America's favorite re-recycled Roman pastime

by MK
NBC has decided to put the striking writers of the WGA into a powerful sleeper-hold, then move swiftly into a devastating suplex. That way it's easier to distract their audiences from the fact that they couldn't come up with any new reality television ideas.

The brand-new re-hashing of the most original/ancient idea is back on the air Monday nights at 8pm (EST). And, while it can still be enjoyable to watch people try to interview after getting slammed to the ground by other, more freakish people--the show has definitely lost some of its charm the second time around.

Hulk Hogan is an adequate host, while Lela Ali leaves a bit to be desired. Hulk is familiar and likeable, while not going overboard with catch-phrases or banter. Ali simply doesn't have the experience to keep things moving in live interviews, but still comes off fairly polished. The producing is not yet up to snuff, and as a result the show feels choppy. During the "Assault" event, it was difficult to even see what was happening with the jerky editing. Undoubtedly, this will improve with time.

The main problem with this glorified re-run is that the contestants have become acutely aware of what a "reality show contestant" should act like. Back in the late 80s and early 90s, the contestants were real, three-dimensional--even awkward. Now, due to the identity of reality television, all the competitors have canned answers and seem like caricatures of themselves. This really takes the fun out of watching everyday Joe's and Jane's (well, very athletic Joe's and Jane's) pitted against Goliaths.

The Gladiators themselves, however, have some personality--something lacking in the original conception (not counting Rome). They have unique characters that are pretty cheesy, yet still entertaining. They are also extremely potent athletes, making each event as challenging as ever. By giving the gladiators voices, it becomes a bit more personal--rather than interchangeable muscle/spandex-bound parts. The women gladiators have a bit less personality then the very theatrical men, but that may also evolve over time.

NBC will probably score a hit with this particular environmentally-friendly re-use of a popular concept, but it may take a bit for the show to hit it's stride. Hopefully, the producers will realize that finding contestants who don't NEED to be on television (hint: don't cast in LA) will only enhance the inherent drama built around the competition and elevate this classic television series to a new level.

Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story - Shake and Bake, Rattle and Roll!

by JP

This is the story of a musical legend; a man who started with nothing but raw talent; who overcame adversity and disability to reach dizzying heights of success; and whose battles with his personal demons and the temptations of stardom threatened to take it all away.

If this sounds familiar, that's exactly the point. Writer/director Jake Kasdan and co-writer Judd Apatow have set their comedic sights on the seemingly bottomless genre of musical biopics and created Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story. In charting the life of the fictitious Dewey Cox (John C. Reilly), Kasdan and Apatow underline the formulaic nature of a genre that has become an award-season sure thing for movie studios (as well as money in the bank for record companies and music publishers).

Though Walk Hard most closely parallels the 2005 Johnny Cash biopic Walk The Line, Cox's story is a pastiche of numerous rock biographies. Music fans will enjoy playing "guess-the-reference" through the many ups and downs of Cox's career, from his stint as a Dylanesque singer of ludicrously cryptic "issue" songs, to his Brian Wilson-like retreat into obsessively self-indulgent record production, and subsequent stint as star of his own flashy variety show a la Glen Campbell. Slavish attention to period detail, as well as deceptively authentic original songs performed by Reilly, further blur the line between Walk Hard and the real-life stories it lampoons.

The chief reason Walk Hard works is due to the casting of John C. Reilly as Dewey Cox. Having already established a solid reputation for dependable dramatic supporting work (What's Eating Gilbert Grape, Magnolia, The Aviator), Reilly has also revealed his considerable comedic abilities in more straightforward comedies like Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. His effectiveness as Cox lies in the ways he plays it straight; by approaching the role of Cox with the same level of focus and dedication he would give to portraying a flesh-and-blood icon, Walk Hard is elevated from what could have easily been just another phoned-in showpiece for a more limited comedy star.

If only the rest of the movie showed as much restraint as Reilly. There are plenty of well-earned laughs in both the writing and performances - particularly from Saturday Night Live vet Tim Meadows, who as Cox's longtime drummer delivers a series of hysterical (and unheeded) warnings about the effects of various controlled substances. But while much of the humor of Walk Hard comes from the manner in which Kasdan and Apatow underline the inanities of the biopic formula, their need to underline nearly every joke can come off as a smug inability to reign in their own hilariousness. At times, this borders dangerously close to turning their movie into a send-up not only of music biopics, but of comedies in general. Despite these tendencies, Walk Hard remains a infectiously fun, highly re-watchable exercise in irreverence.

Aliens vs. Predator vs. my wallet

by MK

There seems to be an ever-increasing epidemic amongst young directors in Hollywood: prioritizing "cool" over quality. The art of suspenseful storytelling often seems lost, and one of the most thoroughly damning pieces of evidence in support of this sad reality is the sci-fi horror hybrid, Aliens vs. Predator: Requiem.


