watching

Two thirds of the way through season one of Avatar: The Last Airbender, in an episode titled “The Blue Spirit”, a single moment cemented the decision: “I’m sticking with this series ’til the end.”

Avatar had sufficiently charmed me leading up to this point — at least enough to find myself thirteen episodes deep into an anime-inspired Nickelodeon series — mainly by subverting my expectations. Here we have a show about teen heroes with the ability to control the elements, who inevitably have to use those powers to save the day. Shades of Captain Planet come to mind, a comparison which no show would ask for. But instead of campy feel-good environmentalism, Avatar employs these elements artfully, mixing a mysticism inspired by Eastern spirituality with the fluid fight choreography of Asian wire-fu cinema. The resulting dynamic allows for gripping action sequences, while telling meaningful stories in a fantasy world that stays grounded in its own logic. (As we discussed on our recent podcast, it would make a hell of a movie, if handled properly by the right people.)

Other potential kids’ show pitfalls are deftly sidestepped as well. The obligatory “And the moral of the story is…” moments are occasionally present, but tied in to the characters’ ongoing development in a way that feels earned rather than forced. Slapstick gags with Hanna Barbera sound effects are routinely employed, but for more than just cheap laughs, often bringing a character back down to earth when they become too serious or self-centered.

However, “a tolerable level of shtick” is not a very strong recommendation. Nor does being less shrill and shallow than other kid-safe cartoons make Avatar worth watching. Hence the revelatory moment in “The Blue Spirit” — the moment during which I fully realized that all the things the show does very right outweigh the litany of things it merely avoids doing wrong.

[Keep reading »]

side notes

I’ve been looking forward to Inception for nearly a year now. From the very first teaser trailer released last August, my immediate reaction was, “Thank you, Christopher Nolan, for doing something ambitious and mysterious and unlike anything I’ve seen before. It doesn’t matter what this movie ends up being about, just sign me the fuck up.”

Now I have tickets to see it tomorrow night. The time has finally come. And as the floodgate on reviews was opened this week, most of the buzz is spectacular. Every indication is that film fans, action fans, mystery fans — and especially Nolan fans — are in for a real treat.

But while all us geeks are shivering with excitement, there’s an undercurrent of counter-buzz that makes my blood boil. Normally I’d relegate this to a snarky tweet linking to headlines like, “Is Inception Too Smart for Audiences?” or “Will Inception Be Christopher Nolan’s First Big Flop?”, but my frustration can’t be contained in a 140 character burst.

To be fair, a lot of these posts contain their own counter-arguments, matching doubts about the marketability of the movie with high praise for its quality. It’s probably true that a lot of smart people who liked Inception are just trying to look smarter by predicting it’ll be over the heads of a lot of “typical moviegoers”, or that the obtuse advertising has failed to lure in the average Joe.

But Jesus Christ, why take part in this self-fulfilling prophecy?! Anyone who writes about movies is disheartened by film criticism’s waning influence on what people actually pay to go see, constantly wondering if what they do is relevant in an age of overwhelming access to media. They call Transformers a giant piece of shit but it breaks box office records anyway. Meanwhile, all their festival favorites struggle to even get on screens in Iowa.

Yet here is their one single chance, in a summer chock full of commercial filler, to unequivocally say of a movie they admire, “This is a great, great film. Go see it and you won’t be disappointed,” and they hedge their bets by saying it might not sell in flyover country. Hey, geniuses, maybe it’s because you’re preemptively warning people they’ll just be confused, while feeding into the stereotype of pretentious film critics whose tastes are horribly out of touch?

Add to that the other maddening stereotype of middle America as a bunch of drooling simpletons that will only pay money to watch white heroes blow up racially ambiguous bad guys, and they’re making matters even worse. I’m not suggesting those people don’t exist — I know they do, I’ve stood behind them in grocery checkout lines in several states — but the reality is that they exist everywhere. There are plenty of sharp film lovers in St Louis and Omaha, just like there are plenty of Cheeto-eating dimwits in New York and Los Angeles. And guess what, those people respond best to TV ads during Cops re-runs in which a sassy comeback ending in an expletive gets cut off by something exploding.

Which is to say, your opinion will never reach them. So for the rest of us who value quality and the opinion of professionals, please, can you maybe afford the general public the benefit of the doubt?

