The Avengers: review

Yep, that was The Avengers.

Crystal Lake better give up

   If 'The Artist' is a love-letter to the Golden Age of Cinema, then The Cabin In The Woods is a bag of hate-mail to the trash-can of Cinema. 


  Writer Joss Whedon and Director/Co-Writer Drew Goddard have scribed a knee-slapping collage of homage written with a sore middle-finger. Even Whedon's Summer Whorehouse "The Avengers" wasn't half as hair-raising. Both Whedon and Goddard are adept students of Horror classics and cliche, so they offer a critique of stale horror formulas, smearing a big blood-red "Fuck Off" on the "Horror Movies For Dummies" handbook.


   It's not arrogant or congratulatory in its blatant introspection like a Kevin Williamson script, nor is it too parodic like the Scary Movie movies, it's an outstanding angst-soaked balance of eye-winking and finger-poking that stabs 2012 (and the entire horror genre[s] of the past 11 years) with unbelievably entertaining satire as sharp as a Unicorn's horn. No one, going in blind, will be ready for it, and the best part is that even those that may not feel blind going in, most likely are. That's all I'm willing to disclose, I wouldn't dare sacrifice the surprises.

the cities of brotherly love

   Warrior beats with the rhythm of an anxious heart beating a rib-cage. It has a warm-blooded propensity for unswerving ardor. It makes all the right steps and hits stern notes whose reverb hum with a deafening yop. Each scene is a trained blow, an honest bruising that didn't ask to hit me, it was a wallop that caught me off guard.

   It's a fight picture about two brothers fighting for each of their respective purposes. Neither wants the whopping prize money, they need it, and not just for themselves. It's not about proving themselves with shallow pride, these two fight with blue collars. And, in the precipice of the movie, they are pitted against each other. The movie isn't interested in tipping the scales in favor of one over the other, they both earn their weight in adoration. One brother can deliver a mammoth knock-out punch, and the other has a brick-shit-house-type body that can take any hit thrown his way. They're the perfect unbeatable pair, both filled to the brim with determination. It let me decide whom I wanted to win; both of them.

   Unlike The Fighter, which was a soft pleading novice with a cushioned glove, Warrior is bare-knuckle entertainment that doesn't need to beg. I didn't feel like a punching-bag reserved for half-assed, whiny practice, I felt like a voyeur that got lost in the shuffle of this manic family. The performances are the movie's strongest ally, and the story supports them with an able body and an honest heart. Consider Nick Nolte as a father and grandfather trying to mend a scarred past before he accidentally kicks his proverbial bucket, or Tom Hardy as an enigmatic Soldier who's AWOL and has nothing but contempt for both his father (who's also his trainer) and his Brother, a Teacher at a local High-School who takes blows to the face just to keep his housing payments at bay and is subsequently interrogated by The Principle about his purple face. It's every true-blue American family.

   And, in one scene, a drunkenly rabid Nick Nolte is gently consoled by a subdued, brooding Tom Hardy; a stone-bruise that will, thankfully, heal with discipline. Scene after scene this movie had me in both arrested bereavement and rising excitement, all culminating to an ending that, while an admonishing, is still a blow to the gut that brought a silence to my own bickering family.

9 times out of 10

Q and A with RADIO ISNT DEAD

Q: Where exactly did the name, or the idea for the name, ‘Swan Neck Disclosure’ come from?


I have arthritis. All over my body, in fact. But, where it really struck was my fingers. And, thus, I'm stricken with what's called "Swan-Neck deformity," because my fingers curve outward at the middle joint. So, I decided to name it "swan-neck disclosure" because my fingers disclose all that I say.


Q: Favorite film tagline?


"Man is the warmest place to hide". - The Thing


Q: In what direction do you feel cinema is - or should be - headed?


Is heading: lots of 3D and the rise of Indie. It's becoming easier and easier for movies to be made, and thus they're not made with much talent, just rushed. it feels like some people just get a pat on the head just for finishing a movie.


Should be heading: we should be heading, ironically, BACK to where it WAS going, before 2008.


Q: Whom do you consider to be the most consistent musical artist or group?


Warren Zevon. Before he died, of course.


Q: Favorite line or chunk of dialogue?


