Stevie's introduction to her section at mediaslayerproductions.com.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
As Seen On Demand: Cats Don't Dance
I was sitting in front of my television thinking I would review Bride Wars, when, to my dismay, I found that it was no longer available on demand (at least not where I could find it). What was I to do? How could I possibly review anything when that wonderfully horrible movie is no longer available on demand? Does this mean it won't be available on the higher channels anymore? How am I supposed to comment on a movie that people will have to download illegally or rent at the video store to see? Who wants to make that sort of effort?
Luckily, as I was looking under the Bs on HBO or Encore on demand, I came across the beginning of the Cs. And under the Cs, what did I find but one of my favorite non-Disney animated movie musicals of all time?
Now, to be fair, my love of 1997's Cats Don't Dance is largely a result of firmly placed nostalgia goggles. My sister and I loved this movie growing up. We'd sing the "Little Boat on the Sea" song in the car on long family road trips. She'd sing Darla's part, and I'd sing all of the animals. Now, she's studying voice at one of the top music conservatories in the country, and I'm an aspiring playwright who only sings occasionally at random coffee houses and with the revelers and wenches at the NJ Ren Faire.
Catcher in the Rye: "Digression!" Ok, to relate this to Cats Don't Dance...
The main reason I decided not to pursue acting or singing with my wonderful sister (who is extremely talented and deserves every decent gig or part she gets in the future) is that I don't take rejection well. Rather, I don't take constant rejection over things I can't change well. And as an actress with limited talent and even more limited appeal (read: the shy, fat girl), I don't have a prayer with community or student theater, let alone as a professional actress. With writing, at least, I won't be rejected based on my appearance. If I'm rejected as a writer, it's due to my crappy writing, and that's it. It can also be fixed.
In Cats Don't Dance, the lead characters have it even worse than I do. They can be fixed (*insert groans here*), but not in a way that would help them get parts in the harsh, cold, glitter-painted streets of Hollywood. They are animals- cats, hippos, turtles, goats, and penguins that can only get parts as unintelligent, non-speaking, animal extras.
Of course, this makes sense. In real (well, non-cartoon) life, animals don't talk. Elephants don't play the piano. Hippos don't sing. And, as the title states, cats don't dance. My very noisy cockatiel seems to protest (her name is Laurel, and she's watching this movie with me), but much of the human race and certainly the typecasting film market will never let animals get around this handicap. At least not in the world of live action.
Now, onto the film itself.
Cats Don't Dance follows Kokomo, Indiana native Danny, an orange, suspender and tie wearing cat with a passion for theater and an irrepressible urge to dance and sing on the silver screen. He takes a bus ride to Hollywood, which in his mind, is the place "where the streets are paved with gold, and the kitties never grow old."
The first number is mainly a series of animated cameos of real-life, human, classic movie stars who maintain caricatured faces and pause for paparazzi photos as Danny dances, sings, and causes chaos on his way to Mammoth Studios (known for casting animal extras and being a clear homage to MGM, right down to the roaring elephant in the company's opening credit sequence. On his way, he manages to mess with telephone wires, young gopher Pudge the Penguin (who, in retrospect, might be funnier if played by an actual gopher), and future love interest, secretary and former singer Sawyer, a beautiful persian cat that's probably every furry's wet dream.
Almost immediately after stepping through the door of Mammoth Studios, Danny gets cast in a musical version of the Noah's Ark story. The catch: he has one line towards the beginning. To no one's surprise, this one line is "meow."
From this point on, the movie becomes Danny's attempt to bring the animals out of their shells (metaphorical and literal, in the case of T.W. Turtle) and onto the list of famous Hollywood movie stars at Mammoth Studios.
Highlights of the film are the extremely catchy and memorable musical numbers and, possibly more so, child actress slash villain Shirley Temple...er, I mean Darla Dimple.
Darla Dimple is easily one of the greatest animated female villains, ever. Say what you like about Maleficent, Ursula, and Cruella De Ville (who, in her defence, may have hated animals as much as Darla Dimple), but at the ripe old age of five or six, Miss Dimple has mastered the art of manic demonization with a smile. Think Angelica from the Rugrats, with a better singing voice, at least seventeen times the level of malice, and one of the scariest monosyllabic henchmen/bodyguards ever to break through walls and throw cats off of tall buildings.
The songs...well, I saw this movie for the first time sometime back in the 90s. I hadn't seen it in years before today, and I can still get these songs stuck in my head. To this day, when I feel like singing and am trying to think of something to sing, my first thought is "I've got a song to sing, and if you don't like my song I'm gonna sing it anyhow." Just try to see this movie and get these ear-worms out of your head.
But does it hold up now, years later and once I remove my nostalgia goggles?
I'll have to say yes. The movie's pretty screwy and trippy with its bright colors, fast dialogue, and strange yet intentionally stereotypical characters, but the thing is, I think this as an adult. As a kid, it seemed completely natural to me. It's like several of the sites listed in Weird NJ- as an NJ native, I never really thought about Mary Ellis's grave behind Loews on Route 1 until the magazine mentioned it. I always knew it was there, but it just never registered. Maybe I was an especially tolerant and unjaded child, but I never saw any irony in this movie.
