As though engineered to anger my father, COWL tells the story of the world's first unionized superhero team.
Rather than using that idea as a set-up for some kind of reflexive, high-concept nonsense that floods the pages of Previews every month ("Hey, what if Batman was actually a vampire!?" and "Hey, what if Superman retired and got into cock fighting!?" they all said, choking on their own sick), COWL actually uses its concept to tell a story which, again, looking at the pages of Previews, actually is a kind of high concept in and of itself. . .
In short order, we're thrown into a familiar (but not too familiar) 1960's Chicago where we see a team of heroes closing out a case against a supervillain. It's a high concept deployed correctly and it's a story that feels new and different instead of playing off of a story we've seen a hundred times before (but with, I don't know, more drugs and uses of the c-word). If it's playing off anything, it's Mad Men and even that's only in the comic's set dressing.
It's the comic book that I didn't know I wanted. It's also mature in the proper sense of the word. Yeah, it has the murder and death, but so does Law and Order. By sprinkling in some sexism or brutality, writers Kyle Higgins and Alex Siegel are informing the world and the narrative, not just thumbing their nose at the Big Two's editorial policies. They aren't pushing buttons, they're creating a world.
Besides the sex and violence (and one delightful bit of public urination), it's also a book with a sense of humor. It also deals with complex relationships between people and it does so all in a very short amount of time. It's a fun book that smartly plays between the kind of "realism" we're used to seeing in superhero comic books post-1985 and the kind of fun that made us pick up comics in the first place.
And the art. . . Oh man, the art. You ever have that moment where you see an indie book that looks interesting and you pick it up to see what it's like inside and it looks like somebody who couldn't get work at DC? This isn't that.
As strong as the cover is, the interior is even better. Rod Reis' work looks like a comfortable mix between Bill Sienkiewctz and Phil Noto. It's a look that almost any book would be lucky to have and in this case, with this story, it feels a bit magical. Something special is going on in this first issue and I'm really excited for what the future might bring.
Go support good comics. Go support weird and new ones. Go read COWL.
Oh, and here's a free blurb: "COWL is Watchmen and The Wire meets FIST."
There. That blurby enough for ya?
FURTHERMORE:
There's a character called Arclight. And he flies. And I should have thought of it. But I didn't. And I hate it.
Some Thoughts, Feelings , and Pained Metaphors on Godzilla (2014)
GO GO GOJIRA
If you asked me a year ago about how much we need a Godzilla reboot, I'd say that we need one about as bad we need teeth in our asshole.
Ignoring the brain-dead fiasco that is Roland Emmerich's 1998 fiasco, even the original Godzilla movies are silly, if charming, balls of cheese. At worst, they're Final Wars. They're the kinds of film that you watch because you've either got a real yen for camp, you're eleven years old, or you're very, very high.
That is to say, overall, with the exception of the very first film, Godzilla movies are not high art that has changed the way we watch movies. So, yeah, the idea of a remake, even one helmed by the director of Monsters made me feel like I ate too much burrito: Tired and a bit queasy.
And I'm not alone. In 2004 Toho, the "Owners and Creators" of Godzilla, pulled the plug on Godzilla. Or, at least they saw fit to have him hibernate until there was a worthy reason to bring him back. And that's how I thought it would be until the end of time.
Then the teaser came out.
And then I realized that a new Godzilla is exactly what we needed.
THE MONSTERS ARE COMING. . . EVENTUALLY
Gareth Edwards' first big foray into Hollywood is exactly what you want out of a Godzilla film: It's a B-movie told with the seriousness and professionalism. It also does so without losing any of the energy or charm that made you fall in love with those old rubber suit movies. It's an actual film about giant monsters and it isn't embarrassed about it. If Pacific Rim hadn't come out last year Godzilla would have been the giant monster movie we've been waiting for.
One of the biggest complaints about the movie-- that Godzilla is held back for so long-- is proof of how well it has been made. Holding back the monster is what you're
supposed to do. That's how these things work. Alien does it. Jaws
does it. The Thing does it. Pacific Rim didn't do it, but Guillermo
del Toro can do whatever he damn well pleases. Godzilla (1998) didn't
do it either and look how that turned out. By holding Godzilla back, Edwards firmly places this movie alongside some of the best monster movies of all time. It shows that he knows what he's doing.
By building up the
anticipation, it make Godzilla that much more of a mythical figure.
It somehow tricks us into thinking that we've never seen something like this before. It makes us wonder when will he show up? What will he do? What
exactly is this behemoth capable of? It makes that initial Godzilla
scream that much more impactful. To take a sixty year old property, one that even its owners aren't too fond of, and gives it back its mystique.
But, of course, I'm burying the lead: Godzilla clocks in at a mere
two hours. That gives the director plenty of time to establish a world before it starts blowing it up. It has a human length. If only for that Godzilla might be the best blockbuster this year.
THOSE PINK WALKING BITS THAT AREN'T GODZILLA. . . YOU KNOW, PEOPLE
As much as Godzilla is about watching cities that didn't do anything wrong in their life getting smashed like your drunk grandpa's vase, it's a movie about people. . . and whether or not these people are going to get smashed. For the most part, the characters that aren't giant monsters are perfectly capable of moving things along.
