Showing posts with label Bruce Lee. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bruce Lee. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Dork Art: Justin White's Rated G - The Sequel
Here's another helping of Justin White's devilishly cartoony genre makeovers. Rated G - The Sequel will be showing at Gallery 1988 through September 14th. Again, why does LA get to have all the fun? The 2001 monkey madness print might be my favorite, but the smiley American Psycho is a close second. You can buy some of the prints on the Gallery 1988 website, and you can explore other Mickey Mouse interpretations over at Crome Yellow. Good stuff.
--Brad
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Brad's Week in Dork! (5/26/13-6/1/13)
This week may look deceptively small in the world of Dorkery, but dang, it seriously packed a punch. Once upon a time, I bitched & moaned about the lack of culture in Washington DC...at least as far as the movie scene was concerned - still lots of killer music venues & events to discover. But with the recent additions of The Alamo Drafthouse & The Angelika Film Center (along with the old standbys of the AFI Silver, West Side Cinema, & E Street Cinema) Washington DC now has an amazing lineup of movie houses. You can't go a weekend without a vintage screening of The Wrath of Khan or Rocky Horror Picture Show. And this week Matt & I finally witnessed Bruce Lee's iconic smasher, Enter The Dragon over at The Alamo, and I crossed off another Cinematic Resolution with Fellini's hipster classic 8 1/2. And our big screen future sill includes Jaws 3D, Top Gun, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, & The Silence of the Lambs. This truly is the Silver Screen paradise our Nation's Capital deserves.
However, as fun as those big screen classics were, the film that ruled this week was Rolling Thunder. Shout Factory finally brought this grindhouse classic to blu ray on Tuesday, and I will be forever grateful. I remember catching a VHS watch a decade back, enjoyed it a little, but couldn't quite see Quentin Tarantino's obsession. Now I'm one of the converted, and it's a strong contender for this year's Top DVD Release. If you're at all interested in exploitation cinema than you have to add this sick puppy to your collection.
Running Scared: In this neon remake of Kurosawa’s Stray Dog, Paul Walker screams through some sort of New Yorker accent as the criminal goomba charged with stashing his bro’s cop killing revolver. Director Wayne Kramer leaves the slick Vegas cool of The Cooler behind, and attacks his audience with this vile & violent decent down the felonious rabbit hole. Once you get past the accent and the hysterics, Walker ain’t half bad. The absurdity of the adventures he forces upon his family make Running Scared a must-see for grindhouse fans. This is certainly not a wannabe exploitation a la Planet Terror, Machete, and The Expendables. Running Scared is the contemporary "real deal" equivalent to those glory days of Roger Corman kill fests. This flick relishes the muck of sex & violence; shines a bright red bulb on the gyrating horrors forced upon its characters and smiles at your revulsion or – gulp – perverted entertainment. Sure, it has its winks too. Karl Roden’s demented admiration for The Duke. The Albino Pimp’s pathetic imitation of Tony Montana. The nosferatu shadows cast by the husband/wife child killing combo. But there is an honesty to the exploitation that seems lacking from the pale pretenders. With Quentin Tarantino you’re often in on the joke, laughing along with or at his monstrous nods to popcorn past. Wayne Kramer’s Running Scared is sincere filth. Over the top. Gross. Uncomfortable. Wrong-headed. But Kramer means it.
What I Did: Jason’s comics are often painfully funny. He loves to riff on genre, scoring good chuckles from planting Athos on Mars or sending Hitler through the time tunnel. In this collection of early shorts, there are a couple of good laughs, but mostly it's heartache to be found. In particular, the coming of age saga “Hey Wait” had me wincing. I recognize a lot of myself in the fanboy gushing over Neal Adams’ Batman, and their monster squad rules, but then the tale takes that Stand By Me turn, and Jason drops a surreal hiccup in the timeline. What the cartoonist leaves us with is an event that permanently shapes, if not breaks, a life. A moment of youth that forever shadows a sad existence. That’s not fun. But it’s got bite. And Jason excels at bite.
Enter The Dragon: AKA the film in which Bruce Lee puts all the chips down on the table. Not satisfied with his treatment in Hollywoodland, but riding the wave of a couple of international hits, Lee goes for broke with this Kung Fu Hustle and the result is an action masterpiece with a serious side order of cheese. His injections of the “Fighting Without Fighting” philosophy add a fanciful flavor to the violence, but when he lands on Mortal Kombat island for a little sibling slaughter revenge, that dime store zen must be ignored. The production balances out Lee's howling wisdom with the righteous Jim Kelly and the ultra smooth, bad luck sex machine John Saxon. The trilogy of badasses face off against Jim Henson's evil twin (Bob Wall!) and Mister Han's interchangeable slice & dice hands. Bruce Lee is a monster of muscle, and it's seriously delightful to watch him storm through their brittle bodies.