Years later, of course, I recognize the intelligence and satire involved in the writing, mainly in the portrayal of Hollywood, but as a kid, it was just a fun movie. And you know what? It still is. Say what you like about trippiness and mass appeal- I still love this movie, and I always will. And it's free on demand, so you should watch it and love it too. After all, as the singing, dancing animals tell us, "nothing's gonna stop us [them] now." Grade: A-
Luckily, as I was looking under the Bs on HBO or Encore on demand, I came across the beginning of the Cs. And under the Cs, what did I find but one of my favorite non-Disney animated movie musicals of all time?
Now, to be fair, my love of 1997's Cats Don't Dance is largely a result of firmly placed nostalgia goggles. My sister and I loved this movie growing up. We'd sing the "Little Boat on the Sea" song in the car on long family road trips. She'd sing Darla's part, and I'd sing all of the animals. Now, she's studying voice at one of the top music conservatories in the country, and I'm an aspiring playwright who only sings occasionally at random coffee houses and with the revelers and wenches at the NJ Ren Faire.
Catcher in the Rye: "Digression!" Ok, to relate this to Cats Don't Dance...
The main reason I decided not to pursue acting or singing with my wonderful sister (who is extremely talented and deserves every decent gig or part she gets in the future) is that I don't take rejection well. Rather, I don't take constant rejection over things I can't change well. And as an actress with limited talent and even more limited appeal (read: the shy, fat girl), I don't have a prayer with community or student theater, let alone as a professional actress. With writing, at least, I won't be rejected based on my appearance. If I'm rejected as a writer, it's due to my crappy writing, and that's it. It can also be fixed.
In Cats Don't Dance, the lead characters have it even worse than I do. They can be fixed (*insert groans here*), but not in a way that would help them get parts in the harsh, cold, glitter-painted streets of Hollywood. They are animals- cats, hippos, turtles, goats, and penguins that can only get parts as unintelligent, non-speaking, animal extras.
Of course, this makes sense. In real (well, non-cartoon) life, animals don't talk. Elephants don't play the piano. Hippos don't sing. And, as the title states, cats don't dance. My very noisy cockatiel seems to protest (her name is Laurel, and she's watching this movie with me), but much of the human race and certainly the typecasting film market will never let animals get around this handicap. At least not in the world of live action.
Now, onto the film itself.
Cats Don't Dance follows Kokomo, Indiana native Danny, an orange, suspender and tie wearing cat with a passion for theater and an irrepressible urge to dance and sing on the silver screen. He takes a bus ride to Hollywood, which in his mind, is the place "where the streets are paved with gold, and the kitties never grow old."
The first number is mainly a series of animated cameos of real-life, human, classic movie stars who maintain caricatured faces and pause for paparazzi photos as Danny dances, sings, and causes chaos on his way to Mammoth Studios (known for casting animal extras and being a clear homage to MGM, right down to the roaring elephant in the company's opening credit sequence. On his way, he manages to mess with telephone wires, young gopher Pudge the Penguin (who, in retrospect, might be funnier if played by an actual gopher), and future love interest, secretary and former singer Sawyer, a beautiful persian cat that's probably every furry's wet dream.
Almost immediately after stepping through the door of Mammoth Studios, Danny gets cast in a musical version of the Noah's Ark story. The catch: he has one line towards the beginning. To no one's surprise, this one line is "meow."
From this point on, the movie becomes Danny's attempt to bring the animals out of their shells (metaphorical and literal, in the case of T.W. Turtle) and onto the list of famous Hollywood movie stars at Mammoth Studios.
Highlights of the film are the extremely catchy and memorable musical numbers and, possibly more so, child actress slash villain Shirley Temple...er, I mean Darla Dimple.
Darla Dimple is easily one of the greatest animated female villains, ever. Say what you like about Maleficent, Ursula, and Cruella De Ville (who, in her defence, may have hated animals as much as Darla Dimple), but at the ripe old age of five or six, Miss Dimple has mastered the art of manic demonization with a smile. Think Angelica from the Rugrats, with a better singing voice, at least seventeen times the level of malice, and one of the scariest monosyllabic henchmen/bodyguards ever to break through walls and throw cats off of tall buildings.
The songs...well, I saw this movie for the first time sometime back in the 90s. I hadn't seen it in years before today, and I can still get these songs stuck in my head. To this day, when I feel like singing and am trying to think of something to sing, my first thought is "I've got a song to sing, and if you don't like my song I'm gonna sing it anyhow." Just try to see this movie and get these ear-worms out of your head.
But does it hold up now, years later and once I remove my nostalgia goggles?
