Brad's Week in Dork! (8/24/14-8/30/14)

I spent a lot of time in doors this week.  Wisdom Teeth.  I'm 35 years old, still got em...until some intense pains sent me running to the dentist this week.  I'm a lucky guy, where most folks have four wisdom teeth, I've got six.  More wise?  Or just a mutant?  My special power is pain.  Anyway, the doc took one problem tooth out towards the end of the week, and I have to look forward to getting another one extracted later this year.  Gross.  What that meant for me was that when I wasn't at working I was rolling around on the couch in pain.  After the surgery I was back on the couch, a couple of sick days, rolling around in pain.  How was this beneficial?  Well, I watched a crap ton of movie this week.

But before all this misery went down, I took a little trip down memory lane to this year's Comic Con - specifically, Quentin Tarantino & Matt Wagner's Zorro/Django team-up panel.  This was certainly one of my favorite events from this year's Con, and as bizarrely wondrous as it was to hear Tarantino narrate the adventures of Old Zorro & Django vs The Baron of Arizona, the stuff that really got the fanboy to tingle was QT's teasing of his Invasion of Body Snatcher styled science-fiction parable.  The man has always talked about having a limited amount of film in him, and if he's going to keep to that sad thought, it's possible we'll see this future odyssey sooner rather than later.  Fascinating, to say the least.  While I was at the comic shop last week, I picked up Wagner & Francavilla's Zorro trade paperback as a primer to the Dynamite team-up; I haven't quite finished it yet, but it necessitated another watch of QT's Southern.

Django Unchained:  "I know how he feel."  We've lived with this film for a couple of years now.  I've watched it nearly a dozen times, and as thrilling as it is to witness Django unleash a couple hundred years of racial anger upon his attackers, the film's most rousing concept is the hero's quest relaid around the campfire by King Schultz to Django's burgeoning knight.  It's the arc of a broken man, Yoda'd to badass gunslinger in an effort to rescue True Love from Calvin Candie's rotten dragon - a Heroic Romance in the heart of American Hell.  It's bloody, grotesque, often uncomfortable, and absolutely exhilarating.  Django Unchained remains one of my very favorite films of the last decade...maybe simply one of my Favorite Films.

The Dog:  "Based on a True Story"...it's one of those descriptors that always manages to rankle when I see it plastered at the start of a movie.  Films Based on Truth are bullshit, the moment a writer is hired Truth becomes Fiction.  Besides, True Stories need a little fiction to make them interesting, right?  ...maybe not.  Dog Day Afternoon is one of the great Al Pacino flicks, the bizarre saga of a divorcee who robs a bank to pay for his lover's sex change operation.  Well, it turns out, the fiction simply masked the absurdity of the Real Event.  John Wojtowicz is the real life "Dog."  He did indeed attempt to rob a bank to pay for his lover's sex change...it went horribly, a day long hostage crisis ensued, people died, and John went to jail.  Years later he's out & about, living off the fame of that day for as long as his health will allow him.  It's a damn weird story.  Hear it from not only his mouth, but his mother's, his wife, that infamous lover, and the few others he's had since then.  Very weird.  Truth stranger than fiction?  Guess so.

Dinosaur 13:  In 1990 a group of paleontologists stumbled upon the largest T-Rex fossil find in recorded US History.  They nicknamed the Tyrannosaur "Sue" after the student who initially spotted the protruding bones, and began the long process of preparing the creature for study & eventual display.  Then the FBI stormed the premises and snatched Sue away.  What follows is one of the most absurd legal battles I've encountered, and it exposes an injustice as infuriating as they come.

Southern Comfort:  A group of bumbling weekend warriors venture into the Louisiana swamp as a pathetic attempt to whip shop clerks into soldiers.  Keith Carradine, Powers Boothe, & Peter Coyote are the only men in the platoon with a lick of sense, but that won't matter when their idiotic cohorts ignite the rage of the locals with some careless thievery & a barrage of phony gunfire.  Imagine Deliverance but with less likability and a whole lot more firepower - director Walter Hill does not do subtlety.  It's an ugly little movie with (maybe) a little Vietnam commentary, but mostly a desire to outdo Sam Peckinpah's Wild Bunch slow-mos.  Powers Boothe is a beast.  More of him, please.

Black Panther #1-7 by Jack Kirby:  Thursday would have marked the 97th birthday of comic book maestro, Jack "King" Kirby.  I spent most of that morning blitzing through the Twitter streams of modern artists like Francesco Franvacilla, Phil Hester, and Tom Scioli.  Without Kirby we would have no concept of Captain America, The Fantastic Four, and most of the weirdest whackjobs in both the Marvel & DC Universes - Devil Dinosaur!!  Everyone these days knows Stan Lee, but Mr. Excelsior would be nothing without King Kirby, and The Avengers are as much (if not more so) Kirby's creation as Lee's.  Anyway, rant paused...the Kirby lovefest Thursday morning sent me running to the bookshelves.  I went with Black Panther - the King of the Dead, Prince of Wakanda.  The first seven issues of Kirby's run partners T'Challa up with Mr. Little, a dwarf collector of mystical antiquary, as they battle a nefarious princess as well as "The Six Million Year Old Man!!"  This is not the noble Warrior King that busies himself with the New Avengers these days.  Kirby's Black Panther is a thrill seeking adventurer, game for anything, and ready to match fists with mutant future men or immortal samurai.  Everything is Over-The-Top, big, big, big.  And gorgeous.  If Marvel ever bothers itself with bringing T'Challa to the big screen, I hope they bring Kirby's sense of wonder with them, and I really hope they don't simply bog the character down with the burden of the crown.

