Merry Christmas! (and Holiday gift memories)

As a movie buff, you’d probably expect me to hit the multiplex on December 25th, but you’d be wrong.  Even my fervent love of cinema has its limits.  I’d prefer to nestle in my home on Christmas day, playing with my toys, talking up a storm with family and friends, playing games, scary ghost stories (OK, that last one is untrue, but I never understood that reference in the song.  Who tells creepy tales on Christmas??)  Label me old-fashioned, but the idea of a showering and travelling outdoors just to see Les Miserables seems like stress, not pleasure–at least after three hours of a gift-giving frenzy.

Of course, in a bit of hypocrisy  I’ve been introduced to some of my favorite films on Christmas Day.  I spend a chunk of the day seeing new films and reacquainting myself with lost treasures.  So, you can understand if I always select gifts that bear the dimension and weight of blurays (formerly DVDs, formerly VHS tapes).  

I love getting movies on Christmas.  And I still carry happy memories of experiencing many features in my PJs, next to rumpled, torn wrapping paper, while my family nurtures their exhausted bodies and minds.  

Christmas 88′

The first and only occasion where our family Christmas was held upstairs in our playroom.  With an eight-foot tall tree, I was in awe to find mountains of presents that Santa managed to smuggle, which included a full sized, riding train set as well as my cherished copy of E.T., with a green cassette.  A lovely film that had me mesmerized.  I still recall reporting each scene to Mom and Dad downstairs.  “E.T’s dead.”  “E.T’s alive!”  “E.T. went home!!”  I’m going to watch it again!!!”  

Christmas 93′

I don’t know how, but I managed to open six cassettes in order: Star Treks 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and finally, 6!  I should check with the folks to determine if they had an order planned.  No matter.  And, once again, in a fitting bit of hypocrisy  I spent most of my Christmas upstairs where I managed to squeeze in 4 1/2 films.  After watching ten minutes, I had a suspicion that  The Final Frontier was going to shit on my holiday cheer.  Also, as a major nerd footnote, when you stack all the cassettes in order, it formed a picture of the Enterprise.  How cool was that?  Anyone?  Any nerds reading?

Christmas 94′

I remembered seeing a commercial in which a man stepped out of the bathroom and proclaimed “Do not…go in there!  Whew!!”  For my feeble teenage brain, it was the funniest few seconds I had ever seen.  The film turned out to be Ace Ventura: Pet Detective.  Not sure why my folks picked this one up, but it introduced me to Jim Carrey and the notion that you can turn your ass-cheeks into a puppet.  Also, I watched The Fugitive for the first time.  Great film!

Christmas 95′

After many years of torture, I finally procured my first “official” copy of The Star Wars Trilogy, which came with warning labels that this was would my last opportunity to experience the original versions.  And that bastard, George Lucas, did not lie.  And I still don’t know what “remastered in THX” actually means.

Christmas 99′

A DVD drive for my computer.  A diversion from my college roommate’s TV monopolization becomes a new obsession.

Christmas 00′

My first DVD player and surround sound system.  A new era begins and well as a lot of irate college roomates.  My first “test” was Terminator 2.  Arnold yells “Get down!” and then his shot gun nearly shakes apart my room.  And it was good…

Christmas 01′

My father and I spend four hours in line at Best Buy during my first venture on Black Friday.  To kill time, I peruse the DVD section, constantly grabbing a few discs here and there which Dad uses as early Christmas gifts.  For this elongated process, I still look at my copies of Dogma, Goonies, and Doctor Zhivago with special fondness.  Thanks again, Dad!

Christmas 02′

My first personal camera.  Our trip to New York included copious hours of recorded bullshit, including our intrepid journey across one New York bridge that almost got my arrested.  Apparently, the police force don’t like video logs.  I got to keep the camera and my freedom.  God Bless, America!

Christmas 07′

My first high definition television.  Another new dawn begins.  Even while the TV sits on the living room floor, I scurry upstairs and return with my Playstation 3, an HDMI cable and my sole blu ray, Blade Runner.  In just two minutes, I finally learned why it was worth the purchase and upgrade.  

Christmas 10′

My first Christmas in my new house with my new wife.  She gets me the blu-ray collection of the Fantasia films.  God, I love her!

