The Screening Process: Recent Thoughts About Television and Film, part 2 -- The Silver Screen

A few nagging tidbits about television and film have plagued my thoughts lately, so I've decided to purge them here for your enjoyment!

* When I see commercials for films obviously intended "for your consideration," or that boast an inherent artsy quality meant for a higher class of storytelling, I usually ignore my secret desire for great plots and dynamic characters and immediately dub the thing a piece of movie-making masturbation. Something was different about Gran Torino. Clint Eastwood's recent films have been remarkably award-worthy, and thus too hoity toity according to my narrow-minded view of cinema, but the way ol' Dirty Harry wore his age on his sleeve . . . in contrast to the inevitable blockbuster about an old Brad Pitt getting younger, I felt I had to see it. I saved the treat for my birthday in December and, yes, it was a gift in storytelling I couldn't have anticipated. As the common movie-goer that anticipates his next comic book adaptation like the old English waited for Shakespeare's next play, I felt I finally had an Oscar contender I could cheer.

Then, bupkis. Not a single Academy Award nomination.

I'll put this as plainly as I can: no other movie I have ever seen has so effortlessly blended themes about death and dying, family, religion, racism, urban development, and gang violence in such a convicted yet non-preachy, entertainingly compelling way. The film is as relevant as they come, and in equal parts as funny and tragic. That Hollywood has preferred an epic piece of self-aggrandizing trite like Benjamin Button is a truly curious case, and in effect proves why I've hardly ever seen the flicks that ultimately win best picture. I wonder, did Hollywood look at Clint Eastwood's character in Gran Torino, an aging anti-hero afraid of the change happening in his own backyard, and see its own reflection? In horror, did it quickly embrace the aging man-child, shrouded in a science fiction premise oozing with its own pastel melodrama, only to dub it a more preferred biography? The question is its own answer.

Academy Awards . . . Four words for you. Get. Off. My. Lawn.

* My girlfriend and I saw a sneak preview of Crique du Freak last weekend, a film slated for October release and inspired by a novel with the same name, the first in a young adult series about vampires. As you can see from the book's Wikipedia entry, which is admittedly the most I know of the whole thing, the author and the series' hero share the same name. In a book series about becoming a vampire. Yeah.

I've been to a few movie sneak previews before; I got to see Get Smart a month before its release, and The Mummy 3, which I'm less proud of. As a white twenty-something male, I'm often asked to stick around and participate in a focus group about the film, which definitely changes the way you watch a flick, especially if you're a critical geek always ready to find something wrong with the world like me. Sometimes I wonder if I'm more than what the group leaders asked for, because I always have too much opinion in contrast to the amount of time they give each participant. So, my blog gets the run-off. That is what they're for, right?

In short, Cirque du Freak, as a single film but also the beginning of an inevitable series now that Harry Potter is nearing its end, is definitely a 'tween Twilight primer (though Twilight kind of serves as a 'tween Twilight primer, too) that, indicative of its intended adolescent audience, suffers from an identity crisis. On one hand, you'd think that the title (and I reckon the marketing for this film, which will probably boast an ensemble cast) would imply that the film is about a group of circus freaks. Well, the real story is about two factions of vampires that differ on the whole killing-their-victims issue . . . and while my inner summarist would love to wrap it all up with, "A bunch of circus freaks get caught in the middle of a vampire war," even that doesn't cut it. The circus is basically just a title and a fleeting thought in the film, the background to contrast how cool the two leads really are.

Make no mistake: this is a shame when awesome comedians like Orlando Jones and Kristen Schaal fill these roles and are essentially wasted, to say nothing of fanboy favorite Ken Watanabe and recent Punisher Ray Stevenson. Their time on-screen pales to the two leads, two relative unknowns (at least to me) now destined for super stardom by way of today's young audience and their love of vampires and Superbad-esque underdogs.

