I'll always remember 2011 as my "Year of Enlightenment"; after spending much of my adult life sort of listlessly drifting through existence, I finally found a breakthrough this year, in terms of life goals, purpose of being, personality, and countless other things. A large part of that shift is likely due to the fact that I read more in 2011 than I have in any year of my life; by my count, I read over 20 books during the year, and plan on reading at least 20 more in 2012. Below are a list of the ten favorites I managed to get through, as well as some honorable mention (and dishonorable mention) candidates.
10. Never Let Me Go (2005, Kazuo Ishiguro)
Takes a little long to get going, but when it does...oh wow. The second half is an extremely difficult read, just for how powerfully sad it is, and the ending would make The Tin Man tear up. It's so good that I refuse to see the film adaption (released in 2010) for fear that it'll have nowhere near the emotional punch of the novel. (Note: This was in the top three until I read a review of it that imagined the three main characters as farm animals; needless to say, this analogy did not enhance my opinion of the book, and now makes me view it in an almost humorous light.)
9. The Sirens of Titan (1959, Kurt Vonnegut)
Similar to #10 in that the set-up is probably too long and the second half is simply sublime. The idea of all of humanity existing simply to transport a spare machine part to an alien stranded on Saturn is the best theory I've ever seen for why we were created. This won't be the last Vonnegut novel on the list.
8. Killing Yourself to Live; 85% of a True Story (2003, Chuck Klosterman)
Chuck Klosterman at his neuotric peak. Take the love essays and rock essays from Sex, Drugs, & Cocoa Puffs, meld them all together so that they transition seamlessly, slightly tweak the topics, and you've got this just-the-right length extended magazine piece (and that's a compliment). Highlights: the Kid A/September 11th theory, the discussion about Zeppelin, and the section about people who live in Los Angeles ("it is January or possibly July" is my favorite line in the entire book).
7. The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter (1940, Carson McCullers)
Maybe the most brilliant idea in early contemporary literature was McCullers' introducing the idea of the "protagonist as audience surrogate." John Singer, a lonely deaf man living amidst a colony of lost souls, serves this purpose perfectly; he allows the other characters to share their rich, interesting, ultimately heartbreaking life stories as they search for love and mostly fail to find it. The fact that McCullers had this published when she was 23 actually kind of irritates me, since I'll likely be typing words for a school newspaper and working in the back kitchen of a two-star restaurant at that age.
6. 1984 (1949, George Orwell)
A little preachy? Sure, but still the ultimate dystopian masterpiece, and likely a huge influence on one of my all-time favorite movies, V for Vendetta. The feeling of constant suspense and danger present throughout the first two-thirds of the book is palpable, and Winston Smith's tragic journey is a remarkably written one. I like this book anywhere from two to two thousand times better than Aldous Huxley's Brave New World, which I find boring and overly ridiculous.
5. Slapstick (1976, Kurt Vonnegut)
Here's a reason why I don't like "Top Ten" or "Top 100" lists; the author often feels as though they need to represent the greatest variety of material possible, which leads them to not list multiple pieces of work by the same artist. (The worst example is probably VH1's list of the "Greatest Songs of the '80s"; it includes "Sweet Child O' Mine" by Guns N' Roses at #2, but omits "Welcome to the Jungle" entirely, probably for the reason I noted above.) Yes, I read a lot of books by guys other than Kurt Vonnegut, but Slapstick was a laugh-out-loud emotional roller coaster ride with one of my favorite endings of all time. Why shouldn't I put it on the list? Because I also loved Sirens of Titan and Slaughterhouse-Five? That's reasonable?
4. A Confederacy of Dunces (1980, John Kennedy Toole)
Quite possibly the funniest thing ever written, and (more importantly) an interesting insight as to why the author committed suicide before it got published. All of Confederacy's characters are either unlikable or unredeemable (or both), which causes society as a whole to be portrayed in a highly negative light.
3. Eating The Dinosaur (2009, Chuck Klosterman)
Ralph Sampson, Mike Leach, In Utero, Lady Gaga, and countless other pop culture manifestations are critically analyzed by the P.C. guru himself. Klosterman was in his mid-thirties and married when he began work on this novel, which explains how its tone is much less negative and fatalistic than everything else he's written (and also why this is my favorite book of his).
2. Catch-22 (1961, Joseph Heller)
I take back my comment from #4; this is the funniest thing ever written. The story isn't particularly interesting, and the theme doesn't go much deeper than "War is stupid," but every single page contains at least two side-splitting laughs, and Yossarian is probably my favorite protagonist of all time. There may very well be no funnier chapter in literature history than the one about Major Major Major.
1. Slaughterhouse-Five (1969, Kurt Vonnegut)
Kurt's best. Rivals #2 and #4 on this list for humor, while also critically analyzing a host of deep themes: free will, love, marriage, war, and others that are the usual Vonnegut standbys. The fact that this Vonnegut novel features a frequently-time-traveling main character named "Billy Pilgrim," Tralfamadorians, and the always-enjoyable Kilgore Trout, pushes it to the top of my 2011 reading list.
HONORABLE MENTION:
Fight Club (1996, Chuck Palahniuk)
An enjoyable satire on the American male's existence in the late 20th century. Bonus points for the scene, tragically omitted from the film version, where the narrator and Marla engage in a kitchen brawl while using Marla's mother's liposuctioned fat as a weapon.
