The Internet in Movies

After seeing the howling bad The Fifth Estate, I got to wondering about how Hollywood repeatedly and utterly fails to comprehend the Internet, even in otherwise great films on the subject like The Social Network (which works only because it hides Aaron Sorkin's complete confusion over the Internet under slabs of classical Hollywood drama that makes Facebook a MacGuffin and an allegory). So I collected some of my favorite recent examples (sorry, Hackers) and speculated about why no one can seem to get this topic right. Read my brief thoughts over at Film.com.

Lightning Strikes Twice: The Digital Rebirth of Francis Ford Coppola

Francis Ford Coppola's post-2007 comeback is vexing, bewildering, esoteric and, to these eyes, his most exciting work since the 1970s. Funding his own projects with wine money, Coppola has used digital not only as a means of keeping shooting costs down but to explore new forms of cinematic grammar and assembly. The most classical of New Hollywood has emerged its most postmodern. I delve into this aspect of Coppola's rejuvenation for Film.com, from his masterpiece Youth Without Youth to the uneven but unexpectedly personal Twixt. Form and content may not converge like they did during the '70s (but then, did they ever for the director after that gold run), but I would sooner watch these experimental works than the bulk of the director's corpus.

Check out my full piece at Film.com.

Insomnia (1997) vs. Insomnia (2002)

With The Dark Knight Rises in theaters, what better time to examine the film that, after Memento, proved to Warner Bros thatChristopher Nolan could handle a larger budget and an A-list cast. In remaking a sly, subversive Norwegian neo-noir, Nolan offered a glimpse into the good and bad he would bring to spectacle cinema over the next decade. True to his hard-to-summarize nature, Nolan at once simplifies the psychological and moral miasma of the original while adding various touches that make his more streamlined, narrative-centric version more ambitious an overview of guilt. I know of no one else who can simplify his way into some form of depth, which may be why I cannot dismiss Nolan as I think I should. Nevertheless, I prefer the rawer, harsher original.

My full piece is up now at Spectrum Culture.

Charles Chaplin's 11 Features

[The following is an entry in the monthly Favorite Directors Blogathon. A master list of my choices for all 12 filmmakers (with links updated as they are posted) can be found here.]

It is all to easy to undervalue Charles Chaplin, something that can be seen even in some early reviews for this site. His camera style, primitive even by the standards of the silent era, offers few thrills for the aesthetically minded. His infamous sentimentality becomes the focal point of critical distrust and a convenient excuse to attack a sacred cow. And as a comic, he lacks the technical dazzle of Keaton, the epic audacity of Lloyd, often suffering when placed in (meaningless) competition with his peers.

And yet, the Tramp endures. Chaplin may not be, as Shaw once said, the only genius to come out of the movies, but he was certainly the first, and still the greatest. Repeated viewing reveals his basic camerawork as a means of prioritizing his perfectionist set design, which often lends itself both to gags and insights into those who move within it. More importantly, Chaplin cedes attention to the acting which, in contrast to Chaplin's reputation as a shameless manipulator, is among the earliest examples of carefully composed naturalism in cinema. And unlike the other silent clowns (save Laurel and Hardy, whose use of slapstick as a form of silent dialogue somewhat future-proofed them), Chaplin weathered the transition to talkies superbly, however reluctantly and belatedly he made the switch. His sound features also double as clarifications and critiques of his silent Tramp figure, the more forthright political and autobiographical content not an intrusion but merely a more visible display of what was always there. Because of this sustained level of quality, all 11 of Chaplin's features rate a mention, and most of them a place in any canon. As for which are all-time masterpieces and which must settle for the faint praise of "merely" masterful, read on:

Favorite Directors Blogathon

My blogging buddy Carson Lund recently told me about a meme started by Loren Rosson that highlights a favorite director each month and ranks his or her best work. Given that I already had a good 10 or so documents on my computer keeping track of rankings for some of my favorite filmmakers, I did not require much incentive to throw my own hat in the ring. Loren (and, I think, Carson) are covering their 12 favorite directors, but I might take a slightly different tack. Many of my top 12 would overlap with both Loren's and Carson's choices, and while it would be fun to compare what floats our particular boats with certain filmmakers, I'd rather spotlight a few other choices I love just as much as, say, Malick or Kubrick. There will still be some shared choices (I think all three of us will cover David Lynch), but this way it won't all just be the same picks.

Anyway, here's my list:


July: Charles Chaplin (The Full 11 Features)

August: Steven Soderbergh (Top 10)

September: Tony Scott (Top 10) [NOTE: I've bumped Roman Polanski to pay tribute to Tony Scott. Polanski list to come later]

October: David Lynch (Top 10), Roman Polanski (Top 10)

November: Martin Scorsese (Top 10)

December: Michael Powell (Top 10)

January: Howard Hawks (Top 10)

February: Abbas Kiarostami (Top 10)

March: Jean-Luc Godard (Top 20, maybe 25)

April: Claire Denis (Top 10)

May: Eric Rohmer (Top 15)

June: Ozu Yasujiro (Top 15)

Blind Spots 2012

So, various bloggers I read and like have decided to address various, wait for it, blind spots in their movie viewing in 2012. I consider much of my blog writing an attempt to fill various gaps in knowledge, but I love a good writing meme, and considering how many "must-sees" end up falling through the cracks as I get distracted with other things, perhaps listing 12 here (one per month) will at least commit me to watching some of the movies I tell myself I must see with all haste.

2011: The Year in Review

The last year-end post, I swear. Last year I did a similar round-up separate to my best-of list, but this year I had even more reason to hand out "awards" for various accomplishments. I joined the Online Film Critics Society in October, and just last week I sent in my first ballot for their awards. Since I had all that written down, why not post it here along with other final mentions I wanted to make to close out this excellent year in film? Besides, this year has been so wonderful that I'm almost reluctant to let it go without one last good celebration. So without further ado, the awards:

Books I Read in 2011

I fell shamefully behind on reading when I went to college, first overburdened by an engineering course load then spending so much time writing stories for journalism assignments or delving deeper and deeper into film to tend to my literary interests. This year I vowed to get back into the groove and challenged myself to read 40 books before New Year's. Just last week, I succeeded. For the most part, I read a lot of great books over the year, so I thought I'd share some brief thoughts for them after the jump.

