I'll admit, I was one of the many swept up in the original Paranormal Activity social media frenzy back in 2009. From The Blair Witch Project to Cloverfield, this hesitant horror film fan has always appreciated the clever narratological approaches taken by the so-called "found footage" genre. After seeing the sequel last year, I once again stepped up to the plate to defend the franchise and the increasingly exploited plot conventions that had permeated the grander horror classification in the interim. Success breeds imitation, and what Paranormal Activity 2 did well, it did better than its copycats.
Which brings us to this year's iteration, which despite generally favorable reviews is drawing comparisons to the Saw franchise in film and (among the geeky) the Call of Duty franchise for simply putting a new coat of paint on that same old Buick we've taken around the block a few times. This is a fair criticism-much of what happens in the third film of the incredibly successful franchise we've seen before. This demon, we learn, hasn't really invented any new tricks.
Directors Henry Joost and Ariel Schulman of Catfish fame seem loath to mess with Oren Peli's polished premise in any way. Once again, we are introduced to an almost fetishistic (and, in one scene, this classification becomes more literal than families attending the film may appreciate-but then again, if you're making a family trip to the cineplex to see Paranormal Activity 3, you probably have a few skeletons in the closet of your own) videophile male whose desire to document the strange occurrences in his home draws the ire of his live-in lover. The fresh coat of paint here is a nice pastel white--we're in the year 1988, in all its lovely Magnavox glory. The couple in question is Dennis (Christopher Nicholas Smith) and Julie (Lauren Bittner), mother of the sisters who have become the central possessed entities of the series thus far.
Paranormal Activity 3 serves as a serviceable prequel. There is less exposition at the beginning and throughout the film than perhaps this generation of agitated cinema-goers will allow (this reviewer included), and the ending of the film is clearly geared toward the extenuation of the series for a fourth installment around this time in 2012 (predictions of world catastrophe notwithstanding). As we head toward this inevitably inconclusive conclusion, the filmmakers tread an already well-worn narrative path-tension builds, creepier stuff starts happening, and what started out as innocent conversations between a young girl and her imaginary friend turns horrifically violent.
Which is, of course, the most inexcusable of Paranormal Activity 3's transgressions. The series has not yet reached a point where it has become a parody of itself (though a self-referential "jump" joke from a babysitter--I know, another innocent babysitter is pulled into the fray, surprise!--comes agonizingly close to doing so), but the move is flirting with taking the satirical plunge. It may have been the noisy theater I was in for the screening, or the need for audience members to ease the tension with nervous laughter, but from my experience it seems as though audiences are becoming increasingly cognizant of this threat. There was much more laughter and restlessness during Paranormal Activity 3 than I witnessed in the other entries in the series.
The one shining addition to the series is a cinematic choice by the directors that plays off the technical limitations of the 1980s. Lacking the ability to film the entire downstairs because of the limitations of the widths of lenses, Dennis decides to mount a camera on top of an oscillating fan in the downstairs living room/kitchen area that causes the camera to move agonizingly slow from one end of the room to the other. The directors use this for three specific scares that increase in intensity, but one can't help but feel that the trick was under-utilized just a little bit. The clever tactic becomes subsumed by tricks we've already seen before-flying furniture, human beings, and unexplainable auditory cues.
This happens in the conclusion of the film as well. The final 15 minutes, which are advertised to "mess you up for life," recycle the first-person camera techniques of The Blair Witch Project and, in a much more recent example and to a greater effect, Paranormal Activity 2. Yes, some messed up stuff happens. And you probably won't want to think about it as you fall into listless sleep after watching the film (damn noisy water pipes). But to say that the film does anything extraordinary in the last 15 minutes is a misnomer at best and dubious advertising at worst.
The mark of a desperate horror franchise might be to ratchet up the intensity in succeeding installments in the last few moments to make up for the diminished quality of the film that proceeds it. In Paranormal Activity 3's sense, the opposite may be true. The family unit of Julie, Dennis and the girls may be the most believable and sympathetic of the series yet, and certainly the introduction of the imagination of children allows the film to explore some themes that were absent from the other films. But the denoument (or lack therof) in Paranormal Activity 3 left me unsatisfied...even as I was prying my fingers from those poor armrests in the cinema.
Paranormal Activity 3 does what it needs to do. It moves the series along and provides just enough fright to keep the audience's faith in the filmmakers going. The characters, while fitting into roles already established in the franchise, allow for some inspired performances from another cast of talented non-superstars. The scares, while also derivative, at times (and especially in the final few moments) break out of the expected mold and produce some organic and original horrifying moments. But one gets the feeling that the found footage genre, and the wonderful installment in this series that revitalized it two years ago, is walking a thin line of irrelevancy.
Verdict: 3/5 stars
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Sunday, October 2, 2011
A Sticky Floors and Salty Popcorn Review-Moneyball
*I would like to apologize for the lack of updates in the Shallow End recently. My grad studies have migrated my blogging vigor to misplacedjayhawkreporter. Expect a few more frequent updates when my editing/reporting duties die down next semester.*
So says Billy Beane (Brad Pitt) at a pivotal moment of the denouement in Bennett Miller's "Moneyball." Writ large, we might say the director and film have a hard time not being Romantic about American individualism.
Like Michael Lewis' book that inspired the film, baseball is merely a narrative overhang in Moneyball, a kind of distraction for the sports crowd while more subversive plot threads are un-spooled within. At the center of this narrative web is Beane himself, who is presented as a fractured former player whose impulse to be smarter than the game is endeared emotionally to the audience in a series of biographical flashbacks. This produces the effect of a biopic without an emphasis on the bio, and provides the framework for a climactic merging of timelines that underscores the metaphoric significance of the film as a whole.
Pitt embodies Beane with such perfection that even the tired clubhouse tirades become matters of high drama. Pitt's Beane broods, but Bennett deftly unfolds a narrative that makes this brooding palatable. Voices early in the season about the failure of the A's inundate both the audience and Beane on-screen, exacerbating the "us against hte world" mentality that is established in the opening moments of the film. Actual footage of the 2001 American League Divisional Series dances across the screen, devoid of any type of sociopolitical slant aside from the flashing of the respective payrolls of the two teams before the game's final out. The Yankees, who would eventually lose the World Series to the Arizona Diamondbacks, triumph over the A's in a scene that has the potential to be tasteless in its disregard for post-9/11 sensitivities until it flashes the smiling mug of Rudolph Giuliani. Beane still smashes a transistor radio into tiny bits, and the frame of Moneyball is born.
The other half of the "us against the world" mentality is filled in (literally, the character Peter Brand is merely an amalgamation of several associates Billy Beane worked with at the A's in the early 2000s) by Jonah Hill. Hill plays the part with his usual pathetic charm and naivety, which is entirely called for in his depiction of 25-year-old statistics expert Brand. As the film progresses, a clear rapport develops between Hill and Pitt that keeps the heartfelt moments between them from becoming melodramatic. In particular, a scene near the end of the reel has Beane and Brand reviewing film of a game with Brand's intent to show Billy just how important what he's done to the game of baseball is. Aaron Sorkin is incredibly evident in this scene, as Brand's admission that the game film they have just watched is a "a metaphor" astutely deflects the schmaltzy weight of the scene. Sorkin's writing never lets you forget that this is a sports film, just as "The West Wing" was a show about White House politics, "A Few Good Men" was a courtroom drama and "The Social Networks was "the Facebook movie."
As teased above, though, Moneyball is about much more than the game of baseball. It's equal parts biopic, conventional sports story and Ben Franklin-esque American autobiography. In no scene is this more apparent than when they all come crashing together at the end of the A's record-breaking winning streak in September of 2002. I had a very real moment of cognitive dissonance watching my beloved Kansas City Royals attempt to figuratively destroy the dream of a process they themselves probably should have been employing at the time (don't forget which green pasture Johnny Damon left first, movie-goers), but the importance of this sequence was in no way diminished by my boyhood biases. As Scott Hatteberg (Chris Pratt) rounds the bases after a walk-off home run to win the A's 20th consecutive game, images from Beane's distant and recent past flicker across the screen in a very Roy Hobbs-eseque moment. The success of a man has translated to the success of a team and, by extension, an idea.
Moneyball succeeds in remaining neutral on the analytic/Romantic debate about baseball, as we leave Beane choosing loyalty over prosperity and to the strains of his daughter's guitar and lyrics identifying Beane as a "loser." In an analytically cold sense, maybe this is true. But the Romantic story of American ingenuity expertly draped over this sports film is much more satisfying.
Verdict: 4.5/5 stars
"It's hard not to be romantic about baseball."
So says Billy Beane (Brad Pitt) at a pivotal moment of the denouement in Bennett Miller's "Moneyball." Writ large, we might say the director and film have a hard time not being Romantic about American individualism.
Like Michael Lewis' book that inspired the film, baseball is merely a narrative overhang in Moneyball, a kind of distraction for the sports crowd while more subversive plot threads are un-spooled within. At the center of this narrative web is Beane himself, who is presented as a fractured former player whose impulse to be smarter than the game is endeared emotionally to the audience in a series of biographical flashbacks. This produces the effect of a biopic without an emphasis on the bio, and provides the framework for a climactic merging of timelines that underscores the metaphoric significance of the film as a whole.
Pitt embodies Beane with such perfection that even the tired clubhouse tirades become matters of high drama. Pitt's Beane broods, but Bennett deftly unfolds a narrative that makes this brooding palatable. Voices early in the season about the failure of the A's inundate both the audience and Beane on-screen, exacerbating the "us against hte world" mentality that is established in the opening moments of the film. Actual footage of the 2001 American League Divisional Series dances across the screen, devoid of any type of sociopolitical slant aside from the flashing of the respective payrolls of the two teams before the game's final out. The Yankees, who would eventually lose the World Series to the Arizona Diamondbacks, triumph over the A's in a scene that has the potential to be tasteless in its disregard for post-9/11 sensitivities until it flashes the smiling mug of Rudolph Giuliani. Beane still smashes a transistor radio into tiny bits, and the frame of Moneyball is born.
The other half of the "us against the world" mentality is filled in (literally, the character Peter Brand is merely an amalgamation of several associates Billy Beane worked with at the A's in the early 2000s) by Jonah Hill. Hill plays the part with his usual pathetic charm and naivety, which is entirely called for in his depiction of 25-year-old statistics expert Brand. As the film progresses, a clear rapport develops between Hill and Pitt that keeps the heartfelt moments between them from becoming melodramatic. In particular, a scene near the end of the reel has Beane and Brand reviewing film of a game with Brand's intent to show Billy just how important what he's done to the game of baseball is. Aaron Sorkin is incredibly evident in this scene, as Brand's admission that the game film they have just watched is a "a metaphor" astutely deflects the schmaltzy weight of the scene. Sorkin's writing never lets you forget that this is a sports film, just as "The West Wing" was a show about White House politics, "A Few Good Men" was a courtroom drama and "The Social Networks was "the Facebook movie."
As teased above, though, Moneyball is about much more than the game of baseball. It's equal parts biopic, conventional sports story and Ben Franklin-esque American autobiography. In no scene is this more apparent than when they all come crashing together at the end of the A's record-breaking winning streak in September of 2002. I had a very real moment of cognitive dissonance watching my beloved Kansas City Royals attempt to figuratively destroy the dream of a process they themselves probably should have been employing at the time (don't forget which green pasture Johnny Damon left first, movie-goers), but the importance of this sequence was in no way diminished by my boyhood biases. As Scott Hatteberg (Chris Pratt) rounds the bases after a walk-off home run to win the A's 20th consecutive game, images from Beane's distant and recent past flicker across the screen in a very Roy Hobbs-eseque moment. The success of a man has translated to the success of a team and, by extension, an idea.
Moneyball succeeds in remaining neutral on the analytic/Romantic debate about baseball, as we leave Beane choosing loyalty over prosperity and to the strains of his daughter's guitar and lyrics identifying Beane as a "loser." In an analytically cold sense, maybe this is true. But the Romantic story of American ingenuity expertly draped over this sports film is much more satisfying.
Verdict: 4.5/5 stars
Sunday, September 11, 2011
My 9/11 memories
I debated for a long time whether to write a "What were you doing on 9/11?" piece. All Americans were affected in some way or another that day, to be sure. But reading the accounts of those personally impacted in the Time magazines that have arrived at my doorstep over the past couple of weeks kind of killed my desire to add what I felt to the conversation.
I wasn't directly affected by the attacks. I have some relatives who are/were police officers and firefighters, and I'm extremely proud of them, but they are a part of a community I don't feel attached to on a personal level in any way. The fact that those men and women who charged into the towers that morning were officers of the law or sworn protectors of the citizenry wasn't what mattered, it was their courage to do what was right and necessary.
But perhaps "directly affected" is a misnomer. What American didn't have a strong visceral reaction to seeing the images of the towers engulfed in flames for the first time on that morning ten years ago? Who among us can honestly say our lives weren't changed by the attacks? I'll admit I didn't have a ton of perspective when watching the television coverage in Ms. Sailor's eighth grade Gifted Language Arts class that morning. I didn't know what al-Qaida was. I wasn't even sure of the tenants of the Muslim faith. I was going on 14. My most vivid memory of the day was looking up at the sky, constantly. In Mr. Washburn's fifth period social studies class, we were glued to the TV, as we had been in all my classes that day. As he tried to put what was happening in context, I remember staring out the window at William Jewell on the hill about two miles away. The sky was so damn blue that day, it looked like it could envelop that red facade. And part of me wanted it to, to somehow reveal that this had all been a terrible dream, that I was still asleep in that same bed I went to sleep in the night before.
After school activities were canceled. All the neighborhood kids were home together for the first time since we were in elementary school. We got together and played baseball in a backyard-the first time we'd done that in at least three years, and the only time we've played since. I don't know if we were all wrapped up in the same desire for nostalgic certainty, or we didn't want to be alone. Either way, we tried to keep the chatter on things other than what was going on, but that was an exercise in idyllic futility.
In the evening, my whole family piled into my dad's Honda and went to church. It was the only time I can remember being there on a Tuesday night, except for holidays. I don't remember much about the service. It seemed like another one of those experiences where people were trying to grasp for something concrete on a day that made no sense. I remember when we left, either my brother or I asked my dad what was going to happen now, was everything going to be different? Nobody knew.
