Look, just stop, okay? If you're going to make an interminably bad series of pain-by-numbers action films, do yourself a favor and hire Rodriguez for a 10 movie deal right out of the gate. If you kill her character off, somewhere down the line you'll have to spend those five extra minutes to come up with a way to bring her back through movie magic, so why not save yourself all that bother and don't kill her in the first place?
Resident Evil did it, and then a few movies later the "film"makers of that series realized that killing her off was stupid and so brought her back from the dead with sci-fi cloning magic technology, since, you know, they can do that. Now Even Faster and Moar Furiouser Part π has done it, after killing her off in That One They Made That Was the Same as the First One Minus the Definite Article.
So here's the lesson for Hollywood: Don't kill Michelle Rodriguez! Your shitty film series will be even shittier as a result, so Just Don't Do It.
And seriously, where is that Aliens remake? Rodriguez ain't getting any younger.
That is all.
Showing posts with label rants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rants. Show all posts
April 26, 2014
December 11, 2012
A Defense of "Gangnam Style"
Korea has produced two great cultural achievements in the last 500 years. One of these is known and respected throughout the world, by scholars and laypersons alike, for its brilliance, artistry, beauty, and significance as a mode of communication. It is widely admired, imitated, and investigated for adaptation, and the history of its creation and propagation will be the object of scholarly inquiry for generations to come. It has done more for the spreading of Korean culture than its originator could have dreamed, and that originator has become a cultural hero to his nation.
The other is the Korean alphabet.
Yes, "Gangnam Style". Love it or hate it, you know it. It's the K-pop sensation topping the charts around the world, and because of it, artist PSY gets to meet with the Secretary-General of the United Nations, who thereupon declared he was no longer the world's most famous Korean. The horse dance is silly, the video is goofy, and the lyrics are unintelligible to 99% of the people that love it, who have no idea what Gangnam is or what its "style" entails.
Yet it is undeniably infectious, and I confess I find it immensely gratifying that for all the awful crap music Korea produces, with the literally interchangeable faces of the variousartists performers (thanks, cheap and widely available plastic surgery!) that appear from the ether of studio promotion and shortly thereafter disappear back into it never to be heard from again, it is one of K-pop's legitimate musical talents that has taken the world by storm. Not only that, but he has done so by means of what is, for a pop song, a rather sophisticated takedown of the very popular culture of which it is undeniably a part.
That's right, I went there.
Now I know what you're thinking: Did he fire six shots, or only five? You're also thinking I'm reading too much into a goofy pop song. "Oh, Carl Eusebius!" you toss off between sips of the 300-year-old Chardonnay that was featured as "Wine of the Week" in the most recent issue of Pretentious Twat Monthly, "PSY is the fat funny guy, and fat funny guys don't do satire. He's riding an invisible horse, for Christ's sake!" Well first, you're wrong. PSY looks like the fat funny guy, but he's more like a Korean stab at what Queen would be doing if God hadn't revealed He hates us all by killing Freddy Mercury. This is an educated man, here, and one smart enough to realize that going to some fruity music school is a waste of time if you want to be a pop musician. See, Korea is one of those weird non-American countries where people respect education and admire those who obtain it, rather than a degenerate cesspool of subhuman cretins that disavow "book larnin'" because if they learned something, they might discover they actually need other people and ought to care about somebody other than themselves and their hick inbred family-cum-marriage partners. The Imperial education system apparently operates on one simple principle: Choose a few winners and give them every available privilege so they can become brilliant scientists who invent ever more accurate and destructive weaponry, and abandon the rest to become Republicans.
Second, so what if PSY were just the fat funny guy? Sod you, being funny is hard. Have some respect.
Anyway, PSY is on record as saying the song pokes fun at poseurs. All I'm doing is breaking it down for ya.
For those of you who don't know--which is, I assume, all of you--Gangnam refers, broadly, to the part of Seoul south of the Han River that bisects the city. More specifically, it's the name of the city's southeastern quarter. It's been called Korea's version of Beverly Hills, but that's not really accurate. It's more like Korea's version of Las Vegas, without the gambling. "Now wait a minute, Carl Eusebius!" you deign to inform me from the dizzying heights of your Ivory Tower of Internet Intelligentsia, "If you take away the gambling, what would be left of Vegas? All the glitz and glamor and horrible architecture are just there to get people into the casinos!" Well, my postmodern hipster friend, that's the point: Gangnam is all the glitz and glamor and horrible architecture of Vegas for the sake of itself. There's no ulterior motive. It's pure pop culture style, gaudy for gaudiness's sake, devoid of any purpose other than to embody the emptiness of fashion. Like if Lady Gaga were a city district instead of a 3rd-generation Xerox of Madonna who recycles Ace of Bass melodic lines in pursuit of crass David Bowie-at-his-Ziggy-Stardust-worst glam.
So how exactly is the song satirical? For that, we'll need to look at the lyrics. Now, I know nobody cares about the lyrics of songs anymore. That the "lyrics" of "My Humps" didn't immediately cause a worldwide hatred of Fergie so intense and powerful that she immediately burst into flames due the concentrated rage of a billion souls is proof that lyrics don't matter. All pop music needs now is a repetitive bop-a-chicka beat so white people without a modicum of rhythm in their pale, fleshy bodies can gyrate about awkwardly in the anonymous safety of a darkened club with an outrageous cover charge and 2000% liquor mark-ups. We're talking about a society in which Cartman's "And girl you know that you're the only girl for me / Girl / Girl, you're the girl of my, fantasies / You're my girl / You're my girl / My / Girl" could very well be a transcription of any given Justin Bieber song if it hadn't come out years before Bieber was Disney-manufactured and been intended to mock pop lyrics in the first place.
There's an official unofficial version of the lyrics to "Gangnam Style" floating around, and it's not altogether bad, but it reads rather literally, as if somebody who knows a little Korean looked up the words in the dictionary and wrote down the first Imperial Standard word that appeared there. I, in my semi-divine wisdom, shall translate the lyrics more as they would be understood by their intended audience. This is important, because some of the subtlety of the satire is lost in the lyrics' literal rendering.