As far as square-jawed leading men are
concerned Aaron Taylor-Johnson is a perfectly acceptable collection
of right-angles. While I loathed Savages, he was one of the less
loathsome things in the movie. I mean, beyond his hair. But in this
movie he has a crew cut, so it's fine. He actually reminds me of Orlando Bloom's performance in Kingdom of Heaven, which is to say neither of them are very good, but at least they've got the good taste not to get in the movie's way.
Elizabeth Olsen also delivers a perfectly
fine performance, giving scene an emotional grounding when they need
it or accentuating the drama where needed. While I don't buy her as a
mother of a five year old for one single second, at least she doesn't
look entirely ridiculous.
Where the film's strength lies is in its supporting cast-- a collection of actors either too
old, too talented, or too expensive to give the lead to. They elevate every scene. It's a thankless task, but it serves the movie's purposes. It's a better drama for them being wasted.
Right off the top, we have Juliette Binoche who even when
collecting a paycheck delivers a performance that is far greater than
the length of time she is on screen. Then there is Sally Fields also
shows up if only to remind us that Happy Go Lucky has been on our Instant Queue for two years now and that we still haven't watch it.
We also have Bryan Cranston. He's
great. We all know this. He's about as underused as the rest of the
cast that doesn't have a military haircut. Fortunately, in the few
scenes that he has, he acts his ass off. Like Binoche, he isn't on
for long, but he makes those moments count.
Then, of course, there is Ken Watanabe
(who, like Morgan Freeman, is the kind of actor you patch into a
movie if you need a scene to have gravitas). Even in sillier films
like The Last Samurai, he's a man who commands your attention and
Godzilla is no exception. Even in a room full of military goons, he's
the man you're waiting to speak. Every film he appears in, he seems
like the perfect choice. Godzilla is no exception.
The best moment in the movie-- that doesn't involve monsters duking it out-- focuses on Watanabe. In it, he and David Strathairn are
looking over a seemingly doomed San Francisco, wondering what the
hell to do.
There's something beautiful about that
little moment. It's about monsters fighting as much as it is about
everything but monster fighting. It's one of the few scenes that
match up to the promised metaphorical heights that Edwards mentions
in interviews and that the original film was built around. It also doesn't make me think about weird 9/11 allegories and that's always a good thing.
EL MONSTRE ES MUYO GORDO
I like the new Godzilla. He looks like
Godzilla. That's always a good start for a Godzilla movie.
Keeping in the tradition of other recent franchise reboots, this incarnation of Godzilla is meant to be realistic take on the the King of Monsters. Or as realistic as a 300+ foot tall lizard is ever going to get.
But the Weta-assisted design actually works. Unlike a lot of CGI, eveven recent CGI, this is a monster that has real weight and impact. As easy as it might be to poke fun at Godzilla's bulk, everything suddenly makes sense when the first move he makes in a fight is a two-handed sumo wrestler slam. Even the sillier bits of the design have a well thought out function. That's always nice to see.
As important as Godzilla is, the mark
of a good Godzilla movie is a good villain. King Ghidorah, Biollante,
and Mechagodzilla and Charles Barkley are just as significant as the King of the Monsters
himself. Fortunately, this time around the film makers got it right.
The baddies are smartly designed and have the same kind of heft that Godzilla does.
What's interesting is that they don't
just look like bugs that have been scaled up. Instead, they look like living
fossils. They look like they are of earth, but that they don't quite belong. They look like they fall somewhere between
something at the Natural History Museum and a Pokemon. They're
anchored in this world, yet there's something fantastic going on.
That's a good place for a kaiju to be.
WHAT REMAINS
A lot of the flack being hurled at
Godzilla centers around what polite people would call “pacing
problems” and what others would call “boring.” Over the years I've
backed away from spitting
venom at people with whom I disagree,* but it needs to be said: These
people are idiots. Godzilla, for all of its smashing, is not a movie
made for or by idiots. For all of its special effects Godzilla is a movie about the human beings. Apparently that makes things "boring" now instead of "dramatic."
While I'll agree that the human aspect of the film leaves something to be desired, Gareth Edwards still delivers a rock solid action film. It looks great, it moves along nicely, and it delivers exactly the kind of thrills that you want out of a giant monster movie. It doesn't quite have the depth that some other action movies might have that doesn't mean that it still isn't worth your time and money.
The original Godzilla practically invented a genre. This film does not do that. What it does do is deliver an exciting action film that belongs in the pantheon of monster movies. It's the kind of movie you would love as a kid and unlike a lot of crap that you watch as a kid this movie might actually deserve it. A lot of people are mentioning Steven Speilberg in the same breath as this film. While Godzilla does not hit the highs of those great blockbusters, it is a fun film and a fine start to the blockbuster season. If only more blockbusters could be as insubstantial as this one.
My current feeling on the movie is that I think it'll
slide into obscurity and only be viewed by the odd Godzilla nerd or kid
who is getting into scary movies, but can't quite handle actual scary
movies. That is until the sequel, which has already been green lit. As
cynical as I sound, I'm kind of excited for what that movie will look
like. I'm excited by the idea of Gareth Edwards (or whoever) trying to
square Mu or King Ghidorah into this semi-realistic world that they've
built. I want to know how they're going to meld Battle of Algiers with Cloverfield.
