They've done it.
The New Yorker, in a maddening meta move bound to get your Inception-sense tingling, released a list of the greatest lists on Wednesday. Judging by its placement in Shouts & Murmurs, I'm going to give the magazine the benefit of the doubt and assume this is a wonderfully satirical look at our obsession with creating lists at the end of the year. And not an exercise in forcing my brain to do seven backflips in a row.
Exponentially confounding indices aside, it certainly has been a great year for — well, pretty much everything. I mean, we're still standing here after December 21, so we must've done something right, right? Even though I have several pop culture adventures yet to go on before the clock strikes midnight next Tuesday, I've compiled my favorite things of the past 361 days. Don't go looking under your chair though, Oprah fans. There's no copy of "The Dark Knight Rises" waiting for you.
Favorite news item:
Higgs Boson found
It wasn't the sexiest story of the year. I mean, what could be sexy about a bunch of scientists in a Swiss bunker pursuing the so-called "God particle" by shooting lasers at each other. Actually, that does sound really cool, when you stop to think about it...
What really made the story interesting and my favorite of the year, though, was the attempts by lay journalists to explain what a Higgs boson was. Some failed miserably — and hilariously.
It was also nice to see those billions of dollars actually produce something. Even if it only lasted as long as it takes that impulse of dread to shoot up your spine when you see the bill for the project and the number of countries now in crippling economic straits. But enough of that, this is a best of list!
Favorite read:
"Snow Fall" by the New York Times' John Branch
It's not a story. It's not an infographic. It's not a photo gallery, nor is it a video or a GIS-powered map.
It's all of those things.
The New York Times, as only it can, combines brilliant narrative storytelling with all the bells and whistles the semantic web has to offer, and plops it down for readers, viewers, clickers to enjoy. It's a fascinating piece that is not only interesting in its own right, but shows the direction journalism is likely to go on the semantic web in a way only the most prestigious name in worldwide journalism could pull off.
And audiences responded. More than 3.5 million people have viewed the package as of this writing.
Favorite game:
You Don't Know Jack (Facebook)
There were so many triple-A titles on consoles this year. Black Ops 2. Halo 4. Assassin's Creed 3. Mass Effect 3. New Super Mario Bros. Wii.
And they all got outclassed by a free-to-play, Flash-based game.
You Don't Know Jack has always been a pleasure of mine. I love when the worlds of high and pop culture collide to create a serendipitous mess that questions you whether an item is a piece of Japanese origami or a position in the Kama Sutra. Putting it on Facebook, with new episodes to play every day, was just like sprinkling addictive drugs on a Chicago deep-dish style pizza.
The addition of themed episodes and iPod/Pad functionality only means good things in the coming year.
Favorite sports moment:
Kansas City fans boo Robinson Cano in 2012 Home Run Derby
WAAAAAH!
Here's why Kansas City fans booing Cano was awesome and not classless, as many East Coast-based sportswriters would have you believe:
1. Kansas City fans showed that, even in the midst of another losing season, they still cared about the game of baseball enough to make asses out of themselves on national TV.
2. A Yankee player was subjected to harsh criticism. You know, something they all experience daily from the New York media. Except it was Midwest-flavored.
3. Cano proceeded to go oh-fer after the rousing round of jeering.
Say what you will about the supposed importance of "tact" and "class" in a competition where the goal is to hit a ball over a fence, and that previous champions who were cheered breathlessly were actually steroid-popping cheaters. Watching Cano get what was coming to him was the highlight of an otherwise ho-hum All Star weekend.
Favorite movie:
Moonrise Kingdom
I know, I know. It's really difficult for me to conceive a world where I don't put The Dark Knight Rises or The Avengers at the top of the list. And, likely, 2012 will be remembered as one of the peak years for the comic book renaissance that has been in full gear for the better part of a decade.
But Wes Anderson outclassed every other title released in 2012, with perhaps his most precocious and accessible film to date, populated with a brilliantly familiar ensemble cast, a fairy-tale like visual style, and another hauntingly beautiful soundtrack. Well done, Mr. Anderson. Well done.
Favorite album:
Fun. "Some Nights"
This was perhaps my toughest choice. I really wanted to give it to Mumford's spirited release "Babel," which follows up "Sigh No More" fearlessly with a bevy of tracks that are just as memorable. Ben Folds Five also released a wonderful comeback album, "The Sound of the Life and the Mind," that made it sound like 1998 in my car all over again.
But Fun hit a level of enthusiasm, catchiness, and lyrical genius that just doesn't let go for the entirety of the album. While the tremendously popular "We Are Young" made my mind dizzy by mid-March with its inundation of every popular radio station and PA system in my general vicinity, the quality of the rest of the album more than makes up for being subjected to replay hell.
Favorite show:
"Boardwalk Empire"
While I didn't love the finale, it's clear Boardwalk Empire, after the death of one of its major characters in Season 2, rebounded with a series-defining season over the past three months. Showrunner Terence Winter took Nucky Thompson to places it seemed inconceivable he'd go three years ago when the show premiered. There was an epic weight lent to the events onscreen, and the decision to crucially break with reality in certain instances left the impression the show could pivot in a heartbeat to unexpected and horrifying territory.
2012 also saw the appropriate end of House, a breathtaking freshman effort for The Newsroom, a lackluster calendar year for How I Met Your Mother, the autumn absence of Psych and a slew of...hmm...reality shows. So, let's not overstep the significance of my favoritism toward Boardwalk.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Oilcan J's Bowl Predictions 2012-2013
As a mild-mannered undergraduate, I began a tradition of making bowl season picks on games I knew absolutely nothing about. Which, I contend, is a practice engaged in every year by sports pundits who do the same. So enjoy another installment of an irregular tradition your family is sure not to care about around the table this holiday season.
Like Aunt Mildred's prune casserole, the bowl predictions return for an irregular holiday season. I'll confess to watching roughly three hours of uninebriated college football this season, which means I saw 2 hours and 58 minutes more of the sport in a cogent state of mind than Lou Holtz. I also missed the prestigious Famous Idaho Potato Bowl. My apologies to all tubors involved.
For now, sit back, knock back some egg nog and enjoy another unqualified clod telling you what to think about sports. Because I know you don't have nearly enough of that in your life.
Picks (winners in bold)
S.D. County Credit Union Poinsettia
BYU vs. San Diego State
Beef 'O' Brady's St. Petersburg
Ball State vs. UCF
R+L Carriers New Orleans
East Carolina vs. Louisiana-Lafayette
MAACO Las Vegas
Washington vs. Boise State
Sheraton Hawaii
Fresno State vs. SMU
Little Caesars Pizza
Western Kentucky vs. Central Michigan
Military Bowl Presented By Northrop Grumman
San Jose State vs. Bowling Green
Belk
Cincinnati vs. Duke
Bridgepoint Education Holiday
Baylor vs. UCLA
AdvoCare V100 Independence
Ohio vs. Louisiana-Monroe
Russell Athletic
Rutgers vs. Virginia Tech
Meineke Car Care of Texas
Minnesota vs. Texas Tech
Bell Helicopter Armed Forces
Rice vs. Air Force
New Era Pinstripe
West Virginia vs. Syracuse
Kraft Fight Hunger
Navy vs. Arizona State
Valero Alamo
Texas vs. Oregon State
Buffalo Wild Wings
TCU vs. Michigan State
Franklin American Mortgage Music City
NC State vs. Vanderbilt
Hyundai Sun
USC vs. Georgia Tech
AutoZone Liberty
Iowa State vs. Tulsa
Chick-fil-A
LSU vs. Clemson
TaxSlayer.com Gator
Mississippi State vs. Northwestern
Heart of Dallas
Purdue vs. Oklahoma State
Outback
South Carolina vs. Michigan
Capital One
Georgia vs. Nebraska
Rose Bowl Game presented by Vizio
Wisconsin vs. Stanford
Discover Orange
Northern Illinois vs. Florida State
Allstate Sugar
Louisville vs. Florida
Tostitos Fiesta
Oregon vs. Kansas State
AT&T Cotton
Texas A&M vs. Oklahoma
BBVA Compass
Pittsburgh vs. Ole Miss
GoDaddy.com
Kent State vs. Arkansas State
Discover BCS National Championship
Notre Dame vs. Alabama
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Chekhov's Gun - The Secret to Comedy
There is an unsourced quote attributed to 19th century Russian author Anton Chekhov that goes something like this:
"If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired. Otherwise don't put it there."
The quote has been in my head recently for a number of reasons. First, I read the delightful 1Q84 last winter break which made direct reference to Chekhov's rule, then deliberately broke it. Second, in my narrative writing class this semester it was used as an illustrative lesson in which details to include in our nonfiction writing.
And, third, it came to me as the reason Larry David is the modern king of comedy.
There are some who would disagree. David has been off the air for over a year now, the latest season of the fantastic HBO series "Curb Your Enthusiasm" airing at the tail end of 2011. He's at work on an HBO original movie at the moment, which will also feature Bill Hader, Jon Hamm, Danny McBride, Michael Keaton, Kate Hudson, Eva Mendes and Curb's "Leon," J.B. Smoove.
In other words, likely the funniest and sexiest thing you'll see on premium cable in the coming months. Well, at least if you shut your TV off before midnight.
What makes David's comedy so endearing? Is it the self-effacing characters? The insightful obliteration of societal norms? The ability to play with language?
No. The real reason is David understands Chekhov's gun and uses it to side-splitting effect.
Let's take an example from my favorite episode of Curb, "The Doll." The installment opens with Larry entering a theater. His doctor has told him he needs to drink more fluids, so he's carrying a water bottle. A woman, who he believes to be a worker, tells him no outside drink is allowed. So he throws the bottle out. When he realizes she's just another patron, a classic "Larry David moment" ensues — a shouting match in the middle of the movie theater.
The episode goes on. Larry cuts the hair off a doll's head for a friend's daughter, who doesn't realize it won't grow back. He's forced to take his friend/manager Jeff's daughter's doll and replace the head. But his wife, Susie, notices and implores Larry to return the doll's head, as only she can:
For any other series, Susie's revelation in the theater that she knows the doll's head has been stolen and used to replace her daughter's would be enough to close the episode. But David takes it one step further still, returning to the theater, water bottle tucked firmly in his pants pocket. Did I mention he also walked away from guarding an unlocked bathroom door for his wife, Sheryl, earlier in the episode? This all sets up the Chekhovian payoff, perhaps the finest example in a series rife with opportunity:
You can make the argument that Larry David's comedy doesn't mesh with your sense of humor. You can make the argument that Larry David's comedy dwells in the meaningless part of our social existence.
But you can't argue the guy lacks an appreciation for Chekhov.
"If in the first act you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired. Otherwise don't put it there."
The quote has been in my head recently for a number of reasons. First, I read the delightful 1Q84 last winter break which made direct reference to Chekhov's rule, then deliberately broke it. Second, in my narrative writing class this semester it was used as an illustrative lesson in which details to include in our nonfiction writing.