I haven’t seen Inception yet, but I’m guessing I’ll really like it. Let’s not make that out as a way to earn some sort of intellectual merit badge. Let’s give credit where credit is due: a talented director making a brilliant film that lots of people will love. Writers, please, use what small powers you have for good. Praising genuinely good films that don’t condescend to their viewers, and getting lots of our friends to go see them, is the only way we can hope to get the next Inception.

podcasts

It’s July, it’s hot, there’s not a damn thing on TV or in theaters, and yet we put off our trip to the best ice cream parlor in Los Angeles to bring you a tasty new podcast. Summer party jams? Got ‘em. Page-turning beach reads? Yep. Great TV shows to fill in the dead zone between Breaking Bad and Mad Men? You know it.

As usual, write in with comments or questions on anything we discuss here or you’d want us to discuss next time, and we’ll try to read and respond to them on the next episode. Either in the comments section below or via email, we love getting feedback. If you like listening (or even if you don’t), don’t be afraid to leave a review in the iTunes store either.

Download The Under Culture Podcast #10 - I’m Sick of Carrying This Crown

Subscribe in iTunes for automatic updates.

(Show notes below…)

[Keep reading »]

watching

Most movies, I pretty much know what I’m getting before I sit down. With all the posters and billboards, the multiple trailers and talk show appearances, omnipresent tv ads and online reviews, it’s generally safe to assign a rough mental score to a film before it’s even released. If that estimated number comes in above a 7 or so, I go see it. If it surprises me by being a 9, I get excited and recommend it to others. If it’s more of a 5, I discuss with my friends the little ways it let me down, tell people it’s watchable but to maybe wait to rent it. I rarely get movies totally wrong; I never think something will be an 8 and it turns out to be a 2. Every once in a while something that looks like a 4 turns out to be a 6, which is nice.

The point is, mainstream films are so heavily marketed and buzzed about, there are rarely any true surprises. That’s one of the reasons this year’s Exit Through the Gift Shop was such a remarkable breath of fresh air (and that’s all I’ll say until everyone has gone out and seen it). And it’s that potential for surprise that makes me such a fan of the Los Angeles Film Festival. With a carefully programmed bill of small, foreign, or pre-release movies, I really am choosing films based on short descriptions, having maybe read a stray comment on a movie blog, or possibly clicked on a brief teaser. For once, I have the chance to be completely floored by something — or, sure, totally bored and disappointed — but either way, when those lights go down, it’s an exciting feeling.

So in the interest of preserving that experience for my fellow film lovers, here are brief thoughts on what I was able to catch at last week’s film fest. No lengthy summaries or detailed analysis, but enough directional guidance so that anyone looking for a little surprise and delight can track down the films that really floored me this year. (Or conversely, know which ones are safe to catch on home video).

Six capsule reviews — ranked from fair to fantastic — after the break…

[Keep reading »]

playing

As I write, geeks in downtown LA conference booths are drooling at whiz-bang 3D warfare, or sweating to arm-flailing motion-control, both claiming to be the future of video games. Naturally, the purpose of big industry events like E3 is to show how your company is pushing the edges of possibility, breaking new ground, or any other slogan synonymous with doing cool new shit you ain’t seen before. And none of us tech-obsessed game fans are immune to the lure of fancy new gadgets.

Meanwhile, back at home, those of us not invited to the electronic entertainment orgy that’s clogging our twitter feeds are busy finishing up one of the medium’s most impressive achievements in Red Dead Redemption — the game that does sprawling in a way that redefines “open world”. With gorgeous vistas that stretch on forever, ambient sounds of wildlife punctuated by pistol fire, and chance encounters with strangers on dusty roads, the details of Red Dead are so masterfully executed, they create a space that feels genuinely alive. The sensation of being transported to this world eclipses what’s come before. This is a world worth absorbing, worth getting lost in.

And yet after weeks of travel across Red Dead’s wide expanses, and now days of being tantalized by the flashy gizmos of tomorrow, what I find myself wishing for are more games like Machinarium.

Machinarium is short, taking a handful of play sessions to finish, or maybe a full day with some dedication. It’s simple, too. Built in Flash out of of fully hand-drawn 2D art, there aren’t many moving pieces. Players control a cute little robot in a gorgeously depicted steam-punk robot city, progressing from screen to screen by solving mind puzzles. The story, told mainly through animated thought-bubble flashbacks, is equally simple: some robot bullies captured his robot girlfriend and he wants to get her back.

