Construct

Inception is a vanity project. Eight years is far too long to develop a script for a movie. I fear that in that time Christopher Nolan became uncompromisingly attached to the material and unhealthily obsessed over plot intricacies. I say this with a negative connotation because watching Inception feels like reading a book, except of course you can’t open to any page or reread any passages (though you’d want to). It is literate rather than musical, or if musical at all, is a symphony written, conducted and performed by robots.

If nothing else, Inception is a direct conduit into the thought processes of a particular type of person. People in literary professions or even just Creative Writing/English majors often like Nolan’s work, and he indeed probably would make a good novelist. It is clear enough that he is meticulous and calculating regarding his scripts. However, as a film director, as a visual storyteller, I can’t help but find him lacking. A film’s “literature” (whenever I say this regarding movies, I’m referring to the ins and outs of its narrative), as I mentioned in my Shutter Island review, doesn’t interest me much. Film is a medium of tonality and style, i.e. storytelling through aesthetic choices rather than literary ones.

I’d argue that Inception totally fails as a motion picture because it was such a literal handling of inherently abstract material. Its aesthetics were, without warrant, quite similar to those of The Dark Knight: urban, gritty, and hyper-realistic. I can’t be so arrogant as to assume Nolan’s intentions, but portraying things as vague and transformative as dreams in such a concrete way is at the least a haphazard clash of fundamentals. This isn’t even my real issue, though, rather it is the standardization of dreams. Dreams are deeply personal experiences; to dream is to meditate on one’s desires, fears, even fetishes. Inception turns dreams into a shared experience, into a virtual space that can be tread by anyone. Inception turns dreams into public transportation. While I’m willing to acknowledge that this could have in fact been the Point, as in blurring (actually more like erasing via Etch-A-Sketch) the line between dreams and reality, such irresponsible invasion of the subconscious is a premise that I just can’t get behind.

Vanity projects do have incredible value on one level, though: the unequaled insight into the mind of the author. Inception’s story deals with a man lost in the labyrinth of his own surrealties, the ever-encroaching walls of which haphazardly realign and rearrange the rules of reality. Even the film’s aspect ratio (2.35:1) felt claustrophobic and awkward, furthering the angular and mathematical madness. This is admittedly fascinating if interpreted as Nolan subconsciously reconstructing his mind onto film, but for me as a viewer, it was a nightmare. Journeying into the subconsciousness of another is truly traumatic. It also, again, directly conflicts with the film’s narrative, where the characters hop from brain to brain like visiting each others’ apartments. For all intents and purposes I hated Inception and found no joy in its viewing. I liken the experience to someone violently shaking me and yet somehow me being utterly bored by the action. And yet… it is such an ambitious film, and I have no reservations about assuming it was a project of supreme personal significance. I hope that, like Inception’s protagonist, somewhere amongst, underneath, and inside his convoluted construction, Christopher Nolan found what he was searching for. I sincerely do.

Reviewy Things 3

I can't bring myself to expand these into "full" reviews for whatever reason. However, I do think they're pretty substantive even in their teeny states. Not enough substance for substance abuse, right?

Right?

Kirby and the Amazing Mirror

I want to assign some meaning of versatile teamwork, of the ever-changing lineups and personalities of band members, maybe (of Paul McCartney and Wings, maybe); and though I may not be wrong, sometimes a pink blowjob master is just a pink blowjob master.


The Last Airbender


I'm glad this movie exists. Is it a failure as an adaptation, and as a movie in its own right? It just may be, but don't hold that against it! The Last Airbender is a whiff; a grand, baroque, beleaguering swipe at brilliance whose inevitable crash back to Earth perhaps resulted in the Littlest Grand Canyon. This movie is Charlie Brown's lunge at the football.

Penis

I found Iron Man 2 to be more concerned with the “Man” part of Tony Stark than anything else. He’s getting on into middle age. He’s coming to grips with his distant father and the legacy of his work and his company. He gets drunk and makes a fool of himself at his birthday party. The classic man at the crossroads of his life, truly faced with mortality (off in the distance, but by all means visible) for the first time. How much Iron does it take for one Man’s defenses to make it through life intact?

