Readers, Young and Olde,
I'm sure you all have missed me dearly. I have neglected both you and this blog for close to two months now. I apologize fully, however, I don't mean it. I've been busy...living. You have probably been busy waiting and I can't blame you. I am two months into this thing people like to call "college," and I have quite a few things to share/critique/speak poorly about. This post will be devoted to the culture of my college: WashU.
WashU, short for Washington University in St. Louis, is located in, of all places, St. Louis, Missoura. Now, the reason I mention this in a seemingly tautological fashion is because of the first piece of WashU culture: no one knows where in Christ's name WashU is. If one were to say "Washington University" to any average citizen of America, chances are they'll think, "Isn't that outside of Seattle?". Well, they're wrong. We are not the University of Washington, which is conveniently located in Seattle, Washington. We are, instead, Washington University in St. Louis. In fact, the shirt of the year at our campus has the words "WashU Pride" written on the front (not suggestive of our LGBT organization, though one might confuse it for such) and "It's in St. Louis, Dammit" (notice the correct spelling of "dammit" and the proper use of the comma) on the back. Apparently, many of us are proud and would like everyone on the WashU campus to know where we are in an almost grating fashion. That's WashU though: blatant and a bit sarcastic.
The second bit of WashU culture, and it must be said, is there is a WashU bubble. When in this bubble, the real world vanishes. I honestly have no idea what is going on outside of this campus. I also don't have much idea of what is going on inside this campus, but that is beside the point. When here, there is no real world. That means, for example, no one here knew about the "Occupy Wall Street" movement until two weeks after it had started. The irony of the bubble is we all get free copies of the New York Times every day, yet we still cannot figure out what is going on in the ever-changing, allegedly very important real world.
TANGENT ALERT:
The "Occupy Wall Street" movement is stupid. I mean really stupid. If you've seen these swarthy guys and gals standing up for the "99%", you would be confused as I'm pretty sure most of the bottom 99% carries themselves with at least some hygiene habits. These OWS-ers, however, look as though their stink alone might scare the investment banker "pigs" (their words, not mine(If anyone who works at GS is reading this, I would like to be an IB one day and I'm sure my references will speak accordingly to this)) from Wall Street, thus accomplishing their goal. But then the greater question comes into play: who becomes the top 1% if the top 1% leave? That's right. The top 1% of the bottom 99% does. Hmm...then what happens? Are they to be protested too? It only seems fair right? I guess what's going to happen here is everyone will be forced to leave America except the 99 poorest Americans because then the top 1% will be a fraction of a person. This should be interesting. I'd buy stock in a popcorn company because there will be quite a bit consumed watching this comedy of humanity play out.
END OF TANGENT
On a social note, WashU is awesome. Yes, there is a fair amount of studying, but I have never seen a more laid back group of people in my life. Work is done quickly and effectively, then we all kick back and enjoy ourselves. A typical week involves a couple poker games. The frat parties on the weekend are always capable of pleasing. Plenty of good times are had, during both the week and weekend. I would say that WashU is not at all what I expected in this respect. I honestly thought most kids would study all the time, leaving me and a very small group of kids to our own devices trying to make our own fun. This simply is not so. The atmosphere is incredibly relaxed. The sarcasm at this school is so thick, it could be cut with a knife. Life has put me at this school, and I'm more than happy to make the most of it. A quick note: Northwestern Sucks, so does University of Chicago. I would be willing to wager most schools in Boston suck, too with the exception of Harvard and MIT (from what I've heard those two know how to have a great time). But my advice to all high-achieving students that might be reading this (I'm sure there's at least one): if you're thinking Ivy or a super-elite, top tier school, WashU is your place. I don't know how the school could be any better. Possibly if we had Sherpas (or perhaps Sherpae for those Latin scholars out there) that would carry us to and from class. That is one thing about WashU: the campus is long. Walking across the sucker can take upwards of 15-20 minutes, but it's great exercise, I suppose. Oh, also, the school isn't pretentious at all...except for all the pretentiousness that I have purposefully brought and distributed freely. Anyway, if you're smart and thinking about a great school, come tour here at least. I will warn you that the tour only tells you about the buildings, not about how incredible the school actually is. So, you should probably also spend a weekend here as a "Pre-Frosh" (that's what we call them and we don't bite much(I promise(unless you want us to, that is))). Also, if you're coming down, shoot me a text if you know me or an email if you don't, and I'd be happy to show you around/give you a tour/answer any questions the official info session might not have answered.
Come tour because we're in St. Louis, Dammit,
DG
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Midnight in Paris
Trusted Readers,
A bit of forewarning. This post is going to get a bit introspective. I'm treating you to a two-fer. The first part of the post will concern the above mentioned Woody Allen film, "Midnight in Paris," then there will be a clever segue of my choosing quickly followed by a bit of a stream of conscience expose that hopefully will speak, musically, poetically, literally, to you, Trusted Reader.
"Midnight in Paris" is my favourite (notice the British spelling) film of probably the past five years. It then can be assumed that it is probably my favourite (again, notice the British spelling) film of the summer. But of course, you, reader, know better than to assume. However, rest assured. "Midnight in Paris" is my favourite (notice the British spelling) film of this summer. The film stars Owen Wilson as Woody Allen and Rachel McAdams as Diane Keaton and is set in, of all places, Paris.
The plot revolves around Gil (Wilson) a successful American writer trying to find inspiration for his next novel. He believes Paris is the place to find such inspiration and decides to vacation there with his fiance, Inez (McAdams). Now, Gil is a bit of a romantic. He believes that the best period of Paris' history was back in the 1920s when the Paris Circle, a group of mostly American expatriates along with the occasional Picasso and Bunuel, was at its peak under the guidance of Gertrude Stein. No one that Gil knows agrees with him. But, as fortune would have it, Gil is walking back to his hotel one night, a bit drunk, and, lo and behold, a taxi out of the 1920s filled with loud flappers and a man by the name of Scott Fitzgerald picks Gil up. Ta da. He's been magically transported back to the '20s. Gil meets all sorts of celebrities of yore including, but not limited to, Ernest Hemingway, Josephine Baker, and Cole Porter to name a few. Then, come morning, he's back in the present day. He tells his fiance and her parents, who are in Paris for business, but no one believes him. He is still convinced and retraces his steps the next night to find he falls back into the '20s again. This time, he has a rough draft of his current novel which he gives to Gertrude Stein to critique. The novel is about nostalgia and an antique shop. She critiques and he listens. The primary device that moves the plot is Gil meeting one of Picasso's many lovers and his falling for her. However, she believes the turn of the century is the best time for Paris. This longing for the "golden age" which is found to be present in all times of history, including during one's presumed "golden age," causes Gil to realize nostalgia just ain't what it used to be.
The subject was an interesting one for Allen to write about considering he has seen so much and lived so long. This is definitely an I-wish-I-was-younger-but-I'm-not-so-I-may-as-well-enjoy-being-old films that all distinguished filmmakers create when they realize they are old. But I loved the film, in my ripe age of nineteen years, nonetheless. Though I am young, the idea of nostalgia and what Allen realized is rather apt to me.
