A Fount of Nothing

A few years back, I remember seeing the trailer for writer-director Darren Aronofsky's sci-fi opus, The Fountain. It looked fantastic, and yet I never did get out to the theater to see it. Recently, I decided to catch up with it on Blu-ray.

As promised in those trailers, this movie looks fantastic. While it was by no means a cheap movie to make, it was produced on a fraction of the budget that major Hollywood effectaganzas have to work with. Here, it's clear that the artistic and creative people involved did more with less, and made it appear that every last dollar was visible on the screen. If you've seen What Dreams May Come or The Lovely Bones, or another such movie that is a feast for the eyes, we're talking about that level of eye-popping awe, and then some.

And like those other movies, we're talking about something that is lacking in other aspects of the piece. In fact, this movie is practically void and bankrupt in every other aspect but the visuals. The story is a defiantly non-sensical interpolation of three timelines: a 16th-century conquistador goes on a quest for his beautiful queen; a modern-day experimental doctor searches for a cure that will help his beloved survive a terminal disease; and... well, I guess some time in the future, a zen master is flying through space in a transparent bubble with a giant tree that contains the soul of his departed love, looking for suicide/rebirth in a distant nebula. I think.

Narratively, love is link between these disparate threads. They're connected more by actors Hugh Jackman and Rachel Weisz, who embody characters in the different time frames. But any connection between them -- both as echoes between stories, and between the characters themselves within any one given story -- feels forced and superficial. No true emotion lands in any of the time frames, and all the jumping around between stories thwarts any momentum the story tries to build in connecting with the audience.

The actors try hard to elevate the experience, screaming, shedding tears, pouring their hearts onto the screen, but it all feels empty and unnatural, when it's not downright off-putting and confusing. The movie is just a series of gorgeous paintings brought to life, and would have been far more effective in the static, non-literal, non-narrative medium.

I found myself bored stiff long before the credits arrived, and feeling that anything I was going to get out of the movie would have been obtained in the first 10 or 15 minutes or so. It was a waste of time to sit through the rest. The Fountain gets a D-.

Don't Be an Idiot

I've picked up a few things lately with little parts enclosed in plastic bags. More and more, I'm seeing these warning symbols on those bags:


I don't know which one is funnier, the baby crawling along with a bag on its head, or the guy going "oh no, my head's caught in a plastic bag!" (Actually, the guy seems perilously close to demonstrating autoerotic asphyxiation for what must presumably be intended as a "family friendly" symbol. But then, I suppose they are saying "don't do this.")

It seems I'm not the only one who finds these logos preposterous. And the public opinion seems to be that the man is the funnier of the two, since you can get a coffee mug of it.

Things Better Left Alone

Last year's film Where the Wild Things Are was a polarizing one, judging from most of the reviews of it I've seen -- critics seemed to either love it or hate it. The split opinions kept me from heading out to see it while it was in theaters, but when it arrived recently on DVD, I decided to check it out.

I am certainly glad I didn't shell out the money to see it in the theater -- I fall squarely in the "hate it" camp. I don't know if I've ever seen a 90 minute movie that felt so long. Thin on plot and thinner still on genuine sentiment, it's just a mind-numbing procession of boring mini-episodes.

Of course, it's based on the famous children's book by Maurice Sendak, which itself is only a few pages and driven entirely by the artwork. The book has little or no plot, and is just about evoking a mood. On this level, the movie is a rather faithful adaptation. It has to inject a lot of superfluous material to pad the length up to a full feature, but visually, it's a dead ringer for the book. The look of the creatures, little Max in his wolf suit with crown and king's scepter -- it's all brought to life from the pages.

But it's all book-ended by a slow-paced "real world" set-up that makes you impatient before any of those visuals actually arrive. And when they do, the novelty wears off very quickly. This all would have made a fine "short subject" film, because that's about the point where you're ready for it to end.

The characters in the film are largely unlikable; with Max himself, the script goes almost aggressively in this direction. He's a rather obnoxious little brat, which I suppose does qualify him as a "Wild Thing," but makes him a bad protagonist for a movie like this. Again, it all just works better on the pages of the original book.

Perhaps you might call it too much of a good thing. You can sit down with a young child and read the book cover to cover in just a few minutes. Watching this movie takes at least 18 times longer to do, and just isn't worth it when the best thing you can say of the movie is "it looks just like the book." I rate the movie a D-.

America, the Not-So-Beautiful

I recently checked out one of Eddie Murphy's more well-regarded movies, Coming to America. This was something of a turning point for his movies. It was (I think) the first time he played multiple roles in the film with the help of heavy prosthetic makeup. To hear director John Landis tell it, it was also the first time he showed up on set with his full entourage, behaving in full-on asshole "I'm a giant celebrity" mode, too.

The thing is, the movie really isn't "all that." The plot is probably known to you. A wealthy African prince resists his father's arranged marriage and heads off to New York in the hopes of finding an independent-minded woman who will love him for himself, not for his riches or title. It's a really simple idea, so any traction the film has must come from the performers, bringing the funny.

For a while, they sort of do. The opening half hour or so of the movie does generate some laughs, mostly in the outrageous treatment of the prince in his daily life in his native country. In truth, it's the situations -- the writing -- that are funnier than Eddie Murphy himself. Arsenio Hall and James Earl Jones bring some laughs too.

But then the prince actually comes to America (hey, it's in the title!), and the movie immediately starts to power down. There are a few spikes of humor, in Murphy's portrayal of a crazy old Jewish man who hangs out in a barbershop to kvetch, and Hall's portrayal of an over-the-top evangelist. But mostly, the movie gets shorter on jokes and longer on story, struggling to make two lovebirds meet, and struggling more to put any truly credible obstacles in their way.

It's funny (strange, not ha-ha) that the movie works so hard on the story and yet leaves some obvious flaws in this area. For example, when his father the king catches back up with the prince and insists on going through with the arranged marriage, it ends up being the wise and strong-willed queen that convinces the king to let the young prince marry whoever he wants, defying the ages-old tradition of arranged marriage. The queen. The one who herself must have been part of the arranged marriage tradition, and should therefore be a glorified handmaiden who does whatever the king wants -- not an independent woman who speaks her mind, exactly like the sort of woman the prince is going to all this trouble to meet!