Not much. Jon Favreau can’t direct action, for one. There is not a single tense moment in the entire film. His background is comedy, and the film is indeed funny and has some pretty sharp, if light, satire. Tony Stark consistently mutes the nonsense jabber of nonsense politicians as they quarrel over the ethics of the Iron Man suit (they call it a "weapon"). Bill O’Reilly even has a cameo. His muting is welcome. If the film’s climax had presented the moral dilemma of a man at ends with his reputation, fighting for more than the protection of “the people” and “the girl,” then perhaps I could view this sequel as more than just that. If the audience was brought to some greater understanding of fame and public image versus private desires (really now, Stark’s narcissism and yet his need to innovate, to trail-blaze, are all the inspiration a screenwriter should need), then this could very well have been the best superhero film since Spider-Man 2. But what’s opted for is an even shorter and more pointless final battle than what was slapped together in the original Iron Man. Another villain is totally wasted. (I’m guessing due to the obscene special effects budget. Have a look at all the effects companies credited.) It’s a shame, because this one’s not bad. Ivan Vanko is a disgruntled victim of Stark Industries’ reckless management in the past. The best action scene of the movie is when Stark and the Vanko first meet. Iron Man gets his ass kicked. He meets his match. This should have resulted in a completely crippling blow to Stark’s over-inflated ego. Instead, the villain is thrown to the curb. But I wouldn’t worry; we’ll have a brand new one in the inevitable Iron Man 3.

Maybe I’m missing the point, though. Maybe Iron Man 2 is a cleverly cerebral celebration of all things macho. Big guns, sexy women, the dichotomous state of mind that is the innate need to protect and to imperialize… there’s even a black/white buddy cop motif and an AC-don’t forget the lightning bolt-DC soundtrack. Yes, perhaps the film’s obsession with being bigger, badder, and betterer than the other guy is the most accurate representation of the male id ever put to screen.

But I doubt it.

New member

I, the great op89x, have joined this blog. I plan to contribute...something. Something wonderful.

Mostly I'll help provide some video game insight while the blog's creator does absolutely nothing.

Pokémon 4.2

"We are remaking an old game, but this is quite a challenge. Old fans would not want us to mess with their good memories... but there is no point in just redoing the same thing, right? We are working toward something that brings back memories, yet is also completely new!"

Encountering Game Freak's in-game avatars in the Celadon Condominiums is just as surreal as it was ten years ago, but the new text spoken by the company's President strikes me as disclaimer-ey bullshit. This may be a lot of fanboy ranting and nitpicking, but I call fair game. Some of the crap they pulled makes me wonder if the development team ever even played the original Gold and Silver.

For starters, a lot of the polygon-ization doesn't work. While the updated aesthetics are generally pleasant, too many of the 3D models are eyesores. Caves and cliffs are downright ugly, boulders are inconsistently split between pixel-based sprites and polygons, and Gyms resemble planet-sucking, parasitic spaceships. Speaking of the Gyms, I know these are video games and all (JRPGs at that), so arbitrary anachronisms come with the territory, but what is with the interior design of those places? It's not so much the art direction; anyone who's ever played an RPG in their lives is familiar with the overworld/interiors dichotomy; but rather the level design. In what was apparently an attempt to utilize the DS's processing power, each Gym now contains overproduced, pointlessly polygon-based puzzles. Plodding through these is tiresome and annoying -- keeping the old puzzles would have been more than fine. I'm just glad that Kanto and Johto still have their own tree sprites. If they didn't... then I don't know what.

Because that's really the whole point of these games: the contrast of two neighboring lands, each with their own unique culture, unified by those wondrous critters. Kanto is modern; every town brims with the mark of industry and the ease of technology. Celadon and Saffron are the largest cities in the game, and are kept alive by a nearby power plant, the only one in either region. Its importance is evident; until the player restores functionality to the plant, free travel between the regions is impossible, the Magnet Train unable to run without electricity. Perhaps the game's single best expression of Japan's urbanization comes when it is revealed that a family's home was demolished in favor of constructing one of the Magnet Train's stations. Kanto's resident Pokémon reflect this modernization, too: Grimer is said to excrete from industrial waste; Voltorb's discovery postdates the advent of the Poké Ball. Recall the fat man of Pallet Town, his text unchanged since Generation 1: "Technology is incredible!"

Johto is Kanto's illustrious mirror; Johto is historic. Heritage is celebrated everywhere. Buildings are traditionally Japanese, from their visual appearance to the inclusion of the code of etiquette; tiny shoe sprites, set off to the side, are visible in most homes. Ancient pagodas are also maintained in several towns, two of which are central to the story. All five of the original games' legendary Pokémon sprung from these towers. Fitting, because Johto's legendary Pokémon truly were just that; legendary. Tales of these creatures have been passed down for centuries, and are regarded with utmost reverence.

