End of summer movie binge

What with some recent overhauls to the old life-as-I-know-it, I've been sorely remiss on my movie watching. In fact, this Friday marked 5 weeks since I'd seen a movie in the theater and about 4 weeks since I'd seen a new movie on DVD/video - my longest movie-free period in more than 6 years.

Fortunately, I now live in one of the better movie markets in the U.S., and this weekend I managed to get out to see some recently expanded indie flicks that have been the recipients of much acclaim - The Aristocrats and Broken Flowers. Full reviews will be up at some point, but it suffices (for now) to say that both live up to their excellent reputations.

The Aristocratsis indeed the most verbally crude pisspot of a movie ever dumped into theaters, but it also works as a remarkably insightful essay on the art of joke telling. Broken Flowers expands eloquently on both Jim Jarmusch's hipster minimalism and Bill Murray's pitch perfect portrayals of mid life melancholy. If they're in your market (and if they're not, they should be soon), both are well worth your time.

Coming soon - summer comedy: The Wedding Crashers and The 40 Year Old Virgin.

"Larry... I'm a cop."

The Washington Post today is referring to the whole Sheehan mess as a "standoff." As if this is Reservoir Dogs, or fucking High Noon. The Wild Bunch - now THAT was a standoff. To use the word in this situation is an insult to Peckinpah.

This isn't a standoff, it's a circus, a tent-camp of loonies led a deranged mother exploiting her son's death. It's a Tim Burton freakshow without the pathos (or, possibly, with the same sort of slimy bathos that's infected his recent work).

'Passener 57' isn't just a bad guys on a plane movie, it's bad guys at the fair movie too

Sam Jackson's next movie is called Snakes on a Plane. No, seriously. Snakes on a Plane, man. I'm trying to think of a title that would make me want to see a movie more than Snakes on a Plane, and really... that's pretty much the pinnacle of film titling. Just say it a few times and bask in the glory of that title... Snakes on a Plane. Better yet, watch Wolf Blitzer's new show, but every time he says "You're in the Situation Room," just think "Snakes on a motherfucking plane."

And, you know, take a shot too. Not that I needed to remind you.

Shrinking ad budgets and expanding critical freedom

Jeff Jarvis notes an LA Weekly article about movie studio plans to drastically cut ad buys for newspapers. One studio mogul is quoted delivering the following lament:

The only people who read newspapers are older and elitist. Movies like Sky High don’t need ads in The New York Times.

On the surface, this is bad for newspapers and probably bad for printed criticism. If major market papers see film ad revenues plummet, there’s a good chance they’ll cut their coverage, meaning even fewer full-time jobs for film critics. While The New York Times isn’t likely to fire Scott and Darghis anytime soon, it might mean significantly less work for their farm team critics like Dave Kehr or Dana Stevens. And smaller markets will have even less incentive to keep their weekly critics on the payroll, when syndicated critics with name brand recognition, lower outlay and easier disposability are just a few clicks away. The immediate upshot appears to be all bad.

But what if the studios and their smaller counterparts decide to take advantage of the “elitist” audience found reading print publications? If the film pages of newspapers can become the place for the growing number of modestly budgeted pseudo-indie films out there, films that would appeal to older, more “elite” audiences anyway, then it could be a boon for critics and criticism. If the film pages are ballooning with ads for smaller pictures, then critics might actually have more opportunity to cover small films and to make the editorial decisions about which movies to give prominence.

It’s long been the film critics’ lament that few outlets allow them to pick which films are featured and which ones are buried. Big budgets, big stars and big explosions almost always get priority coverage, whether or not they’re worthwhile. But without the financial push to play towards advertising hype, critics might well be given more leeway to designate which films get featured and which films get the shaft.

Certainly, there will still be a budget crunch. Smaller movies, by their nature, don’t have the gargantuan ad budgets of the blockbusters. But if it opens the door for critics to have more unrestricted freedom to feature what they want, it might not be the harbinger of doom LA Weekly suggests.

Rapping socialist senators and anti-corporate cyborgs

A friend of mine convinced me (it wasn’t hard) to sit down and watch Warren Beatty’s rap and politics fever dream, Bulworth, again the other night. The last time I saw the film I was in the middle of high school, and I remember being struck by both its vulgarity and its wit. But I also remember having the distinct impression that it offered something of a balanced criticism of the inadequacies of both sides of the political spectrum, leaning slightly left but delivering scathing attacks towards Republicans and Democrats.

Young and stupid doesn’t even begin to cover it.

The movie is so doggedly leftist that it might scare MoveOn. While it offers critiques of the Democratic party, they’re primarily railing against the party’s refusal to move far left enough. J. Billington Bulworth (Beatty), the Democratic Senator who takes up rapping and ornery behavior after putting a hit out on his own life, advocates socializing healthcare, claiming that socialism is a word his party should embrace. The villain is the head of an evil insurance company.

That I missed all this boggles my mind (which I’ll admit is easily boggled). Apparently, my understanding of policy was so weak at the tender age of fifteen that I completely missed the ultra-leftist bent to all of the protagonist’s proposals and focused entirely on the fact that the movie often criticized Republicans and Democrats in the same breath.

