So, I haven’t even seen the new Bruce Willis remake of “Death Wish” yet but I have become obsessed with 1970s films in which a hand canon wielding tough guy guns down assorted crooks, delinquents, reprobates and bad guys with reckless abandon.
After watching the original “Death Wish” with Charles Bronson, I turned my attention to the Dirty Harry series with Clint Eastwood and marveled at the awesomeness of these movies.
So, throughout, well, this week, maybe this month, I don’t know how long, I’ll be posting a review of each Dirty Harry film and/or a discussion of the main political issue it raises.
Every new generation always thinks they are the first to think about an issue but as we see in these movies, people have long been thinking about everything from police brutality, civil rights and women in the workforce.
On the surface to the uninitiated, to someone who has sort of heard of these movies, maybe saw a clip, but never really studied them, does Dirty Harry come off as a cro magnon, macho chauvinist pig who wields a massive revolver as an extension of his penis as he scoffs at women’s abilities, executes minorities and basically serves as porn for suburban honky males who daydream that one day they’ll get to use their unnecessary gun collection on a criminal?
Well…I mean, yeah, if you haven’t really watched these films then ok, I can see why you might think that.
However, take my hand, 3.5 readers, for over the course of this series of posts, I’ll explain to you how (sit down for this) Inspector “Dirty” Harry Callahan was (I know you’re skeptical) one of the great civil rights advocates/champion for all the downtrodden and abused people of all races of his time.
I know. It’s going to take some convincing but I’ll try my best to make the case.
You know, 3.5 readers, I don’t usually do a review of kids’ movies, but this one moved me a bit, so here we go.
Miguel is a young boy who dreams of becoming a famous musician, as famous as Ernesto de la Cruz (Benjamin Bratt), this fictional version of Mexico’s answer to Elvis.
Alas, his family has put a long, long, longtime ban on music due to the fact a musician in the family once caused great heartbreak for all.
Blah, blah, blah, shenanigans ensue and Miguel finds himself in the Land of the Dead, where the deceased “live” albeit in skeleton form. Miguel is still alive and obviously, does not belong here, but he’ll have to solve some mysteries about his family’s past in order to return to the land of the living.
There’s a lot of bright colors and the plot was a little better than usual, IMO, for a kids’ movie. But there was one takeaway that stood out.
You see, we learn that it’s possible for the skeletons to die a second time, i.e. to disappear without a trace. The skeletons live and prosper and are happy…for as long as the living remember them. Once the last person who remembers the formerly alive skeleton dies, and there isn’t anyone else around to tell stories of the dead person when he/she was alive, then the skeleton ceases to be.
Ergo, whether it’s “The Land of the Dead” or Heaven or whatever afterlife you envision, we’ll never know for sure what happens when we die. Theology tells us we live on. Evidence tells us we become worm food. However, you can at least take steps in this life to make sure you are remembered fondly and tales of your deeds will be passed down throughout the generations.
The thought is bittersweet – it provides motivation to get out there and live and love, to be productive and helpful and friendly in the hopes that no matter what happens after this life, you will at least be remembered by others.
But the downside is the average person, even with the best intentions and the most follow-through, probably, at best, can’t achieve something that allows them to be remembered past a few generations of their family.
Doubt it? Think fast. How many of you are able to tell me the name of your great, great grandfather or mother? Tell me in the comments how far back in your family tree you are able to recite.
So, here’s the deal. Every new generation, for some reason, truly and sincerely believes they are the very first to discover an issue, as though prior generations had never considered it before.
For obvious and tragic reasons, the gun debate is raging all over TV and over the Internet these days. Funny though, are you aware that a 44 year old movie pretty much sums up the arguments for and against gun control in one fell swoop?
No, I’m not talking about the recently released reboot starring Bruce Willis, although I do want to see it.
I’m talking about the original Death Wish, which by now, is roughly the same age as a middle aged man. Hard to believe, isn’t it? I rented it last night and dated as the film is, it still hashes out all the talking points about guns that are being bandied about today.
You see, 3.5 readers, in the early 1970s, there was a crime wave in the inner cities. Nixon actually won the presidency due to promises to get tough on crime. People were fed up by the fact that they couldn’t walk down the street without getting hassled by hoodlums and Hollywood cashed on in this development, producing all manner of films where tough guys, fed up with the system’s inability to protect them, take law into their own hands and blow bad guys away with big ass hand cannons. “Death Wish” was the most notable of these films, though it runs neck and neck with Clint Eastwood’s “Dirty Harry” series.
The plot? New York City architect Paul Kersey is a mild mannered liberal professional and family man. He loves his wife, his daughter, and abhors violence, having even been given a medical corps position during the Korean War to avoid having to kill anyone.