Someday.
FOOT NOTES:
*Yes, I realize that I complained that
Only Lovers Left Alive left me a bit bored, but that also didn't have
giant bugs and reptiles smashing things for an hour. Being a bit
boring is also a part of that movie's charm. And, yes, I know that I also complained that The Wind Rises was boring, but fuckThe Wind Rises. And another thing, Only Lover Left Alive was two hours of people talking in rooms and that was boring. Godzilla is maybe an hour of people talking in rooms and then it has another hour of monsters smashing shit. What the fuck do you morons want?
More specifically, I finally started reading Akira. I might have been inspired by iFanboy's series on the show or I maybe Spex mentioned it to me one time to many. Or maybe my collective ignorance finally made me feel guilty enough to finally check the damn thing out. Maybe I just broke. You happy now?
I think the first time I ever saw this book on display was at the Virgin Records in Burbank. If you're looking to help date this: Virgin Records no longer exists. I'm fairly certain Burbank has been taken by the mole people, as well.
It wouldn't have been too long after seeing that I began my short foray into the world of anime. It's not a time I'm super proud of, but it wasn't nearly as dark as it could be. One of the reasons for this is that Akira was being re-released in theaters with a new voice acting (I didn't let the fact that Tetsou sounded exactly like one of the Digimon kids distract me. . . Mostly because I really like Digimon).
I might have seen Princess Mononoke at that point (on a VHS tape at my friend's house along with The Big Lebowski and Rushmore and, for whatever reason, Heavy Metal 2000), I was certainly aware of the medium-- but seeing Akira play out was like hearing Led Zeppelin* for the first time. It was the kind of seminal moments that you get when a work of art completely expands your horizons. It was what the medium was supposed to be. Looking at the comic book, even with it being nearly thirty years old, I realize that it still is everything the medium should be.
Akira is the first comic in a long time where I've though "Can you even do that?"
Katsuhiro Otomo does things in the comic that should be impossible to do in the medium. You see a lot of this in bad comics. You see people trying to fit too many words onto a page. You see people used to working in one medium (almost always film or prose and almost always as failed movie pitches) failing to work in the other. You see all kinds of mistakes based on a basic misunderstanding of how comic book grammar works.
As an amateur, I've caught myself doing this when I write. Most of my mistakes involve a character doing too much in a panel (like, you know, moving) or it involves a sound effect (Note: You cannot cut on a sound in a comic). It's a terrible habit and it's something easy to do if you aren't completely versed in what a comic book can and cannot do.
With Otomo what you see is a man who knows the rules and who breaks these rules whenever he feels like it, and who then gets away with it.He inverts panels, he turns them on their head, he stacks them up and cuts up their borders. He chops things up, he shifts back and forth. He hides things from the reader. This comic has dissolves-- dissolves, for God's sake! That's not a thing you can do in comics! But he is and he's getting away with it!
What's impressive, beyond the strength of the actual artwork, is how seamless it all looks when you're reading it. It doesn't read as a man showing off what he can do, it just reads as good comics. It's the kind of good that seems so simple and so obvious that I wonder why more people don't straight rip it off. At least I know why I haven't ripped this book off.
In all those decades I can't think of anybody that has done what Otomo has done. I can only think of imitators and I can only think of imitators that fall short. And, really, that's all there is. There is Akira and then there's everything else that came after Akira. It isn't only that Otomo is a master draftsman, there is something magical going on inside this book that I can't quite put my finger on.
Again, it makes me feel like an idiot for having waited this long. Don't be like me, go out and read it right now. You won't be sorry for long.
I'm two volumes into the book. I only stopped because, for whatever reason, I'm missing volume three (which means I need to drive over to Long Beach and steal that copy from my friend Alex or just break down and actually buy the damn thing). I can't wait to blaze through the rest of this book. And to finally pick up Domu, which has sat in the back of my mind for nearly two decades with the rest of my hazy memories of Dark Horse's ads. That is if I can find a copy of Domu. After that I'm going to watch the movie again. And then I'll check out Steamboy one more time. And then. . .
SIDE NOTE:
Actually, you should all go and see Memories. I think I wrote about it once. . . Anyways, one of the shorts in the film is directed by Otomoand you should check that out, because nobody directs rusty industrial design quite like Otomo.
FOOT NOTES:
*I now realize that Zeppelin is one of the most profoundly over-rated and over-played bands in all of time and space, but we were all fourteen at one point and, thankfully, we were only fourteen once.
For some reason the need to watch a movie about people blowing up aliens has gone right out of me.
Instead, I want to see a movie about people. I want to see a movie that somebody actually wanted to make. What I don't want to see is something that was made to pad out a conglomerate's figures on the tertiary market. Over the past few years I have made great strides to avoid being a snob. I have no problem with popular cinema. I'm just tired of it. I want to see movies about emotions and things that I haven't felt or seen before.
So I went and saw a vampire movie.
As far as genres go, it'd be hard to think of a more dessicated one than the vampire movie.