And, third, it came to me as the reason Larry David is the modern king of comedy.
There are some who would disagree. David has been off the air for over a year now, the latest season of the fantastic HBO series "Curb Your Enthusiasm" airing at the tail end of 2011. He's at work on an HBO original movie at the moment, which will also feature Bill Hader, Jon Hamm, Danny McBride, Michael Keaton, Kate Hudson, Eva Mendes and Curb's "Leon," J.B. Smoove.
In other words, likely the funniest and sexiest thing you'll see on premium cable in the coming months. Well, at least if you shut your TV off before midnight.
What makes David's comedy so endearing? Is it the self-effacing characters? The insightful obliteration of societal norms? The ability to play with language?
No. The real reason is David understands Chekhov's gun and uses it to side-splitting effect.
Let's take an example from my favorite episode of Curb, "The Doll." The installment opens with Larry entering a theater. His doctor has told him he needs to drink more fluids, so he's carrying a water bottle. A woman, who he believes to be a worker, tells him no outside drink is allowed. So he throws the bottle out. When he realizes she's just another patron, a classic "Larry David moment" ensues — a shouting match in the middle of the movie theater.
The episode goes on. Larry cuts the hair off a doll's head for a friend's daughter, who doesn't realize it won't grow back. He's forced to take his friend/manager Jeff's daughter's doll and replace the head. But his wife, Susie, notices and implores Larry to return the doll's head, as only she can:
For any other series, Susie's revelation in the theater that she knows the doll's head has been stolen and used to replace her daughter's would be enough to close the episode. But David takes it one step further still, returning to the theater, water bottle tucked firmly in his pants pocket. Did I mention he also walked away from guarding an unlocked bathroom door for his wife, Sheryl, earlier in the episode? This all sets up the Chekhovian payoff, perhaps the finest example in a series rife with opportunity:
You can make the argument that Larry David's comedy doesn't mesh with your sense of humor. You can make the argument that Larry David's comedy dwells in the meaningless part of our social existence.
But you can't argue the guy lacks an appreciation for Chekhov.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Change in the Sofa-Boardwalk Empire, Season 3 and Finale Review
Hmm.
One syllable to sum up my thoughts at the end of last night's third season finale of acclaimed HBO period piece "Boardwalk Empire." In many ways, the third season represented for me the kind of slow-burn, promise-fulfilling sprawling narrative that fulfilled the promise the original trailers and promotional materials established.
In that first episode, so expertly crafted by Martin Scorcese, Jimmy Darmody tells Nucky Thompson, in an oft-quoted line, "You can't be half a gangster. Not anymore."
It wasn't until Season 3, when Nucky's empire is threatened by an outside force rivaling any other in terms of TV villainy, that we were treated to what this statement truly meant. Nucky, after murdering Jimmy, has no qualms about getting his hands dirty. And he gets them very dirty before the season draws to a close.
Count me among the skeptics after Jimmy's death. I thought he was the rock the show needed. Young, troubled and ambitious, Jimmy represented an American spirit that lent a human element to the other senseless killing that took place on-screen.
But Season 3 overcame Jimmy's absence and the series ascended to new heights in terms of storytelling and drama this year. That's why the finale falling flat perturbed me so much.
Several narrative threads were resolved adequately. And the show finally made the full leap into allegory with Nucky's carnation falling to the boardwalk in the final scene. But the writers left several characters in the lurch, and relied too often upon violence to make a point. In a series that has increasingly impressed with its creativity and cleverness, last night's episode felt like a dud.
When the episode did it right, though, it nailed it. Nucky and Eli's conversation over the busted radiator was perhaps the most interesting and sincere scene in a season filled with dynamic onscreen banter. We see a relationship that was in tatters at the beginning of the season — remember Micky picking up Eli at the prison — coalesce into something lasting. "OK, brother," Eli says in the car after Rosetti is put down. It's a moment that typifies their relationship, and shows that Eli has earned back Nucky's trust. It was a major plot point left over from the inner turmoil in Nucky's outfit from last season, and to see it end in that way was powerful.
Another bright spot was drawing the Lasky/Luciano heroin partnership to a close, tying the failed business venture to the intrigue going on between Joe Masseria, Arnold Rothstein and Nucky. Anatol Yusef's (Lasky) face, as Luciano apologizes for screwing up the deal, is priceless. To see him unhinged, then draw it back in when Luciano loses it to Rothstein, solidifies his position as someone to watch in the coming seasons. Especially considering the real Laskey's long and profitable career in graft.
And finally, the political and social intrigue that has categorized this season reached a head. Stephen Root made one final important appearance in a season during which he has shined, revealing Rothstein fell into Nucky's trap by accepting ownership of the Pennsylvanian distillery. When Nucky told Rothstein, after he forsook him, that he would not forget this, you knew it was going to come back to bite even the mighty New York kingpin. It was nice to see, after several episodes of being on the run, Nucky return to his position as, in the words of Eli, "the man with all the angles." We'll have to wait until next season to see how the federal inquiry (and the fact that Masseria's men lie dead in a field in New Jersey) will impact their relationship with Nucky.
The bold narrative statement made in the closing minutes of the episode was also noteworthy, though I'm not sure I can classify it as a strength or a weakness yet. Boardwalk Empire has danced the line between symbolism and historical accuracy in the past. Season 3 brought the issue to a head, blowing up half of the boardwalk and forcing Nucky Thompson toward a much higher profile gangster lifestyle than his real-life counterpart, Nucky Johnson. It reflects the dichotomy showrunner Terence Winter has stated between the "look and feel of the show, which is as accurate as he can make it, and the content of the show, which is fiction."
Because it's fiction, Winter had a strong possibility for catharsis, which was completely destroyed in this episode by the interference of both Gillian and Harrow. For all the fanboy praise of Capone and Harrow's violence (one IGN commenter called Harrow's shootout the greatest few minutes in the history of television), it didn't amount to anything. We knew the side lurked in Harrow. We saw it in previous episodes, and up-close-and-personal in Manny Horvitz's retribution earlier this season. And we've seen Capone kill violently before, including a particularly grisly barroom scene earlier this season.
One syllable to sum up my thoughts at the end of last night's third season finale of acclaimed HBO period piece "Boardwalk Empire." In many ways, the third season represented for me the kind of slow-burn, promise-fulfilling sprawling narrative that fulfilled the promise the original trailers and promotional materials established.
Still gives me goosebumps.
In that first episode, so expertly crafted by Martin Scorcese, Jimmy Darmody tells Nucky Thompson, in an oft-quoted line, "You can't be half a gangster. Not anymore."
It wasn't until Season 3, when Nucky's empire is threatened by an outside force rivaling any other in terms of TV villainy, that we were treated to what this statement truly meant. Nucky, after murdering Jimmy, has no qualms about getting his hands dirty. And he gets them very dirty before the season draws to a close.
Where'd you learn to shoot like that, Nucky?
Count me among the skeptics after Jimmy's death. I thought he was the rock the show needed. Young, troubled and ambitious, Jimmy represented an American spirit that lent a human element to the other senseless killing that took place on-screen.
But Season 3 overcame Jimmy's absence and the series ascended to new heights in terms of storytelling and drama this year. That's why the finale falling flat perturbed me so much.
Several narrative threads were resolved adequately. And the show finally made the full leap into allegory with Nucky's carnation falling to the boardwalk in the final scene. But the writers left several characters in the lurch, and relied too often upon violence to make a point. In a series that has increasingly impressed with its creativity and cleverness, last night's episode felt like a dud.
When the episode did it right, though, it nailed it. Nucky and Eli's conversation over the busted radiator was perhaps the most interesting and sincere scene in a season filled with dynamic onscreen banter. We see a relationship that was in tatters at the beginning of the season — remember Micky picking up Eli at the prison — coalesce into something lasting. "OK, brother," Eli says in the car after Rosetti is put down. It's a moment that typifies their relationship, and shows that Eli has earned back Nucky's trust. It was a major plot point left over from the inner turmoil in Nucky's outfit from last season, and to see it end in that way was powerful.
Another bright spot was drawing the Lasky/Luciano heroin partnership to a close, tying the failed business venture to the intrigue going on between Joe Masseria, Arnold Rothstein and Nucky. Anatol Yusef's (Lasky) face, as Luciano apologizes for screwing up the deal, is priceless. To see him unhinged, then draw it back in when Luciano loses it to Rothstein, solidifies his position as someone to watch in the coming seasons. Especially considering the real Laskey's long and profitable career in graft.
Laskey is not impressed.
And finally, the political and social intrigue that has categorized this season reached a head. Stephen Root made one final important appearance in a season during which he has shined, revealing Rothstein fell into Nucky's trap by accepting ownership of the Pennsylvanian distillery. When Nucky told Rothstein, after he forsook him, that he would not forget this, you knew it was going to come back to bite even the mighty New York kingpin. It was nice to see, after several episodes of being on the run, Nucky return to his position as, in the words of Eli, "the man with all the angles." We'll have to wait until next season to see how the federal inquiry (and the fact that Masseria's men lie dead in a field in New Jersey) will impact their relationship with Nucky.
The bold narrative statement made in the closing minutes of the episode was also noteworthy, though I'm not sure I can classify it as a strength or a weakness yet. Boardwalk Empire has danced the line between symbolism and historical accuracy in the past. Season 3 brought the issue to a head, blowing up half of the boardwalk and forcing Nucky Thompson toward a much higher profile gangster lifestyle than his real-life counterpart, Nucky Johnson. It reflects the dichotomy showrunner Terence Winter has stated between the "look and feel of the show, which is as accurate as he can make it, and the content of the show, which is fiction."
Because it's fiction, Winter had a strong possibility for catharsis, which was completely destroyed in this episode by the interference of both Gillian and Harrow. For all the fanboy praise of Capone and Harrow's violence (one IGN commenter called Harrow's shootout the greatest few minutes in the history of television), it didn't amount to anything. We knew the side lurked in Harrow. We saw it in previous episodes, and up-close-and-personal in Manny Horvitz's retribution earlier this season. And we've seen Capone kill violently before, including a particularly grisly barroom scene earlier this season.
How much is too much?
Harrow's killing spree also sets up the ignominious end for Gyp Rosetti. Not at the hands of Nucky, whose life has been utterly destroyed by Rosetti and his association with Masseria, but a two-bit thug who was peeing himself in a closet. And he kills Rosetti while he's peeing. So ends one of the most interesting TV villains. But even he isn't given the shortest shrift in an underwhelming finale.
That distinction rests with Gillian Darmody, Gretchen Mol has played the character to creepy perfection for three seasons now. It was pretty clear that she was headed for a poetic end. But Winter decides to kill her at the hand of Rosetti, as she attempts to take his life in a manner similar to her real estate plot earlier in the season, itself a perfect example of the layered complexity that all Boardwalk characters have assumed in several seasons of development.
