Memories Published in Print

I was a little boy growing up in a small town in the mountains of Southwest Virginia. I was far, far away from the big city. I was a boy with a head full of dreams and fantasies - an imagination fueled by colorful, flickering images on the television screen and my mother's excited storytelling at bedtime.

Growing up, there weren't really any kids in my neighborhood. Looking back on that, I'm very thankful for this. It made me improvise - it strengthened my imagination and gave me the opportunity to play for hours with my mom and dad on the ugly brown carpet of our single-wide trailer. My sister played a big part in all of this too, even though she was 12 years older than me and caught up in the world of driver's licenses and high school dances.

I would wrestle with my father. In the course of a day we might have two or three matches, each time I would do my best impersonation of a prime time superstar. Isn't it funny what sticks with you? I remember the sunlight bathing that ugly brown carpet, and feeling its warmth on my bare chest as I flexed in Masters of the Universe underwear. I would take off running and pounce on my father, barking like the Junkyard Dog. I would jump off the back of the couch like Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka and catch my father with a flying crossbody block. I remember his laugh, clear as a bell - it was mixed with an "oomph!" as if I knocked the breath out of him.

I remember being read to. I remember the summer of 1989, June to be specific. I wasn't even four years old, believe it or not. This was the first time I remember going to the movie theater. My mom took me to see Tim Burton's Batman, and the place was so packed I had to sit on her lap the whole time - and I did so eagerly, because as a kid isn't that the best seat in the whole world?

I remember going to kindergarten, walking away from my mother and watching her cry. She would follow the school bus to Macy McClaugherty Elementary and watch me walk in the school. I would go on to make friends and we would visit each other's houses and do all the things little boys do. We'd play with G.I. Joes and Ninja Turtles and Wrestlers - but I noticed immediately that I played different from the majority of kids.

Whereas other little boys would violently smash their toys against one another, I would very carefully plot out a whole sequence of events. I would commentate my wrestling matches and choreograph the whole deal. I would spend hours alone in my room with a sea of Star Wars toys, creating new stories and adventures for Han, Luke and Leia to take part in.

As a kid in a small town, being a fan of something meant unyielding passion and dedication. The only way to get news about Star Wars or movies or comic books was magazines back then, and boy did I love them. My mom broke down at some point in the early '90s and got me a subscription to The Lucasfilm Fan Club Magazine. Every two months I got to devour news about Star Wars, Willow, Indiana Jones and whatever else George Lucas and ILM might be working on.

I remember going to the library and finding these books about movies. There were books about films like Alien, The Fly, Terminator, and The Thing. I don't really know how to explain them, but they seemed to be aimed at young adults. Essentially they were just full-color pictures from the movie with a semi-detailed outline of the film's plot. Being as these films were rated-R, this was the only way for me to really see them.

It was about this time that Terminator 2: Judgment Day came out, and while I didn't see it in theaters - my mom broke down because of my unrelenting passion for monsters and robots and rented it. This was such a monumental moment in my life. Films like Robocop, Predator, Terminator and Aliens were movies that, as an eight-year-old, I had no business watching - but I devoured them, and my mother recognized my ability to distinguish them as movies and not real life. She nurtured that love, being the horror fan she is, and allowed me to have an amazing childhood filled with creatures beyond imagination.

I once wrote a letter to the Kenner Corporation, I must have been in fifth or sixth grade at the time. I demanded Kenner make action figures, vehicles and playsets that were more faithful to the film Aliens. I didn't understand why Apone was wearing a yellow t-shirt and had a bionic arm. I wanted a Vasquez toy to play with. I wanted a Hudson that could break down and whine about everything. I wanted a colonist who had a lever in her back that allowed a baby alien to burst out of her ribcage.

My mom helped me write the letter and we sent it off. A few weeks later I actually got a response. I don't remember it exactly, but there was a part in there where they thanked me for my "dedication and appreciation" of their product. Wouldn't you know it, a few years later Hudson and Vasquez made it to shelf pegs. I felt proud - like I had made a difference.

Being a fan back then meant hard work. It meant going out and digging through the wreckage of a popular culture that often buried the things people found themselves obsessed with. I was born in 1984, one year after Return of the Jedi. Growing up, no one my age was playing with Star Wars toys. No one was talking about it at school. It was just me, traveling to flea markets, auctions and yard sales with my parents in search of artifacts from another time - the mysterious era of 1977-1983.

I truly loved it. Getting up early, driving to Dublin and walking through the gravel lots of the flea market - digging through boxes of happy meal toys in search of a Tusken Raider or a Walrus Man. I'll never forget the year that my sister got me Boba Fett and Admiral Ackbar for my birthday. She found them from some vendor at the mall, but they held a mystical quality to me.

I was my own kind of archaeologist, piecing together a past filled with colorful action figures. Every time Mom dragged me to the grocery store or the pharmacy, I was at the mercy of the magazine rack. There they were: Starlog, Fangoria, Wizard, GamePro and Electronic Gaming Monthly - all waiting to be picked up and thumbed through by my eager little fingers.

I think back to those times, and I miss them dearly. I don't know many other kids at the time who were actively subscribing to magazines and delving deep into a hobby. And here I was, barely getting the grasp of Earth Science and I had too many hobbies to keep up with. I developed a love for monster movies and would flip through Fangoria to see all the gross stuff that was edited out of television airings of movies like Friday the 13th and Nightmare on Elm Street.

Nowadays, the world of being an enthusiast is much different. No real work is involved in finding information, for better or for worse. I can research topics infinitely now. I can connect with other fans via online communities and message boards, but it seems empty in a way - shallow even. There's no real work being put into the art of delivering the information. Everything is in bite-size morsels to appease our ever-shortening attention spans.

I recently picked up the 20th anniversary edition of Empire Magazine, guest-edited by Steven Spielberg and was swept up with nostalgia as I devoured every single line of every article in this spectacular magazine. I could have acquired all of the information contained in this lovely magazine from Wikipedia or various websites, but it wouldn't have been written nearly as well - and it wouldn't be as personal.