Cat's Cradle (1963, Kurt Vonnegut)
Is this what's going to happen on December 21, 2012?
Chuck Klosterman IV (2006, Chuck Klosterman)
Can't beat an anthology of Chuck's finest. His interviews with Val Kilmer and Bono are especially enlightening.
DISHONORABLE MENTION:
Fahrenheit 451 (1953, Ray Bradbury)
Just could never get into this supposed "dystopian sci-fi masterpiece"; nearly every character, including the protagonist, is completely unlikable, and the story goes nowhere. I did enjoy parts of it, though, which is why I'm willing to give Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes a chance.
A Clockwork Orange (1962, Anthony Burgess)
I don't really like Catcher In The Rye as a novel (my appreciation for it arises from deeper reasons), and Clockwork Orange generally feels like a carbon copy of the former book, if Holden Caulfield was 50% more violent and spoke entirely in ridiculous, nearly-impossible-to-decipher slang.
Tender Is The Night (1934, F. Scott Fitzgerald)
I still believe that The Great Gatsby is the greatest American novel of all time, and definitely one of my four or five favorite books ever. Tender is generally considered Fitzgerald's second-greatest book, which led me to take the understandable plunge. What I found was a long, boring, devoid-of-action romance novel whose only value lies in the fact that it's basically the story of the end of Fitzgerald's life. I suppose that there's some reason to appreciate it, in that regard, but as a novel itself I found it extremely hard to get through.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
SIC of the (week), 12/26 to 1/1
OKAY...so obviously, the "SIC of the day" gimmick lasted all of three days. (I could insert some bullshit about "taking a week off for Christmas," like most bloggers/respected writers do so that they don't have to worry about anything from December 19th to January 2nd, but I'm not a lazy fuck, so yeah.) That's impressively awful, even by my standards. So I've switched it up to the "SIC of the week" in order to make this a more realistic goal.
Also...I've read over the first few things I've written, and I hate them all and want to change almost all of them. They just don't reflect what I want to do at all. I've slowly come to learn that I began this blog with the intention to "try to understand why I feel the way I do about certain things in society," and from those first few essays it does seem as though I am working toward that goal. However, I come off sounding like a whiny emo kid, which isn't like me at all. I feel like I went overly emotional, in trying to sound important and make the blog "sound professional" or something. This goes against the point of what I'm trying to do, because if I contort my words and sound like a pretentious dick (which I'm not), then I'm not really expressing how I feel, which (again) is the point of this blog. Henceforth, I will make a conscious effort to put "content" above "form" in my essays, which will resume tomorrow.
As for the "SIC of the week," I present to you the most exciting two minutes the average movie geek has had in months: The Dark Knight Rises official trailer. Enjoy.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
The book is more powerful than the sword.
Mind control absolutely exists.
There are any number of complex theories and methods one could use in this space to prove that true, but I will choose to focus on the basic forms. Take the simple example of "music." If a girl at a club has had a few drinks and hears a catchy song, her mind tells her to dance, and she usually does. If a stoner has had a few puffs and puts on a track with a laid-back groove, his mind tells him that he is getting very sleepy. If a flower child drops some acid and listens to prog-rock or trip-hop, his mind tells him that certain pictures and colors exist that actually do not. This is mind control. (Some might argue that this is simply "mind manipulation," and that true "mind control" can only exist if a certain individual can literally use their mind to control the thoughts of others. This is, at the very least, nitpicking.)
The concept goes a little deeper when analyzed through the lens of film. Taxi Driver convinced Ed Hinckley to shoot the president. Fight Club moved large groups of people to start "copycat" Project Mayhem organizations (although with, of course, much more realistic results). Jaws kickstarted a worldwide fear of sharks, leading to Animal Planet's highly-publicized "Shark Week" and the shark itself eventually getting tagged as an "endangered species" due to extreme over-hunting. Seemingly innocent films like The Wizard of Oz and Lord of the Rings became famous for wholly unintentional reasons (in each of these cases, "Dude, we gotta get high to this shit, man"). And so forth.
However, beyond these two methods comes the truest form of mind control, and the one that has arguably resulted in the most serious consequences throughout the years: manipulation through literature.
---
One of my friends is absolutely beautiful...or, at least, I've seen her at a state of absolute beauty. She has gorgeous blue eyes, tan brown skin, flowing brown hair, and some of the prettiest features I've ever seen in a woman's face. I've seen modeling pictures of her from several years ago, and she looks like a fucking ten (out of five). On paper, she has everything that any man would ever look for in a woman. It's unfortunate that those criteria don't include "a personality," but shit; if she did have a wonderful personality, she'd be the most attractive person on the fucking planet. Bar none.
This is where (at least, in my speculation) literature enters the picture.