Christmas 11′

After a decade of daily use, I finally decided to ask for a new sound receiver that can capitalize on the blu ray sound.  Once again, thanks Dad!  It was hooked up within the next 24 hours.  The chorus of Skyrim filled the room.  Inception’s gun bullets ricocheted about the room like I never expected.  I’m this much closer to replicating the theatrical experience–and have one more reason to stay at home on Christmas…with the people who I love and are kind enough to humor a simple movie nerd.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

Good screening to you, 

Chris

The Newtown Killing and Our Love Of Guns

It just seemed wrong somehow.  Let me explain.  Those who read my blog regularly will notice that I routinely update my title page header.  Each week, I post a picture from a movie.  To satisfy my Christmas spirit and perverted sense of humor, I had planned on including a still of Bruce Willis’s bloody backside with a concealed gun held together by tape which reads “seasons greetings”.  Yes, in light of the season, Die Hard regularly comes to mind.  But then Friday happened.  A gunman claimed the lives of 26 people; 20 of which were just children.  After two-seconds thought, I opted for a different picture.

Whenever a tragedy like this occurs, it seems that everyone pays some tribute to the victims.  The world stops–or at least slows down to collectively mourn.  Hollywood reacted by delaying its newest Tom Cruise action-adventure Jack Reacher.   It’s respectable considering the film’s heavy use of guns.  Yet, the film will see the light of day–very soon, I imagine.  On my own accord, I stopped playing my friend’s early Christmas gift: a first-person shooter for the Playstation 3 game.  I couldn’t find the urge to play it.  It felt wrong somehow.  I also avoid watching Die Hard 2–and not just because it sucks.  

Yet, life will go on.  Hollywood will continue to make films in which guns are used feverishly by our heroes and villains and I will be there to watch–at least the good ones.  It is bizarre that we temporarily distill our entertainment out of respect for these tragedies, which should never occur, but to happen as often as they have is outrageous.

It’s time that this short-term mourning period makes ways for some long-term change.  My hope is this tragedy will propel new rules that regulate guns, which will at least create the illusion that we’re safe.  Obviously, we cannot expect to thwart such heinous actions without going further, which we can’t or won’t, because we still don’t fully understand the problem.

It seems that blame is not being placed on the media this time–at least not to the same degree as Columbine.    So guns will continue to permeate our multiplexes.  We will see violent actions occur on screen–delivered at a greater magnitude and ferocity than ever before–and will be completely numb to it.

For one, movie gun battles have become very dull.  There is always an exchange of bullets in which they bounce, rattle, and ricochet inches around the hero.  It’s a never-ending cliche; a reminder that heavily-trained professionals can’t aim worth a shit.

Although movies have progressed to the point of making gun wounds look purely awful, I still see way too many flesh wounds (How often do people get scratched?), too many dodged bullets, too many quick deaths without repercussions.  The deceased always disappear instantly from our view before we can ingest the horrors.  Indiana Jones, James Bond and, of course, John McLaine are all guilty of shooting first, asking questions later, and not stopping to take in the horrors of the dozens they’ve killed.  Instead, it all looks quite fun, doesn’t it?  That’s because the films are an escape.  But there continues to be a lingering questions as to whether these movies have desensitized us to the horrors of real violence.  Perhaps that is true.

If Hollywood has any act to play in the new-found desire to dispel violence, then it should start by reigniting a sense of gravity to it.  Despite our love of new mediums like the Internet and electronic games, I truly believe cinema has the power to change hearts and minds.  I honestly believe we can still tell a story that has the power to sway our obsession with violence and guns.

Almost 100 years ago, one of the most significant films was made, 1903’s The Great Train Robbery.  The most iconic moment is when the gang leader, Justus D. Barnes, takes aim and fires his pistol directly at the camera–as if he were shooting at the audience.  When spectators first saw this footage, they flinched; some even ducked for cover. 

Modern films rarely have this level of impact.  Perhaps one of the most effective recent movies remains Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan.  But even that film has its share of people (myself included) who look upon that Normandy sequence purely as an ideal demo for our theatrical systems rather than ingesting in the horrors that occur within in the confines of our plasma screens. Even during such unspeakable horrors, we’ve developed a thick skin.

So, guns have become ingrained into our conscious as items of fun and adventure.  I wonder how many folks truly believe they can tow a minigun as easily as Jesse Ventura in Predator. 

This, of course, is under the presumption that this murderer was influenced at all by our media.  Even so, there is only so much we can do, but delaying Jack Preacher seems like a feeble knee-jerk reaction.  The sad fact is: guns continue to be promoted in every conceivable medium.  Bullets used to kill merit PG and PG-13 ratings, whereas the use of the word “fuck” or the physical action of the word receive a R rating.

