territory and its important tiny details.
At the end of the day, I liked this movie better when it was CRIMES AND MISDEMEANORS. Or, for that matter, A PLACE IN THE SUN.
For this rehash, truly original movies like HUSTLE & FLOW and JUNEBUG -- which crackle with dialogue that's both realistic and lyrical, and which leave so much deliciously unsaid -- got shut out of a nom?
The Academy sure does love them some Woody. I did too, once.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Stuck? Clean Out the Catbox
Kitty gets a fresh place to crap and you may just find your scene.
Lemme 'splain. Ever have an exchange like this?
RANDOM PERSON: So, you're a writer.
ME: What? Did the scotch and social awkwardness give me away?
(Pause while Random Person tries to figure out if I'm kidding. I am not.)
RANDOM PERSON: Where do you get your ideas?
ME: Uh, in the shower?
The question asked is about content not context, of course, and we all have different sources for the muse inside our crazy crazy brains.
But I'm fascinated at how often ideas hit when I'm working out, drying my hair, or washing dishes.
I problem-solve tactically at the computer, at the foxhole level, stitching up story holes, tweaking dialogue, and whatnot.
But for big inspiration? Ideas for entire new scripts or knotty, large-scale challenges like how to rebuild a weak protagonist? More often than not those hit when I'm nowhere near that tyrant blank page. Say, folding laundry.
There must be something about how the noisy mind shuts down for these rote physical tasks that lets the remaining synapses churn away, burning background cycles. For me at least. And anything like going for a jog that helps mitigate Writer's Ass and gives a creative boost is an angel puppy in my book.
How about you? When or how do you get your ideas?
Lemme 'splain. Ever have an exchange like this?
RANDOM PERSON: So, you're a writer.
ME: What? Did the scotch and social awkwardness give me away?
(Pause while Random Person tries to figure out if I'm kidding. I am not.)
RANDOM PERSON: Where do you get your ideas?
ME: Uh, in the shower?
The question asked is about content not context, of course, and we all have different sources for the muse inside our crazy crazy brains.
But I'm fascinated at how often ideas hit when I'm working out, drying my hair, or washing dishes.
I problem-solve tactically at the computer, at the foxhole level, stitching up story holes, tweaking dialogue, and whatnot.
But for big inspiration? Ideas for entire new scripts or knotty, large-scale challenges like how to rebuild a weak protagonist? More often than not those hit when I'm nowhere near that tyrant blank page. Say, folding laundry.
There must be something about how the noisy mind shuts down for these rote physical tasks that lets the remaining synapses churn away, burning background cycles. For me at least. And anything like going for a jog that helps mitigate Writer's Ass and gives a creative boost is an angel puppy in my book.
How about you? When or how do you get your ideas?
Friday, February 17, 2006
Meet Me at Arcadian Noodle
A little Friday silliness: some lunatic anagrammed all the stations on London's tube map.
Half of them sound like Edward Gorey place names. New Queasy! Stoutening Honks!
I've been to the half-price theater ticket booth in Queerer Elastics many a time.
Half of them sound like Edward Gorey place names. New Queasy! Stoutening Honks!
I've been to the half-price theater ticket booth in Queerer Elastics many a time.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Whoop That Trick
The US chapter of the Sex Workers Outreach Project is calling upon consumers to boycott Grand Theft Auto.
GTA, the whores claim, is morally questionable.
Yes, players can beat and kill virtual hookers in the game (but not rape anyone, as wrongly noted by SWOP).
You also can do the same to virtual cops, gangsters, ice cream salesmen, little old ladies, and innocent passersby.
We're waiting for the Frozen Dessert Servers Coalition to release a statement expressing concern about the game's cost to the morality and socialization of children, for whom the game was not created nor to whom it legally can be sold, any more than, say, RESERVOIR DOGS.
In the meantime, cheer with me: Down with G-T-A! Have you saved a ho today?
GTA, the whores claim, is morally questionable.
Yes, players can beat and kill virtual hookers in the game (but not rape anyone, as wrongly noted by SWOP).
You also can do the same to virtual cops, gangsters, ice cream salesmen, little old ladies, and innocent passersby.
We're waiting for the Frozen Dessert Servers Coalition to release a statement expressing concern about the game's cost to the morality and socialization of children, for whom the game was not created nor to whom it legally can be sold, any more than, say, RESERVOIR DOGS.
