Nashville: This is the third time I've tried to watch this movie. And it's the third time that it's put me to sleep in less than half an hour. I admit defeat and move on.
I saw Spy Game some 3 weeks ago -- life, numbing fatigue and inertia that I suspect are due to my having turned 30, and, of all things, work -- conspired to keep me from writing a review. And it's indicative of the movie that I can barely remember it. I have a few barely legible notes scrawled in the dark, hazy images of golden gods Redford and Pitt looking studly, and a vague headachy feeling.
My father remarked that Spy Game visually reminded him of Enemy of the State (astute of him, since they're both directed by Tony Scott, Ridley Scott's less-talented brother who could benefit from some Ritalin). That's part of my problem with it: it employs that obnoxious jumpy editing style coupled with manipulated footage, which was cool when nobody else was doing it, five years ago, and which can be effective if used sparingly and with discretion. But unfortunately, everyone else is doing it now, and Scott employs it for EVERYTHING. The prime example of this indiscriminate use of bombast is a scene on a rooftop where Redford lays out the moral imperatives -- or lack thereof -- of a spy's work for Pitt. This should have been an intense, intimate conversation that generated a reaction from the actors and the dialogue. Instead, Scott scores and shoots it like an action sequence, with jump cuts, swooping shots from a helicopter, bombastic music, and a focus on just about everything BUT the actors and dialogue. Despite all the commotion, I was still bored. Redford and Pitt are both good, but there's just nothing else in this movie.
Yi Yi (A One and a Two): This highly praised Taiwanese film seemed like a really interesting movie, but it was hard to tell because the subtitles are in tiny, white-on-white print. I gave up after about an hour of straining to read them. The headache was just not worth whatever treasures the film might have provided, plus I didn't really know what was going on since I could read only every third conversation or so.
The Beach: Pouty Leo DiCaprio in gorgeous Thailand. The scenery is beautiful; wish there was some sentient life here. I could tell that the filmmakers (who also brought us Shallow Grave and Trainspotting and then moved to Hollywood and left their talent behind in Scotland) were trying to stay true to the spirit of the novel, and I appreciated that, but it just came off kind of stupid. So I tried to just bask in the beauty of the beaches and jungles, but then I remembered how the filmmakers basically ran roughshod over the local environment, so I couldn't even enjoy that.
Blow: Reasonably engaging film that unfortunately glorifies and excuses the drug trade. We're meant to feel sorry for Johnny Depp's George Jung because he used to have a great time selling dope and then suddenly those mean ol' Columbians turned on him. It follows the same arc as Goodfellas but isn't nearly as well done. And I'm getting heartily sick of Penélope Cruz. I used to like her, but now she just annoys me.
Urbania: I'll be damned if I can remember why I wanted to rent this movie. It just appeared on my list somehow. It has something to do with a guy who sees urban legends happening around him or something. For one thing, it stars Dan Futterman, who must be the blandest person ever to grace a movie screen. He's so dull, he's practically invisible. For another, they seemed to concentrate on the really icky legends, like the rat in a hot dog, and the guy who gets drunk and wakes up the next morning in a bathtub full of ice with his kidney gone. I was starting to feel nauseated, so I decided to bolt before they got to the spider eggs in the brain or the kid blowing up from mixing Pop Rocks and Pepsi.
Here's
one that truly left me speechless. Rhino, savior of the
more embarrassing nuggets of our pop-culture detritus, has put out a
DVD
set of "Pink Lady and Jeff," a mercifully short-lived
variety
show from 1980. Pink Lady was a Japanese pop duo, Mie and Kei,
who
were the most popular recording artists in Japan at the time.
Apparently
the NBC executive who decided they should be on US TV never thought to
ask the ladies if they spoke English. So the typical, painfully
bad
variety show gets an extra layer of surrealism as you watch the two
Japanese
women struggle with phonetically learned banter, which only further
diminishes
the utter lack of chemistry they have with their sexless, bland,
excruciatingly
unfunny co-host, "comedian" Jeff Altman. (Altman contributes
commentary
before each episode that only proves it wasn't Pink Lady dragging him
down.)
Further, the show's paltry comedy troupe means Altman unfortunately
gets
nearly all of the male roles in each skit (dear old Jim Varney --
Ernest
himself -- picks up the crumbs), and Mie and Kei get only those roles
that
require minimal speaking and maximum singing, spinning, or
leg-showing.
You might think this about a lot of TV shows, but you truly have to
wonder
as you watch "Pink Lady and Jeff" what possessed anyone to put this
show
on the air. I recommend the San Francisco Chronicle's TV
reporter's
review
of the first two episodes (the ones I watched), which is probably
as
much fun as watching the show itself, although you do really have to
hear
how dreadful the poor Pink Lady were singing, for example, "Boogie
Wonderland"
phonetically.
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