Repo Man: "It happens sometimes. People just explode. Natural causes." This is a wicked little comedy. It's not so much Ha-Ha funny, but Alex Cox obviously understands punk culture and its reactionary anger to 1980s consumerism. An odd, jokey tone tinged with real bitterness. In a lot of ways, this is the perfect double bill with John Carpenter's They Live, another film brimming with weird sci-fi anger expertly targeted against the masters of the world - F You Reagan! Emilio Estevez is a suburban drifter angry at the world for some mysterious reason. Enter Harry Dean Stanton, a man with purpose, a Repo Man. Together this dynamic duo snatch back the property of those who dare to live above their means. And, of course, they're just one wrong repo away from total thermo nuclear warfare! I'm fascinated that Criterion added this to their collection, but I'm beyond pleased with their Special Edition treatment. A gorgeous disc, and an essential addition for genre hounds.
Savage Wolverine #5: Frank Cho's run on this needless Wolverine spin-off comes, thankfully, to a close. There were some great panels along the way (just look at that bastard snikt his claws into the jolly green giant), but the story left me cold. Raptors. Shanna the She-Devil. Gorillas. Man-Thing. Hulk. Whales. I love all those things, but the story never brings them together in any kind of satisfying manner. Maybe it's time to pair Cho with an actual writer, as it's obvious he needed a firmer narrative to hang his big booty action upon.
The Wake #1: Scott Snyder & Sean Murphy's ten issue mini-series begins like the very best Michael Bay 'splosionfest. An exiled scientist is recruited into a top secret government project populated with other quirky exiled scientists. There is an apocalypse coming, but what's it all got to do with a teethy fishman? Not sure, but I'm happy to find out. And I'm happy to be enjoying Snyder's writing again. His last batch of Bat-Books have been tiring; The Wake looks to be a real shot in the arm.
Hangover Part III: This is a film I saw. I don’t really have much of an opinion. Did I laugh? Yeah. A few times. But only when the film sinks to its most violently disturbed - Ken Jeong smothering a rooster, that's hilarious right? Sure, I enjoyed the hangover detective work of the first film, and piecing together their drunken mistakes like a fratboy Sherlock Holmes. The second films was a sad, pig bursting remake. But this time the producers actually seem to think we care what happens in the lives of these sophmoric nimrods. Maybe you care, I certainly don't. John Goodman steps out of a Coen Brothers flick to scream threats at our trio of dunces, and Bradley Cooper manages to keep his dignity while Zack Galifinakis bulls his way through the china shop. Attempts at originality just birth character repetition. Meh.
8 1/2: Is this the greatest movie about movies? Some certainly seem to think so, but I must claim ignorance since Federico Fellini's surrealist exploration of craft left me scratching my head. Although, I certainly see where Woody Allen stole his entire career from. Marcello Mastroianni holds a certain charm, but as he bashes his ego upon various sexual prey, I found myself growing aggravated with his rich white man problems. He's an impotent fool, tortured by the gifts that life has mysteriously granted him. Where is the auteur? All I see is nerves. Maybe that's the point? Maybe I'm just not the creatively haunted soul this film is meant for? But if we were going to get this mopey, I could have used a bit more of the dreamscape and less of Mastroianni's lifeless reality. Well, at least I can now check this off the bucket list.
Rolling Thunder: "You learn to love the rope." In Taxi Driver, screenwriter Paul Schrader delved into the isolation and depression experienced by the returning Vietnam Vet. It's a masterful exploration of loneliness and obsession helmed with revelatory craft by Martin Scorsese. Released a year later, Rolling Thunder travels similar themes but under the watch of John Flynn (The Outfit) the result is a much more exploitative and angry vehicle. After spending years in a POW camp, William Devane returns to Texas only to discover a son that doesn't recognize him, and a wife with a replacement lover. Hiding behind his mirrored sunglasses, Devane stifles the rage below the surface, refusing to unleash his anger till a roving gang of borderland goons invade his hamlet home. He's left mutilated on the kitchen floor, but it's just the excuse his temper has been waiting for - on comes the hook hand, then the sawed-ff. Partnering with Tommy Lee Jones, the two killers cross into Mexico for a bloody whore house showdown. Rolling Thunder is a shocking beast of a film. It's success hinges on it's fury, but the heat is only as strong as the undeniable sadness inflicted upon Devane at the very beginning of the film. The quiet moments between father & son. His nodding acknowledgement at his wife's infidelity. And when it's time to Death Wish, the audience is just as thankful for the character to have a mission to let loose biblical terror. Taxi Driver is for the contemplative cineaste. Rolling Thunder is for the Old Testament avengers in the audience.
