A Legacy Of Shame

And On The 8th Day, Bill Created IMAX...

On December 17th, 2010, something amazing happened. An IMAX theatre opened in Wichita, Kansas, courtesy of my personal hero, Mr. Bill Warren. In a previous post dedicated to the thoroughly mediocre "The Sorcerer's Apprentice", I spent a great deal of time heaping praise on our local movie mogul for his efforts to elevate the movie-going experience in our fair city.

In the past twenty years, Mr. Warren has opened three exemplary moviehouses in the city of Wichita, as well as one in Oklahoma, that present a superior theatrical experience. From the great care taken in the A/V presentation of the films, to the elegant atmosphere present in the architecture and aesthetic design of the theatres themselves, Bill Warren has given our little corner of the world a great gift.

In fact, the only thing Wichita was missing was an IMAX theatre, which is essentially the best possible sight and sound presentation of a theatrical motion picture. But leave it to Bill Warren to rectify that little problem. Earlier this year, he broke ground on a large-scale renovation of his first opulent movie house, which included a brand-new IMAX screen. It was scheduled to open its doors on December 17th, and the inaugural film was fated to be TRON: Legacy.

I can't tell you how excited I was. Not only because a fucking sequel to TRON was actually coming, but because it was going to be the first true IMAX experience of my life. I'm a huge film nut, and theatrical presentation is very important to me. So this news was like crack for my deranged mind. As soon as tickets became available online, I reserved my seat for what was sure to be a transcendent theatrical experience.

Last Sunday, I ventured out into the cold afternoon to have my brain melted by Bill Warren's latest creation, fully expecting IMAX 3D to rape my senses and leave me quivering in my comfortable leather chair. The quality of the film itself was secondary; this was all about the presentation.

And what about the presentation? Well, Dear Imaginary Reader, it was the bee's knees. The auditorium itself is a massive place with comfortable stadium seating. The chairs, spacious and soft, gently recline to allow the viewer to gaze at the screen, and I felt like a newborn babe being cradled by a loving mother. The screen itself is... well, if you have seen a film in IMAX, then you know what to expect. It's huge. A massive, enveloping wall of silver material that completely encompasses one's field of vision. Of course, this being a Warren theatre, the massive screen is hidden behind an equally massive classic theatrical curtain until the show begins.

Before the IMAX magic unfolded, the audience was treated to a well-choreographed lightshow as the curtain rose into the rafters in synch with the awe-inspiring musical masterpiece "Thus Spake Zarathustra" assaulting my eardrums in crystal clear surround sound. Then we were shown a "sizzle reel" of footage from the documentary "Hubble 3D" that deftly demonstrated the capabilities of IMAX as a presentation medium.

I must say that the 3D effects in this demonstration were astounding. I've seen plenty of digital 3D films since Beowulf made the scene several years ago, but I have never seen such an effective presentation as this. The footage included an unmanned rocket blasting off into the heavens, bound for the International Space Station, and it was a fully immersive experience. As debris from the launch assaulted the camera, I found myself instinctively shifting my head to avoid the detritus as it flew out of the screen.

Yes, my friends... I was in love.

Before the film began, trailers for Marvel's Thor and Disney's Pirates Of The Caribbean: On Stranger Tides unspooled. I'm looking forward to both of these movies, despite the naysayers that dominate the Internet. Thor looks like fun, and I'm one of the few deluded souls who actually enjoyed the second and third Pirates films, so these trailers were right up my alley.

In short: the IMAX experience exceeded my expectations. The beautiful, ultra-sharp images and the booming, enveloping sound coupled with the amazing 3D effects had my inner geek squealing like an overexcited little boy as he sees the mountain of colorfully wrapped parcels nestled under the tree on Christmas morning. The IMAX hype is well-earned. I am a believer. And GOTUS bless Bill Warren for bringing IMAX to Wichita.

But what about the main event? What about TRON: Legacy? Well... that's a different story...

Greetings, Programs! - The Story

TRON: Legacy begins in the year 1989, as Kevin Flynn tells his young son Sam a bedtime story. But this isn't Goodnight Moon or The Monster At The End Of This Book. No, Flynn is spinning an imaginative yarn about some magical place called "the Grid" and the myriad programs that inhabit it. He speaks of a perfect world that lies within a computer and the valiant hero TRON that defends it. Before he leaves his son to dream in binary, he mentions how he can't wait to show the boy this amazing world some day soon.

Then he takes off on his Ducatti and falls off the face of the earth for two decades.

The next 20 years are condensed into a short flurry of exposition in the form of a nightly news story broadcast on a series of antiquated televisions in what appears to be the Matrix. We learn that after Flynn came back from his first sojourn in the Grid all those years ago, he became the CEO of Encom and that the two major games he created, Space Paranoids & TRON became the biggest-selling games in history. Flynn also had huge plans for the future, vowing to shock the worlds of science, philosophy and even religion. Then he just disappeared without a trace, leaving his poor son Sam an orphan.

We rejoin the narrative in the here and now, as now-27-year-old Sam Flynn breaks into Encom headquarters to pirate their latest operating system on the eve of its official release. Mission accomplished, he base-jumps from the roof of corporate HQ and lands in the loving arms of Johnny Law. Apparently theft and corporate espionage are no big shakes in Central City, as Sam makes bail later that evening.

Chilling in his free-standing waterfront garage/apartment, Sam is visited by his dad's old pal Alan Bradley, who says that he's received a page (how quaint!) from the disconnected number at Flynn's Arcade. An intrigued Sam decides he hasn't played Bad Dudes in while anyway, so he checks out the old arcade.

Inside, he rocks out to some Journey and finds his old man's secret underground lair, which contains an old humming computer server and what looks like a big telescope. Sam dicks around on the swank 1980's virtual keypad, accidentally activating the telescope! Wait, it's not really a telescope. It's actually a laser. Remember how Flynn got sucked into the computer in the original film? That's what his hapless son does at the old arcade.

Arriving in the sleek, reinvented "Grid", Sam is immediately captured by a massive looming Recognizer (floating tank-thing) and prepared for The Games with the help of four gorgeous latex-clad "sirens" who strip him of his User garb with laser fingers and fit him with new and improved glowing programwear! Then he is thrust into the Arena and forced to disc-duel with some very angry programs.

Sam finds that he's oddly quite good at this whole disc-flinging thing, and dispatches his first foes handily. Then he steps up to do battle with big bad Rinzler, the meanest, most dangerous, dual-disc wielding mamajama on the Grid. Rinzler kicks Sam's pasty ass, and when he is wounded, the audience sees that he bleeds. Holy shit! This guy's not some simple program. He's a fucking User!

Sam is quickly summoned to the personal battle frigate (I guess) of the Grid's ruler. At first, Sam sees this despot and believes him to be his long-lost father, although in Sam's own words he "hasn't aged a day". But this is not the All Mighty Flynn. This is CLU, a program created by Sam's missing dad to help create the perfect system here in Computerland.

After Flynn returned from his digital walkabout many years ago, he decided to use what he had learned to create a new world within the realm of bits and bytes, a place where he could... do... something... to benefit mankind. The logic's a little fuzzy, there. But he created this new Grid at his arcade, importing his old pal TRON from the Encom servers to aid him in this task. He also stood in front of a mirror and birthed a new program, CLU 2.0, to serve as the third collaborator in this mad experiment.

Things went smoothly for a while. But one day, something amazing happened. A group of programs wandered into this virtual world seemingly from out of nowhere. Flynn hadn't created them. In fact, nobody had. These new programs self-manifested in the Grid: a genuine digital miracle! These programs, called ISOs (which is short for Iso... something) arrived completely unexpected, and had the potential to change the real world in ways that are never made clear.

Seriously, the vagueness on display in this film is just mind-boggling. These ISOs are supposed to be special programs because they just materialized out of thin air, but that seems to be the extent of their amazing-ness. They never exhibit unique talents, and the only real difference between them and regular programs seems to be the glowing tattoos that pulse on their arms. Nifty.

CLU, disturbed by the emergence of these new programs, asks Flynn if it is still his duty to create the perfect system. A nonplussed Flynn awkwardly answers "...yeah?", and CLU takes that as his cue to take shit over. He summons soldiers to capture Flynn, but his stalwart companion TRON battles the evil programs to buy his buddy time to escape. Tron is seemingly killed in his heroic efforts.

