Film School Rejects » J.L. Sosa

Margot Kidder Writing a Morbid Chick Flick

J.L. Sosa — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 03:35:16 +0000

During a Q&A session at Minneapolis’ Crypticon horror convention this weekend, guest Margot Kidder revealed she’s writing a script for what could be a badass chick flick.

The revelation was quite a treat for this Kidder fan. I’ve enjoyed her work since I was in Superman Underoos and loved the shit out of her performances in a trio of ’70s horror classics: Sisters, Black Christmas and The Amityville Horror.

Kidder said her script-in-progress is “about a group of women helping an elderly woman get out of the hospital to die somewhere nice and peaceful, without doctors around her.”

The women conspire to smuggle their friend out of the hospital and spirit her away to a remote cabin, where she can die amidst nature. Sounds like it could be a depressing-ass flick, but Kidder described it thusly: “It’s sort of a romp and a middle-aged babe sisterhood kind of thing.”

“It’s about aging and fears we all have about aging,” she added.

Now 61, Kidder said she’s loved getting older. “It’s not terrible getting old. It’s kind of fun. And you can say anything whatever you want because — hey — you’ve been there.”

I’ll admit, Kidder’s script (which she said she’s working on with a number of partners) doesn’t sound like the kind of movie I would ordinarily see.

I mean, hell, I was at the horror convention for a reason. To paraphrase Chuck D, I just can’t go for that Steel Magnolias shit. But I would love to see Kidder’s film for two reasons:

A) I’m a hopeless fanboy,

and

B) Kidder, in every on-screen interview I’ve seen and in the Crypticon Q&A, has demonstrated such a sassy, spitfire sense of humor that I can’t imagine this movie turning out as some pansy-ass sentimental cheesefest.

So there you have it. For the first time ever, this manliest-of-manly-men is actually eagerly awaiting a chick-flick-in-development.

Before you know it, I’ll be growing bitch tits. Damn.

Movies We Love: Xanadu

J.L. Sosa — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 13:00:07 +0000

Xanadu (1980)

A million lights are dancing and there you are: A shooting star!

Synopsis

Frustrated artist Sonny Malone (Michael Beck) is stuck in a soul-sucking corporate job. He meets Kira (Olivia Newton-John), a Greek muse sent to Earth to encourage him to chase his dream to build a really awesome roller disco. She introduces him to retired big-band leader Danny Macguire (Gene Kelly), who’s got the moves and the money to make it all happen. But the plan goes awry when mortal Sonny and divine Kira fall in love.

Why We Love It

For the better part of two decades, admitting you loved Xanadu was a sure-fire way to get a surprise kick-in-the-nuts from the nearest film snob. At least, that was true for guys. If you were a girl, said film snobs settled for a stiff right jab to your ovaries.

Why the hostility? Well, pretty much since its release, Xanadu has been maligned as one the worst films ever. It helped inspire the creation of the infamous Razzie Awards (nominated for seven Golden Raspberries, Robert Greenwald took home the Razzie for Worst Director). Arriving just two years after the phenomenally profitable Grease, its catastrophic commercial and critical failure sounded the death knell for the Hollywood musical.

But the fuel Xanadu gives its detractors is the very reason its fans love it so. The plot is absurd. Who cares? It’s really not much sillier than some of Hollywood’s most cherished musicals. And the pacing is far snappier than that of such highly revered gems as Meet Me in St. Louis or Les Girls.

Xanadu marks legendary entertainer Gene Kelly’s final onscreen song-and-dance performance. Some lament that his last hurrah found him strutting around in a loud zoot suit and romping around inside a giant pinball machine. But, let’s face it. Xanadu was not Kelly’s goofiest hour. We’re talking about a guy who wasn’t above a good custard pie fight (The Pirate) or tap-dancing around with trash can lids on his feet (It’s Always Fair Weather). Xanadu finds the then-67-year-old hoofer in fine form. He’s laid-back, charming and clearly having a good time with his young co-stars.

The music of Xanadu, like much late ’70s and early ’80s mainstream pop, is a matter of taste. I can tolerate New Wave trash and pre-MTV Olivia Newton-John in limited doses, and this film showcases some of the more instantly hummable examples of the breed. I love the bubblegum bombast of ELO, which this film delivers in spades. Also, Xanadu pioneered the more recent trend toward pop-song oriented musicals. Before Xanadu, most musical soundtracks were firmly rooted in the old-school Vaudeville/Broadway stage tradition. Xanadu was ahead of its time, predating other pop-based musicals such as Mamma Mia! and Jersey Boys by more than 20 years.

