Live from the Emerald City

Yes, I'm blogging from cold, rainy Seattle, Washington. Not so emerald right now, but I've enjoyed the cold and rain...the first two days! Now I'm tired of it. How do people live here? Probably because the nice days make up for it, like enduring the heat in Phoenix for the mild winter.

We came up for a wedding, which was very nice. We took extra days to take in the city. The most interesting part for me, was being in a "football town" where the home team was hosting the playoffs. My first time. I mean, the Broncos went to the playoffs many times when I was in Colorado, but I never was in Denver. You could definitely feel the electricty among the locals, especially when Redskins fans walked the streets. I briefly thought of trying to get tickets.

We've done the Space Needle, and today we're going to the Experience Music Project and Science Fiction Museum (they're in the same building). I look forward to that. And tonight, we come home.

Wildlifeless screening

Well friends, it is official.

The Almost Famous International Short Film Festival, in their infinite wisdom, has selected Wildlifeless for screening. You hear that Phoenix-dwellers? This is the first official non-private screening of the short film – so for those who have yet to see the flick or want to catch it again – check it out. The jury looks to have selected a great list of other short films as well from various filmmaking communities around the globe. Very cool.

Year End List?

I'm afraid you won't see a "Best Albums of 2007" list from me. Mainly because I have only, about, four albums from this year. A dissapointing year in music for me personally. I did listen to a lot of songs from albums of this year, but nothing really grabbed me. Although, I very much liked Battles' Mirrored, an electronic/guitar type album. How can you not like an album with the drummer from Helmet?

It seems there were a lot of electronic, mash-ups, hip-hop, and "noise" albums this year. And being that I'm mostly a guitar-oriented, rock kind-of-guy, there wasn't much to tantalize my senses. That being said, though, The White Stripes and Dinosaur Jr. had very good albums. Of course, there's Radiohead, but I've been meaning to post about that. I think Brock has too.

So, whilst I hang my head and kick the nearest pebble, I look forward to 2008. Especially since My Brightest Diamond and Able Baker Fox are slated for releases (however, I do have the pre-release of Able Baker Fox now, more on that later). And, Sufjan Stevens is due, hopefully!

Throw me the idol! I'll throw you the whip...

My house is being torn up right now (a brother is installing tile and carpet)...so I am posting this from Marco's house. Aaaaand...I only have a few minutes to post this, but I had to. It's for the new Indy flick.



I think that as far as recreating the feel of the original films they've done a brilliant job. The film itself may suck, but at the moment, we can look at this poster and pretend we're at a multiplex in the 80's. And yeah, I'm gonna say it - as excited as I was for the Star Wars prequels (which turned out to be unfounded excitement) I much prefer Indy. But then, anyone who has seen Wildlifeless can tell you that.

My Brightest Diamond

Shara Worden of My Brightest Diamond is truly unique. Her bio at Asthmatic Kitty says it all. Her uniqueness transcends into her music. Interesting guitar lines, strings, various percussion, and an operatically trained voice makes for an album that sometimes repeats on end in my players. I’ve meant to write a post about MBD for a while now. But I’m newly inspired by excited anticipation for their upcoming album. Check them out.

Oh, I should also mention that Brock and I had the wonderful privilege to see her, minus band, earlier this year. We were both mesmerized.

Also, I should be receiving the new album from Able Baker Fox any day now. This is a combination of two of my favorite rock bands ever, The Casket Lottery and Small Brown Bike. What I’ve already heard, has blown me away. I believe in rock again.

Take Away Shows!

Clearly, there are numerous ways to pass time away on the Internet. Especially when searching for new music. Most of them are a waste. One of the best ways to make that slow day at work go by (or, if you're at home waiting for the souffle to rise), go to http://www.blogotheque.net/takeawayshows/!

My personal faves:
Sufjan Stevens & Friends
The Dirty Projectors
Menomena (Mostly for the dancing kids)

There are many I have yet to see.

Indiana Jones and the New Eyes Like Static Post

Brock sits before a computer.

BROCK

WAAA-HOO!!!

Housecleaning

No, this isn't another post about House (don't think I didn't consider tacking something on though). It's a post about something I finally took care of: going down to SCC and getting my diplomas. I let the degrees sit at the school for about three months...mainly because I just kept forgetting about them. And maybe, deep down, I was sort of sad to tie off the last connection to the school.
But, to be honest, it was the most hassle-free experience I've had at that school. I just showed my ID and they brought out three packages - a certificate in film production, a certificate in screenwriting and an associates in applied science. I'm glad to have it done. Now all I have to do is get them framed in some type of foggy glass and then place them up high on a wall so that people will be unable to read them and will instead assume I'm some kind of med school grad or something...