In the meantime, cheer with me: Down with G-T-A! Have you saved a ho today?
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Happy Valentine's Day, Pass the Gin
Ken Levine's got a nice post on the true nature of love. Hint: it doesn't involve mass produced, low grade chocolate or ugly-ass heart-shaped jewelry.
Speaking from the distaff side, mostly we don't want the stupid Valentine's Day stuff. It's just as much a fabricated, consumerist trap for us as for you, except we have to wear uncomfortable undies.
What we want is to be in the room when you watch the Mets (read, Cubs).
When I think of aspirational screen couples, Nick and Nora Charles are right up there at the top of the list. Sassy, sweet, wholly unrealistic and marvelous. While The Boyfriend and I are short on glamour and have solved hardly any murders, both of us can make a killer martini. That's a start.
Here's another reprint from my movie column from Oxygen's (alas, now-defunct) Girls on Film site, about Dashiell Hammett's classic twosome.
THIN MEN
Chill those cocktail glasses! Here come Myrna Loy and William Powell, the immortal Nick and Nora Charles of the THIN MAN series. This sophisticated pair has survived plenty, including a disastrous Broadway musical and the rather overextended run of their own franchise. The last of the 6 THIN MAN movies came out 13 years after the first -- oof -- and the quality of the writing deteriorated sharply once the writers ran out of Dashiell Hammett source material. And -- I'm going out on an un-PC limb here -- the movies aren't nearly as much fun when tippling Nick dries out. Plus Nick Jr. comes along, yawn (fun fact: a pre-BLUE VELVET Dean Stockwell plays li'l Nicky).
Here are the first, and best, two of the flicks featuring filmdom's favorite flatfoot couple.
The whodunit of THE THIN MAN (1934), by today's mind-warping, THE USUAL SUSPECTS-type standards, is almost comically tidy in the way that it trots out all the, well, usual suspects. Wynant (Edward Ellis) is a successful, paranoid, divorced inventor. In the first half-hour we meet everyone who might wish Wynant ill, from the shifty bookkeeper to his greedy mistress to his even greedier ex-wife. Wynant then promptly vanishes, and his daughter Dorothy (Maureen O'Sullivan) goes to family friend Nick Charles for help.
We see Nick taking the first of many, many drinks in the film, teaching some bartenders how to make a proper martini. Nora enters, towed by the terrier Asta, and soon catches up with him, to the tune of 6 martinis. Yow. Nora wants Nick to take the Wynant case: he protests he married her, and her money, to get out of the detecting game.
There's such an easy chemistry between Loy and Powell that you wonder if the occasional mugging or physical comedy was ad-libbed and kept in the final cut. They deliver breezy dialogue with impeccable timing: Nick mistily muses, "We're all like that on my father's side." Nora: "And how is your father's side?" Nick: "Much better, thank you. How's yours?" Loy is beautiful and elegant, and Powell manages somehow to be kind of sexy even though he's got no chin to speak of. Nick is supposed to have a tough-guy background, but, as played by Powell, the toughest Nick ever had it was getting cut from the Exeter lacrosse team.
The absent Wynant is accused of killing his mistress. More murders get pinned on him as the police search high and low, while Nick and Nora piece together the facts. The end of the film is fairly absurd, as they throw a fancy dinner party for all the suspects. Nick pins a case on everyone until the real murderer cracks. Hard to imagine Simone and Sipowicz flipping a suspect this way, but hey, in 1934, it seemed to work.
1936's AFTER THE THIN MAN brings us to Nick and Nora's chichi digs in San Francisco, on New Year's Eve. Rather than getting to hang out with the quite un-respectable souses who've invaded for a "surprise" bash, our heroes have to go to the Most Boring Party Ever. Hosted by Nora's battle-axe aunt, who looks like Ed Wynn in drag, the party is an excuse to get Nick to inquire discreetly after cousin Selma's (Elissa Landis) straying nogoodnik husband.
The husband might as well have a red bulls-eye painted on his chest, so many people want him dead for so many reasons. And die he does. Was it the trampy singer? Her gangster boyfriend? Cesar Romero? There's a fatally important mustache, many cocktails, and Jimmy Stewart. The movie ends with another improbable gathering of the clans, Nick addressing the peanut gallery until the truth comes out.