It's saddening, then, that HeartGold and SoulSilver are not the consummate, all-encompassing Pokémon games that Gold and Silver were. The metaphor is barely intact now. In the original Gold and Silver, none of Kanto's legendary Pokémon were present. Their absence was never fully explained, but it perfectly personified Kanto's distance from its own history. Now all of Kanto's legendary Pokémon can be caught. Just as inexplicably, some Hoenn legendaries from Generation 3 have made their way into the game. This would have made much more sense if all of these new Pokémon resided in Johto rather than Kanto, then the beautiful juxtaposition of old and new would have remained, at least in some form. The lowest point of the entire game is the return of Viridian Forest. In Generation 1, Viridian Forest, besides being where Pikachu lived, was the nightmarish first "dungeon" of the game, prepping you for the tough Gym battle ahead. In Generation 2, upon discovering that Kanto was playable in this Generation as well, my heart leapt at the thought of nostalgically retreading familiar ground -- but the painful memories of Viridian Forest distressed the back of my mind. When I finally summoned the bravery to revisit that hellish grove, though, I was greeted with an incredible development: the forest had been cleared! Consistent with the ever-expanding Kanto, Viridian Forest was now nothing more than a few harmless patches of grass. I remember the music clearly: an ingenious remix of the original Viridian Forest theme, but after the first few disjointing chords, a brand new infectiously sweet melody took over, signifying the change. In HeartGold and SoulSilver, with the forest appearing as it did in Generation 1, the most grotesque retcon of all time has taken place. Both the meaning and my memories have been hacked away, but the remix (now a remix of a remix), only furthering the craziness, remains.

The real head-scratcher is the fact that all of this needless addition came at the expense of actual logical implementation, namely of some key features from Generation 3. Both that generation's berry and meme systems are in HeartGold in SoulSilver, but in a cripplingly limited fashion. Every fruit-bearing tree in the game is now an apricorn tree; there are no trees that produce berries on the overworld. This makes absolutely no sense, and is boring, lazy game design. Berries are now restricted to a key item, operational only through a menu. The meme system is really no more than a cameo reference. Remember those wacky, yet effortlessly profound NPC responses from Ruby, Sapphire, and Emerald? (some of my personal favorites: HAS DANCE, LIFE LESSONS, STOCK PRICES) Yeah, they're gone. But it's more cool this way. The more legendaries and useless features a Pokémon game has, the better. All in the name of fan-service, right?

It is so strange to think that in a little more than a decade, a weird RPG about bug-catching on the Game Boy, glitchy as hell and full of poor localization (did it ever occur to anyone how racist the name Porygon is, or why there exist female Mr. Mime?), has become the behemoth that we know it today. What many surely wrote off as a cultural oddity and no more than the latest marketing phenomenon, was for many kids of the right age, a way of life. But at the core of the cult, before the anime and the trading cards and the mountains of merchandise, there was a handful of great video games. The Gold and Silver versions were for a lot of fans the best the series ever got, and Nintendo's lowest common denominator remakes bank more on nostalgia than anything else. Indeed, on the whore, these remakes are about the worst that they could have been... but damned if I haven't already put 80 hours into my adventure. It's painfully obvious that these games came more out of necessity than passion; it makes sense for Nintendo to want every single Pokémon available in a single generation, so the magic of the original Gold and Silver isn't really there... but most of the fun is. It's still Pokémon, and I will always, always love Pokémon.

"If you treat your Pokémon nicely, they will love you in return."

LIFE LESSONS, people. LIFE LESSONS.

Crisis

People underestimate this game. It's the closest Shigeru Miyamoto has ever (at least consciously) come to being an artist, and not an entertainer. His words, by the way -- no one pitch a "games are art" fit. Think of the game as a magnifying glass over the tiniest of ecosystems, with the struggle to survive at least equally (though probably more like exponentially) magnified. When things like bottle caps and puddles pose obstacles to your ever growing populous, and the local bullies are creepy-crawlers of prehistoric proportions, it's an eye-opening shift in perspective, to say the least. There's a reason I still haven't finished the game: I fear for my Pikmin. I don't want them to get lost, or drown, or be maimed by a Cretaceous caterpillar.

