Hollywood to me is not dead.
Sure, I don't like the recent 3D faggotry as much as the next guy and I don't approve of all the pulp-ish books getting adapted into these $100 million films that waste the talents of the young people involved - and I don't approve of people applying revisionist history upon movie making, claiming that movies like Forrest Gump and It's a Wonderful Life are really some of the most miserable ever made due to their happy endings and positive morals and because the characters seem a bit outdated as compared to Peter Warne (Clark Gable's reporter from It Happened One Night) and Jules Winnfield (Samuel Jackson's Christian hitman from Pulp Fiction). To me, the only honest filmmakers happen to be the ones either succeeding normally but gaining every positive review or the ones who are failing yet gaining the same reviews.
This has some eerie, but strangely predictable coincidences to the period of transitional Hollywood before the mass experimentation in the New Wave era (1967-1979) - that era, ranging from 1960 to 1966, had massive experimentation with a dying technology (3D), these useless widescreen epics that got lukewarm critical acceptance, and a lot of experimental films that virtually were ignored.
That's pretty much it. Oh, and we had the musical, thought that's more lively and original.
Adaptations galore, mostly not good.
If we need to continue the adaptation, let's adapt some good stuff, like Pynchon novels and furry comics - because at least totally alienating our audience will cause Hollywood to revive itself in a fit of catering to the new audience.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
Wow. Just wow.
I need to confess: I love Chris-chan. You've heard this in my earlier post about Nashville and how I compared the immortal prose stylings of Sueleen Gay to the Internet's biggest loser since that guy who tried to argue against the death of some Sonic the Hedgehog character as something that ruins the integrity of the original series - yet, I want to elaborate of this hopeless man.
You see, Chris-chan is really Christopher "Christian Ricardo" Weston Chandler, a 28-year-old (at the time of this post) Alan Moore wannabe who thinks he's all that, which makes him try to propagate his opinion on the Internet, albeit very horribly. I mean very, very horribly. It's not that his attempts are bad - they're more along the lines of "so-bad-it's-good" - it's the fact that he expects you to put him upon the pantheon of talented artists, including Leonardo da Vinci, Rob Liefeld (who should be crucified for his attempts at discontinuity), Brian Gonterman, and "casey64". Yes, I named three not-so-great artists as "talented" - that's because, despite their mediocrity, they can make something original and do something with it.
Chris just cannot.
He has successfully blended together the worlds of Pokemon and Sonic the Hedgehog into this slapdash, hackneyed, eye-boggling, and downright confusing (more so than Pynchon, Joyce, Roth, etc.) universe called "Sonichu". Yes, that comic. Sonichu the electric hedgehog Pokemon. Who speaks pretty articulately (despite most rules in Pokemon, not counting Team Rocket Meowth). Who bangs his Amy Rose knockoff "Rosechu" every damn comic. And makes fun of everything in this utterly random style that would make Tom Green and Ornette Coleman cringe. To their deaths. In Hell.
Why am I talking about this suck-up on the Internet when you have a whole Encyclopedia Dramatica page and a wiki devoted to him?
Because I have seen a film, while albeit depressing and actually well-made for the filmmaker's first attempt (thank for for being influenced by Werner Herzog), that not only shows us how bad Chris-chan types can be, but how expensive they can get.
And I'm not talking about using your parents' credit cards to buy video games. I mean using your life savings to set up a storage building and setting up a full-scale animatronic rock band from a pizza place that you consider more highly than Chuck E. Cheese's in there. Now that's some messed-up stuff going on.
That's pretty much the purpose of the 2008 documentary The Rock-afire Explosion.
__________________
Don't get me wrong - I love nostalgia. I love it when I have family members who can relate to those times. I have family members who recall when the Chuck E. Cheese's up in Norcross used to be a Showbiz Pizza back in the day. I can recall going to Chuck E. Cheese's three times in my life - once when I was past 13. God, the pizza's so good and games are pretty fun. Not so crazy about the animatronics there - they don't program Chuck E. to sing "Lizstomania" or "Feelin' Stronger Every Day" while he scratches on the turntables - but the interactive blue screen thing is pretty fun when you're young. Now, it's not so fun unless if you can act like Cary Grant in front of a crop duster.
Of course, I'm a bit of a Showbiz Pizza fanatic. Don't get me wrong - I will never be a Chris Thrash type - but I love nostalgia. That's why I wanted to buy some merchandise from the store - like a Showbiz mug with Billy Bob voring Looney Bird and being beaten up by Mitzi Mozzarella and Dook Larue. Like a Martin Scorsese film for Disney, only written by vore fetishists and Aaron Fechter.