This summer has been interesting to say the least. It has, if nothing, been nostalgic. Having just been graduated from high school, I am in a limbo of sorts. Currently, I stand on the border between, as I feel, my childhood and adulthood with high school symbolizing childhood and college, adulthood. It's a rather strange place to be. I have classified everyone I know into three categories: those who (mistakenly) are excited to be seniors in high school because they haven't yet had to suffer through second semester, those who have already been through their first semester of college and tell me, "You have no idea how much fun it's all going to be" (they're right, I have no idea because I have no perspective), and all the poor suckers who, like me, are waiting to go to college. So, not knowing what to look forward to, I look back. I've spent the summer looking back at being young and I suppose innocent. I've especially looked back at my high school years. The swim team that I loved for the people but hated for the swimming. The classes that I dreaded and the teachers with whom I hope to keep correspondence long after my days in those halls. The best friends with whom I've spent weekend after, sometimes, uneventful weekend messing around playing Call of Duty (2 usually because my best friend is a sadist who knows he's stupid good at that version but everyone else hates). The girlfriends. Need I say more?
As I look back, I know I'm going to miss all of it. All of my fondest memories happened in my last nineteen years and quite a few of them during my last four alone. I will never be able to say, "I'm in high school" again. I, and I really am going to miss this, am never going to get to act in a play for my high school again. Those were some of my best times. There's nothing quite like sitting through dress rehearsals, patiently, in full costume taking all sorts of critiques from my director when all I really want to do is talk to the girl with the over-sized lollipop and just be able to smile for no reason and laugh a lot. But all of that is over for me. I'm now going to a different world. An unfamiliar place.
However true this might appear to be, I have not yet mentioned the one trump card which changes everything: the St. Louis factor. For those who did not grow up in St. Louis, this will be lost on you. St. Louis is a big city that also happens to be a very small town. Everyone knows everyone, and those that grew up here went to school with everyone. Now most of us are going off to college (the rest are still in high school), some in distant places others in not so distant lands (like me going to school in St. Louis), but we still end up knowing everyone. Why is this? I believe St. Louis is a siren, and she tempts all of us back. And, as well tied to the mast as we may be, we come back. We go off into the world and find ourselves, then we come back. But this is the hopeful part. The beautiful part. We grow up together, we go off alone and come back (sometimes with a wife and kids, sometimes looking for a wife and kids), then we grow old together. And there's where nostalgia ain't what it used to be. The future in St. Louis is inextricably tied to the past. (It's often joked that one can't swing a dead cat in St. Louis without hitting someone they know. But that's the fun. It seems almost poetic to go through life from literally birth to more or less death with the same circle of friends, family, current lovers, former lovers, and future lovers going in and out of our lives. All players taking different parts at different times. It makes the whole experience more meaningful I believe.)
Allen shows that the past is gone and we must look forward to the future, whatever it may hold. For me, my past and my future will, very possibly, be linked. It's as though the first and third acts of the "Play of my Life" will have the same setting. What sits in between, and what will be most enlightening, is the second act which I'm about to begin.
"Midnight in Paris" is a film you, reader, should see. Or perhaps you've already seen it. Either way it is both beautiful and thought-provoking. On top of the film being superb, I couldn't have asked to see it with better company.
I hope you've read this whole damn post,
D
A bit of forewarning. This post is going to get a bit introspective. I'm treating you to a two-fer. The first part of the post will concern the above mentioned Woody Allen film, "Midnight in Paris," then there will be a clever segue of my choosing quickly followed by a bit of a stream of conscience expose that hopefully will speak, musically, poetically, literally, to you, Trusted Reader.
"Midnight in Paris" is my favourite (notice the British spelling) film of probably the past five years. It then can be assumed that it is probably my favourite (again, notice the British spelling) film of the summer. But of course, you, reader, know better than to assume. However, rest assured. "Midnight in Paris" is my favourite (notice the British spelling) film of this summer. The film stars Owen Wilson as Woody Allen and Rachel McAdams as Diane Keaton and is set in, of all places, Paris.
The plot revolves around Gil (Wilson) a successful American writer trying to find inspiration for his next novel. He believes Paris is the place to find such inspiration and decides to vacation there with his fiance, Inez (McAdams). Now, Gil is a bit of a romantic. He believes that the best period of Paris' history was back in the 1920s when the Paris Circle, a group of mostly American expatriates along with the occasional Picasso and Bunuel, was at its peak under the guidance of Gertrude Stein. No one that Gil knows agrees with him. But, as fortune would have it, Gil is walking back to his hotel one night, a bit drunk, and, lo and behold, a taxi out of the 1920s filled with loud flappers and a man by the name of Scott Fitzgerald picks Gil up. Ta da. He's been magically transported back to the '20s. Gil meets all sorts of celebrities of yore including, but not limited to, Ernest Hemingway, Josephine Baker, and Cole Porter to name a few. Then, come morning, he's back in the present day. He tells his fiance and her parents, who are in Paris for business, but no one believes him. He is still convinced and retraces his steps the next night to find he falls back into the '20s again. This time, he has a rough draft of his current novel which he gives to Gertrude Stein to critique. The novel is about nostalgia and an antique shop. She critiques and he listens. The primary device that moves the plot is Gil meeting one of Picasso's many lovers and his falling for her. However, she believes the turn of the century is the best time for Paris. This longing for the "golden age" which is found to be present in all times of history, including during one's presumed "golden age," causes Gil to realize nostalgia just ain't what it used to be.
The subject was an interesting one for Allen to write about considering he has seen so much and lived so long. This is definitely an I-wish-I-was-younger-but-I'm-not-so-I-may-as-well-enjoy-being-old films that all distinguished filmmakers create when they realize they are old. But I loved the film, in my ripe age of nineteen years, nonetheless. Though I am young, the idea of nostalgia and what Allen realized is rather apt to me.
This summer has been interesting to say the least. It has, if nothing, been nostalgic. Having just been graduated from high school, I am in a limbo of sorts. Currently, I stand on the border between, as I feel, my childhood and adulthood with high school symbolizing childhood and college, adulthood. It's a rather strange place to be. I have classified everyone I know into three categories: those who (mistakenly) are excited to be seniors in high school because they haven't yet had to suffer through second semester, those who have already been through their first semester of college and tell me, "You have no idea how much fun it's all going to be" (they're right, I have no idea because I have no perspective), and all the poor suckers who, like me, are waiting to go to college. So, not knowing what to look forward to, I look back. I've spent the summer looking back at being young and I suppose innocent. I've especially looked back at my high school years. The swim team that I loved for the people but hated for the swimming. The classes that I dreaded and the teachers with whom I hope to keep correspondence long after my days in those halls. The best friends with whom I've spent weekend after, sometimes, uneventful weekend messing around playing Call of Duty (2 usually because my best friend is a sadist who knows he's stupid good at that version but everyone else hates). The girlfriends. Need I say more?
As I look back, I know I'm going to miss all of it. All of my fondest memories happened in my last nineteen years and quite a few of them during my last four alone. I will never be able to say, "I'm in high school" again. I, and I really am going to miss this, am never going to get to act in a play for my high school again. Those were some of my best times. There's nothing quite like sitting through dress rehearsals, patiently, in full costume taking all sorts of critiques from my director when all I really want to do is talk to the girl with the over-sized lollipop and just be able to smile for no reason and laugh a lot. But all of that is over for me. I'm now going to a different world. An unfamiliar place.
