California State Corrections Officials have released a new headshot of Charles Manson, the former Beach Boys collaborator who is facing a life sentence for threatening Dennis Wilson after not receiving proper royalty payments for music he had and eventually driving Brian Wilson to madness as a result.
That is why he’s in prison…right? Or maybe it had something to do with that whole “‘Helter Skelter’ foretells of a coming race war” thing he had going on. Either way, it doesn’t really matter.
What does matter is that The Boston Globefiled the article under “Arts & Entertainment: Theatre/Arts.”
So a recent photograph of a convicted mass murder/cultist/unofficial Beach Boy/Beatles Conspiracy Theorist…is apparently entertaining. Dare I say, theatrical! I don’t think I really have to point out to you all that is hilarious and wrong about this, although I’m sure there are a number of jokes about conspiracy cover-ups and media manipulation that are inherent in the situation.
That, or they confused the real-life Charles Manson with his stop-motion puppet counterpart:
Thanks, Boston Globe. And you wonder why you’re reportedly losing $1 million A DAY (which also makes me wonder why you’d publish your own article about the fact that you’re losing $1 million a day, but I guess that serious journalism comes at a serious cost)…
Maybe I’m just bitter that Bruce Springsteen’s awesome tune from The Wrestler didn’t even get a nod, or maybe I’m pissed about Slumdog Millionaire being the new bukkake. Probably both.
The Westboro Baptist Church once similarly protested a performance of The Laramie Project in Boston’s South End, and in case the pink borders on the South End wiki website didn’t make it clear, the only way to avoid being the gayest thing since gay came to Gaytown is by actually being Gaytown; enter the South End (I mean, if you really want to enter the South End, that’s cool with me. Really. I won’t judge you. Hell, I lived there for 2 years. They have lots of nice gardens, and all of the bars make very strong drinks despite the apparent lack of women in their demographic). See, the WBC believes that the killing of Matthew Shepherd in fact had nothing to do with his sexuality, but rather, it was a strictly gang-related act of retaliation for some drug deal in which he was involved. The mere fact that it was said to be a hate crime is, apparently, further proof of the vast, insidious conspiracy known only as The Homosexual Agenda. Unfortunately for the Westboro Baptists (is that like Southern Baptist?), only about 5 people showed up, as opposed to the 250+ Counter-Protesters. Even better is that, in an effort to undermine the efforts of the church, a number of gay philanthropists have started pledging money for every minute that these protests continue. In the end, these 5 lonely homophobes spent a mere 45 minutes raising $5,000+ for pro-LGBT causes. GO TEAM. Way to stick it to the (gay) man.
*Then again, what do I know? I am, by most definitions, a “Frat** Boy” myself. Except that mine is a co-ed professional arts/communication fraternity, which means that more than half of my fraternity consists of chicks, and that more than half of the remaining are gay themselves. We once prided ourselves on being the only fraternity that could spoon without being too gay.
**And it’s called it a FRATERNITY. Would you call your country a cunt? Didn’t think so.
Not to say that I don’t enjoy them — as an avid comic book reader, I’m often filled with fanboy excitement over them — I just hate that the tag of “comic book movie” has to exist. I’ll expand upon this in a later post (read: tonight, after I play the Y the Last Man drinking game), but the biggest problem with comic book movies is the weight of the “comic book” stigma that holds them down and forces ridiculous and arbitrary expectations and/or limitations upon them.
The point is: Watchmen. It was pretty good. Maybe not worth going to bed at 4am last night when I had to be at work at 9:30 this morning, but still pretty good. I enjoyed the whole thing. Was it perfect? Nah. But then, I didn’t expect it to be, because such an expectation would have been entirely unreasonable. It had plenty of problems (most of which can be blamed on its existence as a “comic book movie”) but all in all, it was an enjoyable experience.
Of course, your initial inclination is probably to ask me if the movie lived up to the hype that surrounded it. If, in fact, this is your inclination, then you, my dear reader, deserve nothing less than a laurel, and hearty skullfuck, because it’s stupid people like you who perpetuate all of the crap hype and conversation that surrounds these kind of films, and cause every other shitbag journalist with an ass hole to write his or her review on the film.
Like me.
What follows is a basic, spoiler-free review of the film from a technical standpoint. If you want to skip right to the spoiler-laden review, by all means, do so. But the rest of this stuff is important, too. Because I wrote it.