However, what unnerves me about this documentary is that I'm given three uber-fans of Showbiz and one casual fan (like me, if I was a girl and more prettier than Gael Garcia Bernal in Bad Education). The uber-fans get more screen time, especially balding Mountain Dew fanatic Chris Thrash. He doesn't earn much - he works at a skate rink and a car dealership in Phenix City, AL (I have passed through there on my way to Panama City/Destin and it's pretty much barren) - yet somehow he has accumulated this merchandise, a Billy Bob walk-around costume, and the entire Rock-afire Explosion in his carefully controlled warehouse behind his pretty small house. And he has a wife. How does she deal with this?
The bulk of the documentary, thankfully, is not so much on Chris Thrash and the elitist uber-fans (though it feels like it) as much as it is on Aaron Fechter's foray into capitalism and temporary fame. This documentary has caused me to respect Mr. Fechter for what he's done (he is behind Randy Pausch, who is my most influential non-family person) and his boldness to talk about how he's been duped by the system just for maintaining a DIY punk ethic when it comes to his animatronic rock band. It's especially depressing when watch the scenes where he gives you the tour of his factory and the eerie disrepair it has gone under because of managerial neglect over the past 20 years. Tools are still in their original places on the artisans' benches the day they were fired. Animatronics are melting. A repository of '80s sound equipment collects dust (though I want some). And why? He knows somebody wants it. I don't blame him.
If the trailer actually focused on Fechter's struggles and not on the uber-fans freaking out over the Rock-afire (though they are more realistic when it came to foreseeing the future of the band), then maybe I would've included this on my great movies list.
However, despite a good A-, meh. It's no The Devil and Daniel Johnston. I'm not buying that final Rock-afire anytime soon. More importantly, where would I put it?
Now those are some lucky Chris-chan types. CWC needs to learn from them - they're nerdy, they have obsessions, but they get the ladies. And pretty hot ones too. Hell, even Fechter has a nice wife. He's Supernerd.
You see, Chris-chan is really Christopher "Christian Ricardo" Weston Chandler, a 28-year-old (at the time of this post) Alan Moore wannabe who thinks he's all that, which makes him try to propagate his opinion on the Internet, albeit very horribly. I mean very, very horribly. It's not that his attempts are bad - they're more along the lines of "so-bad-it's-good" - it's the fact that he expects you to put him upon the pantheon of talented artists, including Leonardo da Vinci, Rob Liefeld (who should be crucified for his attempts at discontinuity), Brian Gonterman, and "casey64". Yes, I named three not-so-great artists as "talented" - that's because, despite their mediocrity, they can make something original and do something with it.
Chris just cannot.
He has successfully blended together the worlds of Pokemon and Sonic the Hedgehog into this slapdash, hackneyed, eye-boggling, and downright confusing (more so than Pynchon, Joyce, Roth, etc.) universe called "Sonichu". Yes, that comic. Sonichu the electric hedgehog Pokemon. Who speaks pretty articulately (despite most rules in Pokemon, not counting Team Rocket Meowth). Who bangs his Amy Rose knockoff "Rosechu" every damn comic. And makes fun of everything in this utterly random style that would make Tom Green and Ornette Coleman cringe. To their deaths. In Hell.
Why am I talking about this suck-up on the Internet when you have a whole Encyclopedia Dramatica page and a wiki devoted to him?
Because I have seen a film, while albeit depressing and actually well-made for the filmmaker's first attempt (thank for for being influenced by Werner Herzog), that not only shows us how bad Chris-chan types can be, but how expensive they can get.
And I'm not talking about using your parents' credit cards to buy video games. I mean using your life savings to set up a storage building and setting up a full-scale animatronic rock band from a pizza place that you consider more highly than Chuck E. Cheese's in there. Now that's some messed-up stuff going on.
That's pretty much the purpose of the 2008 documentary The Rock-afire Explosion.
__________________
Don't get me wrong - I love nostalgia. I love it when I have family members who can relate to those times. I have family members who recall when the Chuck E. Cheese's up in Norcross used to be a Showbiz Pizza back in the day. I can recall going to Chuck E. Cheese's three times in my life - once when I was past 13. God, the pizza's so good and games are pretty fun. Not so crazy about the animatronics there - they don't program Chuck E. to sing "Lizstomania" or "Feelin' Stronger Every Day" while he scratches on the turntables - but the interactive blue screen thing is pretty fun when you're young. Now, it's not so fun unless if you can act like Cary Grant in front of a crop duster.