Jim Jarmusch, as you might recall, is a great filmmaker and side steps all of the typical pitfalls of the vampire legend by instead re-framing it within the context of music legend. Instead of Bram Stoker and Anne Rice, we get Link Wray and Iggy Pop. There is a club scene in the film, but it's about as far away from The Hunger or Blade as you could imagine. It looks like a real place inhabited by real people who have real emotions, but a few of them just happen to be vampires.
As much as the movie is a reflection of other works of art (it name checks Byron and Mary Shelly to name but a few), it stands on its own. It's a kind of film that, like Le Samourai, a movie he paid homage to in Ghost Dog, doesn't emulate any sort of scene. It is the invention of a scene. To say that it is a "cool" movie makes it slightly trite. It makes it sound as though it's the kind of movie that people in their early 20's enjoy and no one else. As it is more than a vampire movie, it is more than a cool movie. It's a literate movie about people trying to make sense of their lives. They just happen to be really cool. And vampires.
One of the other aspects that makes Only Lovers Left Alive stand apart from the other genres in its bloodline is that it is proper art. And not because it's good or because it's slow and has some subtitles or that a movie with a flaming crossbow can't be art. This movie is art because it's thoughtful in both an emotional and intellectual sense. It has something to say about human (or vampire) relationships and how they change over time. It has something to say about the state of the world and about the many things we fill our minds with to keep from thinking about death. It's about more than that, as well. It's the kind of movie that you talk to your friend at a party after you've had too much red wine.
Only Lovers Left Alive is, like The Limits of Control and Broken Flowers, a movie for the patient. It takes its sweet time and it doesn't particularly care whether or not you're following along. Like everything that is truly cool (and I think that we can all accept the premise that Jim Jarmusch is a cool man, I mean, just look at him), it doesn't feel the need to help you along. It doesn't need to rush anything. Instead it convinces you that you're right there with it, that you're hip enough to know what's going on at all times. It's a trick of cinema and a testament to Jarmusch's skill that you are convinced right up until the last frame.
More than skill, though, one of the admirable aspects on display in Only Lovers Left Alive is Jarmusch's love of making movies. Another line of his that I cary around with me is that he doesn't see himself as a professional, but as a amateur. He doesn't make movies to make money. He makes movies becuase he loves them. Even in his worst film you can see this drive at work. In Only Lovers Left Alive, you not only see it, you feel it. This movie comes from a place of love as much as it is about love.
Towards the end of the film John Hurt, playing the
long-since-thought-dead Christopher Marlow, says to his adopted family
that "Humility will get you
nowhere." It's clearly posed as an ironic statement (and not a spoiler,
incidentally). There's a smile at the edges of John Hurt's mouth in a way that only he can that tells you that there is something more to his words. It's a line that encapsulates the depths that the movie possesses. It's melancholy, yet slightly funny. It speaks to a larger world, yet is also about a few people having a moment. It also sums up the man who wrote it.
Unlike
the Marlow of this film Jim Jarmusch is in no danger of suffering the
same fate. While many other
indie directors have changed course or become massive stars or simply
faded away, Jarmusch is still there, quietly being the artist that we would all like to be. Humility, it seems, has gotten him somewhere.
This is the coolest vampire movie I've seen since Near Dark. It defines itself in a different manner. Near Dark is about violence and family. Only Lovers Left Alive is about guitars. And it's also about books. And all of the albums you talked about with your first girlfriend. It's about all of the emotions you invest in these things criss-crossing with one another. Most of all, though, it's about love and what that does to people over the long term. It's a movie that you're surprised that no one has made before. It seems to fully formed, so fully thought out, that it seems like it's always been there. It's the kind of movie that only Jim Jarmusch could make.
(Because, at a certain point in this movie, Adam and Eve have a full-blown junkie lean going on. You'll know it when you see it.)
James Kislingbury writes comics and podcasts. You can follow him on Twitter @kislingtwits.
Have you ever seen The Salton Sea? There's a sequence in it-- this sequence-- that basically sums up the entire experience of Luftrausers.
As a game, it's a madhouse cocktail of Hotline Miami and your best memories of Raiden II. It's everything a videogame should be and shouldn't be. It's fun, addictive, and I walk away from it feeling that my brain is just a little more fried than it should be. It isn't the diversion that Papers, Please or even FTL is.
I'm seeing it when I close my eyes. Just dozens of pixelated planes flying back and forth shooting bullets bigger than their entire ship. I can't remember the last time that I've experienced that from a videogame before. It was maybe with Tetris, but probably with Hotline Miami. Which, you know, makes sense.
That game was like some kind of crack. But not Luftrausers, though. That's pure lady crystal, through and through.
For those wiling to ignore his alcohol-fueled misogyny, one of the longest standing criticisms leveled at James Bond is that he is not a very good secret agent.
Going back for another, huh Jimmie? Not like you're on the clock or anything.
It's certainly evidenced by own often he's captured by the enemy (from whom he then escapes due to their desire to out-do his own incompetence). It's also shown by how many of his comrades just seem to up and die. Or how many times he's been "killed" himself.
