Coming to Terms With the McConaissance in Post-Modern America

Today is a holiday, or so it would seem.  To resort to the most base actions of a high school valedictorian, I ventured to Webster's Dictionary to see precisely how they define such a thing:

¹hol·i·day
 noun \ˈhä-lə-ˌdā, British usually ˈhä-lə-dē\

: a special day of celebration : a day when most people do not have to work

So their story checks out.  Today is indeed a special day of celebration, albeit on that I can never truly comprehend the importance of in my current skin suit, but I've got nothing but respect for Martin Luther King, Jr.  However, it is the secondary definition component that truly saddens me.  "A day when most people do not have to work."  Kick me when I'm down Webster's.  Meanwhile, the lovely Punk Rock Girl has another day to relax at home.  Not because she feels the plight of the African-American more deeply than I, but because she chose teaching as a profession.  Or was called to teaching by a higher power, however that works.  Is there a note of jealousy in my words?  Perhaps.  But does this story not have the potential for a happy ending? Certainly.  I hope to soon spend my MLK Jr. Days sleeping in as well, cuddling fiercely with a teaching credential of my very own.

In the meantime, I will sit here quietly in my cynicism.  Selma certainly received a lot of attention this last week for it's snub in the Oscar nominations.  "Snub" of course meaning the traditional "received a Best Picture nomination."  How coarse!  Other notable snubs, if you are to believe the Internet, include Jennifer Aniston for something called Cake.  Unless that movie is about the band, I have zero interest.  (Spoiler alert: I watched the trailer, it isn't about the band.  Double spoiler: Honestly, I wouldn't really care to see the movie if it really was about the band.)  Getting back to Selma, I was unaware until this weekend that Oprah Winfrey is in this movie, making the failure to nominate it for...I honestly don't know what it was supposed to be nominated for, Best Actor, I think...so much worse.  I know it seems popular to pile on the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences for being a bunch of old, white, racist so-and-sos, but anyone who's seen an awards ceremony should certainly be able to recognize that this is a liberal-guilt-ridden body of people with a George Clooney shaped mouthpiece.   One short year ago, 12 Years a Slave marched easily to Best Picture win, represented ably by everyone's favorite African-American, Brad Pitt.  So I have two thoughts on the subject: 1) Maybe Selma isn't the greatest thing Hollywood has to offer this year and 2) maybe our society shouldn't look to a bunch of filmmakers to advance crucial social agendas.

Selma has been hit particularly hard by some critics for taking liberties with the MLK Jr. story.  Fair enough, I guess.  Although what story isn't actually brought to the screen with 100% accuracy?  This seems like a good time to turn to American Sniper, directed by American "Hero" Clint Eastwood.  While I fully admit that Wikipedia can be dubious in it's portrayal of facts, a simple perusal of Eastwood's bio will show that he is a disgusting man-whore that views abortion as a primary method of birth control rather than a last resort.  American Sniper brought in more than $100 million this MLK weekend, basically shattering every box office record for the normally tepid month of January.  While I have yet to see the movie, true patriots are responding quite favorable and vocally to the cold-blooded patriot it portrays.  Effectively, this film fills the same slot taken by Mark Wahlberg and Lone Survivor.  American soldiers are great, it's a brotherhood, yada yada yada.  Meanwhile, let's ignore the politics and greed that put our soldiers into these situations in the first place.  Let's not get into that aspect though, my opinions on the subject might not be that popular.  Regardless, the hero of American Sniper, now deceased, was sued and forced to correct a number of aspects of his story, most notably after claiming he had punched Jesse Ventura in the face.  I'm sure that sounded like a good idea when he wrote it.  So here we have a story proven to be exaggerations of truths at best and outright lies at worst in a "true" story from a man deified for being a prolific killer.  Yet those truths were actively known and glossed over and given a seat at the Best Picture table next to Selma.  Which one of the these is a worse offense?  The myth of the civil rights leader or the conservative sociopath martyr?  American Sniper seems to me to focus on a man who was a hero in his own mind. Holding him up as an example for our emerging generations will only serve to make America a more pompous, unbearable country than it already is to the rest of world.  So I guess that's all I have to say about that.

Getting back to the main gist of my thought process, which is probably heretofore completely concealed, I saw Interstellar this weekend.  Better late than never.  Although never would have also been an acceptable timeframe in which to consume this film.  I don't want to get into the film's content too much.  I'd hate to invite Christopher Nolan seek me out and tell me that I'm wrong about his film, as he seems to have done with his other critics.  I'll sum up by saying that he's a talented filmmaker, but this isn't his best work.  (The Dark Knight still is, with an honorable mention to Inception.)  What I need to talk about is the so-called McConnaissance.  Ugh. Are we really committed to that word?  Or more importantly, is there such a thing?  I submit there is not.  He has definitely taken a victory lap over the past year borne upon wings of Dallas Buyers' Club and True Detective.  But where did this trend begin?  The Lincoln Lawyer?  I think that's generous.  Let's review this via IMDB.com: After a layoff in 2010, McConaughey came back in 2011 with Lincoln Lawyer, Killer Joe, Bernie, The Paperboy, Magic Mike, Mud, The Wolf of Wall Street, True Detective, Dallas Buyers Club and Insterstellar.  Ready?  'Cause here we go.  Have you heard of Paperboy?  It's probably not an adaptation of the video game.  Throw it out.  Lincoln Lawyer?  Second rate Grisham wannabe. Gone.  Killer Joe, Bernie and Magic Mike?  Decent padding, not great.  Wolf of Wall Street? Maybe five minutes of screen time. Nope.  What's left?  Mud?  Didn't watch it, I'll let him have it.  Mud, Dallas Buyers Club, True Detective.  That's three good movies in a row.  Is that really a period of optimal creative output?  Or is that just a lucky streak?  Now where do we put Interstellar?  All due respect, a minor work by a major auteur.  Was McConaughey's acting really that good in it?  Or did he just show up and "Alright, alright, alright" his way through it?  What if I told you that he is only five years removed from Ghost of Girlfriends Past?