I'd forgive the story pitfalls if the movie were actually funny. But it just gets more tired as it rolls on for a brief -- but somehow long -- 90 minutes. By the time it was over, I was wishing I'd turned it off about halfway through. I rate Coming to America a C-.

Day 8, 10:00-11:00 AM

It looks like now that they've decided to end 24, they've cut off the budget too. Those CG helicopters look pretty fake.

Really, what are they gonna do to Jack Bauer, shoot him down over Manhattan?

Tell the searchers to look for the only guy carrying a bag with everything in it.

NYPD is securing the "perimeter." Which means two things: drink! And Jack will definitely escape, as a perimeter has never contained anyone in the history of 24.

When someone asks "isn't morality relative?", you know the conversation has gone into dark territory.

Is Chloe actually having this conversation with Jack on her CTU-issued cell phone?

Jack can just go into a Radio Shack and buy four scrambled cell phones?

We saw Dana Walsh's face all red and banged up just minutes ago in the re-cap. She's already completely healed?

Michael Madsen and Kiefer Sutherland are going to have an "intense whisper-off."

Taylor has changed her mind about five times in the last 90 minutes. President's prerogative?

Kayla Hassan says, "remember what father said?" I think it was, "don't touch the hair."

Dalia and Kayla Hassan spin the Wheel of Morality and provide us with today's lesson.

As Chloe is doing all this communicating with Jack and Cole, she'd better be sure not to toggle the wrong phone line.

With this whole desire for non-lethal force, might the strike team not want to use tasers?

Seriously, Chloe? You've known Jack all these years, and you only sent five guys to deal with him? Jack kills five guys during a commercial break.

"Dammit, Cole!" (Drink!)

"We'll notify CTU about your men within the next two hours." So... should I take a drink in two weeks?

Treaties are bloody, but apparently "not like this." As opposed to the treaties that are traditionally signed after war, which of course aren't bloody at all.

Why should Dana Walsh fear torture? We've seen how preposterously fast she heals.

With the artistically manipulated ladle, I'm not sure if they're waterboarding her or serving her soup.

Dr. Death

This weekend, HBO debuted their new movie, You Don't Know Jack. It's a biopic about Dr. Jack Kevorkian, the headline-maker of the 1990s who assisted in the suicides of over 100 people. This film follows his story from the first time he assists in the euthanasia of a patient to the point where he is actually convicted of second degree murder and sent to prison, and attempts to convey his passion on the issue of patients' rights.

Al Pacino stars as the doctor, and gives an interesting performance. I'm of a mixed mind about this famous actor. On the one hand, he often does the thing I hate more than anything from a major actor -- he really just plays the character as "himself." Pacino has a stock pool of mannerisms, speech patterns, and demeanors that everyone who has seen even a few of his films will know well. And yet, I find myself forgiving him for this to some degree, because this persona he has is a fiery and passionate one that often lights up the screen.

Here, Pacino is interesting because he mutes that famous persona to a surprising degree. Yes, there are moments of shouting and grandstanding in the film, but for the most part, you don't really see many glimpses of that "this whole court room's out of order!" verve that you usually get with Pacino. More so than in any other Pacino film I've ever seen, the actor does slip into another character as Dr. Kevorkian.

The cast also includes Susan Sarandon and John Goodman, and while both are most definitely secondary parts in this story, they make a good impact in their scenes.

The script is a bit odd, because it treats a very emotional and charged subject in a rather academic way. We do see a number of "characters" living in intense pain, desperate to end their suffering and their lives... but with only a few exceptions, they aren't really brought to the screen in an emotionally compelling way. In most cases, they're more "points of data" used to build both the narrative and a case in favor of allowing assisted suicide.

The drama is reserved for Kevorkian himself, and it's rarely of the tear-jerking variety. The movie is more about how this man has a clear message (for which a compelling argument is presented; but then, I was on its side to begin with), but is not himself a clear messenger. When he opens his mouth in support of his cause, he's as likely to stick his own foot in it. And to a large degree, this is what winds him up in hot water by the movie's end.

The film ends up being an interesting, but not fantastic one. The title doesn't do it any favors, though; it feels inappropriately flippant about a very serious subject matter. But then, perhaps that's the point? It's a little off, like Kevorkian himself. In any case, I'd rate the movie a B-. It's worth checking out if you already have HBO; it's certainly not anything to get a subscription for.

Double Feature -- Part 2

If you're joining our story already in progress, Thursday night I went to see the National Theatre Conservatory's production of Tartuffe. It was the first of two shows they're performing in rep, and the evening was an entertaining but odd mix of good, bad, and strange. But it was, despite some cross-gender casting, ultimately a production that felt more or less like a full-fledged theatrical production -- something you might see outside of the "student environment."

Friday night's Hamlet was some other hybrid sort of entity. It bore the constant stamp of a staging being mounted primarily for educational purposes. With only 10 graduates, there was a lot of doubling up of roles. This isn't in and of itself odd for Shakespeare in general, nor especially for Hamlet in particular; the play has many more roles than you'd probably actually want to cast different actors for anyway. Why not double up a character with only one scene in the final act with another character used more liberally throughout the show?

But some of the doubling choices were awkward at times. Doubling of the actor playing Guildenstern meant that at times, Rosencrantz stood on stage alone. Sure, abridgement of the text meant Rosencrantz had no dialogue anyway (one seldom sees an unabridged Hamlet anymore), but nevertheless, it seems to me a rather major compromise of the spirit of the characters to show one without the other. (If you don't know why, I'm going to assume you've never seen or read Hamlet. Perhaps you should skip out on this blog and go rent one of the many film versions of it.) Put simply, the double casting of actors appeared to be more about giving each student his or her "fair share" of the play rather than doing what was best for the play as a piece of theater. But I'll come back to this in a moment.

There were odd moments of business interjected into the play for no apparent reason other than to let a student showcase some niche talent picked up during the Conservatory's intensive training. For example, Ophelia dangled from a low-flying trapeze twice during the play -- once for her introduction, and once as a sort of dream-like vision as Laertes learns of her death. A bit of a head-scratcher, if you ask me. (And you did. You're reading this.)

But here's the strangest choice of all: the play would better have been called "Hamlets" and not "Hamlet." The role of the melancholy dane was split up for four different actors to perform. I learned of this choice the night before, looking at the shared program for Tartuffe and Hamlet, and seeing credits listed for Hamlet 1, Hamlet 2, Hamlet 3, and Hamlet 4. It was easy to recognize this separation for what it was: giving multiple graduates the chance to take a crack at the meatiest role (in terms of the sheer amount of dialogue, at least) in all of Shakespeare.

