Movie Reviews (5 star scale)

Miami Vice - 2 1/2 Stars

I left the theatre thinking, "That wasn't very good." The characters were a bit too cheesy, the dramatic scenes a bit too artsy, and Colin Farrell was too unbelievable. "Yeah, that wasn't good," I thought. By the time I got to the parking lot, my opinion had changed. I was criticizing this film for everything that the TV show was. If I assume Michael Mann was attempting to re-create the iconic cop-drama of the 80's, he did a terrific job, which brings us to that philosophical question about movie criticism. Should a critic provide credit to a film based on its ability to hit the target at which it was aimed? Or, should a film be judged on its own merit and without the outside influence of additional information, such as interviews with directors and such? This question is especially relevant when considering re-makes, whether of films or television shows. Overall, I'd say the film achieved the feel the director set out to create, but probably missed the mark with the audience. The scenes failed to flow fuidly, and the character development was insufficient, perhaps relying on the knowledge the audience may have of the television show. While there were certainly moments for the avid action film fan, it was no "Heat". (Jamie Foxx, Colin Farrell - 2 1/2 stars)

The Devil Wears Prada - 3 1/2 stars

This was a pretty funny movie, even if much of the film consists of watching Meryl Streep do a terrific job of talking shit to her assistant, Anne Hathaway. Normally this wouldn't make a decent movie, but the combination of some terrific writers, and the ability of Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci to deliver their witty barbs with near-perfect comic timing ended up being very entertaining. It also doesn't hurt that the film is jam-packed with attractive women. However, the movie is held back by it's trite and super-thin plot, to sell out or not to sell out, that is the question. Oh, and what is selling out anyway? Yes, it's just that thin.

The inclusion of Adrian Grenier doesn't help either. I understand why this guy is continually cast. He has that unique look and honest eyes that Hollywood pines over. Only, he's not a good actor. He's not a good actor because he's about as boring as they come. He's the reason I have been unable to get into that cult favorite, "Entourage". I love the concept, an actor makes it big and brings his friends along for the ride. Video games and debauchery ensue. The problem is that Adrian Grenier is so boring, the producers had to cast even more boring characters to surround him with, for fear that the cinematic success of the main character wouldn't be remotely believable. The single exception is Jeremy Pivin, who plays the same character he's always played, the uber-confident, singularly motivated male. He's been doing that well since "PCU". But I digress.

Don't be suprised if you're the only male in this crowd, and don't be embarrased if you're laughing louder than the rest. I certainly did. (Meryl Streep, Anne Hathaway - 3 1/2 stars)

Suburbia 911

Joe Friday and Streebeck, Cagney and Lacey, Crocket and Tubbs, Turner and Hooch. The cops of our popular culture always came in two's. Partners came with the territory. Sometimes they were loved, sometimes they were loathed, but you always had a partner. Whole episodes were dedicated to the apprehension that came with the assigning of a new partner, the guy with whom you'd work long hours, shoot the shit, and who would get coffee while you held down the Chevy Caprice in front of a perp's place of residence.

I've noticed that backup is a bit further away when you work the mean streets of suburbia. It's now routine in such areas to see police officers patrolling all by their lonesome issuing tickets and tracking down vandals. And this isn't simply a matter of the times. Show me a car pulled over by a single officer in Washington D.C., and I'll show you a movie set that closely resembles D.C.

Perhaps such a change doesn't seem to be anything of note. There is less violent crime in the suburbs, and therefore, leaner units can do the job. I think that logic is overly simplistic. When I think of a cop patrolling alone, I think of a person who spends the majority of their life sitting in a crappy automobile, zoning out the background noise of incessant radio chatter so that they can listen to the voices in their heads, innocuous or otherwise. It's not that I have anything against cops. I'm just saying near-solitary confinement (they can't even listen to music) is no way to live, especially when a loaded Beretta is always at arm's length. Think about it next time you see a lone police officer sitting in his cruiser in the most remote spot at a baseball field near year. What the fuck is going through that armed jackal's mind right now? Best to steer clear.