All this changes when his wife is killed and daughter brutally raped by a pack of hooligans led by none other than a young Jeff Goldblum. “Life uh..finds a way.”
While some hero tales provide an instant transformation i.e. the main character instantly gains powerful skills overnight, Kersey’s progression from frumpy dad to badass killing machine is a slow one.
Kersey’s informed there’s not much the police can do. His son-in-law, Jack, laments that to the government, his wife and Paul’s wife are little more than statistics, a certain number of crime victims that the powers that be deem acceptable, even normal, and that they’ll just have to suck it up and get used to it.
Pissed, Kersey starts carrying a sock full of quarters to protect himself. When a mugger attacks him, he gives the mugger a sock knock and sends the ne’er-do-well running. He learns an interesting lesson – if criminals are made to fear for their lives, they’ll run.
Our hero then takes a sojourn to Arizona for work, we he meets Aimes, a business associate who can only be described as a walking, talking caricature of a died in the wool NRA member on steroids. Frontier justice, Aimes says, is the name of the game in the West. Everyone’s packing heat and criminals know they’ll be instantly bagged and tagged, so crime rates are low according to the cowboy.
Aimes takes Kersey to a range and we can see Kersey feel like he’s regaining control of his life as he takes aim at targets and fires. He reveals that he did some hunting in his youth and had to qualify as a marksman in the Army, so he has some skill. The cowboy gives the city slicker a present, a rather menacing looking revolver.
When Kersey returns to NYC, he starts carrying the pistol. Oddly, he’s accosted by another mugger. Kersey keeps his cash and puts a bullet in the bad guy instead. He runs home and is so horrified by what he’s done that he throws up.
But soon…Kersey becomes addicted to murdering criminals…or does he? It’s sort of an up for interpretation part of the film.
Fun fact – although he’s portrayed as an out of control vigilante, Kersey technically never does anything illegal. He just takes a lot of walks in the middle of the night in dangerous neighborhoods, on subways, in parks, and is sure to flash a wallet full of money in seedy establishments and/or look like a bumbling old man by carrying groceries. He never attacks anyone who doesn’t attack first.
Maybe he really is just an old bumbler with a lot of bad luck…but most likely, he’s out trolling, just waiting, nay wishing that some mugger would attack him so he can shoot them in self-defense.
And that’s the rub. Kersey never shoots anyone who didn’t draw a pistol or a knife on him first.
The overall theme of the movie? If people arm up, bad guys will pussy out. Not really a popular message today.
The alternative argument, that society will descend into chaos if everyone is carrying a gun, is briefly explored, but ultimately, it’s suggested that bumbling politicians are to blame. During one such meeting of incompetent NYC bureaucrats, it’s noted that “the vigilante’s” hijinx have cut muggings down by half, but they’ll never tell the public for fear that the city will become a war zone.
But what’s the alternative? Better governance? More police? A better economy? More social welfare programs? A better world where the poor have no need to rob and steal? Nah, the politicians aren’t going to do any of that. They’d really just prefer it if families of crime victims like Kersey would shut up, accept their statistic status and go along as if nothing happened.
Is it an awesome film? In many ways, yes. The gradual progression from pacified weakling to macho asskicker is fun to watch.
Is it open to criticism? Yes. In the past, criminals were portrayed as cartoon characters, bums who made a conscious decision to avoid the honest pay that a hard day’s work could provide and to seek a quick buck by hassling the law abiding instead. Ergo, they deserved the new holes that Kersey gave to them. And sure, that often happens but in today’s cinema, criminals are usually given a heartwarming backstory that makes you feel as though the person could not have helped becoming a criminal (often the case, though not always.)
Is the film racist? Well, I mean, yeah, Kersey does shoot an awful lot of black dudes. But he shoots white dudes too. And there are many law abiding African-American characters, from a police officer that assists Kersey in the investigation into his wife’s death, to a working class couple who see a duo of white crooks enter a subway train and decide to get off at the next stop rather than deal with them, to an old black lady who, inspired by tales of the vigilante on the news, whips out a hat pin and stabs the shit out of two reprobates who try to run off with her purse.
I mean yeah, to borrow an SJW term, a white character gunning down so many black characters is “problematic.” You could argue that perhaps there is a universal code of right and wrong, that no matter what color you are, if you point a gun or a knife at anyone of any color, then you’re getting what’s coming to you if the threatened person takes you out. It’s a daily war against crime, with law abiding people of all different colors and backgrounds vs. crooks of all different races and backgrounds. White Paul Kersey and black old lady with the hat pin are on the same side – two good people who just want to walk home without getting accosted for the money they worked for.
