Trailer: The Death of Superman Lives - What Happened?!?!?!

"Why are you bringing up such painful memories?"  I've been watching the progress of this documentary for what seems like eons.  Director Jon Schnepp (AMC Movie Talk, Metalocalypse) has spent years scrounging up interviews surrounding Tim Burton's failed Superman film, and it finally seems like he's acquired all the necessary people.  Burton is there, of course, and it looks like we get some archival Nicolas Cage bits, but no word yet if he's got anything new from the Mega Actor.  This second trailer is really just another commercial to get some spare change to finish up the project, but I like what I see.  One of my favorite films this year is Jodorowsky's Dune as sometimes the process of making a travesty is more interesting then the final project.  We now live in a world where we've had not just Richard Donner's revered adaptation, but Bryan Singer's lovefest Superman Returns and Zack Snyder's punch-em-up Man of Steel - plus the upcoming Batman v Superman & the Justice League event!!  Tim Burton's Superman Lives may have been an ungodly mess, but I really wish it could have come to fruition.  These characters are so iconic they can survive a wonky segment here & there (Joel Schumacher's Batman is proof of that).

--Brad

Adam West's Batman Surfs Onto DVD!

Well this is POP! BAM! WOW!  Today on their blog, DC Comics announced via Conan O'Brien's twitter feed that the 1960s Batman TV show starring Adam West & Burt Ward is finally coming to DVD.  It's about frickin' time, right?  It's been a long, tedious conversation involving various rights issues and I honestly thought the day would never come.  Last year saw some headway as licensing deals between Warner Brothers and 20th Century Fox were struck in order to produce Hot Wheels, Action Figures, Barbies, and statuettes.  If they could play nice over toys, I guess the inevitable home video release was not too far behind.  But the question remains, will anyone buy a copy after decades of comic convention bootlegging?  I sure hope so.

Not too long ago, when Frank Miller's Dark Knight & Tim Burton's Caped Crusader were the tough new reality of costume crime fighting, it was cool to hate on the pop art of Adam West.  But times are a changing, the world of nerdom is stretching, and thanks to folks like Kevin Smith & Grant Morrison, Adam West can be cool again.  Like most kids my age, I adored the show in my youth but grew apart when my cynical teens kicked in.  It took my friend Robert to reintroduce me to the joys of the Dynamic Duo.  He snagged one of those bootlegs a few years back and we paired a couple Julie Newmar episodes with Joel Schumacher's Batman & Robin for a Movie Night.  His intense love for the Dayglo Cowl opened my eyes; the great thing about Batman is that he can support every kind of genre.  We all love Miller's neck cracking badass and Bruce Timm's noir avenger, but we're not too cool to enjoy the silly of King Tut or the weird of Book Worm.  West's Batman explored the insanity of comics.  The lark of it.  And it's an essential part of the characters history.

No word yet on an actual release date, but let's hope it's sooner rather than later.  And let's also hope there is some massive, ridiculous box set in the shape of a William Shakespeare bust to sit on my mantel.  Wanna get nuts?  Let's get nuts.  Hope The Wife isn't watching too closely because I'm going to spend every last dime on "Holy Memorabilia, Batman!"  Until then, let's enjoy some brief Bat-Clips.

--Brad

Matt’s Week in Dork! (1/5/14-1/11/14)

    Didn’t get a heck of a lot of movie watching done this week.  I’ve been trying to catch up on some reading and planning for the upcoming return to gaming, and I’ve just been danged tired.  Trying to sleep hasn’t been working out too well.  I did get around to solidifying my list of Cinematic Resolutions for 2014.

The Wolf of Wall Street: There are like eight things on earth that interest me less than Wall Street and stock exchanges, so this movie had an uphill battle to rope me in.  Still, the popping style, funny dialog, and solid performances had me smiling and laughing.  Considering Lawrence of Arabia is one of my all time favorite films, and I only watch the extended versions of the Lord of the Rings, this may be an odd statement.  But the biggest problem I think I had was that the movie was just too long.  It wasn’t boring.  Not really.  Though the second half did drag at times.  But I feel like I got the point, like the message was delivered, but then it just kept going and going and going.  I don’t think, as some critics have said, that this movie is morally bankrupt.  I didn’t feel like the filmmakers were saying this sort of thing was good.  Only that it happens; it happened.  And yes, rich people get away with stuff all the time because they’re rich.  That’s just the way it is.  But within 24 hours of watching the movie, most of it had faded from my memory.  It's something I've seen, and something I enjoyed while watching, but not something that left any kind of mark on me.