Falling for the First Time: Gremlins

So I'm a guest at the Mad Hatter's The Dark of the Matinee today for his recurring series "Falling for the First Time," in which he discusses '80s and '90s films with those of us who, by age or neglect, never saw them. Believe it or not, I'd never sat down with Joe Dante's Gremlins, so we chatted about Dante's first big hit.

Though not on the level of his masterpiece, Small Soldiers, Gremlins is a lot of fun, and I had a great time talking about it with Hatter. So head on over to his site and read our discussion of this wicked parody of the studio system and '80s culture.

A Life In Movies

Here's my contribution for Fandango Groovers' blogathon "A Life in Movies," in which bloggers choose their favorite films from each year since their birth. For the most part, I was surprised at how quickly I knew what my favorite film from each year was, but in some cases it was a struggle to decide. I also tried to limit directors to one film to avoid piling on too much life for any one person. For some of the more recent selections, you might see that I did not put the film that came no. 1 on my list for that year in the slot. This is not really because my mind changed but because of the aforementioned directorial limitation (also, as I note later, I've reevaluated my selection of year for movies like Certified Copy, which I probably should have considered a 2011 U.S. release despite managing to see it last year). Anyway, onto the picks:

1989 Batman

Not the greatest movie of 1989 by any stretch (Do the Right Thing and Sweetie are two of the best films I've ever seen), but this has the most resonance to my childhood. Born in the summer of Batman, it seems fated that I would have been such a Bat-freak as a child, and I must have worn scratches into our VHS. It had the camp of the mainstream Batman show but filtered it through Burton's then-fresh vision of Gothic pop-horror, making for a spooky, intricate Gotham where anything seemed possible. I have less love for Nicholson's performance now than I do for Keaton's understated but keen work, and Basinger and Wuhl are afterthoughts, but I can't help but love this thing.

My Cinematic Alphabet

I've seen this même going around the blogs lately, so I figured I'd give it a shot. Unsurprisingly, picking a favorite for some letters was impossible because of the limited options (X2 was pretty much alone) or because I had so many choices (I actually wasted time stressing over whether to sub Playtime for Phantom of the Paradise, Repulsion or Rio Bravo for The Red Shoes, McCabe & Mrs. Miller for Miami Vice and The Straits of Love and Hate or Sansho the Bailiff for Sweetie). But I went with my gut and I've think I've got a decent range here. I've not repeated any directors, which was surprisingly difficult.


A is for A.I. Artificial Intelligence

Upcoming Blog-a-thon: Iranian Cinema

Per The Sheila Variations:

In light of Jafar Panahi’s open letter to Isabella Rossellini, the Berlinale, and all of us and his plea for artistic freedom, I am going to host (very last-minute I know) a blog-a-thon during the week of Feburary 21 – 27 celebrating the contributions of Iran to the world of film-making. If you are interested in participating, just send me the links you have written during that week and I will post them here on my site. It can be about whatever you want, it doesn’t have to be about Jafar Panahi, specifically, although posts about his work would be fantastic. If you don’t have a blog and want to participate, feel free to write something and send it to me. I will post it here.

I'm extremely excited for this. I was about to watch Panahi's Crimson Gold anyway and will be contributing a piece on that film and, if time allows, at least one other post on another Iranian film I've never seen, Dariush Mehrjui's Leila (I also have yet to speak on Kiarostami's Koker trilogy, but I am getting way ahead of myself if I think I'll have time for all that). As Sheila said, no familiarity with Iranian film is necessary, and I hope to see some people joining in who have never seen a film from the country. Speaking from my own, extremely limited experience with Iranian cinema, I have found it beautiful almost to the point of pain, filled with commentary on humanity that transcends national borders -- a particularly impressive feat, given how ripe a sociopolitical structure like Iran's theocratic dictatorship lends itself to polemics.

Often, bloggers hold retrospectives and blog-a-thons simply out of a love for a particular director or genre, which is more than a valid reason. But it's nice to see a real impetus for engagement and learning here, a chance for many of us to get better acquainted with a fascinating but little-seen section of world cinema with copious treasures waiting to be discovered. If you don't want to participate, please help spread the word. A few Tweets go a long way. Hope to see a nice turnout for this.

(Contact information about the blog-a-thon can be found on Sheila's site via the link at the top of the post.)

Upcoming Series: Ulysses Reading Diary

*Update: I've placed links at the top of the post so readers don't have to scroll down to find them. Each post focuses on a chapter at a time.

Reading Log
Chapter One: Telemachus
Chapter Two: Nestor
Chapter Three: Proteus
Chapter Four: Calypso
Chapter Five: The Lotus Eaters
Chapter Six: Hades
Chapter Seven: Aeolus
Chapter Eight: Lestrygonians
Chapter Nine: Scylla and Charybdis
Chapter Ten: The Wandering Rocks
Chapter Eleven: Sirens
Chapter Twelve: Cyclops
Chapter Thirteen: Nausicaa
Chapter Fourteen: Oxen of the Sun
Chapter Fifteen: Circe
Chapter Sixteen: Eumaeus

Chapter Seventeen: Ithaca
Chapter Eighteen: Penelope

Hello, all,

I apologize for the severely slowed output as of late, but schoolwork has reared its ugly head (or heads, for, like the Hydra, every time I kill one assignment three more spring in its place) and I've been too busy to focus on reviewing. I should have two new posts by the end of the weekend, one on a film, another a continuation of my "Stuff I Like" series, where I spotlight an artist from any medium who has had an impact on me. For now, however, I still have some work to do.