I've never experienced that fear (or anything comparable in emotional extremity) while playing similar population-management games. In the likes of Sim City and Roller Coaster Tycoon, it's quite often more fun to cause as much destruction as possible, rather than attempt completion of the quota. Not so in Pikmin. Maybe it's the setting, the injection of biology into a genre that is almost always urban or militarized, and whose usual focus is gluttonous micro-management... but Pikmin is for whatever indeterminable reason, more pathological. We know that Miyamoto was inspired by the "tiny worlds" he found in his garden. The result (as much as I hate the "E" word) is an almost existential examination of life. Or maybe mid-life is more appropriate, given Miyamoto's age, and player-character Captain Olimar's preoccupation with family. Not to mention the game's ticking clock. One of my favorite game overs ever, honestly: if marooned Olimar can't escape the deadly atmosphere in under 30 days, he dies. Most people buy a sports car; this genius made a real time strategy game about ecology and primary-colored bugs.

Final Fantasy XIII impressions

The major theme here seems to be duty; upholding and fulfilling predetermined roles. This is seen in both the story and the battle system. That is the mark of a good game, when the rules and the narrative express the same ideas.

For instance, the l'Cie are these martyrs, right? Straying from their path results in "death," and completing it results in "death." Contrast this with the notion of the Cocoon citizens: a society so sheltered and constructed that open-minded thought is pretty much impossible; not living up to your expected role here is again, deadly. On the gameplay side, you've got this battle system which revolves around assigning and mismatching "roles" for the characters to fulfill. It strikes me as a juxtaposition and melding of two paradigms: the old school Final Fantasies (pre VII), and the newer ones (post VII). Old FF required players to utilize different characters' predetermined unique stats efficiently, by pairing compatible classes. New FF essentially turned characters into blank slates, to be customized entirely by the player. The fact that Final Fantasy VII was indeed a paradigm shift for the series, coupled with the (almost) painfully obvious and copious references to that game found in XIII, to the point that I'm not sure XIII isn't some strange secret remake, well... it makes me think.

Now, I'm still really early, but the inevitability is that at some point in the game, the cast will make it off of the technological, floating wonder that is Cocoon (or was it Midgar?), and onto the lurking wild below, opening up a whole new world of gameplay options and possibilities. Gone will be the pandering tutorials and sterility of party management. There will a breaking out of the shell, a shedding of the skin of such fantastic proportions...

... oh.

OH. I see what you did there, Square-Enix. Nice metaphor.

Western Funeral

Once Upon a Time in the West is the greatest Western ever made, and by extension, one of the greatest films ever made. Actually, even though I have a strong hatred for such silly hyperbolic phrases (despite said phrases having become common subjects and methods of classification), Once Upon a Time in the West may be the greatest Western of all time. There are grounds for this. First of all, I doubt there will ever be a director who loved or understood the genre more than Sergio Leone. The Italian's fascination with and awe of American culture was epitomized by the glorification of the time period; the Old West had become modern mythology. There is a chivalry to the cowboy, and a fantasy to the frontier. Leone idolized it all.

"In my childhood, America was like a religion. Then, real-life Americans abruptly entered my life in Jeeps and upset all my dreams."

That's the other reason a better Western is unlikely to ever exist, and what the film is really about: the death of the myth. West was almost topical in the way it combined and referenced so many of the genre's staples. The opening credits sequence re-imagines the train scene from High Noon, except in West, the three characters waiting for the train are gunned down within minutes. There is even a small reference to Leone's previous film (and one of his three masterpieces), The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. One of the three men famously filled the frame of that film's opening shot, and remember the stray dog that intercut that first shot? He's back, too. Legend has it that Leone even intended Clint Eastwood, Lee Van Cleef, and Eli Wallach to play the three men at the beginning of West. The shock of their deaths so early in the film would have perfectly symbolized the deconstruction of the genre, especially since Van Cleef was also one of the original three in High Noon. The man knew what he was doing.

Heavy Rain demo impressions

Heavy Rain is an interactive movie thing. The game is interesting, but stupid. The controls are weird. You don't control these people so much as you "direct" them, giving indications of where and when to walk and turn, and dictating conversations by choosing different emotions. This might have worked, but filling the shoes of a film director is not properly represented. From what I can tell, the game doesn't really require the player to make tough decisions, even though it would appear so. It's disguise; disgusting deception. I replayed the demo several times, and I tried so hard to deviate from the intended course, but it was impossible. The game only allows you to make choices at very specific times, which of course is not real choice at all. There is even a sequence where a guy has an asthma attack, and you are required to sequentially input buttons to save him. I decided to let him suffer. Well, nothing happens. The animation loops over and over. The sequence is only there for the player to feel "immersed," but the player has no real consequential input. Lame. In the end I wound up trying to kill my character in whatever way possible, to unearth any trace of consequence. There was none. Good game design deigns that the player character and the goals required for progression carry a certain amount of interest to the player. A good (and ancient) way of doing this is challenge; the player cares about what happens in-game because of negative feedback. There is no discernible challenge in Heavy Rain.