Here is the Korean version:
오빤 강남스타일
강남스타일
낮에는 따사로운 인간적인 여자
커피 한잔의 여유를 아는 품격 있는 여자
밤이 오면 심장이 뜨거워지는 여자
그런 반전 있는 여자
나는 사나이
낮에는 너만큼 따사로운 그런 사나이
커피 식기도 전에 원샷 때리는 사나이
밤이 오면 심장이 터져버리는 사나이
그런 사나이
아름다워 사랑스러워
그래 너 hey 그래 바로 너 hey
아름다워 사랑스러워
그래 너 hey 그래 바로 너 hey
지금부터 갈 데까지 가볼까
오빤 강남스타일
강남스타일
오빤 강남스타일
강남스타일
오빤 강남스타일
http://michelia94.wordpress.com
에 Sexy Lady
오빤 강남스타일
에 Sexy Lady
에에에에에에
정숙해 보이지만 놀 땐 노는 여자
이때다 싶으면 묶었던 머리 푸는 여자
가렸지만 웬만한 노출보다 야한 여자
그런 감각적인 여자
나는 사나이
점잖아 보이지만 놀 땐 노는 사나이
때가 되면 완전 미쳐버리는 사나이
근육보다 사상이 울퉁불퉁한 사나이
그런 사나이
아름다워 사랑스러워
그래 너 hey 그래 바로 너 hey
아름다워 사랑스러워
그래 너 hey 그래 바로 너 hey
지금부터 갈 데까지 가볼까
오빤 강남스타일
강남스타일
오빤 강남스타일
강남스타일
오빤 강남스타일
에 Sexy Lady
오빤 강남스타일
에 Sexy Lady
에에에에에에
http://michelia94.wordpress.com
뛰는 놈 그 위에 나는 놈
baby baby
나는 뭘 좀 아는 놈
뛰는 놈 그 위에 나는 놈
baby baby
나는 뭘 좀 아는 놈
You know what I’m saying?
오빤 강남스타일
에 Sexy Lady
오빤 강남스타일
에 Sexy Lady
오빤 강남스타일
Here is my translation:
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Gangnam style
A girl who's warm and personable by day
A girl with grace who can relax over coffee
A girl who gets hotter at night
That kind of girl with a wild streak
I'm a guy
A guy who's as warm as you by day
A guy who one-shots his coffee while it's still hot
A guy whose heart races at night
That kind of guy
Beautiful, lovely
That's you
Beautiful, lovely
That's you
Are we gonna see this through 'til the end?
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Gangnam style
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Gangnam style
Hey, sexy lady!
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Hey, sexy lady!
Hey!
A girl who looks innocent but gets down when it's time to get down
A girl who's ready to let her hair down
A girl who decorates herself rather than going bare
That kind of sensual girl
I'm a guy
A guy who looks sweet but gets down when it's time to get down
A guy who's ready to get totally wild
A guy with bigger ideas than muscles
That kind of guy
Beautiful, lovely
That's you
Beautiful, lovely
That's you
Are we gonna see this through 'til the end?
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Gangnam style
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Gangnam style
Hey, sexy lady!
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Hey, sexy lady!
Hey!
Above the running bloke is the flying bloke
Baby, baby, I'm the bloke who knows
Above the running bloke is the flying bloke
Baby, baby, I'm the bloke who knows
You know what I'm saying?
Hey!
Hey, sexy lady!
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Hey, sexy lady!
Hey!
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Now let's dig into these lyrics. I'm assuming you've seen the "Gangnam Style" video, since the video's satirical elements are intertwined with those of the lyrics. And if you haven't, go watch the video. I mean, what's the matter with you? It's only the most viewed video on YouTube, which means it can't possibly be stupid and uninteresting. The first thing you have to realize is that PSY is playing a character in this song and video. I will refer to this character as "the singer" to avoid confusing the man with the role he plays. PSY sets up a caricature that is then ridiculed. This common form of mockery is apparently unknown to the music "critics" who deride the song as misogynist, I imagine because the concept of subtlety is so lost on them they're still trying to figure out who Keyzer Soze is. And let me take this opportunity to point out that pop music critics have got to be the most useless of all professional critics. I don't know what it takes for a pop hit to get bad reviews from these people, but as shown by the positive reception of "Tik Tok", even being the most horrible sonic abomination ever to blight the planet isn't enough to earn the scorn of music critics.
So the video starts with the singer appearing to be on a beach, which is revealed to be a children's playground. This will be echoed near the end of the video, when the singer, dressed in his snazziest outfit and looking intense, is revealed to be sitting on the toilet with his pants down, showing us that what we see in a music video is merely what the camera wants us to see, which can be a great distortion of reality. Then the singer and two dancers are blasted in the face with fake snow, during which they continue to perform as if nothing unusual is happening. They look ridiculous, just as the singer looks ridiculous riding an invisible horse. The point is, no matter where you are or how snazzily you're dressed, you look stupid doing stupid things. PSY gets across what Moby was going for in his "Southside" video, only better and less pretentious (i.e., not done by Moby).
As for the lyrics, I'll start with the very first word, oppa (big brother). As a word used by a younger woman to address an older man, and one that can connote a patronizing romantic relationship between the two, it immediately establishes a patriarchal relationship to be mocked. The singer then goes through a series of matching descriptions, essentially the pretention of respectability by day and the shedding of that mask by night, when no one can call them on it. The singer of course wants his girl to be demure and unapproachable during the day (so he doesn't have the stigma of being attached to a disreputable woman) while becoming his wild girl at night, a typical male fantasy. The singer has parallel passages for himself, but they are divorced from sexuality. For example, the word I translate as "innocent" refers specifically to a woman's sexual purity, while the parallel passage for the singer ("sweet") has no sexual meaning. When I initially heard the "ideas bigger than muscles" line, I thought it was a criticism of physical appearance, which didn't jibe with the rest of the lyrics. Once I figured out the entire song was satirical, though, it made perfect sense together with the parallel passage for the man: The girl is expected to look good (better do that make-up, honey!), while the guy--who has "big ideas"--isn't expected to do the same. Forget about staying in shape, I've got ideas, man.
"Gangnam Style" mocks style over substance, the double standards applied to men and women, and all manner of falseness and pretention. Plus, it's got a damn funny goofy horse dance. Is there any wonder it's the biggest song in the world?
The other is the Korean alphabet.
Yes, "Gangnam Style". Love it or hate it, you know it. It's the K-pop sensation topping the charts around the world, and because of it, artist PSY gets to meet with the Secretary-General of the United Nations, who thereupon declared he was no longer the world's most famous Korean. The horse dance is silly, the video is goofy, and the lyrics are unintelligible to 99% of the people that love it, who have no idea what Gangnam is or what its "style" entails.
Yet it is undeniably infectious, and I confess I find it immensely gratifying that for all the awful crap music Korea produces, with the literally interchangeable faces of the various
That's right, I went there.