To Be Takei:  For Star Trek fans, the last seven years (ever since the Comedy Central Roast) have been plagued by the rivalry between William Shatner & George Takei.  It's a dispute that irritates, and often leaves this Trekkie feeling sad/uncomfortable: "Can't We All Just Get Along?"  But it's a battle that's been carefully crafted by both parties, and it's certainly used as the springboard to launch the first documentary dedicated to the Enterprise helmsman.  Thankfully, the film leaves the dispute early on, after a few snipes from Captain Kirk himself, and Takei deflects with a laugh from across scenes.  The best bits of To Be Takei focuses on the actor's activism, the battle for equality as well as detailing his experiences in a US Internment Camp during WWII.  The actor has built a powerful social media empire around his personality, and it's fascinating to see where he succeeds at the game, and where Shatner sometimes fails.

Jack Reacher:  There is absolutely nothing special about the plot, or how it develops over the course of its 130 minutes.  Writer/director Christopher McQuarrie (The Usual Suspects, The Way of the Gun) takes a routine episode of NCIS and injects it with savage dialogue, spit forth from Tom Cruise's venomous investigator.  The character of Jack Reacher is The Ultimate Badass, and his charm comes from knowing exactly what hot shit he truly is.  The best scene in the movie occurs halfway through when a barroom floozie attempts to provoke a fight from Reacher.  Cruise desperately attempts to diffuse the situation with hateful wordplay, and the vilest of condescending stares - of course, it doesn't work!  Enter a group of college bros to duke it out in the street, just a collection of limbs ready for Cruise to pulverize.  What does this has to do with the rest of the plot?  Who cares!?!  It's awesome, and vicious, and the finest bit of Too Cool acting we've had from Cruise in some time.  It's B.S.  But it's the kind of beautiful B.S. that cats like Schwarzenegger & Stallone owned during the 80s, and it's the vibe I so desperately wanted from The Expendables franchise.  Bullshit Bravado, that's a genre.

Friday morning, I had that tooth ripped forth from my head.  After I gathered my wits about me, and after my father drove me back to my apartment, I fell upon the living room couch in the living room, and waited for The Wife to come home.  I found myself breezing through those Comic Con photos again, the ones I snapped on Hall H Saturday.  Besides the epic sleepover, and the Andy Serkis encounter, the greatest moment of that day was simply being there in the presence of The Avengers.  Watching RDJ play Tony Stark to the crowd, Mark Ruffalo & Chris Hemsworth compare biceps, and hearing James Spader do his Ultron.  I'd be hard pressed to find another movie I'm more excited to see next year.  That brief bit of footage they showed certainly gave the impression that Joss Whedon has struck geeky gold again.  When The Wife finally walked through the door, all I wanted to do was relax & watch movies - you know, the usual.  I spent the next two days glued to the TV.  Naturally, I started the healing process with Marvel's Phase 2.

Iron Man Three:  Knowing what we know now about The Age of Ultron, the climax of Shane Black's Iron Man 3 reveals itself to be an essential puzzle piece to the next Phase of the Marvel Cinematic Universe.  (SPOILERS here if you still care)  The Mandarin is revealed to be just another Anti-Tony Asshole, and Stark has to unleash The Iron Legion upon the Extremis Army to save President Ellis as well as constant damsel Pepper Potts.  Looks like this bored tinkering will soon result in the creation of evil A.I. Ultron, and that "I Am Iron Man" ego will spell doom for Earth's Mightiest Heroes (as well as the inevitable innocent lives lost).  This idea certainly positions The Avengers sequel as an Empire Strikes Back doom & gloom entertainment.  That plays with what I saw in San Diego.  I'm down.

Thor - The Dark World:  I enjoy all the Marvel Studios movies.  Some are better than others, certainly, but I can't hate on a single one (yep, I even dig Iron Man 2).  But The Dark World contains a lot of frustrations.  First, it looks like shiny ass.  They fly thousands of people out to Iceland to film galactic scrapes with Dark Elf armies, & they manage to make majestic scenery look like cheap green screen shrubbery.  Second, Christopher Eccleston is a dreadfully bland villain.  Yep, even in a series of weak bad guys, Eccleston limps to the back of the line.  The Megatron computer voice does not help.  Third, what's going on with this Aether?  It's a liquid stone?  An infinity gem?  It makes bad guys badder.  Ok.  Whatever.  However, there are still plenty of bits to enjoy.  When Thor returns to Midgard & the fish outta water stuff continues, the comedy remains charming.  Thor's relationship with Jane is adorable, no denying.  And I really appreciate the geography of mjolnir's battle plight during the climax.  A short film about a boy and his hammer.  Cute.