So Heavy Rain pretty much fails as a game. At even a basic level it is a conflicted mess. Then how about as a movie? Not any better. The character models are horrendously animated. Metal Gear Solid 4 had millions of cutscenes, but at least the characters animated well and successfully emoted. The characters of Heavy Rain live in the deepest regions of the uncanny valley. Motions are generally stiff, facial expressions are... just plain weird, but most importantly, the eyes are dead and wooden. Eyes are so, so important in animation. They are the single most expressive part of character, and one of an animator's greatest tools of emotion. Even Disney figured this shit out decades ago, I don't know what the deal is with Heavy Rain. Really no excuse. And when judged on cinematographic levels, compared to "real" films, Heavy Rain's camera work is boring and stilted. Shots have zero compositional value; there is no intelligence behind the placement and framing. If you're going to make a game that is deeply rooted in cinematic style, you should probably know a thing or two about filmmaking, first. This is why Kojima's games actually work; the guy is a filmic obsessive. Too bad his unique style has become trend.

Obviously I haven't played the full game, so I can't give a full opinion. Maybe all of these problems work themselves out, but I doubt it. The only intention I can think the game developers had was to create an immersive experience. This is a terrible reason to make a game, because the result is cheap and manipulative. This isn't an intelligent, moral-driven adventure; it's a glorified quick time event that manipulates the player. Ironically, the best way to sum up Heavy Rain is it that pushes players' buttons; the player becomes the quick time event, with their emotions as the timed button sequences. This makes for a possibly immersive and intense experience, but in the end is insultingly shallow, a shallowness that I think will be revealed in time as the game is replayed. I admire the game for trying something new, and having read interviews with David Cage and getting to understand his game design philosophies, he seems like a noble enough guy with good intentions. He cares about games as an art form and wants to see them evolve into something special. But if this is the future of interactive media, then there will never be an art form. The entire medium will be artistically dead in a few years.

Shenmue was better at this sort of thing. At least in that game you were given an interesting world that you were encouraged to explore. Not to mention the controls made sense. And that was 10 years ago!

Institutionalization

Shutter Island is a film about a man at war with himself. The mental hospital in which the story takes place is said to have been constructed during the Civil War, and the freakishly enigmatic "Ward C" (where the really crazy ones are kept) was a fort in that war. Ben Kingsley as Dr. Cawley even remarks on the state of psychiatric study: a polarized philosophic mess of old and new ideologies. Internal conflict. So, it's the usual for a psychological thriller, except this time, it's Scorsese-fied.

Scorsese and DiCaprio have made a super-charged genre picture. Because of this, some will find the film cliche and too close to the mark. They wouldn't be wrong, but they'd be missing the point. Nitpicking the plot of any film is a tremendous waste of time. A film's aesthetics are far more important than its literature, and that above all else seems to be the focus of Shutter Island. Sure, you could list off references to past thrillers (I even flashbacked to Skull Island, of all things, during the opening scene), most notably those of the master himself. Both Scorsese and DiCaprio have cited Vertigo as a major influence, and indeed, the tale of a haunted man warped by his memories of a (blonde) woman isn't simply similar. But also remember Hitchcock's mantras of cinema: not as "a slice of life, but a piece of cake," and "technique over content."

And oh, such technique, such style. Scorsese has long been acknowledged as a wizard of of the camera, but I find his utilization and mastery of modern film making techniques downright astounding, especially his humblingly efficient use of computer generated special effects. Can you imagine The Aviator without the glossy galvanization of the crash sequence, or the ridiculous realization of the H-4's liftoff? I can't. Shutter Island is not without equally impossible visual wonders. The psyche is home to many elaborate and surreal dream sequences (or hallucinations... who knows!), including the converged perceptions of misrememberings, and the confetti-like, atmospheric, ashy remains of a fire victim, not really affected by gravity, but listless and tormenting.

