What my whole life has been building up to: Behold, the wonders of modern technology!
Having a spare late night available this past weekend, I headed over to the Angelika to catch what I'd heard was a pleasant little pseudo-arthouse flick, Waitress. And while it's billed as another "food-as-metaphor-for-life" movie, it also dances dangerously close to the "men-are-so-totally-unnecessary" genre. The former description tempts one with sumptuous images of rich foods representing the delicious buffet of life. The latter description is a big fat warning sign that liberties could be taken in order to help you get your man-hate on. While the film ultimately did not convey such an absolute indictment, it also has nothing to offer in terms of legitimate feminine empowerment, and the men who do escape unscathed come off as unnecessary at best, ridiculous at worst.
As always, I find it a struggle to delineate the plot myself, so I leave it to IMDB (methinks there really is a skill to condensing a film to a sentence or two): Jenna is a pregnant, unhappily married waitress in the deep south. She meets a newcomer to her town and falls into an unlikely relationship as a last attempt at happiness.
Keri Russell plays the role that Ashley Judd would have locked up a decade ago, and handles it well enough, though her face belies a mind that strikes me as a bit too ponderous and intellectual to be entirely believable here. Cheryl Hines plays the obligatory sassy and country-fried soul sister Becky, and Adrienne Shelly plays the awkward and sweet Dawn. (But please: can we have a moratorium on writers who insist on handling the neurotic/goofy duties themselves, in that egotistical "look how much cool I can afford to stifle" manner? *cough*TinaFey*cough*). Unfortunately, Shelly has a tin ear for Southern dialogue (just as I suspected: I check her IMDB page and see that she is a Russian Jew born in Queens) and so there are a number of clunker lines that just drop to the floor - though Hines at least pours out enough attitude to save a couple of her moments. They say you should write what you know (and given the current trend of TV shows made into movies, I have an untapped career in Hollywood) but so many of these coastal industry types are just certain that all you have to do is leave the g off any participle, lift a few regional epithets, and ta-da! Instant yokel. Suggestion: leave the Southern characterizations to people who've actually lived there (e.g. Mike Judge).
Shelly also jots back and forth between varying levels of realism in her direction. Jenna's romantic scenes with her secret love are played to almost slapstick proportions for the bulk of the film: Shelly uses a swirling camera perspective around the couple for their embraces, infusing them with comic melodrama. But it conflicts with the downhome style with which she started the film - especially since she switches to a gauzy, Bridges-of-Madison-County style toward the end. Same goes for Jenna's run-ins at various points with harried mothers and their brats (feeding her fear of her own impending motherhood). These scenes are played so over-the -top and out-of-place that you have no idea what kind of movie you are supposed to be watching. If you want to make a "quirky" comedy, go ahead... but then don't imply we're getting "slice of life". You can have your cake but you can't eat it too.
It seemed for a while that, despite this juvenile one-dimensionalism of the South and the scatterbrained direction, there might just be hope for this movie. Jenna's husband was given a few legitimate moments of near-sincerity, and it's clear he would be hopeless without her. Kerri Russell's expressions were cryptic enough to almost keep you guessing as to what her final decisions would be. And she conveys enough genuine apathy about her future child that you wonder whether you might be seeing something unique in the genre. But there are so many inherent weaknesses written into the movie that it ultimately dives headlong into failure.
The most significant flaw in this effort hit me not quite halfway through: all the characters and situations are being written into dead-ends, and if you give even a split-second's thought to it, you can figure out EXACTLY where this movie is going. Even if the acting performances were superb, there was no hiding this fact. And while that in and of itself might not be a problem, the ending is so much pseudo-feminist posturing, leavened with fairy tale saccarine bullshit, that you almost want to puke that you've given the movie so much credit to that point. To that extent, I'm not sure whether describing the ending qualifies as a spoiler, but I guess I'll hold back. Just... understand that if you decide to go see this movie, there is nothing that will ultimately surprise you, and in that sense, this doesn't qualify as art house fare in any way. This is utterly predictable Hollywood pap, and Adrienne Shelly better not entertain any flattery to the contrary. Don't let the movie's exhibition at Angelika fool you; it has about as much "indy" credibility as Where the Heart Is, Sweet Home Alabama, or Fried Green Tomatoes.
