Hello again everyone. I've been absent this week, despite planning to write several reviews and an opinion piece or two. But it's not my fault. Really it's not. The culprit is the extended edition of The Return of the King that came into my possession last Tuesday. Clocking in at over 4 hours in length (4 hours 10 minutes to be precise), it's a film that almost consumes a day to watch. Of course, I couldn't just watch it straight off the bat. I had to finish up The Two Towers, which I had started the night before. And then, after watching the film (and the two easter eggs hidden on the first two discs), there were two more discs of extras just sitting and begging me to watch them. And I just can't bring myself to disappoint LotR extras. So over the course of the next three days I watched them all (except for the Weta Digital feature, which would just lead to me thinking about how shots weren't really happening). So over the last week I've watched somewhere in the neighborhood of 10-12 hours of LotR footage. And that's a lot.
I can't really give you an extensive extended RotK review, mostly because I don't feel it'd be very helpful. Because, you see, I love The Lord of the Rings. The books are some of the best I've ever read, and Peter Jackson's adeptation was done with more precision and passion than I could have thought possible. So any review I give you of the movie is going to be massively tainted. But I will say this: I loved the theatrical RotK, moreso than the first two theatrical films. The extended footage is good, and it makes the movie better, mostly because you get closure with Saruman, as well as more of, well, everything. But there's one thing that really bothered me, which is that (stop reading if you want to avoid spoilers) the Lord of the Nazgul, in his confrontation with Gandalf in Minas Tirith, breaks Gandalf's staff. The Witchking is not that strong, damnit!
"I thought Fangorn was dangerous." [Gimli]
"Dangerous!" cried Gandalf. "And so am I, very dangerous: more dangerous than anything you will ever meet, unless you are brought alive before the seat of the Dark Lord."
"The Dark Lord has Nine. But we have One, mightier than they: the White Rider." [Aragorn]
"You cannot enter here," said Gandalf, and the huge shadow halted. "Go back to the abyss prepared for you! Go Back! Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and you Master. Go!"
I guess I could make up plausible reasons for having Gandalf not being as strong as the Witchking (like the necessity of reigning in Gandalf's strength a little bit while showing the rise of Aragorn's character), but it still bothers me. Eventually I'll get past it, but right now, it bugs me. But other than this, this movie has some of my favorite moments in the trilogy. The lighting of the Beacons is an excellent example of a scene that's barely in the book, but works so well on film that you want to stand up and cheer. The Battle of the Pelennor Fields is fantastic, and the Paths of the Dead sequence is greatly improved by the added footage. To say I recommend this movie would be an understatement.
If you want to get a sense of just how hard it was to get these movies done, watch the extras on all three extended editions. These appendices have become the gold standard for DVD extras. They take you into every aspect of making the movie, which allows you to appreciate the work and massive attention to detail (much of which you can't even see) that people put into these films. They document the making of probably the most ambitious film project in history from writing to scouting locations to creating the props to the actors to postproduction. If you're at all a LotR fan, or if you're interested in movies at all, you should watch these extras. If you're not sure you'll like them, I suggest watching the "Filming the Lord of the Rings" documentaries, which contain mostly cast interviews and funny anecdotes of what went on while filming. If you like that, move on to another, but be careful you don't spend three days watching them, like me.
That's all for now. I'll hopefully get a condensed review of The Simpsons season 4 and Ocean's 12 up sometime soon. However, my friend and compatriot Mr. Caleb Bartley returned to Minneapolis yesterday, and I will be in Portland, OR visiting Kathreen's family after Christmas, so I may have less time than usual over the next few weeks. In case I don't get back here before then, everyone have a Merry Whatever-it-is-you-might-celebrate-at-this-time-of-year, and if you're in MN for New Year's Eve, the Party's at Java's.
Monday, December 20, 2004
Friday, December 10, 2004
Blade: Trinity Review
I kind of have a soft spot for the Blade movies because the first Blade was the first film of the modern Marvel era. It enjoyed enough success to get decent financial backing for X-Men, which opened with $56 million in its first weekend and convinced movie execs everywhere that the public had indeed recovered from the horror of Batman and Robin and was again ready to go see well-made movies based on comic books. The style and action of the first two Blade films makes them extremely watchable, even with their flaws. Blade:Trinity is supposedly the final Blade movie, although there have been rumors that it may spin off a Nightstalker franchise.