We're treated a wonderful seduction scene in which we finally see some strong, illuminating character development between Gyp and Gillian and their mutual hatred of themselves. All to realize that it's all a sham, with Gillian clandestinely (and poorly, I might add—her reversal of attitudes in his office was worse than a poker tell that she'd made up her mind to kill him to "save" Tommy) plotting to off Rosetti.
We're treated a wonderful seduction scene in which we finally see some strong, illuminating character development between Gyp and Gillian and their mutual hatred of themselves. All to realize that it's all a sham, with Gillian clandestinely (and poorly, I might add—her reversal of attitudes in his office was worse than a poker tell that she'd made up her mind to kill him to "save" Tommy) plotting to off Rosetti.
Not only that, but Winter can't resist one final attempt to drum up sympathy for a psychopath who's abducted her son's child (that may or may not be her own...yeah, I went there. There's no way you can forget that scene from Season 2; it's burned on my retinas). As she lies there, dying, Nucky approaches her during a hallucination of the night the Commodore impregnated her, probably with Jimmy, and thanks him for coming to save her. Well done, Mr. Winter. Don't let us forget that there's not a single character we can universally hate on your entire show.
This wouldn't be too bad if the storytelling were nuanced to reflect this complexity. The finest episodes of Boardwalk (the pilot, last season's aforementioned "Under God's Power She Fluorishes," in which we learn waaaaaay more about Jimmy and Gillian then we ever wanted to know through flashbacks, and this season's flawless "A Man, A Plan..." where we learn of Margaret's pregnancy with Slater's child only after he shows up dead in a box in the Thompson's suite) play with time and space, and give us multiple avenues for interpretation. Not so in this straightforward, 60-minute episode.
It's called a flashback, Mr. Winter. You have done it before, quite successfully.
And it's not even that straightforward. There are holes aplenty. What's happened to Van Alden, arguably the most interesting Boardwalk character of all, after his apprehension? How did Nucky return to power so quickly? How is Margaret dealing with her grief, aside from her visit to the abortionist? How has Chalky's allegiances impacted his family, and the African-American community in New Jersey? And what of the fallout in Washington with Jess Smith dead at his own hand?
This questions are even less important than the overarching question of, where do we go now? The end of Season 2 set up the perfect transition with Nucky assuming the mantle of a true gangster. This is Nucky's story, through and through, and has been since the beginning. But last night, the subsidiary stories overshadowed Nucky's plight. His confrontation of Margaret seemed trite and uninteresting, given her erratic acceptance of some of Nucky's vile ways but shocked hatred when he blurted out his murderous musings after a concussion. She's been just as unfaithful as he, but now seems unwilling to lead a life of more lies and deceit, though she knows she'll be safe that way?
While the carnation falling was significant, it came nowhere near the emotional significance of seeing Nucky put a bullet in Jimmy's head, Jimmy talking him through it all the while. And while it may be unfair to hold up this finale to a pivotal moment in the series' development so far, suffice to say the clear direction the show had after that moment has been tarnished. How much of this becomes a Chicago or New York-centric story? O'Banion's waiting in the wings in Chicago, setting up imminent mass chaos leading to the Saint Valentine's Day Massacre. And we know Rothstein (if history serves correctly) only has a few years left, too. With the news of Dennis Lahane joining Boardwalk's talented team of writers, it seems only likely the fanciful play with history will continue.
Spoiler alert: This didn't happen. Really.
The question after last night I'm left with, is do I care? Where does Nucky's next threat come from? And will it ever approach the brilliance or promise that Season 3 afforded, but could not deliver on?
Verdict: 2/5 stars
Sunday, November 18, 2012
A Sticky Floors and Salty Popcorn Movie Review: Lincoln
There's no way
I can be objective about Steven Spielberg's new biopic.
At its center
is my favorite actor of all-time, a gifted character bard (Daniel
Day-Lewis) who I'd be ecstatic to play the role of a jar of mustard.
Surrounded by an ensemble featuring standouts from some of my
favorite films in recent memory (Tommy Lee Jones-No Country for
Old Men, Jackie Earle Haley-Watchmen, Joseph
Gordon-Levitt-Inception, David Straitharn-Good Night, and
Good Luck, Hal Holbrook-That Evening Sun, Time Blake
Nelson-O Brother, Where art Thou?, Michael Stuhlbarg-A
Serious Man, and the incomparable James Spader), and its promise
of casting a more personal light on arguably America's most mythic
true-to-life character, and there was really no way this movie could
fail. I'd have been pleased, if as Aaron Sorkin suggested he'd do
with his Steve Jobs biopic earlier this week, we'd had Day-Lewis'
Lincoln eating short ribs in the White House kitchen for two and a
half hours.
But Spielberg
knocked my socks off.
Those wanting a
sprawling portrait of the man will be discouraged. For the most part,
Lincoln confines itself to one tumultuous month in American
history. As the film opens, Lincoln has just been re-elected in 1865.
The country remains very much in the throes of the Civil War. Yet
Lincoln's Republican Party (with Holbrook and Jones in major
positions of authority) has just roundly defeated their Democrat
rivals in the chaotic House of Representatives. What unfolds during
the film's lengthy run-time (perhaps my only compliant) is Lincoln's
personal struggle to get the Thirteenth Amendment abolishing slavery
passed through a deeply divided, lame-duck House as the Civil War
limps toward its conclusion. Aside from two chaotic scenes, one at
the beginning of the film and the aftermath of the Petersburg,
Virginia, battle, the war takes a backseat to a display of Lincoln's
political acumen, and his meandering thoughts during the month the
amendment is under discussion in the House.
And that's the
best way to describe Day-Lewis' Lincoln. He is a meandering
intellectual, often draped in a blanket and stooped in thought.
Spielberg shows a particular enthusiasm for a shot directly over
Day-Lewis shoulder, peering into the gaze of those addressing the
president with the familiar stove hat and chin whiskers framing the
shot. This achieves both a narrative and cinematic significance.
Lincoln often appears aloof (so much so that one of his advisers
storms out of the room during a particularly lengthy aside), and by
framing the shot so Spielberg plays up this side of Lincoln's
character. It also allows him to play up the myth of Lincoln while
simultaneously displaying a complex human side in other scenes,
heretofore ignored on the big screen. This seamless transition, from
concerned father to backwoods Kentucky boy to shrewd politician, is
deftly maneuvered by Day-Lewis, who once again puts himself into
Oscar contention with this performance.
Like the man
himself, much of the rest of the film orbits around Lincoln. This is
a political intrigue film, and while the pay-off screams Hollywood
drama to the point of almost becoming a caricature, the craftsmanship
of those that surround Day-Lewis keep the story from going off the
deep end. Straitharn once again plays the wizened compatriot to a
tee, occupying the difficult role of Secretary of State and confidant
William Seward with ease and comfort. Perhaps the brightest surprise
in this cast is James Spader's turn as political consultant/oaf W.N.
Bilbo, replete with grand moustache and political cynicism that keeps
the proceedings light, even as the audience is aware the film is
headed toward a less-than-spectacular end.
Which is where
my main gripe springs forth. Lincoln attempts to do many brave things
with a story that is told in second-grade classrooms nationwide. We
all know what's going to happen. How we get there is intellectually
stimulating (for a politics nerd) and even shocking (a heated scene
between Sally Field's Mary Todd Lincoln and Day-Lewis, scolding her
for a discent into madness that Lincoln, the president, can't succumb
to in order to keep up appearances is perhaps the most tension-filled
and bold decision Spielberg and screenwriter Tony Kushner make in
Lincoln). But the final 20 minutes of the film feel tacked
on.
There are four
or five good ways for the film to end before the well-tread territory
of Ford's Theater. And the decision of how to treat the shooting
involves some sleight-of-hand that isn't apparent to the audience
until after the infamous deed takes place. The decision to jump
around in time, completely in service of providing the expected scene
of Lincoln's death yet also ending on an up-note with the president's
address following the passage of the Thirteenth Amendment, is
jarring, odd and unnecessary in an otherwise thoughtful and intimate
portrait of our most mythic president. For much of the film, it seems
as though Spielberg is trying to tear down that wall of fame that
separates us from a man who, as Field's first lady tells us, is
defined by the challenges he had to face in office and his dramatic
assassination. Instead of leaving us with an enduring image of
Lincoln the man, we are given one final image of Lincoln the god as
the credits roll. It's a small nit to pick in a film that bravely
charts a course into well-trod territory, tying together themes and
ideas we thought understood and put to bed 150 years ago.
Verdict: 4.5/5
stars
Friday, November 9, 2012
Virtual Dork: Three great things about yesterday's GTAV Game Informer reveal
If you're a fan of the Grand Theft Auto series (and, unless you're Jack Thompson, why aren't you?) yesterday was pretty much like Christmas. Well, perhaps that night before Christmas when you wake your dad in the middle of the night, asking him if it's time to open presents yet but being told, through one blood-shot eye, to go back to your room and shut up until 6 a.m. After a year of teasing us with one official trailer and a few screenshots released shamelessly at a rate that would make Chinese Democracy fans blush, Rockstar pulled back the curtain on the next installment in their blockbuster franchise to giddy journalists at Game Informer.
You can read the entirety of their article, if you're a subscriber, using an app for Apple or Android devices, or online at their website. Additionally, IGN (and many other outlets) simply poached the information and posted it under their own mastheads. Without going into too much detail on this subject, I can't really blame them. At last count, it was generating about hundreds of pageviews a minute. As a journalist myself, and someone who values game journalism (the good stuff, like the investigative piece on working conditions at Team Bondi by freelancer Andrew McMillen [@NiteShok] last summer), I have some issues with the practice. But that's not the point of this article.
Count me among those bowled over by GTAIV. At the time, I wrote GTAIV "was a fantastic technical achievement with regard to the usage of the RAGE engine in creating a living, breathing city." I stand by that today. While I disagreed with some of the decisions Rockstar made in their presentation and execution of GTAIV, I remember being completely overwhelmed the first time I got behind the wheel to drive Roman home at the outset of GTAIV. And this is coming from a guy who remembers the exact second he put each previous generation GTA game disc into his PS2 for the first time.
Which brings us to yesterday, when Rockstar made, once again, some lofty claims about moving forward with their series. I'll admit, I read the entirety of the 17-page Game Informer article with giddiness of that teenager who plopped down in front of a massive Magnavox 11 years ago and hit the power button for the first time on GTA3. Here's what I'm most excited about from the piece:
1. The narrative possibilities of multiple protagonists. Rockstar broached this subject a bit, but in the Game Informer piece the emphasis was on "skipping the boring parts" of the game by shifting perspectives as the title progressed. But the more interesting thing, given Rockstar's approach in the high definition GTA era to storytelling, is how this will influence the way the story unfolds. We know the protagonists will meet on certain missions. And we definitely got a sense of how this might work in the DLC chapters released by Rockstar for GTAIV. But the shifting focus will allow for storytelling we haven't really seen in a game with the level of polish Rockstar is known for yet.
