Got Smart?

Despite what one of my friends claims as her only explicable reason for not loving Get Smart, Steve Carrell's latest foray into the comedy scene contained next to none of the despicably overused crotch humor all of decent civilization has finally come to despise.

If you haven't heard about this film...well, first of all, I'm surprised. It got plenty of ad-time, and Steve Carrell is currently a comedy darling. You really should have heard of this movie by now. BUT, if you haven't, here's a very brief description: This is a film adaptation of a popular TV comedy of the same name about a secret spy organization built to combat their evil Soviet counterparts. The movie ends up being your typical action comedy, of which there are simply too few.

Let me rephrase. There are far too few good action comedies. Shanghai NOON, Rush Hour (ONE), The Mummy, and, to some degree, the Indiana Jones movies are all great examples, but there really aren't a lot of them. And when they're done well, they're an absolute blast and a half. I think that no other genre (hybrid or no) can satisfy the need for fun quite like it.

And Get Smart was an awful, awful lot of fun. I haven't laughed that hard in a theater in...oh who knows. I laughed, out loud and often. And by the end of the movie, all I could do was smile. And decide to see it again in the near future.

First of all, this is Steve Carrell at his best. He was perfectly cast for this part, and he doesn't succumb to any predictability in filling the role. I was constantly impressed with the uniqueness of his quirky character.

Anne Hathaway was a much tougher sell because I haven't seen The Devil Wears Prada (I do plan on it, I promise), and so I can't claim to have ever enjoyed watching her on screen. Well, she did a fabulous job in this film. I adored her character. She was professional, capable, sexy, uptight and almost completely believable. Shoot, I even bought the chemistry between her and Steve. Awesome work, dudes (who made this movie.)

The rest of the cast worked great as well. There were no terribly weak spots, to speak of. Even the Rock managed to make me believe, for large segments of the film, that he was actually an actor. Good job, big guy. It was hard for him, but he pulled it off. (And he wasn't starring, which was...well, needless to say it was essential for the success of this movie.)

I could go on. I won't. See this movie. Take the kids, even. Sure, it's PG-13, but this is a family film, as far as I'm concerned. It's one which possesses that rare quality of being accessible and satisfying to almost every type of person. So go have a blast.

Classics

I made a discovery yesterday--or, I guess it would be more accurate to say that I came up with a theory.

It happened while I watched The Mighty Ducks for the first time in...oh...probably fifteen years. So I sat there, really enjoying the movie because, well, DUH it's the Mighty Friggin Ducks! But now I'm a film student.

So what did the film student in me say, you might wonder? (I wondered; you likely did not.) I thought, the cinematography in this movie ain't half bad. And, for an early 90's kids/family movie, the writing could be so MUCH worse than it is.

This is my theory: The movies that endure over the years probably owe a lot to their cinematographers. It's true that the general movie-going crowd probably aren't too focused on the details of composition, angle and focus, but they know when it's good. It just looks good. It feels right and meaningful. That's what good cinematography does--it validates the film.

Of course, it can't compensate for total failures in other areas (I'm thinking of the three recent Star Wars films right now.) But see if you can notice the superior work of an under-respected Director of Photography when you go back to watch some of your favorite classics. They may not be "arty" films, and they may not have been well-received by the critics of their time (or ours), but I'll bet the cinematography is good. Good enough that there are plenty of shots that send little shivers up your spine and make you think, "Man, I love this movie."

HULK SMASH!!!

Great movie. I mean it, I'm serious. I really, really loved The Incredible Hulk.

Several things you should know about this film if you haven't heard already. First, it wasn't Hulk, the 2003 disaster that convinced everyone that making a Hulk movie was a terrible, terrible mistake. And it wasn't that movie's sequel. Or prequel. Or anything. The Incredible Hulk was it's own wonderful film, and it worked on pretty much every level it occupied.

Also, Edward Norton plays Bruce Banner (who becomes a lovable Hulk when angered...or hungered--don't ask, just watch.) Edward Norton is a brilliant actor, and he puts a life and spirit into this part that I can't imagine anyone else pulling off quite as well.

And as for the rest of the performances...no one was lagging. In fact, I would say that the acting was more solid, overall, in this film than it was in Iron Man. Don't get me wrong, Iron Man was the better film, and Robert Downey Jr. blew my brains out with his spectacular performance, but Hulk was more consistent when it came to all of the supporting roles.

But let's be honest. I loved it because it made me want to tear cars apart and throw giant green men through brick walls when it was over. It made me feel like a little boy again.

