tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13760139029194969412024-03-13T14:56:19.385-04:00Wicked Stupid PlotlessC.E. Jenkinshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04492744411600526877noreply@blogger.comBlogger147125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-19570777816998342282015-07-09T19:37:00.001-04:002015-07-09T19:37:08.218-04:00It's Time to Move On<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/StarGazer" target="_blank">StarGazer</a><br />
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After much consideration, <a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/WordMaster" target="_blank">WordMaster</a> and I have decided that the time has come to close up shop at <i>Wicked Stupid Plotless</i>. Originally started by our friend <a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/CE%20Jenkins" target="_blank">C.E. Jenkins</a>, this blog has been a blast to work on, a casual outlet where we could express our opinions and thoughts on our favorite subjects, and posting here has helped me make me a better, more mature writer. When we first launched this blog four years ago, we were fresh-faced kids entering college, but now that we have both graduated, it seems appropriate to start charting a new path.<br />
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Although we won't post on this blog anymore, all of our posts will remain up for reading, and we both plan to still write. I am starting a blog at <a href="http://lovinglyderivative.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">lovinglyderivative.wordpress.com</a>, where I will focus on territory similar to what I discussed here (i.e. pop culture with an emphasis on movies and TV), while you can find WordMaster at <a href="https://theauramusings.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">theauramusings.wordpress.com/</a>.<br />
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Thank you for reading, and I hope you will follow us on our new ventures.<br />
<br />StarGazerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12015069055645559061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-21258708864815664802015-07-06T19:49:00.000-04:002015-07-06T19:49:32.295-04:00Magic Mike XXL Does Its Thang<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/WordMaster" target="_blank">WordMaster</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-CnIICUto7KpyWVmASz8uRpgISN6jNYyGOvRUYBORjQ_sIPMX19a2epJiiek_UogGo3onTu62j96KHQnTEhIc5Y3PtRSYOKNSxvY-DC6aY2Tto0roN8NxoQFc8KKD-xKOetTctKR2cXc/s1600/magicmikexxl-mv-21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-CnIICUto7KpyWVmASz8uRpgISN6jNYyGOvRUYBORjQ_sIPMX19a2epJiiek_UogGo3onTu62j96KHQnTEhIc5Y3PtRSYOKNSxvY-DC6aY2Tto0roN8NxoQFc8KKD-xKOetTctKR2cXc/s400/magicmikexxl-mv-21.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> Magic Mike</i> was
essentially an art house movie. Endowed with a modest $7 million budget, the
2012 Channing Tatum vehicle was branded a “surprise hit” when it grossed $167
million worldwide and garnered warm critical reviews, including sincere (if
ultimately futile) Oscar buzz for costar Matthew McConaughey. Interestingly,
though, the reason <i>Magic Mike</i> gained
legitimacy with critics also served as the basis for audiences’ most vocal
complaint: for a film whose popular appeal stemmed almost entirely from the
promise of hot, naked men, it’s a rather serious affair, dealing with the
then-ongoing economic recession and drug addiction. Or, as Tatum succinctly <a href="http://www.ew.com/article/2015/04/10/magic-mike-xxl-ew-preview">put it</a>,
people wanted “less story. Less plot. Just dudes’ things.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> On that
front, the sequel delivers. Appropriately titled <i>Magic Mike XXL</i>, it costs twice as much as its predecessor ($14.8
million, still economical compared to most high-profile summer flicks these
days) and throws restraint out the window. To say there’s a story here would be
lenient. The first hour or so teases us with a flimsy narrative about coping
with disappointment in life, but any semblance of genuine conflict dissipates
by the time Mike and co. arrive at the exclusive club run by Jada Pinkett
Smith’s suave emcee Rome. At this point, the film, helmed by frequent Steven
Soderbergh collaborator Gregory Jacobs, sheds its semi-respectable guise and reveals
itself as a full-blown musical, a parade of exuberant dance and song numbers (the
latter courtesy of Matt Bomer and Donald Glover) punctuated by snippets of
dialogue. The soundtrack is seductively frothy, with tracks as varied as the
Backstreet Boys’s “I Want It That Way” and Nine Inch Nails’s “Closer” competing
to get lodged in your head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Above
all else, however, <i>Magic Mike XXL</i>’s
success depends on its cast. It’s hard not to miss McConaughey, who more or
less singlehandedly elevated the original from disposable trifle to enjoyable
romp with his swaggering, charismatic turn as the sleazy Dallas; the <i>XXL</i> actors seem to realize this, as they
spend a good chunk of the first act alternately lamenting and joking about his
absence. Jada Pinkett Smith comes closest to filling that Texas-sized hole, emanating
“cool” with her fedora and platform heels, though her character is too underdeveloped
to make a lasting impression. As for the central crew, they get the job done
where it matters: namely, they’re sexy as hell. Joe Manganiello (aka the
werewolf from <i>True Blood</i>) is
especially fun to watch, having been gifted the movie’s most memorable scene,
and Tatum brings more of the agile dance moves and unpretentious charm that’ve
made him an unexpected star. They all share a good-natured, bro-y chemistry
that’s weirdly endearing; unlike with most dude-centric movie friendships, you
really get the sense that these people care about each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Funnily,
though, for all the spectacle and hype, <i>Magic
Mike XXL</i> is light on actual nudity. There are no full-frontal shots, which
will no doubt be disappointing to some, and in fact, many of the stripping
scenes are performed clothed, like the one pictured above. The provocative
creativity of the original has been replaced by something more playful and
tame, aimed more at amusing the audience than shocking or arousing them;
tellingly, the camera during the climactic routine focuses on the spectators’
and participants’ reactions instead of fixating on the entertainers’ sculpted
bodies. The whole thing is bathed in sleek yet natural-looking lighting,
warding off any hint of sleaze (<i>Magic
Mike</i> director Steven Soderbergh has returned as cinematographer, editor and
executive producer, and his influence is visible in the abundance of yellow
tones). It’s all very <i>nice</i>, which isn’t
a bad thing so much as just not what you expect from a movie about male
strippers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Still, what it lacks in
titillation, the movie makes up for in thoughtfulness. Despite containing exactly
zero sex scenes, <i>Magic Mike XXL</i> is
one of the most intriguing cinematic explorations of sexuality in recent years.
How often do you see a mainstream Hollywood production that features a drag
show and doesn’t turn it into a joke? Or that treats fat women as equally
deserving of attention and pleasure as skinny women? It’s a fitting climax to a
movie season that’s been surprisingly kind to women, showcasing everything from
a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mad_Max:_Fury_Road">female-centric action
extravaganza</a> to a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inside_Out_(2015_film)">female-centric
coming-of-age tale</a> and a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spy_(2015_film)">female-centric fish-out-of-water
comedy</a>. Similar to <i>Mad Max: Fury Road</i>,
it presents a female power fantasy, but whereas the former envisioned women
actually overthrowing the patriarchy, <i>Magic
Mike XXL</i> simply imagines a world in which women’s desires are taken
seriously and they receive the utmost respect. If the idea that women want men
to worship them sounds a tad quixotic and old-fashioned, it is, and the movie
plays it as such – this is, after all, a musical. Yet in a reality where women
have to struggle just to be seen as human beings, a film that not only
acknowledges but <i>welcomes</i> them as an
audience feels more than refreshing; it’s downright radical.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Links:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.fandango.com/magicmikexxl_179882/moviephotosposters"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">http://www.fandango.com/magicmikexxl_179882/moviephotosposters</span></a></span></div>
Amy Woolseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01071851553114959861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-52594647424390530092015-07-06T12:16:00.000-04:002015-07-06T12:16:17.887-04:00Pixar Lets Audiences in on Its Secrets in Inside Out<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/StarGazer" target="_blank">StarGazer</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwh9TlG1dxesXftmUiYUfPACrJycbNN07xIc45Boji2a246d_a25IuGToPTWl77cZcY5eNg5EQmatIW3l54LXV7V0kWnvSogrxxDDlmoIg8CMd03qoUNAFHhA5O0UY4CBMWSgrC7Z9eDo/s1600/Inside+Out_Joy+looking+happy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwh9TlG1dxesXftmUiYUfPACrJycbNN07xIc45Boji2a246d_a25IuGToPTWl77cZcY5eNg5EQmatIW3l54LXV7V0kWnvSogrxxDDlmoIg8CMd03qoUNAFHhA5O0UY4CBMWSgrC7Z9eDo/s400/Inside+Out_Joy+looking+happy.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i> Inside Out </i>is vintage Pixar. After
spending a few years <a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/2013/11/a-childhood-disillusioned.html">mired
in an adolescent funk</a>, the studio has emerged with a take on the
coming-of-age story that’s as clever as it is poignant and that suggests a newfound
sense of maturity. For his follow-up to, well, <i>Up</i>,<i> </i>director Pete Docter,
along with a pitch-perfect voice cast and Pixar’s usual team of genius
animators, explores the uncertainties of growing up and the complex interplay
between emotion and memory by delving into the mind of an 11-year-old girl. The
result is a film of such piercing yet exquisite intimacy that writing this
review seems like a fruitless endeavor, since no words could adequately convey
that feeling. The sensation of watching <i>Inside
Out</i> lingers long after details about the plot and particular jokes begin to
fade.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Pixar’s latest work is most
reminiscent not of any Disney or animated movie, but of last year’s <i>Boyhood</i>. While Richard Linklater’s flick
offers a more anxious and ambivalent outlook on life, an attitude concisely
captured by Patricia Arquette’s wrenching final line, both movies are as much
about parenting as they are about being a kid, in part because their makers are
unavoidably coming from that perspective, and with their white, middle-class,
presumed-to-be-heterosexual protagonists, they largely adhere to popular
imaginings of childhood as happy, suburban havens of innocence. These
romanticized depictions are so often reproduced by Hollywood they’ve taken on an
almost mythic status, seemingly grounded more in a particular set of ideals
than in reality.</div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> However, both </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Inside Out </i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">and </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Boyhood </i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">have more on their minds than nostalgia.
By making the children at their centers distinctive and well-rounded enough to
feel like individuals instead of archetypes, they sidestep many of the
potential pitfalls and clichés that frequently doom coming-of-age tales. You
don’t have to share Riley’s passion for hockey to relate to the meaningful role
it plays in her life, just as you didn’t need to agree with Mason’s teenage
existential musings to recognize that they are his way of making sense of the
world around him and cementing his own increasingly independent identity. These
movies succeed, in other words, because they understand that art taps into
universal sentiments – namely, people’s capacity for empathy – most effectively
when it portrays specific, not vague circumstances; they simply tell their own
stories rather than attempting to cater to all possible audience members.</span></div>
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<i> Inside Out</i> especially manages to feel both deeply personal and widely
accessible by exposing how its narrative has been engineered to produce
particular emotional responses at given moments. All storytelling is, on some
level, based around this kind of manipulation, each character and event
carefully designed to trigger a desired intellectual or emotive reaction, but
most of the time, the goal is to create such an immersive world and to make
those behind-the-scenes calibrations subtle enough that audiences won’t notice
the strings being pulled. In fact, <i>Boyhood</i>
is a perfect example of this, taking a decidedly understated approach as it
relies on a series of small moments that seem mundane when standing alone but
gain a surprising amount of pathos when considered all together; it trusts
viewers to make the right connections. <i>Inside
Out</i>, on the other hand, never disguises its intentions, essentially pulling
back the curtain on Pixar’s creative process and explaining how the studio has
become so skilled at tugging heartstrings. The filmmakers control the
audience’s emotions in much the same way that Joy, Anger and co. control
Riley’s. I could practically feel them pushing buttons and turning dials in the
hopes of generating excitement, laughter, tears, but rather than reducing the
emotional journey at the center of the story to something cheap or inauthentic,
this directness actually makes the sentimentality come across as more honest
than if it had been buried under layers of irony or restraint. If a magic trick
works, explaining the mechanics of how it was done doesn’t necessarily make it
any less magical.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In addition to the innovative
screenplay (which arguably leans more toward drama than comedy but still packs
in plenty of wit and jokes that sometimes flash by so quickly you might miss
them) and a musical score by Michael Giacchino that alternates between lively,
jazzy cues and aching, Thomas Newman-like minimalism, credit for the movie’s
effectiveness goes in large part to the voice actors. Though everyone from
Mindy Kaling as Disgust and Lewis Black as Anger to Richard Kind as Riley’s
imaginary friend, Bing Bong, is spot-on, Amy Poehler and <i>The Office</i>’s<i> </i>Phyllis
Smith are especially well-suited to their roles as Joy and Sadness,
respectively. Initially, Poehler seemed like too obvious of a choice to play a
character defined by relentless positivity, but as the film unfolds, she finds
new depths and nuances to the persona she honed for years on <i>Parks and Rec</i>, her voice bringing out
notes of melancholy and sensitivity that she never quite hit while portraying
Leslie Knope. Smith gives <i>Inside Out</i>
its heart, lending just enough sweetness to her role that Sadness’s uncertainty
and pessimism hit home but not so much that it tips into self-loathing or turns
the character into the butt of a joke.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The importance of Sadness to the
narrative is ultimately what makes <i>Inside
Out</i> so endearing. Where most children’s films position grief and discontent
as temporary, often destructive or shameful conditions, Docter and his fellow
writers argue that sadness is not only perfectly natural and healthy, but also
constructive, essential to the process of both growing up and being human in
general. In a world where culture seems to prefer depicting kids as constantly
smiling, angelic miracles that exist to make parents feel better about
themselves than as real people, I can think of few other movies, excepting
Spike Jonze’s <i>Where the Wild Things Are </i>adaptation,
that are so keenly aware of how unhappy children can be and that validate those
feelings instead of dismissing or downplaying them. It’s not exactly a surprise
that Pixar understands the nature of catharsis, recognizing that it is
generated by a combination of happiness and sorrow and that, therefore, one
cannot exist without the other. That complicated, almost indescribable feeling
is even more fundamental to <i>Inside Out</i>
than any of the studio’s previous works; here, catharsis isn’t just a hoped-for
response to the story’s resolution – it <i>is</i>
the resolution.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The stakes of <i>Inside Out</i> are summed up in a single
line of dialogue, spoken by Joy: “All I ever wanted was for her to be happy”.
While this struggle might seem insignificant compared to the dozens of
apocalypses staged in theaters around the globe every summer, Docter transforms
Joy and Sadness’s mission to make Riley happy into a suspenseful adventure with
as much tension as if they were trying to save the world. In a way, they are.
They’re saving her world. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Photo Links:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://www.rotoscopers.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/640px-Inside-Out-14.jpg">http://www.rotoscopers.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/640px-Inside-Out-14.jpg</a><o:p></o:p></div>
StarGazerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12015069055645559061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-13044564791251321242015-06-18T16:30:00.000-04:002015-07-15T15:11:38.488-04:00Looking for Justice at the 2015 Emmys<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/StarGazer" target="_blank">StarGazer</a><br />
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HBO aired
the finales for its spring lineup this past Sunday, which means that the
2014-15 TV season has officially ended and the race for the Emmys is about to
kick into full gear. While the actual nominations won’t be announced for
another month, there’s no better time than the present to make the case for the
shows and people I hope to see recognized come July 16. As I’ve mentioned in my
<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/2012/07/my-2012-emmy-wish-list.html">previous</a>
<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/2013/07/my-2013-emmy-wish-list.html">Emmy
wish-lists</a>, these aren’t predictions, and given voters’ past tendencies, I
imagine the majority of them have next-to-no chance of happening, but one must
never despair when it comes to pop culture awards, not even in the face of
inexplicable FX snubbing and <i>Downton
Abbey</i> love. Until the final verdict comes out, possibilities for surprise
abound, so if they know what’s good for them, voters should take a peek at this
list:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<u>Drama<o:p></o:p></u></div>
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<b>The case:</b> <i>Mad Men</i> for everything<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The argument:</b> It’s hard to think of
Matthew Weiner’s iconic show about the ad industry in the 1960s as an underdog
or long shot, but in recent years, its reputation as an awards darling hasn’t
exactly matched with reality. Most <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0804503/awards?ref_=tt_awd">awards bodies</a>,
like the Golden Globes and Screen Actors Guild, seem to have forgotten about
its existence, last recognizing <i>Mad Men</i>
in 2013. Even the Emmys, which often seems to lavish the show with attention
out of rote habit (see: the continued noms for Christina Hendricks and Robert
Morse despite the lack of actual material for both actors in the latest
seasons), only gave it four nominations, and no wins, for the stellar first
half of its seventh and final season. Add in the fact that not a single member
of its large, hugely talented ensemble cast has ever won an Emmy, and maybe you
can understand why I’m a bit nervous about <i>Mad
Men</i>’s prospects, though it will presumably benefit from not having to
compete with <i>Breaking Bad</i> anymore.</div>
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It would be easy to argue that <i>Mad Men </i>deserves Emmy recognition simply
because it’s <i>Mad Men</i> and it only
seems proper to give such a seminal work of art one last hurrah. However, the
show is too good, its merits too many, for me to resort to such a shallow,
sentimental appeal. While the last seven episodes weren’t the strongest of its
run, they still provided plenty of indelible moments, from Joan threatening to
burn it all down to Peggy sauntering into the McCann-Erickson offices and Don
driving off into the sunset, and a fitting conclusion to the saga of Don Draper
and friends. As impeccably crafted as always, <i>Mad Men</i> stayed true to its ambiguous, elliptical nature, preferring
hard-won, frequently temporary victories over immediate gratification. The
dissolution of Sterling Cooper put all of the show’s major characters at
crossroads and, as a result, proved to be the perfect storyline to drive home
the series’ core themes of identity, change, expectations versus reality, and
the unstoppable march of time. Layered performances by Jon Hamm, Elisabeth Moss
and January Jones in particular ensured that <i>Mad Men</i>’s impending absence would be deeply felt.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The evidence:</b> “Time and Life” (ep. 11),
“Lost Horizon” (ep. 12), “Person to Person” (ep. 14)<o:p></o:p></div>
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Me to the Emmys, probably<b> </b></div>
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<b></b></div>
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<b>The case:</b> Michael Sheen (<i>Masters of Sex</i>) for Best Lead Actor <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The argument:</b> <i>Masters of Sex</i> had an inconsistent sophomore season, attempting to
navigate a mid-season time jump and disparate storylines that never fully
coalesced into a coherent whole, but the central relationship between Bill
Masters and Virginia Johnson remained a reliable, intriguing anchor. While
Michael Sheen’s and Lizzy Caplan’s roles are so interdependent it seems silly
to separate them, as demonstrated by the stand-out bottle episode “Fight”, Sheen
especially stood out this round as the show stripped away Bill’s chilly
exterior to reveal more of his insecurities and obsessions. Sheen’s seemingly
effortless ability to shift from prickly, arrogant reticence to heart-tugging
vulnerability, sometimes capturing both at the same time, distinguished Bill
from the dozens of other difficult but brilliant men who populate TV. Take, for
instance, the climax of “Below the Belt”, where he and his brother Frank
confront each other over memories of their father and their family history of
alcoholism. Thanks to Sheen’s no-holds-barred performance, a scene that could
have come off as cheesy or histrionic instead becomes a gut punch as Bill
exposes the frightened, complicated depths of his soul.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The evidence:</b> “Fight” (ep. 3),
“Asterion” (ep. 7), “Below the Belt” (ep. 10) <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>The case:</b> Lena Headey (<i>Game of Thrones</i>) for Best Supporting Actress
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The argument:</b> There’s no denying that
this season of <i>Game of Thrones</i> had
its issues, namely with a side plot in Dorne that disappointingly never clicked
and some narrative stagnation during the middle episodes, but it also put the
show’s strengths – its thematic complexity, epic scope, and refusal to water
down the brutality that fills its world and makes the mere act of survival both
a victory and a curse – to excellent use. While the masterfully directed
“Hardhome” may have been its single best hour, the backbone of season five
turned out to be Lena Headey’s storyline as Cersei Lannister attempted to
consolidate power only to experience her downfall at the hands of the very
people she wanted to manipulate. Headey has always been one of the most impressive
players in a ridiculously talented cast, lending depth to a character that
occasionally devolved into cartoon villainy on paper, but she finally took the
spotlight this season, benefiting from her most complete arc yet. In her hands,
Cersei’s paranoia and smug ruthlessness became not just unfortunate personality
traits, but weapons, a suit of armor she believes will shield her from both
external enemies and the internal loneliness and bitterness that threaten to
consume her. By the end of the season, Cersei was stripped of that armor. Headey
was never been better than in the finale’s Walk of Shame sequence, her tear-
and mud-streaked face subtly and wordlessly communicating angry pride giving
way to humiliation and pain. With the help of <a href="http://www.ew.com/article/2015/06/18/game-thrones-lena-headey-nude-double-van-cleave" target="_blank">body double Rebecca Van Cleave</a> and smart direction by David Nutter,
she transforms Cersei into something that not long ago seemed impossible: a
sympathetic figure.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The evidence: </b>“High Sparrow” (ep. 3),
“The Gift” (ep. 7), “Mother’s Mercy” (ep. 10)<o:p></o:p></div>
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Consider yourselves warned, Emmy voters</div>
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<b>The case:</b> Joelle Carter (<i>Justified</i>) for Best Supporting Actress <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The argument:</b> Ending its six-season run
on a definite high note, <i>Justified</i>
always stood out for its vividly realized setting, memorably colorful
characters and crisp, wickedly mesmerizing dialogue. Its final season had
almost too many highlights to count (Walton Goggins deserves consideration for
that <a href="http://kimagreggs.tumblr.com/post/116445928075/you-asking-why-i-came-thought-it-was-news-that">final
scene</a> alone, and if neither Sam Elliot nor Mary Steenburgen receive guest
nods, we’re going to have a major problem), but the emergence of Joelle
Carter’s Ava Crowder as the story’s secret hero was perhaps the most unexpected
and welcome move of the show. Introduced in season one as a love interest and
damsel-in-distress, the kind of stock character found in a million Westerns,
Ava became increasingly hardened and resourceful over the course of the show,
eventually becoming loquacious criminal Boyd’s partner in crime (and in love) and
winding up in prison. Her ultimate dilemma – snitch on Boyd for Raylan Givens
and the Marshall’s office or risk going back to jail – formed the emotional
crux of season six, returning the narrative focus to the three-pronged
relationship that lay at <i>Justified</i>’s
heart and adding a heightened sense of stakes and urgency to the characters’
scheming. Carter made us feel Ava’s desperation and fear, the toll of each of
her decisions as she struggled to escape the dying world around her and the
toxic men who had shaped it so that she might someday find some semblance of
control and peace.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The evidence: </b>“The Trash and the Snake”
(ep. 4), “The Hunt” (ep. 7), “Trust” (ep. 10) <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The case:</b> Carrie Coon (<i>The Leftovers</i>) for Best Supporting
Actress <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The argument:</b> It’s not an exaggeration
to say that <i>The Leftovers</i> is unlike
anything else on TV. Eschewing the more overtly satirical tone of its source
material for a kind of grim sincerity, each episode of its first season
unfolded less like a traditional narrative with clearly defined plots and arcs
and more like a surreal, anxious dream. While the cast as a whole deserves a
lot of credit for grounding the show’s particular brand of existential brooding,
Carrie Coon, an actress previously best known for her theater work, was a
revelation as Nora Durst. Spitting many of her lines with the same fiery,
sardonic frankness that she later brought to the movie <i>Gone Girl</i>, Coon treated Nora’s confusion and pain as achingly,
shockingly real, no matter how vague and absurd her actions – buying cereal for
children she no longer has, asking a call girl to shoot her point-blank while
wearing a bulletproof vest, humping a dummy as a party full of strangers looks
on – might seem to an outside observer. Her performance helped elevate <i>The Leftovers </i>from the morose endurance
test it could’ve been to the intimate, fascinating portrait of loss, trauma and
spirituality it turned out to be.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The evidence: </b>“Guest” (ep. 6), “Cairo”
(ep. 8), “The Prodigal Son Returns” (ep. 10) <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>The case:</b> <i>The Americans</i> for Best Direction<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The argument: </b>If you were to describe
FX’s Soviet spy thriller in one word, “showy” would definitely not be your
first choice. <i>The Americans</i> has
always preferred a static camera that makes itself invisible to the swooping,
aerobatic shots often praised in prestige shows like <i>True Detective</i>, and its cozy, drab settings contrast so sharply
from the vast scale and elegance of <i>Game
of Thrones</i>, for example, that you might get whiplash watching them
back-to-back. Yet, the third season demonstrated that, despite – or maybe
because of – their unassuming approach, Joe Weisberg and Joel Fields have
stealthily developed the best directed show on TV right now. From perfectly
calibrated performances by the entire cast (Keri Russell and Holly Taylor
especially impressed this year) and stunningly precise work by cinematographer
Richard Rutkowski to the characteristically <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pcawnRIyeok">on-point</a> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M3IvnHSMEvE">musical</a> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3DuCIGvsbMA">cues</a> and killer sound
design, nearly every aspect of <i>The
Americans</i> is remarkable on its own, and each week, a cadre of ace
directors, including regular Thomas Schlamme and actor Noah Emmerich, brings
them together to create an even more exquisite whole.</div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> All of this was best demonstrated in one of the season’s biggest, most
anticipated turning points: the moment when Elizabeth and Philip Jennings
revealed their true profession to daughter Paige. Staged with brutal economy
and paced deliberately to build suspense to an almost unbearable pitch, the
sequence in question looked like a simple family chat around the dinner table,
but it packed the wallop of a high-octane action scene. Silence and a dial tone
have never been used to such devastating effect.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The evidence: </b>“Open House” (ep. 3),
“Stingers” (ep. 10), “March 8, 1983” (ep. 13)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4NDZfaRjc-Y0CKIRlpL8YgzdjSrl3kB-k8ZryuRrpsL-NRYE0JhhYaLznuzUNbbEUXewDA41e6VQwutyHmLuQZKur9VTmpOILBTYbxuwPF3MXjH2CVdJnX0uPeWkvSVKpplx9ijSTgTw/s1600/The+Americans_Elizabeth+tooth+extraction.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4NDZfaRjc-Y0CKIRlpL8YgzdjSrl3kB-k8ZryuRrpsL-NRYE0JhhYaLznuzUNbbEUXewDA41e6VQwutyHmLuQZKur9VTmpOILBTYbxuwPF3MXjH2CVdJnX0uPeWkvSVKpplx9ijSTgTw/s320/The+Americans_Elizabeth+tooth+extraction.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Can the best sex scene of the year be a scene without any
actual sex?</div>
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If so, I’ve got your winner right here.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<u>Comedy<o:p></o:p></u></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>The case:</b> <i>Looking</i> for Best Comedic Series<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The argument: </b>As someone who thoroughly
enjoyed the first season of <i>Looking</i>,
particularly its fantastic fifth episode “Looking for the Future”, but
basically forgot about it the moment it ended, I wasn’t at all prepared for the
huge leap in quality that came with season two, which was as close to flawless
as I’ve ever seen a season of TV get. The HBO dramedy has frequently been
dismissed as slight or not representative enough of the wildly diverse LGBT
community, yet those criticisms, in fact, highlight what made the show work:
the specificity of its point of view and its keen eye for finding humor and
poignancy in the mundanity of everyday life. Whether the focus was on the
melodramatic complications of Patrick’s love life or Doris returning to her
hometown for her father’s funeral, showrunner Michael Lannan kept his
characters’ awkwardness and flaws front and center, but the dialogue, which
often felt improvised, and the camerawork, which took a handheld, naturalistic
approach, never allowed viewers the distance necessary to breed contempt.
Though the series’ cancellation by HBO was disappointing, the proposed wrap-up
movie hardly seems necessary. The open-ended conclusion of season two encapsulated
the show at its best: sweet, emotionally raw, a little cringe-worthy, dorky and
uncertain but ultimately hopeful about the future and humanity.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The evidence:</b> “Looking for the Promised
Land” (ep. 1), “Looking for a Plot” (ep. 7), “Looking for Home” (ep. 10)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The case:</b> Constance Wu (<i>Fresh Off the Boat</i>) for Best Lead
Actress <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The argument: </b>Constance Wu stole the
show as the Huang family matriarch in nearly every episode of the new ABC
sitcom’s amusing but otherwise unremarkable first season. As the rare comedic
female lead who was gifted with her show’s best bits and punchlines rather than
relegated to the thankless role of straight man to the men’s antics, she
delivered cutting one-liners with spot-on timing and expressed more in a single
pointed look than some people could with an entire monologue. Wu defied
tiresome stereotypes of Asian women as meek and deferential and gave <i>Fresh Off the Boat</i> the unapologetically
brash, clever edge it needed to avoid the syrupy earnestness that plagues many family
sitcoms.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The evidence: </b>“Home Sweet Home-School”
(ep. 2), “Fajita Man” (ep. 6), “License to Sell” (ep. 9)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The case:</b> Andre Braugher (<i>Brooklyn Nine-Nine</i>) for Best Supporting
Actor<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The argument:</b> As someone who only
started watching <i>Parks and Rec</i> after
it had passed its prime, I imagine my love for <i>Brooklyn Nine-Nine</i>, also created by Mike Schur and Dan Goor, rivals
what hardcore <i>Parks</i> fans feel.
