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.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Monday, May 13, 2013
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!
-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!
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Marry a Man
I apologize heartily for my absence. My job occasionally takes me down into a deep, dark place where I am required to work full eight-hour days and not surf the Internet with the appropriate level of dedication that it deserves. Is "surfing the 'net" still a term that people use? It feels horribly antiquated, as if I have traveled back in time to watch the Sandra Bullock movie from the 90s. I'm talking about The Net here, as if that wasn't clear. I haven't actually ever seen it, but I imagine it to be a horrible representation of what computers can actually do. It's probably a bunch of spy types sitting around in control rooms staring at monitors and saying, "Enhance...Enhance...Enhance." But the use of computers and technologies in movies and TV is a subject for another day. However, I will indulge my personal favorite usage of video games on a television show, from the old NBC show Life:
A few things are apparent from this scene. First, whoever wrote it has never played a video game. They do not know how a console works. They probably don't know how computers in general work. Second, they hate people who do play video games, and they assume that everyone who plays these games are 30 year olds who live with their mother. And these are the major problems present without actually getting into the specifics of the Prince of Persia games. How did this scene happen without someone scoffing loudly enough to draw attention? But here I am getting off track again on a topic I promised to withhold for the present.
On this beautiful Thursday, I want to give the world a gift. Chances are you have already seen this by now, as it sweeps the nation, but I need to share it. I have watched this on heavy repeat the past two days to the point where the images may be permanently imprinted on my screen. It needs no explanation. Devour it.
Now I'm going to take a brief detour into self-indulgence, as I am wont to do. Punk Rock Girl and I had the pleasure of taking in Iron Man 3 along with the majority of America last weekend and conjured many thoughts in my mind, multiplying like Mickey's broom splinters dousing me in buckets of water. Some of these thought actually centered on the movie itself, but those aren't the thoughts I'm going to share today.
Jon Favreau. He was once the fat guy in Rudy. Now he is the fat guy in Iron Man 3. In between those two tentpoles, a confusing career has taken shape. Is he an actor or is he a director. Technically, I guess he's both, but while I respect him as one, I'm not sure what to make of the other. Therefore, the best place to start is undoubtedly with Jon Favreau: Writer. Swingers was released in 1996, during my freshman year in college. For context, a film student probably gets his head about as far up his or her ass as it will go during their sophomore/junior year. By the end of freshman year, I would say you're probably about nose-deep in asshole. So there's a little context for you. Granted, I wasn't actually a film student, but as my film studies classes were the only one I actually attended that semester, I think it's a fair point. Take my remembrances with a grain of salt, but this is how I remember them. Swingers was a strong business card for both Favreau and his Matt Damon, Vince Vaughn. Or is he Favreau's Ben Affleck? I'm having trouble with this metaphor. Nevertheless, Swingers was low budget all the way, produced some great lines and launched the careers of the stars. However, it wasn't good. You know how a low budget movie sometimes looks good and you say, "Wow, they really made the most of their money." This was the opposite. The production value was visually distracting. That probably makes the fact that it was watchable all the more impressive. Even today, I would probably linger on it briefly if I came across it on television. At least until Big Bad Voodoo Daddy snapped me out of my stupor with an unwelcome reminder of the 90s swing music revival. Ugh. Ok, this movie was a product of its decade. I respect that. Side note: Shortly after Swingers, Vince Vaughn made Return to Paradise. Essentially a remake of the exemplary Midnight Express with a different emphasis, it is notable mainly for a sex scene between Vaugh (6'5") and Anne Heche (5'5"). I think he actually palms her during the scene. That sounded dirty. I mean to say that he tosses he around like a tiny ragdoll. This scene may have been responsible for her whole lesbian dalliance.
After a couple of TV movies, Favreau came into his own as a director. He wrote and directed Made, a trifle that bares little attention. He broke through to the adult table with Elf, a movie that succeeded as much on Will Ferrell's performance as anything else, but prominently featured a narwhal. Next came Zathura, the pseudo-sequel to Jumanji. I think we can all agree that Zathura does actually exist. They can never take that away from him. Maybe it wasn't bad, but we were all still working on getting the taste of Jumanji out of our mouths. Now here's the baffling part: Somehow Favreau impressed Marvel enough to hand him the keys to what would become their multi-billion dollar empire with the first Iron Man. As their first feature, this was placing a lot of trust in the man, and he knocked it out of the park. Robert Downey Jr. played a large role in that, sure. Iron Man 2 was not necessarily a step back, but it also wasn't a step forward in any recognizable fashion. The last piece of film we have from him (not counting TV episodes) is Cowboys and Aliens, a humorless film that was apparently greenlighted on the basis of it's title.
