Observations and Other Delusions: Hogan....!

This has been bugging me for a while... how come all the Germans on Hogan's Heroes' speak English?

Titanic (1943)

Titanic! The story of a ship and an iceberg and the ruinous gluttony of the British Empire!
Titanic! The story of the heroic German first officer who saved the day!
Titanic! The story of the obviously Jewish ship owner, who bet his fortune on the speed of his ship and almost paid with his life!
Titanic! In the original German with subtitles!
No, this isn’t James Cameron’s epic 1996 Titanic, it’s a 1943 German propaganda film of the same name.
Unlike Cameron’s film which puts fictional characters into the story while remaining true to historical facts, this version uses the basic story of iceberg meets ship to hang a propaganda-filled, greed-driven plot on.
Bruce Ismay and the other owners of Titanic and the White Star Line have hatched a plot where they will buy millions of shares of White Star stock before and during the voyage. Ismay will force Captain Smith to speed up and make the crossing in record time, and they’ll make a killing when the stock value goes up. An interesting idea to be sure, but it’s not the least bit factual. (And it doesn’t help that Ismay is portrayed as Jewish when he wasn’t.)
Newly arrived on Titanic is First Officer Peterson, newly transferred from Germany, and lucky for the passengers he did, because he seems to be the only competent officer on the ship. The heroic Peterson manages to dress down the Captain, reconcile with an old flame, launch lifeboats single-handedly, survive the sinking, rescue a child from the water and denounce the British Empire at a Parliamentary inquiry into the sinking. Not bad for an 85 minute film. At least he isn’t blonde.
Despite the questionable taste of the propaganda aspects of the film and its wild historical inaccuracies, Titanic does manage to hold its own as a film. Its lavish sets and costumes (many inaccurate, but nonetheless spectacular) can only make one wonder how a country paying for a war against the rest of the world could afford a production like this.
The sinking sequences are well done and exciting, and the special effects are fine for its time. (In fact some shots were nicked and used in 1959’s A Night To Remember.)
An interesting oddity, the 1943 version of Titanic is worth a look. And Titanic buffs should note the DVD contains an excellent collection of actual 1912 Titanic newsreel coverage.

Titanic (1996)

Believe it or not, boys and girls, but there was a time when James Cameron’s film Titanic looked to be a disaster in the making. Horribly over budget at north of $200,000,000, and its release delayed six months, Titanic was looking to be a celluloid disaster destined to sink on its maiden weekend.
But the film opened to four-star reviews and boffo box office. Then something amazing happened.
All major films’ box office drops off the second weekend. But Titanic was different. Its second weekend was bigger than its first.
That never happens.
And its third and fourth weekend grosses were still larger than the first. Titanic was on its way to being the highest grossing film of all time with a total worldwide gross of over $1.8 billion dollars. No other film even comes close. (Second place is The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King at $1.1 billion, the only other films in the billion dollar club, although the first Harry Potter film is just a few million short of joining the club. But I digress.) It received a record 14 Oscar nominations and won a record 11.
I saw it opening night. And I was in the front row bawling like everyone else.
Titanic is the work of a master film-maker at the top of his game.
The new special edition DVD contains a gorgeous new transfer spread over two discs, plus three commentaries: one from Cameron, one from various cast and crew, and one from a pair of Titanic historians. All three are worth your attention and are informative. In addition, there are 50 or so mini-docs on the two discs available by either a seamless branching option while watching the movie, or by a "play-all" feature. There’s also the original ending (available with a Cameron commentary) that, although fine by itself, is clearly inferior to the ending as it was finally cut. A third disc contains nearly an hour of deleted and extended scenes, all with optional Cameron commentary. There are other featurettes on this disc, including a gag reel of sorts, a look at Cameron’s real dive on Titanic, and a time-lapse feature on building the set. In all, this is a treasure trove of material, which almost makes up for the lack of a definitive "making-of" documentary as was promised when the set was originally announced a s a four-disc set.
Why does the the ill-fated story of Titanic still touch us? At its heart, it is the story of human frailty and hubris. The lessons learned from Titanic were lost by the time of Challenger, and those lessons learned were forgotten again with Columbia. It is a story of class rule by human ego and unquestioned ideology and assumptions, as if even daring to question these assumptions is evil and unpatriotic.
And clearly, these are lessons that need to be learned again.

