Review: "Juno"

Having just reviewed a film (“AVP: Requiem”) which should be used in film schools as an model of how not to construct a story, the sudden difference in following with such a well-crafted, heartfelt tale like “Juno” feels like being slung-shot from grade school to a Master’s level class in three seconds.

In the film, Ellen Page plays the uber-hip title character, a Minnesota teen who’s learned she’s newly pregnant after an experimental romp with her track running, orange Tic-Tac popping would-be boyfriend Paulie (“Superbad’s” Michael Cera) who is completely clueless as how to react to Juno’s news.

After briefly considering abortion, Juno cruises local classifieds with her friend Leah (Olivia Thurby) seeking adoptive parents. The couple Juno settles on, Mark and Vanessa Loring (played by Jason Bateman and Jennifer Garner), is well-to-do, tidy, and extremely suburban – but at the same time, couldn’t seem to be travelling in more opposite directions.

Nevertheless, Juno quickly agrees to give her baby to the Lorings with zero fanfare, anxious to get her delivery over with, and move on with life. Her father and step-mom (JK Simmons and Alison Janney), while taken aback at Juno’s pregnancy, are supportive enough to follow their daughter’s wishes to the end.

On its face, there are 10,000 ways in which “Juno” could have been a failure of a story.

Yet instead, it excels in its self-restraint – with Ellen Page (whom I completely forgot played Kitty Pryde in "X-Men 3") giving a marvelously keen performance, posing Juno as a girl terrified by her circumstances, but who hides her feelings with razor-sharp comebacks. Without this inner vulnerability via which Ellen Page balances her character’s emotions, Juno would simply be just another smart-ass from an “American Pie” direct-to-video sequel – stupid and unremarkable.

Thankfully, “Juno’s” supporting cast is just as strong – namely JK Simmons as Juno’s thoughtful, blue-collar dad (from whom she obviously inherited her sense of humor), and Jason Bateman whose character—an ex-rocker turned successful jingle writer--tragically seems to share more in common with Juno than his wife busily choosing colors for their new baby’s nursery.

The way in which everything comes together at the end of “Juno’s” efficient 92 minutes is sweet without being saccharine, poignant, funny, and best of all: intelligent.

Not a single scene or beat is wasted, nor is—at any moment—our time as the film’s audience taken for granted.

What a rare thing.

It's Official

This (Amazing Spider-Man #545) is the worst, most gutless, most problematic comic book I have ever read.


In a literal deal with The Devil, Peter Parker erases his marriage and decades of narrative history to save his 167 year-old Aunt May who, y'know, never quite lived a full life.

Wow, have fun sorting out that Gordian Knot of continuity issues you've just created, Mr. Quesada.

This Is The End

As the past twelve months come to a close I look back on the year satisfied—amidst profound changes, including my father’s sudden passing—that most of it turned out fine.

I changed jobs, earned more salary, travelled, blogged, dreamed, overslept, got a shiny new PC and a memorial tattoo, played lots of disc golf, helped charitable causes, hung with friends, saw both The Police at Wrigley and a ballgame at Camden Yards, marked the long-awaited death of Bill Wirtz with a celebratory fist-pump, and generally had an all-around decent year.

Yet I if I have any regrets it’s that I need to focus much harder on creative projects, and on self-motivation.

Honestly, this is inexcusable.

I have spent way too much time in front of the TV this year. Don’t get me wrong. I’ll always live for The History Channel, but everyone needs limits.

I also need to do more adult things like save for the future, and not regard every paycheck as an opportunity to score a new hockey jersey.

As for relationships, I have been out of a long-term one (about six years) since 2005, but am doing okay. Would I like a new girlfriend? Maybe. Just one under the right circumstances. I could write a book on the bad relationships I’ve seen friends and family languish under in recent years, and have no wish to be hasty.

But I also wonder if I’m so embedded in my quirks and domestic habits that no chick in her right mind would ever put up with me – I mean, Jesus, I have twelve tarantulas as pets in my bedroom closet.

Yes, twelve. Relax, they’re in terrariums.

Yet whatever the next twelve months have to offer I think I’ll be okay.

Bring it on, Mr. Destiny.

"Ah, yes. Here you are, Mr. CHV...you might want to keep June 14th
open on your calendar. I'm reading something here about bad shellfish, and
a tumble out a sixth-story window."

Review: "Aliens vs Predator - Requiem"

As is usual on Christmas nights, after the activity of the holiday season is finally over, I partook of a movie yesterday at a local megaplex. The title I pick each year depends on my mood; last night, I was in the mood for sci-fi insanity.

So off to ”Aliens vs. Predator: Requiem” I went, expecting little for my entertainment buck. And boy, was I right.

Packing a script filled with unremarkable characters—although I must admit, most who die deserve it for sheer stupidity—“Requiem” involves a Predator ship orbiting Earth as it is sabotaged by the Pred-Alien hybrid of the first “AVP” movie. Crash landing in Colorado, the ship breaks apart and releases the Pred-Alien and a cache of facehuggers into the local woods, where they immediately set about impregnating humans with Alien spawn.

Meanwhile, in the ship’s wreckage, an FYI signal is sent to the Predator homeworld altering them of the disaster, prompting a lone Predator to strike out to Earth to clean up the mess – as the Aliens quickly begin making their mark on a local town.

So where to start on all this?

Truthfully, although its script is a mess, there are little glimmers of promise in “Requiem” – in truth, however, most (e.g. art direction, music, sound) are taken from previous “Alien” and “Predator” films by freshman directors Colin and Greg Strauss who show little innovation — but plenty of shaky camera work during what would otherwise be decent fight scenes. The Strauss boys also take shortcuts with their plot’s timeline – for example, as in the previous “AVP,” chestbursters seem to mature into adult Aliens within minutes. So as a result, it is unclear how many Aliens are creeping about, but the lone Predator does eviscerate several in exotic ways.

