Each Day, A Film
February 14th 2012 (Retrospective)
Yes, fact fans, I'm persisting with this one. Even a promise lately kept is a promise worth keeping.
However, let's finally - finally - get around to talking about The Guard.
In a weird kind of a way, I actually went out of my way to see The Guard when it first came out on DVD. See, at the time, I had this fun illness - no details, naturally, because this is the internet - and as part of that I had to actually physically drag my damn carcass to the local GP for an assessment, then, because I'm pants-on-head stupid (and more likely because I hadn't been able to leave the house for five days by this point) I decided to go and do some shopping.
This was, at the time, a mistake.
But I did pick up a copy of The Guard, so all's well that ends up more or less well, I suppose.
Now, there's an easy argument to make about Brendan Gleeson, in that post In Bruges, his career has become a little... Odd. Typecast, but odd. It's possible to see Gerry - the titular Guard - as a kind of alternate universe Ken, in that if he'd become a policeman instead of a contract killer, maybe he'd have ended up in a tiny police station with not much going on.
Then I did the littlest bit of research, and, well, Brendan Gleeson's career is kind of epic, really. Put it this way; anyone who goes from 28 Days Later to The Smurfs 2 (rumoured) in the space of just over a decade has to be, in some ways, admired.
But to lump The Guard in with In Bruges feels a little lazy, somehow.
I confess to only having been to Ireland twice - and both times, to the same place - but I like to think that, however briefly I was there, I got a little bit of a feel for the place, especially the concept of a different feeling of time passing (and the air being that much cleaner).
So when I was watching this over the weekend with a couple of friends, and one of them asked me whether this was what Ireland was really like, I demurred through lack of experience, but, thinking about it now; isn't the Ireland of The Guard basically the same kind of decayed world we're taught that we're living in now, just with the weirdest kind of antihero there to take on all-comers after he's got rid of the milkshake headache?
Put it this way; the police are corrupt in their entirety (or, at least, "as many of them as matters"); the marshes are hiding places for gun stashes; the hero is willing to sell said gun stashes on to the IRA; the drug smugglers are portrayed as the most overtly erudite people around (with arguments about philosophy and deconstruction of popular crime tropes abounding) and the American law enforcement representative is a quiet, cultured, inward-looking person who's not, as people keep asking, from the Behavioural Sciences Unit.
It's as if in one film someone - another McDonagh, brother to the In Bruges McDonagh - decided to simultaneously lampshade every possible trope about Irish culture while equally inverting every other trope about crime films and westerns.
And with that, there's really not that much else to say about The Guard, other than to mention that even after three years of studying film, I can still watch this one without the Analysis Dial in my head turning too far towards "stop enjoying this and start criticising it".
Yes, it's quite a big dial to have that written on it. Thank you for asking.
Tuesday, 22 May 2012
And the girls love me and I shall never grow old and it's this I say
Each Day, A Film:
Intermission
I know. A long old intermission, right?
But... It's all done with now, the whole mature student shebang, from soup to nuts. More accurately, it was all done eight days ago, but just because you submit your final assignment it doesn't mean it's finished, right?
Well, not in my case, considering I went back twice to tweak the final resulting film project (because what was actually submitted was, in the most literal sense of the word, a submission - to deadlines, to completing the course, to graduating (eventually), to the course leader, to... Everything, really. Eight days ago I spent twelve hours trying to burn half an hour of footage onto a DVD.
Kind of ridiculous.
And now, I'm having one of those odd times when lyrics from a song completely encapsulate how I'm feeling about my soon-to-be alma mater and a few of the people I met therein; see, it's like this:
And I'm sorry that you happened to me,
Sorry that you happened to me
Sorry that you happened to me,
But
They say one man is the accident
The other is a hand to stop the blood
And I'm waiting for the other one
For a hand to stop the blood.
Melodramatic, no? But accurate.
Intermission
I know. A long old intermission, right?
But... It's all done with now, the whole mature student shebang, from soup to nuts. More accurately, it was all done eight days ago, but just because you submit your final assignment it doesn't mean it's finished, right?
Well, not in my case, considering I went back twice to tweak the final resulting film project (because what was actually submitted was, in the most literal sense of the word, a submission - to deadlines, to completing the course, to graduating (eventually), to the course leader, to... Everything, really. Eight days ago I spent twelve hours trying to burn half an hour of footage onto a DVD.
Kind of ridiculous.