Of course, I'm a bit of a Showbiz Pizza fanatic. Don't get me wrong - I will never be a Chris Thrash type - but I love nostalgia. That's why I wanted to buy some merchandise from the store - like a Showbiz mug with Billy Bob voring Looney Bird and being beaten up by Mitzi Mozzarella and Dook Larue. Like a Martin Scorsese film for Disney, only written by vore fetishists and Aaron Fechter.
However, what unnerves me about this documentary is that I'm given three uber-fans of Showbiz and one casual fan (like me, if I was a girl and more prettier than Gael Garcia Bernal in Bad Education). The uber-fans get more screen time, especially balding Mountain Dew fanatic Chris Thrash. He doesn't earn much - he works at a skate rink and a car dealership in Phenix City, AL (I have passed through there on my way to Panama City/Destin and it's pretty much barren) - yet somehow he has accumulated this merchandise, a Billy Bob walk-around costume, and the entire Rock-afire Explosion in his carefully controlled warehouse behind his pretty small house. And he has a wife. How does she deal with this?
The bulk of the documentary, thankfully, is not so much on Chris Thrash and the elitist uber-fans (though it feels like it) as much as it is on Aaron Fechter's foray into capitalism and temporary fame. This documentary has caused me to respect Mr. Fechter for what he's done (he is behind Randy Pausch, who is my most influential non-family person) and his boldness to talk about how he's been duped by the system just for maintaining a DIY punk ethic when it comes to his animatronic rock band. It's especially depressing when watch the scenes where he gives you the tour of his factory and the eerie disrepair it has gone under because of managerial neglect over the past 20 years. Tools are still in their original places on the artisans' benches the day they were fired. Animatronics are melting. A repository of '80s sound equipment collects dust (though I want some). And why? He knows somebody wants it. I don't blame him.
If the trailer actually focused on Fechter's struggles and not on the uber-fans freaking out over the Rock-afire (though they are more realistic when it came to foreseeing the future of the band), then maybe I would've included this on my great movies list.
However, despite a good A-, meh. It's no The Devil and Daniel Johnston. I'm not buying that final Rock-afire anytime soon. More importantly, where would I put it?
Now those are some lucky Chris-chan types. CWC needs to learn from them - they're nerdy, they have obsessions, but they get the ladies. And pretty hot ones too. Hell, even Fechter has a nice wife. He's Supernerd.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Introduction and Nashville (1975)
Welcome to my blog.
More specifically, welcome to the part of the Internet where I can get my ego out and blatantly force you to watch movies that I find intriguing, but don't call me Chris-chan. Ebert, [Armond] White, and [Cole] Smithey do it all the time. They avoid the more well-known films (Taxi Driver, Gone with the Wind, Elephant, North by Northwest) just because people know them way too much.
But this is where I get to air out my opinion. You see that my film taste isn't going to be extremely mature, but who gives a damn about idiosyncrasies and their conception of it? What is my taste is my taste. You can influence it, but you sure as hell won't make me change my taste just because you think Snatch is the best film in the history of the world. That's something that people call conformity - and that ain't such a good thing, isn't it? Conformity is the reason why so many estimated blockbusters are failing - but something else is happening other than audiences learning to appreciate the finer things in life. That "something else" is discontentment with the studios.
You see, the studios are advertising the living shit out of blockbusters by placing advertisements all over the TV. For example, 20th Century Fox had the smart idea to adapt a mediocre and highly obscure comic strip, "Marmaduke", hire Owen Wilson to milk his celebrity (even though it died after his 2007 suicide attempt) via voicing the main character, and advertising it all over the kids' networks with dancing dogs and Kesha blaring all over what appears to be California, land of hackneyed Hollywood plots. I knew from there it was going to be a failure. And I was right - failure.
But, hey. I don't want to bore you with my ego-fueled whining about Hollywood - it's going to go into a neo-New Hollywood stage very shortly. We just reached our equivalent of the late 1950s, with widescreen comedies and 3D exploitation.
Here's what I consider to be a masterpiece of the silver screen: Robert Altman's 1975 satirical black comedy musical Nashville, starring Ned Beatty, Lily Tomlin, Geraldine Chaplin, and David Carradine's bro Keith.