Captain America - The Winter Soldier:  As much as I enjoyed this Summer's Blockbuster Mayhem, not a one of those tentpole pictures came close to matching my enthusiasm for the Captain America sequel. The Winter Soldier is another little Marvel miracle, and if you twist my arm, I might even admit to preferring it to Joss Whedon's crowd-pleaser.  Much has been made of its 70s-esque Spy Thriller vibe - it is certainly working on a tone slightly askew to what we've seen in the MCU before, however, the bits that truly astonish this fanboy are the character beats.  The image of The Man Out of Time wandering the Smithsonian, or connecting with a dementia plagued Peggy Carter, or Steve Rogers establishing a new friendship with Sam Wilson's soldier.  I love the action, the shield play, Black Widow's gymnastics, and Nick Fury's Downtown vehicular assault.  But Steve Rogers taking a beating from brainwashed Bucky Barnes because he dare not raise a hand against his pal?  It just doesn't get better than that - not if you love these guys the way I've loved them for decades.  If I had one complaint about the film it's that because the first movie didn't do it's proper job of articulating the Steve/Bucky friendship, The Winter Soldier tragedy maybe doesn't hit as brutally hard as it should.  And I think a certain crimson chrome could have reared its head.

Turtle Power:  Shellheads need not apply.  The best thing about this documentary is that it stays focused on Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman.  If you have no idea who they are then don't even bother with Turtle Power, stick to the cartoons.  What is it like to dream up a Daredevil parody comic book, and just three years later watch your creation transform into a pop culture phenomenon?  The film follows that trip - from a Black & White basement comic to Cartoon to Toys to Rock n Roll Shows to Cereal to Movies to even Bigger Movies.  The friendship and partnership of Eastman & Laird did not last, and I appreciate how the film addresses that separation.  Most of the world probably won't care about Turtle Power, but if you have even the slightest interest in TMNT then you'll enjoy this doc.

Pee Wee's Big Adventure:  "You don't want to get mixed up with a guy like me.  I'm a loner, a rebel!"  On Saturday afternoon, as I healed and rolled about on the couch, I finally convinced The Wife that it was time she experienced the childlike wonder of Pee Wee Herman...and as I told her, Tim Burton's purest movie watching experience.  She was skeptical.  Pee Wee always creeped her out as a child.  "Too much yelling," she said.  We watched.  Her eventual review, "It was fine." Sigh.  I tried.  For me, Pee Wee's Big Adventure represents everything it's like to be a child Dreaming Big.  Your life is not ordinary, it's Extraordinary!  Don't settle for a regular adventure, you gotta Dream Big Adventure.  Tim Burton's touch is all over this film.  The designs, the odd ducks, the superb melodramatic acting.  As much as it is a road trip through the wonder of a child's mind, it's also a trip through the movies themselves - a love letter to dreaming, to creation.  The lies you tell yourself can be the legends of others.  Does that make sense?  I dig that.

Life of Crime:  I was really excited to see this movie.  It's based on Elmore Leonard's The Switch, not his best work, but notable as the prequel to Rum Punch - aka Quentin Tarantino's Jackie Brown.  In roles once played by Robert De Niro & Samuel L Jackson, John Hawkes & Mos Def are Louis Gara & Ordell Robbie.  They're a couple of lowrent crooks who get the bright idea to kidnap Jennifer Aniston's trophy wife to bargain a million dollars from Tim Robbins' rich asshole.  Filling the runtime you have Will Forte & Isla Fischer as a couple of nitwits, but they're barely present or worth noting.  Hawkes' Gara is not the beaten down loser we saw in Jackie Brown.  He's friendly, a little more cunning.  Mos Def's Robbie is nowhere near the monster Sam Jackson was, and that's a real pity.  He's barely more than a mumbling antagonist.  Jennifer Aniston is solid.  She plays the fear, the anger, the malice well.  But like the book, Life of Crime never quite pulls itself into an original caper.  Derivative, but watchable.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles:  This is where my Turtle Love originated.  I did not come to the comics until much later, and as much as I enjoyed the cartoons as a kid, it was the 1990 movie that whipped me into a frenzy.  It's a bleak little flick, and looking back you can certainly see that Frank Miller influence, but I've always appreciated that darkness in kiddie fare.  It's important to give real threat, so that when these brothers finally take down the Shredder's Foot they can appreciate the family.  Worked for Hansel & Gretel, works for Leo & Raph.  This is the New York City of Death Wish, and the Turtles are as responsible for its cleanup as Rudy Giuliani.  Cowabunga.

Plunder Road:  "Fellas like that hardly have a chance nowadays, with radio and all that science against 'em."  Certainly not the most popular of Film Noirs, Plunder Road is a swift, perfectly doomed film about a group of thieves who rob a train of its gold shipment, and attempt to traffic it across 900 miles of highway.  Gene Raymond pretty much looks sternly for the whole film, barely emotes, and lets his dialog do its job.  Good fit.  Elisha Cook Jr is one of the crooks.  That guy's swell in everything.  But Plunder Road won't win you over till the climax.  Squish.

--Brad

Brad's Week in Dork! (8/17/14-8/23/14)

It's my birthday week!  You know what that means?  Summer is winding down, all the big blockbusters are done, and we've got another Expendables movie to get frustrated over. The real winners came from the B Movie Bin - Charles Bronson's Mr Majestyk & Roger Corman's Sorceress. You're gonna want to add these batshit beauties to your collection pronto.