I'll have to say yes. The movie's pretty screwy and trippy with its bright colors, fast dialogue, and strange yet intentionally stereotypical characters, but the thing is, I think this as an adult. As a kid, it seemed completely natural to me. It's like several of the sites listed in Weird NJ- as an NJ native, I never really thought about Mary Ellis's grave behind Loews on Route 1 until the magazine mentioned it. I always knew it was there, but it just never registered. Maybe I was an especially tolerant and unjaded child, but I never saw any irony in this movie.
Years later, of course, I recognize the intelligence and satire involved in the writing, mainly in the portrayal of Hollywood, but as a kid, it was just a fun movie. And you know what? It still is. Say what you like about trippiness and mass appeal- I still love this movie, and I always will. And it's free on demand, so you should watch it and love it too. After all, as the singing, dancing animals tell us, "nothing's gonna stop us [them] now." Grade: A-
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
As Seen On Demand: 8 Women
Welcome to my first in a series of reviews called “As Seen On Demand.” One of the benefits of the current state of digital cable/Comcast is the existence of movie channels within the 300 block (hooray for HBO, Starz, Encore, Cinemax, and Showtime!) and their subsequent on-demand selections. This series will celebrate the good and the horrible shown randomly on those channels. The movies you end up watching at 2AM when you’ve got nothing better to do, and the movies you always wanted to see but never knew they could be as completely mind-numbingly horrible until you finally checked them out on your own time, stapled to your couch.
Warning: There be spoilers ahead!
First up is 8 Femmes, or 8 Women, a 2002 French film. It’s sort of the French equivalent of Clue, except it’s an all-female cast. And they sing. And there are lesbians.
The first time I saw this movie, I had to say, “What the hell?” I wasn’t expecting anything unusual. I didn’t know that the film was based on a 1960s play by Robert Thomas (a play that no one seems to have performed since 1960, or so the internet would have me believe. Seriously. I can’t find a production of it anywhere. There was a notice about a performance in Singapore a few years ago, and that’s about it. So much for getting my community theater to perform it, English-speaking American audiences be damned). I just knew my French teacher was having us watch it in a series of French films we were viewing as a way of learning the language without doing any real work (the benefit of the senior year non-AP French credit).
The film opens with Suzon (Virginie Ledoyen) entering her brightly-colored, snowed-in French mansion. We learn quickly that she has returned on winter break from a generic and non-specific university, all to spend Christmas vacation with her wildly kooky family: uptight mother Gaby (Catherine Deneuve), sweet alcoholic grandmother Mamy (Danielle Darrieux), neurotic aunt Augustine (Isabelle Huppert), and not-quite-seventeen spunky and insolent sister Catherine (Ludivine Sagnier). Plus her long-time housekeeper Madame Chanel (Firmine Richard) and n00b maid/resident slut Louise (Emmanuelle Beart).
Oh, and she’s visiting her father, too. Of course. Or she would be, if he wasn’t dead in his bedroom. But we don’t know that yet. First, we get introductions to seven of the eight title women and an incredibly upbeat ear-worm of a musical number sung by Catherine (with Suzon and Gaby as backup dancers- by the way, there is absolutely nothing more amusing than seeing Catherine Deneuve as a backup dancer for a French teenager singing a sixties song in a movie that takes place sometime in the fifties). Anywho, after a little more time, Louise the maid goes to bring Monsieur Marcel, the patriarch of this shindig, his tea, and we find that monsieur est morte.
Eventually, we also get Fanny Ardant as streetwalker/estranged sister of the deceased Pierette. And from or through her, we get some of the best dialogue in the film.
Pierette to Louise, “Everyone knows you sleep around.”
Louise: “You know, since we sleep with the same ones.”
This movie has more ridiculous subplots than any movie I have ever seen in my entire life. Possibly combined. Watching it is like wandering around Sarah Winchester’s mystery mansion and trying to make sense of it all. There are plot points that are never explained (the father of Suzon’s baby, for instance- we get one extreme dun da DUUUUUUUUN of an explanation, and then we never hear about it again), conflicted relationships and character changes that rarely make sense (usually from Augustine), and songs that vary from slow and painful to perky and upbeat with a smattering of sultry mixed around, but that rarely if ever have anything to do with the plot and absolutely never have any bearing on the current conversation. (By the way, everyone gets a song, but the three best numbers come from Pierette, Gaby, and Louise).
Oh, and lesbians. Can’t forget the lesbians.
That said, it’s a world of fun. The ridiculousness is what makes it great. There are lines of dialogue that are so campy they’re hilarious:
Augustine: “I was polishing my mother of pearl comb.”
Gaby: “At 2AM?”
Augustine: “Combs never sleep!”
Etc. And the colors- oh, those bright, early 2000s equivalent of fifties colors. Oh, the color coordinated costumes. And the staging- oh, why does no one ever perform this play anymore?
The eventual reveal doesn’t make any more sense than the rest of the movie, but it’s still tremendously fun to watch. And I have made it my mission to make sure that every one of my friends sees it at least once. Either as a gesture of love or a form of torture. Beautiful French torture. With lesbians. Grade: B
Warning: There be spoilers ahead!