Kung Pao, a Dog, and a Hemi

As some of you may already know, I'm a huge fan of Asian food. Among the many delights this culinary genre offers, there is one king. You know it, I know it, Seinfeld knows it. It's the Kung Pao. I find myself ever craving it, yet seldom do I have the opportunity to indulge. The other day, the longing for spicy chunks of chicken, covered in soy sauce, vinegar, and red peppers simply grew to great to be ignored. Under time constraints, I cut some corners, and ended up in the parking lot of Panda Express. I'm not proud of it, but sometimes a junky's gotta do what a junky's gotta do. Walking towards the door, I was in one of those dazes, brought on by the heat, the hunger inside my belly, and a strangely erotic chicken fantasy. As I went to reach for the door, mere minutes from paydirt, an incredibly loud horn jolted me from my stupor. It was loud and startling enough to bring on the involuntary, "I'm freaked out and going into fight or flight mode" responses, where your primal instincts meet squarely with the social constraints of our society. The equivalent of those rare instances where rain is falling on one side of the street, but not the other, your primal response is immediately followed by the fear and shame that someone saw that primal response (The classic example is tripping over your own feet in public). Once I regained my wits, assuming that some asshole teenager had gotten the best of me, I opened the door and got back to the ritual. I hadn't even looked at the signature Orange Chicken when this unsually loud, and unusually rapid honking shocked me once more. "What the fuck?!" I thought. "What an asshole!". I quickly scanned the parking lot for the perpetrator, knowing that the only comfort in finding him would be the knowledge that I could reinforce one of my many negative stereotypes of certain kinds of people. Would it be a teenager? God I hoped so. Or, perhaps a domineering soccer mom, growing impatient with a husband or child. That would be classic. Maybe it would just be some poor kid who had to pull a minor-MacGuyver just to reach out for help. We've all heard it, "Hot enough to fry a dog's brain." The first four cars parked directly outside the restaurant showed little activity, but the fifth, a massive red pickup truck, was all kinetic energy. It was the flailing winshield wipers that first caught my attention (it was 103 outside), but it was the Boxer jumping up and down on the steering wheel that kept it. "What the hell is going on?", I said under my breath with a chuckle. I was surprised to hear a man at the front of the line respond. "Yeah, last time he locked me out of my truck!". I looked closer. Indeed, this boxer knew what he was doing. He had the horn going non-stop, the wipers going on high speed, and the lights flashing on and off. Was he hungry, lonely, or perhaps just very pissed off at te fact that all these humans thought that "hot enough to fry a dog's brain" spot was funny? Regardless, he was pissed, and he knew exactly what needed to be done. The owner ended up trotting out to the car to restrain the dog before he finished his order. "Who's trained who?", I thought, as I carried my prize out the door.

My Own Pirate Idaho

As written in an earlier post, I went to see Pirates of the Caribbean recently, and I've been meaning to write of my experience ever since. We went with a couple of friends of ours on the first Friday of the opening week of the film. We knew in advance that we were in for it, attending the local multi-plex, which seems to double as an early teen baby-sitting center. While the ladies reserved our seats, my buddy and I headed to the restroom. When we finally made it to the theatre, it was obvious that showing up early was simply not good enough. At some point, there was certainly a line of people waiting to get in, and we were not among them. As a result, it was honestly five minutes before we found the girls and the choice seats they had reserved, third row, well off of center. It was pretty much the last place you want to sit in an action movie. That is, unless you're one of those freaks who's really into that sort of thing. In that case, you're probably wearing a Toronto Raptors jersey as you read this, and your favorite football player is definitely Bill Romonowski. With you, it's all about making a point. You know who you are.

Anyway, after sitting down, the girls jumped up to grab some snacks (yes, between the bathroom and the snacks, the confusion of gender roles is not lost on me), which would surely be devoured by the time the countless previews concluded. No sooner than the girls got out the door, a group of college aged kids walked in, and among them was a guy who felt the need to dress up for the event. Now, to say this kid was wearing a pirate outfit would not do it justice. Put him on the Black Pearl and the movie wouldn't skip a beat. I see the kid looking for a row, and do that, "I'm not looking at you, and I hope I can will you not to sit here," look, which of course only attracts these types. The group filters into our row, and naturally, the kid in the pirate suit has to sit directly next to me. Surprise, surprise, he reaks of booze, which seems to be also emanating from his extra-large soda. Before I can think, "Well, this is going to be a fun time. I'm never going to a movie theatre again," the kid leans over as if we're sharing martini's pool-side and says, "So, just here at the movies by yourself tonight?". I'm almost hoping it's a pickup line, as I know the alternative is an even more awkward conversation about pirates. Cautious, yet unamused, I respond with, "No, actually my wife is out getting some snacks." Like a salesman, making small-talk as only a means to an end, he presses on, ignoring my explicit attempt at an unfeeling, monotone response. "I'm pretty excited about this movie." I want to say, "I should fucking hope so. You realize this is a really bad idea, right? I don't mean as in, 'You're going to get into trouble'. What I'm talking about is a fundamental retardation in your ability to get laid before you're 25. From this point forward, every girl you attempt to have sex with is going to have one thought pop into her mind, which gives them pause. 'I'm about to let a guy who rented a $200 pirate costume for the sequel of a Disney movie violate me in 6 different ways. Is this really a good idea? By doing so, am I any better than a girl who lays a Trekie? How the fuck am I going to get out of this?'". Instead, I remain silent, and continue to direct my stare at the "pre-show entertainment". Undaunted, "Well, I'm going to try to be good tonight, but I can't promise anything. It's a pretty big night." I had already heard him exchanging words with his friends, mostly consisting of, "Are you really going to do it? You should. Wait, are you sure? Really?". He wasn't planning on being good, and I wasn't ready to humor him. I gave him a stale, "Great."