The problem with these other reviews is that they fall into two different categories, neither of which are capable in providing readers with an effective critical or, well, categorical opinion of the film. The first is fanboy douchebags who are only concerned with the film’s faithfulness to its source material. Please consider this simple fact: the source material is paper with 4-color printing. The movie is celluloid with sound. Therefore, at the purest and most basic root of the problem, the film is unfaithful to the source. According to the transitive property of equality then, your opinion is completely fucking useless. Moving on, the other category of reviewer is the kind who is not familiar with the source material, and are resigned to review the film based solely on the the hype surrounding it as generated by reviewers in the former category. These reviewers discuss the film as it relates to things they heard about the source material, and the reviewer is intellectually incapable of perceiving the film as anything other than a “comic book film” (or other such cheeky nerd subgenre). Neither one is informative, or even useful to the casual movie goer, who simply wants to know, “Should I go see this movie?”
And to that I would say, “yes.” Watchmen is, I think, an enjoyable movie for anyone to see. If you go into it expecting a “comic book movie,” you might be a bit taken aback (as one of my friends was, specifically by the dogs, and rape). For the fanboys who wonder how well the movie adapts the source material — pretty well. Zak Snyder does a really good job of telling the BASIC story of Watchmen in a film medium. I say “basic,” because Watchmen’s existence as a comic book is a crucial part of Watchmen as a comic book; much of the power, appeal, depth, and complexity of the story is inherently linked to the medium through which the story is told. Take Chapter 5, “Fearful Symmetry.” This chapter follows, amongst other things, Rorschach’s psychological examination, which is, coincidentally, full of Rorschach tests, which are, coincidentally, symmetrical blots of ink. The entire chapter of the book is actual symmetrical itself — the layout, coloring, and action of first and last page (and 2nd and 2nd to last, and so on) mirror each other; not perfectly, of course, as that would make for a chapter that was pretty redundant, but it’s there. And the exact center of the chapter is the two-page spread in which Ozymandias is attacked by his would-be assassin. You wonder why the graphic novel is so revered? That’s why.
Simply put: the story of Watchmen is replicated quite well on the screen. The acting is (mostly) solid. The production design is great, albeit different from the book. The concept, themes, and overall big idea of it are suggested, or at least referenced, but otherwise absent, due to the aforementioned complications. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing; it is what it is. I could write a short story about a ballet (or vice versa), and while it might be interesting, maybe even brilliant in it’s own right (especially if I wrote it), it obviously wouldn’t be the same. Elvis Costello once said, “Writing about music is like dancing about architecture,” and I think this idea is relevant here.
Now for the spoiler-filled analytical part.
**************SPOILER SPACE ZOMG***************
Throughout the film, fans of the book will appreciate Zak Snyder’s fine attention to detail, a trait of his that he has worn like a badge in his previous adaptations. Things that weren’t able to make the cut are at least given a winking nod of acknowledgment in the background — the homosexual relationship between Hooded Justice and Captain Metropolis, the little black kid reading Tales of the Black Freighter, even Ozymandias’s latent homosexuality (the much-revered opening credits sequence features a shot of him outside of Studio 54 with David Bowie).
However, there are a number smaller details omitted or overlooked that are at least as important as the ones that were included, if not moreso. Consider the character of Rorschach: heroic and well-intentioned if not entirely sociopathic (sociopathetic?) and mentally unstable, Rorschach is so far gone that he actually believes his mask to be his real face, and the identity/skin beneath to be irrelevant. This is made clear when he is first arrested, and cries “My mask! Give me back my face!” and is later expanded upon (as in the book) during his psychological examination and the prison riots that follow. Up until the point that he is unmasked, however, Rorschach refers to his mask as a mask, and his face as his face. Even in the quote above, he first calls it a mask, and then his face. While it may sound like I’m being nitpicky about the difference between “Saw Dan and Laurie…they didn’t recognize me without my mask,” and “Saw Dan and Laurie…they didn’t recognize me without my face,” it’s still a very important character detail, no matter how subtle. It illuminates just how fucking crazy Rorschach really is, and neglecting this fine subtlety reads as lazy on the part of screenwriters David Hayden and Alex Tse.
Eighteen seconds from now I am criticizing the movie’s poor handling of Dr. Manhattan’s nonlinear existence. Sixteen hours and twenty minutes ago I am disappointed with the film’s inability to portray him existing outside of and beyond time. It is November of 2006 and I am fascinated with the way in which Dr. Manhattan engages in multiple conversations at different times and begins to confuse them and respond to things that have not been said yet (I am particularly intrigued by the potential literary value of such a clever foreshadowing device). Three Months, fourteen days, seven hours and six minutes from now, Zak Snyder is remembering that he totally forgot to make the best use out of what is arguably one of the coolest storytelling devices that was handed to him by Watchmen. Four seconds ago I am skullfucking Zak Snyder for this mistake.