During the Aurora shootings, I posted a response in which I asked Warner Bros. to donate 1% of their Dark Knight grosses to the victims’ families.  Eventually, they did provide some financial aid, for which they deserve full credit. But Hollywood–and Congress AND the media–can do more.  What television and cinema (and newer methods like the internet) possess is a surreal power of influence.

But, inevitably, the real level of control resides in our parents.

Without reaching drastic conclusions, the trend appears to be killings by young adult men who are mentally unstable or simply feel lost.  They take refuge through unhealthy measures.  I’ve witnessed too many ignorant matriarchs in Best Buy and Gamestop ignoring the warning signs and purchasing media with heavy doses of violence for their children.  They seem absent, willing to place their kids in front of the TV to serve as a distraction rather than a learning tool.

This absence can be danger for troubles youths. During my youth, I was prey to heavy harassment by my peers.  After much abuse, there were hateful, even violent thoughts that entered my mind.  But I never acted upon them because, for lack of better words, I was of sound mind.  I also had a safety net–namely my parents–who nurtured me through the hard times and violent influences inherit in my entertainment.

This leaves the parents as the sole deciders.  Despite all of the frantic parents who argue that they have no control over their children after they reach a certain age, I, who have no children of my own but was once a 14-year-old boy, that these excuses are bullshit! 

At this stage, we’re taking about the lives of 20 children lost.  President Obama promises that change is on the way.  I hope this will be the final straw.  Hollywood will remain just as it always has and that’s a shame.  But now might be the time for parents to rethink about how they want their children to spend their time in the multiplex–and what they want to talk about on their return trip home.

On a positive note, I did notice that one of my earlier posts has received a boost in readership over the past week, although I wish it was under better circumstances.  It may also be a complete coincidence in which I have no case to boast.  But during the Aurora tragedy, I decided to list Elephant as my “Great Movie” for the month.  It represents the kind of film-making that has the power to dissuade folks from violence.  I can only hope someone out there that heeds my suggestion, sits down and learns from it.  It’s time for all of us to take action.  Whatever it takes…

When pretty boys go legit (Part Two)

Continued from Part One…

My Top Ten

Ben Affleck–Who knew that the star of Gigli and Michael Bay stinkers like Armageddon and Pearl Harbor was actually chompin’ at the bit to tell his own stories?  Yet the Oscar-winning screen-writer of Good Will Hunting finally rekindled his talents penning two films and directing three, with his latest, Argo, becoming a sure-fire Oscar contender and cementing him as a true auteur.  At 40, Affleck is just one more film away from wiping the slate clean of Jersey Girl, Surviving Christmas, Daredevil, Bounce and Forces of Nature.  It reminds me of his cameo from Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, where Affleck posited his Hollywood pact: Do one commercial and one artsy film.  Somehow, his Argo became successful at both.  And he also can deliver a strong performance, as he finally proved in 2006’s Hollywoodland. 

Warren Beatty–We may never learn if the rumor was true in which Beatty kissed the shoes of Jack Warner in order to get Bonnie and Clyde greenlit. But we do know that in 1967 heartthrobs like Beatty were NOT producers.  Yet, Beatty broke the mold and became a protagonist for some interesting, even daring films, including his directorial outing with 1981’s Reds.  The gamble lead to moderate returns, which is still striking for a three hour epic about the famed Communist journalist, John Reed.  Beatty walked away with an Oscar for his directorial troubles.  Beatty wouldn’t direct another film until 1990’s Dick Tracy.  During that lapse, Beatty remained selective in his starring roles, which lead to some turkeys like the colossal disasters Ishtar and Town and Country.  But Beatty’s work in the 1970s opened doors to many idols; forever tearing down the barriers that prohibited leads from being pioneers behind the camera.

Robert Redford–Not to be outdone, Redford, like Beatty, would win his only Oscar for directing (only a year earlier for 1980’s Ordinary People). Perhaps his biggest artistic mark remains the Sundance Film Festival (ironically named after the Hollywood mega-blockbuster that carried Redford into a household name).  The festival celebrates 30 years of continuing to promote small, independent film-making, even if its lost some of its luster and purity.  Redford remains steadfast in his resolve for story-telling, continuing to bounce between the Hollywood safe zones (Spy Game, The Last Castle) and chasing more daring fares (Lions for Lambs, Quiz Show).