Sure, there's murders up the wazoo, but the world of these movies, even when dealing with the rougher element, seems so... civilized. Even ex-cons and thugs wear coat and tie, and rise when introduced to a lady. And detecting looks like much more fun when you have an alluring husband/wife and a highball in hand.
The rest of THIN MAN line:
Another Thin Man (1939)
Shadow of the Thin Man (1941)
The Thin Man Goes Home (1944)
Song of the Thin Man (1947)
So why not pick up a couple and make up a batch of martinis, recipe from Philip Collins' book The Art of the Cocktail:
1/2 - 1 oz. dry vermouth
2 oz. dry gin
Shake well with ice and strain into martini glass. Add olive.
Serve with quips and raised eyebrow. Drink 6 in a row, darlings, and you'll get what you deserve. Cheers!
Speaking from the distaff side, mostly we don't want the stupid Valentine's Day stuff. It's just as much a fabricated, consumerist trap for us as for you, except we have to wear uncomfortable undies.
What we want is to be in the room when you watch the Mets (read, Cubs).
When I think of aspirational screen couples, Nick and Nora Charles are right up there at the top of the list. Sassy, sweet, wholly unrealistic and marvelous. While The Boyfriend and I are short on glamour and have solved hardly any murders, both of us can make a killer martini. That's a start.
Here's another reprint from my movie column from Oxygen's (alas, now-defunct) Girls on Film site, about Dashiell Hammett's classic twosome.
THIN MEN
Chill those cocktail glasses! Here come Myrna Loy and William Powell, the immortal Nick and Nora Charles of the THIN MAN series. This sophisticated pair has survived plenty, including a disastrous Broadway musical and the rather overextended run of their own franchise. The last of the 6 THIN MAN movies came out 13 years after the first -- oof -- and the quality of the writing deteriorated sharply once the writers ran out of Dashiell Hammett source material. And -- I'm going out on an un-PC limb here -- the movies aren't nearly as much fun when tippling Nick dries out. Plus Nick Jr. comes along, yawn (fun fact: a pre-BLUE VELVET Dean Stockwell plays li'l Nicky).
Here are the first, and best, two of the flicks featuring filmdom's favorite flatfoot couple.
The whodunit of THE THIN MAN (1934), by today's mind-warping, THE USUAL SUSPECTS-type standards, is almost comically tidy in the way that it trots out all the, well, usual suspects. Wynant (Edward Ellis) is a successful, paranoid, divorced inventor. In the first half-hour we meet everyone who might wish Wynant ill, from the shifty bookkeeper to his greedy mistress to his even greedier ex-wife. Wynant then promptly vanishes, and his daughter Dorothy (Maureen O'Sullivan) goes to family friend Nick Charles for help.
We see Nick taking the first of many, many drinks in the film, teaching some bartenders how to make a proper martini. Nora enters, towed by the terrier Asta, and soon catches up with him, to the tune of 6 martinis. Yow. Nora wants Nick to take the Wynant case: he protests he married her, and her money, to get out of the detecting game.
There's such an easy chemistry between Loy and Powell that you wonder if the occasional mugging or physical comedy was ad-libbed and kept in the final cut. They deliver breezy dialogue with impeccable timing: Nick mistily muses, "We're all like that on my father's side." Nora: "And how is your father's side?" Nick: "Much better, thank you. How's yours?" Loy is beautiful and elegant, and Powell manages somehow to be kind of sexy even though he's got no chin to speak of. Nick is supposed to have a tough-guy background, but, as played by Powell, the toughest Nick ever had it was getting cut from the Exeter lacrosse team.
The absent Wynant is accused of killing his mistress. More murders get pinned on him as the police search high and low, while Nick and Nora piece together the facts. The end of the film is fairly absurd, as they throw a fancy dinner party for all the suspects. Nick pins a case on everyone until the real murderer cracks. Hard to imagine Simone and Sipowicz flipping a suspect this way, but hey, in 1934, it seemed to work.
1936's AFTER THE THIN MAN brings us to Nick and Nora's chichi digs in San Francisco, on New Year's Eve. Rather than getting to hang out with the quite un-respectable souses who've invaded for a "surprise" bash, our heroes have to go to the Most Boring Party Ever. Hosted by Nora's battle-axe aunt, who looks like Ed Wynn in drag, the party is an excuse to get Nick to inquire discreetly after cousin Selma's (Elissa Landis) straying nogoodnik husband.
