Sabbatical

Well, it’s been about two years since my last post. Perhaps it’s time for my self-imposed sabbatical to end. Perhaps…

Movie Review: Grey Gardens

Pick up any of my 10th grade English essays and you’re bound to find at least one use of the word “juxtaposition.” By frequency of use, I left the impression that English authors had nothing better to do than to place two things side-by-side for the purpose of comparison. Use juxtapose in an English essay and expect your teacher to swoon. Use juxtapose in a pick up line for the opposite effect (“Hey baby, why don’t you juxtapose your body and mine?”) Why do I bring up juxtaposition? I wanted to show you bad examples before I introduce you to a good one: Grey Gardens.

Grey Gardens, a 1975 documentary by David and Albert Maysles, shows the after-effects of the riches-to-rags tale of Edith Bouvier Beale and her adult daughter, Edie (Little Edie) Bouvier Beale. Bouvier, as you history buffs may know, is the maiden name of one Jackie Kennedy-Onassis. In fact, Edith and Little Edie are Jackie’s aunt and cousin, respectively.

With that kind of pedigree, there’s little doubt as to the lifestyle these two women are accustomed to: they have all the rich, buttery flavor and flakiness of the most Upper Crust. Indeed, the evidence is all around them, from photos of the glory days–when Little Edie was courted by the likes of Howard Hughes, Rockefellers, and even considered a prime courting candidate for JFK–to paintings of Edith as a young woman, framed in gilded oak.

That was then. Today (being 1975), Edith and Little Edie find themselves destitute, rattling around together in Grey Gardens, their 10,000 square foot mansion in the Hamptons. Edith spends the bulk of the day in bed, covered in turtlenecks tied around her chest. Little Edie, with bald head covered always in a scarf, dances, sings and flirts with the camera. They spend their hours arguing, reminiscing and scraping together meals (Little Edie, at one point in the film, serves Edith a plate of cat food; “Mother’s pate,” she jokes to the camera). These conversations betray regret, a sense of blame, bits of history, but never despair.  For two women raised in a life of pampering, they show remarkable backbone, nobility and pride. I expected whining and defeat. Instead, Little Edie turns a piercing gaze to the camera and reminds us all that she is a woman of “staunch character”.

Grey Gardens the home made me feel the juxtaposition of wealth and poverty. It mirrors the Bouviers in many ways. Isolated and abandoned, it houses memories of better days next to stray cats and raccoons. Edith’s gilded portrait now sits faded on the floor, making a handy screen for an impromptu litterbox. The Maysles deftly show passage of time, as a hole in the wall turns slowly into a fissure, then a cavern. Like the Bouviers, Grey Gardens was probably accustomed to an army of caretakers. Once they left, it was only a matter of time before disrepair and disarray set in. The house, in spite of neglect, stands tall among its neighbors in the Hamptons, with a commanding view of the coast and surrounding forest. It, too, is a house of “staunch character”.

Grey Gardens was at some point purchased and restored. Edith and Little Edie have departed it (and this life), but the fascination with these 3 characters is undeniable.  Grey Gardens has seen adaptations into books and plays, and soon (from what I hear) a major motion picture. Watch the documentary first to learn, as I did, you just can’t make up people like this.

The Boonie Hat

Several months ago, I went to my local Army Surplus store to buy a hat. Not just any hat: a boonie hat. One of those sweet cloth hats you see army guys wear. I got the idea from, of all places, a video game. My character in the game wore a boonie hat and I thought it would be cool to have one of my own. My own fashion sense could be a great place for the real battlefield to meet the virtual one.  I found the hat I wanted, looked in the mirror and tried it on. What I felt next came as a bit of a surprise.