Boasting sharp writing that blends wit, physical comedy and pathos without ever
letting one overwhelm the others, the FOX cop show succeeds primarily because
of the energy and chemistry of its perfectly chosen ensemble cast, all of whom
excel both individually and as part of the larger group. The clear standout
over the course of two seasons, however, has been Andre Braugher as the
precinct’s demanding, openly gay captain. Managing to convey a vast range of
emotional nuances through a character that’s deliberately, hilariously stoic,
Braugher tackles every goofy situation and ridiculous phrase the show throws at
him with aplomb; the words <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wm7GIeiQolQ">“hot
damn!”</a> have never been so surprising or delightful. Yet, as funny as he is,
the full genius of the performance only becomes apparent during his more
serious scenes. Holt’s farewell in the season two finale was touching because
of its sincerity, but also because it wasn’t just the precinct that was losing
a great captain – it felt like we as viewers were too. Luckily, the showrunners
have confirmed that Braugher will still be returning next season, but whoever
the new captain of the 99 ends up being, they’ll have a lot to live up to.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>The evidence: </b>“The Mole” (ep. 5),
“Beach House” (ep. 12), “Johnny and Dora” (ep. 23)<o:p></o:p></div>
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All of the awards</div>
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Photo Links:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://38.media.tumblr.com/06e4c6bbcc334629b750c3735ed027a1/tumblr_nmdbpwxAZf1qhwgauo2_540.gif">http://38.media.tumblr.com/06e4c6bbcc334629b750c3735ed027a1/tumblr_nmdbpwxAZf1qhwgauo2_540.gif</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2015/02/screen-shot-2015-02-12-at-12-41-12-pm.jpg?w=650&h=362">https://uproxx.files.wordpress.com/2015/02/screen-shot-2015-02-12-at-12-41-12-pm.jpg?w=650&h=362</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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StarGazerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12015069055645559061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-65517507070229581922015-06-17T15:31:00.000-04:002017-02-25T15:35:39.382-05:00Halt and Catch Fire and Humanizing the Void<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/WordMaster" target="_blank">WordMaster</a><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> You could be forgiven for dismissing <i>Halt and Catch Fire</i> as second-rate <i>Mad Men</i>. You might even be right. After all, the sophomore AMC
drama created by Christopher Cantwell and Christopher C. Rogers is hardly the
masterpiece that Matthew Weiner’s acclaimed, seven-season meditation on the
American Dream was even in its youth, and its resemblance to the latter borders
on suspicious at times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> To start with, it’s a period piece, though
1980s Texas doesn’t quite have the exotic, jewel-toned glamour of ‘60s
Manhattan. Joe MacMillan, the central protagonist played by Lee Pace, is
basically a mid-level Don Draper – a debonair, silver-tongued genius tormented
by his enigmatic past; he even ends the first season by ditching his job and
disappearing into the backcountry, a move not dissimilar to Don’s cross-country
odyssey in the last act of <i>Mad Men</i>.
At one point, Cameron sums Joe up with the barbed observation: “You’re just a
thousand-dollar suit with nothing inside.” Sound familiar?</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWrvCp7zLLdiv2RmeqIl_v6wkl6utLHCawD2Kre4KE_Qo2OYTnuCOdKDJpTCFL_8ulcuGMt5mFm29vFMWIcV3I2Aw5VbeIk_nVOPlGyd-MK-gmshGL0YlXj9hwaQAt95k6Qh3lPLItCwk/s1600/mad+men+window+screenshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWrvCp7zLLdiv2RmeqIl_v6wkl6utLHCawD2Kre4KE_Qo2OYTnuCOdKDJpTCFL_8ulcuGMt5mFm29vFMWIcV3I2Aw5VbeIk_nVOPlGyd-MK-gmshGL0YlXj9hwaQAt95k6Qh3lPLItCwk/s400/mad+men+window+screenshot.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoKt8wCJCM64MSAmlcJeeszlEmwatfQQM_FzGpTxGcgjDpEGENlXR8X9ic9sJz-4nOCr3P-9xodJZcEPLeQHdJ9JLhFFags02U6VodCv4itNlwgQos2suNZj9mqMRe0RZ2ATXwL4sXoIw/s1600/halt+and+catch+fire+window+screenshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoKt8wCJCM64MSAmlcJeeszlEmwatfQQM_FzGpTxGcgjDpEGENlXR8X9ic9sJz-4nOCr3P-9xodJZcEPLeQHdJ9JLhFFags02U6VodCv4itNlwgQos2suNZj9mqMRe0RZ2ATXwL4sXoIw/s400/halt+and+catch+fire+window+screenshot.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I mean, come on.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Speaking of Cameron, she’s the
Peggy Olson of <i>Halt and Catch Fire</i>,
an idealistic young prodigy who the hero takes under his wing; her alternately
affectionate and resentful interactions with Joe recall Peggy and Don’s <a href="http://www.vulture.com/2014/05/complete-history-of-don-and-peggy-relationship-on-mad-men.html">volatile
relationship</a>. Donna initially occupies the obligatory neglected wife role, though
unlike with Betty Draper, the other characters soon learn to recognize and
appreciate her value, and in a pleasantly surprising reversal, the second
season has positioned Gordon as a bored house-husband while Donna gets absorbed
in her work. Both shows even include amusing side-stories involving typically
straitlaced women trying marijuana.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Yet, after a rather uninspired beginning, I found myself thoroughly enjoying <i>Halt and Catch Fire</i> as I binged the first season on Netflix (for
me, “binging” means consuming 1-3 episodes a day, which I guess for some people
is known as “watching TV”). I couldn’t help but succumb to Lee Pace’s haughty
charisma; the dysfunctional, frequently hostile relationships; the pleasure of
seeing Donna upend everybody’s expectations, including the audience’s; the
coolly retro soundtrack and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EKd4gh8WTdc">credits sequence</a>. As
much as I love <i>Game of Thrones</i>,
there’s something to be said for a show that creates tension out of lost
computer files.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In a way, it turned out to be the
perfect rebound, filling, however incompletely, the gaping hole left in my
TV-viewing heart by <i>Mad Men</i>. For all
the aforementioned similarities, I would argue that <i>Halt and Catch Fire</i> is not, in fact, a cheap knockoff of the
seminal ad agency drama but a rejoinder, approaching the same problems – how
are people shaped by society? Is happiness possible? What is our purpose in
life? – from a radically different angle.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The
difference is ultimately a matter of time. <i>Mad
Men</i> takes place during the 1960s, just barely spilling into the ‘70s. This
was an era defined, at least in popular memory, by social and political
turmoil, as women flooded the workplace, the Civil Rights Movement burst into
mainstream (aka white) consciousness, and anti-war protests raged across
college campuses. Although <i>Mad Men</i>
focuses mostly on the lives of sheltered elites, the underlying unrest seeps
through its structure (e.g. episodes revolving around John F. Kennedy and
Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassinations), internal conflicts (e.g. Don
struggling to cope with his growing irrelevance), and tone, which could skip
from introspective to surreal in the blink of an eye, reflecting the
characters’ inability to make sense of their rapidly changing world.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3E-zMevQe9CqKoHHwxgZ7SSPBatFuNTdPK1llQ3u_JnHPuv0dyLGyW6c_O5PKYkOV60XKBmyUgk5HcuOFF5ySu9FGwzgAKOv_RRhv6k-MfEjzrTZgbtcvazvJ1akYRh4vCMYbYtJDC-c/s1600/tap+dancing+ken.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3E-zMevQe9CqKoHHwxgZ7SSPBatFuNTdPK1llQ3u_JnHPuv0dyLGyW6c_O5PKYkOV60XKBmyUgk5HcuOFF5ySu9FGwzgAKOv_RRhv6k-MfEjzrTZgbtcvazvJ1akYRh4vCMYbYtJDC-c/s400/tap+dancing+ken.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Never forget.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Halt
and Catch Fire</i> picks up a decade after <i>Mad
Men</i> ends. The Vietnam War is over; the trauma of Watergate is fading into
history; the economy is recovering from the worst financial crisis since the
Great Depression. A new normal has emerged, and it looks markedly like the old
one: whatever progress feminism has made, women are still expected to take care
of the home while their husbands pursue greatness. Given the notorious
conservatism of the time period, it’s fitting that, aside from a couple heavy-handed
attempts at symbolism (broken-winged bird = vulnerability, hurricane = inner chaos),
<i>Halt and Catch Fire</i> eschews <i>Mad Men</i>’s flights of fancy in favor of
something more literal and austere. This is a society that’s bought what Sterling
Cooper sold – things make your life better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> It’s
not shallowness or cynicism so much as practicality. At the climax of episode
nine, “Up Helly Aa”, Joe explains to potential suppliers why they should buy
the Giant computer even though Cameron’s interactive OS was removed:</span></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Unique? Interesting word choice. What are you really
asking for? Give me something special, something warm, something fuzzy? This is
a machine. It’s not your friend. It’s your employee; it works for you. And the
way it should be evaluated is thus: how well and how fast does it do the things
I ask? Answer: instantly. Anything less is a waste of your time. What is the
margin of error? Answer: zero. Anything more and you fail. Here’s another one,
one that’s infinitely more important than “unique” will ever be: speed. Let’s
cut through the bullshit and act like adults. You want speed. And this machine
is the fastest one for you, period. You want to play a game with your kid? Join
him for craft time at preschool. You want a buddy? Buy a dog. You want to chase
rainbows, tilt the room? Walk outside. There are a hundred casinos built for
delusional people like you who think the world is going to change so easily.
You want to get something done? Buy one of these.</span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The pitch is ruthless in its candor, the anti-<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=suRDUFpsHus">Carousel</a>. It points to a
fundamental difference between Don and Joe: they are both salesmen, but whereas
the former is selling an idea, the latter is selling a product. In fact, Joe
would most likely scoff at Don’s penchant for nostalgic sentimentality and
existential angst. The age of digital technology has no room for doubt or
idealism; you live like there are only tomorrows, like your very survival
depends on moving forward at all times, because one look back means you’re left
in the contrail. The past has become not only unpleasant but irrelevant, a
jumble of mistakes, failures and disappointments, best forgotten as soon as
possible. It’s little wonder people so quickly lost interest in space
exploration: after the initial thrill of Neil Armstrong’s historic feat, you
realize nothing’s actually changed. We’re still stuck on the same boring,
messed-up planet. <i>Mad Men</i> asked,
“What if we go to the moon?” <i>Halt and
Catch Fire</i> asks, “What if we go to the moon and all we find is a giant
rock?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">Later, Joe comes to regret his
decision to sell the Giant without Cameron’s OS. His victory feels empty, insignificant,
mediocre. At heart, </span><i style="line-height: 115%;">Halt and Catch Fire</i><span style="line-height: 115%;">
is about the dichotomy between technology and art, which isn’t so different
from the age-old debate between science and religion: one, according to
traditional wisdom, is cold, calculating, concrete, only interested in finding the
means to an end, while the other is passionate, irrational and abstract,
concerned with things that may have no end. And despite its affection for geek
lingo (as in the title), the show winds up siding with the latter. It is, after
all, television, an artistic medium, crafted by writers, artistic people, and
the best way for artists to understand technology is to imagine it as a kind of
art. Hence Donna complimenting Cameron’s code by calling it poetry.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhurayRQo7T6L2z2m06L_X0MezPnYHNZ2XGCDJHGbbPFfvqX5cpEWCAqRYx6D-L6Zl-PuJ8pZCjwcZ4GaxirstaS26tRQ4yXA67YyEzkoJq8VQWutuZbSIJBpBkBq8rwIkaIV5CBH1FhRQ/s1600/tumblr_n53yk7in2R1rfr801o2_500_cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhurayRQo7T6L2z2m06L_X0MezPnYHNZ2XGCDJHGbbPFfvqX5cpEWCAqRYx6D-L6Zl-PuJ8pZCjwcZ4GaxirstaS26tRQ4yXA67YyEzkoJq8VQWutuZbSIJBpBkBq8rwIkaIV5CBH1FhRQ/s400/tumblr_n53yk7in2R1rfr801o2_500_cropped.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Jodie Foster can </span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0118884/" style="line-height: 115%;">relate</a><span style="line-height: 115%;">.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> There’s a reason pop culture is so fascinated by mad-genius
scientists and artificial intelligence. They transform the mundane (builder,
metal box) into the miraculous (<a href="http://38.media.tumblr.com/0af8391b768c775c9cab9d4ab9da021a/tumblr_noyuvgeqAz1r1qffbo2_250.gif">creator</a>,
metal soul), lend humanity to the inhuman. As it turns out, we’re not satisfied
with just a machine or just code. We want something poetic, something with a touch
of mystery and beauty, something we can fall in love with. If <i>Mad Men</i> strives to strip away our myths
and uncover an underlying truth, <i>Halt and
Catch Fire</i> provides an argument for the necessity of myths. Beneath all the
characters’ talk of progress and the future lurks a nagging fear – where do we
go after we succeed? What happens when the unknown becomes known?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Answer: nothing.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Links:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Screenshot from AMC’s <i>Mad
Men</i>, episode 6.1 “The Doorway”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Screenshot from AMC’s <i>Halt
and Catch Fire</i>, episode 1.6 “Landfall”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.vulture.com/2013/05/mad-men-gif-ken-cosgrove-does-a-jig-dance.html">http://www.vulture.com/2013/05/mad-men-gif-ken-cosgrove-does-a-jig-dance.html</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://intellectandromance.tumblr.com/post/84831776805/they-shouldve-sent-a-poet"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">http://intellectandromance.tumblr.com/post/84831776805/they-shouldve-sent-a-poet</span></a></span></div>
Amy Woolseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01071851553114959861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-36883711289532029942015-06-01T18:12:00.000-04:002015-06-01T18:12:35.504-04:00Some Reflections on Consuming Pop Culture in Isolation<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/StarGazer" target="_blank">StarGazer</a><br />
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Last Friday night,
I officially went into mourning for Jimmy Darmody. I’ve spent the last few
months slowly making my way through <i>Boardwalk
Empire</i>, the Prohibition era-set, Steve Buscemi-starring HBO drama that
lasted five seasons before airing its final episode in October last year. Having
never quite mastered the art of binge-watching, I sometimes go days, even weeks
between episodes, so it felt like a small victory to finally complete the second
season, even though I’d started the show at the end of February, which meant
that it took me three months to watch a mere 24 episodes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> The finale left me </span><a href="https://twitter.com/AngelaWoolsey2/status/604499914824011776" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">a bit
emotionally distraught</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, as I knew it would. Yet even as I typed out that
off-the-cuff tweet, the part of me that wasn’t numb with sadness felt ridiculous.
After all, this was a fictional character whose abrupt demise had originally taken
place way back in 2011, and while I managed to avoid hearing details of the
specific circumstances, I’d been aware of this particular plot point virtually
since it happened, giving me plenty of time to prepare. This foreknowledge
naturally colored my viewing experience, but rather than spoiling it by taking
away the element of surprise as I might’ve expected, it made me appreciate
Jimmy’s overall arc as well as Michael Pitt’s performance more. The prospect of
his ultimate fate loomed like approaching storm clouds, imbuing his scenes with
an underlying sense of dread and melancholy, and what might’ve otherwise come
off as an out-of-left-field twist incorporated for shock value instead seemed
all the more tragic for its inevitability.</span></div>
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All I wanted was more of this ruthless swagger</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Deciding what TV shows to watch, once a simple matter of flipping through
a handful of channels to see what’s on at the time, has become a rather trying
occupation, one that requires careful planning and time management. More than
any other form of entertainment, TV demands commitment, asking viewers to
devote potentially years of their lives to following a single story that in all
likelihood won’t even get a proper, satisfying ending. With the rise of new
technology and the medium’s reputation, there’s a greater variety of quality
shows than ever before. So, options must be weighed, priorities determined,
sacrifices made. However, in the age of Netflix, HBO Go, DVRs and other
alternate streaming/viewing avenues, what’s sacrificed is often not a
particular show, but rather, the conversation around that show.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a name='more'></a><br />
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> You can watch </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Lost</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, for
example, at any time on Netflix and you’ll probably enjoy it as much as you
would have if you’d seen it when it was actually airing (indeed, if anything, that
show might benefit from a binge watch), but you won’t have the community that
sprang up around the show. When I think about </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Lost</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, which was far and away my most formative TV show, along with </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The Simpsons</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, I don’t remember plot or
even character details as much as I remember the agonizing weeks or months of
waiting between episodes and seasons and the intense, deeply involved
theorizing and discussions that took place both in the real world and online.
In retrospect, the anticipation that accompanied each upcoming episode and the
joy I got from reading </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">EW</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">’s
inimitable </span><a href="http://www.ew.com/recap/lost-finale-recap-part-two-step-light" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Doc” Jeff
Jensen’s recaps</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> afterwards almost trumped anything the show had to offer.
In other words, for me, the experience of watching </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Lost </i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">became inseparable from </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Lost</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
itself.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Whether you’re reading a book, watching a movie or listening to a song,
consuming pop culture is in many ways a solitary activity. With the main
exception of a music concert, a quiet environment is often necessary for
maximum enjoyment or appreciation. Talking about a particular work or event with
a friend after the fact isn’t exactly the same as experiencing it together, and
even if you and your friend are technically in the same room watching the same
film, you both could end up with vastly different appraisals of the movie and
the overall experience. Because art is highly subjective and personal, our
reactions to it tend to be emotional as well as intellectual, shaped by an
individual’s specific tastes and accumulation of past experiences, and
attempting to convey that to someone else, to adequately translate a jumble of
uncertain, sometimes contradictory thoughts and sensations into actual words
can seem like a futile endeavor.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> This communication difficulty is perhaps why, even as we seem to be
moving further away from a monoculture to one that is more niche and diverse, I
still crave communal experiences, which have become rarer and, as a result,
more precious. For instance, while I still love </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Inception</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, no subsequent viewing of a DVD at home will ever compare
to that first opening-night screening and the collective gasp and groan
followed by applause that echoed through my theater when the film cut to the
end credits. The random D.B. Cooper/Sharon Tate conspiracy theories that
permeated the </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Mad Men</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> fandom until
the finale aired two weeks ago could be exasperating, but I’m not sure I would’ve
found the show quite as delightful</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">if I
wasn’t aware they existed. Though I think </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Game
of Thrones</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">’s reputation for “OMG did you see that?!” shockers often causes
people to overlook the quieter, more thoughtful moments that actually make it a
good show, as I’ve said </span><a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/2013/06/the-wonder-of-not-being-spoiled.html" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">before</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">,
I loved following the </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xmWCqrMdqE0" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">reactions</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
to the infamous Red Wedding because, aside from giving me an opportunity to
revel in smug schadenfreude, it meant people all across the country or even the
world watched the same thing and had the same gut response at essentially the
same time. I still like seeing buzzy movies as soon as possible (waiting until
Sunday to watch </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Mad Max: Fury Road</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
the week it came out was a true test of my patience), and I frequently choose
which shows to watch based on how excited other people seem to be about them. In
short, my approach to entertainment is heavily motivated by the desire to feel
relevant, to participate in the immediate cultural conversation, and the fear
of missing out on something significant.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4xhKc-okFYpFLDTSqe4o5qFJ_jYe0eVUK2BmRw7BPjd-awbbiXy2yMqZxGKy-9goxJMo2byShX3NZhvrcWcYHbDc66hwyelSb17aTClanCwcAH9oMWckGKt77SFP12nNvFj3Db73IuyI/s1600/The+Dark+Knight_Joker+pencil+trick.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4xhKc-okFYpFLDTSqe4o5qFJ_jYe0eVUK2BmRw7BPjd-awbbiXy2yMqZxGKy-9goxJMo2byShX3NZhvrcWcYHbDc66hwyelSb17aTClanCwcAH9oMWckGKt77SFP12nNvFj3Db73IuyI/s200/The+Dark+Knight_Joker+pencil+trick.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Remember that month in 2008 when people wouldn’t stop referencing
this scene?</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Good times.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Watching </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Boardwalk Empire</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">,
then, has been a somewhat interesting experience. I actually saw the pilot way
back when it originally aired in 2010, thanks to a free preview that HBO had
that weekend for non-subscribers. At first glance, it seemed to have everything
that generally attracts me to a new show: the 20</span><sup style="text-indent: 0.5in;">th</sup><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">-century period
setting, gorgeously meticulous visuals and production design, a veneer of
prestige meshed with pulpier genre elements, the involvement of reputable names
like Martin Scorsese and Steve Buscemi. Yet, along with the fact that not
subscribing to HBO at that point would’ve made it difficult to keep up, I
simply wasn’t engaged enough by that first episode to want to follow these
characters week after week; I admired it on a technical level but not much more
than that, so I let it go without any particular regrets. When I heard that
Michael Pitt’s character (easily my favorite in the pilot, partly because I
find Pitt to be a charismatic, underrated actor) had been killed off after the
second season, I largely lost whatever interest I still had in catching up,
especially since the overall consensus on the show still appeared to be that it
was fine but nothing special.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Thinking back, I’m not sure why I decided to give it another shot when I
did, except that I finally got an HBO subscription and was in the mood for
something gritty and noir. Now that I’ve gotten deeper into the show, I
genuinely enjoy it, even though its reliance on the male gaze gets tiring and
the political storylines bore me, but I’m also glad I waited to watch it. In
addition to the convenience of being able to pace out episodes however I like,
there’s something freeing about experiencing a show like this in a bubble,
allowing me to form my own opinions without feeling the constant urge to
compare them to everyone else’s. </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Boardwalk
Empire</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> lacks the intricacy of a show like </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Mad Men</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, which was sometimes so dense that some amount of
discussion was necessary to even understand what just happened in an episode,
and the dramatic watercooler moments of </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Game
of Thrones</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">. So, while part of me is intensely curious about how everyone
reacted to a certain incest sex (rape?) scene when it aired, I don’t mind
missing the predictable griping over Kelly MacDonald’s Margaret, who I assume
wasn’t the most popular character given that she’s a woman who frequently
opposes and foils the plans of our male antihero protagonist, and I have no
idea if other people were as devastated by Jimmy’s death as I was. I can wallow
fully in my emotions without having to perform them within the framework
established by post-episode recaps, think pieces and conversations on social
media. Though I wonder if I’m mostly just relieved to not have to encounter any
disagreements or challenges to my opinions, and obviously, there’s really no “right”
way to watch any show, I think ultimately this approach works for </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Boardwalk Empire</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> because I’m confident
enough in my own interpretation of the show that I don’t feel the need to deliberately
seek out anyone else’s. It can be refreshing to not care what other people
think.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Now that I’ve finished the second season, I’m planning on taking a break
from </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Boardwalk</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, though I haven’t
figured out what to try next. With the 2014-15 TV season coming to a close,
except for </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Game of Thrones</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, which has
two episodes left, and most summer shows still not yet ready to start, this
brief breather provides the perfect chance to catch up on something old.
Perhaps I’ll try to make some more headway with </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Buffy the Vampire Slayer</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> or I’ll finally get around to classic HBO
shows like </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The Sopranos</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The Wire</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> and </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Deadwood</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">. Or I’ll dive into a shorter show that’s currently
underway, say, </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Rectify</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> or</span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> The 100</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, or I hear </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Halt and Catch Fire</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> has really caught on. Maybe I’ll step away from
the TV and work on those job applications or even go outside. Whatever I end up
doing (probably a combination of all of the above), it’s weirdly comforting to
know that </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Boardwalk Empire</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> will still
be around, waiting eager and unchanged for me to return. More than most other
people I know, I often get caught up in wanting to join the zeitgeist and
whatever the dominant cultural conversations of the moment are, so this was a
pleasant reminder that it’s not always a bad thing to be out of the loop.
Sometimes, it’s okay to just enjoy the silence.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Photo Links:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://33.media.tumblr.com/722d0905808e8a97cc115b00b1bdb33f/tumblr_mx2zusqQYd1ret264o1_500.gif">https://33.media.tumblr.com/722d0905808e8a97cc115b00b1bdb33f/tumblr_mx2zusqQYd1ret264o1_500.gif</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmK1HSLsP7y0LX3P0a4TK4HqouI5cuE-HPvHLcOr1LfBtPPucjDBT9DtiXwhkUIPpuE0sVjObfWfG9uSDOr1dtQqD9VKxLZjRGM8BTlXfWoIduswLjixs2NbVexLAcA4Mfktnmmwi81DDs/s1600/pencil1.jpg">https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmK1HSLsP7y0LX3P0a4TK4HqouI5cuE-HPvHLcOr1LfBtPPucjDBT9DtiXwhkUIPpuE0sVjObfWfG9uSDOr1dtQqD9VKxLZjRGM8BTlXfWoIduswLjixs2NbVexLAcA4Mfktnmmwi81DDs/s1600/pencil1.jpg</a><o:p></o:p></div>
StarGazerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12015069055645559061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-71041197745072667352015-05-22T16:11:00.000-04:002015-05-22T16:35:08.097-04:00How Mad Max: Fury Road Succeeds by Embracing Genre<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/WordMaster" target="_blank">WordMaster</a><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Blessed is she or he who watches <i>Mad Max: Fury Road</i> and can write coherently about it. The latest
entry in George Miller’s gasoline-fueled, apocalyptic series unfolds as a fever
dream, an extended action sequence so relentlessly kinetic that the few periods
of quiet and stillness feel downright unsettling. Even now, I’m not entirely
convinced this is a real film that I experienced while conscious, let alone one
that’s legitimately good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> By all rights, a movie involving
an electric guitar that literally spews fire should fall into the “guilty
pleasure” category at best; to tell the truth, there were a couple times when I
wasn’t quite sure if I was laughing with or at it. Yet this eagerness to revel
in the ridiculous is ultimately why it works, along with the abundance of
distinct female characters; the quietly riveting performances from lead actors Tom
Hardy, Charlize Theron and Nicholas Hoult; and the mind-blowing commitment to
practical effects over digital trickery.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlqnC2FOsEknsuzvB_Cf-_ACUOhXxsKMQDyl5hJBkv9S-P9f08UcQQq1wLDFIbWvDSwmSv4fKW828Lt8ac-l9wklMLffEEPKLsFO8juPTW8LSMxWLtBD4p2_khJmQLu8hpNS8DKySKmvI/s1600/tumblr_nojbqmW5eP1rkem6ho9_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlqnC2FOsEknsuzvB_Cf-_ACUOhXxsKMQDyl5hJBkv9S-P9f08UcQQq1wLDFIbWvDSwmSv4fKW828Lt8ac-l9wklMLffEEPKLsFO8juPTW8LSMxWLtBD4p2_khJmQLu8hpNS8DKySKmvI/s400/tumblr_nojbqmW5eP1rkem6ho9_500.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If stuff like this doesn’t make you appreciate
stuntmen and women, you’re hopeless.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I tend to be skeptical of the idea
that there’s inherent value in deliberately over-the-top art. <i>White House Down</i> may be aware of its
stupidity, but that doesn’t make it any less stupid or more fun to watch. <i>Fury Road</i>, however, is not over-the-top
just for the sake of being over-the-top. As a friend of mine pointed out, it’s
highly interested in exploring the concept of madness, on both an individual
level (see: the main character’s name) and a societal level (the dystopian
community led by villain, Immortan Joe, revolves around a manipulative cult).
The first ten or so minutes put us directly in Mad Max’s head, using various
aesthetic techniques, such as rapid edits and sped-up motion, to produce a
sense of mania and disorientation. As a whole, the exquisitely grotesque
production design effectively captures a world in disarray, where there are no
rules and nothing makes sense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> At a
time when Hollywood churns out big-budget spectacles like assembly-line
products, the passion of <i>Fury Road</i>
feels not only refreshing but vital. Here is an action movie that unabashedly
adores action, staging scenes of destruction and mayhem with the mischievous glee
of a kid experimenting with fireworks. Explosions, shootouts and armored cars
collide in a frenzied, hypnotic ballet, set to the grand, cacophonous score of
Dutch instrumentalist Junkie XL. It’s light-years away from the self-conscious
irony of such flicks as <i>21 Jump Street</i>
and <i>Guardians of the Galaxy</i>, which
seem faintly embarrassed by their own existence, and the slick yet soulless
tedium that plagues so many tent-poles, like <i>The Amazing Spider-Man</i>, whose novice director Marc Webb was clearly
more interested in making a sweet romance than the flashy extravaganza he was obligated
to deliver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> With superhero, science-fiction,
fantasy and action-adventure pictures now serving as the life-blood of the film
industry, it can be easy to take them for granted and forget that not too long
ago, such fare was largely consigned to the margins of cinema. In many ways, <i>Fury Road</i> feels like a throwback to
those earlier B-movies, which may have lacked their current glamour and
commercial viability but were unafraid to be outrageous and provocative. Many
of today’s best genre films share this instinct, celebrating rather than shirking
their less reputable roots: in <i>Gone Girl</i>,
the femme fatale and existential cynicism of classical noir coalesce with the
lurid plot twists and domestic paranoia of ‘80s and ‘90s erotic thrillers; <i>Super 8</i> pays homage to not only
Spielbergian coming-of-age tales but also ‘70s-era monster schlock and
conspiracy potboilers; the gorgeous cinematography of <i>Black Swan</i> only enriches the trashy horror melodrama that lies at
its core; and so on. On TV as well, there’s something uniquely pleasurable
about seeing <i>The Mindy Project</i> borrow
liberally from old-school rom-coms, <i>Boardwalk
Empire</i> indulge in pulpy violence, or <i>Justified</i>
evoke Western tropes, particularly in its triumphant final season.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKyuA8gljONdAnEAITJjqo_mA6cm-F18-jKf2ylOyZ-2N36lwXKw2flupV3tP_DYEdm7kflwMXh7K70Lz0l2-kDWr-OnCLDT8Pdc5Nd9NZ30JRH1nu_O1TmswyyBFsxhjKijNvmptIjlU/s1600/tumblr_nm4ev8wx301qbvn8yo6_400.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKyuA8gljONdAnEAITJjqo_mA6cm-F18-jKf2ylOyZ-2N36lwXKw2flupV3tP_DYEdm7kflwMXh7K70Lz0l2-kDWr-OnCLDT8Pdc5Nd9NZ30JRH1nu_O1TmswyyBFsxhjKijNvmptIjlU/s400/tumblr_nm4ev8wx301qbvn8yo6_400.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Who cares if it’s cliché? This shot is straight-up
breathtaking.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Despite achieving mainstream
popularity, genre films still struggle to be taken seriously. Critics routinely
dismiss them as shallow, mindless drivel manufactured to placate easily
distracted juvenile audiences, bemoaning the supposed dearth of movies “for
grown-ups”. In the age of <i>Transformers</i>,
it’s tempting to succumb to such skepticism and fatigue. Yet when done properly,
not only are genre movies just as capable of addressing mature, relevant
subjects as highbrow dramas, but they can also be, in some cases, specially
qualified as vehicles for moral, political and social commentary, uninhibited
by the constraints of realism and keenly aware of the way myths and
storytelling shape human experience. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="line-height: 115%;"> The Dark Knight</span></i><span style="line-height: 115%;">,
for instance, remains (arguably) cinema’s most searing, complex exploration of
9/11 and its aftermath. Contrary to popular consensus, it doesn’t disdain or seek
to transcend superhero narratives but simply respects them enough to recognize
that they can accommodate a variety of tones and structures. It’s fun precisely
<i>because</i> it doesn’t feel the need to
constantly draw attention to or apologize for the absurdity of its premise.