And now, I'm having one of those odd times when lyrics from a song completely encapsulate how I'm feeling about my soon-to-be alma mater and a few of the people I met therein; see, it's like this:
And I'm sorry that you happened to me,
Sorry that you happened to me
Sorry that you happened to me,
But
They say one man is the accident
The other is a hand to stop the blood
And I'm waiting for the other one
For a hand to stop the blood.
Melodramatic, no? But accurate.
Thursday, 26 April 2012
Bless your soul you've made a fool out of me
Each Day, A Film
January 25th, 2012
I note that the recent updates have been fairly short and getting shorter, so I think it's probably time to halt this catchup session before I dry up.
Sticking with the theme of films I actually hauled my posterior to the cinema to watch, though, let's talk about Once Upon A Time In Mexico.
Now, let's not fuck about; Once... is a strange movie, which comes across as just a little confused. This isn't a bad thing - it's the result of a mass of differing storylines attempting to culminate in a coup d'etat in Mexico, and in turn all these differing storylines are the result of the fact that the majority of characters within the film do get decent character development.
Now, Mexico is another film I developed a mild obsession about, because, frankly, as much as I'm a sucker for visual effects, I'm even more of a sucker for trailers. Less so now, but back in the day I could be bought and sold and sold again second hand by a decent trailer. At the same time, it came out in my post-graduation haze, where the degree I'd just finished meant nothing compared to film, film, film, and Robert Rodriguez - as previously mentioned - was a personal minor deity of the time because he was empowering; apparently you shouldn't say "I'm going to be a filmmaker", you should say "I am a filmmaker!", as if the affirmation will magically transform you.
Let's make an attempt to unpick the storyline - an attempt during which I make no apology for referring to characters by the actors' names, by the way.
Now, Johnny Depp is tasked with keeping Mexico from being either too good or too bad - in his terms, maintaining the balance, which occasionally involves shooting chefs to make a point. However, Willem DaFoe is planning a military coup against the government, aided by Eva Mendes' corrupt agent - who Johnny Depp seems to have had a prior relationship with. To combat a coup being undertaken by a sizable military force, Johnny Depp hires three musicians - one mariachi still grieving for the loss of his family, another reduced to singing for kisses, and the third a drunk in need of drying out. At the same time, Johnny Depp asks Ruben Blades to investigate the coup for no real reason other than he needs something to do and has a personal revenge to undertake.
At the same time, Danny Trejo works for - but doesn't like - Johnny Depp, instead deciding to sell Antonio Banderas out to their opponents. Whether this is before or after Johnny Depp probes Cheech Marin's corpse's anal cavity with a rubber-gloved finger then throws him into a lake is best left unworried about. Johnny Depp ends up the best blind gunfighter in Mexico, aided by a chewing-gum selling boy, the musicians thwart the coup, and almost nobody lives happily ever after.
Isn't it easy when you break it down?
Then again, if you're watching it for the plot, you're probably already not onto a winner.
When I saw this in the local cinema, I was one of twelve people, two of which were clearly only there because they received an over-65s discount, it was something to do, and they were assuming it might be like one of those fancy Spaghetti Westerns they used to like back in the day. All credit to them, however, they stayed throughout the entire experience - graphic shotgun kneecapping and all.
The film is - in Empire's words - "a custard-pie fight of a movie", which I always thought was a nice phrase; messy, annoying, but at least there's custard involved. I don't love it, but I will always have a place in my movie loving heart for the strange overplayed stylistically violent end to the Mariachi trilogy, if only for the
January 25th, 2012
I note that the recent updates have been fairly short and getting shorter, so I think it's probably time to halt this catchup session before I dry up.
Sticking with the theme of films I actually hauled my posterior to the cinema to watch, though, let's talk about Once Upon A Time In Mexico.
Now, let's not fuck about; Once... is a strange movie, which comes across as just a little confused. This isn't a bad thing - it's the result of a mass of differing storylines attempting to culminate in a coup d'etat in Mexico, and in turn all these differing storylines are the result of the fact that the majority of characters within the film do get decent character development.
Now, Mexico is another film I developed a mild obsession about, because, frankly, as much as I'm a sucker for visual effects, I'm even more of a sucker for trailers. Less so now, but back in the day I could be bought and sold and sold again second hand by a decent trailer. At the same time, it came out in my post-graduation haze, where the degree I'd just finished meant nothing compared to film, film, film, and Robert Rodriguez - as previously mentioned - was a personal minor deity of the time because he was empowering; apparently you shouldn't say "I'm going to be a filmmaker", you should say "I am a filmmaker!", as if the affirmation will magically transform you.
Let's make an attempt to unpick the storyline - an attempt during which I make no apology for referring to characters by the actors' names, by the way.