Before I get to my feelings, I should begin by pointing out there are a few key differences between my virtual and real world selves. In the virtual world, I am a battle-hardened veteran, faithfully serving my country in many conflicts. You name it, I have been there: I stormed Normandy Beach (35 times and counting), witnessed Pearl Harbor, held the line in the Battle of the Bulge. I patrolled the perimeter at Khe Sanh, sought and destroyed Charlie at Hue during the Tet Offensive. I am this evening shipping to Afghanistan to help America win the War on Terror. In the real world, I am the veteran of one afternoon paintball war and the occasional laser tag border skirmish.

Peaceful and mild-mannered I may be in the real world, but my virtual self has personally racked up over 600,000 kills: Nazis, “Charlie”, terrorists; all have died by my hand. I am knowledgeable in every firearm, from Civil War-era muskets to modern assault rifles and rocket launchers, both foreign and domestic. In reality, I need help loading a BB gun even felt weird shooting at human-shaped silhouettes. Actual persons injured or killed by me on the field of battle: 0 (unless you count the guy whose tooth I chipped playing football in the snow).

In the virtual world, I have received enough injuries to make the guy from Johnny Got His Gun look like Gene Kelly. I have been shot, fragged, incinerated, dismembered, decapitated, stabbed and crushed.  My real world “Purple Heart”? A cut chin sustained when a paintball fragment penetrated my facemask.

My virtual self can carry up to 10 weapons at once (plus grenades) all while running at full speed. In video game wars, I can outjump, outrun and outmaneuver any enemy. I am deadly accurate with everything I use; I could kill you with a hurled fork at a 1000 paces. Strength, stamina, resilience, accuracy: I am (virtually) the Complete Soldier.

In reality, I can run 20 paces without stopping, carry a small briefcase for a half-block and, if I’ve been practicing, hit the wall with a rubber band at 10 feet. But, don’t expect me to do these things in battlefield situations: under stress I am barely capable of operating a ballpoint pen, let alone an automatic rifle. In other words, put me in a real battle and you’d have a corpse (with soggy trousers) in no time.

So, it really shouldn’t have surprised me so much to learn that the boonie hat didn’t look right on my noggin. Anyone who has seen cosplay knows that virtual fashions rarely look as good on real people. But this was different. It’s one thing to wear something that’s not becoming; it’s another thing to feel so completely out of place and even ashamed. I felt real shame–the kind of shame any poser gets when he’s called out for what he is. I suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of an actual veteran seeing me–a pasty, squishy civilian whose idea of Basic Training is a 10-minute tutorial–try on a uniform hat. That hat was an instant reminder that, no matter what I’ve learned about war from video games, they’ll never teach me what it is to be a soldier. Military video games strive for realism to be sure, they’re even used as recruiting tools, but they prepare you for battle about as well as a merry-go-round prepares you for horseback riding.

Movie Review(ette): Happy Feet

When I was little, my mother rarely allowed us to eat a kids cereal. When she did, she sprinkled the sugary treat liberally with wheat germ, as if to ease her motherly conscience. The result was a soggy, flavorless glop that was neither sweet nor healthy. Happy Feet is a kids cereal with lots of wheat germ: what should be eye candy is instead sprinkled liberally with heavy-handed moralizing. The movie also isnt helped by corny dialog, boring plot (with ample use of pop musical numbers that fail to please) and paper-thin characters. Sure, there are stunning visuals and a joke or two, but by the end of the movie, you’ll feel just like you stepped out of a two-hour sermon on the evils of over-fishing.

Movie Review(ette): Whisper of the Heart

Quite honestly, Whisper of the Heart proves an unwelcome departure from fantasy for Miyazaki. We kept expecting (and hoping for) something fantastical to happen, but hopes were dashed as the story bogged down more and more into the mundane. Our audience (Miyazaki fans all) was incredibly bored and disconnected from this modern-day childhood romance tale. The English vocal cast seemed to reflect our malaise as well, with half-hearted, listless voiceovers. In spite of these complaints, visuals didn’t disappoint, and Miyazaki reveled in his ability to paint an idyllic Japan in dappled sunlight and springtime. I recommend this film only for Miyazaki completists, and even they should bring their patience.