The Expendables:  When I first heard this film announced, I was thrilled at the notion of seeing all my favorite 80s action stars (+ a couple of newbies) in one big testosterone orgy.  Stallone had just directed the single most violent experience in the Rambo franchise, and he put a proper emotional caper on the Rocky films.  However, in the wake of subsequent sequels, The Expendables is more than just a hint of a disappointment.  The dialogue is stilted, the violence tame, the fight choreography uninspired, and the thrill of seeing Statham, Arnie, Dolph Lundgren, Jet Li, & Stallone sharing the screen (or runtime as the case turned out to be) is no longer there.  The first Expendables is simply a collection of missed opportunities.  Sure, Terry Crews still packs in the charm and Dolph is a wondrous neanderthal, but Eric Roberts is a bore, the damsel is laughable, and it is just not BADASS enough.  This is not the excessive tribute I want.

The Avengers:  Now here is a film that pays off on its iconography.  As a response to this year's Winter Solider & Guardians of the Galaxy, there has been the inevitable chatter of what film ranks supreme in the MCU.  I really, really, really love the 2014 Marvel offerings, but I seriously doubt there will ever come a film in the franchise to match my enthusiasm for their first battle royale.  I enjoyed the Phase One films just fine, but it's in The Avengers where the characters start to gel.  Through their interactions with each other (Tony & Bruce, Tony & Steve, Tony & Fury...hmmm...we see who makes the big bucks here) the film solidifies the emotional weight of the narrative.  It's not about Cosmic Cubes and Chitauri warriors, it's about "I'm Always Angry," Cap's battle fatigue endurance, and Loki's big brother complex.  Joss Whedon strives to give each player a moment, and manages to reveal to the world the appeal of a star-spangled boy scout and a depressed green rage monster.  This is something comic book geeks have known for decades, and it's a hoot to see the rest of the world invited to the party.

The Expendables 2:  The second outing is where things really get dumb, but also a whole heckuva lot more entertaining.  But in that Laugh At kinda way.  Jean Claude Van Damme is The Goat - ooooooooooooooo - a nefarious Bond villain with a cache of nukes and a thirst for pretty boy blood (Watch Out Liam Hemsworth!).  Stallone gathers the team together to save the world, and demolish Eastern Europe.  Con Air's Simon West brings a little life into the direction, but the endless splatter of CGI blood only highlights the bullshit vibe of the whole Expendables concept.  You just can't go home again.  There is only one Rambo, one Terminator, one Delta Force.  Please stop "I'll Be Back"ing the dialogue, it's just awkward - not cool.

Howard the Duck:  Guardians of the Galaxy simply necessitated another rewatch.  I know this is one of Matt's Favorite Movies, and even though I cannot possibly join him on that particularly crazy point of view, I do think Howard The Duck is not the abomination some might have you believe.  In the same fashion as The Goonies or Wall Street, Howard The Duck expertly captures the weirdness of the 1980s.  From its earnest punk rock revolution to its broad jabs at consumerism, the film strives to capture the biting satire of Steve Gerber's original comic even when the jokes fall flat, and the performance stretch beyond the stratosphere.  It's a boggling movie.  But it's weird.  And it's fun.  Bestiality is hilarious, right?

The Expendables 3:  "I Am The Hague!"  I will not bother to complain about the downgrade from R to PG-13.  Frankly, the first two films were only rated R thanks to waffling computer gore, so that type of bitching is moot.  That being said, it's obvious from the third entry that Stallone has no idea what makes the idea of The Expendables worthwhile.  After a nifty little jailbreak for Wesley Snipes, the crew is disbanded and Sly stretches the runtime with Kesley Grammar recruiting a new batch of young things.  I did not pay $15 to stare into the pink lips of Kellan Lutz.  No, I am here to watch Terry Crews chaingun a swath through a faceless sea of henchmen.  I want to see Jason Statham decapitate some chump with an epic round house kick.  I don't care about the polished teeth of youth.  The icons we came to see are barely present.   The Expendables 3 only succeeds when the old bastards get their screentime.  Antonio Banderas is adorable in his babbling enthusiasm for killing.  Mel Gibson is kinda terrifying when gleefully discussing the application of meat suits.  Wesley Snipes is WTF Crazy, and he's great for all five seconds he's given to shine.  I am your audience here Stallone.  I feed off of nostalgia.  Give me something to chew.  But this horse has been bludgeoned to death.  Also, director Patrick Hughes is set to direct The Raid remake???  God No!  Someone stop him!  The last thing we need is a cheap looking knockoff splattered with cartoon bloodspray and CGI tanks.  Laughable.

Mr. Majestyk:  Want a glimpse of real manliness?  Look no further.  Kino Lorber just released a new blu ray of what I consider to be Charles Bronson's finest hour, and it is a gorgeous burst of raw 70s manliness.  Yes, as much as I love the Death Wish films, Mr Majestyk is where it's at.  Screenplay by Elmore Leonard (who later wrote the novelization that can still be purchased at your local bookshop), is a simple watermelon farmer desperate to clear his crop when he runs afoul of Al Lettieri's mob enforcer.  It's one of those films where principle matters over common sense, and thankfully Bronson's Majestyk has the special forces training to back up his righteousness.  Great, simple gun battles punctuated by Bronson's well worn intensity.  This is the ultimate (Mid)Western, the type of film John Cougar Mellencamp dreams he could replicate in song.  Once upon a time, I would watch this flick on loop, and despite having an Elmore Leonard autographed poster in our bedroom, I recently discovered that The Wife has never had the pleasure.  So, it looks like I'll be watching Mr. Majestyk again real soon.