Since that fateful day, Flynn has existed in exile, away from the Grid, and the brutal dictatorship of his creation. He fled the known Grid with the last of the ISOs, named Quorra, since CLU went all "final solution" on her extended family.

Back in the present, CLU warmly greets this son of Flynn, then immediately decides to kill him in a big light cycle fight. I don't get it, either. The big action sequence comes to an end when Sam is rescued by Quorra, who is driving a big dune buggy outfitted with surface-to-air rockets. So Sam escapes the grasp of CLU, and speeds to a much-anticipated reunion with his daddy in the mountains (there are mountains in the Grid? What?).

Flynn and Sam have an awkward heart-to-heart, then sit down to dinner (why is there a suckling pig? where did that come from?!). Sam wants to get his old man the hell out of Microchip Town, and needs to get to "the portal" to do it. Quorra suggests Sam visit with an old program named Zues, who once operated a kind of "underground railroad" for ISOs back in the day.

Sam ventures into the Grid to see Zues, who now calls himself "Castor", looks like the Thin White Duke and operates a bar called the "End Of Line" club. Of course Castor immediately betrays Sam. A big fight ensues involving Sam and CLU's henchmen. Flynn shows up to bail out his son, and gets his Identity Disc stolen in the process. This is apparently bad because the info imprinted on Flynn's disc is imperative to CLU's plans, which involve amassing an army of programs to enter the portal and bring CLU's "perfect system" into the real world.

First off, since when could programs manifest in the real world? Secondly, none of their neat glowing discs and lightsabers would work in the real world, so their arrival as a massive, conquering army might fall a little flat. Thirdly, why is CLU so keen on bringing his "perfect system" into our world when his world seems to have a lot of problems? There are fucking hobo programs, for pity's sake! For shame, CLU.

CLU is displeased that Castor allowed the Flynn family to escape, despite their acquisition of the much-heralded Identity Disc. So CLU blows up Castor and his stupid club. Some more shit happens. Our heroes race to the portal, only to be captured by CLU as he gathers his army near their destination. Sam steals back the disc, there's a big aerial shootout, and it is revealed that Rinzler is actually TRON, somehow corrupted by CLU and made evil.

Rinzler/TRON is shooting at the Flynns one moment, then he inexplicably remembers that he's supposed to be a good guy and crashes his laser plane into CLU's laser plane, and they both explode over the Sea of Simulation. CLU manages to steal TRON's spare laser plane (yes, he had a spare), and continues his puruit. TRON splashes into the water, and the ominous red lights on his suit flicker and turn a pale, heroic blue. TRON's back! Yay! And he is never seen again.

CLU arrives in time to shit all over the party at the portal, attempting to escape into the real world with Sam and Quorra (Wait, what? She's going with Sam?). But Elder Flynn decides enough is enough, and uses his badass User power to merge with his wayward creation, becoming one with the Force, or some shit. He explodes in a burst of light which washes over the Grid, eliminating CLU's army in the blink of an eye. The world is safe... I guess.

Wait, is Flynn dead? What the fuck?

Anyway, Sam is back in the real world, downloading the Grid from the old server in daddy's arcade into a compact memory card which he wears around his neck like a trophy. He then emerges into the night to find Quorra waiting for him (what?!), and as they ride off on his Ducatti, Quorra sees her first real sunrise. Fade out.

Derezzed - What The Fuck Did I just Watch?

Back during my Alice In Wonderland review I mentioned how excited I was to see TRON: Legacy. I wrote that even if the eventual film well and truly sucked, I would not be able to admit it due to my irrational love of the original film. I couldn't possibly admit to myself that a (truly unexpected) sequel to TRON would suck. To do so would be tantamount to inner-child abuse.

Apparently my inner-child needs to call a social worker, because TRON: Legacy is awful. It breaks my heart to admit it, but there it is. I walked away from the experience unable to convince myself that the film was anything other than an utter waste of my time as a passionate moviegoer. I have a lot of problems with this movie. And now I am going to talk about them.

To begin with, I'll focus on the film's action. To be sure, there are a smattering of action sequences in the movie. We have Sam's trial by fire in the Grid arena, the light cycle chase with CLU and his henchmen, the big shootout at Castor's nightclub, and a big laser plane dog fight during the film's climax. But none of these action sequences really pack any punch, aside from Sam's hectic disc duel in the arena, which is all too brief.

The disc duels have an energy to them that the other action beats lack. The first time we see one warrior program felled by his opponent's disc, he derezzes in spectacular fashion, shattering like electric glass. It's a very cool visual effect, and it makes program death in this sequel seem much more visceral. And watching Sam and his opponents duel in their confined chambers gives the sequence immediacy. We know exactly where the combatants are at all times, even when the movie throws in a three-dimensional element, allowing the characters to fight on the walls and ceilings. It's cool.

None of the other action sequences are cool. The light cycle chase takes place on a vast, multi-leveled grid, and there's no sense of coherent geography to the whole affair. We have no real idea where any of the characters are on this grid at any time. They're all just driving around, trying to knock each other out of the game.

Another problem with this sequence is the light cycles themselves. In the original film, the light cycles traveled in straight lines on the game grid, confined to sharp ninety degree turns, creating an ever-shrinking labyrinth of deadly walls in their wake. This made the cycle duels more frantic, more exciting. As the grid continued to grow smaller within this forest of glowing walls, the combatants had to react quicker, each move marking the difference between life and death. Exciting stuff.

In the sequel, the light cycles react more like traditional motorcycles, traveling in fluid motions across the grid. There are no right angles, no tight corners. This deflates most of the tension. Of course, in the original film, the light cycles behaved more like real-world motorcycles outside of the game grid. I don't immediately understand the purpose of this change in the sequel. Did the director think that that the traditional light cycle behavior in the game grid wouldn't work for a modern audience?

As for the battle at the End Of Line club (I hate that fucking name), it's just stupid. Sam is betrayed by the former Zues and Rinzler & friends show up to snatch the young man. A few scarred would-be revolutionaries (a completely wasted subplot) rise up to fight the baddies and are promptly cut down. Then Flynn shows up, providing an HP boost to all allies, and the put-upon programs battle their tormentors with renewed vigor. While this ruckus is going on, Castor stands alone with his laser cane, swaying his hips, showing the world his best Tony Montana impression, and generally acting like a completely ineffectual fucking lunatic.

Now this big fight was not well choreographed. If you actually paid any attention to the background players in some of the long shots, you'd see some of the sloppiest play-fighting in cinematic history. Cringe-worthy. And Michael Sheen just embarassed himself here. What the fuck was he thinking? He's a pretty good actor when he wants to be. Hell, he was even convincing as an ancient werewolf in the fucking Underworld films. But his Castor/Zues role is nothing but endless mugging for the camera. Shameful, Michael Sheen. Shameful.

What about the laser plane shootout? Once again, it's just confusing. The only moments when the audience can be sure that the villains are anywhere near the heroes during this battle are when they're actually shooting at each other. Aside from that, the whole sequence is just a montage of images of glowing fighter jets dodging mountains. The shots that actually show the progress of our heroes to their goal (the portal) are few and far between. The sequence just arbitrarily ended when the editor finally decided to insert the shot of the Flynns reaching the damned portal. How can a 200 million dollar movie feel like amateur hour?

Now let's talk about new CLU. A big deal has been made of the digital effects trickery used in this film, giving the program CLU the face of 1980's-era Jeff Bridges. I remember the glimpses in the trailers. They were decent, but unpolished. I assumed the effects artists were still working on these shots, and in the final film they would be improved. I was wrong. The "young Jeff Bridges" face on CLU never looked real. It was always distracting.

I remember reading a comment from someone involved with the film's production (I can't remember who) saying that TRON: Legacy was inspired by the absolutely stunning effects work used to age (and de-age) Brad Pitt in The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button, and that they were taking it a step further with this film. They failed conclusively. For shit's sake, the de-aging effects used on Patrick Stewart and Ian McKellen in X-Men - The Last Stand were more convincing!

And don't give me the "but in that movie the effects artists were just erasing age-lines on their faces, but in TRON: Legacy they had to render Jeff Bridges' face onto another actor" excuse. The digital wizards on Benjamin Button slapped Brad Pitt's face onto a midget and you couldn't tell the difference. These guys (and gals, I assume) just dropped the ball.