First up is 8 Femmes, or 8 Women, a 2002 French film. It’s sort of the French equivalent of Clue, except it’s an all-female cast. And they sing. And there are lesbians.
The first time I saw this movie, I had to say, “What the hell?” I wasn’t expecting anything unusual. I didn’t know that the film was based on a 1960s play by Robert Thomas (a play that no one seems to have performed since 1960, or so the internet would have me believe. Seriously. I can’t find a production of it anywhere. There was a notice about a performance in Singapore a few years ago, and that’s about it. So much for getting my community theater to perform it, English-speaking American audiences be damned). I just knew my French teacher was having us watch it in a series of French films we were viewing as a way of learning the language without doing any real work (the benefit of the senior year non-AP French credit).
The film opens with Suzon (Virginie Ledoyen) entering her brightly-colored, snowed-in French mansion. We learn quickly that she has returned on winter break from a generic and non-specific university, all to spend Christmas vacation with her wildly kooky family: uptight mother Gaby (Catherine Deneuve), sweet alcoholic grandmother Mamy (Danielle Darrieux), neurotic aunt Augustine (Isabelle Huppert), and not-quite-seventeen spunky and insolent sister Catherine (Ludivine Sagnier). Plus her long-time housekeeper Madame Chanel (Firmine Richard) and n00b maid/resident slut Louise (Emmanuelle Beart).
Oh, and she’s visiting her father, too. Of course. Or she would be, if he wasn’t dead in his bedroom. But we don’t know that yet. First, we get introductions to seven of the eight title women and an incredibly upbeat ear-worm of a musical number sung by Catherine (with Suzon and Gaby as backup dancers- by the way, there is absolutely nothing more amusing than seeing Catherine Deneuve as a backup dancer for a French teenager singing a sixties song in a movie that takes place sometime in the fifties). Anywho, after a little more time, Louise the maid goes to bring Monsieur Marcel, the patriarch of this shindig, his tea, and we find that monsieur est morte.
Eventually, we also get Fanny Ardant as streetwalker/estranged sister of the deceased Pierette. And from or through her, we get some of the best dialogue in the film.
Pierette to Louise, “Everyone knows you sleep around.”
Louise: “You know, since we sleep with the same ones.”
This movie has more ridiculous subplots than any movie I have ever seen in my entire life. Possibly combined. Watching it is like wandering around Sarah Winchester’s mystery mansion and trying to make sense of it all. There are plot points that are never explained (the father of Suzon’s baby, for instance- we get one extreme dun da DUUUUUUUUN of an explanation, and then we never hear about it again), conflicted relationships and character changes that rarely make sense (usually from Augustine), and songs that vary from slow and painful to perky and upbeat with a smattering of sultry mixed around, but that rarely if ever have anything to do with the plot and absolutely never have any bearing on the current conversation. (By the way, everyone gets a song, but the three best numbers come from Pierette, Gaby, and Louise).
Oh, and lesbians. Can’t forget the lesbians.
That said, it’s a world of fun. The ridiculousness is what makes it great. There are lines of dialogue that are so campy they’re hilarious:
Augustine: “I was polishing my mother of pearl comb.”
Gaby: “At 2AM?”
Augustine: “Combs never sleep!”
Etc. And the colors- oh, those bright, early 2000s equivalent of fifties colors. Oh, the color coordinated costumes. And the staging- oh, why does no one ever perform this play anymore?
The eventual reveal doesn’t make any more sense than the rest of the movie, but it’s still tremendously fun to watch. And I have made it my mission to make sure that every one of my friends sees it at least once. Either as a gesture of love or a form of torture. Beautiful French torture. With lesbians. Grade: B
Long awaited confessions of a movie critic
To the makers of the films I have bashed: I’m sorry. To the makers of the films I have praised: I’m sorry.
I have been writing reviews for TCR (F&M's College Reporter, for which many of these reviews were written) for nearly four years. I’ve applauded mediocre films and torn decent ones apart. I’ve let my expectations cloud my judgment, and artists that I enjoy have suffered when they failed to meet my vision of their potential.
I’ve got examples, too. In 2006, I gave Outcast’s “Idlewild” an A and Indigo Girl’s “Despite Our Differences” a C. Yet I haven’t touched Outcast since, and I still listen to several songs from “Despite Our Differences” on a regular basis. Both “Miracle at St. Anna” and “Confessions of a Shopaholic” have been circulating the 300 channels. Even though I raved about “Miracle at St. Anna” and sneered at “Confessions of a Shopaholic,” I haven’t rewatched the former, and I’ve watched the latter no less than 6 times since it has been on television and on demand.
The thing is, I’ve got different standards for different movies. I’ve got tastes that may or may not be satisfied (though, oddly enough, I’m far more likely to use grade inflation on a piece outside of my personal tastes), and if I expect nothing of a movie that turns out to be decent, it will get an A, whereas if I expect too much of a would-be decent movie, it will get a C or a D.