As for “Requiem’s” cast, most are unknowns – the only recognizable faces being the lovely Reiko Aylesworth (“24”) as a US Army soldier, and little Ariel Gade who was marvelous in 2005’s “Dark Water” but has little to do here but mutter insipid lines like “Mommy, are the monsters gone?”

Both would have been wiser to pass on this project, which is not a horrible movie per se – just a frantic mess.

Merry Christmas. Now Hit the Road.

While I'm not much of a basketball fan, I have to give Chicago Bulls GM John Paxson a nod for having a complete lack of class and awful timing in deciding to fire (now former) head coach Scott Skiles today.

It's hardly news that the Bulls have been struggling all season, but to whack a coach on Christmas Eve (don't worry about Skiles - he'll get the salary owed him) is beyond the pale, plus the firing pulls sports journalists (local and national) who had previously hoped to spend Christmas with their families away to chase this fucking story.

I don't argue with Paxson's right to make personnel decisions - but couldn't he have waited 48 hours to pull the trigger?

Smooth, baby. Smooth.

Well, at least a certain caped crusader still understands the spirit of the season as demonstrated in Batman #219 where he pauses to sing carols with Jim Gordon’s boys amidst his endless war on crime.

Review: "Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story"

In a nutshell, “Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story” is one big parody of the 2006 Johnny Cash biopic “Walk The Line” and the excesses of the music industry.

Is it funny?

Curiously, the mid-afternoon screening I caught was attended by only four people (including me), but I didn’t take that to mean the movie was bad. Only that I had caught it at a bad time. There is no mistaking that certain movies—typically thrillers or bawdy comedies--connect far better with a big audience, creating a rolling emotional vibe that everyone can share. “Walk Hard” is exactly this kind of movie, and as such, I think I would have enjoyed it better with more people around me.

But again, is it funny? Usually, yes.

John C. Reilly (who does his own singing) does a great job as boneheaded crooner Dewey Cox, who uses the tragedy of losing his brother in a childhood machete fight to launch a huge music career, sire dozens of kids, do enough blow to kill a horse, commit bigamy, go to jail, and destroy several bathrooms in a drunken rage. Along the way, Dewey also meets his soul-mate (played by the beautiful Jenna Fischer) only to lose her, and win her back again.

But do the plot details really matter?

Not really, as “Walk Hard” is designed as a self-sustaining, 96-minute engine of drug and sex gags co-written by director Jake Kasdan and Judd Apatow – who can’t seem to make an unpopular movie these days (“Superbad,” “Knocked Up,” “The 40 Year-Old Virgin”). And bully for him.

Yet at the risk of repeating myself, I strongly advise seeing “Walk Hard” with a larger audience. In fact, if I could go back and see the movie again for the first time, that’s precisely what I’d do.

I certainly would feel like I got more of my money's worth entertainment-wise, which is hardly a bad thing.

Ben, Ben, Ben...

Over on Ed Brayton’s “Dispatches” site, he’s posted a brief coverage of “Expelled” a new pro-ID (intelligent design) movie featuring Ben Stein – whose marvelously big brain apparently cannot grasp that ID (or any other theory that relies on immeasurable components) is not science.

Even the Vatican agrees.

At any rate, the producers of “Expelled” groan on and on how Darwinism is apparently driven a liberal, Christian-hating mob which intends to exclude ID from public schools.

And why? Yep!

Because (according to them) Christians are so persecuted, a sentiment which has never failed to baffle me considering Christianity is the dominant religion in America.

Time Warp

As my college days hit the back stretch, I can vividly recall how time seemed to move at a ridiculously fluid pace – as if the local environment helped speed the clock along from mid-morning (because who ever got up early at school if they could help it), to noon (“All My Children” – check), to afternoon (where time really flew) and finally evening for study and paper writing.

The reason I bring this up is that my recent days seem to be moving as quickly – maybe not as blindingly as in school – but my 24-hour segments truly feel like seams on a racetrack. Perhaps because the winter days are so much shorter? I can’t say exactly – but it feels disconcerting all the same.

Maybe a wormhole has formed under my house.

Dammit, there’s so much I don’t know about astrophysics.

Cheap Plastic Memories

For kids who’ve grown up in the Chicago area over the past few decades, very few can look back on their former—and current—childhoods without a fond nod to the inexpensive glory that is Mold-O-Rama.

To those unaware, Mold-O-Rama’s are futurist-looking (well, futurist, from a 1960s point of view) vending machines which create hot plastic-molded toys on the spot for nary a buck. These toys take various forms – but are usually cast as animals, vehicles, or the head of Abraham Lincoln.

Growing up, I have no idea how many Mold-O-Rama’s I had. But I do know they did not last long at my house, especially when used as bath toys, but that was the beauty part: freshly molded replacements—held upside-down after exiting the hopper to help cool them--were always at hand.

But happily, unlike most stuff we grew up with that today no longer exists, Mold-O-Rama’s are still available at certain Chicago attractions – typically, at Brookfield Zoo and the Museum of Science and Industry – prompting former kids to renew their collections as adults.

I think I have an alligator around here somewhere.

"Paranormal State" Follow-Up

I was surprised at the volume of negative feedback voiced on this blog regarding the premiere of A&E’s “Paranormal State” last week.

I knew the show was god-awful, but never realized how so many others out there agreed with me.

But should anyone will be watching, tonight’s latest adventure in ghostly melodrama features PRS assisting an exorcism – which as far as expertise goes, is like asking Ted Kaczynski to help supervise a controlled building demolition.

Oh, and don’t forget Ryan Buell is still being stalked by a demon. That’s important. We don’t want to miss anything about that.

PS: When it comes to ghost stories, this one looks far more intriguing – brought to us (in limited release on Dec 28) by Producer Guillermo Del Toro.

