Thirteen Inches Too Tall, Eight Pounds Too Heavy, Four Hours Too Long of Pure Arrogance

By John Flemming

The show opens under an arc of Swarovski crystals. Enter, stage right, Hugh Jackman, the world’s sexiest man alive – yes, even sexier than Obama! Apparently in the realm of appropriating levels of sexiness, accents go a long way these days. Speaking of accents: as soon as Mr. Jackman opened his mouth to speak, revealing those beautiful, artificially whitened choppers, I was instantly reminded “I’m so fortunate I get to listen to his Aussie accent for the next three hours of my life”. Scratch that. Make it four hours.

And what was his first utterance? Well I can’t be entirely sure but from what I could comprehend I think it was a reference to something he has no real working knowledge of, nor is affected by: the economy.

So, under the glimmer of a hundred thousand crystals and in front of a live audience with a collective GDP that rivals that of small countries, Mr. Jackman and the writers of the grandiose 81st Oscar ceremony possessed the audacity to suggest that their little production was being affected by the economy and thus experienced significant budget cuts.

Goodbye, Hugh’s entrance by - fuel-efficient, nonetheless - jetpack apparatus. Goodbye, the resurrection of showbiz great, Houdini, who was going to provide a satisfying demonstration of Mickey Rourke’s magical reappearance. Goodbye, five ton dropping of gold leaves by the single living flock of Californian Condors at the end of the first song of Oscars: The Musical.

America will have to settle for Oscars Lite, for Oscars 64 calories, for Oscars blue-light special. America will have to settle for your mockery of low budget, expenses cutting lifestyles. America will have to digest your insult of individuals who break a sweat not because of the auditorium spotlights or because they get paid six figures to dance around like idiots waving their smooth, impeccably manicured jazz hands, but because they’ve endured the hardships of a trying job and still have to worry about putting food on the table.

The shameless hypocrisy of Hollywood is enraging. They inject their two-cent normative prescription for the economic crisis every chance allotted to them – which are many, due to the inexplicable importance given to their opinions (remind me again, who is that actor with the PhD. in economics? You know, that one guy…with the hair and the eyes. I guess I must have been mistaken; that guy, has a PhD. in scientology) – yet, who are they to preach realistic practices of fiscal responsibility?

As the camera pans the nervous faces of the noble, honorably nominated celebrities before the sacred envelope is opened and the winner announced remember that their anticipation is alien. It is not the same anticipation that many Americans feel when they see such an envelope. These actors aren’t nervous that inside that envelope is a bill that can’t be paid, an eviction notice, a pink slip. No, these actors are nervous because they might be so fortunate enough to receive a golden trophy that validates their vanity. A 13 ½ inches tall and a robust 8 ½ pounds of golden insult that many would pawn off to supplement their next paycheck or lack thereof.

Web Edition Extra!
A Few Other Thoughts:

• Who thinks Hugh Jackman is better suited for Broadway? I do. The creators of the new X-Men film should consider making it a musical and employing the limited talent of Jackman to its full potential.
  

• Downey Jr. or Jack Black would have made excellent hosts. Or even perhaps Ben Stiller as a comatose Joaquin Phoenix; the less bull excrement out of these celebrities' mouths the better for society (usually) and the shorter of an awards marathon.
  

• "Angelina is like my favorite person of all time" - Miley Cyrus. Wow. It is obvious that this 16 year old has never cracked open a history book or any book for that matter. No MLK? No Gandhi? Nobody of moral substance? Yet another instance of the American education system failing our generation. Idolize the sensational, void-of-historical-importance individuals and forget the exceptional people who have sacrificed so much for the advancement of humankind.
  

• When did Goldie Hawn become a body builder? Is it me or she looked ridiculously buff? Has she been hitting the gym with some MLB team trainers? Maybe Hugh was right about the 'roids. Someone assemble a Senate investigative committee.
  

• Someone please remind Jessica Biel that the Oscars are not a college toga party.
  

• John Legend sounded awful. Never, ever, under no circumstances, allow him to sing outside of a recording studio where that "magic" that makes him seem like a good artist happens.
  

• James Franco and Seth Rogen killed it. Especially James Franco, who's performance in Pineapple Express and in last night's skit was outstanding. This was one of the few truly enjoyable moments of the night.
  

Kael Critical Essay (Revision)

By John Flemming

Pauline Kael is often regarded as one of the most influential film critics of her time and perhaps of all time.