Also, maybe it was just me, but I found this film to be a joyous playground of motifs. The final shot is a quiet pan over the island's craggy, New England cliffside, settling on the lone image of a lighthouse, a symbol of guidance. This is also the place where the facility performs lobotomies. Chilling! Especially when considered alongside the title itself: the light of memories hidden, even erased, by the quick and easiness of a shutter.

Ultimate Goodass

After one hour the movie officially begins. The backstory of Krypton and Superman's upbringing made more sense and worked better when this and Superman II were planned as one epic feature, but those scenes in Smallville with teenage Clark were honestly always some of my favorites. Clark's adolescence is realized with all the prodigy and Americana of a Normal Rockwell painting, and the airy Midwestern cornfields are captured with such scope and quiet presence. Again, this is quite a lot of time spent on exposition and tone, but you have to admire the sheer amount of geek cred. The fact that we see Krypton or Jor-El or Smallville at all is a testament to the respect for the source material. Indeed, all the buildup is totally worth it when Reeve (perfection) finally zips through those revolving doors and Superman emerges. Soon he's in the air and Lois is in his arms. "You've got me? Who's got you!" Classic.

Looking back, now that the superhero film has become a genre of its own, it's amazing how closely the formula adheres to what was established in Superman. Fitting, considering the Man of Steel was equally pioneering in the medium of his birth: the comic book. I've heard before that all films are allegories of their own production life, and though that's probably not a great rule of thumb, it's certainly interesting in this situation. Supes's transition from the panel to screen and influence on both worlds (or any of his cross-media meanderings for that matter) is almost a retelling of his origin story; the son of one race becomes the light of another. Tarantino was spot on in the second Kill Bill film.

Superman's mythos transcends era. There will probably never be a definitive version, but the 1978 movie is definitely my favorite. Truth, justice, and spectacularly superb opening credits.

Bad, bad, bad criticism. So bad.

I recently came across a website. It is now in my "Places of Hate" links to the right. Hardcore Christian Gamers Association is a place run by one Drew Koehler, and the fact that he has developed a rag tag gang of ardent followers makes me fear for the intelligence of western civilization, and possibly the entire free-thinking world. Where do I begin? I guess the name is a good start.

Hardcore
This refers to term "hardcore gamer." I'm going by the modern (wrong) connotation. Not a pretty sight.

Christian
People who feel the need to "genre-ify" their faith are stupid and probably not very faithful at all. Their products suck, anyway. See: Christian Rock.

Gamers
Shouldn't that be possessive... Gamers'? Ahh, never mind.

Association
I shudder to think there's actual organization and structure behind this. On one hand it's impressive, given the minds in question, but on the other... I'll just point out that on the tabs in my browser, it reads "Hardcore Christian Gamers Ass..."


Now we'll move on to the big stuff. I read three articles, all written by Drew Koehler, all shitty. The first was a review of the movie Legion. On top of being a bad review in general (synopsis is not analysis!), the fact that it is a Christian review kills any objective judgment that may have been. Let me clarify. Christian review and review by a Christian are impossibly different, incompatible, and non-interchangable. The former is an advertisement or brand name, the latter a triviality. I personally don't think the movie looks very good, but his opinion of it is so inappropriately defined and clouded by his faith, that I can't help but jump to the movie's defense. He doesn't seem to understand that this is a fantasy. The filmmakers obviously didn't care about properly representing any aspects of the Bible or Christianity at all, so why should you care? Quit bitching, take your Prozac, and get back in the tollbooth. The funny part is that he complains about some baby in the movie being portrain as a savior, and that the baby is not Jesus. Really? You'd think he'd have a problem with the whole "angels exterminating the human race" plot of the movie, but whatever. Not to mention his attempt to convert readers in the final paragraph. If I wanted a message, I'd check my answering machine.

The second article I read was a review of the video game Dante's Inferno. Not much worth mentioning here, it's still objectively unobjective criticism thanks to the religious slant, but Koehler never once mentions the source material, Dante's Divine Comedy. He's probably never even heard of it, which is almost hypocritical of him, but the real high point of the review is his obsessive dismissal of nudity. He claims to have played through The Godfather II video game to its entirety, and reasons he shouldn't have since the game was full of nudity, and that doesn't sit well with his perception of women... or something. Then towards the end of his Dante's Inferno review (after listing some examples of nudity in that particular game) he exclaims:

"I don’t want to see the devil’s package (yes at the end he’s naked)."

At the end. He played through the whole damn game, even after his Godfather II episode. What a tool! Do you think the game companies care whether or not you're a Christian, or are offended by nudity when you've already spent money on their product? Yeah, probably not.