Now, Johnny Depp is tasked with keeping Mexico from being either too good or too bad - in his terms, maintaining the balance, which occasionally involves shooting chefs to make a point. However, Willem DaFoe is planning a military coup against the government, aided by Eva Mendes' corrupt agent - who Johnny Depp seems to have had a prior relationship with. To combat a coup being undertaken by a sizable military force, Johnny Depp hires three musicians - one mariachi still grieving for the loss of his family, another reduced to singing for kisses, and the third a drunk in need of drying out. At the same time, Johnny Depp asks Ruben Blades to investigate the coup for no real reason other than he needs something to do and has a personal revenge to undertake.
At the same time, Danny Trejo works for - but doesn't like - Johnny Depp, instead deciding to sell Antonio Banderas out to their opponents. Whether this is before or after Johnny Depp probes Cheech Marin's corpse's anal cavity with a rubber-gloved finger then throws him into a lake is best left unworried about. Johnny Depp ends up the best blind gunfighter in Mexico, aided by a chewing-gum selling boy, the musicians thwart the coup, and almost nobody lives happily ever after.
Isn't it easy when you break it down?
Then again, if you're watching it for the plot, you're probably already not onto a winner.
When I saw this in the local cinema, I was one of twelve people, two of which were clearly only there because they received an over-65s discount, it was something to do, and they were assuming it might be like one of those fancy Spaghetti Westerns they used to like back in the day. All credit to them, however, they stayed throughout the entire experience - graphic shotgun kneecapping and all.
The film is - in Empire's words - "a custard-pie fight of a movie", which I always thought was a nice phrase; messy, annoying, but at least there's custard involved. I don't love it, but I will always have a place in my movie loving heart for the strange overplayed stylistically violent end to the Mariachi trilogy, if only for the
Grab your things, I'm gonna take you home.
Each Day, A Film:
February 13th 2012 (Retrospective)
I know, I know, the retrospective thing is getting a little insane in terms of backlog. I'm doggedly determined, however.
Let's talk about The Avengers.
Not because we should, or because we could, but because we have to.
Seriously.
I invite you to look at it this way. For the last three years and change, I've been studying film academically - for a given value of academically, certainly, but I try to be as academic as possible. At the same time, I've been surrounded by tweenagers - people making that fun progression from 18 to 21, from teenage to twenty, from young to youth.
At times, they've been a fucking nightmare. Now, having been through the wringer for over a thousand days, there are a handful that I would willingly do anything for - primarily because they've done so much for me - along with a handful that embody the nadir of the human race in so many ways, from covetousness to mendaciousness to capriciousness. I know, that's a lot of ness, but it's true; some of them make me want to spit.
Then I remember that in a few weeks they go out into the real world which will, make no mistake, not tolerate their bullshit, and I smile, because I've already had to do that and was able to make the decision to go back afterwards to study something I was passionate about.
Emphasis on was.
The reason I started the new Each Day A Film format was because this blog had become a hilarious litany of complaint about the people who made my life either difficult or hellish. For sure, it's all petty bullshit that nobody should fixate about, but when it's your life, fixation tends to happen.
So having had the joy of film and filmmaking systematically cut out of my system over the past eighteen months, I made the executive decision to tell all of my work - the stuff I care about, the stuff I don't care about but have to do, and all the ancillary stuff - to go and take a long walk off a short pier, because, Goddammit, I'm Going To See The Avengers.
Now, the fun thing is that, for no apparent reason, because I live in England, we get the film a full eight days before our American cousins, which must drive them loco, to be honest.
But when I emerged from the cinema - even having to wear those bloody 3-D goggles (and to be fair the only reason I even saw the film in 3-D was because it was showing an hour before the 2-D version) - two and a half plus hours later, I had a goofy grin plastered on my face and the world, for a few hours, felt like a much better place.
I'm going to try not to do much in the way of spoilers, but just in case I do, consider this:
SPOILER WARNING
To be, well, your spoiler warning. Especially you, America.
The thing about The Avengers - or, thanks to being English, Avengers Assemble - is that everything about it is big, big, big, but even though sometimes you can kind of feel the occasional budget scrimping (how did Thor get back to the world other than it being explained in a line of dialogue by Loki? Why do the Chitauri soldiers just switch off after the link to their home dimension is severed? It felt like that could maybe have been done just that little bit better, with an expanded sequence, instead of wrapping things up in under...
Wait...
Two and a half hours.
See what I mean about big? With superhero films you're lucky if they can reach out and tickle the two hour mark these days, what with everything clocking in at 90 minutes with or without credits...