One element of Xanadu that hasn’t aged so well are the ’80s fashions. There are too many examples to cite here, but the most iconic are the ridiculous leg warmers Kira sports in almost every scene. They would be lame if she only wore them once, but they’re omnipresent to the point where one wonders if director Greenwald didn’t have some weird fetish for cotton-clad calves. Kira even wears them after being transformed into an animated bird. Come on! Can her legs really be that cold (just from the knees down, of course) all the time?

If it sounds like I’m ripping on the Movie I Love, well, I am. Part of the joy of Xanadu is it’s such a pure, shameless and earnest expression of cheese that you can simultaneously laugh with it and at it. You can MST3K your way through the whole thing while secretly (or not-so-secretly) enjoying it on a fundamental level.

Moment We Fell in Love

It’s hard to separate a single element of Xanadu that made me fall so hard for it. As a child, just watching the baffling but awesome pre-credit sequence — with its flying saucer bleeping and blooping its way around the Universal Studios globe — was enough to give me a chill.

As I’ve gotten older, I can now appreciate the not-so-subtle homoerotic subtext. It doesn’t take much imagination to see Danny Macguire as Sonny Malone’s would-be gay sugar daddy. After all, why would Danny inexplicably front all the money and do all the hard work in bringing the titular roller disco to fruition, and then offer to split the profit with Sonny 50-50? Sonny barely lifts a finger and he’s got an elderly bachelor eagerly throwing tons of money at him. Hmm.

I guess the one thing about Xanadu that’s always kept me coming back is its spectacular finale. ON-J is alternately resplendently tacky as she morphs through a medley of costume changes (u¨berfringed cowgirl, tiger-striped-and-mini-skirted vixen, glittering tinsel goddess), but she’s always irresistibly cute.

There. I said it. The root of my love for Xanadu starts with my lifelong crush on its safe-as-milk but totally hot star.

Final Thoughts

I’d be remiss if I didn’t give props to the people who’ve helped keep the memory of Xanadu alive and kickin’ in the 21st century.

First, a word about my sexuality. I’m a straight, married guy who has never tasted dick — and never wants to. Yeah, I enjoy a good Chicago-style hot dog with all the fixins — onions, peppers, pickle spear and relish — but that’s not even in the same ballpark. Not even the same fuckin’ sport, pal.

So, I’ll admit I was little put off when I first discovered my cherished childhood keepsake had been co-opted as a gay cult classic. I didn’t feel gay watching Xanadu as kid. I just thought it kicked ass.

But, if someone hadn’t carried a flaming torch for Xanadu all these years, it very well could’ve been lost to obscurity. If not for its strong camp following, we wouldn’t have seen a deluxe DVD reissue of the film, and we certainly wouldn’t have seen a critically acclaimed Broadway musical adaptation.

Thanks to them, the place where nobody dared to go is now “the love that we came to know.” We call it Xanadu.

Action Helmer Morel Soon to Be Big in Japan

J.L. Sosa — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 03:46:57 +0000

Pierre Morel (best known to those who still insist on calling them “freedom fries” as the director of Taken) is slated to helm an action/espionage thriller set in Tokyo.

Variety sums up the plot of said unnamed flick thusly: “Story follows a CIA operative, stationed in Japan but on the verge of retirement, who is ordered to carry out a final mission. He finds himself caught in the middle of an international conspiracy.”

The takeaway message here — and in Taken — is that CIA agents never really retire. They’re just put on ice for awhile until it’s time to crack some muthafuckin’ heads.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t see how this can be anything but good news. For starters, anything associated with Japan is instantly awesome (see: Hello Kitty, Audition and the Datsun B210 (yes, the B stands for Badass).

Second, the fight scenes and overall pace of Taken were pants-shittingly great. Morel pushed the violence into hard PG-13 territory with aplomb, always suggesting more gore than we actually saw. That’s the mark of a great visual storyteller. He knows how to milk what’s not shown to thrill the audience.

If there’s any quibble for me about Morel’s style, it’s this: The brother needs to figure out how to present car chases. A good car chase (and this goes for you too, Marc Fucking Forster) does not consist of a spastic assemblage of shaky close-ups. When there’s a car chase on, I like to actually see who’s driving what and what the fuck’s going on.

I think both Morel and Forster could stand a good talking-to from the likes of Michael Bay, Justin Lin and Zombie John Frankenheimer.

But like I said, that’s just a quibble. Don’t mind me when I start a-quibblin’. Quibble. Quibble. Quibble. *BELCH* Quibble.