So I basically spent 24 hours wondering how this would be approached. Was it to be a purely chronological thing, making no attempt to hide the true reason for the device? Or was there some way you could thematically deconstruct the role of Hamlet into four pieces? Would perhaps one performer take the part for scenes of a certain nature, then another step in when the tone shifted? Perhaps that would be needlessly confusing, but perhaps that would validate the choice for dramatic, not educational reasons?

Well, as it turned out, the Hamlet hand-offs were a mostly sequential matter. Each performer took the role for one quarter of the performance, then stepped down center as the next performer came in behind to perform a sort of "demonic possession" or "essence transfer" bit of physicality to take over the role. It all culminated in the final sword fight with Laertes, in which each one of the four Hamlets took a turn playing one touch against him. All four then appeared on stage together to hold Cladius by the arms and stab him collectively as a group. I will say, that final moment was actually rather effective, but I'm still not sure it was worth the odd journey through four Hamlets.

Who played the different Hamlets... now there's an interesting subject. First up was the man I'd found so unexpectedly compelling the night before in Tartuffe (Sean Lyons). By Shakespeare's five-act text, he played the bulk of the first, including the confrontation with the ghost of Hamlet's father. He was fairly great in this performance too, though I felt the intensity of his opening monologue a bit over the top. I thought to myself, no actor would ever come out swinging this fiercely if he had an entire two-and-a-half hours of this ahead of him; he simply wouldn't have the stamina. Having only a 40 minute piece to take on, though...

But he absolutely killed it in the confrontation with the ghost. In an inspired choice of staging, this exchange was portrayed as an act of spiritual possession of Hamlet himself by the ghost. The one actor played both parts (with a small assist from an audio effect, but mostly through a powerful physicality). The only thing about this that wasn't perfect is that it was retroactively undermined later in the performance. At this point in time, the audience hadn't seen how the four Hamlets would hand off the role to one another. Once we had seen it? Well, it looked rather a lot like this scene with the ghost. Had the production not been trying to sustain the multiple-actor gimmick, the ghostly possession would have been a home run.

Hamlet 2 came on for the bulk of act two, encompassing the famed "to be or not to be" speech, and taking everything through "the play's the thing / Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king." (Which is also where this production placed its intermission.) This Hamlet was played by a woman (Rebecca Martin). I probably should have mentioned her from the previous night's Tartuffe, but her role there was so minor -- she played Loyal, for those familiar with that play -- that it slipped my mind. She was actually quite good for her few minutes on stage, but that impression got lost in the whole two-plus hours.

Of course, this is probably the only time in her life she'll play Hamlet. And there was maybe a moment or two in her performance where she attacked it like that, over-aggressive, a performance pitched to last only 40 minutes and not for an entire play. But these moments were few; for the most part, this Hamlet 2 was strong. You might argue she had the worst chunk of the play to work with. Yes, you get Shakespeare's most famous soliloquy, but it's also the stretch of the story where Hamlet is frozen with indecisiveness. He's been charged to act by the ghost, but doesn't actually do much of anything.

On comes Hamlet 3 to steer the role through the presentation of the play to King Claudius, the confrontation with his mother Gertrude, and the murder of Polonius. This Hamlet was the actor who made me cringe the night before as Tartuffe himself (M. Scott McLean). I was pleased to see an entirely different performance here. Whatever odd choice, be it his or the director's, that had led to such an outlandishly impish Tartuffe had no parallel in his Hamlet. The actual staging of Polonius' murder was almost laughably awkward, but it's no fault of the actor's. He handled the confrontation with Gertrude wonderfully.

Finally came Hamlet 4, and here's where it got even more interesting. Hamlet 4 was also supposed to have been a woman -- the very same woman who, the night before for Tartuffe -- had completely lost her voice and was "dubbed" by another actor. You might be able to get away with that for a light-hearted comedy, but there was simply no way that was going to work for a powerful tragedy like Hamlet. But still -- there is no understudy.

Or so I thought. According to the sign in the lobby, Andrew Schwartz was taking over the role. I may never know for sure who this guy was. He's not in the graduating class. Perhaps he's a second-year student in the Conservatory? Perhaps he's played Hamlet before somewhere? (Probably in this production I found a short write-up about online? I notice it was directed by the same director who put together this production.) In any case, it seems to me there's no way this guy didn't learn his entire role in about 48 hours or less, including all the dialogue, blocking, and fight choreography for the big finish. And even if he had played Hamlet somewhere before and had some memory of the lines rolling around in his head, he still had to learn the part of Guildenstern -- that's how this particular role was double-cast.

So my hat's off to this actor. If I hadn't been told anything, I would have just assumed he was the guy for the role all along. In fact, on one level, I'd say he was actually the best of all four of the Hamlets. His was the one performance that, from beginning to end, felt properly "of a piece" with the entire play. Where the other three all had moments that seemed pitched too high, to "make the most of my piece of the play," Hamlet 4 was the one performer who seemed to be tracking the whole play on an arc. Like I said, maybe he played it before. Or maybe he was just more spontaneous and natural, holding on for dear life trying to remember lines he'd just learned. However he did it, this guy rocked it.

I've spent a lot of time now talking about the Hamlets, so unfortunately I might give short shrift to some of the other aspects of the production. I will say that the Dorine I liked from Tartuffe the night before (Kelli Crump) was great again in Hamlet, taking the role of Horatio. It was a much smaller role, but she found moments of levity and intensity within it.

Another bright spot was this evening's Polonius (Joseph Yeargain). The night before, he'd played Valere in Tartuffe -- a rather stock, silly role in which he made little impression on me either way. But as Polonius, he nailed the blowhard to perfection. There are laughs throughout Shakespeare -- even the tragedies -- but often only those very familiar with the text will catch them. When a large chunk of the audience laughs, and at something that's not a sight gag, you know it's because the actor has powered through the language barrier and really made everyone understand it. This actor did so with great skill.