I crawled back into bed that night in a state of new normal. I always fell asleep and woke up either watching MTV or ESPN back in those days. MTV got in the habit of showing the same videos on a loop (I saw that Nelly/country "It's All in My Head" video at least fifteen times in one week) in between news coverage and shots from the Times Square Studio where they'd shot thousands of episodes of TRL I'd seen over the past two years. Carson Daly, as sad as it sounds, was my way into New York for a couple of weeks, until Jon Stewart came back on The Daily Show. Gradually, the new normal became the comfortable normal. But it took awhile, and I know for some it never will be a comfortable normal. Viewing the site of the towers in the summer of 2007, and seeing the destruction that was still being cleaned up, "comfortable normal" seems like a wrong phrase. But humans need to rationalize, and we need to filter experiences in order to progress in life. I hope that process has brought comfort to some over the past ten years.
To those still suffering, may you find strength. To those of you seeking meaning, know that it likely won't come in this life. To everyone reflecting on your experiences and emotions today, you are not alone.
I wasn't directly affected by the attacks. I have some relatives who are/were police officers and firefighters, and I'm extremely proud of them, but they are a part of a community I don't feel attached to on a personal level in any way. The fact that those men and women who charged into the towers that morning were officers of the law or sworn protectors of the citizenry wasn't what mattered, it was their courage to do what was right and necessary.
But perhaps "directly affected" is a misnomer. What American didn't have a strong visceral reaction to seeing the images of the towers engulfed in flames for the first time on that morning ten years ago? Who among us can honestly say our lives weren't changed by the attacks? I'll admit I didn't have a ton of perspective when watching the television coverage in Ms. Sailor's eighth grade Gifted Language Arts class that morning. I didn't know what al-Qaida was. I wasn't even sure of the tenants of the Muslim faith. I was going on 14. My most vivid memory of the day was looking up at the sky, constantly. In Mr. Washburn's fifth period social studies class, we were glued to the TV, as we had been in all my classes that day. As he tried to put what was happening in context, I remember staring out the window at William Jewell on the hill about two miles away. The sky was so damn blue that day, it looked like it could envelop that red facade. And part of me wanted it to, to somehow reveal that this had all been a terrible dream, that I was still asleep in that same bed I went to sleep in the night before.
After school activities were canceled. All the neighborhood kids were home together for the first time since we were in elementary school. We got together and played baseball in a backyard-the first time we'd done that in at least three years, and the only time we've played since. I don't know if we were all wrapped up in the same desire for nostalgic certainty, or we didn't want to be alone. Either way, we tried to keep the chatter on things other than what was going on, but that was an exercise in idyllic futility.
In the evening, my whole family piled into my dad's Honda and went to church. It was the only time I can remember being there on a Tuesday night, except for holidays. I don't remember much about the service. It seemed like another one of those experiences where people were trying to grasp for something concrete on a day that made no sense. I remember when we left, either my brother or I asked my dad what was going to happen now, was everything going to be different? Nobody knew.
I crawled back into bed that night in a state of new normal. I always fell asleep and woke up either watching MTV or ESPN back in those days. MTV got in the habit of showing the same videos on a loop (I saw that Nelly/country "It's All in My Head" video at least fifteen times in one week) in between news coverage and shots from the Times Square Studio where they'd shot thousands of episodes of TRL I'd seen over the past two years. Carson Daly, as sad as it sounds, was my way into New York for a couple of weeks, until Jon Stewart came back on The Daily Show. Gradually, the new normal became the comfortable normal. But it took awhile, and I know for some it never will be a comfortable normal. Viewing the site of the towers in the summer of 2007, and seeing the destruction that was still being cleaned up, "comfortable normal" seems like a wrong phrase. But humans need to rationalize, and we need to filter experiences in order to progress in life. I hope that process has brought comfort to some over the past ten years.
To those still suffering, may you find strength. To those of you seeking meaning, know that it likely won't come in this life. To everyone reflecting on your experiences and emotions today, you are not alone.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
A Sticky Floors and Salty Popcorn Review-Grave Encounters
It's about that time again. Time to break out the candy corn, toilet paper rolls and adult diapers for another thrilling season of Halloween cinematic fare. To that end comes "Grave Encounters," a film that piggy-backs on a lot of what we've seen before in the genre while also providing a nice amount of meta-commentary on the cynicism for the paranormal that shows like Ghost Adventures (ripped off pretty heavily here) engender in the general public.
This year's vogue "found footage" flick comes to us courtesy of the Vicious Brothers, making their directorial debut in a rather safe formula. "The Blair Witch Project," "Cloverfield" and the "Paranormal Activity" films have all made millions of dollars in profit at the box office, and who can blame some indie film-makers from thinking they can facilitate horrific lightning striking twice again?
The problem with "Grave Encounters" is that it does none of the things those other films do to make us feel a part of the action. The movie does an excellent job of establishing characters we may actually have sympathy for early on, but relegates them to blubbering buffoons quickly in the second act (if you don't laugh at the fate of Houston Gray, purported paranormal psychic extraordinaire, you weren't watching close enough). The only character who feels like he may have some real weight is the film's main protagonist, Lance Preston (Sean Rogerson), whose Zak Baggans vomit-inducing routine actually shifts into real, disturbing horror as the film progresses.
Another mistake "Grave Encounters" makes is to allow gaps in the narrative to pry viewers from their visceral reaction to the events on-screen. Some creepy shit happens, to be sure, and that's important for these kinds of films, but with "Cloverfield" and "Paranormal Activity" there was always a sense that we were building to some kind of understanding-that the rational world would hold some kind of explanation or means of understanding what we were seeing in the end.
In a bold move, "Grave Encounters" throws realism completely out the window in the middle of the film. It's an interesting take on the genre, but what exactly happens is never fully explained. The significance of what we see on screen, then, is marred completely by the impossibility of contextualizing the images that flicker before our eyes. Okay, a dead woman rises out of a bathtub (real original, guys), some hands come out of a wall, and people disappear. Got it. Tell me what it means, please.
"Grave Encounters" shows flashes of self-referential brilliance in the opening moments that are marred by silly execution at times and overly deferential scares. That doesn't mean you shouldn't turn out the lights and give it a shot, though. Because when the film does scare you, it scares you in a big way. And its most disturbing scenes rank right up there with the classics of the genre. Just make sure you've got those Depends ready.
Verdict: 3/5 stars
If you have vertigo, you might want to sit this one out.
This year's vogue "found footage" flick comes to us courtesy of the Vicious Brothers, making their directorial debut in a rather safe formula. "The Blair Witch Project," "Cloverfield" and the "Paranormal Activity" films have all made millions of dollars in profit at the box office, and who can blame some indie film-makers from thinking they can facilitate horrific lightning striking twice again?
The problem with "Grave Encounters" is that it does none of the things those other films do to make us feel a part of the action. The movie does an excellent job of establishing characters we may actually have sympathy for early on, but relegates them to blubbering buffoons quickly in the second act (if you don't laugh at the fate of Houston Gray, purported paranormal psychic extraordinaire, you weren't watching close enough). The only character who feels like he may have some real weight is the film's main protagonist, Lance Preston (Sean Rogerson), whose Zak Baggans vomit-inducing routine actually shifts into real, disturbing horror as the film progresses.
Another mistake "Grave Encounters" makes is to allow gaps in the narrative to pry viewers from their visceral reaction to the events on-screen. Some creepy shit happens, to be sure, and that's important for these kinds of films, but with "Cloverfield" and "Paranormal Activity" there was always a sense that we were building to some kind of understanding-that the rational world would hold some kind of explanation or means of understanding what we were seeing in the end.
In a bold move, "Grave Encounters" throws realism completely out the window in the middle of the film. It's an interesting take on the genre, but what exactly happens is never fully explained. The significance of what we see on screen, then, is marred completely by the impossibility of contextualizing the images that flicker before our eyes. Okay, a dead woman rises out of a bathtub (real original, guys), some hands come out of a wall, and people disappear. Got it. Tell me what it means, please.
"Grave Encounters" shows flashes of self-referential brilliance in the opening moments that are marred by silly execution at times and overly deferential scares. That doesn't mean you shouldn't turn out the lights and give it a shot, though. Because when the film does scare you, it scares you in a big way. And its most disturbing scenes rank right up there with the classics of the genre. Just make sure you've got those Depends ready.
Verdict: 3/5 stars
Sunday, August 21, 2011
A Place You Never Thought You'd Be
I don't like the idea of using a blog solely for the purpose of personal narrative. To me, a web log should be an outlet to explore ideas and practice the skill of persuasive or argumentative writing. You should always have a point, and you should arrive at it rather quickly in a decisive and satisfying manner.
Of course, sometimes we break the rules to prove a point, or to do something we couldn't possibly have done if we allowed ourselves to become prisoners of habit.
So, I feel the need to explain the reason for the lack of posting on this blog over the past couple of weeks. And the only way I can do that is to destroy the persona and speak to you, the reader, as plainly as I can. Part of the reason I haven't posted here has been technological constraints. My internet service was just hooked up yesterday here in Columbia and I'd been mooching bandwidth from the neighborhood Hy-Vee. You can only refill your coffee cup so many times before that kitchen attendant starts to wonder if maybe you're a transient beatnik poet who's decided to fuel his next cross-country masterpiece with Caribou and crab rangoon. I blame my long hair more than anything.
But I could have posted at Hy-Vee or any other free wi-fi spot I happened to stumble into over the past several weeks. The real reason I didn't post was much more complicated than that. This isn't where I thought I'd be four or five years ago. And, to be honest, it extends beyond the whole Kansas fan selling his soul conundrum. If it was just that, I'd have torched my new student I.D. card with the giant Bengal tiger staring me down and strutted down Broadway with my KU National Champions '08 shirt a long time ago.
No, this is more of an existential concern of mine. I know I want to be a journalist. I'm excited that I have a skill set that I believe will prove useful in informing the public and serving a basic civic function within a democratic society. I know all of that. I knew that when I applied here last fall, and when I made plans to attend here last spring.
Proust said that the individual is never whole or unified, but merely a succession of selves throughout time. The idea implies progress--or, at the very least, some sort of constant evolution in our personality and consciousness. Sometimes, when I find myself in a place I never thought I'd be, doing something completely different than what I've done before, I can't help but wonder if that succession of selves must always build toward something, or if we float around on the whims of a moment and where we end up, be it pre-ordained by a benevolent force or not, is unquestioningly what we are meant to do.
Tomorrow, I officially begin my education at the Graduate School of Journalism at the University of Missouri. I'm excited, nervous, but most of all curious.
It's hard to write about video games, TV and what kind of violent circus is being held in the Kansas City Chiefs locker room with all that floating around in your head. But I promise to try. Stay tuned to the Shallow End, it's going to be an interesting fall.
Of course, sometimes we break the rules to prove a point, or to do something we couldn't possibly have done if we allowed ourselves to become prisoners of habit.
So, I feel the need to explain the reason for the lack of posting on this blog over the past couple of weeks. And the only way I can do that is to destroy the persona and speak to you, the reader, as plainly as I can. Part of the reason I haven't posted here has been technological constraints. My internet service was just hooked up yesterday here in Columbia and I'd been mooching bandwidth from the neighborhood Hy-Vee. You can only refill your coffee cup so many times before that kitchen attendant starts to wonder if maybe you're a transient beatnik poet who's decided to fuel his next cross-country masterpiece with Caribou and crab rangoon. I blame my long hair more than anything.
But I could have posted at Hy-Vee or any other free wi-fi spot I happened to stumble into over the past several weeks. The real reason I didn't post was much more complicated than that. This isn't where I thought I'd be four or five years ago. And, to be honest, it extends beyond the whole Kansas fan selling his soul conundrum. If it was just that, I'd have torched my new student I.D. card with the giant Bengal tiger staring me down and strutted down Broadway with my KU National Champions '08 shirt a long time ago.
No, this is more of an existential concern of mine. I know I want to be a journalist. I'm excited that I have a skill set that I believe will prove useful in informing the public and serving a basic civic function within a democratic society. I know all of that. I knew that when I applied here last fall, and when I made plans to attend here last spring.
Proust said that the individual is never whole or unified, but merely a succession of selves throughout time. The idea implies progress--or, at the very least, some sort of constant evolution in our personality and consciousness. Sometimes, when I find myself in a place I never thought I'd be, doing something completely different than what I've done before, I can't help but wonder if that succession of selves must always build toward something, or if we float around on the whims of a moment and where we end up, be it pre-ordained by a benevolent force or not, is unquestioningly what we are meant to do.
Tomorrow, I officially begin my education at the Graduate School of Journalism at the University of Missouri. I'm excited, nervous, but most of all curious.
It's hard to write about video games, TV and what kind of violent circus is being held in the Kansas City Chiefs locker room with all that floating around in your head. But I promise to try. Stay tuned to the Shallow End, it's going to be an interesting fall.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Sticky Floors and Salty Popcorn-"The Fighter" Review
The Fighter does several things a great sports movie needs to do. It introduces us to a down-on-his-luck journeyman with one last legitimate shot at glory. Mark Wahlberg deftly steps into the shoes of Mickey Ward, a welterweight who has been used one too many times as a "stepping stone" (read: fighter pulverized by others en route to their own title shots) by his overbearing family. Ward's mother and manager, Alice (Academy Award-Winning Supporting Actress Melissa Leo) has a little trouble releasing the umbilical cord, and proves completely inept at getting her younger son into a fight that will allow him to rise in the ranks of his weight class (can someone please draw me a diagram that explains who is the champion of the world in boxing in a weight class anymore? It's like trying to figure out what "spending cut triggers" mean). Meanwhile, Mickey has to deal with his older brother Dicky (played with heart-rending pathos by Skeleto-ahem-Christian Bale), a crack-addicted former fighter himself whose unwillingness to let go of the past (he "knocked down" Sugar Ray Leonard in the late 70s) is only surpassed by his inability to be counted on when Micky needs him.
Add to this bubbling cauldron of familial dysfunction the presence of local law enforcement as Mickey's new trainer after Dicky lets him down for the final time and goes to jail, and a love interest (Amy Adams) with her own thoughts on how Micky can reach the top, and you have the perfect recipe for disaster. Which is precisely what happens about an hour into the movie. Then, a metaphoric cake delivered to his old crack buddies by Dicky himself and one porch-top confession of guilt later, and everyone is back behind Micky again as he fights for the unlikeliest of titles against a far superior foreign fighter.