King Kong (1933)

It’s been years since I’ve seen the original King Kong, I gotta tell ya, this film rocks!
The new special edition DVD features the fully restored 1933 cut (not the 1938 "censored cut" which most casual viewers would be familiar with), and it looks gorgeous. It probably hasn’t looked or sounded this good since its original release.
And yes, the acting is a bit over the top, the dialogue a bit corny, and the special effects don’t hold a candle to what can be done today, but 70 years later, it still holds together remarkably well. The plot, as if you didn’t know, concerns a film-maker who’s heard rumors that some thing exists on a south sea island. He takes his camera crew and a young ingénue (Canada’s own Fay Wray) to the island and discovers the thing is Kong, a giant ape. He plans to use Wray’s character as bait to lure Kong into capture, and then showcase the ape in a traveling show and make millions. The plan goes wrong as Kong falls in love with the bait, and trying to find her, escapes in New York, causing mayhem and death.
The film is full of classic cinema images and moments. And being the 1933 version, many scenes of violence have been restored. Kong was vicious and brutal.
The special effects, for their time, are staggering. This was the Star Wars of 1933. No one had ever seen anything like this. The film-makers who trace their inspiration back to Willis O’Brien’s 18-ich tall Kong miniature are too numerous to mention, but some that are featured on the supplements are Peter Jackson, Ken Ralston, Bob Burns, Rick Baker, Ben Burtt, and Ray Harryhausen. And speaking of supplements, there’s an hour-long biography of Merion C. Cooper, who produced Kong, and a nearly three-hour documentary on the film itself. Considering that almost no behind the scenes material exists from the actual production itself and that hardly anyone involved is still alive, the documentary does a fine job showing how the film was made.
If you haven’t seen Kong in a while, and remember it as being hokey, well, yes, you’re right. But Kong still has the power to overcome all the pitfalls that a 70 year-old movie has for a 21st century audience. Yes, it’s cheesy, over-acted, hammy dialogue, with cheap sets, and crude special effects. It still works, and works brilliantly. Check it out. You owe it to yourself. And Kong.

The Man With the Screaming Brain

B-movie king Bruce Campbell stars in (and co-wrote and directed) Man With the Screaming Brain. Campbell plays an American businessman who, along with his wife, is in Bulagria for a business meeting. He’s the typical "ugly American," loud, impatient and impolite. His marrige is on the rocks, and he doesn’t help matters by flirting with a mysterious gypsy woman. His wife helps even less by giving their cab driver an extra big tip. It turns out that the cab driver was engaged to the gypsy, resulting in all manner of murder and mayhem. Fortunately, the bodies end up in the hands of a mad Bulgarian scientist (Stacey Keach(?!)) who (with his Russian assistant played by Ted Raimi) has a knack for transplanting brains and resurrecting bodies.
Essentially, this is pretty silly stuff. It gives Bruce Campbell a chance to do his best Steve Martin impression, and his character ends up sharing his brain with his wife’s lover, the cab driver. Shot on location in Bulgaria, the film has pretty good production values for a film of with a limited budget.
There’s a good number of extras for a low budget movie. There’s some behind the scenes docs, but the best one is a short feature where Campbell and his writing partner chart the 20+ years it took to get this film made. This was worth the price of the DVD all by itself.
Nothing in the film is overly impressive, yet nothing is really embarrassing either. Well, maybe Ted Raimi’s version of Russian rapping. Thankfully, it’s short. Otherwise, it’s a solid and enjoyable, fun B-movie.

Lost - Season 1

Imagine being marooned on a desert island in a plane crash with forty-plus other people. The plane was off-course, no one knows where you are. You’re running out of food, water, supplies. Things look grim. Slowly you discover that some of the people on the island with you are not what they appear to be. Even worse, the same is true of the island. You are well and truly Lost.
Season One of Lost, now out on DVD, sets up what may be the beginning of a long-running tv show (or maybe not — more on that later). As our castaways try to survive, they learn that some sort of unseen monster prowls the island, and that others are on the island.
The show is basically a gimmick show, with two great gimmicks. The first gimmick is the dramatic structure of the show which is a terrific idea. While we follow the adventures of our stranded castaways, we also relive moments of their lives in flashbacks. Why were each of these people of that particular flight? The flashbacks are a great way of filling in the backstory of the characters. We, as the audience, learn so much about these characters, way more in fact than the rest of the islanders do, and we understand a character’s motivation for doing something, even when their comrades do not. A brilliant conceit and it makes for riveting television.
Number two, the island itself holds many secrets and mysteries. What about the hatch? What’s with the polar bears? Who are the others? What’s up with the invisible monster? Is the kid psychic or telekinetic? And this is the gimmick which may be the show’s downfall.
A show relying on a mystery or a gimmick to survive may collapse under the weight of its own backstory (witness The X-Files). If you’re not playing fair with your audience and revealing some of the mystery of the island, your audience will leave you, um, deserted.
This season’s Lost ratings are suffering. Could it be that the gimmick has worn off already? Only time will tell.

