On Saturday, I ended up taking a double dose of cinema. I spent part of the day with my dad and my little brother (who is currently convinced that he has OCD, and tells damn near everyone we encounter that he has OCD). We hit the Scottsdale 101 to see a movie, and since it was an appropriate rating for the kid and it was the only non-R film that didn't reek of potential Extreme-Suckage, we saw Stranger Than Fiction.
-STRANGER THAN FICTION (a review): I've always been of the opinion that one can reduce all forms of art criticism down to two simple Wayne's-World-esque statements: does it rock or does it suck? Stranger Than Fiction rocks, but it failed to rock my world, or rock the block, or rock my socks for that matter. My impression of the film after seeing it was the same impression I got when I first saw its trailer: Diet Charlie Kaufman. It has the Kaufman formula down pat: ordinary everyman-schlub gets caught up in a surreal, Kafka-esque realm of kooky weirdness, pines for the right girl, is aided and beset by quirky eccentrics, learns to put away whatever emotional baggage is currently holding him down, and kinda sorta lives happily ever after. The thing is, I dig Charlie Kaufman movies. The only film he's written that I haven't seen is Human Nature; I've seen all his other stories, and they all succeed in rocking my socks off. Like Tarantino, Kaufman has an easily identifiable style that is damn near impossible to mimic without looking like an ass (case in point: the avalanche of bad "hip" crime movies that sprung up in the wake of Pulp Fiction). So if you look at Stranger Than Fiction from that point of view, its the "Killing Zoe/Things To Do In Denver When You're Dead" to Charlie Kaufman's "Pulp Fiction". A good film, entertaining, at times poignant, but is no substitute for the Real Thing.
What It Does Right:
-Will Ferrell does play it pretty straight in this movie, only breaking out into his man-child tantrums every once in a while. All in all, he does a good job. Its not as impressive a performance as Jim Carrey's in "Eternal Sunshine" (where he practically vanished into the role), but there's no mistaking Fiction's Harold Cricke for Old School's Frank The Tank or Ricky Bobby or Ron Burgundy. Plus: no ass shots of Ferrell in this film. Praise the Baby Jesus!
-Emma Thompson delivers the most interesting performance as crraaazzzy genius writer Karen Eiffel. I wish she had more screentime, as she is the only character in the film that feels genuinely authentic, and not a broadly-drawn cariacture (more on that later).
-Maggie Gyllenhall: I've had a bit of a crush on her since "Secretary", and after seeing this film it hasn't abated. She and Ferrell have a nice love-hate chemistry going; unfortunately, she's a cartoon character for 1/2 the film.
-The central premise of a man being hounded by a persistent narrator is a good one.
-Soundtrack: lots of Spoon (
) and a very effective use of Wreckless Eric's "Whole Wide World" (which I've never heard of prior to seeing the movie, and it was the first thing I downloa... I mean, "archived" when I got home).
-The love story between Will + Maggie is handled very well. Its one of those films that show a romance blossoming in small gestures (aside from an obligitory serenade scene, but that was handled well); rather than a vacation in Switzerland or confessions of love atop the Space Needle, W + M spend their lovelife crashed out on a couch eating cookies and watching old movies. Something like that, so mundane and humdrum, becomes quite poignant, especially viewed in the context of how most Hollywood depictions of love are 1) operatic, 2) shrill, and 3) completely absurd.
What was wrong and "meh" about it:
-Dustin Hoffman was entertaining, as usual, but goddamn did he phone it in. It was the kind of role that was effortless in that "I'm not even really working here, I'm just doing that thing I did in I Heart Huckabees again" kind of way, as opposed to the usual complimentary sense of effortless.
-Queen Latifah was wasted. She has charisma and acting ability, and gets stuck either A) playing the sassy black sidekick (Stranger Than Fiction) or B) getting stuck in a shitty movie with Jimmy Fallon (Taxi: burn in hell, Fallon, you comedic-black-hole-of-soul-rending-universe-shattering-suckiness). Queen: off with your agent's head!
-The director tried too hard to be "quirky" at times. One of the film's early devices was putting up numbers on screen, and little icons that flutter about to represent Will's thoughts, and abandons that device for most of the film, only to resurface once or twice towards the end. That shit was not necessary. It was distracting and goofy.
-The director + writer didn't try hard enough with the premise. The omnipresent, oppressive narrator could have been used to so much more comedic/sinister effect. I walked out of the theater thinking of narrator interjections: imagine a sex scene where the narrator does a running commentary on the act, discussing the lady's displeasure with the whole thing, thus ruining the confidence of our rutting hero. There's gold in dem hills, dammit!
-The two lead characters are complete and utter cliches for half the movie. Will + Maggie's love story only gets all heart-warming and affecting towards the end of the film, when they actually start acting like real people; early on, they're both completely unbelievable. Him: the kind of easy-going, sedate, IRS agent that counts out every stroke of his toothbrush, has no friends, and is content with his nonlife. Her: a counterculture baker who pulls a Thoreau and refuses to pay her taxes as a protest against unchecked militarism blah blah blah. Their interactions with each other are just as cliched: she hates him for being an agent of the man, he lusts after her free spirit and mammary glands. Then she bakes him cookies, and through the consumption of cookies, our hero learns to Live Life For The First Time. Yes, that's right, he achieves satori through the joys of baked goods. Oi vey. They bond and all their animosity vanishes into the ether. In a Kaufman script, that animosity would never entirely vanish; it would always linger under the surface, waiting to surface at inopportune moments. Not in this film, though.