Bulworth is well made, with some nicely compressed photography that stresses deep shadows and vivid, hallucinogenic colors, but by the time it’s over, I felt like I’d somehow found my way into a Daily Kos meeting.

And just when I thought the barrage of liberal hooey was over, I made the mistake of turning on Robocop, which tore at me with a nasty second left hook to my already bruised political intake system. Crazyman Paul Verhoeven’s corporate dystopia posits a future in which privatization has overwhelmed ordinary citizens, creating a corporate oligarchy. Once again, power dispersal and market forces are seen as an evil that must be regulated.

I’ve seen this movie several times, but never bothered to think too much about its social implications. What worries me here is not that I missed it, but the implication about the larger public. If I, who, despite my limited, easily-boggled mental capacities, am relatively well informed about policy and quite well versed in interpreting film, managed to completely look over these blatantly obvious political points, how likely is it that anyone else is seeing these things? Hollywood is spending hundreds of millions on socialist tracts and no one seems to be paying any attention.

Still, I’d definitely be in support of some Robocop-style criminal justice. Anyone who’s seen the movie knows there’s one fictional rapist who won’t be harming anyone soon.

Road Rules Challenge

Today’s Rasberry column in the Post opposing the Roberts nomination contains one of the more inane anecdotes I’ve read in recent history:

The second thing about balance came from a friend -- black, conservative and Republican -- who was laying out the reasons he opposes the Roberts nomination.
It isn't his conservatism, my friend said, but the too-smooth path by which Roberts has arrived at this juncture. Son of a wealthy steel executive, Roberts attended private schools, Harvard and Harvard Law School, then held a federal appeals court clerkship, followed a year later by a clerkship with Supreme Court Justice (now Chief Justice) William Rehnquist.

He then was named special assistant to the U.S. attorney general, and associate counsel to the president (at age 27) before joining one of Washington's top law firms. Then Roberts went to the office of the solicitor general of the United States and, for the past two years, a seat on the U.S. Court of Appeals for the D.C. Circuit.
The point: Nothing in that glide path suggests exposure to anything that might temper his conservative philosophy with real-life exposure to the problems and concerns of ordinary men and women.

Would Rasberry (or his friend, since he’s decided to evade responsibility for the sentiment by crediting it to a “friend,” allowing him to suggest the idea and then claim it isn’t necessarily his) prefer that Roberts had spent time flipping burgers or digging sewage ditches? Roberts has lived a life of privilege, but it’s that disdained privilege that’s given the man the resources to become one of the top legal minds in the country. If Roberts had spent time engaged with “the problems and concerns of ordinary” citizens, he’d be far less likely to boast the impressive resume that qualifies him for the spot.

Only a fool would try to dethrone the rarified position of a Supreme Court Justice; Rasberry wants an Everyman donning those robes. Anyway – aren’t the liberals the ones that always sneer at Bush’s middle-America appeal? But now Rasberry – excuse me, his friend – wants it on the Court?

Let’s not even touch the fact that he believes that “real-life exposure” would temper conservative philosophies. Last I checked, liberalism was the ideology of the academic class. Maybe Rasberry needs some real-life exposure of his own.

New music round up

August is always a good month for indie rock. Because many of the year’s major releases are scheduled for the fall months leading up to the Christmas buying season, promos typically start flooding in towards the end of July and peak in the middle of August. This year is no exception. After a few relatively slow months, there’s now simply so much great music that’s made its way through my speakers that I’ve had trouble keeping up. However, the following are some of the highlights.

Death Cab for Cutie: Plans – I’ve already written about this album, but after only a few days of listening I’ve become severely attached to it. Once again, Ben Gibbard, Chris Walla and the rest of the Cabbers have created a gently rocking pop confection of the first order. While they’ve dropped some of the melancholic grandeur of Airplanes and Facts, they’ve honed their melodic lines and smoothed Gibbard’s vocals into the sweetest thing this side of Hershey’s.

John Vanderslice: Pixel Revolt – Vanderslice has long been one of my favorite artists, one of the few working artists who can blend pop melodies and structures with disarmingly original instrumentation. With his penchant for layering analog sounds into classic pop song structures, he creates a stratified pop-rock that manages to be both experimental and accessible. Pixel Revolt is more subdued than some of his recent albums, and includes nothing so immediately endearing as Cellar Door’s opener “Pale Horse,” but it still displays the same sort of witty, bemused rock-storyteller sensibility that’s made Vanderslice’s other releases so imminently listenable.

Constantines: Tournament of Hearts - Pitchfork, in one of its best rhetorical cross-breedings, once described Constantines as Fugazi meets Bruce Springsteen. The Canadian rockers have always leaned a little more towards the DC post punk championed by Dischord’s number one draw, but on TOH, the anthemic glory rock seems to be pushing for dominance. The opener, “Draw Us Lines,” is a slow, driving build for which rest of the album attempts, with much success, to deliver an appropriate string of climaxes. Not as angular or ballsy as their previous albums, it’s still a solid outing that delivers both the zig-zag guitars of post-punk and Boss style calls to arms.