When you read a magazine, the full-color pictures pop on those shiny pages, and you eagerly gobble every word up one after another. When you come across something that excites you, you can grip the magazine tight - you can hold it up close to your face and stare at the picture hoping to find something hidden in the background - no scrolling or zooming required. You get a concise, well-conceived article that was edited and read over several times. You get a finished product, whereas the Internet is in a constant state of copy-edit and nothing is concrete - nothing is ever in print.

The magazine is dying. The Lucasfilm Fan Club Magazine has since become The Star Wars Insider, but it still limps on - it's just a lot thinner than it used to be, and not nearly as compelling. Why make the trip to the dusty lots of Dublin Flea Market when Ebay promises convenience and the guarantee of finding rare antiquities? Why write letters to Kenner when you could twitter some executive about a particular product?

I wonder, will my kids grow up in a world where all information is digital? Will they have Kindle textbooks and iPods filled with podcasts of assignments and study guides? Will they know the joy of sitting in a corner somewhere with a book or magazine, feeling as if they're discovering something obscure - something aimed at a specific audience of enthusiasts with limitless passion?

I'd like to imagine there are those out there like me - members of the X & Y generations who have fond memories of what it meant to be a hobbyist in the '80s: to spend a healthy chunk of your free time at drug store magazine racks and flea markets searching for something special - something that made you feel different and unique and a part of something bigger. I hope they'll carry on the tradition.

I've enjoyed reading this issue of Empire Magazine. There are some absolutely fantastic articles in here that remind me of those good old days. Jack Nicholson reminisces about his friend Stanley Kubrick. Steven Spielberg, Peter Jackson and Stephen King talk about the influence of Forrest J. Ackerman on their careers. Ackerman was the creator of Famous Monsters of Filmland, another wonderful genre-specific magazine for monster-loving weirdos such as myself.

I look back on my childhood. All those evenings spent playing in the floor with my Mom - the numerous wrestling matches with Dad - were more influential on the rest of my life than they'll ever know I suppose. In many ways, I'm still that same little boy. Everyone around me has grown up. I have a full-time job and responsibilities and bills to pay - but I still yearn to sit in the floor and play with toys. I have the insatiable need to find a stack of magazines and devour them one by one.

Maybe this wave of nostalgia is hitting because it's summer time, and with the heat comes flea markets and yard sales and dusty archaeological digs through boxes of toys and tables covered in books and magazines. I long for it - I long for the chance to uncover artifacts from a childhood where not a minute was wasted on reality.

I'm in a sad, adventurous, child-like mood at the moment. The perfect song for this occasion is "Wake Up" by The Arcade Fire. Go ahead, take a listen:



Related Reading:

INTERNET-AGE WRITING SYLLABUS AND COURSE OVERVIEW.

Drag Me to Hell

Drag Me to Hell
Eye-popping goodness!

The wind howls. Dead leaves dance across a freshly dug grave. Lightning cracks and paints the swollen sky purple and black like a bruise. Gnarled, twisted tree branches tap against the windowpane, and rusty hinges groan a chorus of creaks and screeches as doors rattle in their frames.

This is the deliciously frightening world of director Sam Raimi. An off-the-rails haunted fun house ride at the mercy of a demonic carnival attendant – that’s probably the best way to describe Raimi’s iconic horror panache. The director’s cult legacy was spawned out of films like The Evil Dead, Evil Dead II, Darkman and Army of Darkness, where Raimi blended comedy and horror into gooey, pulpy, cinematic goodness.

Raimi departed from the genre to direct films like The Quick and the Dead and For The Love of the Game, which did little to showcase his unique sensibilities to mainstream audiences. Eventually, Raimi lucked out and went Hollywood with three blockbuster Spider-Man films, which brings us up to current events. Raimi has gone back to his roots and delivered his signature haunted house carnival ride experience with Drag Me to Hell.


Cue the retro Universal Pictures logo. After evicting an elderly woman from her home, loan officer Christine Brown (Alison Lohman) finds herself the recipient of a supernatural curse, which turns her life into a living hell. Desperate, she turns to a psychic to save her soul from damnation while evil forces push her closer to madness.

Everything about this film feels like classic Universal Horror. There are gypsies and palm readers and ancient rituals to be carried out. In the vein of an EC Comics story, Drag Me to Hell makes no apologies for being as gloriously disgusting and scary as it can be. It’s downright spooktacular – a celebration of screams and squeals for cult horror fans to relish.

There are several references to The Evil Dead, including a lovely little eye-popping sequence that will leave you squealing with grossed-out glee. Drag Me to Hell is rated PG-13 and abandons the recent trend of ‘torture porn’ horror and opts for old-fashioned chills instead. For any filmmaker who has made a PG-13 horror film in the past 10 years, Raimi just dismissed you from the field.

Set to become an instant cult classic, Drag Me to Hell" is a flawless exercise in genre filmmaking. It was funny. It was scary. It was intrusive. It was revolting. It was a damn good time. See this film in a packed house and enjoy the ride.


"This is a tasty burger!"

2050

In the year 2050, I will be 65 years old. What will the world be like in 2050? I can't help but think about the futuristic visions of countless artists and visionaries that will have influenced life in the way that art often does. In my mind I see a hodge-podge of "Blade Runner" and "Minority Report" with a touch of "The Dark Tower" and "The Road."

What will music sound like in 2050? Will Nickelback be considered classic Rock 'n' Roll? What will food taste like? I wonder if our entire society will devolve into a coupling of morbidly obese people and the machines that serve them, like in Pixar's "Wall-E." Will there be flying cars? Will there be cures to diseases like AIDS and Cancer or Aging? Will there be cryogenic freezing that reanimates the dead?

What will I be like? What will I look and sound like? Will I be a grown man by the age of 65? My parents will have passed on - my sister will be 77 years old. Her three sons will be married and have their own families. What will my family be like? How many children? What will their names be? What will the public school system be like in 2050? Will knowledge be beamed into their brains ala "The Matrix?"