Rox and the Sox

The Red Sox are the new Yankees. In other words, the new team to hate. With their show-off batters and mouthy pitchers, they’ve eclipsed nasty New York. That’s what I’ve read anyway. I really don’t know. I haven’t watched nearly enough baseball to know. What I do know, is that the Red Sox are the much stronger team. This World Series will truly be David vs. Goliath. Will the Rockies keep their momentum and swing the proverbial sling-shot, striking the mighty Red Sox square in the temple? I hope so. (So far, no. It's wierd watching the World Series in mid-afternoon.)

Torture him if you have to

To be frank, I kind of watch 24 every now and then. I enjoyed season 5, but season 6 wasn't too great (I stopped watching about a quarter of a way through). Well, some folks in the U.K. have been given a trailer for season 7 (along with a funny "thanks for watching" message by Kiefer Sutherland). I liked it . It looks like they're trying to revise the show, make it interesting again (although it looks like they're continuing to rip off Die Hard by using its latest sequel).

Hopefully, it'll be a nice distraction come Monday.

It’s the Pineapple

Of all the wonderful and amazing features I could experience in Hawaii, so far, the pineapple rules. Yes, the pineapple. I thought I knew what a pineapple tasted like. Oh, how ignorant I was. I thought pineapples were supposed to be tangy/tarty, unless they’ve been soaked in fructose syrup in a can. But ever since I first sunk my teeth into a Hawaiian pineapple (first night here), I’ve been eating them whenever I can. They are so sweet and succulent. They really lose their sweetness on the trip over to the 48. Okay, the weather and ocean are great too, but the pineapple rules.

Dying would be a great adventure

There are so many tremendous new things happening since I last blogged. I am afraid that I will be given over to hysterics the moment I start talking about all that is neat and new and be branded a histrionic (a label I already desperately need to stay away from). But, c’mon! There is a new Radiohead album out today. In Rainbows! I’m going to write a review for that and some other things this week. At the moment though, I don’t feel comfortable talking about it as I’ve only listened to it one and a quarter times.

So here’s what I’m going to do instead: I’m going to talk about last night’s episode of House.
Before I jump into that, let me note that I haven’t seen the first two episodes of the season due to scheduling conflicts. So kindly get off my back if I say something that sounds ill-informed.

First of all, is this doctor elimination game working for me? Absolutely. How about the new doctors…are they gelling? I think so. They’re both radically different from House’s previous tenants yet they remarkably overlap with a few of their key qualities. Was that done on purpose? This is me, smiling. Still, there are enough shades in these guys to bring out new sides to House. How about the ambitious blond girl? I can’t remember her name, and yes, that’s part of the joke…but I liked her scheming efforts. This is like the most sordid parts of elimination reality shows…but fictionalized, so we’re okay to enjoy it. Right? And in a way, last night’s episode vaguely commented on the price of such games. I.E.: their efforts to get into House’s permanent roster ended up killing a patient.
I really liked that. It worked on two levels for me. One: it showed us how silly this competition is and how ambitious these morons are…and, two: really made House seem petty. Sure, he reversed course towards the end of the episode, realizing it was time to cut the crap and try to save this guy before it was too late. But, this just adds another level of moral darkness to his character. He was always a bastard with some heart…but now? He’s just questionable. While I enjoy the writers showing us how tentative life is on this show, House has to save someone soon. Cause that’s probably the only thing about his character that gives him a permit to do the things he does.

Speaking of which, how about that Joshua moment? What I’m getting at is House electrocuting himself to see God. That was both shocking (if I make light of the pun, does that make it any less clever?) and a little out of hand. I know this show is well beyond reality, but would they seriously let him keep working after having shocked himself like that? I guess after all the crap he has done, that’s sort of a moot point. It would have smoothed the whole thing over though if he hadn’t been okay later on in the episode. Give him a week to recover…last time I checked a week was standard procedure for gunshots, overdoses and accidents.

I like Kal Penn’s immature ten-year-old-boy quality in this show. He’s generally annoying as hell, but herein, he’s annoying in a kind of funny way. I especially like him annoying House.

The new doctors seeking advice from House’s old crew is cool, but enough with the Foreman crap. He’s about as enjoyable this season as a sharp stick to the eye. And this better not become a pattern. The new group is shaking things up plenty, but from here on out, if they want advice, they should go to Wilson. This cast is getting too big for its britches.

And yes, I am a spoiler monger…so I already know which three he picks.