Though I have not had time to sit down and digest a film in one go, I have been spackling the narrow cracks in my schedule with reading, and I've been both returning to old favorites and finally tackling classics that previously daunted me. The greatest blind spot in my literary awareness must be Ulysses by James Joyce, almost universally considered the crowning literary achievement of the 20th century. Joyce himself was foreign to me, considering I'd only ever read brief excerpts of his work with minimal explication.

I just completed A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, however, and the wonderful time I had with it made the fears I had over tackling Joyce's titanic novel all the more transparently unnecessary. However, when my copy of a reprinting of the original 1922 text of the novel arrived in the mail, I turned to the back to check the annotations and found nearly 300 pages of notes explaining Joyce's esoteric, highly advanced and multilingual wordplay, in addition to notes delving into the novel's connection with Homer's Odyssey. So, some apprehension remains.

Therefore, I've decided to handle the book differently than my usual style, which is to just read like the wind because I can never stop myself. Instead, I will keep a running log here of my trek through Dublin, a post for each of the novel's 18 chapters. I should say that this will almost certainly not be a book review, insofar as analysis may be scant in favor of simply spilling out how I've processed the text and the notes. I hope it shall amount to more than a running list of characters, motifs and happenings like some second-rate SparkNotes, but we shall see how it goes. I do at least hope, in deference to Professor Nabokov, to put forward some idea of who the man in the brown mackintosh is. A catalog of the posts will be collected here for easier access once I'm finished.

See you at the top of the Martello tower in Sandycove, everyone.

Dalí: The Late Work

Though my younger sister has always been given to drawing, painting, scrapbooking and various other forms of artistic endeavors, I have never known her to be all that obsessed with art. Imagine my surprise (and joy), then, when it was she, not myself, who approached my mom about heading to Atlanta's High Museum of Art to see an exhibition of Salvador Dalí's late period before the works returned to Florida. I assumed I would have to make up some excuse about seeing friends downtown before the week's end so I might peek around the place myself, but the unexpected interest of other members of my family made my exposure to the wild Spaniard's post-Surrealist work all the more pleasurable.

To say the least, the relegation of the entire second half of Dalí's life the nebulously defined realm of kitsch made the revelation of his work's potency all the more overwhelming, and the question of how it could be so handily dismissed all the more baffling. Having begun his artistic career at the age of six with impressionist landscapes, Dalí moved into Cubism as it gained ground in the 20s and fell in with the Surrealist group in Paris at the end of the decade. But his "official" involvement with surrealism ended another 10 years later, leaving the last 49 years of his life to essentially be defined by a single decade.

One look through the gallery assembled for the High Museum, however, will silence anyone who would dismiss the artist's second half as conventional. "The only difference between me and the other surrealists is that I am a surrealist," Dalí once said, and if the movement was all about capturing the subconscious, Dalí certainly never stopped painting surreal works.

Compared to the more out-there work of his accepted Surrealist period, Dalí's later work displays a clearer influence of classicism, with outright nods to Velázquez, Raphael, Vermeer and others. Subjects look more photo-realistic, and Dalí incorporates Renaissance aesthetics all the way down to religious imagery, brought about by the re-embrace of the Catholicism he rejected in the '30s. The critic Robert Hughes charged Dalí's late work with being repetitious, and he does return to themes and symbols throughout his later paintings and sketches. The Virgin Mary, inevitably modeled by his wife and muse, Gala, features in numerous paintings, as do Christian symbols of ostrich eggs (once associated with virgin births) and some of Dalí's own pet motifs such as rhinoceros horns.


But there is also a seemingly contradictory usage of scientific imagery. The detonation of the Hiroshima bomb changed something inside Dalí: whatever he thought about the morality of the bomb -- and those thoughts, as far as I could see as I scanned over the assembled text for the exhibit, were curiously unaddressed -- he recognized that the Atomic Age had begun and art had to adapt to stay contemporary. Gorging on science magazines and studies, Dalí picked up remarkably on the nature of nuclear physics, and he mixed it into his religious imagery, crafting what he called a "nuclear mysticism," a way for him to justify his belief in God but lack of faith. Somehow, he found a way to trace Catholic dogma into the realm of advanced physics, finding proof of God in such a way that he honored his childhood teachings but circumvented dogma in all but an aesthetic sense.

The mash-up of contemporary and classical is at times astonishing. Dalí breaks up that image of his wife as the Virgin Mary to show the Christ-child growing inside of her, bodies elongated into particles to suggest atomic energy as the force that impregnated her. One of the artists best and most well-regarded paintings, Christ of Saint John of the Cross, is painted from an extreme, high angle, looking down on Jesus as he hangs overlooking a smaller landscape of the artist's childhood home. But I did not notice that Jesus was floating over Port Lligat when I stared up at the large canvas; to me it seemed as if he were in space orbiting around Earth, Christ as Major Tom, occupying two figurative heavens at once. Furthermore, Dalí left out the crown of thorns and stakes, removing the torturous element of Christ's execution, turning a moment of guilt-inducing need for atonement and forgiveness into a gentler embodiment of the painter's alternately classic and futuristic view of Jesus.


Unquestionably the highlight of the exhibit, and possibly Dalí's career, is the immense canvas of Santiago El Grande, finally taken from its permanent residence in the Beaverbrook Art Gallery in New Brunswick, Canada. The placard next to the painting advises the viewer to crouch down and look up at 13.5 ft long, 10 ft wide painting for maximum effect. It is an unnecessary instruction for a masterpiece so awe-inspiring that the reverence it engenders will bring one down on a knee anyway.