But still, yeah, an awful lot of black dudes buy the farm in this movie so…how to rectify that? I don’t know. Maybe if there’s ever another reboot of this film, a black actor could play the Paul Kersey role, gunning down a rainbow of hoodlums from all different backgrounds, or just white guys, or really, does it matter what color the shooter or the person shot is as long as the shooter was being attacked and the attacker was, in fact, a threat to life? Bruce Willis is one of very few conservative actors willing to touch this franchise, though I think Hollywood missed a real opportunity to hold a coup if they would have cast, say, Denzel Washington or Jamie Foxx as Paul Kersey.
Oh well. Don’t picket my blog. I liked the movie though I realize in many ways it’s un-PC, hokey, tacky and well, probably doesn’t hold up today. I mean, sure if you stand out in NYC in the middle of the night for long enough, you might get robbed once, but no one is as unlucky as Kersey, getting robbed over and over, even if you are out walking around, wishing that someone would rob you so you could kick their ass. (Note: just give them the money.)
All in all, what does this old movie tell us? Does it have any relevance to today’s gun debate? Basically, the politicians of this movie, just as the politicians in real life today, are as clueless and inept as ever. Gun control is a sensitive issue and no matter what side you’re on, government officials appear clueless and inept when they fail to make us all safe…and citizens must keep pressure on politicians to make the world a safer place because at the end of the day, they’re lazy and happy to just let victims become more statistics, more faceless victims, more deaths to be expected as just a matter of fact of life.
Overall, depending what side of the fence you’re on, you’ll hate or love this film. And honestly, I can see why you’d hate or love it.
Hmmm. What’s up with this film? Well, every once in awhile, Hollywood dumps an ensemble cast into a confusing attempt at a witty, stylish, fast-paced crime comedy and this movie is 2018’s answer to that formula that really hasn’t worked since “Ocean’s 11.”
This movie is 2018’s attempt at such a film.
Here, Richard and Elaine (Joel Edgerton and Charlize Theron), are partners in crime, a duo of corrupt pharmaceutical company representatives/alpha types, the modern day equivalent of the wild sex having yuppies of the 1980s.
Together, they keep their thumb on Harold (David Oyelowo), a dutiful, nerdy employee, so unflinchingly loyal to his bosses that he’s not able to see their more sinister intentions.
During a trip to Mexico, where the company is attempting to perfect a weed pill outside of America’s jurisdiction, all hell breaks loose. A kidnapping, drug dealers, a hitman with a heart of gold and a couple of hipsters all rain on Harold’s parade.
Charlize, who continues to give me boners and I doubt will never not give me boners, is naughty in this role, saying dirty words you’d never think you’d hear her say.
Meanwhile, David plays the nerd of stressed out, hyper-sensitive, over-worried nerd well.
STATUS: Shelf-worthy. There are some cool scenes and fun laughs. Overall, you might wait to rent it.
3.5 readers, I’ll admit it. I’m a male chauvinist pig. I put off watching this movie because I thought it would be ultra-feminist tripe, hyped up to make women feel good about themselves. Turns out, it isn’t so much about feminism as it is about the eternal struggle of every generation – that battle that comes when kids wants to spread their wings and parents feel they must clip them.
So sorry I assumed the worst about this movie. I was part of the patriarchy all along. Who knew?
In director Greta Gerwig’s (I assume semi-autobiographical) meditation on growing up in early 2000’s Sacramento, we follow the senior year in high school of Christine (Saoirse Ronan) who, in a display of the ultimate in eccentricity, takes the name “Lady Bird” and demands others refer to her this way as well.
If the genesis of the self-appointed nickname is explained, I missed it, though I got the general sense that it is one of those silly choices kids make during a time when they believe the world is wide open to them, that they’re special, unique, that they’ll be the next big thing and so it’s ok to do wacky things like re-name yourself.
Lady Bird and her mother, Marion (Laurie Metcalf) have a love/hate relationship. One minute, they’re in a battle royale, the next minute they’re going dress shopping. Sometimes they’ll take breaks in the fighting to direct kindness towards the other.
The genesis of the fights? Lady Bird wants to study at a big name, fancy school, but lacks the grades or qualifications. Mom and Dad (Tracy Letts) are struggling to make ends meet and though Dad can never say anything negative to his little girl, Mom constantly lays down the law, informing Lady Bird there’s just no way her dreams of heading off to a big city could ever happen.
The film shows both sides of that eternal kid/parent coming of age struggle. Lady Bird is overly dramatic, perhaps too intelligent for her own good, overthinking the mundane to the point it drives her crazy. Suburban life doesn’t just bore her, it’s killing her – the sheer lack of opportunity and ability to express her creativity is too much to handle.