The third article is below any form of discussion, but there is one really hilarious sentence:

"Bare in mind that this game doesn’t come off as being tactical at all."

Bare? Maybe he doesn't like bears, but more likely, the hypocrite's got nudies on the mind. Oh, God.


PLAGIARISM DISCLAIMER: I may have stolen certain phrases from this guy on YouTube. I apologize. His videos are so funny and brilliant that my rhetoric is forever changed.

A Post by Seth

Opening credits are by nature pretty silly; we're going to see those same names at the end, right? Their existence basically amounts to studio self-congratulations (like the Oscars, only shorter), however if done right they can perfectly set up the mood, tone, or even story of the film. A great example are the titles for Hitchcock's North by Northwest: Bernard Herrmann's rousing theme music and Saul Bass's eye-catching graphic design set the stage for the adventure to come. The unusually green background of the MGM logo and the converging lines, crossed into a grid that then fades into the windows of a metropolitan office building, perfectly instill the themes of subversion and misidentity. It looks good, it sounds good, and it communicates worthwhile information to the audience. Not a single second of screen-time is wasted.

On the other, less masterful hand, are modern opening sequences. Sure we've got real works of the art, such as those found in Spider-Man 2 (brilliantly synopsising the previous film in comic book panels, the frames formed by the irregular quadrilaterals of spider webs), but more often than not we get ego-stroking aesthetic ejaculations void of any significance, and thus can only exist to exercise and flaunt the director's "skill." Take all three of Jason Reitman's films, for instance. Thank You For Smoking's titles are admittedly pretty effective (modeled after tobacco packaging), but in the end are simply gratuitous. There is no reason whatsoever for these credits to be so elaborate. Wouldn't the money to design and animate them have been better spent on, you know, the movie itself? Reitman's other two films, Juno and Up in the Air, are even worse. Musically-edited and masturbatorial, they serve no purpose to the film and communicate nothing to the audience. I suppose you could argue that as much, if not more, time and money was spent on Spider-Man 2's credits, but again, they actually have a purpose: synopsis. There is nothing so noble or at least logical going on in the credits of Thank You For Smoking. My only guess at the logic behind their creation is that they were supposed to "look cool." So the films' first impressions upon the audience are attempted coolness? That's the equivalent of Joe Camel smoking. Thank you, indeed.

Nothing on a movie screen can be taken for granted. The smallest, most nonsensical thing is subject to interpretation by viewers, and if its presence is meaningless then they will see right through it. Even something as seemingly inconsequential as credits sequences can be instrumental tools of expression. I'll end this rant with what are probably the best opening titles of any film, those of Raging Bull. Hopefully my explanation of their genius is not needed.

What's Goin' On

"You know hot dogs got a bad rep? They got a cool shape, they got protein. You like hot dogs, right?"

The Happening is like hot dogs. It got a lot of crap when it first came out, and indeed, I thought I tactfully avoided more Shyamalan kitsch after hating Lady In the Water (though I now want to revisit it), but when I caught this on TV the other night, I was pleasantly surprised and captivated by how clever and funny it was. Satire on sensationalist journalism disguised as an almost slasher-flick styled thriller about killer plants? Um, yes please.

Seriously, that's what I think the movie is about. The characters frequently deliver the word '"terrorism" with fists of ham. Just what are terrorists, what is terrorism? Nothing physically comprehensible. Perhaps the best example is Global Warming, given the ridiculous (though admittedly genius) marketing scheme that is the "green" movement and the (also genius) antagonists that are killer plants -- but this is really just a placeholder. Fill in the blank with any case of invisible evil deemed apocalyptic by experts.

More importantly is what these candidates have in common: the current mass media business market that unhealthily and unnecessarily uses scare tactics for nothing more than to increase ratings; to increase the audience. Who is most affected by the plants' deadly toxins? Large populations, naturally. I kept waiting for a character totally cut off from society and entirely lacking in any knowledge of the epidemic. I got more than I bargained for: not only is there such a character (living quietly and inconsequentially in the country, surrounded by plants and trees at that), but there is also a faceless hillbilly who blows away two kids (one in the face!) with his boomstick, mistakenly thinking they are infected. Fear the plants. Fear them.