Now I know what you're thinking: Did he fire six shots, or only five? You're also thinking I'm reading too much into a goofy pop song. "Oh, Carl Eusebius!" you toss off between sips of the 300-year-old Chardonnay that was featured as "Wine of the Week" in the most recent issue of Pretentious Twat Monthly, "PSY is the fat funny guy, and fat funny guys don't do satire. He's riding an invisible horse, for Christ's sake!" Well first, you're wrong. PSY looks like the fat funny guy, but he's more like a Korean stab at what Queen would be doing if God hadn't revealed He hates us all by killing Freddy Mercury. This is an educated man, here, and one smart enough to realize that going to some fruity music school is a waste of time if you want to be a pop musician. See, Korea is one of those weird non-American countries where people respect education and admire those who obtain it, rather than a degenerate cesspool of subhuman cretins that disavow "book larnin'" because if they learned something, they might discover they actually need other people and ought to care about somebody other than themselves and their hick inbred family-cum-marriage partners. The Imperial education system apparently operates on one simple principle: Choose a few winners and give them every available privilege so they can become brilliant scientists who invent ever more accurate and destructive weaponry, and abandon the rest to become Republicans.
Second, so what if PSY were just the fat funny guy? Sod you, being funny is hard. Have some respect.
Anyway, PSY is on record as saying the song pokes fun at poseurs. All I'm doing is breaking it down for ya.
For those of you who don't know--which is, I assume, all of you--Gangnam refers, broadly, to the part of Seoul south of the Han River that bisects the city. More specifically, it's the name of the city's southeastern quarter. It's been called Korea's version of Beverly Hills, but that's not really accurate. It's more like Korea's version of Las Vegas, without the gambling. "Now wait a minute, Carl Eusebius!" you deign to inform me from the dizzying heights of your Ivory Tower of Internet Intelligentsia, "If you take away the gambling, what would be left of Vegas? All the glitz and glamor and horrible architecture are just there to get people into the casinos!" Well, my postmodern hipster friend, that's the point: Gangnam is all the glitz and glamor and horrible architecture of Vegas for the sake of itself. There's no ulterior motive. It's pure pop culture style, gaudy for gaudiness's sake, devoid of any purpose other than to embody the emptiness of fashion. Like if Lady Gaga were a city district instead of a 3rd-generation Xerox of Madonna who recycles Ace of Bass melodic lines in pursuit of crass David Bowie-at-his-Ziggy-Stardust-worst glam.
So how exactly is the song satirical? For that, we'll need to look at the lyrics. Now, I know nobody cares about the lyrics of songs anymore. That the "lyrics" of "My Humps" didn't immediately cause a worldwide hatred of Fergie so intense and powerful that she immediately burst into flames due the concentrated rage of a billion souls is proof that lyrics don't matter. All pop music needs now is a repetitive bop-a-chicka beat so white people without a modicum of rhythm in their pale, fleshy bodies can gyrate about awkwardly in the anonymous safety of a darkened club with an outrageous cover charge and 2000% liquor mark-ups. We're talking about a society in which Cartman's "And girl you know that you're the only girl for me / Girl / Girl, you're the girl of my, fantasies / You're my girl / You're my girl / My / Girl" could very well be a transcription of any given Justin Bieber song if it hadn't come out years before Bieber was Disney-manufactured and been intended to mock pop lyrics in the first place.
There's an official unofficial version of the lyrics to "Gangnam Style" floating around, and it's not altogether bad, but it reads rather literally, as if somebody who knows a little Korean looked up the words in the dictionary and wrote down the first Imperial Standard word that appeared there. I, in my semi-divine wisdom, shall translate the lyrics more as they would be understood by their intended audience. This is important, because some of the subtlety of the satire is lost in the lyrics' literal rendering.
Here is the Korean version:
오빤 강남스타일
강남스타일
낮에는 따사로운 인간적인 여자
커피 한잔의 여유를 아는 품격 있는 여자
밤이 오면 심장이 뜨거워지는 여자
그런 반전 있는 여자
나는 사나이
낮에는 너만큼 따사로운 그런 사나이
커피 식기도 전에 원샷 때리는 사나이
밤이 오면 심장이 터져버리는 사나이
그런 사나이
아름다워 사랑스러워
그래 너 hey 그래 바로 너 hey
아름다워 사랑스러워
그래 너 hey 그래 바로 너 hey
지금부터 갈 데까지 가볼까
오빤 강남스타일
강남스타일
오빤 강남스타일
강남스타일
오빤 강남스타일
http://michelia94.wordpress.com
에 Sexy Lady
오빤 강남스타일
에 Sexy Lady
에에에에에에
정숙해 보이지만 놀 땐 노는 여자
이때다 싶으면 묶었던 머리 푸는 여자
가렸지만 웬만한 노출보다 야한 여자
그런 감각적인 여자
나는 사나이
점잖아 보이지만 놀 땐 노는 사나이
때가 되면 완전 미쳐버리는 사나이
근육보다 사상이 울퉁불퉁한 사나이
그런 사나이
아름다워 사랑스러워
그래 너 hey 그래 바로 너 hey
아름다워 사랑스러워
그래 너 hey 그래 바로 너 hey
지금부터 갈 데까지 가볼까
오빤 강남스타일
강남스타일
오빤 강남스타일
강남스타일
오빤 강남스타일
에 Sexy Lady
오빤 강남스타일
에 Sexy Lady
에에에에에에
http://michelia94.wordpress.com
뛰는 놈 그 위에 나는 놈
baby baby
나는 뭘 좀 아는 놈
뛰는 놈 그 위에 나는 놈
baby baby
나는 뭘 좀 아는 놈
You know what I’m saying?
오빤 강남스타일
에 Sexy Lady
오빤 강남스타일
에 Sexy Lady
오빤 강남스타일
Here is my translation:
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Gangnam style
A girl who's warm and personable by day
A girl with grace who can relax over coffee
A girl who gets hotter at night
That kind of girl with a wild streak
I'm a guy
A guy who's as warm as you by day
A guy who one-shots his coffee while it's still hot
A guy whose heart races at night
That kind of guy
Beautiful, lovely
That's you
Beautiful, lovely
That's you
Are we gonna see this through 'til the end?
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Gangnam style
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Gangnam style
Hey, sexy lady!
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Hey, sexy lady!
Hey!
A girl who looks innocent but gets down when it's time to get down
A girl who's ready to let her hair down
A girl who decorates herself rather than going bare
That kind of sensual girl
I'm a guy
A guy who looks sweet but gets down when it's time to get down
A guy who's ready to get totally wild
A guy with bigger ideas than muscles
That kind of guy
Beautiful, lovely
That's you
Beautiful, lovely
That's you
Are we gonna see this through 'til the end?