Meanwhile, the girls showed up with fists full of snacks and many giggles at the sight of my seat-mate. The joke was on me, but apparently, I wasn't having the most interesting experience of the group. Out at the concession "center", two fathers got into an altercation, resulting in a full-on fist fight. They ended up on the ground, and were only halted by an especially enthusiastic rent-a-cop who finally got to yell, "Freeze, or I will tase you!!!". Man, that must have felt good after all those dry-runs in training. Amongst his friends, I'm sure he's known as "that lucky fucker." You know what? Good for him. This truly was a once in a career opportunity. We're talking about the core of homogeneous suburbia here. Shit like this does not happen. I can only assume that the altercation was sparked by a comment made about another man's child. It's the only thing sacred in these parts, and these supposedly affluent suburbanites are in most cases only a generation removed from gun racks. Perhaps on that level, it was bound to happen.

Back to the skullduggery, the movie was starting up, and jack-o was now, literally, on the edge of his seat. The excitement was soon to come. I even overheard his friends saying, "Hoold...hoooooold," Braveheart style. Perhaps if I were drunk or stoned, I would have found this amusing. Instead, I found myself day-dreaming about all the ways in which my friend here could ruin the movie for me. It was mentally exhausting, and only exacerbated by the fact that Mr. Pirate was obviously building up a great deal of potential energy in anticipation for an impending event. And then it happened. Just as the title of the film flashed on the screen, the pirate bounded up and swiveled to his audience in a surprisingly fluid motion and yelled out, "YAAAAAAARRRRR!!!". The adrenaline pumping through his veins, he was rewarded with a response that further degraded my opinion of Western suburbanites. "YAAAAARRR!!", yelled the entire crowd. For good measure, he jumped up and yelled his refrain once again. He sat down and numerous high-fives were exchanged.

For me, the entire experience was a complete disappointment. It wasn't so much that the movie was ruined. My pirate friend was actually relatively well-behaved for the remainder of the film, with the exception of four or five bathroom breaks. What really bothered me was how poor my evaluation of the situation had been. The pirate had come away from this experience with more self-confidence, and a row of apostles to carry the message of his successful public display back to his now-widening social circle. Contrary to my analysis, this kid may just get the pirate poontang he's been seeking. Has the world really changed that much since I occupied that station in life? I walked away from that theatre feeling more disconnected from reality than when I had walked in. Pirate 1, me 0. Fuck.

(It occured to me that some people might not understand the reference on which the title of this article is based. Growing up wit two older sisters, I was exposed to a wider range of media than any self-respecting American boy should. Among the movies I was forced to watch was, "My Own Private Idaho", which is possibly the worst film ever made. As I remember, it stars Keanu Reeves and River Phoenix, a really boring setting, and some young male gayness. Then again, I was probably 10 when I saw it. In any event, I'm pretty sure it was a prelude to "Brokeback Mountain".)

A Piece of Heaven?

Sitting here by the pool at 10am, stoned and listening to Mary J. Blige and waiting for my body to slowly reach a temperature of 102 degrees feels like paradise at the moment. Apparently at some magic temperature, the voice of Ms. Blige goes from impressive to other-worldly (I'm not sure if it's the heat or the activity of the molecules around my head...or are they same thing?). Have I unlocked the mystery? Like our planet Earth, I'm the one holding the lucky lottery ticket of probabilities, all factors having to randomly assemble for one. If so, I'll have to write a book. Then again, why would I forsake this plateau of joy only to share it with others? I'm not Jesus, just a guy with apparently better luck than I thought.

80's Revival: And This Too Shall Pass

I've had it. At first it was just a minor annoyance, but it's become inescapable. Everywhere I look I see relics of a by-gone era that, in my opinion, has few redeemable characteristics. When it was the odd rugby shirt, I thought, "Wow, that's an interesting commentary on my age. The clothes I wore in elementary and junior-high school (I had a green and white striped Benneton rugby shirt that was once the crown jewel of my wardrobe, amongst sweatpants and t-shirts) are once again in style. Odd. I believe I've just gone through an archetypal rite of passage. I must take note." And I did. I was in the Mall walking past Abercrombie and Fitch. What's ironic is that I once used to shop there. Now I wouldn't wear a thing in that store.

Then it got worse. I started seeing teenage girls in leggings and wearing red plastic jewelry. Sometimes the leggings were even striped. My friends and I would chuckle and point at the notable sighting, as if seeing an orange panda. "What are those girls thinking?", we would ask. "Don't they understand that look is terribly unnattractive?". It was only the beginning.