PPS: Against my better judgment, I watched last night’s bookended episodes of “Paranormal State” and saw no evidence of anything paranormal in either. Both subjects were struggling with domestic turmoil – one due to a floundering marriage, and the other from the sudden death of a loved one.

If PRS accomplished anything positive in either case, it was in (allegedly) helping each family find normalcy in their otherwise turbulent lives.

Maybe they should give Dr. Phil a run for his money?

PPPS: Here’s a short review of “Paranormal State” via the New York Times. “Go away, fly!” it says. In the meantime, I've scoped the net looking for a positive coverage of the show, and damned if that ain't harder than finding a bad review of "The Shawshank Redemption."

I don't think I've ever seen such a chorus of head-smacking incredulity aimed at a single TV show...well, with the exception of "Cop Rock" that is.

Hello, Mr. Dick!

I’ve always been an animal lover, especially when it comes to whales and other deep-sea creatures.

As such, click here for an amazing (accidental) shot from an offshore oil drilling company using a remote video camera to inspect its lines – during which someone pops in to check things out.

Note: The footage is silent, so no: your speakers are not malfunctioning.

Did you play it? If so, that object that swooped into frame was a curious adult sperm whale.

But this footage reminds me of a story I heard on a recent Discovery Channel special on right whale pods off the coast of North Carolina. Sadly, after the 19^th century, these whales were decimated by hunters and due to their slow reproductive cycles, and still struggling to come back from the brink of extinction.

Anyhow, on this special a researcher told a story about him scuba diving one day in a shallow area where right whales are known to frequent, and hovering off the bottom hoping to spot something. For almost an hour, nothing happened – prompting the guy to pack it in, and head back to the surface when suddenly something shoved him hard from behind.

It was a right whale that had bumped into him by accident.

Review: "I Am Legend"

Although it takes major liberties with its source material, “I Am Legend” is a taut, surprisingly strong sci-fi tale with a good lead performance by Will Smith as Robert Neville, US Army scientist and survivor of a global plague that wipes out 5.7 billion.

Three years later, Neville is mostly comfortable in his Manhattan home, hunting deer in sports cars, killing time with his beloved dog, and researching a plague cure in his fortified basement lab, research on human plague victims who versus dying, become rage-filled creatures who hide from the sun, but run loose at night.

As far as he knows, Neville is the last man on earth – protected from the plague by a natural immunity – but via a repeating AM radio broadcast, constantly seeks out other survivors, waiting for them each day on a lonely pier above the Hudson River.

Please, sing along: "To beat those monsters, 1-2-3...."

This is the jist of "Legend's" story; revealing anything further would spoil your experience.

Yet it’s significant breaks with author Richard Matheson’s original 1954 novel (which applies an extremely bleak ending) aside, I must give “I Am Legend” credit on several levels: it’s a smart, sleek, clever product which uses restraint in establishing both perilous and soul-numbing moments drawn from Neville’s endless days – this, versus subscribing to the Michael Bay theory of “Explosions, Saturated Filters = Good Storytelling.”

If I have any real problem with “Legend’s” final product, it’s that the end is indeed too rosy, too Spielbergian (see “War of The Worlds”) for my taste. Still, is it this conclusion enough to kill the movie’s stronger elements?

Not quite. But I’ll take what I got anyway.

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PS: By the bye, if the seven-minute “Dark Knight” teaser which preceded my screening of “I am Legend” is any indication, Heath Ledger is going to make an incredible Joker. The leaked trailer (due for formal release on Dec 16) is also fantastic. I have to give Chris Nolan a world of credit here - his interpretation of the Batman mythos has the potential to make all preceding examples (from Tim Burton onward) look like bad student films.

Finally, while cruising the net for other info on this stuff, someone noted that in both "TDK" previews at no time does Harvey Dent (AKA: Two-Face, played by Aaron Eckhart) show up - which is a good clue he will do so for the spring "TDK" trailer to run before summer movie season begins in May 2008.

Farewell Lin

Earlier this week, I decided to ring up an old friend I met at a part-time and summer job I had between 1986-1989.

The job was for my local street department (in suburban Chicago) where I performed a zillion tasks ranging from washing trucks and bathrooms, to landscaping and road work. The friend in question was named Lin – a departmental secretary who could be sweet as pie one moment, and caustic as acid the next.

But for some reason, Lin and I bonded – and I eventually became one of her honorary kids (nicknamed “The Weasel” – don’t ask me where it came from; I have no idea).

So long story short, I got a call tonight from Lin’s husband Jim informing me that she passed in 2006 of lung cancer – which was sad, but not surprising considering that Lin smoked heavily. In fact, I recall encouraging her to quit when I first got to know her, and Lin replied with some B.S. that her doctor recommended it.

Either way, it irrelevant now -- as Lin has passed onto a place that undoubtedly resembles a heavenly sports bar where she can smoke, drink, laugh, and play video trivia all until the end of time.

Goodbye, mom.

Midnight Madness, or Foolishness (Take Your Pick)

Generally, I don’t attend midnight movie premieres very often. In fact, tonight’s screening of “I am Legend” will be my first, if memory serves.

However, despite my interest in the story (written by Richard Mathesson, and long condemned to Development Hell) I admit I’m truly going to check out the first seven minutes of “The Dark Knight” (shown only on IMAX venues) in addition to the film’s teaser.

Yes, it’s a school night, but since I’ve begun working from home my commute has dramatically fallen from 25 miles to 25 feet (or the distance from my bedroom to my home office), so I think I can swing the time out.

I’ll post my impressions of the “DK” footage and teaser this weekend.

Until then, huzzah to you!

The Mid-Week Magic Bag

Picked up a small gaggle stuff at my FNCS over lunch, and the following two items caught my eye straight off:

"It Ate Billy on Christmas" by Roman Dirge and Steven Daily (Dark Horse)

This is one of those comic store purchases I made on a lark. No questions asked. I just loved the title, plus at a mere $12.95 any tale combining Christmas and moppets going down a monster’s greasy esophagus can’t be beat.