Is all this sounding familiar? That's because it is. The crack addiction angle with Dicky is perhaps the most interesting and emotionally-realistic part of the film, and undoubtedly as the credits roll the audience gets the sense that Dicky's sobriety is a much more significant accomplishment than David O. Russel's titular hero. It's unsurprising, as a result, that Mark Wahlberg didn't get the dap most that he deserved for portraying Mickey. The movie never really seems to be about him exclusively, even when that last triumphant punch is inevitably thrown. This is no fault of Wahlberg's-the character quite simply goes through most of the movie without a spine. When he finally does develop the backbone to stand up to his brother and mother, it is the actions of others that allow a peaceful resolution and all of his loved ones standing in the corner behind him. "The Fighter" is less a testament to the resiliency of an unsung warrior (even though the obligatory training montage in the middle of the film wants to force you to think otherwise), but more about the wily-nily Cinderalla story that emerges as a result of forces beyond Mickey's control.
The Fighter is an excellent sports movie. It is also a stylish and endearing journey down a well-beaten path, with lots of pretty performances to look at. This "based on a true story" feature somehow still winds up playing out like a Disney miracle (with a larger portion of drug use and language than another Mickey would find acceptable), and less a true character exploration of the titular hero. We should expect more from Oscar-nominated motion pictures.
Verdict: 3.0/5 stars
Add to this bubbling cauldron of familial dysfunction the presence of local law enforcement as Mickey's new trainer after Dicky lets him down for the final time and goes to jail, and a love interest (Amy Adams) with her own thoughts on how Micky can reach the top, and you have the perfect recipe for disaster. Which is precisely what happens about an hour into the movie. Then, a metaphoric cake delivered to his old crack buddies by Dicky himself and one porch-top confession of guilt later, and everyone is back behind Micky again as he fights for the unlikeliest of titles against a far superior foreign fighter.
Is all this sounding familiar? That's because it is. The crack addiction angle with Dicky is perhaps the most interesting and emotionally-realistic part of the film, and undoubtedly as the credits roll the audience gets the sense that Dicky's sobriety is a much more significant accomplishment than David O. Russel's titular hero. It's unsurprising, as a result, that Mark Wahlberg didn't get the dap most that he deserved for portraying Mickey. The movie never really seems to be about him exclusively, even when that last triumphant punch is inevitably thrown. This is no fault of Wahlberg's-the character quite simply goes through most of the movie without a spine. When he finally does develop the backbone to stand up to his brother and mother, it is the actions of others that allow a peaceful resolution and all of his loved ones standing in the corner behind him. "The Fighter" is less a testament to the resiliency of an unsung warrior (even though the obligatory training montage in the middle of the film wants to force you to think otherwise), but more about the wily-nily Cinderalla story that emerges as a result of forces beyond Mickey's control.
The Fighter is an excellent sports movie. It is also a stylish and endearing journey down a well-beaten path, with lots of pretty performances to look at. This "based on a true story" feature somehow still winds up playing out like a Disney miracle (with a larger portion of drug use and language than another Mickey would find acceptable), and less a true character exploration of the titular hero. We should expect more from Oscar-nominated motion pictures.
Verdict: 3.0/5 stars
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Why Roger Clemens Mistrial is Good for the American Sports Fan
As a preface to this argument, I'd like to mention I've spent the past week at the Institute for Humane Studies' summer seminar on Liberty & Society. While there, I learned a great deal of economic and political theory that has been burrowing its way into my brain and worldview over the past several days. This essay is an attempt to synthesize some of those concepts with a familiar topic. Feel free to punch holes anywhere you see fit.
Boy, the justice system just can't catch a break this month, can it? First, we let a clearly-guilty murderer off the hook for the death of her infant daughter, and just a few weeks later federal prosecutors gloriously blunder the perjury case of Roger Clemens. We're talking Mike McDermott after 48 hours on a poker run-levels of incompetency. Howard Bryant, of ESPN.com, reports an attorney familiar with the workings of the federal court and judge who presided over the case called the mistake of producing disallowed evidence "a colossal" and "total screw-up." Like Barry Bonds, Clemens' numbers post-40 defy description. A record of 61-33, ERA totals routinely hovering around 3.00 (including a mind-numbing 1.87 in 2005 with Houston), and a K/BB ratio (around 3.00 as well) that makes Luke Hochevar (1.50 this year) look like a straight-out-of-penal-league Rich Vaughn. If anybody could be proved to be juicing, it had to be Clemens, right?
So thought the government. The Congressional hearing on steroids in baseball in 2005 was ostensibly conducted (as Rep. Henry Waxman suggested) to address the public health concern of America's children using steroids. By publicizing the proceedings and subpoenaing the biggest names in the sport, the committee and the media instead sensationalized the issue to construct a kind of kangaroo court against baseball, with several big-name players being brought before the committee and ducking questions by invoking their Constitutional rights (or, in the case of Rafael Palmeiro, offering themselves as sacrifices to the Ironic gods). George Mitchell's 2007 report to Congress was requested by baseball commissioner Bud Selig after the release of Game of Shadows, an investigative look at steroid use in baseball in the late 90s and early 2000s, was published in 2006 by Lance Williams and Mark Fainaru-Wada. In effect, Selig "passed the buck" on his obligation to keep baseball clean to the federal government, allowing political agents to use the platform to further their interests (and attain fame) and spend taxpayer dollars in the defense of what became a kind of public good in the aftermath of the scandal.
The government's involvement, as requested by Selig, was based on several assumptions. The first is the aforementioned link between steroid use by professionals and among the nation's children. The reasoning, of course, was that America's youth baseball players would need to begin using human growth hormone to keep up with their peers early on. This approach assumes a public smear campaign of baseball's venerated stars would be more effective in limiting steroid use than policies of individual athletic associations and schools. The government, in this instance, becomes the whistle-blower. I do not argue that perhaps a whistle-blower was necessary in the issue of drug use among the nation's young athletes. What I am arguing is that perhaps the federal government was not the most effective agent in doing so. Certainly, this appears to be the case in the bungling of the federal perjury cases against Bonds and Clemens, which have resulted in merely one minor conviction against Bonds despite the exorbitant amounts of taxpayer money spent in trying the cases.
Second, the government's involvement as a protectionist agency indicates that the American people wanted baseball to be clean. Such an argument is based on the moral presumption that our athletes and athletic contests should somehow uphold the values we would like to see reflected in society: honesty, integrity and fairness. In actuality, sports are a product served to a consumer base that generally acts with little (if any) of these ideals in mind. Tavi Sojo's Bleacher Report study "The Effects of the Steroid Era on the 2008 Baseball Season" comes to the conclusion that the fans simply didn't care about truth and fairness, as long as balls were flying out of the park. In 2003, the BALCO controversy broke and so began the now 8-year period of steroid skepticism that lingers in almost all media coverage of baseball (just ask Jose Bautista). Yet, fan attendance from 2004-2007 continued a climb to unprecedented levels. However, policies instituted by the findings of the Mitchell Report drove home runs down and pitching and defensive statistical categories up in 2008, according to Sojo's numbers research. As a result of these developments, average attendance dropped for the first time in five years. That trend has continued through 2010, though of course it's important to remember that the recent economic downturn has probably also impacted attendance figures. Having said that, it doesn't appear as though "making the game clean" has had any significant impact on the number of people coming out to the park each night, and potentially drove away fans looking to see the long ball more often.
This, of course, gets at the heart of the third and most important assumption from an economics standpoint that led to government intervention in rules-making in Major League Baseball: that fans simply do not act rationally, and that in their love of offense they were driving players to harm themselves through the use of banned substances. The government, in this scenario, had to step in to protect the players from themselves and the voracious demands of power from growing numbers of baseball enthusiasts. I will refer to this presumption as "The WWE Effect." Quite simply, the fear follows the line that, if players continued to respond to the desires of fans who want to see 600-foot home runs, they were going to wind up looking like Triple H or Mr. Perfect instead of, say, this. In effect, government intervention becomes a safeguard against an arms race or, say, housing bubble in which the human cost would be seen in debilitating physical handicaps for players later in life who used PEDs during their playing days. Government, it could be argued, would speed up the process of demonstrating the dangers of these drugs by dragging the names of the players using through the mud and encouraging fans that they were "harming the game" to save themselves from physical issues later in life.
Boy, the justice system just can't catch a break this month, can it? First, we let a clearly-guilty murderer off the hook for the death of her infant daughter, and just a few weeks later federal prosecutors gloriously blunder the perjury case of Roger Clemens. We're talking Mike McDermott after 48 hours on a poker run-levels of incompetency. Howard Bryant, of ESPN.com, reports an attorney familiar with the workings of the federal court and judge who presided over the case called the mistake of producing disallowed evidence "a colossal" and "total screw-up." Like Barry Bonds, Clemens' numbers post-40 defy description. A record of 61-33, ERA totals routinely hovering around 3.00 (including a mind-numbing 1.87 in 2005 with Houston), and a K/BB ratio (around 3.00 as well) that makes Luke Hochevar (1.50 this year) look like a straight-out-of-penal-league Rich Vaughn. If anybody could be proved to be juicing, it had to be Clemens, right?
So thought the government. The Congressional hearing on steroids in baseball in 2005 was ostensibly conducted (as Rep. Henry Waxman suggested) to address the public health concern of America's children using steroids. By publicizing the proceedings and subpoenaing the biggest names in the sport, the committee and the media instead sensationalized the issue to construct a kind of kangaroo court against baseball, with several big-name players being brought before the committee and ducking questions by invoking their Constitutional rights (or, in the case of Rafael Palmeiro, offering themselves as sacrifices to the Ironic gods). George Mitchell's 2007 report to Congress was requested by baseball commissioner Bud Selig after the release of Game of Shadows, an investigative look at steroid use in baseball in the late 90s and early 2000s, was published in 2006 by Lance Williams and Mark Fainaru-Wada. In effect, Selig "passed the buck" on his obligation to keep baseball clean to the federal government, allowing political agents to use the platform to further their interests (and attain fame) and spend taxpayer dollars in the defense of what became a kind of public good in the aftermath of the scandal.
The government's involvement, as requested by Selig, was based on several assumptions. The first is the aforementioned link between steroid use by professionals and among the nation's children. The reasoning, of course, was that America's youth baseball players would need to begin using human growth hormone to keep up with their peers early on. This approach assumes a public smear campaign of baseball's venerated stars would be more effective in limiting steroid use than policies of individual athletic associations and schools. The government, in this instance, becomes the whistle-blower. I do not argue that perhaps a whistle-blower was necessary in the issue of drug use among the nation's young athletes. What I am arguing is that perhaps the federal government was not the most effective agent in doing so. Certainly, this appears to be the case in the bungling of the federal perjury cases against Bonds and Clemens, which have resulted in merely one minor conviction against Bonds despite the exorbitant amounts of taxpayer money spent in trying the cases.
Second, the government's involvement as a protectionist agency indicates that the American people wanted baseball to be clean. Such an argument is based on the moral presumption that our athletes and athletic contests should somehow uphold the values we would like to see reflected in society: honesty, integrity and fairness. In actuality, sports are a product served to a consumer base that generally acts with little (if any) of these ideals in mind. Tavi Sojo's Bleacher Report study "The Effects of the Steroid Era on the 2008 Baseball Season" comes to the conclusion that the fans simply didn't care about truth and fairness, as long as balls were flying out of the park. In 2003, the BALCO controversy broke and so began the now 8-year period of steroid skepticism that lingers in almost all media coverage of baseball (just ask Jose Bautista). Yet, fan attendance from 2004-2007 continued a climb to unprecedented levels. However, policies instituted by the findings of the Mitchell Report drove home runs down and pitching and defensive statistical categories up in 2008, according to Sojo's numbers research. As a result of these developments, average attendance dropped for the first time in five years. That trend has continued through 2010, though of course it's important to remember that the recent economic downturn has probably also impacted attendance figures. Having said that, it doesn't appear as though "making the game clean" has had any significant impact on the number of people coming out to the park each night, and potentially drove away fans looking to see the long ball more often.
This, of course, gets at the heart of the third and most important assumption from an economics standpoint that led to government intervention in rules-making in Major League Baseball: that fans simply do not act rationally, and that in their love of offense they were driving players to harm themselves through the use of banned substances. The government, in this scenario, had to step in to protect the players from themselves and the voracious demands of power from growing numbers of baseball enthusiasts. I will refer to this presumption as "The WWE Effect." Quite simply, the fear follows the line that, if players continued to respond to the desires of fans who want to see 600-foot home runs, they were going to wind up looking like Triple H or Mr. Perfect instead of, say, this. In effect, government intervention becomes a safeguard against an arms race or, say, housing bubble in which the human cost would be seen in debilitating physical handicaps for players later in life who used PEDs during their playing days. Government, it could be argued, would speed up the process of demonstrating the dangers of these drugs by dragging the names of the players using through the mud and encouraging fans that they were "harming the game" to save themselves from physical issues later in life.
Warning: "Aviator" reference- "Way of the future..."?
But was the government campaign even necessary? Before charges were even brought against Barry Bonds, his appearance in Game of Shadows led to massive protests against his campaign to break the all-time home run record. When Bonds did eventually break the home run record, it was under a cloud of suspicion that dwarfed the achievement compared to the euphoria that ensued when Hank Aaron topped Ruth's record. Perhaps as many people attended the Bond's home run game as Aaron's, and certainly the amount of money Bonds made in his playing career towers over Aaron's career earnings. But baseball has a traditional element to its marketplace that could have just as easily attained the same (or better) outcomes preventing youth usage of steroids as government involvement. Fans may act irrationally with their money, returning to a sport as a method of release after, say, a protracted strike (or lockout) that resembles, to them, an argument between millionaires and billionaires. But the dependency of sport on the fan encourages minor rule changes, better television deals and increased levels of comfort at modern stadiums. The sports we watch today are better covered, more competitive, and provide higher levels of entertainment than the sports of fifty years ago. The same will be true in another fifty years, as long as government gets out of the way. Perhaps the most recent governmental blunder in the handling of the Roger Clemens' perjury case will make fans realize we don't need the federal government to install order in the games we are passionate about-we can do it ourselves.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Sticky Floors and Salty Popcorn-"Cedar Rapids" Review
In many ways, Miguel Arteta's "Cedar Rapids" (the follow-up to his moderately successful adaptation "Youth in Revolt") bears a striking resemblance to its metropolitan namesake. Featuring several big-name comedy actors (and starring current hot commodity Ed Helms) indicating the potential for a mainstream "big city" hit, in its cinematography and willingness to shift tone and play it blue when necessary, "Cedar Rapids" very much embraces its indie origins. In the first ten minutes, we're treated to awkward sex between Tim Lippe (Helms) and his favorite grade school teacher (Sigourney Weaver) and an auto-erotic asphyxiation death suffered by Lippe's idol, Roger Lemke (Thomas Lennon, channeling Lt. Dangle at his awkward best during his brief time on-screen). The "tragedy," as Lippe believes it to be, forces Lippe to attend an annual insurance conference in Lemke's stead held every year in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Leaving home for the first time ever, Lippe is thrust headlong into into the dangerous world of Midwestern insurance sales politics, and before the film ends Helms' misguided hero has found himself dabbling in adultery, illegal drug use, prostitution solicitation and some impromptu insurance-inspired karaoke.