The Congress:  High Concept movies are a bitch to pull off.  Robin Wright plays herself, an aging actor with a sick kid and a limited time left in front of the camera.  After some plot demanded internal struggle, she sells not just her image but her whole being to Danny Huston's Hollywood mogul so that he can use her in whatever cinematic tripe he deems worthy of profit.  It's one of those films that enjoys potshots at our current pop culture landscape while trying to mine deeper concepts like The Human Soul.  I appreciate the attempt, and the first half (where actual actors populate the screen) is certainly engaging.  However, when the real world morphs into Cool World, the scenery gets wackier, the reality less defined, and my interest dims.  Neat to look at, but ultimately an obvious declaration.

Batman - Assault on Arkham:  DC Animation is loosing it, and it's hard not to attribute their artistic slump as a direct result of Bruce Timm's departure.  Justice League War, Superman Unbound, The Flashpoint Paradox, Son of Batman, and Assault on Arkham all seem more interested in acquiring their gritty PG-13 rating and reveling in moronic bloodshed & creepy sexual references then actually telling a good story.  Which is a serious bummer, as DC used to own the animated arena.  Heck, just last year they completed the extraordinary feat of adapting Frank Miller's The Dark Knight Returns & it was PHENOMENAL!  Assault on Arkham is directed by the same guy (Jay Oliva), but it's only victory is that it crams in as many references to the hit video game as it can while promoting the uber-lame Suicide Squad.  Owning the DC Animated films used to be a requirement, but now it's looking like even renting them is dangerous.  Such a letdown.

The Fade-Out #1:  I'm still processing the conclusion of Ed Brubaker & Sean Phillips' Fatale, and already they've launched into a brand new series.  It appears like they're taking a break from the supernatural to tell a straight up Noir centered in the golden age of Hollywood.  I, of course, am totally A-OK with that.  It's a typical set-up: black-out drunk screenwriter wakes up in a hotel room with a dead starlet sprawled on the carpet.  Who killed the diva?  Plenty of suspects.  It may seem premature to praise The Fade-Out, but given their track record, you would be an absolute fool not to want to jump into this hardboiled pool.  October will see the release of the final Fatale tradepaperback, and as stoked as I am to reread it, I am even more excited that such quality comics are on their way.

Duck Soup:  Half the year is over, and I still have plenty of Cinematic Resolutions to check off the list. For whatever reason, I've never been much of a comedy guy, and I certainly have never been one to consume the supposed comedy classics.  Only recently have I discovered Charlie Chaplin & Harold Lloyd, and I was kinda hoping that The Marx Brothers would fall into that similar realm of "Damn That's Classic For A Reason."  Unfortunately, I can't say that I was won over.  I enjoyed what delightful dicks Groucho & Chico could be, but their jokey joke comedy felt too much like Dad humor for me to fully embrace.  Duck Soup got me some chuckles, but I left the theater appreciating its place in cinema history more than as an actual entertainment.

Sorceress:  Now here is a film of cinematic legend...or at least it should be.  Produced by Roger Corman during that wondrous Conan The Barbarian knock-off phase, and directed by Foxy Brown's Jack Hill (until a post-production dispute kicked him off), Sorceress has pretty much anything a 13 year-old boy or stunted adult could possibly want.  We're talking twin Kung Fu Playmates, a horny Satyr, a fatherly viking, a vengeful ape-man, a marauding zombie horde, and an actual appearance by that winged lion on the box art.  In short, B-Movie gold.  Never before available on DVD, Scorpion Releasing makes a name for itself by finally gifting us this gonzo exploitation onto blu ray.  A MUST OWN.

Sin City - A Dame To Kill For:  Some things are better left unadapted.  Frank Miller's Sin City comics are an ultra-masculinized reworking of Film Noir tropes, a genre that already reveled in hedonism and bravado.  The plots were never stunning, it was all about the ridiculous hardboiled dialogue and Miller's mastery over negative space.  Replicating that onto the big screen, Robert Rodriguez barely manages to capture the bizarre visuals and it's a rare actor who can pull-off the lingo.  Josh Brolin gives the good ol' college try.  Mickey Rourke is practically a Dick Tracy face pre-latex, so his Marv is a top-notch brute.  And there probably has never been an actor more suited to be a Frank Miller puppet than Eva Green.  I admire her game.  But ultimately, the Sin City films leave me cold and unimpressed.  Jessica Alba is wrong, wrong, wrong as stripper Goddess Nancy, and her "original" story of revenge that concludes the film is dull, awkward, and out-of-sync with the timeline.  Joseph Gordon Levitt might have made for a good addition if his story had any weight whatsoever.  So, this might sound crazy given the current climate, but not every comic needs to be a movie.

