The Picture Show

An element of the small and big screens that I find unappealing is the incessant hype that is produced by production companies for their products. It builds to a crescendo within the consumer realm to the point where I automatically put up a defensive wall to it all. You’ve all seen it before – the endless commercials, newspaper articles, and perhaps even merchandise – and it’s a shadowy beast with evil yellow eyes. Like Medusa, it’s best not peered upon directly. The Sopranos and 300 benefited from the marketing beast.

Frank Miller, who I think is a very talented filmmaker, perhaps in the top five contemporary filmmakers, recently put together the film 300. Forgoing Three Hundred as a title, this simply titled film depicts the defense of Sparta, back in the day, by only 300 Spartans. Defense from what? A whole lot of Persians… by a lot, I mean hundreds of thousands, apparently. The title, 300, is simple because the film, itself, was made for the simple.

Gay men, rejoice!

The film had some really poor plot points with overly predictable outcomes. Before I continue, let me say that I can’t stand popular action films. Why? At risk of being called arrogant, I’m just too smart. When a hero, who is living in the real world, drives a taxi cab into a toll booth to launch it at a helicopter, I feel insulted. And I end up developing an unhealthy disdain for the film. When a feeble character is denied glory by a stronger character, of course the feeble character is going to turn on the stronger character. There’s no thought involved, and that’s where 300 fails miserably.

When this film was released in the theaters, all the macho males went ballistic. “It kicked so much ass!” “It’s awesome!” “SPARTA!!!!” In light of the homoerotic cries of joy from other men, I quietly awaited its release on DVD, and was grateful for the Blu-Ray disc that appeared in my mailbox thanks to Netflix. My opinion belated. The movie wasn’t what others claimed – it wasn’t that good.

Gratuitous violence and blood, which bored me. Gratuitous female nudity, which I enjoyed. Gratuitous male nudity, which wasn’t enough to get my girlfriend to watch.

The music, in most cases was annoyingly anachronistic and the overall story inconsistent with history.

What concerned me was the potential for the anti-Muslim community to use this film as inspiration. You know there are people who saw this film and said: “HELL YEAH! See?! We can beat those people! Hoorah!”

With a poorly developed story and even worse dialog, the film has some positive aspects. The most apparent being the visuals: this is one of the most beautiful films I’ve seen in a long time. The images, thanks to a lengthy development, are worthy of most art galleries. Miller did an amazing job capturing moments of beauty and death though the camera. Here are three examples:


In American cinema, there’s no other film that looks like 300. For that reason, you should watch it, but only if you have an HDTV and a Blu-Ray player. It’s an astounding looking film. It’s the super model of films – looks amazing… that’s all.

Overall: 6/10

The Sopranos recently presented me with another reminder that time passes by quickly. This popular HBO series which follows the life of fictional New Jersey crime-boss, Tony Soprano, originally aired in 1999. It recently completed it’s final season, being its sixth. Up to about a month ago, I watched only 10 minutes of The Sopranos, due to my aversion to the hype monster. Water cooler discussions and even Howard Stern mentions weren’t enough to get me interested. But that changed…

I’m three episodes into the fifth season now and very happy to say that the series lives up to the hype. With a handful of episodes being throwaways, the series is very strong, held together by good writing and even better acting. The latter being the most impressive recently, to the point where I’d like to declare the Season 4 finale to represent the best acting I have ever seen on television.

Collection of fine acting.

Edie Falco’s performance, in particular, I found very moving. At this point in her character’s development, she’s at the end of her wit with her husband (Tony) and his absence in their marriage. James Gandolfini’s (Tony) performance was just a tier below Falco’s, both winning an Emmy for their work. This episode is the best in the series and the best I’ve ever seen on T.V. By the end, I was so worn out by the episode, I had to go to bed.

Finally, a dramatic series that knows how to use music… just watch "Mr. Ruggerio's Neighborhood,” which is the first episode of season three.