Clerks II:  I really, really, really love Rosario Dawson in this.  She’s so danged cute and funny.  The rest of the movie?  Pure Kevin Smith.  If that sounds good to you, you should like this film.  I have to admit, after a few years of trying really hard to be one of the cool kids who liked Kevin Smith films, I realized I don’t.  I enjoyed Mallrats the one time I saw it, but never felt the need to watch it again.  And Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back came out while I was working in a theater, so it holds some kind of place in my heart (I may have even taken a lady friend to it, which might account for the positive vibes).  Otherwise, blah.  He’s still running through the same gags, the same obnoxious half-assed social commentary, the same bunch of dick jokes.  The nerd humor feels forced by this point, almost like self parody.  And shoehorning his wife into the film was…um…weird.  Really weird.  Creepy weird.  It just didn’t work for me.  But then, neither did Clerks or Chasing Amy.  I never felt connected to the 90s and Kevin Smith never left them.  (edit: Upon reflection, I think I’ve figured out one of the things that bothers me about Smith’s work.  He subscribes to that particular 90s brand of pseudo-feminism in which women are ALWAYS right and men are ALWAYS wrong, and if a man doesn’t immediately change any and every aspect of himself to fit what a woman wants, he’s an asshole, and part of the Patriarchy [a shadowy conspiracy that seems an awful lot like the Nazi version of the Jews, running everything from behind some horrible penis curtain].  This is just a half baked theory right now, but I think I might be onto something.)

Mystery Science Theater 3000: Gamera VS. Guiron:  “It’s a planet.”  This one is pretty darned good.  The Gamera movies are more kid friendly (read: shoddy) kaiju movies, and their American releases had some epically bad dubbing.  All the stuff with young Richard Burton cracks me up.  And the ending piano bar thing with eventual host Mike is priceless and weird.  Perhaps not in the upper echelons of the series, but a darned fine entry, none the less.

Raiders of the Lost Ark:  Straight up, one of the best danged movies ever made, and one of the very top action films.  It’s also the film I can trace a great deal of me back to.  At the core of my interests, my loves, and my way of looking at the world, there is Raiders.  Karen Allen was one of my very first crushes, and became a template for the tough, black haired ladies I’ve always found myself falling for.  Indiana Jones became the model for my ideal self (one never achieved).  History, geography, religion, archeology, and fighting Nazi bastards became essential thoughts for young Matt, and paved the way for my life to come.  It’s beautifully shot, tense, funny, action packed, and sweeping.  It’s a true homage to the serials and adventure films and fiction of the 30s and 40s, and a great way to spend an evening.

47 Ronin:  If I were 13 and had never seen any movies about samurai, or any Asian fantasy films, this would probably have been pretty cool.  A good springboard movie for me to get into other, better films.  Unfortunately, I’m nearing 40 and I’ve seen everything in this film done before in much, much better films.  I was hoping for a Pirates of the Caribbean type action fantasy film with a Japanese style.  In stead, I got a made for TV, slow paced retread, with little passion and less excitement.  I liked the look and feel of the film, but the script and the acting were not so good.  And shooting digital made everything look cheap, like soap operas.  Still, it wasn’t awful, just dull.  It should have been much, much better.

    I finally got around to listening to Kate Nash’s new album, Girl Talk.  It’s more polished than her previous work, and very catchy.  She’s talking about the same stuff, bad relationships mostly.  But some of her poor London girl charm is missing, due to that polished, studio sound.  And there’s a weird undercurrent of feminism lip-service, like she’s trying to set herself up as some kind of crusader.  But that feels a bit half-hearted.  Whatever the case, the album is pretty good, and fans of her earlier work should enjoy it.

Despicable Me 2:  I didn’t love the first film, but I enjoyed it just fine.  This second movie is more of the same.  It’s funny, occasionally very funny, and cute.  But at the end of the day, not something I’ll be thinking back on too much.  If you enjoyed the first one, by all means, check this out.

Images:  I guess this film captures the point of view of someone who’s completely insane, but that doesn’t really make for a particularly watchable movie.  There’s little to latch your brain onto, so very little to understand or follow.  Every scene and shot is unreliable, so what does anything matter.  In that classically 70s way, everyone is absolutely awful and emotionally bankrupt.  Just unpleasant.