See No Evil, Hear No Evil:  Saw this on netflix, randomly watched it late one night.  It's a film I saw a lot as a kid, and I don't think you're going to find too many people who agree with me on this one, but it is my favorite Richard Pryor/Gene Wilder pairing.  It's an ultra silly crime caper in which a blind guy & a deaf guy are on the from the law as well as a couple of killers.  Hijinks ensue.  Nothing innovative here, but the film wins me over because of the warmth each actor displays for the other.  They're a couple of losers wallowing in their disability, but through each other they learn to enjoy life once again.  Misanthrope gimmick comedy.  Apparently, I'm a sucker for it.

Beasts of Burden - Animal Rites by Evan Dorkin & Jill Thompson:  Saturday night was our 3rd Meeting of our 3rd Year of Graphic Novel Book Club.  I know I say this every month, but I can't believe it's still going, and I can't believe how much I love it so.  Beasts of Burden marks one of those rare occasions where we all pretty much loved the book (ok, so William was a little lukewarm on it, but I'll take that as a victory).  Imagine the X-Files but cast with Cats & Dogs and you pretty much get the gist.  A series of one-and-done comics that slowly builds to an overarching story involving a malevolent force calling out from the small town sewers.  Creepy, ghoulish, even heartwarming.  The only trouble is that the comics have been going since 2003 and it seems like we've only scratched the surface of this world.  We're greedy, and we want more, more, more from the gang.

--Brad

Brad's Week in Dork! (8/18/13-8/24/13)

It feels like it's been a month since my last entry - that's because it has! Man oh man, no excuses...except to say that my San Diego Comic Con vacation was so epic and amazing that I've been suffering a massive bout of postpartum depression. It was only a week long pregnancy but the birth produced a bouncing beastly joy baby that's consumed my every waking thought.  This year's Comic Con was so extreme and wonderful that I cannot even put it into the proper words.  I really should do a separate blog post on the adventure, but I fear that too much time has past for any of you to give a good god damn about how wonderful my life has been.  I will leave you with just this - a photo I snapped from the front row of Hall H....

That's right, Sam The Man giving yours truly the stare down.  Absolute chills.  And that is only one of hundreds of photos I took over the course of the weekend.  I saw all the amazing panels you've already read about, scored a sackful of exclusives including the Magnitude Admiral Akbar bust, and participated in the Doug Loves Movies podcast, in which special guest star Leonard Maltin competed on my wife's behalf.   Third year in a row, and it was the best one yet.  I've been in a daze ever since, and for whatever reason I lost focus on ITMOD.  Thankfully, Matt has been watching & doing a bunch of crazy dork stuff and he's been keeping this blog going while I was drifting in the clouds.

Art by Monica Marier

Well, I'm back now folks.  This being the tail end of the Summer Blockbuster season, I spent a lot of time in the theater.  Finally found a film I'm comfortable calling the Best Movie of 2013 - Only God Forgives is a monster.  And quite possibly superior to Drive which won my heart a couple years back.  Don't believe the snobs and the haters, Nicholas Winding Refn's latest is not to be simply dismissed by the critics.  It's a depressing, oppressive winner.  Edgar Wright, Simon Pegg, & Nick Frost brought their Cornetto Trilogy to a close with The World's End, and even if it is the weakest of the three, the film was an absolute highlight of the summer.  Seeing all their films back-to-back at The Alamo Drafthouse was easily my favorite theatrical experience of the year.  More on that later.  And, yes, the 18th was my Birthday and I decided this year to tie it into my annual Shat Attack Movie Party.  For a full rundown on the nearly 24 Hours of Shatner Viewing check out Matt's Week in Dork.  Spiders, Whales, & Tommy Guns Oh My!  Another rip roaring success.

Only God Forgives:  An absolutely punishing film.  Nicholas Winding Refn's second collaboration with Ryan Gosling is a mean spirited film draped in the mood of David Cronenberg's body horror, fogged with David Lynch's absurdity, and housed within the long corridors of Stanley Kubrick's The Shining.  Like the best of Quentin Tarantino or Martin Scorsese, Only God Forgives is somehow both homage and wholly original.  A greek tragedy centered around an Oedipal complex and a quest for revenge, Ryan Gosling has sinned his way into impotence and only Vithaya Pansringarm's angel of vengeance can release him from his miserable existence.  With it's nearly mute leading actor, it's meticulously composed frame, and shocking outbursts of violence (although surprisingly tame in the gore department) it's no wonder the box office did not embrace this terse melodrama.  And unlike Drive, the Urban Outfitters crowd will find difficulty in embracing the cool of Gosling's murderous demon.  This is not anti-hero cinema, despite a close resemblance to the Frankenstein monster and a killer Cliff Martinez score.

Kick-Ass 2:  Three years ago, I really enjoyed Matthew Vaughn's Kick Ass. Coming off of Layer Cake & Stardust, the director seemed to revel in the mean-spirited vitriol of Mark Millar & John Romita Jr's  wannabe Alan Moore comic book. It's a superhero deconstruction that seemed more concerned with punishing its ignorant fanboys than elevating them to their obsessions. However, with Vaughn's departure the sequel is plopped into the lap working stiff Jeff Wadlow (Cry_Wolf, Never Back Down) and the result is a heartless hunk of wood. From nearly the first line of dialog I was cringing at the performances. Aaron Taylor-Johnson & Chloe Grace Moretz are embarrassingly lifeless. Christopher Mintz-Plasse reads like a High School Musical audition. The film's soundtrack is cobbled together from the previous outing and a Wal-Mart club mix. Utter dreck. The violence is amped but the camera is rammed into the action, shaking uncontrollably, and fogging any sense of choreography.  There might be a little life in Jim Carrey's Colonel Stars & Stripes, but he's barely in the movie and his departure is almost as unceremonious as his entrance.  A real summer snooze.