This woman's favorite author is Chuck Klosterman, notorious always-depressed contrarian hipster/"philosopher for dummies." And I actually like the guy; in fact, I'm a huge fan of a lot of his essays, and definitely enjoy his takes on Star Wars ("Empire Strikes Back previewed Generation X"), the 1980s Lakers-Celtics rivalry ("Celtics = old school Republicans, Lakers = late-'60s Democrats"), and Advancement Theory (when an artist does something that is the opposite of unpredictable and also the opposite of unpredictable, they have done something genius). I'll even be referencing a lot of these essays in my own writing, and plan on my next one to even involve a "philosophical" question of his from the book "Sex, Drugs, & Cocoa Puffs." But here's the thing: I respect the guy's writing, but I wouldn't say I'm in love with it. Sure, I love certain parts, but generally it just seems too depressing; one of his books chronicles a road trip of his around America looking for famous places where rock stars died ("Killing Yourself To Live") that should have been fucking incredible...if he wasn't sulking the entire time over being lovesick. In that book, he also admits that the entirety of his most famous work ("SD&CP") was written when he was also lovesick. As you can imagine, he can very easily start to sound like a whiny douche in a lot of places throughout both books. This is why, although I definitely enjoy portions of his brainstorms throughout both works, I wouldn't call myself a Klosterman Disciple. Of course, since his writing is extremely relatable to the average American (since he's writing about everyday situations and pop culture in a slightly deep way), I can imagine that it would be easy for someone to get sucked in by him.
Unfortunately, my girl friend did. (Or, at least, I think she did; again, this all speculative.)
My female friend has pierced her nose at least three times. She rarely wears makeup. She recently cut her hair down to shoulder length. She seemingly deliberately wears the least revealing (i.e., least attractive) clothes she can find. On top of that, she also apparently tries to make her Facebook profile picture the least attractive picture she can find. The only things she ever talks about are how little money she has and how little luck she has with men. Although I could very, very easily imagine her being a "party girl" (at least, based on what I've seen and heard about her past life), it seems as if she's trying to go "alternative." And although we're friends, whenever I speak to her I get the general impression that she's attempting to disagree with everything I say and/or one-up me at every turn because she has to be smarter and "righter" than me about everything.
This is a Klosterman Disciple in a nutshell.
Again...I may be reading too much into this (no pun intended). Maybe she was always like that, and is just now choosing to go full indie chick. Maybe she's naturally condescending; fuck, most women are. Maybe she never was a "party girl," and just looked and acted extremely like one once upon a time (according to various sources, anyway). Maybe she honestly does find those clothes and those Facebook pictures attractive, in which case her choices to utilize them would be less "pretentious" and more "extremely misguided."
Or maybe she views Klosterman like Chapman viewed Sallinger. In which case, a) Chris Martin had better start wearing Kevlar in public, and b) we've lost another one to literature mind control.
---
So why does literature take such a strong hold over the people who read it? Here's my theory.
In the case of music at a club, you're around a hundred other people when you're hearing the song; it does dictate your actions to a point, but if absolutely nobody else was dancing to the music then you probably wouldn't either. It's just as much of a sociological thing as it is a psychological thing. It's a little different in the case of a movie, because you take it in on more of a personal level (what with the silent theater and the dark atmosphere). But immediately after the movie ends, you're probably discussing it with a friend or family member (and possibly multiple friends and family members), because movie viewing is almost completely a social exercise at this point. The film is all yours for about two seconds...and then the credits roll, and now it's everybody's. Again, sociology intersecting with psychology.
Literature is different because (unless you're in a book club, an entity which I don't actually believe exists because the heaviness of the cliche would end up crushing everyone in the room) it's just you and the author. You take everything in at your own pace, and dissect it in your own fashion. There's nobody around you while you're taking in that affects your opinion of it, and nobody to immediately discuss it three seconds after you finish reading it. Moreover, it also wasn't some conscious decision of a social group to pick out this book; it was something you chose, because you enjoyed the topic and probably wanted to be affected by it. I've never thought of reading a book as a bizarre form of self-fulfilling prophecy before, but there you go.
Does this mean that every anti-war novel will turn you into a '60s anti-Vietnam hippie, or that every apocolpaytic novel will turn you into the guy from Take Shelter? No. But it's a hell of a lot more likely that, if you do undergo a personal transformation due to culture, the inspiration will likely be "that book you just read."
There are any number of complex theories and methods one could use in this space to prove that true, but I will choose to focus on the basic forms. Take the simple example of "music." If a girl at a club has had a few drinks and hears a catchy song, her mind tells her to dance, and she usually does. If a stoner has had a few puffs and puts on a track with a laid-back groove, his mind tells him that he is getting very sleepy. If a flower child drops some acid and listens to prog-rock or trip-hop, his mind tells him that certain pictures and colors exist that actually do not. This is mind control. (Some might argue that this is simply "mind manipulation," and that true "mind control" can only exist if a certain individual can literally use their mind to control the thoughts of others. This is, at the very least, nitpicking.)
The concept goes a little deeper when analyzed through the lens of film. Taxi Driver convinced Ed Hinckley to shoot the president. Fight Club moved large groups of people to start "copycat" Project Mayhem organizations (although with, of course, much more realistic results). Jaws kickstarted a worldwide fear of sharks, leading to Animal Planet's highly-publicized "Shark Week" and the shark itself eventually getting tagged as an "endangered species" due to extreme over-hunting. Seemingly innocent films like The Wizard of Oz and Lord of the Rings became famous for wholly unintentional reasons (in each of these cases, "Dude, we gotta get high to this shit, man"). And so forth.
However, beyond these two methods comes the truest form of mind control, and the one that has arguably resulted in the most serious consequences throughout the years: manipulation through literature.