Beauty Tips from Moose Jaw

Will Ferguson is a very funny guy.
Wait, scratch that. I assume he’s a funny guy — I really don’t know Will Ferguson from Adam.
Okay, scratch that, too. I know Adam and he is a funny guy. And so is Will Ferguson (I assume).
But they aren’t the same guy.
Or are they?
Now that I think about it, I’ve never seen them both in the same place. In fact, I’ve never seen Will Ferguson anywhere. Could it be that they really are the same guy? Have I inadvertantly stumbled on the biggest conspiracy since Stephen Harper’s brain was stolen by aliens?
Sorry. Let me start again.
Will Ferguson may be a very funny guy. But without question, he is a very funny writer. It’s not by accident that he’s won the Leacock Medal for Humour. (Then again, it might well have been an accident. But no one’s admitting anything.)
Which brings me in a surprisingly roundabout way to his recent book Beauty Tips From Moose Jaw, a time-jumbled travelogue across Canada. He starts at a poetry slam here in Victoria, and meanders from West to East, ending in L’anse Aux Meadows, the home of the first Norse settlement in North America. On the way, he retraces his youth in the high North, looks for polar bears near Churchill, tries to find the meaning of Canada with his brother, tries to find the meaning of Quebec with another brother, and even attempts to find the meanings in that strange variation of english that is spoken in Newfoundland.
Ferguson is always funny. (Anyone who rates a book about Canadian Prime Ministers called Bastards and Boneheads gets an ‘A’ in my book.) And this book is warm and witty embrace of Canadiana, a wonderfully written journey exploring the backwaters and backstreets.
A great read.

originally published in Under the Ozone Hole #18

Alien Apocalypse

In the not too distant future, insectoid aliens have landed on earth and have destroyed much of humanity. The few humans who survived are forced to work in slave lumber camps. It seems that the aliens like to eat wood, preferably when it’s chopped down and cut into 2x4s. And when they’re not biting people’s heads off.
In Oregon, the last human spaceship finally returns to earth after 80 years in space (relativistically speaking). Two of its crewmembers are played by B-movie king Bruce Campbell and Renee (Xena) O’Conner. Together, they must convince their fellow humans to throw off the yoke of slavery, to gather together and fight as one for freedom, to blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda. You get the idea.
This is cheese with a capital mozzarella. Shot on a low-budget in Bulgaria, this film has the prerequisites to qualify has a b-movie: cheap sets, cheap costumes, badly dubbed foreign actors, and cheap fx. On the other hand, Campbell and cast are almost able to carry it off. It works as a film. Not as a great film, but then it’s not supposed to be.
The aliens are a good combination of puppets and CGI, the Bulgarian locations are gorgeous. The script is not-overly serious, but never falls into total camp either, trying to keep a nice balance.
This is certainly worth a look if you want a fun, no thinking required flick to rent. And it’s got giant insect aliens biting peoples' heads off! How could you go wrong renting this?

originally published in Under the Ozone Hole #18

In the Drink

A recent Sunday morning dawned bright and sunny. Not particularly warm, the temperature managed to crawl just a few degrees above zero. Still this was a far cry from the below zero temps and even nastier wind chills we had suffered from for much of the previous week. So it was a good time for a kayak trip at Cadboro Bay! (Note that I am wearing a red sweater... there will be a quiz later.)

Here's our gear lined up and ready to go. Paula had borrowed Alison's kayak. (Alison is kayaking in New Zealand for three weeks.) Normally, Bernie and Paula switch off with their kayak, but with Alison's kayak all of us could get in the water at the same time.

And away we go! Here's Dennis in his inflatable kayak...

...and Paula enjoying Alison's boat.

We paddled out of the bay and turned north along the coastline. That's Mt. Baker, an active volcano, ahead of us.

Three of us decided to cross over to Discovery Island. The womenfolk declined.
I had never been there myself, but both Bernie and Dennis had. There's some strong currents to watch out for, and the crossing of about 20-25 mins can be a little rough. You can see the bumpy water around Dennis in the picture below.

Discovery Island itself was beautiful. A series of small archipelagoes, it makes for a perfect place to explore inlets and rocky shores.

We found a little channel with a bit of a current in it. We decided to try our hand at running it. It wasn't a strong current, but this was our first try at something like this.