Will there be cloning and teleportation and colonies established on the Moon and Mars? Will aliens invade and fulfill our blockbuster fantasies of Death Ray devastation? I wonder what species will die out by 2050. I imagine sitting around saying, "Hey, remember whales?" or "It's crazy there used to be farmers who raised cows and chickens and such creatures."

I think we all fear dying because secretly, we don't want to see the world go on without us. We like to believe that the world would be nothing with out us - that everyone before us was merely put on this planet to make a path for us. I hate to think of all the things I'll miss. The movies. The revelations. The grandchildren and great grandchildren. But I guess that's what cryogenic freezing is for.

By 2050, I'd like to think we'll all have robots and take holidays via commercial spacecraft to Mars. I have a feeling it will be a more shiny version of the present. There will be touch-screen monitors and the whole world will look like an Apple Store. Lightsabers won't be created and the army won't create real-life Transformers for modern warfare.

Dinosaurs won't be brought back to life. Aliens won't visit our backwater planet. We could only be so lucky to be part of the collective species that witnesses the end of it all. The Doomsday Device. The Apocalypse. An Extinction Level Event. The Michael Bay-style Armageddon that would tear our world apart.

No, we'll never live to see that day regretfully. We'll just have to be content with growing old and seeing the deterioration of our planet and our species. If you ask me, I'd rather have the asteroid.

Terminator: Salvation

Terminator: Salvation
Resistance is futile…

“It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with. It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead.” – Kyle Reese

In retrospect, it sounds like Kyle Reese was delivering a commentary on the current state of the film industry, which in many ways is very similar to a Terminator. Both entities are cold and robotic and inhumanly efficient. Hollywood can’t be bargained with. It can’t be reasoned with – especially if a profit is to be made.

The programming of Hollywood dictates the following protocol: Take something that was successful and innovative in the past and suck the life out of it until it's dead and empty inside. And then, wait a few years and reboot the whole damn franchise.

Back in 2003 writers John Brancato and Michael Ferris, along with director Jonathan Mostow, did just that. They took James Cameron’s landmark science-fiction series and buried it in an underground bunker with “Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines.”

Brancato and Ferris must have sold their soul to the Devil, because it’s 2009 and somehow they’re writing another “Terminator” picture and this time they’ve traded out Mostow for the guy who directed those “Charlie’s Angels” movies.

The McG-directed “Terminator: Salvation” takes place in 2018, long after Judgment Day and the nuclear holocaust that obliterated much of humanity. In the bleak, nuclear wasteland of California, pockets of resistance led by John Connor (Christian Bale) struggle to delay their extinction from Skynet’s murderous machines.


First thing’s first. “Terminator: Salvation” is not an atrocious, blasphemous film. It’s a competent action movie and vast improvement from “Rise of the Machines,” and at this point – that’s all a Terminator fan can ask for. With that being said, “Terminator: Salvation” has a few things going for it, but in the end the big mistakes hold it back from being what it should have been – a return to form for the franchise.

The dialogue throughout is utterly generic and poorly delivered. In the opening sequence, the discourse between actors Sam Worthington and Helena Bonham Carter is downright dreadful. I’d rather watch Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman stumble over George Lucas’s schmaltzy sweet talk than have to hear the line, “So that’s what death tastes like” again.

The cast of “Terminator: Salvation” is riddled with hits and misses. Sam Worthington is great as Marcus Wright, but Anton Yelchin (“Star Trek”) steals the show as a young Kyle Reese – who later travels back in time and becomes John Connor’s father. Bryce Dallas Howard takes over for Claire Danes in the role of Kate Connor, though her part is so minimal one has to wonder if the only reason she’s in the film is because T3 put her into the Terminator canon.

The biggest question I’ve been mulling over in my mind is simply, “Was Christian Bale the right choice for John Connor?” At the end of the day, I’m still not sure. Bale’s a great actor, but his portrayal of Connor is nothing but your standard action hero with one hell of a headache screaming into every radio he can find.


There’s only one moment in this film where I felt I was watching John Connor – thanks to some cues from “Terminator 2: Judgment Day.” In one sequence, Connor puts on some Guns N Roses and goes into hacker mode with his handheld terminal, overriding a robotic motorcycle.

“Terminator: Salvation” has all the grandeur of a video game cut scene. The story progresses through a series of well-choreographed action sequences that dazzle the eyes and ears. While the sound design on the film is crisp and engaging, Danny Elfman’s score is distracting and out of place. Elfman’s score does little to recapture the horror and foreboding nature of the original Terminator films, and the signature sound of Brad Fiedel’s theme is only tossed in as homage to the T-800’s cameo appearance.

McG’s film is filled with a vast vocabulary of sounds and images that will satiate any moviegoer’s urges for entertainment, but for those looking for a more intelligent continuation of James Cameron’s beloved franchise, “Terminator: Salvation” is a little underwhelming. But hey, at least it’s better than “Rise of the Machines.”

"The future is not set, there is no fate but what we make for ourselves.” If McG is brought back to direct the next inevitable Terminator film, we can only hope that he learns from his mistakes here and makes a truly memorable movie. Oh, and McG – if you’re reading this – you’ve got to get some better writers for this film. Why not give Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci a call?

* This is either the most negative “positive” review I’ve ever written, or the most positive “negative” review ever. Take your pick, either way this film is decent so if you like the franchise then give it a look.

** See this film for Anton Yelchin - the guy practically channels Michael Biehn in his portrayal as Kyle Reese. After "Charlie Bartlett" and "Star Trek," Yelchin is on the brink of blowing up.



"I doubt your commitment to Sparkle Motion."

See What Happens...

I've been watching a lot of films lately. This is the first time in a couple of years that I've really committed myself to watching movies on a schedule. I'm watching a lot of films for the first time and also going back and revisiting some amazing movies that are collecting dust in my library.

