This article marks the first instance of the “Hyper Bowl” category of this site. Any article marked “Hyper Bowl” is going to be uninformed and indignant, or uninformed and enthusiastic. Which flavour Alex are you going to get in each Hyper Bowl? You’ll have to dig past the nonsensical metaphors and find out!
What have we here today? Why, we have a teaser for Banjo-Threeie:
Oh really, Rare? You think that you can continue the franchise that became your greatest bastian of lies?! I said to one of my friends, Hudson, that if Threeie fixed the problems of its predecessors I would forgive Rare. He said that he had forgotten the whole fiasco.
That’s exactly what they wanted an unsuspecting public to think! Rareware, making sequels on next generation platforms belonging to other publishers, so that no one will recall their crimes that shook the video gaming world six years prior!
I was surprised that Snakes on a Plane fever continued up to a week after its release. Really, I was. Then it died away, as if the major excitement that had built up had never existed.
In my continued quest for topicality and relevance, I present to you my view of Snakes on a Plane.
Nacho Libre or, as it is known in some territories, The Free Dorito*, was everything that I expected it to be and more.
It is like Napoleon Dynamite in some aspects, but in many ways it is nothing like Jon Heder’s vehicle for goshness and ambiguous Mormonism. For one thing, Nacho Libre has more of a definite story with scenes that actually relate to each other. Once, when I was at HMV looking through their ridiculously overpriced DVDs, Napoleon Dynamite was playing on their TVs. I had not seen it for several months, and so I thought the disparate scenes being shown were something like a “best of” compilation. I was surprised when I put in my own DVD a few weeks later and that was what the movie was actually like.
But I digress. Nacho Libre is a film that will polarise audiences as Napoleon Dynamite did, and even moreso simply for the inclusion of Jack Black. I love Jack Black, and my New Year 2003 celebration was spent watching Tenacious D perform at the Enmore, so this film was something like Heaven for me. Some of the lines are funny simply because Jack Black is saying them. His control of facial expressions is second to none.
When I went to DOA, I saw trailers for what will be a buckwild mainstream success (Talladega Nights), a children’s movie with a good cast (Storm Breaker – Bill Nighy!), and what is guaranteed to be purely horrid which, when last I checked, had a 0% rating on Rotten Tomatoes: The Covenant. (I just checked again: 2% now.)
The calibre of the movie you go to is going to affect the calibre of the trailers you see, with exceptions made for indisputable films that everyone is guaranteed to go and see (except, strangely enough, I can’t remember ever having seen a legitimate full length Dead Man’s Chest trailer, only a couple of teasers).
No other movie I’m going to see in the coming weeks is going to have a trailer for The Covenant, I can guarantee you that.
Talladega Nights, on the other hand, featured a trio of trailers I did not expect to see, plus one trailer that Americans will never see but was a perfect fit for this particular film.
The most understandable was Casino Royale, which is looking pretty damned good. I have my reservations about Judi Dench playing M in a story where M has been in the position longer than Bond has been a double 0 agent, but that’s really a quibbling argument when you consider just how awesome a Dame she is.
As a side note, the Casino Royale theme song, “You know my name”, leaked onto the internet this week: it’ll have to grow on me. I was looking forward to a big title song rather than just a theme song. I mean, who remembers Rita Coolidge’s “All Time High”, from Octopussy? No one, that’s who! (We’ll take on the world and win/So hold on tight/Let the flight/Begin)
The big surprise of the selection was Children of Men, the trailer for which can be found here. (Apple.com)
Or, here’s YouTube (curse your usefulness, demon site!):
Children of Men is a dystopian film based on P.D. James’ novel of the same name. In a future where no children have been born for eighteen years, humanity is dying out and the world is at war. One pregnant woman has been discovered, and she must be delivered to safety.
I think that sounds interesting enough, but then it was revealed that the hero was Clive Owen, who has impressed me in the few movies of his that I have seen (Inside Man was particularly good). Then they cracked out the big guns: Julianne Moore, with whom I have become infatuated after absorbing Far From Heaven into my bloodstream over the last few weeks, and Michael Caine, about whom nothing needs to be said other than that he is awesome.
Children of Men came out last week in the UK, comes out here next month and, for reasons that I’m not going to begin to fathom, December 25 in America. (Boxing Day is the biggest day for movies in Australia; but does anyone actually go on Christmas Day?).
Children of Men, in being promoted at Talladega Nights, caught my attention. Yet it seemed out of place there, being promoted at a movie set in a hermetically sealed fantasy world where nothing bad ever happens – and if it does, it certainly doesn’t stick.
I suppose that the lesson I’ve learned is that a trailer doesn’t always need to fit with the movie that it accompanies: if it can make someone aware of, perhaps even interested in, something that they would otherwise be blissfully ignorant of, I suppose that makes everything worthwhile.