Margot Kidder Plays Shrink in Zombie’s ‘Halloween 2’

J.L. Sosa — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 18:15:40 +0000

Rob Zombie’s Halloween 2 — that’s H2 if you’re too lazy to spell out long words that end in “ween” — is officially going to kick ass. Yup. Veteran scream queen Margot Kidder is on board.

Hey. Don’t laugh. Kidder is awesome and adds instant horror cred to this sequel-to-a-not-too-shabby-remake. Kidder had a life before her goofy drug-fueled antics earned her an unauthorized cameo on The Family Guy, you know.

She was best known for starring opposite Christopher Reeve in the classic Superman flicks of yore, but Kidder also starred in three of the finest horror movies from the ‘70s: Sisters, Black Christmas and The Amityville Horror.

Considering what a debt the whole slasher film genre owes to Black Christmas, it’s nice touch on Zombie’s part to cast Kidder his latest gorefest. And, in what could be construed as twisted irony, ShockTillYouDrop reports she’ll play Laurie Strode’s therapist.

Go, Margot, go.

Daft Punk Causes Writer to Suddenly Care About Tron 2

J.L. Sosa — Fri, 06 Mar 2009 07:25:05 +0000

Go ahead and smack me. Call me a tool or whatever. Until today, I could have given two monkey queefs about Tron 2.0. But, the latest news on this almost-three-decades-too-late Disney sequel has me ready to give up them queefs.

Daft Punk has officially signed on to score the film, according to Upcoming Film Scores.

Three words come to mind: Holy Fucking Shit. Disney Gets It.

Ok, that’s 3+3 words. I have the right to suck at math if Disney can suck at spelling (Tr2n? That’s the gheyest promotional spelling ever. How the hell are you even supposed to pronounce that?) But, yeah, it appears Disney knows exactly what a Reject like me, a child of the ’80s who thought the original Tron was the height of digital wicked, would want from a Tron sequel.

Daft Punk has one foot stuck in the post-Kraftwerk early electro era and the other firmly planted in the future. They embody the (now retro) futuristic aesthetic of the 1982 film more perfectly than just about any mainstream act I can think of. They are the perfect choice to score Tron 2.

I would’ve never thought of it myself, largely because I’d never dreamed that Disney could be this sharp. I mean, we’re talking the studio that brought us The Haunted Mansion. Clearly, the Mouse House is letting the freaks run the show.

Side Note: While you’re waiting for more Tron 2 teaser footage, why not bask in the glory of some Daft-fueled technicolor sci-fi goodness?

Yogi Bear Goes 3D, Sends FSR Staffer on a Drinking Binge

J.L. Sosa — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 03:32:29 +0000

Eric Brevig has signed on to direct a forthcoming 3-D animated flick starring Yogi Bear! Woo-hoo! Yeah! Right on!

Wait.

Who the hell is Eric Brevig? According to The Hollywood Reporter Brevig’s “a longtime visual effects supervisor whose credits include The Day After Tomorrow and Men in Black.” His sole feature directing credit is Journey to the Center of the Earth: the Brendan Fraser one, not the old one.

At one point, Surf’s Up director Ash Brannon was attached to Yogi, but Warners decided to go 3-D on this one and found Brevig a better fit.

Bollocks, I say. Clearly the perfect person to helm this would be Martin Scorsese. I mean duh, just think …

RIPPLE DISSOLVE TO:

YOGI and BOO-BOO stand in a forest clearing.

YOGI
Hey hey Boo-Boo! Are we gonna steal us a pick-a-nic basket?

BOO-BOO
Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe fuck yourself.

RIPPLE DISSOLVE BACK TO:

MYSELF, taking swigs from a brown-paper-bag-wrapped bottle of cheap hooch and wondering why Warners never returns my calls or listens to FUCKING AWESOME ideas.

The Seven Greatest Puking Scenes of all Time

J.L. Sosa — Thu, 15 Jan 2009 20:59:39 +0000

Some people call me the space cowboy.
Some call me the gangsta of love.
Some people call me Mo’Reese (whaw-whowww!)
Cuz I speak of the vomitus of love
-Steve Miller, poorly paraphrased

Since its release a few weeks ago, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button has been hailed as a triumph of tasteful cinematography and groundbreaking visual effects.