This intense cinematic spree, coupled with a pair of wonderful podcasts by Joe and Melissa Johnson, has reinvigorated my love for film and my continuing appreciation of it. I would highly recommend the podcasts Watching The Directors and Watching Theology for anyone with an interest in the art of film and the themes that exist within them.

For the past two or three weeks now, I've delved into the films of Akira Kurosawa. In college I attended a Kurosawa film festival and watched a couple of his works for a film class but this is my first time exploring his entire body of work. I would highly recommend watching the following:

• Seven Samurai (1954)
  
• Throne of Blood (1957)
  
• The Hidden Fortress (1958)
  
• Yojimbo (1961)
  
• Sanjuro (1962)
  
• Rashomon (1950)
  

Kurosawa's films are simply beautiful. The composition of every frame is flawless. Kurosawa started out as a painter (and storyboarded his films using full-scale paintings) and even to the untrained eye, one can admire the dream-like quality of his films.

Tonight I'll be watching Kurosawa's 1980 film, Kagemusha. When Toho Studios couldn't fulfill the budget demands of the film, George Lucas and Francis Ford Coppola helped Akira Kurosawa by convincing 20th Century-Fox (still riding high after the success of Lucas' Star Wars) to fund the remaining portion of the budget in exchange for international distribution rights. Pretty cool, huh?

Even if you've never seen a Kurosawa film, you've felt his influence in numerous films. Kurosawa's Seven Samurai is one of the four films Spielberg watches before he goes out to direct his next picture. Seven Samurai was also remade as The Magnificent Seven, a American Western adaptation directed by John Sturges. His film Yojimbo was also remade as A Fistful of Dollars, dircted by Sergio Leone and starring Clint Eastwood.

In fact, the film's US release was delayed when "Yojimbo" screenwriters Akira Kurosawa and Ryuzo Kikushima sued the filmmakers for breach of copyright. Kurosawa and Kikushima won, and as a result received 15% of the film's worldwide gross and exclusive distribution rights for Japan, Taiwan and South Korea. Kurosawa said later he made more money off of this project than he did on Yojimbo. -- IMDB

Jesse "The Body" Ventura

He's a Pro Wrestler, a stellar color commentary legend and a Navy Seal. On top of all of these amazing accomplishments, he went one-on-one with the Predator. He's also responsible for perhaps the greatest single line of dialogue ever delivered in a full-length motion picture:

"Bunch of slack-jawed faggots around here. This stuff will make you a god damned sexual Tyrannosaurus, just like me."

My hero.

Off My Chest

I don't care. It's just that simple. Whatever passion or spark that existed inside of me has, for the time being at least, died out. I can't write anymore. I feel nothing. I am not inspired. I am afraid of everything. I cannot complete simple tasks like going to the DMV or the dentist without having a panic attack.

I do not like it here. I do not fit in. I feel as if I'm a complete stranger, an alien in a foreign world that is frightened and alone. I am a rubberized ball of anxiety, bouncing off one awkward social experience to the next. I am dying to make a friend. I am dying for social interaction - to feel like I belong - yet I remain distant and cold and closed off.

I am not special. There is no great plan or destiny for me. Fate has abandoned me. There is no magic or mystery to be found in the day-to-day workings of my world. I am utterly complacent. I come home from work and I do nothing because that's all I can do. I play board games by myself to pass the time. I watch films and pretend I'm viewing them with other people and imagine the conversations we might have about them.

I bullshit my way through life. I long for the ability to crawl into cabinets, to lay under tables, and dream of fantastic things. I want to play with toys. I want to stop faking. I'm weak. I'm afraid. I'm a complete and total phony. And I'm not special.

Because of this, I make those around me miserable with my own moroseness. I'm cynical, jaded, and an all-around grouchy old man of a 24-year-old. I am a curmudgeon who is never satisfied nor pleased with anything. I admit all of these things, because they need to be said. Not for you to read, but for me to read.

I miss home. I miss friends. I miss family. I feel as if I have no potential. I feel slightly dead inside - hollowed out in a way. I will wake up tomorrow, go to the gym, eat breakfast and go to work. I will be miserable. I will come home and stare at a television screen for hours until Jessica comes home. I will become restless. I will shift my weight from side to side and walk aimlessly around the living room.

I will have a million things to say, none of which are interesting or important or thoughtful. I will have no outlet for these thoughts - no one to share with. I think of my mom, who loves horror movies and science fiction, and my dad who falls asleep during most movies (unless they're westerns) and how he shies away from any kind of scary movie. My mom watches her TV, and Dad watches his. They share things in common - an unhealthy fandom for reality television - but I imagine a twinge of sadness in my mom that I'm not there and she has no one to watch movies with... and that makes me hurt for some reason.

Silly, right? Of all the things to feel brokenhearted about... but it's all relatable, right? We all form some kind of bond or relationship - we all have our own little pleasures and secrets and idiosyncrasies - and when we lose that bond, the ability to share those pleasures and interests - there's a hole left in our hearts that cannot be filled. Because so much of my life (in my mind) has been defined by movies, I instantly reach out for a metaphor about distance and the difference between movie genres - but those kinds of differences exist in any relationship.

You like yogurt, I like tomatoes. You like driving the speed limit, I like speeding. I love horror films, you love period pieces. Yet we have enough common threads to keep us strung together. I don't know what I'm trying to say. It's 2:45 a.m. and the preceding text has flowed out of my fingers because I am so despondent and lost at the moment.

Sometimes I just feel broken and meaningless, like that little hole in my heart is actually a black hole, and it's slowly sucking everything away until I'm turned inside-out.

Art & Film

cin⋅e⋅ma [sin-uh-muh]
noun
1. the cinema, motion pictures collectively, as an art.