Criteria: When We Break – Speaking of anthemic, it’d be borderline impossible to write about Criteria without using that word. The newest additions to the Saddle Creek roster don’t do anything that hasn’t been done before – crunchy riffs, start-stop guitar lines, punchy grooves and soaring choruses abound – but they do it with so much energy that it’s hard not to let loose with an old fashioned Billy Idol arm throw and scream “Hell yeah!” Possibly a guilty pleasure; possibly just really good.

The Narrator: Such Triumph & Joan of Arc: Presents Guitar Duets – It’s tough to be a Joan of Arc fan. I’ll never actually find the interview, but at one point, one of the Kinsellas who frequents the band and its many spin offs said something to the effect of, “We’re always trying to find new ways to disappoint our fans.” From the ambient indie glitch of A Portable Model of… to the antagonistic strangeness of Dick Cheney, Mark Twain, Joan of Arc, the band has moved from experimental idols to oft-hated eccentrics. But in one of their slew of new side projects, The Narrator, they’ve finally released a straight up rock album (or as close as they can come to it) that should please even their harshest critics. Manic and barely contained, Such Triumph lives up to its titular billing. The band’s other recent release, a collection of guitar duets by frequent JOA members, is equally stunning in a wholly different way. Anyone who’s seen the band live will know that, besides being really, really strange, the JOA legion is also made up of surprisingly good instrumentalists, and on Duets, Sam Zurick, Matt Clark, Bobby Burg, a slew of Kinsellas and several more sometime JOA contributors offer up a series of instrumental guitar pieces that showcase their technical skills and their gifts for interlocking virtuoso licks. Not a true JOA album, but what really is?

This is the government, responding to your ad for a nanny...

Jack Shafer points out a disturbing statistic:

When the same Annenberg survey asked if government should have the right to limit the press in reporting a story, an appalling 68 percent said either "always," "sometimes," or "rarely." Only 29 percent said "never." Let's hope the First Amendment never comes up for a vote.

Freedom of speech, and all the messy drama it entails, is a fundamental part of the American experience, and yet so few people grasp its essential conflict. To allow truly unadulterated speech to flourish, one must be willing to allow unpopular, even vulgar and disturbing, ideas along with the ones an individual already supports. This seems obvious, and many will pay tacit lipservice to allowing the other side to have their say. But put it to a vote - or a poll - and the results show that a surprising number of people would love to shut the other guy up.

The willingness of the American public to allow the government to control the flow of information is a troubling sign that suggests a move towards Britain-style speech laws might not be as unlikely as it sounds. I for one, want my beer ads to continue to be littered with outrageously attractive young people. What's the point of alcohol if it doesn't make you feel hot?

Time to make 'Plans'

The indie scene will never tire of calling sellout to any band that bucks the hipster sensibility and makes a move designed to generate financial success. Why this is the case I’ll never understand, as it seems like music-obsessed scene nerds would want their idols to be as financially successful as possible, because hey – more time to make music, right? I don’t know about you, but I’d much prefer to see my favorite singers spend their time singing rather than waiting tables.

Now, Ben Gibbard hasn’t worked a straight job in a long time, but music snobs everywhere have been poo-pooing his work with increasing fervor since the only modestly successful Photo Album. Death Cab’s newest disk is its first on a major label and follows a truckload of mainstream exposure courtesy of indie-yuppie guilty pleasure The O.C., so the horn-rimmed glasses crew are doing their best to sneer and snark through the release.

And for once, they’re almost right. Despite the band’s website promise that the only thing that would change with their new label is the logo appearing on the back of the packaging, the group has clearly mellowed out its sound, caressing their already wussified sonics into a glazed-over, super processed frosted layer of aural syrup. Death Cab has never been edgy, but on Plans, the group’s filed down its blandness until it’s as soft as a cushion.

But strangely – and wonderfully – the essence of the band’s appeal remains. Gibbard’s voice is still silky smooth, drifting airily over small but strong melodies that never fail to command your attention. Every song has a dreamy, weightless quality that Gibbard and co. seem to be able to create simply by breathing. Effortless and breezily graceful, it’s so easygoing that you have to try to dislike it.

Fortunately, that’s why we have Pitchfork.

UPDATE: The commenters on Stereogum are also too cool.

From the man who brought us the greatest band of all time

Typically amusing.

Edelstein on Thornton

David Edelstein is undoubtedly my favorite film critic. With his piercing wit and bemused insights into all things film, he's got the perfect blend of fair-play gamesmanship and chuckling ridicule to wade through the increasingly ludicrous waters of Hollywood. Even still, he manages to both delight and surprise, such as with this impeccable description of Billy Bob Thornton in Bad News Bears:

Thornton embodies the kind of flamboyantly dissolute but acidly intelligent Southern layabout who makes sloth, alcoholism, and self-abuse alarmingly attractive.

Faulkner would be jealous.