Sure, we had Master Chief and the Arbiter in Halo 2/3. And Rockstar has toyed with changing perspectives in games recently with Red Dead Redemption and as far back as The Warriors and Red Dead Revolver. But this is concurrent, seamless (and unbounded by narrative) transition from one character to another. We're talking Pulp Fiction-like narrative possibilities here. I hope (and I know) Rockstar won't waste it.
2. Finally, a fully dynamic mission structure (?). Yesterday's announcement had me combing through preview articles for GTA3, to see just what folks were saying before that groundbreaking game came out. Here's a doozie from IGN's preview on Oct. 18, 2001:
"For example, if you steal a taxi and you pick up a guy, he'll talk to you, or perhaps even offer you a task. "
When the game came out, like many of the other mentions of the game's features before it was altered following the Sept. 11 attacks, these dynamic occurrences were nowhere to be found. Again, Game Informer promised us yesterday that we would have dynamic experiences that occur in-game as your character is driving from point-to-point, like the stick-up situations in Red Dead Redemption. One of the more interesting scenarios was stumbling upon dead bodies strewn about int the desert, No Country for Old Men style. Imagine the possibilities! No one plays the same game twice! Actual choice, instead of those branching mission paths that were clunkily implemented toward the end of GTAIV.
3. Better driving mechanics. Let's face it - the cars in GTAIV handled awfully. Thank God everyone drove so horribly, or otherwise I'd be getting shut down by the cops in chases and losing all of Brucie's road races. Dan Houser says the cars will grip the road a lot better this time round, and the time is looking toward producing an experience that rivals top-tier racing games. To me, the driving in GTA has always sort of played second fiddle. But in GTAIV's Liberty City, driving actually meant something, getting from one point to another. Sure, we had the taxi service (which I used to pick up weapons and get to places during a mission easily), but if you're going to produce a city of that scale (and Los Santos is going to be bigger), you have to make it fun to navigate. I'm very excited about the new feel of the cars in GTAIV (and not having to turn on that handy "better handling" cheat, which I used so frequently in GTA3 and other games in the series).
That's it for now. I'll have some impressions when the second official trailer drops next Thursday. Back to Halo 4...
You can read the entirety of their article, if you're a subscriber, using an app for Apple or Android devices, or online at their website. Additionally, IGN (and many other outlets) simply poached the information and posted it under their own mastheads. Without going into too much detail on this subject, I can't really blame them. At last count, it was generating about hundreds of pageviews a minute. As a journalist myself, and someone who values game journalism (the good stuff, like the investigative piece on working conditions at Team Bondi by freelancer Andrew McMillen [@NiteShok] last summer), I have some issues with the practice. But that's not the point of this article.
Count me among those bowled over by GTAIV. At the time, I wrote GTAIV "was a fantastic technical achievement with regard to the usage of the RAGE engine in creating a living, breathing city." I stand by that today. While I disagreed with some of the decisions Rockstar made in their presentation and execution of GTAIV, I remember being completely overwhelmed the first time I got behind the wheel to drive Roman home at the outset of GTAIV. And this is coming from a guy who remembers the exact second he put each previous generation GTA game disc into his PS2 for the first time.
Which brings us to yesterday, when Rockstar made, once again, some lofty claims about moving forward with their series. I'll admit, I read the entirety of the 17-page Game Informer article with giddiness of that teenager who plopped down in front of a massive Magnavox 11 years ago and hit the power button for the first time on GTA3. Here's what I'm most excited about from the piece:
1. The narrative possibilities of multiple protagonists. Rockstar broached this subject a bit, but in the Game Informer piece the emphasis was on "skipping the boring parts" of the game by shifting perspectives as the title progressed. But the more interesting thing, given Rockstar's approach in the high definition GTA era to storytelling, is how this will influence the way the story unfolds. We know the protagonists will meet on certain missions. And we definitely got a sense of how this might work in the DLC chapters released by Rockstar for GTAIV. But the shifting focus will allow for storytelling we haven't really seen in a game with the level of polish Rockstar is known for yet.
Sure, we had Master Chief and the Arbiter in Halo 2/3. And Rockstar has toyed with changing perspectives in games recently with Red Dead Redemption and as far back as The Warriors and Red Dead Revolver. But this is concurrent, seamless (and unbounded by narrative) transition from one character to another. We're talking Pulp Fiction-like narrative possibilities here. I hope (and I know) Rockstar won't waste it.
2. Finally, a fully dynamic mission structure (?). Yesterday's announcement had me combing through preview articles for GTA3, to see just what folks were saying before that groundbreaking game came out. Here's a doozie from IGN's preview on Oct. 18, 2001:
"For example, if you steal a taxi and you pick up a guy, he'll talk to you, or perhaps even offer you a task. "
When the game came out, like many of the other mentions of the game's features before it was altered following the Sept. 11 attacks, these dynamic occurrences were nowhere to be found. Again, Game Informer promised us yesterday that we would have dynamic experiences that occur in-game as your character is driving from point-to-point, like the stick-up situations in Red Dead Redemption. One of the more interesting scenarios was stumbling upon dead bodies strewn about int the desert, No Country for Old Men style. Imagine the possibilities! No one plays the same game twice! Actual choice, instead of those branching mission paths that were clunkily implemented toward the end of GTAIV.
3. Better driving mechanics. Let's face it - the cars in GTAIV handled awfully. Thank God everyone drove so horribly, or otherwise I'd be getting shut down by the cops in chases and losing all of Brucie's road races. Dan Houser says the cars will grip the road a lot better this time round, and the time is looking toward producing an experience that rivals top-tier racing games. To me, the driving in GTA has always sort of played second fiddle. But in GTAIV's Liberty City, driving actually meant something, getting from one point to another. Sure, we had the taxi service (which I used to pick up weapons and get to places during a mission easily), but if you're going to produce a city of that scale (and Los Santos is going to be bigger), you have to make it fun to navigate. I'm very excited about the new feel of the cars in GTAIV (and not having to turn on that handy "better handling" cheat, which I used so frequently in GTA3 and other games in the series).
That's it for now. I'll have some impressions when the second official trailer drops next Thursday. Back to Halo 4...
Saturday, November 3, 2012
The Shallow End Presents: An Inexplicably Close Look at an Obscure Song Lit "The Last Time Again"
You may remember Lit as the band that, in four minutes, completely encapsulated your sophomore year of college.
Or, you may remember Lit as that band that gratuitously made Pamela Anderson the subject of your nightmares.
Yes, the California quartet had a brief run at the top of the airwaves and Total Request Live playlists in the late '90s, which earned them consideration from the soundtrack for that wonderful film series of our youth, American Pie. "Last Time Again" was one of two tracks from the band that appeared in the second iteration of the series, joining the likes of Third Eye Blind's "Semi-Charmed Kind of Life," Harvey Danger's "Flagpole Sitta" and American Hi-Fi's "Flavor of the Weak."
Seriously. Looking back at it now, I can't remember one moment of an American Pie film where there wasn't some sort of ambient music playing behind the characters. I wonder if it was because Eddie Kaye Thomas had a flatulence problem. That might actually have improved the quality of the second film. I remember picking it up at a used DVD store a few years ago, marked down to $2. I bought a couple Ring Pops instead.
Which leads us to the sugary dulcet tones of the melodramatic "Last Time Again," the opening of which aims for a Donne-like ("Mark but this flea," you listener, you have no choice but to do as I say) dramatic opening in the parlance of a teenage comedy.
"I don't want to be an asshole anymore."
A laudable goal. And, given the fact that we know you've been sleeping with your clothes on, climbing through windows at all hours and leaving your car parked on the front lawn, perhaps the decision to no longer piss people off is a good first step in the right direction.
Of course, the rest of the song is an exposition detailing all the ways that this speech, presumably said to what Donne would call a lover or mistress and what the band members of Lit would call that girl with the tight shirt near the bass amp during last night's show, has been told in the past.
"Well, I don't want to be redundant anymore."
Was that before or after you crafted the title to this song?
"The Last Time Again" is a throwaway track with a nice guitar noise that sounds like some kind of an alarm. It was probably used in a scene where our hero Jim is walking into another socially awkward situation with some item attached in a painfully bizarre way to his penis. I've just saved you thirty minutes of whatever American Pie movie you were planning on watching next. Except American Wedding. That film actually takes the characters somewhere and has a decent, heartfelt plot.
Watch that film, use American Pie 2 as a coaster for your warm beverage on this cold November day and remember — if you keep waking up on the bathroom floor, platitudes to those who care probably aren't going to change their mind about your alcoholism and penchant for destroying their electronics.
Or, you may remember Lit as that band that gratuitously made Pamela Anderson the subject of your nightmares.
Yes, the California quartet had a brief run at the top of the airwaves and Total Request Live playlists in the late '90s, which earned them consideration from the soundtrack for that wonderful film series of our youth, American Pie. "Last Time Again" was one of two tracks from the band that appeared in the second iteration of the series, joining the likes of Third Eye Blind's "Semi-Charmed Kind of Life," Harvey Danger's "Flagpole Sitta" and American Hi-Fi's "Flavor of the Weak."
Seriously. Looking back at it now, I can't remember one moment of an American Pie film where there wasn't some sort of ambient music playing behind the characters. I wonder if it was because Eddie Kaye Thomas had a flatulence problem. That might actually have improved the quality of the second film. I remember picking it up at a used DVD store a few years ago, marked down to $2. I bought a couple Ring Pops instead.
Which leads us to the sugary dulcet tones of the melodramatic "Last Time Again," the opening of which aims for a Donne-like ("Mark but this flea," you listener, you have no choice but to do as I say) dramatic opening in the parlance of a teenage comedy.
"I don't want to be an asshole anymore."
A laudable goal. And, given the fact that we know you've been sleeping with your clothes on, climbing through windows at all hours and leaving your car parked on the front lawn, perhaps the decision to no longer piss people off is a good first step in the right direction.
Of course, the rest of the song is an exposition detailing all the ways that this speech, presumably said to what Donne would call a lover or mistress and what the band members of Lit would call that girl with the tight shirt near the bass amp during last night's show, has been told in the past.
"Well, I don't want to be redundant anymore."
Was that before or after you crafted the title to this song?
"The Last Time Again" is a throwaway track with a nice guitar noise that sounds like some kind of an alarm. It was probably used in a scene where our hero Jim is walking into another socially awkward situation with some item attached in a painfully bizarre way to his penis. I've just saved you thirty minutes of whatever American Pie movie you were planning on watching next. Except American Wedding. That film actually takes the characters somewhere and has a decent, heartfelt plot.
Watch that film, use American Pie 2 as a coaster for your warm beverage on this cold November day and remember — if you keep waking up on the bathroom floor, platitudes to those who care probably aren't going to change their mind about your alcoholism and penchant for destroying their electronics.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Arrested development: Some Lolo Jones thoughts
Sometimes, you wish the real world would just stop hasslin' you.