Depicting St. James, the patron saint of Spain, on horseback, Santiago El Grande represents the apotheosis of Dalí's nuclear mysticism: despite the considerable size of the canvas, St. James and his horse are perfectly proportioned, and the combination of photo-realism and artistic license is incredibly subtle, especially for this artist. The horse's head looked so real I had a difficult time looking at anything else, while the rest of it had a soft blur, making it one with the sea it stands upon. In James' upraised hand is the Crucifix, born aloft as if brandishing a sword, a moment of religious epiphany as impressive as anything in the Sistine Chapel. Surrounding this dominant image are symbols of both religious and atomic significance. Angels appear at the top of the painting, and a highlight of one seamlessly melds into the horse's chest and neck. At the beast's feet, a mushroom cloud swirls, yet Dalí tempers the potentially fearsome sight by placing a jasmine flower in the middle of it, a sign of purity inside the symbol of mass destruction. And that shade of blue! That glowing, heaven-lit iridescence that seems to fluctuate even among the areas of color that remain constant. It's as if Dalí used a normal tint but God decided to always shine a light on it in approval and appreciation. Add one Gala-modeled woman looking on from the shore, and you've got a painting that more than earns its rarely used subtitle: "In Search of a Cosmic Unity."


Other highlights included the sketches and etches Dalí did, either as drafts for paintings or self-contained work he quickly dashed out to support himself -- Dalí once said that he loved nothing more than to finish his breakfast and spend the rest of the morning earning $20,000. But even these illustrations have a beauty, depth and inventiveness to them that belies their classification as minor works. While illustrating some plates for use in an illustrated version of Don Quixote, Dalí used such bizarre techniques as shooting paint squibs out of a musket to splatter the plates, or painting with rhinoceros horns. The plates have a psychedelic quality reminiscent of Ralph Steadman, who vomited acid visions of caricatured horror onto the best work of Hunter S. Thompson.

Obsessed with Vermeer's The Lacemaker, Dalí made his own copy of it, an almost note-perfect recreation with a warmer color tone, though that may be from the centuries of age between original and duplicate. Then expelled the obsession fully by deconstructing the image as he did Raphael's Madonna, finding his beloved rhino horn buried into Vermeer's composition. This second version is as striking for its originality as the proper copy is for its immaculate recreation. In preserving the Old Masters in a contemporary setting, he has dissembled and reassembled them with the modern. Dalí's Lacemaker may look like something out of an issue of Neil Gaiman's Sandman, it has the same respect for classicism with a dash of personal innovation that also dots that comic series.


Many point to Dalí's public persona as a significant reason for the decline of his art in the discussion of the artist; critics charged him with being a fraud and an attention hound, and supporters increasingly agreed. But Dalí's showmanship was just another way to flaunt his weirdness, to let nothing hold back the id he regularly slung onto canvas. There were numerous great 20th century artists who enjoyed attention, of course, but Dalí is the one who got to be an A-lister in the age of Hollywood and rock 'n' roll. Andy Warhol idolized the Spaniard's ability to court press as much as he did the man's art, and for Dalí to remain one of the more recognizable names in art even to laypeople could not simply have come from his talent, not with material so alienating and weird. Sure, he could be kitschy -- one room in the gallery featured his experiments with stereoscopic painting complete with 3-D glasses for maximum effect -- but Salvador Dalí was a mad genius, and the world is less interesting without him. I'm glad I got the the chance to see just how brilliant and daring he was long after so many wrote him off.



P.S. Though this is an example of Dalí's fame-baiting, this clip of the artist's appearance on What's My Line? ran through my head several times as I walked through the High Museum's exhibition. As you can plainly see, Dalí may have loved to be on television and in print, but he never courted the mainstream by dulling himself down. If he became an icon through the media, it's only because he remained so damn strange even within the confines of a frothy game show that one couldn't help but love him.

2010: The Year in Review

Last year, I threw some miscellaneous, mostly nonsense "awards" at the end of my Top 15 list, but this year's batch of recognitions is considerably larger, so I decided to give it its own separate post. In an attempt to beat the awards season (and anti-awards season) alternate lists, I'll go ahead and give lists for direction, acting, etc., and then get back to my old style of spotlighting some curious tidbits that caught my eye this year.

I tried to adhere to the usual four nominees and one winner format for the usual awards categories, and I mostly succeeded with some exceptions where I could not help myself. Otherwise, enjoy, and, as ever, feedback is welcome.

The Return of the Son of the Death of Film Criticism, IN THREEEEEE-DDDDDDD!!

It's been nothing short of a wacky week for films and the people who love them, and it's only Wednesday.


Yesterday, I checked my email and found a news story on Yahoo! that discussed the rise of 3-D technology in films, sparked off by a quote from Martin Scorsese, who asked, "Why couldn't a film like Precious be in 3-D? It should be." Now, I'd like to think that Marty asked this because Precious was so shameless in its exploitative structuring and direction that Lee Daniels probably would have used 3-D if he could have. Imagine: Precious' greasy vomit hurled at the audience, a thrown pan whizzing past Precious' head as the audience cowers, thinking they're about to be hit by cast-iron. Perhaps the addition of a perceived extra dimension could allow the filmmakers to cram even more horrors into the frame.

But Scorsese's expressed curiosity with the 3-D craze reignited by the wild success of Avatar reflects a larger issue within Hollywood: suddenly, everything is being retooled for distribution on 3-D screens. Alice in Wonderland, Toy Story 3, even the Drew Goddard-Joss Whedon horror flick A Cabin in the Woods were all shot on normal cameras and are now in the process of conversion to 3-D. The progenitor of this renewed fad, James Cameron, has himself shot down the movement to retroactively convert every film to 3-D:

We do a film that’s natively authored in 3D — it’s shot in 3D. So they assume from the success of that, that they can just turn movies into 3D. In 8 weeks. You know, just throw a switch on 3D and that’s gonna work somehow. If you wanna make a movie in 3D, MAKE the movie in 3D. It should be a filmmaker-driven process and not a studio-driven process.

Avatar was such a visual revelation because Cameron spent over a decade working on the technology for the film's innovative use of 3-D. It was not a film that "threw" stuff at the audience or existed as a prop. While there were certain drawbacks to the film -- its penchant for inducing headaches, the clear valuing of its tech over storytelling -- it clearly made good use of technology it used from the start. To move in and slap a stereoscopic effect on a film that was already made is just a gimmick.