Like a lot of things with Bond, I was willing to ignore this for a long time. Nitpicking at plot points and worrying about realism in a James Bond movie is like complaining about how this Nutcracker Suite has simply too many arabesques. It's missing the point and, worse yet, it's the height of tedium. It's a movie. Better yet: It's a Bond movie. Some silly things are going to happen
That all changed when I started reading the books. After finishing Live and Let Die, I realize that it isn't a contrivance of the screenplay or an oversight of the director, it's is as much in James' blood as vodka.
Yeah, here's a guy with his priorities in line.
In Casino Royale, he doesn't kick down the door or save the day. He crashes his car (not due to his alcholism, mind you). He's then tortured, nearly castrated, and then by a Soviet secret agent, who basically lets James Bond live so he can appear in more books. James Bond is saved by his enemy. . . Who he then swears revenge on, because, again, he's probably blacked out and doesn't really remember exactly what went down.
In Live and Let Die this tradition is continued. Bond is, once again, captured by the enemy. They spare him the ball torture this time around in favor or keelhauling him until he's eaten by sharks. This time around there is one further evolution in Bond's dubious heroics, in that he actually does plant a mine on the villain's boat.
Aw, the rummy is all tuckered out!
But then he's saved by a shark. A SHARK.
The world's foremost secret agent and world-renowned pussy hound is saved by the chance happening of a shark arrival (which is described as an excited dog. I don't know. It was the 50's).
Bond doesn't so much uncover plots as he stumbles into them. Knocking them over like so many glasses of wine that he didn't see there. To quote Fleming (and, later on, M), he's a "blunt instrument." All of the bowties and Brioni suits are only there to disguise the fact that he's a wrecking ball. A drunken wrecking ball. There are census takers that are better spies than James Bond. It's probably why Hannibal Lector hates them so much.
James Bond is, was, and always will be a kind of crappy secret agent. I wouldn't have it any other way. . . I mean, barring the return of 1950's racism.
My reading stack is getting ridiculous. I've got a Hellblazer omnibus, two volumes of Akira, Judenhass (still), and the first Satellite Sam trade. That's just the comics. I'm working my way through the first book of Shadow Claw and after that is Live and Let Die and then God knows how many WWII books after that. I'm just glad that, while at the store today, I realized that I needed another book like I needed a hole in the head (so I only bought the new League of Extraordinary Gentlemen).
And then Jan's Atomic Heart. And maybe a Parker novel and a George V. Higgins novel, but that's it.
I swear.
Here are the books from the library that I actually managed to read (and finish)--
Lost Dogs-- Jeff Lemire.
I was right. So very right. And I don't want to feel this pain any more.
It hurts so bad and I want to go home, but I'm already there.
On the plus side-- and there is a real plus side-- is that a book like Lost Dogs is proof that whatever project it is that you want to complete, there are people that will meet you half way. Lost Dogs is a rough looking book. Actually, I take that back, Sweet Tooth is a rough looking book. Lost Dogs is primitive. The color scheme is almost non-existent, the character models are. . . "fluid," let's say, and the brush work is downright sloppy. But it works and it's good because it does all come together to tell a story. It doesn't work as a collection of drawings. It does work, though, as a comic book. I really like it.
I like it not only because it's a simple story, well told (in the afterword Lemire goes on about how he failed to write and draw a massive sci-fi epic, which is funny, because I remember reading an Alan Moore interview where that same exact thing happened to him). I also like it because it encourages me to work on my own stories. They don't need to be showy or clever or stand out. They just need to be good. They need to be good in whatever capacity that means.
No matter how rough it is or how much of a bummer it may or may not be or how little of a name you are, there is an audience for your work. People will read it if it's good.
The Infinite Horizon-- Duggan and Noto.
The Infinite Horizon is not very good. Unlike a lot of times when I take a contrarian position, this time, I am legitimately baffled. Befuddled, even. Boggled.
That isn't to say that it isn't useful. The pages are overcrowded with text that seems to fill out what should be in the art. As much as I have liked using that in the past, it isn't until now that I realize just how annoying this is when you aren't the one writing it. When it comes to voice overs not everyone can make Apocalypse Now and when it comes to comics not everyone can be Neil Gaiman.
Having read this and having made my own half-assed diagnosis, I've come to the conclusion that I need to write less and let my artist do his thing. I have this blog if I want to babble on forever.
It's an odd comic overall. It doesn't quite feel like it's in the real world and it doesn't ever commit to being a fable. It's not gritty enough to be a war book and it pulls too much out of real world events to hit on the kind of legendary narrative that Star Wars or, hell, even Kings managed to nail.
I don't know what this is.Worse yet, I don't care enough about the story to ignore this flaw in the storytelling. The Infinite Horizon has received fairlypositive reviews and I can't account for that other than these people are clearly sick and need help.
Pray for them, dear reader.
Maybe go read the current run of Black Widow. That's got some real good Phil Noto in it.
THE AD ZONE
A Quality Interruption is officially here. . . Sort of. It's just a place holder, really, to remind you that it exists. And now I'm reminding you that the reminder exists.
You can see my overwritten comics in the anthologies Old College Comics Presents and The Freshman Fifteen. You can buy a meatspace copy of it or a digital version! They're a good value, they're independent, and every issue you buy is one step closer to me getting a check for this thing that's more than fifteen dollars. Isn't that a dream worth helping along?