Which brings me to the ultimate problem: Cirque du Freak is obviously intended for 13-16 year-olds, and I wonder how many of them can even pronounce that title. That's a minor gripe compared to the film's rollercoaster pace and context. While most of the freaks suffer from seemingly natural anomalies, the few that don't are mere special effects fodder, like "Regenerative Girl," who offers her body parts to our half-vampire hero since she can painlessly grow them back. Mr. Tiny, the antagonist and catalyst for everything, has the power to stop time, an ability he demonstrates as an eleventh hour wild card, and which comes with no explanation. You're talking to a comic book geek that can stretch his imagination with the best of them, but . . . what? Is he the personification of destiny? One in an ancient race of time controllers? An alien with connections to the sun? Throw me a bone here.

Finally, the "bad kid," one half of the best friend duo that ends up becoming mortal enemies, drops the "s" word inside of the film's first 20 minutes. I'm no advocate for censorship, but I know PG-13 movies are only allocated a few "s" words, and in the film's first act when sympathy for the characters is critical, I thought the use was wasted in both regards. I shared this with my focus group, and the moderator asked, "Any parents here have a problem with that?" Of course, none of them did. This drives me nuts, but I'll avoid the soap box only to say: Parents deal with their kids everyday, granted, but I deal 120 kids daily, under twelve-years-old to boot, and I feel compelled to speak on their behalf from time to time. If you're going to market to them, model good storytelling and appropriate swearing. Drop the "s" bomb when a character stubs their toe an hour deep, not when the bad guy makes an introductory quip. Besides, we already know he's bad because he's wearing a black T-shirt!

Did I start this review with "in short?" Well, scratch that. Bottom line: Avoid Cirque du Freak. It'll make you feel like a freak if you're into good stories.

* Something that needs to die in modern film-making, for both the big and little screens: Narration. I hate Desperate Housewives and Grey's Anatomy, but I'd tolerate them if they weren't driven by condescending narration. Now, the women that love these shows don't think that this narration, which usually only afflicts the very beginning and very end of each episode, is condescending, because it provides emotional insight, but that's the problem: narration allows for little to no intuitive viewing. The formula becomes, "The actors show you how they feel. Now, the narrator tells you how they feel, in case you couldn't figure it out. Also, here's the theme or moral of the episode, too, in case you couldn't hear that over your bon-bon chewing, you oppressed soccer mom, you." In short, narration implies that the viewer is too stupid to jump to any conclusions, or, worse, that she might jump to an unintended conclusion, and in the case of these two shows, it sugar-coats the device with a snide, self-righteous, presumably empowering tone. All while taking the viewer's power away.

Television dramas for women aren't the only problem; I'll just as quickly point the finger toward my beloved superhero movies, too. Spider-man is the godfather of angst-ridden narration, from the first minute Stan Lee birthed the troubled teen turned wall crawler to the last film. Tobey Maguire's perpetually-trapped-in-puberty whine was more of a soundtrack than the soundtrack, and for all three movies only said one thing: "Can you tell I'm suffering? I'm Spider-man, and it isn't easy. I'm suffering." Frank Miller's recent The Spirit had an opposite, yet the same, effect. "I'm a tough guy. Did I tell you I'm a tough guy?" Strip that flick of Miller's out-loud pulp love, best left to the page anyway, and the film goes up half a star, guaranteed. More so, replace the spans of consumed by narration with action or story . . .

Oh, what do I know? I'm just the consumer -- by no means the consummate artists responsible for Hollywood blockbusters like Paul Blart, Mall Cop. Incidentally, did you know that Gran Torino is still in the top five at the box office? You deserve it for that one, Clint. You can't buy a nice new car with a statue anyway.

The Screening Process: Recent Thoughts About Television and Film, part 1 -- The Boob Tube

A few nagging tidbits about television and film have plagued my thoughts lately, so I've decided to purge them here for your enjoyment!