However true this might appear to be, I have not yet mentioned the one trump card which changes everything: the St. Louis factor. For those who did not grow up in St. Louis, this will be lost on you. St. Louis is a big city that also happens to be a very small town. Everyone knows everyone, and those that grew up here went to school with everyone. Now most of us are going off to college (the rest are still in high school), some in distant places others in not so distant lands (like me going to school in St. Louis), but we still end up knowing everyone. Why is this? I believe St. Louis is a siren, and she tempts all of us back. And, as well tied to the mast as we may be, we come back. We go off into the world and find ourselves, then we come back. But this is the hopeful part. The beautiful part. We grow up together, we go off alone and come back (sometimes with a wife and kids, sometimes looking for a wife and kids), then we grow old together. And there's where nostalgia ain't what it used to be. The future in St. Louis is inextricably tied to the past. (It's often joked that one can't swing a dead cat in St. Louis without hitting someone they know. But that's the fun. It seems almost poetic to go through life from literally birth to more or less death with the same circle of friends, family, current lovers, former lovers, and future lovers going in and out of our lives. All players taking different parts at different times. It makes the whole experience more meaningful I believe.)
Allen shows that the past is gone and we must look forward to the future, whatever it may hold. For me, my past and my future will, very possibly, be linked. It's as though the first and third acts of the "Play of my Life" will have the same setting. What sits in between, and what will be most enlightening, is the second act which I'm about to begin.
"Midnight in Paris" is a film you, reader, should see. Or perhaps you've already seen it. Either way it is both beautiful and thought-provoking. On top of the film being superb, I couldn't have asked to see it with better company.
I hope you've read this whole damn post,
D
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Fright Night (2011)
Readers, Young and Olde,
This is going to be a standard post. I will introduce the film I saw tonight and say a few witty things about it. After the film has been introduced, I will probably mention who directed it and any notable cast members (for those of you playing at home, there is a better than good chance I will mention Colin Farrell) as well as mention that the lead actress is rather attractive (however her last name, according to IMDb, appears to be, and I quote, "Poots"). Then, I will give you, reader, young or olde, a taste of the plot but only a taste. I don't want to spoil the film for you. Interspersed with the taste will undoubtedly be displays of both my intelligence and wry sense of humor as I dryly observe various humorous...er...observations. Afterward, I'll probably talk about the metaphor of the vampire making a few smart-ass references to the Twilight Series along the way. If this interests you, please, by all means, read on. If it does not then piss off.
"Fright Night" is a remake of the 1985 "classic" by the same name. Apparently the original was so remarkable and groundbreaking that the studios thought it necessary to rehash the script and run it through the magical Hollywood mill again. The first time I saw the original "Fright Night" was a real where-were-you-when moments (sarcasm with a dash of wit). The film is directed by Craig Gillespie (no relation to Dizzie) who apparently also directed "Lars and the Real Girl." If you've never heard of this film before, you don't have the IFC network and you're probably lucky. It's weird. I'll sum "Lars" up with this: blow-up dolls can be a lot weirder if they aren't used for sexual purposes ("Oh, I'm going to marry a blow-up doll! Isn't that normal?" (My two line summary of "Lars and the Real Girl")). So, "Fright Night" stars Colin Farrell as the big bad vampire (Jerry), some kid as the main actor (apparently his name is Anton Yelchin), and Imogen Poots as the lovely main actress, Amy. A surprise sleeper character was a magician and vampire expert, Peter Vincent (an homage to the master of horror Vincent Price?), portrayed by David Tennant (he's one of the umpteen Dr. Who's on that British show no one in America has ever heard of) who is rather hilarious.
The plot is pretty straightforward. Guy moves into the neighborhood but is a little strange. What could possibly be up with him? He says he's a construction worker who works at night. Well that explains it! Everyone feels better now...except the main character's ex-best friend (Christopher Mintz-Plasse). He thinks the new guy, Jerry, is a vampire, and he's right, and he gets turned into a vampire because he knows too much. But before that, he tells the main character, ole whatshisface, that Jerry is a vampire. Whatshisface is not convinced until ex-best friend goes missing. The plot then turns into a no-one-believes-the-main-character-even-though-he's-right movie and then takes a quick left into an oh-shit-the-main-character-was-right-and-now-the-bad-guy-vampire-thing-is-chasing-the-shit-out-of-us movie. Pretty self-explanatory. Oh, the girlfriend (Poots) gets dragged along because she's at Whatshisface's house when the film converts from the first kind of film to the second. All predicatble, but all fun.
So, that's your taste. The movie is funny for some odd reason. It isn't laugh-out-loud hilarious, but it is funny in the same way "Scream" was funny: it's a horror film that knows it's a film so it decides to ham it up hard. It's a cleverly disguised spoof if you will. I smiled the whole way through and you probably will too.
It's time for the metaphor of the vampire. That Meyer lady that wrote those Twilight books had enough common sense to realize the metaphor of the vampire: it's a man's sexual drive. But, Meyer decided that in her books (I have a sister that reads this shit and it's pretty obvious to figure out) the vampire would resist his hunger for blood because he loved his prey. This metaphor is almost screaming it's so not subtle. It's all about deflowering a gal. Think about it: men with an uncontrollable hunger to draw a woman's first blood. If you don't get it you're an idiot. Anyway, "Fright Night" takes a slightly different approach. Instead of resisting the temptation, the Jerr-ster feeds his need as much as he can. He will literally bite anything with a pulse. He doesn't control his desires, and that makes for a much more interesting story than whatever Twilight is supposed to be.
That's really all the analyzing I feel like doing right now. It's one in the damn morning. Go see the movie. You'll love it. Take a date. It's a great date movie. I saw it with a couple guys who are heading off to college next week. It was far from a date for me.
I need a date,
DG
Post Scriptum: One of the trailers was for Daniel Radcliffe's new film Harry Potter 9: The Woman in Black. Scratch that. It isn't a Harry Potter flick, but Radcliffe has been so type-cast (I suppose you would actually call it "character-cast") that I assume everything he's in is a Harry Potter installment (like the time he was in that play "Harry Potter as that Horse-Lovin' Boy in Equus"). Anyway, it looks pretty spooky.
This is going to be a standard post. I will introduce the film I saw tonight and say a few witty things about it. After the film has been introduced, I will probably mention who directed it and any notable cast members (for those of you playing at home, there is a better than good chance I will mention Colin Farrell) as well as mention that the lead actress is rather attractive (however her last name, according to IMDb, appears to be, and I quote, "Poots"). Then, I will give you, reader, young or olde, a taste of the plot but only a taste. I don't want to spoil the film for you. Interspersed with the taste will undoubtedly be displays of both my intelligence and wry sense of humor as I dryly observe various humorous...er...observations. Afterward, I'll probably talk about the metaphor of the vampire making a few smart-ass references to the Twilight Series along the way. If this interests you, please, by all means, read on. If it does not then piss off.
"Fright Night" is a remake of the 1985 "classic" by the same name. Apparently the original was so remarkable and groundbreaking that the studios thought it necessary to rehash the script and run it through the magical Hollywood mill again. The first time I saw the original "Fright Night" was a real where-were-you-when moments (sarcasm with a dash of wit). The film is directed by Craig Gillespie (no relation to Dizzie) who apparently also directed "Lars and the Real Girl." If you've never heard of this film before, you don't have the IFC network and you're probably lucky. It's weird. I'll sum "Lars" up with this: blow-up dolls can be a lot weirder if they aren't used for sexual purposes ("Oh, I'm going to marry a blow-up doll! Isn't that normal?" (My two line summary of "Lars and the Real Girl")). So, "Fright Night" stars Colin Farrell as the big bad vampire (Jerry), some kid as the main actor (apparently his name is Anton Yelchin), and Imogen Poots as the lovely main actress, Amy. A surprise sleeper character was a magician and vampire expert, Peter Vincent (an homage to the master of horror Vincent Price?), portrayed by David Tennant (he's one of the umpteen Dr. Who's on that British show no one in America has ever heard of) who is rather hilarious.