It was 1997.  Mystery Science Theater 3000 ran a half hour special that reviewed snippets of current summer blockbusters.  The main course was a lovely bit of comical berating on Batman and Robin which included with a fight between love-hungry Pearl Forrester (ahem…I mean Mrs. George Clooney) and Tom Servo, who saw the ER star as a “wooden, talentless hack”.  Who could disagree?  Now, Clooney, who would the first to bemoan his Batman fiasco, has taken his capital from a trio of Daniel Oceans and one Perfect Storm and sealed an unsigned contract which has allowed him to tackle risky endeavors like The Good German, Solaris and Syrianna.  The latter won him an acting award at the Oscars.  Clooney also has taken to directorial duties, including the now-dufunct WB Independent-produced Good Night and Good Luck and the recent Ides of March.  I’m not convinced that Clooney has the chops to be a true original, but his acting continues to move beyond the confident, aw-shucks persona that made him a star.  If you don’t believe me, try to find it within the confines of his sad, middle-age lawyer in The Descendants.  You won’t find it.

Brad Pitt–It was inevitable a man born of perfection would gain the attention of ladies and their jealous mates.  But it’s hard to hate Pitt in 1995 after steam-rolling over Hollywood with fine work in David Fincher’s Se7en and an Oscar-nominated demented turn in Terry Gilliam’s Twelve Monkeys. Since then, Pitt has toggled between the safe and the daring, but has recently migrated into films outside his normal jurisdiction including Inglorious Basterds, Tree of Life and Moneyball.  Pitt continues to thrive in leading parts even as he nears the startling age of 50.  Yet, the women swoon, Pitt continues to make box office residuals while flexing his acting chops.  He also possesses the rare gift to make us chuckle and grimace simultaneously (as displayed in Fight Club).  A far cry from Gena Davis’s cowboy seducer from 20 years earlier.

Leonardo DiCaprio–Oh Leo.  Leo, Leo, Leo.  This may be the hardest for me.  After 1997’s Titanic, I was quick to chastise every teenage girl who would listen. Now, I see the light at the end of the Atlantic Ocean.  When Rose let Leo plummet to the depths of the sea (Jack sure sunk like a stone, didn’t he?), Leo became a star with a blank check.  But DiCaprio aligned himself with the likes of Christopher Nolan, Steven Spielberg and even demoted DeNiro from Martin Scorsese’s speed-dial.  Leo’s pairing with Marty has allowed him to showcase a new layer with his Howard Hughes in The Aviator.  Now Leo has shed the pretty boy status to become a tough-guy who could easily fit the roles once held by Bogart and Cagney.  Quite a feat for a boy who ruled every junior high cheerleader’s bedroom walls a decade earlier.  I now ask forgiveness for all the “DiCraprio” puns.

“Paul Newman is a handsome boy, but quite stiff, to my disappointment,” said Fred Zinneman.  Lee Strasberg said that Newman could have been as great as Brando, but depended on his good looks to coast through Hollywood.  They may have been right.  Newman never donned make-up to veil his perfect features.  But Newman was a true showman, allowing layers of complex characters to bleed through those baby blues.  His whirlwind of talents was never so evident as in The Hustler, where Newman’s good looks never interfered with the torment lurking within the confines of a seemingly perfect exterior.  In middle-age, Newman donned the gray hairs like a bottle of wine, but continued making an impact.  In total, Newman garnered ten Oscar nominations that stretched from youth up to his twilight years, where he embodied the roles of father and grandfather seamlessly.  Yes, Newman made his share of garbage   Yes, he chased money (Towering Inferno, When Time Ran Out…).  But Newman capitalized on each for the better good; ingraining his imagery on numerous food products that made almost a billion dollars for charitable organizations.  As an artist, Newman directed and starred in dozen of films that he could only have earned from a life of great talent–not looks.

Heath Ledger–I imagine if Heath were alive, he would have shyly–even nervously–accepted his Oscar for his startling transformation into the nefarious Joker from The Dark Knight and disappeared behind the curtain, only to emerge in another role which further disguised Heath’s poster-child posterior.  Watching Heath in earlier works like Knights Tale and The Patriot, you could easily assume that he was a few knocks away from daytime soap operas. But, in reality, Heath was merely biding his time, finding the confidence (and clout) to take risks that included deep tent humping with Jake Gyllenhaal and scaring the shit out of Jake’s sister in Dark Knight.  Comparing these two roles is like mixing oil and vinegar.  Even enthusiasts over Ledger’s casting in the Batman sequel could not have guessed the level of impact his villainy would have in filmdom.  Like James Dean, there was a great actor who shed a pretty boy image and left an indelible impact in just a short span.