Also, the sex scene between Nite Owl and Silk Spectre was absolutely ridiculous. It was so painfully comical that it took me out of the film entirely. Rather than romantic role playing to the tune of “Unforgettable” (I think? Something sultry and jazzy), it was much more of a “bom-chicka-bow-wow” super hero porno parody, backed by Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.” Double you tee eff!
The most controversial part of this adaptation of Watchmen was, of course, the ending, which involves a giant Cthulu-esque artificial alien squid creature being teleported into the heart of Manhattan and utterly annihilating it and the rest of the tri-state area (Hi, Mom), thereby creating the illusion of an impending alien invasion and uniting the rest of the world in peace against this common enemy. As many people know, this ending was changed, if only slightly. While Ozymandias’s vessel of mass destruction/world peace is different, the idea remains the same; creative integrity is more or less retained. While I’ll be the first to admit that the book’s VD (vessel of doom) was a little absolutely fucking crazy and came totally out of left field — that is to say, I can kind of understand why they might want to change it — I found the new device is entirely underwhelming. I’d liked to turn things over to culturefuck’s private consultant on all things social and political, Adolf Hitler:
Thanks, Adolf. Now, perhaps this was just another one of the many differences between a graphic novel and a film: in the book, Ozymandias says, “I did it 35 minutes ago,” and the chapter ends. Turn the page to begin the next chapter, and you’re faced with something like 7 pages in a row of horrific, bloody aftermath. It’s shocking and repulsive, and really drives the point home. In the film, however, we are treated to a lengthy, effects-laden sequence of our destructive friend as it destroys Manhattan. The only aftermath that we witness is when Dr. Manhattan and Laurie teleport into the rubble and soot. The still-boiling remains of festering human flesh are nowhere to be seen. Great for my stomach, not for the potential impact of the scene. (hee-hee. Seen. Scene. I am so poetical!) On that point, a few of the bloodier scenes in the movie (specifically, Silk Spectre and Nite Owl fighting in the alley) looked like they were stolen from the cutting room floor of Kill Bill.
(Also conspicuously missing was a lack of sympathy for Ozymandias in the end. The book contains a brilliant scene where he and Dr. Manhattan are left alone and he asks, “Did I do the right thing, in the end?” Dr. Manhattan replies, “End? Nothing ever ends,” and immediately teleports away, leaving Ozymandias alone to dwell on his actions. Manhattan’s line is spoken instead by Laurie, thought credited to him, but finds itself in an entirely different context)
In the end, Watchmen was a pretty good adaptation of a great graphic novel, and until someone finds a way to make a film adaptation of a comic book or graphic novel that deconstructs the comic book adaptation while manipulating and exploiting the medium in other inimitable ways, I’ll keep it. Or at least I’ll NetFlix the “Ultimate Director’s Cut” DVD that comes out at Christmas.
Sure, talks of “The Economy” fill your ears at every dinner, pub, and bus stop in America. Everywhere you go, someone is complaining or criticizing the state of things, rarely offering input or suggestions but simply acknowledging its decay instead. That is why, in times like these, America needs a true patriot. A warrior.
Kid Rock has just revealed the Stimulus Plan to end all Stimulus Plans, and it starts and ends with one of my favorite things: beer. Okay, well, technically it starts with one of my least favorite things, Kid Rock, but still. He gets points for helping the economy, and for beer.
While I assume that “bawitdabeer” won’t make the cut for branding (damn! So close!), the job of naming Kid Rock’s very own brand of craft beer will be only 1 of 400 jobs that Kid Rock’s new brewery is reportedly going to open up to the public. Kid Rock will be working in coordination with Michigan Brewing, which brings us such beers as “Big Mac” and “Peninsula Porter” and a bunch of other types I’ve never even heard of (and trust me, I know some obscure shit when it comes to beer). Says head brewer/owner Bobby Mason, “[Kid Rock is] working on designing the beer, he’s giving me direction, he’s tasting the beers. It’s his idea, it’s his concept. I’m just working with him to make it happen.” Mr. Mason apparently plans on investing $7 million dollars in the project, and the company has already received a tax credit for $722,957 from the state of Michigan.
Personally, I’m pretty curious to see how this turns out; after spending 48 hours in Virginia this week, I finally understand where all of the people that buy albums by Kid Rock and Nickelback and watch NASCAR live (answer: still not far enough away from me), and considering the target marketing demographic, I’m not sure if craft beer is actually the way to go on this. Remember Budweiser American Ale from 3 months ago, Budweiser’s lame attempt to cash in on the craft beer trend? A friend of mine offered the best review: “You know how Budweiser tastes like beer-and-piss-flavored water? This tastes kind of like good-beer-and-piss-flavored water.” Despite their efforts, I found Budweiser American Ale on clearance discounts at every bar I went to by Thanksgiving of last year, and that’s in the Northeast, where craft beer is generally considered desirable. Imagine the reaction that they had in the rest of the country?