We Are What We Are:  Writer/director Jim Mickle and frequent collaborator, actor/writer Nick Damici have put together another entertaining, atmosphere rich, modern horror film.  I watched Mulberry Street on a whim, and was shocked that such a silly premise turned out to be such a moody and watchable film.  Stakeland, their follow-up was equally as moody, and also quite entertaining.  And now with We Are What We Are, a remake of a Mexican horror film from a couple years back, they’ve cemented their place as high quality-low budget film makers to watch.  This movie looks better than many big budget Hollywood films, has excellent acting, and a good slow-burn pace.  Mickle isn’t re-inventing the wheel here.  He’s not breaking new ground or making movies that will change the way you think about film.  But he’s making good horror movies.  And that makes him a rare breed these days.  Horror has been a near dead genre since the late 80s, and now I’m starting to feel like there’s still potential in it.

    That’s about it for this week.  A lot of things in life are kind of on hold for a bit right now.  My holiday horror isn’t quite over yet.  Soon.

-Matt

"It's Out There In The Ether..." - The Death of Superman Lives Teaser Trailer

Geeks love a good What If story.  What If Conan The Barbarian death wished the streets of Modern Day New York City?  What If Rick James became The Hulk instead of Bruce Banner?  What If Tim Burton had cast Nicolas Cage as Superman?  As most of you should know, that last one came very close to a reality in the late 1990s.  Kevin Smith was one of the many screenwriters on the project, and for the longest time his College Crowd Chit Chat was the only glimpse we had into the madness of Superman Lives.  Until now.  Thanks to the all mighty power of Kickstarter, director Jon Schnepp has finally assembled The Death of "Superman Lives."  The below teaser trailer promises an in-depth look at what that fabled film could have been, as well as philosophical debates with some of the Man of Steel's greatest living comic book contributors.  Grant Morrison, Mark Waid, Zachary Levi - uh...not sure why Chuck's involved, but cool!  Despite some newsreel footage of Cage, Schnepp has yet to land an interview with the mega actor, but if he manages to do so, than The Death of "Superman Lives" will skyrocket to the top of my most anticipated films.

--Brad

Dork Art: The Almost Supermen

Artist Jeremy Wheeler recently wrote an article for Esquire Magazine entitled, "The Men Who Were Almost Superman."  It's a fun little blog post detailing the near misses with actors Dustin Hoffman, Robert Redford, Sylvester Stallone, Harrison Ford, Nicolas Cage, Christian Bale, and Joe Manganiello.   Because I'm a sickie, the only alternate version of Superman I would have ever wanted to see would have been Cage's long-haired, giant-spider bashing version.  Kevin Smith has made that failed script the stuff of legend, and I can only imagine how horrifyingly twee Tim Burton would have saturated the much beloved Man of Steel.  I do think that Christian Bale could have pulled off Supes...maybe not Clark Kent, but his Man of Steel seems the most plausible out of the bunch.  Thanks to Crome Yellow for the heads up.

--Brad

Brad's Week In Dork! (4/14/13-4/20/13)

"D'Artagnan, motherfuckers!" by Mike Mitchell

This week finished the first wave of Scorsese flicks.  All solid movies, but I find myself even more excited to get deeper into his career.  Beyond Raging Bull & Goodfellas - I want the glitz & shine of the DiCaprio collaborations.  Does that have more to do with the material (after all Gangs of New York, The Departed, & Shutter Island are far from perfect creations) or the presence of Calvin Candie? The Tuesday release of Django Unchained pretty much took over my week.  I watched a good batch of cinema, but Django currently owns my heart.  After scouring the shopping strip wasteland, I grabbed all three of the exclusives (Wal-Mart, Best Buy, & Target) and spent all of Tuesday drooling over the rather crappy special features.  Target's Steelbook is the obvious winner, but only cuz of it's superior artwork.  The extra discs are pathetic.  However, I stand by my 2012 proclamation, and I'll go one step further in labeling Django Unchained as my absolute favorite Quentin Tarantino flick.  Jackie Brown, I love you, but it's time to stand aside.  