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Gangnam style
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Gangnam style
Hey, sexy lady!
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Hey, sexy lady!
Hey!
Above the running bloke is the flying bloke
Baby, baby, I'm the bloke who knows
Above the running bloke is the flying bloke
Baby, baby, I'm the bloke who knows
You know what I'm saying?
Hey!
Hey, sexy lady!
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Hey, sexy lady!
Hey!
Big Brother's got Gangnam style
Now let's dig into these lyrics. I'm assuming you've seen the "Gangnam Style" video, since the video's satirical elements are intertwined with those of the lyrics. And if you haven't, go watch the video. I mean, what's the matter with you? It's only the most viewed video on YouTube, which means it can't possibly be stupid and uninteresting. The first thing you have to realize is that PSY is playing a character in this song and video. I will refer to this character as "the singer" to avoid confusing the man with the role he plays. PSY sets up a caricature that is then ridiculed. This common form of mockery is apparently unknown to the music "critics" who deride the song as misogynist, I imagine because the concept of subtlety is so lost on them they're still trying to figure out who Keyzer Soze is. And let me take this opportunity to point out that pop music critics have got to be the most useless of all professional critics. I don't know what it takes for a pop hit to get bad reviews from these people, but as shown by the positive reception of "Tik Tok", even being the most horrible sonic abomination ever to blight the planet isn't enough to earn the scorn of music critics.
So the video starts with the singer appearing to be on a beach, which is revealed to be a children's playground. This will be echoed near the end of the video, when the singer, dressed in his snazziest outfit and looking intense, is revealed to be sitting on the toilet with his pants down, showing us that what we see in a music video is merely what the camera wants us to see, which can be a great distortion of reality. Then the singer and two dancers are blasted in the face with fake snow, during which they continue to perform as if nothing unusual is happening. They look ridiculous, just as the singer looks ridiculous riding an invisible horse. The point is, no matter where you are or how snazzily you're dressed, you look stupid doing stupid things. PSY gets across what Moby was going for in his "Southside" video, only better and less pretentious (i.e., not done by Moby).
As for the lyrics, I'll start with the very first word, oppa (big brother). As a word used by a younger woman to address an older man, and one that can connote a patronizing romantic relationship between the two, it immediately establishes a patriarchal relationship to be mocked. The singer then goes through a series of matching descriptions, essentially the pretention of respectability by day and the shedding of that mask by night, when no one can call them on it. The singer of course wants his girl to be demure and unapproachable during the day (so he doesn't have the stigma of being attached to a disreputable woman) while becoming his wild girl at night, a typical male fantasy. The singer has parallel passages for himself, but they are divorced from sexuality. For example, the word I translate as "innocent" refers specifically to a woman's sexual purity, while the parallel passage for the singer ("sweet") has no sexual meaning. When I initially heard the "ideas bigger than muscles" line, I thought it was a criticism of physical appearance, which didn't jibe with the rest of the lyrics. Once I figured out the entire song was satirical, though, it made perfect sense together with the parallel passage for the man: The girl is expected to look good (better do that make-up, honey!), while the guy--who has "big ideas"--isn't expected to do the same. Forget about staying in shape, I've got ideas, man.
"Gangnam Style" mocks style over substance, the double standards applied to men and women, and all manner of falseness and pretention. Plus, it's got a damn funny goofy horse dance. Is there any wonder it's the biggest song in the world?
November 21, 2012
Versions of Blade Runner
I know that every reader of this blog, upon reading my incredibly insightful and brilliant review of Blade Runner, immediately wanted to run out and watch it, even if she's already seen it, because I'm just that good. "But Carl Eusebius" I hear you asking, "there are lots of versions of Blade Runner. Which one should I watch?"
Well, if you're truly committed to art, as I am, you'll watch all of them for the sake of comparison. But since I know none of you can aspire to my own greatness, I'll help you choose the best version, the one that is truly one of the greatest films of our time.
Because major film studios were once even more convinced we're all morons, Blade Runner exists in three versions. (Actually there are more, but most people only have easy access to three.) The first is the version released to theatres in 1982. It adds completely unnecessary narration* to tell us things we don't need to know--things the film establishes visually or through context or dialogue, things we don't care to know because they aren't important, and things the film leaves ambiguous--but apparently we gibbering baboons in the audience need to have everything spelled out for us. Needless to say, this version removes several indicators that Deckard is a replicant. Its worst sin of all is replacing the original ambiguous ending with a bullshit "happy" ending that's as tacked on as the flamboyantly gay character in every sitcom made in the '90s.
The original "Director's Cut" of Blade Runner, released in 1992, is the primary impetus for the current plague of "director's cuts" for films that appear to have been directed by computers and exist solely as an excuse to get fans to buy two versions on DVD. In Blade Runner this wasn't the case, since there were significant differences between the theatrical version and director Ridley Scott's original vision. Fan edits--composed of footage available from foreign and television versions and from the bootlegged "workprint" version--had attempted to restore Scott's original vision for a decade, and so it was finally decided to undertake an "official" restoration of Scott's Blade Runner. This version isn't a director's cut in the strictest sense, as Scott was busy with other projects and at the time didn't have time to supervise the cut directly. Instead, he sent notes to the people in charge of it explaining what he'd meant to do ten years ago. This version removes the godawful voice-over and restores both the original ending and the "unicorn" sequence that implies Deckard is a replicant. This version is the most ambiguous, partly because Scott, probably working from memory, missed a number of small changes, and partly because Scott's busyness prevented him from fucking up his own film.
The "Final Cut", released in 2007, was under Ridley Scott's control, is generally considered his true director's cut, and is such a horrible abomination of humankind that it had me praying for death by the time it was over. It clarifies a number of murky areas in earlier versions, primarily by correcting errors. For instance, in every previous cut, Deckard's boss says there were originally six replicants, with one being killed before they reached Earth. Yet only four replicants are dealt with in the film, creating a "missing replicant" that was the subject of fan discussion for 25 years. (The script originally called for five replicants in the movie, but budget constraints forced the producers to cut one.) Now he says two were killed, removing the missing replicant. Other continuity and special effects issues are cleared up, which is all well and good...but then Scott goes on to show that he's lost some trust in his audience over the years.
Old Ridley he doesn't think we can, like, figure stuff out with clues provided by the film, but must have everything clearly spelled out for us. For instance, villain Roy Batty and a human companion ride the elevator up to the top floor of a massive office building, where they meet with a man that Batty eventually murders. Going back down the elevator, Batty is alone. Now because my brain isn't made of Roquefort cheese, I sussed out the fate of Batty's companion, but Scott has to add a line to make sure we "get" that Batty killed the fellow.