That is not to say that I wouldn't be fascinated to see a drama in 3-D, particularly if Martin Scorsese made it using proper 3-D cameras from the start. As Jim Emerson recently noted in his terrific article, "Artifice and truth: From Mean Streets to Shutter Island," Scorsese has always been fascinated with the artifice of cinema and how he can mold it into something believable, such as placing post-Brando naturalistic acting in the visibly manufactured, old Hollywood world of New York, New York, or how the projected backgrounds in Shutter Island not only serve as a tribute to the old genre thrillers of Hitchcock and co. but also a commentary on the ultimate truth of the film and its point of view. The genuinely stereoscopic depth afforded by Cameron's 3-D cameras could prove ripe for Scorsese's uncanny ability to draw verisimilitude from cinema's fundamental artificiality. I would also be interested to see De Palma work with the technology, likely to turn it against itself. Yet this movement to 3-D reminds me of a quote that floated about during the resurgence of the so-called "Late Night Wars" at the start of the year.

It's all about the money.

Despite enjoying its most financially successful year in 2009, Hollywood maintains that it's dying out because of movie piracy and the rise of home theater systems. A mass conversion to 3-D could, in the minds of the suits, curb piracy, as a laptop cannot support the technology. Blu-Ray prices have been kept too high for several years now when anyone who truly wanted to push the format would have dropped nearly all Blu prices to what DVDs sell for now, especially in a bum economy. Blu-Ray requires the purchase of new players, a high-definition television and a surround-sound system, yet a number of people still latched on despite the costs because the upfront payment appealed to people who A) didn't want to leave the house and/or B) hate the current theatrical atmosphere.

3-D throws a monkey wrench into the home theater setup. 3-D-capable TVs and players are on their way, but who will have money for them when they arrive? As much as people bitch already about ticket prices, the $7-10 paid for a movie ticket already marks the movies as the cheapest form of entertainment, far less than any high-profile rock concert, to say nothing of live theater and opera. 3-D not only permits the studios from further bumping up prices, it ensures loyalty in the theater chains once more. And as cynical and constrictive as that is, in a way I support the move back to the theater, provided one of two things occurs:

1. Eliminate the 3-D surcharge. If every other film now is going to be in 3-D, then stop the bullshit price-padding. If there will always be a 3-D film waiting in the wings to take over for any screen(s) adapted to the technology then theaters will be practically guaranteed to turn a profit from the conversion. What the studios and chains are doing already is price-gouging. If 3-D becomes the norm and it actually increases theatrical viewership, there is no justification for the price hike. However, I would be fine to pay the extra few bucks, even across the board for all tickets, for the following:

2. Keep the higher prices, and use the extra money for better amenities. If I'm expected to pay more money for a film ticket, I don't want it lining the pocket of billionaires; I want it to help me in some way. (Incidentally, this is why I would prefer tax dollars to go to national healthcare and not Blackwater, or whatever Blackwater is calling itself this week.) Some theaters, such as the Arclight in Los Angeles, already charge extra for tickets, but with that extra money comes perks, such as the guarantee that parents cannot bring extremely young children into R-rated films, thus eradicating the burden of dealing with a screaming baby in a film meant for adults. Further, the Arclight Hollywood charges extra to pay for a theater with finely maintained screens and sound systems, with wider chairs and other touches that set the place apart from other chains. I'm not asking for every theater to be torn down and built anew into the perfect audiovisual experience, but is it too much to ask that chains use the extra bucks to hire some goddamned ushers?

3-D is likely here to stay for the foreseeable future, and perhaps it will yield films that mix the visual intrigue of Avatar with something worth paying attention to. Right now, though, it's just a means of bilking audiences out of more cash in the middle of a recession.

________________________________________________________________

Of course, the 3-D issue was only one headache facing cineastes this week. On an entirely unrelated but equally frustrating note, we began the week with a recap of the recent screening of Gerald Peary's paean to American film criticism, For the Love of Movies, wherein online cinephiles were treated to a casual smackdown by Time film critic and noted curmudgeon-y old git Richard Schickel, who not only took the wind out of the film's sails but overshadowed the rest of the panel of assembled critics and filmmakers by castigating the entire profession of criticism. After admitting that he never really loved movies all that much -- despite spending 43 years writing countless reviews and numerous critical biographies of cinematic artists, making his own documentary films about many of those artists, recording DVD commentaries and even aiding in the restoration of Samuel Fuller's magnum opus, The Big Red One -- Shickel offered up this heartwarming chestnut:

Watching all these kind of earnest people discussing the art or whatever the hell it is of criticism, all that, it just made me so sad. You mean they have nothing else to do?" asked Schickel before adding, "I don't know honestly the function of reviewing anything.

But the fun didn't stop there. When asked if he read any online critics, Schickel turned downright nasty. He responded that he never read other reviews before laying into online critics in the laziest and most malicious manner possible: "'Im not going to go around looking for Harry Knowles [the Ain't It Cool News]. I mean look at that person! Why would anybody just looking at him pay the slightest attention to anything he said?!? He's a gross human being."

Now, I've no love lost for Harry Knowles. Knowles represents every bad impulse of film criticism as a whole -- the "gesticulating" the French critics accuse American reviewers of promoting, the shameless fanboyism, the willingness to be coaxed into positive press in exchange for favors -- and his own Internet geekiness adds an unfortunate layer of childishness to the process, as his reviews can be swayed by a piece of tacky merchandise meant to be marketed to the youth and collectors. But to write off a critic based on his physical appearance is so staggering a concept that one imagines a rogue Internet critic killed Schickel and put on his skin in some elaborate plan to knife print criticism in the heart by spouting such baiting rhetoric. It's an asinine theory to respond to an asinine statement. This line of attack, not on Knowles' lack of critical ethics and his truly criminal usage of capital letters to drive home how AWESOME it was to SEE Indy 4 and BE BLOWN AWAY but upon his weight and appearance, edges Schickel firmly into the realm of the absolute bottom of the barrel of the Web critics he so despises: it's ignorant, unconcerned with the larger picture of critical and filmic history and serves only to promote an arrogant sense of superiority in no way backed up by facts.