The first time I went through, there was no problem. The current was strong but not rough. I paddled against it, until it spun me around and sent me back from where I came.
No problem.
But my paddle was in the water and the current caught it, and dragged it under my boat. And over I went. Potential energy and gravity worked their magic. I was upside down in the water.
Problem.
As you can see, I survived. I made my wet exit, and grabbed onto the back of my kayak. Bernie was nearby and beside me almost instantly. As we organized ourselves to begin the process of getting me back in my boat, my feet suddenly touched ground, and I decided to walk my boat ashore at a small beach.



Out of the water but totally drenched, I took off my sweater. I was wearing my Farmer John wetsuit and that kept most of me warm, but my arms under my sweater were freezing. It was fortunate that I was wearing my wetsuit -- "goner" might be too drastic a term, but I would have been in a lot worse condition. Fortunately, Bernie had overdressed and had taken off his fleece jacket, and he lent it to me. (Quiz time - Question 1: What colour sweater was John wearing at the start of the paddle? Here's a hint: It's not the same colour as in the picture below.)
It was, in retrospect, a good thing. We were reminded that we are dealing with nature, and nature abhors cockiness. We had an emergency, and we all survived. There was no panic or hysteria. We kept our heads and did what we had to do. My kayak flipped and everything stayed attached and dry, including my digital camera.
Much to Bernie's chagrin, my glasses stayed on my head.
We re-assessed the safety equipment that we had with us. A dry bag with a towel and/or some dry clothes suddenly seemed like a much smarter idea then it did a few minutes earlier.



Bernie found the incident much too amusing (as you can see below.) However, as we left he decided to shoot the rapids again! (Okay it was only one rapid. "Whitewater" it was not.) He got caught, too, and damn near flipped. He filled up his kayak with water and he had to beach to drain it.
Bernie didn't have his skirt on. Bad Bernie.
(He didn't have any pants on either, but that's a whole other story.)

And so we headed back. We vowed never to publicly speak of the incident. ("What happens on Brokeback Island, stays on Brokeback Island," I said.)
However, it was impossible to keep secret, not when I arrived back wearing different clothes what I had started with. The womenfolk cast us some wary glances.

But we survived and adjourned for some warm drinks at a nearby coffee shop. Dennis took this picture to annoy his friends back in Toronto. Blizzard, anyone?

Now that's a hot chocolate! Sure helped get the taste of salt out of my mouth.

And remember kids, don't try this at home!

Sometimes the Candy Machine Wins

I had yet another run-in with the dreaded lunch room candy machine. Occasionally, I have been known to deposit money in this machine and in return have been rewarded with sweet, sweet candy.
Yesterday at lunch, I decided to need a Twix bar. It cost $1.00.
I deposited my coinage, four quarters. But the fourth quarter was returned; our candy machine is known for its random rejection of coins of recent vintage. I was 75 cents in, but I still needed another 25 cents to complete the purchase and receive my sweet, sweet candy.
All was not lost, as I also had a twoonie, more than enough for my chocolate-craving induced purchase. (For our non-Canadian viewers, a twoonie is a $2 coin). However, before depositing the twoonie, I felt I had better retrieve my three quarters. I pressed the coin return button and the machine promptly spat out three dimes. 30 cents.
"What the [expletive deleted]?" I shouted. Somehow my three quarters had been transmogrified into 3 dimes. The machine just ate 40 of my cents!
"[Expletive describing a physical act deleted] machine!"
But still the Twix bar called. Yes, I was out 40 cents, but I still had the twoonie, so I still could buy my bar and satisfy my caramel and chocolate covered cookie lust.
Against my better judgment, I dropped my twoonie in the slot. I pressed the button. The Twix bar fell from the rack into the retrieval slot at the bottom of the machine. And my change... my change... where's my $1.00 change?!?
"[Expletive describing a bodily function deleted]! Where's my [expletive describing the physical act of love deleted] change??!?"
The machine kept my change. Why? I don't know. It certainly wasn't out of change because a moment ago it had just eaten three of my quarters!!!
"[Expletive describing anatomical parts deleted]!!"
I had paid $2.40 for a Twix bar! This wasn't the first time the candy machine had eaten my money and short-changed me. I vowed to never ever buy another piece of sweet, oh so sweet candy from this mechanical hell spawn again.
Never!
"Never again! I'd sooner starve! Or crash from a sugar low than to risk my precious money on your unpredictable mechanical folly! Curse you, you mechanical [expletive describing the physical act of a love with a small domestic farm animal deleted]!"