By the way, what's up with this ISO bullshit? Flynn keeps talking about how special they all were, that they had the potential to cause lasting and beneficial change to the real world. These amazing programs were going to rise up and become digital messiahs (a pretty cool band name, by the way). But we're never shown any evidence to back up these claims. Not even the fabled last ISO Quorra does anything of note. And if this is an allusion to the Technological Singularity, it's nothing more than an unexplained dead end in the film. Just another wasted subplot.

And who told Jeff Bridges that he could play himself in this movie? He's certainly not playing Kevin Flynn, the central protagonist from the original film. He's just Jeff Bridges, the laid-back hippie dude that we all know and love (except for my mother. she finds him creepy). Admittedly, he's the source of the only real comedy in the film with his occassional exclamations of "far out" and "radical". But it just doesn't feel right.

I suppose you could argue that since Flynn has been trapped in isolation within the Grid for twenty years (our time. In the Grid itself, he's been alive for centuries), he's a little detached, perhaps even a little crazy. And we get the detached part for perhaps two minutes early on. But we never get the crazy. We just get Jeffrey Lebowski. And I don't want "the dude" in TRON: Legacy.

That brings me to my biggest problem with the film: TRON. In this film, the valiant hero of the Grid has been reduced to the Darth Maul stand-in for this struggling franchise, nothing more than a two disc-wielding henchman. We're never shown how TRON was corrupted and turned by CLU and became his loyal servant. We're just expected to accept it. A half-hearted semi-explanation is thrown out near the end of the film: because CLU lacks the ability to write new programs, he uses programs defeated in the game grid, transforming them into soldiers for his invasion force. But it's insultingly vague.

TRON defeated the Master Control Program, goddammit! He's not some pitiful messenger program, he's an independent security program extraordinaire! How the fuck did he become new CLU's lackey? Fuck you, movie!

Flynn assumes that TRON died saving him, until he just notices Rinzler at one point and remarks "TRON, what have they done to you?". That's it. Flynn never mentions this to anybody. He never says to his son "hey Sam, maybe we should try to rescue TRON, seeing as how I owe him my miserable life, and all." No, he just goes on with his day. Nobody else aside from CLU even knows that Rinzler is TRON.

When TRON decides out of the fucking blue that he's on the side of the angels again and turns kamikaze on CLU's laser plane, only Flynn knows what his old friend just did. And he doesn't react at all. And since CLU just steals TRON's spare laser plane and continues his chase, TRON's sacrifice is completely in vain. Fuck you, movie!!

After TRON plunges into the Sea of Simulation and his evil red lights become a valorious blue, I was expecting him to show up at the portal and duel CLU to save his friend Flynn, allowing him to finally escape into the real world, not to mention getting a little payback for the centuries of slavery he endured at the hands of this despotic program. But no, we never see poor TRON again. I guess the old warhorse just drowned in the Sea of Simulation, his life a frustrating litany of failure.

It's like the brain-dead writers forgot that there was a character named "TRON" in the movie TRON until someone brought it to their attention mid-way through the production, and they felt obligated to insert the titular character just to pay lip service to the fans. Inexcusable.

FUCK YOU, MOVIE!!!

In the final analysis, TRON: Legacy is a worthless excuse for a movie. Sure, it's highly unlikely any sequel would have lived up to the expectations of a nostalgia-addled TRON freak like myself, but this movie is just garbage. It's a confusing, disjointed, nonsensical mess, and I hate it. Christ, even the 3D effects were lackluster. The "creative minds" behind this disaster don't understand the source material, they don't understand computers, or even simple things like "story" or "character".

Fuck TRON: Legacy. You strangled the last innocent corner of my cynical, jaded soul.

P.S. - Black Swan & True Grit reviews are coming. Eventually.

End Of Line.

Kweznuz - The Day After

Christmas has come and gone. By now, your soul has been crushed with disappointment and self-loathing. Perhaps you just didn't get the gift you so coveted, and when you unwrapped your final package to discover tube socks, your blood boiled, and in retrospect you're certain that if you had a knife on your person at the time, you would have buried it in somebody's sternum.

Besides, spending all that time with your extended family is unhealthy. Sure, getting the whole gang together for a fancy meal sounds like a good idea beforehand. But after about an hour spent surrounded by these losers, listening to their hard luck stories, bemoaning the fact that they nearly won that big lotto jackpot last month, and swearing that they'll stop smoking crack after New Year's (for reals this time!), you just want to blow your fucking brains out.

Or maybe it's all the shit that you just have to deal with when the holiday season rears its ugly head. The multi-colored lights, the carolers, the smiling children, the shitty songs, the shitty holiday specials, the wreaths, the garlands, the ornaments, the tinsel, the mistletoe, the Salvation Army bell ringers, the decorated trees, the omnipresent visage of Old Saint Nick, etc. By the time Christmas actually arrives, you just want it to be over so you can get on with your miserable fucking life in peace.

Of course, you may be one of those weirdos who got that double-ended dildo you were asking for, you actually love your degenerate relatives, and you're too simple-minded to actually allow the seasonal sensory overload to get under your skin. If so, then I hate you. With a burning passion. Jesus, I am sick of fucking Christmas.

But at least it's finally over.



Goddammit.

A Very Messy Kweznuz - Day 6

The big day has finally arrived! Homes across the world have been visited by a corpulent imp spawned from the bowels of Hades, and in this abomination's wake lies a trail of stolen innocence and shattered dreams. Some child in Oregon has just annihilated an immaculately wrapped parcel with reckless abandon, only to die inside when he realizes that the Claus has left something unspeakable under his tree.

And now his wide eyes fill with tears as he pleads with his vapid parents. "Why, mommy? Why did the Red One do this to me? Daddy, is there no justice in this world? Is there no God?!"

The empty shell of a man that was once the boy's father momentarily meets his child's gaze. "God  is dead, young one. We belong to the void."

The broken thing called "daddy" turns away, drowning his sorrows in his perfectly chilled six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon tallboys, forgetting his son's pain as he drifts off into the dark recesses of his own mind. The woman called "mommy" hides her head in a worn scarf, soaking it through with her own bitter tears. The magic of the Christmas season is torn asunder in the cold, lonely light of morning.

And when night falls, the boy will lay sleepless in his race car bed, clutching his unopened DVD of The Love Guru, cursing the day he was conceived in a night of drunken teenage revelry.

...Anyhoo, it's Christmas Day. Hooray! On this, the last day of my holiday festival of the moving picture, I bring you the single greatest Christmas-related video off all time. And no, I'm not being hyperbolic. You may think I'm crazy, but I'm not crazy. One chilly morning in the late December of 1988, I saw this music video for the first time on VH1. I was entranced. 22 years later, I am still entranced. Although I am not a religious man, this video almost makes me believe in a higher power.

Take it away, boys!



Merry Christmas, Motherfuckers!

P.S. - Reviews of TRON: Legacy & Black Swan are forthcoming.

A Very Messy Kweznuz - Day 5

It's Christmas Eve, Internet Trolls! The time when we all smile a little easier. The spirit of the season warms our hearths and hearts. If you listen closely, you can almost hear the soothing sound of sleigh bells drifting through the still winter air...

But more importantly, this is also the fifth day of my video-riffic holiday blogging celebration! That's right! I have returned from beyond time and space to bring you, dear friends, the gift of sight and sound!

Being Kilted Yak's Eve, and all, I've decided to give you all a special treat. No clips from classic holiday movies, no quaint seasonal commercials, and no hilariously nightmarish music videos on this day. This is a special day, and it deserves special videos. Indeed, I said videos, plural. Two, being more specific. And these aren't just any videos. No, these lovingly crafted entertainments come direct from the patented Photoplay Sweatshop here at FENDERMAN Inc.

The first video is entitled The Christmas Miracle, originally created last December. It tells the touching story of a simple man who loves Christmas with all his heart. On one special night (I think you know which night I'm talking about), he is visited by a kindly stranger who teaches him a lesson about the true meaning of the "season of giving".