I’ve been wrestling with this bad karma for a couple of months. I’ve almost wanted to stop writing reviews, lest I screw another film over. For a while, I contented myself with the belief that no one reads my articles, but when a professor told me that she rethought seeing “Confessions of a Shopaholic” based on my review and a Tobey Maguire fan blog reposted comments from my review of “Brothers,” I had to rethink that theory as well.
So how do I justify writing the things I write? How do I justify giving a fluff comedy with a 17% rating on Rotten Tomatoes an A and, a week later, giving a Scorsese with a 65% Rotten Tomatoes rating a B (and a low B at that)?
First of all, I’ve decided that I judge movies by category. A decent romantic comedy will rate higher than a mediocre thriller, even if the thriller is an equal or better all around movie. I refuse to see anything wrong with this- after all, the Golden Globes do the same thing. It’s impossible to compare a movie that’s supposed to be fluffy fun to a movie that’s pushing for an Oscar. Who’s to say that the former should fail just because of its low-brow humor? If a comedy is really terrible, I’ll feel comfortable criticizing it, but I refuse to fail it just because it’s not “Titanic” or “Lord of the Rings” (though I will fail action films if they fail to live up to those standards).
Second of all, I see movies once before my reviews come out. I can’t help it. Albums, I have a little more leeway, but movies are expensive. Admission is anywhere from $8-10, plus popcorn and soda (without which, many of the movies I review would be unbearable). Add this to the fact that most movies come out on Fridays, and my reviews are due Sunday at the latest (thank you to my wonderful editors for putting up with my constantly late reviews). If I only see a movie once, I have to judge it based on my first impressions- not on its rewatch value. If I change my mind later, it’s too late to do anything about it.
I suppose the best (or worst) part of this scenario is that I plan on being a playwright/screenwriter post-graduation. Which means that someday, critics will be bashing my work. It’s tough to make a decent film, and to completely misquote Matt Scannell of Vertical Horizon, “Critics are people who can’t create their own art and need to tear down other people’s to make themselves feel better.” Well, after all of this, I still don’t feel better. Grade: D for effort. ☺
I have been writing reviews for TCR (F&M's College Reporter, for which many of these reviews were written) for nearly four years. I’ve applauded mediocre films and torn decent ones apart. I’ve let my expectations cloud my judgment, and artists that I enjoy have suffered when they failed to meet my vision of their potential.
I’ve got examples, too. In 2006, I gave Outcast’s “Idlewild” an A and Indigo Girl’s “Despite Our Differences” a C. Yet I haven’t touched Outcast since, and I still listen to several songs from “Despite Our Differences” on a regular basis. Both “Miracle at St. Anna” and “Confessions of a Shopaholic” have been circulating the 300 channels. Even though I raved about “Miracle at St. Anna” and sneered at “Confessions of a Shopaholic,” I haven’t rewatched the former, and I’ve watched the latter no less than 6 times since it has been on television and on demand.
The thing is, I’ve got different standards for different movies. I’ve got tastes that may or may not be satisfied (though, oddly enough, I’m far more likely to use grade inflation on a piece outside of my personal tastes), and if I expect nothing of a movie that turns out to be decent, it will get an A, whereas if I expect too much of a would-be decent movie, it will get a C or a D.
I’ve been wrestling with this bad karma for a couple of months. I’ve almost wanted to stop writing reviews, lest I screw another film over. For a while, I contented myself with the belief that no one reads my articles, but when a professor told me that she rethought seeing “Confessions of a Shopaholic” based on my review and a Tobey Maguire fan blog reposted comments from my review of “Brothers,” I had to rethink that theory as well.
So how do I justify writing the things I write? How do I justify giving a fluff comedy with a 17% rating on Rotten Tomatoes an A and, a week later, giving a Scorsese with a 65% Rotten Tomatoes rating a B (and a low B at that)?
First of all, I’ve decided that I judge movies by category. A decent romantic comedy will rate higher than a mediocre thriller, even if the thriller is an equal or better all around movie. I refuse to see anything wrong with this- after all, the Golden Globes do the same thing. It’s impossible to compare a movie that’s supposed to be fluffy fun to a movie that’s pushing for an Oscar. Who’s to say that the former should fail just because of its low-brow humor? If a comedy is really terrible, I’ll feel comfortable criticizing it, but I refuse to fail it just because it’s not “Titanic” or “Lord of the Rings” (though I will fail action films if they fail to live up to those standards).
Second of all, I see movies once before my reviews come out. I can’t help it. Albums, I have a little more leeway, but movies are expensive. Admission is anywhere from $8-10, plus popcorn and soda (without which, many of the movies I review would be unbearable). Add this to the fact that most movies come out on Fridays, and my reviews are due Sunday at the latest (thank you to my wonderful editors for putting up with my constantly late reviews). If I only see a movie once, I have to judge it based on my first impressions- not on its rewatch value. If I change my mind later, it’s too late to do anything about it.