---
One of my friends is absolutely beautiful...or, at least, I've seen her at a state of absolute beauty. She has gorgeous blue eyes, tan brown skin, flowing brown hair, and some of the prettiest features I've ever seen in a woman's face. I've seen modeling pictures of her from several years ago, and she looks like a fucking ten (out of five). On paper, she has everything that any man would ever look for in a woman. It's unfortunate that those criteria don't include "a personality," but shit; if she did have a wonderful personality, she'd be the most attractive person on the fucking planet. Bar none.
This is where (at least, in my speculation) literature enters the picture.
This woman's favorite author is Chuck Klosterman, notorious always-depressed contrarian hipster/"philosopher for dummies." And I actually like the guy; in fact, I'm a huge fan of a lot of his essays, and definitely enjoy his takes on Star Wars ("Empire Strikes Back previewed Generation X"), the 1980s Lakers-Celtics rivalry ("Celtics = old school Republicans, Lakers = late-'60s Democrats"), and Advancement Theory (when an artist does something that is the opposite of unpredictable and also the opposite of unpredictable, they have done something genius). I'll even be referencing a lot of these essays in my own writing, and plan on my next one to even involve a "philosophical" question of his from the book "Sex, Drugs, & Cocoa Puffs." But here's the thing: I respect the guy's writing, but I wouldn't say I'm in love with it. Sure, I love certain parts, but generally it just seems too depressing; one of his books chronicles a road trip of his around America looking for famous places where rock stars died ("Killing Yourself To Live") that should have been fucking incredible...if he wasn't sulking the entire time over being lovesick. In that book, he also admits that the entirety of his most famous work ("SD&CP") was written when he was also lovesick. As you can imagine, he can very easily start to sound like a whiny douche in a lot of places throughout both books. This is why, although I definitely enjoy portions of his brainstorms throughout both works, I wouldn't call myself a Klosterman Disciple. Of course, since his writing is extremely relatable to the average American (since he's writing about everyday situations and pop culture in a slightly deep way), I can imagine that it would be easy for someone to get sucked in by him.
Unfortunately, my girl friend did. (Or, at least, I think she did; again, this all speculative.)
My female friend has pierced her nose at least three times. She rarely wears makeup. She recently cut her hair down to shoulder length. She seemingly deliberately wears the least revealing (i.e., least attractive) clothes she can find. On top of that, she also apparently tries to make her Facebook profile picture the least attractive picture she can find. The only things she ever talks about are how little money she has and how little luck she has with men. Although I could very, very easily imagine her being a "party girl" (at least, based on what I've seen and heard about her past life), it seems as if she's trying to go "alternative." And although we're friends, whenever I speak to her I get the general impression that she's attempting to disagree with everything I say and/or one-up me at every turn because she has to be smarter and "righter" than me about everything.
This is a Klosterman Disciple in a nutshell.
Again...I may be reading too much into this (no pun intended). Maybe she was always like that, and is just now choosing to go full indie chick. Maybe she's naturally condescending; fuck, most women are. Maybe she never was a "party girl," and just looked and acted extremely like one once upon a time (according to various sources, anyway). Maybe she honestly does find those clothes and those Facebook pictures attractive, in which case her choices to utilize them would be less "pretentious" and more "extremely misguided."
Or maybe she views Klosterman like Chapman viewed Sallinger. In which case, a) Chris Martin had better start wearing Kevlar in public, and b) we've lost another one to literature mind control.
---
So why does literature take such a strong hold over the people who read it? Here's my theory.
In the case of music at a club, you're around a hundred other people when you're hearing the song; it does dictate your actions to a point, but if absolutely nobody else was dancing to the music then you probably wouldn't either. It's just as much of a sociological thing as it is a psychological thing. It's a little different in the case of a movie, because you take it in on more of a personal level (what with the silent theater and the dark atmosphere). But immediately after the movie ends, you're probably discussing it with a friend or family member (and possibly multiple friends and family members), because movie viewing is almost completely a social exercise at this point. The film is all yours for about two seconds...and then the credits roll, and now it's everybody's. Again, sociology intersecting with psychology.
Literature is different because (unless you're in a book club, an entity which I don't actually believe exists because the heaviness of the cliche would end up crushing everyone in the room) it's just you and the author. You take everything in at your own pace, and dissect it in your own fashion. There's nobody around you while you're taking in that affects your opinion of it, and nobody to immediately discuss it three seconds after you finish reading it. Moreover, it also wasn't some conscious decision of a social group to pick out this book; it was something you chose, because you enjoyed the topic and probably wanted to be affected by it. I've never thought of reading a book as a bizarre form of self-fulfilling prophecy before, but there you go.
Does this mean that every anti-war novel will turn you into a '60s anti-Vietnam hippie, or that every apocolpaytic novel will turn you into the guy from Take Shelter? No. But it's a hell of a lot more likely that, if you do undergo a personal transformation due to culture, the inspiration will likely be "that book you just read."
Friday, December 16, 2011
The Problem Of Nostalgia
The art of filmmaking is not dead.