The other thing was that there's no pandering to people who haven't been following continuity that closely. If you haven't seen either of the Iron Man films, then you might not know that there's a reason Tony Stark plays the colossal entitled jerk, and if you haven't seen the Captain America film you get nothing other than some punching-bag flashbacks. Similarly, Bruce Banner is introduced without much reference to the Lee or Leterrier Hulk films, and Loki and Thor just turn up as if Thor only finished a few weeks ago.
Don't know what's going on? Tough. And, to be an asshole, that's how I like it, because I'm the most colossal Marvel film nerd there is. Oh, for sure there are more nerdy people on the subject out there, but the difference between me and them is that they might believe, but I Believe with a capital B that this weird superhero film wave we're riding at the moment is a sign that we, as a species, are finally starting to hit a more positive headspace after 9/11, Iraq, Afghanistan, and so many natural disasters. Take a look at the weird evolution of the superhero film if you don't believe me; the X-Men films go through comic-book to death, death, death in the space of two films only to be rebooted with First Class. Spider-Man's being rebooted, although that's more to do with rights issues and the fact that Tobey Maguire is not, sadly, perpetually young. Shit, even Daredevil's getting rebooted, and he was the poster boy for the weird Justice/Kicking Alleged Rapists Onto The Train Tracks dyad.
And now, when the world is threatened - or, at least, New York, which is the world in miniature - we can actually rely on this weird little coalition of superpowered beings - from the demigod to the irradiated scientist and the poster-child for arms merchant irony to the super-spies and the archers and the patriotic experiment subjects. All that, and Samuel L Jackson in an eyepatch.
I'd been looking forward to this film for a few years now, believe it or not, and I was actually prepared to be disappointed.
But no. A big, goofy grin.
I believed - and still do - that The Avengers represents a turning point. It's too early to judge whether it'll be the end of an era and the beginning of a new one or simply the bridge that allows for a continuation, but I can pretty much certainly say that it won't kill off the superhero movie forever, which is pretty much what people were worrying about, myself included.
Right up until this point it was kill or cure, and my analysis lies with cure.
That and the big goofy grin.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Here's the thing, though; I do want to nitpick, and I do want to talk about one or two little plot holes and issues, but I'm not going to because - and this is a little odd for me, but let's press on - I'm not going to do what, oh, say, everyone else is doing and post spoilers and whatnot.
I'm going to wait for that and rethink my analysis and maybe, just maybe, we'll get back to it next week. But until then, consider superhero season restarted for reals.
February 13th 2012 (Retrospective)
I know, I know, the retrospective thing is getting a little insane in terms of backlog. I'm doggedly determined, however.
Let's talk about The Avengers.
Not because we should, or because we could, but because we have to.
Seriously.
I invite you to look at it this way. For the last three years and change, I've been studying film academically - for a given value of academically, certainly, but I try to be as academic as possible. At the same time, I've been surrounded by tweenagers - people making that fun progression from 18 to 21, from teenage to twenty, from young to youth.
At times, they've been a fucking nightmare. Now, having been through the wringer for over a thousand days, there are a handful that I would willingly do anything for - primarily because they've done so much for me - along with a handful that embody the nadir of the human race in so many ways, from covetousness to mendaciousness to capriciousness. I know, that's a lot of ness, but it's true; some of them make me want to spit.
Then I remember that in a few weeks they go out into the real world which will, make no mistake, not tolerate their bullshit, and I smile, because I've already had to do that and was able to make the decision to go back afterwards to study something I was passionate about.
Emphasis on was.
The reason I started the new Each Day A Film format was because this blog had become a hilarious litany of complaint about the people who made my life either difficult or hellish. For sure, it's all petty bullshit that nobody should fixate about, but when it's your life, fixation tends to happen.
So having had the joy of film and filmmaking systematically cut out of my system over the past eighteen months, I made the executive decision to tell all of my work - the stuff I care about, the stuff I don't care about but have to do, and all the ancillary stuff - to go and take a long walk off a short pier, because, Goddammit, I'm Going To See The Avengers.
Now, the fun thing is that, for no apparent reason, because I live in England, we get the film a full eight days before our American cousins, which must drive them loco, to be honest.
But when I emerged from the cinema - even having to wear those bloody 3-D goggles (and to be fair the only reason I even saw the film in 3-D was because it was showing an hour before the 2-D version) - two and a half plus hours later, I had a goofy grin plastered on my face and the world, for a few hours, felt like a much better place.