To be concise about the countless shortcomings of this film is truly a challenge. The story is uninteresting, the characters underdeveloped and the action disappointing. There will be reviewers who will have low expectations and consequently feel entertained by the title creatures battling periodically during the film. The real travesty, however, is how little was done with two of the most fascinating science-fiction franchises in movie history. Not only are the character designs classic, but the potential back story revealing the history of the two alien races remains incredibly intriguing. Yet, despite these wonderful tools with which to work, the resulting movie experience feels completely cheesy and one-dimensional.


One of the most destructive failures of this film--especially in comparison with their respective predecessors--is the complete lack of unique characters. One of the truly enjoyable experiences shared by both Alien/s and Predator (the original landmark films) is getting to know the rich cast of characters before they are inevitably hunted by the killer aliens. A movie becomes richly quotable with three-dimensional characters, and AVP:R is totally flat in every way. As a direct result, virtually every one-liner and attempt at humor is unearned and embarrassing to watch. You may want to quote the movie, but only to recall some of the more laughable moments. To even further challenge the actors, the camera work is over dramatic--making the already mediocre performances seem terrible and without motivation.


So much of the film feels forced. The tone and style is all over the map, traversing multiple genres from horror to sci-fi, romantic comedy to action-adventure. There is no anticipation built up for any of the action sequences, and the "Jaws" theory of horror (don't show the shark until after you've built up proper tension) is never used. There are lots of aliens running around, and there's just no mystery. What little attempt at mystery which was created in the ancient temple found in the first hybrid AVP was never even recalled.


Again, I could list all of the terrible choices made by the writer and director of this film, but the most important choice I can think of is the choice NOT to pay to see this cringefest. Clearly the creators crammed every "cool" thing they could think of from their own movie-watching experience without tact or control. And if you appreciate either of these wonderfully conceived original films, you will want to avoid seeing them mashed together carelessly and without respect.

About as Stiff as a Tin Man

by MK

Watching the SciFi Channel's original mini-series Tin Man is an exercise in frustration. The potential is immense, but the delivery is about as hollow as its iconic namesake--and this time there's no oil can that will save the story from giant, rusty holes.

It's a little bit difficult to go into too much detail about this failed experiment without ruining some of the less-than-impactful reveals. There are some interesting story twists which could have been shocking and satisfying, but very little anticipation is built up for any of the unique plot details. However, the real shame of this contemporary chapter of the beloved fantasy story is the lack of mythology found in "the O.Z." And, yes, that is what the characters call the fantastic land beyond the tornado.

In the original 1939 masterpiece, few answers about the origin of OZ or its inhabitants are answered. The film was character-driven, and successfully navigated a completely original and fictional land created by author L. Frank Baum. However, Tin Man misses wonderful opportunities to fill in some of the powerfully intriguing holes left by the classic whimsical adventure. To be fair, anytime a completely new world such as OZ is born, the creative options are endless and difficult to tame. Yet, instead of working to focus these infinite possibilities, Tin Man writers Steven Long Mitchell and Craig W. Van Sickle simply add to the questions with a new story, new characters and a completely new design concept. It takes an adept hand to guide an audience through a true fantasy experience and, sadly, the production team spent way too much time on making their brain child different from its predecessor, and not enough time delving into the relevance of its own roots.

In the end, lovely performances by Alan Cumming and Richard Dreyfuss cannot save the other actors from drowning in the wake of this unclear and meandering tale.

It's Nostolgic Under the Blacklight

by MK

Many times, when a favorite band deviates from the familiar formula, it upsets the fanbase. They feel cheated. Their band "sold out." But sometimes, when the band evolves, the observant listener can hear a progression--a movement into a new level of artistry. Rilo Kiley's new album, Under the Blacklight, is evidence of an impressive elevation of musicianship for the quirky indie rock band out of Los Angeles, California.

I often think back to Weezer's Pinkerton when discovering an album that takes a few listens to really sink in. Though completely different in style to Rilo Kiley's fourth effort, Weezer's second album was also a bit too much of a departure for most of their listeners, but somehow made it into many top all-time album lists. Under the Blacklight contains a similar degree of post-listening power.

For those fans expecting that indie-folk flavor--there's some of that, to be sure. ("The Angels Hung Around") feels familiar like a Friday night in Austin. Even ("15") has that soulful rhythm that makes frontwoman Jenny Lewis soar above most of today's songstresses. Then, as abruptly as flipping the channel, you will be introduced to the poppy ("Breaking Up") and ("Smoke Detector"). But these aren't cookie cutter radio songs. Part perfect California beach pop, part '80s melodic chorus--the rest of the album feels like a guilty pleasure away from the majority of indie's sameness that permeates the second-hand store landscape.

Rilo Kiley's maturity crafts one of this year's best, and does it with an adroit, nostalgic hand that may force you to pick up some of those great old '80s pop albums if only to remember that solid music can still be a hell of a lot of fun.