However, one criminally overlooked aspect of David Fincher’s latest stylistic triumph is its amazing Barf Scene. Quite often, when filmmakers depict a character upchucking, they shy away from actually showing the flowing gorge. Fincher, ever the fearless auteur, pulls no punches. Brad Pitt spouts his emesis convincingly, in mid-line no less. The singular beauty of Pitt’s cookie-toss has inspired in me a new appreciation for cinematic vomit.

Regurgitation is a versatile tool in a visual storyteller’s palette. No other bodily function can be used to illustrate such a full range of a character’s possible internal states. Or, for that matter, the full range of a character’s possible stomach contents.

In this chunderous spirit, it’s time for a closer look at the Seven Greatest Puking Scenes Of All Time.

7. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008)

The Puker: Benjamin Button (Brad Pitt)
The Cause: Overconsumption of alcohol
The Scene: Benjamin Button is 14 going on really fucking old. He goes out for his first-ever night of drinking and whoring, returning home in the wee hours. His adopted mom is worried sick and demands to know where he’s been. Benjamin’s reply? “I listened to some music … I … I met some people … I think mama… I’m going to…” Benjamin blows sepia-toned chunks. Comedic gold, with a ring of verisimilitude.

6. Repo Man (1984)

The Puker: Otto Maddox (Emilio Estevez)
The Cause: Overexertion, perhaps combined with radiation exposure
The Scene: After spending much of the movie thus-far-unsuccessfully attempting to repossess a ’64 Malibu bearing rotting alien corpses in its trunk, repo man Otto spies the car while walking on foot. He chases the car for several blocks before spewing what looks like chicken soup over the edge of an overpass. I’m not sure what purpose this beat serves, but it fits perfectly with the overall seedy, nihilistic ambience of the film.

5. Ronin (1998)

The Puker: Spence (Sean Bean)
The Cause: Carsickness
The Scene: Spence is a wannabe gun-for-hire given to braggadocio and unable to keep his dinner down. Both these traits are displayed during this film’s first car chase. He’s all swagger … “It’s a job well done, a job well done! That’s a fact!” … moments before he has to step out of the car to ralph all over the sidewalk. Needless to say, he’s cut from the team of badasses.

4. The Fly (1986)

The Puker: Dr. Seth Brundle (Jeff Goldblum)
The Cause: A donut
The Scene: Dr. Brundle is mutating into a giant fly/human hybrid. His metamorphosis advances to the point where he can no longer digest food normally. Like a fly, he retches up stomach acid to break down food, then slurps up the whole mess. Brundle stuns his girlfriend (Geena Davis) and the audience the first time he demonstrates this, then realizes his social faux pas. “That’s disgusting,” he admits. It’s one of many welcome bits of dark humor in Cronenberg’s otherwise oppressive masterpiece.

3. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1998)

The Puker: Dr. Gonzo (Benicio del Toro)
The Cause: Overconsumption of red salmon and mescaline
The Scene: Dr. Gonzo and Raoul Duke (Johnny Depp) are co’ chillin’ on the Vegas Strip. Over the strains of The Ohio Express’ “Yummy Yummy Yummy,” Gonzo tell his partner-in-crime, “Let’s find a nice seafood restaurant and eat some red salmon, I feel a powerful lust for red salmon.” Cut to Gonzo violently spraying red chunks into a toilet bowl. With strings of pukesnot hanging from his lips, Gonzo laments, “Goddamn mescaline. Why the fuck can’t they make it a little less pure?” I challenge you to find a more perfectly subversive juxtaposition of bubblegum pop and drug-induced nausea.

2. The Exorcist (1973)

The Puker: Regan MacNeil (Linda Blair)
The Cause: Demonic possession
The Scene: The faithless Father Damian Karras (Jason Miller) is trying to debunk the idea that young Regan MacNeil is actually possessed by the devil. Regan goads Karras by telling him, “Your mother’s in here with us.” He challenges Regan to tell him his mother’s maiden name. Regan’s reply comes in the form of a thick, pea-green jet of liquid aimed squarely at Karras’ face. This scene is such a familiar part of Hollywood canon, it’s not as shocking as it once was. But it’s high on my list because of its cultural significance.

1. Stand by Me (1998)

The Puker: “Lard Ass” Hogan (Andy Lindberg), and multiple others
The Cause: A thirst for revenge
The Scene: Davie Hogan has a weight problem. The cruel townspeople have for years taunted him, dubbing him “Lard Ass.” Then one day … he unleashes a Gastric Hell on Earth. Words can’t do this Godfather of barf scenes justice. Just watch the YouTube clip below and marvel. Not since the days of Caligula has such a spectacle of spew graced the Earth.