More Reviewy Thingys

DODGE THIS

It seems some cinephiles fail to “get” The Matrix. I remember Roger Ebert’s review on his and the late Gene Siskel’s program At the Movies compared it unfavorably to Dark City, and the shared consensus of he and then guest critic Joel Siegel was “at least it tries.” Honestly, I don’t think anyone can fully appreciate this film until they have some understanding of Japanese animation and comics, which I’m sure Roger Ebert does not. Much like Star Wars was an amalgamation of film and television classicism and mythological archetypes, The Matrix unites anime and manga influenced cinematography with wuxia style action sequences. But this isn’t to undermine its Western roots; recall Neo and Smith’s final battle: a Mexican standoff of patently “Western” flavor, complete with a listless tumble-weed, only now it’s subway garbage. Sweetly topped off of course with (increasingly) relevant Internet society commentary, The Matrix is technocalyptic, philosophical, purely kick-ass filmmaking at its very best. I firmly believe that its quality and relevance is only beginning to be understood, and no film maker will ever entirely escape (or dodge, har) its impact.

YOU KNOW, THAT GOD THING

The most crucial part of The Seventh Seal to me is the fact that Jof and his family are the only ones to escape “unscathed.” Of course they too will eventually join the dance of death, but that naive optimism can only come from such absolute faith.

I don’t believe Bergman is advertising Christianity though, and perhaps I am interpreting the film through my own beliefs, but I think the point is more that faith is indeed a powerful thing, and that God and Satan (or what they represent) exist in us all. The scene in the chapel after Antonius’s confession, when he marvels at his own hand, to me that is Bergman asserting: Man is God and creator of his own domain, master of his own body. This is my hand, and I can move it.

Again this could be less Bergman and more my own beliefs, but you can’t really watch this film without laying down, in black and white, what DO you believe? Which is the film’s true power, I think.

This motif of absoluteness, of "black and white," is hugely significant. The film of course is not in color, and whether or not this was a creative choice or sign of the times truthfully isn’t important; the similarity to and (apparent) emulation of a chess board and pieces results in images as beautiful and meaningful as they come.

Super Dead

I had planned to write a review of the film Die Hard and talk about the quintessential American-ness of it, and why this wasn't propagandic hero-worship (despite overtly foreign, even Aryan villains), but why the film was in truth an examination of such worship, particularly in the film medium. In short, Die Hard shows that us Americans like our ultimate badasses, and that their super-human qualities expressed through the average Joe has a legitimately positive and inspiring effect on viewers (personified by the Sgt. Powell character).

But then I decided that there was only one sentence in all the world that could effectively and accurately describe the film, and at the (brilliant) urgence of a friend, I let the review stay at that. Here is that sentence in all its concise glory:

In Die Hard, people don't just die -- they super die.

Snob snob snob

Long time no post. These are, based on my experience and reaction, the most overrated, uninteresting, boring, Oskar Bate films of 2009. I can not grasp or even begin to fathom the praise for them.

Let it be known that I haven’t seen many non-American films this year, because, well I’m a fat American who enjoys all manner of apparatus-flung spheroids.


STAR TREK
I at least get the appeal here, I guess. I enjoy Trek as much as the next nerd, but I’m not really a fan, so that right there detracted from my enjoyment. Even taken on summer movie terms, though, I still found it boring. The production design was fantastic; all the sets, props, and costumes were a joy to look at; but I could never get over the annoying cinematography. So many cuts and close-ups! This is a very dynamic way of shooting films that is a popular trend right now, very Bourne kind of stuff, and I do not think it works for sci-fi. When there’s fantastic technological wonders zipping across the screen, explosions used like most people use punctuation, all the magic is lost. We should be able soak that stuff in, really appreciate the craft and thought gone into their design. Star Trek, to its great detriment, never lets up.

DISTRICT 9
I said all there was to say in my review already, but I think that this film and the other sci-fi duds of the year were so well received because there has been such a shortage of great films in the genre. This drought has people so thirsty that they guzzle down whatever droplets are being produced and think them to be great works.

AVATAR
This could be a trilogy of sorts; “Sci-Fi 2009: When Tastes Dilute.”

UP IN THE AIR
Jason Reitman needs to stop with the musically-edited opening credits sequences. They bother me.

UP
This is the big one. I am so baffled by this film’s love. Am I really such a bastard that I was apparently the only person not moved to tears by this aesthetically-challenged, bland, wheeze of a forgettable film? You’ve got two geezers, for all intents and purposes senile, fighting each other on top of a freaking zeppelin. This should have been incredible! But it wasn't – it was boring. Totally, unforgivably dead on the screen.