Video Game Review: Star Wars: The Force Unleashed

George Lucas is not unlike the Force. Like the Force, George has a Light and a Dark Side. When he was at One with the Light Side, George blessed the galaxy with Light Sabers, Force Lightning and TIE Fighters. On the days he had Given in to Hate, we got midichlorians, Anakin Skywalker and Jar Jar Binks. So, which George gave us Star Wars: the Force Unleashed: Jedi Master Lucas or George, Dark Lord of the Sith? The answer, like Qui-Gonn Jinn, lies somewhere in between.

Let’s start with the upside: central characters, digital performances and story; game play mechanics (Force Powers, etc); and visuals. For the story, the writers went straight for the more interesting component of the Star Wars universe: the villains. The game, set between Episodes 3 and 4, puts you in the shoes of Darth Vader’s secret apprentice. As you learn the ins and outs of the Dark Side, Vader sends you on secret missions to wipe out the last of the Jedi who evaded him in Episode 3. Over the course of the game, you set in motion critical events leading to Episode 4. While I won’t spoil any plot points here, I will say that the game’s story ties together nicely the prequel and the traditional (read “better”) Star Wars films. There are two endings, though the second is clearly noncanonical. Along the way, you meet a variety of characters, both new and familiar. Voice work is solid, with special props to the lead, Sam Witwer. In short, the game fits in nicely with the Star Wars universe and is arguably a better use of the license than Lucas’ own prequels.

With an entertaining story comes equally entertaining gameplay. The developers at Lucasarts set about to make a game that lets you “kick somone’s ass with the Force”. And they deliver. Whereas the fledgeling Jedi Luke could barely lift a box of tissues with the Force, you start out with prodigious powers that blow away almost anything wielded during the 6 movies.  Force Lightning, Saber Throw, Force Push are all ‘roided up thanks to an impressive physics engine. Fling enemies off ledges, impale them with a thrown saber or fry defenseless jawas with your Force Lightning. It’s all fun and easy to combine with saber attacks.

Visuals also deserve a shout.  The graphics are sharp, with expertly crafted character models, lighting and a solid style that places you squarely in the Star Wars universe.

But, these treats for the eyeballs come at a cost, for it is in the visual department when we see the corruption of the Dark Side creep in. The game sadly has major frame-rate issues, with noticeable drops regardless of what’s happening on screen. And, in spite of his stunning character model, the Apprentice’s animations are choppy, a disappointing contrast from other character action games such as Ninja Gaiden. This is especially apparent during combat, where every saber swing results in a split-second delay. Hardly a game-breaker, but a bit of a distraction.

Combat has other problems besides frame-rate. I understand that Stormtroopers are clones, and therefore stupid. And, yes, they are meant to be mowed down like the tupperwear-clad blades of grass they are. But to have them stand there, just waiting for me to send them to the Great Death Star in the Sky (err….) detracted from the immersion somewhat. For some, the novelty of juiced-up Force combat wears thin very quickly. For others, the mere fact that the saber does about as much damage as a granny’s umbrella could also be a turn-off.

As the credits rolled in the Force Unleashed, I couldn’t help but think of Darth Vader. Vader, after all, started out with good intentions, strayed along the way, but ended up more good than bad–good enough to don the Jedi Bathrobes of Honor alongside Yoda and Kenobi at the end of Return of the Jedi. The Force Unleashed started with a great premise, but took some unfortunate shortcuts. The end result, while being somewhat tainted, provided plenty of entertainment for this casual Star Wars fan. If you still can’t decide to play this game, allow me to provide one more compelling reason: Jar Jar Binks frozen in carbonite.