To come full circle, what is more American than the McConaissance?  America loves a good story wrapped up tight with a bow so they don't actually have think about it.  Of course nothing is ever that black and white.  Borderline movies that occurred post-2010 suddenly support the McConaissance narrative, while the same movies in 2005-2009 would fall to the side unheeded.  McConaughey's bizarre philosophies are suddenly the inspiration for articles rather than the crazy ramblings of a naked bongo player.  In my eyes, McConaughey is still the same cocky Texan, strutting his way through movies and TV with the personality of rooster.  What was once pathetic and washed up is now the makings of an American hero.  Much like the subject of American Sniper.  Do we really need our heroes spoon-fed.  Can't we tangle with the rough edges and enjoy the humanity of the subjects we follow?  Aren't heroes more powerful because of the faults they overcome than their smooth ascendance to the throne?  Apparently not.  So let's continue to pick and choose the facts that tell our stories rather than deciding for ourselves.  The McConaissance is a lie.

    

Reelin' In the New Year's

The beginning of a new year is a natural time for reflection, this year more than most in my case.  But I'm not here to discuss me today.  Of course that's not entirely true.  This so-called "blog" is nothing if not self-indulgent at every turn.  While I find hope and optimism for myself in 2015, the same thing can not be said for a certain inland rock festival, if it can even be called that anymore.  With this week's announcement of the 2015 Coachella festival lineup, I was temporarily overwhelmed with the concept of AC/DC headlining the first night of this aging event.  This in and of itself is a head-scratcher.  Far be it from me to disparage AC/DC.  I'm sure they have wonderful new songs about their balls that they're dying to play for a new audience.  But is there not a time and place for everything? I think I was only vaguely aware that AC/DC existed post-Last Action Hero soundtrack. Here I lie.  I know that AC/DC's drummer tried to hire someone to murder someone last year and I know that Malcolm Young has such severe dementia that he's drooling out his days in a nursing home.  That pretty much just leaves Angus to scooch across the stage in his school boy uni.  (Sidenote: My crack research team just informed me that Angus is only 59.  That doesn't seem possible.)  BUT I DIGRESS.  I didn't even come here to talk about this farce.  I'm here to discuss the fine print on the Coachella poster that I didn't even discover until a closer examination today.  

Perhaps The Washington Post had the most apropos reaction to this one: "Coachella is dead, and Steely Dan killed it." Yes, that Steely Dan, the Blah Blah Blog house band in hipster Shangri-La.  Take a minute to let that settle in if you'd like.  I can wait.  

If you've kept up with this blog, you're probably married to me.  But you also are probably aware of my conflicted thoughts on hipsters and my less conflicted thoughts on Steely Dan.  I should preface this by saying I have never actually been to Coachella.  I have a vague idea of how I imagine it would smell though.  Punk Rock Girl worked the festival for five years or so.  She may use different words to explain it, but I can summarize: Coachella is three intense days showcasing the worst of humanity followed by 51 weeks of soul-level reconstruction that finally allowed her to look in the mirror again.

Back to Steely Dan.  What is my point?  Here is my problem with the entire scenario: I have no idea if Steely Dan was booked ironically.  We know that the Dan (that's what I'd call them if I was a fan anyway) isn't my cup of tea.  But they deserve to be heard and seen by a crowd that appreciates them.  Coachella is not a fair venue to throw them into.  The Steely Dan crowd, for the most part, won't be shelling out hundreds of bucks for their weekend ticket.  So you've got a crowd of people that spent their money to see Drake (Drake!) headline night three sitting around rolling their eyes before they decide to head back to their tent and smoke some pot rather than burn themselves out smooth jazz funk whatever on day one.  That's not fair to Steely Dan.  I honestly don't know what Coachella is anymore.  I don't think Coachella's organizers do either.  They might have the best of intentions to mix old and new music, but they don't have the flair that they used to.  They may have finally been driven mad trying to ride the unicorn that is the Smiths reunion. For what it's worth, I'd probably go to see the Smiths reunion.  

So this post is officially about my outlook on 2015.  The New Year.  But after eight days, I know only this: 2015 is the year Steely Dan plays Coachella.  Nothing is impossible this year.  Or anything is possible, for you glass half full types.  Let's get this thing going, there's no telling what happens next.