On the other hand, if Lady Bird’s dreams are fantasy, Mom and Dad are mired in reality. Mom is a nurse, working double shifts where she sees death and illness all day. Dad’s battling depression, having been let go from his longtime job and forced to go through the indignity of sitting through a job interview where he has to explain to a much younger, green around the gills boss how to conduct an interview. You get the impression that Dad could tell the kid to step aside and get him some coffee, but he accepts the indignity with, well, great dignity.
Yes, we even see both sides of life at the Catholic school Lady Bird attends. Lady Bird lives to question religious authority and to prank Sister Joan (Lois Smith). Yet, when Sister Joan holds the power to make Lady Bird pay for a slight, she, well I suppose in the name of Christianity, turns the other cheek.
Meanwhile, an elderly priest/drama teacher who fills his students’ with laughter and song is dying. Coincidentally, he’s a patient of Lady Bird’s mother and while he’s brought so much joy to so many, he’ll be facing death alone.
In short, the adults know how shitty life can be, especially for the unprepared. Risks and gambles rarely pay off. Like the infamous tortoise, slow and steady wins the race. Mom may seem like a bitch for trying to talk Lady Bird out of pie in the sky dreams, but then again, Mom knows that working a boring, regular job, as non-glamorous as that may be, puts food on the table and gets a mortgage paid off.
Thus, the movie makes a key point. Kids and adults both have something to say in the eternal growing up struggle. If a kid has X dream, efforts should be made to make it happen. Then again, kids have to realize all the struggles Mom and Dad do behind the scenes. Get that barista job and get in the struggle, just as your parents did before you.
Ronan (my eyes go cross when I try to spell her first name) shines while Laurie Metcalf, a staple of network television since her early days playing Aunt Jackie on “Roseanne” is finally getting some long deserved acknowledgment. Alas, in any other year, I think she would have been a shoe-in for best actress had she not been up against that other longtime, underappreciated staple of network television, Allison Janney. Both were equally deserving so I assume it was a coin toss.
In the end, I envy Lady Bird. Oh, to be young again and to look at the world as a friend, a thing of beauty to explore and not an enemy that is going to bend you over and attack your butt every chance it gets. Kids, don’t lose your childish sense of wonder as you head off in pursuit of your dreams, but do take your parents’ advice. The lumps they took might just save you from taking them.
STATUS: Shelf-worthy. I think the fish fucker movie is better, though I still thing Three Billboards was the best.
Hey 3.5 readers. BQB here. Does the title of this post sound harsh? Good. It’s meant to be. I am one unhappy movie buff.
First, a recollection. 3.5, when I was a young man, I had a dick boss. You can all relate? Good. This dick would constantly make bad decisions. I’d warn him that what he was telling me to do was going to backfire in some big way but he’d tell me to do it anyway. Dutiful employee, I’d obey and the backfire would ensue.
Naturally, when the dick boss would be called upon for an explanation of the backfire by his higher up boss, the dick boss would cover his ass and blame me. And then really, what am I going to do? A young kid in his early 20s is going to go over his immediate boss’ head and talk to a higher up boss? I think not.
But hey, at least I got paid to be my dick boss’ human blame shield and his shit.
I never got paid to eat Hollywood’s shit. In fact, I paid to see a lot of their crummy movies this year and I even helped promote them with reviews on this exceptional blog and what did I get when I tuned in to see the Oscars?
I got a heaping bowl of shit. Specifically, a bunch of fabulously wealthy, like almost supernaturally wealthy and good looking people who were all aware that sexual harassment was rampant in their industry but did absolutely nothing about it until it was exposed, now want to blame ME and YOU, the average Joe Blow, work a day viewer.
3.5 readers, let me ask you a question. Did you rape a Hollywood starlet? Did you ever tell an actress she had to shake hands with Mr. Winky if she wants a part in a movie? Wait, do you even have any pull over what happens in the movie business? Umm…have you even been to California?
I have not done any of those things. I’m just a random guy who has been respectful to women my entire life. Sometimes, and I hate to say it’s possible to be “too respectful,” but I know I lost a few women because when the moment was right, I hesitated to give them the old smooch-a-roo and that was it for them. They deemed me unmanly and moved on.
But I digress.
This was basically the theme of Oscar night this year. It wasn’t Harvey Weinstein or any of the other big shots with a casting couch and their demands for sex in exchange for stardom.
It wasn’t any of the famous and super wealthy movie stars who knew this was going on for years and due to their wealth and fame, could have easily exposed it, concerns about losing acting work be damned because they’ve already made a zillion times more than what the average person makes in a thousand lifetimes and never have to worry about money ever again.