If you've seen the first two Blade movies, you'll probably realize after watching this one that it doesn't really measure up. The action isn't as good. The plot (such as it is) isn't as good. The villian isn't as cool. I even think Blade's character loses something from the first two movies. Also, I enjoy hero shots as much as anyone, but B:T goes a little over the top with the heros-prepping-for-battle montage sequences. David Goyer (who wrote all three and directed this one) could have cut out a solid 30 seconds to a minute and still have plenty to go around. Another thing I was confused by was that, over the course of the first two movies, the vampires were set up as an ancient hierarchical society with tradition, legends, and different families: essentially a fully developed separate culture. The first two movies showed pieces that hinted at a larger whole. That element was completely lacking in this movie. Also, when Whistler dies in the first 15 minutes I was reminded by just how much cooler and how much more impact his death scene had in the first movie. Getting shot in the chest by FBI agents just doesn't compare.
The first movie sets up Blade as a loner: it's just him and Whistler against the world. The second movie teamed Blade up with the Bloodpack, a group of vampires who had been training to take him out. This worked because of the tension and dislike built into the relationship between Blade and the Bloodpack (and the kick ass performance of Ron Perlman). There's not that sense of tension when Blade joins the Nightstalkers (which is unavoidable, since they hunt vampires instead of, well, you get the idea). Sure, Blade doesn't like them at first, but that's about as far as it goes.
This brings me, however, to the one redeeming quality of this movie: Ryan Reynolds' performance as Hannibal King. Not only does he have a fantastic name, he steals pretty much every scene he's in. His acerbic wit is hilarious, whether he's cutting into Blade or giving a big "fuck you" to the vampires when he gets captured. He has all the best lines in the movie, including "you made a fucking vampire Pomeranian?!" He's fantastic.
It's not B:T is outright bad. It's just that it's not that good. Reynolds is pretty much the only reason to see the movie outside of being a compulsive Marvel film viewer like me. If you can avoid paying full price, by all means save your money for the better flicks out there.
If you've seen the first two Blade movies, you'll probably realize after watching this one that it doesn't really measure up. The action isn't as good. The plot (such as it is) isn't as good. The villian isn't as cool. I even think Blade's character loses something from the first two movies. Also, I enjoy hero shots as much as anyone, but B:T goes a little over the top with the heros-prepping-for-battle montage sequences. David Goyer (who wrote all three and directed this one) could have cut out a solid 30 seconds to a minute and still have plenty to go around. Another thing I was confused by was that, over the course of the first two movies, the vampires were set up as an ancient hierarchical society with tradition, legends, and different families: essentially a fully developed separate culture. The first two movies showed pieces that hinted at a larger whole. That element was completely lacking in this movie. Also, when Whistler dies in the first 15 minutes I was reminded by just how much cooler and how much more impact his death scene had in the first movie. Getting shot in the chest by FBI agents just doesn't compare.
The first movie sets up Blade as a loner: it's just him and Whistler against the world. The second movie teamed Blade up with the Bloodpack, a group of vampires who had been training to take him out. This worked because of the tension and dislike built into the relationship between Blade and the Bloodpack (and the kick ass performance of Ron Perlman). There's not that sense of tension when Blade joins the Nightstalkers (which is unavoidable, since they hunt vampires instead of, well, you get the idea). Sure, Blade doesn't like them at first, but that's about as far as it goes.
This brings me, however, to the one redeeming quality of this movie: Ryan Reynolds' performance as Hannibal King. Not only does he have a fantastic name, he steals pretty much every scene he's in. His acerbic wit is hilarious, whether he's cutting into Blade or giving a big "fuck you" to the vampires when he gets captured. He has all the best lines in the movie, including "you made a fucking vampire Pomeranian?!" He's fantastic.
It's not B:T is outright bad. It's just that it's not that good. Reynolds is pretty much the only reason to see the movie outside of being a compulsive Marvel film viewer like me. If you can avoid paying full price, by all means save your money for the better flicks out there.
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
How to Make a Gin and Tonic
Since I just diatribed about it, I thought it would be judicious to include instructions on how to make the perfect Gin and Tonic.
This is a very simple drink to make, and therefore the difference between making a good Gin and Tonic and an excellent one is a matter of details.
First, select a tumbler, or glass of similar volume. If it has been sitting for a long time, rinse it out with water (do not bother to dry it). If it is your intention to drink more than the tumbler can hold, be patient. This should be done by refilling the glass, as opposed to using a larger one.
Second, pour in the Gin. I highly suggest Bombay Sapphire, although Tanquery is also a good choice. The Gin should be either room temperature or slightly chilled.