The most egregious change is what was done to the sequence implying Deckard is a replicant. In the "Final Cut", the implication is much stronger, reflecting Old Ridley's utterly mistaken and ludicrous belief that Deckard is a replicant. While the film stops short of having a flashing sign over Deckard's head announcing that he isn't human (I expect Scott's associates talked him out of adding this sign), it just barely stops short of such a clumsy device.
So which cut is the one to watch? If you've been paying attention, you know the answer: The Director's Cut. That is, the 1992 cut-that-isn't-a-director's-cut-but-is-called-director's-cut, not the 2007 cut-that-is-a-director's-cut-but-is-called-final-cut. The reason for this is simple: The 1992 version is the cut that most resembles what Young Ridley wanted to do. This is the Ridley Scott of Alien, not the Ridley Scott of Prometheus. In 1992, only 10 years after the release of Blade Runner, Scott sent the editors a list of things that he remembered he wanted to do with the film but were denied him for one reason or another. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't even watch the film again but relied entirely on his memory of what rankled him about studio meddling. That's why we get a great film. That's where there's ambiguity, because Young Ridley could be ambiguous. Ridley Scott wasn't quite so Old in 1992. He still remembered Young Ridley, and he was really trying to restore Young Ridley's film as best he could. In 2007, he was truly Old Ridley. Not 10 years later, but 25 years. This was the man who gave us Gladiator and Kingdom of Heaven. He didn't know who Young Ridley was, and wouldn't have cared if he had. Instead, he painstakingly went through Young Ridley's film and fixed it. He removed the ambiguity. Deckard is now clearly a replicant. He even changes Rutger Hauer's amazing delivery of the line "I want more life, father!" Or is it "fucker"? In the Director's Cut, it's unclear, and every time I watch it I hear it differently. This reflects Batty's conflicting relationship with his father and, really, the confusing relationship every son has with his father.
But Old Ridley doesn't like ambiguity. Old Ridley has to spell it out for us. So Old Ridley substitutes a take in which Hauer clearly says "father", so that we cretins in the audience won't have our puzzlers start a-hurtin'.
Ridley Scott, your Final Cut of Blade Runner is bad and you should feel bad.
=====================================================
* There is a persistent legend that Harrison Ford, openly against the narration, intentionally tanked it during recording because he was so unhappy with it. Ford denies this, claiming he gave it his best and it sounds terrible in the movie because, well, it was terrible. I hate to gainsay Ford, and his explanation is a good one (because the narration truly is terrible), but man, his reading of it is horrendous.
Well, if you're truly committed to art, as I am, you'll watch all of them for the sake of comparison. But since I know none of you can aspire to my own greatness, I'll help you choose the best version, the one that is truly one of the greatest films of our time.
Because major film studios were once even more convinced we're all morons, Blade Runner exists in three versions. (Actually there are more, but most people only have easy access to three.) The first is the version released to theatres in 1982. It adds completely unnecessary narration* to tell us things we don't need to know--things the film establishes visually or through context or dialogue, things we don't care to know because they aren't important, and things the film leaves ambiguous--but apparently we gibbering baboons in the audience need to have everything spelled out for us. Needless to say, this version removes several indicators that Deckard is a replicant. Its worst sin of all is replacing the original ambiguous ending with a bullshit "happy" ending that's as tacked on as the flamboyantly gay character in every sitcom made in the '90s.
The original "Director's Cut" of Blade Runner, released in 1992, is the primary impetus for the current plague of "director's cuts" for films that appear to have been directed by computers and exist solely as an excuse to get fans to buy two versions on DVD. In Blade Runner this wasn't the case, since there were significant differences between the theatrical version and director Ridley Scott's original vision. Fan edits--composed of footage available from foreign and television versions and from the bootlegged "workprint" version--had attempted to restore Scott's original vision for a decade, and so it was finally decided to undertake an "official" restoration of Scott's Blade Runner. This version isn't a director's cut in the strictest sense, as Scott was busy with other projects and at the time didn't have time to supervise the cut directly. Instead, he sent notes to the people in charge of it explaining what he'd meant to do ten years ago. This version removes the godawful voice-over and restores both the original ending and the "unicorn" sequence that implies Deckard is a replicant. This version is the most ambiguous, partly because Scott, probably working from memory, missed a number of small changes, and partly because Scott's busyness prevented him from fucking up his own film.
The "Final Cut", released in 2007, was under Ridley Scott's control, is generally considered his true director's cut, and is such a horrible abomination of humankind that it had me praying for death by the time it was over. It clarifies a number of murky areas in earlier versions, primarily by correcting errors. For instance, in every previous cut, Deckard's boss says there were originally six replicants, with one being killed before they reached Earth. Yet only four replicants are dealt with in the film, creating a "missing replicant" that was the subject of fan discussion for 25 years. (The script originally called for five replicants in the movie, but budget constraints forced the producers to cut one.) Now he says two were killed, removing the missing replicant. Other continuity and special effects issues are cleared up, which is all well and good...but then Scott goes on to show that he's lost some trust in his audience over the years.
Old Ridley he doesn't think we can, like, figure stuff out with clues provided by the film, but must have everything clearly spelled out for us. For instance, villain Roy Batty and a human companion ride the elevator up to the top floor of a massive office building, where they meet with a man that Batty eventually murders. Going back down the elevator, Batty is alone. Now because my brain isn't made of Roquefort cheese, I sussed out the fate of Batty's companion, but Scott has to add a line to make sure we "get" that Batty killed the fellow.
The most egregious change is what was done to the sequence implying Deckard is a replicant. In the "Final Cut", the implication is much stronger, reflecting Old Ridley's utterly mistaken and ludicrous belief that Deckard is a replicant. While the film stops short of having a flashing sign over Deckard's head announcing that he isn't human (I expect Scott's associates talked him out of adding this sign), it just barely stops short of such a clumsy device.