"...you are important to a lot of people, Jeffrey. You think about that. You think about them.. I'm runnin' outta heroes, man. Guys like you are in short supply..." - Al Pacino as Lowell Bergman, The Insider. It never ceases to lift me when I need lifting.


Q: Do you prefer your comedies to be PG (including PG-13) or R?


I think comedy can be great, no matter the rating. I mean, raunchy R comedies like Bad Santa and Kingpin are terrific and do their job. But, movies like UHF, The General or even Toy Story 3 can be hilarious, too. It's all about execution, rating be damned.


Q: Favorite on-screen character?


Without a doubt: Marge Gunderson. She is the single most adorable person every put on film.


Q: What is your opinion of The Matrix? & to that degree, the Wachowski bros?


I have yet to see The Matrix. I just haven't gotten around to it, it's on the list. But, I really respect the Wachowski Brothers. Bound is one of my favorite movies. I love that they go outside the box and actually GO OUTSIDE THE BOX. They aren't just talk. But, Again, that's only from my viewing of Bound.


Q: Your favorite decade &/or year in film?


so far: the '90s are my favorite decade. but, my favorite year is a toss-up between '94, '99, and 2007.


Q: Most undeserving Best Picture winner?


considering what else came out that year: American Beauty


Q: Favorite living filmmaker? 


David Fincher


Q: Favorite living screenwriter?


Coen Brothers


Q: What would you like to see more of in films nowadays?


intelligence. unpredictability. trust.


Q: Favorite movie scene?


 "Do you want to kiss me, Jim?"  


"Yes I do!" 


Q: Favorite theatre experience?


Friday August 21st, 2009 -  Midnight Showing of Inglourious Basterds. Packed like a sardine can, everyone enjoying their time and losing their minds.

Q: Best utilization of digital camerawork to date?


INLAND EMPIRE


Q: Which filmmaker(s) - if any - should just give up?


I don't think any should give up, so much that they should wake up. I mean, Kevin Smith knew, for more than a decade, that he was a lackluster filmmaker. So, he went back to school and made himself anew.


Q: Favorite buddy cops or buddy cop movie?


Die Hard. The one buddy cop movie where the buddies never meet until the end. It's a sweet story.


Q: What do you consider to be the fastest-growing film cliché?


envelope-pushing


Q: Favorite musical piece or score from a film?


Laurens Walking - Angelo Badalamenti, from The Straight Story


Q: Favorite foreign film (not necessarily foreign language)?


Oldboy. for now.


Q: Are aliens (any kind) interesting on-screen creatures?


they can be. Signs is a prime example. District-9, too. Even in bad movies the creatures can be interesting, but the movie focuses on the less interesting, boring elements: Independence Day and Super 8.


Q: One celebrity you would meet & talk to if you could?


George Carlin

THE FOLLOWING IS A TRANSCRIPT FROM BEHIND-THE-SCENES OF UNIVERSAL PICTURES' ®  PRODUCTION OF JOHN CARPENTER'S THE THING ®






Allegedly, MAKE-UP EFFECTS ARTIST ROB BOTTIN was preparing a FLAMMABLE rig for a big effects-shot. Carpenter lit up a cigarette and the set went up in flames as the rig exploded. After this incident, Rob Bottin apparently started to giggle to himself and twirl his hair.

Upon hearing Bottin's chortles, Carpenter erupted and began to chide Mr. Bottin.


The following is exactly as Carpenter said it, post-explosion:


"Hey! Hey, now! Hey!! Rob, what the fuck, man, seriously!? I always knew you were two tires short of a bicycle, but... I never knew it ran this deep, ya So 'n' So! Rob Bottin, I am sick of you, Rob Bottin! I'm smoking ten packs a day and to top it all off: I HAVE FUCKING SKIN CANCER. Adrienne [Barbeau] can't stand the sight of me, nor the feel. I feel and look like an iguana! AN IGUANA, ROB BOTTIN! I shed!! I can't even kiss her without having to spit out flakes of myself! Rob Bottin! I don't have cheeks like you do! If I had my way, I would cut them off and glue them to my face! YOU HAVE [angrily]THE WORLD'S GREATEST CHEEKS, ROBBIE! AND YOUR BEARD! YOUR BEARRRD!! Nevermind all of that, I ne--YOU ARE THE PROBLEM HERE. What did you think, huh? You could set me on fire and that'd be it? I'd burn and you could leave me in the snow? Well, hot damn, Rob Bottin, not on my watch! Not on my watch!! Everyday with you! It's always something else! Like yesterday, you told that story about how you made your first paper mache figurine when you were---WHO GIVES A FLYING ZIPPITY-SHIT, ROB BOTTIN!? You do do good work, but your personality: NO DICE! None. You ain't got none, Boy. Rob Bottin! Did you know that Wilford Brimley won't even come out of his trailer anymore? If he can help it? We have to drag him out in a rolled-up blanket! He doesn't like you. No ONE likes you, Rob Bottin. You are lame. You're a loser! I have skin cancer! Kurt Russell binge-drinks, Hallahan actually had a goddamned heart-attack and all of this, ALL OF THIS, is giving Keith David diarrhea! Rob Bottin... you are a monster."