In the last year, I have seen the following films in theaters: Drive, Captain America; The First Avenger, Super 8, Moneyball, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II, The Rum Diary, Horrible Bosses, Cowboys and Aliens, Red Riding Hood, and The Hangover Part II. I would classify Hangover II and Red Riding Hood as "bad" (with the former movie probably bringing up the rear; sad to say, I laughed more often during the serious drama than the raunchy comedy); Horrible Bosses and Cowboys and Aliens as "decent"; Potter, Moneyball, Super 8, and Captain America as "good"; and Drive as "legitimately great." (The Rum Diary gets an "incomplete," as I was dangerously inebriated when I saw it.) I would purchase any of the "good"-to-"great" movies on DVD. Drive is probably one of my 15 or 20 favorite films of all time. Overall, it was a positive year for me, movie-wise. (For what it's worth, I also saw X-Men; First Class, Limitless, and Tucker and Dale Vs. Evil, three more 2011 releases, via online torrent; I would classify the two former films as "decent," and the latter one as "quite possibly the greatest thing I've ever seen.")
Here is the reason why this topic puzzles me: Absolutely every single media figure appears to agree that this year was one of the all-time worst for movies. Their arguments often reflect the fact that 2011 was a record year for sequels, remakes, and comic book movies, which are three genres that generally produce poor films (in the eyes of critics, anyway). These opinions probably hold water; although I did not see Transformers; Dark of the Moon, Pirates of the Caribbean; On Stranger Tides, Kung Fu Panda 2, Fast Five, The Twilight Saga; Breaking Dawn, Part I, Cars 2, The Green Hornet, Scream 4, Thor, Final Destination 5, Spy Kids 4D, Shark Night 3D, The Thing, A Very Harold and Kumar 3D Christmas, or Happy Feet 2, it would not surprise me if nearly all of these films were great disappointments or even completely awful. The premises of them alone (especially Shark Night 3D, which is about a group of rogue sharks terrorizing teenagers near a river, for some reason) sound far-fetched at best and "I think I'll wrap this marijuana in tinfoil to get it through the airport metal detector"-level moronic at worst.
But here's the thing; aren't most of those movies supposed to be appeal to people that could safely be described as "stupid"? Transformers, Fast Five, Green Hornet, Thor, Scream, Final Destination, Shark Night, The Thing, and Harold and Kumar were all aimed to appeal to 12-to-16-year old boys, who are generally considered the third-dumbest demographic that movies can be aimed at; Pirates of the Caribbean and Twilight were both aimed at young girls, who are generally considered the second-dumbest demographic that movies can be aimed at; and Kung Fu Panda, Cars, Spy Kids, and Happy Feet were aimed at little kids, who are generally considered the dumbest demographic that movies can be aimed at. It's not like any of these movies were trying to win Oscars; they knew exactly what they were, and made no pretension about it. Are we now also supposed to riot when Ke$ha puts out an awful album, or when Charlie Sheen gets arrested for acting like a terrible human being?
This is what confuses me about the characterizations of "2011 in film"; apparently, it was a terrible, awful year for movies because the movies that were supposed to be terrible and awful turned out to be terrible and awful. This does not make any sense. It also seems as if everyone decided to go out of their way to avoid praising the good ones that were released. By all accounts, 2011 films such as Take Shelter, The Tree of Life, The Descendants, Hugo, Beginners, Melancholia, Midnight In Paris, The Guard, Jane Eyre, Rango, The Muppets, Bridesmaids, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, and Attack the Block were all good-to-great; critics also (justifably) loved Potter, Moneyball, and Drive. So why do they get no love, and why does everyone choose to pin their focus on the types of films that feature Adam Sandler repeatedly punching himself in the face or Kevin James doing dance numbers with animated zoo creatures?
Based on these observations, it would be easy for me to say, "Well, it's because we've all become a bunch of whiny pessimistic movie brats." However, I believe that the real answer is more complicated than that. Yes, we've become somewhat cynical as a society in terms of film; in recent years, everyone was Usain Bolt-level quick to poke holes in movies such as The Dark Knight ("Joker was freaking omnipotent!"), Avatar ("Just a billion-dollar remake of Dances With Wolves!) and Inception ("Inconsistent rules of dreaming and too hard to follow!"), but you have to really dig deep to find people who have problems with classic films such as Citizen Kane (which is entirely based around a reporter trying to find the meaning behind Kane's final word, when nobody was even around to hear it), Star Wars ("Hold your fire, there are no lifeforms aboard"; um, "stolen Death Star plans" aren't lifeforms, last I checked), or even The Godfather (we're really supposed to believe that a group of shady men could stop at a tollbooth for 10 minutes, fire a thousand bullets loudly into a vehicle, and then speed away without getting caught or even seen?). As such, I believe that our obsession with critiquing new films does not have as much to do with the fact that we're all "whiny pessimistic brats" as it does with the fact that we're all "nostalgia whores."
---
Tradition is a dangerous thing.
Tradition is why no current artist should ever record a Christmas song, because even if they do, nationwide radio stations will still clog up their entire December "Christmas hours" with songs by Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra. (The lone exception to this rule is NSYNC's excruiating 1998 release, "Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays," and it only gets airplay because 99% of it consists of the entire fivesome shouting, "Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays!" Ugh.) Tradition is why the Dodgers just signed notorious hustler Adam Kennedy to a two-year contract, even though wise statisticians can prove that he's almost definitely the worst player in the majors. Tradition is why Notre Dame coaches get fired every three years for not winning national titles, despite the fact that no great athlete would rather spend four years freezing his ass off in South Bend when he could spend four years laying on the beach in Florida or California. Tradition is why America's health care system will never change (despite Obama's best efforts), as it would shift the country that much closer to the dreaded "socalist society" tag. And tradition is why 2011's Drive is too boring and too forced, and why 1976's Taxi Driver is an infallible masterpiece.