Secondly, based on my personal conviction that Alan Moore’s “Batman: The Killing Joke” is the finest comic book ever written, I had to check out this would-be sequel in Booster Gold #5 (co-written by Geoff Johns and Jeff Katz) featuring BG going back in time to prevent Barbara Gordon from being paralyzed by the Joker.

But unfortunately, despite Booster’s superior powers, the rescue turns out to be far tougher than he expected – in fact, ridiculously tough.

My compliments to Dan Jurgens and Norm Raphund for doing a capable job of replicating Brian Bolland's original artwork.

God in Spandex

Whether one believes in the viability of global warming or not, it is baffling to see how some on the extra far-right try to justify their beliefs that climate change is a creation of the United Nations or liberal politics.

Yesterday over lunch, I heard Rush Limbaugh summarize his version of the “mainstream” conservative position on global warming quite well (paraphrasing here): God controls earth’s weather; therefore, climate change is a falsehood because the Almighty will never allow it to happen – which is like saying 9/11 is impossible because God favors America above all nations.

This is what I like to call the “God as Superman” myth – which is not say I am an atheist, or that I snub my nose at prayer, but rather that when awful things are barreling down humanity’s turnpike, it’s up to us to bail our own asses out (or not).

In other words, if one is camped out on a train track and the 8:30 express is closing fast at 50 MPH, God is not coming to rescue you. You need to stand up and leave the track yourself.

But beside Limbaugh’s take on this question of action, and its relation to warming, over on WorldNutDaily Chief Editor Joseph Farah triumphantly seconds Rush’s notion of God as divine superhero:

While few can argue with the biblical mandate to be good stewards of the planet, the "Evangelical Climate Initiative" [created by a growing Christian movement calling for environmental safety] calls for both individual action and immediate government action to curtail carbon dioxide emissions. This despite the fact that man-caused carbon dioxide emissions represent only an infinitesimally small percentage of CO2 present in the atmosphere. This despite the fact that there is no evidence [CO2] levels in the atmosphere cause global warming.

And this despite God's promise in Genesis 8:22 that He alone controls the world's temperature and climate, not man: "While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease."

----

So I guess that makes NASA’s most recent report on climate change the product of a gang of left-wing whackjobs out to brainwash America’s kids, right Joe? Because, y’know, those NASA guys – they’re right up there with the Heaven’s Gate Cult and Charlie Manson on the crazy yardstick.

And those environmentally-minded Christians? Boy, do they need a reality check!

But people like these and NASA are not alone in their extreme right-wing irking conclusions; the hard data which points to bad things for earth’s climate again and again. But never mind the facts; in America’s current-day, Karl Rovian society – reality only matters if it favors your campaign contributors.

Otherwise, never you mind about that massive asteroid hurtling towards earth – both God and George W. Bush will protect us.

Hey, you two. This is God. Be careful, there’s a train coming.
I said there’s a train coming! Move your ass! Hey! Is this thing on? You’re about to become
coyote meal in 30 seconds! Hello? Oh, Jesus….why do I bother sometimes?

Review: "Paranormal State"

For some reason—most likely due to the success of Sci-Fi’s “Ghost Hunters” series—cable television has seen a small boon in programming on the paranormal – some of it average, most far below that mark.

Yet last night’s much-hyped A&E premiere of “Paranormal State” hit a new low for “reality-based” ghost television on most every conceivable level.

But before I haul out the cleaver, a little data on the show’s concept – based around a group of Penn State students (the Paranormal Research Society, or PRS) who offer their services to persons living with invisible houseguests. Leading PRS is Ryan Buell, the group’s extremely serious director who chimes with “notes” on current cases including one featuring a boy who may be chatting with the spirit of a young man who died close to his property.

Yet whether this kid is psychic or not seems to be glossed over by PRS, whose young membership (with one exception, the team’s psychologist) seems more enthralled by the romanticism of ghosts to understand their subject matter. Later, on another PRS case, Ryan Buell calls in Lorianne Warren to consult on a possible haunting – which for any ghost hunter worth his or her salt, immediately sets off alarm bells, as Mrs. Warren and her late husband Ed carry a long-earned reputation in paranormal circles as total crackpots.

An example or two: the Warrens’ steadfast involvement with the heavily debunked ”Amityville Horror” case, and their creation of a book on werewolves.

No, not mythical or Hollywood werewolves -- the real thing.

To this end, the tone struck by “Paranormal State” (and Ryan Buell, in particular) becomes so preachy and irritating that after viewing the first two episodes (which foreshadows a long-term story arc with Buell allegedly stalked by an evil force) I have zero interest in seeing anything further.

The show is that overdramatic – not mention insulting to anyone pondering the unknown with an ounce of skepticism or self-respect.

Thus, move on kids – nothing to see here.

Saturday Morning Flashback, Part II

Not to go all crazy old man on you here, but I think kids today—despite their hyper-edge game systems that make anything from the ‘70s (e.g. Atari, Odyssey, Intellivision) resemble a rock and stick—are missing out on a lot their parents enjoyed as kids themselves.

For example, and it’s a big one, Saturday morning cartoons are now nearly extinct for two reasons: a) networks cannot get advertisers for them, and; b) after the creation of Cartoon Network, et al., and DVDs animated shows are no longer restricted to airing during late afternoons and weekend mornings.

Therefore, the anticipation of Saturday cartoons once relished among ‘70s kids, is now pretty much dead considering modern-day moppets can dial up a cartoon at will. Call me coy, and I know parents will disagree, but I prefer the “old way” of cartoon distribution.

But all this aside, I think today’s kids are also missing out on several great toys circa the 70s which are largely not available today due to pesky government bodies like “consumer safety advocacy groups."