The darkest spot on this occasion was the concept. Oh, not the four Hamlets conceit I've already expounded on at length. This mounting of the play was conceived of as a graphic novel, in the mold of Sin City. The director even wrote a few short paragraphs about it for the program -- he was inspired by seeing teens in a bookstore enthralled by the Watchmen to make a Hamlet that might somehow reach them in the same way. His Hamlet became a monochromatic void, lit harshly (sometimes hardly at all), and punctuated by discordant musical stings (for a sense of what it sounded like, check out the end of Weezer's "Undone -- The Sweater Song").

Put simply, this concept did not work. Admittedly, I'm no enthusiast of graphic novels, but I'll still make this bold statement -- the most important aspect of the medium is the framing. You see this every time some filmmaker translates a graphic novel into a movie, conspicuously meticulous camera angles designed to look like a painting. You're meant to see a panel in a graphic novel in this one specific way, with every detail precisely chosen and placed by the artist.

You simply cannot do this in a theatrical production. In a play, the audience, not the director, writer, or artist, is king. We'll look where we want to, see what we want to, "frame" our "shots" in the manner we see fit. You can encourage us to look in a certain place and see a certain thing by set design, staging, costumes, and other elements -- but you can't force that. So put in all the harsh lighting and fog effects you want. I'm not going to say, "ooo, isn't that artistic?" I'm going to say, "I can't see a damn thing." It's hard to complain about a stage actor who can't find his light when there's almost no light anywhere to be found.

The costuming of this production was also an attempt to modernize and "Sin City-ize" the play. Hamlet (all four of them), sported cargo pants, a leather jacket, a "Wittenberg" T-shirt, and a hoodie. In short, they all looked almost exactly like the Hamlet presented in the first season of the Canadian TV series Slings and Arrows. I just watched that recently, making this feel to me like a particularly obvious and distracting theft of an idea from another source. (Hmmm... perhaps I should write about my thoughts on Slings and Arrows some time...)

And then there was the final, climactic battle between Hamlet and Laertes. Put simply, it was staged as a lightsaber duel. The stage was pumped with fog thick enough that flashlight beams cut a very visible swath through the air. The performance and technical realization of this was actually pretty amazing. With incredibly crisp fight choreography, the performers would actually clash swords, stopping their beams of light so perfectly that you truly could see where the "blades" would impact one another. Each time the blades touched, a perfectly timed sound effect of two fencing foils scraping would play. The mind boggles to think at the rehearsal that went into making this work (particularly for Hamlet 4, who probably only learned the moves a day before).

The problem is, George Lucas, for good or ill, has destroyed this concept for all eternity. As soon as the first attack began, a woman one row behind me (who, by the way, is going to the "special hell" reserved for people who talk in a theater) says "ooo, it's lightsabers!" Thanks. We know. Precisely the point. We all know. For that one moment, we're thinking not of Hamlet, but of Star Wars. It doesn't matter that a moment later, we're all wowed by how skillfully this is being performed by both actor and sound operator; first came that moment where we were ripped out of the narrative and thinking about something else. More thievery.

In summation, this Hamlet was one where the actors had to overcome a lot -- artificial choices made because it was a production for MFA students... a bizarre and awkward theatrical concept... this jackass group of six in the back row who brought kids under 10 to the play and then proceeded to explain what was happening on stage all throughout the first act! (Culture your kids on your own damn time. Only take them to the theater when you're sure they -- and YOU -- won't talk during the performance. And if you think the plot is going to confuse them, explain the story to them before you go! /end rant.) Nevertheless, the actors did, on the whole, demonstrate what they have learned in their time at the Conservatory program, giving effective performances within these odd limitations.

Perhaps when next year's graduating class is performing this time next year, I'll make the effort to see their productions. It was a wild and distinct experience quite unlike any other I've had at the theater.

Double Feature -- Part 1

I had a very interesting experience at the theater over these past two evenings. I really don't bring any of this up by way of "review," as such. Many of you don't live in Denver, the shows I'm talking about both close tomorrow night, and they're sold out for their final performances in any case; it's not like anyone reading this would be able to attend, even if I recommended you should. Really, I just want to share the experience because it was really one of the stranger ones I've had attending the theater.

And to begin, I need a bit of background to place it all into full context. Here in Denver, the Denver Center Theatre Company runs the National Theatre Conservatory, an intense three-year Master of Fine Arts program in which just 10 students annually are given full scholarships to study acting with rigorous intensity. Lots of actors go on from this program to appear on Broadway, television, film... or even to remain here in Denver and become fixtures of the "parent" Company itself. But all that free schooling for the few lucky students ends up costing the Center just shy of $1 million a year, an expense they've decided they cannot continue. This year's freshman class will, in 2012, become the last class to graduate before they close the doors on the Conservatory.

But in the meantime, "the show must go on." It's graduating time for this year's senior class, and this year they're doing it by performing two different shows in daily rep: Molière's Tartuffe, and Shakespeare's Hamlet. I attended the former last night, and the latter tonight.

This was the first time I'd ever actually seen multiple shows being performed in rotation by the same group of actors. In the past, I've seen stage productions of both plays. (Even of this particular translation of Tartuffe from French to English.) As such, it afforded me the chance to really focus on the shows collectively, rather than each independently. How were the actors in their different roles? What sorts of triumphs and pitfalls could be attributed to the actors, and which to the directors (who were different for the two shows)?

First up was Tartuffe. For those unfamiliar with the play, the title character is a con man who has assumed the role of a most devout priest. His act has duped a wealthy man to invite the con artist into his home. The entire family, who has not been taken in, tries to make the man see the truth, but he stubbornly stands by the priest and favors him to the detriment of everyone. It's a comedy of a style common for the time in which it was written, and done in the playwright's customary technique of rhyming couplets.

The director of this particular version of Tartuffe left much to be desired. The play was poorly staged, with actors frequently obstructing and upstaging one another, giving key lines of dialogue with their backs to the audience, and otherwise awkwardly moving about.

But by far the worst aspect of this performance was Tartuffe himself. The actor playing the role sniveled and choked on his own words like some sort of strange cross between Gollum and Truman Capote (sans lisp). Some of the audience laughed at the gimmick, but within three minutes, I'd come to find it intolerable. I suppose this was intended to show what a snake-oil salesman the man is, and to exhibit that he's not a very good one -- having fooled only the one man and not the rest of the family. Still, I feel this actor should have been encouraged by his director to find a "new choice."

There was another end of the spectrum, however. Two actors shone brilliantly in the cast. One played the wealthy man's maid, Dorine. Arguably the best written role in the show, she has a smart remark for every occasion, and generates the biggest laughs on the page. The actress portraying her (Kelli Crump) brought this to life with perfect sass, never missing a trick or an opportunity for a laugh.