The Eastern Sun: Part 3

If you hit every big eastern city on your way out to the Atlantic coast, you run along a section of the country referred to as BosWash. This is really just the Northeastern Corridor – a collection of cities upon which the fortunes, politics and culture of the United States turns. Some call it the Main Street of America.
For the past month, we’ve been walking up Main Street. Every door here has been opened to us, every light left on. Like a runway, each city represented a light, and all lights led to Boston.
But now, it’s time to go. All lights lead to Phoenix.

Leading up to our departure, we’ve done a bunch of crazy things…

We met Marco in Philadelphia. I think I will remember that moment for the rest of my life – we were sitting in the lobby of an Embassy Suites. The room was amber and filling up with soft-spoken men in business casual. These bastards didn’t mind stealing a few threatening glances our way. And then, the elevator doors opened: there he was. Smiling. The Italian Stallion, the Rooster, by way of Philadelphia.
As Marco slung taunts my way (as he usually does), we barreled down the narrow pathways of the city, eyes searching the misty streets, hoping to find a spot for parking. By the way, driving in Philly is horrible. You have to turn right, stay straight, go back, turn left, pay toll, gas to pedal, approach a barrier, cars whizzing by, lights red, your dash vibrating with an anxious idle. It’s like being on coke and tied down. And the people of the city? They want your blood, man. There is something defiant and snide in their gait. They prowl the street like they own the city, as opposed to other places along the Corridor where the city owned them. It was just big enough to be impressive, just small enough to be manageable. It was a boxer, aglow with gaslight and electric.
We had fantastic Jamaican food while we were there. I had jerked chicken that made my nose run like a decathlon athlete. After sending Josh and Angie to bed that first night, Marco and I toured the city, finally ending up at the Hard Rock café where he bought a shirt for a friend. Apparently, this friend was collecting a Hard Rock shirt from every city. Cross Philly off that list buddy, cause Marco’s got you covered. And we had a drink. And we chatted…about cool things I’ve seen, cool things he has seen. I would never pretend to be an equal to Marco on the world traveler scene, but for once I could sit down with him and have notches on my belt. It was a damned fine drink, that drink.
Following our trip to Philly, we went to New York and saw Times Square and Grand Central Station. Times Square looks like a web site with all the flashing, colored pop-up adds. Grand Central Station looks like an ancient Greek palace submerged beneath the ground, and submerged even further below that palace was the shambled, clattering blood of the city. To say these places teemed with energy would be a cliché, but a well-spoken one. They do teem with energy, but they also teem with a plethora of other things. You fill in the gap with that one.

After getting back to Massachusetts we toured some museums, hit the Cape and prepared for the visit of John Anthony and his friend Aaron. It was as if my time on the East was bleeding like a hemophiliac’s wound. We toured Boston, hit the Green Dragon Tavern (of Paul Revere fame) and spent a day up in New Hampshire at the Highland Scottish Games. That was quite enjoyable. I had never been to a ski resort before, and the games were held on just such a resort, named the Loon. The snow had all melted, but the air was bursting with Scottish geeks. Scottish geeks dress and prance about to bagpipe music much like Lord of the Rings geeks by the way. These two cultures should seriously consider pooling their efforts.
We all went our separate ways at this event, crossing every now and then like fish in a tank. I spent the majority of my time split between the competitions themselves and the bar nestled up in the top of the Loon’s lodge. While enjoying a brew, I heard a tremendous precession thundering below the bar. People started to flock to the stairs to take a quick look. Gleeful cries went up and the sounds grew louder. And then, the bar was being overrun with a full Scottish band. Right there, in the middle of our amber hops, they touched the ceiling for a brief moment. And then everyone bought them drinks. Nice trick…I guess the bagpipes works just as well as the guitar if you’re in the right place.

Some other things happened. Some of it was of interest, some of it wasn’t. At one point or another, I may get around to sharing it. But don’t hate me if I don’t. All that matters is that I am in the 11th hour. All my bags are packed and my seat is reserved. This time tomorrow, I will be atop four wheels that are spinning across the country. In the past 24 hours, I’ve heard that Dave Matthew’s song “Where Are You Going” twice. It plays wherever I am. I have been cut to the quick by the East Coast and I have arrived at some conclusions about where I am going…so to say it was more then a trip would be appropriate. Clearly, it was more then a trip. Why? I got slightly melancholy today as I packed my bags and realized my footsteps wouldn’t clack against the Franklin streets again. But I also feel a new drive. I have to return home. I must melt back into the desert, dented by my dip into the Atlantic.
Did I dent the people here? Am I like a Sanjuro or Blondie, striding into town, making his mark and then taking leave? It’d be arrogant to say yes.

So, yes.

I'll see you in Phoenix

The Eastern Sun: Part 2

Since I last blogged, we've gone to Philly, New York City and Princeton.