Case in point:

Check out Crazy Foam’s cool, mouth-centered packaging.
Who the hell can say they never said “Hey, look! The Hulk’s throwing up!
Whhhoouuuggh!” at least once during a 70s-era bath? That means you, Hef!

For those not in the know, Crazy Foam was essentially alcohol-free shaving cream which kids could use during baths to (in theory) clean up, make foam beards or hats, or mold into would-be cream pies (excellent for reenacting “Three Stooges”-style fights in the bath).

Ah, memories….

But unfortunately, my own Crazy Foam days were short-lived when my parents learned over time that despite the product being designed to slip down drains with bath water, that CF residue (sounds like a ‘Nam reference, doesn’t it?) was simply everywhere after uses – and made for a helluva clean-up job.

Too bad.

Still, these kids today - if they’d just take a moment between Guitar Hero riffs to stop and smell the pretend Hulk vomit every so often, we might all live in a future that was a lot nicer.

Not To Pile On Here...

But I can’t get a recent comment by “The View” co-host Sherri Shepherd out of my mind claiming that Christianity is the first religion in human history.

This is from the same person who claimed (also on “The View”) she does not believe in evolution (fine, it’s not illegal), and answered “I don’t know” to a question from her co-hosts asking whether the earth was flat or round.

Ordinarily, I might write off Shepherd’s first claim about Christianity pre-dating that of the Romans, Greeks, Egyptians, Africans, Native Americans, et al., as coming from the mouth of an ignorant kid who simply doesn’t know any better. But Sherri Shepherd is my age, almost forty, not some fresh-faced mope out of high school.

Here’s a tip, honey.

Put down your Bible for a minute, and crack open a history book. I doubt you’ll learn anything, but I figure it’s worth a shot.

Hello, Jeanie. Who's Bothering You Now?

Although I had not planned on seeing “The Golden Compass” this weekend when it arrives in theatres, I must admit the recent hang-wringing over the film from various Christian groups (whom claim it’s a vehicle for the author’s atheist beliefs) has my curiosity piqued: do these concerns have any basis in reality, or are they of the Helen Lovejoy brand of moral hysteria we’ve come to expect from corners of the Christian faith who also claim “Harry Potter” is a doorway to damnation?

Either way, I’m not sure I care.

Warning: Godless bears ahead!

Yet since it’s a moral imperative of mine to do anything—well, within reason—that irks the conservative right, I’ll be checking out “Compass” over the weekend.

Hopefully, it’ll be a nice palate cleanser before the month’s remaining flicks arrive including “I am Legend” on December 14^th, which I am truthfully seeing only to check out the new “Dark Knight” teaser, in addition to the film’s first seven minutes at IMAX venues.

The notion of Heath Ledger as the Joker is beginning to grow on me. Too bad the film doesn’t arrive for seven months.

Back To Christmas Future

Every year I grow older, I find myself becoming less a fan of Christmas.

Not because I feel the day no longer has intrinsic value, but because it has become so wrapped up in commercial and political nonsense that the day’s original themes (e.g. goodwill, love, et al.) are lost in the greater noise – which brings me back to one of the holiday’s last traditional remnants: Charles Dickens.

To be fair, his classic “A Christmas Carol” is the only Dickens text I have ever read, and that is certainly my fault – as Dickens’ other works are so intimidating that I have never wanted to invest the effort to plow through them. But “A Christmas Carol”? It’s compact, accessibly written, and stuffed with brilliant elements.

Since the invention of film, “Carol” has been adapted a few dozen times – most in ways that turn Dickens’ characters into cheap Victorian archetypes, without bothering to explore deeper political themes the author sutured into his text. That said, for my money, the film version of “Carol” which hits closest to the mark Dickens originally intended is the 1984 adaptation with George C. Scott as Ebenezer Scrooge.

For one, the cast is stellar - with Scott playing a stripped-down Scrooge, Roger Reese as Fred, David Warner as Bob Cratchit, and Edward Woodward who is brilliant (and surprisingly edgy) as the Ghost of Christmas Present. But more refreshingly, versus every other film version of “Carol,” where those around Scrooge seem to automatically accept his overnight change of heart, in the Scott “Carol” most are skeptical about Scrooge’s transformation. Sure, they eventually buy into it – but in Fred and Bob Cratchit's initial reaction is a hint that they suspect Scrooge’s yuletide turnabout is a sick joke.

Yet all this aside, the single element I truly love in the 1984 “Carol” is how it presents one of my favorite characters in all of British literature – the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come.

Not only should this character not work in a Christmas-themed text (Halloween, sure – but Christmas?), but he works perfectly via Dickens’ understated use of the ghost as a mute guide of Scrooge’s tomorrows versus berating him like a judgmental preacher from Hell (as in one example to follow). But of course, I also love Christmas Yet To Come simply because he looks so damned cool – as best depicted (once again) in the 1984 “Carol” as a towering wraith whose only means of expression is that bony finger.

I mean, how would you react if you woke up to the following in your bedroom?

"A Christmas Carol" (1984)

Damn straight, you’d piss yourself, vow never to drink Goldschlager again, and set a land speed record trying to get out of your house all in one flat second (Ranking: Four Death Shrouds out of Four).

But let’s look at a couple of other versions of Christmas Future from other film adaptations of “A Christmas Carol” and how they rank versus others.

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"A Christmas Carol" (1951)

Although most consider the ’51 “Carol” starring Alastair Sim as Scrooge to be the finest put to film, I disagree. It’s a fine production, but it feels dramatically lightweight. As for Christmas Future, it’s an interesting representation, if a tad plain (Ranking: Three Death Shrouds out of Four).

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"Scrooge!" (1970)

In this musical 1970 version of “Carol” (retitled “Scrooge!”), Albert Finney plays the lead role and does a fine job. Surprisingly, the song and dance numbers work as well. But at the morally climactic scene where Scrooge is show his own gravestone by Christmas Future, the ghost is revealed as a cheap funhouse prop.