--Brad
Monday, June 3, 2013
Matt’s Week in Dork! (5/26/13-6/1/13)
On Sunday morning, I muscled my way through Silver Surfer: Parable. That could have been a heck of a lot better, with a writer instead of Stan Lee. And I read a few science fiction short stories. Expediter, a Cold War story with a decidedly subversive bent and dashes of 1984, by Mack Reynolds. One-Shot by James Blish, another Cold War tale that wasn’t really science fiction as far as I could tell. Shipwreck in the Sky, a very brief story by Eando Binder. And Zen, by Jerome Bixby. All of ‘em from a collection of classic sci-fi tales that cost me like 2.99 or something on my Nook. Still a dozen or more stories to read.
The Great Gatsby: I had heard a lot of opinions about this movie before I saw it, most of them negative. In fact, not just negative; almost hateful. People really didn’t like this film. I guess I get that. If you don’t get into the style of the movie, there’s no way you’re going to enjoy it. But once you get past the specifics of its rather outlandish and theatrical style, I don’t think there was enough of anything one way or another to warrant deep feelings of any kind. It’s a rather workman-like adaptation of the novel, with actors all doing OK jobs portraying the characters. Nobody stands out, except maybe Toby McGuire as the narrator. He kind of sucks. He’s playing an almost Ewan McGreggor type ‘naïve to the point of parody’ character, but unlike McGreggor, he doesn’t have the charm to pull it off. I found the film frustrating because it didn’t seem to be able to make up its mind. It’s too crazy for a normal drama, and not nearly crazy enough for a fantastical Jazz Age myth. The director did much better hitting the right bugnuts tone in Moulin Rouge, and whoever made Idlewild did a better job of capturing the era’s strange fantasy (both of those films used contemporary music to better effect). I like where Baz Luhrmann was headed with this movie, but he didn’t get there, and that’s too bad. And like his Australia, the first half is much better than the second, though Gatsby is far more coherent, likely owing to their near slavish devotion to the plot and dialog of the novel.
Nosferatu, Phantom Der Nacht: “The Master has arrived!” Mad bastard Werner Herzog and madder bastarder Klaus Kinski take on the classic vampire tale, Dracula, seen through the filter of the silent film Nosferatu. Bruno Ganz gives Jonathan Harker more personality than he is normally portrayed with (or written with, for that matter). The location shooting and the music are extremely moody and effective. Kinski is disgusting, but that’s not new. Bald head, white makeup, and little rat teeth make an already terrifying man slightly more terrifying. Admittedly, I’m not a vampire movie fan, and not especially enamored of Dracula adaptations. But this, along with the silent film of the same name, are probably my two favorites. This also seems the most spirited and stylistically interesting version I’ve seen (an argument could be made for the Spanish language version made by Universal, but meh). There are some interesting variations on the original, like Lucy (played by Goth princess Isabelle Adjani) being Jonathan’s wife (Mina seems to be a housekeeper or some such), and it being Lucy who takes up the battle against the Count, being a much stronger person than seemingly anyone else in the film.
Embryo: “I’m also what I believe is called a ‘junkie.’” The atrocious transfer on the DVD makes it hard to know what the quality of the film was originally. Of course, seeing the boom mike and/or the shadow of the boom mike isn’t a good sign. Still, when Rock Hudson develops a super-smart dog with a crazy-science drug cocktail, I got on board. Of course, the next step is jumping into totally unethical human testing, which needless to say results in a Frankenstein’s Monster. This came out during the initial explosion of anti-science films that we’re still seeing the blast waves from to this day. Like pretty much every movie that involves an artificially enhanced human, said superhuman becomes intellectually (and possibly physically) superior, then subsequently violently evil. Erg. The music is awful made-for-TV soap crap. The massive computer room sequence, where you know your laptop (if not your phone) could run circles around that warehouse full of dinosaurs, really puts technologic advances in perspective. I do want Number One, though. That’s got to be about the coolest dog ever, and his murderous rages seem mostly reserved for annoying little yappy dogs and bitchy sister-in-laws, so no problem there. This is 70s PG, so there’s some nudity and see-through clothing. The oversensitive and repressed should beware. This would have an R rating by today’s puritanical, sex-fearing MPAA (graphic murder is OK; bare breasts are evil).