Also, one last thing: Thank you, everyone who reads this. I really appreciate it. I don't get money for this. I don't get kudos. All I get is some odd numbers on the back end of this website. And that's all. And that's quite enough.
I was going to write an entry on Ground Zeroes and then maybe Tomb Raider or, at least the Bioshock Infinite DLC. Instead I finally watched The Limey. Top notch relevant stuff on this blog and nothing but!
If you had to compare The Limey with a 1960's crime film-- and I think that we do-- It's much morePerformance than it is Get Carter. Saying that now I realize that's exactly the kind of revenge movie the guy who made King of the Hill would make. It's soft and it's odd and it isn't quite what I was looking for. And that isn't a bad thing.
Instead of being this drama driven by anger and spite, it instead circles around the idea of a revenge film without ever actually becoming one. It takes this dreamy, scenic route through the margins of Hollywood and Los Angeles, and through the journey of an emotionally unstable man, and, yet, in the end, it ends up in the exact same place as a Death Wish or any other revenge movie (and, thankfully, without the cliche at the end about how violence never solved anything and "dig two graves" and blah blah blah).
There's a shoot out, there's catharsis, there's bloody resolution. In the end there's all the things you want, but they aren't the same because of the jounrey you took to get there.The Limey is a different kind of movie-- and I don't mean from a thriller, I mean from all movies. It's an odd duck, The Limey. It's probably why I'm so tepid on it. I can't be too enthusiastic about it because I'm still not sure what it is.
The one thing it does really well is shoot LA in a way that doesn't look like any other film I can think of. Well, maybe White Dog. There's a lot of LA mountains in both of these movies. Lots of scrub land.
It isn't glitzy and it isn't glamorous and it isn't the usual heap of B-roll of the western end of Melrose or Sunset. It isn't involved with Hollywood. There is nothing on parade for the tourists. Hollywood, though, touches on the fringes of this world. And like downtown LA in the background of Valentine's apartment, it's a hazy place many, many miles away.
You know what's a slightly better Terrance Stamp road/crime movie? The Hit. I don't remember too much about that one, but I do remember it being pretty good. I'd bet money that Steven Soderbergh feels the same way.
As for artsy genre movies and Steven Soderbergh movies go see Haywire. It's got a solid cast, a plot that doesn't get in the way of some serious ass kicking, and seems to embrace its genre far more than The Limey does.
I'm off to watch Le Duexieme Souffle next. It's a Jean-Pierre Melville movie, so it can only be so bad. I've also had Out of Sight sitting on top of my player for about a month, so maybe I'll finally get around to cracking that one. . . Plus I still have to watch Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill!
Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, somebody make a Performance sequel. Set in in the present. Someone get James Fox and Mick Jagger on the phone. Let's hash this thing out while I still think this isn't a terrible fucking idea.
***
AD ZONE
We've got a new episode of White Guys, Square Glasses up. This one is about the caper/high school/cyberpunk/whatever movie Hackers. There's no time better than now to jump on. . . right as we change the name of the show over to A Quality Interruption.
I have comics! My friends have comics! We make comics together! Our two indie anthologies,Old College Comics Presents and The Freshman Fifteen are on sale now in both physical and digital copies. Like my dumb podcast there is no time better than now to buy!
Besides
the fact that it's full of wonderful books that you can just go ahead
and take, it has a wonderful comic book collection. I first read
Watchmen because of that library. And League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
and Sandman and Preacher and quite a few other wonderful books that I
never would have picked up if they hadn't been there just waiting for
me.
Libraries are pretty good places, as it turns out, especially for young, vulnerable nerds.
This past week I renewed the tradition and picked up the following books:
This is a book I've been waiting a long while to read. Like, years. Even when it came out in a TPB (and at a reasonable price), I never got around to actually buying the damn thing. I just looked at it and moved on and eventually forgot about it, which is the way of these things. If I hadn't found it at the library I don't know that I would have ever gotten around to it.
It's about Kung Fu and while I feel that my best Kung Fu loving years are behind me, this should be a good ride. One can always use more Kung Fu treachery in their life. Plus, it's called "Infinite Kung Fu." Who doesn't want to read that? That sounds like exactly what I need right now.
Any time somebody smiles in a Jeff Lemire comic it seems like it's a set-up for something terrible to happen. And since Lost Dogs is one of his earlier, independent works, I'm fully expecting this to have an emotional palette that ranges from "Being waterboarded" to "Waterboarding your cat."
Not to say that it's going to be bad. I just know that it's probably going to hurt.
I never got around to writing about Sweet Tooth, so I suppose I'll do so here: Sweet Tooth is one of the best books Vertigo has come out with in a long time (or at least since Scalped). While Lemire's art is, um, rough, there is an emotional underbelly to that book that is so delicate that makes me feel like I've been writing wrong this entire time. And that's always a good sign. . .
I don't know much about Joe Sacco other than the fact that he tends to do books about war that are non-fiction. Apparently. I'll find out if I'm wrong soon enough.
This particular book is about Bosnia in the 90's, which despite Rick Steves' best efforts, is still not place that makes me think of a good time. Basically what I'm saying is that it'll likely be less merciless than the Jeff Lemire book I picked up. The Infinite Horizon*-- Gerry Dugan and Philip Noto. The Infinite Horizon is another book that I've been meaning to read for a long while. Well. Here I am. The library, once again, decided for me.