Then pour in the Tonic. The best Gin and Tonics contain Tonic from a bottle that has just been opened, and has therefore lost none of its carbonation. Flat Tonic is the easiest way to lose points when mixing a G&T. You will have to use trial and error to determine just how strong you want the drink. I personally suggest somewhere between a 3:1 and 5:1 ratio of Tonic to Gin. The Tonic should be well refridgerated, and will compensate for the warmth of the Gin.
Finally, take a wedge of lime, squeeze it into the glass, and then drop it in. The wedge should not be large-less than an eighth of the whole. A lemon can be used as well, but I myself find the lime to be superior.
Your Gin and Tonic is now ready to be enjoyed. It should be savored but not sipped. I hope you like it.
This is a very simple drink to make, and therefore the difference between making a good Gin and Tonic and an excellent one is a matter of details.
First, select a tumbler, or glass of similar volume. If it has been sitting for a long time, rinse it out with water (do not bother to dry it). If it is your intention to drink more than the tumbler can hold, be patient. This should be done by refilling the glass, as opposed to using a larger one.
Second, pour in the Gin. I highly suggest Bombay Sapphire, although Tanquery is also a good choice. The Gin should be either room temperature or slightly chilled.
Then pour in the Tonic. The best Gin and Tonics contain Tonic from a bottle that has just been opened, and has therefore lost none of its carbonation. Flat Tonic is the easiest way to lose points when mixing a G&T. You will have to use trial and error to determine just how strong you want the drink. I personally suggest somewhere between a 3:1 and 5:1 ratio of Tonic to Gin. The Tonic should be well refridgerated, and will compensate for the warmth of the Gin.
Finally, take a wedge of lime, squeeze it into the glass, and then drop it in. The wedge should not be large-less than an eighth of the whole. A lemon can be used as well, but I myself find the lime to be superior.
Your Gin and Tonic is now ready to be enjoyed. It should be savored but not sipped. I hope you like it.
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Gin and Tonic
Could it be the greatest drink ever invented? Maybe. I have a hard time taking a definative stand on this sort of thing because I always have the nagging (and perhaps unreasonable) fear that as soon as I do, someone is going to show up with a drink never before seen outside the Austrailian outback, the African veldt or the infamous penquin bars of the ancient Antarctican Ice Palaces, that blows me away. But until that person shows up, the Gin and Tonic remains King of potent potables.
My disclaimer here is that I'm talking mixed drinks, which includes everything that's not scotch. Scotch is the only thing that could challenge the G&T for the title of Joe Kreuser's Ultimate Drink, and if you told me I was going to a desert island and had to choose one to take with me, I'd have to knock you out with a cricket bat and take them both. But this isn't about Scotch (I'll talk about that some other time). It's about Gin. And Tonic, I suppose. And, as I would be forced to futher concede if pressed, Limes.
The first time I drank Gin was during my junior year at Carleton. Caleb and I went to a birthday party for a girl who had been a freshman on our floor the year before, and they had a bottle of rather noxious Gin there, because she had never had any before and wanted to try some. We both tried some (I can't really remember how it was served, it's possible we drank it straight), and were slightly underwhelmed, in the sense that we nearly swore it off entirely. It both smelled and tasted unpleasantly like pine sap. To this day I strongly recommend against drinking straight Gin, unless served extremely cold in a cone-shaped glass and accompanied by some amount of vermouth and either an olive or (preferably) a pearl onion. Ahh, the martini. It put in a good showing, but remains the runner-up in the Joe Kreuser's Ultimate Drink race. But this isn't about martinis. It's about all that stuff I mentioned before.
I came back to Gin, and to the Gin and Tonic, largely because of the special place they held for one of my favorite authors, Douglas Noel Adams. If you've read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy arc, you have run across the passage which informs the reader that every sentient race in the galaxy has a drink whose name is phonetically identical to the Gin and Tonic, which can range from water at slightly above room temperature to a liquid that can kill the ravenous bugblatter beast of Traal at 30 paces. One gets the feeling that, even with the infinite iterations of the universe at his fingertips, Adams would not have strayed from Earth's version of the drink. Adams would later write (in an essay included in The Salmon of Doubt, a posthumous collection of his work) that the Gin and Tonic was the only drink he could consume at will without suffering ill effects. Adams' affinity for the drink gave it an automatic plus, and though I cannot remember the first time I tasted one, it clearly was not enough to put me off of them forever. Over the past couple years it has quickly become my default drink, something I can order if I am at a loss in a bar, something that I will almost certainly possess the requisite ingredients for at home. I honestly can't say exactly what it is about it that makes it so good. The balance, I suppose, between the distinctive nature of the Gin, the carbonation of the Tonic and the lime thrown in for flavor. As with so many things in life, it transcends exact terms and can only be communicated through common understanding. I enjoy many forms of alcohol, and they all have different personalities, created by my history with them and the associated memories. The Gin and Tonic is the most comfortable and familiar, which is perhaps why I keep coming back to it.