More impressive still was the actor playing Cleante (Sean Lyons), the brother of the duped man. On the page, it's not an impressive part. He has only a few scenes, and his function in the play is to be primarily the mouthpiece of the playwright. To read it, it's just not a funny role. But this actor found jokes that weren't obvious, and carried them off without them ever seeming forced. Performances like this are why one goes to see a play they've seen before, to have an actor show you something in the play you never knew was there. Brilliant.

Residing off the spectrum in a peculiar category of its own was the character of Damis, the hotheaded son of the wealthy man. The Conservatory graduating class being what it is, comprised of the particular mix of genders (and ethnicities) it has, means that some roles must be filled unconventionally. There's nothing wrong -- or even necessarily unusual -- about that. In this production, Damis was played by a woman (and not the only part to be played by someone of the opposite sex; there were other women as men, and one man as a woman).

But as unfortunate circumstance would have it, this poor woman had completely lost her voice during this week of performances. Could not say one word. But it's her graduating performance. It's a public performance, yes, but it's also ultimately an educational exercise; there was no understudy. So, as one of the cast members explained to us before the play began, this actor would move about on stage and perform the "motions" of her part, while another person sat off stage and read the dialogue for her.

The result was odd, and quite took me out of the play. Oh, not necessarily for the most obvious reason; I actually found that within a minute or two, I just learned to accept lines coming in from offstage as this woman never opened her mouth. And the reader actually did give a performance, and not just a rote recitation of the dialogue. But they actually had a man read the dialogue for a woman playing a man's role, which made the whole thing a little too "meta" for me. Plus, the woman really seemed to be gesticulating and "face acting" wildly in her performance. Pulled out of the play, I had to wonder, is this how she'd be performing it if she could speak for herself? Is this wild behavior because the character is an aggressive hothead, or is it an actor overcompensating like a silent film star?

So, all told, the evening was a most thoroughly mixed bag. The bright spots were almost blindingly so, the rough spots abrasive indeed, and then there was just the weirdness too. I left simultaneously entertained, disappointed, and full of speculation about what I would see on the next night, with Hamlet.

Perhaps out of a sense for dramatic tension myself, or perhaps just in recognition that I've already droned on past the attention span of the average internet surfer, I think I'll pause this tale for now and say "to be continued." Tomorrow, I'll regale you with my night of Hamlet, and the comparisons it brought.

Ordinary Movie

I recently decided to cross another Oscar winning Best Picture off my list, watching 1980's Ordinary People. This film marked Robert Redford's directorial debut -- and he too won an Oscar for his efforts. The cast included Donald Sutherland, Mary Tyler Moore (another nominee, for Best Actress), Timothy Hutton (winner, for Best Supporting Actor), and Judd Hirsch (nominated in the same category as Hutton). In short, it was a major line-up of people making a much-esteemed picture.

But, as is unfortunately often the case, I cannot see today what all the fuss was then, 30 years ago. It's certainly the sort of dramatic mine field that actors and directors love to march boldly into, explaining how all these people were attracted to the story. It revolves around a family who has lost the older of two teenage sons in an accident. It has shattered the family, leaving the mother cold and distant, the surviving son stricken with guilt and unable to cope with profound psychiatric problems, and the father unable to figure out how to help or connect with either of them. Angst ensues.

The thing is, it's very awkwardly paced angst. The story doesn't quite unfold in an order that makes sense. It's certainly a deliberate narrative device, withholding the context for the stilted family drama we see in the opening act. But the device goes too far for my tastes. Effect precedes cause as a matter of course for this movie. Characters seem too easily able to articulate exactly what's going on in their minds for the sake of the plot; yet you can't help but wonder why, if they all can be so honest with themselves, they're having such great difficulty with one another.

The editing of it is noticeably jarring -- and not in a way I think was intentional. In the first 15 minutes of the film in particular, I noticed multiple occasions where it seemed that scenes were cut into too early, or left too late. You could see actors standing in place as though waiting for the call for "action," before suddenly starting their movements in a most unnatural way. I wondered if perhaps I was imagining things, but in my subsequent research about the movie, I learned this bit of odd trivia: Ordinary People is actually the only Best Picture winner ever to not receive a nomination in the Best Editing category at the Academy Awards. On the one hand, I'm surprised I even noticed; on the other, that's how bad the editing seems to be.

But though the movie is awkward on the page and even more awkward in the editing, it's not without merit. The acting really does pull it all back from the brink. In particular, the scenes with Timothy Hutton (as the surviving son) in sessions with Judd Hirsch (as his psychiatrist) are really the spine of the entire two hours. It's understandable why both men received nominations for the work. (And similarly understandable why Hutton, with the emotionally showier part, won over his fellow actor.)

Still, I found it a mostly tedious film overall, a very much overrated piece that covers the same emotional terrain as other movies have done more effectively. I rate Ordinary People a C-.

Pushing the Wrong Buttons

Years ago, sci-fi writer Richard Matheson wrote a short story called "Button, Button" that had some buzz about it. During the 80s incarnation of The Twilight Zone, the story became the basis of a 20-minute segment that was one of the more well-received pieces on the show. (This despite the fact that Matheson loudly criticized the alternate ending given to the TV version of his story.)

Last year, the story was adapted again into the feature length movie, The Box. This time, the man behind Donnie Darko, Richard Kelly, was directing and writing. My opinion of that movie was mixed at best, so that wasn't really what attracted my curiosity. Really, I wondered how anyone could manage to take such a simple idea, inherently only about 20 minutes of screen time long, and expand it into a two-hour film.

The core idea is very straightforward. A married couple has a mysterious man show up on their doorstep with a simple wooden box with a button on top. Push the button, and two things will happen. The couple will receive some large amount of money. (The exact amount depends on inflation and shifting ideas of what constitutes a "large amount of money," depending on when the story is being told.) Secondly, someone whom they do not know will die. Can you live with the knowledge that you're responsible for a stranger's death with money to console your guilt? (Well... that's not really the message of the story. The true message depends on whether you're talking about the original short story, or The Twilight Zone version.)