The game works so well with just these basic elements because of its focus. The aesthetic isn’t overstuffed with show-offy level designs; the creators obviously had a vision for a world and they built it beautifully. The controls are classic adventure game style; click to walk somewhere, then click objects to use them. The rest is a matter of brain power, not a raft of complicated moves or tricky interfaces. And the characters, though only animated in the most rudimentary cartoon way, have more personality and charm than any number of action game heroes.

In a strange way, it reminded me of Braid, or even Portal (another game I’ve been replaying recently now that my Mac can run Steam). It’s a tight, short, delightful package that’s over before it starts dragging on with a bunch of dead weight. With Machinarium, I laughed more at a few robots dancing than I did at any of the caricatures in the first half of Red Dead’s wild west tale. In the same way, I was more captivated by the artistry of its static backgrounds than I was by a bombastic trailer for the next Call of Duty game.

Those big companies are more than welcome to keep experimenting with bigger and more impressive things, trying to wow me. I like being wowed too. But what I’m really excited about are the little projects like Machinarium, where a small team with a vision executes a flawless little piece of art.

watching

In the days after the Lost finale, cafeteria tables and Facebook walls everywhere reverberated with the aftershocks of this year’s Big One. Six seasons of wild tangents and metaphysical questions came to a close with the biggest fictional TV series event on record: 5-plus hours devoted solely to wrapping up a crazy sci-fi mystery show that started with a plane crash and ended with… well, that part’s still up for debate.

Fans immediately went into a frenzy, passing judgment on whether the big conclusion was worth the years of buildup, and arguing over what this big island epic really meant in the end. However, an equally interesting point of discussion may be what it meant for us as TV viewers, and how this ground-breaking show, no matter what the moral of the story was, has changed the face of television. In a post-Lost world, its real legacy may not be the philosophic points it made, but what a show like this makes possible in the years to come. After all, the series may have had its flaws, but a flawed masterpiece is better than no masterpiece at all.

[Series spoilers to follow.] [Keep reading »]

podcasts

Okay, so we haven’t been doing one per month like we’d hoped, but here we are again at last. Despite the delays, we still have some solid new recommendations for you. A super-nerdy online strategy game, a British soccer movie that thankfully minimizes the soccer, a few killer new albums from old and new favorites, and a cracking good Spanish mystery novel.

As usual, write in with comments or questions on anything we discuss here or you’d want us to discuss next time, and we’ll try to read and respond to them on the next episode. Either in the comments section below or via email, we love getting feedback. If you like listening (or even if you don’t), don’t be afraid to leave a review in the iTunes store either.

Download The Under Culture Podcast #9 - I Promise, There Won’t Be Any Soccer

Subscribe in iTunes for automatic updates.

(Show notes below…)

[Keep reading »]

playing

Dearest Neighbors, wherever you are,

I hope this message finds you well, with crops unwithered and golden eggs piled high. I know it’s not our custom to correspond in letters, but lately my mind is weighed down with thoughts too heavy for a simple sign post. What follows may not be as cheerful as yet another mystery box, or be as profitable as a field of freshly grown Super Pumpkins. But it is my hope that the seeds planted with this letter may, in time, blossom into something of more lasting value.

I remember first coming to Farmville, being enchanted by the wide open spaces and the opportunity they represented. Finally I’d have a chance to carve out a space of my own, a twelve-by-twelve plot square on which to earn a modest living. I’d reap the bounty of nature by the sweat of my brow and in doing so, return to a simpler way of life. The idyllic scene played out in my mind like a soothing song on a gentle summer breeze.

What I’ve come to realize, fellow farmers, is that the hypnotic power of that playful tune has lulled us into a stupor. What we’re really hearing is the endlessly looping elevator music as we descend into agricultural hell. Overly dramatic? Maybe. But that’s exactly what we need to snap us out of our trances. Please, put down your backhoes, bear with me for a moment, and ask yourselves: what have we become?

[Keep reading »]

watching

Living in Los Angeles has its benefits. Within walking distance from my apartment are not one, but two indie/revival landmarks. The New Beverly Cinema, recently purchased by Quentin Tarantino, screens hand-picked classics and under-the-radar genre films, often as double-features. A mile down the road, The Silent Movie Theatre serves as home to the Cinefamily, a non-profit organization dedicated to showing strange, wonderful, and overlooked films you’d never see anywhere else. This month, the latter is running a series called What’s Up, Docs? in conjunction with Cinema Eye — whose mission is celebrating the craft of non-fiction film-making.