Rob Bottin's documented response:
"Well, John's a funny guy, haha!"

I noticed you were thirsty

Portmanteaus II

in lieu of critics digesting garbage and hurling whatever callow bile that comes to their throat, especially one critic's upchuck that Sucker Punch was "like Kill Bill meets Inception," friends and I imagined (In a delirious rapport) that in a perfect world, these would be made:


The Little Rascals meets Gremlins


The Muppets Movie meets 9½ Weeks


Saw meets My Left Foot


The Fog meets The Goonies


12 Angry Men meets John Carpenter's The Thing


The Mist meets Gone Fishin'


The Elephant Man meets Pretty Woman


Hotel Rwanda meets The Devil's Rejects


The Truman Show meets Videodrome

SAMHAIN

let Polly do the printing

She likes Corn

 "We always make little cracks, we always make little jokes, that's how we are - THAT'S WHY WE GET ALONG SO WELL!!!" - Dan Connor barking at Roseanne.




   Donned in motor oil-stained plaid flannel, flaking with potato-chip dandruff, with an aromatic incense of warm beer and bologna, the dysfunctional, loving, proudly-tacky self-proclaimed white-trash Connor Family is the most endearing and honest family I've ever seen represented in tv or film. Oh, and a Godzilla doll.


   Roseanne was not only one of the '80s' (and to a lesser degree, the '90s') best offerings, and not only one of the best sitcoms ever created, but it's one of the finest portraits of family life ever drawn. It was a sitcom, but, unlike sugar-coated cavities from the time, e.g. Family Matters, Step By Step and, God-forbid the root-canal, Full House, Roseanne flipped its blue collar and negated the cheesy recipe of sitcom hell by gargling legit dramatic peroxide. It was jaded and snarky while simultaneously charming.


   Roseanne and her Husband, Dan (played with strong conviction by John Goodman), worked from soul-killing job to soul-killing job and scraped by just enough to stay afoat. Their power was cut off, they had to take a second mortgage on the house, they had two business go belly-up and they had brutal, heart-breaking fights. REAL fights. They were the hardest working couch-potatoes in the world, with a thick skin and hard heads. I, too, grew up lower/middle class and thusly related to the show more than anything I'd seen because it didn't tip-toe around the bullshit that life dripped on the floor - it got down and cleaned it up while audibly damning it. 


   Roseanne was the first show to feature "Us," the people I knew and grew up with. Real people. Everything else on tv was cutesy and nauseatingly coy. 

   And the family wasn't flimsy or fickle, but durable and genuine no matter what life hurled at them; Unemployment, domestic abuse, poverty, pregnancy, teen eloping, racism, homosexuality, alcoholism, PMS, aging, infidelity, public farting, obesity, depression, birth-control, dead bodies, mental illness, and other dramedy dressed the Connor kitchen-table. 


   And while lesser shows would have handled that material lightly, pecking like a bird (after trimming the fat), Roseanne had girth and feasted on its material with calloused hands because it didn't mind having love-handles. Embracing your flaws shows integrity and the more-to-love  Roseanne wasn't ashamed to look in the mirror. 

   Its sense of humor ran the gamut of comedy, from sarcastic cynicism to cornball to satire to warm jib-jabs to slap-stick.