No Country for Old Men or the Coen Brothers

by MK

When villain extraordinaire Javier Bardem was questioned about working with the Coen Brothers on their new adapted thriller, he simply stated: "It was an honor." He went on to elaborate that in his native country of Spain just about everyone goes to Coen Brothers' movies. They are mainstream American filmmakers in Spain. Yet, after watching No Country for Old Men, it became clear that these masters of the cinema will most likely never be truly appreciated in their own land, in their own time.

Cormac McCarthy's novel rips through the silver screen with an aggressive violence that is disturbing and memorable--directed and adapted brilliantly by Joel and Ethan Coen. Graphic at times, this film will undoubtedly turn off certain viewers. That being said, it must be made clear that none of the violence is gratuitous or unnecessary, but rather creates a visceral experience that cannot be denied. Unfortunately, disturbing imagery is often viewed the same way by the general public, with little or no focus on its intention. There is no glorification of violence here. It is ugly, wild and honest. And it is a part of a much more beautiful whole.

Like most of the duo's movies, this film has a tone and pace that is incredibly specific, balanced and finely tuned. The art direction is impeccable, and the parched landscape of West Texas, circa 1980, is imagined with depth and nuance. The ride is too intense to see every detail, but the fact that those details exist truly keeps the viewer focused on the story and engulfed in the dusty, dirty (and occasionally bloody) boots of each character.

In essence, the story is a simple one: A man finds money that is not his to keep. Bad men follow, along with police, and all other details contain spoilers--so they will not be divulged here. What can be shared, with joy, are the names of some the film's fantastic cast. Tommy Lee Jones is perfectly cast as the tethered local sheriff Ed Tom Bell. Jones illuminates one of the more powerful themes of the film, by humanizing a man who belongs in a time that no longer exists. These "Old Men" have a hard time rationalizing the ever-changing moral center of their beloved Texan soil, and Ed Tom Bell is the poster boy for this profound struggle. Jones (despite always seeming to play a wise officer of the law) gives one of his most subtle and refined performances, handling the dialogue with a gruff drawl which provides a second soundtrack, of sorts, for the film.

Javier Bardem is uncomfortably memorable as Anton Chigurh, the calculated and surprisingly lucid hit man who is propelled by more than just the money at the end of the road. Bardem has a quiet charisma that stays with the viewer long after the final credits have rolled. And, certainly not to be ignored, is the performance of Josh Brolin as Llewelyn Moss, a resolved and not-so-average Everyman thrust into horrific danger after making the very simple choice to keep a case of money that belongs to those that would kill to reclaim it. Brolin does a fine job with one of those potentially forgettable roles amidst incredible characters, but he holds his own and maintains the audience's empathy without asking for an ounce of pity.

Overall, the film is worthwhile for anyone to watch (excepting children). A good story is a good story. There are certainly varying tastes and wider palettes than others, but good storytelling is rare, and the Coen Brothers have become shamen in their own right. This film is harsh, yet endearing. It is a faithful adaptation of a novel, so it can feel slow for someone expecting Spiderman 3. However, there are no superfluous details. Even the twists and turns of the plot may not feel as comfortable for some than others, but for those who do enjoy films for reasons other than feeling a vague sense of sastisfaction, this one will sting, amuse, anger, sadden and delight. Joel and Ethan Coen may never be accepted into the mainstream of American movie culture, but it continues to be ironic how incredibly adept they have become at holding the mirror up to the same country which may never completely accept them.


JP's Taste:

The Coen brothers long ago joined the ranks of other cinematic stylists--the Scorseses, the Luhrmanns, the Andersons (both Wes and P.T.)--who create such unique, insular worlds onscreen that their audiences buy tickets with a certain expectation of visiting a familiar place. The real potential for joy arises from seeing the inherent skills of the filmmaker shine through fanciful wardrobe, perfectly color-coordinated sets and frenetic editing.

With No Country for Old Men, the Coens eschew many of the idiosyncracies that have endeared them to many moviegoers--there's little chance of this movie inspiring epic Lebowskiesque quotefests--and have in the process created a film that, much like its main characters, draws its power from its silences. Alternating between crackling, poetically natural dialogue and still, echo-filled silences, No Country is as unevenly beautiful as the South Texas terrain which these characters inhabit. Unfortunately, asking anyone if they've seen it will most likely get a response along the lines of "You mean that gory movie with all the blood and killing? Yikes." Fans of David Lynch or David Cronenberg are familiar with this kind of reductionism ("Did I see Eastern Promises? You mean the one where Viggo Mortensen gets in a buck-naked knife fight in a sauna?"). True, the violence depicted is often shockingly sudden and stands in stark contrast to the rest of the film, but it is this randomness that makes the experience feel that much more genuine. Even if you do not weep for the characters' souls, you will want to. It will feel like the only decent thing to do.