Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Of Mice and Men, Of Actors, Stars, and Icons

I listen to NPR. I suppose that's a given. I spend a good deal, a sizable chunk of my day, within the confines of my car, going from worksite to worksite. No complaints, but commercial radio, as we know, is bunk. In fact, I was forced to listen to it when given a new work car and I heard only two songs in over 45 minutes. Audiobooks are incredible, but I like the immediacy of podcasts and PopCulture Happy Hour is one of my favorites.

Recently, they were talking about how, by the casting of Tom Hanks in the film "Captain Philip," half the work was done, since his 'starlight' already informed the film's audiences with what to expect. The comment bothered me, for some reason, the failings of the show's hosts falling into the same pit I've fallen into many times. As critics, we tend to play fast and loose with the seriousness of so much art and that was a bit of a flippant comment, even for my sensibilities.

But, well, the host did have a point. The fact is, the whole world of film is really teeny-tiny and so, well, I started analyzing the impact of the statement. Now, perhaps, I think what bothered me is that inability for the critic to see beyond the face of Tom Hanks and see a nuanced performance, especially understated in the final moments of the film. I've been an actor, I know that there is, yes, some work that's going on. It's like a person with an invisible disability. A terrible analogy, but it works-there's work going on, you just don't see it.

And that's acting. Heath Ledger locked himself into a hotel room for three days to memorize his lines for the movie The Dark Knight. He exited and became the Joker to the very end of the end. He even convinced the filmmaker himself to allow him to direct a small handheld film that appears (a horrifying torture scene) in the picture, while in character.

Dustin Hoffman, dressed as woman in Tootsie, walked around town and felt the stares and realized the plight of women in the 80s (and, yes, today) and used it to color his character. Marlee Matlin took all of her own personal torment living as a Deaf woman in a hearing family and channeled it to an Oscar; watch Cher, seen as a joke in acting circles, literally (see the movie and watch her walk down the street) throw her cares to the win and literally become an Italian-American woman trying to thrive within the parameters of Old World rules.

All of them. Actors.



And that's when I noticed something. There are three performers in Hollywood.

Actors (actresses, but for here, I'll use the term interchangeably)

Stars

Icons

Tom Hanks, to me, is one of those actors. He preps his work. And he acts in movies. The tabloids rarely target him, when they run into him, he's friendly and not very exciting. There's a myriad of pictures of him on the interwebs, crashing weddings and getting selfies over drunk people-passed out so they can't meet him. His wife, Rita Wilson, is also an actor. There are no hidden camera shots of her at the corner of Hollywood and Vine playing with her wedding ring.

These people take their craft seriously. I watched, last night, a cute little ditty I probably should review, called "GBF." Crappy title, great little script, cute little flick. These people, I'm sure, would like a bigger paycheck. But they were all actors. They are trying.


But there's something else. Here, do you want to see the full spectrum of my world? Roo also watches TMZ. I don't like them. I don't approve of their massive invasion of privacy.

However?

I fucking love the movies.

And, yes, I'm aware that these actors? They have something they are selling. They are, in the end, their own product. And with that, there's a way to make yourself more marketable.

The press. Tabloids.

It's fucking parasitic.

TMZ catches them in public, being themselves. SIDENOTE: What I like about the show has nothing to do with the images...and everything to do with the hilarious office banter the team discusses. They've all become characters by being themselves. It's reality tv without the need for scenarios.

Now we're moving into stardom.

There's a world built around the actor and it's not always pretty or appropriate. I think of poor George Clooney.

Okay, so he's not exactly poor. Born into the media world, he could never escape it, like a Kennedy on a private island. But he can act, he's quite good. And it's not like he has to, but he likes to. Either the part is challenging enough, or that he likes the thematic representation of a given piece. I think that's why he took (the dude's father was in the press, Nick Clooney) the currently playing Money Monster. It's a strange movie, but it's about the banking's investment in the government and media's love for violence.