This Is Not The Greatest Movie In The World...

So I'm reading the screenplay to Shawshank Redemption when I decide to check my facts on IMDb.  Until recently, I referred to IMDb as the Internet Movie Database.  Upon calling it this in front of a co-worker, I was told that I was uncool and that I should call it IMDb.  She didn't even know what I was talking about when I used the site's full name.  This was perceived as a mistake that I made.  So now it is IMDb.  She would have me capitalize the "B," I'm sure, but that is a concession I will not make.  A concession I cannot make.  But the folly of youth is not my point here.  If you are so inclined to check out the Top 250 movies rated on IMDb, you will see that The Shawshank Redemption is #1, barely edging out The Godfather.  I feel like I might be somewhat qualified to comment on this absurdity.  I minored in film studies in college, which is to say I fulfilled the requirements for a minor in film studies but never actually filled out the paperwork to get a piece of paper that confirmed that I did indeed minor in film studies.  Such a piece of paper seemed worthless to me, just slightly less valuable than a piece of paper saying that I majored in American Studies, to pick an example at random.

Citizen Kane is the greatest movie of all time.  Do I believe that?  Eh.  Do I have a problem with it? Ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Not really.  For what that's worth.  It's problematic though.  The problem with Citizen Kane is that people don't watch it.  It is an intellectually dense work that is rewarding to experience in the right context.  Shawshank, or "The 'Shank," as it's commonly known, is not these things.  It is a workingman's intellectual movie.  If someone said that about a movie I loved, I would assume it to be an insult, and in this case I would be right.  This type of movie makes you think enough to say things like, "This movie is deep.  It has themes and stuff."  If you felt this way, congratulations, you get a cookie.  You may be dismissed now while the grownups talk.

Shawshank is based on "Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption" by Stephen King, in case you didn't know.  The source material is some of King's best.  You'll find it in his book Different Seasons along with three other novellas. From the four novellas, three have become movies.  Other than Shawshank, "Apt Pupil" was turned into Bryan Singer's fever dream, Gay Nazis Take a Shower.  Although I think they might have changed that title back to Apt Pupil for DVD release.  In a more recognizable form, "The Body" became Stand By Me, famously subtitled Rob Reiner Stops Eating Long Enough to Pretend He Can Direct.  The last quarter of the book hasn't been filmed...yet.  But the prophecy has foretold its coming.

So we have established the austere provenance of the source material.  Not really, but go with me.  This is a great novella.  Now we arrive at Shawshank's director, Frank Darabont.  If you don't know his career outside of Shawshank, please refer to The Green Mile, The Mist, Nightshift Collection...wait, aren't those all Stephen King works?  Yes, they are.  Is there a point in that?  Wellllllll...okay, yes.  There has to be.  Stephen King is an excellent writer.  Clearly Frank Darabont has King wrapped around his finger.  Stephen King actually stated that he preferred the ending of The Mist film to the ending of his story.  No.  Bad Stephen!  You are wrong and you should feel bad for saying so.  But my point here is that if I got to pick and choose my screenplay ideas from the collected works of Stephen King, I think I could come up with a couple solid stories.

You may be familiar with Darabont as the creator of the Walking Dead television series.  He was fired after the first season for unknown reasons.  If you like the Walking Dead, you probably have cancer.  That's science and you can't fight it.

The notion that Frank Darabont created wholesale a world as rewarding as Shawshank is laughable.  And he probably actually filled in a couple feet of that pool in order to make it more accessible as the "I don't read" crowd.  He can't compete with the mind of Orson Welles.  Citizen Kane is #63 on the list, by the way.  Behind The Prestige.  I will "No Comment" the shit out of that one.

Now we arrive at my point.  And I might not have one.  Film criticism is dying.  Pauline Kael is dead, Siskel & Ebert are dead.  Why are we basing lists on what the public at large have to say.  No dominant figures are shaping the way we watch movies.  In the long run, box office figures are given higher billing than film quality.  If enough people see something, it must be good, right?  This depresses me.  The art of film is suffocating under the weight of the public consuming it.  They don't push themselves to understand the art they are watching.  They like 'splosions and think Thor is interesting.  Forgotten is the power of the message.  And this is where Shawshank falls short.  Well made?  Yes.  Inspiring?  Perhaps.  Thought provoking?  Not original thought.  By allowing Shawshank to stand atop any list, we lower the bar on the ideal.  There are always fewer athletes competing in the high jump than the limbo.  Let's hold up a few masterpieces and see who they inspire to even loftier heights.  Talk about Citizen Kane.  You don't have to watch it, just do me a favor and pretend like you did.  Set an example and see where it leads.            

A Return Most Triumphant

I realized today that it has been over a year since I began this blog and nearly a year since my last post.  Part of me loves this immensely.  Perhaps some stranger searching through blogs came across the Blah Blah Blog and said to himself, "His brilliance was too much to bear.  His light shined brighter than 1,000 suns and he could not keep it up.  I'm amazed he was able to produce as many entries as he did.  Goodnight, sweet prince."  If you were one of the people who thought this, you're not un-right.  I like to think of myself as a latter day John Kennedy Toole who found his perfect match and became happily married rather than committing suicide, but who knows what the future holds.  Sidebar - If you are unfamiliar with JKT's Confederacy of Dunces, please do go find it right now and read it...I'll wait...k, u ready? You're welcome.  I would rather this blog die a painful, dysenteric death than become a series of me standing in front of rocks in western states while pretending that I didn't get pregnant so I don't have to work anymore.  That's a very specific reference and I'm not even sure I fully understand what I'm doing here today.