What exactly do we make of this career? Is Favreau a director of note or is he just a placeholder for more visionary directors? Enter Shane Black, director of Iron Man 3 and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. In only two movies, this man has taken what Favreau began and imbued it with a new life. Maybe it's not fair to say two movies, because this is the man responsible for creating Lethal Weapon, the Long Kiss Goodnight, the Last Boy Scout...and the Last Action Hero. Chance are, if there is movie with an L in the title, Shane Black probably played a role in bringing it to the screen. And let us not forget he also wrote one of my childhood favorites, the Goonies meets Van Helsing masterpiece, The Monster Squad.
The great Disney/Marvel film program has shown a few cracks as they attempt to launch Phase 2 in the post-Avengers filmscape. But Shane Black has a fine-tuned ear for dialogue and took Tony Stark to the next level in terms of both action and humor. I'm not sure the Iron Man movies feature anything in between those two extremes, but Black plays them to the hilt in Iron Man 3. His visual language does much to highlight the shortcomings of Favreau. Put into the context of this film, Favreau comes off as more of a project manager than a true director. That sounds more insulting that I initially thought, but I stand by the assessment. He is a slave to the talent around him, giving them room to flourish but not serving as the driving force behind the creative process. Shane Black's movies crackle with a crispness that Favreau has not yet achieved and maybe never will. He sets the creative tone with his writing and dares the cinematography and special effects to keep up or fall behind. Iron Man 3 is an example of pure cinematic boldness. It's emotional impact may be null but if you were expecting that in the first place, you probably have Alzheimer's.
Now that I have built up Shane Black at Jon Favreau's expense, let me couch. I know Jon Favreau personally. What I mean is that I once had the pleasure of attending the Hellboy 2 premiere and was able to watch Favreau converse with the more talented Guillermo Del Toro from across the room. We later made plans to meet up at Disneyland, where Favreau and his family walked by while Punk Rock Girl and I waited in line for Finding Nemo. We didn't have to exchange words, we both knew what was up. As a close personal friend of Jon Favreau, I don't expect him to go away. I think he is simply waiting for the right material to take his trade to the next level. Look at how far he has come from the days of Swingers. With his supporting role in I Love You, Man, he made Punk Rock Girl laugh out loud at a volume and length that made me quite uncomfortable to be seen in public with her. That talent is priceless and cannot be tamed. Stay tuned.
A few things are apparent from this scene. First, whoever wrote it has never played a video game. They do not know how a console works. They probably don't know how computers in general work. Second, they hate people who do play video games, and they assume that everyone who plays these games are 30 year olds who live with their mother. And these are the major problems present without actually getting into the specifics of the Prince of Persia games. How did this scene happen without someone scoffing loudly enough to draw attention? But here I am getting off track again on a topic I promised to withhold for the present.
On this beautiful Thursday, I want to give the world a gift. Chances are you have already seen this by now, as it sweeps the nation, but I need to share it. I have watched this on heavy repeat the past two days to the point where the images may be permanently imprinted on my screen. It needs no explanation. Devour it.
Now I'm going to take a brief detour into self-indulgence, as I am wont to do. Punk Rock Girl and I had the pleasure of taking in Iron Man 3 along with the majority of America last weekend and conjured many thoughts in my mind, multiplying like Mickey's broom splinters dousing me in buckets of water. Some of these thought actually centered on the movie itself, but those aren't the thoughts I'm going to share today.