Schickel's petulance is backed up by an article posted in the Chronicle of Higher Education by Thomas Doherty, which wastes no time with its headline: "The Death of Film Criticism." Doherty stumbles right out of the gate:

"It sucks," decrees an Internet movie critic, sharing the most common aesthetic reaction in contemporary film criticism. In the viral salon of bloggers and chat-roomers, the finely tuned turns of phrase crafted by an earlier generation of sharp-eyed cinema scribes have been winnowed to a curt kiss-off. In cyberspace everyone can hear you scream. Just log on, vent, and hit send.

Ugh. I know that the simple act of writing "ugh" deflates my own argument against Doherty's condescending attitude toward online critics, but his thrust is at once so outrageous and so banal, overused and ubiquitous that the only possible response can be a terse, phlegmy sigh. Doherty's article rehashes an argument that has existed in some form since Siskel & Ebert hit big and opened a window for people who had more personality than brains to pose as critics in order to get on television. I find that vitriol misdirected, as both Gene Shalit and Jeffrey Lyon made it on T.V. years before Gene and Roger premiered with Sneak Previews. Of course, the difference between Siskel & Ebert and their predecessors was the fact that Sneak Previews was entirely devoted to discussing film, where the Shalits and Lyons of the country previous made do with a brief amount of time in a morning news broadcast. But that old version of the "film criticism is dead" humbug ignored a key facet behind the popularity of Siskel and Ebert: they were legitimately good critics. Yes, Gene caught flak from the Chicago Reader and other publications for spelling errors and fudging plot details, and Roger has long been under scrutiny for apparently enjoying too many movies, but you couldn't argue that these two brought genuine insights to their criticism, and the longer running time afforded to their program over three-minute news briefs allowed them to hold actual discussions of films.

But let us return to the current permutation of Chicken Little proclamations, and by "current" I mean the argument that's been floating around since before the Internet became a fixture in nearly every home in America. Does the ubiquity of blogs erase much of the stature of becoming a film critic? Yes, in the sense that it creates the illusion of equality of opinions for people who are too stupid to differentiate between erudite, thoughtful analysis and "I have an un-researched opinion like you do!" faux-populism. Most people have always written off film criticism as just some person's opinion, and often a pompous one that dares to suggest that most of the films that make their way to the cineplex aren't worth the cost of the ticket regardless of price. Doherty even attempts to tie one of the few serious film scholars he mentions, David Bordwell, into this perception of the failure of film criticism when he notes, "The impact of the academic bloggers on Hollywood's box-office gross is negligible (sorry, David)." What the fuck? When has any critic ever influenced the box office receipts of a film to a notable degree? If you answered anything other than "Never," go stand in the corner. The people who write passionately and authoritatively about film -- Ebert, Kael, Rosenbaum, Bordwell, Wood and God forbid someone in all this mention a critic from another country such as the tragically departed Alexis Tioseco and Nika Bohinc -- do not try (nor have they ever done so) to mold the financial success and failures of certain films to their liking. Sure, people naturally want films they admire to perform well and would love to see a film they find abhorrent buried and forgotten, but the aim of film criticism is appraisal and discussion, not a focus on the pettiest side of art: its monetary worth.

However, both Schickel and Doherty hit upon interesting points based on how criticism is tied to the business side of show biz, despite the best efforts of proper critics. Both call attention to the impact of the dwindling number of newspaper readership on what films writers are allowed to cover, as well as the content of those reviews. Schickel notes that editors, whom he regards as "former beat reporters and city desk guys and rewrite men that managed to stay upright in their chairs before they were finally felled by drink," will "spike your review because it's insufficiently enthusiastic." Doherty mentions the growing number of blogs by critics already hired by print publications:

To watch their backs and retain their 401(k)'s, most print critics have been forced into sleeping with the enemy. As a form of ancillary outreach, blogs, podcasts, and chat-room discussions have become a required part of the job description for print reviewers. Or maybe the print part of the gig is now the ancillary outreach.

Now, both Schickel and Doherty are right, but I fail to see how either point reflects poorly on online criticism. Schickel's contention with paper editors forcing critics to conform more to mass taste -- presumably because of the number of writers on the Internet who cater to more popular films -- is a statement on the decline of print criticism, not the medium of film analysis as a whole. Indeed, I cannot wrap my head around Doherty's idea that the Internet is somehow the "enemy" of print writers. As long as they get paid, do writers honestly give a damn if they're writing online? The paragraph only seems more confusing when, just above it, Doherty listed many of the boons of writing on blogs and Web sites. What critic wouldn't dream of writing without word limits? Who wouldn't love the ability to be able to post screencaps and video clips to back up claims about mise-en-scène or lighting or whatever, as Bordwell does in his essays? What true, passionate film critic wouldn't jump at the chance to talk more about film and to use the freedom of the blog to write about films outside the multiplex, on foreign films, independent cinema and old, forgotten favorites? One need only look at the blogs run by accepted critics -- Ebert, Bordwell, Rosenbaum, Glenn Kenny -- to see how these writers can be so much more perceptive and thorough with the advantage of the Internet.

I suppose that this post, by nature of its subject, must seem self-defensive, but I do not lump myself in with print critics nor high-profile Web-based critics such as Dennis Cozzalio. That's part of what I find so tedious about the sweeping generalizations made about online critics: it is accepted as fact that anyone with a blog has a Napoleon complex and thinks himself the equal of any certified critic. I use this blog as a means to develop writing and critical skills in the hope that, one day, I can confidently call myself a true critic. I am not on the level of Cozzalio, Ed Howard, Jason Bellamy and a number of other online writers I would not hesitate to call critics, just as I am not a mercurial spaz who alternates between cheerleading and trolling depending on how much swag I got from a film's producers. There are divisions in online criticism, countless ones due to the nature of the freedom and possibility afforded to us; likewise, it's foolhardy to align all of the print critics together as if to face the darkness as one. Pete Hammond does not deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as Roger Ebert, who cannot be compared to someone like J. Hoberman except in terms of how they differ.