Here are the facts as I understand them.  Earlier today I came across an article at the AV Club that provided a critical breakdown of an episode of Clarissa Explains It All.  Because this is what our society does now.  We think about shows we watched as children and elevate them to elite status through some delusional pretext that they serve as commentaries on our culture.  Dammit, Steve, I can't argue with that.  Why did you  state that so succinctly?  But my point is this, children are little idiots.  We prop them up in front of televisions and wait for them to grow up into full-blown idiots.

Sidebar #2 - I saw Anderson Cooper discussing his interview with Magic Johnson re: Donald Sterling's racist comments about him.  In reacting to the statement that Magic Johnson has AIDS, Anderson Cooper pointed out that Magic has HIV, not "full-blown AIDS."  What is it about AIDS that necessitates the preceding full-blown?  Is it not sufficient to say he has AIDS, not HIV, since they are two different things.  Yet these words are always found together.  There is something so much more ominous about these words together.  "Do you have full-blown AIDS?"  "Naw, man.  I just got a touch of the AIDS.  It's cool."  - Sidebar end.

My knowledge of Clarissa Explains It All is minimal.  I was aware of it during my formative years, but I was not then, nor have I ever been, a "girl."  I know it as the show that gave the world Melissa Joan Hart.  So thanks for that.  It was a beautiful thing to watch MJH blossom from an awkward young girl into an awkward woman that mistakenly began to believe she was hot and started arching her back slightly in pictures as if to prove her viability as a Maxim cover model.  But the article in question went deeper.  It dared to cite My So-Called Life, Wonder Years, Full House and Boy Meets World as cultural touchstones as well.  Let me single out Boy Meets World here because I loathed the show.  I believe this summer we finally get the relaunched Girl Meets World that someone somewhere apparently wanted so that we could catch up on the lives of some shitty middle schoolers.  This is a show that aired on ABC's TGIF lineup.  As you probably know, TGIF was primarily a money laundering scheme by the Cosa Nostra and the resulting TV shows were not intended for human consumption.  The AV Club goes so far as to separate Full House and Boy Meets World into a sub-genre called "normcore."  I don't know what this means.  Genre naming is a practice that has plagued music criticism for far too long.  They seem to be hanging their hat on the notion that labeling something makes it legitimate as a topic of study.  But sometimes pop culture is exactly as shallow as it seems.  In fact, I believe that is the exact thing that gives it the "pop."

Perhaps this is an extension of our increasing cultural tendency to draw a line in the sand and fight pointlessly for something that someone else dares not like.  Is it possible for people to admit that they might just enjoy something on a visceral level?  Or does the world need to understand why you had a much deeper understanding of Salute Your Shorts?  Whatever the reasoning, it needs to stop.  I loved He-man when I was little, but I got over it.  Was it better than Transformers?  I don't care. Why are we wasting critical thought on the television equivalent of a dirty tissue?  I am continually amazed at where our society is headed.  A recent article indicated that the U.S. ranks in the mid-20s among the 30 most developed countries in terms of education, while simultaneously achieving #1 status on the list of countries whose people believe they are the smartest.  Purple mountain majesties!  God help us all.

But credit where it's due, here's that Clarissa Explains It All article if you'd like to give it a whirl: http://www.avclub.com/article/clarissa-explains-it-all-tried-ban-tv-tv-204252
It definitely gave me plenty to think about.

A Bad Day for Die Hard

My profound apologies for a prolonged absence.  I return with a topic that has been floating 'round this skull of mine lo the last couple fortnights.  In the course of film history, there are few perfect examples of filmmaking perfection.  Dr. Strangelove.  Obviously.  Back to the Future.  Duh.  And then there is the greatest action film of all time, which consequently doubles as the greatest Christmas film of all time:  Die Hard.  Say it with me: Yippee-ki-yay motherf***er.  That line of dialogue was the single best line of macho bravado ever delivered within the genre.  The only thing that even comes close is "Hasta la vista, baby." Amazingly, we are talking about a 25 year-old film.  It holds up amazingly, and I might not have my facts straight here, but I believe it was the last action film that did not star the Rock...sorry, Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson...oh, it's just Dwayne Johnson now?  Ok.  Tony "Tiny" "Zeus" Lister sends his regards.  You'll be seeing him real soon, maybe in that No Holds Barred remake that 'Merica is dying to see.