It's been that way this week for Lolo Jones, America's decorated (but not Olympic-medal-winning) hurdler. The flap started Saturday, when Jere Longman wrote a piece in The New York Times titled "For Lolo Jones, Everything is Image." This is the perfect case of a headline encapsulating the thesis of an article, but for further clarification, here's a choice quote:
For her part, Jones appeared on the "Today" show Wednesday morning, tearfully accusing the media of picking her out for criticism. "They should be supporting our U.S. athletes," Jones said of the American media. "And instead, they just ripped me to shreds."
This piece does not seek to add to the debate about Jones' credentials, nor critique her public persona. Plenty have stepped in to defend Jones against the media, including the Awful Announcing blog that I frequent and a piece in today's Chicago Sun-Times I read over breakfast from Richard Roeper. I'm not interested in this question, as I believe it's a point of subjective taste whether you think Jones went too far in overyhyping herself leading up to the Games, and if the media is truly culpable in her failure to medal.
What is interesting, and what makes me feel personally invested in the story, is how Jones reacted to the criticism. A tearful exchange on the "Today" show, dejected tweets and astonishment that the media might actually criticize one of its athletes, instead of simply throwing out rosy puff pieces, screams arrested development to me. It echoes the oft-juvenile behavior of LeBron James following "the Decision" backlash of several years ago. Plainly put, elite athletes live inside a cocoon during their prime, surrounded by supportive friends, coaches and fellow athletes. They are comped hotel rooms, food and endorsements and are often not subjected to the travails of the real world.
I can speak partially from experience, as having been a scholarship college athlete (in track and field, no less). You stay in hotel rooms, where everything is prepackaged. Meals are catered. Stipends are handed out. Books, classes and housing is paid for. All of these things are excellent perks that allow athletes from disadvantaged backgrounds (or the occasional white kid from the suburbs) terrific opportunities. But it also keeps you from realizing just how difficult certain things in life can be.
This is not to belittle the conditions of Jones' upbringing. Growing up with a single mom, living in a church basement is an experience I will never be able to relate to. Career-threatening injury was something I didn't have to worry about. At the same time, Jones' plea for the media to get their facts straight and her bumbling recitation of her accomplishments to the "Today" show interviewer screams, "I'm being abused! Somebody save me from the big bad world!"
Professional athletes in New York don't act this way. Scrutiny and media attention are something that seasoned veterans are able to brush aside. We expect collegiate athletes to act this way: kickers who miss the big one, pitchers who give up the game-winning home run, track stars who miss the big race due to a freak injury. We anticipate their inability to cope with these setbacks because, after all, they're learning.
Most of them do. They go on to achieve in areas other than athletics, and become successfully in the industry they choose. Elite athletes who continue to live inside this bubble do not.
Consider the checkered past of Kobe Bryant. Or the complete meltdown of Ryan Leaf. These are athletes who lived inside a world free from (or with scarcer) want.
Lolo Jones may be the most prominent example of this phenomenon yet. However you feel about her self-avowed virginity, it's another sign of arrested development. Public tweets about who to date are something you expect from 16-year-olds, not 30-year-old two-time Olympians.
The adult world has sex in it. It has strife. And it has a media that will just as happily pick you up as it will spit you out.
Lolo Jones may have just learned that on the biggest stage possible. And boy, it just might make her change her tone.
It's been that way this week for Lolo Jones, America's decorated (but not Olympic-medal-winning) hurdler. The flap started Saturday, when Jere Longman wrote a piece in The New York Times titled "For Lolo Jones, Everything is Image." This is the perfect case of a headline encapsulating the thesis of an article, but for further clarification, here's a choice quote:
Jones has received far greater publicity than any other American track and field athlete competing in the London Games. This was based not on achievement but on her exotic beauty and on a sad and cynical marketing campaign.Cue Tuesday's 100-meter hurdle final, in which Jones finished fourth, a full tenth of a second behind U.S. teammate Kellie Wells, who earned the bronze. She and Dawn Harper, who earned silver in the event, have bristled about the attention given Jones despite their performances.
For her part, Jones appeared on the "Today" show Wednesday morning, tearfully accusing the media of picking her out for criticism. "They should be supporting our U.S. athletes," Jones said of the American media. "And instead, they just ripped me to shreds."
This piece does not seek to add to the debate about Jones' credentials, nor critique her public persona. Plenty have stepped in to defend Jones against the media, including the Awful Announcing blog that I frequent and a piece in today's Chicago Sun-Times I read over breakfast from Richard Roeper. I'm not interested in this question, as I believe it's a point of subjective taste whether you think Jones went too far in overyhyping herself leading up to the Games, and if the media is truly culpable in her failure to medal.
What is interesting, and what makes me feel personally invested in the story, is how Jones reacted to the criticism. A tearful exchange on the "Today" show, dejected tweets and astonishment that the media might actually criticize one of its athletes, instead of simply throwing out rosy puff pieces, screams arrested development to me. It echoes the oft-juvenile behavior of LeBron James following "the Decision" backlash of several years ago. Plainly put, elite athletes live inside a cocoon during their prime, surrounded by supportive friends, coaches and fellow athletes. They are comped hotel rooms, food and endorsements and are often not subjected to the travails of the real world.
I can speak partially from experience, as having been a scholarship college athlete (in track and field, no less). You stay in hotel rooms, where everything is prepackaged. Meals are catered. Stipends are handed out. Books, classes and housing is paid for. All of these things are excellent perks that allow athletes from disadvantaged backgrounds (or the occasional white kid from the suburbs) terrific opportunities. But it also keeps you from realizing just how difficult certain things in life can be.
This is not to belittle the conditions of Jones' upbringing. Growing up with a single mom, living in a church basement is an experience I will never be able to relate to. Career-threatening injury was something I didn't have to worry about. At the same time, Jones' plea for the media to get their facts straight and her bumbling recitation of her accomplishments to the "Today" show interviewer screams, "I'm being abused! Somebody save me from the big bad world!"
Professional athletes in New York don't act this way. Scrutiny and media attention are something that seasoned veterans are able to brush aside. We expect collegiate athletes to act this way: kickers who miss the big one, pitchers who give up the game-winning home run, track stars who miss the big race due to a freak injury. We anticipate their inability to cope with these setbacks because, after all, they're learning.
Most of them do. They go on to achieve in areas other than athletics, and become successfully in the industry they choose. Elite athletes who continue to live inside this bubble do not.
Consider the checkered past of Kobe Bryant. Or the complete meltdown of Ryan Leaf. These are athletes who lived inside a world free from (or with scarcer) want.
Lolo Jones may be the most prominent example of this phenomenon yet. However you feel about her self-avowed virginity, it's another sign of arrested development. Public tweets about who to date are something you expect from 16-year-olds, not 30-year-old two-time Olympians.
The adult world has sex in it. It has strife. And it has a media that will just as happily pick you up as it will spit you out.
Lolo Jones may have just learned that on the biggest stage possible. And boy, it just might make her change her tone.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Page-turning: A review of Ayn Rand's "Atlas Shrugged"
If there's one thing both critics and fans of Ayn Rand can likely agree
on, it's the author's ability to make a point. And then make it. And
make it one more time.
At the center of Rand's masterpiece, "Atlas Shrugged," is the moral and political principle outlined in the pledge devised by the book's enigmatic protagonist, John Galt:
"I swear - by my life and my love of it - that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine."
In the parlance of the philosophers, this principle has become known as rational self-interest, and it is the driving force behind every page of "Atlas Shrugged" - all 1,100 of them.
Perhaps it is unfair to judge Rand's repetition as the major downfall of an otherwise thrilling and thought-provoking narrative. It is impossible, once you have dove in headfirst, to ignore the fact that the book is trying to do two things simultaneously: tell a story, and outline a philosophical position. Rand's unwavering allegiance to the second purpose grants the book an overly weighty significance and bogs down its story with needless, carbon-copy characters whose growth and actions at best mimic each other, granting the book unneeded rhetorical girth, and at worst undermine the moral significance of Rand's writing by allowing dated suppositions to peek through the cracks of a narrative that breaks down so often one wonders if Rand is playing some kind of subtle joke mimicking a Taggart train.
Rand's tome is an important work, driven by a singularity of purpose, that drowns in its own self-importance and delivers an uninspiring, arbitrary and soap-opera ending to a tale that could have been so much more.
This is, perhaps, the greatest fault of the text. As stated, this book is clearly meant to be more than a simple novel. However, the medium of fiction is where Rand chooses to make her impact and, because of that, it is necessary to hold her to a storytelling standard.
The basic story at the heart of "Atlas Shrugged" is one that would make Christopher Nolan, or any other major filmmaker, giddy with the opportunity. Set in 20th century New York, the story focuses on Dagny Taggart, the last competent executive of a railroad steeped in history and human ingenuity. The cast quickly swells to include other great industrialists, chief among them Francisco d'Anconia, the heir to a copper fortune in South America, and Hank Rearden, an American product who has invented a new type of steel that outperforms all other alloys known on Earth. These three are beset by politicians and bureaucrats who, it is apparent from the outset, are the enemy - concerned only with capping the accomplishments of the best and brightest for their own material gain.
This leeching of American ingenuity is the high point of Rand's prose. Her depiction of a withering American dream - if I may borrow from T.S. Eliot, a depiction of the world ending "not with a bang, but with a wimper" - ranks among the finest examples of dystopian literature America has. The destruction of the continent - and the minds that created it - is so shockingly plausible and complete it is often gasp-inducing. Perhaps this the major reason why the book is so long - Rand wishes to emphasize the piecemeal destruction of the world's last great nation.
But the real reason is Rand's lack of devotion to the story. It is interrupted incessantly by wordy, practiced dogmas running through the minds of her protagonists, who arrive at ht esame conclusions in much the same way throughout the text. In no other place is this apparent than in the climactic radio speech of Galt, who appears in the book's third act as the savior of humankind. All pretense of storytelling breaks down, and his speech becomes a one-on-one conversation between Rand and the reader, broken only by quotation marks appearing at the outset of every paragraph.
This would be excusable if the ideas introduced were new. They aren't. They merely put into words the ideas and precepts Rand has established through her fiction for the past 900+ pages. Imagine reading Catch-22, and then coming to a speech by Yossarian condemning war. Or Catcher in the Rye, and Holden waxing poetic to a bum about the importance of preserving childhood precociousness. This is the effect of Rand's speech - condescending to a reader for whom she clearly has little regard.
In addition to the trio of industrialists and Galt cited above, "Atlas Shrugged" is populated by a host of bureaucrats, clingers-on and other personalities. The purpose is to show that the faceless and nameless apparatus of the state does not require distinct individuals to carry itself. As the names of the bureaucrats change throughout the book, their message essentially remains the same.
This is not a condemnation of that practice. Instead, it is a questioning of why there needed to be so many industrialists. Indeed, the three students of Dr. Hugh Akston are so indistinguishable from each other, one begins to wonder if Rand created them simply to assure herself that more than one great industrialist mind still exists in the world.