Fellow critics, like Francis Davis, suggest that Ms. Kael was revolutionary because she possessed “the nerve – to go to bat for a good movie that’s been given up for dead by its distributors” (p. 25). Renata Adler concedes that in her earlier work, Ms. Kael “seemed to approach movies with an energy and a good sense that were unmatched at the time in film criticism” (p. 327).

It has also been suggested that Ms. Kael, in her critiquing of films, produced an art form of her own characterized by her outspoken voice, intellectually sound prose, and enthusiasm for the medium she critiqued. This idea of critics creating their own art that stands alone from the reviewed work resides in Oscar Wilde’s intricate argument found in The Critic as Artist.
But for all of the high praise given to Ms. Kael, it seems as though as the years passed, people overlooked her increasing arrogance and tendency to be unoriginal.

To create art requires a degree of improvisation. It requires that the artist produce something from almost nothing, or at least from the readily available materials at hand. The problem with art or improvisation is that the artist, focusing solely on one medium, can only produce original works of art for so long. After a while, it seems impossible for the artist to avoid becoming repetitive and stale.

Renata Adler in her essay House Critic argues that no critic can devote himself or herself exclusively to reviewing one body of art; for though they may begin their careers writing at the “highest level…what happens after a longer time is that [they] settle down” (p 326). And this is exactly what happened to Pauline Kael. Her later works became as Adler described them, worthless.

For decades, Kael returned to the same mannerisms hundreds of times over to the extent that they became clichés. Her apparent extensive knowledge and what Adler describes as “knowingness” started to come off as rather pretentious with far-fetched allusions, which only explicably served to show off her prowess: “It’s true that one remembers the great scenes from the nineteenth-century Russian novels…there’s a consistency of vision in Turgenev or Dostoevski or Tolstoy” (p. 336). Kael seems to have written unnecessarily long pieces to demonstrate her movie knowledge (and general knowingness) and these frequent transgressions into the realm of “indescribably reflections on ‘art’ and ‘artists’” detracted quality from her work.

Ms. Kael arrived at a point in her career as a critic where she wrote about everything except what she was reviewing. She used her column as a stage to demonstrate the abuse of rhetorical devices, which serve only to “enlist [the reader] in a constituency” (p. 335). Another of Ms. Kael’s plethora of annoying faults was her insistence on using words such as “we” and “you” – words that aspiring critics are taught to vehemently avoid, words, that when used by Kael served to illustrate her growing arrogance: it was either submission to Kael’s self-proclaiming infallible opinion or to be the misguided dissenter.

At one point, Ms. Kael arguably produced works of substance. However, as Alder has pointed out, her act became old and fostered a miasma of self-indulgent righteousness that is insulting to the art of criticism. Ironically, in Afterglow, Ms. Kael states, “you tend, when you improvise, to go back to the same themes. You talk around the same subjects, and it’s often not as fresh as you imagine it is” (p. 69). The problem was that her boundless, self-delusional imagination severed ties to reality long ago.

Review Outline for Taken

Outline:

Lede: Establish relevancy to student life by suggesting a good study break.

But: A light, non-intellectually heavy film that is good for some cheap thrills.

Points:
Plot – “cookie cutter”, absurd. Give examples
Action – state that the action in the movie is well done
Acting – mediocre, Neeson above average. Give examples.
Cinematography – discuss particular scenes/action style of filmmaking.

Conclusion: reiterate the but.

Taken Review (Revised)

Taken by Surprise
By John Flemming

It’s winter quarter and the cognitive flame is dwindling. So how about taking a break, marching down to the closest theatre and enjoying 90 minutes of cinema, free of intellectual overload.

Weekend box office hit, “Taken”, fits the bill and is a sure guarantee to preserve the important brain cells - if, of course, all cerebral functions are powered down beforehand. Fresh out of the action genre school of production headed by Luc Besson that brought you cookie cutter films such as the Transporter series, “Taken” breaks no new theatrical ground but is devilishly entertaining.

The story, which admittedly flirts with the absurd, revolves around Bryan Mills (Liam Neeson), a recently retired CIA operative trying to make up long lost family bonding time with his daughter Kim (Maggie Grace). Stereotypically, Bryan was consumed by his job, leading to the failure of his marriage long ago and is now forced to deal with his ex-wife and daughter living with a man who is far more successful. Typical slap-in-your-face irony.