The plot is pretty straightforward. Guy moves into the neighborhood but is a little strange. What could possibly be up with him? He says he's a construction worker who works at night. Well that explains it! Everyone feels better now...except the main character's ex-best friend (Christopher Mintz-Plasse). He thinks the new guy, Jerry, is a vampire, and he's right, and he gets turned into a vampire because he knows too much. But before that, he tells the main character, ole whatshisface, that Jerry is a vampire. Whatshisface is not convinced until ex-best friend goes missing. The plot then turns into a no-one-believes-the-main-character-even-though-he's-right movie and then takes a quick left into an oh-shit-the-main-character-was-right-and-now-the-bad-guy-vampire-thing-is-chasing-the-shit-out-of-us movie. Pretty self-explanatory. Oh, the girlfriend (Poots) gets dragged along because she's at Whatshisface's house when the film converts from the first kind of film to the second. All predicatble, but all fun.
So, that's your taste. The movie is funny for some odd reason. It isn't laugh-out-loud hilarious, but it is funny in the same way "Scream" was funny: it's a horror film that knows it's a film so it decides to ham it up hard. It's a cleverly disguised spoof if you will. I smiled the whole way through and you probably will too.
It's time for the metaphor of the vampire. That Meyer lady that wrote those Twilight books had enough common sense to realize the metaphor of the vampire: it's a man's sexual drive. But, Meyer decided that in her books (I have a sister that reads this shit and it's pretty obvious to figure out) the vampire would resist his hunger for blood because he loved his prey. This metaphor is almost screaming it's so not subtle. It's all about deflowering a gal. Think about it: men with an uncontrollable hunger to draw a woman's first blood. If you don't get it you're an idiot. Anyway, "Fright Night" takes a slightly different approach. Instead of resisting the temptation, the Jerr-ster feeds his need as much as he can. He will literally bite anything with a pulse. He doesn't control his desires, and that makes for a much more interesting story than whatever Twilight is supposed to be.
That's really all the analyzing I feel like doing right now. It's one in the damn morning. Go see the movie. You'll love it. Take a date. It's a great date movie. I saw it with a couple guys who are heading off to college next week. It was far from a date for me.
I need a date,
DG
Post Scriptum: One of the trailers was for Daniel Radcliffe's new film Harry Potter 9: The Woman in Black. Scratch that. It isn't a Harry Potter flick, but Radcliffe has been so type-cast (I suppose you would actually call it "character-cast") that I assume everything he's in is a Harry Potter installment (like the time he was in that play "Harry Potter as that Horse-Lovin' Boy in Equus"). Anyway, it looks pretty spooky.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Music: Survey of Summer
Illiterati,
For this post I will be doing something a little different. Thus far, I have covered various films, some good, some bad. This post is different. Instead, I will be covering music. Music is technically "art," so I haven't deceived you in any way by making this move. In short, quit bitching.
Now, it should be known that I hate mix-tapes. Nothing screams high-school, braced, acne-ridden girl like a damn mix-tape featuring all of the over-played Miley Cyrus and Rascal Flatts crap on the airwaves. I am also mostly opposed to playlists of any kind. I am a firm believer that a song is not complete by itself. It is part of an album. Just as a scene is part of a film, so too a song is a part of the whole. Because of this, I typically buy albums in their entirety and, to no one's surprise and everyone's chagrin, listen to that album, without skipping any tracks, in its entirety. However, for this post, I will be providing a survey of the music that I either discovered or rediscovered this summer. This list of songs is in no way, shape, or form a damn mix-tape. If you are under that impression, you are an idiot and I am not sure how you could possibly function in society. With that said, if you do listen to these next ten tracks in the order they are listed, they don't sound half bad together. But let it be known again: this is not a mix-tape. I am not an emotional, high-school girl.
Here's the list:
1. "Whole Lotta Love" from Led Zeppelin II by Led Zeppelin: The God's of Rock smiled upon the world when they brought forth one of the greatest tracks of the early '70s. They wrought this song from a dark, sexual place in themselves that was probably very similar to Valhalla. Anyway, this track is awesome. The whole album is awesome. If the only thing we had to show for our society was Led Zeppelin II, I think the people of the future would look back on us and think we were pretty bad-ass. That being said, this is probably the only song in the early '70s that could not only say, "I want to give you every inch of my love" and get an inordinate amount of airtime.
2. "Pumped Up Kicks" from Torches by Foster the People: This song might be the least manly on the track, but it is also damn good. I was introduced to it, of all places, when I was watching the Nightly News with Brian Williams. Apparently he's really into indie rock. This track is pretty chill sounding, almost happy. It sounds a lot like the Dandy Warhols and MGMT. However, for all the happy sounds, the lyrics are remarkably dark. I'll let you discover that for yourself.
3. "Light of the Morning" from Baby Darling Doll Face Honey by Band of Skulls: Another down and dirty rock song like Led Zeppelin. Again it is about at least sex if not love. I know it's been on a couple car commercials, but whatever. The song rocks. I was introduced to this by one of my best friends with a similar taste in music and I have to say I'm glad I was. The rest of the album isn't bad, either.
4. "Second Chance" from Gimme Some by Peter Bjorn and John: This track comes form PBnJ's newest album and it's their best. Everyone loves "Young Folks" but this is better. The entire album is worth a listen. Not a bad track in the lot.
5. "The Bronze" from Queens of the Stone Age by Queens of the Stone Age: A bonus track from QOTSA's first album. QOTSA is one of my favorite bands and when they re-released the their debut, I had to have it. Everyone immediately assumes either "Avon" or "Mexicola" is the best of the album, but they're wrong. "The Bronze" is simply harder rocking and better. Josh Homme knows his shit. Respect Josh Homme.
6. "Gratisfaction" from Angles by The Strokes: I really discovered this album over spring break, but it carried well into the summer. The album as a whole is rather angsty, but this song is probably the most carefree sounding. I still feel like Albert Hammond Jr. got shafted by the band because they threw him into mostly rhythm guitar, but he still comes through and shines. Let the boy spread his wings.
7. "Frustrating Sound" from Radio Moscow by Radio Moscow: I really stumbled upon this band when I was bored on YouTube (imagine that). Anyway, it was a great discovery. The guitarist, don't know his name, plays as good as Hendrix. I'm sure Hendrix fans will get their panties in a knot when they read this, but buck up. This kid is good. The band has a great bluesy sound that is lost on my generation. Maybe if the blues came back, kids my age would learn to live again and not be pretentious and cold...like me.
8. "Ghetto Defendant" from Combat Rock by The Clash: With all the shit that just went down in London (riots and whatnot) I could have said "White Riot" or "London's Burning," but I refuse to be cliche. There are two things this blog will never be: 1. quality and 2. consciously cliche. However, I have high hopes you, reader, won't have an ax to grind if there are unintentional cliches. What I'm trying to say is have a heart and don't abandon ship on me. Anyway, this track is very mellow and the main reason I like it is for Allen Ginsberg. Ginsberg reads some poetry behind the song the whole time and says some rather interesting things ("Do the worm on Acropolis...Slamdance the Cosmopolis"). He also says, "Iron Serenity." I have no idea what it means but it sounds nice. Just listen to the damn song and don't make me over-think this.
