What the hell Downton Abbey?

Short Round is actually considering not watching the fourth season next winter.

Remember those scenes from Fahrenheit 451 where the wife character presses herself on her other, digital family? That is what just happened at the Osterhaus. Except there was a quorum of the family declaring such things about the Grantham family.

Seriously, who writes such great drama that our particularly cynical family actually removes themselves communally from reality on any regular basis to care about the fates of fictional characters?

That's my review. The whole thing. That is how good it is. 

Porco Rosso

I heard there was a sequel coming out for this. Not even from a living, breathing person, but from the reliable quorum of IMDB! I heard it was for last year! I love this movie. I have watched it, without doubt, more than any other movie.

Of course, nothing will ever compare with Gone with the Wind, but this is like the training wheels version of Casablanca; the merits of it being so I'll dictate later. In this little space of rant I'd like to pose the idea of another movie with these characters, a prequel.

Rarely would a prequel ever ever work for a movie. The meet-cutes would just lose their punch because you know the real deal is coming. Like How I Met Your Mother. The whole damn thing is a prequel. You'll never get to the climax, and if you ever do it'll be the biggest let down -- you haven't bonded with the real star, so you'll never accept them as a part of your own comfy, beloved.

Even for Casablanca, which basically begs for a prequel, can you imagine that romance being at all fulfilling knowing how it is doomed?

Porco Rosso, however, has the unique perspective of presenting a romantic characters not only in a pleasantly conflicted yet hopeful situations, but  it ends without resolve (hence the excitement for a sequel). On that point, it's just like Gone with the Wind. Not like Gone with the Wind, the historical fiction is very fictional, and childlike. It will adapt to having a sequel, because the bar is set to an achievable level. No sequel to GwtWwill ever live up to that splendor and wanting. The wanting, in fact is the whole thesis. PR's thesis is pure entertainment, and if that entertainment can be continued, we fans will like experiencing, and because of the level of fiction/story, Studio Ghibli won't have too difficult a time delivering.

On the other side, PR has two killer flash back scenes. Their presentation is brilliant for various reasons, but for the argument for a prequel they are brilliant for the amount of hopeful conflict they present.

There are at least three love stories presented. Only one is resolved in the flashback. There's a death. There's a definite posse with complicated interpersonal drama. There's this whole movie to show life goes on after that drama, and that the drama continues to exist in the present, and has potential to sustain itself well into the future.

Add to that the setting, of the first ever pilots experimenting with airplane design. The characters are bros like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, with one chick sidekick like April. On the grand scale, these characters are fighting the first wars with planes. On the small town, micro scale individuals are in the midst of a clash between socialism and libertarianism. Fraught with physical peril, heroism, and then inexplicable magic transformation of man to pig, there is ripe territory for an audience drenched in adventure fantasy to dig in.

I want a whole movie or mini series following the meeting of Gina, Piccolo, Marco, Belrini, and all the little people they meet. They're young enough at the beginning that their parents could betroth one another, or forbid them associating with whichever appears most nefarious in any given adventure. There's innocent love and experimental kissing. The inevitable first crash in the open sea, stranded on an island. the character development of honor. Building up why we can never believe wrong of Marco, the inevitable turning of one of their party who joins the fascists and gets killed. The righteous anger there-associated.... I could go on. Give me the money for the time, and I totally will.

In the mean time, I just keep watching it and keep to myself how Marco becomes Porco and how Ferrali betrays his best friend. How Piccolo fathers a string of mediocre engineers but political geniuses, and how Fio is the ultimate last great hope for the Adriatic. 

Trailers

An art form not given enough credit.

Here are some I watched, and who I want to watch the whole film with:

Mamagaard and Dawnula:
Safety not Gauranteed (definitely watched the first 15 minutes of this film thinking it was just an indie flick sort of trailer. Totally awesome and loveable)
Celeste and Jesse Forever
To Rome with Love

Papagaard:
Bernie

Hunter:
Hitchcock (also, he needs to see Pyscho)
Holy Motors
Arbitage

Houston:
Girl Model

Short Round:
Safety not Guaranteed
The Impostor
The Words
Beasts of the Southern Wild

And that's just the "indie" flicks that are hot right now on Apple TV.

Das Camp

Having had a streak of bad work days, little Kiddo was settling in for another slug fest with the email system when my super sweet office mate, Spalette, came to my cubicle. She was a little giddy, and Kiddo was not feeling the good vibrations, until Spalette pulled forth from her purse one of the more thoughtful gifts I've received in recent memory: an NTSC version of Iron Sky, the Nazis-from-the-moon movie made almost entirely from fan donations...