Now...you may ask, why Princeton? Ya thinking of enrolling there? Not quite. We went to Princeton to read a few unpublished short stories by J.D. Salinger (of Catcher in the Rye fame). I've been a big fan of Salinger for quite some time and Josh also liked Salinger for Nine Stories. Once I mentioned these unpublished shorts to him, his first reaction was "we gotta go". So...to Princeton we went.
Now, the stories we read were some of his more notorious works. Every Nirvana fan knows the lore behind You Know You're Right and other rarities. Likewise, every Salinger fan knows there are stories out there that haven't been published, germs of ideas remain unseen, yet important to the shape of his entire career. Two of these short stories are The Ocean Full of Bowling Balls and The Last and Best of the Peter Pans. Bowling Balls is about a young, struggling writer, Vincent, who spends a day with his sick, younger brother, Kenneth. The both of them are the siblings of Holden Caufield, the notorious protagonist behind Catcher in the Rye. Regarded as one of Salinger's finer works, Bowling Balls deals with Holden's personal problems, hints at the figure Vincent would become, and displays the mature personality of Kenneth...a character whose presence is deeply felt in "Rye". Yes, as someone said, Bowling Balls is seeped in premonition.

The Last and Best of the Peter Pans was quite humorous. Taking place after the events in Bowling Balls, it details a coversation between Vincent and his mom (an actress) in which the two try to out-act the other. The story plays silly for most of is length...until the end, in which it hits you like a slap in the face. Tragic, dark, wry, this was Salinger at his best. It was like getting a glimpse into his notebook. We were presented with the ideas that would come to shape his entire career. And the effect of reading such works was tremendous.
In order to catch a glimpse at these rare stories, you must go through a procedure at the library: fill out some paperwork, get an ID, and be taken into a backroom where the material is brought to you by an attendant. No pictures can be taken, no notes of any sort written. The room where you read is very interesting...like the office of a law firm. The air is silent and thick. The stories? Stark...violent.

Great as this experience was, it was also heart-wrenching...for there were several more Salinger works contained within the box that we didn't know about. Pans and Bowling Balls are the two most noted of these works, but several others (The Magic Foxhole, I'm Crazy) begged to be read.

Maybe next time.

The Eastern Sun: Part 1

Gabe urged me a few days ago to post, and at his request…here I am.

Actually, he has good reason for asking: I’m currently engaged in a cross-country trip to the East Coast with Josh Provost and his wife, Angie. 30 days 30 states? …Something like that.
We decided to all take a trip through America a few months ago, with the apex of our journey being Josh’s hometown of Franklin, Massachusetts (just outside of Boston). There had been a number of reasons for this adventure: Josh was planning on visiting his family; there were friends along the way he wanted to visit, etc. But the foremost reason for this excursion was probably me. Up until a week and a half ago, I had seen little of the world…actually, little of the country. San Francisco was the only real “city” I had been to. And while Frisco is a visceral, voracious place, there were still great epicenters that blotched the country like juice on a white carpet. There was D.C., Boston and New York City. Yes, I had yet to experience the East Coast. And to be honest...I was undecided on this trip for a long time. I wasn't sure if it was something I wanted to do. Actually, I was probably just looking for a reason to stay in Phoenix. But I found none. With the East calling, I agreed to hit the road with the Provosts. So there – you have the inciting incident. Now, as for the trip itself…

In order to get to the East Coast, we had to drive from Phoenix to Texas, traverse the South, and run up through Virginia and Maryland. Why didn’t we fly? Simply put, I cannot. I have a condition, and I’ll thank you to keep it to yourself. Besides, this route gave us a flavor of the country, be it good or bad.
Actually, it was largely bad. The initial drive, with destinations in El Paso, Baton Rouge, Savannah and elsewhere, was hellish. Texas inspired some of our greatest ire. I swear, never has there been a state so proud and for so little. Baton Rouge and the rest of the South was marked by an amazing, just as you pictured it, swamp atmosphere, but other than that it was largely forgettable. Savannah struck me as a decent enough city to whittle away some time, especially if you know where to go. The trip didn’t really begin till D.C. though.

Washington, D.C.

D.C. was interesting…in a number of ways. First, the people there are hilarious. It’s like the world’s glut of overachievers and bullied kids collected there and formed a playhouse. They all had places to go, things to do…in a very surface value sort of way. The majority of our time was spent at the International Spy Museum, a great place in no way connected to the Smithsonian or other state sponsored museums. Actually, the ISM claims to be overseen by former CIA and MI6 operatives...a claim I believe. There were great artifacts littered throughout the museum (I got to actually see an umbrella gun used by the KGB during the Cold War) and plenty of diagrams depicting actual espionage techniques. One of the cooler diagrams showed a pipe-bug used within a Russian embassy. Basically, the Americans put a bug within the water pipes of a Russian Embassy, which recorded dialogue from within the building and was then flushed into the sewer-system nearby for retrieval. While we haven’t gone to any museums in Boston yet, I imagine the ISM will remain on top for most of the trip. It was one of the better, more comprehensive, engaging museums I have ever been to.