The presence of Francisco, Rearden and Galt together also is a puzzle. Rearden seems to exist merely to buttress the conclusions of Dagny and other industrialists who have made it to Galt's Gulch. Add Ellis Wyatt's presence and the reader begins to wonder if Rand is trying purposefully to confuse them.
The trio of love interests for Dagny may be the single greatest detriment the large cast introduces in the work. Dagny comes off, not as a whore, but clearly as an object of conquest. The flowery language of "love" that Rand tries to coat the three sexual relationships does nothing to ease the tension in the text, or explain why three self-interested men would surrender the woman they so passionately cared for to another man without some type of test of honor. We're supposed to believe that Dagny is the only thing for which Rearden can find pleasure in the world, but he simply gives her up after hearing her voice on the radio station? And Francisco pined for her for 12 years, and then decided, ah, what the hell, I'll always have copper?
This is to say nothing of the violent sexual episodes in the book, where blood and physical harm intermingle with passion. The enjoyment of physical pleasure is an important part of the theory of rational self-interest, and that human beings should be allowed to enjoy the pleasures of their body. But every sexual episode in the book is strained, driven by male dominance and violence. Dagny's head is always been grabbed and pulled, and she is always submitting to the will of her male companion.
This effect is redoubled when it appears that Dagny's only moments of pure joy and bliss in the novel is when she's serving Galt in his home. She feels a simplistic pleasure in making his breakfast that is absent anywhere else in the book, save from when she's smoking Galt's brand of cigarette. She can't wait to get up in the morning and go to the market to fetch items for the day in service of Galt's house. The strong undercurrent of anti-feminism is odd, especially considering Rand goes out of her way to point out Dagny's competence in railroading and the shock it brings male members of the railroad line.
Following Galt's speech, the book essentially unravels into what can only be called a sentimental romance novel, filled with intrigue, melodrama and adventurism, a sad end for a text that promises spiritual and moral enlightenment on its cover.
I won't ruin the ending - even now, 50 years later - except to say that it is traditional, tidy and completely uninspiring. Rand set out to establish a new, exciting way of approaching politics, industry and society and ends with a caper and scene lifted from depths of hack serial authors. The conclusion feels more like the end of a Nancy Drew or Hardy Boys effort than one which encompasses the totality and future of Western thought.
Rand does not even grant the courtesy of the final words of the book to Eddie Willers, who opens the narrative. Instead, we return to a traditional scene of the sun rising, so that Rand can finally drive the nail in that coffin that certain people are right, and everyone else is wrong.
For her commitment to that principle, Rand is to be commended. For fleshing it out in fiction, her effort can only be given the pittance one would play a lowly track worker in the tunnels beneath the Taggart Concourse.
At the center of Rand's masterpiece, "Atlas Shrugged," is the moral and political principle outlined in the pledge devised by the book's enigmatic protagonist, John Galt:
"I swear - by my life and my love of it - that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine."
In the parlance of the philosophers, this principle has become known as rational self-interest, and it is the driving force behind every page of "Atlas Shrugged" - all 1,100 of them.
Perhaps it is unfair to judge Rand's repetition as the major downfall of an otherwise thrilling and thought-provoking narrative. It is impossible, once you have dove in headfirst, to ignore the fact that the book is trying to do two things simultaneously: tell a story, and outline a philosophical position. Rand's unwavering allegiance to the second purpose grants the book an overly weighty significance and bogs down its story with needless, carbon-copy characters whose growth and actions at best mimic each other, granting the book unneeded rhetorical girth, and at worst undermine the moral significance of Rand's writing by allowing dated suppositions to peek through the cracks of a narrative that breaks down so often one wonders if Rand is playing some kind of subtle joke mimicking a Taggart train.
Rand's tome is an important work, driven by a singularity of purpose, that drowns in its own self-importance and delivers an uninspiring, arbitrary and soap-opera ending to a tale that could have been so much more.
NARRATIVE BREAKDOWNS
This is, perhaps, the greatest fault of the text. As stated, this book is clearly meant to be more than a simple novel. However, the medium of fiction is where Rand chooses to make her impact and, because of that, it is necessary to hold her to a storytelling standard.
The basic story at the heart of "Atlas Shrugged" is one that would make Christopher Nolan, or any other major filmmaker, giddy with the opportunity. Set in 20th century New York, the story focuses on Dagny Taggart, the last competent executive of a railroad steeped in history and human ingenuity. The cast quickly swells to include other great industrialists, chief among them Francisco d'Anconia, the heir to a copper fortune in South America, and Hank Rearden, an American product who has invented a new type of steel that outperforms all other alloys known on Earth. These three are beset by politicians and bureaucrats who, it is apparent from the outset, are the enemy - concerned only with capping the accomplishments of the best and brightest for their own material gain.
This leeching of American ingenuity is the high point of Rand's prose. Her depiction of a withering American dream - if I may borrow from T.S. Eliot, a depiction of the world ending "not with a bang, but with a wimper" - ranks among the finest examples of dystopian literature America has. The destruction of the continent - and the minds that created it - is so shockingly plausible and complete it is often gasp-inducing. Perhaps this the major reason why the book is so long - Rand wishes to emphasize the piecemeal destruction of the world's last great nation.
But the real reason is Rand's lack of devotion to the story. It is interrupted incessantly by wordy, practiced dogmas running through the minds of her protagonists, who arrive at ht esame conclusions in much the same way throughout the text. In no other place is this apparent than in the climactic radio speech of Galt, who appears in the book's third act as the savior of humankind. All pretense of storytelling breaks down, and his speech becomes a one-on-one conversation between Rand and the reader, broken only by quotation marks appearing at the outset of every paragraph.
This would be excusable if the ideas introduced were new. They aren't. They merely put into words the ideas and precepts Rand has established through her fiction for the past 900+ pages. Imagine reading Catch-22, and then coming to a speech by Yossarian condemning war. Or Catcher in the Rye, and Holden waxing poetic to a bum about the importance of preserving childhood precociousness. This is the effect of Rand's speech - condescending to a reader for whom she clearly has little regard.
A BLOATED CAST
In addition to the trio of industrialists and Galt cited above, "Atlas Shrugged" is populated by a host of bureaucrats, clingers-on and other personalities. The purpose is to show that the faceless and nameless apparatus of the state does not require distinct individuals to carry itself. As the names of the bureaucrats change throughout the book, their message essentially remains the same.
This is not a condemnation of that practice. Instead, it is a questioning of why there needed to be so many industrialists. Indeed, the three students of Dr. Hugh Akston are so indistinguishable from each other, one begins to wonder if Rand created them simply to assure herself that more than one great industrialist mind still exists in the world.
The presence of Francisco, Rearden and Galt together also is a puzzle. Rearden seems to exist merely to buttress the conclusions of Dagny and other industrialists who have made it to Galt's Gulch. Add Ellis Wyatt's presence and the reader begins to wonder if Rand is trying purposefully to confuse them.
The trio of love interests for Dagny may be the single greatest detriment the large cast introduces in the work. Dagny comes off, not as a whore, but clearly as an object of conquest. The flowery language of "love" that Rand tries to coat the three sexual relationships does nothing to ease the tension in the text, or explain why three self-interested men would surrender the woman they so passionately cared for to another man without some type of test of honor. We're supposed to believe that Dagny is the only thing for which Rearden can find pleasure in the world, but he simply gives her up after hearing her voice on the radio station? And Francisco pined for her for 12 years, and then decided, ah, what the hell, I'll always have copper?
This is to say nothing of the violent sexual episodes in the book, where blood and physical harm intermingle with passion. The enjoyment of physical pleasure is an important part of the theory of rational self-interest, and that human beings should be allowed to enjoy the pleasures of their body. But every sexual episode in the book is strained, driven by male dominance and violence. Dagny's head is always been grabbed and pulled, and she is always submitting to the will of her male companion.
This effect is redoubled when it appears that Dagny's only moments of pure joy and bliss in the novel is when she's serving Galt in his home. She feels a simplistic pleasure in making his breakfast that is absent anywhere else in the book, save from when she's smoking Galt's brand of cigarette. She can't wait to get up in the morning and go to the market to fetch items for the day in service of Galt's house. The strong undercurrent of anti-feminism is odd, especially considering Rand goes out of her way to point out Dagny's competence in railroading and the shock it brings male members of the railroad line.
CHECK YOUR PREMISES...AND YOUR EXPECTATIONS
Following Galt's speech, the book essentially unravels into what can only be called a sentimental romance novel, filled with intrigue, melodrama and adventurism, a sad end for a text that promises spiritual and moral enlightenment on its cover.
I won't ruin the ending - even now, 50 years later - except to say that it is traditional, tidy and completely uninspiring. Rand set out to establish a new, exciting way of approaching politics, industry and society and ends with a caper and scene lifted from depths of hack serial authors. The conclusion feels more like the end of a Nancy Drew or Hardy Boys effort than one which encompasses the totality and future of Western thought.
Rand does not even grant the courtesy of the final words of the book to Eddie Willers, who opens the narrative. Instead, we return to a traditional scene of the sun rising, so that Rand can finally drive the nail in that coffin that certain people are right, and everyone else is wrong.
For her commitment to that principle, Rand is to be commended. For fleshing it out in fiction, her effort can only be given the pittance one would play a lowly track worker in the tunnels beneath the Taggart Concourse.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
A Sticky Floors and Salty Popcorn Review-Moonrise Kingdom
Wes Anderson is an acquired taste. You either love the visual style employed and themes explored in his work, or you find them to be repetitive and overly whimsical. Moonrise Kingdom isn't going to change your mind - it is Anderson at perhaps his most whimsical, creating a world that is full of visual wonder that acts as a storybook stage on which to explore the theme of young, forbidden love.
In this particular iteration of Anderson's ongoing tale about the clash between the dreams of the young, aging and the effect that process has on the destruction of those dreams, the setting is a barrier island in the year 1965. We are introduced to the family of Suzy Bishop (Kara Hayward), a misunderstood girl who is the fourth child of parents (played by Bill Murray and Frances McDormand) in a loveless marriage crumbling due to mutual disinterest and a poorly concealed affair. The opening shot, a sequence of moving tableaus featuring the entire family cloistered in their own concerns, evokes the cutaway shots of Anderson's "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou" and is perhaps the most visually breathtaking sequence in a film that is constructed and held together by such scenes.
The film skips to the backstory of Sam Shakusky (Jared Gilman), an orphan who has been juggled through the social services process and ostracized by his Khaki Scout peers. He flees the camp of Scoutmaster Randy Ward (played brilliantly by Edward Norton, blending perfectly utter ineptitude and deep-seated compassion for his charges) to find Suzy, who we learn through a flashback met Sam a year prior and remained pen pals with him throughout the ensuing year.
Sam and Suzy hatch an escape plot that brings them into conflict with Sam's scout peers, the Bishop parents and local law enforcement (embodied by Captain Sharp, played by Bruce Willis in a capable turn as a cop with a heart). The entire tale is narrated by an eccentric-looking local, merely credited as The Narrator in the opening titles, played by Christopher Guest-veteran Bob Balaban.