Up next is The Second Christmas Miracle, and yes, it is a sequel. However did you guess? Created recently (how's four days ago for "recent"? Hot off the fucking press!), this second chapter picks up one year after the events of the first delightful photoplay. Our simple man is adrift, wandering through a wasteland of deceit and treachery, still haunted by the truths visited upon him last Christmas Eve. When the moment of truth arrives, will he end his own life, or will he be redeemed by a familiar stranger?

Gee, I guess you'll just have to watch and find out.



I do sincerely hope you enjoy these little labors of love from all of us here at The Book Of Lies. By "all of us", I am of course referring to myself and my dear cousin Ky. We're a small operation, but we try, dammit! Have fun watching the destruction of everything one poor soul holds dear! Revel in his despair! Rejoice in his suffering! And don't forget to let the Christmas Spirit violate your inner child under the mistletoe this festive evening.

Tomorrow comes the much-anticipated conclusion of my little holiday blow-out. You don't want to miss the biggest surprise of the season!

A Very Messy Kweznuz - Day 4

On this, the fourth day of Yule, I bring you glad tidings from the frozen heart of the world!

Today I share with you, Dear Imaginary Reader, the conclusion from 1988's Scrooged. I am still amazed after all these years by the sincerity of Bill Murray's performance here. When I was a kid watching this variation of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol, I thought the last ten minutes of the movie were a real event that the filmmakers had serendipitously caught on film. And 22 years later, I'm still moved by Frank Cross' appeal to our better nature.



Tomorrow brings Festivus Eve, and with it a very special double feature! Stay tuned.

A Very Messy Kweznuz - Day 3

On the third day of Kweznuz, I have chosen to share with you one of my very favorite music videos from everybody's favorite accordion-toting vegan, Weird Al Yankovic. The year was 1986, and Weird Al's latest album Polka Party featured one of the most morbidly entertaining holiday-themed songs I have ever heard: Christmas At Ground Zero.

The song is funny. That goes without saying. But it also manages to create a serious sense of unease, which is the reason why I adore it. The bizarre lyrics combined with the anachronistically upbeat music are complemented perfectly by the visuals in the following music video.

Weird Al (who made his directorial debut with this video) combines footage from vintage Christmas short films with clips from cold war-era "duck and cover" documentaries from the 1950's and '60's to create a very funny, very creepy music video, and the final fade-out over the echoing sounds of blaring air-raid sirens always sends a chill down my spine. Nothing says "Christmas" like mutually assured nuclear destruction, kiddies!



Kweznuz continues on the morrow!

A Very Messy Kweznuz - Day 2

For day 2 of my very festive holiday celebration, I've decided to present a clip from 1985's Santa Claus: The Movie. This clip represents the turning point in the film, where we leave behind the quaint fable that is the first act of the film and are thrown kicking and screaming into the modern age (1980's New York City). The clip includes the introduction of John Lithgow's villain "B.Z." at the Senate subcommitte hearing I mentioned in my previous Christmas-related article.

The clip is a little long (over 8 minutes), but if you decide to stick with it until the end... well, you'll probably still hate it. But after all these years, I still find it oddly enjoyable.



More holiday cheer on its way tomorrow!

A Very Messy Kweznuz - Day 1

On this first day of my Christmas holiday, I present a very special video from deep within the YouTube vaults. I can't recall the first time I saw this delightful commercial on television, but I do know that it's been around for a while. This holiday classic commercial depicts a tropical Christmas, Corona-style.

You may be well acquainted with this advertisement. If you are, then I'm sure it fills you with the spirit of the season. If not, then allow me to introduce you to the following 30 seconds of magic, an elegant-yet-simple evocation of the simple joys of Christmas.



Join me tomorrow for another delightful holiday video.

Could This Post Have Come Any Faster?

As I stated in a previous post, I caught a late-night screening of Dwayne Johnson's latest movie, Faster, on my birthday. If you recall my review of Johnson's previous cinematic offering (The Tooth Fairy), I was bemoaning the former Rocky One's career trajectory. I always thought he could be the big action hero of our time, the heir apparent to Stallone and Schwarzenegger. I was hoping that he'd do a little course-correcting and put his career back on track.

Well, "back on track" may not be the right term. After all, his family films have all been moderate successes. But his rare forays into the action genre have struggled at the box office. But all he needed was the right project to turn it all around and show the world that he's got what it takes to blow shit up with style (and a witty one-liner) on the silver screen.

Faster is not that movie.

We're introduced to Dwayne Johnson's "Driver" in a series of sweaty extreme close-ups as he paces around his prison cell. He's due to be released after spending ten years in prison for his role in an armed robbery involving his late brother. Tom Berenger shows up long enough to justify his pay check (I assume a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon) as the prison warden, showing Driver (and us) a series of photos of all of the people our bulky anti-hero wrecked in the pokey.

This is an obvious attempt to illustrate how badass Driver really is. If you get in his way, he'll tear you apart. As soon as Driver's thrown out of prison, he starts running through the desert. A little like Forrest Gump, only this film's protagonist isn't some zen-like simple-minded dude wandering the earth, falling into events of historical signifigance and imparting a little homespun wisdom. No, Driver wants no part of all that. He just wants to shoot people.

So Driver runs and runs and runs, until he reaches a junkyard and finds a sweet 1971 Chevelle waiting for him underneath a tarp. He jumps in and drives off, tearing ass through the American southwest with vengeance on his mind.

You see, ten years ago Driver was the wheelman in a bank job orchestrated by his brother. After some fancy driving that mostly involved driving around in circles in a crowded intersection, our crafty wheelman evades the police, and the robbers escape with the loot. But all is not right in the world, because shortly after our boys pull off the crime of the week, they're held hostage in their own home by a bunch of very armed, very angry dudes.

Driver spills the beans, giving the assailants the location of the money they stole because he thinks this information will save his brother's life. Spoiler alert: big brother gets his throat slit ten seconds later. Then Driver gets shot in the back of the head for being so cooperative. Driver is clinically dead for something like 30 minutes before he miraculously recovers at the hospital, sitting up like the Undertaker after you think he's down for the count. The back of his pulverized skull is replaced with a metal plate, and he's shipped off to prison.

Back in the present, Driver's tooling around bat country, tracking down and shooting everybody who had anything to do with his brother's murder. This obviously draws the attention of the police, because the recently paroled Driver has made no effort to conceal his identity. We're introduced to "Cop", played by Billy Bob Thornton, who is partnering up with Detective Cicero (Carla Gugino) to bring Driver to justice.

Cop loves his estranged, former C.I. wife (Moon Bloodgood, one of the worst actresses in the world). He loves his chubby, baseball-impaired son. He also loves heroin. That's right: Cop is complicated. This shady motherfucker is hiding something, and only the most brain-damaged members of the audience will be unable to guess what his secret is.

Then we meet the third member of our film's hate triangle, Killer (some dude). Killer used to be some kind of crippled software genius who made a shitload of money doing something or other. Then he got bored, got surgery, and became a muscular assassin with a sexy girlfriend. Some anonymous person (any guesses?) finds Killer's number in the yellow pages, calls him up and hires him to kill Driver. So now Driver's under fire from both sides.

There's some action, some marriage proposals, some Jennifer Carpenter, and a whole lot of psuedo-religious talk of Heaven and Hell. Then the film reaches its climax at a makeshift church down by a beach, where Driver confronts the "last" of the people involved in his brother's murder. This final target (played by the guy with the insanely long name who played Mr. Eko in Lost) has been wracked with guilt since that fateful day, and has become a preacher, dedicating his life to helping others.

Driver confronts him on the beach, they share a few words about God and redemption, then the preacher drops to his knees, singing an appalling rendition of "John the Revelator", punctuated with exclamations like "Praise Jesus!" and "Lord Have Mercy!". Apparently Driver is so confused by this bizarre behavior that he chooses to spare the preacher's life, thinking he suffers from epilepsy.

So Driver wanders off, finding peace and quiet in the family picnic tent that the preacher turned into his ministry headquarters. Killer shows up and threatens to kill Driver. Then he changes his mind, because he realizes that he's bored with the assassin game, and wants to try the family thing with his gun-toting girlfriend for a while.

Then Cop ambles into the tent and shoots Driver in the back of the head. Oh noes!!! That's right, kiddies! Cop was the man who orchestrated the home invasion that led to the death of Driver's brother. It turns out that all of the people involved with the incident (all of the people Driver killed) used to be informants for Cop, and his weird, boring, junkie wife used to be Driver's brother's girlfriend. Apparently, she was boning Cop on the side, and told loverboy all about the robbery and the money and blah blah blah...