The Flashpoint Paradox:  Alternative timelines are always fun. Of course, this particular story is based on the tale that spun DC Comics down the New 52 rabbit hole of mediocrity (the positive spin) and confused nonsense (the negative spin).  So I've got some bitter feelings to work through before I can ever fully embrace this adaptation. The basic gist is that anti-Flash (aka Professor Zoom) travels back in time switching key events that pit Wonder Woman's Amazons against Aquaman's Atlantians, all the while Lex Luthor's pitiful humans are caught in the middle. Superman never landed in Smallville. Bruce Wayne was shot down in crime alley instead of his parents. A topsy turvy world that's a lot of fun, but lacks the depth of DC's greatest animated adventures (New Frontier, The Dark Knight Returns).  And next on the DC docket is Justice League - War, an animated spin on The New 52's Justice League.  Not interested.  DAMN YOU FLASH!!!!

The Ultimate Justice League of Extraordinary Graphic Novel Book Club (Year 2, Meeting 3):  This month's Graphic Novel was my pick, the first three volumes of Fatale by Ed Brubaker & Sean Phillips. If you've been following this blog at all than you know that I consider Fatale to be the single greatest comic currently being published on a monthly basis.  Unfortunately, the group and I had to beg to differ.  With the exception of my incredibly intelligent co-dork Matt and my very beautiful wife, the rest of the gang did not seem too impressed with Brubaker's noir/Lovecraft mashup.  There were a couple "OK"s & the rest supplied some shoulder shrugs.  Oh well.  Art is subjective and all that.  The books certainly provided for some interesting discussion centering around Josephine's proactive nature or lack thereof, and I came away this month more in love with Fatale than before.  It truly is a masterpiece and I cannot wait to see where Brubaker & Phillips leave this story.

Fatale - Death Chases Me:  The first volume bounces back and forth from the present day to 1950s San Francisco as Nicholas Lash tries to uncover a supernatural mystery involving his dead uncle and a seemingly immortal woman.  It's a rather brilliant kernel that finds a magical reason to explain the Femme Fatale cliche.  Put simply, Raymond Chandler strained through HP Lovecraft's nightmares, and it's everything this fanboy has ever wanted to see on the page or screen.  You've got Nazis, Cultists, Demons, Cops, Journalists, Dames, and Corpses.  It's the kitchen sink, baby.

Fatale - The Devil's Business:  The events of the first volume send the demon siren Josephine into a LA LA Land seclusion.  It's now the 1970s and Los Angeles is suffering from a cocaine blizzard, Hollywood cultists, and snuff films.  A junkie wannabe actor ekes his way into the wrong party and suddenly he's battling Hell's Army and falling under the hypnotic gaze of Josephine.  Like all the men that fall upon her path, the junkie's future is instantly damned and serves simply as a reminder to our Femme Fatale that her existence is all consuming.  Meanwhile, the present day Nicholas Lash suffers hellish nightmares involving tentacled men and attractive owls.  What's it all mean?  Nothing good.

Fatale - West of Hell:  With the third volume, the mythology of Fatale is blown wide open and, of course, it creates more questions than answers.  In 1930s Texas Josephine meets the Lovecraft stand-in,  Alfred Ravenscroft.  His pulp stories seem to hold the answers to Josephine's visions, and her encounter with him launches her dead-end quest through World War II.  We also meet Mathilda of 1286 France and Black Bonnie of 1883 Colorado, two lovely creatures similarly cursed with the siren affliction.  Their stories offer glimpses at the blood magic at the center of this horror, and the Good vs Evil forces pulling the strings.  And finally, we're given the sad story that brought Josephine & GI Walt Booker together.  Maybe he's not the human monster we once thought?  West of Hell is the volume that sealed the deal on my love of Ed Brubaker & Sean Phillips.  There is grand mythology supporting this dirty noir.

Out of Sight:  On Tuesday, Elmore Leonard passed away due to complications after a stroke.  The man was an absolute hero of mine and his books sent me down a path of crime writing I have yet to depart.  I was lucky enough to attend a signing of his some years back, and he was an absolutely gracious man while he snarked at my Mr. Majestyk one sheet.  I remember asking him if he would ever get back to Western's and he simply stated, "No money in it."  To celebrate the man there is only one movie I could have chosen.  Out of Sight is the film that forever proved the truth of George Clooney's charm, and it's one of a fistful of movies to properly capture Leonard's crackerjack characters.  Smart and slick crooks right alongside the painfully boneheaded. Jackie Brown might be the best film pulled from a Leonard novel, but Out of Sight is the closest film to properly deliver the tone - that balance of comedy and drama. Clooney is Super Cool TNT, even when he's hanging around dolts like Steve Zahn's vision impaired Glen or Don Cheadle's glass jawed Snoopy. Out of Sight made crime cool again; without it there certainly wouldn't be a Justified tv show or an Ocean's 11.