All of this is handled to perfection by Helms, who has had more than his fair share of experience playing the naive straight man over the past several years on both TV (The Office's Andy Bernard) and the silver screen (Stu in both Hangover movies). In fact, none of the performances here are anything we haven't seen before. Reilly plays the same over-the-top, obnoxious blowhard we've seen in Talladega Nights and Stepbrothers. Stephen Root and Kurtwood Smith each portray fat cats of the industry willing to bend the rules to make a quick buck, placing them squarely in the camp of conventional comedy foils. Indeed, much of the criticism for "Cedar Falls" seems to be with its predictability. The story arc follows a pattern you can anticipate reasonably well in the first several minutes, with the naive hero finally spreading his wings and understanding what we wants out of life once he broadens his horizons. Think "Mr. Deeds" on a much smaller scale without the obligatory Steve Buscemi cameo.
Underneath this layer of conventionality, however, lies a chemistry between the four main characters (in addition to Lippe and Ziegler, the gang includes Isiah Whitlock Jr. as Ronald Wilkes and Anne Heche as Joan Ostrowski-Fox) that makes the predictable story worth watching. Helms captures just the right amount of believability out of the hopelessly-lost small town boy to anchor the film, and we can't help but cheer for him, even as he's bemoaning the loss of a life we know he's not happy living. Whitlock, in particular, shines as a jovial roommate and fellow salesman to Lippe, who is horrified originally to be sharing a hotel room with an "Afro-American" gentleman. The rapport that builds between the four stars can be seen most acutely in the shorts that accompany the final credits. If anything, Cedar Rapids is guilty of establishing relationships it doesn't ultimately explore. At the end of the film, we get the sense that these characters love and care about each other, but we're deprived of seeing how those relationships turn out down the road.
Maybe that's the point, though. "Cedar Rapids" is a film that explores familiar territory, giving us a main character hopelessly inept who finds himself on a voyage beyond the confines of his ordinary life. We see an evolution in Helms' Lippe, but one that Arteta makes sure in the final scene not to let reach too far. The film, thus, preserves the down-home simplicity we like to believe still exists in middle America. Bucking no trends and forging no paths that haven't been worn several times before, it does make for a nice hour and a half distraction showcasing the talent of several of today's established and up-and-coming comedic actors. Like a nice trip to a sleepy metropolis in the Midwest, populated by chain restaurants and all the excitement of a hotel swimming pool, we take comfort from knowing what to expect in "Cedar Rapids" and having it delivered in a nice, simple package. ("Hey, Timbo, did you just make a dick joke?")
Verdict: 4/5 stars
All of this is handled to perfection by Helms, who has had more than his fair share of experience playing the naive straight man over the past several years on both TV (The Office's Andy Bernard) and the silver screen (Stu in both Hangover movies). In fact, none of the performances here are anything we haven't seen before. Reilly plays the same over-the-top, obnoxious blowhard we've seen in Talladega Nights and Stepbrothers. Stephen Root and Kurtwood Smith each portray fat cats of the industry willing to bend the rules to make a quick buck, placing them squarely in the camp of conventional comedy foils. Indeed, much of the criticism for "Cedar Falls" seems to be with its predictability. The story arc follows a pattern you can anticipate reasonably well in the first several minutes, with the naive hero finally spreading his wings and understanding what we wants out of life once he broadens his horizons. Think "Mr. Deeds" on a much smaller scale without the obligatory Steve Buscemi cameo.
Underneath this layer of conventionality, however, lies a chemistry between the four main characters (in addition to Lippe and Ziegler, the gang includes Isiah Whitlock Jr. as Ronald Wilkes and Anne Heche as Joan Ostrowski-Fox) that makes the predictable story worth watching. Helms captures just the right amount of believability out of the hopelessly-lost small town boy to anchor the film, and we can't help but cheer for him, even as he's bemoaning the loss of a life we know he's not happy living. Whitlock, in particular, shines as a jovial roommate and fellow salesman to Lippe, who is horrified originally to be sharing a hotel room with an "Afro-American" gentleman. The rapport that builds between the four stars can be seen most acutely in the shorts that accompany the final credits. If anything, Cedar Rapids is guilty of establishing relationships it doesn't ultimately explore. At the end of the film, we get the sense that these characters love and care about each other, but we're deprived of seeing how those relationships turn out down the road.
Maybe that's the point, though. "Cedar Rapids" is a film that explores familiar territory, giving us a main character hopelessly inept who finds himself on a voyage beyond the confines of his ordinary life. We see an evolution in Helms' Lippe, but one that Arteta makes sure in the final scene not to let reach too far. The film, thus, preserves the down-home simplicity we like to believe still exists in middle America. Bucking no trends and forging no paths that haven't been worn several times before, it does make for a nice hour and a half distraction showcasing the talent of several of today's established and up-and-coming comedic actors. Like a nice trip to a sleepy metropolis in the Midwest, populated by chain restaurants and all the excitement of a hotel swimming pool, we take comfort from knowing what to expect in "Cedar Rapids" and having it delivered in a nice, simple package. ("Hey, Timbo, did you just make a dick joke?")
Verdict: 4/5 stars
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Change in the Sofa-The Return of Curb!
The dog days of summer are here. Along with that unbearably uncomfortable, sweltering heat reverberating off the pavement comes a return of the unbearably uncomfortable Larry David. Season 8 of the universally-acclaimed HBO series starts with a cold opening that finishes the scene that concluded Season 7. Just as it seems Cheryl (Cheryl Hines) and Larry are about to reunite over the "Seinfeld" reunion show, Larry notices Cheryl's absent-minded habit of placing beverages directly on tables without a coaster. Insisting that Cheryl phone Julia Louis-Dreyfuss to inform her that it was Cheryl's fault Julia's oak table got ruined at a party, Larry makes good on the self-sabotage we all saw coming. Cue "Frolic," and curtain-up on a new installment of first-world problems at their finest.
"The Divorce," of course, deals with the final legal separation of Larry and Cheryl begun in Season 6. The chemistry between Larry and Cheryl Hines is still clearly apparent on-screen, however, leading to a very amusing exchange in the couples' bedroom as they're arguing over who gets to keep some candlesticks. "Any time a woman is in this bedroom, I figure I have to ask," Larry explains after an unsolicited request for some break-up sex. The episode also features the return of several of the colorful ensemble cast, and each of the principals gets a decent amount of screen-time in the first episode. Susie (Susie Essman) gets a shot at Jeff (Jeff Garlin) about even thinking about a divorce ("I'll have your balls thumbtacked to my wall!"), Funkhouser (Bob Einstein) gets on Larry's case about convincing his wife to join him on a business trip to London ("You are a colossal prick, you know that?!"), and Leon once again steals the show when asking about Funkhouser's sex life after he decides to get a divorce on Larry's advice ("You ran that ass into the ground, didn't you? Like a rental car?"). The episode gives all of the ensemble cast a chance to shine for a moment, illustrating just how well-developed these characters have become over the past several seasons and how dynamic and hysterical their improvised exchanges can still be under the well-trained pen of David.
"The Divorce" continues the Curb tradition of introducing a conflict that will likely last throughout the season, while still focusing on one or two major societal issues that form the basis of the comical adversity present throughout the self-contained episode. Gary Cole does a spirited turn as Joe O'Donnell, the fictionalized version of Frank McCourt, current embattled owner of the Los Angeles Dodgers. In the Curb universe, Larry once again borrows from reality, referring a "more kosher" lawyer to O'Donnell than his current fake Jewish lawyer, who subsequently loses the team in O'Donnell's own divorce negotiations because of ineptitude. O'Donnell, of course, blames Larry, and punches him out before he can interrupt his own divorce arbitration with Cheryl. Larry subsequently loses his home, setting up the move to New York that will occur later in the season.
Also included in this week's episode were verbal instructions to a pre-teen about use of a tampon ("There's an inner-tube and an outer-tube!"), a discussion of the legality of buffet-sharing, and the ethical ramifications of canceling one's Girl Scout cookie order ("Actually, I find them abhorrent. But come on in!"). "The Divorce" may have come at a time when summer-time TV doldrums have lulled me into a state of low-expectations (I'm living on re-runs of "The Wire" and Thursday nights on FX with "Wilfred" and "Louie" exclusively at the moment), but tonight, it seemed like a welcome return to form for a show that has consistently performed at a high-level for a decade now. I cannot wait to see where Funkhouser's bachelor-hood and Larry's new digs take him next week. Bravo.
Verdict: 4.5/5 stars
"The Divorce," of course, deals with the final legal separation of Larry and Cheryl begun in Season 6. The chemistry between Larry and Cheryl Hines is still clearly apparent on-screen, however, leading to a very amusing exchange in the couples' bedroom as they're arguing over who gets to keep some candlesticks. "Any time a woman is in this bedroom, I figure I have to ask," Larry explains after an unsolicited request for some break-up sex. The episode also features the return of several of the colorful ensemble cast, and each of the principals gets a decent amount of screen-time in the first episode. Susie (Susie Essman) gets a shot at Jeff (Jeff Garlin) about even thinking about a divorce ("I'll have your balls thumbtacked to my wall!"), Funkhouser (Bob Einstein) gets on Larry's case about convincing his wife to join him on a business trip to London ("You are a colossal prick, you know that?!"), and Leon once again steals the show when asking about Funkhouser's sex life after he decides to get a divorce on Larry's advice ("You ran that ass into the ground, didn't you? Like a rental car?"). The episode gives all of the ensemble cast a chance to shine for a moment, illustrating just how well-developed these characters have become over the past several seasons and how dynamic and hysterical their improvised exchanges can still be under the well-trained pen of David.
"The Divorce" continues the Curb tradition of introducing a conflict that will likely last throughout the season, while still focusing on one or two major societal issues that form the basis of the comical adversity present throughout the self-contained episode. Gary Cole does a spirited turn as Joe O'Donnell, the fictionalized version of Frank McCourt, current embattled owner of the Los Angeles Dodgers. In the Curb universe, Larry once again borrows from reality, referring a "more kosher" lawyer to O'Donnell than his current fake Jewish lawyer, who subsequently loses the team in O'Donnell's own divorce negotiations because of ineptitude. O'Donnell, of course, blames Larry, and punches him out before he can interrupt his own divorce arbitration with Cheryl. Larry subsequently loses his home, setting up the move to New York that will occur later in the season.
Also included in this week's episode were verbal instructions to a pre-teen about use of a tampon ("There's an inner-tube and an outer-tube!"), a discussion of the legality of buffet-sharing, and the ethical ramifications of canceling one's Girl Scout cookie order ("Actually, I find them abhorrent. But come on in!"). "The Divorce" may have come at a time when summer-time TV doldrums have lulled me into a state of low-expectations (I'm living on re-runs of "The Wire" and Thursday nights on FX with "Wilfred" and "Louie" exclusively at the moment), but tonight, it seemed like a welcome return to form for a show that has consistently performed at a high-level for a decade now. I cannot wait to see where Funkhouser's bachelor-hood and Larry's new digs take him next week. Bravo.
Verdict: 4.5/5 stars
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Where the heart stops and the brain begins...
Two news stories this week emphasized the role the emotional appeal has in the creation of a narrative for public consumption. The first, of course, was Tuesday's verdict in the Casey Anthony murder trial. Immediately following the jury's announcement of a not guilty decision, the social media universe exploded with reactions of anger, shock, and puzzlement.
Casey Anthony Verdict Reading (courtesy of ABC News)
Perhaps the most amusing response came from Kim Kardashian, who tweeted, "WHAT!!!!???!!!! CASEY ANTHONY FOUND NOT GUILTY!!!! I am speechless!!!" Many fellow users distilled the irony that was dripping from Ms. Kardashian's < 140 character response, including user HaHaWhitePPL, who succinctly responded, "So was Nicole Brown Simpson's family when your dad got OJ off."
What Ms. Kardiashan's enthusiastic use of punctuation illustrates is the American public's willingness to attach itself to the sentimental or emotional angle of a story that completely precludes them from approaching the issue with a semblance of objectivity. A little girl died meaninglessly. This we know. As human beings, we attempt to fill in the rest to fit our subjective image of the world around us. We simply do not want to live in a world where an evil that could allow that to happen can go unpunished.
Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote in 1963, "When our most tireless efforts fail to stop the surging sweep of oppression, we need to know that in this universe is a God whose matchless strength is a fit contrast to the sordid weakness of man." Somewhere, in the aftermath of the Casey Anthony verdict and a deep-seated desire to see our own justice fulfilled through the courts, we forgot about this. That is the power of the media narrative. It can inspire charges of a complete failure of a legal system (despite the fact that there was no physical evidence linking Casey to the death of her child) built to defend against the fallibility of human reason. The jurors in the Casey Anthony case did exactly as they were supposed to do (and something no one who digested the daily news media coverage of the trial, with its bombardment of innocent images of Caylee)--dispassionately examine the evidence and render a verdict based on the arguments presented. That's a success--not a failure--of the American legal system.
Today, British tabloid News of the World announced Sunday's issue would be the last of the publication, which has enjoyed 168 years of uninterrupted circulation. In those 168 years, the tabloid has come under fire for numerous reasons, including clandestine investigative reporting schemes hatched by Mazher Mammod, who's been investigated on two separate occasions by the Attorney General. What ultimately closed down the operations of the tabloid, however, was the extension of a phone hacking controversy to the case of a 13 year-old missing girl whose body was found murdered.
"The revelation this week that victims may have included the murdered girl, the families of terror victims and of British troops killed in Afghanistan and Iraq, raised the scandal to a new level," states the CNN story. Loss of advertising revenue and support from high-ranking government officials and interest groups following the revelation of the extent of the phone hacking doomed the tabloid.
I don't mean to belittle the lives of the two young girls lost meaninglessly in these two stories. What should be clear is that, as a culture, we attach special significance to narratives that play upon our emotional weaknesses as human beings. Both newsmakers and reporters are aware of this. To be discerning consumers of their product, we should be, too.
Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote in 1963, "When our most tireless efforts fail to stop the surging sweep of oppression, we need to know that in this universe is a God whose matchless strength is a fit contrast to the sordid weakness of man." Somewhere, in the aftermath of the Casey Anthony verdict and a deep-seated desire to see our own justice fulfilled through the courts, we forgot about this. That is the power of the media narrative. It can inspire charges of a complete failure of a legal system (despite the fact that there was no physical evidence linking Casey to the death of her child) built to defend against the fallibility of human reason. The jurors in the Casey Anthony case did exactly as they were supposed to do (and something no one who digested the daily news media coverage of the trial, with its bombardment of innocent images of Caylee)--dispassionately examine the evidence and render a verdict based on the arguments presented. That's a success--not a failure--of the American legal system.
Today, British tabloid News of the World announced Sunday's issue would be the last of the publication, which has enjoyed 168 years of uninterrupted circulation. In those 168 years, the tabloid has come under fire for numerous reasons, including clandestine investigative reporting schemes hatched by Mazher Mammod, who's been investigated on two separate occasions by the Attorney General. What ultimately closed down the operations of the tabloid, however, was the extension of a phone hacking controversy to the case of a 13 year-old missing girl whose body was found murdered.
"The revelation this week that victims may have included the murdered girl, the families of terror victims and of British troops killed in Afghanistan and Iraq, raised the scandal to a new level," states the CNN story. Loss of advertising revenue and support from high-ranking government officials and interest groups following the revelation of the extent of the phone hacking doomed the tabloid.
I don't mean to belittle the lives of the two young girls lost meaninglessly in these two stories. What should be clear is that, as a culture, we attach special significance to narratives that play upon our emotional weaknesses as human beings. Both newsmakers and reporters are aware of this. To be discerning consumers of their product, we should be, too.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Virtual Dork-Top Video Games of the 00s
Here's a list I compiled for Facebook a few years back that I'm unearthing for the Shallow End. I've included a few games from the past couple of years to make the post a bit more current. These titles will likely show up somewhere on the inevitable 2010s list that will follow sometime in my late 20s and early 30s, which would put my nerd-dom level between "hopelessly desperate" and Val Kilmer in "Real Genius." You've been warned.
If there's one thing I love more than movies, it's sitting in a darkened room by myself on Saturday nights screaming obscenities at ten year olds on Xbox Live. At least, in the past ten years, the medium has become a bit more socially acceptable, stereotypes furthered in Grandma's Boy notwithstanding. While no game will ever dethrone Galaga's place in my heart, here are the titles from the 2000s that attempted that feat.
Honorable Mention: Grand Theft Auto: Vice City (2002), Manhunt (2004), Guitar Hero (2005), Star Wars: Battlefront 2 (2005), Gears of War (2006)
20. Black (PS2, 2006)
Predating the Xbox 360/PS3 generation by only a couple of months, this drop-dead gorgeous FPS for the PS2 and original 'Box was gun porn, eye candy, and frustratingly sparse narrative action all rolled into one. The game only lasted a few hours even on the hardest difficulty setting, and the story (I use the term loosely) wasn't anything to write home about, but damn if it didn't look simply stunning, and continues to inspire awe visually today. The lack of a sequel due to what I have to believe were sour sales (I didn't buy the thing, even the draw of fighting with gold-plated weapons couldn't convince me to shell out fifty bucks for a few hours of entertainment) is a crime against humanity.
19. Shadow of the Colossus (PS2, 2006)
Another late classic for the PS2, Shadow of the Colossus was the spiritual successor to the excellent Ico. Where Ico bucked the traditional action/adventure/platformer trend, Colossus went all tabula rasa and rewrote the rules of design-specifically, that you needed an environment filled with enemies. Instead, in this game you only fight a handful of foes-all of which occupy an area about 3,000 times that of your character. The developers did an astounding job of making you care about the characters and introducing moral quandaries to gameplay years before Bioshock did it most famously.
18. Borderlands (360, 2009)
I put this game on the list despite the fact that I've only played it for about three hours now, that's how damn good it is. Gearbox has managed to take a formula that has paid dividends in the past few years-mixing RPG elements with FPS action-and introduced a looting system in a beautiful, post-apocalyptic cel-shaded environment that arrests your attention both while playing and otherwise. There are definitely some minor kinks in hit detection, and the complete lack of narrative is a bit troubling, but these are quibbles for an open-world, loot-heavy RPG shooter that promises hours of fun during several thrilling playthroughs.
Note: I completed the game about two weeks after posting this list originally, and it's payoff more than made up for the potential on display in its first several hours. This game is so hopelessly deep and addictive that I was afraid the cable repair van down the street had bugged my room.
17. Timesplitters: Future Perfect (PS2, 2005)
As I, using the character model shaped most recognizably like the Hamburger Helper mitt, swung a baseball bat into a crowd of zombie monkeys in a beat-crazy disco while chased by several other human-controlled characters online for the seventh time in an hour, I realized just how incredible this particular iteration of Timesplitters was. To be sure, the Timesplitters franchise has hit the mark every single time with a shooter experience that is both responsive, fun, and downright hilarious. Future Perfect added online multiplayer to the mix, and it was pure heaven. Here's hoping Crytek gets down to making a worthy successor to Future Perfect very soon.
16. Psychonauts (PS2, 2005)
Tim Schafer's look into the minds of several troubled individuals at a summer camp for children with psychic abilities was disturbing, hilarious, and perfect platforming action all rolled into one. Though the gaming public at large overlooked this gem, I look back with fond memories on this title. I wasted most of my own summer trying to clear censors from the minds of the troubled inhabitants of Camp Whispering Rock.
15. Max Payne 2: The Fall of Max Payne (PS2, 2003)
I'm not a huge of film noir, or pinot noir for that matter. However, the insane gunplay of the Max Payne series drew me into the first game. In the second, the formula is perfected as the gamer plunges deeper into the perturbed mind of Max Payne with flurries of bullets, action reloads involving flowing leather jackets, and deeply reflective (to the point of nausea) inner monologues. I knew Max would end up with Mona, but I can't wait to see what's happened to him in the meantime when Max Payne 3 releases this year.
14. The Warriors (PS2, 2005)
Rockstar brought back the visceral thril of beat 'em ups like River City Ransom with this adaptation of the cult classic film. The look and feel of the game is identical to that of the iconic movie as Rockstar showcases its ability to set a mood through storytelling for seemingly the 90th time of the decade. I loved the flashback sequences that allowed you to garner some real emotional attachment to each of the members of the titular gang, and then replay the escape sequence from the film in the second half of the title. The fact that the backwards compatibility of the 360 has not extended to include the original Xbox version of this game is a crime against humanity.
13. Freedom Fighters (PS2, 2003)
From the guys who would eventually bring us the underwhelming Kane and Lynch: Dead Men came what amounted to an imagining of the plot of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 six years earlier. The Soviets, who dropped an atomic bomb on Berlin before the Americans could do so in the Pacific, eventually invade the Americas in the early 20th Century. You play an unlikely hero, Chris Stone, a plumber (aren't all video game heroes?) who starts out trying to save his brother from the invading Ruskies but ends up liberating most of New England from the Commie threat. The squad-based shooting mechanics were fantastic for a PS2-era game, and the story had some real weight to it. An unacknowledged gem.
12. New Super Mario Bros. Wii (Wii, 2009)
Take a classic 2D platforming formula, thrown in simultaneous four-player support and some motion controls, and you've got yourself a fantastic throwback title. NSMBWii will make you hate all of your roommates for bumping you off a platform while trying to grab some coins, even though you both are seemingly attempting to save the princess, who's been kidnapped again. Who cares that we've seen it all before? The fresh coat of paint both graphically and gameplay-wise make this an incredible, can't miss nostalgic title.
11. Bully (PS2, 2006)
Take Grand Theft Auto, throw in equal parts schoolyard charm and adolescent mischief, and you've got yourself a very impressive and focused open-world title. Jimmy Hopkins is both a sympathetic and fiendish protagonist, emotions Rockstar is used to fostering with its main characters. The highlight for me, of course, was the Halloween night pranking, but the whole game-which spans one school year at a strict New England boarding school, is entertaining from start to finish. Think interactive "Wonder Years."
10. Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas (PS2, 2004)
Quite possibly my most anticipated game of the decade, I still remember driving to the store after cross country practice to pick this game up. Gamestop was having a cookout and giving away tons of free shit, but I went in, grabbed, the game, and got the hell out of Dodge, because I knew what was waiting for me. Over 100 hours of pure, unbridled open-world crime goodness. I played the hell out of this thing well into 2005 (I had to get all of the graffiti tags in Los Santos, right?) and the only complaint I have to this day is that the focus of the narrative was lost in the sheer vastness of the world in which the game took place. But can that really be considered a complaint?
9. Bioshock (360, 2007)
There are so many images from this game that will never, EVER leave my head. One involving a putter comes to mind immediately. The team behind the incredible System Shock 2 (which missed topping this list by about 4 months) brought that gameplay into the 21st Century with a gut-wrenching morality play you participated in. The atmosphere, the gunplay, the RPG elements...it all blended beautifully to create a truly breathtaking experience.
8. Batman: Arkham Asylum (360, 2009)
You know the Joker is going to break out. That's about the only thing you can expect in this incredible game adaptation of the Batman universe. There's a focused story here, incredible stealth elements, and a truly maniacal Joker voiced by Mark "I Almost Had Sex with My Ficitional Sister" Hamill. Oh, did I mention the game looks absolutely beautiful? The combat mechanics are inspired and the inclusion of hidden messages from all of Batman's most sought-after villains makes this a nerd's (like myself) paradise.
7. Assassin's Creed 2 (360, 2009)
Ubisoft took everything that was wrong with the first game, scrapped it, and left the incredibly intriguing conspiracy story intact to create a historical panorama that the gamer can't help but be sucked into. Combat is still very satisfying and the villas of the Italian Renaissance are truly breathtaking. Bravo to the developers for making a sequel that surpasses the original in almost every single way.
6. Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare (360, 2007)
The game that may have given me stomach ulcers. I still know my way around Wetwork blindfolded and I hear shouts of "Tango Down!" in my sleep. Though this year's iteration continued to incite ravenous multiplayer hunger in my mind, it did little to build upon the inspired setup of the first game, which clearly had superior single-player set-pieces and built the foundation for the FPS juggernaut that everyone will have to try to dethrone in the next decade.
5. Super Mario Galaxy (Wii, 2007)
Whereas Mario 64 had everyone's favorite plumber moving to the 3D plane for the first time, this title gave us the first glimpse of the potential of motion controls in a platformer while creating mind-bending gravity puzzles and gameplay that challenge gamers of all persuasions. That must be the reason Galaxy is the first game getting a true sequel since Super Mario World on the SNES. I can't friggin' wait.
4. Halo: Combat Evolved (Xbox, 2001)
I didn't own an Xbox, but thanks to the popularity of LAN parties that didn't stop me from logging probably over 100 hours on this game. I remember hours of CTF games on Chill Out with shotguns the night before high school cross country meets, and the thrills of sticking newbs with grenades and pistol whipping them in the back of the face. Halo also sported the most satisfying weapon-the scoped pistol-in all of gaming. Who didn't love spawning with that thing, watching your opponent's shield disappear with two shots, and then finishing them off, sending their body falling limply to the ground? Did I mention my violent streak began around 2001?
3. Fallout 3 (360, 2008)
The Fallout series was great in its own right in its isometric RPG PC days, but Bethesda took the formula, instituted its Morrowind first person touch, and created an instant genre-bursting classic. What begins as a search for your father becomes a struggle for survival in the irradiated Wasteland created by, what else?, nuclear Armageddon. The final chapter of the game, with a giant Commie-hating robot laying waste to guys you would have no chance of killing in the beginning of the game with your puny 1st-level rank, is up there in terms of all-time satisfying video game moments. Can't wait for the sequel (PLEASE make it an online MMORPG).
2. Half-Life 2: The Orange Box (360, 2007)
Half-Life 2 on its own is an incredible achievement in the first person genre, mixing puzzle, driving, and shooting elements together with a story and characters that have real emotional weight, but you throw in Team Fortress 2, Portal, and the episodic content that continues the Half-Life 2 story and you've got an incredible title that really gets you bang for your buck. Gordon Freeman, world's greatest physicist, awakes from stasis to find that creepy guy with the suitcase needing more help in the near future. As you save mankind, you realize just how fucked up all those Combine bastards really are. The tease at the end of Episode 2 really isn't fair, especially when you consider it's been two years and we still haven't heard anything about Episode 3's release date. Let's finish this fight, please!
1. Grand Theft Auto 3 (PS2, 2001)
I remember popping this game in the PS2 disc tray, the first time I'd played the system, and being completely overwhelmed by the world that surrounded me. I wasted days playing GTA2 on my original Playstation in my late-90s gaming frenzy, but nothing compared to the fully 3D world filled with seemingly endless possibilities that lay before me. Consequently, I wasted months driving around Liberty City as Claude Speed, the mute psychopath who probably killed over 100,000 inhabitants of the city during my reign of terror. There was so much to do...I remember wasting days just trying to get the game's clipped-wing plane to fly around the city, seeing which buildings were solid, which were transparent, and warping myself to different places in the city during my pursuits. When the glitches in a game become sources of entertainment, you know you have a contender for best game of the decade.
The Best of the '10s (so far):
Red Dead Redemption (360, 2010)
As you can probably tell from the list compiled above, I'm a bit of a Rockstar Games fanboy. I divulge this information with no shame whatsoever, when the studio consistently produces titles of stellar quality. RDR was no different, taking gamers through a Wild West adventure that nailed the shooting mechanics in a third-person action game to an unprecedented degree and toyed with notions of storytelling in an industry-revolutionizing way. Seriously, the final two or three hours you spend during the campaign will make you appreciate everything that has come before, and presents a protagonist that pulls at the heartstrings in a way Rockstar just couldn't do with its other big-budget, open world title of this generation (you may have heard of Grand Theft Auto IV). Redemption (in a way its predecessor, Red Dead Revolver, couldn't dream of doing) made the Western a viable platform for an action-packed adventure in the medium, and further proved the stellar pedigree of its publisher.