I'm going to try not to do much in the way of spoilers, but just in case I do, consider this:
SPOILER WARNING
To be, well, your spoiler warning. Especially you, America.
The thing about The Avengers - or, thanks to being English, Avengers Assemble - is that everything about it is big, big, big, but even though sometimes you can kind of feel the occasional budget scrimping (how did Thor get back to the world other than it being explained in a line of dialogue by Loki? Why do the Chitauri soldiers just switch off after the link to their home dimension is severed? It felt like that could maybe have been done just that little bit better, with an expanded sequence, instead of wrapping things up in under...
Wait...
Two and a half hours.
See what I mean about big? With superhero films you're lucky if they can reach out and tickle the two hour mark these days, what with everything clocking in at 90 minutes with or without credits...
The other thing was that there's no pandering to people who haven't been following continuity that closely. If you haven't seen either of the Iron Man films, then you might not know that there's a reason Tony Stark plays the colossal entitled jerk, and if you haven't seen the Captain America film you get nothing other than some punching-bag flashbacks. Similarly, Bruce Banner is introduced without much reference to the Lee or Leterrier Hulk films, and Loki and Thor just turn up as if Thor only finished a few weeks ago.
Don't know what's going on? Tough. And, to be an asshole, that's how I like it, because I'm the most colossal Marvel film nerd there is. Oh, for sure there are more nerdy people on the subject out there, but the difference between me and them is that they might believe, but I Believe with a capital B that this weird superhero film wave we're riding at the moment is a sign that we, as a species, are finally starting to hit a more positive headspace after 9/11, Iraq, Afghanistan, and so many natural disasters. Take a look at the weird evolution of the superhero film if you don't believe me; the X-Men films go through comic-book to death, death, death in the space of two films only to be rebooted with First Class. Spider-Man's being rebooted, although that's more to do with rights issues and the fact that Tobey Maguire is not, sadly, perpetually young. Shit, even Daredevil's getting rebooted, and he was the poster boy for the weird Justice/Kicking Alleged Rapists Onto The Train Tracks dyad.
And now, when the world is threatened - or, at least, New York, which is the world in miniature - we can actually rely on this weird little coalition of superpowered beings - from the demigod to the irradiated scientist and the poster-child for arms merchant irony to the super-spies and the archers and the patriotic experiment subjects. All that, and Samuel L Jackson in an eyepatch.
I'd been looking forward to this film for a few years now, believe it or not, and I was actually prepared to be disappointed.
But no. A big, goofy grin.
I believed - and still do - that The Avengers represents a turning point. It's too early to judge whether it'll be the end of an era and the beginning of a new one or simply the bridge that allows for a continuation, but I can pretty much certainly say that it won't kill off the superhero movie forever, which is pretty much what people were worrying about, myself included.
Right up until this point it was kill or cure, and my analysis lies with cure.
That and the big goofy grin.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Here's the thing, though; I do want to nitpick, and I do want to talk about one or two little plot holes and issues, but I'm not going to because - and this is a little odd for me, but let's press on - I'm not going to do what, oh, say, everyone else is doing and post spoilers and whatnot.
I'm going to wait for that and rethink my analysis and maybe, just maybe, we'll get back to it next week. But until then, consider superhero season restarted for reals.
Saturday, 31 March 2012
He was something to observe
Each Day, A Film
February 12th, 2012 (Retrospective)
And yes, we abandoned Superhero Season a little while ago, which is kind of a shame. Let's kick back into that and pick up where we left off with... Hmm.
Kind of spoiled for choice.
Let's start with Blade, because it all started with Blade.
Seriously, it all starts with Blade, because prior to that to admit to liking superhero films was to admit to liking, well, Batman Forever.
And whether the reputation of Batman Forever as a black hole of suck is entirely justified or not, well, that's your call.
The strange thing is that for the progenitor of the superhero film boom, Blade isn't really even a superhero film. Oh, sure, the protagonist has superpowers, but if you want to be snarky, it's worth noting that the sole difference between Blade and Twilight is that Blade Don't Twinkle, Motherfucker.
Okay, not the sole difference. But once you admit that your film is a vampire film, all sorts of locks and bars come down into place story-wise, and you have to be fucking clever to get around them without cheating the fans - and yes, Underworld, I'm looking at you at this point - because if your protagonist has fangs and enjoys an iron-rich liquid diet, you're attempting to attract a very specific audience sector.
Blade doesn't try and do that. The poster doesn't play up the vampire angle, or the superhero angle, or even particularly mention Marvel in any specific way, if memory serves - it's Wesley Snipes, in a longcoat, with a sword.