Regardless of the kind of beer that he produces, Kid Rock’s (apparently) remarkable patriotism doesn’t stop there. He recently produced an ad, in conjunction with the National Guard, which I was unfortunate enough to witness before a screening of “Slumdog Millionaire.”
First, the music video (the song is available for download for free at the National Guard’s website, if you sign up for their mailing list. So basically, it’s not worth it, even as a joke. Trust me. I tried).
As I walked into the movie theater, the video was already playing, and quite frankly, I found it hilarious. Kid Rock went as far as to pull a Justin Timberlake and make a complete mockery of himself, as well as the National Guard!
But then, at the end of the video, I realized something: there was nothing ironic about this. It was completely fucking serious.
A poetry reading, courtesy of culturefuck:
So Don’t Tell Me Who’s Wrong And Right
When Liberty Starts Slipping Away
And If You Ain’t Gonna Fight
Get Out Of The Way
‘Cause Freedom Ain’t So Free
When You Breathe Red White And Blue
I’m Givin’ All Of Myself ‘Cause That’s What I Do
And They Call Me Warrior
They Call Me Loyalty
They Call Me Ready To Provide Relief And Help
I’m Wherever You Need Me To Be
I’m an American Warrior
Citizen Soldier
I’m an American Warrior
Citizen Soldier
Citizen Soldier
I’d Never Leave Another Behind
I Will Never Accept Defeat
I’m A Soldier In War, Civilian In Peace
‘Cause Freedom Ain’t So Free
When You Breathe Red White And Blue
I’m Givin’ All Of Myself, How Bout You?
And They Call Me Warrior
They Call Me Loyalty
And They Call Me Ready To Deploy,
Engage And Destroy,
I’m Wherever You Need Me To Be
I’m An American Warrior Citizen Soldier
Aside from the fact that I’ve never heard anyone refer to somebody in the Armed Forces as a “warrior,” I couldn’t help but notice how much this song resembles what I would write as a parody of a country song. Compare it to “Freedom Isn’t Free,” from Team America:
What would you do
If you were asked to give up your dreams for freedom
What would you do
If asked to make the ultimate sacrifice
Would you think about all them people
Who gave up everything they had.
Would you think about all them War Vets
And would you start to feel bad
Freedom isn’t free
It costs folks like you and me
And if we don’t all chip in
We’ll never pay that bill
Freedom isn’t free
No, there’s a hefty fuckin’ fee.
And if you don’t throw in your buck ‘o five
Who will?
What would you do
If someone told you to fight for freedom.
Would you answer the call
Or run away like a little pussy
‘Cause the only reason that you’re here.
Is ’cause folks died for you in the past
So maybe now it’s your turn
To die kicking some ass
Freedom isn’t free
It costs folks like you and me
And if we don’t all chip in
We’ll never pay that bill
Freedom isn’t free
Now there’s a have to hook’in fee
And if you don’t throw in your buck ‘o five
Who will?
You don’t throw in your buck ‘o five. Who will?
Freedom costs a buck ‘o five
In the end, this leaves me kind of confused about Kid Rock; is he mocking his fanbase? Is he a patriot? Does he realize he’s being ironic, or is he just stupid? I’m about 3 beers too deep to make any solid conclusions on the matter, but when it all comes down, this is American culture. And it is fucked.
Are you really that desperate? No, I think you are. In a Hail Mary throw the likes of which even John McCain’s campaign team couldn’t even imagine, I see that you’ve decided to cash in on the success of Slumdog Millionaire and cast Dev Patel as a replacement for Jesse McCartney (what?) in your newest movie, The Last Airbender. What’s the twist: that he’s actually Indian? While I understand that, in Hollywood, capitalizing on such things is a common practice, I still have difficulty comprehending why on earth you still exist, and who the fuck keeps giving you money for these celluloid abortions. That person is like the Joseph Goebbels of your career, which makes you fucking Hitler.
Speaking of Hitler, I’m sure that you’re at least somewhat familiar with the philosophical debate of whether or not a time traveler should kill baby Hitler (in fact, I’m kind of surprised you haven’t used that as a plot line, with the added twist of “HE’S ALREADY DEAD”). Well, M. Night Shlamalamadingdong, if it were up to me, I would probably go back in time and kill you. I know it may seem harsh, but bear with me, and please, feel free to take it personally. You see, M. Night Shitalot, if you had died after Signs*, for example (in which your only serious mistake was actually showing the horribly CGI’d aliens**), you would have gone down in history as one of the greatest film makers of all time, a true poet of the Silver Screen, lost to us before his time. Your artistry would have become the stuff of legends, worshiped and analyzed by academics for years to come and taught in film schools for its meticulousl subtleties and the strict attention to detail that brought these fantastical but all-too-human stories to life.