The husband might as well have a red bulls-eye painted on his chest, so many people want him dead for so many reasons. And die he does. Was it the trampy singer? Her gangster boyfriend? Cesar Romero? There's a fatally important mustache, many cocktails, and Jimmy Stewart. The movie ends with another improbable gathering of the clans, Nick addressing the peanut gallery until the truth comes out.
Sure, there's murders up the wazoo, but the world of these movies, even when dealing with the rougher element, seems so... civilized. Even ex-cons and thugs wear coat and tie, and rise when introduced to a lady. And detecting looks like much more fun when you have an alluring husband/wife and a highball in hand.
The rest of THIN MAN line:
Another Thin Man (1939)
Shadow of the Thin Man (1941)
The Thin Man Goes Home (1944)
Song of the Thin Man (1947)
So why not pick up a couple and make up a batch of martinis, recipe from Philip Collins' book The Art of the Cocktail:
1/2 - 1 oz. dry vermouth
2 oz. dry gin
Shake well with ice and strain into martini glass. Add olive.
Serve with quips and raised eyebrow. Drink 6 in a row, darlings, and you'll get what you deserve. Cheers!
Thursday, February 09, 2006
I Wish I Knew How to Alt-F4 You
Some enterprising soul has created BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN skins for The Sims 2 .
Green-diamond Ennis and Jack to happiness at last! And no, that's not a euphemism.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Plane Jane
Just back from a quick trip to Vancouver. One row in front of me on the plane sat a braying drunk girl and her slightly less drunk guy best friend? Boyfriend? Booty call buddy?
Unclear, because she made much about getting married to someone else in March, and yet all but had her hands down 17B's pants one and and a half screwdrivers into the flight. The other half ended up spilled on the floor in a fit of honking and snorting that I think was laughter.
Both came on board plowed and the subsequent vodka didn't help matters any. I can tell the guy was less lit than she was because he kept shushing her as she cursed a loud and voluble blue streak. Kids were just three seats away.
If it was Mardi Gras and there were beads to be had, girlfriend's tank top would've been up around her Tweetybird neck tattoo. Just that classy.
But I didn't mind the shenanigans, because I had John August and Jordan Mechner's nifty pilot OPS, in all its permutations, to read.
If you haven't read them, John's files are a goldmine, showing not just what another beat sheet format looks like, but also outlines, and how a script can evolve through development hell-- erm, process.
The episodes are all good, of course, but I prefer the Iraq story. Just seems tighter, more suspenseful, with higher stakes that impact more on the human level.
One minor quibble from the peanut gallery was that I wanted the refrigerator unit breaking to come out of character or situation, and not be arbitrary. Maybe Vanowen was rushing away from the checkpoint, annoyed at McGinty's fine, hit a bump, and it cracked. Or the truck was something McGinty procured, and to save money he ended up with a lemon.
If the generosity of sharing these materials wasn't enough, John also wrote up the illuminating tale of the life and (living?) death of the show.
A pity it stalled out -- would've been a surefire TiVo Season Pass.
Unclear, because she made much about getting married to someone else in March, and yet all but had her hands down 17B's pants one and and a half screwdrivers into the flight. The other half ended up spilled on the floor in a fit of honking and snorting that I think was laughter.
Both came on board plowed and the subsequent vodka didn't help matters any. I can tell the guy was less lit than she was because he kept shushing her as she cursed a loud and voluble blue streak. Kids were just three seats away.
If it was Mardi Gras and there were beads to be had, girlfriend's tank top would've been up around her Tweetybird neck tattoo. Just that classy.
But I didn't mind the shenanigans, because I had John August and Jordan Mechner's nifty pilot OPS, in all its permutations, to read.
If you haven't read them, John's files are a goldmine, showing not just what another beat sheet format looks like, but also outlines, and how a script can evolve through development hell-- erm, process.
The episodes are all good, of course, but I prefer the Iraq story. Just seems tighter, more suspenseful, with higher stakes that impact more on the human level.
One minor quibble from the peanut gallery was that I wanted the refrigerator unit breaking to come out of character or situation, and not be arbitrary. Maybe Vanowen was rushing away from the checkpoint, annoyed at McGinty's fine, hit a bump, and it cracked. Or the truck was something McGinty procured, and to save money he ended up with a lemon.