George is an actor, but his face on this kind of picture will drawn people in-and maybe they'll vote for Hillary, er, learn something about our flawed systems. My point being, even unwittingly, George is a movie star. He's married to one of the most intelligent women in the world.

And you don't even know her name. Because? She's not part of the scene.

Nor should she-because she's an attorney for the fucking UN.

Her name is Amal Alamuddin. Probably more important than he is.

Brad Pitt's in the same boat. Watch his early career. He's brave and bold, taking diverse roles.

And he's beautiful.

George and Brad--actors and stars.

Now, trust me, there are those who are just stars.

Adam Sandler.

And he's got nothing outside of the screen, but he's up there and he keeps clearing budgets. I'm also reminded of many others who crossed over into film. Prince? Not an actor, but every bit a star. Barbara Streisand? An actress who became a star. And then star kinda blinded out the acting part. There's a reason she hides nowadays. She's talented. But she's bigger than her roles.

Now, I probably should mention, being a star is totally cool and there's nothing wrong with that. I look to people like Pamela Anderson. She continues to be marketable. Can she act? No. But she's more than willing to be seen and game to poke fun at herself.

But her movies? Meh.

And, remember, there's two layers here. You can be both.

Or neither. See:  Any Lifetime movie.

I guess I should point out the Kardasians. They aren't in movies. And they shouldn't be stars. Still, applause must be given to them, yes. They made themselves a marketable product and keep a buttload of people employed with it. I get angry with their no-talented-ness, but understand they have a purpose.

Maybe I should create a subgenre:  celebrities. No talent wannabes.

Fuckers.

But as I did all of this mental sorting, I came across something that I didn't think could be addressed with my interactions with "Actors" and "Stars."

I look to those movies where I went to see the performer. I knew them; I trusted them.

Like Jackie Chan. Grant you, his recent turn in the shitty Karate Kid showed he actually has some decent acting ability. I guess a lifetime on stage and screen will do that to a man. But is he an actor? Technically? No. And his life beyond the corners of the screen? Not really star-material.

I created a third column.

Icons.

He's an icon. When I see his movies, they're consistently challenging me to see his craft but also see an insane amount rapport. He is so wonderfully friendly, you want to take the journey with him. I noticed this was the case with several of my favorite martial arts performers.  Jean-Claude Van Damme. Jet Li. Michelle Yeoh. And, to some extent, Chow Yun-Fat, but he does cross over, frequently, to acting territory.

The camera lense for this group really can expand, too. Look at Arnold. Yes, the biggest action star of all of the 80s. His later works, and his recent turns have actually been performances, but, let's face it, he's not going to get an Oscar. And a Star? Yes, but he seemed to come out pretty squeeky clean outside of the usual infidelities.

Marilyn Monroe is another good example. She was, believe it or not, a classically trained actress. However, the public refused to see her talent, and just wanted to stare at her. It led to her eventual meltdown. But this woman can actually act. But you see an image of her and you see everything. You know every line; every moment.

And it's beautiful.

James Dean could also act around some of the performers of today, but his short life and high cheekbones moved him into a silver screen history few have joined. Clark Gable? Cary Grant? Alfred Hitchcock?

As I look at this thought process, I realized one thing.

Barbra Streisand fits into all of these categories, doesn't she? She's awesome.







Wednesday, May 11, 2016

Movie Review: Captain America-Civil War

You know that moment, when you're cleaning out your pockets before you do the laundry and you stumble across a crumbly twenty dollar bill? One that you don't recall putting in there but, somehow, as if by magic, it appeared, as if you make your day?



Yeah, keep that feeling in mind. I've not wrapped my head around the movie Captain America: Civil War just yet, but that's not the point. I have to strike while the iron is pretty hot.

This is a nice find, as if out of the blue.

Disney has pretty much given up on advertising, when you think about it. They have so many shitty little bloggers (ahem, see recent post) out there they don't have to pay for a single commercial if they don't wan to. The trolls devour all of their tidbits that it saves cash and let's Disney/Marvel actually do stuff. Heck, even this blog post is a bit of an advert. This movie, I don't recall, really had an advertising push, not unlike the recent Batman v. Superman, so when I finally found time to head to the local flicka, it was, well...