So which cut is the one to watch? If you've been paying attention, you know the answer: The Director's Cut. That is, the 1992 cut-that-isn't-a-director's-cut-but-is-called-director's-cut, not the 2007 cut-that-is-a-director's-cut-but-is-called-final-cut. The reason for this is simple: The 1992 version is the cut that most resembles what Young Ridley wanted to do. This is the Ridley Scott of Alien, not the Ridley Scott of Prometheus. In 1992, only 10 years after the release of Blade Runner, Scott sent the editors a list of things that he remembered he wanted to do with the film but were denied him for one reason or another. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't even watch the film again but relied entirely on his memory of what rankled him about studio meddling. That's why we get a great film. That's where there's ambiguity, because Young Ridley could be ambiguous. Ridley Scott wasn't quite so Old in 1992. He still remembered Young Ridley, and he was really trying to restore Young Ridley's film as best he could. In 2007, he was truly Old Ridley. Not 10 years later, but 25 years. This was the man who gave us Gladiator and Kingdom of Heaven. He didn't know who Young Ridley was, and wouldn't have cared if he had. Instead, he painstakingly went through Young Ridley's film and fixed it. He removed the ambiguity. Deckard is now clearly a replicant. He even changes Rutger Hauer's amazing delivery of the line "I want more life, father!" Or is it "fucker"? In the Director's Cut, it's unclear, and every time I watch it I hear it differently. This reflects Batty's conflicting relationship with his father and, really, the confusing relationship every son has with his father.
But Old Ridley doesn't like ambiguity. Old Ridley has to spell it out for us. So Old Ridley substitutes a take in which Hauer clearly says "father", so that we cretins in the audience won't have our puzzlers start a-hurtin'.
Ridley Scott, your Final Cut of Blade Runner is bad and you should feel bad.
=====================================================
* There is a persistent legend that Harrison Ford, openly against the narration, intentionally tanked it during recording because he was so unhappy with it. Ford denies this, claiming he gave it his best and it sounds terrible in the movie because, well, it was terrible. I hate to gainsay Ford, and his explanation is a good one (because the narration truly is terrible), but man, his reading of it is horrendous.
October 17, 2012
Leave Well Enough Alone
Following on my last post, this post is going to attack creators and the people who view them as divine figures whose judgement may not be questioned.
I've read columns by a number of people claiming that once someone has created an artistic work, that work belongs completely and utterly to that person. These people are idiots and should not be allowed to breed. They say the creator is free to do whatever she wants with the work, everyone else be damned. If she wants to come back to a completed work and "fix" it--not make something new, mind, or continue the story, but actually change the original--not only can we say nothing about that, we shouldn't say anything about it. It's her creation, after all. These are the sort of people who not only defend George Lucas's legal right to change the original Star Wars films (which I don't know that anybody disputes) but claim that if I'm unhappy with the changes, I shouldn't say so, to the creator or to anyone else. I don't even have the right to take umbrage at her actively making the original hard to obtain. It belongs to her, right? We don't have any right to say anything about it.
Bullshit.
Now, I have a number of issues with this regardless of the medium, but I find myself utterly appalled to when people say this about films. Frankly, the idea that a film belongs to any one person is ludicrous. That that person is the director doesn't make it any more absurd. You could possibly argue the case with certain directors like James Cameron or (especially) Stanley Kubrick, those who write, produce, edit, shoot, and direct their films. But even if I grant the handful of true auteurs out there (and even Kubrick didn't act in or score his films), with 95% of directors, it isn't even close. A major film is a collaborative project involving literally hundreds of people. Why does one person gets complete say over what happens to it? And who decides who this one person is?
As I noted in my review of Blade Runner, Ridley Scott, apparently unfazed by his being laughably wrong, is on record that Deckard is a replicant. Harrison Ford, being of sound mind, is just as adamant that Deckard is not, and maintains that he and Scott agreed on this during filming. Now, why is Scott's word good and Ford's isn't? Who made Scott the final arbiter? Nobody, that's who. Films belong to everyone who made them and everyone who appreciates them, and nobody gets to descend from Mount Olympus and tell us what to think or say about them.
Because who's to say the original creator is in any better position to talk about what's right or wrong with their work anyway? Especially when the "original" creator is talking about something she created two decades ago? Artists--or should that be artistes?--are quick to complain when a work is taken from its "creator" and given to someone else. But isn't that exactly what we're doing when we let somebody work on something she created 30 years ago? Isn't that person a very different person from the one who created the original work? I don't know about you, but I've changed quite a bit in the last decade, and two decades from now I'm not sure I'll even recognise myself. If people change a lot in 25 years--and God knows I hope they do--then isn't it just as unfair to Young You to let Old You take over and muck up your work without any input from you, Young You having effectively ceased to exist?
The answer is yes. It's unfair, it's disgraceful, and it has to stop.
Case in point: The Gunslinger, the first part of Stephen King's Dark Tower series. I won't even get into how this series took a cataclysmic nosedive so incredible that the evil part of me wishes the car had killed him before he could ruin what had been a real contender for the title of Greatest Dark Fantasy of All Time. I just want to talk about how Old King, decades after Young King completed The Gunslinger, decided to go back and, that's right, fix it. How, you may ask? Sure, he corrected a number of continuity errors with later Dark Tower books (sometimes for the better, often for the worse since the later books suck harder than the supermassive black hole at the centre of the galaxy), but he also removed ambiguity from a key scene. Early in the novel, the titular gunslinger guns down another character in what may or may not be cold blood. This sets up a scene at the climax, in which the gunslinger has to choose between rescuing a child and allowing the villain to escape or letting the child die so he can stop the villain. What will he do? Because of that earlier shooting, the reader is in genuine suspense as to what will happen. It isn't a foregone conclusion that he'll make the "right" decision.
Old King, though, doesn't like ambiguity. Old King doesn't want his reader to, like, think about stuff. Old King doesn't want his hero to do something bad, because he's the good guy, see? Children can't understand things like a good person doing something bad. So Old King changes it. Old King makes it clear that his hero had to kill that character. It wasn't in cold blood. In fact, that character asked to be killed. The hero isn't bad, little tykes. He's the good guy. Look, he's wearing a white hat and everything!
In short, Old King fucked up Young King's story. And Young King didn't have a hand in it. I'll bet you all the souls Sandra Bullock has sacrificed on her pagan altar to keep herself looking young that Young King would never have agreed to this change. He'd wonder who the hell thought he could just come along and change my story. Your older self, Young King, that's who, a man with no more right to change your work than I have, because he's no more you than I am. Young King wrote this novel, and Young King is gone. It's no different than if I came along and changed one of King's books after his death. I'm not King, and King isn't who he was then. When he wrote that scene in The Gunslinger, he was a struggling teacher with no kids living in a shithole barely making ends meet. The man who re-wrote that scene lives in a mansion, has a family, and wipes his ass with more money than I'll ever see in my life. These two men are not the same. I don't care what names they have.
What about George Lucas and his butchering of the original Star Wars? Remember Han and Greedo in Mos Eisley? Now, I'm sure I don't need to say this, but Han shot first, and if you don't agree, then you're a cinematic troglodyte and you can get the hell off my blog. I don't need any drooling mongoloids scratching their thick monkey craniums trying to comprehend the three-syllable words that flow from my fingertips like the word of God.