The Brain Machine: “Anyway, in the Land of the Blind, the one eyed man is king. …Nuts?” Boom mike! Evil, shadowy government and corporate interests are forcing a scientist to do experiments on four human subjects. I guess. This film is shoddy, with weird (bad) editing and overuse of what appear to be stock establishing shots. There’s an interesting movie here, but it’s lost in the spotty script, low budget, and terrible technique.
The Stunt Man: “I’ve fallen madly in love with the dark side of your nature.” Casting a movie is very important. Obviously, you want great actors. Sometimes, you get a great actor, but the rest of the cast isn’t up to the job. Sometimes, you have one of the greatest, Peter O’Toole, cast alongside one of the worst, Steve Railsback. For some confounded reason, in the last 70s and early 80s, there seemed to be people who thought Railsback was going to be the new ‘it’ guy, kind of like how they keep trying to make Josh Hartnet a star, but it won’t take. He’s bloody awful, and it’s made all the more obvious when he’s in scenes with O’Toole. This movie is all about movies and their artificiality, keeping the viewer on constant edge, wondering what’s real and what’s not. It reminds me a bit of Walker, where film and reality seem to trade back and forth, while trying to make a statement I just don’t understand. Barbara Hershey sure is pretty in a very 70s kind of way.
Beowulf: “How ‘bout a quick gobble?” One of the greatest heroes in literature gets a lavish CG animated treatment, which shockingly manages to capture some of the epic’s magic. The sins of a king come back to haunt his kingdom. But glory-seeking Beowulf and his men are ready to come and dish out some bloody retribution. This film version does not, as so many adaptations do, try to modernize the hero too much. He’s not a nice and sensitive guy who miraculously embodies current American social mores. He’s a brutal, violent, glory hunting, boastful bastard. I still favor Odysseus, a man unwilling to bow to the will of the gods, and perfectly willing (possibly glad) to spit in their faces. But Beowulf is up there. He’s flippin’ hardcore. Violence, sex, revenge, heroics, guilt, redemption, and madness. Grand stuff.
Enter the Dragon: “A woman like that could teach you a lot about yourself.” Thanks again to the Alamo Drafthouse and co-Dork Brad, I got out to see this on the big screen, and it was all kinds of fun. From the start, you’ve got loads of bad dubbing, awkward humor, strange flashbacks, and the pop-philosophy of Bruce Lee. With cohorts Jim Kelly and John Saxon, Lee gets all up in evil martial arts master Han’s smiling face. And no army of unfortunate looking henchmen are going to stop him. Just a darned fine bit of 70s exploitation.
Where Danger Lives: “We both got what we wanted…after a fashion.” A poor sucker gets hooked into some bad, bad business. Then it’s a slow, steady descent into a mad hell. While not at all a great Noir, this one is a fun watch, and where it finally arrives is pretty nutty. Again, not great. But worth watching. There’s some interesting technical aspects, including extremely long shots with few cuts.
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Tension: “I got a file goes back further than you’d like to remember and up to where you wish you could forget.” An uptight milktoast is married to a fickle, slutty monster. I mean MONSTER. He loves her, for some danged reason. But when she pushes and pushes and pushes, something’s gotta give. Obviously, the next step is to create a new persona, then harass, threaten, and eventually murder her boyfriend. Of course, the fact that you start dating a smokin’ hottie, who isn’t a spawn of the devil, while living in your new persona should not distract you from your duty. Obligatory twists and turns, and suddenly the cops are on the trail, but who killed who, when, where, and why? The cast is especially enjoyable to watch, even if the circumstances are outlandish. This one is very, very weird in its plotting, but loads of fun. Hard to describe really. But multiple people have excellent and unusual characters that they get to play with. The cop, the pharmacist, the other cop, the hottie, the monster, even the a-hole boyfriend.