I’m very pleased with my discovery of the Sopranos and even more content with the fact that the series, thus far, lives up to the hype. David Chase, in spite of all the drama surrounding his choice of how to end the series, does a wonderful job of bringing these dysfunctional characters to life. He doesn’t try to recycle The Godfather or Goodfellas, but provides a fresh look at an American legacy of mobster stories. I know I will be saddened to see it end in 26 episodes…

If you haven’t watched The Sopranos, do yourself a favor and rent the first season from Blockbuster or Netflix. Go in with no expectations and you will find yourself in awe of excellent writing and even better dramatic performance.

David Chase should be writing the movie right now.

It's A Quiet Day Out In The Grass...

...just chillin' on my elephant.

Back in September, 2002.

We were sold a bill of goods.

I didn't buy them.

I wish we all refused the sale.

"...like 12, 13 dimes... like 2, 3 assists..."

It's one thing to not care about an interview with the local affiliate, it's another thing to smoke three spliffs and drink a bottle of Alize' beforehand.

He’s not my King

Back on August 16th, 1977 I was six months old and in Maine, I believe. My parents will have to clarify this, but that’s my recollection. Of course, I was too busy filling up my diapers and figuring out how my immediate surrounds worked to understand that a music icon had died, fat, on a toilet, thanks to an overdose. It could be possible, we both, were filling up each other’s diapers at the same time, but I can’t present evidence to support this claim. The fat man was none other than Elvis Presley.

Not fat. Or phat.

Elvis doesn’t need an introduction because he’s known throughout the world. He was a trailblazer when it came to rock and roll, cutting through music’s dense foliage to bring a “new” genre to the mainstream. I used quotation marks with the word new, because his music wasn’t new. Black performers had been singing those songs years before Elvis had come around. Their skin was their sin in a time of unadulterated racism in the United States. Elvis brought their work to light and did so with tremendous flare.

You can’t argue with his success. His sound wasn’t his, but his showmanship certainly was. A true music phenomenon and revered by millions. But I think, 90% of that reverence is superficial hype. Elvis wasn’t that good. He wasn’t that talented. And he isn’t the King of Rock and Roll. I will explain why.

Elvis was a good looking man, before deep fried Twinkies and pain killers caught up with him. Women loved him. In our shallow society, aesthetics often outweigh quality of character and action. Because Elvis was so handsome, it gave women the ability to overlook Elvis’ lack of musical talent.

Elvis had a decent voice.

Okay, now fat. Still not phat.

But, Elvis didn’t write his own music. That’s a mortal sin in the world of rock and roll. Singing, for singing’s sake is not enough and it surely doesn’t warrant a title of King. If you spend time listening to music and studying the English language, you’re going to find some very impressive song writers, such as John Lennon or Bob Dylan. There’s where the gold can be found. Elvis doesn’t stack up.

Another issue I have with Elvis is the fact he essentially wore a guitar, as opposed to play a guitar. He started the sickening trend of singers wearing guitars for the look. Bruce Springsteen does the same thing. It’s an insult to real guitarists out there, it truly is. It’s like some fat ass wearing a Michael Jordan jersey.

“Do you play basketball?”

“No.”

“Take the jersey off.”

Aside from not writing his own music and pretending to play the guitar, Elvis committed the ultimate infraction – he went pop. Elvis only performed rock music for two years, then he jumped record labels to make music that would sell records. It’s wasn’t rock and roll. It was bubble gum. Rock and roll is not bubble gum. It’s whiskey.

I will give him one thing – he died like a rock and roller… on drugs. And he was very weird… very weird. He had carpet installed on the ceilings of his house; he shot his television; he dated a 14-year-old girl when he was twice her age; and he rubbed his mom’s back fat.

How can someone who didn’t write his own music, didn’t play the instrument he carried around very well, and made pop music be the King of Rock and Roll?

Superman II's Ending - Remixed

Depending on how closely you pay attention to film and comic books and other stuff that will secure your virginity as an adolescent, you may not know about the various re-edits that Superman II has received. There's an official rerelease of the film known as "Richard Donner Cut" where some guy named Richard Donner reworked the film.

I'm not a huge Superman fan, nor do I pay attention to comic books or their movies. And, I have no idea who the hell Richard Donner is. I may not care, but I had to write this so that my latest blog entry isn't just a video clip and nothing else. Only blog-hacks do that sort of thing.

So here is someone's attempt at recutting the ending of Superman II... where Lois Lane figures out who Superman really is... or who Clark Kent really is... or who Dick Cheney wishes he was, but never will be... I don't know.