Flash forward to tonight. I see a promo on MTV for Jessica Simpson's new video, where they've made her look like a post-op Richard Simmons. Granted, it would have taken world-class surgeons, and the look requires generous amounts of makeup, but the analogy holds. Why must attractive women fall prey to such terrible fads? Is it a manifestation of some latent self-loathing, a desire to be accepted, or are they actually ignorant to the illusion that this clothing looks good in some absolute sense? In any event, the result is dissapointing, and I've lost the strength to ignore it. I'm now mentally lobbying for it's conclusion, and a more attractive future.

What I'm Listening to Today

Rhymefest - "Blue Collar" - People are saying this album takes off where Kanye's "Late Registration" left off. I'm not sure I'd go that far, but it's definitely a hip-hop CD I'd recommend. Best track: "Bullet".

Razorlight - "Up All Night" - Quality Brit-pop-rock. Best track: "Golden Touch".

John Ralston - "Needle Bed" - At times upbeat alt-rock. At other points, delicately delivered accoustic tracks. At nearly all points, good. Best Track: "I Believe In Ghosts".

Regina Spektor - "Begin To Hope" - Somewhere between Tori Amos and Fiona Apple. Best Track: "Fidelity".

I'd also like to re-emphasize my complete amazement at the ability of pandora.com to provide me with an endless list of bands I love, yet have never heard of.

Weekends at the Pool

If aliens were to observe the activity in this country, truly study it, they'd surely make the following observation:

Americans have devised highly regimented survival training techniques for their young, which revolve around man-made bodies of water and are held most weekends of the summer months. Swimming, floating, and hand-to-hand combat are all in the curriculum, resulting in highly-efficient trained killers. With this in mind, we must drain all water from these man-made pools prior to our invasion.

What I'm Listening to Today

What Made Milwaukee Famous

I caught the last fifteen minutes of Austin City Limits on PBS tonight and had the pleasure of seeing "What Made Milwaukee Famous" perform the last two songs of their set, following Franz Ferdinand. I'm told they they're actually from Austin, and will be playing at both the Austin City Limits Festival and Lallapalooza. Their first album is due out August 22nd.

Update:
I've heard some additional tracks by this band and I've become a big fan of their music. They'll be in Denver at the Larimer Lounge on the 11th of August and I plan on being there.

Additional Tracks:
What Made Milwuakee Famouse MySpace Page
Entry on GarageBand.com

Captain Jack Sparrow is Raoul Duke

Johnny Depp is drawing rave reviews for his second stint as the hero-at-heart pirate, Captain Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean. Fans of the burgeoning series love the mannerisms, an absent wave of the arms accompanied by an overly verbose nonlinear comment, always thick with irony. What few of these fans realize is that Captain Jack Sparrow is actually Raoul Duke. And who, might you ask, is Raoul Duke? Why, he's the alter ego of the recently departed (his ashes having been blown up within fireworks above his ranch) Mr. Hunter S. Thompson, father of gonzo journalism, and subject of the trippy cult favorite, "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas". In the film, Johnny Depp portrays Raoul Duke, or Hunter S. Thompson, as he covers a motorcycle race through the Las Vegas desert on the rich backdrop of one of the more legendary, non-musician, drug binges of all time. The manner in which Raoul Duke speaks, lumbers as if slightly seasick, and acts generally disoriented makes you wonder if Jack Sparrow has a little more than rum running through his veins as he chases the "bad" pirates around the Caribbean. The irony of straight-edged suburbanites enjoying the spirit of a Hunter S. Thompson drug binge under the guise of a Disney film drew more than a few chuckles from me as I watched the sequel. It harkens back to the legendary childhood c-o-n-spiracy of certain phallic symbols in the Little Mermaid, but I'm not willing to go that far. I'd simply suggest that you check out "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" from you local video store on an evening when you're feeling particularly irreverant. If your heads right, you might just find the American dream. Confused? Watch the movie and you'll know what I mean.

Signs of the Apocalypse

Colorado is a different place. I say different because I grew up on the East coast and didn't move out West until college. I can still remember my impression of Colorado, a cold, mountainous state, filled with environmentally conscious citizens who wore skis in the winter, and Birkenstocks in the summer. However, the reality is far different. While the state has pockets of this sort of citizenry, such as Boulder, it is by and large populated by conservative consumers. As for the environment, Colorado boasts an average of 300 days of sunshine each year, which accounts for the surprisingly mild winters. All in all, Colorado resembles most western states. Yesterday, I received further concrete evidence of this assertion when I picked up the local newspaper from my driveway. At first glance, I thought it was a joke, but it's for real, a mass marketing campaign to sell people concealed weapon permits. The ad even states that it's "Easy for everyone". Well, I better grab the neices and nephews for this one and head on over, just in case the Russians invade "Red Dawn" style. I'd hate to be unprepared.