Anyway, that's really all there is to it. So how do you get two hours out of it? By jumping off the tracks into Crazy Town. The Box takes its cues from the plot of The Twilight Zone incarnation of Button, Button, injecting odd details like setting the tale in the mid-1970s; making the woman (played by Cameron Diaz) have a disfigured foot after a childhood accident; making the man (played by James Marsden) a NASA engineer who worked on the cameras of the Viking space probe that went to Mars; and by making the "mysterious man" (played by Frank Langella) into some ghastly maybe-a-zombie, maybe-possessed, maybe-an-actual-Martian freak.

Despite these oddities, the film is actually rather effective and tense for a while, even though anyone who knows the story isn't going to be surprised. (Nor, for that matter, would anyone with half a brain to anticipate where the plot is going.) It's kind of cool, sort of suspenseful, and mostly interesting.

Then, about one hour into the movie, the whole of the story, as told before, is finished. And from there things get really, really weird, as I probably should have expected from the man who made Donnie Darko. Legions of zombie-like "employees" of the Mysterious Man start stalking the couple. Weird alien technology is used to cause havoc. A new dilemma is presented to the couple that is somehow supposed to one-up the drama and trauma of the first one, but just seems like a bridge too far. The movie stops making any effort at making any sense.

Before it's all over, any "hey, this actually isn't too bad" goodwill I felt during the first half has been foolishly squandered. It basically winds up being half of a good movie. And so, not surprisingly, I rate it a C+. (Middle of the road, with a "plus" for Frank Langella, who remains effectively creepy even as his part grows more absurd.) Those who can do without the trappings of visual effects would be better advised to seek out the original short story and read that.

The Last Recruit

Many times throughout this final season of Lost, there have been moments where you think "the sprint for the finish line has really started now." But I think tonight's episode upped the ante on that; tonight, it really felt like the beginning of the end. Interestingly, it wasn't really the goings-on on the Island that gave me that impression. Instead, it was the events in the Sideways World that showed the final threads pulling together.

Nearly every storyline we've seen all season in the Sideways World came back to be continued tonight. Jack met his sister Claire and was brought in to perform surgery on Locke, Sawyer dealt with Kate and apprehended Sayid, Sun survived her gunshot wound with her baby alive... threads crossing every which way, starting to be pulled taut.

But there were a few events of note on the Island too. Number one was literally years in the making: at long last, the reunion of Sun and Jin. It's probably impossible for something that long coming to really pay off, but it at the very least came close, a poignant moment.

There was the story of Sayid, continuing to dance around the notion that's he's probably thinking of the "dead woman he loved and lost" as Nadia, when the same could apply to Shannon. Desmond's zen-like state allowed him to pose very pointed questions to Sayid, questioning his actions. Enough to pull Desmond back from the "dark side?" Well, we didn't see the body now, did we?

A redemption we did get to see on screen was Claire's, as Kate simultaneously talked Claire into coming and Sawyer into letting it happen. But I find just as much uncertainty in this development. It seems like Sayid probably didn't shoot Desmond, but what turned him, and why is he deciding to lie to UnLocke now? By the same token, Claire can't really have come back from years of crazy on the Island just like that, right?

Add Widmore to the "what's going on with them?" pile from this week. Though off screen in this episode, he called in to order the defecting castaways taken into custody. Of course, Widmore Good or Evil is a game we've been playing a while now, so this shouldn't shock anybody.

Unfortunately, however, the continuation of all these threads won't be coming next week, from the look of it. According to the schedule, next week's episode of Lost is a re-run. So the only Lost mysteries you can contemplate next week is why they decided to inject one re-run in an otherwise uninterrupted season. Perhaps you can ponder if there's any significance to why that one re-run was chosen to be the Richard-centric episode from just a few weeks ago. Was it judged to be especially important to the conclusion by the producers?

At least Glee is back now and I still have that in Lost's absence next week. (Though you know what? Screw you, American Idol, for running long and cutting into the scheduled run time!)

Day 8, 9:00-10:00 AM

That's a full service hospital, what with interns apparently ready to just give their shirt and shoes to people. (But what, no socks?)

You're not supposed to use your cell phone in the hospital, Jack.

Just a couple hours ago, Ethan Canin had a heart attack for which he received no medical attention for nearly a full hour, but here he is, back up on his feet and on the job. Trying to show Jack Bauer up in the "endurance" department, obviously.

Logan and the Russian diplomat have a diagonal head conversation.

The judge felt bad about the whole "no bail" thing, so he's taking a 30 minutes recess to give Bazhaev's lawyer 5 minutes with his client.

The bailiff must have very bad hearing. But then, Jack is using his patented intimi-whisper.

Apparently, Russian help getting Dana Walsh into CTU would explain how she got there. We all thought she just checked the "not a mole" box on her application.

Doesn't Logan's political strategy usually operative through the rear entrance?

Cole thinks it's totally okay to let Jack beat on Dana some more.

Logan gestures emphatically and threatens that "this will all be finished." What, television? Or specifically Fox News?

Taking advice from Julius Caesar? Look how things turned out for him.

The President is off to the least secure building in the city -- the CTU office.

Alright, just keep staring creepily into the camera, Katee.

The President is specifically careful to thank CTU for their "efforts," not their results. "I know you won't let me down." (Again.)

Why does Jack have this big box of stuff to take with him from CTU? He doesn't actually work there!

That whole time President Taylor was talking to Jack and Chloe, the Secret Service was busy trying to get that limo turned around in that tiny tunnel.

Grand Theft Chopper.

Opening Up a Can...

I really wasn't sure I wanted to see the new movie Kick-Ass. Actually, based on seeing the trailer, I was pretty sure I didn't want to see it. After all, comic book movies and I haven't always seen eye to eye, and I think Nicholas Cage is one of the worst "actors" to somehow keep finding steady work these days. But then, a few weeks ago, I got a better idea of what Kick-Ass was really like. It's not the slapstick sort of comedy the trailer implies. It might be that the people cutting that trailer were trying to trick people into thinking they were going to see something different.

Actually, it's more likely that the people cutting that trailer couldn't actually show what the movie really was in a "green band" (for all audiences) trailer. Because what I was hearing was that Kick-Ass was actually a foul-mouthed, raucous orgy of violence -- at least, in the original source material. And the creators apparently had script approval over this film as well. My expectations now shifted to something different, I decided to give the film a try.

