waking into a dream journal 01.16.08

this morning? gone over...
the edge of the world
director: michael powell // 1937
cinema 4 rating: 7

as much as i love the works of michael powell (and his partner in archery, emeric pressburger), i have been strangely slow about collecting their films -- thus far, only the red shoes and tales of hoffman have made it into my dvd collection -- shimmering, quiet and as beautifully craggy as the people who inhabit the island of its plotline -- a fragile glimpse at an even-then vanishing way of life: a small, remote village done in by the uncaring economics and changing morality of the modern world -- it can be seen in every frame how clearly powell fell in love with the terrain, even as it apparently became increasingly difficult to mount and maintain the production -- it may be the age of the print used on tcm (is it the same on the dvd? i will have to find out...), but much of the cinematography seems far more soft in focus than i initially expected -- it doesn't devastate with sweeping vistas, but more tightly controlled and exquisitely framed shots that show both the tender beauty of the place and the harshness that nature and the god of its inhabitants could visit upon it -- doomed to tragedy from its beginning (thanks to its prologue with director powell acting onscreen), one can't help but read the growing dread on the people of the island as it crashes against their resolute toughness -- completely engaging for its brief running time (only 74 minutes) -- i have continually surprised myself when stumbling into these tiny, nearly flawless gems from the british film industry -- raised on american fare, and really only knowing pre-'60s english films through early hitchcock and alec guinness comedies, i have much catching up to do -- almost seems a piece with another stumbling discovery of mine, the ealing comedy whisky galore!, even if this one is a good deal more dour than the latter film -- really, the only connection is secluded english islands, but they each do remind of the other...

Spout Mavens Disc #7: Out of Balance: ExxonMobil's Impact on Climate Change (2007)

Cinema 4 Rating: 6

There has been much discussion lately about whether a film marked primarily with the label "documentary" has a certain responsibility to present a balanced detailing of the particulars surrounding a subject, representing opinions on both or multiple sides of a debatable issue. Certainly, Michael Moore is due a certain amount of blame for this discussion. His films are unfailingly one-sided, and yes, he does have a tendency to push things in his favor; some even go so far to say he creates situations to lead to such a result. I couldn't care less for two reasons. The first is that I am, without any doubt, squarely on his side on all of the issues upon which he has has planted his weighted camera lens, even if he is a bit of a tad of a not-even-sort of a dickhead. So, don't come crying to me if you feel he treated Charlton Heston in much the same manner that Heston chewed his merciless way through script after script over the years; if you take a very public position within a uniquely asinine organization, you deserve to have your ancient bones raked over the coals a little bit. The second reason I couldn't care less is that, whatever their demerits as actual journalism, Moore's liberal screeds are entertaining simply as "films." If a Republican-leaning filmmaker came along and made "documentaries" half as entertaining, I'd be inclined to check them out as well. Out of Balance will get numerous reviews from those with oily pockets, who will undoubtedly note that the title certainly lives up to the content. There is not a doubt where director/writer Tom Jackson stands from the very first frame, and there is little in the way of denial from the target company apart from their snooty and ridiculous behavior over the years in relation to their epic attacks on the only planet we possess. Oh, I should mention at this point, and remind those that already know, that I am from Alaska and even visited some of the coastline affected by the Exxon Valdez disaster. I have seen oily, dying birds, and I know numerous fishermen who have felt the cost deeply in their declining way of life. Also, I do not drive at all, hate any corporation above a mon-and-pop level, and also believe that individual transportation should be phased completely out of the picture. If this makes me a bad candidate for an unbiased film review about the savage environmental and economical raping a single corporation has visited upon not just our country, but mankind in general, then call me guilty. I am not the guy for the job.

Or am I? Because this is a film review, not a political position paper, I feel that I should review this DVD in much the same manner I would review anything: not just for its content, but for the way in which it is presented. In this regard, I am very sorry, for even at just over an hour, I found Out of Balance, despite my zealotry for the subject matter, literally put me to sleep three times. I was forced to jump back chapter by chapter over and over due to the dullness of the presentation. Please don't try and accuse me of merely finding this film a drone because I am now used to Moore docu-antics and can't watch a straight documentary, because it is quite clear throughout Out of Balance that Jackson is a dedicated follower of Moore's once unique style. But it is the difference between Buster Keaton performing a stunt, and Donald O'Connor portraying Buster Keaton performing a stunt. Something gets lost between generations. Jackson tries to liven things up in a minor fashion, as Moore does, with humorous graphics, but he is best when he outright attacks the objects of his fury. These were the parts where I was fervently caught up in the piece, booing the evil corporation for all I was worth. It was in Jackson's brief tangents from the main attack where I would lose consciousness.