After the first half hour of being awkwardly introduced to this context the real fun begins. And so does the absurdity. Bryan reluctantly agrees to allow his daughter to travel to Paris with her friend, Amanda. Within minutes of their arrival in the city of lights, an Albanian crime ring specializing in sex trafficking targets the spoiled-clueless teenage duo. During their abduction, Kim coincidentally is on the phone with her father providing him with last minutes clues as to who is about to take her. Then, alas, she is – gasp – taken. According to sex-trafficking protocol there is a 96-hour turnaround from the time of abduction to never being heard from again – and that’s exactly how much time our hero is given to find his loved one. Bryan promises to seek and destroy those responsible and proceeds to go ape shit a la Rambo meets urban jungle style, single handedly reducing the Parisian-Albanian population by a third and bringing down an elaborate crime ring in the process.

The acting in general is mediocre, especially Grace’s over-the-top portrayal of an oblivious teenager. Scenes with Kim running with all four limbs flailing screaming, “Daddy, Daddy!” ad nauseam reduce her character to come off more as sugar high toddler than anything else. However, Neeson, given his age, delivers a convincing performance executing impressive stunts and hand-to-hand combat scenes. And luckily for the filmmakers, his ability as an actor manages to conceal some of his colleagues’ flaws. The cinematography is superior to other films from the same genre. Particularly, the Audi car chase along the Seine River shows off director Pierre Morel’s knack for the adrenaline-overdosed action flick.

Yes, the plot is ridiculous. Yes, there are strains of xenophobia and some ethnic stereotyping, and not to mention that whole male hero thing. And yes, there is nothing really that original about the film as a whole. But, forget all of that and take this movie for what it is: a well made summer-esque gun and run blockbuster, refreshing in its ability to summon memories of when times are warmer and expectations for entertainment lowered, thus allowing to be taken by surprise once in a while.

Taken Review

Taken by Surprise
By John Flemming
Written for: The Index

It’s winter quarter and surely the cognitive flame is dwindling. So how about taking a break, marching down to the closest theatre and enjoying 90 minutes of cinema, free of intellectual overload.

Weekend box office hit, “Taken”, fits the bill and is a sure guarantee to preserve the important brain cells - if, of course, all cerebral functions are powered down beforehand. Fresh out of the action genre school of production headed by Luc Besson that brought you cookie cutter films such as the Transporter series, “Taken” breaks no new theatrical ground but is devilishly entertaining.

The story, which admittedly flirts with the absurd, revolves around Bryan Mills (Liam Neeson), a recently retired CIA operative trying to make up long lost family bonding time with his daughter Kim (Maggie Grace). Stereotypically, Bryan was consumed by his job, leading to the failure of his marriage long ago and is now forced to deal with his ex-wife and daughter living with a man who is far more successful. Typical slap-in-your-face irony.

After the first half hour of being awkwardly introduced to this context the real fun begins. And so does the absurdity. Bryan reluctantly agrees to allow his daughter to travel to Paris with her friend, Amanda. Within minutes of their arrival in the city of lights, an Albanian crime ring specializing in sex trafficking (this just might be the first time Albanian villains are used in a movie– but hey, any publicity is good publicity!) targets the spoiled-clueless teenage duo. During their abduction, Kim coincidentally is on the phone with her father providing him with last minutes clues as to who is about to take her. Then, alas, she is – gasp – taken. According to sex-trafficking protocol there is a 96-hour turnaround from the time of abduction to never being heard from again – and that’s exactly how much time our hero is given to find his loved one. Bryan promises to seek and destroy those responsible and proceeds to go ape shit a la Rambo meets urban jungle style, single handedly reducing the Parisian-Albanian population by a third and bringing down an elaborate crime ring in the process.

The acting in general is mediocre, especially Grace’s over-the-top portrayal of an oblivious teenager. Scenes with Kim running with all four limbs flailing screaming, “Daddy, Daddy!” ad nauseam reduce her character to come off more as sugar high toddler than anything else. However, Neeson is able to deliver a convincing performance given his age and his ability as an actor manages to conceal some of his colleagues’ flaws. The cinematography is superior to other films from the same genre. Particularly, the Audi car chase along the Seine River shows off director Pierre Morel’s knack for the adrenaline-overdosed action flick.

Yes, the plot is absurd. Yes, there are strains of xenophobia and some ethnic stereotyping, and not to mention that whole male hero thing. And yes, there is nothing really that original about the film as a whole. But, forget all of that and take this movie for what it is: a well made gun and run. It’s refreshing, in the middle of Oscar madness, to have this summer-esque blockbuster remind us of when times are warmer and our expectations for entertainment lowered, thus allowing to be taken by surprise once in a while.