The ensuing years since idyllic 1988 have resulted in four sequels to Die Hard, with increasingly vomit inducing titles.  With the release of the fifth film earlier this year, it was clear that the filmmakers are openly mocking the few remaining people that might actually pay for tickets.  Therefore, I have recognized my duty to place some context on this hallowed franchise, in the hopes that people can continue to enjoy this masterpiece without getting bogged down in the parody of it all. In order to do so, I have attempted to use math and science, engaging partners at both Rotten Tomatoes (rottentomatoes.com) and Metacritic (metacritic.com) to achieve an accurate picture of the critical response to each film.  While Rotten Tomatoes measures the percentage of critics responding favorably to a film, it fails to measure the level of reaction to the film.  Conversely, Metacritic measures the average score of each critic, but does not give the overall sense of critical consensus inherent to Rotten Tomatoes.  For example, a movie could receive a 100% rating on Rotten Tomatoes, which seems outstanding.  But if each review was only slightly positive (let's say 2.5 out of 4 stars), Metacritic would reflect only a 63 out of 100 score for the same set of reviews. Not so great, is it?     So for my extremely scientific analysis (I wear glasses, so this is about as legit as it gets), I have multiplied these two numbers together to arrive at a number I call the Filmic Coefficient of Ultimate Goodness (FCUG).  Without further ado, here it is:

Die Hard (1988; FCUG: .658) - This film speaks for itself.  If you doubt me, watch it again.  Or if you haven't seen it, you should probably shrivel up and die.  Bruce Willis at his best.  A perfect screenplay.  Alan Rickman in a role where he isn't a bumbling alcoholic and doesn't look like a Trent Reznor with a wand.  (I know what you're saying, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.  Look again.  That movie doesn't exist.  Prove to me that it does.  You can't.  So shut up and forget it.)  Carl from Family Matters.  FBI Agents Johnson and Johnson...no relation.  No, but it's going to need a paint job and a shitload of screen doors.  Now I have a machine gun, ho ho ho.  I AM AN EFF BEE EYE AGENT!  (Keanu!  How did you get in here? We're not discussing Point Break today.)

It is important to note that John McClane had two children and a wife that is coming to visit in Los Angeles, which sets up this whole movie.  He and his wife have clear marital tension, as demonstrated by their bicoastal living and her use of her maiden name.  The children are young and play a small role in the film, but they will come into play before long.  For all intents and purposes, McClane appears to be a caring, respectful father.  But he never actually has interaction that would demonstrate this.  After all, he let them move away in the first place.

Die Hard 2: Die Harder (1990; FCUG: .4489) - Die Hard, meet director Renny Harlin.  Renny Harlin, meet mediocrity.  Oh, you've already met?  Of course you did.  You married Geena Davis.  Then she left and you dressed Saffron Burrows up to look like Geena Davis in a movie about Samuel L. Jackson getting eaten by a shark.

Not sure what happened here.  Or to put it differently, I know exactly what happened here.  Die Hard made money and they rushed out a sequel.  And they put that subtitle on it: Die Harder.  Get it?  It's Die Hard...but moreso.  How can you lose?  It may be the second most mocked sequel title ever, following Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo.  Unless...is that subtitle German?  Let me check Google Translate.  Ok, I was mistaken this whole time.  Die Harder is actually German for The Harder, which makes slightly more sense. 

This movie was all that the "er" implies.  More of the same.  Jokes about how the same thing can happen to the same guy twice.  A guy gets stabbed in the eye with an icicle (THE PERFECT CRIME!).  And Holly McClane doesn't die in a plane crash.  Although she might as well have, since it's the last we see of her.  And just when they were reconciling!  The point is, this one was about the money.  It's non-essential viewing.  Feel free to skip it if it isn't your bag.  That FCUG is a remnant of good will toward the original.  Bruce Willis still had hair at that point though, which is a good sign. 

Die Hard: With a Vengeance (1995; FCUG: .3016) - Firstly, ignore that FCUG.  This is the undisputed second best movie in the series.  Undisputed.  Someone clearly knew they were going off the tracks after the second one so they regrouped and brought back original Die Hard director John McTiernan, who was able to take time out of his busy schedule paying private detectives to spy on his wife.  The genius in this one was very simple: Subtract the "Die Hard" scenario of a confined space in favor of a sprawling terrorist cat and mouse game (or is it?), but bring back an old friend in the form of the Gruber family.  I like to imagine that Alan Rickman and Jeremy Irons really were brothers.  That would have been a pretentious little household, probably accompanied by lots of skipping from room to room. 

The point is, we had fun together, this movie and I.  Samuel L. Jackson was a good addition.  The memorable lines may not have been there, but they maintain the intensity for a solid 90 minutes.  This film deserves proper respect for cleaning up the mess of Die Harder.  A couple of things are missing in this film however.  1. A number.   This is not Die Hard 3.  It is, but it isn't.  This is not problematic in itself, but it would pave the way for the crimes against humanity that would follow down the line.  2.  No Holly McClane.  No Holly Gennaro.  No kids.  Which, again, is fine.  He is a crusty old cop, we knew that.  So there was a divorce somewhere in the mix, she took the kids.  He didn't change.  It was actually refreshing to have a scenario that rang true to real life.  Saving his family from terrorists couldn't save his marriage.  I like it.  This was a fitting conclusion to the series...except:

Live Free or Die Hard (2007; FCUG: .5589) - Twelve years later this monstrosity emerged from the ashes.  One year prior to the release of Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, it also laid waste to cherished childhood memories.  Again, ignore the FCUG.  If I was aware that science would stab me in the back, I never would have used that approach.  I can only assume that the 12-year gap between movies was to allow Justin Long to hit puberty and Kevin Smith to gain enough mass to crash back to Earth.  BECAUSE THEY WERE IN THIS MOVIE!  As actors, saying words and stuff.  Is there a movie that represents more clearly the softness of the action genre during this decade than a major role awarded to Justin Long? 