Then there’s <i>Snowpiercer</i>, Bong
Joon-ho’s flamboyant, chilling portrait of capitalistic exploitation; <i>District 9</i>, Neill Blomkamp’s alien actioner
that doubles as an allegory about prejudice, violence and institutional
authority; and, to venture a tad farther back, <i>Strange Days</i>, Kathryn Bigelow’s under-appreciated dystopian noir
gem whose critique of virtual media and urban race relations has only become
more resonant over the years. What these movies lack in subtlety, they make up
for in sheer, visceral power.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUDrkZ5kQsO-OfIcH0rejL20_CNr2i-1QhpJU_OdaJWKgORiabnkxcKn46-3YqjpCkWuR5QdFwoER1iuD5q7K8xiQwnT4dNP5-ecF5hP0Gmxvra9jCvi4p0Sv6cIfLjpuZK-51xY2li5w/s1600/5-strange_days-Angela-Bassett.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUDrkZ5kQsO-OfIcH0rejL20_CNr2i-1QhpJU_OdaJWKgORiabnkxcKn46-3YqjpCkWuR5QdFwoER1iuD5q7K8xiQwnT4dNP5-ecF5hP0Gmxvra9jCvi4p0Sv6cIfLjpuZK-51xY2li5w/s400/5-strange_days-Angela-Bassett.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In an ideal world, Lornette Mason would be as iconic
an action heroine as Sarah Connor and Ellen Ripley.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> For its part, <i>Fury
Road</i> uses its escapist trappings to convey a surprisingly bold female
empowerment fantasy. While its feminist credentials should not be overstated,
its take on misogyny and gender relations rather simplistic, the film nonetheless
packs a potent punch, as demonstrated by the fact that a high-profile
contingent of MRAs (aka Men’s Rights Assholes) actually <a href="http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/mens-rights-activists-boycott-mad-795658">called
for a boycott of it</a>. As pathetic as it sounds, for such a pure, aggressive
action movie like this to a) include female characters of varying races and
ages who make meaningful contributions to the central plot and b) treat women like
a worthwhile audience without pandering to them is, in itself, a radical act. Whether
the industry takes note remains to be seen (history and the trailers that
preceded my screening do not provide much cause for optimism), but either way, <i>Fury Road</i> is blockbuster filmmaking at
its most thrilling. It puts the rest of Hollywood to shame.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Links:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://margotkim.tumblr.com/post/119382880341/george-miller-talks-about-the-stunt-work-of-the">http://margotkim.tumblr.com/post/119382880341/george-miller-talks-about-the-stunt-work-of-the</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://wheeleranddealer.tumblr.com/post/115889385452/christianslater-this-is-my-favorite-part-graham">http://wheeleranddealer.tumblr.com/post/115889385452/christianslater-this-is-my-favorite-part-graham</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://docmanhattan.blogspot.com/2014/11/strange-days-recensione.html"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">http://docmanhattan.blogspot.com/2014/11/strange-days-recensione.html</span></a></span></div>
Amy Woolseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01071851553114959861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-32913699062567938722015-04-28T13:44:00.001-04:002015-04-28T13:53:40.265-04:00Out of the Machine Comes a Thrilling Vision<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/StarGazer" target="_blank">StarGazer</a><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">***SPOILER
ALERT***</span></b><br />
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<i> Ex Machina</i>, the directorial debut of <i>28 Days Later</i> and <i>Sunshine</i> writer Alex Garland, operates around a series of binaries.
There’s the obvious man vs. machine, but also man vs. woman, the mind vs. the heart,
nature vs. technology, the past vs. the future, reality vs. the imaginary.
These aren’t exactly unusual themes for a story about artificial intelligence
or for science fiction in general, but rather than ultimately picking a side as
many are wont to do, this movie seeks to unify these seemingly incompatible
concepts. Like the android at its center, <i>Ex
Machina</i> is a synthesis of different, carefully selected parts fused to
create an elegant, more-than-functional whole, and its sleek, familiar surface
gradually peels back to reveal something much cooler and more slyly intelligent
underneath.<br />
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Where many sci-fi films aim for
the (sometimes literal) stars, looking to paint a dazzling, explosive picture
on as large a canvas as possible, <i>Ex
Machina</i> opts for a small-scale approach, featuring only four main
characters and keeping nearly all of the action confined to isolated, clearly
delineated spaces. As Oscar Isaac’s Nathan concedes early on, his house isn’t
cozy; it’s claustrophobic, a modernist, technological prison surrounded by an
almost overwhelmingly expansive natural oasis that whispers of freedom, the
unknown and – most importantly to the two men who anchor this narrative – the
uncontrollable. After all, the desire to control, the promise of power and
supremacy is what draws Caleb (played by Domhnall Gleeson in a nicely
restrained yet taut performance) to Nathan’s home, a decidedly artificial world
that they seek to rule not just as men or kings, but as gods. <span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Strikingly shot by cinematographer Rob Hardy and b</span></span>rought to life by
production designer Mark Digby, art directors Katrina Mackay and Denis Schnegg,
and set decorator Michelle Day, the house is an architect’s wet dream, as
tastefully sophisticated as it is cold and hollow, seeming to exist in a limbo somewhere
between the real world and a fantasy. The abundance of glass is hardly an
accident; as Caleb slowly discovers over the course of the film, the control it
offers is an illusion, one easily shattered despite the fancy security system
that Nathan has installed.</div>
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Caleb’s journey isn’t one from
knowledge to greater knowledge, but rather from knowledge to a realization of
ignorance. Like pretty much all stories about artificial intelligence and the
advancement of technology, <i>Ex Machina</i>
is deeply concerned with the limits of human invention and the hubris needed to
think not only that man can and should create life, but that being able to do
so would make him master of the universe. The thing about living creatures
(a.k.a. entities with consciousness) is that they tend to have a will of their
own. The use of “man” and “him” above is deliberate, because while Garland
isn’t necessarily essentialist in his treatment of gender and doesn’t explore
what might happen if roles were reversed (i.e. a female creator and a male
subject), the film suggests that, within the context of human society as it has
been structured through most of history, men alone have had the privilege of
imagining themselves as gods, of viewing the rest of the world like clay
waiting for them to shape and define as they wish. How could women entertain
such ambitions when they’re still fighting for autonomy and the right to even
be seen as people?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> By taking such a complex approach to the idea of progress and exhibiting
an awareness of who it benefits and who all too often must bear its burden, </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Ex Machina</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> departs from the usual
cautionary tale arc presented by most man vs. machine narratives. It treats
technology as neither savior nor threat, and it doesn’t support either the
hopeful warmth of </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Her </i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">or the bleak,
contemptuous assessment of humanity presented by something like the TV show </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Black Mirror</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">. Instead, it finds a sort
of middle road between all of these competing possibilities.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> When Ava, who flits between dream girl and femme fatale
before becoming someone else entirely, breaks out of the box that Nathan and
Caleb constructed to contain her, she kills Nathan less because she hates him,
though she does, than because he literally holds the key to her escape. Her
decision to leave Caleb behind isn’t a complete, vengeful rejection of humanity
(if anything, she seems to want to be human more than anything else). Rather,
she simply doesn’t care about him, and considering that his empathy for her
situation appeared to be primarily triggered by the possibility of a romantic
or sexual relationship, why should she? In a way, Caleb turns out to be as
possessive as Nathan; he’s just less obvious about it and, by extension, less
likely to admit it. The movie ends with Ava finding that traffic intersection
she wished to visit so that she could people watch. Whether or not she likes
what she sees is less important than the fact that, at last, she has the power
of being the observer. At last, she gets to define herself.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Before you think that </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Ex Machina</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
is all heady philosophy and gender politics, rest assured that it is actually
entertaining to watch. Propelled by Geoff Barrow’s and Ben Salisbury’s layered,
deliriously sensory techno score, it confidently balances the cerebral and
emotional while managing to generate tension without devolving into the lazy,
action-oriented antics that often plague the third acts of science fiction
films (see: Garland’s </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Sunshine</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">).
There is a climactic fight scene, but it feels like an organic means of
resolving the conflicts built up throughout the rest of the movie.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Given how intimate its scope is, the story would never have worked
without strong performances from its three lead actors. Gleeson’s
down-to-earth, vaguely naïve sensitivity makes him an ideal audience surrogate,
yet he’s prickly enough that his character’s ultimate fate isn’t too much of a
downer. Alicia Vikander radiates soulfulness and strength despite only being
able to use her face during most of her running time, much like Scarlett
Johansson did with only her voice in </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Her</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">.
She communicates Ava’s struggle to make sense of her own reality so effectively
that it wasn’t a challenge at all to accept the narrative’s shift of sympathy
to her side of the looking glass. Proving that clichés can in fact be made to
feel fresh again, Nathan is an eccentric, reclusive genius who also perfectly
embodies the intersection between Silicon Valley tech and bro cultures. Isaac,
steadily emerging as one of the most watchable actors around in terms of both
charisma and talent, vacillates between congenial and menacing, arrogant and
lonely, goofy and self-serious, sometimes all within the same moment. By the
end of the film, it’s hard to decide whether to despise or pity Nathan, this
man so consumed with his own image that he seems to have forgotten how to
connect with anyone else.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Perhaps the most important duality that </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Ex Machina</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> explores is that of thinking versus feeling. Caleb
posits that the ability to have an emotional experience, to feel the warmth of
the sun on your skin rather than just intellectually understanding that the sun
is shining on you and that it’s warm, is what separates humans from machines. Ava,
then, is proof that this gap can be bridged, her rebellion demonstrating that
she is capable not only of individual thought, but also of grasping abstract
concepts like love and hate, freedom and captivity on a gut level; she feels,
rather than merely simulating feeling as Nathan and Caleb suggest. However,
there’s something more complicated going on than a thinking/machine,
feeling/human binary, because what ultimately makes Ava more sympathetic and
triumphant than either of the actual humans in this story is her desire to
learn. She may have a computer in her head, but she realizes that knowledge is
about more than data collection or memorizing academic and scientific theories.
It’s about meeting new people, throwing yourself into a new situation,
expanding your heart as well as your mind. In short, it’s about living, and
that requires journeying out into the great unknown, so while Ava takes a few
tentative, brave steps into a new world, the men retreat into their comfortable
yet empty glass shell, doomed to turn to dust in a trap of their own making.</span></div>
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Photo Link:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://leagueofmanchildren.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/ex-machina-official-trailer-5.jpg">http://leagueofmanchildren.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/04/ex-machina-official-trailer-5.jpg</a><o:p></o:p></div>
StarGazerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12015069055645559061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-87437994279784414872015-04-03T17:32:00.000-04:002015-04-03T17:44:44.044-04:00A Conversation Comes to a Close<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/StarGazer" target="_blank">StarGazer</a><br />
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<i>I want you to pay attention. This is the beginning of something</i>.
Those two lines opened “Time Zones”, the first episode of the seventh and final
season of AMC’s complex, game-changing <i>Mad
Men</i>. They also, in a way, summed up the show as a whole. Demanding the kind of constant, painfully
close scrutiny from viewers that made it a boon to TV critics everywhere, <i>Mad Men</i> was a series of beginnings –
blossoming relationships, unstable mergers, forever-shifting identities, history
itself all hurtling toward a terrifying yet exciting unknown – but it realized what
its characters tried so hard to deny: that every birth and rebirth must be
accompanied by a death. In the season four finale, Dr. Faye Miller, the latest
woman to be deserted by Jon Hamm’s womanizing Don Draper, told the ad man
extraordinaire that he only likes the beginnings of things. That quote rang
with such truth not because Don is selfish and noncommittal, though he’s undeniably
a bit of both, but because he knows that facing the end means confronting <i>his</i> end, becoming face-to-face with his
own mortality. He fears that inevitable moment of loss and the lack of control
he has over it, just as he’s afraid of change, of moving on and getting left
behind, so he runs away.</div>
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Much will be written about <i>Mad Men</i> between now and when that final
shot, whatever it is, fades from our TV screens. People will ruminate over what
it means for prestige cable shows, antiheroes and the so-called Golden Age of
Television, and the vast majority of it will likely be more thorough, more
precise, more insightful than this piece. I don’t say that to be
self-deprecating or (just) because I don’t have the highest self-esteem, but
rather, because there’s been so much fantastic writing about this show
scattered across the Internet, on sites like <i>A.V. Club</i>, <i>Salon</i>, Tom +
Lorenzo and just about anywhere else you can find TV criticism, that I’d be
doing you a disservice if I didn’t urge you to check these recaps and analyses
out. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I can’t say I’ve been watching <i>Mad Men</i> from the beginning. In fact, the
first episode I ever saw was the season three premiere, <a href="http://madmen.wikia.com/wiki/Out_of_Town">“Out of Town”</a>, and
considering that I had only the vaguest awareness of who the characters were
and what was happening plot-wise, this was unsurprisingly a bad idea. Though
I’d heard and read nothing but endless praise for the show, a stately period
drama about the world of advertising didn’t exactly sound like compelling
entertainment to me at the time. I couldn’t imagine not finding it stiff, slow
and overly dense, and my first uninformed attempt to dive in confirmed these
initial expectations firmly enough that I didn’t give it another chance until
around at least two years later. Seeing that the <a href="http://www.vanityfair.com/online/oscars/2012/03/mad-men-fifth-season-jon-hamm-almost-cancelled">17-month
hiatus</a> between seasons four and five would give me plenty of time to fully
catch up, I started watching in the fall of 2011, which I remember because it
was my first semester of college. This time, I got hooked instantly.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Perfectly titled “Smoke Gets in
Your Eyes”, the pilot exhibited many of the show’s best qualities from the
beginning: the subtle wit and self-awareness of its writing; the prickly
characters we would learn to both love and hate; the deliberate way it used its
production design, cinematography and lighting to establish setting, mood and
theme. While I obviously already knew that Don had a family when I finally
watched that episode, the reveal of Betty and their children still worked as a
means of telling audiences that not everything was as it appeared, that beneath
the ad-glossy surface of class and glamour lay a universe of greed, deceit, ambiguity
and dark secrets.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Cue <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8R0Kq448rxc">“The
Street Where You Live”</a></div>
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It’s a testament to the
complexity of Matthew Weiner’s and co.’s vision that I find it so difficult to
write about their show. Aside from an eventually-abandoned piece defending the
sixth season, whose brilliance I still stand by, I haven’t attempted to dissect
the many layers, symbols and nuances present in each episode and season, too
daunted by the task and worried that I would miss key elements. How can I
possibly capture everything this show was and meant in only a couple thousand
words? Although there are other shows that are perhaps dearer to my heart
(namely, <i>Lost</i> and <i>Fringe</i>), I don’t think anything has come
as close to flawless as <i>Mad Men</i>.</div>
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A sign of just how young the
medium is, no one has yet developed a vocabulary that could be used to describe
quality television without comparing it to other forms of entertainment. <i>Mad Men</i> had the sensual lyricism of
poetry and the grandeur of cinema, each episode unfolding with the brevity and satisfying
completeness of a great short story. Strongly suggesting what Fitzgerald’s <i>The Great Gatsby</i> might’ve been like if
it took place in the 1960s, it also boasted the thematic richness most
frequently associated with literary novels. Yet it never tried to be anything
other than a TV show and likely would not have worked if told through a
different medium. Taking advantage of TV’s visual component to highlight
details and symbols that might’ve come across as heavy-handed in a purely
written format, it delved into its characters and world with a depth that
would’ve been impossible in a film’s short running time. The structural demands
of TV – from the iconic opening credits and the necessary breaks for commercials
to the memorable and slyly, purposefully infuriating preview segments – helped
shape story arcs, each season break representing both a literal time jump and a
crucial period of transition in the characters’ lives.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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More than anything else, <i>Mad Men</i> was impeccably crafted and unapologetically
confident. Every costume designed by the immensely talented Janie Bryant, every
mannerism or change in facial expression by an actor, every line of dialogue and
camera shot felt loaded with purpose, puzzle pieces that, taken together, added
up to a more dynamic and meaningful whole.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Take, for example, the episode called “The Monolith”, which features a
number of homages to </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">2001: A Space
Odyssey</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> and other Stanley Kubrick movies. On another show, it would’ve been
easy to dismiss these as random winks to film buffs or pretentious efforts to give
the episode a sheen of importance, but the frequent references actually play a
vital role, emphasizing the seventh season’s ongoing focus on technology and
outer space and echoing the characters’ growing paranoia and anxiety of the
unknown. Like the show as a whole, “The Monolith” was preoccupied with
mortality and the ways in which the past haunts the future, even as the latter
inevitably supplants the former. Using the firm’s acquisition of a new IBM
computer as a catalyst, the episode pushes various characters to confront the
possibility of their own obsolescence. Yet for an episode that was even more
preoccupied with death than usual and that largely retains </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">2001</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">’s coldly existential perspective, “The Monolith” ends on an upbeat
note. After spending a day wallowing in self-pity, Don receives some advice
from ex-alcoholic Freddy Rumsen, a surprising source, sobers up and returns to
work with a renewed sense of purpose. In </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Mad
Men</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, people cling to what they know because it’s certain, definable and,
therefore, controllable. However, “The Monolith” suggested that change, the
ability to adapt is also what separates humans from machines, which, for all
their efficiency and intelligence, have no capacity for mystery or surprise.
Machines look up at the stars and see a number where we see beauty, life, God,
the promise of infinity.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Mad Men</i> both covered and came at a very specific time in history.
The 1960s gave the show the opportunity to explore one of the most tumultuous
eras in American history, when the civil rights and burgeoning feminist
movements, waves of anti-authoritarian discontent, and violence both at home
and abroad threatened to disrupt the quiet, postwar status quo of white,
patriarchal power and conformity. Frequently touching on historical events in
passing rather than devoting significant amounts of time to them, this more
elliptical approach made it more notable whenever there was a direct reference,
whether to the JFK and Martin Luther King Jr. assassinations or to the Apollo
11 moon landing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> However, more importantly, the show avoided two potential traps that
await any period piece: the ease with which a narrative can frame its version
of history as universal, and the temptation to look back on the past with
either nostalgia or smugness. Although this doesn’t wholly excuse all of its
problematic aspects, </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Mad Men</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> has
always been honest about and committed to being a portrayal of a specific group
of people – that is, upper/middle-class white people. It didn’t try to cover
the entire decade from every angle and touchstone moment or pretend that
viewpoint, which has long been treated as the default perspective through which
we see history, was the right or only one. Matthew Weiner has even explicitly
said </span><a href="http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/6293/the-art-of-screenwriting-no-4-matthew-weiner" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">the
show is about whiteness</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, providing useful context for how it dealt with
issues like race and making episodes like season seven’s “A Day’s Work” particularly
fascinating. Like most good historical fiction, </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Mad Men</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> used the past to comment on and question the present,
asking not only how we got here, but also how much has really changed. With its
elegant fashion and music sense and lavish attention to period detail, the show
wasn’t entirely absent of nostalgia, but for the most part, it set up that
longing as a contrast to the uglier reality simmering underneath, whether by
depicting the dangers women like Peggy and Joan faced when navigating a sexist
society or by slowly unveiling the broken tyrant lurking behind Don’s
oh-so-cool exterior. It offered up a utopia only to deconstruct it and reveal that
it was an illusion all along. Though the show premiered in 2007 and therefore
could hardly have anticipated the future, its commentary on the myth of the
American Dream and the fragility of existing power structures felt especially
relevant in the aftermath of the 2008 stock market crash and the Great
Recession.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> In case it seems like the show was all heady social issues and technical
handicraft, rest assured, it was actually a joy to watch. </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Mad Men</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">’s greatest secret might be that it could regularly be
off-the-walls hysterical. Between Roger Sterling’s </span><a href="http://www.vulture.com/2013/04/mad-men-complete-quips-of-roger-sterling.html" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">caustic
put-downs</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, Peggy </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Iw0euc4qDk" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">hanging
up on an unwanted call</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, </span><a href="http://redporchobserver.tumblr.com/post/86288613113/hows-the-kid-is-he-flying-yet" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">pirate
Ken Cosgrove</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, a </span><a href="http://redporchobserver.tumblr.com/post/56536326792/buttwyatt-mad-men-season-6-recap" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">memorably
delivered greeting from Pete Campbell</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> and </span><a href="http://redporchobserver.tumblr.com/post/55196306734" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">many other bits of
hilarity</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, I laughed out loud at this show more than I have at many
comedies. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">One of the few shows that I
think regularly did meta well, mostly because it never distracted from the text
itself, </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Mad Men</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> had a healthy sense
of humor that prevented it from descending into dreary solemnity.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Yet what fueled the show more than anything else was its denial of easy
pleasure, both to the characters and the audience. That’s not to say that there
weren’t instances of sincere happiness or triumph, but those moments were
either hard-won or countered by something more tragic, bittersweet or sobering,
reminders that such thrills are temporary and all-too-often come at a price. If
that sounds too cynical, then consider that Don only got a shot at redemption because
he went through a personal hell first, and would the scene in “The Strategy”
where he and Peggy slow dance to Sinatra’s “My Way” be nearly as poignant if
they didn’t have a history littered with conflict, doubts and, at times,
outright rivalry? It’s that contradiction, the way their antagonism and tenderness
toward each other coexisted, that made their relationship one for the ages.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFOZlRlU87rfkQHNx0v5JNJBhyphenhyphenx7eUl1QaNFz-IKpuZUWPaeP6LPOY-KZqBNOozOjn7_CYKojz_vLHXEw0rdqTZ8dxxaExahZgf7UKouyU-ZmGsUg7PzqWs2Giq95BsrkejA48ZgV1REs/s1600/Mad+Men_Don+and+Peggy_The+Strategy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFOZlRlU87rfkQHNx0v5JNJBhyphenhyphenx7eUl1QaNFz-IKpuZUWPaeP6LPOY-KZqBNOozOjn7_CYKojz_vLHXEw0rdqTZ8dxxaExahZgf7UKouyU-ZmGsUg7PzqWs2Giq95BsrkejA48ZgV1REs/s1600/Mad+Men_Don+and+Peggy_The+Strategy.jpg" height="210" width="400" /></a></div>
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And in that moment, my heart exploded with emotions</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> The </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Mad Men </i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">finale will mark
the end of what’s been called </span><a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2013/07/why-is-the-golden-age-of-tv-so-dark/277696/" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">the
Third Golden Age of TV</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">. Starting with </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The
Sopranos</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, this period of shows was characterized by a fascination with
masculinity and troubled antiheroes living in morally hazy universes. It
included </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The Wire</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Breaking Bad</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> and </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Boardwalk Empire</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, but it seems appropriate for </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Mad Men</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> to get a final say. While it occupies some of the same
ideological territory as those other shows, </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Mad
Men</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> stands out in the current TV landscape because it captivated, shocked,
and awed without having the luxury of using violence and sudden, mass
deaths</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">to shake things up. That’s not to
say it never had any violence or deaths (see: the lawnmower incident, Lane
Pryce), but writers couldn’t use it as a consistent crutch, and sensational
episodes were frequently overshadowed by more quietly dramatic moments. Instead,
it relied on meticulous production design, writing that sings off the screen,
consistently sure-handed direction, and an absolutely phenomenal cast of actors
(who have not garnered </span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0804503/awards?ref_=tt_awd" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">a single Emmy win</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
for their roles here). It turned communication through silences and meaningful
glances into an art form and resulted in a singular portrait of privilege and
power, of a country in transition and of people scrambling to simultaneously
define, maintain and remake their individual and collective identity.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> More than anything else, I fell in love with its characters, from the
imperial, ruthlessly competent Joan, John Slattery’s boozy Roger and Kiernan
Shipka’s willful yet perceptive Sally Draper to the weaselly, self-loathing
Pete and January Jones as suburban ice queen Betty, who I’ll passionately defend
to the (likely) bitter end. Even Harry Crane had his charm, in a love-to-hate-him
sort of way. I’ll be sad to see them go. Of course, this isn’t to say that
dark, male antihero shows will disappear from TV forever, or that there won’t
be other great ones, but different, perhaps more diverse stories beckon; as Don
and co. are slowly discovering, nothing lasts forever. In time, we will likely
circle back around to this show and others like it, return to a place </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=suRDUFpsHus" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">we ache to go again</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, but
for now, this is </span><a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/TheEndofAnEra?src=hash" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">the
end of an era</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, and it’s time to say goodbye. Pay attention, one last time.</span></div>
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Photo Links:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDvD8Gr4Lmp_wkIL5sP3Nb6kZaaY73AbCrogYYJ8fi3BcUPkr3IqLfryMWrL_J58DhhjpO-FyixJya97LP_Kaz8cWVRLn3mcygR36pKJPpfaC_5l9kHyah8zcerRdIuR3mHcy8oHMV4ro/s1600/MadMen1.01.jpg">https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDvD8Gr4Lmp_wkIL5sP3Nb6kZaaY73AbCrogYYJ8fi3BcUPkr3IqLfryMWrL_J58DhhjpO-FyixJya97LP_Kaz8cWVRLn3mcygR36pKJPpfaC_5l9kHyah8zcerRdIuR3mHcy8oHMV4ro/s1600/MadMen1.01.jpg</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://cdn.screenrant.com/wp-content/uploads/Elisabeth-Moss-and-Jon-Hamm-in-Mad-Men-Season-7-Episode-6.jpg">http://cdn.screenrant.com/wp-content/uploads/Elisabeth-Moss-and-Jon-Hamm-in-Mad-Men-Season-7-Episode-6.jpg</a><o:p></o:p></div>
StarGazerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12015069055645559061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-15210026797126891892015-03-27T14:13:00.001-04:002015-04-28T13:39:45.420-04:00Looking for Goodbye<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/WordMaster" target="_blank">WordMaster</a><br />
<br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> HBO confirmed Wednesday morning that it had canceled <i>Looking</i>, Michael Lannan’s dramedy series
about three gay men searching for purpose and love in San Francisco. This news
did not come as a surprise: the show had <a href="http://headlineplanet.com/home/2015/02/18/ratings-girls-togetherness-hit-new-viewership-low-marks/">dismal
ratings</a>, even for premium cable, and there were <a href="https://twitter.com/MarkHarrisNYC/status/574809395487469568">ominous whispers</a>
long before the official announcement. Yet seeing this tweet from executive
producer Andrew Haigh still sent a surge of despair and frustration through me:</span></span><br />
<br />
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</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipK8hHmhzwqkD1iSSSsmtHjcroZc8vo-EybkG_Qod8iRWzodhgPpHi-sOr00qpQGbFV-J8Gen16T2MLMnGbYQHhw26mi5QcIm4b7H5tLrbWcdowHXupiMs5IrV5v59jj1fedRcFzqtiOA/s1600/andrew+haigh+tweet.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipK8hHmhzwqkD1iSSSsmtHjcroZc8vo-EybkG_Qod8iRWzodhgPpHi-sOr00qpQGbFV-J8Gen16T2MLMnGbYQHhw26mi5QcIm4b7H5tLrbWcdowHXupiMs5IrV5v59jj1fedRcFzqtiOA/s1600/andrew+haigh+tweet.png" height="211" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I’m not alone. After a promising
but somewhat forgettable freshman season, <i>Looking</i>
emerged as a legitimate triumph this year, presenting ten confident, all-around
sublime episodes that culminated in Sunday’s gut-punch of a finale. With the
threat of cancellation looming, critics <a href="https://twitter.com/MarkHarrisNYC/status/580204408081879041">started</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/tvoti/status/580143108270125056">to</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/TVandDinners/status/579864939248148481">rally</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/soniasaraiya/status/579836257687232512">around</a>
the show, which had been more or less nonexistent in the cultural conversation
aside from a smattering of controversy and contention that accompanied its
debut; I’m pretty sure I’ve seen more people talk about it this week than I saw
all last year. Needless to say, it was too little, too late.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’t
get me wrong: I’m hardly guilt-free in this regard; to be honest, I barely
thought about, let alone talked about, <i>Looking</i>
at all between the end of season one and the beginning of season two. It wasn’t
until sometime around the middle of season two that I realized I didn’t just
enjoy the show in the fleeting way I enjoy most comedies – I genuinely <i>loved</i> it. I spent a good deal of each
week looking forward to the next episode. It may not have been the best show on
TV, and it certainly wasn’t the most influential, but its absence leaves me
feeling strangely empty. I guess like so
many of life’s greatest joys, I didn’t really appreciate it until it was gone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here are
just a few of the reasons <i>Looking</i>
made the TV world a better place:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b> It was about gay people.</b> Crude, but true nonetheless. Even in
our era of <a href="http://www.ew.com/article/2015/03/25/shonda-rhimes-not-having-it-deadline-story?hootPostID=48d67e5826947394dccea888bacbd8d7">“too
much of a good thing”</a>, this is a rare phenomenon. Plenty of shows have
LGBTQ characters, but few are <i>about</i>
LGBTQ characters; even <i>Transparent</i>
is as much about Maura’s mostly straight, cisgender children as it is
about her. As AVClub’s Brandon Nowalk <a href="http://www.avclub.com/article/hbo-should-renew-looking-even-though-nobody-watche-216064?utm_source=Twitter&utm_medium=SocialMarketing&utm_campaign=Default:1:Default">points
out</a>, <i>Looking</i> was the only
current American TV show centered exclusively on the gay community,
presenting them as a majority rather than a minority, insiders rather than
outsiders. Although it stirred understandable discontent among some LGBTQ
individuals due to its narrow focus on cisgender, predominantly white men
and its normalization of homosexuality, the fact is that one show can’t be
expected to represent all queer people and was <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2014/01/hbos-em-looking-em-not-the-ultimate-gay-show-about-all-gay-people/283087/">never
intended to</a>. Also, the charges of homonormativity elide the nuanced,
rigorous ways in which <i>Looking</i>
examined self-acceptance, privilege, <a href="http://www.salon.com/2015/03/22/daniel_franzese_on_hbos_looking_finally_an_hiv_positive_character_living_in_the_here_and_now/">HIV</a>
and marriage as an institution, among other relevant issues; just this
week, it featured a startlingly pointed conversation that challenged the
legitimacy of monogamy. In a big sense, <i>Looking</i> was a show <a href="http://grantland.com/features/after-normal/">expressly concerned
with</a> the anxieties of progress and assimilation, subversive in its own
right.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<b style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> It understood that
universality demands specificity.</span></b><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"> As much as I wish it
included lesbian and bisexual characters or fleshed out the trans kids that
Eddie and Agustín worked with, I believe the narrow focus was precisely what
made <i>Looking</i> successful. Especially
with Patrick, who struggled to reconcile his sexual orientation with his
decidedly conservative upbringing and had an unfortunate tendency to make
offhand remarks like “I’m super into trans issues right now”, the show
demonstrated a keen awareness of the effect class and social status have on
people’s values, perceptions and behavior, never shying away from exposing its
protagonists’ less-palatable qualities. Plus, even if it isn’t representative of
the gay community, it felt, at least to some extent, representative of a
certain generation, gracefully capturing the mood of ennui and uncertainty that
has come to define American youth culture since the 1980s.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8HgX3e1UnZlb8eOH7M32qkl4t4oussS0IY4z9entvJxfEiUAcPiqgeGCrcE1y1rsad3YFyoMdmpl-51pUPlMcl9bApl_PKNYObkU45nFi3QPEo49gVg9xxxkxM81SPLZqccSkpk_6Zso/s1600/tn-500_looking_s1_poster_1218.jpg.pagespeed.ce.HCHSPFNMsfB34GnNSMAF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8HgX3e1UnZlb8eOH7M32qkl4t4oussS0IY4z9entvJxfEiUAcPiqgeGCrcE1y1rsad3YFyoMdmpl-51pUPlMcl9bApl_PKNYObkU45nFi3QPEo49gVg9xxxkxM81SPLZqccSkpk_6Zso/s1600/tn-500_looking_s1_poster_1218.jpg.pagespeed.ce.HCHSPFNMsfB34GnNSMAF.jpg" height="320" width="216" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The more I look at it, the sadder and more perfect
this poster seems.</span></span></div>
<div>
<span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span><b style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"> It had a knack for human interaction.</b><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"> Of course, abundant
credit must be given to the wonderful cast led by Jonathan Groff, Frankie
J. Alvarez and Murray Bartlett, whose already vibrant chemistry
skyrocketed in the second season. The expanded roles for supporting
players like Lauren Weedman, Raúl Castillo and Russell Tovey were a major
factor in this season’s jump in quality (thanks to the latter two, </span><i style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Looking </i><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">is possibly the only show
I’ve ever seen pull off a love triangle plotline). Their exchanges have a
lively, spontaneous rhythm reminiscent of Jesse and Celine’s conversations
in Richard Linklater’s </span><i style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">Before</i><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">
trilogy, creating the illusion that we’re watching ordinary people simply
living out their lives rather than professional actors performing. At the
same time, though, they don’t feel aimless; every word and remark belongs.