A lovely counterpoint to the whinging of Schickel and Doherty came in the form of Roger Ebert's return to television on Tuesday to premiere his new computerized voice, modeled to sound like his by splicing audio from his DVD commentaries and his old T.V. spots. Perhaps I'm stretching the importance of this because seeing Roger again was such a heartbreaking yet uplifting experience, but the vision of Roger, who's had to struggle through actual problems and undergone countless surgeries and near-death scenarios, coming on T.V. to re-affirm his joie de vivre and his love for his family and his job is a burning ray of sunshine in the depressive shit propounded this week. Even if we set aside Roger's relationship with his wife, Chaz, which is beyond heartwarming and worthy of its own consideration but not relevant to this discussion, the fact that Ebert still gets out of bed every day and not only still goes to work but absolutely loves his profession, as opposed to Schickel who now bites the hand that feeds out of pettiness, should inspire not only critics but everyone who searches for a dream job. In Ebert, we have the perfect image of cinephilia and the true worth of the critic: a critic doesn't go to the movies to feed a need to feel superior despite never making one's own art (as if eloquent criticism is not itself an art). Critics go to the movies because they love to do so, and they love to talk to people about movies. And that kind of enthusiasm can never die.

Announcement: 1989 Retrospective

Before I start this, I should go ahead and address something, because soon what few people visit this site long enough to read anything but not long enough to read it carefully enough to see how silly and shallow it is are going to accuse me of egoism. So, here goes: I don't give a damn about birthdays. I never have, and I imagine that I never will.

OK, that's settled. However, next Sunday I turn 20, and I might have had the closest thing to birthday excitement in my life. What better way to celebrate, I thought, than to take a look back at the films of the year, the ones I've watched since my childhood, and ones I've yet to see? Yes, this is my life.

So, at least once a week until the end of the year, I will visit and review a film from 1989, and I might even come up with a 'Best of' at the end of the year along with a list of this year's finest. Mostly, though, this is little more than a strange nostalgia trip, one that involves no films I actually saw at the time but a few (Back to the Future Part II, Ghostbusters II, The Little Mermaid) were significant films from my childhood, so there should be some wistfulness to the project.

To keep track of 1989 films profiled, you can click the '1989' tag at the bottom of this post or simply use the actual link: http://armchairc.blogspot.com/search/label/1989. As you can see, I've already got one film profiled from my normal reviewing (I'm surprised there aren't more), and I don't see the need of going back to it. So, if you're as introverted as I am, or you simply get a kick watching someone invent flimsy excuses to continue avoiding human interaction, join me.

Numfar, Do the Dance of Joy! 'Dollhouse' Renewed For Second Season

http://www.thrfeed.com/2009/05/dollhouse-second-season.html

Look at it. Just look at it. I resigned myself to the inevitability of Dollhouse's cancellation long ago. Never mind the history with Fox: it simply wasn't a very good show. Then everything kicked into high gear in the middle of the season and I found myself biting my nails with every Whedonesque update. Early predictions following the finale's abysmal ratings (disregard that cancellation naysaying!) were understandably grim, with every cynical critic and insider betting the farm that Dollhouse would be put to pasture -- I apologize for that horrid metaphor-mixing, but I'm happy right now.

Then, something wonderful happened. News began leaking that Fox entered into serious talks with Whedon and the show runners, suggesting that the network had not simply canned the series in frustration. People started throwing out statistics involving DVR and online playback, as well as the inevitable profit margin afforded by a Whedon series on DVD -- consider how many times Serenity has been re-released on DVD and Blu-Ray in its short lifespan. The actors urged fans to email and even call Fox's offices, resulting in their answering services crashing from the influx. Within two weeks, the tide had completely turned, and all signs pointed to renewal. This can mean only one thing: President Obama has so re-shaped the American landscape and outlook that even Fox television can give us hope.

Now with sources confirming a renewal (the official announcement comes Monday, May 18), I have at last given in to the hope and excitement that I refused to allow myself to feel in the storm of gathering hype. I'm so excited that I'm writing this, a distraction from my usual style of shoddy criticism, because, well, I write when I'm excited (note to self: get laid). But while my head may be in the clouds right now, I've at least kept my toes on the ground, and I realize that Dollhouse still has a hell of a fight ahead of it. So let me discuss some of the conditions that will likely accompany the show's renewal and what they might mean for the series. (WARNING- THE REST OF THIS POST WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS)

1. Budget cuts. Get ready, because they're coming. Most of the early insider reports that hinted towards the show's renewal mentioned that Fox would expect drastic cost reduction to increase the chance for profit. The problem is: what can they cut? The only serious investment in the show was the actual Dollhouse set, but its costs were more or less negligible because they essentially took the place of the pilot the crew never shot (Fox paid for an order of episodes rather than funding a pilot to determine whether or not to pick up an entire series). Everything else has been fairly inexpensive. I don't know how much the actors and crew are being paid, but given that a sizable chunk are relative newcomers, while the rest (Williams, Dushku, Acker, Lennix, etc.) don't seem like the kind of A-listers to draw hefty paychecks, so I wonder if cutting cast would necessarily reduce costs significantly. Nevertheless, fans have been right to point out that Angel was on the receiving end of a budget cut for its fifth season, and most of us can agree that the show flourished under the pressure.

2. The time slot. Placing an un-proven, dense thematic web of a series on Friday nights was an early sign that Fox had little faith in the series' success, but it drew fairly healthy numbers for the time, even if they were consistently well-beneath even modest predictions. When paired with another science fiction show (the ailing Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles) the show did well enough, but when Fox switched the lead-in with the final few episodes of Prison Break, both shows suffered horribly, and Dollhouse never recovered.