   One of my favorite episodes, 'Death And Stuff,' the family lazily rests under the calm shade of a Sunday morning, bitching and moaning at each other like a real family would. Then, in a display of genius, a door-to-door salesman drops dead at their kitchen table and legally can't be moved until the golfing coroner finishes his game and pronounces the corpse dead. The body sits (what else can it do?) and exorcises an influx of brilliant puns and other jokes from the annoyed Family. And as a cosmic punchline, a couple comes over to survey a dryer that Dan had advertised for sale. This is the stuff of classic comedy, gleefully mixing a cocktail of slap-stick, wit and innuendo from a family liquor cabinet. A display that cannot be rivaled today. It didn't ask me to laugh, it trusted me enough to let me.


   As the 6th season (some say before then) bumped the etch-a-sketch and left the image askew, the show rolled downhill like a fat kid tripping over his criss-crossed shoe laces. My trust was soured and the ugly, dour seasons from then on weren't the poor fat kid in the mud, but, instead: the asshole bullies who fastened the laces.


   The show started as a warm chuckle, but sadly frosted, ending with a contrived, icy cackle. Its sense of humor cracked wise from the Pilot episode, (simply/aptly titled 'Life And Stuff,') but, over time, the cracks were just hairy, stinky asses hanging out of jeans that became too loose. It lost its weight.


I will forever adore this love-letter to the working-class, but, just like the lovable Couch-Potatoes: it, too, was dysfunctional.


 - Love, Warren.


Death And Stuff: 

Rags to Riches

Smitty

   Kevin Smith is.. well, he's been called a lot. The words regarding ol' audacious Smitty've been scathing & verbally violent, while others have ejaculated with rich, hearty praise -- I'm going to spray arching ropes of jism all over this motherfucker.


   While some feel that his movies are delightful, sentimental little nuggets of vulgarity, others spew that he's a pathetic slacker and his flicks are mere attempts at doing something he has no right to do.


   His movies rub off like pre-'jac in cotton briefs. They're sprouting with pubic hair, rolling with sweat and a their mother dresses them funny.


   And I grew into and out of puberty with his movies at my side. 


   (I still can't watch Clerks II without feeling an inescapable fondness for my best friend and the years I've invested in said friendship. Dante and Randall are the two most relatable characters I've ever seen.) 


   Smith and his flicks spoke to me in a way I'd never seen before... when I was 15.


   I respect my hero, Kevin Smith. He has fought the prudish coven of the MPAA more than twice and has defended our right to freedom of speech, like a younger, fatter, bearded Larry Flynt.


   But his ViewAskew fare & his erection into cultdom were the initial spurts of jism that knocked-up my love & appreciation for film. And just like any fat, teenage dweeb, Smith has spent his entire career planted on a toilet seat, scribbling wickedly dirty but sentimental love-letters, and pushing their envelopes. Though they don't elicit the same reaction as my old pubescent self, I still love to read them, crumpled as they are. Smith matured right before my eyes with every movie, painstakingly slithering through cinematic puberty into adulthood. Most recently spit-shining his filmography with the mercurial Red State.


   In the Smith-written words of Randall Graves: "Shit or get off the pot," Red State is Smith's launch off of that toilet, Lethal Weapon 2-style. It's the first time he's come out of the bathroom without a lingering odor, dressed clean, without stains. He has matured into an adult - all thanks to him taking his ass back to school.  He is now OFFICIALLY  Doctor Smith, though he thankfully doesn't whore that badge out.


  Smith is extremely well-versed (with a Cooper Clan-sized arsenal of grammatical glory) and his on-stage performance is akin to a stand-up comic. But what transcends Smith from average 'comedians' is that he doesn't rehearse or practice his 'material,' because his Q&As are always on-the-fly, so he has to pull stories, anecdotes and wit out of his once-fissured ass. And the shit he scrapes out is quality shit, shit that tickles my vocal chords when I have to speak to a crowd. But, most importantly, he inspires me to not give up, corny as that is.


   I've always loved movies, though not accounting for taste; my favorite movie of all-time, at the rotten age of thirteen, was Freddy Vs. Jason. But it was when I saw Smith's debut: the grungy, laughably minimalistic Clerks, I was convinced that making a movie wasn't a feat my fat arthritic fingers couldn't reach.

   I have since seen much better movies, of course, (one of which, my favorite of Smith's work: Chasing Amy), but Clerks will always remain the bottom step in my ladder of artistic growth because, without it, I probably would have never started climbing.
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Below are two videos, their titles speak for themselves. But, from me: two fat reasons that sum up why I will, ostensibly, love Smith for the rest of my days.