Trance:  "To be angry is to be a victim." Danny Boyle returns to crime cinema with this semi-successful headtrip mystery. James McAvoy steals a Goya painting for gang boss Vincent Cassel. But somewhere in the action there's a switch and McAvoy takes a serious thwack on the noggin. Amnesia time. Grrrgh. One of those flicks, huh. But where fingernail torture fails, Rosario Dawson's slippery hypnotist succeeds. Convoluted with reveals on top of reveals, Trance still manages to be just that - an engrossing bit of flimflam coated in rage and sex.  Who knew pubic hair could be used as a plot device?!?  I'm still not won over to the McAvoy camp, but I certainly appreciated his characters' spiraling arc.  And I'm already a big fan of both Cassel & Dawson. Those two are rarely awarded the opportunity to strut this much on film and that's enough for a recommend.

Mean Streets:  Three films in and Martin Scorsese has completely solidified his style. Depending on which interview you read from the director, Mean Streets is a spiritual or literal sequel to Who's That Knocking At My Door.  "Remake" feels the more appropriate term. But semantics are semantics. Scorsese has more money, more talent, and a more expensive soundtrack. Harvey Keitel is back as Charlie, a collector for his neighborhood big shot Uncle. He's small time and is far too meek for the racket. Robert De Niro is Johnny Boy, a psychotic animal hopelessly doomed to talk his way into his own destruction. Try as he might, Charlie never has a hope of saving his friend from the inevitable. Scorsese's camera is beautifully fluid. He's got the long cutless dollies of Hitchcock, but the freedom of his own inventive savvy - the way he plants Keitel on a floating dance floor or the way he mounts the camera on Keitel himself, as he boozily stumbles into unconsciousness. And then you've got the violence. It's rare, quick, and chaotic. Just like in Boxcar Bertha, when the unstoppable finally arrives at Johnny Boy, the event is still somehow shocking.  Painful.  Tragic.

Mallrats:  Twenty years ago I saw genius where I now see banality. It's a brave new geek world out there, and The Big Bang Theory aggressively mines this territory every week. The script lacks the biting wit found underneath the retail misery of Clerks, and despite a few more bucks, it's painful to witness Kevin Smith's inability to move the frame. Sure, there are still some kernels of geeky glory - Jedi mind tricks, Superman's shotgun sperm, and Stan Lee's epic monologue of romance, but it's mostly chuckles & smiles rather than full on belly laughs.  Jason Lee is disgustingly charming as the alpha comic nerd, but the 90s TV actors surrounding him struggle to find the truth in Smith's reference heavy dialog.

Homicide - Life on the Street Season 4:  "This is not a perfect world, Al.  It's Baltimore."  Another excellent season for the Murder Police.  Frank Pembleton continues his crusade of righteousness, but I was struck by how much of a introspective loser his partner Tim Bayliss can be when placed under Frank's microscope.  Tim started out as the gateway character of the show, but over the course of its 7 seasons & one TV Movie, Kyle Secor's mopey creation morphed into the saddest sack in the squadron.  And this is the season where his downfall begins.  The Adena Watson killing stills weighs heavy on his conscience, his sexuality is confronted while investigating a skin head hate crime, and he even questions his purpose while manning a stakeout.  When I originally experienced this show on the boob tube, Tim was easily one of my favorite characters.  But knowing his outcome, and seeing him fail in his dialog battles with Pembleton, I kinda hate the guy now.  His moral investigations actually expose a weakness in his character.  He is not the knight in shining armor he so desperately wants to be - he's a fool masquerading in costume.  His quandaries are manifestations of his cracking soul, and he really has no business speaking for the dead.    

Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore:  "What's with this broad?" After her husband dies in a truck accident, Ellen Burstyn sells her earthly belongings, packs her son into the car, and heads across America in search of the happiness she once had in Monterey (visualized at the start of the film as a Wizard of Ozish Hollywood dreamscape, but laced with childish potty mouth bluster). Lack of funds force stops along the way. She encounters Harvey Keitel's terrifying switchblade husband, stands by her new man Kris Kristofferson, and drops anchor at a diner destined for sitcom reruns. Burstyn practically made a career out of mother roles (The Last Picture Show, The Exorcist, Requiem for a Dream), but Alice is her ultimate work. Her relationship with her 12 year old brat is simultaneously frustrating and utterly sweet. Alfred Lutter might pull off the greatest child performance I've ever seen - he manages to be frustratingly foul, ready for a smack, and also totally understandable. This kid is trapped in the genetics and teachings of his mother, and she in turn is imprisoned by her spawn. The fact that Kristofferson doesn't buckle under their baggage, but craves their presence is a serious indication of genuine love, even when he's gotta deliver a thwack. Question: "Is Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore still part of the cinematic conversation?" Given that this film has never come up in the millions of movie chats I've had throughout my life, I'm guessing the answer is "No." Which is just not right. This film is one of the finest screenplays Martin Scorsese has ever handled. It definitely appears to be outside his wheelhouse, but it's also obvious that he understands the failings of dreams and the fight that everyday people have in order to incorporate those dreams into the ordinary of their day to day lives. I think it's one of his finest works.