Instead, you gave us shit like Lady in the Water, and if I had actually paid to see that instead of sneaking into the AMC Loews Boston Common movie theatre that Wednesday afternoon in the summer of ‘06, I would demand my $8.75 back. With a bullet.
Quite frankly, there is not a single person on the planet who would suffer if your life had been tragically terminated 6 years ago: you would enjoy insurmountable posthumous fame, and the rest of us wouldn’t have to suffer through your stupid fucking movies. It’s a win-win scenario. How’s that for a stupid fucking twist?
But alas, such a feat would be impossible, given our current technologies, so I guess the final, ironic, most shocking twist of all would involve you actually making a decent movie again, a concept which is about as unbelievable as killer vegetation. All we’re left to hope for is that The Last Airbender (and you’re remaking a Nickelodeon kids show? Really?) is in fact your last, well, air bender.
Oh no. Did I just ruin the ending (of your career)?
*Dude, Mel Gibson doesn’t even believe that the fucking Holocaust happened, and yet somehow, he’s got more integrity than you do.
**Some detractors might disagree with this statement, and insist that the whole “water” twist was lame. While I thought you could have done better, I understand that you didn’t want to blatantly rip off of War of the Worlds, so I at least commend the effort.
“But culturefuck,” you cry, like the sad, pathetic little Journey-loving bitch you are. “Why do you hate Journey so much? I love singing ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ at the bar after doing jager bombs!”
To this, I refer you to the alcoholic phenomenon known only as “Beer Goggles” in which the mass consumption of alcohol makes a normally repulsive human being appear to be desirable, and often leads to terrible, terrible drunken mistakes. What you don’t know is that, despite it’s lack of popularity in the lexicon of every 18-35 year old American, “Beer Headphones” is a similar, and often times more tragic, abnormality in which intoxication causes a person to interpret audible signals much differently than they actually sound. Much like the way in which marijuana might convince a person that he or she actually enjoys the mindless, self-indulgent repetition of groove-based riffs that never fucking end, Beer Headphones can make otherwise horrendous sounds seem remarkably enjoyable, especially if these noises resemble a group sing-a-long in any way.
I don’t know what’s worse: that Joaquin Phoenix quit has acting career to become a rapper, or that Casey Affleck (whom I actually respected before this) is directing a documentary about Joaquin’s rise to cash money and hoes. Casey, ever the eloquent speaker that is, was quoted as saying, “I don’t think that [Joaquin's] kidding. He’s got music and stuff.” I assume the inspiration for the biopic that’s already under production must have Phoenix’s highly praised performance in “Walk the Line,” the Johnny Cash biopic. Unfortunately, Johnny’s probably rolling over in his grave right now, sending his ghost to haunt Joaquin Phoenix as retribution for sullying his good name.
The Ghost of Cash was hard at work on Friday night, when Joaquin Phoenix (sporting an epic beard of Fleet Foxes proportions. Or maybe he’s just cashing in on the whole Matisyahu thing?) made his bumpin’ hip-hop debut and proceeded to FALL OFF THE STAGE LIKE A TOTAL DUMBASS. Watch, and enjoy:
I think you, uh, crossed over that line you were walking, buddy. Yeah. Look like producer Sean “P-Puff-Diddy” Combs has his work cut out for him.
Supposedly, Joaquin Phoenix was playing in a band called “The Lady is a Tramp,” with members of Spacehog, but I can’t find any proof of this anywhere on wikipedia or the interwebs which obviously that it can’t be true. Oh well.
Of course, it’s entirely possible that this whole is an elaborate prank. I mean, I would call Bruce Willis’s failed musical career a joke, but that’s not quite the same thing. Hey, at least Joaquin Phoenix didn’t do a cover of a song by Iggy Pop on the “Rugrats Go Wild” soundtrack. “Here comes Johnny in again/With liquor and drugs/And a fast machine/He’s gonna do another strip tease. ” Really, Nickelodeon? Really? It looks like we have a new competitor for our initial question. Which one really is the worst?
California State Corrections Officials have released a new headshot of Charles Manson, the former Beach Boys collaborator who is facing a life sentence for threatening Dennis Wilson after not receiving proper royalty payments for music he had and eventually driving Brian Wilson to madness as a result.