Nope. It was me. And you. Anyone with a trouser snake. Jimmy Kimmel, who apparently has been neutered since his days at “The Man Show,” which was a show on Comedy Central in the early 2000s that focused primarily on drinking beer and watching “The Juggies” i.e. big breasted women bounce up and down on trampolines, joked that Oscar was the perfect man because he didn’t have a penis.
Nope. I assure you Jimbo, if you look at the numbers, the vast amount of penis owners aren’t doing anything illicit with their penises. The vast majority of men have been torn down into becoming impotent shadows of what their manly grampas used to be. The average man yearns for regular access for poontang but then settles for a sad, tear laced personal wank session whilst watching the latest updates to PornHub.
It wasn’t me. It wasn’t you. It was Harvey and all the powerful big shots like Harvey and all of the powerful big shots who protected him for years and years. That’s who did it.
You know what I would have liked to have seen Sunday night? I would have liked it if one of these celebrities who knew what was going on, just one, would have gotten up and said something like, “Hey everyone. I knew. A lot of us knew. We didn’t do anything about it because we like being celebrities. We like appearing in movies and on TV shows. All that attention, it’s like a drug and being a celebrity is the closest a person can get to immortality, knowing that years from now, people will still be watching films we were in. We were afraid of losing that but we shouldn’t have. We should have realized that the possibility of being retaliated against and getting pushed out of the movie business was less important than blowing the whistle and making sure that not one more aspiring actress would be molested or put in a bad situation. Now that we know that the public is listening and will support us if we speak up and that the industry won’t tolerate bad behavior anymore, we will sound the alarm if we ever come across those who abuse their power.”
That’s it. I’d of said bravo and way to take responsibility. But nope. The penis is to blame. If you have a penis, it was your fault, even if you’ve never even been to Hollywood.
All I know is my heart sunk a little when Jimmy Kimmel said, and I quote, “I wish I were a woman.”
Sigh. It’s not enough to say, “I support women.” Nope. You have to publicly demand that your penis be replaced with a vagina now.
“I did not hit her. It’s bullshit. I did not hit her. I did not! Oh, hi Mark!”
BQB here with a review of the movie about the best, worst movie ever made.
“The Room.” How to explain it to someone who has never seen it? Honestly, I’ve never seen it in full myself, but the clips available on YouTube tell me pretty much what I need to know.
In 2003, struggling, wannabe actors Tommy Wiseau and Greg Sestero, finding no luck on the audition circuit, teamed up to produce their own film. On the surface, a great idea, right? If no one will give you an opportunity, then create your own.
The result was “The Room” – a tale, in theory, as old as time. All American guy is in love with the perfect girl. A trusted friend creates a bitter love triangle. Tragic circumstances ensue.
Cut, print and collect money and praise, right? Wrong. The final result was something that would flunk a remedial high school AV class.
A poorly written script that was adhered to despite obvious problems, plot twists and arcs that went nowhere, overacting, underacting, laughter at inappropriate times, unusual and unnatural dialog and so on.
I could take all day pointing out the flaws, but some of the most discussed:
Tommy’s thick Eastern European accent, which in a different setting might be ok, but here his character insists he is an all American guy, born and bred and bleeding the red, white and blue. His poor delivery, repeating “Hi Mark,” emphasis on 1980s clothing which was a faux pas even in the 1990s.
Plots that go nowhere, like his girlfriend Lisa announcing she has breast cancer, then we never hear what happens again.
Laughter and weird reactions, like when Tommy laughs at a story about a woman being beaten by a boyfriend to the point she had to go to a hospital.
Characters whose relationships are unexplained. There’s a kid named Denny who just stops by and acts like Tommy is his father figure but how that happened you never know. Further, there are random characters who show up to explain main points and you have no idea who they are and where they come from.
Bad editing.
A full on shot of Tommy’s gross ass while he has sex with his girlfriend’s…umm…belly button?
Use of green screen and sets when the real thing is available – i.e. building a set of an alley when actual alleys are available. Using a green screen version of a city scape background when there are tops of tall city buildings that can be used.
And so much more!
How did this monstrosity get its start?
As the Franco (James as Tommy and Dave as Greg) brothers tell us, it all began in the late 1990s, when a young, early twenties Greg and an at least middle aged Tommy meet in a San Francisco acting class.
Greg is nervously bombing while Tommy is overacting and exuding way too much confidence, belting out “Stella!” in an antique looking pirate coat that was apparently part of his wardrobe.
Together, these two make an unlikely duo, an old and young man, deciding to move to Hollywood on a whim and live together as roomies as they pursue their acting dreams. I mean, you can hardly blame Greg’s mother (Megan Mullally) for suspecting some disturbing intentions on Tommy’s part.