"No form of art goes beyond ordinary consciousness as film does, straight to our emotions, deep into the twilight room of the soul. A little twitch in our optic nerve, a shock effect: twenty-four illuminated frames in a second, darkness in between, the optic nerve incapable of registering darkness. At the editing table, when I run the trip of film through, frame by frame, I still feel that dizzy sense of magic of my childhood: in the darkness of the wardrobe, I slowly wind one frame after another, see almost imperceptible changes, wind faster a movement." - Ingmar Bergman

"For me, film-making combines everything. That's the reason I've made cinema my life's work. In films, painting and literature, theatre and music come together. But a film is still a film." - Akira Kurosawa


To the majority of American moviegoers, films are seen as events - opportunities to escape reality for two hours. The word "art" often implies a lack of, well, profit. Film studios advertise big summer blockbusters that you can't afford to miss - we're sold toys and video games and t-shirts and fast food XXL combos with super heroes and action stars on them - and the idea that even the most entertaining blockbuster can be considered as art is lost in the process... because being artistic and thought-provoking doesn't guarantee box office returns.

So what you have is a clear definition in people's minds that "art films" or "Oscar movies" aren't entertaining - they're long, boring, pretentious, meant for snobs and self-congratulatory rich industry types. I think what people fail to realize is, a deeper understanding of film as an art form - a deeper comprehension of theme, tone, color, cinematography, leads to a greater appreciation. To be a fan, to appreciate something, is a wonderful thing... but unfortunately the majority of modern day moviegoers are more interested in mindless whirls of color and sound, something to distract their mind for two hours so they can have an excuse to drink 50 oz. sodas and eat bucket upon bucket of buttery popcorn.

I'm not against entertainment - I would say I'm an overly-entertained person. Perhaps we all are. DVR, DVD, Audiobooks, On Demand, Hulu, YouTube, iTunes - instant gratification on every level of the entertainment Glam-ladder. I'm not denying the benefits of these technological "advances" - I indulge in them daily - but doesn't this constant onslaught lessen people's appreciation of the time and effort put into creating the things we consume so readily?

Hollywood, of course, doesn't seem to mind that cinema has become a mindless bankrupt business - and I can't say I blame them. Why put more effort or thought into creating something if you can make just as much money (or millions more) by remaking established franchises or creating low-budget sequels with familiar characters and brands. What's more likely to make money? A small film like Michael Dougherty's 2007 film "Trick 'r' Treat," which still hasn't seen a theatrical release, or the next inevitable "Saw" sequel?

There isn't a lack of great filmmakers, that's for sure. Steven Spielberg, Martin Scorsese, David Fincher, Christopher Nolan, Gus Van Sant, David Lynch, Tarantino, The Coens. Is it the material? A lot of people have come down on Hollywood for lacking originality. I won't completely disagree with them - the never ending stream of remakes, retellings, reimaginings, sequels, prequels, NyQuils, are enough to put a person in a constant state of Deja Vu.

But, originality isn't the most important part of a film - yes it is essential in allowing audiences to experience new things but what good is the experience without the key ingredient I find missing from most films - heart. The majority of films these days seem to lack a soul, a theme - an idea worth sharing with the audience.

I guess it goes back to The Project Triangle:

Here's the idea:

1) Design something quickly and to a high standard, but then it will not be cheap.

2) Design something quickly and cheaply, but it will not be of high quality.

3) Design something with high quality and cheaply, but it will take a long time.

It seems like the majority of Hollywood is aiming at #2. Have you noticed the time between most sequels has been cut down from 3 years to 1.5 - 2 years? Everything is churned out so quickly now - there's a new "Saw" film every Halloween. The blockbusters of 2007 are following up with sequels in 2009, the blockbusters of last year will have follow-ups next year. It's over-saturation. We're never given a chance to truly anticipate anything.

Not to mention, by the time I am middle-aged, every film that comes out in theaters will be something my generation has already seen adapted in one form or another. We'll sit through countless adaptations of '80s cartoons turned live-action films - remakes of classic films (and not-so-classic ones) and watch the overextending roster of super hero films roll on until there is a full-scale revolt.

I'm tired of writing about film in the fashion I have been. I'm going to retreat into the wilderness of classic cinema and spend some time cutting my teeth on the essence of film as art. Hopefully I'll come back with a better mind and a better understanding of writing about film and critiquing it.


"When I start on a film I always have a number of ideas about my project. Then one of them begins to germinate, to sprout, and it is this which I take and work with. My films come from my need to say a particular thing at a particular time. The beginning of any film for me is this need to express something. It is to make it nurture and grow that I write my script- it is directing it that makes my tree blossom and bear fruit." - Akira Kurosawa

"I don't want to produce a work of art that the public can sit and suck aesthetically…. I want to give them a blow in the small of the back, to scorch their indifference, to startle them out of their complacency." - Ingmar Bergman

Jacob's Chutes and Ladders

Jacob and Esau

Jacob and his twin brother, Esau, were born to Isaac and Rebecca. During her double pregnancy, Rebecca was extremely uncomfortable and went to inquire of God why she was suffering so. Whenever she would pass a house of Torah study, Jacob would struggle to come out; whenever she would pass a house of idolatry, Esau would agitate to come out.

She received the prophecy that twins were fighting in her womb and would continue to fight all their lives, even after they became two separate nations. The prophecy also said that the older would serve the younger; its statement "one people will be stronger than the other" has been taken to mean that the two nations would never gain power simultaneously: when one fell, the other would rise, and vice versa.

When the time came for Rebecca to give birth, the first to come out emerged red and hairy all over, with his heel grasped by the hand of the second to come out. Onlookers named the first Esau. The second is named Jacob, meaning "heel-catcher", "supplanter", "leg-puller", "he who follows upon the heels of one.”

The boys displayed very different natures as they matured. "Esau became a hunter, a man of the field, but Jacob was a simple man, a dweller in tents" (Genesis 25:27). Jacob asks his dark-clothed compatriot if he’d like some fish, to which he replies, “I already ate.” Perhaps this is Esau, who in the guise of John Locke, presents Richard Alpert and the Others with a bore.