After Cop shoots Driver in the back of the head (again), he takes a leisurely stroll down the beach, talking to his treacherous broad on the phone. Surprise! Driver, who is very not dead, shoots Cop in the back. He had a metal plate in the back of his head, for Pete's sake! Why didn't Cop know that? As Cop bleeds out on the sand, he mumbles something about how he's made his own Hell, then he checks out. If you, as a member of the audience, didn't see any of that coming, then you are too stupid to live.

So Detective Cicero shows up late (as usual), puts the pieces together as she stares at Cop's junkie corpse, then just kinda shrugs. Then we see Driver tearing ass down the highway as the narrative ends and the credits roll.

That's Faster in a nutshell. It's a relatively short experience, clocking in around 92 minutes without credits. It's a bloody and entertaining film for the most part, although it is dreadfully dumb. Most of the dialogue sounds clunky and unrealistic, and the religious undertones in the film tend to fall flat. Luckily, Dwayne Johnson's character is played mostly mute, so he rarely has the chance to recite any of the insipid dialogue.

Unfortunately, the flashback sequence that reveals the tragic fate of his big brother contains some of the most awkward acting I've seen in a theatrical motion picture this year. And the main culprit in this scene happens to be Dwayne Johnson. I understand the purpose of the scene, because this takes place before Driver has become the hardened instrument of vengeance we meet at the beginning of the film, but it doesn't really work.
Johnson attempts to sound like a concerned little brother, but he really sounds like Lenny in "Of Mice And Men". The scene isn't supposed to be funny, but I laughed.

My real problem with the film rests squarely on the shoulders of two characters: "Killer" and Detective Cicero. My beef: they're worthless. If these characters were excised entirely from the script, it wouldn't matter at all. They serve no purpose whatsoever.

Killer is hunting Driver throughout the entire film. He even shoots Driver in the neck at one point, nearly killing him. Then at the end of the movie, Driver refuses to even raise his gun, saying he has no reason to shoot Killer. Are you fucking kidding me? He shot you in the neck thirty minutes earlier! You have every reason to kill this British asshole! But no, he refuses to fight, so Killer loses interest and fucks off to go get married to Maggie Grace.

There is no reason for this character to exist in the film. He accomplishes nothing. And all of the time the movie wastes following this douchebag as he chases Dwanye Johnson could have been better spent fleshing out some of the other characters in the film. Like Detective Cicero. Once again, here is a character that serves no real purpose in the story. She's a good cop. She thinks Billy Bob's a washed-up has-been. And that's it. She figures out the truth behind her partner's involvement in the bloody events that are unfolding, but only at the end of the film, after Driver's revenge spree is finished and Billy Bob is dead on the beach.

She doesn't even get an obligatory confrontation with Driver at the film's climax, where she may or may not let him "escape" because she finally understands the purpose behind Driver's long weekend of carnage. Now that would have been a cliché, but at least it would have given her something to do in this film. I'm a big Carla Gugino fan, and I hate to complain whenever I see her on the big screen (she's hot! haw haw!!), but her character in Faster should have been removed from the script.

It's like the writers had no faith in the simple story they came up with involving one man's mission of revenge and the crooked cop who's hunting him down, and felt it necessary to pad the script with pointless characters and irrelevant B plots. Perhaps if Tony and Joe Gayton were more talented, they would have realized that sometimes a simpler story is better.

On the positive side, both Dwayne Johnson and Billy Bob Thornton are good in their respective roles. Billy Bob seems to enjoy playing lowlife degenerates. He even has a funny and surprisingly touching moment with his son involving the kid's little league baseball game. And Johnson knows how to play a (mostly) silent, brooding killer. There's no finesse to his revenge killings in the film, and I found that oddly refreshing. He just wants to shoot these assholes and get on with his day. And he's got a killer icy stare.

Director George Tillman, Jr., who also directed Men Of Honor, another film I really enjoy, did a fine job with the script he was given. He manages to put together a pretty slick and entertaining film despite some of the shit the writers saddled him with. And the music is great, both the licensed songs and the score by Clint Mansell. I liked the music so much, I went out and bought the soundtrack. That's a rousing endorsement.

I have some real problems with Faster, but I still enjoyed the film. I hardly felt ripped off as I exited the theatre and walked out into the cold night air. It's nowhere near the worst film I've seen on my birthday. But it's not the film that's going to help Dwayne Johnson become a bonafide action star. The box office has spoken on this film.

I've got my fingers crossed for Fast Five...

P.S. -  A review of Tron: Legacy, as well as a special week of holiday-related posts are on the way. Consider it all my gift to you, Dear Imaginary Reader.

Christmas On The Blog Of Lies! Yule Love It!

Christmas Day is just around the corner. I'm sure you don't need this little reminder, but I'm still throwing it out there. I'm a big fan of the Christmas. I always have been. Sure, the delightful wrapped gifts nestled under the plastic, pre-lit Douglas Fir Tree are a plus. I mean, who doesn't enjoy unwrapping a little enigmatic box only to discover with dawning horror that what you had hoped to be a signed first edition of Frank Herbert's "Dune" is in actuality a tattered paperback of Brian Herbert's "The Butlerian Jihad"?! That kind of crippling disappointment is what the holday is all about!

No, Dear Imaginary Reader, Christmas is about more than simple commercialism. It's about spending quality time with family and friends. It's about downing a six pack of expensive imported ale with your distant cousin over a friendly game of billiards, while he rambles about his obsession with former WWF wrestler Rowdy Roddy Piper. It's about ignoring the piercing cries of a neglected baby because you can't be bothered to pause your "Rock Band" game in the midst of your soaring rendition of Lady Gaga's Bad Romance.

Yes, Christmas means a great deal to me. The food, the company, the uncomfortable silence that stretches on and on when your inebriated mother wonders aloud when her worthless son is finally going to do something with his life instead of typing endlessly on some stupid blog...

It truly is the most wonderful time of the year.

It's also the perfect time of year to dust off some of my favorite holiday-themed DVDs and give them a mandatory holiday viewing. Now everybody has their own definition of a "holiday classic", a film that they watch year after year, their personal cinematic tradition. For the longest time, one of my holiday classics was Bob Clark's adaptation of Jean Shepherd's "A Christmas Story".

I remember the first time I saw the film, spending the Thanksgiving holiday with my grandparents in Arkansas. My grandfather got a real kick out of Ralphie's touching quest to receive a Red Rider bb gun for Christmas, despite the constant blithering of seemingly every adult in the film concerned that he will shoot his eye out. Who can forget the heartwarming story? The profane-yet-lovable Old Man, the doting mother, the demonic Scut Farkus, the hilariously destructive Bumpus hounds, and the "electric sex" that is the ubiquitous leg lamp. It brings back fond memories...

When TNT (and later TBS) began their "24 Hours Of A Christmas Story" marathon on Christmas Eve many years ago, I thought it was a great idea. It's such a perfect movie for the holidays: it's sweet, sentimental, and charming without being overbearing. I would fall asleep on Christmas Even with "A Christmas Story" on TV, and wake up on Christmas Day with "A Christmas Story" on TV. It was a lovely way to get in the mood for the festivities that were to come.

Of course, I don't give a shit about "A Christmas Story", anymore. I've seen it so many times, I know the entire movie by heart. And I don't ever want to see it again. Just thinking about accidentally glimpsing a few moments of the movie during its opressive 24 hour marathon causes me to shudder. TV killed "A Christmas Story" for me. These days, I'm more likely to watch Bob Clark's other holiday classic, "Black Christmas". Hell, I'm more likely to watch the ill-conceived 2006 remake of "Black Christmas". GOTUS knows I would enjoy it more.

My "holiday essentials" boil down to four movies: "Scrooged", "Santa Claus: The Movie",  "It's A Wonderful Life", and "Silent Night, Deadly Night". I'll pull these four DVDs from my collection every year, and I'll watch them at my leisure over the Christmas holiday. Each of these films captures a different aspect of what the season means to me. As far as I'm concerned, they're all essential.