John Cassavettes–It’s evident that John was never ever going to chase beach girls in the 1960s free-love climate.  His interest was in method acting and creating films about subjects that were off-limits, including marital infidelities, racial injustice, alcoholism, abuse, mental breakdowns, you name it.  Cassavettes maintained Hollywood interests only to raise money for his pet projects.  He was a talented actor, but today he’s known for his contribution in other avenues.  As a result, he became one of the pioneers of the independent circuit.  His films remain timeless with their rawness, their realism, their uncompromising vision.  Despite being a dead-ringer for Martin Landau, Cassavettes will only ring a bell to younger crowds, who may know his son as the director of the seemingly conventional tear-jerker, The Notebook.  Which leads me to…

Ryan Gosling–If I had a man-crush, it would be for this man.  It was earned when I first saw Drive and learned of the Gosling’s infinite power to tear up the screen with nary a word.  His unflinching stares said paragraphs of dialog.  That same year, Gosling paired with Clooney in a lesser film, The Ides of March, which was still a commendable performance in a very different light.  In fact, Gosling could easily have received an award for either and I would have been okay with it.  Instead, Gosling, who is only eight days my junior (fucker!),  juggles between every genre you can imagine.  Since oohing Nicholas Sparks’ fans in The Notebook, Gosling has become a funny, dweeb infatuated with a sex doll (you read that correctly), will shoot up gangsta-style in next year’s star-spangled Gangster Squad and is sequestered behind a series of locked doors on the next Terrance Malick project.  Something tells me I will like it a lot more than the millions of female Notebook fans.  Something tells me a Oscar is already being printed for him. 

When pretty boys go legit (Part One)

There are moments when I feel like Antonio Salieri in Amadeus.  I sit on the couch, feeling confident, strong, attractive, talented.  Then I skim the television channels and find Channing Tatum, modestly acknowledging his newly-appointed title as “the sexiest man alive.”  Sonofabitch!   If the title were given last year, I would feel utter contempt for such a hack.  But the man made me laugh and smile this year.  He also happens to make the ladies quiver with one shift of an ab muscle or an upper lip.  

I think back to Mel Brooks, who once said that we don’t go to the movies to see reality.  We go to see beautiful people do extraordinary things.  This is true for both genders–more so probably for us men, who still cannot stomach a romantic lead under the age of 32 or above the size of 3.  It’s been the trend since “moving pictures” came into existance (there was lurid, nudie pictures before the 20th century).

There is the female equivalency to Baywatch in the shape of sulking, sparkly vampires and shirtless werewolves that transform without the dependency of moonlight.  (These films would not be as popular if Jacob had a beer gut and ten extra years.) 

Yet, I grow less eager to besmirch the talents of any of these cats, even if I has yet to witness a single interesting performance to come out of Robert Patinson’s vomitous expressions.   Patinson earns some level of respect by chasing the indie circuit–even partnering with directing legends like David Cronenberg and Verner Herzog.  Do these auteurs see a hidden greatness–or a simple box office potential?

In 1997, the girls went apeshit crazy gaga for Leo, Matt and Ben.  There were arguments, somewhat legitimate ones, that each was a one-note wonder, whose talents were inequitable to their cheekbone placement.  Then Leo made The Aviator, Matt made The Bournes and Ben stopped trying in front of the camera and impressed from behind it. 

This year Channing Tatum has joined the ranks of hunks and became, in some ways, a full-fledged thespian.  He’s no Brando or Newman, but there’s more to him than just looks.  It’s easy to hate those born with such luck: looks graced by God and talent to match it.  Trifle jealously would make me hate Channing Tatum, the damn hunk who can make me laugh in 21 Jump Street and smile in Magic Mike, while making the female side smile even brighter to the point where drool trickling. 

It speaks volumes that the pretty boys sometimes receive a heavy backlash.  I’ve been wrong before, more times than I care to share.  Ten years ago, if someone told me that James Franco–the stiff dude from Spiderman–would become a headliner, even an Oscar nominee, I would laugh in their face.  (If they mentioned he would be the worst Oscar host ever, I would believe it.)

There’s obviously a huge number of hot actors and actresses who already dreamed of delving into acting.  Most of the folks either never achieve the dream or get a shot and fail faster than Heidi Klum (a failed actress) could declare them “out”. 

In part 2, I highlight the pretty boys that went legit, took risks, and capitalized on the heartthrob status to make the Hollywood multiplexes a better place.