9. "The Shrine/An Argument" from Helplessness Blues by Fleet Foxes: This is my favorite album from the summer and this track is the best. I recently saw Fleet Foxes in concert, and it was incredible. Robin Pecknold is easily the best voice in music today and his harmonies with the other band members are delicious. The only problem I have with this track is the very end. Apparently someone decided that throwing in some random blowing on a bass clarinet was art. It isn't. It's crap. It sounds like something dying again and again. They even did it in the concert. It was a low-point for the entire production. Just skip the end of the track. It will ruin it for you.
10. "Get Up (I Feel Like Being A) Sex Machine" by James Brown: This song is funky and wonderful. It doesn't really make any sense. It's just horny and very very funky. I recently rediscovered this song when I re-watched a few of the "The Hire" short films by BMW; one of which stars Brown and this song. It is a damn good song and might just be the recipe for liquid sex. You can't not listen to this song and not be happy. I just used a double negative, but this testament to testosterone and love demands it. Listen up. I hope you take notes.
So that's the survey. I think it speaks for itself.
Piss off,
DG
Post Scriptum: This is not a mix-tape
Post Post Scriptum: I'm serious. This isn't a mix-tape
For this post I will be doing something a little different. Thus far, I have covered various films, some good, some bad. This post is different. Instead, I will be covering music. Music is technically "art," so I haven't deceived you in any way by making this move. In short, quit bitching.
Now, it should be known that I hate mix-tapes. Nothing screams high-school, braced, acne-ridden girl like a damn mix-tape featuring all of the over-played Miley Cyrus and Rascal Flatts crap on the airwaves. I am also mostly opposed to playlists of any kind. I am a firm believer that a song is not complete by itself. It is part of an album. Just as a scene is part of a film, so too a song is a part of the whole. Because of this, I typically buy albums in their entirety and, to no one's surprise and everyone's chagrin, listen to that album, without skipping any tracks, in its entirety. However, for this post, I will be providing a survey of the music that I either discovered or rediscovered this summer. This list of songs is in no way, shape, or form a damn mix-tape. If you are under that impression, you are an idiot and I am not sure how you could possibly function in society. With that said, if you do listen to these next ten tracks in the order they are listed, they don't sound half bad together. But let it be known again: this is not a mix-tape. I am not an emotional, high-school girl.
Here's the list:
1. "Whole Lotta Love" from Led Zeppelin II by Led Zeppelin: The God's of Rock smiled upon the world when they brought forth one of the greatest tracks of the early '70s. They wrought this song from a dark, sexual place in themselves that was probably very similar to Valhalla. Anyway, this track is awesome. The whole album is awesome. If the only thing we had to show for our society was Led Zeppelin II, I think the people of the future would look back on us and think we were pretty bad-ass. That being said, this is probably the only song in the early '70s that could not only say, "I want to give you every inch of my love" and get an inordinate amount of airtime.
2. "Pumped Up Kicks" from Torches by Foster the People: This song might be the least manly on the track, but it is also damn good. I was introduced to it, of all places, when I was watching the Nightly News with Brian Williams. Apparently he's really into indie rock. This track is pretty chill sounding, almost happy. It sounds a lot like the Dandy Warhols and MGMT. However, for all the happy sounds, the lyrics are remarkably dark. I'll let you discover that for yourself.
3. "Light of the Morning" from Baby Darling Doll Face Honey by Band of Skulls: Another down and dirty rock song like Led Zeppelin. Again it is about at least sex if not love. I know it's been on a couple car commercials, but whatever. The song rocks. I was introduced to this by one of my best friends with a similar taste in music and I have to say I'm glad I was. The rest of the album isn't bad, either.
4. "Second Chance" from Gimme Some by Peter Bjorn and John: This track comes form PBnJ's newest album and it's their best. Everyone loves "Young Folks" but this is better. The entire album is worth a listen. Not a bad track in the lot.
5. "The Bronze" from Queens of the Stone Age by Queens of the Stone Age: A bonus track from QOTSA's first album. QOTSA is one of my favorite bands and when they re-released the their debut, I had to have it. Everyone immediately assumes either "Avon" or "Mexicola" is the best of the album, but they're wrong. "The Bronze" is simply harder rocking and better. Josh Homme knows his shit. Respect Josh Homme.
6. "Gratisfaction" from Angles by The Strokes: I really discovered this album over spring break, but it carried well into the summer. The album as a whole is rather angsty, but this song is probably the most carefree sounding. I still feel like Albert Hammond Jr. got shafted by the band because they threw him into mostly rhythm guitar, but he still comes through and shines. Let the boy spread his wings.
7. "Frustrating Sound" from Radio Moscow by Radio Moscow: I really stumbled upon this band when I was bored on YouTube (imagine that). Anyway, it was a great discovery. The guitarist, don't know his name, plays as good as Hendrix. I'm sure Hendrix fans will get their panties in a knot when they read this, but buck up. This kid is good. The band has a great bluesy sound that is lost on my generation. Maybe if the blues came back, kids my age would learn to live again and not be pretentious and cold...like me.
8. "Ghetto Defendant" from Combat Rock by The Clash: With all the shit that just went down in London (riots and whatnot) I could have said "White Riot" or "London's Burning," but I refuse to be cliche. There are two things this blog will never be: 1. quality and 2. consciously cliche. However, I have high hopes you, reader, won't have an ax to grind if there are unintentional cliches. What I'm trying to say is have a heart and don't abandon ship on me. Anyway, this track is very mellow and the main reason I like it is for Allen Ginsberg. Ginsberg reads some poetry behind the song the whole time and says some rather interesting things ("Do the worm on Acropolis...Slamdance the Cosmopolis"). He also says, "Iron Serenity." I have no idea what it means but it sounds nice. Just listen to the damn song and don't make me over-think this.
9. "The Shrine/An Argument" from Helplessness Blues by Fleet Foxes: This is my favorite album from the summer and this track is the best. I recently saw Fleet Foxes in concert, and it was incredible. Robin Pecknold is easily the best voice in music today and his harmonies with the other band members are delicious. The only problem I have with this track is the very end. Apparently someone decided that throwing in some random blowing on a bass clarinet was art. It isn't. It's crap. It sounds like something dying again and again. They even did it in the concert. It was a low-point for the entire production. Just skip the end of the track. It will ruin it for you.
10. "Get Up (I Feel Like Being A) Sex Machine" by James Brown: This song is funky and wonderful. It doesn't really make any sense. It's just horny and very very funky. I recently rediscovered this song when I re-watched a few of the "The Hire" short films by BMW; one of which stars Brown and this song. It is a damn good song and might just be the recipe for liquid sex. You can't not listen to this song and not be happy. I just used a double negative, but this testament to testosterone and love demands it. Listen up. I hope you take notes.
So that's the survey. I think it speaks for itself.
Piss off,
DG
Post Scriptum: This is not a mix-tape
Post Post Scriptum: I'm serious. This isn't a mix-tape
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
The Thing (1982)
Humble Subjects,
It would appear I have to apologize again. At the end of my last post I apologized to all of you readers for suggesting that you didn't have lives by virtue of you finding my blog. In my apology, I said that you did have lives, but at the same time I may have also suggested that they weren't fulfilling. Let's square with each other here: your lives probably aren't fulfilling at all. That's why you're at this blog in the first place. However, just because this may be true does not permit me to make fun of and belittle you. You, readers, have lives that lack most of everything that one would consider necessary to living a life with "meaning" and "purpose." But that's alright. At least you have this blog.