And Kris Kristofferson. You can't really forget Kris Kristofferson.
Here's the fun thing; I've just realised that this is the second article on Blade that's turned up on this project, making it the first time we've had a double-dip. But back then it was all about the personal; this time, it'... um... Professional?
Because it is, because I've just finished a 10,000 word writing jag about superhero films, which was, in point of fact, the primary reason this blog has fallen so critically behind deadline-wise.
Now, Blade is, in movie terms, a palate-cleanser and a market tester all in one. Let's be honest now; slate it or don't slate it, Batman Forever nearly killed the superhero film as a concept which, given the slow-burn ever since effects worked out how to portray Superman on screen, would have been a bit of a shame.
In fact, take a moment to try and work out what a world not currently in the grasp of the superhero film boom would look like. Seriously, go ahead. Imagine if Blade had ended up being a cult movie and Spawn had had no effect whatsoever. Suddenly, the superhero movie isn't viable anymore, and the graphic novel boom doesn't happen, and we don't get things like Spider-Man, Batman Begins and My Super Ex-Girlfriend.
Wait, scratch the last one.
But seriously, the superhero film has come to dominate cinema as a whole at the moment, for good or ill. It's not going away; The Avengers is released in, oh, twenty-six days, not that I'm counting, and before that we've had a slew of Marvel films and a few choice DC properties, mostly all of which have taken decent or outstanding money back.
It's easy to sell superheroes at the moment, because we all need a reason to look up in the sky, and that impulse was banished - not to put too fine a point on it - just over ten years ago. Now, suddenly, the superhero is a proxy for having hope for the future bound up with relying on people who embody massive destructive potential tempered only by their desire to 'do good'.
Whereas back in the day, it was all about killing vampires with your stake-firing shotgun and anticoagulant vials - and also frying a massively obese vampire archivist with an ultraviolet torch for comic relief, don't forget that - but because of that, slowly but surely, everything changed...
February 12th, 2012 (Retrospective)
And yes, we abandoned Superhero Season a little while ago, which is kind of a shame. Let's kick back into that and pick up where we left off with... Hmm.
Kind of spoiled for choice.
Let's start with Blade, because it all started with Blade.
Seriously, it all starts with Blade, because prior to that to admit to liking superhero films was to admit to liking, well, Batman Forever.
And whether the reputation of Batman Forever as a black hole of suck is entirely justified or not, well, that's your call.
The strange thing is that for the progenitor of the superhero film boom, Blade isn't really even a superhero film. Oh, sure, the protagonist has superpowers, but if you want to be snarky, it's worth noting that the sole difference between Blade and Twilight is that Blade Don't Twinkle, Motherfucker.
Okay, not the sole difference. But once you admit that your film is a vampire film, all sorts of locks and bars come down into place story-wise, and you have to be fucking clever to get around them without cheating the fans - and yes, Underworld, I'm looking at you at this point - because if your protagonist has fangs and enjoys an iron-rich liquid diet, you're attempting to attract a very specific audience sector.
Blade doesn't try and do that. The poster doesn't play up the vampire angle, or the superhero angle, or even particularly mention Marvel in any specific way, if memory serves - it's Wesley Snipes, in a longcoat, with a sword.
And Kris Kristofferson. You can't really forget Kris Kristofferson.
Here's the fun thing; I've just realised that this is the second article on Blade that's turned up on this project, making it the first time we've had a double-dip. But back then it was all about the personal; this time, it'... um... Professional?
Because it is, because I've just finished a 10,000 word writing jag about superhero films, which was, in point of fact, the primary reason this blog has fallen so critically behind deadline-wise.
Now, Blade is, in movie terms, a palate-cleanser and a market tester all in one. Let's be honest now; slate it or don't slate it, Batman Forever nearly killed the superhero film as a concept which, given the slow-burn ever since effects worked out how to portray Superman on screen, would have been a bit of a shame.
In fact, take a moment to try and work out what a world not currently in the grasp of the superhero film boom would look like. Seriously, go ahead. Imagine if Blade had ended up being a cult movie and Spawn had had no effect whatsoever. Suddenly, the superhero movie isn't viable anymore, and the graphic novel boom doesn't happen, and we don't get things like Spider-Man, Batman Begins and My Super Ex-Girlfriend.
Wait, scratch the last one.
But seriously, the superhero film has come to dominate cinema as a whole at the moment, for good or ill. It's not going away; The Avengers is released in, oh, twenty-six days, not that I'm counting, and before that we've had a slew of Marvel films and a few choice DC properties, mostly all of which have taken decent or outstanding money back.