Particularly striking is the way characters constantly deploy humor as a
defense mechanism, using jokes and sarcastic quips to avoid sensitive
subjects and mask their true feelings (the episode “Looking for a Plot”,
my personal favorite of the season, is a master class in this area).</span></div>
<div>
<span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span><b style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> The cinematography was
quietly excellent.</span></b><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"> It’s easy to dismiss <i>Looking</i>’s visuals as workmanlike because they lack the audacious
scope of <i>True Detective</i> or the
meticulous beauty of <i>Breaking Bad</i>,
but their simplicity is deceptive. Adopting the naturalism of indie film with
none of the self-consciousness, <i>Looking</i>
generates a sense of delicate intimacy, often confined to close spaces and
shooting conversations in long, steady takes, while simultaneously conveying
the <a href="http://grantland.com/hollywood-prospectus/life-of-the-parties-on-the-brilliant-direction-of-looking/">underlying
loneliness</a> that plagues the characters. To use a rather obvious example,
take the tracking shot in “Looking for Home”, the season two finale, which
stalks Patrick and Kevin as they wander into the parking garage of their new
apartment, engaged in a heated argument. As far as tracking shots go, it’s
nothing flashy (I might not have noticed it if I hadn’t been alerted to its
presence beforehand), but the slightly off-center camera position and strategic
use of shadows infuse the sequence with the urgency of a cat-and-mouse chase.
It’s the only time I remember the show violating its façade of absolute
realism, transforming Patrick’s surroundings into a manifestation of his inner
turmoil.</span></div>
<div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU_CSGLuJaqQRz-bpdz2tyyTZDI2oq7Cq6vTFmIrOBsXML-GdULff4tNUz1rayR3czzutPa8WSYGwuNr8r4uqRs8NffJjD-2iZMbMhKjD0qLmFz77sNA1H7uooKaLEKL1PdPmm8cJH7gs/s1600/looking+screenshot2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU_CSGLuJaqQRz-bpdz2tyyTZDI2oq7Cq6vTFmIrOBsXML-GdULff4tNUz1rayR3czzutPa8WSYGwuNr8r4uqRs8NffJjD-2iZMbMhKjD0qLmFz77sNA1H7uooKaLEKL1PdPmm8cJH7gs/s1600/looking+screenshot2.png" height="252" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">My heart hurts.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span><b style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> It
was about life, not death.</span></b><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"> There are plenty of dark, violent shows that I love
(<i>Justified</i> and <i>The Americans</i> each had among the strongest episodes of their
respective seasons this week), but it’s refreshing to encounter one in which
the climactic twist is that one character discovers another is on Grindr. Without
murder or action set-pieces to ratchet up the tension, <i>Looking</i> is forced to create drama purely out of people talking,
generally about nothing more momentous than their love lives or career options.
When half the shows on TV seem intent on recreating the Red Wedding (with predictably
little success), hours like “Looking to the Future”, a season one episode that
consisted entirely of two characters strolling and chatting, are tiny miracles.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span><b style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> It
had so much love for its characters.</span></b><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"> Patrick, Agustín and Dom
aren’t the most likable people – they’re frequently self-absorbed, petty and
ignorant. But whereas many shows would’ve treated them with disdain, as objects
of satire or ridicule, <i>Looking</i> strives
to understand and perhaps redeem them; it wants us to want them to find
whatever they’re looking for. It critiques without condemning, an honest yet
compassionate portrait of people fumbling toward some hazy notion of ecstasy
that allows them to, even at their lowest, maintain their humanity, if not
their dignity.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> As someone who craves closure, I’m glad we’re getting
a <a href="http://www.ew.com/article/2015/03/25/looking-canceled">“special
episode”</a> to wrap up the show, which has no shortage of dangling threads. In
my ideal world, it would be essentially <i>Weekend</i>,
Haigh’s sweet, similarly meandering 2011 film about two men falling in love,
except with the <i>Looking</i> characters.
Still, to a small part of me, it feels misguided. After all, what better way to
conclude a story about people and a society in limbo than with a cliffhanger? I
can’t imagine a more fitting resolution (or lack thereof) than the image of Dom
and Doris sitting on a hill, gazing at the glittering San Francisco vista – a <i><a href="http://www.finalimageblog.com/post/81020581715/her-2013-dir-spike-jonze">Her<span style="font-style: normal;"> shot</span></a></i>, as I’ve dubbed it. Two people
not quite together, awaiting an uncertain future with hope.</span></span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr-CP39lbjGgVZnVQRYWjzbE89oIh_MiaaHDP2YmKLArFR4Q55BtAuaxvm8gvJWCXQL22R26niFhlMLu0HvHO0tYc5tXf3KIbMtPVIRb1n8qr9hOLN_gdojiSKe3Edi9yWHkXrvBz0148/s1600/looking+screenshot.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr-CP39lbjGgVZnVQRYWjzbE89oIh_MiaaHDP2YmKLArFR4Q55BtAuaxvm8gvJWCXQL22R26niFhlMLu0HvHO0tYc5tXf3KIbMtPVIRb1n8qr9hOLN_gdojiSKe3Edi9yWHkXrvBz0148/s1600/looking+screenshot.png" height="252" width="400" /></a></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Links:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.broadwayworld.com/article/Photo-Flash-First-Look-New-Stills-and-Poster-for-HBOs-LOOKING-Starring-Jonathan-Groff-20131223"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">http://www.broadwayworld.com/article/Photo-Flash-First-Look-New-Stills-and-Poster-for-HBOs-LOOKING-Starring-Jonathan-Groff-20131223</span></a></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Amy Woolseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01071851553114959861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-89402062131738517632015-03-24T20:55:00.000-04:002015-07-07T19:43:38.602-04:00Mission: Impossible – Conquering the Smurfette Principle<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/StarGazer" target="_blank">StarGazer</a><br />
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The
full-length trailer for the fifth <i>Mission:
Impossible</i> movie, now sporting the not-at-all-laughable subtitle of <i>Rogue Nation</i> (at least it’s not <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2975590/?ref_=nv_sr_1">Dawn of Justice</a></i>
or <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt3501632/?ref_=nv_sr_2">Ragnarok</a></i>?),
popped up online Monday, and the world got yet another opportunity to gawk at
Tom Cruise’s commitment to jaw-dropping and likely ill-advised stunts with a
mixture of bemusement, exasperation and awe. While I have little doubt that the
film’s action scenes will be thrilling, an ideal spectacle for blockbuster
season, I would be infinitely more interested in it if 1) <i>Mission: Impossible – Ghost Protocol </i>helmer Brad Bird returned to
the directing chair and 2) more importantly, if Paula Patton were not
conspicuously absent from this sequel, while Cruise, Jeremy Renner, Simon Pegg
and Ving Rhames will all reprise their roles.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Even if it is for </span><a href="http://www.ibtimes.com/mission-impossible-5-cast-update-why-paula-patton-not-returning-director-confirms-1840938" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">harmless
scheduling reasons</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, this means we have yet another major movie boasting a
single major female character (newcomer Rebecca Ferguson) in an ensemble
otherwise consisting of all guys. Yes, we’re talking about an action franchise
whose primary draw has always been its over-the-top gadgets and stunt work, so
it’s obviously not surprising that </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Rogue
Nation</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, at least based off the trailer, will be extremely dude-centric. However,
this tokenism and the trailer’s heavy use of the male gaze suggest that the
movie and, by extension, the franchise as a whole, isn’t especially interested
in women – either in terms of portraying them as more than eye candy or in
attracting us as an audience.</span></div>
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I couldn’t get a non-blurry screengrab, but in case you’re
wondering, Rebecca Ferguson is about to snap this guy’s neck with her legs, and
I’m so here for that.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2hcTChNloGgOViyB-LsgM5VWWSI6Po4AFXIz0-MqOyUVPSp7ipltMmasqWqGiTw5VLqON5kJZJYQAcv7LUPOvuD8hASOrSXV5ukNRmdVen5k154pb2LGVd6IMKqU219XbDyp-NGvsO-Q/s1600/MI5_Rebecca+Ferguson+in+bikini.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2hcTChNloGgOViyB-LsgM5VWWSI6Po4AFXIz0-MqOyUVPSp7ipltMmasqWqGiTw5VLqON5kJZJYQAcv7LUPOvuD8hASOrSXV5ukNRmdVen5k154pb2LGVd6IMKqU219XbDyp-NGvsO-Q/s1600/MI5_Rebecca+Ferguson+in+bikini.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: center;">This, not so much.</span></div>
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<a name='more'></a><br />
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The <i>Mission: Impossible</i> franchise’s difficulties with female characters
can arguably be blamed on one particular source: James Bond. Not only is the
iconic action hero <a href="http://badassdigest.com/2014/07/14/hulk-vs.-james-bond-staring-into-the-id-of-a-boner-incarnate/">notoriously</a>
<a href="http://www.theage.com.au/it-pro/sexism-is-forever-as-bond-takes-a-backward-step-20121123-29ygg.html">misogynistic</a>
as a character, but the franchise basically created its own trope in the Bond
Girl. Notice that it’s ‘girl’, not ‘woman’, and she doesn’t have a name,
emphasizing that these characters exist in relation to Bond rather than as
individuals with their own narratives and agency and are designed to be
replaceable, disposable. Often playing the same role that femme fatales did in
classic noirs (that is, as a simultaneous love interest and adversary for the
hero), the Bond Girl can be intelligent, savvy, sweet or manipulative, but
above all, she must be beautiful, always in a conventional, fashion model kind
of way that will seduce both Bond and the men watching these movies. She never
carries over from one film to the next, usually vanishing without even the
slightest mention or explanation. In other words, the Bond Girl exists not as a
meaningful character that audiences need to emotionally invest in, but as sexy
decoration, serving essentially the same purpose as Bond’s shaken, not stirred
martinis and signature Aston Martin.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Unfortunately, while the Bond Girl may not be the only female character
to appear on-screen, she is usually the most prominent one. 2012’s </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Skyfall</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, which featured Judi Dench’s M
in a pivotal role, was an exception, and even there, she was killed off by the
end of the film and promptly supplanted by the decidedly male Ralph Fiennes. If
Naomie Harris wasn’t returning as Eve Moneypenny, we would be in the exact same
situation with the upcoming </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Spectre</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
that we’re in with </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Rogue Nation</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">; while
a number of women have been added to the cast of the new film, with Léa Seydoux
presumably serving as the de facto Bond Girl, forgive me for being skeptical
that any of them will get much to do beyond flirting with Daniel Craig and, if
we’re lucky, one action scene to show how “badass” they are. Because,
obviously, if a lady gets to shoot a gun or kick some nameless henchman’s butt,
it doesn’t matter if she still has no more actual characterization than a prop,
right?</span></div>
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In the end, though, what’s most
frustrating is that the tokenization of women isn’t confined to a single
franchise or genre. As evidenced by everything from <i>Star Trek</i>, <i>Pacific Rim</i>
and <i>Edge of Tomorrow</i> to <i>Dawn of the Planet of the Apes</i>, the
Marvel and DC cinematic universes, and even non-blockbusters like <i>Margin Call</i> and <i>The Imitation Game</i>, <a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TheSmurfettePrinciple">‘The
Smurfette Principle’</a> is the norm, not the exception. It’s why the initial
casting announcement for <i>Star Wars VII</i>,
which mentioned Daisy Ridley as the sole new female cast member, was greeted
with not so much an uproar as <a href="http://io9.com/hey-star-wars-where-the-hell-are-the-women-1569357077">fairly
vocal yet resigned exasperation</a> that was placated when Lupita Nyong’o and
Gwendoline Christie were later added. Of course, four women, including Carrie
Fisher reprising her role as Leia, to at least nine men just in the main
ensemble still isn’t exactly an ideal balance, but if having half as many women
as men can be accepted as a reasonable expectation, then most movies don’t even
live up to that bare minimum.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> I’ve </span><a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/2013/10/on-bechdel-test-and-strong-female.html" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">ranted
before</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> about how the idea that the Mako Mori Test would “improve” the
Bechdel Test is severely misguided, so I won’t go into that again, but as long
as Smurfette Principle remains common, movies that pass the Bechdel Test will
still be depressingly far and few in between. In a way, the Smurfette Principle
and Strong Female Character trope also are closely related, because when you only
have one female character to work with, she must carry the burden of not only
representing all women, but also giving all audience members what they want. In
action blockbusters, the kind that dominate the modern cinematic environment,
this essentially translates to the heroine, if she exists at all, being
designed as both a symbol of female empowerment, as limited and superficial as
that idea of empowerment might usually be, and an object of male pleasure. You
can find male characters with a wide range of identities – hero, villain, leader,
sex symbol, nerd, sidekick, comic relief – because there are usually tons of
them in any given film, but these solo women have to fulfill all those roles
simultaneously, resulting in characters that feel less like well-defined
individuals than amalgams of vague, generically admirable traits whose overriding
signifier is ultimately that they are female.</span></div>
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Some might argue that there are
signs that things might be getting better, pointing to the success of such
franchises as <i>The Hunger Games</i>, where
there may only be one major, active female character but at least she’s the
lead, or to the impending all-ladies installment of <i>Ghostbusters</i> and Paul Feig’s entire post-<i>Bridesmaids</i> career. However, while I’m nearly always a little glad
to see a female-driven movie do well and Feig seems to have the best of
intentions with projects like <i>The Heat</i>
and the upcoming <i>Spy</i>, vehicles for
female stars can still be tokenistic if they’re forever surrounded by men (how
hard can it be to just give Katniss a female friend?). Having an all-female
Ghostbusters or similar movies doesn’t solve the underlying problem that women
are still marked as Other while men get to be the default.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> If this Ghostbusters thing and other </span><a href="http://www.today.com/books/female-thor-marvel-comics-thunder-god-now-goddess-1D79929986" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">highly</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><a href="http://www.forbes.com/sites/dorothypomerantz/2014/10/29/captain-marvel-and-wonder-woman-are-the-new-superhero-movies-with-the-most-to-lose/" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">publicized</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><a href="http://screenrant.com/fantastic-four-human-torch-cast-michael-jordan-2015/" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">moves</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
to diversify major franchises feel like gimmicks or merely part of some
marketing trend, that’s because </span><a href="http://thedissolve.com/features/exposition/822-hollywoods-female-stuff-problem/" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">they
are</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">. To stick with the </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Ghostbusters</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
example, perhaps the all-female cast would seem less like a calculated
publicity stunt if they’d announced the movie by simply revealing that Kristen
Wiig and co. had been cast instead of doing an entire build-up to it, because
as it is, the presence of women isn’t incidental to a larger, planned story or
concept, it </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">is</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> the concept. Imagine a
film being promoted solely for having an all-male cast; the thought is absurd
not just because we have plenty of movies without a woman in sight, but because
the gender of your characters isn’t actually the basis for a story or even a
decent elevator pitch. Studio and network executives aren’t suddenly interested
in diversity for moral or political reasons or even because they know it’ll
result in better, more interesting art. More likely, they’re investing in ideas
like the all-female </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Ghostbusters </i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">or a
Wonder Woman movie (finally!) because they’ve seen a bunch of surveys showing
that </span><a href="http://blogs.indiewire.com/womenandhollywood/the-shifting-hollywood-audience-women-are-the-future-20140716" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">women</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
and </span><a href="http://www.thewrap.com/how-hispanics-became-hollywoods-most-important-audience/" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">minorities</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
make up a </span><a href="http://blogs.indiewire.com/womenandhollywood/study-women-made-up-the-majority-of-moviegoers-in-2014-20150312" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">good
portion of the movie-going audience</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> and that films that have a woman and/or
person of color </span><a href="http://www.diversityinc.com/news/study-movies-shows-diverse-casts-perform-better/" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">have
been doing better</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> at </span><a href="http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/diverse-casts-deliver-higher-ratings-777428" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">the
box office lately</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> than ones that don’t, so for now at least, diversity
seems to be where the money’s at. That’s not to say these projects aren’t
welcome and a relatively refreshing change of pace, but they’re not reflective
of significant structural or institutional changes within the industry. The new
</span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Ghostbusters</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> in particular serves as
a reminder that greater visibility for marginalized groups doesn’t always – or even
often – coincide with </span><a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/act-four/wp/2015/03/04/hollywoods-diverse-appearances-can-be-deceiving/" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">increased
power or more equality</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, and history suggests that this diversity-related trend,
like all past ones, will be temporary with little lasting, widespread impact.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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All of this is to say that I don’t
wish <i>Rogue Nation</i> had retained Paula
Patton or at least added more new female characters to the cast because I think
having more women would automatically make the <i>Mission: Impossible</i> franchise more progressive or because this
should be an important battleground for feminism. I do think, however, that we
should be calling out art when it doesn’t have diversity instead of praising it
when it does, and dammit, I just want to be able to enjoy watching Tom Cruise
hang off the side of a plane without feeling irritated and guilty for indulging
in some pleasure that I know is explicitly not meant for me. Yes, these movies,
just like most blockbusters, are male power fantasies to their core, but maybe
I’m naïve or giving men too much credit, I don’t think that kind of wish
fulfillment needs to be <i>completely</i>
sexist and exclusionary. I would like to actually be allowed to escape into my
escapist entertainment. That honestly doesn’t seem like too much to ask. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Photo Links:<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pXwaKB7YOjw">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pXwaKB7YOjw</a>
(screenshots)<o:p></o:p></div>
StarGazerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12015069055645559061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-53103997944955803062015-02-17T14:01:00.000-05:002015-07-07T19:47:56.707-04:00How "Arrow" Empowered the Damsel-in-Distress<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/StarGazer" target="_blank">StarGazer</a><br />
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It’s no
secret that The CW, oft overlooked because it lacks the <a href="http://www.avclub.com/article/not-prestige-not-trash-rise-mid-reputable-tv-213058?utm_source=Twitter&utm_medium=SocialMarketing&utm_campaign=Default:1:Default">artistic
edge</a> and money to garner the prestige of cable yet is too niche to
commercially compete with the “Big Four” broadcast networks, is telling some of
the <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/maureen-ryan/arrow-flash_b_4378775.html">best
superhero stories</a> in any medium right now. After a promising yet uneven freshman
season, <i>Arrow</i> found its voice in a
confident, entertaining and emotionally compelling second season, and its
spin-off show <i>The Flash</i> already
brimmed with energy when it debuted this past fall.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Though the two shows are tonally disparate (</span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The Flash</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> is bouncy and at times proudly cheesy, while </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Arrow</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">’s brooding darkness is more
reminiscent of Christopher Nolan’s Batman films), they work well together, as evidenced
by a pair of delightful crossover episodes that aired in December. Not only do
they share a creative team, anchored by creator Greg Berlanti, but they also
succeed for many of the same reasons: talented, charismatic actors; sharp yet
understated visual flair combined with efficient pacing; and perhaps most
importantly, plots driven by characters and their relationships to each other
rather than by MacGuffins or convoluted mythology. In a way, they benefit from
not having the enormous budgets given to big-screen ventures, because they’re
forced to employ action in the service of story instead of the other way
around, and even the set pieces, of which there are still plenty, dazzle more
through impressive choreography and stunt work than expensive CGI effects,
particularly in </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Arrow</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">. They suggest
that comic books, with their installment-based structure, love of twists and
cliffhangers and sprawling ensembles of characters, are much better suited to
TV than film, where even the best adaptations still often feel cumbersome and
incomplete.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyi_IqCWcbWwc5c2uuQ_-CWACBpVhMAZ1WRYWJOCPKOX6u_XUxYonRrAx8omzWjodf4-hVSY20iJBrPn_N_87DfVcRXnUUI4zUHg_quIxJOrKlFbDOT-OYeZsJWGvJYRPco4oFmk_dUz0/s1600/Team+Arrow+being+badass.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyi_IqCWcbWwc5c2uuQ_-CWACBpVhMAZ1WRYWJOCPKOX6u_XUxYonRrAx8omzWjodf4-hVSY20iJBrPn_N_87DfVcRXnUUI4zUHg_quIxJOrKlFbDOT-OYeZsJWGvJYRPco4oFmk_dUz0/s1600/Team+Arrow+being+badass.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: center;">Watch and learn, Avengers. Watch and learn.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Though both shows readily
embrace their comic book origins, <i>Arrow</i>
especially spends a lot of time playing with various stock plot and character
tropes. There’s the brooding, traumatized hero, the loyal sidekick, the tech
support, the protégé, and various villains and fridged characters (usually
women) that primarily serve as, respectively, obstacles for conflict and motivation
for the hero. Of course, the writers are good enough that all of these
characters eventually become much more layered and interesting than a simple
description suggests, but for the most part, they don’t radically depart from
the superhero action genre’s conventions. While David Ramsey’s pragmatic,
no-nonsense John Diggle and Emily Bett Rickard’s Felicity Smoak, who has
evolved into the show’s moral center, have always probably been my favorite
characters, the most fascinating and thoughtful narrative arc throughout the
series so far belongs not to them or hero Oliver Queen, but rather to resident
token love interest Laurel Lance, who’s played by a very game Katie Cassidy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
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At the beginning of the show,
Laurel seemed destined to be the kind of character that would gradually and
without fanfare fade into the background. Because she was positioned as the
female lead, she was never doomed to an early death, but she seemed to exist
more out of obligation than to serve the larger story in any meaningful way. Frankly,
between Cassidy’s initially bland performance and the character’s equally
generic job as a vaguely do-gooder lawyer, Laurel was just boring. Granted,
part of this was because the show as a whole was stumbling along for much of
the first season, trying to find its footing, but considering that she was
ostensibly the show’s central female character, Laurel was especially poorly
serviced by the writers. Saddled with an uninspired love triangle and an overly
protective father, her main role throughout the first season was to generate
conflict between the three men in her life, frequently by being abducted or
somehow otherwise finding herself in harm’s way.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> In short, she was a prototypical damsel-in-distress. The
damsel-in-distress is arguably the most maligned archetype in superhero stories
not just because she inherently lacks agency and draws upon sexist stereotypes
of women as passive and helpless, but also because she wreaks havoc on the
hero’s life by disrupting his plans and making him vulnerable to his enemies.
You can only watch him rescue her so many times before you start resenting her
for being ‘useless’, him for putting up with these shenanigans and the writer
for relying on such a trite, lazy trope. To be fair, Laurel was never as
obnoxious as the worst of those characters (ahem, MJ in the original </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Spider-Man </i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">films) since she was endowed
with basic self-defense skills, meaning she usually tried to fight back against
the villains before being inevitably overwhelmed, and that she occasionally
talked back to the men constantly bent on controlling her for the sake of
‘protecting’ her.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Still, the other characters and the writers regularly treated her more
like an object than a human being with a life of her own. The love triangle was
particularly frustrating both because Cassidy had tepid at best romantic/sexual
chemistry with her male costars and because narratively, Laurel had every
reason to outright reject both men. On one hand, you have Tommy Merlyn, played
by the easy-on-the-eyes Colin Donnell, who became more interesting once he got
a personality and storyline of his own but prior to that spent most of his
screen time pining after Laurel and sulking jealously when she seemed less
committed to him than he was to her. At one point, towards the end of the first
season, Oliver has to remind him that Laurel isn’t a prize to be won, which I
think is all you really need to know in order to understand her and Tommy’s
relationship. On the other hand, though, you have Oliver, who was cheating on
Laurel with her younger sister Sara when he went missing and was presumed dead
for five years, which sounds like a pretty cut-and-dry deal breaker, but maybe
that’s just me. Laurel was going to be difficult to salvage, if they even
attempted to do so at all, yet in retrospect, it’s clear that this initial
iteration of the character was necessary to make her long-term arc work.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> The first photos of Laurel dressed in costume as the Black Canary </span><a href="http://tvline.com/2014/11/12/arrow-black-canary-photos-katie-cassidy-season-3/" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">showed
up online</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> around mid-November of last year, but comics readers had known
this revelation was coming from the beginning, and the show teased that she
might take up her now-murdered sister’s mantle enough that it wasn’t a surprise
to people like me, who are exclusively familiar with the show, either. Being
part of </span><a href="http://dc.wikia.com/wiki/Dinah_Laurel_Lance_%28New_Earth%29" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">comics
canon</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, though, didn’t guarantee that her transformation into vigilante
superhero was going to work on TV. For one thing, </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Arrow</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> had already introduced the Canary a season earlier as Caity
Lotz’s Sara, who was awesome, not just because of her fighting skills and the
fact that she often used those skills to help and defend women, but also
because she faced the kind of compelling, internal moral conflict that’s all
too often reserved for male heroes.</span></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtMJzsQlJJU_2hwc1CaWj0mUWlaiMIMsjyUqNinkddhcUFpsnC-VTPu-QdPGrXDwrBg4KRuh2hSPxU6lMyE0lp87EgEm4buRU4nGyKCPAMKAepqBv7WP2qwUbHBdp-c8HBt1eETUvaNco/s1600/Sara+and+Nyssa+kissing_Arrow.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtMJzsQlJJU_2hwc1CaWj0mUWlaiMIMsjyUqNinkddhcUFpsnC-VTPu-QdPGrXDwrBg4KRuh2hSPxU6lMyE0lp87EgEm4buRU4nGyKCPAMKAepqBv7WP2qwUbHBdp-c8HBt1eETUvaNco/s1600/Sara+and+Nyssa+kissing_Arrow.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
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And hey, bisexual representation!</div>
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Though Sara’s death was far from
meaningless, serving as the driving force behind the third season, she was on
the show for such a short amount of time that it’s hard not to be at least a
little peeved that the writers essentially replaced her with Laurel. Couldn’t
we have both of them at the same time? Yet, as much as I still miss Sara, what
excites me about Laurel becoming the Black Canary isn’t necessarily that Katie
Cassidy will presumably now have more screen time and material to work with or
that she can finally, really get in on some of the action. Rather, her decision
to put on the leather jacket and mask signals just how far she has come from
that first season. While the ability to carry one’s self in combat is hardly a
surefire indicator of good characterization and certainly doesn’t automatically
mean a female character is well-written, in Laurel’s case, it’s as much an
outward illustration of how she has changed mentally as it is evidence of her
increased physical fitness.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In last week’s episode
“Canaries” (3.13), the show openly addressed the tension stemming from Laurel’s
decision to follow her sister’s footsteps by staging a direct confrontation
between the two women when Laurel got injected with the hallucinogenic drug
Vertigo. Though it could easily have come across as a cheap way of forcing closure
onto a relationship that had been interesting in part because of its messiness,
the writers instead used it to push Laurel in a slightly different direction,
driving home the purpose of her entire Black Canary/transformation storyline.
In a way, Laurel has always been the most insecure and volatile character on <i>Arrow</i>, not just because, until now, she
couldn’t hide her fear or emotions behind a literal mask or under a hood, but
because she’s never been exceptional. Even (or, perhaps, especially) Felicity
and Diggle, who don’t have superhero alter-egos, seem elevated above the
average person in terms of their skills as, respectively, a hacker and soldier and
their moral character. By contrast, in her flaws, mistakes and self-destructive
tendencies, Laurel always seems human.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> This was particularly evident during the pivotal second season, when she
struggled with depression and the substance abuse problems that apparently run
in the Lance family while everyone else was navigating grand moral quandaries
and busy saving Starling City. Following Tommy’s death, the once idealistic,
firmly by-the-books lawyer edged closer to the dark side as she coped with her
grief by numbing herself with pills and alcohol, lashing out at anyone who
tried to help her and abandoning the principles she long defended. Her growing
disillusionment with the legal system and the concept of justice was initially
represented by her disdain for the Arrow, whom she had previously supported
despite some doubts. More than that, as corny as it sounds, she lost faith in
herself. This kind of nihilistic arc can be difficult to orchestrate and
frustrating to watch, yet by letting Laurel be unlikable and emotionally – instead
of physically – vulnerable, the show took her from being an object of desire
dependent on the whims and actions of others to being a person of her own, with
all the complications and pettiness that entails. She still needed to be
rescued, but from her personal demons rather than external villains, and over
the course of the next season and a half, she realized that only she could save
herself. As Katie Cassidy </span><a href="http://www.vulture.com/2015/02/arrows-katie-cassidy-black-canary.html?mid=twitter_vulture" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">has
said</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, she needed to hit rock bottom in order to come out on top.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Her story is as much about self-discovery as it is about a downfall and
redemption, duel themes that were highlighted as the arc culminated (for now,
at least) in “Canaries”. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Torn between
the desire to help others and her private fear that she’s too weak and selfish
and just all-out not good enough to follow in her sister’s footsteps, Laurel
finally faced her past and, with </span><a href="http://queensarrow.tumblr.com/post/110783724659/i-saw-sara-she-was-alive-and-she-was-calling-me" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">some
help</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, accepted that she couldn’t take Sara’s place, not because she’s not
worthy of it, but because she shouldn’t have been trying to in the first place.