Naturally, since we were in D.C., we also had to see some of the monuments and sites of interest. First off was the National Archives, where we viewed documents like the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. To be honest, I wasn’t as blown away by these as I had imagined I would be. They are incredibly old and deteriorated documents. Most of the ink is nearly gone. Far more interesting, if only for humorous purposes, was a letter sent to FDR by a young Fidel Castro. In the letter, Castro laments his poor English and asks FDR for 10 American dollars green because he has never seen it before. I found the letter oddly precious. The 10-year-old even begins the letter by calling the President “his good friend”.
Absolutely devastating was the Lincoln Memorial. We saw it at twilight…and it was quite impressive. The inner-chamber where the statue is kept was far more immense and elegant than even the chamber for the “Documents of Freedom”. You feel both puny and empowered within this massive room. Also great was to sit on the steps leading up to the statue and look out over the National Mall as it lit up to the rising night.

The day after D.C. we drove across the toll-infested Eastern Highways to get into Franklin, Mass. It was weird to hit places like Philadelphia, New York and Baltimore all within hours of one another…but that’s how close everything is over here.

New York City

The next couple of days, Josh was recovering from a cold, so we kind of played it easy. After he recovered somewhat, we hit New York City. My feelings on New York City are like those towards a supermodel: you immediately fall in love, partly because of reputation, largely because of surface beauty. It’s a guaranteed love, for nearly everyone. Oh…it’s such an ugly leviathan. I never imagined enjoying any place as much as San Francisco…a simple, grand enjoyment of just existing within its atmosphere. But I felt that enjoyment in New York City.
We were there on September 11th, so you can imagine the events going on in the city that day. It was crowded and somber. In Battery Park there was a memorial laid out for the fire fighters who gave their life in the towers. Eerie and simple, this memorial featured the boots of all the dead lined up along a patch of grass within the park. Some boots had names written alongside them, likely so their owners would never have to take someone else’s boots out of the station locker. Here, they stood as our only knowledge of the person who had inhabited them.
The New York City subway was also energizing. A shambles, the sub rickets along through the bowels of the city like some kind of virus working its way through a bloodstream. I wasn’t amazed by how sprawling it was, but by how slapped together it seemed in comparison to the Metro in D.C. It wasn’t about glamour…just getting there.

Boston

Yesterday, our first day back into Mass, I hoped onboard the commuter T and went into Boston without Josh and Angie. They were both still recovering from the trip to NYC and I was anxious to get a glimpse of New York’s next-door rival.
To be honest, I was actually a little unimpressed by the city…at first glance. After spending a few hours walking around, its character starts to seep into you though. Not nearly as boisterous or as in your face as NYC or SF, Boston is subtle and takes time to appreciate. Built on education and rebellion, the city feels mannered and hidden. Pubs line nearly every block and unlike D.C., the rushed here seemed to actually have reason for the rush.
Being built on education and knowledge provided an interesting bookstore subculture to the city…as soon as I was out of the South Station I ran into the Brattle Bookstore where I found several older volumes for sale at the bargain price of $5.00! Yes, Boston breathes a rarified book culture. Old and out of print volumes fetch high-prices in stores everywhere. From the bargain bin I fetched a thick volume of short stories by Rudyard Kipling.
The highlight of the day was hitting a pub on the outskirts of Chinatown (odd, I know). Its owner was a rotund Chinese guy with blunt manners. When I first got into the pub, I had to hit the bathroom, so I quickly told him I would order a drink as soon as I used his facilities. He replied, “Hey, you can do anything you want, just so long as you flush”. When I asked him for Guinness, he tartly said, “Nope! Don’t have it!” After naming some drinks, he finally piped up a “yep!” for a gin and tonic.

In closing, I have to admit; it’s hard being away for so long. I feel like my normal routine has been interrupted and I must create new ones to live each day by. That’s probably good though…I need some upsetting in my affairs. I’m also sure I’m starting to get on Josh and Angie’s nerves. Maybe I’ll need to hop on a commuter rail again soon and do some more exploring. Ta…

P.S. I'll post some pictures soon!

Forgotten Songs

I was cleaning up my computer the other day, deleting a lot of old files, when I ran across a few old recordings. I almost deleted them as well. But, I decided to expose a couple, in their very imperfect form, to the public. Just for the heck of it. Keep in mind they're a few years old, probably first takes.