I suppose the best (or worst) part of this scenario is that I plan on being a playwright/screenwriter post-graduation. Which means that someday, critics will be bashing my work. It’s tough to make a decent film, and to completely misquote Matt Scannell of Vertical Horizon, “Critics are people who can’t create their own art and need to tear down other people’s to make themselves feel better.” Well, after all of this, I still don’t feel better. Grade: D for effort. ☺
Valentine's Day
It’s a shame that this review is coming out after Valentine’s Day. Because the holiday’s namesake film, released this past Friday, is the perfect film to watch on February 14th.
Valentine’s Day is one of the most divisive holidays of the year. Couples can love the day as a chance to remind themselves of the puppy infatuation they felt when they first met, or they can feel completely inadequate for getting the wrong shade of roses from the over-packed flower shop. Single people can eat chocolate, go clubbing, and generally enjoy being non-committal for the day, or they can be absolutely miserable and want to pelt every happy couple with stale chocolate.
Luckily, moviegoers at “Valentine’s Day” this Friday left the theater feeling good about themselves and their current state of romantic existence. The film has so many different characters and subplots that it’s almost impossible not to relate to at least one of them. Single people leave feeling hopeful for the future, couples leave remembering why they’re together in the first place, and everyone in between just leaves feeling good about romance in general.
It’s amazing that I have gotten this far into this review without mentioning the cast. Anyone who saw the trailer for “Valentine’s Day” probably left thinking, “Who isn’t in this movie?” With an ensemble cast consisting of over twenty A-listers, this movie was easily Hollywood’s biggest employer outside of the restaurant business (yes, I went there). The thing is, after they’ve all been introduced at least once, it’s very easy to forget how star-studded this cast is. The stories blend and intertwine and progress well enough that the characters become and stay characters, rather than Ashton Kutcher, Jennifer Garner, Queen Latifah, Anne Hathaway, Julia Roberts, Patrick Dempsey, Jamie Foxx…(need I go on?).
The writing is very clever. There are one-liners and memorable scenes everywhere, most notably a scene where Jessica Biel breaks down in Valentine’s misery screaming at Jamie Foxx “My closest relationship is with my blackberry! Thank God it vibrates,” and a scene where Jennifer Garner poses as a waitress, publically humiliates her boyfriend in front of his wife, and then charges two lobster tail meals to his table. Some of the best humor comes from Taylor Swift (who can either act really well or really is a complete idiot- my money is on the former), Anne Hathaway (whose character is a receptionist slash phone sex operator), and Bryce Robinson (who at the age of ten is responsible for about 60% of the moviegoer’s giggles, awws, and general sensitivity- even Ashton Kutcher’s character calls him “the cutest kid in the world” after he earnestly tries to give Kutcher thirteen dollars for fifty-five dollars worth of roses).
There probably hasn’t been a film since “Love, Actually” that managed to do the ensemble romantic comedy film this well. Last year’s “He’s Just Not That Into You” almost achieved it, but it fell short of its goal in the end. As a predictable, gentle, February romantic comedy, “Valentine’s Day” won’t be winning any Oscars, but it’s still easily one of the best feel-good movies of the year. Grade: A-
Valentine’s Day is one of the most divisive holidays of the year. Couples can love the day as a chance to remind themselves of the puppy infatuation they felt when they first met, or they can feel completely inadequate for getting the wrong shade of roses from the over-packed flower shop. Single people can eat chocolate, go clubbing, and generally enjoy being non-committal for the day, or they can be absolutely miserable and want to pelt every happy couple with stale chocolate.
Luckily, moviegoers at “Valentine’s Day” this Friday left the theater feeling good about themselves and their current state of romantic existence. The film has so many different characters and subplots that it’s almost impossible not to relate to at least one of them. Single people leave feeling hopeful for the future, couples leave remembering why they’re together in the first place, and everyone in between just leaves feeling good about romance in general.
It’s amazing that I have gotten this far into this review without mentioning the cast. Anyone who saw the trailer for “Valentine’s Day” probably left thinking, “Who isn’t in this movie?” With an ensemble cast consisting of over twenty A-listers, this movie was easily Hollywood’s biggest employer outside of the restaurant business (yes, I went there). The thing is, after they’ve all been introduced at least once, it’s very easy to forget how star-studded this cast is. The stories blend and intertwine and progress well enough that the characters become and stay characters, rather than Ashton Kutcher, Jennifer Garner, Queen Latifah, Anne Hathaway, Julia Roberts, Patrick Dempsey, Jamie Foxx…(need I go on?).
The writing is very clever. There are one-liners and memorable scenes everywhere, most notably a scene where Jessica Biel breaks down in Valentine’s misery screaming at Jamie Foxx “My closest relationship is with my blackberry! Thank God it vibrates,” and a scene where Jennifer Garner poses as a waitress, publically humiliates her boyfriend in front of his wife, and then charges two lobster tail meals to his table. Some of the best humor comes from Taylor Swift (who can either act really well or really is a complete idiot- my money is on the former), Anne Hathaway (whose character is a receptionist slash phone sex operator), and Bryce Robinson (who at the age of ten is responsible for about 60% of the moviegoer’s giggles, awws, and general sensitivity- even Ashton Kutcher’s character calls him “the cutest kid in the world” after he earnestly tries to give Kutcher thirteen dollars for fifty-five dollars worth of roses).