Star Trek: J.J. Abrams’ Kirk is Just Swell … or … Just Swells

J.L. Sosa — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 05:19:50 +0000

Allow me to set the record straight. I love, and I mean luuurve just about everything J.J. Abrams, Robert Orci and Alex Kurtzman have ever done. I have never had any doubt that, with those three at the helm, the forthcoming Star Trek reboot could be anything but absolutely kick-fucking-ass.

But, as Dr. Gonzo once said, I’m starting to get the fear. MTV’s recent interview with Abrams reveals this horrifying tidbit:

MTV: Having been fortunate enough to view a few scenes recently, do you think fans will be surprised by the amount of humor in the film? [Editor's note: In one sequence, an allergic reaction to medication results in massive swelling of Kirk's hands and face ... think "Nutty Professor."]

Are you panicking yet? This is the sort of gag I’ve seen before, in both the Will Smith vehicle, Hitch and Martin Short’s 1991 cinematic roadkill, Pure Luck.

The whole “look-at-me-I’m-the-Michelin-Man” trope is not the stuff of intelligent space opera. But, Abrams assures us that MTV is taking the gag out of context.

Abrams: It’s funny, because when you see a quarter of something or less, it’s easy to draw conclusions about what the whole thing is. The thing with the hands is probably the most extreme sort of borderline-silly thing that happens in the movie. But the humor in the movie is constant within the wit of the characters.

Whatever you say, J.J. I’m not freaking out. At least, not just yet.

7 Days of 007: Ten Actors Who Should Never Play Bond

J.L. Sosa — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 21:40:30 +0000

Editor’s Note: In honor of our 7 Days of 007 feature we have going on this week, we have decided to republish Jorge Sosa’s excellent Bond-related of the Ten Actors Who Should Never Play Bond, originally published on September 18, 2007.

After two solid years of great news from the James Bond camp, there are rumors that they’re ready to start watering down the franchise again.

According to JoBlo Harry Potter star Daniel Radcliffe is being considered to “portray famed spy James Bond in his formative years, based on a series of YOUNG BOND books by Charlie Higson.”

Hmm.

On that note, here’s my personal Top Ten list of actors who should never, ever, play James Bond.

10. Daniel Radcliffe

How in God’s name are we to believe that Daniel Radcliffe will someday grow up to be Daniel Craig? Does this mean we can expect to see some full-contact Quiddich in the next Bond flick? Fuck that! I’d rather eat a bagful of snot-flavored jellybeans.

9. Gilbert Gottfried

Imagine Gottfried delivering this line: “I SAID SHAKEN, NOT STIRRED! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?”

8. Diddy aka P. Diddy aka Puff Daddy

Yes, I believe last year Diddy was saying the world was ready for a black Bond and, naturally, he should be that Bond. While I find the idea of a non-Caucasian Bond intriguing, there’s always the risk that Diddy might try to do the theme song as well. No, thanks!

7. Roger Moore

D’OH!

6. Hugo Weaving

Not that Weaving doesn’t have the chops, class and charisma, but he really ought to play a Bond villain instead. “Misssster Bond!”

5. John Travolta

Now that I’ve seen him in drag, I cannot unsee him in drag. Hey maybe he could play a really homely Bond girl!

4. Orlando Bloom

What kind of a pansy-ass fuckin’ name is that? No wonder he always plays second fiddle to the REAL men.

3. Sacha Baron Cohen

That’s just what we need. Bond wrestling in all his naked, hairy-backed glory with the bad guys.

2. Mel Gibson

He’d be like, “Wow! Change SPECTRE to JEWS and this screenplay reads like a fuckin’ documentary!”

1. Cate Blanchett

I think she can pull off playing Bob Dylan. She kind of bears a passing resemblance and she can tape her boobs down. But, once she gets to running, jumping and fighting, those girls are gonna be floppin’ around all over the place. Her juggs, my friends, will be blowin’ the wind.

Watch Bogie teach Bond a thing or two in ‘The Big Sleep’

J.L. Sosa — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 22:11:04 +0000

Every week, Film School Rejects presents a film that was made before you were born and tells you why you should like it. This week, Old Ass Movies presents:

The Big Sleep (1946)

Howard Hawks’ 1946 film adaptation of The Big Sleep is an undisputed masterpiece of film noir and a cinematic national treasure. It easily stands on its own merits as an Old Ass Movie worthy of your attention.

But, James Bond fans in particular will find much to love. In many ways, it feels like a prototype for the Bond flicks. I don’t know if the creators of the Bond film series were consciously influenced by The Big Sleep. If they weren’t, then there’s a helluva lot of coincidences to explain away.