When the traditional audition root fails, the duo set out to make their own movie. Throughout the ordeal, Greg and the cast and crew remain baffled by three questions that are never answered: 1) Hold is Tommy? 2) Where is he originally from? and 3) Where is all the money to fund this movie coming from?
Once the production begins, Tommy spends money like water, buying equipment and racking up unnecessary expenses (building sets that aren’t needed, installing a toilet when a bathroom is available, hiring two separate crews to film the movie on actual film and in HD) and so on.
The movie then chronicles the production. Actors and crewmates alike question Tommy’s insane decisions. A script supervisor (Seth Rogen) and other crew try to explain to Tommy why his choices make no sense and why his movie sucks but they grow exasperated as Tommy won’t listen to reason. Worse, he grows increasingly difficult to deal with, lashing out at the cast and crew for petty reasons and growing jealous of Greg’s growing successes outside of the film (a girlfriend and a potential TV gig).
Ultimately, the whole thing is a big mess that cost at least $6 million. How did Tommy get that money? No one knows. If the crew was so fed up with working on a shitty movie, why didn’t they walk off the set? One can only assume it’s just that hard to find a paying gig in Hollywood, even if the gig stinks. As the actress playing Lisa’s mother tells her fellow cast mates, “The worst day on the worst movie set is better than the best day in real life.”
What could be learned from all this? “The Room” sucks, but even so, Tommy has done a better job of making a movie than YOU have because YOU HAVE NEVER MADE A MOVIE! Tommy and Greg tried and put it all on the line. They made a movie. It sucked. But they had a dream and they gave it a shot, lousy as it was.
Ironically, over the years the film gained a cult status and eventually turned a profit. Screenings have been held all over the world “Rocky Horror Picture Show” style where fans have fun and engage in games based on the dumb things they know will happen in the film.
Critics have panned the film, citing a lack of explanation of Tommy’s background, wealth, history and age but I don’t think they got the point at all. Tommy, by all accounts, was a mystery man. He was a man of great wealth with a seemingly limitless ability to spend and yet he never explained to a soul how he got all that money. Further, he told no one his age and always insisted he was born in New Orleans. Perhaps this all teaches us how intriguing the movie life is – people want to be in show business so badly that they are willing to work with such a mysterious character.
There are also lessons to be learned about sticking to your dreams, no matter how crazy they are. Tommy has no talent. Yet, an acting coach tells him his look is such that he could easily walk into evil villain roles akin to Dracula and Frankenstein. Despite the possibility of fame, Tommy will have none of it. He’ll be the hero in a movie or he walks.
I’ve always wondered why, if Tommy wanted so badly to be in the movie business and he had so much money, why didn’t he just bankroll the work of a talented indie film director? Money men have been bankrolling their tinsel town dreams and getting their names in big screen credits with their cash forever. Hell, our current secretary of treasury is one of Hollywood’s top money men.
But Tommy didn’t just want his name in the credits. This was his movie and he wanted to make it, his way, and although he failed to make the drama he intended, he succeeded at making an unintended comedy.
Maybe that’s another lesson. Your failure might lead to an unexpected success.
Sadly, kidding (child-ing?) is getting even harder.
BQB here with a review of “The Florida Project.”
I’m not totally sure what the point of this film was. It’s not exactly plot driven. It meanders quite a bit. Large chunks of the film are devoted to young child actors around six years old, saying lines that I’m not sure they’d ever really say if there wasn’t someone, I can only imagine but not confirm, hanging off camera promising candy or toys or something.
Obviously, the overall intent is to give the world a glimpse into what life is like for the poverty stricken, as well as the lives of those whose job it is to take care of them.
On the strip leading to Disney World in Orlando, Florida, there’s a series of tourist traps – hotels, discount gift shops, all catering to folks who are visiting the House of Mouse on a budget. The film doesn’t quite explain it well but there was a time, before Disney developed the ever loving crap out of its property, when tourists who wanted to save a buck would go have fun at the parks then stay at a cheap, non-Disney motel. Today, Disney has a vast array of hotels catering to almost every type of budget.
So, if this film is to be believed, many of the strip motels have turned into sad, depressing welfare slums. Once such establishment is “The Magic Castle,” where young mother Halley (Bria Vinai) lives on a weekly cash basis with her six year old daughter, Moonee (Brooklyn Prince.)
Sidenote – if your name is Brooklyn that’s like, a guarantee your parents were all like, “this kid is becoming a child actor!” right?
The film strings together a series of shenanigans. Moonee and her young pals from the motel wander about aimlessly, spitting on cars, throwing dead fish into pools, harassing paying customers and generally making life miserable for Bobby, the motel’s overworked, underpaid, vastly put upon and long suffering manager, played by Willem Dafoe, whose presence, honestly, is the only thing that makes the film watchable.