There probably hasn’t been a film since “Love, Actually” that managed to do the ensemble romantic comedy film this well. Last year’s “He’s Just Not That Into You” almost achieved it, but it fell short of its goal in the end. As a predictable, gentle, February romantic comedy, “Valentine’s Day” won’t be winning any Oscars, but it’s still easily one of the best feel-good movies of the year. Grade: A-
Where The Wild Things Are
“Inside each of us, there is a wild thing.” So says the trailer for last week’s release of Where the Wild Things Are. The trailer also claims that the film comes from one of the most beloved children’s books of all time. The second statement is true because the book proves the first statement. Maurice Sendack’s world of wild things is the place that every child who falls asleep in a four-walled bedroom and every adult who falls asleep in a four-walled cubicle hopes to dream about. However, the film attempts to bring the world of the wild things back to a reality that tends to kill the magic more than it ignites it.
The film follows nine-year-old Max (relative newcomer Max Records) as he attempts to make sense of the world around him. His father is gone, his mother is with another man, he’s not allowed to break things or bite people the way he wants to, and, on top of it all, his teacher has just cheerfully informed him that the sun is dying. This seems like the perfect time to run away from home and straight into a group of giant creatures that completely understand the desire to break and bite everything- just try not to eat each other, or break too much.
Visually, the film works. The creatures are slightly goofy looking, but for a children’s movie, it’s both forgivable and lovable. The landscape of the wild things’ homeland is a beautifully peaceful forest and shore that would make anyone want to run away to join the creatures, bad tempers and appetites and all. Records is wonderful as Max, acting very much like a nine-year-old kid when the role calls for angry or adventurous yelling and ranting while maintaining sweet and serious innocence in his quieter moments.
However, the film fails when it tries to go outside of what the book called for. It is nearly impossible to make a decent film based on a twenty-page picture book. Almost anything else would be a preferable medium. Maybe a television series or web comic about Max and the creatures. Maybe some recording artist could create an album with songs about each individual wild thing and dress in Max’s creature suit and golden crown at concerts. Even a short play could work better than a full-length film based on the book. The film feels long when there is no plot, and what little plot there is tends to fall flat.
Why would the audience want to watch a failing love story between two of the creatures? It’s supposed to be a parallel to what Max’s parents have gone through with their divorce, but all it does is remind the audience why they want to escape into the world of the wild things. Sendack’s book took one image and made it last. The film takes the same image and makes it long and pointless.
The film might insight imagination in adults and children, but really, audiences would be better off reading a book or creating a world like this for themselves, alone in their rooms, allowing the trees to grow and the wild things to appear as Max does every time they turn the page. Grade: B-
The film follows nine-year-old Max (relative newcomer Max Records) as he attempts to make sense of the world around him. His father is gone, his mother is with another man, he’s not allowed to break things or bite people the way he wants to, and, on top of it all, his teacher has just cheerfully informed him that the sun is dying. This seems like the perfect time to run away from home and straight into a group of giant creatures that completely understand the desire to break and bite everything- just try not to eat each other, or break too much.
Visually, the film works. The creatures are slightly goofy looking, but for a children’s movie, it’s both forgivable and lovable. The landscape of the wild things’ homeland is a beautifully peaceful forest and shore that would make anyone want to run away to join the creatures, bad tempers and appetites and all. Records is wonderful as Max, acting very much like a nine-year-old kid when the role calls for angry or adventurous yelling and ranting while maintaining sweet and serious innocence in his quieter moments.
However, the film fails when it tries to go outside of what the book called for. It is nearly impossible to make a decent film based on a twenty-page picture book. Almost anything else would be a preferable medium. Maybe a television series or web comic about Max and the creatures. Maybe some recording artist could create an album with songs about each individual wild thing and dress in Max’s creature suit and golden crown at concerts. Even a short play could work better than a full-length film based on the book. The film feels long when there is no plot, and what little plot there is tends to fall flat.
Why would the audience want to watch a failing love story between two of the creatures? It’s supposed to be a parallel to what Max’s parents have gone through with their divorce, but all it does is remind the audience why they want to escape into the world of the wild things. Sendack’s book took one image and made it last. The film takes the same image and makes it long and pointless.
The film might insight imagination in adults and children, but really, audiences would be better off reading a book or creating a world like this for themselves, alone in their rooms, allowing the trees to grow and the wild things to appear as Max does every time they turn the page. Grade: B-
Dan Brown- The Lost Symbol
Monday’s release of Dan Brown’s The Lost Symbol should bring back a few memories. Five years ago, no one could talk about anything other than Dan Brown and The Da Vinci Code. Everyone had a theory; church-goers wept; books and television programs about Leonardo Da Vinci and the Catholic church seemed to be everywhere. Dan Brown became a household name like J. K. Rowling and Stephen King. Then, after the mayhem had worn down, Brown all but disappeared. Between pushing Lost Symbol’s release date back year after year, critics panning Brown’s writing style, and the failure of the Da Vinci Code movie, the world just forgot about Dan Brown and his shocking page-turners.