I’ll get to those later. First, let’s catch you up on your Big Sleep. Humphrey Bogart plays the hard-boiled Los Angeleno Philip Marlowe. Marlowe is a private detective – and the star of a series of novels by Raymond Chandler, including the one on which this movie is based.

Marlowe is hired by the retired General Sternwood (Charles Waldron) to discover who’s blackmailing his daughter, Carmen (the sultry Martha Vickers). Carmen is no angel, and even her own father describes her as “still a little child who likes to pull the wings off flies.”

Carmen’s older sibling, Vivian (the elegant Lauren Bacall), is fiercely defensive of Carmen and tries, unsuccessfully, to pump Marlowe for the dirt on what kind of trouble she’s in.

The Sternwood blackmail threat arrived on letterhead from a rare book dealer, but Marlowe soon discovers it ain’t books Carmen has been sticking her pretty little nose in. As Marlowe negotiates a convoluted maze of double-crosses and triple-crosses, he learns both Sternwood sisters are running with a rough crowd. Their vices collectively include gambling, boozing, pornography, and quite possibly, murder.

From the get-go The Big Sleep foreshadows James Bond’s cinematic adventures. Here’s a few examples:

• When Marlowe meets Carmen in the film’s first scene, he playfully introduces himself as “Reilly, Doghouse Reilly.”
• Marlowe receives his marching orders from a stoic General Sternwood, whose sober demeanor reminds one of M, Bond’s boss.
• Marlowe is an incorrigible flirt. The story brings him into contact with a host of attractive minor female characters: a cab driver, a librarian, two fawning cocktail waitresses and more. He macks on them all and he even gets lucky with a sexy used bookseller.
• The racy double entendres that are such a hallmark of the Bond series are all over the place here. When Marlowe hires the aforementioned cab driver to follow a suspect’s car, he tells the driver he needs her for “a tail job.” The driver gamely replies, “I’m your girl, bud.” While Marlowe’s hunting up clues in a used bookstore, the owner invites him stay for awhile to wait out a rainstorm. His reply? “I’d a lot rather get wet in here.”
• Marlowe even employs a rather slick gadget: a spring-loaded gun rack hidden under the dashboard of his ‘38 Plymouth.

Perhaps the greatest contribution this film offers to the Bond series is the complex dynamic between its male and female lead. Philip Marlowe and Vivian Sternwood are constantly verbally sparring, as their mutual attraction grows. This affectionate, yet adversarial relationship was echoed later in many of the best Bond films. The most memorable Bond girls are the ones who can match wits with 007 and don’t surrender their affections without giving him a good chase.

This frission is exactly what made Casino Royale such a welcome return to form. Daniel Craig and Eva Green are like a modern-day Bogie and Bacall. Both Craig and Bogart have faces that are chiseled from granite, and eyes that communicate a thousand emotions.

Bacall and Green both exude class and confidence. And, they’re both gorgeous enough to convince the viewer our heroes might risk their lives for a taste of their love.

The formula of The Big Sleep — and the best Bond films that followed it — is equal parts sass, seduction and danger. That’s a tantalizing recipe that never goes stale.

Quantum of Solace: MPAA gives ‘Bloodiest Bond’ a PG-13

J.L. Sosa — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 06:05:13 +0000

Empire magazine calls the forthcoming Bond adventure Quantum of Solace the “Bloodiest Bond Ever,” but a new TV spot reveals the film has been rated PG-13 by the MPAA for “intense sequences of violence and action and some sexual content.”

I’m the last person who’s gonna kvetch about gratuitous sex and violence in a Bond flick, but I’d like to take the opportunity to point out once again that the MPAA has its head up its ass.

I haven’t seen Quantum of Solace, but past experience shows the MPAA has tended to let Bond movies off ridiculously easy when it comes to ratings.

Consider the previous Bond outing, Casino Royale, in which 007 was tied up naked while Le Chiffre tortured him by repeatedly whacking him on the balls. Granted, the camera never moved in for a leering close-up of Daniel Craig’s swollen and bleeding nutsack, but that scene disturbed me more than a lot of R-rated violence I’ve seen. I dunno. Maybe it’s guy thing.