Then even worse, instead of Scrooge waking in a cold sweat (as occurs in every other version of “Carol”) relieved to find Christmas morning on his doorstep, “Scrooge!” adds a cartoonish segment where Ebeneezer goes to Hell, is greeted by Marley, and made Satan’s personal bookkeeper. I kid you not. Click here for the gory details. (Ranking: One Death Shroud out of Four).

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"A Christmas Carol" (1999)

Based on his critically-acclaimed one-man stage play of “Carol,” the 1999 film starring Patrick Stewart is surprisingly dull and not well-cast. Even worse, Christmas Future (which I was unable to find a picture of online) resembles something from The Haunted Mansion ride at Walt Disney World. Uck! (Ranking: One Death Shroud out of Four).

But I Prattle On

Like most good geeks—and readers of Wil Wheaton’s blog—know, the young, ex-Starfleet-ensign-turned-stepdad-and-author guest-starred on the CBS series “Numb3ers” last Friday as an arrogant comic dealer whose “unique” copy of a rare comic is stolen, resulting in the murder of a security guard on a convention floor.

Although Mr. Wheaton was not in the episode for very long, this past weekend a friend who also saw the show commented: “You know who Wil was playing, right?”

“Um, who?” I said.

“Todd McFarlane,” my friend answered. “Look at the character – a former comic artist who turned to buying rare comics only to turn them out for a profit.”

“Maybe,” I shrugged (at the time).

But now that I think about it, I’ll bet my friend was right. Bloggers on Wil’s site have seconded the motion more than once.

Is this alleged criticism of McFarlane fair, though? Well, sure. It’s not as if the man is above a knock, and despite my feelings that McFarlane is a poor writer and his art-style has declined from “relatively clean” to “more chaotic than Jackson Pollock” in a few short years, making money from comics is hardly illegal.

That’s why they are often called “investments.”

And there’s no doubt that McFarlane is an investor, and has diversified his interests into a decent-sized fortune. So bully for him, even if McFarlane is an arrogant jerk.

Finally, not that any of you were chomping at the bit to find out, but I’ve opted not to make a third consecutive trip to San Diego in 2008 to the big Con. While I enjoyed my two previous visits to the show, last year’s event felt like a carbon copy of ’06. In fact, I spent far more time exploring San Diego itself (and time well spent that was) than hanging at the massive Con Center where this unfortunate incident occurred....

Wally West is such a prick.

No warning at all, the bastard just sucker-punches me as I was browsing the Bud Plant booth and runs off like a little girl. But don't worry, I'll settle his hash but good.

Anyhow I’ll take a break from SoCal in 2008, and perhaps shoot for a few days in Las Vegas (to which I have never gone) instead. Ten bucks says on my first night in town my hands will quiver from the constant overstimulation of blinky lights.

Speaking of Shiny Objects

With the long holiday weekend (thank you very much) comes a share of time to kill, and what better way to put that time into its grave by exploring early holiday sales. So far, here’s what I’ve got (and mind you, all this stuff is for me; my X-Mas shopping list is very short, and thus, obtainable later):

• Books of Blood: Vols 1-3 by Clive Barker
• The Best of Rob Zombie (CD)
• The Stephen King Collection – Stories From Night Shift (Audiobook)
• Hell Girl – Volume One – Butterfly

So CHV, you say, planning a martial arts spree of destruction anytime soon? Not exactly.

For starters, while I’m not a huge fan of Clive Barker’s work, I think his prose is beautifully direct – with nary a hint of the passive voice that tends to plague my own writing. So why not get a huge source in one shot, and hope it rubs off? Secondly, for years I’ve heard a particular Rob Zombie track played on radio with no idea of what the title was. But I always liked it. Now, with the purchase of Rob's Greatest Hits CD I finally know what that title is ("Living Dead Girl") and can listen to the song at my leisure.

Thirdly, having enjoyed Frank Darabont’s adaptation of “The Mist” so this past week, I decided to revisit Stephen King’s short stories on audio - which on this version are read by John Glover (“Smallville”), an actor whose narrative voice I could listen to all day.

And at last, the “Hell Girl” DVD is something I picked up on a lark while browsing movies at Best Buy. It’s sharp anime, and packs a plot which truly personifies James Kirk's dreaded "no-win scenario," as described on the back of the packaging:

Beyond the veil of midnight lies a website: HellCorrespondance.com. Type in the name of one upon you which you desire retribution – And it will be served.

If you truly desire to take revenge upon those who have wronged you, just untie the scarlet thread from the totem’s neck. Pulling this thread will bind you into a covenant with Ai Emma, who will ferry the soul of your tormentor straight into the depths of Hell.

However, once vengeance has been served, you will have to deliver on our end of the bargain. There always has to be a price to pay. When you die, your soul will also belong to Hell. You will never know the joys of Heaven.

The decision rests with you.

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Gee, I wonder if Disney won't be adapting “Hell Girl” into its next Broadway family musical extravaganza anytime soon? And at $24.99 on DVD? Who wouldn’t snap that one up in a twitter?

Semi-seriously, I’m noticing a trend concerning the Japanese culture’s take on the supernatural: there are no such things as friendly ghosts, or in this case, schoolgirl emissaries from Hell. Both are constantly pissed off, and lacking a shred of mercy (sounds like Clive Barker, doesn’t it?).

But at any rate, I think “Hell Girl” was worth a sampling.

Uh, oh....

For further updates on my buying history, provided I haven’t scared the hell out of all of you (I also snagged the DVD box set of “Doctor Who – The Complete Third Season” this weekend, just so you don’t think I’m completely deranged, and wake up every morning saying “I don’t believe in fairies!” to enjoy the cheap pleasure of knowing I’ve begun my day by striking one of the spritely little bastards dead. Well, that’s not true – I do enjoy killing fairies each morning) I may add another item of two on a few shopping trips here in the near-future.