Until now, that is. Apparently, enough people remembered Dan Brown to send Lost Symbol to the top of Amazon’s bestseller list after the first day it was released. The novel sold one million copies this Monday, prompting the publishers to rush-print six hundred thousand copies in addition to the five million already in stores. Readers jumped on Lost Symbol with nearly a fifteenth of the exuberance given to J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and almost the same rush as Stephenie Meyers’ Breaking Dawn.
However, is it really worth the hype?
Lost Symbol certainly feels like a Dan Brown book. The reader is constantly reminded of protagonist Robert Langdon’s flaws and quirks (claustrophobia, academic skepticism regardless of what he witnesses from book to book, and a Mickey Mouse watch to remind him to stay young). There is yet another female companion/possible love interest (with no mention, of course, of Da Vinci Code’s Sophie or Angels and Demons’ Vittoria). The police (in this case, the CIA) have good intentions but tend to mess things up for Langdon, and there is a mysterious and dangerous villain with a lot of tattoos behind it all.
The book is relatively fast-paced with short chapters and historical, scientific, artistic, and other miscellaneous tidbits that force the reader to decide whether to keep reading or pause and open Google. In Lost Symbol, Dan Brown chooses to step away from the Catholic church and concentrate instead on the Freemasons, but the defensive yet ambiguous portrayal of a secret organization under God and science reads about the same as Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons (and, to some extent, Digital Fortress).
The flaws that ruin Dan Brown’s other books continue to ruin this one. The novel reads like a movie script. The characters aren’t particularly engaging, and it’s hard to really care about any of them (the sole exception being Langdon, and then only from loyal readers’ history with him). The book goes back and forth between fast-paced action sequences and long periods of dialogue and exposition, causing the reader to jump from page to page and then want to put the book down for a while. It’s a fast read, but a tough one to really absorb.
It would be easy to get caught in the mayhem and excitement of the plot and assume it really happened, except that skepticism left over from Da Vinci Code madness and criticism makes it difficult to take the book at face value. More disappointing, however, is the fact that, interesting historical tidbits aside, if you’ve read one Dan Brown book, you’ve read them all. There is no real growth between them, and while many readers (myself included) might be content to read the same book over and over again, this particular book lost its power back in 2005. That is, except for the nostalgia factor. Grade: B-
Until now, that is. Apparently, enough people remembered Dan Brown to send Lost Symbol to the top of Amazon’s bestseller list after the first day it was released. The novel sold one million copies this Monday, prompting the publishers to rush-print six hundred thousand copies in addition to the five million already in stores. Readers jumped on Lost Symbol with nearly a fifteenth of the exuberance given to J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and almost the same rush as Stephenie Meyers’ Breaking Dawn.
However, is it really worth the hype?
Lost Symbol certainly feels like a Dan Brown book. The reader is constantly reminded of protagonist Robert Langdon’s flaws and quirks (claustrophobia, academic skepticism regardless of what he witnesses from book to book, and a Mickey Mouse watch to remind him to stay young). There is yet another female companion/possible love interest (with no mention, of course, of Da Vinci Code’s Sophie or Angels and Demons’ Vittoria). The police (in this case, the CIA) have good intentions but tend to mess things up for Langdon, and there is a mysterious and dangerous villain with a lot of tattoos behind it all.
The book is relatively fast-paced with short chapters and historical, scientific, artistic, and other miscellaneous tidbits that force the reader to decide whether to keep reading or pause and open Google. In Lost Symbol, Dan Brown chooses to step away from the Catholic church and concentrate instead on the Freemasons, but the defensive yet ambiguous portrayal of a secret organization under God and science reads about the same as Da Vinci Code and Angels and Demons (and, to some extent, Digital Fortress).
The flaws that ruin Dan Brown’s other books continue to ruin this one. The novel reads like a movie script. The characters aren’t particularly engaging, and it’s hard to really care about any of them (the sole exception being Langdon, and then only from loyal readers’ history with him). The book goes back and forth between fast-paced action sequences and long periods of dialogue and exposition, causing the reader to jump from page to page and then want to put the book down for a while. It’s a fast read, but a tough one to really absorb.
It would be easy to get caught in the mayhem and excitement of the plot and assume it really happened, except that skepticism left over from Da Vinci Code madness and criticism makes it difficult to take the book at face value. More disappointing, however, is the fact that, interesting historical tidbits aside, if you’ve read one Dan Brown book, you’ve read them all. There is no real growth between them, and while many readers (myself included) might be content to read the same book over and over again, this particular book lost its power back in 2005. That is, except for the nostalgia factor. Grade: B-
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