But perhaps this movie would have been forgettable if we all just dropped it here.  My main takeaway was that given the correct calculations, a human can run down the wing of a flying jet and jump off without serious injury.  That is useful knowledge.  Die Hard was never dependent on huge action pieces but this movie forgot to remember that. 

Mary Elizabeth Winstead.  She should be thankful that Maggie Gyllenhaal exists.  It means that she is not the worst actress of her general stature.  She does a serviceable job as Nondescript McClane Child (Female) in this movie, at least in comparison to the other elements.  Her character should not be in the movie, but I guess that is a moot point.

Len Wiseman directed it.  His only truly successful effort so far was impregnating Kate Beckinsale, and that was probably an accident.  She was a better match with Michael Sheen anyway, but you know what Beyonce says about putting a ring on it. 

A Good Day to Die Hard (2013; FCUG: .042) - Finally, we arrive at modern day.  Was it really six years since the last installment?  Bruce Willis looks old.  Senior citizen old.  He is not the tough guy that he used to be.  And the whole point of his persona was that he wasn't the tough guy.  He was the determined, everyman that got things done because of his "Can Do" attitude.  He is America made flesh.

So here's the problem with this film.  (Let me pause to point out that FCUG of .042.  Science works.)  Nondescript McClane Child (Male) shows up and he's a criminal or maybe he's an EFF BEE EYE AGENT (Seriously, Keanu.  You're gonna have to chill out.  No more Kool-Aid.)  Then in a totally shocking twist, it turns out that we don't care. 

The worst crime of all is that we finally get some insight into the fathering abilities of John McClane.  It turns out that he's a complete asshole as a father.  He ridicules and bullies his grown son, and they imply a long history of this behavior.  So what about that man that blew up half of Nakatomi Plaza in order to save his wife?  Doesn't matter.  He probably yelled at his son when he lost a Little League game.  I'd be willing to bet that he hit him at least once when he was a child.  If he found out his son was gay, he probably would have drowned him. 

At this point, I am not only failing to enjoy the latest Die Hard with an absurd title.  I now hate the original Die Hard.  I wish John McClane had been killed by Hans Gruber.  At least then, Holly Gennaro/McClane could have remarried and the McClane children would have had a chance at a loving male role model.  Am I reading into this too much?  I probably should have known he wasn't a good father when his wife packed up the kids and moved to California.  But his positives seemed to outweight the negatives.  Now, I'm not so sure.  Of course, this is all based on the assumption that A Good Day to Die Hard actually exists and it wasn't just a fever dream.  That remains to be seen.

Parting Thoughts
I want to make this very clear.  Regardless of math, these are the official Die Hard Quality Rankings from best to worst:

• Die Hard
• Die Hard: With a Vengeance
• Under Siege
• Die Hard 2: The Harder
• Where the Die Hard Things Are
• How Stella Got Her Die Hard Back
• Willy Wonka and the Die Hard Factory

Blah Blah Bookshelf

Many thoughts are floating around my head today, but I feel the need to spend a few moments on the underappreciated art of words.  I'm got my mind on movies and movies on my mind lately.  I think that's rap.  But those aren't the words to which I refer.  Books, as it were.  The summer season is quickly approaching us or perhaps it is here.  Do we go by Memorial Day as the unofficial harbinger of summer still?  Or is it perhaps the release of the summer's first genre-defining blockbuster?  By that measure, summer arrived with the release of GI Joe: Retaliation.  No, no.  I kid.  I didn't hate the movie, but I hate on it.  You slutty little preposition, you make all the difference in the world.  I can't resist one tangent today, having mentioned GI Joe.  When was the last time Bruce Willis looked in the mirror?  Does he realize how old he has become.  His neck is kinda disgusting and wrinkly.  And his premature balding has become mature balded.  We know you don't have to shave it anymore, Bruno.  I say this with love.  Punk Rock Girl and I will be watching Die Hard 5 tonight.  I refuse to acknowledge the real title.  The mere fact that I failed to catch this "film" in theaters speaks volumes.  Once upon a time, a Die Hard movie release would have been a High Holiday in my religion, whatever that might be.  Now, it is a laughingstock.  It should have died with Die Hard: With a Vengeance (my second favorite in the series).  Then it should have died with Die Hard 4, which had a title only slightly less absurd than 5.  That one was weighed down by Kevin Smith (Get it?  A fat joke.) Who knew the title would be so prophetic.  This confounded tangent has blown up on me, so I will wrap it up.  I have more to say on the subject, so I'll save a full blown analysis for another day.  I'm dangerously close to invoking Kingdom of the Crystal Skull in a cross franchise tie-in, and if that comes up, we'll be here all day.