....like finding that twenty dollar bill.

A nice surprise. The Disney machine has been marching on for some time, but, like all good soap operas, the comic book empire they purchased pretty much writes itself with an intertwining, multi-plot story. Heck, they just announced a Black Widow possible spin-off movie. Does it fit in the canon? Nope. But it does line the pocket.

And I'm one of those bloggers, so I'll go see it too.

This movie is part of the universe that is Marvel, if ever there was such a movie. Nothing character wise is emphasized here. Instead, the movie, like a good sequel should, carries a full storyline about all the previous movies.

No, really.

It's about how the world is starting to react to the saturation of heroes on Earth and the violence they are carrying out. In fact, after a particularly jarring opening act catching supervillains during a heist, goes sour and it suddenly makes sense. The Avengers are starting to feel some form of remorse. New laws are being made, sponsored by the UN and will hold all heroes accountable from here on out. Captain America, played again by Chris Evans, believes they should operate freely, instead of a political entity or a policing agent. Iron Man, played once more by Robert Downey Jr., feels guilt when a specific death is brought to his attention and believes this might be the way to remove himself from a certain culpability and agrees to oversight.

The ruse works to making a full movie. It's surprisingly lavish production, with a few dozen of key players from several of their titles. This is the same team that constructed Captain America: Winter Solider, which I consider one of the best in their canon, and I'm starting to think that Disney might want to consider paying them more.

This movie is long, but it doesn't feel long. Nor is it designed, in any manner, to get your goat and have you cheer for the four seconds your favorite character is on the screen. They did what a movie should do-every character, and I mean EVERY character has an agenda and it plays to a specific and logical end, success or no. Even brief cameos, with Ant-Man and Spider-man, are not forced in any manner, but, instead, feel like they should be there and fit in like a missing puzzle piece.

I'm doing my best to avoid spoilers here, and, luckily, the plot is complicated, but not contrived or wooden. More like clockwork. And because of that, trying to summarize it would be like trying to review the last 20 years of the comic books itself.

I think it's interesting that it comes on the heels of the Batman/Superman fiasco (okay, sure, I didn't think it was bad, but next to this? It's bad). Warner Bros is so scared of opening up their property that it comes off as a cold art movie. Here? The movie's pacing is like a decent novel, with a plot twist at the end of every chapter. That movie was massively awkward. Two heroes fight. A villain is rewritten. But the concoction comes off as maladroit.  This movie? Totally opposite.

I am being really vague, aren't I? Sorry, but if you like the MCU, you'll like this movie, but, believe it or not, there's something to be said about the quality-this picture moves like the Winter Solider and should be recognized as something slightly above the genre.  The only drawback? Well, it doesn't really work if you're not sure what's going on with previous ticks. Of course, that can only happen if you live under a rock or you have little exposure to popular culture. That's where this movie does fail. It's like starting StarWars at the Empire Strikes Back level.

I also have to point out, as I have numerous times, I'm a strong believer that art reflects life reflects art. I think it's fitting that we're seeing two heroes go head to head in an election year. No one can be sure that one or the other is worthy and the fight ensues. I'm also drawn to parallel the recent transphobic bills that are splattering all over the place. Where people are trying to legislate even there's no need or no ability to do so. How, in Fate's name, are they going to keep heroes in check? More heroes, which seems kinda wrong. How are Earth are they going to keep bathrooms checked? By putting police in there to look under stalls? Sick. Weirdness.

Go, enjoy.


Thursday, May 05, 2016

Musings on Animal I Thought I Didn't Like

We had to put my cat down yesterday.

Surely, since we just put down my dog just two months ago, for pretty much the same reasons, that was why the tears, when they arrived, weren't as profound or powerful.

But they were there.

I suppose emotions, like so many other things, cannot be measured on any kind of a scale.

Cause, for some reason, when my dog was put down, I was able to function on some level.

I can't move today. Everything aches. I'd long heard of depression.