Now for this blog post I am going to discuss a movie that came out some time ago. John Carpenter's "The Thing" was released in 1982. I was not alive at the time, so I don't really know how the world received this remarkable film. However, in October of this year, a prequel to this fine piece of film-Americana will be released. It is aptly also called "The Thing." I felt that if I am to review the new "The Thing," I ought to first cover the old "The Thing."
"The Thing" is a film about a badass alien. Directed by one of the masters of thrills (John Carpenter), the entire film is set in everyone's favourite (notice the British spelling) continent: Antarctica. As is expected, Antarctica is cold and snowy. The film follows a crew of American researchers at the South Pole as they deal with the infiltration of an alien life-form that has the nifty ability to imitate any organism it has killed and absorbed. A brief aside: you read me right. The damn alien has nasty tentacles that will latch onto an organism, kill it, then take that organism's form and imitate it so the alien can move around incognito and pounce on its victims when they least expect it.
Now the film starts with, of all people, Norwegians. A couple of nutty Norwegians are flying a helicopter over the scenic Antarctic landscape chasing a dog (or is it?). These Norwegians have a powerful rifle and are taking shots at the "dog", but apparently they are the worst shots possibly in the world. There are a few instances where the helicopter is hovering fifteen feet above the "dog" and they still can't hit it. After shooting for a while with no results, the Norwegians up the ante: grenades. They start dropping grenades on the "dog" and missing just as they approach the American base at the South Pole. In a fluid scene of action, they land, accidentally set off a grenade right by there helicopter, destroy said helicopter with said grenade, shoot at the "dog" as it is right by the Americans, and get their asses killed by the Americans all while yelling in Norwegian something to the effect of, "That dog is the devil, a real whore. It killed Johnny. Johnny is dead. That dog will tell you it loves you and say it will be there for you forever and ever but really it will just kill Johnny."
After the episode with the Norwegians, the Americans are a tad confused. Kurt Russell, the American helicopter pilot, and a doctor decided that the best course of action to take is to go to the Norwegian camp and figure out what's what. Little do they know that Johnny is dead. So, they set off.
TANGENT ALERT
Kurt Russell is a real badass kind of guy in this film. He was a rousing coach in "Miracle" and he's always had a go-get-'em mentality in film, but he has an extra level of manliness in this film. I believe this is such because he has on of the greatest beards in film history. I mean, this beard would put Grizzly Adams to shame. I'm a big fan of beards because they are not only warm but also scream "the wilderness is my bitch." Apparently, if this film is scientifically accurate, beards are also the perfect defense from imitating aliens. If I am not mistaken, no man with a beard ever gets turned into an alien. Sure they all die, but none ever become aliens...except for the ginger. There is one ginger in the whole crew with a beard and he does get killed and imitated, but I think being a ginger cancels out the whole having a beard thing. Anyway, if you aren't a redhead and want to protect yourself from crazy alien bastards, a beard is the way to go. Also, I'm pretty sure girls secretly love beards even though they always say, "It's too scratchy, I honestly don't like beards."
END OF TANGENT
So, Kurt Russell (whom I will refer to as "The Beard") and the doctor get to the Norwegian camp and, oh shit, it's burned the ground. They've already had to deal with the Thing and they failed. No surprises considering they're Norwegian. The Beard and the doctor, in all of the wreckage, discover a large block of ice that has been carved into and apparently something large was in it. They scramble back to their base and the film begins to get very interesting.
The "dog" is stuck into a kennel with all of the other real dogs and it begins to try and kill and imitate all of them. Luckily, it is stopped before it can complete its process. The human weapon of choice: flamethrower. I don't know why the Americans have flamethrowers at a research facility but I am not complaining. Now the American's know what they are dealing with and they also know, more disturbingly, that the Thing has probably already killed and imitated some of them. It's about to get tricky. A few autopsies are performed and a couple of Things show themselves. It gets nasty. Very nasty. It should be noted that the Beard develops a scientific method for figuring out who is a Thing and who isn't through burning blood samples from each person and a couple of torchings result from this.
The film ends with a grand explosion, but I'm not going to spoil it for those of you who want to see this fantastic film.
One thing I do want to cover quickly is how Hollywood is no longer scary. It seems that all horror flicks these days rely on either making things as gross as possible, having things pop out from the dark, or having small dead girls with long black hair crawl around to various places. That is the equation for "horror" these days. What they fail to do is keep people anxious. There's no suspense these days. "The Thing" had suspense. "The Thing" also did a great job bringing out feelings of dread in the audience in a way that no movie in the past five years has. Where did all the good suspense go? Hopefully the new "The Thing" will take a few pages out of the original "The Thing's" book and build up suspense and dread. Then it will be a good movie and a classic horror flick.
Later Bitches,
DG
It would appear I have to apologize again. At the end of my last post I apologized to all of you readers for suggesting that you didn't have lives by virtue of you finding my blog. In my apology, I said that you did have lives, but at the same time I may have also suggested that they weren't fulfilling. Let's square with each other here: your lives probably aren't fulfilling at all. That's why you're at this blog in the first place. However, just because this may be true does not permit me to make fun of and belittle you. You, readers, have lives that lack most of everything that one would consider necessary to living a life with "meaning" and "purpose." But that's alright. At least you have this blog.
Now for this blog post I am going to discuss a movie that came out some time ago. John Carpenter's "The Thing" was released in 1982. I was not alive at the time, so I don't really know how the world received this remarkable film. However, in October of this year, a prequel to this fine piece of film-Americana will be released. It is aptly also called "The Thing." I felt that if I am to review the new "The Thing," I ought to first cover the old "The Thing."
"The Thing" is a film about a badass alien. Directed by one of the masters of thrills (John Carpenter), the entire film is set in everyone's favourite (notice the British spelling) continent: Antarctica. As is expected, Antarctica is cold and snowy. The film follows a crew of American researchers at the South Pole as they deal with the infiltration of an alien life-form that has the nifty ability to imitate any organism it has killed and absorbed. A brief aside: you read me right. The damn alien has nasty tentacles that will latch onto an organism, kill it, then take that organism's form and imitate it so the alien can move around incognito and pounce on its victims when they least expect it.
Now the film starts with, of all people, Norwegians. A couple of nutty Norwegians are flying a helicopter over the scenic Antarctic landscape chasing a dog (or is it?). These Norwegians have a powerful rifle and are taking shots at the "dog", but apparently they are the worst shots possibly in the world. There are a few instances where the helicopter is hovering fifteen feet above the "dog" and they still can't hit it. After shooting for a while with no results, the Norwegians up the ante: grenades. They start dropping grenades on the "dog" and missing just as they approach the American base at the South Pole. In a fluid scene of action, they land, accidentally set off a grenade right by there helicopter, destroy said helicopter with said grenade, shoot at the "dog" as it is right by the Americans, and get their asses killed by the Americans all while yelling in Norwegian something to the effect of, "That dog is the devil, a real whore. It killed Johnny. Johnny is dead. That dog will tell you it loves you and say it will be there for you forever and ever but really it will just kill Johnny."