Much has been made of Anderson's visuals in this film, and indeed every scene is drenched in nostalgia-coated beauty. But to simply describe its aesthetic quality would be to ignore the practical brilliance of the world he has constructed. Like "The Tempest"'s tropical isle, this is a world that is untenable as it stands. Suzy's parents are trapped with a daughter they do not understand and cannot control, just as Norton's scoutmaster has a charge on his hands he doesn't completely understand. The realization of this by Suzy's mother and the master lead to two equally powerful scenes - one with Suzy in the bathtub and the other between Norton and Gilman. This is Anderson at his best - depicting the misunderstanding between the young and the old; those that understand the world the way it is, and those who see so much more in what could be.
As Balaban's narrator tells us early on, a storm is to arrive and wash this conflict, and the world it inhabits, away. This provides the film's climax and more terribly breathtaking visuals, with the rushing water and breaching dams drawing not so subtle hints of Anderson's most recent film, the stop-motion "Fantastic Mr. Fox." Anderson's creation apparently extends beyond the visual elements of the film, as well. I was surprised to learn, while looking up background information for this review, that the books Suzy reads from in the move are, in fact, fictitious creations themselves, and that Anderson has recently released an animated companion to their narratives.
It is difficult for Anderson-philes not to leave the theater pondering where this film rates in his oeuvre. It is certainly deeper, and explores more territory, than Life Aquatic, though Murray proves just as capable of donning the Anderson persona of befuddled development once again. And, in its exploration of love, it is more heartfelt and honest than Rushmore. Suzy and Sam's romance blossoms realistically and dripping with adolescent awkwardness that brings out the muted charms of Hayward and Gilman, whose chemistry onscreen is so quintessentially Anderson it's difficult to imagine them working for any other director.
Moonrise Kingdom does not, however, approach the majesty of The Royal Tenenbaums, whose scope simply encompasses so many themes and relationship dynamics that it will likely stand as Anderson's magnum opus for his career. But that does not mean Moonrise Kingdom should be overlooked. This is one of this generation's finest directors, still at the top of his game, and continually challenging the audience to explore the process of growing up and what that means to ourselves and the world we construct around ourselves.
Rating: 5/5 stars
In this particular iteration of Anderson's ongoing tale about the clash between the dreams of the young, aging and the effect that process has on the destruction of those dreams, the setting is a barrier island in the year 1965. We are introduced to the family of Suzy Bishop (Kara Hayward), a misunderstood girl who is the fourth child of parents (played by Bill Murray and Frances McDormand) in a loveless marriage crumbling due to mutual disinterest and a poorly concealed affair. The opening shot, a sequence of moving tableaus featuring the entire family cloistered in their own concerns, evokes the cutaway shots of Anderson's "The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou" and is perhaps the most visually breathtaking sequence in a film that is constructed and held together by such scenes.
The film skips to the backstory of Sam Shakusky (Jared Gilman), an orphan who has been juggled through the social services process and ostracized by his Khaki Scout peers. He flees the camp of Scoutmaster Randy Ward (played brilliantly by Edward Norton, blending perfectly utter ineptitude and deep-seated compassion for his charges) to find Suzy, who we learn through a flashback met Sam a year prior and remained pen pals with him throughout the ensuing year.
Sam and Suzy hatch an escape plot that brings them into conflict with Sam's scout peers, the Bishop parents and local law enforcement (embodied by Captain Sharp, played by Bruce Willis in a capable turn as a cop with a heart). The entire tale is narrated by an eccentric-looking local, merely credited as The Narrator in the opening titles, played by Christopher Guest-veteran Bob Balaban.
Much has been made of Anderson's visuals in this film, and indeed every scene is drenched in nostalgia-coated beauty. But to simply describe its aesthetic quality would be to ignore the practical brilliance of the world he has constructed. Like "The Tempest"'s tropical isle, this is a world that is untenable as it stands. Suzy's parents are trapped with a daughter they do not understand and cannot control, just as Norton's scoutmaster has a charge on his hands he doesn't completely understand. The realization of this by Suzy's mother and the master lead to two equally powerful scenes - one with Suzy in the bathtub and the other between Norton and Gilman. This is Anderson at his best - depicting the misunderstanding between the young and the old; those that understand the world the way it is, and those who see so much more in what could be.
As Balaban's narrator tells us early on, a storm is to arrive and wash this conflict, and the world it inhabits, away. This provides the film's climax and more terribly breathtaking visuals, with the rushing water and breaching dams drawing not so subtle hints of Anderson's most recent film, the stop-motion "Fantastic Mr. Fox." Anderson's creation apparently extends beyond the visual elements of the film, as well. I was surprised to learn, while looking up background information for this review, that the books Suzy reads from in the move are, in fact, fictitious creations themselves, and that Anderson has recently released an animated companion to their narratives.
It is difficult for Anderson-philes not to leave the theater pondering where this film rates in his oeuvre. It is certainly deeper, and explores more territory, than Life Aquatic, though Murray proves just as capable of donning the Anderson persona of befuddled development once again. And, in its exploration of love, it is more heartfelt and honest than Rushmore. Suzy and Sam's romance blossoms realistically and dripping with adolescent awkwardness that brings out the muted charms of Hayward and Gilman, whose chemistry onscreen is so quintessentially Anderson it's difficult to imagine them working for any other director.
Moonrise Kingdom does not, however, approach the majesty of The Royal Tenenbaums, whose scope simply encompasses so many themes and relationship dynamics that it will likely stand as Anderson's magnum opus for his career. But that does not mean Moonrise Kingdom should be overlooked. This is one of this generation's finest directors, still at the top of his game, and continually challenging the audience to explore the process of growing up and what that means to ourselves and the world we construct around ourselves.
Rating: 5/5 stars
Thursday, May 17, 2012
They've got it covered
We've all been there. The "band" weddings, with an inebriated Mick Jagger wannabe swaying back and forth to the mangled chords of an 80s pop song that should have died with the Kansas City Royals' postseason appearances.
The cover song has a long and bumpy history in popular music. In the early 20th Century, swing bands, jazz artists and bluegrass outfits from rival publishing houses would cover the hits of their competitors' stable of artists, leading to about 57 versions of "Mack the Knife" (Bertoldt Brecht wrote this???).
Since that time, every single garage band has tried to make it big with their own interpretations of the Beatles, Guns and Roses and The Pretenders.
Many of these songs are merely meant to be ironic attempts to pad an original album -- or, in the case of Less than Jake, fill an entire album. But it is the mark of a truly great artist/group who can take the work of a previous musician and turn it into something else and imbue it with a transcendent meaning, in the same way a great movie remake should do.
With that in mind, here are some of my favorite cover songs that take the source material and inch it forward to make something new and uniquely powerful. Or, simply, to take a terrible song and make it listen-able. Both accomplishments are equally impressive.
Santana "Black Magic Woman" 1970 (originally by Fleetwood Mac)
That first guitar riff is simply legendary. Can anyone remember any portion of the original Fleetwood Mac version as much as those first few notes? Santana takes another of Fleetwood's contrived tunes (sorry, I simply can't stand that band) and turns it into something soulful, earthy and -- gulp! -- magical.
Joe Cocker "With a Little Help from my Friends" 1968 (originally by The Beatles)
Yes, it was the theme song to "The Wonder Years." But it was also a re-imagining of what was already a sentimental song about needing the aid of those around you into an even more mournful, heartfelt tribute to the necessity of friendship. And the Woodstock performance just puts it over the top.
Jimi Hendrix "All Along the Watchtower" 1968 (originally by Bob Dylan)
Anyone who is unfortunate enough to have a couple of beers with me when this song comes on the jukebox will have to endure my endless ramblings of why Dylan's version is superior: it's haunting, bare-bones sound with Dylan's trademark scratchy vocals more closely embody the narrative of the tune. But can you really deny that Hendrix's version takes the source material and turns it into an electric rock masterpiece?
Cream "Crossroads" 1969 (originally by Robert Johnson)
This 1936 tune, originally titled "Cross Road Blues," has been covered by a ton of recognizable artists: The Doors, Bob Dylan, The Steve Miller Band, Phish and even John Mayer. But it is the Cream version, with the young Eric Clapton providing the unforgettable blues riff, that elevates this timeless classic to a new level.
The Clash "I Fought the Law" 1979 (originally written by Sonny Curtis of The Crickets)
It may not have started the punk/alternative trend of covers in faster time with edgier riffs, but "I Fought the Law" is perhaps the most famous. Its themes gel so nicely with the rallying cry of the counterculture that it's difficult to believe Joe Strummer and Mick Jones didn't pen the track themselves.
Soft Cell "Tainted Love" 1981 (originally by Gloria Jones)
Let's forget that awful Marilyn Manson cover from ten years ago, shall we? This song gets double duty, because the 1980s rockers also incorporated The Supremes' "Where Did our Love Go?" at the end of the track, tying together two thematically related hits from the soul era into the synth era of the 1980s.
Jeff Buckley "Hallelujah" 1994 (originally by Leonard Cohen)
You may remember this song from Shrek. If so, punch yourself. The above live version of this song takes a forgettable crooning mess from the 1980s and turns it into something incredibly powerful. All gospel songs should be redone like this.
Cake "I Will Survive" 1996 (originally by Gloria Gaynor)
Some may take Cake's version of Gloria Gaynor's anthem of femininity as a kind of farcical parody. Nothing could be further from the truth. They syncopated delivery of John McCrea and mournful horns on this track jive nicely with Cake's other tunes about unrequited love and heartbreak, notably "She'll Come Back to Me."
Johnny Cash "Hurt" 2003 (originally by Nine Inch Nails)
Cash also covered Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus" to great effect, but it is this version of Trent Reznor's "Hurt" and the slight alteration of lyrics to reflect Cash's faith that take a great song about self-defeat and turn it into a tribute to one of the most self-destructive icons of a past era. The music video is immensely powerful, as well, retreading images of Cash's life and career over lyrics that just as easily could have been written by the man who penned classics like "Folsom Prison" and "Cocaine Blues."
Citizen Cope "Karma Police" 2006 (originally by Radiohead)
The original song can be interpreted as an Orwellian nightmare or an ode to the all-encompassing justice of the universe. Either way you take it, this dub version of the tune makes it funky and danceable, brightening the subject matter up a bit while at the same time merging the cold English moors with the sands of Jamaica.
Are there any others I've missed? Let me know below!
The cover song has a long and bumpy history in popular music. In the early 20th Century, swing bands, jazz artists and bluegrass outfits from rival publishing houses would cover the hits of their competitors' stable of artists, leading to about 57 versions of "Mack the Knife" (Bertoldt Brecht wrote this???).
Since that time, every single garage band has tried to make it big with their own interpretations of the Beatles, Guns and Roses and The Pretenders.
Many of these songs are merely meant to be ironic attempts to pad an original album -- or, in the case of Less than Jake, fill an entire album. But it is the mark of a truly great artist/group who can take the work of a previous musician and turn it into something else and imbue it with a transcendent meaning, in the same way a great movie remake should do.