Lord of Illusions:  "I was born to murder the world." Clive Barker's third and final film as a director is an underrated genre mashup supported by four performances from actors never again given material this weighty or as against type. Scott Bakula is an exceptional Sam Spade stand-in, and he carries the supernatural shenanigans with Humphrey Bogart's dry acceptance. Kevin J O'Connor, who is normally regulated to the comic relief sidekick persona, is exceptionally sad as the fallen magician but he also manages to evoke dreadful power. Famke Janssen was simply born to be the Femme Fatale; she's pure sex & danger. And Daniel Von Bargen might just be the proudest, shiniest, tubbiest lump of evil to ever Charlie Manson the silver screen. Lord of Illusions is the Chinatown of horror, a neo-noir caked in Barker's special brand of perversity that never got the audience it so rightfully deserved. I'll just have to take comfort in the knowledge that in the Fringe universe Bakula & Barker made a killing with a whole slew of Harry D'Amour detective stories.

Photo Courtesy of The Alamo Drafthouse Facebook Page

The Blood & Ice Cream Shaun Off @ The Alamo Drafthouse DC:  On Thursday night, The Wife & I met up at The Alamo with our friends Matt (you know him), Paul, & Lindsey for the Cornetto Trilogy screening.  I've seen a lot of great movies on the silver screen (Sweet Smell of Success, Lawrence of Arabia, 2001 A Space Odyssey, The Monster Squad), but the key ingredient that transformed this showing into my all time favorite theatrical experience was The Shaun-Off Raffle.  To participate all you needed was a white buttoned up shirt, a red tie, and some red on you.  One quick trip to Target and The Wife & I were cosplaying (a first for me).  

And dammit, can you actually believe I won the raffle!  I can no longer say that I never win anything because I walked away from The Cornetto Trilogy with a free Mondo print of Shaun of the Dead signed by Edgar Wright, Simon Pegg, and Nick Frost.  Just look at that photo above, I am completely gobsmacked.  I'm still flying high from the win, and as I type this I'm staring googly eyed at the Tyler Stout beauty hanging on my wall.  Just too cool for school.

Shaun of the Dead:  "They're a bit bitey."  Nine years ago I attended a sneak preview of this film and when I walked out of the theater I remember saying to a friend that we had just experienced an instant classic.  Having now seen it a dozen or so times, I still feel that Shuan of the Dead is one of those rare perfect films.  On one hand it is an expertly crafted parody of the George Romero zombie movie, and on the other hand it's a heart wrenching story of both romantic & parental love.  Simon Pegg is the ultimate fanboy hero, he gives all boob tube losers like myself hope of an apocalypse makeover.  It's never too late to get your shit together.  In the last ten years we have seen countless cash grabs into the zombie subgenre, but only Shaun feels like a proper addition to the world originally populated by Romero.

Hot Fuzz:  "If we bashed your head in all sorts of secrets would come out."  Next on their hit list, Edgar Wright & Simon Pegg target Michael Bay's 'splosions but with a good dose of Wicker Man small town creepy.  Simon Pegg is Nicholas Angel, the Dirty Harry of London banished to the dreary boredom of the midlands.  But of course this Supercop will uncover a town wide conspiracy involving a Serial Slasher, Timothy Dalton's absorbingly smug grin, and a gaggle of dimwitted coppers.  The pacing blunders a little, but you'll forgive an overlong running time after a Kaiju climax boggles your brain.  Hot Fuzz doesn't quite get the love blessed Shaun of the Dead, but you would be sorely ignorant if you dismissed this very british ribbing of an American Summer Blockbuster staple.  

The World's End:  "That's why I drink from a crazy straw!  Not so crazy now!"  The genre mashing of this film is not as clear or as clever as Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz, but it succeeds due to the camaraderie between friends.  Simon Pegg, Nick Frost, Paddy Considine, Martin Freeman, & Eddie Marsan are a great batch of chums, and their banter is some of the most lovable & cantankerous we've been given in The Cornetto Trilogy.  Pegg's Gary King is easily the most depressingly gloomy character he's played so far, and likewise, Nick Frost's Andy is his most layered lout yet.  Frost's transformation from stiff upper brit to smashing pink Hulk awards the film's greatest laugh.  WWF Smackdown Champion.  I dare not ruin the climax of the movie, but it is certainly a masterstroke.  I only wish it happened fifteen minutes earlier cuz I just wanted more of that samurai insanity.  Sure, it's my least favorite film in the series but it's also one of 2013's finest films.  Cheers.

Paul:  "Three tits - Awesome!"  It's simply unfair to compare this film to The Cornetto Trilogy.  There's just something magical about the Edgar Wright, Simon Pegg, Nick Frost combo.  Take one away and it's just not the same.  That being said, the Pegg & Frost duo in any film is worth your attention.  Much more sophomoric and silly than their other efforts, Paul appeals to that dimmer side of my brain.  Seth Rogen is daft and dumb and wonderful as the little green man taunting our heroes across the American west.  Pegg & Frost are exceptionally sweet in their plutonic love, and the genre references are fun enough for nerds everywhere.  Not a classic, but it gets the job done when there is no more ice cream to devour.

--Brad