After the episode with the Norwegians, the Americans are a tad confused. Kurt Russell, the American helicopter pilot, and a doctor decided that the best course of action to take is to go to the Norwegian camp and figure out what's what. Little do they know that Johnny is dead. So, they set off.
TANGENT ALERT
Kurt Russell is a real badass kind of guy in this film. He was a rousing coach in "Miracle" and he's always had a go-get-'em mentality in film, but he has an extra level of manliness in this film. I believe this is such because he has on of the greatest beards in film history. I mean, this beard would put Grizzly Adams to shame. I'm a big fan of beards because they are not only warm but also scream "the wilderness is my bitch." Apparently, if this film is scientifically accurate, beards are also the perfect defense from imitating aliens. If I am not mistaken, no man with a beard ever gets turned into an alien. Sure they all die, but none ever become aliens...except for the ginger. There is one ginger in the whole crew with a beard and he does get killed and imitated, but I think being a ginger cancels out the whole having a beard thing. Anyway, if you aren't a redhead and want to protect yourself from crazy alien bastards, a beard is the way to go. Also, I'm pretty sure girls secretly love beards even though they always say, "It's too scratchy, I honestly don't like beards."
END OF TANGENT
So, Kurt Russell (whom I will refer to as "The Beard") and the doctor get to the Norwegian camp and, oh shit, it's burned the ground. They've already had to deal with the Thing and they failed. No surprises considering they're Norwegian. The Beard and the doctor, in all of the wreckage, discover a large block of ice that has been carved into and apparently something large was in it. They scramble back to their base and the film begins to get very interesting.
The "dog" is stuck into a kennel with all of the other real dogs and it begins to try and kill and imitate all of them. Luckily, it is stopped before it can complete its process. The human weapon of choice: flamethrower. I don't know why the Americans have flamethrowers at a research facility but I am not complaining. Now the American's know what they are dealing with and they also know, more disturbingly, that the Thing has probably already killed and imitated some of them. It's about to get tricky. A few autopsies are performed and a couple of Things show themselves. It gets nasty. Very nasty. It should be noted that the Beard develops a scientific method for figuring out who is a Thing and who isn't through burning blood samples from each person and a couple of torchings result from this.
The film ends with a grand explosion, but I'm not going to spoil it for those of you who want to see this fantastic film.
One thing I do want to cover quickly is how Hollywood is no longer scary. It seems that all horror flicks these days rely on either making things as gross as possible, having things pop out from the dark, or having small dead girls with long black hair crawl around to various places. That is the equation for "horror" these days. What they fail to do is keep people anxious. There's no suspense these days. "The Thing" had suspense. "The Thing" also did a great job bringing out feelings of dread in the audience in a way that no movie in the past five years has. Where did all the good suspense go? Hopefully the new "The Thing" will take a few pages out of the original "The Thing's" book and build up suspense and dread. Then it will be a good movie and a classic horror flick.
Later Bitches,
DG
Friday, August 5, 2011
The Change-Up
Loyal Readers,
It would appear that I have seen my first piece of art/culture. I had the pleasure (misfortune) of seeing "The Change-Up" by David Dobkin. The film stars Jason Bateman as Jamie Lee Curtis (everyone's favorite actress from "Trading Places" except for Dan Akroyd, Eddie Murphy, and the two old brothers that facilitate the place trading) and Ryan Reynolds as Lindsay Lohan (the Hollywood starlet with a colorful history known for trading places with her British-accented doppleganger in some crappy Disney movie I saw when I was too young to have taste).
TANGENT ALERT: We've come to that time of the post where I go on an unrelated tangent. This happens every so often, so get ready.
It would appear that every five to seven years Hollywood gets profoundly lazy. The writers (whose names will forever be lost in who-gives-a-crap-because-they-aren't-directors obscurity) rack their brains for some inkling of an idea, but it is to no avail. Eventually, they say to each other, "Hey, America hasn't seen one of those classic swapped-identity movies recently. Let's plug a couple characters into this here fancy "Script-o-Matic" formula machine and see what delicious 'hilarity' it churns out!" And if this is bad, what's worse is we keep going to see these movies again and again and again. I hate to think I have to be the voice of reason (and you readers probably hate to think that too) but we need to stop seeing swapped-identity movies. I know they look funny in the previews and we think to ourselves, "How could this possibly not be funny?" but it is possible. They can not be funny.
END OF TANGENT
So the movie starts with Jason Bateman as a rising attorney who is, surprise, a workaholic and Ryan Reynolds as his best friend from childhood who happens to be...a worthless bum. Now my first impression of this situation was: "Golly, these two fellas couldn't be more opposite. I mean, Jason Bateman is going somewhere in his life, and Ryan Reynolds is...a worthless bum. Why on Earth would Bateman still want to associate with Reynolds after all that he hasn't been through?" Little did I know (sarcasm) that Bateman had a lesson to learn from Reynolds in the end. The movie develops in that it becomes readily apparent that Bateman is working too hard at getting ahead in the world to the extent that he is neglecting his very attractive wife, Leslie Mann, and his kids, a ballet-dancing, brainy girl and two shitting, under-one twins. Reynolds is played off as a pot-smoking, going-nowhere, sleeps-with-anything...worthless bum. The two leads have a night on the town which ends in both complaining about their lives and wishing they had each others. The conversation ends with both men pissing in a fountain that swaps their lives "magically." The magic is never explained. I saw the wizard enthusiasts in the crowd get very frustrated by this fact. Wands went limp.
The next morning both men wake up in each others' bodies and (ta-da) they got exactly what they wished for. Now, this is the point of the movie where hilarity ensues...allegedly. Hilarity does not ensue in actuality. The film gets a few cheap laughs with wailing babies, horny pregnant women, a bad experience with Thai food, and the filming of an "adult" film. Now, with a combination of events such as this, it would naturally be assumed that only laughter would be heard in the theatre. This, unfortunately, was not so. The film had all of the elements of the perfect storm, but it somehow fell short. I am befuddled and a tad bit disappointed.
Of course, the film would not be complete without a few moments of learning and lessons and the typical Hollywood attempt at philosophy. Both Bateman and Reynolds learn about what people really think of them while they are in the clever disguises of each other. If that is a bit confusing, let me clear it up. Bateman, in Reynold's body, learns that his wife is frustrated with how their marriage is going. Reynolds, in Bateman's body, learns his father is actually proud of him (if that's possible) but just wishes he wasn't such a quitter. They both learn that they can be better people if they just try their dandiest! (assume the last sentence was said in a heavily condescending tone) The moral of the story apparently is that the only way someone will ever really learn about themselves is if they have the fortuitous opportunity to switch bodies with their best friend and start asking around about themselves.
The best character in the entire film, and the one I feel didn't get a fair amount of screen time, is Alan Arkin. He plays Reynold's dad and has no problem calling Reynolds a schmuck. I think Arkin is just a great actor. He killed it in "The In-Laws" and "Little Miss Sunshine," and I feel like he is fantastically good at telling people how it is. Unfortunately, his character is relegated to the back-burner and isn't allowed to really shine. If only they just turned the camera away from Reynolds and Bateman for maybe five minutes and filmed Arkin ramble for a while. (Perhaps they could even get Paul Dano to sit in the corner and listen) It'd be spontaneous. It'd be alive. It'd actually make the movie funny.
I hate to ruin the ending, but we all know how it ends: everything works out. Is there anything else that needs to be said? Oh, Olivia Wilde is also in this film. I still am not sure what she did for the plot other than looked good. My final thoughts on this fine piece of film-Americana is: well at least there won't be a sequel.