Recently I had the pleasure of catching one of the nominees for this year’s Cinema Eye Honors: a documentary titled 45365, which you’d be forgiven for not knowing as the zip code for Sidney, Ohio. On hand were the filmmakers, Bill & Turner Ross, as well as AJ Schnack from Cinema Eye.

Both before the film and during the Q&A afterward, AJ made some remarks that were especially noteworthy. He described how part of their goal at Cinema Eye was to reinforce that documentaries aren’t just about exposing scandals or taking a stance on current events. Though he resisted citing examples and denigrating any films of this under-appreciated category, his point was that The Cove or Food, Inc. certainly have their place, but so do non-fiction films without a political agenda. Riveting films like Capturing the Friedmans or Man on Wire deserve just as much fanfare for their great storytelling as do those where film-making overlaps with journalism or editorial opinion.

His comments were reminiscent of a point Ira Glass has also made about This American Life, which Glass himself has described as (and this is paraphrasing) “applying the rigors of journalism to the stories of regular people”. After all, the world is full of fascinating characters and events, and not all of them have to end with a call to action; some just help us see the world through someone else’s eyes.

The comparison is especially apt with 45365. In making their love letter to the town they grew up in, the Ross brothers opted not to follow any individual story arc, instead floating from scene to scene in an unnarrated slice-of-life collage. They give equal attention to small town politics, teen drama, local talk radio, county fairs, cops and criminals and kids. They spend sad, lonely moments with strange old men and listen in on the off-color chatter of funny old women. The result is a sort of tone poem that resembles This American Life’s honest look at the everyday without either endorsing or condescending to its subjects.

What 45365 does better than anything is create a sense of place — and what it feels like to be in that place — and in that regard its willfully obscure title makes sense. The zip code of Sidney, Ohio is an extremely specific designation for the small town they’ve captured so well. But at the same time, this anonymous-seeming five digit code could correspond to any rural county, and the people whose lives we visit could as easily be in Idaho or Iowa or Alabama. 45365 isn’t the story of Sidney, but an encapsulation of the sweet, funny, peculiar and profound moments of small town life. For all of us who’ve grown up and moved on to the big city to find ourselves, it’s a warm feeling to return for these 90 minutes and remember fondly where we came from.

……….

[Hat tip to Lawrence Everson, friend and sound magician, who worked on the film and brought it to my attention. 45365 is currently playing a limited run at the Downtown Independent in LA, and is very much worth catching while you can. See the official 45365 site for future screenings and cross your fingers it pops up on Netflix or cable if you miss your chance.]

watching

Critics often whine about our media-saturated, short-attention-span culture for making us dumber. Admittedly, it is difficult to watch the meatheads of Jersey Shore ascend to icon status without wanting to stockpile supplies for the looming ab-pocalypse. But not every side effect of the entertainment explosion is purely negative. There are people like Steven Johnson who say we’re actually getting smarter; it’s just a different kind of smart. More importantly, there are the artists whose response to our evolving sensibility is to adapt with equally evolved forms of expression.

Nowhere is this more apparent than in comedy. The masters of the past, even in classics like Fletch or Caddyshack, feel a bit sluggish by today’s standards. Though geniuses in their time, their appeal today is more nostalgic than visceral. While there are moments that still work, they seem to lack a certain energy. Our media-saturation is certainly to blame here; we’re so well-trained in the tropes of entertainment that it’s harder than ever to be funny. Comedy relies on the unexpected, and the more you’ve seen, the more it feels like you’ve seen it all before. What was groundbreaking a generation ago formed the foundation for what’s generic today.

As a result, it takes more to get us off, comedically speaking. Some shows and films have adapted by going the crude, shocking, or non sequitur route, but that’s a lazy way to push boundaries. Some stand-up artists like Demetri Martin have gone more cerebral, but that’s hard to sustain through anything with a plot or character arc. But for audiences passionate about comedy — those well-versed fans who appreciate not just a good joke but the craftsmanship that goes into great humor — one tactic seems to work best, and consistently produce today’s funniest stuff. Those are the writers able to pull off not only joke quality, but joke density.

[Keep reading »]