Here are some other examples of Bond blood ‘n’ guts that the MPAA seems to have had few qualms about:

Live and Let Die, rated PG, shows 007 dispatching Caribbean drug kingpin Kananga (aka Mr. Big) by inflating him to death. In his dying moments, Mr. Big gets really big before popping like a balloon. He actually bears an uncanny resemblance to Fat Albert before he pops. There’s no gore to speak of, but it’s a disturbing visual nonetheless.
For Your Eyes Only, rated PG, has 007 trapping Belgian hit man Emile Leopold Locque in his Mercedes. The car teeters on the edge of a precipice. Although Locque has been pretty well subdued, our hero kicks the car off the cliff, anyway. The car plummets and as it rolls, Locque’s body is thrown out the window and onto the jagged rocks below. Damn.
License to Kill, rated PG-13, features a Tony Montana-knockoff named Franz Sanchez. Sanchez feeds CIA agent Felix Leiter to a shark, sticks one of his own henchmen in a hyperbaric chamber to rupture his head, and skewers another with a forklift. Also, Benicio Del Toro stars in an early role as Sanchez’s unfortunate right hand man. Del Toro gets it when he falls into what can best be described as a giant food processor.

So, yeah, it’s fair to say the MPAA has given the Bond franchise a lifelong license to kill.

Proyas to Bust Your Heinlein in 2010

J.L. Sosa — Wed, 20 Aug 2008 19:00:05 +0000

If Foster’s is Australian for “beer,” then Proyas has gotta be Australian for “geek,” mate.

Aussie filmmaker Alex Proyas is once again returning to the sci-fi genre, according to The Hollywood Reporter, with an adaptation of Robert Heinlein’s novela, “The Unpleasant Profession of Jonathan Hoag.”

The Phoenix Pictures production will be written and directed by Proyas, whose past geek-savvy credits include I, Robot, Dark City and his 1989 sci-fi debut feature, Spirits of the Air, Gremlins of the Clouds. Filming on Hoag will start in 2010.

Heinlein’s novela was published 66 years ago and deals with a man who suffers increasingly disturbing memory lapses. He hires private investigators to figure out where his missing memories went … and why he keeps waking up with what appears to be dried blood under his fingernails. The answer, of course, is a classic sci-fi mindfuck.

Proyas told THR, “I read this story as a kid, and it really stayed with me. It’s part of my creative DNA,” which probably explains the similarity between Heinlein’s novela and Proyas’ Dark City.

All I ask is that Proyas cast Jennifer Connolley again so she can bring the hawtness, y’all.

Movie Critics: Who Needs ‘Em?

J.L. Sosa — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 18:44:48 +0000

Have you ever had a conversation with a crusty, old farmer? Some of those guys have one hell of a way with words. They cut right through the veneer of polite society and tell it like it is. And, they have a wonderful phrase for something that’s utterly superfluous.

They’ll tell you the item in question is “useless as teats on a boar,” which pretty well sums up the way I feel about most film critics.

Don’t worry, I appreciate the irony in saying critics suck. After all, if critics are useless, what does that say for critics of critics? Are we doubly useless? Maybe so. But, unlike many film critics, I have the common sense to admit that …

… opinions are like assholes.
Everybody’s got one. Particularly in today’s hyper-blogged times, opinions on cinema are not hard to come by. You can’t swing a dead Ewok without hitting a million unsolicited reviews on movies present and past.

What’s the difference between most of these reviews and reviews crafted by the so-called professionals? Not much. What makes for great art? What makes for great entertainment? The answers to both questions are entirely subjective.

A professional film critic’s opinion is not, by nature, any more valid than that of some anonymous schmuck posting an Amazon.com customer review. The only difference is the professional critic is fortunate enough to be paid for that which countless bloggers and fans will give away for free. And unlike many fans …

… critics often get it wrong.
What do the following films have in common? Fritz Lang’s Metropolis.
Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner. Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho. Michael Powell’s Peeping Tom.

These are all movies that received — at best — mixed initial critical reactions, and are now regarded by critics to be among the most significant films of our time.

Bad press buried some of these films, which is truly a shame. But they survived to be reappraised and appreciated by later audiences as the forward-thinking works they were. This calls to mind a great quote I heard on a National Public Radio story about the state of modern art in France. Gilles Fuchs (a wealthy art collector) was quoted as saying, “Curators and critics know everything and love nothing … Private collectors know nothing and love everything.”