* While I was as compelled by the last season of American Idol as the squeaky teeny-bopper, I'm half-watching this season -- literally, since it airs on the Wednesdays I usually participate in a local poetry open mic. Even if I did reserve Hump Day for the latest round of Idol antics, a moment from season eight's premiere may have turned me off to the hunt for America's next diva altogether. Rocker Randy Madden betrayed his sensitive side when he cried for the camera, and after his ambitious performance of Bon Jovi's "Livin' on a Prayer," the judges said that Randy hadn't learned any of the industry's hard lessons, that he wasn't qualified based on a lack of experience and presumably its subsequent disappointments. In the same segment, they let a sixteen-year-old girl through to Hollywood, based on, gasp, her singing voice. The judges sugar-coating their critique with claims that life lessons are necessary for stardom when in the same fifteen minutes they open the door for a middle class teenager with nothing to lose . . . is hypocritical. It cheapens the show, even these first few episodes apparently dedicated to superficial value judgements based on a virtual freak show of wanna-be singers. Randy wasn't "make it to Hollywood" material, but at least guys like him know what they want. Me, I don't know how much entertainment I can derive from watching them fail anymore, especially in the face of judges that don't even know why they're there.

* Prison Break has been cancelled, probably for its own good. I've read the episodes that have been filmed will air in April, but the series finale hasn't been shot yet and maybe never will be. As a fan of the show, of course I'm anxious to see how these four seasons reach their end, and while such an action-packed show would undoubtedly demand a significant budget for a finale, I don't see why Fox wouldn't deem it worthy. First of all, a concise conclusion makes for a great complete Prison Break boxed set; second, a few more episodes might cement syndication sales. I mean, who would watch the reruns knowing that it all just leaves you hanging? Finally, since the show has always been an allegory for overcoming others' perspectives (the whole reason Lincoln was successfully framed and convicted for killing the Vice President's brother was because of his lifestyle as a thug, plain and simple), a series finale makes symbolic sense. We viewers have been chasing after the show's dangling threads for years; now, here we are, face to face with the fugitive that is Prison Break in the proverbial leaky sewer tube, except, unlike Tommy Lee Jones, we do care. Don't leave us hanging here, Fox! Like Michael Scofield, learn that hard lesson: finish what you start, no matter what!

* Sean Hannity recently interviewed Rush Limbaugh about President Barack Obama's economic plans. I didn't watch the interview, and I don't know if I have to, because I can predict how they feel and really can't get past the conversation's very concept. Its logistics. Hannity interviewing Rush is like a person getting interviewed by his own echo. It's like my left testicle high-fiving my right. It's like that verse in the Bible that says the Bible is the inspired word of God because the Bible tells us so! (That's 2 Timothy 3:16, folks.) Of course, the interview wasn't really a chance for Rush to share his thoughts on just-inaugurated President Obama -- he has a nationally syndicated talk show for that. No, sitting down with Sean Hannity was a purely militant move, akin to a platoon beholding its field commander chatting with their staff sergeant. The message is loud and clear: "As the newly elected minority, the more of us in a room, the louder we can be!" Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity: Keeping the can in Republican!

* In the wake of the holiday season, I've realized how important The Late Show with David Letterman is in my life. Long-time friends will remember my "Top 10 Boy" alter ego in high school, but on a much more personal level, unlike other television staples Letterman has adhered to a few traditions on his show that have become integral to my sense of the holiday spirit. For instance, on Thanksgiving night, when Dave began the "guess the pie" segment with his mom from Indiana, I nodded fondly, familiarly. Then again, when Jay Thomas tossed a football to knock down the Christmas tree meatball in December, I smirked knowingly, remembering I had seen the bit some years before. Dave's always been a sensitive guy, but especially since his heart attack, September 11, and the birth of his son, his vulnerability for tradition is apparent now more than ever -- and I'm all the more appreciative of his comedy as a result. When I first moved to California, I thought I should pledge an allegiance with Leno by way of coast, but Dave proves it every year: home is where the heart is. I couldn't deny my own late night nature for too long.

Now, these thoughts aren't in order of importance or anything, but I consciously concluded the diatribe on a high note. Needless to say, when it comes to the boob tube, I usually always have something to get off my chest . . . but the silver screen isn't safe, either! To be continued!