(For the record, the one trailer that made complete sense was that for the new Australian film Boytown, about a boy band reuniting in middle age to sing songs about the issues of the middle aged. It actually looks pretty funny, and is an Australian film that might get audiences in.)
I saw this movie a couple of weeks ago but couldn’t muster up interesting enough words. It comes out in America on September 22nd.
Renaissance is a noirish CG motion capture French film. It tells a compelling story with sometimes stiff acting from some of its voice actors, but Daniel Craig and Ian Holm do good jobs with their characters. It heaps some twists on the audience that make it a more satisfying film than if its trajectory had been too straight, but it’s most intriguing aspect is the aesthetic: with the exception of transparencies like glass, the entire film is in black and white. Literally black and white – no grey.
The items in each scene are forced to define each other and it is a striking film. Your brain has to be in the right place to comprehend it, but it’s essentially an animated version of Sin City. The movement makes it easier to follow than Frank Miller’s work on the page, too.
If you can get out to a cinema, I emphatically recommend seeing Renaissance, even if you hate the French.
I bit the bullet and saw DOA. To chase it, I saw Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.
These are the sorts of movies that you will be punished for trying to take seriously. When you went into the cinema last month to see Talladega Nights, Americans, you’d better not have looked for hard hitting drama!
When you go to the cinema next month to see DOA (it came out here 6 weeks ahead of you: we can see the future), don’t expect any semblance of sense!
Yet DOA is among the most illegitimately entertaining of 2006. Sure, it grossly misrepresents video games, but then almost every video movie (including the best movie ever, Super Mario Bros.) grossly misrepresents its subject matter. Talladega Nights, by being a hotch potch of the unexpected, is exactly what one expects from the people who created it. They hit targets that may not be clear to everyone, but they are there.
Two years on, it’s yet again the last time they’ll ever do my hair: Scissor Sisters’ new album, Ta-dah, came out in Australia last weekend. It hits American shores on September 26th.
Scissor Sisters are most definitely a dancetacular pop band, delightfully individual and flatteringly derivative. Their song “Return to Oz” has played an undeniable part in the shaping of my life and, of course, “Take Your Mama” played an integral role in the stunning conclusion of my epic story Tales of Daring-Do: The Particles of Perfidy (but don’t tell them that, or there will be licencing fees).
I’m not actually certain whether Ta-dah is a “better” album than Scissor Sisters or if the novelty of new songs is what is getting me. That’s beside the point, because these are good songs, undeniably more bopping and consistent in tone their their first effort.
Joy comes in the form of “I can’t decide”, a song about mortality with lyrics along the lines of
I could throw you in a lake/or feed you poison birthday cake/I won’t deny I’m gonna miss you when you’re gone/Oh I could bury you alive/but you might crawl out with a knife/and kill me when I’m sleeping/ that’s why …
Sorrow comes from “The Land of a Thousand Words”; Elton John comes at you from all angles!
Ta-Dah is a good album, despite its lack of a “Return to Oz” to allow listeners to revisit the Skeksis of their youth.
Loathe as I am to use YouTube, here is the lead single “I don’t feel like dancin'”:
A warning before you click play on that, though: Scissor Sisters sell ridiculously well in the UK and more than reasonably here, but they’re relatively minor in the US. I understand this may be because they are “too gay”. Basically that means they know how to put on a show. I’ll top this off with this quote that I don’t particularly like, but will propagate some more:
“The fact that some of us are gay affects our music the same amount as it does that some of the members of Blondie are straight.”
60% of Scissor Sisters are homosexual. Don’t let that get to you. (Also, while I am a big fan of Blondie, I cannot tell you the sexuality by percentage of that band. Am I a bad fan, or does it simply not matter to me?)
Post script: To establish my credentials, here’s a photo of me and Jake Shears, circa January 2005.
For the record, Ana Matronic liked my shirt. I’m a shy and retiring person among people that I am in awe of at the best of times, so I’m really pleased I was able to ask Jake and Ana for photos.
This week I’ve been dashed down in my pursuit of three examples of “low art” of various calibres.
Yesterday I had intended to see DOA, which came out here last week (about a month before it’s due to hit American cinemas). For whatever reason, I had decided that it would be one of the heights of trashy fun.
I really wanted to see Jaimie Pressly as … whoever it was she was playing (scientific fact: video game movies attract audiences who don’t play the video games in question). She has this strange allure about her that only a woman who radiates classlessness can possess.
I’m certain Jaimie Pressly is perfectly nice in reality, but she’s got white trash so downpat I simply cannot resist her. Less of a drawcard for me is Holly Valance, who used to play one of the most boring, vain characters on my old Australian soap addiction, Neighbours. She carries the stench of “Flick” with her and I cannot begin to find her attractive.