That said, I eventually rallied myself, finished the film, struck my fist against the sky in anger over ExxonMobil, made some popcorn (without oil, mind you) and watched it straight through a second time. I wouldn't do this for most films that put me to sleep three times, but its brevity proved to be a double positive in this case. And then I went outside and threw a rock at the tiny oil well across the street (I am not joking) that a local landscaping company has pumping relentlessly day and night. After I threw the rock, I felt bad, if only because I started to brood about what would have happened if I had caused a rupture and the oil well started spewing oil all over the brood of unchecked neighbor kids who seem to sprout all over the sidewalks in greater and greater numbers every day in this place. Next thing you know, both I and the landscaping company would get hit with a bill for the expense of the cleanup and the damage we did to the denizens of my street. This bill would have been $318.63.

Did I mention that human life is cheap in this place? And that it was a tiny oil well? The parents of the kids covered in the oil would have been day-hired from the front of the local Home Depot to clean up the mess. This means that not only would we save money on the clean-up, but that it would also get done right and without complaining, since the unions weren't involved. See? (Si...)There are positives in every situation.

The positive in ExxonMobil's case is that, ultimately, unlike the film that aims to shred their reputation, they are entertaining. The main thing that Out of Balance has going for it is that Jackson has cast an incredible villain. And if there is one thing that has proven itself true throughout the history of film, it's that you can't lose with a great villain. Out of Balance may indeed unbalanced as a documentary, but it will keep you watching, as I eventually did, for the asshole in the black hat. That black hat is covered in oil, but ExxonMobil will never admit to it.

waking into a dream journal 01.15.08

this morning's "oh, yeah? sez who?"
mystery house
director: noel m. smith // 1938
cinema 4 rating: 5

i've said it before, and i shall reiterate, i am not really a mystery guy -- i don't mind them, and i did read a lot of agatha christie and doyle as a kid, but i've never really been all that concerned with plot and motives and whatnot -- jen can watch mysteries nonstop for days and be thoroughly entertained but i've always found them somewhat monotonous -- which is strange considering some of the admitted dreck i do find entertaining -- perhaps i relate to monsters and animals more for their inherent innocence, even when committing a terrible (from our angle) transgression against some other creature -- with people, i've always assumed that everyone is guilty of something -- it's never been "who done it?" with me, but rather "who didn't?" -- so, we have this little detective novelty from the late '30s, the age where everyone, even the non-guilty, talk tough and fast in every scene, like there is some sort of prize for being proven innocent last -- dick purcell, as the p.i., and ann sheridan, resplendent in a tight-fitting nurse's outfit, have real chemistry in this extremely short (56 minutes) filler -- works o.k. as a mystery, but if everyone didn't instantly start yelling and acting defensive when people just walk into a room, it wouldn't be such a headache -- of course, nowadays, with our crime scene scouring units, calling in a p.i. in this situation would be unthinkable -- besides, he himself commits several bonehead acts that would also be no-nos today -- "oh, let me pick up this broken necklace with my handkerchief very carefully, but, oh! what's this? a pistol lying next to it? let me just manhandle that right away!" -- not that the gun had anything to do with it, but you get the drift -- jen does have me watching poirot and columbo once in a while, so maybe there is hope for me yet...

Recently Rated Movies #58: Warning - Watching This Movie May Lead to Literacy. Proceed with Caution.

OK, I have to admit that I watch far more movies than I have the free time to write about them here on the Pylon. And in order to have material to write about, I need to use some of that limited time to actually watch movies. Add in my job and the various pastimes in which I have buried myself, this leaves me little time to engage in the activity which I probably enjoy the most: reading. In fact, when faced with the awesome pile of books that I have sworn for the last few years that I would read, I generally throw out an "oh, well..." and dive into another movie instead.

This isn't to say that I do not read books at all. I almost always have about a half dozen books going at any time. The last time I didn't perform this juggling act was when the new and final Harry Potter came out, which I barreled through like a Jamaican bobsledder, showing little concern for the niceties of proper reading, knocking down the occasional unwary adjective out of my way, and all in a desperate race to keep Jen from revealing any more of the plot to me than she, the news media and Entertainment Weekly had already fiendishly hinted around. Indeed, there are always books in the bathroom, on the nightstand, and at least one in my backpack. But the leisure time to read as much as I would wish? Not with my movie addiction in place.

And so I sometimes run into a film whose adaptation of a well-known novel so thrills me that I kick myself for not reading the source material first. Sure, there are plenty of The Silence of the Lambs in my past, where I not only read the novel years before, but purchased it initially in hardback, because the author or the genre were right up my alley, so to speak. But then I am confronted with Atonement, a not-great but severely good adaptation of an Ian McEwan novel which I have not read. I did enjoy the novels he wrote which bookend Atonement, Amsterdam and Saturday, but somehow I missed out on the one of the film's concern, and I am now deeply interested in how closely the book's structure mirrors that of the film, which leaps about in the narrative enough to cause several plebians following our showing on Saturday night to complain about the lack of a more linear narrative. (Not that these dullards would have actually said the phrase linear narrative...)