The longing for tradition is extremely prevelant in this year's movie scene. For example, Scream 4 had no good reason to be made (the story had wrapped up nicely with 2001's Scream 3; Wes Craven would merely be pissing on his legacy by creating a crappy fourth movie; there was a ten-year gap between sequels, et cetera)...but Hollywood higher-ups knew there would be a huge market for it. By all accounts, it was a far inferior production to the intelligent, psychological horror picture Take Shelter (58% Rotten Tomatoes rating for the former movie, 92% for the latter), and yet the worse film made $57 million while the better film actually lost money. Another perfect test case is the 2011 Mary Elizabeth Winstead vehicle The Thing, made only because Thing producer Marc Abraham flipped through the Universal Studios library looking for the movie whose re-make would prove the most lucrative; his film ended up in the red at the box office, but the mere fact that that was his strategy for picking a project is damning enough in itself. Instead of dreaming up an original horror story to satisfy the legions of hardcore fans of the genre and then putting that dream into action, he simply decided to re-produce someone else's dream, knowing that it would be more financially viable. This is disturbing, to say the least.
Interestingly, these sorts of trends have arrived primarily because of audiences, not because of greedy filmmakers. The movie business has always been just that: a business. A film goes into production nowadays because of how much money it will make, not because of how good it is. The aforementioned list of terrible 2011 films appealed to the exact demographics that pay to see most movies nowadays: young children and younger children (usually accompanied by their parents). New, original films are primarily produced to appeal to their preferences, not those of the "intellectual" movie audience. This is because the latter demographic is the one that either "waits until the DVD/Internet torrent comes out" (thus, waiting until they can see it for cheap/free) or skewers the film privately and publically. Zach Snyder's completely original film Sucker Punch is widely considered one of the worst movies of 2011 for being a "two-hour music video," but really, is it that much worse than Fast Five (which could also easily be described as a "two-hour music video")? Probably not, but as Fast Five already had a built-in audience and low expectations, it succeeded wildly both commercially ($500 million box office) and critically (78% Rotten Tomatoes rating). This is likely due to the fact that a large portion of these moviegoers liked the original Fast and the Furious back when they were younger and happier, and thus gladly enjoyed in the fifth film in the series without needing to break it down and analyze it critically. As Sucker Punch had no pre-existing material to go by and no "franchise" attached to it, it did not receive these same benefits of the doubt. Tradition is a dangerous thing.
So really, the only movies that adults will both pay to see and "accept" nowadays are those that remind them of their past. This is exactly why so many comic book movies and re-makes and sequels got released in 2011; not because Hollywood has run out of ideas, but because these are the ideas that make money. Basically, if you're a modern filmmaker working for a big movie company, you have two choices: you can make a film that the age 6-16 demographic will enjoy (either a harebrained animated movie or a terrible horror movie), or you can make a film that the age 48-plus demographic will enjoy (a nostalgia-filled production that reminds moviegoers of something they used to like). There's literally nothing original left for the age 17-47 demographic, because all those people are either going to rip the movie apart or just wait until they can see it for free.
In essence, we, as a general moviegoing population, are the problem; the movie-making people are not. They are simply appealing to the senses of ours that will cause us to spend our money. We have nobody to blame for "movies today being shitty" but ourselves. I decided to buck that trend in 2011 and go spend my money on a bunch of well-reviewed, interesting movies, and the result was that I genuinely enjoyed my theater experience this year. Therefore, I was able to shake my head at reports that declared the entire year a "loss" for quality filmmaking; despite the fact that there were a record number of stupid movies produced during the year, there were also a number of smart and creative films released that I happened to catch and like. Thus, I would advise any and everyone to actively go out and try to see under-the-radar movies such as Drive, Take Shelter, Melancholia, and others that aren't targeted at six-year-olds; then, and only then, will major movie-making "shift" away from idiotic/nostalgic pictures to original, interesting pictures.
(Although, even then, they'll probably still get the "glass-half-empty" treatment.)
In the last year, I have seen the following films in theaters: Drive, Captain America; The First Avenger, Super 8, Moneyball, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part II, The Rum Diary, Horrible Bosses, Cowboys and Aliens, Red Riding Hood, and The Hangover Part II. I would classify Hangover II and Red Riding Hood as "bad" (with the former movie probably bringing up the rear; sad to say, I laughed more often during the serious drama than the raunchy comedy); Horrible Bosses and Cowboys and Aliens as "decent"; Potter, Moneyball, Super 8, and Captain America as "good"; and Drive as "legitimately great." (The Rum Diary gets an "incomplete," as I was dangerously inebriated when I saw it.) I would purchase any of the "good"-to-"great" movies on DVD. Drive is probably one of my 15 or 20 favorite films of all time. Overall, it was a positive year for me, movie-wise. (For what it's worth, I also saw X-Men; First Class, Limitless, and Tucker and Dale Vs. Evil, three more 2011 releases, via online torrent; I would classify the two former films as "decent," and the latter one as "quite possibly the greatest thing I've ever seen.")