Django Unchained:  "He walks through hellfire because Brunhilda is worth it."  I've watched the film five times now.  (Minor Spoilers Follow) And as easy as it is to be swept away by the scenery chomping performances of Leonardo DiCaprio, Christoph Waltz, and Samuel L Jackson, I think it's a great disservice to ignore the work of Jaime Foxx.  If you compare & contrast the first image you see of Foxx (Django as slave, downtrodden, brutalized, and being dragged across the Texas desert) with the last image (Django as FDR - American Badass, pimped out in Candie's attire, end zone showboating with his horse), you see a grande heroic arc worthy of the classical sagas the film desperately strives to emulate.  And the arc is achieved through Foxx's soulful performance.  Sure, a lot of that is accomplished through script & direction; Tarantino guides him from quiet Bounty Hunter student to violent crusader  - the killer of John Brittle & the wrath of God via the destruction of Candyland.  But Foxx excels in the quiet moments as much as the bits of bravado.  You fall in love with him & his Homeric quest as he sits, childlike, listing to King Schultz's mythic campfire tales.  Then, when he stands angry & proud in his ridiculously blue valet suit, Foxx excels in that transformation into avenger.  However, another aspect I don't read much about is his damnation on the road to Blaxploitation Badass.  His masquerade as the black slaver, those sunglasses plastered on his face during the mutilation of Dartanian.  He not only forfeits his own soul, but makes King Schultz complacent in the murder as well when he forces Schultz's pocketbook back into his pocket.  It's an action that leads Schultz to his own fate.   As great as it is to witness Django's triumph at the fiery climax, I find myself aching at the evil committed along the way.  It's that ache that elevates Django Unchained to the very top of my favorite Tarantino films.  You may complain about the meandering pace (I certainly don't, I love the stop & restart final 30 minutes) and you may squirm at the subject matter and the violence splashing on the Big House walls, but Django Unchained is not absent of morality.  Love costs as much as vengeance.  In the end is it worth it?  For Django (and the husband writing this sentence), damn right.

Taxi Driver:  "Are you a scorpion?"  Who was Travis Bickle before this film starts, and who will he be after the credits roll?  The answer post-credits is certainly more interesting than the pre-credits answer.  The film depicts a few days in the life of a man slowly reaching insanity on the nightmarish streets of Times Square.  When we meet Bickle his mind is filled with hatred for the filth around him - humanity.  He can't sleep.  He takes to hacking to fill the hours.  He encounters one blonde goddess in the form of Cybil Shepherd, but when his impossible porno date goes obviously catastrophic, he sets out to assassinate her politician boss.  His impotence, sadly or thankfully, extends to political killings and he's forced to thrust his violence towards the scum closer to his level.  Harvey Kietel's Sport is the chucklehead pimp with a leash on the broken doll Jodie Foster.  She's not the goddess, but she'll do in a pinch - a damsel he can rescue from the pit of the city.  Taxi Driver is a draining, oppressive little picture.  The type of picture that rules your Best Of lists in high school & college, but one that has waned a touch in my heart.  Don't get me wrong.  It's a brilliant movie.  A thick coat of sadness.  But as I find myself in my 30s, I don't respond as strongly to its dark heart as I once did.  The real treat is rediscovering the lead performance.  Watching the trailer for the latest Robert De Niro paycheck (The Big Wedding) it's hard to remember a time when Bobby D kicked serious ass in front of the camera.  Then you pop in Taxi Driver and "Oh Yeah," De Niro is a beast for drama.