Which leads me to the chief cause of my dismay over my wayward reading habits: Tom Perrotta's Little Children, which instantly became the focus of my attention through Todd Field's amazing film of two years hence. I only recently saw it on DVD, and I was stunned. Floored, really. And though I have heard both Perrotta and Field strove to make the film a separate entity from the book, I am now intrigued by the possibility of finding another author that will capture my attention in the manner in which John Irving became a fact of my life for about a decade after I first ran into Garp on a late-night HBO viewing. In those days, I read mainly horror and science-fiction authors, and Irving, however removed from the subsequent authors in style and intent, launched me into reading more adult authors. You know, not the greasy kid stuff (though it really wasn't) upon which I subsisted through those teenage years. Working for a bookstore chain for years kept me up on William Kennedy, Charles Bukowski and, eventually, at the end of that line, Michael Chabon. Now, I primarily depend on my sister-in-law and brother to alert me to potential new author interests (they, in fact, introduced me to McEwan) but it's tough for me to crack anything that isn't non-fiction or film-oriented these days.

And through this all, I missed out on Perrotta. Luckily, in spite of the cries of those more inclined to razz Hollywood for its baser instincts, the damn place is causing me to read. Now, maybe the writer's strike will allow me some extra time to do it...

Atonement
Director: Joe Wright // 2007
Cinema 4 Rating: 7

Little Children
Director: Todd Field // 2006
Cinema 4 Rating: 8

Sleeping Dogs Lie [Stay]
Director: Bobcat Goldthwait // 2006
Cinema 4 Rating: 4

De battre mon coeur s'est arrêté [The Beat That My Heart Skipped]
Director: Jacques Ardiard // French, 2005
Cinema 4 Rating: 6

Mortelle Randonnée
Director: Claude Miller // French, 1983
Cinema 4 Rating: 7

waking into a dream journal 01.12.08

this morning's reason to be scared (but for entirely different reasons than the filmmakers intend...)
are you scared
director: someone who apparently doesn't know better // 2006
cinema 4 rating: 3

as down as i have been on the saw series thus far (i am not one of those taken with it at all, though the first one was a tad refreshing when i first, ahem, saw it), if this film is any indication of the declination of inspiration, i now wish the series had never gotten off the ground to begin with -- combines two of my least favorite modern things: torture porn and reality shows (which i actually consider to be one and the same), and then spews the result up in a chunder so completely (and expectedly) dull-witted as to make one wish they were actually in the drill-bit scene within the film to make the pain go away -- here's an idea: instead of enlisting generic teenie bimbos and himbos for one of these maniacal displays, how about having the killer put out a call for producers and torture porn movies and reality shows, make them show up in a secluded location, and then give them a dose of the same crap they've been foisting upon us for the past decade or so -- how about when you make a film where one mad genius or stalker or slasher is torturing a whole building of people slowly and methodically, that you give us some sense of the sweat this guy is building up trying to intimidate these people back and forth -- i can multitask with the best of them, but if more than two people walk into my office, i need to have someone take a number -- if six people are all trying to escape a building, the other five don't just stand around and wait for the first one to be killed before the next one gives it a shot -- but, no, this cheeseball has time to slowly talk to each victim and describe the little games he has set up, which aren't really games at all, but assured death scenarios -- at least jigsaw gives his victims a slight chance of survival -- his are puzzles built on moral dilemmas, a point the writer/director of this film (and saw copycat) seems to have missed -- not surprising though, since he also doesn't give the audience a chance at entertainment either... outside of the people who are exactly like him -- avoid at all costs, please -- at least turistas had titties...

These Are My Friends...

"Speak to me, friend
Whisper - I'll listen
I know, I know
You've been locked out of sight all these years..."

Mr. Depp, as Mr. Todd, sings those words, but I may as well have in these past couple of weeks. Not as a tortured soul to a set of shining razors, thirsty and hellbent on blood-soaked revenge, mind you -- certainly, the context and relationship would change, but I could sing them all the same.

The friends to whom I would croon would be the pent-up denizens of a comic book collection that has lain dormant for over three years, and virtually ignored for several more. Some of my oldest friends, dating back to my earliest years in many cases, or representing some of my most formative cultural moments in others, or both. Sitting untouched since their reemergence into my life in October, they sat patient but anxious for my next move: that moment where I could no longer resist box after box of graphic pleasure; that moment where I would dive once more into the generally comforting though often perplexing world and words they offered to me throughout my life.