Let me reorganize my note cards...right, BOOKS.  Summer is the season for beach reading.  I don't go to the beach, but I do read.  The term itself, "beach reading," loosely translates to "I'm reading stupid books.  Leave me alone.  With advances in medicine, I'm technically still a 'young adult.'"  In the past week, I have filled my Kindle with reading material for the first half of the summer.  As usual, I am already reading 3 of the 4 books simultaneously.  Soon I'm sure to be 4 of 4.  These books have my full endorsement (without actually having read them) if you would like to read along with me.

BIG, IMPORTANT BOOK OF THE SUMMER - The Orphan Master's Son by Adam Johnson - This one was recently bestowed with the Pulitzer Prize for last year.  I wish I had waited and purchased the heavy paperback with the Gold Ribbon on the front that confirms I'm smart.  I'm still trying to figure out how my Kindle can let people know I'm better than them without having to engage in actual conversation.  North Korea is the timely topic of this book.  Straight from the headlines!  But it is fictional all the same.  As a portrayal of life within a country of which I know little, it is quite fascinating.  A severe density accompanies this book, as with many Pulitzer winners.  I unfortunately don't have much more to say on the subject right now.  This tome has the greatest chance of remaining a work-in-progress at summer's end.

AWFUL TITLE, REDEEMED! - NOS4A2 by Joe Hill - One glance at that title is enough to run you off.  I feared it, but I'm giving it a chance and my warm nature appears to be paying off.  Joe Hill is an emerging talent, by which I mean he will someday be a household name like his father, Stephen King.  Already he has developed a strong following with his novels, stories and comics.  In particular, I recommend Heart-Shaped Box (novel) and Locke & Key (comic).  I recently read a review that stated he has found his own voice that is unique and completely independent of his father.  Bulls***.  He is Stephen King's son.  Maybe his writing style took an early branch from the King family highway, but he is his father's son and has his father's idiosyncracies.  Imagine Stephen King crawled into a cocoon to burst forth as a fresh author for a new generation.  That description seems more apt.  My point is...awful title.  Really, really awful title.  I'm about 20% done and I'm still not sure what would have possessed him to choose that title.  Great story though. 

NON-FICTION ON TOPIC I HATE - Louder than Hell by Katherine Turman and Jon Wiederhorn - Subtitled The Definitive Oral History of Metal, this book delivers what it promises.  Gene Simmons claims he was the first to use the devil horns in the context of heavy metal, to which Ronnie James Dio responds, "Simmons will tell you he invented it, but then again Gene invented breathing and shoes."  This book is not in my wheelhouse, but I can never turn my back on music journalism.  If you enjoyed Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk Rock, this is an excellent companion piece.  If not, read Please Kill Me first.  Punk takes precedence. 

SUMMER READING - Inferno by Dan Brown - How can I defend this purchase?  I can't.  I won't.  I struggled with the decision myself.  But now it sits there on my Kindle.  I'll probably tear through it in a few days while more worthwhile novels go unread.  That saddens me.  Brown is the epitome of beach reading this summer.  By the time I'm done, you won't need my opinion.  It will just be the next Dan Brown book, fading into the past alongside the Da Vinci Code.  God willing, we won't have another movie about Tom Hanks inability to get a decent haircut.  (He wears a Mickey Mouse watch!  He's young at heart...exposition, exposition, exposition...Jesus raped Joan of Arc and Spider-man was born!)  Now I hate myself even more.  The story center's around Dante Alighieri's Inferno this time.  Can't a book just be a book?  Does it have to be a tool of the Freemasons or Illuminati?  I expect this one to be slightly less believable that the Dante's Inferno video game of a few years ago.

I've depressed myself.  I need a drink. 

Quick Thoughts

I've got a lot on my mind today, so we're going to enter the lightning round.  Speaking of game shows, do you remember when contestants on the Wheel of Fortune got to spend their money on the spinning showroom?  Pat Sajak is an interesting character to me, one that is reflected in Jeff Probst's success with Survivor.  They have both attempted to host a talk show that no one wanted to see.  They both believed that they had credibility outside their game show.  Sajak is a few years ahead of Probst in this respect.  He ducked out of the limelight and developed an impressive alcohol tolerance, I assume.  Now he hosts Wheel on autopilot, barely checking in from his booze-fueled haze.  Probst still has a glimmer of hope in his eyes, but this will soon die.  One trick ponies.  Chuck Woolery, Bob Eubanks and many others who I would recognize but never know their name.  The sad reality of game show hosts is real and sad.  That's deep.  This is where my heads at.  Enter at your own risk.

-In less than two weeks, season 4 of Arrested Development launches on Netflix.  This reality never seemed possible, but here we are.  With what emotion do we approach?  Can they recapture the magic of this insanely brilliant show years after they left it behind?  Let me back up:  Did they recapture the magic of this insanely brilliant show in Season 3?  I'm not sure they did.  Mr. F may have plunged a little too far off the deep end.  But I must admit that I love seeing Jason Bateman in Michael Bluth mode and not the variations on Michael Bluth mode that he's been selling on the big screen.  Buster juices and GOB cavorts on stage to "The Final Countdown."  You can count me in, brother. 