If the generosity of sharing these materials wasn't enough, John also wrote up the illuminating tale of the life and (living?) death of the show.
A pity it stalled out -- would've been a surefire TiVo Season Pass.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Stick a Fork In It
(the screenplay format was messing up the sidebar, so I removed it)
Done!
The new feature script I began in January to finish by the end of February is done, with three and a half weeks to spare.
Last time I posted an update was about two and half weeks ago, when I had a complete outline. Sort of a long time between updates, but for a secular humanist I have an ornery superstitious streak and didn't want to post how things were going.
They went well. I averaged about five pages an hour.
Better still, those hours passed in that delightful, timeless flow state we get when we're creating, if we're lucky. About as good as it gets, isn't it?
A few methods I use, for those interested in craft details (if you're not, go look at something cute):
1) Fairly detailed character bios
2) Beat sheet outline format
3) Stopping for the day when things were going well, and before beginning a scene I felt confident about
Between #1 and #2, at no time was I stuck on a scene or at a loss for what the characters would say. In fact, they often surprised me. One turned out to be a Dodgers fan, the bitch. Who knew?
#3 is a trick attributed to Hemingway. It's a great feeling, being excited about getting back to the story rather than worrying that there's no gas in the tank.
A note about #2. I've always believed in outlining, but for features have had trouble finding a format that works for me. Standard outline form reminds me too much of school term papers. Writing the story in full prose feels too heavyweight. Index cards have never rung my bell, because my handwriting is terrible and I think (and type) much faster than I can print.
I've found TV scripts easier to write (I finished one of those in January as well), mostly because I wrote the pages from a beat sheet format.
On a typical beat sheet, you work out the entire plot scene by scene, building toward the act outs. Some writers describe the scene in prose, some in just a few words. Mine tend to be brief stream-of-consciousness fragments.
Here are a few examples from my CSI spec:
And it's a fluid format. One scene may expand to several, or get rearranged, or vanish altogether if the story requires. But the bones are there.
Just a few lines. A high-level view of where the scene takes place, what needs to happen in it, tonal notes, maybe a snippet of dialogue. But from such bits does a final script grow.
As for my new script, it gets to bake a week or two before facing the rewrite knives. Not for nothing are we told -- again by Hemingway -- that the first draft of anything is crap.
Done!
The new feature script I began in January to finish by the end of February is done, with three and a half weeks to spare.
Last time I posted an update was about two and half weeks ago, when I had a complete outline. Sort of a long time between updates, but for a secular humanist I have an ornery superstitious streak and didn't want to post how things were going.
They went well. I averaged about five pages an hour.
Better still, those hours passed in that delightful, timeless flow state we get when we're creating, if we're lucky. About as good as it gets, isn't it?
A few methods I use, for those interested in craft details (if you're not, go look at something cute):
1) Fairly detailed character bios
2) Beat sheet outline format
3) Stopping for the day when things were going well, and before beginning a scene I felt confident about
Between #1 and #2, at no time was I stuck on a scene or at a loss for what the characters would say. In fact, they often surprised me. One turned out to be a Dodgers fan, the bitch. Who knew?
#3 is a trick attributed to Hemingway. It's a great feeling, being excited about getting back to the story rather than worrying that there's no gas in the tank.
A note about #2. I've always believed in outlining, but for features have had trouble finding a format that works for me. Standard outline form reminds me too much of school term papers. Writing the story in full prose feels too heavyweight. Index cards have never rung my bell, because my handwriting is terrible and I think (and type) much faster than I can print.
I've found TV scripts easier to write (I finished one of those in January as well), mostly because I wrote the pages from a beat sheet format.
On a typical beat sheet, you work out the entire plot scene by scene, building toward the act outs. Some writers describe the scene in prose, some in just a few words. Mine tend to be brief stream-of-consciousness fragments.
Here are a few examples from my CSI spec:
INT. MEDICAL EXAMINERS’ ROOM - DAYFeatures don't have act outs exactly (or do, depending on what school of thought you may subscribe to), but do have internal structures to build around.
Yes, she was hanged (petechiae). Ligature marks confirm. OJ. Toxicology shows Vicodin, and that she likely had an addiction. Hair smells of cigarette smoke. “Uh, you two want a private moment?” Secrets.