After years of chasing ghosts and being seemingly bent on becoming one herself,
she came to terms with Sara’s death while realizing that the perfect, invincible
hero who can fix everything, an ideal she’d tried to impose to varying extents
on her father, Sara and Oliver, doesn’t exist. There are only people doing the
best they can with what they have in the limited ways they know how.</span></div>
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Felicity Smoak, making the world a better place, one truth
bomb at a time</div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Ultimately, </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Arrow</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">’s vision of
heroism remains so enticing after almost three years because it never portrays
being a good person as something that comes easily. It must be earned and then
earned again, and again, a process filled with struggle, pain and uncertainty
and that is always in danger of being undone by one mistake or bad decision. In
the world of Starling City, heroes can be compromised, arrogant, afraid,
fallible and sometimes not very heroic at all. While this more ambiguous
approach to our fictional saviors is often dismissed as cynical and tiresome
nowadays, it both ensures that there will be a constant source of internal, as
well as external, conflict, which is the basis of traditional storytelling, and
suggests that you don’t have to be an unimpeachable person to do decent things
– or a wholly evil person to do bad things. Not everyone may be a born hero,
but they are capable of becoming one. After encountering so many comic heroines
who have been forced into the roles of either an untouchable Mary Sue (a la Pepper
Potts, Lois Lane) or a disempowered victim who has been manipulated and had Bad
Things done to her by Bad People (Black Widow, Gamora), it’s been incredibly satisfying
to see Laurel find her strength and courage by discovering a sense of agency
and identity, instead of having them stripped from her. She’s stumbled more
than a few times along the way and will no doubt do so again in the future, but
those failures make the successes just that much sweeter. In a show that’s
spent plenty of time exploring the futility and generally negative consequences
of the paternalistic impulse to protect everyone else (from evil, from the
truth, from each other, from themselves), it seems fitting that the damsel-in-distress
has broken out of her cage and become her own hero.</span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></div>
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StarGazerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12015069055645559061noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-46815271828951707792015-01-19T17:11:00.003-05:002015-01-19T17:12:34.031-05:00This Turing Feels More Machine Than HumanWordMaster<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">While watching <i>The Imitation Game</i>, the new historical drama revolving around celebrated
mathematician and computer science pioneer Alan Turing and the British intelligence
effort to crack the German Enigma code during World War II, I could not stop
imagining it as a TV show. It attempts to pack about four different stories
into less than two hours of screen time and, as a result, fails to do justice
to any of them. There’s the traditional biopic, which follows Turing from his
teenage years in boarding school to his conviction for “gross indecency” not
long before his mysterious death (the film presents it as an unambiguous
suicide, though some dispute this); the quasi-romantic relationship between
Turing and Joan Clark, who bond over their mutual status as outsiders; the
workplace drama showing Turing’s sometimes prickly interactions with his fellow
codebreakers; and the old-fashioned, John Le Carré-style spy thriller involving
the hunt for a Soviet double-agent led by Stewart Menzies, the head of MI6
played here by formidable character actor Mark Strong. A full show or
mini-series might have been able to flesh out the supporting players and
thoroughly explore the inner workings of the Bletchley Park operation, but in a
feature-length movie, these potentially fascinating elements are sidelined in
favor of something cursory and generic.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> To be
fair, <i>The Imitation Game</i> is slightly
more enjoyable than your average biopic, not least because its subject is so
complex and remarkable that it would be near-impossible to make a story about
him boring (with Hollywood, though, you’d be surprised). Graham Moore’s script
suffers from trite sentimentality toward the end, particularly with a certain
recurring line that seems to exist for no reason other than to be inserted in
trailers, but early on, the dialogue whisks by with a dry wit, and you almost
wish scenes would last longer than they do just because it’s so fun watching
these actors swap banter. The cast is the highlight of the movie, hardly a surprise
given that it consists of respected thespians like Strong and Charles Dance and
talents in their primes like Benedict Cumberbatch, Kiera Knightley and Matthew
Goode. They’re so captivating, in fact, that you can almost forget that, with one
obvious exception, none of them gets a whole lot to do; Strong and Dance exude
gravitas, Knightley perky geniality and Goode dapper charisma, but they could
probably do these roles in their sleep. Even Cumberbatch, in what’s clearly
meant as a star vehicle, treads familiar ground, having spent much of his
career so far portraying aloof geniuses. He’s good, but at this point, what
else do you expect?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> On the
whole, it has the same deficiencies that plague most biopics. Although Moore employs
a framing device and multiple timelines as a way of easing viewers into the
period setting and avoiding the monotonous “and then this happened” structure
that often encumbers the genre, in practice, these strategies have the opposite
effect: rather than facilitating the transition into the past, they make it
more jarring, further distancing the audience from the central narrative and
disrupting the pacing in key moments. The whole thing feels hopelessly
artificial, like listening to someone tell a story instead of experiencing the
story yourself. As compelling as the acting is and as elegantly realized as the
costumes and sets look, Norwegian director Morton Tyldum never permits the
audience to become truly immersed in his world or connect to the characters
beyond the most superficial level. For a movie about war, deception and
thwarted desire, it’s oddly passionless, seemingly more interested in Turing as
a puzzle to be solved – an enigma, if you will – than as a human being.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Debates over historical accuracy
and artistic license have plagued this Oscar season even more than usual,
whether it’s critics lamenting the unexpected downfall of <i>Selma</i> or pundits arguing about the political leanings and
questionable morality of <i>American Sniper</i>.
Personally, I think filmmakers should be able to do whatever they want (the
disclaimer reads “based on a true story,” not “a true story,” after all) and it’s
the audience’s responsibility to do research as needed. In some cases, though, sticking
closer to the truth not only makes for a more honest story but also a <i>better</i> one. For instance, <i>The Imitation Game</i> strongly implies that
Turing displayed symptoms of Asperger’s or autism, including social awkwardness
and a penchant for separating his food by color, but in reality, he was never
diagnosed as existing on the autism spectrum and has even been described as having
<a href="http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2014/12/03/the_imitation_game_fact_vs_fiction_how_true_the_new_movie_is_to_alan_turing.html">a
sharp sense of humor and several close friends</a>. By reducing Turing to a
somewhat conventional “brilliant misanthrope” character, the movie not only falls
perilously close to the <a href="http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TheRainman">Rainman trope</a>
(autism gives you special powers!) but also does a disservice to the real-life
man. Ultimately, the reason biopics so often fail is that they try to package real
people, with their convoluted histories, myriad experiences and thorny nuances,
into neat, easily digestible narratives and in the process erase whatever made
these individuals so interesting and unique in the first place. Thus, in attempting
to make Turing extraordinary, <i>The
Imitation Game</i> only succeeds in making him as ordinary as ever.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Links:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://blackbearpictures.com/films-in-theaters/the-imitation-game/"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">http://blackbearpictures.com/films-in-theaters/the-imitation-game/</span></a></span></div>
Amy Woolseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01071851553114959861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-8164360734788764852015-01-14T16:58:00.000-05:002015-01-14T17:08:19.680-05:00The Admirable ‘Selma’ Sings with Restrained Energy<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/StarGazer" target="_blank">StarGazer</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje50fhyphenhyphenSlkD9xIdMhhCawjbNMhGrivnEinUYWYIKtLUBB2dzp3Sofn84x_FRPmPVQ9QVzyA4dIkNeSX36s2mx9hBDxZNsvCmy0MQqSJaFft-P6jpWMpKlRwMnMf32_j0KHVJbG8YNS72o/s1600/Selma_Coretta+ties+Martin's%2Bascot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje50fhyphenhyphenSlkD9xIdMhhCawjbNMhGrivnEinUYWYIKtLUBB2dzp3Sofn84x_FRPmPVQ9QVzyA4dIkNeSX36s2mx9hBDxZNsvCmy0MQqSJaFft-P6jpWMpKlRwMnMf32_j0KHVJbG8YNS72o/s1600/Selma_Coretta+ties+Martin's%2Bascot.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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The single
most eye-opening moment of my college experience came during the first semester
of my freshman year. Most of the students in my Honors 101: Research Methods
class despised our teacher for reasons both justified (her clinical, DIY
approach to teaching suggested she was more accustomed to dealing with grad
students than fresh-faced undergrads) and not (somehow I don’t think they
would’ve been so openly disdainful and disrespectful had she been a white man
instead of a black woman). At one point, our class discussion turned to Rosa
Parks and the Civil Rights Movement, and my professor told a room full of
primarily privileged white kids that Rosa Parks was not just an ordinary lady
who one day got too tired to stand up from her seat on a bus, but an outspoken,
trained and educated activist. As minor as it might have seemed at the time,
this moment forever changed how I view history, especially as it is taught in
the American education system, where reality is often simplified, distorted or
outright ignored in order to create easily digestible, comforting narratives. For
the first time, I truly grasped the full meaning of the truism “History is
written by the victors”, though it might be more accurate to say “History is
written by the powerful”.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, this was the challenge that
faced director Ava DuVernay and the rest of her team when making <i>Selma</i>: how do you translate Martin
Luther King Jr. and his work to the big screen while countering a dominant
cultural narrative that has long reduced him to a docile saint? On top of that,
the film must also compete with the feel-good white savior stories that have
served for decades as Hollywood’s main framework for dealing with issues of
race. It’s a formidable responsibility to tackle for the industry as a whole,
let alone a single project. Yet, perhaps the most remarkable thing about the
final film is how lightly it carries this weight, never bowing under pressure
or coming across as either self-conscious or self-important. <i>Selma</i> may be closer to the glossy,
polite dignity of Spielberg’s <i>Lincoln</i>
than the ferocious rawness of Spike Lee’s <i>Do
the Right Thing</i>, which still stands after 25 years as mainstream cinema’s
sharpest, most honest commentary on American race relations, but it’s a piece
of lean, effective, confident filmmaking that, along with the more unassuming
yet equally poignant <i>Middle of Nowhere</i>,
establishes DuVernay as one of the most exciting and vital voices in the
contemporary movie world.</div>
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Beyond any social or political
significance that it has, <i>Selma </i>is
simply a skillfully crafted film. DuVernay plunges viewers straight into the
world of 1965 Selma, Alabama, denying them the comfort of distance and instead imbuing
each scene with a real sense of urgency. Exposition is limited, and editor
Spenser Averick keeps the pacing brisk without ever making it feel rushed. The
filmmakers suggest immediacy without relying on a shaky, handheld camera, which
has recently become cliché cinematic shorthand for “this is real”. If the movie
never quite delves deeply enough into the psyches of Dr. King and his fellow
activists, it’s because it seems more interested in letting events unfold
unencumbered by more personal flourishes, focusing more closely on their
actions and their roles in a larger social movement than on their thoughts or lives
as individuals. Though King undeniably takes center stage, <i>Selma</i> is less effective as a biopic than as a depiction of the
time, effort, passion and risk that goes into organizing and making even the
most incremental political change. As harrowing and tense as the protest and
march scenes framed so eloquently by cinematographer Bradford Young are, the
film is most compelling during King’s speech scenes, buoyed by David Oyelowo’s riveting,
charismatic presence, and whenever Coretta Scott King (Carmen Ejogo, who
manages to be so memorable and do so much with so little) comes onscreen. By
contrast, despite a solid though unexceptional performance by Tom Wilkinson as
President Lyndon B. Johnson and an appropriately snaky Tim Roth, complete with
an oily Southern accent, as George Wallace, the proceedings feel noticeably
more rote whenever the scope expands beyond the confines of the titular town.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I wanted very much to avoid
talking about the ludicrous “controversy” that has swirled around <i>Selma</i>’s treatment of LBJ, but the
character proved so key to the film’s narrative that it seems almost disingenuous
to not at least mention the furor, if only to promptly dismiss it. To summarize
the whole hullabaloo, certain commentators have decried the movie for
misrepresenting the president’s attitude toward King’s work in Selma and for
essentially tarnishing his legacy (as though <i>that’s</i> the most important thing at stake here). While their claims
sounded specious and beside the point, since DuVernay was under no obligation
to make her narrative film a painstakingly accurate historical record, the
actual film renders them completely moot not only because it seems to hew
fairly closely to the real-life events, but also because it does very little to
demonize Johnson. In fact, aside from a scene with J. Edgar Hoover that’s
miscalculated primarily because it’s unnecessary, he turns out to be the hero.
In addition to giving him the spotlight during the climax, the story pivots on
his character arc as he goes from treating civil rights as a nuisance he wishes
would disappear to proposing the legislation that would become the Voting
Rights Act (1965) to Congress. None of this is necessarily bad, of course, but
it’s a little odd that, in the rare movie that shows genuine respect for black
civil rights activists and lets them feel like flesh-and-blood human beings,
the distinguished white guy still happens to be the only character who undergoes
a discernible change.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The truth is that the majority
of the things I’d criticize <i>Selma</i> for
stem from the fact that it’s easy to imagine five or six different yet equally
interesting movies being made from essentially the same material, all of them
with a variety of perspectives. For example, I wish it brought female activists
more to the forefront; Coretta’s main role is as a wife and mother, while Diane
Nash appears but barely gets anything to say or do. I wish it wasn’t so
dismissive of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee’s (SNCC) and other non-MLK-affiliated
organizations’ contributions, and while the film nicely explored some of the
internal conflicts within the movement, I would’ve liked to see it highlight
the class divide between King and the rest of the Southern Christian Leadership
Conference (SCLC) board and much of the black populace in Selma, Alabama. I sincerely
look forward to getting a film that examines King more closely and uncovers the
private person behind the public persona. It goes without saying, though, that I
can’t really ding the filmmakers for not telling different stories, especially
when, on the whole, they tell the one they chose so well; if anything, it’s the
fault of an industry that for so long has neglected to tell narratives about
race relations with any real substance, thereby placing greater expectations on
the few such projects that have managed to claw their way into existence.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> I can also envision an alternate version of </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Selma</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> that’s darker with a more ambiguous and troubled ending, but
DuVernay and co. instead opt for uplift. Rather than focusing ponderously on
what has or hasn’t changed since Selma and the Voting Rights Act, they used the
past to hopefully inspire a better future and fashioned their retelling of a
small but crucial chapter in the 1960s civil rights movement into a galvanizing
call to action.</span></div>
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<a href="http://cdn.collider.com/wp-content/uploads/selma-david-oyelowo-carmen-ejogo.jpg">http://cdn.collider.com/wp-content/uploads/selma-david-oyelowo-carmen-ejogo.jpg</a><o:p></o:p></div>
StarGazerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12015069055645559061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-33760112775297237262015-01-12T20:58:00.000-05:002015-01-12T20:58:24.389-05:00Why the Oscars Have Nothing to Do With Art<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/StarGazer" target="_blank">StarGazer</a><br />
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Now that the
Golden Globes have passed (Tina Fey and Amy Poehler hosted the uneven ceremony Sunday
night) and the Oscar nominations are set to be announced this Thursday, the
2015 movie awards season is officially reaching peak frenzy. As intense as this
time of the year can be for film fans, I haven’t felt a great need to write
about this year’s race, in part because the majority of my thoughts, hopes and
gripes aren’t all that different from <a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/oscars">last time</a>;
the dynamics of each season are essentially the same, just with a new set of
names in the spotlight. While the particular <a href="http://www.vulture.com/2015/01/oscar-films-the-prison-of-historical-accuracy.html">debates</a>
<a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/adambvary/foxcatcher-wrestler-mark-schultz-tirade-bennett-miller#.smekxePm7">and</a>
<a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/codeswitch/2015/01/10/376081786/selma-backlash-misses-the-point">controversies</a>
this time around haven’t piqued my interest, I have found myself lately
thinking a lot about what it really means to be “Oscar-worthy”, or even what it
means for art to be good in general, and what, if anything, that says about our
interests and values as moviegoers and a society.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The phrase “Oscar-worthy” gets
tossed around a lot, but there’s rarely any explanation of what that actually
means. Though it’s often said with some level of derision or irony, it seems to
be used as a sincere marker of artistic quality just as often, even by those
who turn their noses up at the Academy. It implies some kind of standard that
movies must live up to in order to be deemed deserving of awards consideration,
though no one ever articulates exactly what those standards should be. To what
extent should a film’s technical/aesthetic prowess, cultural or popular impact,
or political, social or moral significance be taken into account? Do Academy
members have any greater responsibilities to the industry or the public when
making their selections or should they simply choose what they legitimately liked
the most based on their own personal preferences? For the most part, it’s
agreed that the Academy has little actual credibility as a tastemaker, and the
Internet has made it too easy to follow industry politics and the PR campaigns
specifically designed to influence voters for even the most naïve person to
believe they’re completely unbiased. I keep wondering why so much time, money
and effort is invested not just by the industry itself, but by critics and
moviegoers on awards that few treat with anything other than contempt. I’ve <a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/2013/02/why-i-still-care-about-oscars.html">suggested
before</a> that the awards season is worthwhile because it provides an
opportunity to celebrate filmmaking, even if the specific objects of
celebration aren’t always the most laudable, but perhaps what really makes it
worthwhile is that it forces us to consider and articulate why we think certain
films deserve wider recognition and why others don’t. It pushes us to
interrogate our own ideas of what makes some art great instead of just taking
our gut instinct of “I liked/didn’t like this” at face value.</div>
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In a way, “Oscar-worthy” has
become synonymous with prestige, another concept so frequently associated with awards
season. Though the label generally has a positive connotation, prestige doesn’t
relate to quality so much as the <i>idea</i>
of quality, a nebulous combination of star power, intellectual or social
gravitas, an elaborate production and, most of all, money. Prestige pictures tend to boast historical
settings and focus on well-known or at least singular figures whose lives can
be easily tied into broad, inspirational themes and ideals that suggest universal
significance. For better or worse, these are the movies that usually attract
awards attention, hence the shorthand term “Oscar bait”. You can generally
figure out if something falls into this category by whether or not pundits
start predicting it for Academy Awards a year in advance. This is why, though
many seem to disagree, I maintain that <i>12
Years a Slave</i> was a typical Best Picture winner, despite being centered on
people of color (which makes it depressingly exceptional) and being stylistically
more in the vein of art house flicks than commercial ones. I say this not to
diminish that film’s accomplishment, but rather, to say that, if your film is <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/adambvary/12-years-a-slave-is-the-must-see-movie-of-the-year-and-shoul#.cfPE0ekR3">being
crowned</a> <a href="http://www.vulture.com/2013/09/12-years-a-slave-will-win-best-picture.html">the
Best Picture winner</a> before it has even officially opened in theaters, it’s
not an out-of-left-field choice, and any suggestion that its victory signified anything
regarding racial progress within the mainstream film community is, to be blunt,
laughable. Because the pool of potential candidates is so limited and
self-selecting, Oscar success is less about actual skill or artistry than about
fulfilling a set of predetermined expectations as competently as possible. Savvy
marketing and a studio willing to spend tons of money to back a film don’t hurt
either.</div>
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Considering how deeply ingrained
the Academy’s predilection for middlebrow fare has become, it seems futile to
wish or demand that they expand their tastes. Of course, in a better world, the
Oscars would be much more inclusive not just in terms of race and gender
representation, but also in terms of the genre and scope of the works they deem
worthy of praise. In a better world, this year’s prospective Best Picture slate
wouldn’t be almost entirely comprised of realistic dramas about white men, not
when 2014 was so rich with wildly diverse pleasures, from the thrilling
spectacles of <i>Edge of Tomorrow</i> and <i>Interstellar</i> and the vaguely political
zeal of <i>Snowpiercer </i>and <i>Dawn of the Planet of the Apes</i> to the
unabashedly complex women in <i>The Babadook</i>
and <i>Wild</i>. The fact that David Oyelowo
is pretty much guaranteed to be the lone non-white acting nominee is downright
embarrassing, especially when Oscar Isaac (<i>A
Most Violent Year</i>), Gugu Mbatha-Raw (<i>Belle</i>
and <i>Beyond the Lights</i>), Riz Ahmed (<i>Nightcrawler</i>) and Carmen Ejogo (<i>Selma</i>), among others, are as deserving
of a spot as any of the probable nominees.</div>
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Two years in a row. You’re being <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=13R0Qdv7Hh0">very<span style="font-style: normal;"> disrespectful</span></a></i>, Academy voters<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yet, as frustrating as the Oscars’
lack of variety is, I still get uneasy whenever I read articles like <a href="http://www.vox.com/2015/1/6/7502631/oscars-white-people">this</a>
lamenting the Academy’s preference for art that comforts rather than challenges
and their overall conservative approach. It’s not that I disagree with the
general argument, but rather, its conflation of quality with diversity (or lack
thereof) feels misguided, and it still adheres to a certain ideal of what the
Academy <i>should</i> be doing, even if it
has historically never actually done those things. For the first point, the
assertion that the Oscars reward specifically “mediocre” movies about white
guys suggests, however unintentionally,
that the homogeneity of awards season would be less of a problem if only they
just recognized the “right” movies about white guys; the standards being used
to determine whether something’s good are never clearly stated, though it’s
implied that “good” is whatever critics – or whoever is making the particular
argument – liked. Whether <i>The Imitation
Game</i> and <i>The Theory of Everything</i>,
for example, are actually mediocre is beside the point (having not seen either,
I have no stakes in this fight), but it does films like <i>Selma</i> a disservice when people argue that they’re Oscar-worthy
solely by taking down other contenders or saying “Hey, this one actually has
black people in it!” instead of focusing on their actual merits. Furthermore,
people keep treating the Oscars like a useful marker for social progress when,
in reality, they rarely suggest anything insightful about the industry or
society as a whole. <i>Selma</i> losing to <i>Boyhood</i> wouldn’t mean that Hollywood
supports white supremacy any more than <i>12
Years a Slave</i> beating <i>Gravity</i> and
<i>American Hustle</i> meant that that
Hollywood was no longer racist. Yes, racism, sexism and other forms of institutionalized
inequality are still very much prevalent, but those issues extend well beyond
the Academy and mainstream cinema, and it’s hard to get outraged over the
exclusiveness of the Oscars when women, people of color, the LGBTQ community
and other marginalized groups still face so many obstacles in getting
opportunities to tell stories at all. Why is it so important for Ava DuVernay,
Steve McQueen and other filmmakers to get validated by a much-scorned awards
group in the first place? To be frank, I doubt they really give a damn one way
or the other.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Perhaps it shows how relatively
populist my taste in art still is, but the truth is that, while Oscar wins or
nominations are far from the most reliable indicators of a movie’s quality, I
find the opposite sentiment to be equally suspect. Believe it or not, I’ve quite
frequently seen people say that they look at the Oscar nominations to see what <i>not</i> to watch. My first reaction is
always to think, well, if you want to cut yourself off from an entire segment
of art, including stuff that you might love if you gave it a chance, then
that’s your choice. The problem with the Oscar-worthy label isn’t just that
it’s primarily applied to a very specific sampling of movies, but also that the
entire concept of Oscar bait completely distorts how we view even the films
that happen to fall into that category. When you go into a movie after hearing
that it’s expected to be a major awards contender, you approach it with a
certain set of expectations, just as you do with ones that are extremely
popular or critically-acclaimed. More often than not, you’re going to come out
of that movie disappointed because it has to compete with both your
preconceived notions of what it’s going to be like and any movies you’ve
already seen, burying the movie itself beneath the weight of those
expectations, fairly or not. The most recent, popular example of this is <i>American Hustle</i>, which won a few
precursor awards from critics’ groups and all of a sudden became crowned a
frontrunner, only for people to eventually realize that it was mostly a fun,
unapologetically over-the-top romp that, like pretty much every other film that
year, felt trivial when compared to <i>12
Years a Slave</i>. Rather than adjusting expectations accordingly and
discussing each work on its own terms, many people rejected David O. Russell’s
movie for not being something that it clearly was never even trying to be.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> In a way, the films that often seem to suffer the most during the course
of each awards season are those that, on the surface, conform to the mold of
typical Oscar bait but lack the flash or social significance perceived
necessary for them to actually deserve awards. Think, for instance, of </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Foxcatcher</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">. At first glance, the Bennett
Miller project looks primed for Oscar consideration: a familiar but still relatively
fresh director who earned Best Picture nominations for both of his previous
efforts; a bizarre true story centered around a memorable, eccentric character as
its source material; a cast of well-liked actors who undergo noticeable
physical transformations for roles that force them outside their usual comfort
zones. Yet, as of now, the wrestling movie has barely generated any passionate
chatter and could conceivably get only a single major nod, for supporting actor
Mark Ruffalo, who, as fantastic as he was in the film, is probably benefiting
from a surprisingly sparse field. Though publicity and campaigning have no
doubt played a role, </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Foxcatcher</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">’s
inability to gain meaningful traction arguably also stems from the fact that,
instead of being the scenery-chewing actors’ showcase many (including me)
expected, it was minimalist almost to a fault, reveling in long stretches of
silence and relying on physical movements and visual cues instead of dialogue to
convey key information.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> And then, there’s </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Wild</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">. The
Reese Witherspoon vehicle has largely been sold as a comeback for the star,
with its campaign emphasizing the memoir-based nature of the tale,
Witherspoon’s newfound status as a notable Hollywood producer and how
unglamorous her role is. The actual movie is much more contemplative and
intimate than the schmaltzy inspiration porn pitched by its trailer, but like
even the season’s most prominent contenders, its nuances and specific pleasures
(or flaws) have generally been lost in the dazzle of awards hype, which
encourages sweeping generalizations and easy-to-digest narratives at the
expense of more thoughtful, levelheaded conversations.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> All of this is really a long way of saying that maybe we need to stop
acting as if the Oscars actually mean anything beyond possibly providing some
good PR or a career boost for people in the film business. While criticism of
the status quo is always necessary, it’s time to accept that the Oscars and other
awards ceremonies aren’t – and likely will never be – all that progressive
either politically or artistically, in large part because they reflect the
biases of the industries they’re judging and because, when you have 6000 people
voting on anything, the agreeable and likable are usually going to triumph over
the divisive and provocative. They will always be flawed and unsatisfying,
because they are an attempt to define art, which is powerful precisely because
it’s so subjective and personal, through an ostensibly objective process.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> People love art for different reasons: because it makes them think;
because they feel a strong emotional connection to it; because it feels
relevant and speaks to them on a political, social or cultural level; because
they admire its technique or aesthetics; because they associate it with particularly
cherished or defining memories, relationships or experiences; because it’s just
an enjoyable way to spend a couple of free hours and escape from the pressures
of their day-to-day lives. The same work of art may prompt vastly different
reactions from different people and for different reasons, and understanding </span><a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/act-four/wp/2015/01/09/in-praise-of-the-amateur-critic/?wpisrc=nl_act4&wpmm=1" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">why
individuals respond the way they do</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> to certain things seems infinitely more
interesting to me than acting as though there’s a single right or best response.
Because, in the end, not all art is produced or consumed with the same goals in
mind, which is as it should be. Something destined to be analyzed in film
classes for years to come isn’t inherently more valuable or admirable than
something merely designed to please a mass audience; after all, </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Birth of a Nation</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> played an integral
role in the development of film as an artistic medium, yet its historical
importance doesn’t erase the fact that it’s also appallingly racist, while
blockbusters like </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The Avengers</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> may
feel superficial in some ways but also brings real joy to millions of fans.</span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/V89yFMHXynk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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You tell them, Paul Thomas Anderson!</div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> In other words, traditional distinctions between the highbrow, middlebrow
and lowbrow are really nothing but the efforts of the cultural elite to maintain
control over </span><a href="http://www.avclub.com/article/not-prestige-not-trash-rise-mid-reputable-tv-213058?utm_source=Twitter&utm_medium=SocialMarketing&utm_campaign=Default:1:Default" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">what’s
deemed Real Art</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, since if something is considered unworthy of serious
thought, then it can be easily dismissed, its power defused. They have little
effect on how we generally view art in the real world, and elements of all
three can exist within the same text. We should embrace art for its variety
instead of pushing individual works to conform to arbitrary, uniform standards
of quality, and that’s why, when it comes to awards season, I’ll be perfectly
happy for anyone who manages to win, even if I personally prefer a different
film or person. For those that miss out by either not getting a trophy or not
being included in the race at all, it’s not the end of the world. It’s just the
Oscars.</span></div>
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Photo Links:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://filmfork-cdn.s3.amazonaws.com/content/1377500922.jpg">https://filmfork-cdn.s3.amazonaws.com/content/1377500922.jpg</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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StarGazerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12015069055645559061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-85858449217356041222015-01-08T16:00:00.002-05:002015-01-08T16:02:57.308-05:00In the Wild<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/WordMaster" target="_blank">WordMaster</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ggeAR_UQQcEr7PZ2o8TrVYC0hkVahO5D8NyDmS4QYCGlrgxmZN1LmsBX2gnFb0J1QjQrnOAbDEO39qdZ_VzRY6uR5KKhVIfyCj5TDk_wsvjMc-zk4aRsY5Z-OpAMSRLDQwI-NKOeKuA/s1600/wild-mv-20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ggeAR_UQQcEr7PZ2o8TrVYC0hkVahO5D8NyDmS4QYCGlrgxmZN1LmsBX2gnFb0J1QjQrnOAbDEO39qdZ_VzRY6uR5KKhVIfyCj5TDk_wsvjMc-zk4aRsY5Z-OpAMSRLDQwI-NKOeKuA/s1600/wild-mv-20.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">At first glance, it’s easy to
dismiss <i>Wild</i>, Jean-Marc Vallée’s
adaptation of the 2012 Cheryl Strayed memoir, as schmaltzy inspiration porn – <i>Eat, Pray, Walk</i>, someone on my Twitter
timeline joked derisively. It is, after all, the true-life story of a
not-destitute white woman who embarks on a journey of self-discovery, the kind
of didactic, feel-good confection that awards bodies gobble up like chips,
ostensibly serving little purpose other than to provide its star performer with
an opportunity to do Real Acting and gain some positive PR along the way. Frankly,
as someone who nurses a deep-seated, perhaps irrational bias against biopics
(anything revolving around a specific historical or living figure, really), I
approached <i>Wild</i> with a certain
skepticism, the way many critics seem to regard superhero or <i>Hobbit</i> movies, steeling myself for a
pandering, by-the-numbers crowd-pleaser that I would inevitably forget the
instant I left the theater.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It did not take long, however, for
me to see that my fears were unwarranted. The film opens in medias res, finding
Strayed at an unstipulated point on her 1,100-mile solo hike along the Pacific
Crest Trail, which stretches all the way from the U.S.-Mexico border to Canada.