There are several reasons for my fascination with the movie, not least of which is how it was financed. Number 1 reason is the ridiculosity embodied in the idea of moon nazis. Much like zombie nazis, there just aren't enough ways in the world to poke fun at a bunch of people who took them selves so seriously.

Fears, I have found in talking to my friends Sugar, Pho Poet, Skinny Dancer, and now Hunter, should here be quelled: Nazis are bad guys. I inherently understand this as well as the next human being. What they wrought with such exemplary perfection combines humanity's 2 most instinctive disgusts: genocide and incest.  You really have to work hard and be in very specific place in history for such things to even be comprehensible. This movie does nothing to discredit this conclusion.

Number 2 reason for loving the previews of Iron Sky are the flaming zeppelins in space. Yep.  For a steam punk chick in a cyber punk age, you really can't top such a spectacle. The visuals and effects don't stop there either. In fact, it's the number one best thing (distinct from Kiddo's favorite thing) about the movie. There is good reason for it too.

Watch the credits for Iron Sky. There  is a screen full of actors, writers, and directors, and two minutes of constantly scrolling credits for animators, props guys, costumers, and sfx kids. Look further into them, and you find all those animators, prop guys, costumers, and sfx kids all came to this project from super high end films with awards. Most notably the costumers from Schindler's List. It's a kind of completion in thought that makes my humanist side tremble with joy.

Which is why I was so excited to see it.

Watching with Hunter though, was a little nerve wracking. There was discussion of the need for no humor to surround genocide. There was questioning of some of the campier aspects of the film (a UFO landing in a marijuana field, inexplicable losing of lady clothes in an airlock). I was a bit defensive.

How does one overcome being defensive of a beloved thing? Inflict more  of that thing on the offender.

We watched Cannibal the Musical immediately thereafter.

Ha. 

Cowboys and Aliens

A heart-wrenching tale of teamwork and redemption.

I spent $4 on this today. It was cool. Would have been worth all the explosions and dirt in the crannies of Daniel Craig's perfectly sculpted body on the big screen, but as a rental---$1 is all I should have given for what I got out.

Slow paced and heavy handed, it was a beautiful love fest between the middle-aged creative men in Hollywood. The only reason Martin Scorcese was not a part of this project was because he was busy jerking off in Atlantic City or Paris.

I love Jon Favreau, but when he gangs up with Spielberg, Ron Howard, Damon Lindelof, Roberto Orci, and a dozen actors worth way more than just their salt, it comes out looking far more like a fantasy pow wow and less like a great action flick.

Especially since it see-saws between There Will Be Blood and Predator so much. Take just the soundtrack, for example. Pretty innocuous, right? Strings, some drums, pretty run of the mill John Williams sort of stuff. It waxes to the very thickest amber gris in some of the weirdest, most forced romance scenes I've seen, after the first 15 minutes of Coen brothers-scale of drama-through-silence. What are we watching? Drama? Action?

Favreau seems to have thought he could do both. He could take the project as seriously as he had taken Iron Man lightly. Which turned out? Well, Iron Man. The idea of aliens and super heroes is still too out there for them to really garner the sort of gravity Favreau is forcing on the grizzled outlaws and their half-hearted attempts to work with Apaches to take out a bigger threat.

Isolate that romance. Let us see. Human man, ambiguously alien woman. Mortal man, ambiguously immortal woman who comes back to life in the middle of a fire. Off the bat we're looking at a form of bestiality. Beyond that it's against Craig's (he is referred to often by name, Lonergan, but if you can ever think of Daniel Craig as anything other than Daniel Craig you are a step ahead of me in losing yourself in fiction) whole tragic widower shtick.

This leads to loss of sympathy for the character, builds a little dislike against the savior of the movie, Olivia Wilde as an alien, and then she acts quite alien. Being one, of course, you hope she acts that way, but the truth is it comes off as plain awkward. We already don't like her because she's stepping on Dead Wife's toes, and then she has little to now human likeability. Except maybe the alien quality of (square jaw + crazy blue eyes = gorgeous).

At any rate. It's the best acting I've seen out of Harry Ford since Blade Runner. It's all in the voice, though, Smoothie may be right—he is getting old, maybe his voice is just like that now.

Atlas Shrugged

Finishing feels like a lifetime accomplishment.

It is long, sure. I felt guilty reading Vanity Fair or Tina Fey's memoir when over 1000 pages of train schedules remained.

Atlas and its authoress are known for the in-no-way subtle philosophies of objectivism and capitalism. I have studied the Bolshevik revolution and chain of events that followed. I have lived in a post-soviet country with a woman born in 1916. I have never liked Communism, as a theory or practice, but now that ambient dislike is direct as a switchblade.