Untitled
Untitled2

Next up

Rescue Dawn is next...I probably won't be writing reviews for other flicks, so I'll try and compose a detailed summary of the film and its creator, Werner Herzog.

Reviewsday (Part 2)

I won’t have time to write lengthier reviews of Ocean’s 13 and The Namesake as I had hoped, but I thought a quick summary of my impressions might be in order.

• Ocean’s 13: By far, an improvement upon Ocean’s 12. Although the heist is somewhat far-fetched (even for an Ocean’s film) it’s still enjoyable and funny. A real standout of the picture is a subplot involving Casey Affleck in a dice factory down in Mexico: despite being there simply to rig a set of dice used in the final scheme, he and other characters become drawn into a worker revolution. This part of the film is hilarious. And, as usual, the cinematography, art direction and editing are all top notch…possibly the best all year.
  
  

  
  
  

• The Namesake: One of the stronger films of 2007. Spanning the life of an Indian family in America, The Namesake takes a delightful amount of time to carefully develop and reveal its characters. Beginning with the marriage of a husband and wife in India, it spans all the way to the collapsed marriage of their son in America. The second half of the film is somewhat difficult to navigate. This is largely because a character played by Kal Penn (Gogol) stands as one of the most annoying and selfish characters in recent memory. Couple that with an already annoying and self-absorbed actor and you’ve got a tedious 30 minutes or so to plod through.
  However, the first half of the film, between Irfan Khan and Tabu, is unbelievable. Both deserve nominations, as does the understated, but strong direction of Mira Nair.

Reviewsday

Michael Bay's Transformers

You’re in your office, chugging down a cup of coffee when your partner pops in: “Room 2. You gotta hear this”. In a flash you’re behind a bright lamp and before a seedy “perp”. He spins you his story, laying down a series of events and insisting that this is how it “really happened”. But you’re not convinced. So you get up and head next-door, coming face to face with his partner in crime. And you’d better believe he has his side of the story to play.
Watching the Michael Bay directed and Steven Spielberg produced Transformers is faintly akin to this experience. There is more here then meets the eye. Up front we have director Michael Bay’s Transformers, and hanging in the rear is producer Steven Spielberg’s Transformers. And unfortunately, only one story is true…only one film is “right”.

Bay’s Transformers revolves around Josh Duhamel and his motley crew of soldiers, battling Decepticons in the Mid East. Like the original series, it isn’t really much more then a trumped up commercial (this time to get kids to join the Army). But to be fair, there is an overarching plot: These lone American troops must trudge through the desert with a Decepticon hot on their tail and attempt to reestablish communications with the military.

Okay, Now…

Spielberg’s version of Transformers focuses upon Shia LaBeouf as a young teen recently in the market for his first car. After wheeling and dealing with his dad and attempting to pawn off some old crap his grandfather left behind, he comes into possession of a transformer masquerading as a second generation Camaro.
While the two stories eventually cross paths, there are still some very distinct qualities to both.
Bay’s Transformers is not unlike his other works: it has an inhuman feel to it. It’s loud. And it’s expensive-looking. Its coldness is faintly covered up by shallow, canned moments like Duhamel telling his wife how much he misses her. Such humanity is secondary in a juggernaut of explosions, characteristically tied together by a vague patriotic air.
The second half of the film, Spielberg’s version, plays upon a set of clichés every bit as distinct as Bay’s: An idealistic male is trapped in a world that doesn’t quite accept him…that same kid “transforms” into a hero through his special bond with a mysterious power. Why, there are even embarrassing moments with the parents. It’s great. Throw in a shark and we’re there.

With such distinctions I think the best way to illustrate the winner is by contrasting two similarly themed scenes - At the start of the flick, Duhamel and his characters get a first glimpse of a Decepticon as it trashes the base they’re operating from. Their reaction is shock, terror and amazement. Sort of.
The way Bay presents that moment is pretty broad. We’re treated to more shots of the base exploding and people dying than reactions and personalities of this small unit.
Contrast that with the reactions given when LaBeouf’s character along with his romantic interest (played by Megan Fox) discovers that LaBeouf’s car is a massive robot. There isn’t nearly as much fan fare as with Duhamel. Instead, there is a quiet scene where the two characters are driven home by the transformer. Fox’s character, afraid to sit in front with a steering wheel that is steering itself, instead opts to sit on LaBeouf’s lap.
It’s a nice little moment…it’s a Spielberg moment. You get a very personal scene where the heroes learn about this great alien force, and while they’re at it, there is some romantic tension.
What I’m driving at here, if you haven’t guessed already, is that some of this movie works *cough*Spielberg*cough* and some of it doesn’t.