___________________________________________________________________
Everybody has to have a film they consider to be the greatest of all time.
For most, it happens to be Orson Welles' innovative classic Citizen Kane, with spectacular performances, a tight script, and some great camera effects that nobody had used before (particularly the "submissive" shot).
For a few, it's one of the great classic epics of the '30s, '50s, and '60s, ranging from Victor Fleming and George Cukor's stylish and well-written Gone with the Wind to William Wyler's overwrought, but well-acted and well-designed Ben-Hur - and usually ending with Lawrence of Arabia (a film I need to see so badly) from the Cinerama days of the '60s.
For a very select few, it's a Wes Anderson film. I can see why - with his unique way of looking at things via epic-like set design and indie film humor this side of Jim Jarmusch, people are attracted to the anti-hipster's dry, darkly comic, and satirical morality tales of the decaying nuclear family in the world through the eyes of death, divorce, ambition, and mid-life crises (Rushmore, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, Fantastic Mr. Fox). I personally am a Wes Anderson fanboy - I grew on to dry humor after finding that a lot of my favorite comedies weren't all about fart jokes but about trying to change the world.
For me, it's Nashville. Why? Why pick a film that was only a moderate box-office success compared to that of the first blockbuster, Jaws? Why pick a film that, according to another blogger, has some of the poorest character development this side of The Hangover? Why pick a film that more critics understand than most audiences?
Why?
Because people need to see this. It's about time we took away Charlie Kane's crown and gave it to Barbara Jean and those other 23 odd characters all residing in the "Music Capital of the World" - even through some poor character development and politics that seem to be heavily influenced by youthful idealism and anti-intellectualism if anything, we can get how tough and how horrible the entertainment industry is, especially when you compare it to something as dishonest as the political industry. Sure, it seems like a preachy film, but it's far from that. It's not a full comedy also. If anything, it's a satirical musical drama about America. Except being set on a Broadway stage with bimbos carrying oversized coins and singing Bonnie Parker's favorite song, it's set in Nashville - where everybody's supposed to feel at home.
That is, if they weren't so self-absorbed with themselves...especially Sueleen Gay, the funniest thing in the film.
Sure, her act at the political rally remains one of the most disturbing moments caught on film (safety, nitrate, digital) with her rather unarousing striptease and how, despite suffering imminent public embarrassment, she still has this pride that she's better than the admittedly talented (and insane) Barbara Jean, but her attempts at becoming a singer remind me of an Internet "celebrity" that most people know as Chris-chan. Her off-key, tone-deaf, and horribly composed lyrics reminds me (and possibly "Anons" who have seen this film) of how Chris tries to make it big but cannot because whatever he thinks he's good at - he's really not good. Or OK. He is shit poor.
And so is Sueleen.
Another aspect of the film I love is the music. To be honest, I'm no fan of country music, but I do listen to some here and there - and whatever people claim is horrible might be horrible, but I see a sort of hidden satire through those neverending lyrics about Kenny Chesney engaging in menage a trois with a hillbilly girl and a piece of farming machinery (harvesters, tractors, motorcycles, Jeeps) while having multiple orgasms to Jimmy Buffett's greatest hits. I see people making fun of how cliched music has become - especially the Nashville scene. That's what Henry Gibson as proto-Lee Greenwood/Haven Hamilton does in this film. Oh, and Keith Carradine as every rock star put together with the promiscuity of a furry being charged for pedophilia. Yep, "200 Years" might sound like some overwrought bullshit that somebody wrote so they can suck America dry, but it does a damn fine job making it pretty apparent.
And that's the end of that chapter.
More specifically, welcome to the part of the Internet where I can get my ego out and blatantly force you to watch movies that I find intriguing, but don't call me Chris-chan. Ebert, [Armond] White, and [Cole] Smithey do it all the time. They avoid the more well-known films (Taxi Driver, Gone with the Wind, Elephant, North by Northwest) just because people know them way too much.
But this is where I get to air out my opinion. You see that my film taste isn't going to be extremely mature, but who gives a damn about idiosyncrasies and their conception of it? What is my taste is my taste. You can influence it, but you sure as hell won't make me change my taste just because you think Snatch is the best film in the history of the world. That's something that people call conformity - and that ain't such a good thing, isn't it? Conformity is the reason why so many estimated blockbusters are failing - but something else is happening other than audiences learning to appreciate the finer things in life. That "something else" is discontentment with the studios.