Still, the film wins bonus attraction points for embracing both the fighting and beach volleyball aspects of the franchise. That’s like a Mario film in which Mario has to save Peach from Bowser, and fits in tennis, golf and an incredibly boring party with time enough for an adventure that feels only 60% complete.
Today I intended to watch Nacho Libre and Snakes on a Plane. Nacho Libre is a no brainer for me as I love Jack Black and, in my mind, Jack Black jumping into a wrestling ring to find himself facing two satyrs is the ultimate scene in cinema.
The amount of time it has taken to get to Australia – it came out many, many moons ago in America – indicates that it is somewhat “controversial” (ie not very well received critically), but I’m not going to let that get in my way.
Snakes on a Plane is slightly different. I was really surprised that the internet enthusiasm and jokes continued up to a week after its release. I was incredibly excited about seeing it when I had a concrete plan to see it the day after it came out (a week after America, for reference) but then, when that plan fell through, I simply didn’t care any more.
I’m going to see it out of fealty, but I never thought that this was the movie to save Hollywood. To pin your hopes on this movie that is blatantly not claiming to be the messiah (and, through the application of wonky logic, therefore is the messiah) is wrong.
It would also be wrong of me to pin the blame on the audiences but heck, I’ll do it:
How to Save the Film Industry!
Audiences need to get better taste and get out to the cinema more!
We need to tear down the internet!
Freemasons rule the country!
No, I don’t have the answers and I’m not going to pretend to, but I can tell you this: Snakes on a Plane is not the answer.
How does one reconcile one’s “classy” interests with the “low”? I don’t believe in guilty pleasures, so I don’t let it worry me. You’ve just got to figure out the trash that you like and screw the rest. If I find myself having to justify myself, well, I’m not going to. Dead or Alive will feature some colour and also some T&A; Nacho Libre will feature Jack Black doing what he does; and yes, I know what Snakes on a Plane will feature.
It takes a special class of “trash” to lift itself above the rest and become enjoyable. How someone sets about making a bad movie and thinking it’s good, I’ll never know, but erecting a target and hitting it is a beautiful thing.
Tonight I watched Boys Don’t Cry which, while well made, I really didn’t want to see. After I finished it, I checked out the trailer so that I could see how they promoted the film: it seems very much like something that you can’t market, almost as if it should go directly onto the “university text” list and bypass the cinema entirely.
I was most surprised by what I heard:
A true story of hope, fear, and the courage it takes to be yourself.
In what way does this pertain to the movie that I saw about the fallout of a woman passing herself as a man in smalltown America? In an effort to get people to see their films, the studios will pass their movies off however they can.
Boys Don’t Cry can be compared, I suppose, to Brokeback Mountain: the trailers for Brokeback Mountain were honest. I went into that film expecting something and getting it. I knew what Boys Don’t Cry was offering me, and the trailer was vaguely honest in that it admitted that the film was about a hate crime (well, it was more about the lead in to a hate crime), but when that voiceover man comes on, you know it’s all over.
My terrible secret is that, with the number of movies I go to, I hate some trailers a heck of a lot. In July and August, just about every film I went to had a trailer for 48 Shades in it. It was a really poorly made trailer:
“How many shades of brown are there?”
“48.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of shades of brown!”
– ACTUAL DIALOGUE
No one in Australia has gone to see the movie.
Sadly, the voice over for 48 Shades is probably telling the truth, but it is the most trite, life affirming truth that it could possibly tell. It’s no small wonder that Australians hate local cinema. That and we’re an island of pirates.
As long as the studios recognise that this stuff is pure BS, I suppose they can get away with it. If they think that I gleaned a single ounce of hope from Boys Don’t Cry, though, they’ve got another thing coming.
(if you’re wondering what Boys Don’t Cry‘s “flaw” is, I’d suppose that I’d put it down to a mild case of Hilary Swankitis).
To say that TV hasn’t been good for ages is a lie … you just have to know what to look at. The three series that I packed episodes of into this weekend cover different subject matter, but they all share one common element: they make me laugh. It is funny, then, that all three of them are sitcoms devoid of laugh tracks.
There should be another caveat: one of them has been cancelled because, as some wags have alleged, it is too “clever” for television.
The programs in question are:
Arrested Development
My Name is Earl
Scrubs
Their various comedies … absurd, built up jokes; jokes at the expense of classless criminals; Zach Braff being annoying but also being funny and allowing his cast members to be funny around him … alienates them from audiences. If you can please everybody, though, you run the risk of pleasing no one. Hence Yes Dear, My Wife and Kids, How I Met Your Mother and Everybody Loves Raymond.*