The verdict: I did like the film. Sure, its derivative as fuck and silly at times, but I would buy the DVD (used), and it was worth the price of admission. While a lot of its storytelling conceits were contrived and tried way too hard, the film has a sincere heart. The actors shine through their two-dimensional roles, and I actually wanted to see Will/Harold succeed in the end.
After getting dropped off back at the apartment, I killed a couple of hours by reading Thomas Pynchon's "The Crying Of Lot 49". It was the first Pynchon novel I've read, and I dug the hell out of it. I've got copies of "V" and "Mason & Dixon" buried somewhere at my work stash shelf, so I'll have to actuallly buy those at some point and give them a whirl.
Eric and Chris showed up later in the evening. We had gotten together with EJ the night before to play cards, and we had decided to try catching Borat again (seeing as we got cockblocked last week by a sold-out crowd). After traumatizing them with a mock-Power Rangers YouTube vid, we headed back to the 101 and actually got into Borat this time.
BORAT (a real short review): if comedy could be measured by a Geiger counter, Borat is Chernobyll. It shatters the laughing Richter scale. I didn't laugh so much as I howled out my lungs for the better part of two hours. Sacha Baron Cohen has balls of titanium. This film doesn't just live up to its hype; it backs its hype into an alley wall, douses it in gasoline, and sets it on fire. This film laughs at its hype as it burns alive. This film kicks its bleeding corpse once the hype's life-force has been snuffed out by the raging inferno.
In short, Borat is the funniest film I've seen in a theater in a long, long, long, long, long, long time.
As for Sunday: I met back up with my pops and my lil'bro. We had lunch, some interesting conversatin', I picked up another philosophy book to torture my brain with at a later date (Deleuze and Guattari's "Anti-Oedipus") and I later retired back to the apartment to watch Adult Swim and cracked open my copy of Viking's "The Portable Karl Marx" (I just finished up the Manifesto, which I've only flipped through in the past).
And a-be-a-be-abe, thaaat's all folks!
-STRANGER THAN FICTION (a review): I've always been of the opinion that one can reduce all forms of art criticism down to two simple Wayne's-World-esque statements: does it rock or does it suck? Stranger Than Fiction rocks, but it failed to rock my world, or rock the block, or rock my socks for that matter. My impression of the film after seeing it was the same impression I got when I first saw its trailer: Diet Charlie Kaufman. It has the Kaufman formula down pat: ordinary everyman-schlub gets caught up in a surreal, Kafka-esque realm of kooky weirdness, pines for the right girl, is aided and beset by quirky eccentrics, learns to put away whatever emotional baggage is currently holding him down, and kinda sorta lives happily ever after. The thing is, I dig Charlie Kaufman movies. The only film he's written that I haven't seen is Human Nature; I've seen all his other stories, and they all succeed in rocking my socks off. Like Tarantino, Kaufman has an easily identifiable style that is damn near impossible to mimic without looking like an ass (case in point: the avalanche of bad "hip" crime movies that sprung up in the wake of Pulp Fiction). So if you look at Stranger Than Fiction from that point of view, its the "Killing Zoe/Things To Do In Denver When You're Dead" to Charlie Kaufman's "Pulp Fiction". A good film, entertaining, at times poignant, but is no substitute for the Real Thing.
What It Does Right:
-Will Ferrell does play it pretty straight in this movie, only breaking out into his man-child tantrums every once in a while. All in all, he does a good job. Its not as impressive a performance as Jim Carrey's in "Eternal Sunshine" (where he practically vanished into the role), but there's no mistaking Fiction's Harold Cricke for Old School's Frank The Tank or Ricky Bobby or Ron Burgundy. Plus: no ass shots of Ferrell in this film. Praise the Baby Jesus!
-Emma Thompson delivers the most interesting performance as crraaazzzy genius writer Karen Eiffel. I wish she had more screentime, as she is the only character in the film that feels genuinely authentic, and not a broadly-drawn cariacture (more on that later).
-Maggie Gyllenhall: I've had a bit of a crush on her since "Secretary", and after seeing this film it hasn't abated. She and Ferrell have a nice love-hate chemistry going; unfortunately, she's a cartoon character for 1/2 the film.
-The central premise of a man being hounded by a persistent narrator is a good one.
-Soundtrack: lots of Spoon (
) and a very effective use of Wreckless Eric's "Whole Wide World" (which I've never heard of prior to seeing the movie, and it was the first thing I downloa... I mean, "archived" when I got home).-The love story between Will + Maggie is handled very well. Its one of those films that show a romance blossoming in small gestures (aside from an obligitory serenade scene, but that was handled well); rather than a vacation in Switzerland or confessions of love atop the Space Needle, W + M spend their lovelife crashed out on a couch eating cookies and watching old movies. Something like that, so mundane and humdrum, becomes quite poignant, especially viewed in the context of how most Hollywood depictions of love are 1) operatic, 2) shrill, and 3) completely absurd.