My disclaimer here is that I'm talking mixed drinks, which includes everything that's not scotch. Scotch is the only thing that could challenge the G&T for the title of Joe Kreuser's Ultimate Drink, and if you told me I was going to a desert island and had to choose one to take with me, I'd have to knock you out with a cricket bat and take them both. But this isn't about Scotch (I'll talk about that some other time). It's about Gin. And Tonic, I suppose. And, as I would be forced to futher concede if pressed, Limes.
The first time I drank Gin was during my junior year at Carleton. Caleb and I went to a birthday party for a girl who had been a freshman on our floor the year before, and they had a bottle of rather noxious Gin there, because she had never had any before and wanted to try some. We both tried some (I can't really remember how it was served, it's possible we drank it straight), and were slightly underwhelmed, in the sense that we nearly swore it off entirely. It both smelled and tasted unpleasantly like pine sap. To this day I strongly recommend against drinking straight Gin, unless served extremely cold in a cone-shaped glass and accompanied by some amount of vermouth and either an olive or (preferably) a pearl onion. Ahh, the martini. It put in a good showing, but remains the runner-up in the Joe Kreuser's Ultimate Drink race. But this isn't about martinis. It's about all that stuff I mentioned before.
I came back to Gin, and to the Gin and Tonic, largely because of the special place they held for one of my favorite authors, Douglas Noel Adams. If you've read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy arc, you have run across the passage which informs the reader that every sentient race in the galaxy has a drink whose name is phonetically identical to the Gin and Tonic, which can range from water at slightly above room temperature to a liquid that can kill the ravenous bugblatter beast of Traal at 30 paces. One gets the feeling that, even with the infinite iterations of the universe at his fingertips, Adams would not have strayed from Earth's version of the drink. Adams would later write (in an essay included in The Salmon of Doubt, a posthumous collection of his work) that the Gin and Tonic was the only drink he could consume at will without suffering ill effects. Adams' affinity for the drink gave it an automatic plus, and though I cannot remember the first time I tasted one, it clearly was not enough to put me off of them forever. Over the past couple years it has quickly become my default drink, something I can order if I am at a loss in a bar, something that I will almost certainly possess the requisite ingredients for at home. I honestly can't say exactly what it is about it that makes it so good. The balance, I suppose, between the distinctive nature of the Gin, the carbonation of the Tonic and the lime thrown in for flavor. As with so many things in life, it transcends exact terms and can only be communicated through common understanding. I enjoy many forms of alcohol, and they all have different personalities, created by my history with them and the associated memories. The Gin and Tonic is the most comfortable and familiar, which is perhaps why I keep coming back to it.
Thursday, December 02, 2004
I Heart Huckabees Review
I finally got to see this movie last week, after having wanted to see it since I first saw the trailer on the web. I went in with high expectations for this movie, and although my initial reaction upon walking out of the theater was one of introspection rather than enthusiasm or elation, my expectations were not let down. There will be spoilers in this review, so you might not want to read on if you haven't seen the movie and are planning on it.
The underlying question of Huckabees address is whether anything matters. Life, joy, pain, happiness, suffering, etc. It starts with Albert (Jason Schwartzman), whose position as the head of a local environmental group is being threated by a much more people-friendly Brad (Jude Law), goes to an existential dective agency to discover what his three seemingly chance meetings with a tall black man might mean. The detectives, Bernard and Vivian (Dustin Hoffman and Lily Tomlin), who believe in the fundamental interconnectedness and relevance of all things, proceed to investigate Albert. Things start to fall apart when Brad goes to the detectives to complete his takeover of Albert's turf, driving Albert and his other, Tommy (Mark Walhberg) into the camp of rival existentialist Caterine Vauban (Isabelle Huppert). Caterine also believes in the fundamental interconnectedness of all things, but believes that everything is pointless and the universe is cruel only to be cruel.