Today, I dutifully deposited $1.00 and quietly ate my blessed Twix bar.
I am so weak.


originally published in UTOH #18, October 2006

BloodRayne

It’s not often that a film will come along that is so bad not even I will like it. BloodRayne is one such film. The plot is derivative, as is most of this movie. Kristianna Loken stars as Rayne, a Damphir, part human-part vampire. She is being pursued by a vampire overlord (played by Ben Kingsley, who must be paying off a lost bet by being in this), and some human vampire hunters led by Michael Madsen. Along the way, she learns secrets about her past, gains special powers, confronts her father blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda. This film looks like it had a budget equivalent my allowance when I was eleven. The vampire make-up looks like Buffy leftovers. This film is filled with bloody violence that is about as realistic and comical as the Black Knight scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Oh, wait – BloodRayne isn’t a comedy!Madsen is horribly miscast in this, but so is everyone else, too. Loken has some screen presence, but nothing can save her in this mess, and no-one else brings anything to their parts. Except for Meatloaf, who, in his only brief scene, deliriously chews on the scenery and swallows it whole. (He clearly is the only person who realizes what a piece of frommage he’s in – he’s billed in this film as “Meatloaf Aday.”)
Avoid this film at all costs.
Please.
originally piblished in UTOH #18, October 2006

The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr.

In the fall of 1993, a new show premiered on Friday nights on Fox. It followed two partners who brought in the bad guys, while encountering strange paranormal events and a government conspiracy to cover them up. It debuted to good ratings and great reviews. And it had a horse who thought he was a human. No, we aren't talking about the X-Files. We're talking about that other show, a comedy/western/sf hybrid that was broadcast an hour before Scully and Mulder: The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr.
The set-up was a classic western motif: in 1893, bad guy John Bly breaks out of custody with his gang, killing Marshall Brisco County, Sr. Bounty hunter Brisco Jr. is hired by rail barons to hunt down Bly and his gang, but because of the high price on Bly's head, Brisco is in competition with other bounty hunters, including the notorious Lord Bowler. But Bly has bigger fish to fry, and here's where the show becomes more than just a western. Bly's after a mysterious golden orb that has strange mystical powers.
Sent on missions by his boss Socrates Poole, Brisco encounters more than his share of outrageous characters along the trail: noted gunslinger Utah Johnny Montana (who used to be called Utah Johnny Cougar Montana but stopped using Cougar as it sounded too pretentious); the hapless bad guy Pete who dies more times than South Park's Kenny and has an unhealthy attachment to his pistol ("You're touching my piece! Nobody touches Pete's Piece!"); Sheriff Aron Viva (an ancestor of Elvis's); and Professor Wickwire, who invents, among other things, a rocket car, a diving suit and an airship (apparently financed by a German investor named Von Zeppelin). Brisco also has more than a few encounters with a saloon siren, the delectable Dixie Cousins.
The superb cast is anchored by B-movie hero Bruce Campbell as Brisco. He brings just the right amount of sincerity, strength and good humour to the role. No one will ever accuse him of being a great actor, but Campbell is perfect for this role. It's hard to imagine anyone else in the part. Julius Carry brought his very large presence to the character of Lord Bowler, a fellow bounty hunter who eventually teams up with Brisco. And the legendary John Astin brought his quirky charms to Professor Wickwire. Plus, special mention must be made of Billy Drago, who played Brisco's nemesis John Bly like he was from another planet (there's a hint for you).
It's not hard to see why Brisco's rating floundered as the season went on and was eventually canceled after after only one season; it's a very offbeat show, with wacky humour strewn among the pop-cult references. It's a western poking fun at western conventions. And it's also a sci-fi show, with the mysterious orb and its fantastic power the driving force behind many episodes. It's no wonder viewers didn't know what to make of it, but I enjoyed it a lot. I was surprised that the orb storyline was wrapped up about three-quarters of the way through the season, but I suspect had Brisco returned for a second season that the orb and John Bly would have returned. It was the orb plot that made the show something unique and after that was seemingly dealt with, the show settled back into being just a western, albeit a light and occasionally silly one. And although Brisco was criticized for being an overly violent show back in the day, Brisco never actually shot anyone.
The DVD box set has the complete series, plus a commentary track featuring Bruce Campbell and series co-creator Carlton Cuse on the pilot episode. They paint a fun picture, describing a hard but enjoyable shoot, and they also reveal all (such as it is) about the orb. There's also a short "making of" documentary, and a brief bit with Bruce Campbell reading from his book If Chins Could Kill. The highlight of the special features is a 45-minute round table discussion with the writers and co-creator Cuse. (A few of the writers now work on Lost, and viewers of that show might want to pay particular attention when the discussion turns to "orb mythology.")
So spend a few bucks and harken back to the thrilling days of yesteryear....
originally published in UTOH #18, October 2006