Well... at least this didn't have Kathy Bates in it. Little victories.
Consider this a minor sampling of the insanity herein.
1. "Any Resemblence"
2. "Pie Fight"
3. "Jailbreak" (with apologies to Phil Lynott)
4. "Pot-sicles"
5. "The Keys"
So I'm spending a too-large portion of my Memorial Day weekend taking in some of the $1 blaxploitation DVDs on sale at the local Fiesta. I'm not sure why there's a rack full of these, but I'm going to tag the folks at EastWest DVD as patron saints of the clown crew. If there's a movie from the 70s that was so craptacular it was never heard of (think "beneath the category of Fish that Saved Pittsburgh"), these guys found the wherewithal to turn it into a crappy DVD. For a buck, it's hard to argue that I didn't get more than my money's worth after watching Amazing Grace. This one was actually much better than I anticipated and stars Slappy White and Moms Mabley. If that last name doesn't ring a bell, by all means Google it up. She's got quite a rich history and this was her final film. Yes, there's actually a sappiness factor in this movie ... as well as countless laughs that will be evident from a few clips I'll post tomorrow.
As I type, I'm in the early minutes of a doozy called Darktown Strutters. I'm going to refer to this as the "Black Apple" and force it on the next ClownFest ... whenever or however that happens. Of course, when I check IMDB to dig a little deeper into Darktown Strutters, I've got a question for Ralphie ...
Explain your whereabouts in 1974/1975! Check the credits for "Art Direction" and you'll see why.
Peter Marshall:
Paul, why are forest rangers in remote locations ordering goats as standard equipment?
Paul Lynde:
Because the sheep are wising up.
Seriously, I'm surprised I wasn't the first to combine these two ...
Mike White has quite the resume and I can't profess to being deeply knowledgable about all of it. I can tell you that I saw Chuck and Buck on a lark at the Greenway several years ago and thought it was VERY well excecuted. White has a knack for exploring the frayed edges of standard social behavior. What you get from him are darker shades of the humor found in The Office and other shows that trade on making you squirm. It's exquisitely uncomfortable.
I guess (as always) I ought to warn you that some of what follows by way of description can be considered *SPOILERS* ... so you've been warned. Year of the Dog is about a woman's descent into obsessive animal rights activism after the death of her dog, the only companion upon whom she can reliably depend. This much is clear witin the first 20 minutes of the film wherein Peggy (played by Molly Shannon) is shown having conversations - check that - listening to all the various people in her life talk at her, more than to her. When her dog dies, she is recruited to adopt one of the soon-to-be-terminated SPCA cases handled by Newt (Peter Sarsgaard). Just as she believes she's finally found someone to believe in, she is very lightly rebuffed and her own social distortion is ratched up quickly.
This movie is similar in tone to White's Chuck and Buck, and while the pace differs greatly between the two, White is equally adept here as director Miguel Arteta was in C&B at taking a simple but nuanced idea and putting it under a microscope for well over an hour without you ever feeling rushed or bored with it. He is a patient director. The only complaint I have in comparison to that earlier film is that in Chuck and Buck, his misfit's difficulties are so tied to his interaction with only one other character that you always know where the center of the film sits. In Year of the Dog, I think White moves off the dynamic between Peggy and Newt too quickly, leaving us alone with Peggy and, having no one specific for her to play off of, I think the movie becomes a shade less tense.
While Molly Shannon was not particularly brilliant in this movie, I do think she's about the best female equivalent of Mike White as an actor and protagonist as you might find: able to convey sincerity and empathy, but also skilled at mining the subtle comic moments necessary to make White's film the awkward delight that never quite puts you off entirely. Peter Sarsgaard played Newt note-perfect by capturing that sexually disinterested and somewhat self-absorbed and self-righteous eco-lefty mentality.
Both White's movies have at their core the idea that certain episodes in life that can seem simple and/or just slightly more than ordinary can explode with sub-psychic reverberations that might throw lives off the rails. And yet both of White's films have somewhat upbeat endings, where we are encouraged to believe that his lost souls gain just enough clarity to begin a reclamation of their sanity. I enjoy that he merely points you in that direction and doesn't offer any guarantees, and his delicate touch keeps from totally illuminating the dark corners we've just been through.