Like I said, the question that David O. Russell (the writer and director whose last project was the brilliantly complex Three Kings) weaves through the movie is "does anything matter?" The two answers (yes and no) are personified by the two sides of detectives and Caterine, respectively. Russell also shows us the limitations of every character that prevents them from seeing the fundamental interconnectedness of all things. Ultimately we even see that even Bernard, Vivian and Caterine, who act as guides to the rest of the characters and therefore to us as well, have their own limitations. Russell, while not necessarily endorsing an answer to the movie's question, is trying to get us, like the characters, to look at the big picture: to try and transcend our own limitations and see that underneath it all, we're the same.
Huckabees (which has the brilliantly appropriate slogan "the everything store") does this philosophizing with a fantastic cast who predictably give great performances (including Naomi Watts, who I haven't mentioned yet and plays Brad's girlfriend who is also the Huckabees spokesgirl). Hoffman and Tomlin are especially good with some of the less conventional dialogue. Russell and Jeff Baena turn in a great script, including a fantastic dinner scene where Albert and Tommy (who are both ardent environmentalists) clash with a religious suburban family who couldn't care less. There's also an excellent arguement between Tommy and Bernard about the nature of matter and space. Russell takes the idea to a visual level by parsing off smaller and smaller squares on the screen (if you see it you'll recognize what I'm talking about).
The nice thing about this movie is that it doesn't get bogged down in the ideas. It's a detective movie, and hence you discover things about all the characters along the way. If you're not willing to intellectually invest in it, or refuse to transcend some of your limitations, you may not get much out of it. But if you show up and give the movie a chance on its own terms, you may enjoy it quite a bit. I certainly did.
Note: If you liked this movie, I would suggest Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, by Douglas Adams, which also deals with the subject of the fundamental interconnectedness of all things, but with a slightly darker tone.
The underlying question of Huckabees address is whether anything matters. Life, joy, pain, happiness, suffering, etc. It starts with Albert (Jason Schwartzman), whose position as the head of a local environmental group is being threated by a much more people-friendly Brad (Jude Law), goes to an existential dective agency to discover what his three seemingly chance meetings with a tall black man might mean. The detectives, Bernard and Vivian (Dustin Hoffman and Lily Tomlin), who believe in the fundamental interconnectedness and relevance of all things, proceed to investigate Albert. Things start to fall apart when Brad goes to the detectives to complete his takeover of Albert's turf, driving Albert and his other, Tommy (Mark Walhberg) into the camp of rival existentialist Caterine Vauban (Isabelle Huppert). Caterine also believes in the fundamental interconnectedness of all things, but believes that everything is pointless and the universe is cruel only to be cruel.
Like I said, the question that David O. Russell (the writer and director whose last project was the brilliantly complex Three Kings) weaves through the movie is "does anything matter?" The two answers (yes and no) are personified by the two sides of detectives and Caterine, respectively. Russell also shows us the limitations of every character that prevents them from seeing the fundamental interconnectedness of all things. Ultimately we even see that even Bernard, Vivian and Caterine, who act as guides to the rest of the characters and therefore to us as well, have their own limitations. Russell, while not necessarily endorsing an answer to the movie's question, is trying to get us, like the characters, to look at the big picture: to try and transcend our own limitations and see that underneath it all, we're the same.
Huckabees (which has the brilliantly appropriate slogan "the everything store") does this philosophizing with a fantastic cast who predictably give great performances (including Naomi Watts, who I haven't mentioned yet and plays Brad's girlfriend who is also the Huckabees spokesgirl). Hoffman and Tomlin are especially good with some of the less conventional dialogue. Russell and Jeff Baena turn in a great script, including a fantastic dinner scene where Albert and Tommy (who are both ardent environmentalists) clash with a religious suburban family who couldn't care less. There's also an excellent arguement between Tommy and Bernard about the nature of matter and space. Russell takes the idea to a visual level by parsing off smaller and smaller squares on the screen (if you see it you'll recognize what I'm talking about).
The nice thing about this movie is that it doesn't get bogged down in the ideas. It's a detective movie, and hence you discover things about all the characters along the way. If you're not willing to intellectually invest in it, or refuse to transcend some of your limitations, you may not get much out of it. But if you show up and give the movie a chance on its own terms, you may enjoy it quite a bit. I certainly did.
Note: If you liked this movie, I would suggest Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency, by Douglas Adams, which also deals with the subject of the fundamental interconnectedness of all things, but with a slightly darker tone.
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