The Last Waltz:  If you are a fan of The Band, do you love this documentary or do you hate it?  I am not a fan.  I barely like the performers that make guest appearances on their farewell stage.  What?  Brad, you don't like Dylan, Clapton, or Young?  I'm not saying that.  Their music is just so iconic that it has existed as "Classic" rock for so long in my brain that they illicit absolutely no emotional response other than technical respect.   And the subjects themselves are just so damn tired on screen.  Their interviews painfully dismissive.  They're done with the road.  They want off.  Fascinating.  But joyless. And not a fun watch.

Hawkeye - My Life As A Weapon:  Friday night was our 11th meeting of The Ultimate Justice League of Extraordinary Book Club.  Half the group enjoyed Hawkeye, and the other half was fairly dismissive.  Reading Matt's review, I feel like I have to defend Matt Fraction & David Aja's hipster masterpiece, but I think the book is the best defense - and frankly, it doesn't need defending as the entire comic book community has pretty much agreed that it's genius.  To say that Clint Barton is one of my least favorite Marvel creations is not quite accurate.  The purple Avenger barely registered on my radar before My Life As A Weapon.  I remember when Bendis killed him off in Avengers: Disassembled and I was utterly perplexed by the internet outcry.  Who gave two rats asses about Hawkeye pre-Bendis?  Certainly not me.  And when all that bonkers (stupid) business with the House of M brought Barton back as Ronin......zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.  I can't even muster the energy to hate on the goofy Marvel Event nonsense .  They're their own brand of comic book crazy.  I only picked up the first couple of issues of Fraction's run cuz Big Planet Comics wouldn't shut up about it, and it really wasn't until the third issue, with its arrow lampooning, that I got hooked.  Early on Fraction cleverly rifts on Hawkeye's ridiculous placement on the A-Team ("I'm an orphan raised by carnies fighting with a stick from the Paleolithic era") and focuses his crusader with the routine setting of an apartment building. Dr. Doom is not gonna be a problem.  Instead, beware the track suit Bros & maybe some scuffle on the fringes of the Kingpin's organization.  The real fun stems from the banter.  Comparisons to Joss Whedon are not far off, but it's also not as cringing or saccharine as that polished wit can be.  You've got the wonderfully awkward friendship with Kate Bishop, a mess load of bass ackwards sexual encounters, and my new favorite Pet Avenger, Pizza Dog.  Aja's half of the book is far cooler and sexier than Pulido's, but I kinda dig his Clowesy indie faces.  Hawkeye is not epic comic book storytelling.  But it's charming, sweet, and badass from time to time.  Curious to see what hell these bumbling Bros are going to unleash, and how Wilson Fisk will handle the pest that is Clint Barton.  Easily one of the most enjoyable books currently on the stands.  

Swamp Thing - Raise Them Bones & Family Tree:  With the good bit of enjoyment being achieved in Scott Snyder's current Batman run, I thought it about time I got acquainted with his interpretation of everyone's favorite veggie monster.  Despite a befuddling appearance of Superman in the first issue (linking Alec Holland to The New 52), Raise Them Bones is an excellent continuation of the mythology defined by Alan Moore's Saga.  But it's little more than a reminder of what makes this character so damn cool.  The story doesn't find it's real footing until Family Tree, where Holland accepts his mantel of The Green and takes on the invading forces of The Rot.  Yannick Paquette's art draws a beautiful beastie, and I love the addition of Swampy's barky crown.  But as much as I dig Paquette, when Francesco Francavilla drops in for a guest-spot I instantly wanted him for a replacement.  His Swamp-Thing is a sad, beautiful figure.  Less the beast and more the plant.  A higher compliment, I do not know.  Snyder's book certainly doesn't match that of Moore's, but it's fun enough and I'm happy to see this character once again get a proper place in the DC Universe.  And I am even more excited to see how this book fits into Jeff Lemire's recent Animal Man.

--Brad

Happy Birthday Stan Lee!

ITMOD wants to wish a great big HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Stan "The Man" Lee.  He is and will probably always be the face of Marvel, and I've been in awe of his life ever since I was a small boy reading his Excelsior! editorials.  But besides his contributions to comics, the man himself has become a franchise, slapping his name on anything that will have him.  Make hay while the sun shines, sir.

And 2011 was the year I got to stand next to him for twenty seconds and have my photo taken with him and my wife at the Baltimore Comic Con.  It was enough time to say thanks and drop fifty bucks.  Ah, Dork Life.  'Nuff Said.