EXT. HOUSE – DAY
Police there. Hank covered in blood. Confessing. Has gun still. People watching outside. Kids. Helen pulls them back. CSIs note this.
INT. HOUSE – DAY
Catherine and Sara walk through the house, imagining the shooting. Celia dead in the yard, three gunshots.
FLASHBACK of shooting
INT. HALLWAY – DAY
Daniel arrives. Distraught. Fought with Trish the last time he saw her.
And it's a fluid format. One scene may expand to several, or get rearranged, or vanish altogether if the story requires. But the bones are there.
Just a few lines. A high-level view of where the scene takes place, what needs to happen in it, tonal notes, maybe a snippet of dialogue. But from such bits does a final script grow.
As for my new script, it gets to bake a week or two before facing the rewrite knives. Not for nothing are we told -- again by Hemingway -- that the first draft of anything is crap.
Friday, February 03, 2006
Now Playing on a Computer Near You
A couple of interesting tidbits in Business Week about James Cameron and Ron Howard conceiving MMOGs to go along with upcoming TV and film projects.
My first thought is that these guys, admirable filmmakers both, have no fucking clue what they're getting into.
The rampaging success of World of Warcraft (and EQ before it) has lit up dollar signs in a lot of eyes, but a painful reality check awaits those unfamiliar with MMOG development.
These games are hard to build. Much harder than making a movie or a TV show, and they take a lot longer.
Imagine making a movie where the script is never finished, the actors count in the thousands, don't know their lines, or ever hit their marks. Many badmouth you publicly and some even actively try to sabotage your production. Oh, and you're trying to invent the camera and projection equipment as you go.
Going with a middleware company might sound good on paper, but integration with a platform rather than homegrowing your own has its own, significant problems, and there has not yet been a AAA title built on such a middleware package.
The elements that make a movie compelling by and large don't work in a virtual world: a single authored narrative, a small set of characters or even just a single main character, and, duh, an ending.
Virtual worlds, Diablo-like hybrids like Guild Wars aside, comprise not a single story handed down from on high but multiple mini-stories (quests), which are largely window dressing for the more compelling, dynamic, and utterly uncontrollable player narratives. Everyone's a hero. And the stories don't end.
If I had to guess, these games will be less like MMOGs as we know them and more like Halo or Diablo, smaller-scale spaces with limited ways to interact with and impact the world. Which might be fine. Who wants to be a crafter in Terminator Online?
But why the warning bells, you ask? Building and marketing a fictional world based on a popular media property's got to be a no-fail, multimillion-player bet, right?
Star Wars Galaxies, anyone?
Matrix Online?
Bueller?
Actually, a MMOG based on FERRIS might be kinda fun...
My first thought is that these guys, admirable filmmakers both, have no fucking clue what they're getting into.
The rampaging success of World of Warcraft (and EQ before it) has lit up dollar signs in a lot of eyes, but a painful reality check awaits those unfamiliar with MMOG development.
These games are hard to build. Much harder than making a movie or a TV show, and they take a lot longer.
Imagine making a movie where the script is never finished, the actors count in the thousands, don't know their lines, or ever hit their marks. Many badmouth you publicly and some even actively try to sabotage your production. Oh, and you're trying to invent the camera and projection equipment as you go.
Going with a middleware company might sound good on paper, but integration with a platform rather than homegrowing your own has its own, significant problems, and there has not yet been a AAA title built on such a middleware package.
The elements that make a movie compelling by and large don't work in a virtual world: a single authored narrative, a small set of characters or even just a single main character, and, duh, an ending.
Virtual worlds, Diablo-like hybrids like Guild Wars aside, comprise not a single story handed down from on high but multiple mini-stories (quests), which are largely window dressing for the more compelling, dynamic, and utterly uncontrollable player narratives. Everyone's a hero. And the stories don't end.
If I had to guess, these games will be less like MMOGs as we know them and more like Halo or Diablo, smaller-scale spaces with limited ways to interact with and impact the world. Which might be fine. Who wants to be a crafter in Terminator Online?
But why the warning bells, you ask? Building and marketing a fictional world based on a popular media property's got to be a no-fail, multimillion-player bet, right?
Star Wars Galaxies, anyone?