…

And just sitting in the audience, you felt the half of the story dealing with LaBeouf worked, while the half focusing upon government decryption, battles in the desert and a very unfortunate showing of Jon Voight, didn’t.
Sure, even I can admit that gigantic robots raise a film to a level where you just stop talking about the story and start ogling how “bad ass” everything is (A particularly exciting sequence has one transformer chasing LaBeouf and Fox down a winding L.A. freeway, only to transform mid-chase into a robot and continue the pursuit on-foot). And don’t think they miss the opportunity to play up some of that nostalgia either. When the robots transform, there is that delightful surge of electronic noise. Robots and humans alike are given cartoony dialogue. And YES, Peter Cullen is the voice of Optimus Prime.
Unfortunately, the film is thick. Very thick. There is a good 40 to 50 minutes that don’t need to be here…and I think you’d get a sense of what I’d cut out.
The script? Basically nothing more then a harvested version of the Independence Day script. The acting? LaBeouf and Cullen are pretty much the best in that regard. Fox was adequate, but I suspect she slept with Bay to land her role. The rest of the actors range from maudlin to poor. Several characters for that matter seemed extraneous: we’ve got about 9 major players, not counting the transformers, who each get considerable screen time. Truthfully, this film only needs about 5 major characters.
Aside from all that, the film is still quite a spectacle. It’s worth your cash on technical merits alone. And while Michael Bay isn’t hitting the set with All the President’s Men in his repertoire, this is the best film he has produced. Hell, at the least, I’m sure it’ll be on Criterion.

Michael Moore's Sicko

A plethora of “politicos” claim disdain for Michael Moore. On what basis? On the basis that he is a bad filmmaker. They say he’s manipulative, simplistic and divisive. Personally, I think such claims are true, but does that mean he’s a bad filmmaker?
Actually, no. These complaints only prove that he’s a pretty damned good filmmaker.
With documentaries like Roger and Me, Bowling for Columbine and Fahrenheit 9-11, Moore has successfully employed a number of filmic devices in an attempt to manipulate the emotions and opinions of his audience. Wrong? Perhaps. But, the fact that he is highly successful at it only cements him as one of the better filmmakers working today.
Still, Mr. Moore took a cue from his detractors when he set out to make Sicko, his first attempt at a crowd-pleaser (if such a denomination could be applied to his works). Rather than resorting to confrontational rants on camera, Moore focuses his efforts towards a series of stories about individuals who suffered as a result of the flawed health care system. And while he finally does appear on camera to examine the health care of other countries, he is less venomous then his previous incarnations. Yes, this is Michael Moore trying to relate to everybody.
And I do think it pays off.
With Sicko, Moore has created his most enjoyable film to date. Crossed with a playful sense of humor and tragedy, Sicko is a story that affects everyone, in this land and in others. Fittingly therefore, the film takes no outright political stance in presenting its opinions. It simply gives us the human side of this charged debate. Ludicrous examples of a man having to decide whether or not to reattach his ring finger or his index finger are juxtaposed against somber tales like an aged couple having to move into their daughter’s storage room after losing their house to medical bills. It’s mildly exploitive, sure, but it’s still just people telling their story into the camera. With these stories and others, Moore manages to present a very convincing argument against the American health care industry…an industry he colors as greedy and defrauding (although, with Nixon backing privatized health over secret audio recordings, such an industry paints itself as greedy regardless of Moore’s help).
And then we get on a plane to Europe. It is at this point when the film takes a turn for the worse. Colorful jaunts through the City of Lights have Moore popping into hospitals and pharmacies and asking how much this treatment costs, how much that drug will set him back. And the answers are all the same: Nothing.
I half expected Moore to look into the camera at one point and exclaim, “Golly!”
Instead, he continues his trek through various countries, running fast and loose with the facts in an attempt to glaze over possible downsides (such as taxes, dated equipment and long waits).
Unfortunately, this portion of the film is far less convincing then the first half. And why wouldn’t it be? Michael Moore talking to zoned out hospital attendants just doesn’t fly as well as documented facts on American politicians and their HMO's.
The height of Moore’s fantasy presentation of foreign healthcare comes with a trip to Cuba. When he arrives, he manages to get his sick friends decent treatment. I wanted to practically stand up in my chair and scream, “You’ve got to be kidding me!" The whole thing feels staged and phony.
The final gem comes when Moore learns that his strongest critic is forced to shut down his Anti-Michael Moore website in order to pay for his wife’s health care. “Generously”, Michael steps in by signing an anonymous check to keep the hate flowing.