Donkey Kong Country Returns (Wii, 2010)
As a child of the Donkey Kong Country generation, I watched the first few gameplay videos for DKCR and swooned in anticipation. A stunningly beautiful game that, as a kid who grew up playing the SNES titles can attest to, just feels right as a platformer, DKCR takes the model provided by New Super Mario Bros. and adds pizzazz, speed, and the right amount of nostalgia to create not only one of the greatest re-imaginings in the history of the medium, but perhaps the greatest platform game to date on any system. The drop-in drop-out co-op ensured that my memories of rollicking through the jungle with my dad and brother as a grade-schooler could be relived in the living room of my college home. And that's to say nothing of the ridiculous soundtrack, which manages to both retain the sound of the original while bringing the score up to date for a new generation. Bravo, Retro Studios, bravo.
If there's one thing I love more than movies, it's sitting in a darkened room by myself on Saturday nights screaming obscenities at ten year olds on Xbox Live. At least, in the past ten years, the medium has become a bit more socially acceptable, stereotypes furthered in Grandma's Boy notwithstanding. While no game will ever dethrone Galaga's place in my heart, here are the titles from the 2000s that attempted that feat.
Honorable Mention: Grand Theft Auto: Vice City (2002), Manhunt (2004), Guitar Hero (2005), Star Wars: Battlefront 2 (2005), Gears of War (2006)
20. Black (PS2, 2006)
Predating the Xbox 360/PS3 generation by only a couple of months, this drop-dead gorgeous FPS for the PS2 and original 'Box was gun porn, eye candy, and frustratingly sparse narrative action all rolled into one. The game only lasted a few hours even on the hardest difficulty setting, and the story (I use the term loosely) wasn't anything to write home about, but damn if it didn't look simply stunning, and continues to inspire awe visually today. The lack of a sequel due to what I have to believe were sour sales (I didn't buy the thing, even the draw of fighting with gold-plated weapons couldn't convince me to shell out fifty bucks for a few hours of entertainment) is a crime against humanity.
19. Shadow of the Colossus (PS2, 2006)
Another late classic for the PS2, Shadow of the Colossus was the spiritual successor to the excellent Ico. Where Ico bucked the traditional action/adventure/platformer trend, Colossus went all tabula rasa and rewrote the rules of design-specifically, that you needed an environment filled with enemies. Instead, in this game you only fight a handful of foes-all of which occupy an area about 3,000 times that of your character. The developers did an astounding job of making you care about the characters and introducing moral quandaries to gameplay years before Bioshock did it most famously.
18. Borderlands (360, 2009)
I put this game on the list despite the fact that I've only played it for about three hours now, that's how damn good it is. Gearbox has managed to take a formula that has paid dividends in the past few years-mixing RPG elements with FPS action-and introduced a looting system in a beautiful, post-apocalyptic cel-shaded environment that arrests your attention both while playing and otherwise. There are definitely some minor kinks in hit detection, and the complete lack of narrative is a bit troubling, but these are quibbles for an open-world, loot-heavy RPG shooter that promises hours of fun during several thrilling playthroughs.
Note: I completed the game about two weeks after posting this list originally, and it's payoff more than made up for the potential on display in its first several hours. This game is so hopelessly deep and addictive that I was afraid the cable repair van down the street had bugged my room.
17. Timesplitters: Future Perfect (PS2, 2005)
As I, using the character model shaped most recognizably like the Hamburger Helper mitt, swung a baseball bat into a crowd of zombie monkeys in a beat-crazy disco while chased by several other human-controlled characters online for the seventh time in an hour, I realized just how incredible this particular iteration of Timesplitters was. To be sure, the Timesplitters franchise has hit the mark every single time with a shooter experience that is both responsive, fun, and downright hilarious. Future Perfect added online multiplayer to the mix, and it was pure heaven. Here's hoping Crytek gets down to making a worthy successor to Future Perfect very soon.
16. Psychonauts (PS2, 2005)
Tim Schafer's look into the minds of several troubled individuals at a summer camp for children with psychic abilities was disturbing, hilarious, and perfect platforming action all rolled into one. Though the gaming public at large overlooked this gem, I look back with fond memories on this title. I wasted most of my own summer trying to clear censors from the minds of the troubled inhabitants of Camp Whispering Rock.
15. Max Payne 2: The Fall of Max Payne (PS2, 2003)
I'm not a huge of film noir, or pinot noir for that matter. However, the insane gunplay of the Max Payne series drew me into the first game. In the second, the formula is perfected as the gamer plunges deeper into the perturbed mind of Max Payne with flurries of bullets, action reloads involving flowing leather jackets, and deeply reflective (to the point of nausea) inner monologues. I knew Max would end up with Mona, but I can't wait to see what's happened to him in the meantime when Max Payne 3 releases this year.
14. The Warriors (PS2, 2005)
Rockstar brought back the visceral thril of beat 'em ups like River City Ransom with this adaptation of the cult classic film. The look and feel of the game is identical to that of the iconic movie as Rockstar showcases its ability to set a mood through storytelling for seemingly the 90th time of the decade. I loved the flashback sequences that allowed you to garner some real emotional attachment to each of the members of the titular gang, and then replay the escape sequence from the film in the second half of the title. The fact that the backwards compatibility of the 360 has not extended to include the original Xbox version of this game is a crime against humanity.
13. Freedom Fighters (PS2, 2003)
From the guys who would eventually bring us the underwhelming Kane and Lynch: Dead Men came what amounted to an imagining of the plot of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 six years earlier. The Soviets, who dropped an atomic bomb on Berlin before the Americans could do so in the Pacific, eventually invade the Americas in the early 20th Century. You play an unlikely hero, Chris Stone, a plumber (aren't all video game heroes?) who starts out trying to save his brother from the invading Ruskies but ends up liberating most of New England from the Commie threat. The squad-based shooting mechanics were fantastic for a PS2-era game, and the story had some real weight to it. An unacknowledged gem.
12. New Super Mario Bros. Wii (Wii, 2009)
Take a classic 2D platforming formula, thrown in simultaneous four-player support and some motion controls, and you've got yourself a fantastic throwback title. NSMBWii will make you hate all of your roommates for bumping you off a platform while trying to grab some coins, even though you both are seemingly attempting to save the princess, who's been kidnapped again. Who cares that we've seen it all before? The fresh coat of paint both graphically and gameplay-wise make this an incredible, can't miss nostalgic title.
11. Bully (PS2, 2006)
Take Grand Theft Auto, throw in equal parts schoolyard charm and adolescent mischief, and you've got yourself a very impressive and focused open-world title. Jimmy Hopkins is both a sympathetic and fiendish protagonist, emotions Rockstar is used to fostering with its main characters. The highlight for me, of course, was the Halloween night pranking, but the whole game-which spans one school year at a strict New England boarding school, is entertaining from start to finish. Think interactive "Wonder Years."
10. Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas (PS2, 2004)
Quite possibly my most anticipated game of the decade, I still remember driving to the store after cross country practice to pick this game up. Gamestop was having a cookout and giving away tons of free shit, but I went in, grabbed, the game, and got the hell out of Dodge, because I knew what was waiting for me. Over 100 hours of pure, unbridled open-world crime goodness. I played the hell out of this thing well into 2005 (I had to get all of the graffiti tags in Los Santos, right?) and the only complaint I have to this day is that the focus of the narrative was lost in the sheer vastness of the world in which the game took place. But can that really be considered a complaint?
9. Bioshock (360, 2007)
There are so many images from this game that will never, EVER leave my head. One involving a putter comes to mind immediately. The team behind the incredible System Shock 2 (which missed topping this list by about 4 months) brought that gameplay into the 21st Century with a gut-wrenching morality play you participated in. The atmosphere, the gunplay, the RPG elements...it all blended beautifully to create a truly breathtaking experience.
8. Batman: Arkham Asylum (360, 2009)
You know the Joker is going to break out. That's about the only thing you can expect in this incredible game adaptation of the Batman universe. There's a focused story here, incredible stealth elements, and a truly maniacal Joker voiced by Mark "I Almost Had Sex with My Ficitional Sister" Hamill. Oh, did I mention the game looks absolutely beautiful? The combat mechanics are inspired and the inclusion of hidden messages from all of Batman's most sought-after villains makes this a nerd's (like myself) paradise.
7. Assassin's Creed 2 (360, 2009)
Ubisoft took everything that was wrong with the first game, scrapped it, and left the incredibly intriguing conspiracy story intact to create a historical panorama that the gamer can't help but be sucked into. Combat is still very satisfying and the villas of the Italian Renaissance are truly breathtaking. Bravo to the developers for making a sequel that surpasses the original in almost every single way.
6. Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare (360, 2007)
The game that may have given me stomach ulcers. I still know my way around Wetwork blindfolded and I hear shouts of "Tango Down!" in my sleep. Though this year's iteration continued to incite ravenous multiplayer hunger in my mind, it did little to build upon the inspired setup of the first game, which clearly had superior single-player set-pieces and built the foundation for the FPS juggernaut that everyone will have to try to dethrone in the next decade.
5. Super Mario Galaxy (Wii, 2007)
Whereas Mario 64 had everyone's favorite plumber moving to the 3D plane for the first time, this title gave us the first glimpse of the potential of motion controls in a platformer while creating mind-bending gravity puzzles and gameplay that challenge gamers of all persuasions. That must be the reason Galaxy is the first game getting a true sequel since Super Mario World on the SNES. I can't friggin' wait.
4. Halo: Combat Evolved (Xbox, 2001)
I didn't own an Xbox, but thanks to the popularity of LAN parties that didn't stop me from logging probably over 100 hours on this game. I remember hours of CTF games on Chill Out with shotguns the night before high school cross country meets, and the thrills of sticking newbs with grenades and pistol whipping them in the back of the face. Halo also sported the most satisfying weapon-the scoped pistol-in all of gaming. Who didn't love spawning with that thing, watching your opponent's shield disappear with two shots, and then finishing them off, sending their body falling limply to the ground? Did I mention my violent streak began around 2001?
3. Fallout 3 (360, 2008)
The Fallout series was great in its own right in its isometric RPG PC days, but Bethesda took the formula, instituted its Morrowind first person touch, and created an instant genre-bursting classic. What begins as a search for your father becomes a struggle for survival in the irradiated Wasteland created by, what else?, nuclear Armageddon. The final chapter of the game, with a giant Commie-hating robot laying waste to guys you would have no chance of killing in the beginning of the game with your puny 1st-level rank, is up there in terms of all-time satisfying video game moments. Can't wait for the sequel (PLEASE make it an online MMORPG).
2. Half-Life 2: The Orange Box (360, 2007)
Half-Life 2 on its own is an incredible achievement in the first person genre, mixing puzzle, driving, and shooting elements together with a story and characters that have real emotional weight, but you throw in Team Fortress 2, Portal, and the episodic content that continues the Half-Life 2 story and you've got an incredible title that really gets you bang for your buck. Gordon Freeman, world's greatest physicist, awakes from stasis to find that creepy guy with the suitcase needing more help in the near future. As you save mankind, you realize just how fucked up all those Combine bastards really are. The tease at the end of Episode 2 really isn't fair, especially when you consider it's been two years and we still haven't heard anything about Episode 3's release date. Let's finish this fight, please!
1. Grand Theft Auto 3 (PS2, 2001)
I remember popping this game in the PS2 disc tray, the first time I'd played the system, and being completely overwhelmed by the world that surrounded me. I wasted days playing GTA2 on my original Playstation in my late-90s gaming frenzy, but nothing compared to the fully 3D world filled with seemingly endless possibilities that lay before me. Consequently, I wasted months driving around Liberty City as Claude Speed, the mute psychopath who probably killed over 100,000 inhabitants of the city during my reign of terror. There was so much to do...I remember wasting days just trying to get the game's clipped-wing plane to fly around the city, seeing which buildings were solid, which were transparent, and warping myself to different places in the city during my pursuits. When the glitches in a game become sources of entertainment, you know you have a contender for best game of the decade.
The Best of the '10s (so far):
Red Dead Redemption (360, 2010)
As you can probably tell from the list compiled above, I'm a bit of a Rockstar Games fanboy. I divulge this information with no shame whatsoever, when the studio consistently produces titles of stellar quality. RDR was no different, taking gamers through a Wild West adventure that nailed the shooting mechanics in a third-person action game to an unprecedented degree and toyed with notions of storytelling in an industry-revolutionizing way. Seriously, the final two or three hours you spend during the campaign will make you appreciate everything that has come before, and presents a protagonist that pulls at the heartstrings in a way Rockstar just couldn't do with its other big-budget, open world title of this generation (you may have heard of Grand Theft Auto IV). Redemption (in a way its predecessor, Red Dead Revolver, couldn't dream of doing) made the Western a viable platform for an action-packed adventure in the medium, and further proved the stellar pedigree of its publisher.
Donkey Kong Country Returns (Wii, 2010)
As a child of the Donkey Kong Country generation, I watched the first few gameplay videos for DKCR and swooned in anticipation. A stunningly beautiful game that, as a kid who grew up playing the SNES titles can attest to, just feels right as a platformer, DKCR takes the model provided by New Super Mario Bros. and adds pizzazz, speed, and the right amount of nostalgia to create not only one of the greatest re-imaginings in the history of the medium, but perhaps the greatest platform game to date on any system. The drop-in drop-out co-op ensured that my memories of rollicking through the jungle with my dad and brother as a grade-schooler could be relived in the living room of my college home. And that's to say nothing of the ridiculous soundtrack, which manages to both retain the sound of the original while bringing the score up to date for a new generation. Bravo, Retro Studios, bravo.
One Big 4th of July Hangover
"We're Americans, with a capital 'A', huh? You know what that means? Do ya? That means that our forefathers were kicked out of every decent country in the world. We are the wretched refuse. We're the underdog. We're mutts! ...So we're all dogfaces, we're all very, very different, but there is one thing that we all have in common: we were all stupid enough to enlist in the Army. We're mutants. There's something wrong with us, something very, very wrong with us. Something seriously wrong with us - we're soldiers. But we're American soldiers! We've been kicking ass for 200 years! We're 10 and 1! Now we don't have to worry about whether or not we practiced. We don't have to worry about whether Captain Stillman wants to have us hung. All we have to do is to be the great American fighting soldier that is inside each one of us. Now do what I do, and say what I say. And make me proud."
So argues John (Bill Murray), hoping to whip a lovable platoon of losers into shape for their field exercises at boot camp during the 11th hour in the 1981 comedy classic Stripes. The narrative of American supremacy has been a mainstay of our cultural heritage since 1776. Let's face it...the idea of tackling the strongest nation in the world on democratic principles was a daunting exercise in bravado over two centuries ago, and the hard-earned success of those early patriots has imbibed the modern American brand of nationalism with the same kind of intoxicated exuberance John calls upon when insisting the "great American fighting soldier" has "been kicking ass for 200 years!"