Immediately after Abraham died, Jacob prepared a lentil stew as a traditional mourner's meal for his father, Isaac. The Hebrew Bible states that Esau, returning famished from the fields, begged Jacob to give him some of the stew. Jacob offered to give Esau a bowl of stew in exchange for his birthright (the right to be recognized as firstborn), and Esau agrees; the Talmudic dating indicates both men were 15 at the time.

Isaac became blind in his old age and decided to bestow the blessing of the firstborn upon Esau. Uncertain of death, he sent Esau out to the fields to trap and cook a piece of savory game for him, so that he could eat it and bless Esau.

Rebecca overheard this conversation and realized prophetically that Isaac's blessings would go to Jacob, since she was told before the twins' birth that the older son would serve the younger. She therefore ordered Jacob to bring her two goats from the flock, which she cooked in the way Isaac loved, and had him bring them to his father in place of Esau.

When Jacob protested that his father would recognize the deception and curse him as soon as he felt him, since Esau was hairy and Jacob smooth-skinned, Rebecca said that the curse would be on her instead. Before she sent Jacob to his father, she dressed him in Esau's garments and laid goatskins on his arms and neck to simulate hairy skin.

Jacob had scarcely left the room when Esau returned from the hunt to prepare his game and receive the blessing. The realization that he has been deceived shocks Isaac, yet he acknowledges that Jacob had received the blessings as sworn, by adding, "Indeed, he will be [or remain] blessed!" (27:33).

Esau was heartbroken by the deception, and begged for his own blessing. Having made Jacob a ruler over his brother, Isaac could only promise, "By your sword you shall live, but your brother you shall serve; yet it shall be that when you are aggrieved, you may cast off his yoke from upon your neck" (27:39-40).

Esau was filled with hatred toward Jacob for taking away both his birthright and his blessing. He vowed to himself to kill Jacob as soon as Isaac dies.

My thoughts:

At the beginning of “The Incident,” Jacob is wearing white – his nemesis, who we’ll call Esau, is wearing black. Esau is bearded and visibly older (signifying that he may, at one point, had the birthright if they are indeed brothers).

Do you have any idea how much I want to kill you?" Esau asks Jacob. Jacob coolly responds, “yes,” and Esau promises that he would one day find a "loophole" allowing him to do so.

I have a feeling Jacob’s nemesis is what we have come to know as The Smoke Monster. Its loophole is in taking the form of dead people and trying to manipulate others to do its will.

When Benjamin Linus goes to be judged by the Monster, Locke conveniently disappears for a while. The Monster appears before Ben and then takes the form of Alex, threatening Ben to listen to every word Locke speaks or else she would find him and "destroy" him.

So, disguised as John Locke, the Smoke Monster successfully manipulates Benjamin into killing Jacob, thus finding his loophole and taking back his birthright.

A Game Amongst Gods

"Two players. Two sides. One is light, one is dark." ("Pilot, Part 2")

Locke told Walt that Backgammon was older than Checkers, dating back 5,000 years. ("Pilot, Part 2"). Locke was referring to the Mesopotamian Royal Game of Ur, which is also related to the Egyptian game of Senet.

“One by one, you build the trap - shoe, bucket, tub - piece by piece it all comes together. And then you wait 'til your opponent lands here on the old cheese wheel. And then if you set it up just right, you spring the trap." -- John Locke explaining the game Mouse Trap.

The idea of playing games has been prevalent throughout Lost’s five seasons. Whether it’s Risk or Axis and Allies, Connect Four or Ping Pong, Chess or Backgammon, the Losties are always taking part in some sort of gaming activity.

It seems that Benjamin Linus and Charles Widmore are also playing a game. Though we don’t know the specifics of this game, there are rules. When Ben comes to visit Widmore in "The Shape of Things to Come,” Widmore assumes that Ben has come to kill him, but Ben replied, "We both know I can't do that."

By hiring a mercenary named Keamy to kill Benjamin’s daughter, Alex, Widmore had broken the rules. Ben stated that he would kill Widmore's daughter, Penelope, in retribution to make Widmore sorry he "changed the rules."

In “The Incident,” it seems another game is being played – or at least some kind of experiement. “Esau” claimed Jacob had brought the ship (The Black Rock) to the Island, saying that this would only end in fighting, destruction and corruption as it always had, a view with which Jacob disagreed. “It always ends the same.”

Jacob’s nemesis claims that Jacob is trying to “prove him wrong.” “It only ends once, everything else before that is just progress.”

Sounds like the island is a gaming board and Jacob is creating obstacles and mazes – puzzles for our Losties to solve and overcome. Every cycle before them was absolutely crucial in creating their experience on the Island.

Without the Black Rock, they would not have Dynamite to blow open the hatch. Without Rousseau’s shipwreck, there never would have been a trap to catch Benjamin Linus in. Without Henry Gale’s balloon, there would have been alias for Ben and no subsequent mystery to unravel about his identity. Without the Nigerian drug plane there never would have been Charlie’s test of willpower against the drugs, nor the discovery of the Pearl.

Everything is placed strategically on the island for Jack and his fellow castaways to discover and unravel – even the Dharma Initiative. There is no coincidence, nothing is left to chance. Jacob has orchestrated the ultimate game of Mouse Trap in an effort to prove his nemesis wrong, that people are essentially good - that a handful of people with broken souls and shattered dreams can come overcome anything.

Thanks to Wikipedia, Lostpedia and the creators of Lost for blowing my mind on a weekly basis.

My Favorite Movie

X-Men Origins: The Spin-Offs

More Origins on the way

By Adam Frazier

According to Variety, Fox Studios and Hugh Jackman’s production company are in development on a sequel to X-Men Origins: Wolverine. The sequel will focus on a samurai storyline that originated in the character’s comic panel past. While it’s unknown who will write or direct this film, you can guarantee Jackman will be on as an executive producer once more.