Matrix Online?
Bueller?
Actually, a MMOG based on FERRIS might be kinda fun...
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Shrub
Did I miss something, or did Bush last night compare himself and the morass in Iraq to Lincoln and the end to slavery, the Greatest Generation and WWII, and -- holy weeping angel puppies -- Martin Luther King and the civil rights movement?
What a knob.
Oh, and I'm pretty sure all of those people could pronounce "nuclear" correctly.
But my favorite bit comes from FOH (Friend of Hell) Dr. Gori, who quotes the Prez:
Well, damn. There goes the mermaid vote.
What a knob.
Oh, and I'm pretty sure all of those people could pronounce "nuclear" correctly.
But my favorite bit comes from FOH (Friend of Hell) Dr. Gori, who quotes the Prez:
"A hopeful society has institutions of science and medicine that do not cut ethical corners, and that recognize the matchless value of every life. Tonight I ask you to pass legislation to prohibit the most egregious abuses of medical research: human cloning in all its forms, creating or implanting embryos for experiments, creating human-animal hybrids..." [emphasis and incredulous eye-rolling mine]
Well, damn. There goes the mermaid vote.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Golda Meir Pwns U, N00b
Maybe what doomed the Atari E.T. game was not crappy design, greed, or corporate hubris, but the fact that the movie, as good as it was, wasn't a Best Picture nominee!
(Oh, wait.)
(Guess it was crappy design, greed, and corporate hubris after all.)
(Oh, wait.)
(Guess it was crappy design, greed, and corporate hubris after all.)
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Set Your TiVo for Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow
What should I espy squirreled inside a block of house ads on the Sundance Channel (bless 'em, does that channel have anything but house ads?) but a promo for Season 2 of SLINGS AND ARROWS, the delicious Canadian series about the certifiables at a Shakespeare festival.
It's airing in February. Huzzah and hey-nonny-nonny!
It's airing in February. Huzzah and hey-nonny-nonny!
Friday, January 27, 2006
Hey, It Was a Busy Fall
Jumping on an idiotic bandwagon months after it leaves East Moron? Sign us up, says the city of Los Angeles, which this week filed suit against Take-Two Interactive over Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.
In other news, the city of Los Angeles today dispatched a flotilla of rubber dinghies to New Orleans to help "those poor souls stranded on their rooftops."
In other news, the city of Los Angeles today dispatched a flotilla of rubber dinghies to New Orleans to help "those poor souls stranded on their rooftops."
Monday, January 23, 2006
Okay, So You Miss a Sauced Paris Hilton Barfing into a Main Street Snowbank
Holy after-party, Batman, my assistant forgot to courier me my Sundance tickets!
Of course, I don't have Sundance tickets.
Or an assistant.
But I have TiVo and the internets!
Can't make it up to Park City this year? Technology to the rescue, baby.
The Sundance Channel is airing daily reports chock full of interviews, day-in-the-life video journals, and goofy man in the street interviews. Especially funny is host Whitney Cummings' attempts to scam her way into parties and swag. That girl's got mad griftin' skillz.
Blogging Sundance has several reporters in the field. Check out their film reviews and news on who's buying what, plus random articles and party reports.
For minimum content and maximum snark -- and pictures! -- visit Defamer, who's dispatched cranky, funny editor Mark Lisanti to the snowy slopes.
Best of all, with this stuff you can be part of the scene from the comfort of your own home, while wearing clothes no sane human being would wear in public, let alone to a major film festival. Or, would.
Of course, I don't have Sundance tickets.
Or an assistant.
But I have TiVo and the internets!
Can't make it up to Park City this year? Technology to the rescue, baby.
The Sundance Channel is airing daily reports chock full of interviews, day-in-the-life video journals, and goofy man in the street interviews. Especially funny is host Whitney Cummings' attempts to scam her way into parties and swag. That girl's got mad griftin' skillz.
Blogging Sundance has several reporters in the field. Check out their film reviews and news on who's buying what, plus random articles and party reports.
For minimum content and maximum snark -- and pictures! -- visit Defamer, who's dispatched cranky, funny editor Mark Lisanti to the snowy slopes.
Best of all, with this stuff you can be part of the scene from the comfort of your own home, while wearing clothes no sane human being would wear in public, let alone to a major film festival. Or, would.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)