Quiet reigns as she settles on a rock and removes her shoe to reveal a broken toenail
coated in dried blood, a startlingly gruesome image to encounter at the very
beginning of a movie whose marketing campaign focused predominantly on its
uplifting tone and postcard-pretty scenery (several people at my screening
audibly winced). Strayed then proceeds to accidentally drop the shoe (cue more
gasps), watching in dismay as it tumbles down the mountainside before deciding
to fling her other shoe after it with a fierce, piercing scream. It was that
scream, that fleeting outburst of raw, tempestuous emotion, that assured me
this was going to be different from your standard Oscar-bait, less hesitant to confront
the messy ambiguities of reality.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Wild</i>
unfolds like a spell, patient and hypnotic. Vallée employs his signature
improvisational style to considerably greater effect here than in his previous
outing, 2013’s disjointed yet awards-laden <i>Dallas
Buyers Club</i>, assembling scenes with a nimble, subdued spontaneity that
allows them to breathe and meander. Memories surface in flashes, glimmers of
disembodied sound and fragmented images that flit in and out of consciousness
as if on a whim, circling and spilling into one another, past and present
blended together, gradually crystallizing to form a jumbled yet meaningful
whole; this is a rare instance when flashbacks don’t feel like superfluous,
momentum-stalling detours but rather threads woven inextricably into the fabric
of the narrative. Vallée and screenwriter Nick Hornby also make smart use of
voiceover, which works less to convey exposition than to give shape to the
nonlinear, amorphous plot, as well as music. Comprised primarily of rock and
folk artists such as The Hollies and Simon & Garfunkel, the soundtrack
represents the film’s soul, its lyrical mix of twanging guitars, lively beats
and impassioned crooning evoking both the lonesome sprawl of untamed America
and the restless rhythm of Strayed’s psyche. This juxtaposition between the
grand and individual heightens the intensely personal, subjective nature of the
story; true to its memoir origins, <i>Wild</i>
never attempts to impose any meaning on the heroine’s journey other than what it
means to her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> To say
it transcends populist sentimentality might be a stretch – the movie features a
hearty dose of moralistic aphorisms like “We’re rich in love,” the majority of
which are uttered by Cheryl’s free-spirited mother Bobbi, portrayed by the
luminous, perennially under-appreciated Laura Dern. But even at its most
maudlin, <i>Wild</i> exhibits an earnest
poise that’s difficult to resist. Naturally, much of its success must be credited
to Reese Witherspoon, who serves as not only the film’s star and only performer
with substantial screen time but also its most fervent champion, having
optioned the source material and co-produced it through her nascent company,
Pacific Standard. For one designed to carry a movie and potentially rejuvenate the
actor’s career, Witherspoon’s performance is surprisingly, refreshingly free of
vanity – no gimmicks or showboating, just the simple, sublime feat of bringing
a person to life on screen. She conveys palpable empathy for Strayed, refusing
to shy away from the real-life woman’s complexities and treating her neither as
pitiful nor heroic but as someone with a story worth telling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> But
what makes <i>Wild</i> truly memorable is
its distinctly feminine sensibility. As patronizing as it might seem to praise
a movie just because its main character happens to be a woman, the reality is
that, in an industry that remains aggressively dominated by projects made by,
centered on and aimed at men, anything that defies the norm feels like a blast
of fresh air. Furthermore, just as <i>Thelma
and Louise</i> is much more than <i>Butch
Cassidy and the Sundance Kid</i> with women, this is not merely a female
version of <i>Into the Wild</i>. To pretend otherwise,
to assign it some kind of false universality, would be to erase all the little
details and nuances that indicate it belongs specifically to a woman: Strayed’s
instinctively wary reaction to encountering strange men; the compassionate
manner with which her sexuality is handled (cinematographer Yves Bélanger achieves
the near-impossible in framing female nudity without straying into fetishization);
the rejection of the usual perseverance/conqueror narrative in favor of one promoting
redemption through and harmony with nature. So perceptive is the film to
Strayed’s mindset and experiences that if I hadn’t already known otherwise, I
would’ve sworn it was directed or written by women. It inhabits what feminist
literary critic Elaine Showalter called “the wild zone”, a metaphorical space that
provides women a voice and language separate from dominant patriarchal culture,
unknown to men. If men find the wild intimidating, a beast to be tamed, for
women like Strayed, it’s freeing; it’s something of their own.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Links:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.fandango.com/wild_175034/moviephotosposters"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">http://www.fandango.com/wild_175034/moviephotosposters</span></a></span></div>
Amy Woolseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01071851553114959861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-65190480306557548472014-12-31T14:03:00.000-05:002014-12-31T14:04:47.139-05:00The Apocalypse Is Now<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/WordMaster" target="_blank">WordMaster</a><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> From the epic floods and divine battles of ancient mythology
to the nuclear holocausts and alien invasions of the Cold War, humanity has
been imagining its own demise since the beginning of civilization. Freud would probably
attribute this obsession to the death drive, a subconscious impulse toward
destruction that all people supposedly have. Apocalyptic fantasies allow us to
confront our fears of mortality, time, foreigners, etc., in a safe place,
distanced from the real world yet so rich with metaphorical possibilities, and
especially in a visual medium like film, they provide ample opportunity to
indulge audiences’ appetite for lurid spectacle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Recently,
though, catastrophe has dominated cinema on a scale virtually unprecedented, dwarfing
the ‘50s sci-fi and horror B-movie craze. In 2011, we got the art house trinity,
<i>Melancholia</i>, <i>The Tree of Life</i> and, my personal favorite, <i>Take Shelter</i>. 2012 gave us <i>Prometheus</i>,
<i>Beasts of the Southern Wild</i>, <i>Battleship</i> and <i>Cloud Atlas</i>, among others (but curiously, not the actual movie <i>2012</i>, which came out way back in 2009),
and 2013 had not one but <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1213663/?ref_=nv_sr_1">two</a></i> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1245492/?ref_=nv_sr_2">action-comedies</a>
set during the apocalypse, not to mention an avalanche of <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1663662/?ref_=nv_sr_1">weirdly</a> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1408101/?ref_=nv_sr_5">glum</a>, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1483013/?ref_=nv_sr_1">monochrome</a>-<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0770828/?ref_=nv_sr_1">hued</a> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0816711/?ref_=nv_sr_5">tent-poles</a>. This
year, there was <i>Noah, Edge of Tomorrow</i>,
<i>Godzilla</i>, <i>Transformers: Age of Extinction</i>, <i>Dawn of the Planet of the Apes</i>, <i>Snowpiercer</i>,
<i>The Rover</i> and <i>Interstellar</i>, as well as the usual <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1843866/?ref_=nv_sr_1">procession</a> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1872181/?ref_=nv_sr_1">of</a> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1877832/?ref_=nv_sr_1">superhero</a> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2015381/?ref_=nv_sr_1">flicks</a>, which are apparently
required by Hollywood Law to have Armageddon-sized stakes. You can barely go a
week without seeing ads for yet another movie that threatens to destroy Earth –
or at least a major metropolitan area.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> In general, blockbusters
nowadays tend to revel in what <a href="http://thecolbertreport.cc.com/videos/04qijm/movies-that-are-destroying-america---summer">Stephen
Colbert once described</a> as destruction porn, deploying wave upon wave of
computer-generated explosions and wreckage in hopes of distracting viewers from
their flimsy, senseless or flat-out nonexistent plots. Although the
bigger-is-better brand of filmmaking isn’t necessarily anything new (Michael
Bay and Roland Emmerich have been blowing shit up since the mid-1990s), only in
the past few years has it felt truly, oppressively ubiquitous, soul-crushing
rather than just mind-numbing. Long gone are the days when something like <i>Back to the Future</i>, a breezy
coming-of-age tale whose biggest action set-piece consists of a skateboard
chase, could be a legitimate box office hit; at some point, our definition of
entertainment seems to have evolved into “watching hundreds of thousands of
people get casually massacred”. Hell, even <i>How
to Train Your Dragon 2</i>, the sequel to a PG-rated kid’s movie, is about a
fascist warlord on some vague quest for world domination.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbUDZ73pzQLnFTgay1CAisR9_6cWXzUp_DUZWgENnO8cJEa6jpknxnFWMy9ew0Ej-Cpj4UOH8wuyPejhikO64epGHBql0_4LHEuJL20BqXu4FAKeW5eAxR9Ww-XNzRmDMP_E9aTvL-2kk/s1600/Picture1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbUDZ73pzQLnFTgay1CAisR9_6cWXzUp_DUZWgENnO8cJEa6jpknxnFWMy9ew0Ej-Cpj4UOH8wuyPejhikO64epGHBql0_4LHEuJL20BqXu4FAKeW5eAxR9Ww-XNzRmDMP_E9aTvL-2kk/s1600/Picture1.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <span style="line-height: 115%;">It’s also vaguely racist, though that’s </span><a href="http://www.theguardian.com/film/2014/apr/06/repressed-brits-evil-mexicans-arab-villains-hollywood-animated-movies-stereotypes" style="line-height: 115%;">nothing
new</a><span style="line-height: 115%;"> for animation.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> At least 2014 offered a handful of movies that actually bothered
to acknowledge the consequences of the havoc they wrecked, instead of using 9/11
imagery for easy shock value or, worse, ignoring the darkness altogether. <i>Edge of Tomorrow</i>, for example, is essentially
a war movie in which “the enemy” happens to be aliens. Needless to say, it’s
not exactly <i>Saving Private Ryan</i> in
terms of exposing the horrors of combat and such, but Tom Cruise and Emily
Blunt’s self-assured performances convey a sense of trauma rare in action movies
of this magnitude (just compare Cruise here to his work in the <i>Mission: Impossible</i> series). Cage and
Rita seem genuinely scarred by what they’ve experienced, their interactions
tinged with weary desperation. Similarly
battle-hardened characters populate <i>Dawn
of the Planet of the Apes</i> and <i>Snowpiercer</i>.
In the former, Malcolm, played by Jason Clarke, has formed a makeshift family
with his son Anthony and Keri Russell’s Ellie, who lost her daughter in the
chaos that erupted after the simian flu outbreak. Like its predecessor, <i>Dawn</i> gives its humans thin
personalities, preferring to flesh out the titular apes, but you nonetheless
get the sense that there’s history between them, that they’ve been through a
lot together and grown accustomed to suffering in silence. In <i>Snowpiercer</i>, Chris Evans’s reluctant
revolutionary Curtis Everett is tormented by what he has done to survive
(spoiler alert: it’s cannibalism). These films all depict personal attachments
as liabilities, hindering individuals from taking the measures necessary for
self-preservation and the common good; in the apocalypse, you have to sacrifice
either your life or your humanity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> It’s
not all doom and gloom. After all, whatever allegorical aims they might have,
the aforementioned movies ultimately function first and foremost as escapist
entertainment, full of gaudy visual effects and high-speed action sequences. <i>Edge of Tomorrow</i> in particular received
abundant praise for its unexpected humor, as director Doug Liman and
screenwriters Christopher McQuarrie and Jez and John-Henry Butterworth were
compelled to constantly find new ways of enlivening the movie’s repetitive
structure. For the most part, though, these films’ strength lies in their
willingness to take their premises seriously, no matter how ridiculous
(talking, <a href="http://mrflorey.tumblr.com/post/92043508395/i-saw-dawn-of-the-planet-of-the-apes-today-its">machine
gun-wielding, horseback-riding</a> apes take over the world! A failed attempt
to <a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/a757aab03988b2d6fecd0b78de1003b9/tumblr_mg1odwTigb1rfhmsqo1_500.gif">counteract
global warming</a> forces all humans to live on one <i>really</i> long train!). They rebuff the common misconception that earnestness
and enjoyment can’t coexist or, by the same token, that flippancy necessarily signifies
an absence of cynicism or pretension. Rather than an excuse to avoid addressing
weightier issues, the moments of levity serve to balance out and, sometimes,
even enhance the inherent tragedy of the characters’ situations.</span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/IYCl7_bDbZs/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/IYCl7_bDbZs&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/IYCl7_bDbZs&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Case in point: this short film that’s technically a promo
for <i>Dawn of the Planet of the Apes</i>
but also one of the most heartbreaking things I’ve seen this year</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> In many ways, the current apocalyptic film trend perfectly
encapsulates the general mood of 2014. It was an emotional year, to say the
least, brimming with controversies momentous and trifling. It was the year of
#CancelColbert, a semi-ironic Twitter campaign that blew up into a fleeting yet
heated national debate on the value of <a href="http://www.salon.com/2014/03/28/in_support_of_cancelcolbert_why_stephen_colbert_needs_to_make_this_right/">satire</a>
and so-called <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/the-campaign-to-cancel-colbert">hashtag
activism</a>. It was the year of #YesAllWomen, #RapeCultureIsWhen,
#BlackLivesMatter, #WhyIStayed and several other online movements intended to provide
space for marginalized groups to express themselves. It was the year Renee
Zellweger got plastic surgery, Robin Williams committed suicide, Bill Cosby
fell from grace, and Dylan Farrow spoke out against Woody Allen. It was the
year of GamerGate; the year a 4chan user stole and publicized nude photos of
numerous female celebrities; the year campus rape, street harassment and
domestic violence, at last, dominated mainstream conversation. It was the year
Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice and Antonio Martin were killed by police
officers. It was the year we wondered if a crude Seth Rogen movie would incite
World War III (not really, though the fact that this seemed like an even
remotely imaginable possibility is, in itself, telling and terrifying). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> 2014
was so full of sadness and indignation that <i>Slate</i>
published a <a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/life/culturebox/2014/12/the_year_of_outrage_2014_everything_you_were_angry_about_on_social_media.html">comprehensive
feature</a> cataloguing and analyzing everything that outraged anyone. At
times, it felt as though we were reaching some sort of breaking point – not the
end of the world, per se, but the end of <i>a</i>
world. When Ferguson blazed for those two or so weeks in August, ravaged by
seemingly everlasting turmoil and pain, it wasn’t just a protest, we thought;
it was a revolution, the culmination of years, decades, centuries of racial
oppression and injustice. During GamerGate, many commentators reasoned that the
ongoing barrage of misogynistic threats aimed at prominent women in the games
industry and media was a result of traditional gamers <a href="http://www.gamasutra.com/view/news/224400/Gamers_dont_have_to_be_your_audience_Gamers_are_over.php">frantically</a>
<a href="http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2014/10/16/of-gamers-gates-and-disco-demolition-the-roots-of-reactionary-rage.html?utm_content=buffer794d7&utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook.com&utm_campaign=buffer">clinging</a>
to the remnants of their toxic, outdated culture, refusing to accept the truth
that they’ve become irrelevant. It doesn’t matter whether concrete change actually
occurs; the apocalypse is about the <i>fear</i>
– or, depending on your outlook, the <i>anticipation</i>
– of change, the nagging sense that something we’ve long taken for granted,
something fundamental to our individual, group or cultural identity, is
slipping from our grasp. But of course, the apocalypse never really happens, so
we’re left here, locked in a perpetual state of waiting, of dying.</span></span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/9bNgwFKGIT8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So important.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If people now seem overly prone to
hyperbole (2014 is unofficially known as <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/compost/wp/2014/12/26/in-defense-of-2014/?Post+generic=%3Ftid%3Dsm_twitter_washingtonpost">the
worst year ever</a>), it’s because gradually, over the past half-century, our
perception of reality has been radically, irrevocably altered. With the rise of
digital technology, space and time no longer exist, at least not in the way
they used to; they have been compressed, warped, <i>transcended</i>. Thanks to the Internet, you can carry on entire
conversations and relationships with people you’ve never actually seen or
spoken to; you can follow news, detail by detail, as it happens from the
comfort of your couch; you can look into the past simply by scrolling through
Twitter, unlimited information at your fingertips, intact. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It can hardly be an accident that <i>Interstellar</i>, a movie that <a href="https://interstellar.withgoogle.com/ways-to-see">proudly advertised</a>
its availability in 70mm and 35mm film, is so <a href="https://medium.com/@somebadideas/on-interstellar-love-time-and-the-limitless-prison-of-our-cosmos-ef59ee28fd8e">preoccupied
by the concept of time</a>: even more than <i>Memento</i>
and <i>Inception</i>, it’s Christopher
Nolan’s attempt to cope with his anxiety about the digital age. Film has always
been an uncanny medium, manipulating camera and editing techniques to create the
illusion of a reality, but celluloid is, by nature, not permanent, composed of
chemicals that slowly erode its physical material even as they’re meant to
preserve the images it captures. As David Norman Rodowick says in his book <i>The Virtual Life of Film</i>, “This is one
of the many ways in which watching film is literally a spectatorship of death.”
In theory, the transition to digital eliminates this process, allowing art to
persist unscathed for eternity, sheltered from the scars of time’s passage. But
this, according to people like Nolan, who has <a href="http://www.vulture.com/2014/11/interstellar-is-about-the-death-of-film.html?mid=twitter_vulture">long
advocated on behalf of celluloid</a>, is its own kind of death – the death of
time, of history, of memory, of death itself. If we’ve achieved immortality, if
we have nothing to lose, then what is there to give life meaning? In <i>Interstellar</i>, humans can delay death,
maybe even cheat it, but the threat of it is always present, just beyond the
horizon; we will always have to fight for survival, each passing moment another
step in the inevitable march toward extinction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The
decline of analog has, perhaps not coincidentally, been accompanied by a
second, arguably more troubling cinematic crisis. Hollywood’s stubborn reliance
on sprawling, expensive franchises appeared to reach a crescendo this summer
when, within two weeks of each other, Warner Bros. and Marvel Studios unveiled
their respective superhero movie line-ups, dating all the way to 2020. If all
goes according to plan, there will be a whopping 32 superhero flicks released
in the next six years – and that’s not counting the ones produced by 20<sup>th</sup>
Century Fox, Sony and other companies. It can be easy for us plebeians to
dismiss critics’ concern over announcements like these as the gripes of
reactionary, narrow-minded elitists, but the truth is, franchises are <a href="http://grantland.com/features/2014-hollywood-blockbusters-franchises-box-office/">devouring
the film industry</a>, increasingly at the expense of anything that diverges
from the established mold. No matter how much you love <i>The Avengers</i>, <i>Star Wars</i>, <i>Jurassic Park</i> or whatever, it’s
disheartening to contemplate a future filled with so many numbers and colons.
When Cooper, <i>Interstellar</i>’s
astronaut-farmer protagonist, laments that “We used to look up at the sky and
wonder at our place in the stars. Now we just look down and wonder about our
place in the dirt,” it feels like a plea and cry of rebellion, daring Hollywood
to use its damn imagination and dream bigger. To a lesser extent, <i>Edge of Tomorrow</i> also critiques
contemporary filmmaking, putting the audience in the head of a man forced to
live the same thing over and over and over again.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJVAW7FbexppBbC7H26KUfDXjT7AEq_oMTK9CodPRwST03kYV-1T5Qb1_TiOk2KGZ_w6Xzm7cNa3wfX_JeuXck2Gv79xv0IPZZZQXVUQSMwnw_d8ZCJtOZenqohHu3SJH73Y0ehG1zKEs/s1600/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJVAW7FbexppBbC7H26KUfDXjT7AEq_oMTK9CodPRwST03kYV-1T5Qb1_TiOk2KGZ_w6Xzm7cNa3wfX_JeuXck2Gv79xv0IPZZZQXVUQSMwnw_d8ZCJtOZenqohHu3SJH73Y0ehG1zKEs/s1600/maxresdefault.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wish for 2015: Tom Cruise learns from his own work and
does something, you know, <a href="http://popwatch.ew.com/2014/06/09/tom-cruise-edge-of-tomorrow-bomb/">different</a>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Yet the most memorable apocalyptic
fiction of 2014 didn’t come from film. Television has spent the 21<sup>st</sup>
century thus far mired in a plodding yet inexorable shift, its deep-rooted
insecurities and rigidity competing with the promise offered by rapidly
developing technological innovations. As the emergence of digital filming and
editing equipment allowed networks to drastically reduce costs and artists to <a href="http://lareviewofbooks.org/essay/gilding-small-screen-just-tv-get-good-sudden">experiment
with form, style and content</a> with a freedom that had once been unfeasible,
if not downright impossible, we were rewarded with shows like <i>Buffy the Vampire Slayer</i> and <i>Lost</i>, which boasted complex, serialized
narratives steeped in mythology and fantasy, as well as <i>24</i>, whose split-screen device remains unique to this day. In 1998
and 1999, respectively, HBO debuted <i>Sex
and the City</i> and <i>The Sopranos</i>, and
the cable era was born, ushering in an embarrassing wealth of diverse
storytelling, from violent, psychologically intimate dramas like <i>Breaking Bad</i> and <i>Game of Thrones</i> to bawdy, profanity-laced comedies like <i>It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia</i> and <i>Girls</i>. The more creatively fertile
television got, however, the less it resembled real television, in the
conventional sense. Whereas before, seasons typically adhered to a strict
22-episode model, many shows now air as few as ten or even six episodes a year,
and with the rise of anthology and auteur-driven series as well as more
sophisticated visual techniques, the line between TV and cinema grows
increasingly hazy. As demonstrated by the surprise success of new platforms
like Netflix and Amazon, you no longer have to appear on an actual TV channel
to qualify as “television,” much to the chagrin of broadcast networks
struggling to reconcile their archaic ratings systems with shifting viewer
habits. In a way, the famed Golden Age of TV (or, if you want, the <a href="http://boobtubedude.com/index.php/2013/04/23/theories/how-the-silver-age-of-television-arrived-without-anyone-realizing-it/">Silver
Age</a>) is also the story of the medium’s demise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When <i>True Detective</i> debuted in January, it felt like a denouement of sorts,
the convergence of all the trends that had defined television for the past couple
decades. Technically a single, self-contained narrative divided into eight
parts, HBO’s Southern Gothic-infused neo-noir was touted as the complete,
unadulterated vision of creator and sole writer Nic Pizzolatto and involved
contributions from numerous individuals with backgrounds in film, including
director Cary Fukunaga and actors Woody Harrelson, Matthew McConaughey and Michelle
Monaghan. It centered on a tantalizing mystery and made several allusions to obscure
philosophers and literary works, turning its viewers into inadvertent
detectives who <a href="http://www.vanityfair.com/vf-hollywood/true-detective-mystery?mbid=social_twitter">searched
obsessively</a> for some deeper meaning much in the way <i>Lost</i> fans did not too long ago. It employed a distinctly cinematic
aesthetic, featuring a much-hyped six-minute tracking shot at the end of its
fourth episode – incidentally the precise moment it transformed from just
another critically acclaimed cable drama into a full-fledged cultural
phenomenon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> It
was also about the end of the world, not a literal apocalypse as in <i>The Walking Dead</i> or <i>Sleepy Hollow</i> or even a mass tragedy like <i>The Leftovers</i>, but rather a slow decay of things: reality, relationships,
ideals, the environment, patriarchal authority and institutions. Regardless of
its other shortcomings, <i>True Detective</i>
was a masterpiece of atmosphere, existential dread and sorrow seeping through
the lush, desolate Louisiana landscape like humid air, brilliantly distilled
into the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xyu_MdKBXic">haunting opening
credits</a>. Whenever I think I might be over the show, I remember Rust Cohle’s
instant-classic “time is a flat circle” monologue, and even though it’s now
been quoted, referenced and parodied to the point of cliché, it still gives me
chills. Something about it – the way editor Alex Hall fluidly cross-cuts
between timelines, Matthew McConaughey’s hollow drawl, even the redundant
phrasing – is enchanting, like floating through a waking dream. No other pop
culture this year so accurately conveyed the paralyzing uncertainty of our present
existence, agonizingly suspended between the past and future, passivity and
agency, despair and hope. There is no monster at the end of the nightmare;
there is only the nightmare, repetitive and eternal.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Links:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><a href="https://www.howtotrainyourdragon.com/explore/vikings/drago">https://www.howtotrainyourdragon.com/explore/vikings/drago</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vw61gCe2oqI"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vw61gCe2oqI</span></a></span></div>
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Amy Woolseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01071851553114959861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-82893653233177517122014-12-29T16:49:00.000-05:002014-12-29T17:14:00.158-05:00A Fond and (Hopefully) Final Farewell to Middle Earth<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/StarGazer" target="_blank">StarGazer</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHz79_L6xrKUC9dmsi7mKqXEQtkGCVKKdZ_hKHp1ECxIY8Qt2vODA5z7CAnLWV2N4hkCEv30wlbCmj1tx-kby-cCTtshnMEpWN93sfRjMNKPG8nQZ6GrnrjIr10Bp8WZrT_B5UyFmC1h4/s1600/Thorin+walking+through+halls+of+Erebor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHz79_L6xrKUC9dmsi7mKqXEQtkGCVKKdZ_hKHp1ECxIY8Qt2vODA5z7CAnLWV2N4hkCEv30wlbCmj1tx-kby-cCTtshnMEpWN93sfRjMNKPG8nQZ6GrnrjIr10Bp8WZrT_B5UyFmC1h4/s1600/Thorin+walking+through+halls+of+Erebor.jpg" height="183" width="400" /></a></div>
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In a way,
writing a review of <i>The Hobbit: The
Battle of the Five Armies</i>, the final installment in Peter Jackson’s epic,
maddening trilogy, feels like a rather pointless undertaking. If you didn’t care for
either of the previous two movies, chances are you won’t find this one any more
enjoyable, and it’s hard to imagine the film appealing to anyone except the
most fervent devotees of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Middle Earth – or, more accurately,
Middle Earth as recreated by Jackson and co. Indeed, even as a diehard fan of
the franchise, I entered my screening of <i>Battle</i>
with more than a little trepidation. Given that this was the last time Middle
Earth will appear on the big screen (as of now, at least), I wanted a satisfying,
emotionally cathartic conclusion, but considering that neither <i>An Unexpected Journey</i> nor <i>The Desolation of Smaug</i> were exactly
great, my expectations for this one were low. Moreover, as much as I try not to
let other people’s opinions affect my own (or seep into my reviews), I’d
already heard more of the decidedly negative critical response to the film than
I would’ve liked, and it stuck in the back of my mind even when the movie
began. I say all this because I can’t pretend I was coming from a place of cool
objectivity when watching it and to emphasize how genuinely surprised I was at
how much I liked <i>The Battle of the Five
Armies</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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To be clear, <i>Battle</i> suffers from a lot of the same
flaws as its predecessors. It thankfully skips the usual, seemingly obligatory
prologue and jumps right into the action, picking up where the previous movie
left off, with the dragon Smaug preparing to attack Laketown. However, this
also results in an opening that feels more like a climax and likely should’ve
been relegated to the second film. Despite having the shortest running time of
the three, <i>Battle</i> still manages to
somehow feel both too thin and overstuffed, thanks to a host of subplots, many
of which are underdeveloped or wholly unnecessary. Scenes centered on the human
characters especially drag, a notable change from <i>The Desolation of Smaug</i>, where Laketown served as one of the more
interesting locations, if only for the passing exploration of politics. After
essentially completing his arc within the first twenty minutes or so, Luke
Evans’s Bard becomes extraneous, turning into more of a plot device than an
actual character. It doesn’t help that his most prominent traits as established
by <i>Desolation</i> – his resourcefulness,
stemming from his profession as a fisherman and smuggler, and his status as a
champion of the common people – no longer apply in this movie, since he gets
elevated into a position of power after killing Smaug.</div>
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More egregiously, <i>Battle</i> bizarrely decides to expand the
role of Alfrid, the sniveling, cowardly former servant of the Master played by
Ryan Gage. Not only could this time have been better used to flesh out the
Bard, Evangeline Lilly’s Tauriel or some of the dwarves, most of whom still
seem interchangeable, but Alfrid also is just flat-out obnoxious. He’s clearly
meant to serve as comic relief, which I’ve always considered among <i>The Hobbit</i>’s weaker points, clashing too
sharply with its overall foreboding tone. The toilet humor of the first movie
and more absurd goofiness of the second, however, are infinitely preferable to the
ill-advised, surprisingly offensive bit that concludes Alfrid’s storyline. I
won’t go into any more detail, but honestly, you’re better than that, Peter
Jackson.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
<a name='more'></a><br />
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As bloated and scatterbrained as
the movie is, though, it contains enough admirable elements and scenes that you
can almost create a genuinely great version of this story by just taking bits
and pieces and putting them together. Boosted by pitch-perfect performances
from Martin Freeman and Richard Armitage, <i>Battle</i>
shines whenever the spotlight focuses on Bilbo’s and Thorin’s relationship.
Freeman’s finely tuned mix of disgruntled awkwardness and naïve, humble decency
has always been a highlight of the trilogy, making the hobbit’s transformation
from prudish shut-in to unlikely hero both believable and compelling. However,
this is the first film that has really given Armitage a chance to stand out,
and he takes full advantage of it. With his brow almost constantly furrowed in
a majestic glower, the British actor drives home the essentially tragic nature
of his character, bringing out Thorin’s arrogance and darkness without letting
it completely overshadow the gravitas that makes him such a captivating leader.
Thanks to Armitage’s performance, you don’t doubt Gandalf when he tells Bilbo
to fear Thorin, but you can also understand why the other dwarves are so loyal
to him, willing to follow him even to their deaths.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ultimately, <i>Battle</i> benefits more than anything else from being forced to have a
legitimate ending. As the conclusion to roughly eight hours of plotting, it
finally provides the stakes that prior films had only vaguely hinted at, and by
treating <i>The Hobbit</i> more like a
prologue to <i>The Lord of the Rings</i>
than an individual, self-contained story, Jackson and co. give some weight to
what is basically an elaborate treasure hunt. The titular, CGI-heavy battle may
not rival the more practical effects-driven Helms Deep sequence in <i>The Two Towers</i>, which remains the <i>Citizen Kane</i> of fantasy action set
pieces, but it still has an appropriate sense of scope, utilizes enough flashy
choreography and creature designs to keep things interesting, and allows the
filmmakers to revel in the mythology they’ve spent years carefully crafting.