Review: Tegan and Sara in Concert

Have you ever had a really mad crush on someone? Like, a crush so crazy that the person is almost god-like in their perfection? Suddenly, you find yourself alone with them, the intimate moment you’ve dreamed of for so long. Things are going great. You’re getting to know this person even better, and they’re even dreamier than you imagine. A quiet moment comes. You bask in the silence when….(fpprrt)…your reverie is broken by a fart. Not yours. Theirs.

They laugh. You laugh. The illusion breaks.

What was a demigod is now a human, and you find yourself enjoying them all the more for that moment of honesty.

The Tegan and Sara show was kinda like that. While I can’t say I have a crush on Tegan and Sara, their show on October 13 at the Paramount Theater showed how liberating a few mistakes can really be.

In this age of lip-syncing and Ashlee Simpson gaffes, imperfections let you know you’re really getting a live performance–an authentic, one-of-a-kind experience and not something out of a can. It’s reassuring somehow when even seasoned professionals like Bono get a frog in their throat or drop a lyric. The best performers gloss over these little blunders, giving the audience a taste of authenticity, while the show goes on uninterrupted. The performance remains a shiny, polished product in the eye of the audience, who forgets any mistake was made by the time the song is done.

Tegan and Sara made mistakes I remember: a restart, inserting “blah blah blah” into the lyrics when they were forgotten, and others. But their response made me more of a fan, not less. They had no shame, no embarrassment, just the cool confidence that says–in their words–”fuck it”. What could have been a real distraction instead felt more like a moment of honesty. They were suddenly humans, not rock stars.

By now, you probably want to know about the rest of the show. For starters, show openers Girl in a Coma and City and Colour played nicely off the headliner’s split personality: part angry lesbian electric rock (Girl in a Coma) and part avant-garde acoustic poetry (City and Colour). The twins themselves followed up with a great selection of new and old, and even a new single off a digital EP. In between numbers, the sisters chatted, teased and even scolded the audience for being too enthusiastic. It was immensely entertaining, artistic and refreshing–not unlike their music.

Movie Review: Ghost Town

I don’t know about you, but every now and then, I crave junk food. I’ll wander through the grocery store, passing up all the delicious fruits and vegetables and head straight for the most nutritionally vacant food I can find: a Twinkie. Yes, the Twinkie: a technological marvel that’s less dessert and more petroleum product. Tasty? Sure…for a bite or two. What was airy sponge cake in your mouth transforms into a bowling ball on the way to your stomach. And you just can’t help but wonder how much better it would have been had it been crafted by a chef and not a chemist. As I watched Ghost Town last night, I couldn’t help but think of Twinkies.

How is a Twinkie like the movie Ghost Town? Allow me to beat the simile to death:

To begin with, it’s worth pointing out that a Twinkie does have real, recognizable ingredients (wheat flour, sugar, water); ingredients that have, over the years, done some pretty good things for the human palate. Similarly, Ghost Town features some recognizable talent: Ricky Gervais (doing a subtle, but effective variation of The Office’s David Brent), Greg Kinnear and Tea Leoni. They all perform admirably enough: Gervais as the misanthropic dentist who falls for Leoni, widow of the now deceased philanderer Kinnear. Along with recognizable talent comes some familiar plot points. It seems Gervais can see dead people (Sixth Sense), has some problem getting along with the living (The Office), but learns to love others and love life through plot contrivances (Stranger than Fiction, A Christmas Carol). The first bite of Ghost Town provides a tasty snack of insult humor and entertaining caricatures. It’s a sweet treat, but like the Twinkie, hardly representative of the whole experience.

So, you’ve taken your first bite of the Twinkie. Not bad. Not quite as good as you remember, but edible. Bite number two brings the first sense of doubt–suddenly you’re trying to convince yourself that you’re eating food and not, say, packing material. Ghost Town also requires that bit of convincing. Never mind the fact the movie concerns someone who can talk to the dead, it’s also about Ricky Gervais and Teo Leoni falling in love. Somehow, the latter seems harder to swallow. The romantic portion of the film isn’t overtly bad, it’s just not interesting enough to make you take that last, fateful bite of the film.

