http://blogcritics.org/ A sinister cabal of superior bloggers on music, books, film, popular culture, politics, and technology - updated continuously. en Copyright 2005-2007 by the authors Sun, 26 Dec 2004 14:22:34 EST http://backend.userland.com/rss Blogcritics.org custom software http://blogcritics.org/ Phillip WinnSunday, August 26, 2007, marks the switch of all Blogcritics.org article feeds from full-content to short-content. This is the result of several converging factors, and is unfortunately a permanent decision (as permanent as any decision can be on the web, that is). We are aware of all of the reasons that this is a Bad Idea, and we are aware that some of you will be quite upset about having to click on something to read the free content, and we're sorry. Unfortunately, despite great effort, full-content feeds are not currently economically viable. Two other factors are involved: full-content feeds have resulted in an unprecedented level of content theft, with BC content appearing on many websites, usually spam sites, without attribution or permission. This duplicate content causes a cascading set of problems, not the least of which is that search engines generally aren't favorable to duplicate content, and don't always guess correctly. Finally, our RSS advertising partner is strongly in favor of short-content feeds. We hope that you'll continue to subscribe to BC via RSS, and when an article grabs your eye, it's only a click away, still free on the BC website. Thank you for your understanding. Administration0@blogcritics.org Sun, 26 Aug 2007 12:00:00 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/12/26/142234.php Robert NagleAfter reading Dan Green's post on It's a Wonderful Life, I had to respond (especially because I watched parts of it again on TV last night). I too initially recoiled at the sentimentality and emotional manipulation of the ending the first time I saw it. I once saw it with American Peace Corps volunteers in Albania near Christmas (right before a financial scandal was about to hit the country (see my travel essay on it ). These Peace Corps volunteers were going to help local banks develop sound credit policies; they admired the resourcefulness of George Bailey's banking procedures. On the other hand, other free market commentators have expressed admiration for Potters' company notwithstanding Potter's own corruption. On another night, I once gave a European girlfriend the choice of watching with me Wonderful Life or Casablanca. After I briefly described the plots of both films, she chose Casablanca over Wonderful Life, which (in retrospect) didn't portend well for the relationship itself (which was based more on romance than commitment). One sign a film has become a cultural icon is when memories about watching a film are more vivid than the film itself.Watching random scenes today, i remember with fondness the "telephone kiss" scene, which stands in my mind as one of the great kisses in American cinema. The film's quaintness arises from its fairy tale qualities (angels, etc), and the fact that the town's fate is portrayed as too dependent on do gooder George. The moralizing can appear heavy-handed and melodramatic. On the other hand, the decision NOT to let Potter's knowledge of the money's whereabouts be publicly exposed was a marvelous directorial decision. It conveys the idea that good doesn't always conquer evil but merely outlasts it. It causes the film to focus not on the injustice/evil question but the more interesting question of how life choices offer unexpected dividends. The credit/debit analogy no longer applies; George Bailey's can no longer estimate the cost of overcoming adversity. Because Bailey (and other mortals) don't possess this "divine calculator" to know the true chain of consequences, he can only let his choices be guided by instinct and personal values. And a desire to do the right thing. The film presents us with options and lets George Bailey choose his dreams. He could have gone travelling and let his father's business falter; he could have abandoned the girl down the block who loved him; he could have let misfortune bring him to self-destruction. Going back to the telephone kiss, he walked back to the girl's house, annoyed that she was so solicitious and that people were badgering him to pursue her. He rebelled (and actually acted rudely to her), though in the end, when he saw her tears and sorrow, he relented. George Bailey is someone who changes, who is attuned to dreams and misfortunes of others (much as they are to his own). The film validates the necessity of compromising in life, not as a form of "sellout" but as a way of protecting the values one holds dearest. It's interesting to compare with Christmas Carol, which frames another fate v. freedom conflict. When the three ghosts visit him, his fate seems inevitable. But by framing it as a dream, the story gives Scrooge