"Santa Claus: The Movie" represents my childhood, plain and simple. I watched this damned movie a lot during my formative years. The first half of the movie is a colorful, charming Christmas fable, detailing the "true" origin of everybody's favorite home invader. The second half, which loses most viewers over the age of 7, drops up waist-deep in the vapid decade of "me" (hello, 1980's!), where the increasingly consumer-driven culture has minimized the need for a benevolent gift giver like Santa Claus.

Enter John Lithgow's "B.Z.", the sadistic owner of the world's most irresponsible toy manufacturing company. Do you remember those hilarious Saturday Night Live sketches featuring Dan Aykroyd as the maker of such toys as "Teddy Chainsaw Bear" and "Bag O' Broken Glass"? That's who B.Z. is. We're introduced to him at a Senate subcommitte hearing, where his latest hit toys are being revealed to the horrified masses as terrifying instruments of death.

An aide retrieves an innocuous-looking teddy bear, twists its head off, and pours out the contents of its hollow, huggable body onto a table. It's literally filled with rusty nails and shards of broken glass. Why? Apparently B.Z. hates children so much that he's made it his life's mission to destroy them through his cute, deadly toys. There is absolutely no reason why any corporation would ever fill their mass-marketed teddy bears with rusty nails and broken glass. Unless they deliberately wanted to cause harm to children.

Gosh, that's creepy. And hilarious. With "Santa Claus: The Movie", I come for the delightful first half, but I stay for John Lithgow. His over-the-top, gleefully cruel, borderline insane villain is the real reason why I watch this fucking movie year after year. He's the guy who drinks cheap beer out of a brandy snifter because he believes that it's "classy". He's the guy who openly plots to overthrow Santa Claus as the King of Christmas because the jolly old elf never brought him any presents when he was a child. He's the guy who would kill a hapless little hobo child because he knows too much.

He also invented "Christmas 2!!!!!!!!"

Richard Donner's "Scrooged" is just great. All of the early television promos work like gangbusters. "The Night The Reindeer Died" is hilarious. Robert Goulet drifting on the bayou, singing "Silver Bells" whilst being chased by a hungry alligator is an image I'll never be able to forget. And the amazingly innappropriate "Scrooge" promo featuring ecploding airplanes, extreme road rage, and drug abuse is classic.

But Bill Murray is the reason why this movie works. His portrayal of cold-hearted television executive Frank Cross is laugh-out-loud funny, surprisingly touching, and at times heartbreaking. His performance has me laughing uproariously one moment, then fighting back tears the next. And the result of his Christmas Eve transformation, crashing the "Scrooge" broadcast and seemingly having a nervous breakdown on live television,  is an amazingly inventive way to subvert the Charles Dickens tale.

I don't see why I even need to justify "Silent Night, Deadly Night". It should be required Christmas viewing for everybody. TBS needs to have a "24 Hours Of Silent Night, Deadly Night" marathon. Fuck that, Showtime needs to do this. This shit needs to be uncut.

"Silent Night, Deadly Night" is the story of young Billy Chapman. On Christmas Eve, Billy and his little brother Ricky accompany their parents to see their grandpappy at the old folks home. As soon as Billy is left alone with seemingly catatonic old man, gramps springs to life, rambling semi-coherently about how Santa Claus is the baddest motherfucker on the block, and if you're naughty, he'll gut you like a fish and festoon his festive fireplace with your entrails. Man, old people are weird.

Coincidentally, Billy's family is confronted by a shady dude dressed as Santa Claus on their way home from the retirement community. Dad pulls over to see if this stranded Santa needs assistance, and he's quickly shot in the face for his trouble. Billy grabs baby Ricky and hides out in the woods while his poor mother is raped and murdered by this counterfeit Saint Nick.

So... yeah. I can't see how this terrifyingly traumatic experience could ever come back to haunt Billy as he grows up at an orphanage operated by the angriest nun in existence. "Silent Night, Deadly Night" has everything: creepy dudes dressed up as Santa Claus, raping and killing folks with impunity, douchebags getting their heads lopped off as they go sledding, Linnea Quigley taking her top off then getting impaled on a mounted deer head in her parents' rumpus room, drunken toy store owners forcing clearly disturbed young men with a pathological fear of Santa Claus to dress up as the thing they most fear, and of course, Britt Leach.

When it was released in 1984, "Silent Night, Deadly Night" was almost universally condemned by critics who thought of it as nothing more than an irresponsible slasher film using the iconography of the Christmas season for added shock value. Sure, one could view the movie as such, if they were so inclined. But I think those charges are off base. Underneath the surface, "Silent Night, Deadly Night" tells the story of a mentally disturbed young man who was never given the proper tools or guidance to deal with the trauma that shaped his life.

During his formative years at the orphanage, the cruel Mother Superior's idea of therapy is routine physical abuse coupled with the attitude that poor Billy will simply grow out of his psychosis. She has no idea how to truly help this child, and no desire to even try. The vivid memories of a disturbing caricature of "Santa Claus" destroying his happy family, compounded by Mother Superior's belief that any healthy behavior in which your average horny teenagers engage is inherently evil and therefore worthy of severe punishment puts Billy on an irreversibly destructive path that will only end in a night of  bloody, puritanical mayhem. Billy Chapman is a tragic, even sympathetic character in the film, which is a breath of fresh air when compared to the standard mysterious (boring) killers that populate most slasher cinema.

Yes, boys and girls, "Silent Night, Deadly Night" is a classic.

As for "It's A Wonderful Life"... if you still haven't seen this movie, or if you just don't like it, then you can go right ahead and fuck yourself. It's a masterpiece. The life of George Bailey, chronicled by the celestial Joseph for the benefit of Angel Second-Class Clarence Odbody is one of the most touching, heartbreaking things I have ever seen in a film. And George's eventual realization that his life is truly blessed is one of the most uplifting endings in cinematic history. I will adore this movie until the day I die.

And because I can't think of any kind of transition, I bring you, Dear Imaginary Reader, the latest installment of The Podcast Of Lies!! In this episode, entitled "The Metropolis Podcast", I sit down with my ever-present cousin Ky and discuss Fritz Lang's silent masterpiece "Metropolis", Alec Baldwin's anger issues, and robot love. Consider it my Christmas gift to you.

P.S. - "Faster" review coming soon. I am nothing if not timely.

What Is All This Shit About Angels?!

"Picture your grandmother in Hell. Baking pies without an oven."

George Carlin was, is, and will always be my favorite comedian.

The first time I can recall seeing Carlin was on TV around 1987. I was a young child, sitting with my parents in the living room, watching a video tape featuring this long-haired hippie saunter around a large stage, talking about grocery store etiquette. My parents were having a blast. I admit I was too young to really understand anything more intellectually stimulating than "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood", but I still liked looking at this lanky, bearded guy on TV. It was odd, but I was almost comforted by his presence.

But a little later, when Carlin began his bit about kids, I got it. Everything he was saying had happened to me. I was that little boy, pointing out the locations of the electrical outlets around Christmas. My big brother had  crushed my little plastic chair a few months earlier. Some absent-minded adult accidentally brushed their lit cigarette against my arm at a party.  That damned cookie jar was always tantalizingly out of reach. And some family members felt the inexplicable desire to toss me into the air, just for fun.

I was a giggling mess on the carpet. By that time, my mom and dad were getting more entertainment out of their chubby little son rolling around on the floor than Mr. Carlin's act. By the time his infamous "Seven Words You Can Never Say On Television" routine began, I was hooked for life. From that point on, he was my "Uncle George".

As I grew up, George Carlin was always around. Every few years a brand-new special would air on HBO, and I always tuned in. And as I continued my development from starry-eyed little boy to jaded, misanthropic adult, Carlin's comedy changed right along with me. His earlier stuff was a little ribald, but relatively innocent.

There was very little real vitriol to his material until his 1990 special "Doin' It Again", which spends a lot of time railing against the first Bush administration for the seemingly pointless "Operation Desert Storm". But the sequence that closes the special, dealing with the degeneration and softening of the english language via the plague we call "the euphemism" contained most of his scorn.



Then came "Jammin' In New York", the special that Carlin himself saw as an evolution in his stand-up career. There is a slight overlap in material involving his material on "Operation Desert Storm", only here it's more refined. It's got sharper teeth. But the real sucker punch is in the final act of the special, where he shares his views on entertainment, saving the planet, and the collapse of Western civilization.