King King (2005)

It's a familiar story: boy meets girl, boys casts girl in movie, girl meets other boy, girl and other boy fall in love, girl meets giant ape on Skull Island, ape falls for girl, boy captures ape, ape becomes a star on Broadway, ape destroys Broadway.
Peter Jackson's loving remake of 1933's King Kong is not a perfect film, but it comes very close. And slightly over three hours, it runs a little long. 20 minutes could have very easily come out of the Skull Island sequence. But that's a minor quibble, and if I'm going to be forced to sit through an extra 20 minutes of a giant gorilla battling giant T-Rexes, that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.
The film starts in New York as out of work actress Ann Darrow (Naomi Watts) has a chance encounter with shady film-maker Carl Denham (Jack Black). Carl convinces Ann to join his crew and himself on a sea voyage to make a film on location on a south seas island. Denham also practically kidnaps his writer, Jack Driscoll (Adrien Brody). What Denham hasn't revealed is that the island is uncharted, and an ancient heretofore unknown society on the island worships a large and dangerous being named Kong.
Jackson's remake follows the original's plot nearly note for note, but he manages to provide a few narrative deviations along the way. It's full of nods to the original, from Denham discovering that an actress named Fay is unavailable for his picture because she's shooting one for Merian Cooper at RKO (that would Fay Wray making the original Kong), to Peter Jackson's cameo as one of the pilots that kills Kong (original Kong directors Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack also did the same).
The film looks gorgeous. Just gorgeous. From a beautifully recreated depression-era New York to the lush jungles of Skull Island, the sets and production design are sumptuous and amazing.
The cast is mostly top notch, although occasional I thought that Jack Black seemed a little out of his depth, particularly his reading on the film's famous final line. But again, another minor quibble. Black holds his own for the most part.
And Kong himself is a wonder. With Andy Serkis (Gollum of Lords of the Ring fame) doing the motion capture work, there seems to be no limit to the range of emotion that can play across the big ape's face. And of course, it's Kong that propels this picture, from the battles with dinosaurs to his emotional attachment to Ann, his sorrow at losing her and being captured, and his all too brief joy at finding her again. If the audience cannot feel for Kong, this film is lost, but by the end we are firmly in Kong's camp, and our hearts break during the final battle atop the Empire State Building.
Grab your popcorn and a large pop, plan your bathroom breaks accordingly, and see this movie on a big screen. A larger than life movie legend deserves to be seen on a large screen.

War of the Worlds (2005)

Director Steven Spielberg’s take on the 1898 H.G.Wells novel War of the Worlds is a relentlessly grim and violent story of an alien invasion of earth. Schindler’s List notwithstanding, I’m hard-pressed to think of another film from Spielberg’s body of work that turns the screws as tightly as his new film. Even Jaws had some occasional tension relief: “We’re going to need a bigger boat.”
Here instead Spielberg is brutal and ruthless. This is full-on post-9/11 Spielberg. The benevolent aliens of Close Encounters are gone. So too is the lost child alien of ET, both replaced by vicious killers hiding in our midst that we are powerless to stop. Attacking at will, they show no mercy. In fact, we can’t stop them. They are only defeated because they are an affront to the natural order of things. Hunker down, listen to Father, stay the course. In due time, without our having to do anything or change our ways, they will simply dry up and die. We will prevail because God has deemed it so.
Ray Ferrier (played by Tom Cruise) is an average joe, a New Jersey longshoreman whose marriage went bust because he was unable to face the responsibility of fatherhood. The film opens with Ray’s ex (Miranda Otto, wasted in a small role) dropping off her and Ray’s kids for the weekend: a sullen teenaged son (Justin Chatwin), and a young daughter (Dakota Fanning). After the ex departs with her new husband, and we’ve had a couple of scenes to establish Ray has little connection with his children, a violent lightning storm sets off an electromagnetic pulse that renders most electronics non-operational and activates alien machines that have been buried underground eons ago. The machines attack with devastating fury, incinerating people and destroying buildings, bridges and homes at will. Ray and his kids barely escape the destruction of his neighbourhood, and the film follows their harrowing escape to Boston to find his ex (presumably to drop the kids off again).
Spielberg purposely goes for the jugular by invoking 9/11 imagery. When the aliens’ heat rays vapourize people, their bodies explode into ash clouds, but their clothes remain intact, floating in the air. Whenever there’s a large-scale attack, the skies are soon full of wafting clothes, eerily reminiscent of the clouds of paper that rained down in Manhattan when the towers fell.
Referencing a number of films such as Close Encounters, The Abyss, Titanic, and Invaders From Mars, Spielberg keeps everything relentlessly brutal, at least until the sucky ending when Ray’s son, believed to have died during a battle between the aliens and the army, turns out to be alive. Not only alive, but somehow he even managed beat Cruise to his ex’s house in Boston. No matter how dark the film, Spielberg still can’t resist the happy ending.
Tom Cruise’s recent bizarre public behaviour notwithstanding, he is quite effective as the man-child forced to grow up (the usual Spielberg gimmick). Unfortunately for him, he’s mostly upstaged by 11 year-old Dakota Fanning. It is scary how good an actress she is. Many child actors in movies are given lines that are just atrocious (witness Jake Lloyd’s Anakin in Star Wars: The Phantom Movie Menace) and impossible for any actor to convincingly deliver, yet somehow Fanning manages to find the key to delivering even the most hackneyed dialogue.
The film is a visual spectacle, courtesy of ILM’s computer-generated tableaux of destruction. Even the venerable John Williams seems to have found new depths of dark musical tones to explore.
Ultimately, there is still something unsatisfying here. Perhaps Spielberg has done such a good job and spent so much time selling the horror and devastation of the alien attack that the rushed ending as the aliens suddenly succumb to earthly germs and Ray has a happy if improbable family reunion seems too much of a deus ex machina (which, being faithful to the novel, it is). Perhaps a little darker ending would have saved the bad taste the sudden sugar-coating leaves in this dark coffee of a movie.