--Brad

Brad's Week In Dork! (10/30-11/5)

A fairly crazy Week In Dork.  Managed to get Halloween off work and cranked out a fairly epic run of horror movie watching which climaxed at the AFI Silver theater with a trilogy of Vincent Price flicks (The Raven, The Tingler, & The Masque of the Red Death).  The AFI pulled out all the stops for The Tingler with a brilliant acid trip light show, a skeleton screaming across the audience, and The Tingler actually attacking one trained professional.  Next to seeing Batman Begins on IMAX with a surprised Philadelphia Comic Con crowd two weeks before the theatrical release, this was the absolute highlight in my theater going experience.

And then the week concluded with my co-dork's 12th Annual Hest Fest, a celebration of all things Charlton Heston.  My first Hest Fest was nearly five years ago and it inspired my own Shat Attack parties.  Last year I only managed to attend half of Hest Fest and I was not going to let that happen this year.  Especially when it was being held at my place and would contain both Ben Hur and The Ten Commandments back to back--it took me 32 years to build the stamina to withstand those monstrous runtimes.

MOVIES OF THE WEEK!

Shocker:  A craptacular cheesefest, Shocker wanted soooooo bad to be the start of a new franchise but Mitch Pileggi's limping electric serial killer never had a chance. As the film stretches to its climax with dreamscaper Peter Berg battling the villain through tv newscasts and Leave It To Beaver reruns this audience member is left scratching his head...who thought this was cool? There's an MTV wannabe vibe punctuated with strategically purchased Alice Cooper & Megadeth jams giving the proceedings an ultra un-hip nature. Goofy, is the word...but you gotta heart Pileggi.

The Black Sleep:  The Black Sleep crams in Basil Rathbone, Lon Chaney Jr, John Carradine, Bela Lugosi, and Tor Johnson but this is really just a Herbert Rudley's picture. Wrongfully accused of murder, Rudley survives execution thanks to mad doctor Rathbone's Black Sleep formula. Recruited into body snatching and barbaric surgery, Rudley must choose between evil science and Patricia Blake's raven locks. Solid 50s horror with some killer climactic makeup effects, and it's definitely a treat to see all those icons on one screen, but the viewer is obviously left craving more.

Fantastic Mr. Fox:  In a lot of ways, all of Wes Anderson's previous films have been building to The Fantastic Mr. Fox. It's a rollicking family adventure told through beautiful stop-motion animation that perfectly captures Anderson's deliciously artificial style. And Gosh! It's hard to pick a favorite character. George Clooney's super cool, arrogant Mr. Fox? Eric Anderson's karate natural nephew Kristofferson? Michael Gambon's psychotic, camper trashing Bean? Willem Dafoe's West Side Story switchblading Rat? There are so many fantastic characters, it's really hard to choose, but I'm gonna go with Jason Schwartzman's frustrated and desperate son Ash. He's a brat and a bit of a jerk (just like Dad), but you root for him. He's the cuss at the end you're crossing your fingers for, hoping he can prove himself and get that bandit hat. Makes me feel warm all over.

Too Fat For 40:  Over the course of several nights I nodded off to bed watching this on Netflix Instant.  When I was young, I adored Kevin Smith.  I still enjoy Clerks, Mallrats, Chasing Amy, and even Clerks II.  But I'm starting to get bored with Mr. Smith.  And his latest Q&A tour movie just plods about with the pot and poop humor.  I got a chuckle or two but that's about it.

The Raven:  An extremely enjoyable, fantasy horror comedy that really has nothing whatsoever to do with Edgar Allan Poe's classic poem.  Vincent Price plays a widowed sorcerer forced to team up with transformed Raven Peter Lorre and wet-behind-the-ears Jack Nicholson against evil wizard Boris Karloff.  Half the joy comes from seeing these genre powerhouses do battle against each other, but The Raven is also loaded with plenty of low budget Roger Corman charm.  Fun!

The Tingler:  "Suicide? You mean murder." Every time you experience absolute terror a slug like insect called The Tingler manifests around your spine, and unless you scream your lungs blue you will die of fright. This silly, gimmicky fright flick is one of Vincent Price's best. He has always been a master of concocting sympathy while doing the most dastardly of deeds and his demented pathologist might be the jewel in his lecherous crown. Just a great creeper feature.