In 1996, George Carlin returned to HBO with "Back In Town", which is almost entirely comprised of his increasingly pessimistic views on the human race. This may be my favorite of his stand-up specials. My favorite moments include his own take on "the sanctity of life"...



...and his reasons why he chooses not to vote.



In 2005, Carlin's 12th special (not counting 40 Years Of Comedy), "Life Is Worth Losing" premiered. It contains some of his darkest material, including my personal favorite, "The Suicide Guy":



And from 2008, his final stand-up special, "It's Bad For Ya!" ends with a routine about the illusion of "human rights":



Practically all my life, "Uncle George" was there on TV, stopping by for an hour or so every few years to make me laugh and make me think. As I got older, his comedy developed right alongside my own personal tastes. As I grew more pessimistic about my own species, so did he. He was always around to point out the bizarre and disturbing aspects of our culture that would sometimes slip past me. He was always around to illustrate the hypocrisy of big business, politics, and religion.

Sure, he was preaching to the choir in my case, but George Carlin could better articulate the same thoughts and frustrations that I had. He was a damned poet. I was fortunate enough to see him perform live several years ago. He did not disappoint.

In 2008, I lost an aunt in February. Then I lost an uncle in April. Then I lost George Carlin in June. I'm not one of those people who gets all choked up when a celebrity dies. I never knew these people personally, and I had no serious connection to them. But two celebrity deaths in my life hit me hard. "Saturday Night Live" alum Phil Hartman in 1998, and George Carlin ten years later. Now Phil Hartman's a man I'll probably talk about at a later date on this blog, but today it's all about Mr. Carlin.

My point is that George Carlin had been such an integral part of my early life, and that his comedy remained relevant to my life until his death, when he finally did shuffle off this mortal coil I felt like I'd lost another member of my family on June 22, 2008.



I'd like to end this little tribute to my favorite comedian with a short passage from his posthumous autobiography, "Last Words".  If you've never read this book, you really need to. It's fascinating, hilarious, and at times heartbreaking. I still laugh out loud when I think of George Carlin, high on cocaine, thinking the sun had just exploded and that he had eight minutes to say goodbye to his family before the solar shockwave obliterated the planet.

This passage perhaps justifies my reasons for doing this at the cusp of Winter, instead of waiting for the anniversary of his death. The first time I read this piece, I got a little misty-eyed. And I still do.

From Chapter 3: Curious George

"I stayed a night recently in New York and I didn't know it had snowed, so when I opened the drapes I was immediately back in that wonderful childhood world of waking up with snow. All those little things you noticed as a kid: the way the mortar that sticks out between the bricks picks up a little snow on each level. Those weird porcelain insulators screwed into the window frame that the people before you left behind: they have little piles of snow on them. The clotheslines strung between the buildings on every floor have a fine line of snow all the way across. And suddenly, for no reason, a little bit falls off.

There's one other thing with snow. Even when you're fifteen or sixteen and you just want to get laid and snowballs no longer hold the slightest interest for you - or even for that matter if you're never going to see sixty again - when it snows you've always got to make one snowball. Only one, but you gotta.

Just to see if it's good packing."

Where's The Rest Of Me?

In The Beginning... - A Requiem For Rik Mayall

So that new "Harry Potter" flick... it was... something, right?

In the matter of full disclosure, I freely admit here that I am, in fact, a "Harry Potter" fan. I've read all of the books, and I've kept current with the films. I don't think they're high art, or anything. But the series (books & movies) is certainly above-average fare. The book series is well-written, and actually matures with its growing readership.

As the Boy Who Lived and his black magic pals grow up on the page, the young muggle boys and gilrs who read their exploits grow up right along with them. The series manages to capture the essence of growing up and facing the reponsibilities of the world that wait for the reader, wrapped up in a big, fanciful bow of good old-fashioned sorcery. That's endearing.

The film series does the same thing, only in the films the viewers actually get to watch young Harry and his BFFs mature before their eyes. The visual aspect of this phenomenon interests me. Being a jaded teenager when the first book was published, I missed out on that particular aspect of it all. But the fact that this family-friendly saga managed to ensnare me in my "fuck the world, I'm gonna sit in my basement and listen to 'The Misfits' " phase certainly says something about the wide appeal of the franchise.

Anyway, as a "Harry Potter and the..." fan, I've enjoyed watching the startlingly inept boy wizard's adventures on the silver screen. It was a rough start, to be sure, with the firmly middle-of-the-road director Chris Columbus' inaugural entries in the franchise. Don't get me wrong; the first two films are hardly bad cinema. They're just not terribly inspiring. I saw the films, and I enjoyed them, to a certain degree. But they didn't really stick with me.

In fact, I daresay that the only reason why I enjoyed them as much as I did was because I was so familiar with the source material that my mind automatically filled in all of the gaps left in the lackluster adaptation.

Needless to say, as soon as Chris Columbus walked away from the franchise (as a director), the quality of the subsequent films improved. Dramatically. Bringing on Alfonso Cuaron to direct "...and the Prisoner of Azkaban" was a cool choice. And although that film bafflingly excised several matters from the book that I thought were rather important (the origin of the Marauder's Map? Anybody?), it was clearly a step in the right direction.

Then Warner Bros. got Mike Newell to direct "...and the Goblet of Fire". The man who directed "Donnie Brasco"? Working on a "Harry Potter" flick? Fine by me. The end product certainly has its flaws. I mean, adapting a novel the size of a fucking phone book into a 2 hour+ film is certainly a challenge. But the movie is good. Really good.

After Newell departed to follow his dream of casting a bunch of white people in a film about ancient Persia, the studio reached out to David Yates to take over the directorial reins of the megablockbuster film franchise. Now when Mr. Yates was announced as the director for "...and the Order of the Phoenix", most people answered this news with a resounding shrug. Not me. For I recognized David Yates as the director of the astounding "State Of Play". Not the inferior 2009 movie. No, I'm talking about the superior 2003 BBC mini-series.

What was that? You've never seen this mini-series? You, Dear Imaginary Reader, should be ashamed of yourself. You owe it to yourself to watch "State Of Play". The min-series, not the film. Although the film is good, too. But I'll take John Simm over Russell Crowe any day of the week.

My point is, I thought throwing David Yates into the Potter-verse was an inspired idea. His pedigree left me assured that he would be able to give the "heavier" moments in the final chapters the depth and weight that they required, without sacrificing the "breathing room" sequences of levity that are necessary in such a story (he also directed an adaptation of "The Young Visiters". I can't help but notice your blank stare. Just Google it).

And my faith in Mr. Yates was rewarded. You see, I'm one of those people who believes the film versions of "...and the Order of the Phoenix" and "...and the Half-Blood Prince" are the best films in the series. Needless to say, when Yates decided to come back to direct the adaptation of "...and the Deathly Hallows", I wasn't worried. Until Warner Bros. announced that they were going to chop the manuscript in half and make two movies out of it.

You know... to give the story the respect it deserved.

But hey, two more "Harry Potter" movies from David Yates is better than one! Right?

But What About Dobby?! - Adventures In Camping

So Dumbledore's dead. The world's falling apart. Evil wizards are killing muggles. Voldemort's still wondering where his fucking nose went. Basically, the situation looks grim. Brave young wizard Harry Potter and his pals have quite the quest ahead of them, a search-and-destroy mission involving the remaining horcruxes that contain bits of Voldemort's shattered soul, in a hail Mary effort to rid the world of the serpentine son of a bitch once and for all.

Our heroes are visited by Minister of Magc Rufus Scrimgeour (Bill Nighy! Hooray!), who gives them some important items bequeathed to them in Dumbledore's will. Except for the Sword of Gryffindor, because apparently Dumbledore in his old age forgot that the fabled blade didn't belong to him, but to Hogwarts. And it's missing.

Mad-Eye Moody shows up (Brendan Gleeson! Hooray!), sets up a great big convoy of Harry Potter clones on broomsticks to evade the Death Eaters en route to sanctuary at the Weasley house. Mad-Eye dies off-screen (Boo!) and Harry's beloved owl Hedwig takes the loss to defend her owner (...*shrug*). At the Weasley house, we're introduced to elder brother Bill (in the books, we meet him in "the Prisoner of Azkaban"), and he is immediately married to Fleur Delacour (*shrug*).