Jon Favreau. He was once the fat guy in Rudy. Now he is the fat guy in Iron Man 3. In between those two tentpoles, a confusing career has taken shape. Is he an actor or is he a director. Technically, I guess he's both, but while I respect him as one, I'm not sure what to make of the other. Therefore, the best place to start is undoubtedly with Jon Favreau: Writer. Swingers was released in 1996, during my freshman year in college. For context, a film student probably gets his head about as far up his or her ass as it will go during their sophomore/junior year. By the end of freshman year, I would say you're probably about nose-deep in asshole. So there's a little context for you. Granted, I wasn't actually a film student, but as my film studies classes were the only one I actually attended that semester, I think it's a fair point. Take my remembrances with a grain of salt, but this is how I remember them. Swingers was a strong business card for both Favreau and his Matt Damon, Vince Vaughn. Or is he Favreau's Ben Affleck? I'm having trouble with this metaphor. Nevertheless, Swingers was low budget all the way, produced some great lines and launched the careers of the stars. However, it wasn't good. You know how a low budget movie sometimes looks good and you say, "Wow, they really made the most of their money." This was the opposite. The production value was visually distracting. That probably makes the fact that it was watchable all the more impressive. Even today, I would probably linger on it briefly if I came across it on television. At least until Big Bad Voodoo Daddy snapped me out of my stupor with an unwelcome reminder of the 90s swing music revival. Ugh. Ok, this movie was a product of its decade. I respect that. Side note: Shortly after Swingers, Vince Vaughn made Return to Paradise. Essentially a remake of the exemplary Midnight Express with a different emphasis, it is notable mainly for a sex scene between Vaugh (6'5") and Anne Heche (5'5"). I think he actually palms her during the scene. That sounded dirty. I mean to say that he tosses he around like a tiny ragdoll. This scene may have been responsible for her whole lesbian dalliance.
After a couple of TV movies, Favreau came into his own as a director. He wrote and directed Made, a trifle that bares little attention. He broke through to the adult table with Elf, a movie that succeeded as much on Will Ferrell's performance as anything else, but prominently featured a narwhal. Next came Zathura, the pseudo-sequel to Jumanji. I think we can all agree that Zathura does actually exist. They can never take that away from him. Maybe it wasn't bad, but we were all still working on getting the taste of Jumanji out of our mouths. Now here's the baffling part: Somehow Favreau impressed Marvel enough to hand him the keys to what would become their multi-billion dollar empire with the first Iron Man. As their first feature, this was placing a lot of trust in the man, and he knocked it out of the park. Robert Downey Jr. played a large role in that, sure. Iron Man 2 was not necessarily a step back, but it also wasn't a step forward in any recognizable fashion. The last piece of film we have from him (not counting TV episodes) is Cowboys and Aliens, a humorless film that was apparently greenlighted on the basis of it's title.
What exactly do we make of this career? Is Favreau a director of note or is he just a placeholder for more visionary directors? Enter Shane Black, director of Iron Man 3 and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. In only two movies, this man has taken what Favreau began and imbued it with a new life. Maybe it's not fair to say two movies, because this is the man responsible for creating Lethal Weapon, the Long Kiss Goodnight, the Last Boy Scout...and the Last Action Hero. Chance are, if there is movie with an L in the title, Shane Black probably played a role in bringing it to the screen. And let us not forget he also wrote one of my childhood favorites, the Goonies meets Van Helsing masterpiece, The Monster Squad.
The great Disney/Marvel film program has shown a few cracks as they attempt to launch Phase 2 in the post-Avengers filmscape. But Shane Black has a fine-tuned ear for dialogue and took Tony Stark to the next level in terms of both action and humor. I'm not sure the Iron Man movies feature anything in between those two extremes, but Black plays them to the hilt in Iron Man 3. His visual language does much to highlight the shortcomings of Favreau. Put into the context of this film, Favreau comes off as more of a project manager than a true director. That sounds more insulting that I initially thought, but I stand by the assessment. He is a slave to the talent around him, giving them room to flourish but not serving as the driving force behind the creative process. Shane Black's movies crackle with a crispness that Favreau has not yet achieved and maybe never will. He sets the creative tone with his writing and dares the cinematography and special effects to keep up or fall behind. Iron Man 3 is an example of pure cinematic boldness. It's emotional impact may be null but if you were expecting that in the first place, you probably have Alzheimer's.
Now that I have built up Shane Black at Jon Favreau's expense, let me couch. I know Jon Favreau personally. What I mean is that I once had the pleasure of attending the Hellboy 2 premiere and was able to watch Favreau converse with the more talented Guillermo Del Toro from across the room. We later made plans to meet up at Disneyland, where Favreau and his family walked by while Punk Rock Girl and I waited in line for Finding Nemo. We didn't have to exchange words, we both knew what was up. As a close personal friend of Jon Favreau, I don't expect him to go away. I think he is simply waiting for the right material to take his trade to the next level. Look at how far he has come from the days of Swingers. With his supporting role in I Love You, Man, he made Punk Rock Girl laugh out loud at a volume and length that made me quite uncomfortable to be seen in public with her. That talent is priceless and cannot be tamed. Stay tuned.
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