On a more personal note: readers, I would like to apologize. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot last post. I mentioned something about how you didn't have any lives because you found my blog. I was wrong. I'm sure you all do have lives. I cannot speak to how fulfilling those lives are, but I can guess. I mean you are reading this blog aren't you? That, in and of itself, is a rather telling sign. But anyway, I hope we can patch things up and keep on keeping on as the saying goes. You do have lives and probably almost important ones at that. Yay you.
Keep Up the Good Work,
DG
It would appear that I have seen my first piece of art/culture. I had the pleasure (misfortune) of seeing "The Change-Up" by David Dobkin. The film stars Jason Bateman as Jamie Lee Curtis (everyone's favorite actress from "Trading Places" except for Dan Akroyd, Eddie Murphy, and the two old brothers that facilitate the place trading) and Ryan Reynolds as Lindsay Lohan (the Hollywood starlet with a colorful history known for trading places with her British-accented doppleganger in some crappy Disney movie I saw when I was too young to have taste).
TANGENT ALERT: We've come to that time of the post where I go on an unrelated tangent. This happens every so often, so get ready.
It would appear that every five to seven years Hollywood gets profoundly lazy. The writers (whose names will forever be lost in who-gives-a-crap-because-they-aren't-directors obscurity) rack their brains for some inkling of an idea, but it is to no avail. Eventually, they say to each other, "Hey, America hasn't seen one of those classic swapped-identity movies recently. Let's plug a couple characters into this here fancy "Script-o-Matic" formula machine and see what delicious 'hilarity' it churns out!" And if this is bad, what's worse is we keep going to see these movies again and again and again. I hate to think I have to be the voice of reason (and you readers probably hate to think that too) but we need to stop seeing swapped-identity movies. I know they look funny in the previews and we think to ourselves, "How could this possibly not be funny?" but it is possible. They can not be funny.
END OF TANGENT
So the movie starts with Jason Bateman as a rising attorney who is, surprise, a workaholic and Ryan Reynolds as his best friend from childhood who happens to be...a worthless bum. Now my first impression of this situation was: "Golly, these two fellas couldn't be more opposite. I mean, Jason Bateman is going somewhere in his life, and Ryan Reynolds is...a worthless bum. Why on Earth would Bateman still want to associate with Reynolds after all that he hasn't been through?" Little did I know (sarcasm) that Bateman had a lesson to learn from Reynolds in the end. The movie develops in that it becomes readily apparent that Bateman is working too hard at getting ahead in the world to the extent that he is neglecting his very attractive wife, Leslie Mann, and his kids, a ballet-dancing, brainy girl and two shitting, under-one twins. Reynolds is played off as a pot-smoking, going-nowhere, sleeps-with-anything...worthless bum. The two leads have a night on the town which ends in both complaining about their lives and wishing they had each others. The conversation ends with both men pissing in a fountain that swaps their lives "magically." The magic is never explained. I saw the wizard enthusiasts in the crowd get very frustrated by this fact. Wands went limp.
The next morning both men wake up in each others' bodies and (ta-da) they got exactly what they wished for. Now, this is the point of the movie where hilarity ensues...allegedly. Hilarity does not ensue in actuality. The film gets a few cheap laughs with wailing babies, horny pregnant women, a bad experience with Thai food, and the filming of an "adult" film. Now, with a combination of events such as this, it would naturally be assumed that only laughter would be heard in the theatre. This, unfortunately, was not so. The film had all of the elements of the perfect storm, but it somehow fell short. I am befuddled and a tad bit disappointed.
Of course, the film would not be complete without a few moments of learning and lessons and the typical Hollywood attempt at philosophy. Both Bateman and Reynolds learn about what people really think of them while they are in the clever disguises of each other. If that is a bit confusing, let me clear it up. Bateman, in Reynold's body, learns that his wife is frustrated with how their marriage is going. Reynolds, in Bateman's body, learns his father is actually proud of him (if that's possible) but just wishes he wasn't such a quitter. They both learn that they can be better people if they just try their dandiest! (assume the last sentence was said in a heavily condescending tone) The moral of the story apparently is that the only way someone will ever really learn about themselves is if they have the fortuitous opportunity to switch bodies with their best friend and start asking around about themselves.
The best character in the entire film, and the one I feel didn't get a fair amount of screen time, is Alan Arkin. He plays Reynold's dad and has no problem calling Reynolds a schmuck. I think Arkin is just a great actor. He killed it in "The In-Laws" and "Little Miss Sunshine," and I feel like he is fantastically good at telling people how it is. Unfortunately, his character is relegated to the back-burner and isn't allowed to really shine. If only they just turned the camera away from Reynolds and Bateman for maybe five minutes and filmed Arkin ramble for a while. (Perhaps they could even get Paul Dano to sit in the corner and listen) It'd be spontaneous. It'd be alive. It'd actually make the movie funny.
I hate to ruin the ending, but we all know how it ends: everything works out. Is there anything else that needs to be said? Oh, Olivia Wilde is also in this film. I still am not sure what she did for the plot other than looked good. My final thoughts on this fine piece of film-Americana is: well at least there won't be a sequel.
On a more personal note: readers, I would like to apologize. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot last post. I mentioned something about how you didn't have any lives because you found my blog. I was wrong. I'm sure you all do have lives. I cannot speak to how fulfilling those lives are, but I can guess. I mean you are reading this blog aren't you? That, in and of itself, is a rather telling sign. But anyway, I hope we can patch things up and keep on keeping on as the saying goes. You do have lives and probably almost important ones at that. Yay you.
Keep Up the Good Work,
DG
Thursday, August 4, 2011
First Post
To whomever may have found this blog,
Congratulations. You've found my blog. I'm not entirely sure what you were doing to find it, but there's a good chance you have too much time on your hands. I'm actually not entirely sure how to get to this blog, and I have no idea who can access it. Anyway, you, lucky internet stumbler, have found my blog about art and culture. To be more specific, you have found my blog about my opinion of art and culture. Now, I'm sure some of you out there are hanging on the edge of your seat eagerly anticipating my take on all the art and whatnot that I am exposed to, but I implore: be patient. The posts will come as I see new movies, hear new music, and go out into St. Louis, the town in which I live and am going to college. Also, I may just make a few road trips and blog about that too. I'm interested to see where this blog goes and takes me, however, there is a good chance it will not be read and will take me nowhere. So, hold on tight readers. This is going to be fun.
Don't hold your breath,
DG
Post Scriptum: If you have something you'd like to tell me, comment away
Congratulations. You've found my blog. I'm not entirely sure what you were doing to find it, but there's a good chance you have too much time on your hands. I'm actually not entirely sure how to get to this blog, and I have no idea who can access it. Anyway, you, lucky internet stumbler, have found my blog about art and culture. To be more specific, you have found my blog about my opinion of art and culture. Now, I'm sure some of you out there are hanging on the edge of your seat eagerly anticipating my take on all the art and whatnot that I am exposed to, but I implore: be patient. The posts will come as I see new movies, hear new music, and go out into St. Louis, the town in which I live and am going to college. Also, I may just make a few road trips and blog about that too. I'm interested to see where this blog goes and takes me, however, there is a good chance it will not be read and will take me nowhere. So, hold on tight readers. This is going to be fun.
Don't hold your breath,
DG
Post Scriptum: If you have something you'd like to tell me, comment away
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