Why did this film succeed at doing that when Transformers did NOT? Because it takes great filmmaking to put a hyper-critical member of the audience (such as myself) into those shoes, that's why. Transformers was fast, colorful, loud, and extremely large, but Michael Bay's a bit of a hack. He'll even admit it if you corner him. The guys behind Hulk knew what they were doing. They were working with a strong script, strong actors, and an obviously strong affection for the material. What resulted was a little bit like magic.

And, oh yeah, Tony Stark showed up at the end and made everyone giggle like schoolchildren in his presence. Promises of things to come. Let's hope they're not as empty as the minds of the studio executives. Really...let's hope pretty hard.

Gas Prices are Murdering My Family: How You Can Help

So, I've stated that this blog will occasionally be about politics. Well, here goes the first politically tinged post. (I have not forgotten that the second "wonderful" movie I mentioned in my last post has yet to receive my long-awaited review...soon, I promise.)

I subscribe to the Power Line Blog (I have been converted whole-heartedly to RSS Feeds and, by extension, Google Reader), and today, I was directed to this site. It's a petition that says this:

"We, therefore, the undersigned citizens of the United States, petition the U.S. Congress to act immediately to lower gasoline prices (and diesel and other fuel prices)* by authorizing the exploration of proven energy reserves to reduce our dependence on foreign energy sources from unstable countries."

Over 700,000 people have signed so far, I hear. Sure it's a long shot, but if you're tired of gas stations eating your soul, you should click here and put your name down. At least it's something.

My Feet Are Missing

Lately, my Saturdays typically involve watching two movies. Usually, I watch the biggest weekend release (Iron Man, Speed Racer, Prince Caspian, Indiana Jones) and then another one later that night, with no particular method of selection. Just get together with a few people (other film kids, usually) and watch something good.

Well, this last Saturday, there was no movie coming out that I was overly enthused about seeing in the theater, so I ended up watching two rented flicks, approximately ten hours apart. Both of them were (are) absolutely wonderful films, and for vastly different reasons--they're also slightly aged and little known, so I figured it would be good to get some fresh words out about both of them.

First of all, I want to say, quickly, that Water Horse is every bit as bad as you're afraid it will be when you watch the previews. I watched that one Friday night against my will. Luckily I had to ho home before it ended, an unexpected mercy. We were supposed to watch Equilibrium that night, but some of the people there were set on the former.

So Saturday morning rolled around and we finally got to sit down and watch Equilibrium. Christian Bale plays something called a Grammaton Cleric, which is basically a specially trained anti-resistance soldier who can do...well, pretty much anything with guns. The setting is post World War III, and the society that has been built up is sort of "1984"-esque, in that the leader of this particular distopia is referred to as "Father," and, oh yeah, people aren't supposed to feel anything. They are required to take a drug every day that inhibits passion of any kind in order to curb humanity's hate and fear (supposedly that which causes war), while also sacrificing love and true friendship. Those who refuse to take the drug are outcasts and form what is then referred to as the resistance.

There's the plot in summary. This is the kind of film that could have been really, really bad if it had been left to the wrong hands. But let me assure you, my dear reader, that they did it right. Christian Bale is phenomenal, and the action sequences are totally mind-blowing. The slow parts don't drag at all, and the drama is affecting beyond what you might expect. The film has it's flaws--I wouldn't call it perfect or even near unto it--but there are so many spectacularly brilliant scenes and sequences that more than make up for any weaknesses. It was so good that I had to exercise an enormous amount of self-control to not watch it again later that day.

It's rated R purely for violence, but the violence is very Matrix-y. In fact, I think The Matrix was bloodier, and as any Mormon Matrix fan will know, there was no legitimate reason for that film's rating.

This is a must see for any action-movie buff. And it's likely that you haven't seen it, because it came out right between the first two Matrix films, and I think had the same sort of flavor. But it's not a knock off, trust me, and in some ways, Christian Bale's hyper-action sci-fi flick is better. Don't get me wrong, I adore the first Neo film, but John Preston the Grammaton Cleric, First Class, is the real deal.

Blue Whistles are for Little Orange Men with Very Red Blood

I've done it. I've finally figured out what this lil' BLOGE will be about. You might wonder (at least while you're reading this sentence) what conclusions I've reached. Well I'm not telling. You can now read about it in the description section of my BLOGE.

This is what I've been telling people lately (warning: change of subject has occurred): The film program is obnoxious because not only do you have to apply to get into it, you also have to apply to get into the classes you need. Not want, need.

So, essentially, this is how it ends up working out. You apply to get into the college (in this case, BYU). Then, once in the college, you apply to gain access to your particular field of interest (in this case, film). Then, once in the program--into which, by the way, I was only admitted upon my second application--you are required to apply to the classes you have been told you must take to graduate.