another opportunity, another lease on life, another chance to atone for his previous oversights. Finally, the question of "what would the town be like if..." is a great deliberative question, and no person can leave the theatre without pondering what impact (if any) he or she has made on people around him. Movies that can leave us thinking are capable of great things. Such is the case of Wonderful Life. One more thing. This is a sentimental philosophical story, and so is Christmas Carol, but there is no intrinsic reason to pair these two with the Christmas holiday. The central concern of both stories is not Christmas itself but the individual's alienation from ritual holiday sentiment that blankets our world like snow (or propaganda). See also Sorrentino's essay on Wonderful Life and Gary Kamiya's All Hail Pottersville. Robert Nagle (aka idiotprogrammer) runs several weblogs and writes fiction under various pseudonyms. He lives in Houston, which experienced snowfall for the first time in 10 years on Christmas eve. Video23638@blogcritics.org Sun, 26 Dec 2004 14:22:34 EST http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/09/29/032641.php Robert NagleOne Friday a few months ago my office had "movie afternoon" where everyone received free passes to a matinee show at the neighborhood multiplex. It was a kind of a dead time for movies, right after Oscar winners made a second showing at theatres and the summer feel-goods had not yet released. Last time we had movie afternoon we all saw that swashbuckling "Master and Commander," but this time we decided to go our separate ways and go to different movies. Some of my work colleagues saw The Alamo; some saw Dawn of the Dead; some saw Hellboy, and I was left choosing between Ella Enchanted, Kill Bill 2, Walking Tall, Scooby Doo 2 and Home and the Range. I chose Kill Bill 2, not because I wanted to see the movie, but because I enjoy Uma Thurman's presence (I saw her recently in the amazing film, Tape) and because Quentin Tarrentino is an entertaining talk show guest. I hadn't seen Kill Bill 1, but actually that didn't prevent me from seeing the sequel. Tarrantino is known for narrative discontinuities, so my state of confusion is unlikely to be any greater than it usually is. Actually the best part of the film experience was the trailers, which looked entertaining enough. Kill Bill had gotten decent enough writeups in the mainstream press (by critics anxious to tell us the film references they recognized in the film). (You can also check out Matt Paprocki's review of the film on blogcritics).Truthfully though, the movie was a bore. Lots of manipulating, silly violence, suspension of disbelief, and basking in kung fu cliches. All throughout the movie, I was wondering how Hollywood financiers and producers would flip over this film and eagerly bankroll this silly project. Here's how their thought process probably went: A List director and Cast, Asian crossover appeal, teen demographic appeal: great, let's give this "GENIUS" 50+ million dollars.Roger Ebert writes, Quentin Tarantino's "Kill Bill Vol. 2" is an exuberant celebration of moviemaking, coasting with heedless joy from one audacious chapter to another, working as irony, working as satire, working as drama, working as pure action.Isn't the Hollywood blockbuster irrelevant to our culture? It seems to be a celebration of car crashes and Hollywood's ability to depict gore and mass destruction in more lavish and expensive manners. My movie critic friend assures me that watching Kill Bill 1 first would have made Kill Bill 2 a more satisfying experience. Really? Perhaps when I get around to watching that first part I'll have a more nuanced appreciation for the bludgeoning pseudo-death of Daryl Hannah's character. (Hapax Legomenon once remarked in his Pleasure Manifesto, that "our sensibilities have evolved to the point where sadism is just another cinematic style.") The reader might suppose that my disaste derives from moral squeamishness about onscreen violence. But I am more horrified at the collossal waste of money, marketing resources and talented people to bring to the world another violent adrelanin-pumping film. Tragically, our society faces a shortage of such films, and it's a good thing we have a few brave filmmakers still willing to take the artistic risks to use fistfights, Kung Fu stunts and gallons of fake blood. Occasionally I've enjoyed and even admired the escapist blockbuster (Jaws, Terminator, Fifth Element). Every filmmaker has a few B-movies to get out of their system, and often these blockbusters can finance worthier projects. And it is sheer hypocrisy to pretend that high culture never stages elaborately constructed bloodbaths (see Kurosawa's Ran) . But can't we set a budget cap? For a campy film costing under $100,000 (see Rodriguez's El Mariachi), one can enjoy a luxurious amount of bloodletting to satisfy the Marquis