You see, the studios are advertising the living shit out of blockbusters by placing advertisements all over the TV. For example, 20th Century Fox had the smart idea to adapt a mediocre and highly obscure comic strip, "Marmaduke", hire Owen Wilson to milk his celebrity (even though it died after his 2007 suicide attempt) via voicing the main character, and advertising it all over the kids' networks with dancing dogs and Kesha blaring all over what appears to be California, land of hackneyed Hollywood plots. I knew from there it was going to be a failure. And I was right - failure.
But, hey. I don't want to bore you with my ego-fueled whining about Hollywood - it's going to go into a neo-New Hollywood stage very shortly. We just reached our equivalent of the late 1950s, with widescreen comedies and 3D exploitation.
Here's what I consider to be a masterpiece of the silver screen: Robert Altman's 1975 satirical black comedy musical Nashville, starring Ned Beatty, Lily Tomlin, Geraldine Chaplin, and David Carradine's bro Keith.
___________________________________________________________________
Everybody has to have a film they consider to be the greatest of all time.
For most, it happens to be Orson Welles' innovative classic Citizen Kane, with spectacular performances, a tight script, and some great camera effects that nobody had used before (particularly the "submissive" shot).
For a few, it's one of the great classic epics of the '30s, '50s, and '60s, ranging from Victor Fleming and George Cukor's stylish and well-written Gone with the Wind to William Wyler's overwrought, but well-acted and well-designed Ben-Hur - and usually ending with Lawrence of Arabia (a film I need to see so badly) from the Cinerama days of the '60s.
For a very select few, it's a Wes Anderson film. I can see why - with his unique way of looking at things via epic-like set design and indie film humor this side of Jim Jarmusch, people are attracted to the anti-hipster's dry, darkly comic, and satirical morality tales of the decaying nuclear family in the world through the eyes of death, divorce, ambition, and mid-life crises (Rushmore, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, Fantastic Mr. Fox). I personally am a Wes Anderson fanboy - I grew on to dry humor after finding that a lot of my favorite comedies weren't all about fart jokes but about trying to change the world.
For me, it's Nashville. Why? Why pick a film that was only a moderate box-office success compared to that of the first blockbuster, Jaws? Why pick a film that, according to another blogger, has some of the poorest character development this side of The Hangover? Why pick a film that more critics understand than most audiences?
Why?
Because people need to see this. It's about time we took away Charlie Kane's crown and gave it to Barbara Jean and those other 23 odd characters all residing in the "Music Capital of the World" - even through some poor character development and politics that seem to be heavily influenced by youthful idealism and anti-intellectualism if anything, we can get how tough and how horrible the entertainment industry is, especially when you compare it to something as dishonest as the political industry. Sure, it seems like a preachy film, but it's far from that. It's not a full comedy also. If anything, it's a satirical musical drama about America. Except being set on a Broadway stage with bimbos carrying oversized coins and singing Bonnie Parker's favorite song, it's set in Nashville - where everybody's supposed to feel at home.
That is, if they weren't so self-absorbed with themselves...especially Sueleen Gay, the funniest thing in the film.
Sure, her act at the political rally remains one of the most disturbing moments caught on film (safety, nitrate, digital) with her rather unarousing striptease and how, despite suffering imminent public embarrassment, she still has this pride that she's better than the admittedly talented (and insane) Barbara Jean, but her attempts at becoming a singer remind me of an Internet "celebrity" that most people know as Chris-chan. Her off-key, tone-deaf, and horribly composed lyrics reminds me (and possibly "Anons" who have seen this film) of how Chris tries to make it big but cannot because whatever he thinks he's good at - he's really not good. Or OK. He is shit poor.
And so is Sueleen.
Another aspect of the film I love is the music. To be honest, I'm no fan of country music, but I do listen to some here and there - and whatever people claim is horrible might be horrible, but I see a sort of hidden satire through those neverending lyrics about Kenny Chesney engaging in menage a trois with a hillbilly girl and a piece of farming machinery (harvesters, tractors, motorcycles, Jeeps) while having multiple orgasms to Jimmy Buffett's greatest hits. I see people making fun of how cliched music has become - especially the Nashville scene. That's what Henry Gibson as proto-Lee Greenwood/Haven Hamilton does in this film. Oh, and Keith Carradine as every rock star put together with the promiscuity of a furry being charged for pedophilia. Yep, "200 Years" might sound like some overwrought bullshit that somebody wrote so they can suck America dry, but it does a damn fine job making it pretty apparent.
And that's the end of that chapter.
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