What was wrong and "meh" about it:
-Dustin Hoffman was entertaining, as usual, but goddamn did he phone it in. It was the kind of role that was effortless in that "I'm not even really working here, I'm just doing that thing I did in I Heart Huckabees again" kind of way, as opposed to the usual complimentary sense of effortless.
-Queen Latifah was wasted. She has charisma and acting ability, and gets stuck either A) playing the sassy black sidekick (Stranger Than Fiction) or B) getting stuck in a shitty movie with Jimmy Fallon (Taxi: burn in hell, Fallon, you comedic-black-hole-of-soul-rending-universe-shattering-suckiness). Queen: off with your agent's head!
-The director tried too hard to be "quirky" at times. One of the film's early devices was putting up numbers on screen, and little icons that flutter about to represent Will's thoughts, and abandons that device for most of the film, only to resurface once or twice towards the end. That shit was not necessary. It was distracting and goofy.
-The director + writer didn't try hard enough with the premise. The omnipresent, oppressive narrator could have been used to so much more comedic/sinister effect. I walked out of the theater thinking of narrator interjections: imagine a sex scene where the narrator does a running commentary on the act, discussing the lady's displeasure with the whole thing, thus ruining the confidence of our rutting hero. There's gold in dem hills, dammit!
-The two lead characters are complete and utter cliches for half the movie. Will + Maggie's love story only gets all heart-warming and affecting towards the end of the film, when they actually start acting like real people; early on, they're both completely unbelievable. Him: the kind of easy-going, sedate, IRS agent that counts out every stroke of his toothbrush, has no friends, and is content with his nonlife. Her: a counterculture baker who pulls a Thoreau and refuses to pay her taxes as a protest against unchecked militarism blah blah blah. Their interactions with each other are just as cliched: she hates him for being an agent of the man, he lusts after her free spirit and mammary glands. Then she bakes him cookies, and through the consumption of cookies, our hero learns to Live Life For The First Time. Yes, that's right, he achieves satori through the joys of baked goods. Oi vey. They bond and all their animosity vanishes into the ether. In a Kaufman script, that animosity would never entirely vanish; it would always linger under the surface, waiting to surface at inopportune moments. Not in this film, though.
The verdict: I did like the film. Sure, its derivative as fuck and silly at times, but I would buy the DVD (used), and it was worth the price of admission. While a lot of its storytelling conceits were contrived and tried way too hard, the film has a sincere heart. The actors shine through their two-dimensional roles, and I actually wanted to see Will/Harold succeed in the end.
After getting dropped off back at the apartment, I killed a couple of hours by reading Thomas Pynchon's "The Crying Of Lot 49". It was the first Pynchon novel I've read, and I dug the hell out of it. I've got copies of "V" and "Mason & Dixon" buried somewhere at my work stash shelf, so I'll have to actuallly buy those at some point and give them a whirl.
Eric and Chris showed up later in the evening. We had gotten together with EJ the night before to play cards, and we had decided to try catching Borat again (seeing as we got cockblocked last week by a sold-out crowd). After traumatizing them with a mock-Power Rangers YouTube vid, we headed back to the 101 and actually got into Borat this time.
BORAT (a real short review): if comedy could be measured by a Geiger counter, Borat is Chernobyll. It shatters the laughing Richter scale. I didn't laugh so much as I howled out my lungs for the better part of two hours. Sacha Baron Cohen has balls of titanium. This film doesn't just live up to its hype; it backs its hype into an alley wall, douses it in gasoline, and sets it on fire. This film laughs at its hype as it burns alive. This film kicks its bleeding corpse once the hype's life-force has been snuffed out by the raging inferno.
In short, Borat is the funniest film I've seen in a theater in a long, long, long, long, long, long time.
As for Sunday: I met back up with my pops and my lil'bro. We had lunch, some interesting conversatin', I picked up another philosophy book to torture my brain with at a later date (Deleuze and Guattari's "Anti-Oedipus") and I later retired back to the apartment to watch Adult Swim and cracked open my copy of Viking's "The Portable Karl Marx" (I just finished up the Manifesto, which I've only flipped through in the past).
And a-be-a-be-abe, thaaat's all folks!
I never really cared for Kaufman. All of his movies that I've seen seemed gimmicky - one-trick ponies if you will. Admittedly, I've only seen Eternal Sunshine and Being John Malkovich, so there is definitely room for error in my appraisal. However, to use Malkovich as an example, he takes a great question "What would it be like to live in someone else's shoes for a day?" and goes about trying to put together an answer... but then it's almost like he finds it too much of a challenge, makes up some ridiculous backstory that imposes nonsensical rules upon the situation and then ends with an almost moralistic note. It was like taking Neon Genesis and replacing the ending with the series finale of St. Elsewhere.