So stay tuned.

Review: "The Mist"

Seeing as how the day outside is bleak and rainy, what better conditions to use as an excuse to see a proper flick about a mysterious fog engulfing a small Maine town, and the hungry things that lurk within it?

In “The Mist,” we have writer-director Frank Darabont’s third screen adaptation of a Stephen King story – albeit unlike his two previous efforts (“The Shawshank Redemption,” “The Green Mile”) the source material is the type that is traditional of King: a tale that is part-Saturday afternoon thriller, part-social commentary, and part-post 60s acid trip.

Herein, Thomas Jane stars as David Drayton, a married artist and father who--after a violent storm that damages his house—heads into town for supplies with his young son and neighbor, a wound-up attorney (Andre Braugher) who once filed suit against Drayton and lost. While at the town supermarket, which is running on generators due to a power loss, both the store and everything around it is laid siege by a thick white fog.

At first, the persons inside the store believe they are caught in a natural phenomena – this is, until a man makes a break for his truck and dies screaming. And trust me, he won’t be the first to do so.

As nerves in the supermarket fray, and the tension is ratcheted up, a woman described as the town nutter, Mrs. Carmady (wonderfully played by Marcia Gay Harden) begins to spout Old Testament dogma that the mist is a sign of God’s wrath on a nation that has turned against Him. And although she is as frightened as anyone in the store, unfortunately no one follows up on an early threat (made by Toby Jones, as a surprisingly heroic store manager) to tape Mrs. Carmady’s mouth shut, as her religious rhetoric grows dangerously wild.

Later, after a series of incidents that nearly burn the store down--and despite his son’s tearful pleas that he not go--Drayton finally leads a small group to a next-door pharmacy to find medicines for the injured, and encounters some eight-legged samples of what the mist has brought. The fight for survival that ensues is not terrifying—more fun, actually—but it’s a neat twist on what becomes an impeccable dark ride.

As a Stephen King movie adaptation, “The Mist” is easily the best picture since 1990’s “Misery.”

And though that film is decidedly un-supernatural, Frank Darabont’s “Mist” is perhaps best described as “H.P Lovecraft Comes To Mayberry.” It’s a great idea, too, as is the claustrophobic setting of the store used to cage King’s characters (some of whom initially don’t believe the mist is a threat) is used as an incubator, growing their fears like a virus. At one point, in fact, it is suggested that throwing a group of otherwise rational people into a small space and scaring the hell out of them is a perfect way to strip humanity into its most primitive form (e.g. the Salem Witch Trials).

In this respect, and despite its over-the-top sci-fi invasion theme, “The Mist” is the best, most genuinely tragic horror film to arrive in 2007, and far, far superior to the trendy torture porn crap (i.e. anything with the word “Saw” in the title) which Hollywood has taken to pumping out in recent months and years.

Stick that in your Thanksgiving pipe and smoke it.

Talent vs. Not

This past weekend, was cruising the Saturday night TV after the Hawks game and ran across The Graham Norton Show on BBC America.

On it, KT Tunstall was the musical guest and played a track from her new album. I had never seen KT perform live before, but suffice to say, she kicked monster ass on the following grounds: a) she’s Scottish; b) she was very sweet and down-to-earth, and; c) she is brimming over with awesome musical talent.

Exhibit A:

Recently, I saw a Disney-endorsed sister duo try to cover the above song, and they failed horribly – both girls badly lacking the vocal range and soulful tone the song demands – which just goes to show what genuine musical talent really sounds like. I swear, man. Listen to the original KT Tunstall version, and then the Disney chicks' - which after fifteen seconds I defy you not to reach for an icepick to shove into your cranium and kill the noise.

That’s it. Rant over.

Did I mention KT kicks monster ass? I did? Well, just wanted to be sure.

"Imagine, If You Will, a Load of Horseshit"

Wish as I might, I cannot take credit for this title line.

It was, in fact, written as the first sentence by John Scalzi regarding his impressions of The Creation Museum on a recent visit. And believe you me, "horseshit" is a metaphor Mr. Scalzi uses early and often to describe his feelings on the museum’s content which uses a literal reading of Genesis to explain the dawn of humanity, and revise modern science.

How the hell can some people believe this stuff, you ask (e.g. the human race fashioned by God from mud, magic, and the jawbone of an ass) – well, how the hell can some 21^st century Italians still cling to Medieval superstitions of black cats being bad luck, and kill them in an effort to purge the “evil” mojo?

Creation Museum docents Fred and Barney explain to visitors how prior to
Adam and Eve's fall from grace, T-Rex was a vegetarian! Wheeee!

(Truthfully, there is an informational placard at the museum
which says just this - which begs the question that if all God's
critters were once exclusively vegetarian, does that include sharks?
If so, where did they get their roughage before the Fall? Salads
and the occasional honeydew melon? If so, why the serrated teeth,
as herbivores have only flat teeth for grinding plant matter? Did God
give sharks a mouth full of steak knives in advance because He
knew Adam would screw up eventually? Or did those choppers only show
up after said screw up, and over time? Say, isn't there a term for that process?
Wait, don't tell me...e...e..evo-something. Oh well, it'll come to me later.
Thanks to Ed Brayton for the J. Scalzi tip.)

The Worst Liars In The World

Not to get all environmentalist on you all, but over on Yahoo News has word that a whaling fleet from Japan intends to take 50 humpbacks alongside its usual quota of fin and minke whales which (under its agreement with the International Whaling Commission) Japan is allowed to take for purposes of “scientific research.”

However, there are three gaping holes in the Japanese whaling consortium’s logic: a) in their minds, whales must be killed to be “researched”; b) the meat harvested is later sold to consumers for a profit, and; c) the vast majority of Japanese citizens don’t eat whale meat anyhow.