X-Men Origins: Wolverine may be one of the dumbest, most unnecessary films I have watched as of late. No care or respect is given to the characters or the practically transparent plot they meander about in. Anyone who has seen the previous X-Men films and has an IQ of 45 would be fully capable of creating a better story. Adamantium bullets? Jesus Christ on a crutch, are you serious Fox? (See Creative Loafing’s official review here.)

In related news, Deadpool will be getting his own spin-off. Ryan Reynolds portrayed Wade Wilson in X-Men Origins: Wolverine, a wise-cracking mercenary who later becomes a test subject of the Weapon X program. In the comics, he becomes Deadpool - a deadly assassin with Wolverine’s healing factor and a touch of ninja mystique. In Wolverine, Deadpool is pawned off as Weapon XI - a mutated amalgam of Darth Maul and Mortal Kombat’s Baraka. It’s so shameful, Ryan Reynolds doesn’t even play this character. Scott Adkins takes the role of the mutated Wilson who {SPOILER ALERT!} is subsequently decapitated by Wolverine.

This begs the question, “How in the hell do you redeem a potentially great spin-off after such a cinematic train wreck?” I can only hope for a competent director and a writer who can erase my memories of X-Men Origins: Wolverine. Where’s an adamantium bullet when you need one?

Read more at Creative Loafing

Star Trek

Star Trek
Are you out of your Vulcan mind?

By Adam Frazier

Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations; to boldly go where no man has gone before.

I am not a Trekkie. I’m not even a Trekker. I could pull up a couple of Wikipedia entries and write enough here to make myself look like an expert on the subject, but I’m going to take the high road and announce upfront my completely illogical hate for Star Trek.

Doesn’t matter if we’re talking The Original Series or Next Generation or even, dare I say, 1982’s The Wrath of Khan. I hate it. You see, I’m a reactionary Star Wars fan. A lot of people think that, just because you happen to love Star Wars means you are a fan of all science fiction – including Trek. Well, that’s just absurd.

First thing’s first; Star Wars is not science fiction. It’s space fantasy. Secondly, Star Wars has always been fast-paced and injected with adventure, excitement and stimulating visuals. Compared to George Lucas’s space western, Star Trek comes off as an exercise in how to be insufferably dull and monotonous.

This being said, I was shocked into sublime ecstasy upon viewing J.J Abrams’ Star Trek. Written by Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman (Transformers), this new take on Star Trek is packed with imaginative plot and dazzling imagery. Everything is whizzing and whirling by so fast, it’s hard not to get swept up in all the excitement.

The film details the early days of James T. Kirk (Chris Pine) and his fellow Starfleet enlistees before they unite aboard the USS Enterprise to combat Nero (Eric Bana), a Romulan from the future who threatens the United Federation of Planets.

Chris Pine and Zachary Quinto (as Mr. Spock) do exceptional jobs of distancing themselves from their predecessors’ performances while staying true to the characters. I got a real feel for what kind of man James T. Kirk was and didn’t see him as a mere caricature of William Shatner.


The supporting cast has great chemistry and every member of the Enterprise crew gets their moment to shine. Sulu has an impressive swordfight atop a cosmic drilling platform; Chekov races against time to beam crewmembers back onboard before their inescapable doom; Bones McCoy and Scotty keep us laughing while Uhura proves a Starfleet lady can be visually and intellectually stimulating.

And maybe that’s the best description I can give this film. J.J. Abrams’ Star Trek has plenty of sugarcoated computer-generated spectacle to gaze upon while also offering up a story with tension, drama and character to pull you in deeper.

Abrams has admitted that, like me, he was never much of a Trekkie – but more of a Star Wars kid, and it shows. The film is littered with evidence of its influence. Aside from the obvious speed-up to space battles, and much-needed injection of humor and excitement, there’s even a monster sequence on an ice planet. This scene, which features a beasty that resembles the Cloverfield monster, combines the “bigger fish” scene from The Phantom Menace with the Wampa’s Ice Cave sequence from The Empire Strikes Back.

Ryan Church, Neville Page, and Star Trek veteran John Eaves primarily designed the film. This is worth noting because Church has worked on Steven Spielberg’s War of the Worlds as well as all three of George Lucas’s Star Wars Prequels. Combined with the phenomenal special effects wizardry of Industrial Light & Magic, Star Trek has succeeded in being a completely dazzling and engrossing good time.

It's a good time, but it's not perfect. The film's tone can switch from tense, dramatic moments to silly humor in a split-second, and some of the sequences (like the encounter described above) seem unnecessary to the overall story but still serve as really kick-ass action pieces. To the delight of casual moviegoers (and probably the disgust of hardcore fans) this Trek is the idyllic summer blockbuster - it's just pure entertainment with no apologies.

What can I say? I’ve been converted. I'm a Trekkie. Abrams and his company of geek cronies (I’m talking to you Damon Lindelof!) have forced my hand. As I write this review, I’m watching Star Trek: The Original Series on DVD. If that isn’t a ringing endorsement, I don’t know what is. Scrape together some extra pennies and see Star Trek on the big screen opening weekend – it will be an experience you won’t soon forget.


"This is a tasty burger!"

X-Men Origins: Wolverine

X-Men Origins: Wolverine
I’d sell my soul to have Brett Ratner back…

By Adam Frazier

Directed by Gavin Hood, “X-Men Origins: Wolverine” is Marvel’s latest stab at the ever-expanding comic book genre. It’s a prequel film, which takes place before the events of Bryan Singer’s 2000 hit “X-Men.”

1845. Northwest Territories. A sickly kid named James Howlett witnesses his father’s death at the hands of Thomas Logan, his friend Victor’s father. In an act of rage and vengeance, Howlett kills the elder Logan using a set of bone claws that protrude from his hands.

With his dying breath, Logan tells James that he is, in fact, his son. James and Victor, now half-brothers, run away. Whew, that was confusing wasn’t it? Within the first five minutes of “X-Men Origins: Wolverine,” the audience is rushed through a sequence in which two fathers are murdered and two mutant half-brothers flee into the woods.