Covered with tattoos and constantly high, Halley is unemployed and unemployable, making money by begging tourists for cash, occasionally running scams to bilk them out of money and yes, even turning tricks. You get the general sense that she wants to do right by her daughter but are unsure if it’s just that impossible to pull herself out of the proverbial hole she’s in or if she’s so drugged up she’s not able to help herself in any way.
It becomes clear that poverty is inter-generational, though whether bad parenting leads to poverty or poverty causes bad parenting is sort of a chicken vs. the egg argument. Halley’s life sucks and you are led to feel sorry for her and realize there are so many people trapped in such difficult circumstances.
At the same time, we see other parents in the motel who are similarly poor, yet they stay off drugs, work menial wage jobs and are actively attempting to better their lives and instill morals in their kids, making the most of the little they have.
Amidst this mess is Bobby, who might have one of the most thankless jobs I’ve ever seen. He works tirelessly, fixing broken equipment, painting, repairing, moving heavy stuff and the second something goes wrong, the tenants he’s given thousands of passes to on their mistakes rip his head off and raise hell over the slightest problems.
I’m inclined to think that Bobby is every adult in your life who a) wasn’t your parent but b) had a job that required him to help you and c) yelled at you for something bad you did or some rule you broke and you think he’s just an asshole because all you saw was the stern facade. You didn’t see how he returns to his office and looks so pained because he knows you’re suffering and yet there’s little he is able to do to help you.
Despite a rule that prevents tenants from staying too long and becoming permanent residents, Bobby helps Halley circumvent this rule by moving her every so often to a different room within the motel. Moonee raises hell and drives other guests nuts, constantly breaks things and makes more work for Bobby. Meanwhile, Halley’s extracurricular activities bring all kinds of heat for the motel.
In short, Bobby could throw this problem customer out on the street any time and improve his life 100 percent and yet, he refuses to do so, putting his own job on the line because his gut tells him that something bad will happen if he doesn’t bend the rules and let Halley and Moonee stay.
If this a spoiler, then so be it, but literally, at no time, does Halley ever show any kind of acknowledgment that she understands Bobby is doing her a favor. Halley makes all sorts of demands for Bobby to overlook the rules, let it go that she’s late with her rent, forget that she’s doing all sorts of bad things or that her unsupervised kid is driving everyone nuts. Yet, when Bobby asks Halley for just a little bit of help in complying with the rules, she freaks out, leading to a used maxi pad being slapped on his office window in one gross out scene.
SIDENOTE – I’ve seen tampons and pads being thrown at helpless victims in too many films now. Is this something women dream about doing all day long now? Whenever someone pisses them off, they just want to whip out their bloody cooch covers and whip ’em at some poor, unsuspecting schmuck?
Mixed feelings. It’s more of a learning experience/acted out documentary than a fun movie. There are some emotional parts though. Poverty is hard and nearly impossible to break out of. Good parenting and/or harping on kids to do the right thing can increase the chances of breaking out of it.
Perhaps there’s some irony that all these kids are suffering and are poor when just down the road there’s a theme park where wealthier parents dump tons of cash on toys, candy, rides and fun for their little brats.
But ultimately, the most I got out of it is that there are probably a million Bobbies out there – low level business employees who see people suffering hardships all day, who may come across as hardasses laying down rules but also are never thanked when they bend the rules and put their jobs and livelihood on the line to help those in need.
STATUS: Shelf-worthy. Not sure the film itself is Oscar worthy though Dafoe’s performance is and he is overdue for some recognition.
Shameless plug: if you follow @bookshelfbattle you can read snarky commentary like that all the time.
And now, on to Wakanda!
Short version – Malcolm X and Martin Luther King (or at least their dueling philosophies on black empowerment) were put into superhero form and left to duke it out.
Longer version – Wakanda has long existed as a hidden utopia of technological greatness, all made possible to large reserves of vibranium, the magic, do-everything metal that makes Captain America’s shield so awesome.
At the core of Wakandan politics is a central question – should Wakanda remain hidden from the world, hoarding its technological secrets to ensure the country’s continued survival, or should it reach out and arm oppressed people of African descent all over the world?
T’Challa (Chadwick Boseman), newly crowned king, takes the former position. Killmonger (Michael B. Jordan) a Wakandan-American with a desire to challenge T’Challa’s claim on the throne, takes the latter. The stakes are high as whoever holds the throne is able to claim the power of being “the black panther” i.e. the superhero with amazing abilities that can be wielded for good or evil, depending on who is wielding them.
No superhero is complete without his entourage or “Scooby Gang” as Buffy used to call them. T’Challa’s feisty younger sister Shuri serves as her brother’s James Bond-style “Q” or master of technology, coming up with all sorts of fun and interesting gadgets for the king to use in his war against evil.