Somewhere in these boxes lies a much beloved copy of Avengers #159, the cornerstone to my collection; the comic which got me so caught up in the supergroup's battle against the fiend Graviton, who through his power has ripped a section of Manhattan out of the ground to create an island in the sky which hovered threateningly over the rest of New York, that I had no choice but to scour the racks of my small town for the very next issue. I picked a great time to become obsessed with the Avengers. (I had loved Batman and Superman since a small child, but only rarely picked up an issue.) The next Avengers issue introduced me to the incredible rock-detailer George Perez, and soon enough I would be completely enraptured by the stylings of John Byrne. And within a couple of months, the X-Men (whom I had already started reading a year earlier -- I owned issue #100 almost by accident -- and by whom I was justifiably confused, not having much access in those pre-internet days to their convoluted past) became a second obsession. Also in that time, having already read the paperback (with the McQuarrie cover!), I picked up Star Wars #1. I was doomed to Lucas, and I was doomed to comics.

Back to the present, a call from my brother Chris on, appropriately, Christmas broke the silence. He had recently discovered a website called www.comicbookdb.com, as in Comic Book Database, a resource for comic books fans, and a site chiefly maintained by its users. Can't find an issue which you own on the site? Add an issue, filling in all of the pertinent creator information (so important to the comic geek mind) along the way. My brother had discovered it would be a great (and, most importantly, free) way to keep a rein on his collection, threw in about 1200 of his titles, and then recommended that I check it out, as I was actively seeking out a way to handle this dilemma that would be far removed from actually typing in all of the information into an Excel spreadsheet, one comic at a time. It took a couple of days, but on New Year's weekend, I took the plunge.

I popped open a taped-up comic box containing a batch of old '70s issues of The Avengers, and started knocking them into place. Soon enough, I had fifty comics in my online collection, and before I proceeded any further, I commenced to checking out the various features on the site. Chief, for me at least, is the ability to export my list. It's nice to rack up one's movie collection on IMDB, but there is no facility to export, unless you rely on the bad ol' drag-and-drop method, which is a pain in the ass with tables. I didn't want to do this with my much more ponderous comic collection. Since Comic Book Database afforded me this feature, I carried on through experimentation with its other features. Trying to add a decrepit issue of Boris Karloff's old Gold Key horror series, which did not appear in the database, simply took more time than I had on hand to give it the attention I normally would. Besides, my scanner is still not hooked back up, so I had to make a note to do so later. Regardless, by adding this issue, I felt that I had officially become one of the stable of people for whom the website was developed: the true geek, willing to tap in the most ridiculous minutiae regarding the most obscure titles... just 'cuz....

And then I went crazy. As of two nights ago, I had over 7200 comics in the system, and I figure with a good solid weekend of determined crashing through the remaining dozen or so long-boxes in my abode, I should have the initial part of the dirty deed completed by Monday morning. I say "initial," as I have already discovered about 300 comics that are nowhere to be found in the Comic Book Database, all of which I shall now have to enter by hand, including that all important and aforementioned creator information. It looks like I might have to find that "time on hand" after all.

So, if you were wondering at all why the new year has been so silent in the Cinema 4 Pylon, the cause has been revealed. Sometimes when old friends pop by, you can't wait to get rid of them; sometimes, you welcome them with open arms and heart. The jury is still out for much of my collection, but Avengers #159? Star Wars #1? X-Men #107?

"These are my friends..."

waking into a dream journal 01.09.08

this morning's 6-furlong surprise (surprise? it feels like 20...)
the return of october
director: joseph h. lewis // 1948
cinema 4 rating: 5

this almost seems like the sort of lost treasure which forms the chief reason i watch turner classic movies in the first place -- almost, but not quite -- i find this is described as a comedy, and it is written by melvin frank and norman panama, two old pros at the form (including one of my personal favorites, the court jester with the grand mr. kaye) -- and yet, it is never actually funny... in any real degree -- a reincarnation plot for those with a lot of time on their hands, and no real impetus to truly be entertained within that number of minutes -- tone is perfectly suited to pose as one of any number of similar disney plots from twenty years later -- just as pleasant, predictable, non-threatening and, ultimately, merely ok -- ingenue terry moore is spunky and committed in lead role as rich girl whose uncle dies and may or may not come back as a racehorse -- prefer her much more, however, in her subsequent role in the original mighty joe young -- glenn ford does what he can with colorless male lead part as psychologist who falls in love with her even while considered her a wacko -- no alarms, no surprises -- really thought i was having another on borrowed time experience (as in "discovering a fun or formative movie completely by accident") until about twenty minutes in -- realized i wasn't having a good time, but merely just filling it with blarney...