As longtime readers know, the members of this entourage are quite fond of the Weird Wednesday shows often orchestrated at the Alamo Drafthouse in Houston. Well, your intrepid reporter has recently taken the plunge and moved to the home base of the Drafthouse: Austin, TX. As my first post back on the site, I could think of no better topic than my first trip to the mothership connection: The Alamo Drafthouse Downtown, for a showing of that 1983 classic: Joysticks. Of course, with this being the original Alamo, a regular showing just wouldn't do. Instead, on this night the legendary (???) character actor Jon Gries was on hand to describe his motivation in playing the antagonist, King Vidiot. Wild times ensue for all...
I must admit, this was my first trip to the original Alamo location. Sure, I had been to the S. Lamar theater once, but was never in town at the right time to catch a movie at the original 'Mo. Let me try to describe for you the theater setup: it looks like the type of place where snuff films and sexual favors would be traded. The theater has the now-classic table/theater chair setup known to Houstonians, but with a single-screen in an upstairs theater. The lobby contains a few classic video games, including one of my old favorites: Kung-Fu Master. As I entered the theater, Jon Gries was just finishing up his Q&A session after a showing of Napoleon Dynamite. It was during this Q&A that I experienced a moment that would have made Jim's head explode: Gries described in great detail just how the director and Jon Heder came together to make Napoleon's "dumb stare" facial expression. It was at this point that I had to step out and get a beer...
After a brief cleaning, the theater was reopened for the showing of Joysticks. The theater crew had hooked up a computer to the theater screen, and patrons were encouraged to come play a game of Satan's Hollow (as seen in the movie). Of course yours truly had to get up and try, and wound up with the second best score of the night. Alas, a guy covered in potato chips and Dr. Pepper stains beat me down like a rented mule. Gries did a bit of an introduction, and the crapfest ran.
Oh, I'm sorry, did I say crapfest? I meant extraordinary shit-stained crapfest. Picture "Porky's", set in a 1980s arcade, as directed by the genius behind "Satan's Cheerleaders". And every scene has a "Pac-Wipe", where Pac-Man wakka-wakka's across the screen to transition from one location to another. Every stereotype was in this film, from the cool protagonist to the weird King Vidiot, from the fat gamer to the old man in town who wants to shut down the arcade (played Joe Don Baker...not one of his shining moments). The man who made the film was, of course, Jon Gries's character of King Vidiot. An odd mix of Pee-Wee Herman and Jeff Lebowski, King Vidiot was certainly something to laugh at. I almost felt sorry for sitting two rows behind this poor guy who was just trying to make a paycheck back in the early 80s and laughing at the movie he was in. Almost, but not quite. I heard quite a few groans coming from his seat, as he relived some of the worse moments on celluloid. Ah well, we all have our ups and downs in life. It was just quite fun to experience another person's valley on the big screen.
After the film came, of course, the requisite Q&A. There were only two main threads asked by the audience: "Were you a video game player" (no), and "What was your motivation for doing this movie?" (to get paid!). Very simple, straightforward answers, and I'm quite glad that he didn't attempt to bullshit us with stories of why this was the most important role of the 20th century. To him, it was a paycheck, and he's quite glad that people are still watching this movie 20+ years later. And to be honest, if anyone were to read this 20 years down the line, I'd be quite impressed as well...
Finally, we now get a glimpse of what goes on at either those HAL-PC meetings ... or in Ralphie's bunker:
Why am I not a regular viewer of Family Guy? Well, because I have watched the show before, it appears:
Yes, there was the one with stuff like "label all boxes by destination room", but consider...
* Inform all parole authorities and creditors of address change (to taste)
* Move all large pieces of furniture at least once before moving day to find things behind or under them (like knives, ammo, militia or insurgent periodicals, blasting caps, etc.)
* back up all computer files in advance of dropping the computer
* Make a quick mental inventory of friends and acquaintances to determine which ones it would be funny not to tell you were moving, or to give the wrong city
---and my favorite:
* Use "I'm moving" as a blanket excuse to avoid commitments of all sorts