The Wh o- Endless Wire

This week, I did something that I haven’t done in 24 years – I bought a new studio album by The Who. Recorded in fits and starts over the last four years, Endless Wire could have been an embarrassment, a lacklustre last kick at the can. Thankfully, it’s not, but neither is it a grand triumph either. It’s as good as the sum of its parts, it’s just that some of the parts seem to be missing.
The most obvious missing parts are The Who’s late and lamented rhythm section. With bassist John Entwistle four years gone and drummer Keith Moon’s death approaching its 30th anniversary, the survivors (guitarist and songwriter Pete Townshend and singer Roger Daltrey) have done away with the bass and drums altogether on some songs, offering a mix of acoustic numbers and mid-tempo rockers, followed by a ten-song mini-opera, Wire and Glass.
The album opens with Fragments, which starts with a deliberate re-stating of the famous Baba O’Riley synth riff, placing this album clearly in the pantheon of Townshend’s work associated with his early 1970s Lifehouse project, his aborted follow-up to Tommy that has driven much of his work since, including Who’s Next, Psychoderelict, and The Boy Who Heard Music. When the song starts and the band kicks in, we are in true Who heaven, glorious Townshend backing vocals supporting Daltrey’s unearthly growl. It must be noted that while Daltrey’s voice live has certainly lost its punch over the years, he lets it all out on this set of songs, sounding almost as good as ever.
Next up is one of those acoustic numbers, Man in a Purple Dress, a scathing indictment of organized religion, followed by one of those mid-tempo rockers (and one of my favourite tracks) Mike Post Theme. Next comes In the Ether, a solo by Townshend where he affects his best Tom Waits impression. Townshend thinks this is one of the best songs he’s ever written. Daltrey thinks it’s crap. The truth is somewhere in between.
Townshend’s tendency to pray in public continues with the songs Two Thousand Years and You Stand By Me, while It’s Not Enough is a great, glossy rocker.
Then comes the mini-opera. In some ways, Wire and Glass is disappointing not so much for what it is, but what it could have been. The plot, such as can be discerned, involves three kids who form a band, post their song on the “endless wire” (a concept that dates back to Townshend’s Lifehouse in the ‘70s and predates the Internet), have a big hit, and then the band falls apart. Somehow the character of Ray High from Townshend’s 1993 solo album Psychoderelict figures in this, too.
The good news is that the songs in the opera are terrific, great little hook-filled nuggets. The bad news is that they are only nuggets. Most of the opera’s songs are only 90 seconds to two minutes long, and end just as they get going. And that’s such a shame because so many of them are so darn good. Extended versions of two of the best, We’ve Got a Hit and Endless Wire, are included as bonus tracks on the CD and demonstrate just how good this could have been if only these songs had had a bit more room to breathe. Still, there’s some remarkable stuff here. Townshend is at his sarcastic best on They Made My Dreams Come True, while Tea and Theatre, another acoustic number, is a remarkable closer.
This is not the high point of The Who’s career, but it’s pretty good nonetheless. I look forward to their next album in 2030.