Dead girlfriends tell no tales… Dead girlfriends tell no tales… Dead girlfriends tell no tales… Dead girlfriends tell no tales… Dead girlfriends tell no tales… Dead girlfriends tell no tales…Dead girlfriends tell no tales… Dead girlfriends tell no tales…

Let this be a lesson to you ladies. If you find out your man is a superhero, do not immediately go flying around with them. You may wind up doing a belly flop right into a dirt nap in Manhattan.

Karl Rove is Taking a Powder

Who is he?

Karl Christian Rove (born December 25, 1950) is Deputy Chief of Staff to President George W. Bush until the end of August 2007. He has headed the Office of Political Affairs, the Office of Public Liaison, and the White House Office of Strategic Initiatives. For most of his career prior to his employment at the White House, Rove was a political consultant almost exclusively for Republican candidates.

...and he managed to make politics even dirtier than it is. Imagine being able to make feces even more malodorous; talk about a marketable skill. He's gone now... and his stench will remain.

Here he is "dancing" and "rapping" at the The Radio and Television Correspondents Association dinner.



I find the lyrics interesing -

That's right.
He can't be beat.
Because he's so white
from his head to his feet.

I suppose I can be beat because I'm only half white, from my head to my belt line. The lower half of me is black... FYI.

David Letterman weighs in:

Axiomatic

Rock journalism is people who can't write interviewing people who can't talk for people who can't read.

-Frank Zappa

Shark Attacks

This entry is going to focus on a favorite of mine - I'm a big basketball fan and I have been for quite some time (17 years for trivia's sake - you never know when someone is going to propose: "I bet you don't know how many years Adrian Segura has loved basketball!" You could win money.) and have had favorite players. The very first being Dominique Wilkins and his team, at the time, was my favorite: The Atlanta Hawks. After Pete Babcock, in his infinite ignorance, traded 'Nique to the Clippers for Danny "I don't have knees anymore" Manning, my love for a particular team faded like Manning's career.

I remember being mere feet away from Dominique Wilkins, looking for an autograph, and being heartbroken when he walked right by with the rest of his Hawk teammates at the Sports Arena.

If 'Nique is reading this, I ain't mad.

Dominique Wilkins still ranks very high on my list of favorite players - in fact I think he was the best small forward in the history of the game. He was that good - the NBA didn't know any better. Yes, I think he's better than Larry Bird... get over it.

When 'Nique retired many years ago, I wasn't interested in a player that I could follow as a fan. I did have a great respect for Mookie Blaylock's game; I spent months mastering his underhanded scoop passing and defensive stances as a high schooler. But I couldn't find a player that would inspire feelings of awe, in me, like 'Nique. The guy was a monster.

The NBA was boring...

But then enter a kid who grew up and played a mere 10 miles from my home town... enter Gilbert Arenas. His talent on the court is stellar - he's the headliner on the Washington Wizards - a deadly player, perhaps the fastest in the NBA. But beyond his on-court abilities, what I admire is his off-court persona. He's gives away jerseys and shoes that he, himself, buys... to give away. Areanas holds himself as the "People's Champ," and it fits.

So I was reviewing Arenas' blog to read something very amusing:

There Are No Such Thing as Shark Attacks

I know this is random, but I just want to clear this up for people out there.

There are these things called shark attacks, but there is no such thing as a shark attack. I have never seen a real shark attack. I know you’re making a weird face as you’re reading this.

OK people, a shark attack is not what we see on TV and what people portray it as.

We’re humans. We live on land.

Sharks live in water.

So if you’re swimming in the water and a shark bites you, that’s called trespassing. That is called trespassing. That is not a shark attack.

A shark attack is if you’re chilling at home, sitting on your couch, and a shark comes
in and bites you; now that’s a shark attack. Now, if you’re chilling in the water, that is called invasion of space.

So I have never heard of a shark attack.

When I see on the news where it’s like, “There have been 10 shark attacks,” I’m like, “Hey, for real?! They’re just running around? Sharks are walking now, huh! We live on the land, we don’t live underwater.”

What's in a Name?

It appears I paid some dues as my nameplate found my office...