For those who don't know The Infinite Horizon is the Odyssey told in the modern era with the War on Terror serving in place of the Trojan War. It's a bit high concept for me and I don't have much attachment with the Odyssey outside of that one Wishbone episode, but anything that reminds me of Kings, however tangentially, is always welcome.
Wait. . . Is this title a reference to The Lost Horizon? Oh boy, that doesn't bode well. . .
When I heard about this thing, the sudden taste of copper and bad oranges hit the back of my throat. It didn't seem right. When
the talent attached to the project was announced and it almost seemed
that DC, despite the wishes of the creators, despite good taste, and
despite all odds, was trying to do this thing right. It's an especially odd choice when you consider that most alcoholics have less accute cases of self-sabotage than DC Comics.
And, yet, it still seemed wrong. Deeply and bizarrely wrong. I seemed odd that I had to have an opinion about it, to the point at which I had about the same feelings for it as crazy people that I have never met nor care to. It was like somebody was doing fanfic of the Bible. Or slash fiction on the Constitution. And they hired Stephen King to work on it. There's something to be said about leaving some things alone.
Then it came out and nobody cared and went away. That almost seemed like a small mercy. It was one less thing to be outraged about. One less thing to be annoyed about. Plus, since Alan Moore isn't involved in the project (except maybe buying one of the comics to make some sort of a Druidic hex), at least I don't have to worry about there being an obligatory rape.
I'm
still curious, though. And I'll be goddamned if I'm going to throw
actual money at the actual After Watchmen project. I'm sick, not crazy.
THE AD CULT DEMANDS BLOOD
Speaking of comics: I have written some. You can buy them in digital form or in good old analogue. The name of the collections I am featured in are The Freshman Fifteen and Old College Comics Presents. I'm rather proud of them. Everyone at Old College Comics is proud of the work we've done. It might not be the finest or the most polished comic book you'll ever read, but it's independent, it's
I also do a podcast called White Guys, Square Glasses. In this podcast my friend Cruz Flores and I ramble on about a particular movie in each episode. The subject ranges from schlocky camp fests to Japanese action movies to the odd Cold War thriller. It's a good time, through and through. On the latest podcast we reviewed the ridculous voodoo movie The Serpent and the Rainbow.
We're going to be changing the name to A Quality Interruption soon, so don't forget to subscribe to switch over when that happens on the 7th.
FOOTNOTES
*I read The Infinite Horizon. It isn't very good, you guys. You should probably read other things from Duggan and Noto instead.
Jack Reacher is the type of action movie I can watch and enjoy with my parents.
It's simple, straight-forward and is wrapped around the same kind of familiar, procedural drive that a good Law and Order episode has. All the while it delivers the kind of justified violence that you don't have to think about for longer than the length of the scene. It's good fun and, as Mark Kermode might describe it, is perfectly fine "Tab A into slot B fair."
It's an average movie with some truly excellent moments. The car chase in the middle is excellent, so is the comic turn of most of the film's goons. Then there's Werner Herzog, collecting more money for three days of shooting than he probably has for his last three films combined (and that's a cause worth supporting). There's a lot worth liking in this film. And it's on Instant Watch. What are you doing for two hours that's so important*?
At the end of all of this, beyond whether or not it's actually a good movie or if it contributes anything to the human experience besides a mild distraction against our inevitable oblivion, Jack Reacher is a film that is paying the mortgage of the guy who wrote and directed The Way of the Gun**.
That's a cause worth supporting. The Way of the Gun is one of my favorite, little underseen movies***. I think it made all of fifteen dollars at the box office and thanks to cult heroes like Ryan Philipe and that one teacher from Boston Public(you know, the one that kissed the hot chick who wouldn't wear a bra?) it's never really burned up the midnight movie circuit.
It's a brutal, mean little movie that has the energy of a Tarantino movie and the kind of gritty violence that Sam Peckinpaugh, for all his faults, had perfected. It also has bar-none one of the best gunfights in movie history. As much as the movie might be a bit too clever and a bit too self-aware, it's worth seeing, if only, for the fantastic showdown at the end. It combines all of the realistic geographic intensity of Heat with the fun of an old fashioned Wild West shoot-out. In a perfect world we'd see more ofthis type of scene, but because less people saw it than populated Andorra, we got berserker editing and slow-mo instead. Because the world is a son of a bitch.
I also spent a New Years Eve watching The Way of the Gun watching this with a girl instead of actually doing anything fun. I'm not saying it wasn't a good choice or a proud one in the long run, but that should be a testament to how much I like that movie. Or how much of a mess my own life is. Maybe both.
By the way, I'm still looking for the jacket Benicio Del Toro wears at the end of the movie, so if anybody has any ideas as to what it is, send them my way.
THE AD BLAST
I do a podcast called White Guys, Square Glasses. . . which will be changing its name to A Quality Interruption very shortly. WGSG/A Quality Interruption is a podcast about movies. Cruz and I focus on a single film for about an hour, picking it apart, and often getting side-tracked by our dopey ideas on narrative theory. It's a good time. Our newest episode is about Near Dark, another little Peckinpaugh-esque blast of darkness and horror.