It's easy to sell superheroes at the moment, because we all need a reason to look up in the sky, and that impulse was banished - not to put too fine a point on it - just over ten years ago. Now, suddenly, the superhero is a proxy for having hope for the future bound up with relying on people who embody massive destructive potential tempered only by their desire to 'do good'.
Whereas back in the day, it was all about killing vampires with your stake-firing shotgun and anticoagulant vials - and also frying a massively obese vampire archivist with an ultraviolet torch for comic relief, don't forget that - but because of that, slowly but surely, everything changed...
Eagle flew out of the night
Each Day, A Film:
February 11th 2012 (Retrospective)
I just realised that I didn't put the (retrospective) label on the most recent entries. Is anyone going to complain? No? Good. Let's continue.
That other film with Bil Murray? That was Where the Buffalo Roam.
I don't think I've seen a more entertaining Youtube preview pane for a while, I'll be honest, especially given that it looks like Murray is being gently fellated underneath the aircraft console.
Now, once the fervour of the HST love passed, I would still re-read Fear and Loathing every now at then, but it had become an affectionate thing to do, rather than a source of any kind of inspiration.
Then, after a few years doing Real Work, the whole HST thing tends to take on a new kind of charm - or, frankly, a fervor crossed with a fever - when you realise that your job is never going to involve actual, factual journalism.
So I went through a kind of Thompson Rediscovery Period, and saw the documentaries released after his death, then found out about Where The Buffalo Roam (and, yes, given that it had existed for a long time beforehand, finding out about it meant at least two clicks through Amazon).
And, frankly, Where The Buffalo Roam is not a wonderful movie. Thompson is a character, Murray is a character, but the Thompson / Murray character composite doesn't quite gel - and the Thompson persona, by all accounts, threatened to overwhelm Murray, given that it took him a while to stop acting like Thompson during his stint on Saturday Night Live, but that's deep background as opposed to actual research, so...
If anything, WTBR reminded me of the myriad reasons of why I didn't make any attempt to become a Gonzo Journalist.
So now, while I'm blogging, and behind the daily assignment deadlines, and trying to catch back up while I have the time, I find myself thinking; well, at least I'm not on drugs...
February 11th 2012 (Retrospective)
I just realised that I didn't put the (retrospective) label on the most recent entries. Is anyone going to complain? No? Good. Let's continue.
That other film with Bil Murray? That was Where the Buffalo Roam.
I don't think I've seen a more entertaining Youtube preview pane for a while, I'll be honest, especially given that it looks like Murray is being gently fellated underneath the aircraft console.
Now, once the fervour of the HST love passed, I would still re-read Fear and Loathing every now at then, but it had become an affectionate thing to do, rather than a source of any kind of inspiration.
Then, after a few years doing Real Work, the whole HST thing tends to take on a new kind of charm - or, frankly, a fervor crossed with a fever - when you realise that your job is never going to involve actual, factual journalism.
So I went through a kind of Thompson Rediscovery Period, and saw the documentaries released after his death, then found out about Where The Buffalo Roam (and, yes, given that it had existed for a long time beforehand, finding out about it meant at least two clicks through Amazon).
And, frankly, Where The Buffalo Roam is not a wonderful movie. Thompson is a character, Murray is a character, but the Thompson / Murray character composite doesn't quite gel - and the Thompson persona, by all accounts, threatened to overwhelm Murray, given that it took him a while to stop acting like Thompson during his stint on Saturday Night Live, but that's deep background as opposed to actual research, so...
If anything, WTBR reminded me of the myriad reasons of why I didn't make any attempt to become a Gonzo Journalist.
So now, while I'm blogging, and behind the daily assignment deadlines, and trying to catch back up while I have the time, I find myself thinking; well, at least I'm not on drugs...
Wind was blowing, time stood still
Each Day, A Film:
February 10th 2012
Speaking of Benicio Del Toro being lateral, let's just switch right on over to Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
Time for another weird personal remembrance; a long time ago, before this film even came out, a parental unit bought a copy of Hunter S Thompson's book for me. Being a teenager at the time, I assumed this had some special significance, and operated under this assumption for a long time - that it was some sort of acceptance that I wasn't, strictly speaking, normal at the time.
You see, for a while - and this is a fun confession - I wanted to be a Gonzo Journalist.
In the same way that everyone who's read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas wants to be a Gonzo Journalist, I suspect. Because, when you read it as a teenager, it's your ultimate fantasy, really; tooling around Las Vegas with a heterosexual life partner, a boot full of drugs, a more-or-less unlimited expenses account (providing you can run fast enough and your fake ID holds up) and a totally insouciant attitude to life. Call it devil-may-care if you like, but I rather suspect the devil doesn't, because if you tried it in real life, you'd see him sooner rather than later.