Danai Gurira (“Walking Dead” fans know here as the samurai sword wielding Michonne) gets her long overdue big screen debut as T’Challa’s general, Okoye while Lupita Nyong-o is the big cat’s love interest. Angela Basset rounds out the royal family as T’Challa’s mother.
Meanwhile, Andy Serkis, long relegated to behind the scenes work where his movements are recorded to create CGI characters like “Lord of the Rings'” Gollum hams it up big time as Killmonger’s partner-in-crime/internationally evil weapons dealer Ulysses Klaue. I got the impression that Andy was waiting a long time to become a real life character and thus enjoyed every minute of it.
Martin Freeman connects the film to the ongoing Avengers plot line as Agent Ross. Ross is loyal to America while T’Challa’s allegiance is to Wakanda, so somehow they have to set aside their differences to engage in some buddy cop shenanigans.
You know 3.5 readers, one thing I always notice about a super hyped movie is that it is always a let down if the movie doesn’t live up to it. This film does. I noticed a lot of African Americans at the theater wearing traditional garb so I imagine there’s a lot of pride in seeing the first black Marvel superhero on screen.
I mean, there was Falcon (Anthony Mackie) but he’s really Captain America’s sidekick and hasn’t been given his own movie yet. And there’s Blade (Wesley Snipes) who had a whole trilogy but he’s not an Avenger and his powers are more occult/vampire related whereas the Avengers’ powers usually have less scary origins.
However you slice it, Black Panther is the first blockbuster super hero and he’s raking it in at the box office. Further, as the Marvel cinematic universe enters its tenth year, the cat is breathing new life into the franchise. While the older characters we’ve grown used to are a lot of fun, we’ve gotten used to their story lines and new additions like this one will keep interest going into the future.
Special effects wise, there’s a lot of cool stuff going on. Typically, I don’t like it when movies put a certain brand of car into the film as an advertisement, but there’s a pretty cool chase scene in which a Lexus is driven in an unusual way. I’ll let you watch it rather than spoil it.
Men vs. Women…and a naked man holding a tennis racquet!
BQB here with a review of “Battle of the Sexes.”
It’s the 1970s and women’s lib is all the rage. Women are burning their bras as tools of oppression against their jugs and telling men to make their own sandwiches. Really, it was anarchy.
Amidst this backdrop, tennis legend Billie Jean King (Emma Stone) becomes a feminist folk hero when she defies tennis great Jack Kramer (Bill Pullman) by leaving the already established women’s tennis league and leading fellow female players to create their own, all over a pay dispute as women players were paid much less than their male counterparts.
Meanwhile, washed up, formerly great tennis pro Bobby Riggs is now in his mid-fifties. He’s found a new life with a beautiful and rich wife Priscilla (Elizabeth Shue who, sidenote, gave this reviewer one of his first boners and continues to do so even though she’s getting up there in years).
You’d think that would be enough, but Bobby is bored. He misses his heyday, a time where he drank, partied, lived it up and gambled…so much gambling. Unlucky for Bobby, Priscilla does not approve of his gambling and has made it known that he needs to either settle down or lose her.
Long story short, Bobby, seeking a second chance at fame and fortune, challenges Billie Jean to a “battle of the sexes” – man vs. woman on the tennis court. He hams it up for screen, telling women they need to get back in the kitchen, make his dinner, etc.
I won’t spoil it any further but suffice to say, good writing usually makes the audience root for both opponents. Billie Jean feels she can’t stand idly by as this dummy makes a mockery of the women’s lib movement. As for Bobby, what begins as a chance to grab the attention he craves turns into a quest to prove this his wife that it’s ok for him to gamble and live large and engage in get rich quick schemes because he’s really, really good at them. Bobby makes this point known at a Gambler’s Anonymous meeting where he tells a bunch of down and out degenerates that their problem isn’t that they’re gamblers but that they are bad gamblers. Bobby’s schemes make money and therefore he thinks he should be acclaimed as a hustler, not a mere gambler.
SIDENOTE: Sarah Silverman turned my head as Billie Jean’s manager, Gladys. If Sarah could drop the whole “I say dirty things in a sweet voice” act (as she does here), there might be bigger roles in more serious films for her.
STATUS: Shelf-worthy. Between Billie Jean wanting to be accepted by the public without having to keep her sexual preference a secret and Bobby wanting to be accepted by his wife as the larger than life big mouthed baller that he is, the movie has a lot to say about the boxes life places us in, how we have to do backflips to prove ourselves and get out of them and overall, wouldn’t it be great if the world we just let us all live as we choose?
Bookshelf Battle 