Here is the reason why this topic puzzles me: Absolutely every single media figure appears to agree that this year was one of the all-time worst for movies. Their arguments often reflect the fact that 2011 was a record year for sequels, remakes, and comic book movies, which are three genres that generally produce poor films (in the eyes of critics, anyway). These opinions probably hold water; although I did not see Transformers; Dark of the Moon, Pirates of the Caribbean; On Stranger Tides, Kung Fu Panda 2, Fast Five, The Twilight Saga; Breaking Dawn, Part I, Cars 2, The Green Hornet, Scream 4, Thor, Final Destination 5, Spy Kids 4D, Shark Night 3D, The Thing, A Very Harold and Kumar 3D Christmas, or Happy Feet 2, it would not surprise me if nearly all of these films were great disappointments or even completely awful. The premises of them alone (especially Shark Night 3D, which is about a group of rogue sharks terrorizing teenagers near a river, for some reason) sound far-fetched at best and "I think I'll wrap this marijuana in tinfoil to get it through the airport metal detector"-level moronic at worst.
But here's the thing; aren't most of those movies supposed to be appeal to people that could safely be described as "stupid"? Transformers, Fast Five, Green Hornet, Thor, Scream, Final Destination, Shark Night, The Thing, and Harold and Kumar were all aimed to appeal to 12-to-16-year old boys, who are generally considered the third-dumbest demographic that movies can be aimed at; Pirates of the Caribbean and Twilight were both aimed at young girls, who are generally considered the second-dumbest demographic that movies can be aimed at; and Kung Fu Panda, Cars, Spy Kids, and Happy Feet were aimed at little kids, who are generally considered the dumbest demographic that movies can be aimed at. It's not like any of these movies were trying to win Oscars; they knew exactly what they were, and made no pretension about it. Are we now also supposed to riot when Ke$ha puts out an awful album, or when Charlie Sheen gets arrested for acting like a terrible human being?
This is what confuses me about the characterizations of "2011 in film"; apparently, it was a terrible, awful year for movies because the movies that were supposed to be terrible and awful turned out to be terrible and awful. This does not make any sense. It also seems as if everyone decided to go out of their way to avoid praising the good ones that were released. By all accounts, 2011 films such as Take Shelter, The Tree of Life, The Descendants, Hugo, Beginners, Melancholia, Midnight In Paris, The Guard, Jane Eyre, Rango, The Muppets, Bridesmaids, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, and Attack the Block were all good-to-great; critics also (justifably) loved Potter, Moneyball, and Drive. So why do they get no love, and why does everyone choose to pin their focus on the types of films that feature Adam Sandler repeatedly punching himself in the face or Kevin James doing dance numbers with animated zoo creatures?
Based on these observations, it would be easy for me to say, "Well, it's because we've all become a bunch of whiny pessimistic movie brats." However, I believe that the real answer is more complicated than that. Yes, we've become somewhat cynical as a society in terms of film; in recent years, everyone was Usain Bolt-level quick to poke holes in movies such as The Dark Knight ("Joker was freaking omnipotent!"), Avatar ("Just a billion-dollar remake of Dances With Wolves!) and Inception ("Inconsistent rules of dreaming and too hard to follow!"), but you have to really dig deep to find people who have problems with classic films such as Citizen Kane (which is entirely based around a reporter trying to find the meaning behind Kane's final word, when nobody was even around to hear it), Star Wars ("Hold your fire, there are no lifeforms aboard"; um, "stolen Death Star plans" aren't lifeforms, last I checked), or even The Godfather (we're really supposed to believe that a group of shady men could stop at a tollbooth for 10 minutes, fire a thousand bullets loudly into a vehicle, and then speed away without getting caught or even seen?). As such, I believe that our obsession with critiquing new films does not have as much to do with the fact that we're all "whiny pessimistic brats" as it does with the fact that we're all "nostalgia whores."
---
Tradition is a dangerous thing.
Tradition is why no current artist should ever record a Christmas song, because even if they do, nationwide radio stations will still clog up their entire December "Christmas hours" with songs by Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra. (The lone exception to this rule is NSYNC's excruiating 1998 release, "Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays," and it only gets airplay because 99% of it consists of the entire fivesome shouting, "Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays!" Ugh.) Tradition is why the Dodgers just signed notorious hustler Adam Kennedy to a two-year contract, even though wise statisticians can prove that he's almost definitely the worst player in the majors. Tradition is why Notre Dame coaches get fired every three years for not winning national titles, despite the fact that no great athlete would rather spend four years freezing his ass off in South Bend when he could spend four years laying on the beach in Florida or California. Tradition is why America's health care system will never change (despite Obama's best efforts), as it would shift the country that much closer to the dreaded "socalist society" tag. And tradition is why 2011's Drive is too boring and too forced, and why 1976's Taxi Driver is an infallible masterpiece.