de Sade and still have enough left over to finance a Mechant Ivory miniseries. The filmmaking industry can't resist throwing infinite sums of money at any director who hits upon a profitable formula. You may remember that American Wedding, (the second sequel to that masterpiece American Pie ), cost 55 million dollars to produce (think--55 million dollars!) and still made a healthy profit for Universal. And when a Hollywood launches a film for over 50 million dollars, everyone hears about it. There's no escaping. The mediocrity of Kill Bill bothers me not as much as the fact that for a week or so every major media outlet is screaming the same thing: Jay Leno, Time Magazine, Charlie Rose, People Magazine, CNN, hundreds of movie reviews and fawning feature stories. Everybody everywhere is talking about Kill Bill, Tarrentino is a god, terrific performance by Uma,just look at those special effects ("Just how long did Uma have to train forthat role?"), expected to be a gigantic world hit, popular in Asia, can't waitfor it to come to DVD, how was it like working with David Carradine? How muchdid it cost to stage that fight scene? How much did it cost? How much money isit earning? Was it really first place that week at the box office? How much moneyis it earning? Will there be a KillBill 3? In the midst of this inescapable multimillion publicity machine, is it any wonder that the small productions seem more appealing? TV, for example, has done a far better job at presenting smallsize comedies and dramas (even though relatively cheap-to-produce hits like Seinfeld can earn studios and networks more money than a mainstream Hollywood bloodbath). Unfortunately ours may be the last generation of TV audiences to enjoy over-the-airwaves All-in-the-Family-Cheers-Third-Rock-From-The-Sun type of shows. On the other hand, online sites like Atom Films offer enough high quality/small budget films to keep anyone happy (see for example the hilarious In God We Trust). But who has time to search out the hidden gems when everyone (and I mean everyone!) is talking about Kill Bill? A postscript. I sat through 2/3 of Kill Bill Vol 2, and just walked out and left. I said to myself, do I really need this? How is watching this making my life any easier or more enjoyable? It's not. I peeked in several other movies on my way out. Hellboy seemed fun escapist comedy trying too hard; Ella Enchanted seemed syrupy, Scooby Doo 2--well, I passed by that quickly, and then I stopped inside a screening of a film I'd never heard of before, "Connie and Carla." I had no idea what it was about, but laughed my head off. (And the 6-7 other people in the audience were doing the same). It was about 2 would-be singers running away from some gangsters and hiding in a nightclub for drag queens. The attitude towards drag queens and gay culture was a little cliched and condescending, and there was a terrible subplot involving Dave Duchovny, but all in all the movie was great fun; plus, there were some delightful renditions of old Broadway showtunes and great one-liners. (It reminded me a bit of Earth Girls are Easy , that classic campy musical comedy). Now here's the rub. This movie was universally panned by the critics. Why? Roger Ebert wrote, "The plot is creaky, the jokes are laborious, and total implausibility is not considered the slightest problem." (Apparently, the Kill Bill scene where Uma Thurman is shot in the chest and buried alive, and has to claw through the several feet of soil didn't bother him in the slightest). The movie was called "a retread of Some Like It Hot (says Ebert), and was accused of "steal(ing) an additional gender-bending twist right out of Victor/Victoria" (says Village Voice). I see. When Quentin Tarrentino rips off Sergio Leone and King Hu, that's ok, but when a movie about drag queens (who, incidentally, are in the very business of ripping off icons of mainstream culture) does it, we are supposed to turn up our noses. Connie and Carla is no masterpiece. It lacks the edginess of independent films like American Movie or Eating Rauol, and I only watched it after stumbling in by accident (I also enjoy watching the random B Movie comedy on WB's Sunday afternoons for precisely the same reason). But if I had read a writeup about the film beforehand ("starring Nia Vardalos of My Big Greek Wedding!"), I would have never deigned to see it. De gustibus non est disputandum. Going to the movies can be a crapshoot sometimes, and no matter how many reassuring reviews you read, there are no guarantees when the lights dim and the opening credits start rolling. Robert Nagle (aka idiotprogrammer ) writes and edits 8 weblogs (including most recently Unsolved Heart, a relationship blog). He publishes fiction under various pseudonyms. Video20405@blogcritics.org Wed, 29 Sep 2004 03:26:41 EDT http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/07/10/094652.php Robert NagleA few weeks