-Speaking of Netflix Originals, Arrested Development and House of Cards have distracted from the meat in this sandwich.  Hemlock Grove is an Eli Roth creation, which is probably enough to steer away from the subject entirely.  At times it feels like this werewolf soap opera would be more at home alongside One Tree Hill on the CW.  If I were to author the Hemlock Grove equation, it would go something like this:  Twilight + Twin Peaks + An American Werewolf in London = Hemlock Grove.  I know, I started with Twilight there, which I haven't seen and will not see.  So f*** me, right?  Nein.  Nein.  The romanticism is palpable, but there is something more sinister at work below the surface.  Punk Rock Girl and I are only three episodes in, but it has held my interest and keeps me guessing. 

-On the subject of math (I know, brilliant segue, right?), here's an interesting article on the ABC Conjecture and a fascinating math superstar/recluse that may or may not have solved an age old math dilemma.  You'll probably want to skip it, but that's on you.  Why are you so lazy?  The Paradox of the Proof

-I can't let significant Marvel news pass without commenting.  Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. promo apparently premiered over the weekend.  I've watched it a couple of times now.  Joss Whedon has appeared infallible since the Avengers dropped last year.  Clark Gregg (aka NOT Sparks Nevada) was an exceptionally likeable common thread throughout Marvel's Phase One of American Movie Domination. We shed a tear when he died in the Avengers.  We scratched our head when we heard he would star in Phase One of Marvel's Television Domination.  I was onboard.  Then came this picture:

Joss, baby, I know you like strong women characters, but this is a joke, right?  Am I signing up for Marvel's Agents of Dollhouse?  I am trepidatious.  Is that Doctor Who lurking in the back there?  Whedon is clearly locked in some Sisyphean struggle where he is doomed to remake Buffy the Vampire Slayer ad infinitum.  Buffy may be a man this time, but you can't fool me. 

-Side Effects is an excellent movie.  I've always held Steven Soderbergh in high regards as a director.  His ability to balance artistic urges with mainstream flair has resulted in some extreme highlights (Out of Sight, The Limey...and Ocean's Eleven probably wasn't half bad) but his track record of late was underwhelming to me (Haywire and Magic Mike).  Side Effects mines a surprisingly deep topic in the sale and marketing of anti-depressants for a film that looks reminiscent of so many that came before but ends up being something truly original.  The ending may knock this down a slight peg from a home run to a triple, but it never panders to the audience.  Supposedly this is Steven Soderbergh's last film, as he claims to be retiring.  I'll believe that when he's dead.  He has filmmaking in his blood and he'll be back for more. 

-Baseball is ugh right now.  The Angels are falling like some sort of quintessential falling object. (Your move Raymond Chandler!)  They sit 10 games out of first place. 10 games!  Are you kidding me?  They've barely been playing for a month.  Meanwhile, the Phillies are scrapping, hanging on by their fingernails while the season threatens to run away from them.  Still, there's desperate and there's so desperate that you decide to watch hockey playoffs instead.  I'm nowhere near that yet.  The Columbus Blue Jackets.  That's actually the name of a hockey team.  And they want to be taken seriously?  No wonder they take every couple of seasons off.

-I read today that the Sixth Sense was inspired by an episode of the old Nickelodeon show, Are You Afraid of the Dark?  This makes so much sense to me.  Now that M. Night Shyamalan's last defender has taken a seat, we can agree that his movies have all been stolen from kid's shows.  The Village = Salute Your Shorts.  The Happening = Clarissa Explains it All.  The Lady in the Water = You Can't Do That On Television.  The Last Airbender = Well, that one explains itself.  I guess he got tired of faking it and sought out the actual rights to a children's show.  Unbreakable though.  That movie was pretty tight.  (Look at me.  I'm practically a gang banger using language like that.) 

-The Official Cousin of the Blah Blah Blog submitted a reader question yesterday, asking my opinion on the film Centurion, staring Michael Fassbender.  As usual, I have no simple answer to provide.  Punk Rock Girl and I took in the film over a year ago and I generally remember liking it.  But my obsessions with directors lead me back to the film's creator, Neil Marshall.  This genre chameleon pops up in the Internet consciousness every couple of years with new geek catnip.  Start with Dog Soldiers.  (A werewolf movie!  You want themes?  I got themes out the ass.)  Dog Soldiers is his, "Hi! I'm Neil Marshall, Let Me Introduce Myself!" movie.  He still had something to say at that point.  Follow it up with The Descent, about a bunch of white women in a cave with Gollum.  That's how I remember it anyway.  It's good.  Not great.  If we proceed chronologically, we come to Doomsday.  Best as I can tell, he edited together some clips from the Mad Max movies with Braveheart for that one.  He may have filmed some original content, but it doesn't come to mind.  Then we have Centurion, an under the radar film that benefits more from Fassbinder's presence than anything else.  It has character, if not a budget.  The Neil Marshall train has yet to pull into a recognizable station yet, so I withhold overall judgment.  If his career had a Facebook profile, I might click "Like." If that means something, so be it.

-Vampire Weekend.  Modern Vampires of the City.  5/14.  Can't wait to get my vinyl copy delivered tomorrow.  Everything I've heard streaming online is phenomenal, but I will let you know once I hear it on vinyl.  Will Ezra Koenig be invited to the pants party?  Wait and see!