The longing for tradition is extremely prevelant in this year's movie scene. For example, Scream 4 had no good reason to be made (the story had wrapped up nicely with 2001's Scream 3; Wes Craven would merely be pissing on his legacy by creating a crappy fourth movie; there was a ten-year gap between sequels, et cetera)...but Hollywood higher-ups knew there would be a huge market for it. By all accounts, it was a far inferior production to the intelligent, psychological horror picture Take Shelter (58% Rotten Tomatoes rating for the former movie, 92% for the latter), and yet the worse film made $57 million while the better film actually lost money. Another perfect test case is the 2011 Mary Elizabeth Winstead vehicle The Thing, made only because Thing producer Marc Abraham flipped through the Universal Studios library looking for the movie whose re-make would prove the most lucrative; his film ended up in the red at the box office, but the mere fact that that was his strategy for picking a project is damning enough in itself. Instead of dreaming up an original horror story to satisfy the legions of hardcore fans of the genre and then putting that dream into action, he simply decided to re-produce someone else's dream, knowing that it would be more financially viable. This is disturbing, to say the least.
Interestingly, these sorts of trends have arrived primarily because of audiences, not because of greedy filmmakers. The movie business has always been just that: a business. A film goes into production nowadays because of how much money it will make, not because of how good it is. The aforementioned list of terrible 2011 films appealed to the exact demographics that pay to see most movies nowadays: young children and younger children (usually accompanied by their parents). New, original films are primarily produced to appeal to their preferences, not those of the "intellectual" movie audience. This is because the latter demographic is the one that either "waits until the DVD/Internet torrent comes out" (thus, waiting until they can see it for cheap/free) or skewers the film privately and publically. Zach Snyder's completely original film Sucker Punch is widely considered one of the worst movies of 2011 for being a "two-hour music video," but really, is it that much worse than Fast Five (which could also easily be described as a "two-hour music video")? Probably not, but as Fast Five already had a built-in audience and low expectations, it succeeded wildly both commercially ($500 million box office) and critically (78% Rotten Tomatoes rating). This is likely due to the fact that a large portion of these moviegoers liked the original Fast and the Furious back when they were younger and happier, and thus gladly enjoyed in the fifth film in the series without needing to break it down and analyze it critically. As Sucker Punch had no pre-existing material to go by and no "franchise" attached to it, it did not receive these same benefits of the doubt. Tradition is a dangerous thing.
So really, the only movies that adults will both pay to see and "accept" nowadays are those that remind them of their past. This is exactly why so many comic book movies and re-makes and sequels got released in 2011; not because Hollywood has run out of ideas, but because these are the ideas that make money. Basically, if you're a modern filmmaker working for a big movie company, you have two choices: you can make a film that the age 6-16 demographic will enjoy (either a harebrained animated movie or a terrible horror movie), or you can make a film that the age 48-plus demographic will enjoy (a nostalgia-filled production that reminds moviegoers of something they used to like). There's literally nothing original left for the age 17-47 demographic, because all those people are either going to rip the movie apart or just wait until they can see it for free.
In essence, we, as a general moviegoing population, are the problem; the movie-making people are not. They are simply appealing to the senses of ours that will cause us to spend our money. We have nobody to blame for "movies today being shitty" but ourselves. I decided to buck that trend in 2011 and go spend my money on a bunch of well-reviewed, interesting movies, and the result was that I genuinely enjoyed my theater experience this year. Therefore, I was able to shake my head at reports that declared the entire year a "loss" for quality filmmaking; despite the fact that there were a record number of stupid movies produced during the year, there were also a number of smart and creative films released that I happened to catch and like. Thus, I would advise any and everyone to actively go out and try to see under-the-radar movies such as Drive, Take Shelter, Melancholia, and others that aren't targeted at six-year-olds; then, and only then, will major movie-making "shift" away from idiotic/nostalgic pictures to original, interesting pictures.
(Although, even then, they'll probably still get the "glass-half-empty" treatment.)
"SIC of the day," 12/16/11
Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the "sic"-est dog of all?
Come on...you were expecting someone else?
Anyway, the new essay will be up in a little bit. I realize now that I probably should have saved yesterday's "SIC" for today, given that today's the day that the Drive-related essay is going to go up. So...fuck. I guess I'll incorporate a new feature into this feature: "When in doubt, go with the sexiest picture of Katy Perry you can find." Done and done! Enjoy.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
"SIC of the day"; 12/15/11
What's up, dog?
Just another day of being a badass muthafucka, I see. Anyway, I'm running low on time today and I'm pretty sure I just stuck my fingers into week-old bacon grease, so before I head to the DeTox station I'll just throw this out there: This song is called "Nightcall," by Kavinsky, and it's from the Drive original soundtrack. I'm going to have an extensive essay up tomorrow on how 2011 movies are/were disrespected, so this'll kind of "tie into that" or something. Enjoy!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MV_3Dpw-BRY&ob=av2e
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Song/Image/Clip (SIC) of the day, 12/14/11
So I've decided that, since I won't be able to post every day due to the nature of my blog's content, that I'm going to incorporate a "daily" aspect: the Song/Image/Clip of the week, or "SIC" for short. I'm going to name it in honor of my menacing dog. Here is his picture.
No, his name isn't "sic" (it's Max), and no, he doesn't look that menacing. But he gains this honor because of the fact that the word "sic" is his "kill word." Just look at what happens after I say it. "Sic" Max, "sic"!
*shivers* *shivers again*
Whew...okay, I'm good. So here's the first annual "SIC of the day." It's a song by Puscifer, off their latest album, Conditions Of My Parole. I nearly saw these guys (and girls) in Vegas last weekend despite the fact that I would have had no money for tickets, airfare, lodging, food, or gambling, and it was basically just because of this song. If you're a fan of ambient trip-hop, this is for you.
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