It was everything I expected, and maybe more. I can only imagine the shock of anyone who saw this movie expecting what they saw in the trailer; instead, they got something as bloody and visceral as any Quentin Tarantino movie -- but without so much self-indulgent dialogue and aimless subplotting.

Kick-Ass is the story of a comic-loving teenager who, despite a lack of any skills or even much athleticism, decides to don a costume himself and go out fighting crime. His well intentioned but not always successful efforts soon grab attention -- including from a vigilante father and his 11-year old daughter who are doing the superhero thing to even greater extremes, and from a crime lord whose operations are threatened by this unlikely celebrity.

The film may be called Kick-Ass, but the real scene-stealer of the movie is the daughter, Hit Girl. Played by Chloe Moretz, who had a smallish but entertaining role in (500) Days of Summer, she comes across as a bigger badass than any of the adult actors who've famously trained for months for their roles in crazy action blockbusters. Assuming you're not deeply unsettled at the sight of a little girl doing the things she does in this movie (and you're kind of supposed to be on some level), you'll be wildly entertained.

On the other end of the spectrum is Nicholas Cage, who once again demonstrates why I don't like him -- by playing "Nicholas Cage," just like he does in every movie, just this time in a kind of a Batman-looking suit. Fortunately, his role in the movie is actually somewhat smallish, and didn't bring the whole down too far.

While the movie does entertain, it does maybe try a little too hard to set up a franchise. It does tell a complete story on its own, but it also is a little too neat in setting up what the sequel would be. I suppose this is par for the course in sueprhero movies, if you look Spider-man, Batman Begins... hell, even the original Superman. Still, this movie was in so many ways an unconventional superhero movie -- boldly charging across the line of dark, violent, and just plain messed-up that others only flirt with -- that it just seems out of place to be laying track for Kick-Ass 2.

But then, I would probably go see a Kick-Ass 2, after my experience with this first one. I'd rate it a B.

Brotherly Love

I recently watched a film that, in my opinion, is a better "war movie" from last year than the Best Picture winner, The Hurt Locker. Well, a little bit better, at least.

Brothers is the story of... well... two brothers, one a perpetual screw-up recently released from prison (Jake Gyllenhall), the other a soldier who followed in his father's footsteps and who is heading off to fight in the Middle East (Tobey Maguire). Natalie Portman plays the wife of the soldier, whose life is shattered when her husband is apparently killed in action. In fact, he has been captured by the enemy, and is put through a grueling ordeal that transforms and destroys him.

The script is not outstanding or revolutionary, and it borrows some ideas you've probably seen in other war movies -- particularly the more modern, "gritty" kind. It's also playing a romance-that-cannot-be thread that isn't exactly breaking new ground. But what makes the movie really succeed is the strength of its acting. All three -- Maguire, Gyllenhaal, and Portman -- give really fantastic performances. They're powerful when they need to be, subtle when they need to be, and hit every beat in between.

In particular, Tobey Maguire is really amazing. His character comes back from war so different and so damaged that he's a completely different person, and Maguire captures this perfectly. He gives a truly chilling performance; though the film has been somewhat rote and predictable through the first two acts, he is such a terrifying wild card in the final act that I honestly found myself uncertain just what he would do. The tension in the last half hour of the film is strong and potent, and while the film didn't really need to be "redeemed" as such, this is the part that lifts the whole thing a cut above others.

I rate Brothers a B-. I might have gone higher, but it truly is an average movie elevated a great deal by good acting. If you've liked any of those three performers in other films, you would probably enjoy their work here.

Tippe Point

I noticed recently at Sangediver's house that the run of U.S. Presidential dollar coins has made it at least as far as John Tyler. His wife (Sangediver's, not John Tyler's) is a bit of a presidential trivia buff, and I asked her, "he's the one that filled in for William Henry Harrison, right?" (Harrison being the president who famously died after only a month in office.)

But even before she could answer, I remembered that I actually knew the answer thanks to my grandfather. On a few scattered occasions, I'd heard him mention "Tippecanoe and Tyler too." It wasn't like a catch phrase or anything, but it's an oddball enough thing that it sticks in your mind, you know? I suppose at the time, I might have thought is was some lyric to an older song I'd never heard, but I once was curious enough to research it and learn the true origin. Yes, it was a song... but it was actually the campaign song for President Harrison (hero of the Battle of Tippecanoe) and his running mate, John Tyler.

This was in 1840, by the way. This means that even if my grandfather heard this bizarre "Tippecanoe and Tyler too" phrase from his grandfather, there's no way that he was actually around to have heard it at the time, either. Just how many generations did this pass through to get to me? What do you suppose the guy who wrote it would have thought to know that his little jingle was still going to be known (if not widely) nearly two centuries later?

And perhaps most importantly of all: why is any of this taking up space in my brain?

Lost Again

Several weeks back, I wrote about an HBO documentary I watched, Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills. It told the story of three teenagers on trial for the brutal murders of three young boys in a small Arkansas town. The film presented a compelling case for the teenagers' innocence, made all the more poignant by the end, as all of them are convicted and sentenced with scant evidence and a surplus of emotion.

A few years later, the same crew went back in to make a follow-up documentary, Paradise Lost 2: Revelations. The subtitle is a bit of a misnomer, as the film doesn't actually deliver much in the way of new revelations about the case. But what it does deliver is a very different treatment of the material that stands apart as separate from and interesting in comparison to the original.

One major difference is that the three young men are featured much less in this film than the original. This is of necessity, of course -- they are now imprisoned, and access to them is much more limited. Even though an appeal is in progress as this second film is being made, the documentary cameras are barred from the courtroom. Where the first movie gives us a front-row seat to events, this story is told at a greater distance, as we watch events outside the courthouse, and sit in on interviews involving other people surrounding the case.

Two people become more of a focus in this film that were minor "characters" in the first. One is the stepfather of one of the murdered boys. He came across as quite the freak show in the first documentary. Here, he's presented as a full-on candidate for "the real killer." And whether you believe that or not, the film "entertains" (if that's not too ghastly a word to use, given the real-life context) on the strength of how crazed a character he is.

Second, the film focuses on one of the defense attorneys from the original trial. Five years on, he is the only lawyer still actively working on the case and trying to secure an acquittal for his client. He's still turning over new stones, working on the case without compensation. The film tracks his efforts as he works with new experts, motivated to help him in part because of the original documentary, and you really find yourself rooting for him.