The Masque of the Red Death:  Vincent Price is pure evil as the Satanist prince who lords over a dying town plagued by The Red Death only to hold orgies of gluttony and greed. No sympathy for Price here, just mustache twirling villainy! Hazel Court and Patrick Magee do their best to match Price's wretched worship, and Jane Asher swoons properly as the damsel in distress but we're all here for the big bad. And Roger Corman & Nicolas Roeg's trippy sets/lighting.

Ben Hur:  At 222 minutes, Ben Hur is one long damn movie. And yeah, I could have easily cut out the last 30-40 minutes, basically everything after the epic chariot race that properly climaxes the film. Charlton Heston desplays the apporpriate gravitas for the role of the Jew prince betrayed to a life of slavery by his Roman childhood friend. Favorite parts of the film involve Jack Hawkins' fantastic supporting turn as the fatherly fair Roman warrior of the sea that returns Ben Hur to the favor of the people.

Dark City:  "Everybody Gets Mad Sometimes." A great cast a jerkwads (Charlton Heston, Jack Webb, Henry Morgan, and Ed Begley Sr fix a poker game to rob welp Arthur Winant of all his dough. As with most cinematic poker scams, things do not go according to plan and a whole lotta death follows. Unfortunately, despite the great cast and the set-up, Dark City is exceptionally average... oxymoron? No, it's amazing at how dull this film truly is! I wanted to love it so badly, but it's soooooooooo meh.

The Ten Commandments:  Okay, so maybe its a sign of my cinematic stamina but I could not handle the nearly four hour run time of this epically beautiful and infamous Cecil B Demille production. I really enjoyed everything pre-burning bush, but once Heston grew his God beard and led the Exodus...I kinda checked out mentally. Moses is a badass and he really knew how to handle his turn-on-a-dime Marvel crowds, but this movie is just too darn long.

The Crucifer of Blood:  Horrible Shrew: "What Should I Do Now?" Heston Holmes: "Think and Die." Charlton Heston is a strange, oddball choice to play Sherlock Holmes but there is a solid made-for-cable mystery movie here involving a cursed group of military officers, a jumpy pygmy, and at least one horrible shrew. The Crucifer of Blood is definitely not going down as one of the great films of the great detective but it's an amusing two hours.

The Omega Man:  A horrible adaptation of the Richard Matheson novel (I Am Legend), but still an extremely entertaining post-apocalyptic film in which Charlton Heston must machine gun his way through hooded, plague carriers in a desolate Los Angeles. He takes comfort in booze, talking to himself, an endless loop of the theatrical Woodstock, and fellow survivor's Rosalind Cash's pleasant, if fleeting PG nudity. The Omega Man is a hoot, and an essential entry in Heston Cinema.

Touch of Evil:  "I'm not a cop anymore! I'm a husband!" After an explosive opening, Mexican police officer Charlton Heston (just get over the face paint, okay) attempts to contain his dignity as he battles the brutally, disgusting American copper Orson Welles. Welles' direction is as stunning as his vile portrayal of the corrupt monster--King Kong ain't got nothing on him. And Janet Leigh is tough as nails when she's not being pumped full of marijuana and sexually assulted. Great, classic cinema.

Treasure Island:  This TNT pairing of Charlton Heston and his director son Fraser C Heston weilds an incredibly entertaining adaptation of the classic Robert Louis Stevenson novel. Christian Bale as the young Jim Hawkens thrust into the world of mutiny and pirates in a disastrous quest for buried booty. Fun small roles from Oliver Reed, Christopher Lee, Pete Postlethwaite, and Julian Glover guarantee a good night in at the movies.

Major Dundee:  Union Prison warden Amos Dundee (the badass in a neckerchief Charlton Heston), collects his best troops as well as his best Southern Trash Confederate Prisoners (led by scene stealer Richard Harris) to go across the Mexican border to hunt down a bunch of bloody Apache savages. Along the way he rescues a village, cheats on a smoking hot German lady (seriously, Senta Berger), and pisses off the entire French army. The extended cut of Major Dundee is a fine film that shows the promise that director Sam Peckinpah delivers on in uber classics The Wild Bunch and Bring Me The Head of Alfredo Garcia. And it's a man's movie. Heston, Harris, James Coburn, LQ Jones, Ben Johnson, RG Armstrong, and Warren Oates.

And there you have it.  A lot of movies.  But not a whole lot much else.

--Brad