Riiight…

Sicko ultimately isn’t real. It isn’t sound. What it is is an enticing argument against a flawed system, one that should be considered by all people, regardless of political views or lack thereof. Yes, it is manipulative work. It is part of a long line of manipulative works that Moore has presented in an attempt to change the latest injustice. That’s all true and that’s all irrelevant. What you should be asking yourself is “Will he accomplish anything with Sicko?” I hope so. This is a flawed, but important collection of alarming truths about a system claiming to have your best interests at heart.

Yippie Ki Yay!

One last hurrah; I think that’s an apt name for a trend currently making the rounds in commercialized film. Disappointed with the performance of half-baked productions, Hollywood has turned, in its moment of need, to characters previously thought buried for good. Most producers and directors claim their motives for such resurrections are noble. It’s clear however that this recent trend of old franchises is nothing more then an attempt to grasp at past glories…a need to restore profits for billion-dollar “strategic misfires”. Yes, these so-called triumphant returns are thin (Rocky Balboa anyone?). Beyond that, few make sense. And for those of you thinking that’s where I’m going with this review, allow me a moment to clarify:

The return of Die Hard makes perfect sense.

Showcased in numerous film school curriculums, played eternally on basic cable, the original Die Hard remains the template for all high-octane action adventure films. Revolving around a New York City Police Officer trapped in an L.A. high rise, Die Hard has been copied again and again by filmmakers. Even one of television’s most popular shows, 24, remains a loving, yet outright replica of John McClane’s adventures.
That is why I not only believe that “Live Free or Die Hard” makes perfect sense, but also shocked that it hadn’t been generated sooner.
Opening on an act of computer terrorism against the United States, Live Free dials immediately into John McClane as he attempts to reconcile with his disenchanted daughter, Lucy. Failing to win back her trust, McClane proceeds with the task of apprehending computer hacker Matt Farrell (Justin Long), only to be attacked by the very terrorists menacing the country. From then on, Live Free makes the wisest decision any film in its position could make: it never lets up.
Various Helicopter attacks, gunfights and explosions all build to a tremendous conclusion that makes the stakes higher and deadlier for McClane and his weary sidekick. This fast and furious pace is pulled off because of an ingeniously simplistic plot.
Okay. Are you ready for it? Cause I’m going to tell it to you. Here it is: McClane has to stop the terrorists.
I know! After films with alien goo and double (not to mention triple) crosses, I’m amazed to find a movie where the action boils down to the straightforward concept of a good guy simply trying to stop a bad guy. To be fair, McClane is given a very personal motivation later on in the film. But even then, the plot is largely straightforward. There are no double-crosses, no stories within stories. It’s a resurrection of the original Die Hard, albeit on a much grander scale.
Now, is it as sharp as the original, as innovative? Not by a long shot. It’s simply well built and deliciously unpretentious. Aside from that, the action is pretty ludicrous and the various challenges far-fetched. At one point McClane manages to outrun a fighter jet on a crumbling freeway, only to jump out of his wrecked vehicle and onto the back of the aircraft pursuing him. It’s…funny.
Aside from defying the laws of physics, the film turns in plenty of quotable lines and shocking deaths. Those concerned that the conscious decision to take the film from an R rating to a PG-13 need not worry…the action is still very intense and gruesome. McClane even manages to get off his trademark phrase before the film winds down.
More disquieting is Willis’ turn as McClane, which ranges from “phoning it in” to “quiet and assured”. While he remains likable for most of the film, it’s easy to see he’s just relying on his natural personality to keep the story afloat. Still, it’s all fine and good. Even Justin Long.
If I could have placed a surefire bet, I would have bet he would be annoying as hell in this flick. Guess what? He’s not. He’s actually kind of likable. Towards the end, I was even pulling for him to survive the villain’s wrath. Far more likable is Mary Elizabeth Winstead as Lucy Gennero (today its Lucy McClane). She’s volatile as McClane’s far from helpless daughter. Even Timothy Olyphant, an actor I normally dismiss, pulls out a dangerous enough baddie for McClane and Long to fight. Of course, he doesn’t match up with Alan Rickman’s performance in the original flick…but who does?
At the end of the day, Bomback and Wiseman both make few changes to the original formula. Instead, they simply satisfy themselves with making an action film that is louder and bigger, yet still personal enough to engage viewers on a deeper level. I’m very tempted to make Live Free or Die Hard a close second to the original.

In a Hollywood where tons of grounded franchises are given license to play again, Die Hard was the only film series I felt truly deserving of another chance, especially in world where every script is more then a winking facsimile of McClane’s first adventure. After having seen Live Free or Die Hard, I get to add a new side to that statement: it’s also the only film series that made good on its promise of a triumphant return.