For all the flat characters and silly, half-baked subplots, <i>The Hobbit</i> has always retained one of
the key strengths of its predecessor: the world-building. It’s the small
details in the costume and set designs demarcating different cultures, the
deeply embedded presence and influence of history that make Middle Earth feel immersive
in a way that few other fictional universes have. <i>The Battle of the Five Armies</i> reminded me how much I love this world,
which I realized as the sweet, melancholy ballad “The Last Goodbye”
(appropriately sung by ex-hobbit Billy Boyd) played over the closing credits was
all I really wanted in the first place. Though it was far from perfect, I think
I’ll look back on this journey there and back again with affection; in fact, I
already kind of miss it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Photo Link:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://www.flicksandbits.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/thorin.jpg">http://www.flicksandbits.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/thorin.jpg</a><o:p></o:p></div>
StarGazerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12015069055645559061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-76737983841440959552014-12-24T15:35:00.001-05:002014-12-29T10:34:01.823-05:00Why Silver Linings Playbook Is the Perfect Christmas Movie<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/WordMaster" target="_blank">WordMaster</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFzk5iqn5v4wjZXdBiCMH3ZLYg6C8ygjttsNuFbpDcRXuSkgGoDZkqyr__FHP4iWK_JDR0yfOwa3uMWu8noltosGA1V2dLf-iP8linnXWe6l94G2v3a7k9rep_TahrIXwy12gYj8wReac/s1600/silver+linings+playbook+screenshot_cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFzk5iqn5v4wjZXdBiCMH3ZLYg6C8ygjttsNuFbpDcRXuSkgGoDZkqyr__FHP4iWK_JDR0yfOwa3uMWu8noltosGA1V2dLf-iP8linnXWe6l94G2v3a7k9rep_TahrIXwy12gYj8wReac/s1600/silver+linings+playbook+screenshot_cropped.jpg" height="324" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">For most people, the term “Christmas
movie” brings to mind <i>It’s a Wonderful
Life</i>, <i>Elf</i>, <i>A Christmas Story</i> – movies featuring Santa Claus and sentimental
speeches about childhood. For me, though, nothing captures the holiday spirit
more exquisitely than <i>Silver Linings
Playbook</i>, David O. Russell’s quirky 2012 romance starring Bradley Cooper
and Jennifer Lawrence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Silver
Linings Playbook</i> is about a man struggling to manage his bipolar disorder
and make amends after a violent incident involving his estranged wife’s lover.
His love interest is a young widow dealing with her own depression. Needless to
say, that doesn’t exactly scream hilarity, much less holiday cheer or family
entertainment (for the record, it’s rated-R, mostly thanks to a healthy dose of
profanity). Yet with his sharp script and naturalistic direction, Russell
manages to spin the material, which seems ripe for Lifetime-style melodrama,
into something genuinely fresh, heartwarming and, above all, <i>fun</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Like <i>The Fighter</i> and <i>American
Hustle</i>, the director’s other efforts since his surprising return to the
spotlight, <i>Silver Linings Playbook</i>
simmers with spontaneous, almost manic energy. Characters talk loudly and
constantly, their voices often competing with each other in a barrage of noise.
It should be overwhelming, like a dinner party perpetually on the verge of
going sour, but instead, it makes the movie feel thrillingly, uniquely alive. The
actors, from supporting players Robert De Niro and Jacki Weaver to Cooper and
Lawrence, slip into this atmosphere of barely contained chaos with ease, and
it’s a delight to watch them interact, whether exchanging rapid-fire banter or
tearful confessions. They lend welcome restraint and authenticity to characters
that could have easily been reduced to exasperating caricatures.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This nuance, this sensitivity, is
what made me fall in love with <i>Silver
Linings Playbook</i> and why it feels so special, despite its rather
conventional premise. Even now, I’ve seen few movies explore mental illness
with such honesty and compassion. After enduring so many portrayals of the
mentally ill as disposable punchlines, tortured geniuses, childlike saints and
violent psychopaths, it’s reassuring to see them treated simply as people, full
of complexities, hopes and anxieties. Even at its most incisive (i.e. the
hilariously awkward scene when Pat and Tiffany first meet), the humor never strays
into mean-spirited territory; it pokes fun without judging. Here, mental
illness isn’t something to be cured or overcome. It isn’t magically “fixed” by
true love. It comes with challenges, but the characters aren’t constantly
miserable or suffering. Rather, it’s something they learn to live with, a
fundamental aspect of their identities. As Tiffany says, “There will always be
a part of me that is dirty and sloppy, but I like that, just like I like all
the other parts of myself.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But they aren’t defined by their
neuroses either. As in his previous work, Russell exhibits a keen awareness of
human foibles and family dynamics, expertly conveying the mixture of love, bottled-up
resentment and obligation that comes with being bound inextricably to a group
of people for your entire life. For all their dysfunction, there’s never any
doubt that the Solatanos belong together. At the end of the day, they, like
everyone else, are just trying to do the best they can to get by.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In <a href="http://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/silver-linings-playbook-2012">his
review</a>, Roger Ebert described “Silver Linings Playbook” as “a terrific old
classic.” Indeed, the film has a kind of wit and carefree charm rarely seen
nowadays, when the word “love” is generally accompanied by a scoff and eye-roll,
and smug irony represents the height of comedy. I suppose that’s really why I
associate it with the holiday season: the refreshing, even bold, lack of
cynicism when it comes to romance and redemption; the tone of heartfelt
exuberance tinged with just enough nostalgic melancholy; </span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">the soulful cadence of Frank Sinatra’s “Have Yourself
a Merry Little Christmas,” my absolute favorite Christmas song; the image of an
empty, snow-covered street bathed in colored light.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> It
feels like home.</span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>Amy Woolseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01071851553114959861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-76316516225071797422014-12-23T11:34:00.000-05:002014-12-23T11:34:00.720-05:00"Birdman" Takes Flight But Doesn’t Stick the Landing<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/StarGazer" target="_blank">StarGazer</a><br />
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A fine line separates
ambition from hubris, passion projects from vanity projects. Though money and
the personalities involved play a role, mostly, the difference lies in an
individual’s subjective perception of quality: if you like a particular work of
art, then it’s a testament to the maker’s willingness to take risks and refusal
to compromise their creative vision, but if you don’t, it’s a self-indulgent,
bloated, even laughable mess. Alejandro Gonz<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">á</span>lez
Iñ<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">á</span>rritu’s <i>Birdman</i> suggests that there is, in fact,
no line at all, that the very desire to create art, whether it’s a multimillion
dollar blockbuster or an intensely personal, stripped-down play, is evidence of
humanity’s overinflated sense of self-importance. After all, only someone who
thinks very highly of themselves could be so delusional as to believe their
opinions, ideas and experiences are so singular and vital that they need to be
shared with the entire world. If the totality of human existence can be
confined to the temporal equivalent of a single square of a toilet paper roll, not
even the greatest, most innovative piece of art really matters, not in the
grand scheme of things. Artistry stems from both egotism and insecurity, the
confidence that you’re almighty and invincible and the fear – or is it the
knowledge? – that you’re not. <i>Birdman</i>
puts these conflicting impulses on display in a romp that’s by turns admirable
and aggravating, energizing and meandering, extravagant and slight.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like a self-deprecating actor who’s
really looking for constant, external validation, <i>Birdman</i> simultaneously invites and inoculates itself from
criticism. In one scene, our “hero” Riggin Thomson, played with “get off my
lawn” gruffness by Michael Keaton, approaches a <i>New York Times</i> theater critic, whose review will determine the
success of his play adaptation of Raymond Carver’s short story “What We Talk
About When We Talk About Love”, and unleashes a stream of vitriol at her,
accusing her and her entire profession of lazy cowardice. He argues that reviews
are nothing but strung-together labels for people’s opinions that ignore
structure and technique, the two elements that are notably <i>Birdman</i>’s strong suit. In presumably unintentional defiance of
Riggin’s lamentation, much has been made of Iñ<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">á</span>rritu’s
and cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki’s attempt to make the film appear as
though it had been shot in a single long take, a feat that is either an astounding
display of technical mastery or mere showboating, depending on who you ask.
Though the camerawork undeniably draws attention to itself, especially early
on, this approach largely works because it meshes so well with the overall tone
established by the movie. It evokes an impartial observer wandering through the
St. James Theater’s narrow corridors and cluttered dressing rooms, catching
snatches of conversations and backstage drama. Backed by Antonio S<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">á</span>nchez’s off-kilter,
discordant, drum-heavy score, the Steadicam transforms the film into a fever
dream with the feel of a jazz routine, propelled by hectic, improvisational
riffs and detours. </div>
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This fluid but detached approach
gives the satirical aspects of the movie just the right amount of bite, making
it seem incisive without coming across too mean-spirited or contemptuous.
Though <i>Birdman</i> is hardly the first
film to bemoan Hollywood as cynically profit-driven and devoid of true
artistry, the anxieties it expresses over the current state of the industry
especially hit home at a time when mainstream studios have become increasingly
reliant on <a href="http://grantland.com/features/2014-hollywood-blockbusters-franchises-box-office/">established
trends and brands</a> at the expense of riskier, more original ideas. When Riggin
needs to replace one of the main cast members for his play at the last minute,
his best friend and lawyer Jake (a wonderfully straight-faced Zach
Galifianakis) nixes each of his suggestions on the basis that they’re all
committed to superhero franchises, a bemusing scene that fittingly climaxes
with a Jeremy Renner name check. Most of the film’s commentary is like this,
simultaneously tongue-in-cheek and sincere, and it feels so strikingly relevant
that I can’t help but wonder whether it’ll hold up in the long run, once the
specific cultural references are no longer so of-the-moment.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Still, if the entire film had been nothing but two hours of a washed-up
actor wondering where the good ol’ days had gone, the satire likely would have
gotten tiresome quickly, regardless of the accuracy of its observations. What
stops it from devolving into generational nostalgia is that, as skeptical as
the movie is of a cinematic landscape dominated by mega-budgeted blockbusters,
it also deconstructs the valorization of stripped-down, “realistic” dramas,
which inevitably involve a lot of white people yelling and monologuing at each
other, as Real Art. </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Birdman</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> suggests
that those who eschew fame and instead spout platitudes about wanting to “bare
their soul” and “wrestle with complex human emotions” are no less self-absorbed
than the movie stars they scorn. Edward Norton’s Mike Shiner is the epitome of
this kind of self-aggrandizing thespian as well as a clever exaggeration of the
Method actor’s real-life reputation for being </span><a href="http://www.hitfix.com/articles/exclusive-edward-norton-s-agent-responds-to-marvel-ceo-s-statement" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">obstinate
and difficult to work with</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">. Continuing a recent string of lighter, less
intense roles, Norton gives one of his best performances in a while as he
excellently balances droll disillusionment with the cockiness of someone
genuinely convinced he’s doing the most important thing in the world, even if
that’s pretending to be other people for a living. Meanwhile, Emma Stone as
Riggin’s daughter Sam nearly steals the entire show with a scathing knockout of
a rant that tears down a decade’s worth of self-righteous pundits handwringing
over changing technology and millennial values.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> As a character study, however, </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Birdman</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
doesn’t work nearly as well, in part because its central figure seems so
familiar. From </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Singing in the Rain</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
and </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Sunset Boulevard</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> to Darren
Aronofsky’s companion pieces </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The Wrestler</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
and </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Black Swan</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, performers struggling
to maintain their success or revitalize their dying careers have long graced
the silver screen, and the character of Riggin fails to bring anything new to
the trope. His narrative bears strong resemblances to Nina Sayers’s, down to
the clashing duel personalities, mirror motifs and self-destructive bent, but
this movie lacks the poise and ruthless, visceral psychological intimacy that
made </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Black Swan</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> such a memorable
experience. Ultimately, Riggin and many of the supporting characters, with the
main exceptions of Mike and Sam (despite a certain misguided development in
their relationship), feel more like archetypes or stand-ins/mouthpieces for
ideas than fully developed human beings. Amy Ryan’s Sylvia in particular gets
the short end of the stick, coming off as so perfunctory and flat that I
initially thought she was a figment of Riggin’s imagination.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Part of me wishes that the entire movie had stayed confined to the
theater, because there, it came most to life, the byzantine and claustrophobic
space forcing the characters to collide the way that the limits of a stage can invigorate
actors. The more the story expands beyond the St. James Theater, the more its
emphasis shifts from broader cultural critique to Riggin as an individual, and
as a result, the less interesting and exciting it is. The third act offers two
possible endings, one of them fitting but predictable while the other is
weirdly pat and conservative for a movie that had previously been proudly
elliptical. It’s this second one, the epilogue, where </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Birdman </i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">really flounders. By reducing Riggin’s and Sam’s problems
to a matter of his abilities as a father (Sylvia’s mothering skills go
unremarked upon), the film undercuts its earlier wild brazenness and proves
unable to find a meaningful conclusion for its exploration of the entertainment
industry. Just as the </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">New York Times</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
critic simply walks away after Riggin’s aforementioned rant, seemingly
unaffected by his impassioned, if overly indignant accusations, </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Birdman</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> begins as an urgent, inspired howl
and ends with a noncommittal shrug.</span></div>
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Photo Link:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://cdn.hitfix.com/photos/5770382/BIRDMAN_gallery_cover_photo.jpg">http://cdn.hitfix.com/photos/5770382/BIRDMAN_gallery_cover_photo.jpg</a><o:p></o:p></div>
StarGazerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12015069055645559061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-48629044842699183992014-12-15T17:57:00.000-05:002014-12-15T17:57:08.547-05:00Hollywood Killed God and Why That’s a Problem<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/StarGazer" target="_blank">StarGazer</a><br />
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<i> Exodus: Gods and Kings</i> opened this past weekend,
and as mean-spirited as it is, I have to admit I was disappointed to see it <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/story/life/movies/2014/12/14/exodus-box-office-mockingjay/20395209/">top
the box office</a>, beating <i>Mockingjay:
Part One </i>and Chris Rock’s <i>Top Five</i>.
I’d say I’m boycotting it because of the whitewashed cast, but that implies I
would’ve had the slightest interest in seeing it otherwise. Racism and director
Ridley Scott <a href="http://flavorwire.com/491802/a-treasury-of-dumb-quotes-about-whitewashed-casting-from-the-people-responsible-for-exodus-gods-and-kings">being
a jerk</a> about said racism aside, this movie contributes to a recent
Hollywood trend that I find particularly frustrating: revisionist takes on
myths that don’t have any actual mythology in them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbyHA3Rkhjura1oVYnkgyNyecQABv_0jM5s5xk56wa-kzf5mZjYsegHfb7z2XQRTIzffJru931kabr0z7fDkFvaWmI8Nkvg2YKO6Ne3hRJgEeF-ZDdgfDdPkHdlEoArEQ944LarelL4kM/s1600/Exodus+whitewashing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbyHA3Rkhjura1oVYnkgyNyecQABv_0jM5s5xk56wa-kzf5mZjYsegHfb7z2XQRTIzffJru931kabr0z7fDkFvaWmI8Nkvg2YKO6Ne3hRJgEeF-ZDdgfDdPkHdlEoArEQ944LarelL4kM/s1600/Exodus+whitewashing.jpg" height="257" width="400" /></a></div>
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<o:p> </o:p><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: center;">You’re both so much better than this…</span></div>
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Theoretically, Hollywood’s
newfound obsession with reinventing myths – whether it’s fairy tales, Biblical or
otherwise religious stories, historical legends or classical mythology – should
be right up my alley. Though I enjoy real-world dramas as much as the next
person, I have always found these kinds of stories fascinating not only for the
way they blend recognizable archetypes with the fantastical, but also for how
integral they are to storytelling as an art, revealing the values and deeper
truths of historical moments, individual cultures and humanity as a whole.
While fairy tales and such have often served a didactic function, teaching
children and even adults how to lead a proper, moral life, they also speak to
people and shape their understanding of the world around them on a fundamental,
almost primal level. Where most stories benefit from specificity, myths feel
universal. Just think of how many different ancient civilizations, ones that
likely had little direct contact with each other, have similar legends about
massive floods, or Joseph Campbell’s <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monomyth">monomyth</a>, as simplistic and
patriarchal as that concept might be. My point is that these stories are <i>designed</i> to be reimagined and retold,
boasting an inherent, abstract fluidity that has kept them alive for, in some
cases, centuries on end.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, if myths are so open to
reinterpretation, then why are Hollywood’s latest versions, with <i>Exodus</i>, Darren Aronofsky’s <i>Noah</i> and <i>Maleficient</i> being this year’s most prominent examples, so dull? In
part, this could probably be attributed to the mainstream filmmaking industry’s
general lack of inventiveness and risk-averse mindset. To an extent, that’s
almost understandable in some of these cases. Considering how protective fans
can be of something as comparatively trivial as <i>Star Wars</i> or the Marvel comics, commercial productions can only
afford to be so radical when you’re dealing with material that’s literally
gospel for millions of people. <a href="http://www.vox.com/2014/12/11/7377409/exodus-review">Judging by reviews</a>,
<i>Exodus</i> in particular seems to have
been hampered by the creative team’s uncertainty over how faithful they should
be to the original text, their attempts to mesh together a variety of
approaches ultimately producing a final product that will likely satisfy no
one.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Despite the fact that few of these projects have been successful from
either a financial or artistic perspective, </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Exodus</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
et al. appear to represent only the beginning of this trend. Coming up, you can
look forward not one, but *two* </span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt3040964/?ref_=nv_sr_3" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">live-action</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2388771/?ref_=nv_sr_2">Jungle Book<span style="font-style: normal;"> movies</span></a></i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, </span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1661199/?ref_=nv_sr_1" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">a Cinderella
“retelling”</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, two </span><a href="http://thedissolve.com/news/4175-there-will-be-not-one-but-two-gritty-reboottm-bran/" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Robin
Hood “reboots”</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, a non-Disney </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/03/18/sofia-coppola-little-mermaid_n_4987146.html">The
Little Mermaid</a></i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, a live-action </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0918940/?ref_=nv_sr_1">Tarzan</a></i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, Joe
Wright’s </span><a href="http://mic.com/articles/105280/latest-peter-pan-poster-exposes-hollywood-s-continued-problem-with-whitewashing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;" target="_blank">already controversial <i>Pan</i></a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
and Guy Ritchie’s </span><a href="http://screenrant.com/king-arthur-movies-series-1-6-guy-ritchie-warner-bros-excalibur/" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">potential
King Arthur franchise</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> – and that’s mostly just counting ones currently best
known as animated Disney movies. Ridley Scott might even return to the Bible
for a </span><a href="http://variety.com/2014/film/news/fox-scott-free-and-chernin-reteam-on-biblical-king-david-film-exclusive-1201258761/" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">King
David-related flick</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">. Of course, one or all of these movies could turn out
to be good, even great (Sofia Coppola directing </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Mermaid</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> sounds intriguing), but looking at the descriptions, the
one available </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20DF6U1HcGQ" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">trailer</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
and the sheer quantity of them, I’m not getting my hopes up. Given that world
history is rich with thousands of different myths and folkloric tales, these
selections are hopelessly Euro-centric, and Hollywood seems weirdly fixated on the
most unavoidably racist stories possible (see: </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Jungle Book</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Tarzan</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">,
apparently </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Peter Pan</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">). I, for one, would
much rather see a new take on </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Aladdin</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
or one of the other tales in </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">One Thousand
and One Nights</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> than yet </span><a href="http://screenrant.com/beauty-beast-disney-live-action-movie-writer/" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">another
version of <i>Beauty and the Beast</i></a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">.
Still, for most part, my disdain for this trend of fairy tale/mythology
adaptations stems less from the source material than from the total lack of
imagination in the filmmakers’ and studios’ approach. Instead of embracing the
magical or spiritual nature of these stories, they seem intent on scrubbing
away any offbeat, distinguishing features, leaving us with a tedious assembly
line of what I’ve started to call Three G (generic, grim and gritty) movies.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> This revisionist trend first became apparent to me back in 2012 when we
got two Snow White adaptations – the oddly juvenile </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Mirror Mirror</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> and the Three G </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Snow
White and the Huntsman</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> – within three months of each other. Though this
very well could have been just a random coincidence (after all, 2006’s </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The Illusionist</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> and </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The Prestige</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> hardly signaled a growing obsession with magician
films), it came not long after Universal and Ridley Scott (him again?)
attempted a </span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0955308/?ref_=nv_sr_1" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Three G
revival of Robin Hood</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, Disney made a </span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1014759/?ref_=nv_sr_1" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">live-action <i>Alice in Wonderland</i></a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> and Robert
Zemeckis sent </span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0442933/?ref_=nv_sr_1" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Beowulf</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
through the Uncanny Valley armed with worse graphics than many modern video
games.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> In a way, like many tendencies found in blockbusters nowadays, these
movies’ general preference for a vaguely “realistic” aesthetic over one that
produces genuine feelings of wonder can be blamed on what I consider the 21</span><sup style="text-indent: 0.5in;">st</sup><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
century’s best – and, therefore, most influential – franchises so far: </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The Lord of the Rings</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> and Christopher
Nolan’s Batman trilogy. Now, those movies certainly inspire plenty of awe, but
for me at least, that sensation can be attributed more to their overall quality
and craftsmanship than to the actual worlds that they created. Characterized by
a love of muted colors, portentous dialogue and the use of familiar trappings
to ground fictional settings (medieval England for </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">LOTR</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">’s Middle Earth and a New York City/Chicago hybrid standing in
for Gotham in the Batman movies), both franchises pushed a generation of
fantasy and science-fiction films away from the more whimsical experimentalism
that characterized many earlier works and toward a sort of mournful gravitas.
None of this would necessarily be bad if it didn’t feel like every project was
being forced to follow the template for a spectacle-driven action epic,
regardless of how appropriate that tone is for each particular story.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> So, you get a </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Snow White and the
Huntsman</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> that didn’t reinvent either the Brothers Grimm or even the Disney
version so much as it grafted the most basic elements of the plot onto a
cookie-cutter Chosen-One-defeats-evil-ruler flick. It feels only superficially
different from, say, Ridley Scott’s </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Robin
Hood</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> and </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Exodus</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, which in turn
both seem like rather sad attempts by Scott to recapture his long-lost </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Gladiator</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> glory. Even the Greek gods got
brought down to earth in the </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">300</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">-wannabe
</span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Immortals</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, and the 2005 </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Troy </i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">erased their presence completely in
its retelling of the events of </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The Iliad</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">.
All these stories could not be more diverse in terms of their origins, so it’s disheartening
that their contemporary counterparts are so homogenous and lifeless.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> Here, then, is my advice to Hollywood: embrace the inexplicable. Whether
that means acknowledging the possible existence of a god (or gods) or incorporating
the mysticism of classic fairy tales and myths, refraining from the temptation
to rationalize the fantastical would make these stories feel not only more
faithful to their origins, but also more adventurous and unique. For example,
instead of making King Arthur reboots with essentially the same aim as </span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0349683/?ref_=nv_sr_1" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">the last one</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, why
not look to Edmund Spenser’s delightfully surreal yet layered </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The Faerie Queen</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> for inspiration? Or how
about a big-screen adaptation of Marion Zimmer Bradley’s </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The Mists of Avalon</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, which is still the most compelling modern
reinterpretation of the Arthurian legend that I’ve seen? Actually, what I would
love to see more than anything is a movie or TV show to do for King Arthur what
the short-lived series </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><a href="http://www.playboy.com/articles/playboy-library-kings-michael-green">Kings
<span style="font-style: normal;">did for the Biblical King David</span></a></i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">.
Set in a seemingly contemporary but alternate universe, Michael Green’s </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Kings</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> combined the grand narrative arcs
and dialogue of Shakespeare with political intrigue and moral introspection.
Most of all, it dealt with God very directly without ever coming off as
condescending or preachy, showing that pop culture is more than capable of
exploring issues of faith in nuanced, intelligent ways.</span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0px;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> It’s no surprise that some of the best recent fairy tale-esque films have
been ones that use the genre’s tropes without adhering to a single existing
narrative. </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Pan’s Labyrinth</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> emphasized
the gothic elements, recognizing that, if fairy tales are indeed the stuff of dreams,
then they must also be the stuff of nightmares, and Hayao Miyazaki’s films like
</span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Spirited Away </i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">realized universes
filled with enchantment more effectively than Disney ever had. </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
perfectly fit director Terry Gilliam’s madcap sensibilities, blending a dour
London with vibrant, absurdist fantasylands and offering one of the more
interesting personifications of the Devil that I’ve seen lately. Even more than
the fact that they weren’t positioned as the cornerstone for future franchises,
these movies work because they know that magic isn’t inherently silly or juvenile,
and getting rid of it doesn’t automatically make a work of art more mature or
worthy of serious attention. Few things peeve me more about criticisms of </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Lost</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">’s ending than detractors’ smug
derisiveness toward the very idea of religion, organized or not, and anyone who
might find meaning in it, their insistence that logical, scientific
explanations are always more valuable and better storytelling than spiritual or
emotional ones. Magic isn’t a copout. In fact, it’s embedded in the very fabric
of storytelling, and it’s time Hollywood welcomed that instead of burying it beneath
interminable action set pieces and boring aspirations to “realism”.</span></div>
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Photo Links:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://moviehole.net/img/exodus1.jpg">http://moviehole.net/img/exodus1.jpg</a><o:p></o:p></div>
StarGazerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12015069055645559061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-455945947139843932014-11-27T17:34:00.000-05:002014-11-27T18:41:54.823-05:00Wrestling with Masculinity and Oscar Hype<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/WordMaster" target="_blank">WordMaster</a></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjudEfpvGo_cMow0G1MQfIwhZEqiBFH0KmRm9E4nn7A-5gTbzmUKD_tXFKQwwCB5GiPGdWEKQiq7xxMUqZEM9Qipnm0Shujqr9cMhYZJ22etRSJtm9Jz0DbQc3zHTEUFtlGNNgdb_oqEkg/s1600/foxcatcher_still_flag.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjudEfpvGo_cMow0G1MQfIwhZEqiBFH0KmRm9E4nn7A-5gTbzmUKD_tXFKQwwCB5GiPGdWEKQiq7xxMUqZEM9Qipnm0Shujqr9cMhYZJ22etRSJtm9Jz0DbQc3zHTEUFtlGNNgdb_oqEkg/s1600/foxcatcher_still_flag.png" height="287" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> As several media commentators <a href="http://thedissolve.com/features/exposition/613-the-summer-movie-season-is-dead/?utm_content=buffer41067&utm_medium=social&utm_source=twitter.com&utm_campaign=buffer">observed</a>
earlier this year, the blockbuster season, not too long ago confined to summer
and Christmas time, has begun to swell like No-Face from <i>Spirited Away</i>, consuming May and April and threatening to spill
over into March, November and perhaps even beyond. It’s a disconcerting trend
for those of us who would like to go at least a couple months without having to
hear the word “superhero”. Arguably, however, the same thing has already
happened with Oscar season. Although the films themselves still usually come
out sometime between October and December, thanks to festivals and a
proliferating, rather dubious field of online pundits, you start seeing
predictions for <i>next year’s</i> Oscars
before <i>this year’s</i> ceremony even
airs. This is also not a particularly good thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Take <i>Foxcatcher</i>, Bennett Miller’s
based-on-real-life story about Olympic-wrestler brothers Mark and Dave Schultz
and their disturbingly wealthy benefactor, John du Pont. The movie debuted at
the Cannes Film Festival in May to mostly strong reviews, and ever since then,
it’s been a mainstay on award prognosticators’ lists. On one hand, taking the
festival circuit route allows <i>Foxcatcher</i>
to build up hype; voters tend to go for sure bets (i.e. what they already know
they’re supposed to like), so once something cements its status as an Oscar
contender, it generally remains there. But at the same time, being labeled
“Oscar-worthy” comes with certain expectations. Oscar-worthy movies have
prestigious actors whose roles demand some amount of yelling and/or crying.