Rejection of social normality is a powerful thing when you're a teenager, and Hunter S Thompson is probably responsible for more bad attempts at writing than any other journalist in living history.
But that's a good thing, because without him these attempts wouldn't have even made it that far.
My journalistic career lasted four years as a student writer / editor / general getter of free stuff, then I thought, well, this is probably not for me, because it's never going to be this good in the real world. We're talking four years of free CDs, video games, and occasionally even clothes.
No drugs, though.
Now, I'd read Fear and Loathing and then seen the film when I was still young enough to find it anti-authoritarian and cool, and it never really leaves you; somewhere underneath this cool, beatnik blogger -
No, sorry, I couldn't complete that sentence.
Somewhere underneath this jaded, cynical, and above all bored blogger, however, lies the yearning heart of teenage Thompson addict - the one who found the British versions of Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail (which, ten years on, I still haven't finished), Better than Sex, The Rum Diary, and anything else I could get my hands on - not realising at the time that they'd probably basically publish Thompson's grocery list if it would sell.
There's no real British equivalent of Hunter S Thompson, unless I'm desperately missing something, because we just can't do that level of sustained craziness for long enough - and even if we could, there's just not the market for it anymore. And that's a little sad, really, because every society needs its crazies, and Britain - well, Britain has Alan Moore, and Grant Morrison, and Garth Ennis for its craziness, and they all write comics for America...
... Which technically tells you all you need to know.
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - the film - however, is a masterpiece because it manages to transpose the craziness all into two-or-so hours, and it shows just how infectious is; Johnny Depp being so into character (achieved by hanging around with the real, and really infectious, HST) in the same way that Bill Murray did, way back when, for an entirely different film.
February 10th 2012
Speaking of Benicio Del Toro being lateral, let's just switch right on over to Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
Time for another weird personal remembrance; a long time ago, before this film even came out, a parental unit bought a copy of Hunter S Thompson's book for me. Being a teenager at the time, I assumed this had some special significance, and operated under this assumption for a long time - that it was some sort of acceptance that I wasn't, strictly speaking, normal at the time.
You see, for a while - and this is a fun confession - I wanted to be a Gonzo Journalist.
In the same way that everyone who's read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas wants to be a Gonzo Journalist, I suspect. Because, when you read it as a teenager, it's your ultimate fantasy, really; tooling around Las Vegas with a heterosexual life partner, a boot full of drugs, a more-or-less unlimited expenses account (providing you can run fast enough and your fake ID holds up) and a totally insouciant attitude to life. Call it devil-may-care if you like, but I rather suspect the devil doesn't, because if you tried it in real life, you'd see him sooner rather than later.
Rejection of social normality is a powerful thing when you're a teenager, and Hunter S Thompson is probably responsible for more bad attempts at writing than any other journalist in living history.
But that's a good thing, because without him these attempts wouldn't have even made it that far.
My journalistic career lasted four years as a student writer / editor / general getter of free stuff, then I thought, well, this is probably not for me, because it's never going to be this good in the real world. We're talking four years of free CDs, video games, and occasionally even clothes.
No drugs, though.
Now, I'd read Fear and Loathing and then seen the film when I was still young enough to find it anti-authoritarian and cool, and it never really leaves you; somewhere underneath this cool, beatnik blogger -
No, sorry, I couldn't complete that sentence.
Somewhere underneath this jaded, cynical, and above all bored blogger, however, lies the yearning heart of teenage Thompson addict - the one who found the British versions of Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail (which, ten years on, I still haven't finished), Better than Sex, The Rum Diary, and anything else I could get my hands on - not realising at the time that they'd probably basically publish Thompson's grocery list if it would sell.
There's no real British equivalent of Hunter S Thompson, unless I'm desperately missing something, because we just can't do that level of sustained craziness for long enough - and even if we could, there's just not the market for it anymore. And that's a little sad, really, because every society needs its crazies, and Britain - well, Britain has Alan Moore, and Grant Morrison, and Garth Ennis for its craziness, and they all write comics for America...
... Which technically tells you all you need to know.
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - the film - however, is a masterpiece because it manages to transpose the craziness all into two-or-so hours, and it shows just how infectious is; Johnny Depp being so into character (achieved by hanging around with the real, and really infectious, HST) in the same way that Bill Murray did, way back when, for an entirely different film.
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