Some articles on Whedonesque reported that Fox is planning to keep the show on Fridays, which means one of two things: 1) Fox still doesn't believe that Dollhouse has a shot in hell of making a profit but just lack anything else better to risk or 2) they are genuinely trying to make Fridays a feasible night for profit. With DVR becoming more and more prevalent -- though I still don't have one... -- networks are slowly coming around to the possibilities of such devices. While it allows people to zip past the ads, devices that let consumers watch their favorite shows anytime slightly relieves them of the need to time their shows just right. Maybe we'll get lucky and it'll find its way to Monday nights with 24, but if the show does stay on Fridays, it still has a shot if networks continue to look at the many alternative methods of TV viewing that have popped up in recent years. Just please don't set it up to compete with Lost (as if all the recent Abrams vs. Whedon stuff hasn't been annoying enough already).

3. No more Remote-Free T.V. On the one hand, Remote-Free T.V. was an interesting venture designed to capitalize on the pros and combat the cons of DVR programming. By reducing the average 15-16 minutes of ads per hour to just a few 90-second breaks, Fox banked on the idea that it would take more effort to fast-forward through the brief commercials and would instead just sit and watch those. A great idea for the viewers, but cutting that much potential ad revenue from both Dollhouse and Fringe (which was also on the bubble for a while before getting renewed) threatened a show that was on shaky ground from the start and which both the show runners and executives admitted needed time to grow. While I enjoyed watching Dollhouse's later episodes, getting sucked in for what felt like an eternity, only to look at the clock and see I was only halfway through, the reversion to a normal T.V. format is actually a boon for the show's chances. Cutting out a whole ten minutes of time will save a lot of money, and the ad revenue will increase.


So, we know what Dollhouse has to contend with on the business side of things, but how should it adapt to these situations, not only to ensure profits increase enough to guarantee the show a solid run but to ensure that the show is good enough to deserve one. I do not presume to tell Joss Whedon or his crop of talented writers how to script their shows. Heck, I would not even presume to tell Dan Brown how to write novels -- though if I did, my advice would be brief: "Stop writing." But sitting here in my own cramped space of the blogosphere, what harm could I possibly do? It's not like anyone reads this anyway. So here are a few things I'd like to see happen to ensure that this renewal is not a fluke:

• More Dollhouse-centric episodes. Not only would this cut down on costs, but the most interesting episodes of the first season largely took place within the Dollhouse -- "Man on the Street," "Spy in the House of Love," "Briar Rose." When we stay in the Dollhouse we see it for what it really is: a vile machination run by people so intelligent that they've blinded themselves to the ethical nightmare of their work (or at least they just cover it up well). With Ballard, the only main character to exist outside of the organization, now working for them, we can spend more time in the set that's already been bought and paid for, and we can get to the bottom of the Dollhouse (which in turn could lead to a breakthrough more quickly, allowing at least some of the Dolls to break free and bring the place down).

• Let some characters take the week off. The chief problem with the series so far is that no one, not even the people who don't get their minds wiped at the end of each episode, is progressing very much. Reducing recurring and even main characters' screen time offers the possibility of focus on a select few per episode. After all, many of the best episodes of Buffy and Angel revolved around a single character. Plus, by rotating the cast slightly, you might only have to pay someone for 9 episodes as opposed to 13 (the second season will likely be another truncated one, by the way).

• Don't regress. The finale was clearly set up for the possibility of being the final episode of the series period, and because of it (and because it was made by Tim "there is no hope" Minear) we seemingly ended on a note of futility: Echo got all those personalities wiped, and went back to square one, except for the fact that she remembered her real name. Now that it's coming back, it's imperative that Joss not allow the show to return to the ghastly "Doll of the Week" format that defined the lukewarm and occasionally ice-cold first half. They need to hit the ground running with this one, to deal with the fallout of Alpha's attack and to address what Echo went through. Preferably, someone needs to awaken and fight the Dollhouse, but on nobler terms than the psychotic Alpha.

• Fix Victor. This one is pretty straightforward. I can buy Dr. Saunders' scars, as the real Dr. Saunders was killed before he could patch Whiskey up, and that the lack of a living medical staff left her permanently scarred. But now Whiskey is a qualified surgeon, and scar prevention is advanced even today. It's only natural to assume that they could make him look almost completely normal in the future. Not only does this allow Enver Gjokaj (one of the finest actors on the show) the chance to stay and do something, it reduces makeup time and costs, saving some cash.

• Make Amy Acker a part of the main cast. Yes, I know, it's silly to suggest a promotion at a time when budget cuts are on the horizon. But I went back and watched the last few episodes and, combined with the memories of my Angel binge at the end of last year, I'm certain that Amy Acker is just about the best actress on television. I couldn't name you five people on all four of Joss' shows who bring it as consistently and as amazingly as her (Nathan Fillion and Alan Tudyk are the only ones I might rank above her). I'm not sure why she doesn't get more work (I mean, it's a shallow industry, so even if she had no talent at all, have you looked at her?), but damn it, Joss better not waste this precious resource. Of course, this is totally wishful thinking, as Acker has already been cast as a lead on ABC's new show Happy Town (maybe she auditioned out of fear that Dollhouse would never make it), so the likelihood of her even appearing as frequently as she did are quite low.


So, Kevin Reilly, the man who helped keep NBC's crop of excellent comedies afloat when they all debuted to bad ratings (The Office, 30 Rock) and who became the latest president of FOX, delivered. Perhaps Reilly believes that, like those aforementioned shows with their shaky beginnings, Dollhouse is a potential gold mine, one worth the effort of digging to reach the riches just a bit further beneath the soil. As much as I've taken Fox to task over the years, Reilly's good people, and he happens to be one of the few at the front of a changing entertainment landscape who sees ways to work within the shifting paradigm. This stunning news gives Dollhouse a literal second chance, but we can only hope that, come the fall, Whedon comes out swinging and reminds everyone why he's the best damn writer to ever grace the small screen.