Further, there is longtime evidence that Japan is buying votes among smaller IWC member nations (mainly Caribbean) by offering them financial aid in exchange for a council nod allowing Japan to keep whaling. And of course, if those other nations want out of the agreement, the cash from Japan is cut off.

Nice racket, huh? Sort of reminds you of the Akuza.

So in short, those advocating whaling in Japan (a small, but extremely vocal group) are using these loopholes to openly harvest whales.

But why such a passion over whaling in this part of the world? From what little I know, the renewed drive to whale in Japan is cultural – as during WWII many Japanese lived off eating whale meat, a diet some still see doing so as a form of nationalist pride despite the vast majority of modern-day Japanese wanting nothing to do with whaling.

So outside of Greenpeace continuing to harass Japan’s whaling ships, there seems little that can be done to stop their operations.

Tragedies (Real and Imagined)

I’ll be the first to admit I know little about Amy Winehouse, other than her smoky, jazz-hued singing voice has won her big record sales, critical attention, and a loyal fan base. Well, that and a reputation—confirmed by Winehouse’s own family—for rampant drug and alcohol use that would make the late Hunter Thompson take notice while en route to his next line of coke.

But this morning, Yahoo posted a story on a recent Birmingham (UK) show by Winehouse which local music critic Andy Coleman called “the saddest night of my life.”

Click here for the gory details, but the short version says Winehouse arrived on-stage both late and hammered, then stumbled through a brief set list as her paid audience of 13,000 began leaving in droves. Then left over then began booing Winehouse’s altered-state performance, prompting her to threaten to sic her husband (currently in jail on battery charges) on the offenders.

Although everyone likes a bit of Schauenfreude now and then, for one who wrote a hit song (“Rehab”) about her refusal to get herself cleaned up, it seems Amy Winehouse is determined to catch a chemical express train to the Great Beyond a la Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin.

Personally, I hope not.

For one as musically gifted as Winehouse allegedly is, it would seem idiotic to trade one’s life for a drug habit – not that this rationalization ever stopped other genuine talents from flaming out so early in life.

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Also, as some of you may have heard, Marvel Comics recently stated its intention to post online versions of its product to draw new readers into the market.

Is it worth it, much less sound business sense? I’m not sure.

For one thing, I don’t buy Marvel’s anxieties that online media is pushing their business into extinction, especially when kids have series like Harry Potter turning them into page-devouring machines. Yes, Potter novels are not comics, but they are derived from the same basic animal (print fantasy fiction). Secondly, manga books are extremely popular with young readers today – as evidenced by a visit I made to a local Borders last weekend where I found its manga aisle jammed with teens.

As such, comic-style storytelling as a medium seems stronger than ever.

However, I do agree with some that a big change in patronage is due between Generation X and Y comic buyers and the current one, as evidenced by the fact that the only young kids I see at my FNCS are those tagging along with their comic-buying parents. Yet I don’t believe this possible drop-off in readership will be fatal to the comic publishing world—meaning all publishers, not just Marvel—which is too busy flogging their latest dead horse (i.e. zombies, Hollywood movie deals) to make long-term business plans anyhow.

If anything, the comics market (near-unrecognizable versus 30 years ago) will continue to morph into whatever readership demands.

And even if Marvel continues to fret over its inability to follow these adjustments—and pushing weak story arcs meant to evoke pathos over Aunt May languishing in ICU just ain’t cutting it; I’m looking in your direction, Joe Quesada—I think we’ll all still find new stuff to read most Wednesdays anyhow.

Hawks Fans Growing Cocky; Film At 11

This past Sunday night marked my third Hawks-Red Wings game at United Center, and man, are the once lowly hockey fans of Chicago getting a swelled head.

Versus last year, when the Hawks only managed to beat Detroit once all season, the team’s record against the Wings in 2007-08 is already 3-0 (as of Nov 11). It’s a good start, but there’s a lot of season left to go – advice seemingly lost this Sunday on Hawks fans enjoying a post-game victory strut around the Wings fans in attendance.

Most of the ribbing was in good fun.

And I even found myself on the receiving end of some for wearing a Grateful Dead-themed tee designed to mimic a Red Wings shirt. As such, I was the recipient of more than one “De-troit Sucks!” catcall both inside and outside the UC from morons apparently too drunk to read.

Even the Hawks’ politically-correct mascot (see below) gave me a hard time about my shirt in the stadium’s walkways until recognizing what I was wearing was, in fact, a rock & roll tee.

Well done, Tommy. At least you’re not illiterate.

Hey, Osgood! Yeah, you! The guy in goal! You’re a big idiot!
Yeah, that’s right! I just called you a big idiot! And you know what?
That defenseman beside you? He’s a big idiot too! How d’ya like that? Ha!

The Problem With Jack (And It's My Problem, I Assure You)

Among comic fans, most revere the late Jack Kirby as a creative demigod who never got his proper due while alive. And these fans would be correct, at least on one account. Too many guys from Kirby’s era, whose contributions to American comics are unmistakable, never got proper recognition (much less proper royalties) for their work after the Golden and Silver Ages.

Yet while I am among those who value Kirby’s landmark fingerprint on the comics medium, I have never been a fan of his actual work. Call me a stickler, but as long as I can recall I’ve found Kirby’s drawn figures to be stiff, his faces uniformly broad, and inking so heavy that I wonder if it wasn’t applied with a small broom.

Plus, what’s up with those damned Kirby dots? What are they supposed to be? Cosmic ozone? Those little fuckers are everywhere in Kirby’s work.

I can’t stand it (he said in a whiny, self-righteous tone)!

Of course, my larger opinion on Kirby’s art style isn’t worth a proverbial plug nickel. I can understand that. Yet I also cannot see this opinion changing anytime – which I’m certain rattles many of you to the core. But as long as I have this forum, I want to ensure that my myriad little opinions are properly clarified.

That is all.

No, sir! I didn't like it!