When Han shot first, there was real ambiguity to his character. But no, George Lucas caught Stephen Spielburg-itis and decided that even the slightest bit of actual characterisation somehow warps the minds of the cute suburban moppets he makes films for and turns them into the most depraved gun-wielding maniacs since Cho Seung-hui. Won't somebody please think about the children? So now Han has to be shot at first (fortunately Greedo only hits Han's white hat), and in that one moment Han's growth as a character (sloughing off his cynical shell and finding something to truly care about) is completely and utterly ruined. Oh, and it also means it will surprise exactly no-one when he shows up out of nowhere to save Luke at the end. (Oops, sorry to blow the ending for you. Oh wait, George Lucas already has.)
Spielburg, Lucas, and King were once young, hungry, and talented, and they produced something truly great. Then they got old, rich, and boring and decided they're older and wiser now and so they'll go back and fix what their younger selves got wrong.
They didn't get it wrong, you old fucks. You're getting it wrong. And the fact that you carry the same name as that young, hungry talent from 25 years ago doesn't give you license to fiddle around with his work. If you're so much wiser and more skilled now, go make something new and interesting. Let the young guy have his day. And maybe, just maybe, you won't take a giant dump all over his legacy.
Or, go ahead with your "improved" version and rake in the cash. Whichever.
I've read columns by a number of people claiming that once someone has created an artistic work, that work belongs completely and utterly to that person. These people are idiots and should not be allowed to breed. They say the creator is free to do whatever she wants with the work, everyone else be damned. If she wants to come back to a completed work and "fix" it--not make something new, mind, or continue the story, but actually change the original--not only can we say nothing about that, we shouldn't say anything about it. It's her creation, after all. These are the sort of people who not only defend George Lucas's legal right to change the original Star Wars films (which I don't know that anybody disputes) but claim that if I'm unhappy with the changes, I shouldn't say so, to the creator or to anyone else. I don't even have the right to take umbrage at her actively making the original hard to obtain. It belongs to her, right? We don't have any right to say anything about it.
Bullshit.
Now, I have a number of issues with this regardless of the medium, but I find myself utterly appalled to when people say this about films. Frankly, the idea that a film belongs to any one person is ludicrous. That that person is the director doesn't make it any more absurd. You could possibly argue the case with certain directors like James Cameron or (especially) Stanley Kubrick, those who write, produce, edit, shoot, and direct their films. But even if I grant the handful of true auteurs out there (and even Kubrick didn't act in or score his films), with 95% of directors, it isn't even close. A major film is a collaborative project involving literally hundreds of people. Why does one person gets complete say over what happens to it? And who decides who this one person is?
As I noted in my review of Blade Runner, Ridley Scott, apparently unfazed by his being laughably wrong, is on record that Deckard is a replicant. Harrison Ford, being of sound mind, is just as adamant that Deckard is not, and maintains that he and Scott agreed on this during filming. Now, why is Scott's word good and Ford's isn't? Who made Scott the final arbiter? Nobody, that's who. Films belong to everyone who made them and everyone who appreciates them, and nobody gets to descend from Mount Olympus and tell us what to think or say about them.
Because who's to say the original creator is in any better position to talk about what's right or wrong with their work anyway? Especially when the "original" creator is talking about something she created two decades ago? Artists--or should that be artistes?--are quick to complain when a work is taken from its "creator" and given to someone else. But isn't that exactly what we're doing when we let somebody work on something she created 30 years ago? Isn't that person a very different person from the one who created the original work? I don't know about you, but I've changed quite a bit in the last decade, and two decades from now I'm not sure I'll even recognise myself. If people change a lot in 25 years--and God knows I hope they do--then isn't it just as unfair to Young You to let Old You take over and muck up your work without any input from you, Young You having effectively ceased to exist?
The answer is yes. It's unfair, it's disgraceful, and it has to stop.
Case in point: The Gunslinger, the first part of Stephen King's Dark Tower series. I won't even get into how this series took a cataclysmic nosedive so incredible that the evil part of me wishes the car had killed him before he could ruin what had been a real contender for the title of Greatest Dark Fantasy of All Time. I just want to talk about how Old King, decades after Young King completed The Gunslinger, decided to go back and, that's right, fix it. How, you may ask? Sure, he corrected a number of continuity errors with later Dark Tower books (sometimes for the better, often for the worse since the later books suck harder than the supermassive black hole at the centre of the galaxy), but he also removed ambiguity from a key scene. Early in the novel, the titular gunslinger guns down another character in what may or may not be cold blood. This sets up a scene at the climax, in which the gunslinger has to choose between rescuing a child and allowing the villain to escape or letting the child die so he can stop the villain. What will he do? Because of that earlier shooting, the reader is in genuine suspense as to what will happen. It isn't a foregone conclusion that he'll make the "right" decision.
Old King, though, doesn't like ambiguity. Old King doesn't want his reader to, like, think about stuff. Old King doesn't want his hero to do something bad, because he's the good guy, see? Children can't understand things like a good person doing something bad. So Old King changes it. Old King makes it clear that his hero had to kill that character. It wasn't in cold blood. In fact, that character asked to be killed. The hero isn't bad, little tykes. He's the good guy. Look, he's wearing a white hat and everything!
In short, Old King fucked up Young King's story. And Young King didn't have a hand in it. I'll bet you all the souls Sandra Bullock has sacrificed on her pagan altar to keep herself looking young that Young King would never have agreed to this change. He'd wonder who the hell thought he could just come along and change my story. Your older self, Young King, that's who, a man with no more right to change your work than I have, because he's no more you than I am. Young King wrote this novel, and Young King is gone. It's no different than if I came along and changed one of King's books after his death. I'm not King, and King isn't who he was then. When he wrote that scene in The Gunslinger, he was a struggling teacher with no kids living in a shithole barely making ends meet. The man who re-wrote that scene lives in a mansion, has a family, and wipes his ass with more money than I'll ever see in my life. These two men are not the same. I don't care what names they have.
What about George Lucas and his butchering of the original Star Wars? Remember Han and Greedo in Mos Eisley? Now, I'm sure I don't need to say this, but Han shot first, and if you don't agree, then you're a cinematic troglodyte and you can get the hell off my blog. I don't need any drooling mongoloids scratching their thick monkey craniums trying to comprehend the three-syllable words that flow from my fingertips like the word of God.