They involve more dialogue than special effects but are large enough in scope
that they don’t feel “slight”. They say Important Things about Important Stuff,
like slavery or the film industry, striking a comfortable balance between serious
and cathartic. The earlier you put yourself out in the open, the more time
people have to realize that you fail to meet those expectations and the
likelier it is that the initial goodwill will fade and you’ll experience a
backlash.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> It’s probably
unfair to review a movie by talking about its hype and awards potential, since
that says nothing about its actual quality, but I can’t deny that I went into <i>Foxcatcher</i> with a specific vision in my
head and left feeling somewhat let down, disoriented for reasons I couldn’t
quite pinpoint. The truth is, this is not an Oscar movie. Sure, it’s based on a
true story and has an Oscar-nominated director at the helm, two elements that
never hurt your chances. Yet despite having guided both of his previous efforts
to Best Picture nominations, Bennett Miller is hardly a household name; like
J.C. Chandor, another rising talent who thrives on quiet adult dramas, his
style is too understated to garner the kind of devotion inspired by David
Fincher and Paul Thomas Anderson. The cast is more well-liked than prestigious
(of the three main actors, only Mark Ruffalo has an Oscar nomination), and
although it contains not-particularly-subtle messages about the danger of
American exceptionalism, this isn’t exactly <i>Selma</i>
as far as Important Stuff goes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> So what
to make of it? <i>Foxcatcher </i>falls in
between a lot of things – not quite grand or timely enough to be Oscar-bait,
but not pulpy enough to be “fun”; not intimate enough to be a character study,
but not comic enough to be satire; not fussy enough to be a biopic, not rousing
enough to be a sports story and not taut enough to be a thriller. It’s bleak,
but in a way that feels almost mundane, like waiting for an explosion that
never happens. The camera stays still except for a smattering of brief tracking
shots and handheld close-ups, the latter mostly during wrestling scenes. Yet
even those have a vaguely clinical gloss to them, shot less like battles than
dances, graceful and precise. The first half-hour at least (sans opening credits)
is void of musical cues, focusing instead on sound – the squeak of shoes on
rubber floors, the soft slap of bodies colliding, the violent drone of helicopter
blades. There’s nothing elaborate or showy; things just happen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Even
the acting is unexpectedly subtle, considering the roles and the awards
attention likely to be heaped on it (Oscar prefers loud, no-holds-barred
performances, as evidenced by Meryl Streep’s nomination for <i>August: Osage County</i>). Here, it’s all
body language, silences and meaningful blinking, and what little emotion does
manage to seep through is directed internally; the only thing resembling an
honest, non-passive-aggressive confrontation occurs behind closed doors, voices
muffled. Steve Carell’s role is especially ripe for scenery-chewing, and I
doubt anyone would’ve faulted the actor if he went that direction. On the
contrary, though, beyond the prosthetic nose and breathy, staccato speech, he’s
rather subdued and enigmatic. As off-putting as he frequently is, du Pont never
comes across as anything other than wretchedly, painfully human, a lonely,
eccentric multimillionaire with deep-seated emotional and psychological issues
and too much time on his hands. You would be tempted to feel sorry for him if
you weren’t constantly worried about what he was going to do next. Mark
Schultz, played by heartthrob-turned-respectable-actor Channing Tatum with
glowering, pent-up self-loathing, is equally, if not more, menacing. I was
somewhat surprised to see the credits list the real-life Mark as an associate
producer, since the movie doesn’t portray him in the most flattering light, but
regardless, it’s hard not to admire Tatum’s intensity, expertly pitched between
rigid and visceral. The more I think about it, the less I can imagine anyone else
in the part. As the ill-fated Dave Schultz (by far the least weird character in
the movie), Mark Ruffalo is likely to get overshadowed by his costars come
awards time, but that should not diminish his nuanced performance, which turns
tiny, seemingly insignificant gestures into gut-punches.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> A day later, there are two
things I keep coming back to. The first is the “philatelist” scene, which plays
like something from a Judd Apatow movie but with cocaine instead of pot. The
second is the image of the Pennsylvania countryside in autumn, covered by a
light sheet of mist. It’s so ordinary and peaceful yet tinged with darkness, the
faint sense that something is just <i>not
right</i>. In a way, that image represents the movie as a whole – a steadfastly
sedate affair punctuated by moments of weirdness and unease that don’t startle
you so much as creep up on you, almost unnoticed, disturbing precisely because
they unfold with such an utter lack of sensationalism. The characters
themselves seem oblivious; even when du Pont behaves strangely, when he wakes
Mark up in the middle of the night for no apparent reason or fires a gun in a
gym full of people or treats his pupils like insolent children (beware:
Freudian undertones abound), <i>no one
comments on it</i>. Maybe that’s why <i>Foxcatcher</i>
feels a little anticlimactic: you keep looking for a deeper meaning, some edgy,
profound meditation on obsession, greed and hubris, but as it turns out, the emptiness
is the point. It’s just men, after all: full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.</span></span><br />
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<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Links:</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://watchfoxcatchermovie.wordpress.com/"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">http://watchfoxcatchermovie.wordpress.com/</span></a></span></div>
Amy Woolseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01071851553114959861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-30604609939140201242014-11-14T17:33:00.000-05:002014-11-14T17:33:14.832-05:00Fighting the Unbearable Emptiness with Love<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/StarGazer" target="_blank">StarGazer</a><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">***BEWARE
POSSIBLE SPOILERS***</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></b>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS5lx5GiNXb_ZsWUJBcw9mlFPitmEZEoI-1G-qjAQziBe1ch3PL2uJQkkokyJeNypzLKs2mBdC2jDAkz98zxZ5NuAEWeFHkjdYlIE7LX4VDq4x4wCL1CTnkoxBcTrAisoJ9P7LYy1-nug/s1600/Interstellar_Coop+and+Murph+talking+by+pickup+truck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS5lx5GiNXb_ZsWUJBcw9mlFPitmEZEoI-1G-qjAQziBe1ch3PL2uJQkkokyJeNypzLKs2mBdC2jDAkz98zxZ5NuAEWeFHkjdYlIE7LX4VDq4x4wCL1CTnkoxBcTrAisoJ9P7LYy1-nug/s1600/Interstellar_Coop+and+Murph+talking+by+pickup+truck.jpg" height="166" width="400" /></a></div>
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You’ll
probably know whether or not you’re going to like <i>Interstellar</i> within the first half hour. The premise: a group of
scientists led by Matthew McConaughey’s Cooper has been tasked with traveling
into a wormhole near Saturn and finding a planet that could replace Earth,
which has been so ruined it can no longer sustain human life. You either accept
this – and, not to mention, all the quirks about bending space-time, hopping
dimensions and corn – or you don’t. If you can’t suspend your disbelief, you’ll
likely dismiss Christopher Nolan’s latest venture as maddening, self-absorbed drivel,
but if you can embrace the plot as it is, you’ll be rewarded with an immersive
spectacle that blends the grand scope of <i>2001:
A Space Odyssey</i> with the more personal sincerity of <i>Contact</i>, one that recalls innumerable sci-fi flicks of the past but
never seems interested in trying to be anything other than itself.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like last year’s <i>Gravity</i>, <i>Interstellar</i> begs to be seen on as large a screen as possible, and
its basic story is secondary to the mere experience of sitting and watching it.
An IMAX theater viewing especially provides a sensory explosion so enveloping
that it’s almost overwhelming. Boasting visual effects that, more than being
just stunning to look at, actually feel <i>real</i>,
the film serves as a sharp and more-than-welcome contrast to the blatant CGI of
something like the <i>Thor</i> movies or the
superficial, screensaver prettiness of <i>The
Tree of Life</i>. Assisted by Hoyte van Hoytema’s elegant cinematography, the
film doesn’t just present images of wormholes, distant planets and extra
dimensions – it transports you to them. Jaw-dropping shots of a spaceship
passing Saturn or approaching a black hole are matched by suffocating scenes
set in the dust-blown fields that apparently cover future America and an almost
disturbingly visceral sequence where a spacecraft gradually disintegrates into
nothingness, the you-are-there sensation enhanced by some finely tuned sound
editing. Composer Hans Zimmer contributes to the movie’s delicate tonal mix of
grandeur and immediacy with a marvel of a score that alternates between an
operatic, organ-played theme and more staccato, tense rhythms. Smartly executed
on practically every technical level, <i>Interstellar</i>
is a dizzying dream of a movie, inspiring the kind of pure awe that so many
films aim for but rarely achieve.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yet, for all the visual
fireworks, scientific jargon and <i>Prometheus</i>-esque
philosophizing, there’s something very elemental, almost archetypal about <i>Interstellar</i>. The relationship between
Cooper and Murph (played by both Jessica Chastain and Mackenzie Foy, who is
perhaps the movie’s biggest surprise other than the Bill Irwin-voiced robot and
secret MVP T.A.R.S.) anchors the narrative, even as it traverses planets,
galaxies and dimensions, and resonates with an earnestness that comes off as
sweet instead of sentimental. At its core, this is a story about love – not
just the love between parents and children, though that’s a central focus, but the
one between lovers, siblings, people and their home, humanity and itself.
Helped by all-around solid performances from a recognizable cast and
uncluttered by prolonged action set pieces, Christopher and Jonathan Nolan’s
screenplay spends enough time with the characters to justify an emotional
investment in their survival, even if some of the supporting roles could’ve
been fleshed out more, a challenge for a film already approaching the three
hour mark. Some of the movie’s best scenes are its simplest: a father tries in
vain to comfort his distraught daughter; a heartbreaking montage of video
messages; one character is so relieved to see another person, he collapses in
tears. Human beings are a source of both doom and salvation in <i>Interstellar</i>, the latter of which proves<i> </i>possible only through a sense of shared
community, devotion and empathy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The past vs. the future. Science
vs. heart. Individual vs. collective survival. Humanity as a lost cause vs.
humanity as a transcendent exception. These kinds of dichotomies riddle <i>Interstellar</i> and perhaps explain why
this particular project feels like such a statement for Christopher Nolan,
whose career has been as contradictory as it is reliable. Since he emerged with
<i>Following</i> and <i>Memento</i>, Nolan has accumulated enough industry pull to have the
kind of artistic control and financial stability that most directors can only
imagine, and his resulting work, which can best be paradoxically described as
adult-oriented, middlebrow blockbusters, seems to inspire passion, measured
respect and criticism in equal measure. As much as he represents the
establishment, he also occupies a tricky yet interesting in-between area in a
filmmaking world that’s becoming increasingly polarized into extremes, with studio
tentpoles occupying one side of the spectrum and niche indies the other.
Especially post-<i>Memento</i>, his movies
tend to be not escapist enough to be truly populist, attracting such
descriptors as “pretentious”, “self-serious” and “clinical”, but at the same
time, they lack the offbeat sensibility needed to be embraced by the arthouse
crowd or the high-minded prestige of Oscar or critic bait; spiritually, he’s
closer to Steven Spielberg or James Cameron than Paul Thomas Anderson, David
Fincher or even Kubrick. More than anything else, <i>Interstellar</i> highlights the struggle between thinking and feeling,
and the ultimate triumph of the latter, as a key thematic through line in
Nolan’s career.<o:p></o:p></div>
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That, and white dude leads, unfortunately a convention in
Hollywood instead of an anomaly</div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> This isn’t to say that his reputation of making cerebral, mind-bending
movies is unfounded, but I think it distracts from deeper, more compelling
conversations when everyone fixates on twists and plot logic (trust me when I
say the world really doesn’t need that listicle you’re thinking of making about
</span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Interstellar</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">’s science). For all his obsessions
with nonlinear structures and playing with time, Nolan often uses fairly
straightforward storylines that can be roughly divided into three acts, even if
those divisions are shaped more by character arcs than narrative beats: a man
wants to find and punish his wife’s killer, a veteran homicide detective must
solve one last case, a thief has to pull off one last heist before he can see
his children again. What’s notable about these stories is that the supposed
goal of each eventually turns out to be insubstantial, or at least secondary to
whatever the characters went through in order to succeed, if they in fact
succeed at all. Though he obviously doesn’t have David Lynch’s surrealist bent,
Nolan is similarly less interested in crafting a unique, airtight plot than in
using the plot as a vehicle for exploring ideas, especially those related to
human psychology and subjectivity.</span></div>
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Whether it’s <i>Memento</i>’s Leonard Shelby diligently
taking notes to compensate for his faulty memory or Dom Cobb incessantly
spinning a weighted top to distinguish between reality and dream in <i>Inception</i>, Nolan’s protagonists become
trapped in mazes of logic, typically ones of their own making. They create
routines and methodical, self-justifying narratives as a means of avoiding past
trauma or repressing the emotions that really drive their actions. In <i>Following</i>, the Young Man develops a set
of rules to govern his strange habit of following random strangers he sees in
London, which is supposedly how he finds inspiration for his writing, as if to
convince himself that he’s not being ethically shady or to distract himself
from his intense loneliness. Later, when Cobb (no relation to <i>Inception</i>’s Dom Cobb) claims he robs
people and invades their homes to force them to realize what they had and to
re-examine their lives, the Young Man easily accepts this pseudo-existential
reasoning, and it’s only when he learns Cobb was framing him for a murder that
he comes to terms with his mistakes and criminal behavior. Ostensibly, Borden’s
and Angier’s professional rivalry in <i>The
Prestige</i> is fueled by a mutual desire to perfect their craft as magicians,
but in reality, it’s based in jealousy, pride and an escalating lust for
vengeance. In the Batman films, Bruce Wayne doesn’t take on the Caped
Crusader’s persona merely because he wants to save Gotham City (after all,
there are probably ways of doing that that don’t involve wearing a bat-like
suit and assaulting petty criminals at night), but rather because he still
struggles with childhood fears and the loss of his parents. His efforts to keep
Rachel Dawes out of his life to protect her prove futile, and his
ends-justify-the-means approach to justice morally compromises him,
undercutting his ability to be the symbol of hope and heroism that he strives
toward. There’s also Harvey Dent, whose grief and despair following Rachel’s
death sends him on a murder spree that he structures around a coin toss, and <i>The Dark Knight Rises</i>’ Bane and Talia
al-Ghul, who demonstrate how political rhetoric can be used to further
personal, emotion-based goals.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In Christopher Nolan’s world,
logic, science, ideology and any other concepts that claim to be centered in
cold, objective fact or suggest the existence of a single, definitive truth are
not only misleading but dangerous. They’re deceiving, tools that are easily
distorted, manipulated and exploited. Only by confronting the emotions shaping
their thoughts and guiding their actions, and embracing the catharsis that
arises from that epiphany, can characters hope to break the cycle and become
free of the psychological prisons holding them back. For example, Borden can
only reunite with his daughter once he recognizes how his commitment to work
and the rivalry devastated the women in his life, just as Dom Cobb must let go
of the specter of his dead wife before he can return home. Bruce Wayne has to
face his fears and relearn the meaning of true sacrifice and the value of human
life, including his own, before he can find peace. In <i>Interstellar</i>, humanity’s desire to survive is driven more by love
and relationships than by evolution or primal instincts, and Cooper and Anne
Hathaway’s Brand succeed by trusting their gut instead of relying on data and
numbers. Conversely, Leonard Shelby in <i>Memento</i>
refuses to believe that his entire revenge quest, the mission he has
constructed his life around is a lie he’s told himself; he’s doomed to repeat
the same mistakes in a life of psychological torment and dissatisfaction. The
mind is weak and malleable, while the heart is strong and constant and, most
importantly, always in control.<o:p></o:p></div>
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By giving emotion primacy over
reason, Nolan subtly undermines conventional ways of understanding stories,
which assume a linear progression of events, attempt to impose a sense of order
and treat the internal as a reaction to the external rather than the other way
around. Just as equating logic and rigid formulas with impartiality spells
trouble for his characters, viewers can easily become consumed by examinations
of plot minutia in Nolan’s movies at the expense of taking in the larger
picture. That’s not to say it’s an entirely pointless endeavor, as I’d never
suggest that there’s only one “right” way to approach and interpret a text, but
rather, contrary to what appears to be popular opinion, these films aren’t
puzzle boxes that need to be taken apart and solved. While the plot twists are
important for framing and contextualizing the stories and characters, they’re
never the point or end goal in and of themselves. This is why <i>Memento</i> never actually reveals the
identity of Leonard’s wife’s killer, even leaving some uncertainty as to how
honest Teddy is being with him in the final scene, and why <i>The Dark Knight Rises</i> works as an emotionally satisfying finale to
the Batman trilogy, despite the unnecessarily convoluted plot and sloppy,
problematic politics. As Nolan himself has said, the ambiguous ending of <i>Inception</i> isn’t significant because it
causes us to question everything that came before, but instead because Dom Cobb
walks away from the totem – he has finally learned to not care. The content of
Cooper’s message to Murph in the refreshingly explosion-free climax of <i>Interstellar</i> matters much less than the
fact that he’s sending her a message, reinforcing the strong bond that exists
between them. Boasting circular structures that often loop back around and fold
in on themselves, Nolan’s films devalue tying up all loose ends, the idea that
plots need to be completely, internally consistent and to come to a clear
conclusion, in favor of emotional closure.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Aside from the endless arguments
over possible plot holes and arguments about the arguments over plot holes, one
of the more prominent conversations I’ve noticed about <i>Interstellar</i>, at least among the critics I follow on Twitter, <a href="http://screencrush.com/christopher-nolan-fans/">is a debate</a> over why
his work brings out a particularly vitriolic, often misogynist strain of fan
backlash to negative comments or reviews. Now, in case you haven’t already
figured it out, I consider myself a pretty diehard Christopher Nolan fan, but I
can’t – and don’t especially want to try to – explain why this happens except
to say that I think it has very little to do with his movies or him as a
director or person. What baffles me most is that, for all the crediting of his
Batman trilogy as responsible for the recent prevalence of grim-is-better
blockbusters, Nolan actually engages in the kind of storytelling – e.g. <a href="http://io9.com/stop-putting-new-age-pseudoscience-in-our-science-ficti-1656432047">“soft”
science fiction as opposed to “hard” sci-fi</a>, belief in the power of love
and positive emotions – that I imagine sexist Internet geeks normally regard with
derision. Beneath the muted colors and noir tropes, Nolan’s films affirm the
validity of feelings and the sway they hold over an individual’s actions and
worldview. <i>Interstellar</i> is simply the
humanist core at the center of his career writ large, and it showcases cinema’s
capacity to inspire audiences to both think and feel, to understand and wonder.
To dream.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Photo Links:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://www.movienewz.com/img/gallery/interstellar/photos/interstellar_movie_still_2.jpg">http://www.movienewz.com/img/gallery/interstellar/photos/interstellar_movie_still_2.jpg</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://themoviemash.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/following-movie.jpg">http://themoviemash.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/following-movie.jpg</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://melgibstein.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/large20memento20blu-ray720.jpg">http://melgibstein.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/large20memento20blu-ray720.jpg</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://jeffreyklyles.files.wordpress.com/2012/07/the-prestige-christian-bale-and-hugh-jackman.jpg">http://jeffreyklyles.files.wordpress.com/2012/07/the-prestige-christian-bale-and-hugh-jackman.jpg</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://mygeekblasphemy.files.wordpress.com/2012/06/batman_begins_christian_bale.jpg">http://mygeekblasphemy.files.wordpress.com/2012/06/batman_begins_christian_bale.jpg</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://blog.moviescrunch.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/Inception-Movie-Stills.jpg">http://blog.moviescrunch.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/Inception-Movie-Stills.jpg</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://www.fatmovieguy.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/Interstellar-Teaser-Trailer.jpg">http://www.fatmovieguy.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/Interstellar-Teaser-Trailer.jpg</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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StarGazerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12015069055645559061noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-26662732994242753112014-11-04T14:30:00.001-05:002014-11-05T23:52:52.707-05:00How to Get Away With Business<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/WordMaster" target="_blank">WordMaster</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicxNgB3w93zsTWmDNAgr7FM-iXWasR6MfduLShiQeoRsQhiNUB3Cbhna44G77FrfGM85sDV3BoahbWXXS3jW7KFN_9UWELb76ewXvVC3FdYjqSmttlVplG5ov-WXr1lHLOBT55oBAhERQ/s1600/nightcrawler1_1414614387_600x450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicxNgB3w93zsTWmDNAgr7FM-iXWasR6MfduLShiQeoRsQhiNUB3Cbhna44G77FrfGM85sDV3BoahbWXXS3jW7KFN_9UWELb76ewXvVC3FdYjqSmttlVplG5ov-WXr1lHLOBT55oBAhERQ/s1600/nightcrawler1_1414614387_600x450.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Lou Bloom is not your usual movie sociopath. With his mane
of slightly too-long hair, wiry frame and large eyes, he lacks the subtle
menace of Hannibal Lecter and the slick, shallow charisma of Patrick Bateman.
If anything, his tendency to aggressively spout self-help aphorisms and hackneyed
corporate jargon at a mile a minute makes him seem rather dense at first, almost
childlike. He starts the film as an aimless petty thief, selling wire, watches
and whatever random paraphernalia he can find for a meager income, and claims
to have only a high school education. For all his go-getter gusto, he doesn’t
come across as particularly magnetic, competent or intimidating – he’s more
Pete Campbell than Don Draper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> And
yet, it’s impossible to take your eyes off him. Naturally, a large portion of
the credit must go to star Jake Gyllenhaal, who has quietly spent the past
couple years undergoing one of the weirdest, most unexpected career revivals
this side of Matthew McConaughey, with turns in gritty, off-kilter indies like <i>End of Watch</i> and <i>Prisoners</i>. Here, the
transformation is complete: nearly 30 pounds lighter and affecting a deadpan,
higher-pitched voice, he’s virtually unrecognizable as the fresh-faced kid of <i>October Sky</i>, <i>Donnie Darko</i> and <i>Brokeback
Mountain</i>. Such dramatic changes in appearance tend to invite hyperbole from
the media, words like “fearless” and “astonishing” tossed around with the nonchalance
of a baseball between innings (or, on the flip side, they’re scorned as
self-serving stunts that merit neither admiration nor awards). In this case,
however, any and all praise is entirely deserved. The weight loss isn’t what
makes Gyllenhaal’s performance a remarkable feat of physical acting; it’s the
nuances, the way he can apparently go endless amounts of time without blinking,
the smile so unnervingly wide it verges on cartoonish, the minute gestures and
shifts in expression that seem simultaneously meaningful and utterly. It’s electrifying
in its contradictions, by turns ostentatious and controlled, raw and aloof, and
as hard to pin down as the film’s protagonist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> With
the spotlight monopolized, the rest of the cast is inevitably relegated to the
sidelines, left to make the best of what they have. As Rick, Lou’s
cash-strapped assistant/driver, Riz Ahmed provides a welcome sense of sanity
and humanity to soften the movie’s relentless misanthropy, his down-to-earth sincerity
a perfect foil to Gyllenhaal’s eerie coldness. Although we learn little about
him, Rick’s mounting desperation feels painfully real. Similarly, Rene Russo, appearing
in a non-<i>Thor</i>-related movie for the
first time since 2005, takes full advantage of her limited screen time as a
callous, sharp-tongued morning news director. She navigates the plot’s more
problematic twists and turns with ostensible ease, taking what could easily
have been a one-dimensional “tamed shrew” character and imbuing her with
dignity and verve.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <i>Nightcrawler</i> starts with a series of
still shots of Los Angeles – a building here, a traffic light there – set to a cheesy
‘80s-style electronic soundscape. In other words, nothing out of the ordinary.
But as the movie progresses, the city takes on a gradually more unsettling
vibe, traces of sleaze creeping into its sleek façade, mirrored by James Newton
Howard’s increasingly discordant score. This is, after all, a satire, alternately
tearing its claws into the sensationalist media, capitalism and, in a pleasant
surprise, American race relations. First-time director
Dan Gilroy exhibits a deft feel for tone with a darkly funny script pitched
<i>just </i>right between acerbic and absurd,
driving its point home without resorting to pompous moralizing. It’s the rare
satire that manages to sustain its edge, its unapologetic, madcap cynicism,
from beginning to end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Again, it all comes down to Lou
Bloom. Even as it appears to unravel him, as we learn the full extent of his
depravity, the film refrains from really letting us inside his head. Unlike <i>American Psycho</i> and even <i>Gone Girl</i> earlier this year, <i>Nightcrawler</i> does not encourage us to
identify with its protagonist. Lou may be in nearly every scene, but he always
seems to be at an arm’s distance away – sometimes literally. The camera’s
position and angle changes constantly, going from close-ups to abrupt wide
shots and putting us in other characters’ perspectives, if only for a moment.
And you slowly realize what makes Lou so terrifying: despite spending two whole
hours with him, you still have no idea who he is. Just when you think you’ve
figured him out, something happens that throws you off guard. Is he incapable
of authentic emotion or simply an expert at hiding it? Does he believe
everything he’s saying or is it all just a performance, meticulously calibrated to fit society’s expectations of how ambitious young men are supposed to act? What is
he thinking – if, indeed, he’s thinking at all? In a way, he’s a perfect mascot
for the digital age, not a person so much as the image of a person, there until
he simply isn’t.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Links:</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.filmfare.com/reviews/movie-review-nightcrawler-7547.html"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">http://www.filmfare.com/reviews/movie-review-nightcrawler-7547.html</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
Amy Woolseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01071851553114959861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376013902919496941.post-75804203066616357982014-10-12T11:17:00.003-04:002014-10-12T19:04:10.682-04:00The Affair, The Leftovers and the Death of Normal<a href="http://wickedstupidplotless.blogspot.com/search/label/StarGazer" target="_blank">StarGazer</a><br />
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When Showtime’s <i>The Affair</i> premieres tonight, much
will rightly be written about its experimental approach to structure, form and
point of view. In its first episode, which is actually already <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vAGvBwCI1JI&spfreload=10%20Message%3A%20Unexpected%20end%20of%20input%20(url%3A%20https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DvAGvBwCI1JI)">available
online</a>, the show dives into a tale of temptation and (potential) infidelity
that unfolds like a dream or a languid summer day, its serenity punctured every
so often by moments of unsettling tension.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> It’s not just the unhurried pacing or the tone, calibrated to a tricky
but riveting balance between meditative and disquieting, that reminded me of </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The Leftovers</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">, another premium cable
show that debuted this year. It’s the way they both bury deep into their
characters’ psyches, lingering in the most secretive, troubled spaces and
allowing that darkness to seep out and color the world around them. Though the
similarities might not continue beyond </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The
Affair</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">’s first episode, from what I’ve seen, both shows seem intent on
wrenching their characters out of their sedate, comfortable lives and hurtling
them toward an undefined yet inevitable doom.</span></div>
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<i>The Leftover</i>’s apocalypse is a literal one. Thrown into a
collective existential crisis after the sudden, random disappearance of 2
percent of the world’s population, the residents of a suburban New York town
must grapple with broken families, the rise of strange cults as old belief
systems are shattered and new ones take hold, and the fact that, despite all
common sense and the desires of many, life insists on moving on almost as if
nothing had ever happened. By contrast, the concerns of <i>The Affair</i> are much more down-to-earth and mundane. Noah Solloway
(played by the reliably good Dominic West) lives in a spacious New York City
brownstone courtesy of his snobby but filthy rich father-in-law, is contentedly
married (his wife is played by Maura Tierney, so you know she’s lovely) with
four children, and has recently published his first book while still enjoying
his day job as a public school teacher. As Noah himself admits, it’s an idyllic
existence, one so often promised to everyone by politicians, Hollywood and advertisers
but that few people could ever hope to achieve. Yet, all it takes is one chance
encounter with a pretty waitress named Alison Lockhart (Ruth Wilson, a
revelation) for him to consider throwing it all away. This premise has been
done countless times before, and without a talented and, let’s be honest,
attractive cast and such ambitious writing and direction, the prospect of
spending every week watching privileged people being unhappy with their
privilege would’ve sounded insufferable (counterargument: <i>Mad Men</i>).<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> However, there’s much more going on beneath the surface of </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The Affair</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">. The pilot is peppered with
moments of surreal dread: within the first fifteen minutes, Noah’s older son Martin
fakes a suicide attempt in an apparent bid for his father’s attention, and his
younger daughter almost chokes at the diner where Noah and Alison first meet; Noah
witnesses what he thinks is Alison being raped by her husband (a scruffy Joshua
Jackson), later revealed to actually be rough but consensual sex; and at one
point, Alison accidentally cuts her finger while chopping up vegetables. These
incidents lend an air of morbidity to what could’ve been a sexy romp of a show,
and they seemed too purposeful, too well-staged to be simply out-of-place,
unnecessary attempts at adding drama, though some critics apparently </span><a href="http://www.hitfix.com/whats-alan-watching/review-showtimes-complicated-engrossing-the-affair" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">felt
differently</a><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">. What made this contrast between the show’s tone and content
click for me was the second-half revelation that Alison had lost a child due to
as-yet-unknown circumstances, a tragedy that threw her marriage into turmoil
and has mired her in an aching, empty depression that many characters in </span><i style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The Leftovers</i><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> could likely identify
with.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRaCkD_BJeR_LcdkefMXsB5L1DS44kJcMRFM3hg9wIDGfpRS-8bbljAuIAcLQnvq6GkZ7n6zz6wROuBl_GLyK6luZl5wWMhIrAEPq21-3DcEMUQCBc7N2A_ygqDSxu6ouNS3DVggD6m6o/s1600/Alison-Nora+pics.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRaCkD_BJeR_LcdkefMXsB5L1DS44kJcMRFM3hg9wIDGfpRS-8bbljAuIAcLQnvq6GkZ7n6zz6wROuBl_GLyK6luZl5wWMhIrAEPq21-3DcEMUQCBc7N2A_ygqDSxu6ouNS3DVggD6m6o/s1600/Alison-Nora+pics.png" height="205" width="400" /></a></div>
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What I would give for
these two women to meet…Crossover, anyone?</div>
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In addition to foreshadowing the
affair and the way it will no doubt destroy both families, these incidents
served as <i>memento mori</i>,<i> </i>reminders that perfection and happiness
– at least the worldly kind that Noah has cultivated, the kind that Alison
perhaps had before she had to bury her child – are not only temporary, but
fragile illusions, shattered at even the slightest provocation. All of it is ultimately
useless anyway with death constantly approaching. It’s too early to say whether
this death will be literal or figurative (or most likely, both), but
regardless, it adds weight to Noah’s and Alison’s relationship, turning their
infidelity from a simple matter of spousal betrayal and into an intimate battle
over their souls. When Alison’s friend gives her an amateur tarot card reading,
she gets the Lucifer card, which suggests that temptation is coming, “something
powerful and wild” that “may be a very good thing, or he may enslave you”. When
she gives in, as we know she will, is that a sign of weakness, of the allure of
sin, or is it something more freeing, an acknowledgment of the superficiality
of such social constraints as monogamous, heterosexual marriage? I suspect the
show will find a middle ground, an approach that neither romanticizes nor
condemns their relationship. <i>The Affair</i>’s
apocalypse is a personal one.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It strikes me as significant
that both <i>The Leftovers</i> and <i>The Affair</i> primarily focus on characters
with privilege. These characters are predominantly white, heterosexual, economically
secure and part of nuclear families, the American Dream brought to (fictional)
life, and the inciting incidents of each show disrupt the sense of comfort
afforded them by these hegemonic structures. For the most part, these disturbances
are internal, the result of mental, emotional or moral uncertainty rather than
any real, material changes, but they’re enough to push these characters over
the edge and force them to question their sense of self. One of my favorite
things about both shows is their levelheaded, empathetic approach to
psychological disorders, particularly depression, and I’d love few things more
than seeing media move toward these more realistic depictions and away from the
nonsense peddled by shows like <i>Hannibal</i>.
People frequently treat mental illness as something that distorts reality. These
shows acknowledge that not only are mental illnesses reality to those who
experience them, but there’s no single, objective reality in the first place. What’s
often seen as “objective” reality and as normal is, in fact, shaped by those in
power, by media representations and language, by memory. <i>The Leftovers</i> and <i>The Affair</i>
ask what happens when that reality becomes undermined, when people no longer
want what they’re supposed to want or believe what they’ve been told to
believe, when they stop trying to be someone else and, instead, become who they
really are. As Alison says to Noah and his family when they first meet, welcome
to the end of the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Photo Links:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vAGvBwCI1JI&spfreload=10%20Message%3A%20Unexpected%20end%20of%20input%20(url%3A%20https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DvAGvBwCI1JI)">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vAGvBwCI1JI&spfreload=10%20Message%3A%20Unexpected%20end%20of%20input%20(url%3A%20https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DvAGvBwCI1JI)</a>
(screenshot)<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://rack.2.mshcdn.com/media/ZgkyMDE0LzA4LzA0LzFlL2hiby50aGUubGUuNWZmNmEucG5nCnAJdGh1bWIJMTIwMHg5NjAwPg/0b14330c/78f/hbo.the_.leftovers.nora_.png">http://rack.2.mshcdn.com/media/ZgkyMDE0LzA4LzA0LzFlL2hiby50aGUubGUuNWZmNmEucG5nCnAJdGh1bWIJMTIwMHg5NjAwPg/0b14330c/78f/hbo.the_.leftovers.nora_.png</a><o:p></o:p></div>
StarGazerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12015069055645559061noreply@blogger.com0