ago, I delighted in a entertaining Simpsons spoof of Woodstock and the baby industry. The jokes were everywhere, and I had to stop the VCR just to catch my breath. The Simpsons has just been getting fresher and funnier and better. However, the multitude of cultural references (Who songs, etc.) in the episode were things only a major multibillion dollar media empire could bankroll the rights for (and yet, as Lessig notes, this same company can be ruthlessly mercenary when demanding tribute from underlings). These delightful cultural references and spoofs are something which Fox's legal department can easily clear the rights for, but very few independent artists could afford to do. One solution, of course, is for the artist to rely on stock footage or to wade through the creative commons archives. But in this day and age we are surrounded by CNN, Britney Spears, American Idol, Simpsons, Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. Should artists pretend that pop culture just doesn't exist? To do that implies that postmodernism as an artistic movement no longer is relevant. Even the standard of "fair use" seems insufficient (and technologically difficult to define). It seems intended to support secondary works (criticism that shines a light on the original work in question) rather than primary works (Variations on a Theme by Paganini, The Wind Done Gone, etc). As an artist, I feel I can no longer borrow/steal/coopt from my cultural environs without forswearing commercial possibilities. If I publish "underground," then I do it knowing that censorship is one cease and desist letter away. As Lessig wrote, we now live in a "permission culture," where things are presumed to be forbidden unless we gain "clearance" beforehand. At a recent South by Southwest panel on copyright and creative commons, I posed a question to the panelists: When we turn away from billboards, cable shows and pop songs all around us, are we as artists ignoring our duty to portray the world? In film and literature classes, we were taught to delight in the admixture of high culture and low culture in the cultural space. We were supposed to applaud Andy Warhol's coopting of soupcans and feel liberated enough to recontextualize the same commercial icons that were drowning the world in banality. Now corporations own these references. And vigorously enforces its copyright and in some cases trademarks. In fact, that is one benefit to accrue to these companies from consolidation. Artists no longer collaborate or offer advice; instead one artist's legal department has to negotiate with the other artist's legal department. And for artists without the benefit of a commercial backer, well, there's always 19th century works to plunder from. This issue has become very real to me recently. I'm working on a story project that is a set of variations on a mainstream Hollywood movie. The film is obscure, and this probably is the first website about it, and yet, so many extraneous and self-defeating issues have cropped up. Do I have the right to use photo stills from other websites? Do I have the right to use the title of the film in my website's title? I had never intended it to be a commercial work (I slap creative content licenses on everything I create), but what if someday I decided to try publishing it commercially? A friend of mine pointed out that no self-respecting publication would touch this project because it would mean first clearing the rights from Bertelsmann/Time/Warner. Maybe this empire would grant limited commercial rights if certain fees were paid. Hey, I wouldn't mind so much if the director were the one pocketing the check, but more than likely, the check would go to underwrite the empire's intimidation machine. Last weekend I had talked to a friend who had just signed a 4 book deal with a publisher of romance fiction. It was her big break. One of her books had the words Jedi and Ewoks title; she prayed that her publishing house could secure the rights from lucasarts to use those words in the title. Fortunately, her publishing company is used to clearing rights, and so she'll probably gain clearance (after a fee is paid). But nowadays just to use or cite a corporate-produced work makes you subject to tribute. This drag on artists makes the already abysmal system of content production even more abysmal. In many ways the SCO-ization of media companies makes media companies better at protecting artistic rights than producing art in the first place. In the meantime, I look at my creative projects and ask: should I bleach cultural references? People ask: what killed postmodernism? My answer: big media and its attempt to exert ownership rights over popular culture and (by implication) the imagination of artists. From corporate postmodernism arises a desire for independence and ultimately cultural isolationism. Culture17302@blogcritics.org Sat, 10 Jul 2004 09:46:52 EDT