Speaking of people motivated by the original documentary, this film also devotes time to a group of people who have organized under the "Free the West Memphis Three" banner upon seeing that first film. They provide another interesting voice here. They articulate many of the things that you find yourself thinking as you watch both this film and the original. And yet for all their determination, you feel frustration as there seems to be very little they can actually do. It's an interesting texture unlike anything from the first documentary.

In all, I'd say this second film isn't quite as compelling as the first, but I found it still very much worth watching. I rate it a B-.

What Would Brian Boitano Do?

Why, he'd curse a blue streak as he congratulated the South Park creators on reaching their 200th episode, airing tonight.

The thing that impresses me about South Park is that even now, in its 14th year, it manages to be truly funny almost every week. Contrast this with, say, The Simpsons, which hasn't been funny in about 14 years.

Everybody Loves Hugo

When it comes to the mysteries of Lost, I've always been a viewer more interested in answers to those surrounding the characters more than those surrounding the Island. As such, one of the biggest dangling threads for me went back to season two, when Libby was killed off without us ever seeing a flashback episode explaining her past... but having seen that tantalizing glimpse of her in the mental institution with Hurley.

So honestly, I'm not sure how I felt about them revisiting this thread tonight. I mean, on the one hand, I'm certainly glad that they revisited the story between Libby and Hurley. Their relationship was very pure and sweet, just nice to watch. But showing us this story again, and putting her in the institution again in this reality just makes me wonder all over again: what the hell was she doing in the asylum the "first time" around?

Perhaps we are meant to infer that "first reality Libby" was actually there for exactly the same reason? That she had memories from an alternate reality, specifically memories of Hurley? She was, after all, quite fixated on him in that brief scene we saw of her in the institution four years ago. And she very clearly remembered him. If she was fixating on him as a sort of "constant," then... well, I suppose that all makes some rough kind of sense.

But even if that is the answer to that question, it then begs more questions. Why is Libby so special that she knew apparently before anybody else about the existence of the other world? Is this something we're going to actually get answers to in the scant five episodes we have left, or was tonight more about just giving us that last revisiting of an old character before things wind up?

Either way, I've probably obsessed about this one aspect of a busy episode long enough. After all, there were plenty of other things going on. We had the return of Michael, conclusively revealing the nature of the ghostly whispers we've heard on the Island all these years -- they are just that, ghostly whispers. I certainly didn't need to see Michael again for me to feel my experience with Lost was complete, but sure, whatever. He didn't run around screaming Walt's name for an hour, so I'm okay with it.

Poor Ilana. We hardly knew you. But I have to say, as I was watching her shove things into that bag of dynamite, I was totally picturing pompous old Dr. Arzt, and saying out loud to the TV, "how in the hell is that dynamite not blowing.... oh, well, there it is."

On deck for next episode, the rest of the candidates finally arrive to confront UnLocke. But to keep you thinking until then, we were left with one more big thing on the way out: what the hell is going on with Sideways Desmond? He closed out the episode by running over Sideways Locke with his car. Hugo gets a kiss from his soul mate, Locke gets the front grill.

This, of course, came after Smokey-as-Locke tossed Island Desmond down the well. So is this some kind of revenge thing? Do the two Desmonds have complete awareness of one another now? Or is it not as petty as that? Was Sideways Desmond going after Locke because he knows Locke is dead in the other reality? But then, so was Libby. But then, Libby wasn't an Oceanic passenger in this second reality. Or maybe Desmond wasn't trying to kill Locke, and knew he would survive?

Now there's enough to keep your head spinning until next week arrives. Dramatically speaking, this week's episode was actually one of the weaker ones of the season, I thought. Still, even at that, it offered plenty to get the mind spinning, and certainly pushed pieces a little closer to the finish.

Day 8, 8:00-9:00 AM

I still can't believe they named a fictional Middle Eastern company the I.R.K. It's like a name out of Get Smart or something.

Dahlia says her husband was sorry about all the torture. Nice, but a lie.

Taylor's plan is that a woman could become president of a Middle Eastern country. A lovely sentiment, but sadly ludicrous even for 24.

Chloe acts like she runs CTU already. Putting her in charge shouldn't change much.

Hastings takes the news of his firing standing up straight, for perhaps the first time in his life.

Hastings talks about letting the "snake into the garden." I like this CTU-as-garden metaphor, because CTU is full of crap.

Little Teri Bauer's middle name should be "Hostage," because that's the family heritage.

It appears that the First Crazy Lazy didn't finish the job a few seasons back; Charles Logan is still alive.

This is how you get an actor to agree to sit out for half an episode: have his character have sex in real time. Play to ego.

Dahlia will need her daughter's help now. She can start by not sleeping with terrorists.

Logan is going to help with "resurrecting the peace process." So... Zombie Peace?!

I've heard great things about "I'm sorry I stabbed you" sex.

Is no one gonna keep pressure on Renee's wound?

And just like that, the best thing about season 7 is gone.

Date Movie

Today, I checked out the new comedy starring Steve Carell and Tina Fey, Date Night. It was definitely one of those movies where I hoped it would be as funny as it looked in the trailers, and that not all the best parts had been spoiled there. It was a case where it looked all too conventional in its storyline, but hopefully the stars would add something extra.

Indeed, it was a conventional plot, cobbled together from a few other movies you've probably all seen before. A married couple is mistaken for two people holding information over the head of a dangerous mobster, whose goons are trying to have our unlikely (and unlucky) heroes killed. Hilarity ensues.

And actually, it does. Steve Carell and Tina Fey both create a lot of great moments in this movie. The entire thing just has the sense of fun about it; you can tell (even before seeing the outtakes that run over the end credits) that everyone had a lot of fun making this movie. Carell plays less dumb than he does on The Office, and Fey less smart than she does on 30 Rock -- but the two meet in the middle and create a lot of laughs.

The supporting cast is also quite entertaining, including normally oh-so-serious Mark Wahlberg and William Fichtner. In a string of near-cameo appearances, there's also Ray Liotta, James Franco, Mila Kunis, Mark Ruffalo, and Kristen Wiig. Again, you just get the sense they're cutting loose and having fun.

If anything, the story is so wafer thin that you almost wish even less attention had been paid to it. There are a few action sequences better suited to a madcap buddy cop movie than a film like this, purely there to advance the plot, I think. Still, Date Night does generate laughs when it stops trying to be an action movie too. Overall, I'd rate it a B.