8 ½: Well, that was something. Way back in the prehistory of this Dork, in those dark days before Bob Dobbs invented the internet, a handsome young Matt made his way to the dusty backest of the back rooms at Dirty Daves to paw over obscure titles in the Art & Foreign section, hoping to discover a hidden gem (or at least some of that Euro-nudie stuff) he gave that Fellini fellow a try. And it sucked. I don’t know what I watched, Roma was one, I’m sure. Anyway, I hated it. Fellini and that awful Russian version of Solaris nearly turned me off of foreign films. Fast forward 20 years, and I’m sitting down at the AFI Silver to check out a screening of the classic and much lauded 8 ½. Well, nothing has changed. I hated it. It’s such a self serving, self aggrandizing, self indulgent bunch of artsy-fartsy crap I was shifting in my seat like a kid with ADD after like 10 minutes. While the lead actor was obviously good and there are some funny moments, I went from mild discomfort to outright hatred somewhere near the last half hour. Just in case you haven’t picked up on what he’s trying to say (Helen Keller couldn’t have missed it), the last half hour is a full on audio-visual assault that blares at you ‘GET IT?! GET IT?! GET IT?!’ like you’re a slow child struggling with the subtleties of Dick & Jane. But hey, at least there’s Barbara Steele and her Picasso face. AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!! Is this a movie that is well liked because people think it’s obscure, but that they ‘get it’? That’s the only thing I can figure would justify its film-fan street cred. The problem is, it’s not actually obscure. Fellini spends the entire movie outright explaining what the movie is about. Every scene features dialog about what that scene means. He spells it all out, even spelling out why he doesn’t spell something out, which pretty much spells it out. Gah! Anyway, the movie is crap. Leave this to the oh so clever hipsters and college film professors, and watch something better.
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| Needs more clowns! |
Splinter: The X-Files/The Thing/Fringe type ‘creature’ in this movie is pretty cool, and there are some good effects and gore. The actual characters aren’t too good, though they’re not as completely useless as a lot of modern horror characters tend to be. Still, not good. As always in movies like this, I kept yelling “Stop talking! Start running!” Why, when speed is of the essence, do horror movie characters feel the need to drag ass. It doesn’t ramp up tension, it makes me angry. Still, it’s mildly enjoyable. There’s potential here for something more.
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| The sequel should be called 'Shredder.' |
Captain Kronos Vampire Hunter: “On lonely nights, I shall think of you.” This is an odd, but very good little Hammer Horror gem. Horst Janson is the dashing blonde hero, Kronos. And the Sweet Mother! hot Caroline Munro is the gypsy girl. A supporting cast of solid character actors helps keep it all going. It’s surprisingly funny, with a stripe of humor black as pitch. It’s too bad that this was in the final days of Hammer’s glory days. A series of Kronos adventures could have been very cool.
I started watching Space: Above & Beyond. I’d seen the first few episodes back in the Dark Ages of the 90s, and I’d enjoyed it. Watching it again, I can’t help but be frustrated by the potential unrealized. The general idea, telling the story of a group of new soldiers struggling through a war with an alien menace, has plenty of potential. The design and setting are pretty good. But the CGI is rough, and the main cast intolerable. The two lead guys are a bundle of cliché packed in bad acting. It feels like the show was put together by writers with ideas, and all the writing around the core cast was done by producers (‘Let’s not try anything new or potentially contravercial, only things that have been done time and again in every other TV series.’). Hawkes is absolutely dreadful with all his bad-boy posturing and put-upon rage. But West, with his crying and teeth gnashing, and idiotic pursuit of his wife…UGH. The lingo feels fairly accurate, like they had an actual Marine advisor. Though shows like this are kind of inevitable, helping to change the status quo, while not managing to survive themselves, it is too bad this didn’t come along 10 years later, when budget and unwritten rules of TV production could have been different. Battlestar Galactica has a similar vibe, but came out at the right time.
Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol: “I would like to show you my collection of art.” World travel, wild stunts, sexy dames, and weird high-tech gadgets. No, it’s not James Bond, it’s the MI team up to their old tricks. While the first movie was meh, and the second a steaming turd, the third and fourth have substantially improved the franchise, finally getting back to the roots of the original show. Something about this one, the way their tech and their stunts don’t always work, where they miss their mark or slip or whatever, is a nice change of pace. They’re not being stupid, just not always getting it right.
On Saturday, I caught Studio 360 on NPR. It was a whole episode on Superman, as an American icon. Plenty of interesting stuff. It even reveals how some of the worst elements of the character came about (he started flying on the radio, not in the comics). But there is something enduring about his honorable, honest, and empathetic heroics. I’m not a fan of the character generally, because it seems to be mostly an excuse to write oneself into a corner, then magically break out of it (like the last season or so of Doctor Who).
And on Saturday night, I took a trip home. Well, to the place I’ve always kind of felt should have been my home. I decided to start watching Twin Peaks again. It’s been 10 or so years, and it felt like the time was right. There’s a magic, right out of the gate, about that crazy little town. And if ever there were a place I’d fit in, I think it’s there. I could go fishing with Pete, get some wisdom from Big Ed, avoid the Log Lady, crush on Norma over some cherry pie and darned fine coffee, and catch a show at the Road House. Oh, sure, there’s the occasional alien (?) abduction, serial killing demon, dream dwarf & giant, and what have you. But it’s a magical place.
-Matt
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