I’d go one better and say critics may think they know everything, but fans are often hip to the truth long before them. Which is probably one reason why …

… nobody cares what critics say anyway.
Despite bad reviews, movies like Pirates of the Caribbean 3 and Spider-Man 3 made piles of cash. The trash talkin’ about such films as Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull and Hancock didn’t keep them from bringing in beaucoup box-office bucks. And all the strong reviews in the world didn’t rescue Grindhouse from the merciless whims of the marketplace. Critics don’t command the authority they used to. In a post-literate society, they’re no longer the powerful opinion leaders they once were, especially because…

… technology has made them obsolete.
Thanks to the power of collaborative filtering, people no longer need to read movie reviews to predict whether they’ll enjoy a film or not. Netflix and other sites now have sophisticated algorithms that can guess — with a fairly decent degree of accuracy — how well you’ll like a movie, based on how well you liked other movies. My personal favorite of these sites is MovieLens, an experimental test bed at the University of Minnesota, which has rarely steered me wrong.

The beauty of recommendation sites such as these is you don’t have to worry about some asshole reviewer dropping an unwanted spoiler on you. If I had a nickel for every time I read a review that diminished my enjoyment of a film because it gave too much away … well …

… I’d have a fuckload of nickels.
But, for all my bitching and kvetching about film critics, I think the world would be worse off without them. Sure, most of them are full of shit. But a good movie critic goes beyond merely telling you whether or not they enjoyed a movie.

A good critic delves beyond a facile reading of the material and helps us place a film within its greater context. A good critic, even one who despises the movie in question, will deliver a review that’s intelligent enough (often confused with “clever enough”) that readers can decide for themselves if they will dig the movie in question or not.

Such critics are few and far between. Roger Ebert comes to mind. (He had the good sense to revise his initial bashing of Blade Runner and now considers it “a seminal film.” Way to go, Rog.) Camille Paglia is also one of the smartest, most incisive people today writing about movies. (I just wish she would do it more often!)

I’m sure you can think of more good critics to add to the list. Writers whose reviews you read because they entertain you and enrich your appreciation of cinema. Ah, if only we had more of them – because I think they’re the sow’s teats.

Museums to Honor Kung Fu Icons Chan and Lee

J.L. Sosa — Sat, 12 Jul 2008 17:02:57 +0000

The Associated Press reports that a great travesty might finally be redressed.

The travesty in question? Minnesota’s largest ball of twine has its own museum, but Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan do not. Since when does a big-ass ball of twine merit more respect than two of the wickedest motherfuckers in all of Hong Kong — nay — world cinema? Since never, that’s when. But, I’m ready to forgive and forget.

Construction on Jackie Chan’s museum just kicked off in Shanghai, with the Drunken Master’s blessing. It’s scheduled to finish in October 2009, and the museum will chronicle Chan’s career from its earliest days through his present super-stardom. It will feature props and costumes from his movies, photos and other memorabilia.

Bruce Lee’s museum is — at this point — just a twinkle in Hong Kong billionaire Yu Pang-lin’s eye.

Pang-lin is a developer and philanthropist who owns a home Bruce Lee lived in from 1972 to 1973. The Associated Press reports he planned to sell the home but “changed his mind after fans of the late martial-arts star expressed worries about the building’s possible destruction.”

Instead, he’s asking the Hong Kong government to set up a trust to pay for a Lee museum on the site. Pang-lin offered to donate the property, valued at more than $13 million.

I have no idea why, but all this calls to mind an ancient Chinese proverb: “Man who fart in church sit in his pew.”

An American Werewolf Could Return to London, Says Landis

J.L. Sosa — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 21:26:10 +0000

An American Werewolf in London was far-and-away the best of a bumper crop of lycanthropic flicks to emerge in the early ’80s. Now AAWiL’s writer and director, John Landis, says he’s keen to remake his own horror/black comedy classic.

Bloody-Disgusting reports that Landis was co’ chillin’ at Philadelphia’s recent HorrorHound Weekend when he dropped the news that he’d like to remake AAWiL.

Mr. Disgusting wrote, “In brief, Landis exclaimed with excitement ‘I would do it, sure!’ telling us that there have been a wide range of talks over the years.”

If you ask me, the time is ripe for a remake. Next year’s The Wolf Man starring Benicio Del Toro will surely rekindle interest in the genre. Even though Landis might not be a household name, he’s got a solid cult following and it would be cool to see how he might re-imagine his hirsute classic.

Or … and I’m just talking out my hairy you-know-what here … he could collaborate with a younger, buzzworthy director (Did I hear you say, “Zack Snyder?”) who’s proven him/herself to be a respectful interpreter of others’ material.

Or … he could just let Uwe Boll take the ball and run with it. Better yet, Landis could just throw Boll to a pack of ravenous wolves, videotape the results and call it an AAWiL reboot. You KNOW you’d pay to see that.

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