I wrote some comics. You can pick up the stories I wrote in two anthologies: Old College Comics Presents and The Freshman Fifteen. It's got my stories, along with the entries of a whole lot of other, often more talented, people. It's good fun and you're supporting indie publishing. Buy one today!
*Also, Rosamund Pike is both talented and incredibly attractive! And we're supposed to believe that Richard Jenkins somehow had a hand in producing her!
**Christopher McQuarrie is writing and directing Mission: Impossible 5? Fuck yeah. Good work, Hollywood.
***I even wrote about it way back in 2008 for my college paper. There's a Two Girls, One Cup "joke" on the opposite page. Lord. Were we ever that young?
I just finished Iron Man 3 and I've got one burning question about the climax of the movie:
Did Tony Stark just kill a bunch of disabled veterans?
I mean, I don't want to throw a damper on the whole movie, but that is what his big move was, right? That was the entirety of the climax? To take out as many amputees as possible? I can't say that I've ever seen a movie rely on the death of so many Purple Heart winners, so I guess this movie does have that in its favor.
As far as the rest of the film goes, I feel the usual wave of emotions that come with accetable superhero films: It could have been cut by twenty minutes. It's nice to see that much fan service. Their one use of an R-rated cuss word was pretty solid (does "pussy" count?). At least one of the villains was excellent. And at the end of all of this it had a story-- one that made sense, too and not in a "It's a comic book movie" kind of way. It's a big comic book movie and it delivers exactly what it's supposed to.
Iron Man 3: It's thoroughly okay!
The next movie on my slate is going to be The Limey. I have this inkling that I am going to feel very different about that movie.
There. There you go. I finally saw something that I liked. Or, more accurately, I finally saw something that was good. And in the theater, no less! I hope you're happy!
Actually, that isn't strictly true. I saw Redline, Near Dark, and Battle Royale recently, but we're not here for them. Or about Night Watch for that matter.
As easy as Wes Anderson is topoke fun at, he is also a director that is is hard to be snide about. He's an artist who is making the exact kind of art that he wants to make-- and most of the time, it's really quite good. Even if it isn't, he's made some of the best movies of the past fifteen years. And even if that isn't true he made Rushmore, a movie I carry around with me with all of the affection of a childhood blanket. I don't exist as the person that I am without Rushmore. I'm not the movie fan that I am without that movie. I guess The Royal Tenebaums ranks up there as well. It's one of the few moments of lesbianism that I've witnessed with my mother. . .
But anyways. . .
A few years back I described Django Unchained as a Quentin Tarantino movie and I feel safe in repeating that sentiment by saying that The Grand Budapest Hotel is a Wes Anderson movie. It's an intricately constructed film, driven by particular ticks and a kind of subject matter that only Wes Anderson and a bunch of dead people truly loved. His tastes vary in their effectiveness. Sometimes his ticks add up to nothing more than fodder for a parody video and other times he makes Moonrise Kingdom.
His films are consumate works of art, regardless of their quality. Mark Kermode compared The Grand Budapest Hotel compared with a pastry box and to a grandfather clock, but his best works-- and this film-- are more than just a collection of finely oiled gears**.
The best parts of the film are the portions where we forget about the machinery and see something else beneath the surface. These moments are so fleeting they almost seem like mistakes.But we're looking at a Wes Anderson movie so we know that these moments are anything but mistakes. In the moment, though, we aren't thinking of what was meant to be there or what wasn't. Instead we see that these fast talking, quirky characters aren't just "characters." We see that they're people suffering from the same kind of loneliness and alienation that people like Max Fischer or Royal Tenebaum suffer from. Hell, that's what defines them.
It's the light at the edge of the frames that elevate this movie. His movies aren't machines, they only have the appearance of machinery. Behind all of the exacting camera work and the chapter titles and the oh-so-specific dialogue is a beating heart, there is affection. It's something that his worst movies forget about and it is something that his best movies have right out in the open.*** The Grand Budapest Hotel reconciles these two aspects. It doesn't quite have the melancholy of his best works, yet it does manage to remain interesting without losing sight of the human beings on screen.
I wish that instead of honing his craft down to one particular style to the point where he (hones it down to a diamond) he would expand in his artistry. That, like Martin Scorcese, his style would change and evolve and he would try his hand at new things.
Though, that's silly.Wes Anderson isn't interested in making different movies, nor should he. He is interested in making Wes Anderson movies. Going off of The Grand Budapest Hotel, that is a perfectly fine way to go.
ENTER THE AD DRAGON:
I do more than write bad movie reviews. I also write bad comics. At Old College Comics we're selling two volumes of anthology comics, where I am but one writer amongst a collection of some very talented friends of mine. We're also now on iTunes and Kindle, if you're over the whole physical medium thing.
I also do a cruddy little podcast called White Guys, Square Glasses. My friend Cruz and I talk about films there. These week we talked about Battle Royale. There's also a blog for the show if you're interested in checking that out. I just started updating that thing again. Because I guess I care again.
And, what the hell, here's my portfolio. The thing is ancient, but I figured why not link all of the blogs I'm in possession of? Right?