Out of the 1168 pages of development, probably half of it is preaching in favor of the gold standard, and preaching against collectivism. Every speech a favorable character makes (all of whom are fit and good looking) expands from character-voice to preacher-voice in less than 3 words and trails on repetitively for a minimum of 6 paragraphs, maximum (not kidding) 68 pages.

The “novel,” fictional part of Atlas follows the lives of a couple free-trade, super industrialists (think cartoons of Jay Gould, Andrew Carnegie), who are being thwarted and brought low by sniveling “looters” (think cartoons of Lenin and Trotsky).

Like any good Russian writer, Rand is ardent for detail. Though we are repeatedly told these great men and woman are austere and have no patience for decadence, they are quite verbose and prone to wearing the most expensive possible clothing—all of which is described with a maniacal attention to every feather, button, brooch, wisp of hair, cut of pant, and tightness. But it doesn't stop at the clothes, or even the stretches of railroad operation, it bleeds into the similie. Instead of saying things in the same simple tone she affords physical objects, she likes to think humans are more complex, and affords them expression through what she clearly thinks is artistic.

She even often starts in a way that would allow the reader to come to their own, deeper rooted understanding of the situation. Like when “Clouds had wrapped the sky and had descended as fog to wrap the streets below,” it's clear that the desolation is at hand, but Rand must go the next step. She must hammer the idea into you with “as if the sky were engulfing the city.”

Just in case you didn't get it.

Sometimes they are complexly worded: “His voice had the single-toned flatness and the luminous simplicity of an accountant who reminds a reckless purchaser that cost is an absolute which cannot be escaped.” But they are always blunt and unrevealing.

All of which is not to say the book is not good. I enjoyed it. Her characters, in quick dialogue, are well developed individuals. They are funny, and fun-loving. They have complex histories and relationships. Rand uses them to adequately show what she is telling.

And, golly, what she is telling. Her observations of the Bolshevik revolution are acute, vast, and painstakingly detailed. Rand shows just how horrid communism is by walking the reader through exactly what happened to policy in Russia when the Tsars and White Russians were ousted, and alludes this to be the subtler, slimier side of American liberals, and if they are not careful, what could happen if you nationalize industry.

The admirable thing about the set up, is how thoroughly she trounces her opponent argument at the same time as building up her own. She is a true litigator. She lets the opposition spout their philosophies too! Their philosophy for life is peace through control and only ever action “for the good of the people.” She never slips and allows her characters to admit committing these actions were for personal power gain, as the good guys do.

The point, at the end of the day, is to let people be on their own. She simplifies industry to all the good points. She simplifies all unionization and welfare to all their bad points, and sticks her thoughts in the mouths of well-rounded characters. Atlas Shrugged is neither story nor treatise. It is both, but neither fully. It is interesting, but not compelling.

But, it's been voted Reader's Choice for best book HERE, so, maybe I'm just a harsh little looter.

The Nightmare Before Christmas

Love em or hate em, morals in media make recipients feel good about what they just imbibed. Tim Burton, like George Lucas and the Grimm brothers before him, knows this well enough to build one of the greatest cult followings of the generation.

The Nightmare Before Christmas is the story of Jack Skellington, the ruler of Halloween Town, and his mid-life crisis. He starts his quest for self fulfillment feeling misunderstoond and desperately needing the yin to his skeleton yang. Two things that appear in the plot to fill this void. Sally, a patchwork doll who pines after Jack in the shadows of her mad-scientist creator, and Christmastown, the place he finds and recognizes as his cuddly antithesis.

Having found this wonderful thing, this thing Jack knows will complete him.

The quest engulfs not only all of Halloweentown, where all the goblins and vampires must suddenly make Christmas toys and trees instead of scary what-have-yous, but the real world of humans as well.

Sally sees this and points out:

Sally: You don't look like yourself at all

But, our confused hero doesn't see the danger in this. Instead he chirps:

Jack: I know, isn't it wonderful?

Christmas goes horribly and Jack gets bombed out of the sky.

Suddenly, the musical turns from fun romp to kunstleroman. Jack sings to himself, and his ghost hound, about trying new things. This time the experiment ended horror-fully, and isn't that ironic since, well, he is the king of horror?

The nightmare is over. Jack emerges from his experience knowing exactly who he is, what his part in the human world is, and how he must now carry on.

Moral: Be yourself.

Though this moral is stridently sung at teens through High School Musical and other Disney sorts of things, they all hinge on one aesthetic: Prettiness.

What makes Nightmare a behemoth in the world is its unique aesthetic. It's dark and gritty like early Alan Moore comics. Its viewers attach to the aesthetic first and are then hypnotized by sympathy for both Jack and Sally, and finally fulfilled by the moral.

It does not dissapoint.