Cut to an opening credits sequence showing the now-adult brothers James (Hugh Jackman) and Victor (Liev Schreiber) fighting throughout history. The two hack and slash their way through the American Civil War, World War I, World War II, and even Vietnam, as their regenerative abilities have kept them from being killed on the battlefield.

The idea of a prequel film is that it typically reveals the origins or beginnings of a character. It would ideally elaborate on a character’s motivations, but in this case it serves as an excuse to have a couple of over-the-top action sequences complete with cliché one-liners and uninspired storytelling.

Honestly, after three “X-Men” films, there isn’t much about Wolverine’s origins that we need to know. Logan was the victim of mutant experimentation at the hands of William Stryker (played brilliantly by Brian Cox in “X2”). His skeleton was covered in an indestructible metal called Adamantium and as a result of this horrific incident Logan suffered extreme amnesia and has no memory of his past.

Lucky for him. “X-Men Origins: Wolverine” shows a younger William Stryker (Danny Huston) who approaches Wolverine and half-brother Sabretooth and offers them membership in his black-ops squad of mutants.

The team consists of completely unnecessary cameos such as Fred Dukes (Kevin Durand), who later becomes The Blob, John Wraith (will.i.am), who can teleport, Chris Bradley (Dominic Monaghan), who can control machines, expert marksman Agent Zero (Daniel Henney) and mercenary Wade Wilson (Ryan Reynolds).

I will say Ryan Reynolds was an excellent choice for Wade Wilson, who goes on to become Deadpool (we’ll get to that here in a bit). I’d also like to highlight Dominic Monaghan who does a stellar job as Bolt, the mutant equivalent to R2-D2.



Anyway, the brothers join Stryker’s team and go out on their first mission: Invade a diamond traffic operation to retrieve a fragment of meteorite. Why is this blasted rock so important? Well, it’s filled with Adamantium – that’s why!

After retrieving the meteorite, Stryker sends the team to Lagos, Nigeria to investigate if there are any other meteorites. Logan is disgusted by the murders committed by his teammates and abandons the group.

Cut to a few years later where Logan is living as a sad old lumberjack in Canada with his girlfriend Kayla. Logan’s bloodthirsty brother Sabretooth has began hunting down members of the old squad and killing them off. Eventually Sabretooth and Stryker come-a-knockin’ for wolverine and kill his blushing beauty instead.

Uh-oh. You’ve just unleashed the animal. Now Wolverine is pissed off, and he’s going to cut your goddamn head off. Somewhere in between the explosions and choreographed fight sequences, fan favorite Gambit (Taylor Kitsch) shows up.

Gambit, much like Venom in “Spider-Man 3” or Juggernaut in “X-Men: The Last Stand” is completely wasted and robbed of everything that makes him such a favorite with comic book lovers. A complete disaster is turned into a cinematic train wreck when Taylor Kitsch tries to bring this character to life.

No respect is given to the characters in this film. They are all treated as tools to push the plot along and achieve certain goals. The Blob is fat because he has an eating problem, Gambit is a two-bit gambler doing card tricks in a New Orleans nightclub, and Deadpool is turned into a combination of Darth maul and Mortal Kombat’s Baraka who takes orders via computer command.

Did I mention teenage Cyclops and Emma Frost show up? Yeah, sure, that makes sense. What’s that? You want to see more X-Men characters? YOU GOT IT! Lets throw in Patrick Stewart as a young, computer-generated Charles Xavier.

It is 2009. We’ve seen great movies that have shown the true potential of this genre – films like “The Dark Knight,” “Watchmen” and “Spider-Man.” And yet, nearly 10 years after the release of the original “X-Men” movie we’re given a pathetic, poorly executed waste of time.


Just because a film is based on a comic book or has impossible, science fiction/fantasy elements doesn’t make nonsensical, lazy writing acceptable. There are too many atrocities to detail in this review – I won’t even get into the boxing match sequence or the final battle, which looks like a scene straight out of “Spy Kids 3D.”

All I will say is, I will never watch this movie again. I have no need to ever revisit this waste of time. If anything, “X-Men Origins: Wolverine” has shown us all that Brett Ratner’s “X-Men: The Last Stand” isn’t that bad. At least that movie was about something.

In the end, Wolverine loses his memory with the help of two Adamantium bullets to the head. That’s right, the procedure doesn’t steal his memory – being shot in the head with a bullet does. Wolverine gets to go the rest of his life without remembering what just happened. If only we could be so lucky.



"Smokey, my friend, you are entering a world of pain."


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And now, a brief rant on the idiocy of this movie:

Deadpool's forearm sword-claws are longer than his actual forearms, so when they are retracted how does he bend his arms?

Wolverine's heightened sense of smell is unable to detect chemicals and fake blood on a woman he believes to be dead? Would he not be able to discern that she was, in fact, still alive?

Wolverine has gnarly bone claws as a child, but after his Weapon X experiment, they're replaced with Ginsu-sharp knives.

Sabretooth declaring, "Nobody kills you but me" as he dangles Wolverine over the edge of a nuclear reactor. THEN FUCKING DROP HIM! WHY WOULDN'T YOU!? Isn't this what you've been waiting for the entire time?

Instead, the two brothers fight side-by-side to defeat Weapon XI ( I refuse to call that terrible excuse for a character Deadpool). Afterward, Wolverine states, "This doesn't change anything between us!" Except it does, because you're helping Sabretooth up and you no longer want to kill him... which has been exactly what you've wanted to do this entire god-forsaken movie.

Gambit, the only mutant to escape Stryker's island, sure is keeping a low profile by sitting in a fucking nightclub doing stupid mutant magic tricks in front of EVERYONE.

Fucking lame. Any person who has watched the previous "X-Men" films and has an IQ of 45 could have come up with a better story. Adamantium bullets... Jesus Christ on a crutch, are you serious Fox?

Please, save your money - do not support this garbage. By paying money to see this, you're telling studios that you want to see dumb, half-assed projects with no respect or passion for what they're doing.

Save your money for "Star Trek."