And I think I'm there.

Let me start from the beginning.

I had been talking to this guy for, like MONTHS, almost a full year. We had been trying to meet up for eons, but this was in the space before instant mobile closed gaps in seconds. He lived in Sioux Falls and I was miserable in Colorado Springs. Eighteen hours of driving, if I was in the mood. And I still had to pay by phone call with long distance, even had a special credit card.

Well? It happened.

I have to say, I was happier dating people who had kids or animals. I showed me something about their ability to be compassionate and caring. It informed my primal man that, yes, this person was probably marrying material, basically. They could care for something other than themselves.

And Mr. Long Distance had a cat. A slight animal, no more than the weight of an envelope, she was what they labeled a 'tuxedo' cat. A strong and pure black and white, her heft meant that she could dance on the back of the couch and be on the counter in short thrift.

After we dated for a while, time passed and, well, I spent the night. The Man Who Would Become HusOtter left and two distinct moments happened. He worked all night, so I slept late, moving to the couch to greet him with smiles when he returned.

A warm spot formed on the small of my back. I thought that perhaps that confounded cat had peed on me. Betty was her name, "Elizabeth" when she was in trouble. But I reached back, as I lay there on my then-trim abdomen, and felt her purring away. I was a cushion.

I took this as a good omen. The cat liked me. So? I had an in with this guy.

The second incident happened with I made breakfast. That wonderfully confounded beast smoothed herself behind me and sat in wait as I sat down with my bagel and cream cheese. This guy had NO cable (not a deal-breaker, yet, as television was still not switched over to HD....but that would have to be remedied if the relationship was to go any further!), so I had to squeeze my vision into squints to see the shaky image and I heard a licking and munching. My arm, to my right and out of my field of vision, was treating the cat on the armrest to a breakfast snack of cream cheese.

She stopped and looked me in the eyes, as if a silent accord had been achieved. Within a step, she was forward and under my chin, with a purr and a waltz away.

I realized, for one, that she was now going to put in a good word for me. I snoozed with her and I gave her cream cheese. I had to be in her favors now. And, secondly, I had always seen myself as a dog person, even now.

But something inside my heart changed when I married this guy.

And he brought the Betty with him.

Moving in together was a process, where he had to quit his job and finish out a term. That meant, he had time to sell his house and move into my flat in Colorado Springs.

Yes, things were going well.

He moved his furniture in. And the apartment took cats, so she could stay with me, a better choice, since the house was being put on the market and the front door might open and close. She learned I was an author, and, as the world knows, cats are pretty literate. They have to be, given their airs. As I sat long hours in front of my computer near the window, she would join me as I chainsmoked.

Eventually, she'd start to cough. Here I was, killing the animal my future husband held so dear. So I would hike down the three flights of stairs to smoke, outside in the doorway of our old apartment building. Sometimes in my underwears at 3am.

The cat survived.

And I elected to quit smoking. Especially when the snows came.

The years passed and she became something of a confidant. I moved again, here to Florida and she came with me as the house, again, was put on the market. Meowed all across the nation. My husOtter had yet to find a job, and so we were stuck apart, him with the house, and, yes, me with this cat. Only now? Years had fostered a connection and we were bound. Greetings when I came home, curiosity when I arrived home with packages,  ongoing superfluous naps, and many late nights sitting on my lap when I was typing.

Like now, only she's not here.

I thought I was a dog person. I love my dog.

But I've come to realize through the generosity of a specific feline-cats are pretty awesome too.

There weren't as many tears because, like the dog, you had passed some time ago, and was just hanging on to keep us from being in despair. I get it. And our own selfishness was blind to the fact that you had aged and might have been suffering. To see you sleep one final time, to see you finally rest, made my heart happy. You needed to stop all the work you were doing, my dear old Gumby Cat (see the play, "Cats," and you'd understand!).

Rest in Peace.

Some Things Are Just Disturbing

 I mean, like, why? Why does such crap and drivel like The Human Centipede exist. Well? It's probably like porn. Where everyone tires t...