Observations and Other Delusions: Humour

I'm very fond of self-deprecating humour. The trouble is that I don't do it very well.

I Don't Get It

William Kristol says it again here, and it's a statement that deserves some scrutiny.
(Kristol also says that all the problems in the world are the fault of the 1979 Islamic revolution in Iran, sorting of glossing over that the reason for the Islamists' popularity was the American-backed coup of the democratically-elected Iranian government of the early 1950s and the installation and American support of the Shah's 25 years of brutal dictitorial repression. When Bush rambles on about how a democratic Arab nation will change the Middle East, remember that there was one 50 years ago until the West overthrew it. But I digress.)
While talking about the current war in Lebanon, Kristol says, "Better to say that what's under attack is liberal democratic civilization, whose leading representative right now happens to be the United States."
I don't get it. How do you quantify the statement that the US is the leading representative of democracy? They're sure doing a good job -- Be Nice To America or They'll Bring Democracy to Your Country!
What about that other chestnut that America is the "freest nation on earth." Again, how is this determined? Does Time publish some sort of "freedom index"? Is it determined by a straw poll of Fox News correspondents? Don Rumsfeld's tea leaves? Or by reading the pattern of buckshot left in Dick Cheney's hunting victims, er, partners?
It is a strikingly American perception that somehow the USA is rightfully the leader of the democratic world. Only in the US is the President often referred to as "The Leader of the Free World," and it is done as if it was the obvious natural order of things.
I don't recall when this was decided. Did I miss a meeting? Was I on vacation that week? If we're in the free world, and the free world has a leader, shouldn't there be a vote or something like that on who leads us?
I know I didn't vote for him.

Ride Like the Wind

It's been very windy out here on the We(s)t Coast for the last couple of weeks, and I've noticed something very strange about it.
Maybe it's just me, but when I ride in the wind, the wind is always blowing in my face, slowing me down and making it a much more difficult ride.
When I ride to work, it's in my face.
When I ride home, it's in my face.
Riding home, I go west, then north for a while, then turn west again, and finish up with a couple of blocks of south. Every time I change direction, the wind is in my face.
The only time the wind is not in my face is when I'm stopped at a red light. The weather gods taunt me with a moment of placid calm, before the winds whip up in a frenzy. It's like trying to ride through a solid brick wall when the light turns green.
There's some strange meteorological effect going on here, like I'm being followed by my own personal microburst.
I should be flattered that the gods take such a personal interest in me. If only they would pay the same sort of attention to my lottery ticket numbers.

The Cookie Test

A few days ago, my co-worker Linda brought in a box of Peak Frean assorted cookies to share with others in the office. I snarfed up a couple of favourites, the Garden Creams, and others dove into the Fruit Creams and the Bourbons. The only ones left were a couple of round ones (whose name I don't know, alas). Linda offered them to me to finish off. "No thanks," I said, "I don't like those kind." She stared at me blankly. "What do you mean? They're all the same." "No, they're not," I replied. "Those round ones are sort of lemony and I don't like them as much as the others." "But they're all the same," she insisted. "Well, you'll just have to get some more and we'll do a taste test." The next day, she brought in another box and crumbled up some cookies and fed them to me. (Your tax dollars at work.) "That's my favourite, the Garden Cream," I said as I munched the first sample. Next came "the Fruit Cream. You didn't put any of the fruit filling in the sample so I can't tell you which flavour of Fruit Cream it is. But it's clearly a Fruit Cream." Finally was the "round lemony one that I don't like." Linda was amazed. "I can't believe it. No hesitation at all. Dead on everytime. Wow. I'm in awe. I thought for sure they were all the same. Well, here, I guess you better finish off the rest of those cookies that I took the samples from." Once again, science called and I responded in triumph. It was certainly not a cheap ploy on my behalf to get more cookies. Nosiree.

Dreaming of Dwarfs Playing Hockey

I now have proof that television and radio can affect your dreams. A couple of nights ago, I spent the evening watch some Red Dwarf episodes. Then I went to bed listening to the radio, a local sports show dissecting the latest Vancouver Canucks game. I had a dream. I was watching the Canucks play on tv. They were short-handed (and playing without helmets for some reason), but Canuck captain Markus Naslund fired a wrist shot while cruising through the slot and scored. We cut back to the Canuck player in the penalty box to see his reaction. It's Second Technician Dave Lister of the mining ship Red Dwarf. He's holding a hockey stick, dressed in his usual slobby clothes (not a Canucks uniform), and stares straight into the camera and says, "What are you fookin' lookin'' at, Smeghead?" Chew on that, Mr. Freud!