Though perhaps misguided to the point of becoming the ugly, proud American detested by much of the rest of the world, these feelings are grounded in a kind of positive mental image of the nation that, when called upon, has been incredibly constructive in urging the adoption of peace and democracy throughout the world (for the most part). If our soldiers and lawmakers hadn't had the confidence to enter both World Wars, global politics would be very different today. Like any emotional belief, however, the risk of getting carried away looms large. Independence Day thus often becomes an overindulgence of nationalistic pride, as explosives are strapped to trees, insects and relatives in an inebriated stupor that reflects the intoxication of believing America (in the sense of our government and the current population of Americans) are above reproach and unaffected by the machinations of the global political climate.
What we should really be celebrating on Independence Day are the ideas and people who established this nation on democratic principles. This is a positive way of recognizing the birth of a nation that stood in such stark opposition to the confinement of individual liberty and self-determination. John's first point, that the concept of "America" should extend to all those downtrodden underdogs who have the audacity to stand up against oppression in their lives, underscores a universality and positivity that is lacking in today's interpretation of what America is and should be. While cutting a block of dry ice for a customer at the grocery store I work at last week, I was treated to five or six minutes of a lecture on the ways in which our country is being led astray by the current administration. That's the nice part about working in retail...usually it's as close to a purely populist perspective you can get without changing your name to Huey Long.
The passionate argument of the customer (I didn't get a name, and I didn't really want one, with all due respect...) alerted me to a truth about today's American in a time of relative crisis unlike what we've seen for several generations: the terms of definition have changed from attempting to identify what America is and stands for, to what America is not and should not stand for. Several months ago, this extended to ploys from the Republican Party trying to prove the current president is not actually a citizen of the United States (which has led to some rather embarrassing snafus). Extending healthcare to all members of society is not bad fiscal policy to many Americans, it is "socialist" and therefore in direct violation of the capitalist foundations of our democracy. Immigration legislation in Arizona, Georgia (parts of which were stricken as illegal by a federal appeals court today in a trial that won't get much pub with the Anthony verdict being handed down earlier this afternoon), and Iowa further attempt to define who is American by encouraging law enforcement officials to act on hunches as to who looks un-American.
I'm not advocating making our borders completely permeable, or trusting our elected officials without any degree of scrutiny. What I'm attempting to illuminate is the fact that we take one day out of our year to define ourselves as Americans based on values exemplified in a document declaring independence and celebration of the sacrifices of so many who fought for what this country is, not to point out what it is not. Perhaps it would be more constructive and less mind-numbingly depressing to remain, at times of great tests of our American character, sure of who we are and what our values are, rather than attempting to point out what we are not and what we will not abide. Maybe then I can read a news and press release on July 5th without feeling as though I had one too many cheddar-dogs and held that sparkler bomb in my hand about three seconds too long.
So argues John (Bill Murray), hoping to whip a lovable platoon of losers into shape for their field exercises at boot camp during the 11th hour in the 1981 comedy classic Stripes. The narrative of American supremacy has been a mainstay of our cultural heritage since 1776. Let's face it...the idea of tackling the strongest nation in the world on democratic principles was a daunting exercise in bravado over two centuries ago, and the hard-earned success of those early patriots has imbibed the modern American brand of nationalism with the same kind of intoxicated exuberance John calls upon when insisting the "great American fighting soldier" has "been kicking ass for 200 years!"
Though perhaps misguided to the point of becoming the ugly, proud American detested by much of the rest of the world, these feelings are grounded in a kind of positive mental image of the nation that, when called upon, has been incredibly constructive in urging the adoption of peace and democracy throughout the world (for the most part). If our soldiers and lawmakers hadn't had the confidence to enter both World Wars, global politics would be very different today. Like any emotional belief, however, the risk of getting carried away looms large. Independence Day thus often becomes an overindulgence of nationalistic pride, as explosives are strapped to trees, insects and relatives in an inebriated stupor that reflects the intoxication of believing America (in the sense of our government and the current population of Americans) are above reproach and unaffected by the machinations of the global political climate.
What we should really be celebrating on Independence Day are the ideas and people who established this nation on democratic principles. This is a positive way of recognizing the birth of a nation that stood in such stark opposition to the confinement of individual liberty and self-determination. John's first point, that the concept of "America" should extend to all those downtrodden underdogs who have the audacity to stand up against oppression in their lives, underscores a universality and positivity that is lacking in today's interpretation of what America is and should be. While cutting a block of dry ice for a customer at the grocery store I work at last week, I was treated to five or six minutes of a lecture on the ways in which our country is being led astray by the current administration. That's the nice part about working in retail...usually it's as close to a purely populist perspective you can get without changing your name to Huey Long.
The passionate argument of the customer (I didn't get a name, and I didn't really want one, with all due respect...) alerted me to a truth about today's American in a time of relative crisis unlike what we've seen for several generations: the terms of definition have changed from attempting to identify what America is and stands for, to what America is not and should not stand for. Several months ago, this extended to ploys from the Republican Party trying to prove the current president is not actually a citizen of the United States (which has led to some rather embarrassing snafus). Extending healthcare to all members of society is not bad fiscal policy to many Americans, it is "socialist" and therefore in direct violation of the capitalist foundations of our democracy. Immigration legislation in Arizona, Georgia (parts of which were stricken as illegal by a federal appeals court today in a trial that won't get much pub with the Anthony verdict being handed down earlier this afternoon), and Iowa further attempt to define who is American by encouraging law enforcement officials to act on hunches as to who looks un-American.
I'm not advocating making our borders completely permeable, or trusting our elected officials without any degree of scrutiny. What I'm attempting to illuminate is the fact that we take one day out of our year to define ourselves as Americans based on values exemplified in a document declaring independence and celebration of the sacrifices of so many who fought for what this country is, not to point out what it is not. Perhaps it would be more constructive and less mind-numbingly depressing to remain, at times of great tests of our American character, sure of who we are and what our values are, rather than attempting to point out what we are not and what we will not abide. Maybe then I can read a news and press release on July 5th without feeling as though I had one too many cheddar-dogs and held that sparkler bomb in my hand about three seconds too long.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Wishful Thinking: Affirmative Action Off-Limits in 2012
Today, the justices of the 6th U.S. Circuit of Appeals ruled against an amendment to the Michigan state constitution that sought to circumvent the process of Affirmative Action in enrollment practices by institutions of higher learning within its borders. The ruling is expected to be appealed straight to the Supreme Court, who will likely hear the facts of the case and make a judgment right around crunch time for the 2012 Presidential Election.
With a black man in the White House and African-American college and university enrollment at an all-time high, it's not at all surprising to see a backlash against an institution in society that seeks to engender equality of outcome by enforcing equality of opportunity (in an ideal sense). Affirmative Action is a politically volatile subject. Given the timing of this particular ruling, the influence of ideology and rhetoric will certainly have a profound impact on the way in which the Supreme Court's subsequent ruling will be digested by the public at large.
The achievement gap in education in America continues to be a major problem. Perhaps Affirmative Action, in-and-of-itself, isn't the answer. Certainly, academic performance statistics would indicate the program has had a negligible effect on the success rate of minority students in the American education system. But the problem of education discrimination should not be solved (or attempted to be solved) in a partisan shouting match, or in the ideological make-up of a particular set of judges at any given time in a courtroom. The data is simply too complex, and the stakes of acting in error are dire. Political posturing through rhetoric is an inevitability of the election cycle that we are just months away from being thrust head-long into. Let's keep the future of American students out of the shouting match, for a change, and let cooler heads prevail.
With a black man in the White House and African-American college and university enrollment at an all-time high, it's not at all surprising to see a backlash against an institution in society that seeks to engender equality of outcome by enforcing equality of opportunity (in an ideal sense). Affirmative Action is a politically volatile subject. Given the timing of this particular ruling, the influence of ideology and rhetoric will certainly have a profound impact on the way in which the Supreme Court's subsequent ruling will be digested by the public at large.
The achievement gap in education in America continues to be a major problem. Perhaps Affirmative Action, in-and-of-itself, isn't the answer. Certainly, academic performance statistics would indicate the program has had a negligible effect on the success rate of minority students in the American education system. But the problem of education discrimination should not be solved (or attempted to be solved) in a partisan shouting match, or in the ideological make-up of a particular set of judges at any given time in a courtroom. The data is simply too complex, and the stakes of acting in error are dire. Political posturing through rhetoric is an inevitability of the election cycle that we are just months away from being thrust head-long into. Let's keep the future of American students out of the shouting match, for a change, and let cooler heads prevail.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Change in the Sofa: A Look Back at the Music Video
Later this summer, MTV will resurrect perhaps its most popular and controversial original series of all-time, Beavis and Butthead. While MTV hasn't released much information about the form in which the series will make its return (let's hope, for the love of God, Hollywood's current crush with "gritty reboots" doesn't find its way into this revival. I don't think I could stomach a Cornholio with a painkiller addiction and a Butthead driven to revenge-fueled madness after being laid off of his job following the housing bubble burst), it is highly likely several staple features of the show will return. Chief among these necessary elements, of course, should be the duo's hilariously-misinformed criticism of contemporary music videos.
But, have you taken a look at the stable of potential fodder for MTV's poster-boy idiots this year? Let's try and overlook the fact (like MTV's marketing department has done for years) that the medium has been rendered culturally irrelevant as a result of the format switch of the station in the early 2000s that is an easy target for hack stand-up comedians throughout this fine country. The music video, as an art form, has lacked any kind of significance since about 2002, placing the medium in the same category as fax machines, pay phones, and the Seattle Mariners. Prior to MTV's complete abandonment of the staple element of its brand since the early 1980s, however, there were several technical achievements in music video production that elevated the medium, at its height, to a level of certifiable artistic pursuit that in many cases exceeded the quality of the songwriting itself. This post celebrates those videos during the heyday of their cultural significance, beginning with perhaps the finest example of how a music video could transform a pop music hit into a cultural phenomenon.
Michael Jackson
"Thriller"
From Thriller, Epic Records, 1982
Director: John Landis
Michael Jackson's Thriller featured several memorable music videos with "Billie Jean," "Beat It," and "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'," but it was his decision to develop this long-form video with its own self-sustained narrative (and the most-mimicked dance sequence in the history of popular music) that stands the test of time as perhaps the first big push in what a music video could be. No longer did we need to have a rock band performing in an abandoned warehouse, or (perhaps more popular in the early 80s) crazy-looking artists simply crooning into a camera as their shellacked hairstyles bobbed up and down on cable-ready television sets.
A-Ha
"Take on Me"
From Hunting High and Low, Warner Bros., 1985
Director: Steve Barron
Embedding disabled for this video. Click link to watch on youtube.
There were actually two versions produced for this 1985 breakout hit, but it is Steve Barron's version that introduces animation in a uniquely stunning way for the period that was often poorly imitated (see: Paula Abdul's "Straight Up") but not duplicated until the early 2000s (as we'll see later). The story told in the video itself may have little (if anything) to do with the content of the song, and I'm still not certain where the evil biker gang fits in, but damn if the rotoscoped music clip hasn't penetrated deep into the fabric of our collective popular culture consciousness.
Peter Gabriel
"Sledgehammer"
From So, Geffen, 1986
Director: Steven R. Johnson
Peter Gabriel and Steven R. Johnson channeled their inner Tim Burton and produced this stop-motion masterpiece in the midst of some rather vapid hair band fare that populated much of the music video scene of the mid-1980s. I'm not sure if they intentionally filmed the stutter-step dance moves of Peter Gabriel or they put some of those mo-cap balls on me during my moves on the dance floor at prom. Either way, the video simultaneously oozes cool and inspires nausea.
Pearl Jam
"Jeremy"
From Ten, Epic Records, 1992
Director: Mark Pellington
Apparently, by 1992 we'd tired of zombies, Dr. Katz-style sketchy animation and mouths that morph into clay bullhorns to scare children with music videos, so Eddie Vedder and Mark Pellington turned the camera on the legion of angst-y teens created by the new grunge movement. What resulted remains, to this day, one of the most haunting psychological portraits in the medium that brilliantly captures the raw emotion of just one of many of the instant classics that found their way onto Ten. The controversy created by "Jeremy" kick-started the confrontational career of the grunge era's last great legacy on today's music scene.
The Beastie Boys
"Sabotage"
From Ill Communication, Grand Royal Records, 1994
Director: Spike Jonze
From the "Police Squad!" homage in the video's opening seconds to the grainy video effects driving home that 1970s vibe to the stone-faced selling of the parody by the Beasties, "Sabotage" has classic satiric video written all over it. Throughout the years, the group has produced some hilarious videos with varying degrees of success. This is their "Citizen Kane," folks.
Weezer
"Buddy Holly"
From Weezer (The Blue Album), Geffen, 1994
Director: Spike Jonze
Perhaps it's a little vanilla to list two Spike Jonze videos back-to-back, from the same year nonetheless, but you can't include a list of great music video concept ideas and leave out the Fonz. I mean, let's leave aside the technical accomplishment of the video, which was mind-blowing back in 1994 (this is before Lucas went back in and changed the Gredo/Han Solo thing, remember? Putting Rivers and the boys on the set of "Happy Days" convincingly simply for a music video made me feel, as a seven year-old snot-nosed kid, as though I were the Indians and Spike Jonze the Spaniard had just made fire jump from his hands right in front of me). Joanie loves Chachi, but I love this video (cue laugh track).
Jamiroquai
"Virtual Insanity"
From Traveling Without Moving, Sony Soho Square, 1996
Director: Jonathan Glazer
You have to give English acid jazz band Jamiroquai props for a few things in this video. The first would be totally pulling off that plush Abraham Lincoln imitation cranial wear. The second would be capturing the essence of their album title in a nice, neat four minute video package. Finally, actually making something called "acid jazz" relevant in a way that didn't involve illegal drugs, a soundproof garage, and a complete DVD set of the Battlestar Galactica series.
Korn
"Freak on a Leash"
From Follow the Leader, Immortal/Epic, 1999
Director: Todd McFarlane
So, clearly Korn went a different direction with the animation than A-Ha did some fifteen years prior. Props to them for having the stones to hire acclaimed comic book artist McFarlane, who apparently laid the groundwork for the film "Eight Crazy Nights" with the character models. I'll admit, I wasn't a huge Korn fan, but I was a big supporter of any one who had a chance to knock off certain boy bands from the number one spot on Total Request Live, which I watched every afternoon when I got home from school (I still love you Carson! Even though you're only on at 2:30 AM and I honestly couldn't care less about your 2,345,763rd interview with Fred Durst). That's a nice profile of your fan base, too, Korn. Do I need to bench 250 just to get a pre-order of your new CD?