With that in mind, here are some of my favorite cover songs that take the source material and inch it forward to make something new and uniquely powerful. Or, simply, to take a terrible song and make it listen-able. Both accomplishments are equally impressive.
Santana "Black Magic Woman" 1970 (originally by Fleetwood Mac)
That first guitar riff is simply legendary. Can anyone remember any portion of the original Fleetwood Mac version as much as those first few notes? Santana takes another of Fleetwood's contrived tunes (sorry, I simply can't stand that band) and turns it into something soulful, earthy and -- gulp! -- magical.
Joe Cocker "With a Little Help from my Friends" 1968 (originally by The Beatles)
Yes, it was the theme song to "The Wonder Years." But it was also a re-imagining of what was already a sentimental song about needing the aid of those around you into an even more mournful, heartfelt tribute to the necessity of friendship. And the Woodstock performance just puts it over the top.
Jimi Hendrix "All Along the Watchtower" 1968 (originally by Bob Dylan)
Anyone who is unfortunate enough to have a couple of beers with me when this song comes on the jukebox will have to endure my endless ramblings of why Dylan's version is superior: it's haunting, bare-bones sound with Dylan's trademark scratchy vocals more closely embody the narrative of the tune. But can you really deny that Hendrix's version takes the source material and turns it into an electric rock masterpiece?
Cream "Crossroads" 1969 (originally by Robert Johnson)
This 1936 tune, originally titled "Cross Road Blues," has been covered by a ton of recognizable artists: The Doors, Bob Dylan, The Steve Miller Band, Phish and even John Mayer. But it is the Cream version, with the young Eric Clapton providing the unforgettable blues riff, that elevates this timeless classic to a new level.
The Clash "I Fought the Law" 1979 (originally written by Sonny Curtis of The Crickets)
It may not have started the punk/alternative trend of covers in faster time with edgier riffs, but "I Fought the Law" is perhaps the most famous. Its themes gel so nicely with the rallying cry of the counterculture that it's difficult to believe Joe Strummer and Mick Jones didn't pen the track themselves.
Soft Cell "Tainted Love" 1981 (originally by Gloria Jones)
Let's forget that awful Marilyn Manson cover from ten years ago, shall we? This song gets double duty, because the 1980s rockers also incorporated The Supremes' "Where Did our Love Go?" at the end of the track, tying together two thematically related hits from the soul era into the synth era of the 1980s.
Jeff Buckley "Hallelujah" 1994 (originally by Leonard Cohen)
You may remember this song from Shrek. If so, punch yourself. The above live version of this song takes a forgettable crooning mess from the 1980s and turns it into something incredibly powerful. All gospel songs should be redone like this.
Cake "I Will Survive" 1996 (originally by Gloria Gaynor)
Some may take Cake's version of Gloria Gaynor's anthem of femininity as a kind of farcical parody. Nothing could be further from the truth. They syncopated delivery of John McCrea and mournful horns on this track jive nicely with Cake's other tunes about unrequited love and heartbreak, notably "She'll Come Back to Me."
Johnny Cash "Hurt" 2003 (originally by Nine Inch Nails)
Cash also covered Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus" to great effect, but it is this version of Trent Reznor's "Hurt" and the slight alteration of lyrics to reflect Cash's faith that take a great song about self-defeat and turn it into a tribute to one of the most self-destructive icons of a past era. The music video is immensely powerful, as well, retreading images of Cash's life and career over lyrics that just as easily could have been written by the man who penned classics like "Folsom Prison" and "Cocaine Blues."
Citizen Cope "Karma Police" 2006 (originally by Radiohead)
The original song can be interpreted as an Orwellian nightmare or an ode to the all-encompassing justice of the universe. Either way you take it, this dub version of the tune makes it funky and danceable, brightening the subject matter up a bit while at the same time merging the cold English moors with the sands of Jamaica.
Are there any others I've missed? Let me know below!
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Deranged in America
Rush Limbaugh has been busted.
No, it's not another Oxycontin charge. Or divorce filing. On Monday, Limbaugh was immortalized in bronze with a bust in the Hall of Famous Missourians at the State Capitol in Jefferson City.
This post has nothing to do with my personal feelings of Limbaugh. The man's content speaks for itself, and there's enough vitriol on the Internet already both inspired by and coming from the mouth of the radio personality, so I'll take a pass.
This post is about the way in which Limbaugh was inducted, and how it shines a light on deeper implications for our local, state and federal government and the way they do business. Monday's ceremony, according to a report from the Associated Press, was not publicized in any fashion, ostensibly to keep protesters away from the capitol. State House Speaker Steven Tilley, R-Perryville, has been pushing for Limbaugh to be inducted in recent weeks, inspiring symbolic protest from the other side of the aisle and even a measure to clarify authority of the rotunda, where Limbaugh's bust now stands among the faces of George Washington Carver, Ewing Kauffman, John J. Pershing and (perhaps the most ironic of all) Samuel Clemens.
The ceremony was private -- which is a euphemism for "keeping undesirables out" -- for the divisive (another euphemism) conservative talk show host. In his coronation (I can't really think of another noun for a ceremony where one has a statute dedicated to their remembrance) speech, Limbaugh took the opportunity to once again take potshots at his opponents, repeatedly calling them "deranged."
What is deranged, I'm afraid, is what this ceremony and the manner in which it was held says about local government. A ceremonial honor, with nothing at stake other than a few square feet in the capitol rotunda, inspired an impassioned outcry from one side of the aisle, media and public subversion by the other and bloated self-aggrandizement from the honoree. Is this the station at which representative democracy has arrived in the summer of 2012?
Let's not forget that the state legislature has been embroiled in some pretty high-profile partisan bickering over the past several months. A protracted budget battle was largely fought along party lines, and a nominally non-partisan bill designed to alter judicial appointments received flack from Democrats, who thought the measure would perpetuate a stranglehold of the state's legal elite on the composition of the state's higher courts.
What's happening in Missouri, too, is a microcosm of the partisanship exploding at the federal level. That phenomenon is well documented. Anecdotally, in my time as a public life reporter for the Columbia Missourian, I can also say a similar type of partisanship has erupted (or, at least, is being identified by members of the electorate) in nominally non-partisan local elections.
Healthy discussion, debate and conflict are necessary in a democratic system. In the American model, friction and inefficiency are built in. "As long as the reason of man continues fallible, and he is at liberty to exercise it, different opinions will be formed," Madison wrote in Federalist No. 10.
At the same time, however, it is necessary for an engaged citizenry to not only petition their representatives, but also have the faith in their neighbor that they, too, are interested in the well-being of the republic, and the best interests of the nation at whole in their hearts. De Tocqueville describes this ideal in Democracy in America:
"The New Englander is attached to his township because it is strong and independent; he has an interest in it because he shares in its management; he loves it because he has no reason to complain of his lot; he invests his ambition and his future in it; in the restricted sphere within his scope, he learns to rule society; he gets to know those formalities without which freedom can advance only through revolutions, and becoming imbued with their spirit, develops a taste for order, understands the harmony of powers, and in the end accumulates clear, practical ideas about the nature of his duties and the extent of his rights."
When one side of the aisle shuts out another for a ceremonial coronation because they believe their opinions unpopular, but exercise them anyway, we do not attain the Tocquevillian ideal. We continue down the path of partisanship that has led us to an age where the right of a human being to marry another and pursue happiness has become a politicized decision.
That, dear reader, is truly "deranged."
No, it's not another Oxycontin charge. Or divorce filing. On Monday, Limbaugh was immortalized in bronze with a bust in the Hall of Famous Missourians at the State Capitol in Jefferson City.
This post has nothing to do with my personal feelings of Limbaugh. The man's content speaks for itself, and there's enough vitriol on the Internet already both inspired by and coming from the mouth of the radio personality, so I'll take a pass.
This post is about the way in which Limbaugh was inducted, and how it shines a light on deeper implications for our local, state and federal government and the way they do business. Monday's ceremony, according to a report from the Associated Press, was not publicized in any fashion, ostensibly to keep protesters away from the capitol. State House Speaker Steven Tilley, R-Perryville, has been pushing for Limbaugh to be inducted in recent weeks, inspiring symbolic protest from the other side of the aisle and even a measure to clarify authority of the rotunda, where Limbaugh's bust now stands among the faces of George Washington Carver, Ewing Kauffman, John J. Pershing and (perhaps the most ironic of all) Samuel Clemens.
The ceremony was private -- which is a euphemism for "keeping undesirables out" -- for the divisive (another euphemism) conservative talk show host. In his coronation (I can't really think of another noun for a ceremony where one has a statute dedicated to their remembrance) speech, Limbaugh took the opportunity to once again take potshots at his opponents, repeatedly calling them "deranged."
What is deranged, I'm afraid, is what this ceremony and the manner in which it was held says about local government. A ceremonial honor, with nothing at stake other than a few square feet in the capitol rotunda, inspired an impassioned outcry from one side of the aisle, media and public subversion by the other and bloated self-aggrandizement from the honoree. Is this the station at which representative democracy has arrived in the summer of 2012?
Let's not forget that the state legislature has been embroiled in some pretty high-profile partisan bickering over the past several months. A protracted budget battle was largely fought along party lines, and a nominally non-partisan bill designed to alter judicial appointments received flack from Democrats, who thought the measure would perpetuate a stranglehold of the state's legal elite on the composition of the state's higher courts.
What's happening in Missouri, too, is a microcosm of the partisanship exploding at the federal level. That phenomenon is well documented. Anecdotally, in my time as a public life reporter for the Columbia Missourian, I can also say a similar type of partisanship has erupted (or, at least, is being identified by members of the electorate) in nominally non-partisan local elections.
Healthy discussion, debate and conflict are necessary in a democratic system. In the American model, friction and inefficiency are built in. "As long as the reason of man continues fallible, and he is at liberty to exercise it, different opinions will be formed," Madison wrote in Federalist No. 10.
At the same time, however, it is necessary for an engaged citizenry to not only petition their representatives, but also have the faith in their neighbor that they, too, are interested in the well-being of the republic, and the best interests of the nation at whole in their hearts. De Tocqueville describes this ideal in Democracy in America:
"The New Englander is attached to his township because it is strong and independent; he has an interest in it because he shares in its management; he loves it because he has no reason to complain of his lot; he invests his ambition and his future in it; in the restricted sphere within his scope, he learns to rule society; he gets to know those formalities without which freedom can advance only through revolutions, and becoming imbued with their spirit, develops a taste for order, understands the harmony of powers, and in the end accumulates clear, practical ideas about the nature of his duties and the extent of his rights."
When one side of the aisle shuts out another for a ceremonial coronation because they believe their opinions unpopular, but exercise them anyway, we do not attain the Tocquevillian ideal. We continue down the path of partisanship that has led us to an age where the right of a human being to marry another and pursue happiness has become a politicized decision.
That, dear reader, is truly "deranged."
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