I've got this graduation plan, see, that my academic adviser helped me create, which very specifically (and somewhat severely) lists which classes you must take on your chosen track and when. Currently, I'm one semester behind for my next two most important classes, and I've been kind of admitted into them for this coming semester. I'm an alternate. This means that not only have I not been given the assurance that I will be able to take these classes, I've also been denied the luxury of certainty that I will not be able to take these classes. Their advice? Try to arrange a backup schedule just in case you're not admitted. A backup schedule. I'm trying to remind myself why I thought I didn't have time for a minor. At this rate, I'll graduate in 2011, and I'm already, technically, a senior. But, SSHHH. Don't tell anyone. I'm still going around calling myself a junior, like I did last year, and part of the year before. And like I will continue to do for the next two years. No one likes an eternal senior.

I need to put in a word for Mission: Impossible. It's old news (we're now dealing with the measurement of decades, but who's counting), but this is a great movie. For anyone that doesn't like Tom Cruise, I understand you. He's an insufferable person, and Katie Holmes is a foolish little girl for stepping into his demented life. Their poor daughter. BUT, you will go see his movies. People say they don't like Tom Cruise, but theirs will likely be one of the tickets that catapults his films into the $100 million range the first weekend at the box office. Don't hate, people, the guy is a serious, talented actor.

Back to MI. If you haven't seen it, you're over ten years late, but it's not too late, and it never will be. This will be a classic even twenty years from now. So see it. Next time you're at Blockbuster with no clue what you want to see, grab this one first. Then, the following Saturday night (admit it, there's no shame), pick up the third installment--the one that emerged a couple of years ago--because it might be even better than the first. Yes, skip the second. Don't even think about it. Just pretend it's not there, like the 19th floor at Wayside School.

If you have seen the second...listen, I know. I'm sorry. We're both hurting, and we're in the same boat here. I was forced to go see the third movie by a couple of my friends. But at the time, I didn't know who J.J. Abrams was. And I can personally guarantee that John Woo, bless his cinematically adulterous little heart, had absolutely nothing to do with the last film. He came, he devastated M:I 2, and then he left. And then Abrams came and gave us art. Thanks J.J. Now hurry up and see this movie so you can join in my gratitude. The man deserves some respect.

Hoo-RAH for the longest post yet. (The next will be shorter. Maybe.)

Mostly because I haven't posted in a while

I learned recently that I've been fired. Well anyway, that's what one of my friends told me, her explanation being that she had wasted, collectively, five minutes of her life over the past month checking for new posts, of which there were, clearly, none.

I haven't thought of anything of ground-breaking significance to write about, so I'll have to fall back on something mediocre. Or maybe a disorderly assortment of mediocre things. Yes, that's more likely.

I watched Star Wars: Episode III yesterday for the second time in my life. My opinion of it has remained unchanged. Essentially, it is much like the kind of girl I try very hard not to date: Very pretty, but also very dumb.

Let me be very clear on one point--I do not like George Lucas. I don't care how great he is at telling a story, visually or otherwise. I have a feeling that there are quite a lot of much better people who, with the kind of money and power Lucas has been granted over the years, could do just as well with their own imaginations. Especially if they studied Westerns and Eastern mythology as thoroughly as Lucas has--but that's beside the point.

My problem is the writing. In each of the three new movies, the average-at-best, regrettably-silly-at-worst writing makes the story seem trite and unfortunate at almost every turn.

"The Sith only care about themselves. The Jedi are selfless."

Gee, really? This kind of on-the-nose dialog is exactly what you hope not to see in a 113 million dollar movie. I cringe when I hear that kind of thing in student films. Come ON, George!

To be fair, no one should be condemned for not being able to write well. However, to insist upon exclusive artistic control, as Lucas famously has for this franchise, including writing and directing every line in the script for a movie that meant so much to an entire generation...that, my friends, makes bad writing a shameful, damning sin.

Contrast this with the newest Indiana film. That one was right on par with the old films. Just as corny, just as silly, yes, but also just as fun, just as action packed, and just as witty. Thank you, Spielberg, for possessing some level of professionalism. You know what his big secret probably was? Collaboration. I doubt that word has a place in George Lucas's lexicon. Pity.

On a more personal note, I'm coming closer to finishing the second draft for my as yet still unnamed novel. I was coming to something of a standstill recently, so I decided to start something new. Who knows if the new project will ever go anywhere, but to any writers who find themselves reading this long, pointless post--let me here officially support working on multiple projects. No one should ever devote all of his or her time and energy to ONE novel. 'Cause that novel would end up, inevitably, as a piece of forgettable refuse. Diversity!

I believe I have now fulfilled my self-assigned quota of "a disorderly assortment of mediocre things."