So, here you are, staring down the last bite of your Twinkie. You know you have a choice. You could eat the last bite, knowing that down that path lie tears and regret, not to mention a little Pepto. Whether out of sheer determination, spite, or cheapness, you consume the last bite. Cue churning stomach. Ghost Town is hardly bad enough to walk out on by the third act, but keep watching and you might wish you had. The third act of the movie contains “the message”, delivered courtesy of an inspirational poster. “The Selfish Life Isn’t Worth Living,” says Albert Einstein in this poster, without knowing his quote would be used years later to make crappy movies. Mr. Gervais sets about changing his ways, helping the ghosts he once scorned. As he does so, they disappear in a golden flash of light. The mocking scowl Gervais sports gleefully for parts one and two transforms into a beatific, benevolent smile. Yes, folks, this Twinkie has cheese. I’m all for movies with a message, but Ghost Town ties this message around a brick and throws it at your skull.

Ghost Town could have been more. Comedies–in the right hands–can be quite effective at making a point. But Ghost Town seems instead to have been made by a marketing committee, then focus-tested for maximum banality. Like the Twinkie, Ghost Town was concocted in a beaker by chemists and churned out of a factory more concerned with quantity than quality. And that’s a shame; it could have been a delicious and satisfying treat.

Video Game Review: Gears of War

Thanks to Epic Studios and Cliffy B for Xbox 360′s first killer app. In-engine commercials and previews did not lie; this is a truly next-gen experience with great textures, excellent character design and (usually) consistent framerates.

It’s more than just eye-candy, too. The gameplay follows an admittedly shallow story of a 4-man team on a distant planet overrun by the indigent species, the Locust Horde. Why can’t we all get along? Who cares? The important thing is taking your enemies down with superior marksmanship, outmaneuvering them or getting in close for a brutal dismemberment with your chainsaw bayonet.

By now you’ve heard of this little number, and it’s as graphic as it sounds–Gears is an M-rated title for good reason. That said, it put a smile on my face. Your enemies could pass your basic tactics class, and are sufficiently aggressive to produce sweaty palms in yours truly. But if you tire of the computer, multiplayer offers a great, entertaining alternative. Most game variants boil down to shoot-offs between two 4-man teams (either Locust Horde or Human COG fighters). I’m generally not into gaming with strangers, but the game warrants an occasional foray into multiplayer, come what may.

Long story short: If you like to shoot things, if you own an Xbox 360 (or are considering one), if you are over the age of 17 (or have negligent parents), buy this game.

Video Game Review: Viva Pinata

I have to hand it to Microsoft and developer Rare for making a truly unique game experience designed to broaden the appeal of the shooter-centric Xbox 360. Rare taps the “gotta catch ‘em all” vein made popular with Pokemon, and Microsoft launched a Saturday morning cartoon to help market the game. Virtually every design choice reflects Rare’s desire to reach out beyond the core 18 – 34 male demographic: vibrant and whimsical characters, a garden setting, floral and pastel-heavy graphics.

Behind the candy coating, though, is incredibly meaty and compelling gameplay. You are a gardener charged with attracting and breeding the best pinata. At your disposal are a variety of tools and helpers purchased through chocolate currency, earned by selling your pinatas or other items in your garden.

The game throws obstacles in your way as well: hostile characters that poison your pinata, fights between resident pinata and even a population cap. You can even name and accessorize any resident pinata, becoming more attached to it…..right before you feed it to a more valuable pinata to convince the new one to stay. Here is where we see the tenuous balance that Rare attempted to strike. Rare has created an interesting and complex ecology simulator (complete with a food chain), but wrapped it in a child’s coloring book. The result is a candy-coated meatball: too much solid food for the kiddies, but too saccharine-sweet for the adults. If you are over the age of 13 and don’t mind the packaging, I recommend you give Viva Pinata a try.