During the reception, the partygoers are informed that Minister Scrimgeour is dead (Boo!) and the Death Eaters have taken over the Ministry of Magic. Then some Death Eaters show up to crash the party. Harry, Hermione and Ron disapparate and some stuff happens. There's a wizard fight in a diner, Harry talks to the Black family's surly house elf Kreecher, the gang finds out that a locket/horcrux once owned by Regulus Black is now in the hands of one Delores Umbridge. You remember that cold-hearted bitch, right?

Our wizard heroes break into the Voldemort-friendly Ministry of Magic, get into some wacky misadventures, steal the horcrux, and get out while the getting's good. Unable to destroy the horcrux outright, they decide to travel through England's beautiful Forest Of Dean for a while, until they're able to figure out a way to crack this evil clam open and destroy the meaty soul-chunk within.

They take turns wearing the One Locket To Rule Them All around their necks, attempting to keep its evil influence from corrupting them. Too bad Ron didn't get the memo, as he is overcome with jealousy (he wants to bone Hermione) and fucks off to parts unkown. But then he comes back, because who else was going to save Harry from drowning in a frozen pond whilst trying to retrieve the Sword of Gryffindor?

Certainly not Harry himself, considering he didn't have the foresight to remove the absolutely evil One Locket from around his neck before he jumps into the frigid water. Sure, he takes off his clothes before diving in, because he watches a lot of "Man Vs. Wild". But I guess Bear Grylls didn't cover objects corrupted by pure evil in his "documentary series".

Our heroes visit Xenophilius Lovegood (Rhys Ifans! Hooray!), and he betrays them to the Death Eaters because they're holding his daughter Luna hostage. Before he does that, Exposition Lovegood tells Harry, Etc. about "the Deathly Hallows", three legendary objects that hold incredible power (the Cloak of Invisibility, the Sorcerer's Stone, and the Elder Wand). The tale of the Deathly Hallows is relayed to the audience in the form of a delightful animated sequence, the highlight of the film.

Anyway, Harry and the gang are carted off the the House of Malfoy, where they meet up with Luna, Olivander (John Hurt! Hooray!) and a goblin (Warwick Davis! Hooray!) in the Malfoy rape dungeon. Before the Death Eaters have the chance to seriously fuck up Harry's day, everyone's favorite house elf Dobby shows up and teaches every other heroic character in the "Harry Potter" series how it's really done.

Seriously, the little man's a badass. Why couldn't the series be called "Dobby the Destroyer and the..."?  Dobby decides it's time to pull a "Delta Force" and disapparate the hostages to safety. It's what Chuck Norris would have done. Unfortunately, Voldemort's favorite bag of crazy Bellatrix Lestrange manages to nail poor Dobby with a well-timed dagger throw as the crew disapparates.

Now safely out of harm's way, kind-hearted Dobby has served his purpose in the story, and now it's time for him to die. He cacks it on a picturesque beach, and the audience cries along with Harry Potter and his crew. Harry insists that they bury Dobby "the ye olde way" (without magic) and our heroes are left on that beach to wait for Part 2's release next Summer.

Meanwhile, Snake Face breaks into Dumbledore's tomb and finds the Elder Wand in the dead wizard's possession. Voldemort literally takes the Elder Wand (which looks suspiciously like a dildo) from Dumbledore's cold, dead hands. He then proceeds to raise the Elder Phallus into the night air, erupting into a Black Magic orgasm as the film smash-cuts to black. Roll credits.

I didn't really enjoy "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1". Of course, I also didn't have such a great time reading the first half of J.K. Rowling's book, either. The story just spent far too much time spinning its wheels with the epic "camping sequence". I had vainly hoped that the film would remove most of the camping bullshit, just to keep the narrative rolling along. I knew when the story was split into two films that my wish was not to be.

Sure, there were some things to like about the film. The sequence involving Harry, Ron and Hermione sneaking into the Ministry of Magic to retrieve the One Locket was a highlight, as was the startling climax at the Malfoy mansion. But overall, I was just bored. In fact, the delicious "butterbeer" that I enjoyed during the film (one of my local theatre's themed mixed-drink concoctions) was better than the actual movie.

The biggest problem with the film is that's it's not complete. It's literally half of a movie. The narrative reaches a certain point where it just stops. The "Lord Of The Rings" films didn't end so abruptly.

Despite my misgivings with Part 1, when Part 2 opens next Summer, I'll find myself excited to see the action-packed conclusion to the "Harry Potter" saga. Because the second half of the novel was a blast. And at least the boring part is out of the way.

The Sleeper Has Awakened! - When You Feel Like A Pervert

One of the most appealing aspects of the "Harry Potter" film series is the cast. The films are populated with a virtual "who's who" of British cinema, and they all treat the material with respect. I've yet to see a haughty actor phone-in their performance. More intriguingly, the principal cast of characters has remained consistent from film to film. No major leading or supporting role has been recast, aside from Dumbledore, of course. But that wasn't his fault.

It's been surreal watching our three leading actors Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson and Rupert Grint (Harry, Hermione & Ron) grow up on screen with their characters. We, the audience, have seen these three young, inexperienced child actors mature into capable, talented young adults. This was the smartest decision Chris Columbus made when he directed "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone". He hired these three kids to portray the central roles of one of the biggest theatrical franchises the world has ever seen.

The formative years of their lives have been captured on film. When these actors are grandparents, they can watch the films with their families as home movies of a sort. A walk down memory lane. It's a fascinating thing.

It's also a rather uncomfortable thing, if you look at it a certain way. For the audience, I mean. As I've said, these actors are adults, now. They've gone through puberty. We can assume they're having sex. Hell, an episode of the brilliant Ricky Gervais / Stephen Merchant series "Extras" centered around this very topic, with a horny Daniell Radcliffe stalking a film set with a condom burning a hole in his pocket, eager to get laid.

It was funny, but it also raises a question, at least to me: is it okay to find these now-adult actors sexually attractive?

If you surf the web long enough (12 seconds), you'll surely find multitudes of message board posts commenting on "how hot" Emma Watson is, or how Daniel Radcliffe "looks dreamy" (sorry Rupert "Thunderpants" Grint!). Civilized society says that these actors are of legal age, so it's okay to find them attractive. But think about it. Millions of people have seen the "Harry Potter" films. These actors will forever be tied to their signature characters. And they first appeared in "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" as children.

Sure, Emma Watson is an attractive woman now...

 ...But she used to be a cute kid.

                                                         

That's how we were introduced to her. For every guy who looks at a photo of Miss Watson at the premiere of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1" and thinks I'd hit that, they have to reconcile that image with their memories of the same actress as a ten year-old child. Doesn't that make them feel a little like a pedophile?

Let's look at Shirley Temple, as an example.

She was the first child star, becoming a bonafide icon in 1934's "Stand Up And Cheer!" at the age of 5. Within two years, she was one of the most recognized people in the world. Everyone knew Shirley Temple. She retired from the business in 1950, on the day she married Charles Alden Black, a man nine years her senior.
Now obviously Mr. Black was aware of Shirley Temple before he met her in the flesh. He was probably in a similar situation to many of the young men who now hold lust in their hearts for Emma Watson. Black had certainly seen at least several of her films, featuring Temple as a precocious, singing and dancing little moppet. And yet, one day he met Shirley Temple and thought to himself, I'd hit that. And he did. They had two kids.

I'm just wondering how he could get it up if Temple's stirring rendition of "The Good Ship Lollipop" kept creeping into his mind, unbidden. How far back in her filmography did Black's lovely wife become persona non grata?

Now I know that everybody started out as a child, and despite that knowledge,we've still managed to fuck our way into a worldwide population of 6 billion+ without feeling like a species of hapless pedophiles in the clutches of Chris Hansen. But for most of us, aside from a few pictures in an old photo album or the occassional home movie, we have little evidence to remind us that the people we choose to love were once delightful little children.

All I know is that like most heterosexual males in my demographic, I've looked at pictures of Emma Watson at the premiere of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" and absent-mindedly thought I'd hit that. But then I think about it for a few seconds, and I start to feel a little creeped-out. Then I watch "Extras" and see Daniel Radcliffe fling a condom at Diana Rigg's head, and I laugh.

I'm easily distracted.

P.S. - I'll be back to talk about "Faster" in a few days. You've been warned.