Fatboy Slim
"Weapon of Choice"
From Halfway Between the Gutter and the Stars, Skint/Astralwerks, 2000
Director: Spike Jonze
I imagine the pitch for this video went a little something like this:
Fatboy: For this video, I just want a guy dancing in a lobby. He's wearing an old timer suit, with slacks that rest just in the sub-lingual area. Midway through his foxtrot, gravity gives way, and he starts dancing on the ceiling.
Label: Hmm. I like it, but in order for it to be fully enjoyable during an acid trip, we're going to need the perfect man to play your dancer.
Fatboy: Christopher Walken just got done shooting "Catch Me if You Can." He should be available.
Label: Here's a blank check. Make this damn video.
The rest is history.
Gorillaz
"Clint Eastwood"
From Gorillaz, Parlophone, 2000
Director: Jamie Hewlett
This video taught us that it could be possible for pop stars to develop a massive following in spite of being not strictly human. It is a theory that continues to be tested today with the success of Lady Gaga.
The White Stripes
"Fell in Love with a Girl"
From White Blood Cells, XL, 2002
Director: Michael Gondry
What more should we have expected from the brilliant mind that gave us "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and the slightly-less intelligent same mind that gave us "The Green Hornet"? The White Stripes always had a knack for producing fiendishly cool music videos, and the length of their first single that exploded off White Blood Cells in 2002 gave them the outlet necessary to unleash this dizzying feat of childhood engineering over the top of what is essentially a straightforward old-time rock and roll love song. When I tried to recreate it in my room, all I ended up with was something that looked like a house and four swallowed red bricks.
Johnny Cash (Nine Inch Nails cover)
"Hurt"
From America IV: The Man Comes Around, American Recordings/Universal Music Group, 2003
Director: Mark Romanek
Perhaps the best praise for Johnny Cash's final music video should come straight from the lips of the original songwriter, Trent Reznor, in an interview with Alternative Press in September 2004:
"I pop the video in, and wow... Tears welling, silence, goose-bumps... Wow. [I felt like] I just lost my girlfriend, because that song isn't mine anymore... It really made me think about how powerful music is as a medium and art form. I wrote some words and music in my bedroom as a way of staying sane, about a bleak and desperate place I was in, totally isolated and alone. [Somehow] that winds up reinterpreted by a music legend from a radically different era/genre and still retains sincerity and meaning — different, but every bit as pure."
Red Hot Chili Peppers
"Can't Stop"
From By the Way, Warner Bros., 2003
Director: Mark Romanek
Embedding disabled by request. Click link to watch video on youtube.
RHCP has been known for some rather interesting visual interpretations of their hits ("Scar Tissue," "Otherside," and the trippy Crazy Taxi-looking "Californication"), but this accompanying short for the third single off an extremely underrated album in their oeuvre is perhaps the most arresting. Where can I snag a fluorescent backpack, Anthony?
Yellowcard
"Ocean Avenue"
From Ocean Avenue, Capitol, 2004
Director: Marc Webb
Okay, so it's a tad too derivative of both "Run Lola Run" and "Groundhog Day," but if you can make the complicated premises of those two films work in less than four minutes over a standard pop song, you've got to be doing something right, correct? Doesn't the lead singer look like a guy you stuffed in a locker in seventh grade? Oh, no, that's right. That was me.
Beck
"Girl"
From Guero, Interscope, 2005
Director: Motion Theory
Beck may have hit his songwriting peak with "Odelay" in 1996, but his best music video came almost a decade later. Taking a page (see what I did there!) out of MAD magazine, the video features some interesting city planning choices. An otherwise forgettable love pop-py love song becomes a type of real Escher-ian nightmare.
Vampire Weekend
"Oxford Comma"
From Vampire Weekend, XL/DGC, 2008
Director: Richard Ayoade
I'm not a huge fan of the avant-garde, or the one-take camera trickery, but for some reason in this video the two fuse together to create an enjoyable interpretation of a single I preferred to "A-Punk," which ultimately rocketed this New York indie band to fame in the summer of 2008. It could be the clear Strokes influence on the guitar riff or the use of the Futura font (also employed by Kubrick, Wes Anderson, and the animated series "Doug"). Whatever the reason, "Oxford Comma" seems to have the artistic creativity, inspiration and style that endears it to the video shorts of yesteryear. And yes, the punctuation decision in that last sentence was very consciously-made.
Obviously, there are many other great videos that visually or conceptually elevated the form. Let me know what some of your favorites are below!
But, have you taken a look at the stable of potential fodder for MTV's poster-boy idiots this year? Let's try and overlook the fact (like MTV's marketing department has done for years) that the medium has been rendered culturally irrelevant as a result of the format switch of the station in the early 2000s that is an easy target for hack stand-up comedians throughout this fine country. The music video, as an art form, has lacked any kind of significance since about 2002, placing the medium in the same category as fax machines, pay phones, and the Seattle Mariners. Prior to MTV's complete abandonment of the staple element of its brand since the early 1980s, however, there were several technical achievements in music video production that elevated the medium, at its height, to a level of certifiable artistic pursuit that in many cases exceeded the quality of the songwriting itself. This post celebrates those videos during the heyday of their cultural significance, beginning with perhaps the finest example of how a music video could transform a pop music hit into a cultural phenomenon.
Michael Jackson
"Thriller"
From Thriller, Epic Records, 1982
Director: John Landis
Michael Jackson's Thriller featured several memorable music videos with "Billie Jean," "Beat It," and "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'," but it was his decision to develop this long-form video with its own self-sustained narrative (and the most-mimicked dance sequence in the history of popular music) that stands the test of time as perhaps the first big push in what a music video could be. No longer did we need to have a rock band performing in an abandoned warehouse, or (perhaps more popular in the early 80s) crazy-looking artists simply crooning into a camera as their shellacked hairstyles bobbed up and down on cable-ready television sets.
A-Ha
"Take on Me"
From Hunting High and Low, Warner Bros., 1985
Director: Steve Barron
Embedding disabled for this video. Click link to watch on youtube.
There were actually two versions produced for this 1985 breakout hit, but it is Steve Barron's version that introduces animation in a uniquely stunning way for the period that was often poorly imitated (see: Paula Abdul's "Straight Up") but not duplicated until the early 2000s (as we'll see later). The story told in the video itself may have little (if anything) to do with the content of the song, and I'm still not certain where the evil biker gang fits in, but damn if the rotoscoped music clip hasn't penetrated deep into the fabric of our collective popular culture consciousness.
Peter Gabriel
"Sledgehammer"
From So, Geffen, 1986
Director: Steven R. Johnson
Peter Gabriel and Steven R. Johnson channeled their inner Tim Burton and produced this stop-motion masterpiece in the midst of some rather vapid hair band fare that populated much of the music video scene of the mid-1980s. I'm not sure if they intentionally filmed the stutter-step dance moves of Peter Gabriel or they put some of those mo-cap balls on me during my moves on the dance floor at prom. Either way, the video simultaneously oozes cool and inspires nausea.
Pearl Jam
"Jeremy"
From Ten, Epic Records, 1992
Director: Mark Pellington
Apparently, by 1992 we'd tired of zombies, Dr. Katz-style sketchy animation and mouths that morph into clay bullhorns to scare children with music videos, so Eddie Vedder and Mark Pellington turned the camera on the legion of angst-y teens created by the new grunge movement. What resulted remains, to this day, one of the most haunting psychological portraits in the medium that brilliantly captures the raw emotion of just one of many of the instant classics that found their way onto Ten. The controversy created by "Jeremy" kick-started the confrontational career of the grunge era's last great legacy on today's music scene.
The Beastie Boys
"Sabotage"
From Ill Communication, Grand Royal Records, 1994
Director: Spike Jonze
From the "Police Squad!" homage in the video's opening seconds to the grainy video effects driving home that 1970s vibe to the stone-faced selling of the parody by the Beasties, "Sabotage" has classic satiric video written all over it. Throughout the years, the group has produced some hilarious videos with varying degrees of success. This is their "Citizen Kane," folks.
Weezer
"Buddy Holly"
From Weezer (The Blue Album), Geffen, 1994
Director: Spike Jonze
Perhaps it's a little vanilla to list two Spike Jonze videos back-to-back, from the same year nonetheless, but you can't include a list of great music video concept ideas and leave out the Fonz. I mean, let's leave aside the technical accomplishment of the video, which was mind-blowing back in 1994 (this is before Lucas went back in and changed the Gredo/Han Solo thing, remember? Putting Rivers and the boys on the set of "Happy Days" convincingly simply for a music video made me feel, as a seven year-old snot-nosed kid, as though I were the Indians and Spike Jonze the Spaniard had just made fire jump from his hands right in front of me). Joanie loves Chachi, but I love this video (cue laugh track).
Jamiroquai
"Virtual Insanity"
From Traveling Without Moving, Sony Soho Square, 1996
Director: Jonathan Glazer
You have to give English acid jazz band Jamiroquai props for a few things in this video. The first would be totally pulling off that plush Abraham Lincoln imitation cranial wear. The second would be capturing the essence of their album title in a nice, neat four minute video package. Finally, actually making something called "acid jazz" relevant in a way that didn't involve illegal drugs, a soundproof garage, and a complete DVD set of the Battlestar Galactica series.
Korn
"Freak on a Leash"
From Follow the Leader, Immortal/Epic, 1999
Director: Todd McFarlane
So, clearly Korn went a different direction with the animation than A-Ha did some fifteen years prior. Props to them for having the stones to hire acclaimed comic book artist McFarlane, who apparently laid the groundwork for the film "Eight Crazy Nights" with the character models. I'll admit, I wasn't a huge Korn fan, but I was a big supporter of any one who had a chance to knock off certain boy bands from the number one spot on Total Request Live, which I watched every afternoon when I got home from school (I still love you Carson! Even though you're only on at 2:30 AM and I honestly couldn't care less about your 2,345,763rd interview with Fred Durst). That's a nice profile of your fan base, too, Korn. Do I need to bench 250 just to get a pre-order of your new CD?
Fatboy Slim
"Weapon of Choice"
From Halfway Between the Gutter and the Stars, Skint/Astralwerks, 2000
Director: Spike Jonze
I imagine the pitch for this video went a little something like this:
Fatboy: For this video, I just want a guy dancing in a lobby. He's wearing an old timer suit, with slacks that rest just in the sub-lingual area. Midway through his foxtrot, gravity gives way, and he starts dancing on the ceiling.
Label: Hmm. I like it, but in order for it to be fully enjoyable during an acid trip, we're going to need the perfect man to play your dancer.
Fatboy: Christopher Walken just got done shooting "Catch Me if You Can." He should be available.
Label: Here's a blank check. Make this damn video.
The rest is history.
Gorillaz
"Clint Eastwood"
From Gorillaz, Parlophone, 2000
Director: Jamie Hewlett
This video taught us that it could be possible for pop stars to develop a massive following in spite of being not strictly human. It is a theory that continues to be tested today with the success of Lady Gaga.
The White Stripes
"Fell in Love with a Girl"
From White Blood Cells, XL, 2002
Director: Michael Gondry
What more should we have expected from the brilliant mind that gave us "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and the slightly-less intelligent same mind that gave us "The Green Hornet"? The White Stripes always had a knack for producing fiendishly cool music videos, and the length of their first single that exploded off White Blood Cells in 2002 gave them the outlet necessary to unleash this dizzying feat of childhood engineering over the top of what is essentially a straightforward old-time rock and roll love song. When I tried to recreate it in my room, all I ended up with was something that looked like a house and four swallowed red bricks.
Johnny Cash (Nine Inch Nails cover)
"Hurt"
From America IV: The Man Comes Around, American Recordings/Universal Music Group, 2003
Director: Mark Romanek
Perhaps the best praise for Johnny Cash's final music video should come straight from the lips of the original songwriter, Trent Reznor, in an interview with Alternative Press in September 2004:
"I pop the video in, and wow... Tears welling, silence, goose-bumps... Wow. [I felt like] I just lost my girlfriend, because that song isn't mine anymore... It really made me think about how powerful music is as a medium and art form. I wrote some words and music in my bedroom as a way of staying sane, about a bleak and desperate place I was in, totally isolated and alone. [Somehow] that winds up reinterpreted by a music legend from a radically different era/genre and still retains sincerity and meaning — different, but every bit as pure."
Red Hot Chili Peppers
"Can't Stop"
From By the Way, Warner Bros., 2003
Director: Mark Romanek
Embedding disabled by request. Click link to watch video on youtube.
RHCP has been known for some rather interesting visual interpretations of their hits ("Scar Tissue," "Otherside," and the trippy Crazy Taxi-looking "Californication"), but this accompanying short for the third single off an extremely underrated album in their oeuvre is perhaps the most arresting. Where can I snag a fluorescent backpack, Anthony?
Yellowcard
"Ocean Avenue"
From Ocean Avenue, Capitol, 2004
Director: Marc Webb
Okay, so it's a tad too derivative of both "Run Lola Run" and "Groundhog Day," but if you can make the complicated premises of those two films work in less than four minutes over a standard pop song, you've got to be doing something right, correct? Doesn't the lead singer look like a guy you stuffed in a locker in seventh grade? Oh, no, that's right. That was me.
Beck
"Girl"
From Guero, Interscope, 2005
Director: Motion Theory
Beck may have hit his songwriting peak with "Odelay" in 1996, but his best music video came almost a decade later. Taking a page (see what I did there!) out of MAD magazine, the video features some interesting city planning choices. An otherwise forgettable love pop-py love song becomes a type of real Escher-ian nightmare.
Vampire Weekend
"Oxford Comma"
From Vampire Weekend, XL/DGC, 2008
Director: Richard Ayoade
I'm not a huge fan of the avant-garde, or the one-take camera trickery, but for some reason in this video the two fuse together to create an enjoyable interpretation of a single I preferred to "A-Punk," which ultimately rocketed this New York indie band to fame in the summer of 2008. It could be the clear Strokes influence on the guitar riff or the use of the Futura font (also employed by Kubrick, Wes Anderson, and the animated series "Doug"). Whatever the reason, "Oxford Comma" seems to have the artistic creativity, inspiration and style that endears it to the video shorts of yesteryear. And yes, the punctuation decision in that last sentence was very consciously-made.
Obviously, there are many other great videos that visually or conceptually elevated the form. Let me know what some of your favorites are below!
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