When Han shot first, there was real ambiguity to his character. But no, George Lucas caught Stephen Spielburg-itis and decided that even the slightest bit of actual characterisation somehow warps the minds of the cute suburban moppets he makes films for and turns them into the most depraved gun-wielding maniacs since Cho Seung-hui. Won't somebody please think about the children? So now Han has to be shot at first (fortunately Greedo only hits Han's white hat), and in that one moment Han's growth as a character (sloughing off his cynical shell and finding something to truly care about) is completely and utterly ruined. Oh, and it also means it will surprise exactly no-one when he shows up out of nowhere to save Luke at the end. (Oops, sorry to blow the ending for you. Oh wait, George Lucas already has.)
Spielburg, Lucas, and King were once young, hungry, and talented, and they produced something truly great. Then they got old, rich, and boring and decided they're older and wiser now and so they'll go back and fix what their younger selves got wrong.
They didn't get it wrong, you old fucks. You're getting it wrong. And the fact that you carry the same name as that young, hungry talent from 25 years ago doesn't give you license to fiddle around with his work. If you're so much wiser and more skilled now, go make something new and interesting. Let the young guy have his day. And maybe, just maybe, you won't take a giant dump all over his legacy.
Or, go ahead with your "improved" version and rake in the cash. Whichever.
September 11, 2012
How to Save Hollywood
It's no secret that the Imperial film industry is sinking. Budgets are higher than ever, fewer tickets are being sold, and the money stream of DVD sales and rentals that has sustained Hollywood's current model is drying up. The Olympics and crazy people with guns are getting the blame, but where does the fault truly lie? The system is in danger of collapsing under its own weight, but fear not, my little droogies! Your old buddy Carl Eusebius is here with a plan to save Hollywood. Follow these simple steps, rich studio executives, and you'll continue to produce a steady stream of godawful films for the undiscriminating masses to eat up like the cinematic pigs they are.
1. Free Wesley Snipes
Okay, I know he didn't pay his taxes, and that's all, like, illegal and stuff. And yes, he defended his non-payment by claiming to be a non-resident alien even though he was born in Florida. But he must be released, and that now! Not because he's a celebrity and therefore the law doesn't apply to him. No, because the man could be making awful sequels in the Blade franchise and painful Woody Harrelson collaborations at this very moment. But no, he's locked up in prison, his prime years of crappy action movie-making being squandered away behind bars. Hollywood, just pay off whatever Mitt Romney shell company owns Snipes's prison and Let My Daywalker Go!
2. More Nicolas Cage Insanity
Overacting is a dying art. These days, bad actors are schooled in the cutting-edge technique of "not acting". Your Hayden Christiansens, your Zooey Deschanels, your Channing Tatums--their method of sucking is to impersonate a department-store mannequin whenever the camera is on them. The Al Pacinos, Faye Dunaways, and Ray Liottas of the world will soon be lost to us, and then whom can the next generation look to for training in the hallowed traditions of rampant scenery-chewing? Let us drink in the euphoria of the Madness of Nic before it's too late! I accidentally watched Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance, and the filmmakers blessed us with but one scene of that patented Nic Cage crazy. And not even one scene of him punching out women while wearing a bear suit. Get this man $10 million and a director with no ability to rein him in! HADDAGEBURN? HADDAGEBURN? HADDEGEBURN, HADDEGEBURN!
3. Ban Peter Jackson
Sure, his movies suck, but not in a fun way. Every film he makes now is seventeen hours long. Who wants to see that? Nobody. The Hobbit has ballooned up to not two but three films. New rule: Peter Jackson is to go back to New Zealand (alternate name: "Australia's Canada") and live off the blood of the young virgins he sacrificed to make people think his Lord of the Rings is any good. All movie cameras everywhere are to be wired with self-destruct devices and proximity fuses to detonate whenever Jackson comes near them. Seriously, even if you like Jackson's Rings--and God help you if you do--please ask yourself if we really need three Hobbit movies.
4. Enough With the Remakes
Wait, I'm not complaining about how Hollywood isn't original anymore. Hollywood was never original. I know better than to ask for an innovative story, a new take on character, or a fresh perspective. All I'm asking, Hollywood, is that when you rip off an old idea, change the name. That's it. How long does it take to put words in a configuration into which no one has put those exact words before? The next time you decide to steal from Philip K. Dick (by which I mean, oh, tomorrow), have the decency to try to hide the lack of creativity behind a slightly different name. Instead of doing a remake of a beloved classic like Fright Night or Conan the Barbarian, just do what you used to do: Steal the story and characters but slap new names on them. No fresh characters, no plot that avoids cliche--just take 5 minutes to change the names. You know, like Avatar. Xerox the exact same movie as Dances with Wolves, but like, the title's different. Creativity! Oh, and don't let Kevin Costner be in it. Because, really, Kevin Costner eats more than Rosie O'Donnell at a Golden Corral.
5. Pander to a Different Demographic
Wait, you thought I was going to say stop pandering to the audience and green-lighting movies based on demographic "research"? Puh-shaw! This list isn't about making movies good. It's about making them entertainingly bad. So instead of pandering to 13-year-old boys and making every movie Transformers, start pandering to 13-year-old girls and make every movie Twilight! Let's have more Blood and Chocolates, more Snow White and the Huntsmans, more Red Riding Hoods. I can't get enough of pale teen-agers staring moon-eyed at each other and occasionally mustering up enough energy to stammer out a half-formed sentence before sinking back into Hot Topic-induced lethargy! Give me half-baked alleged rip-offs of Romeo and Juliet or give me death! But mostly give me the rip-offs.
There you have it, my ideas for how to save Hollywood from a mortal slide into the failure of utter mediocrity. Follow these suggestions and...well, you'll still fail, but your implosion will provide some damn fine entertainment! Forget the whimper and go out with a bang! What do you say?
1. Free Wesley Snipes
Okay, I know he didn't pay his taxes, and that's all, like, illegal and stuff. And yes, he defended his non-payment by claiming to be a non-resident alien even though he was born in Florida. But he must be released, and that now! Not because he's a celebrity and therefore the law doesn't apply to him. No, because the man could be making awful sequels in the Blade franchise and painful Woody Harrelson collaborations at this very moment. But no, he's locked up in prison, his prime years of crappy action movie-making being squandered away behind bars. Hollywood, just pay off whatever Mitt Romney shell company owns Snipes's prison and Let My Daywalker Go!
2. More Nicolas Cage Insanity
Overacting is a dying art. These days, bad actors are schooled in the cutting-edge technique of "not acting". Your Hayden Christiansens, your Zooey Deschanels, your Channing Tatums--their method of sucking is to impersonate a department-store mannequin whenever the camera is on them. The Al Pacinos, Faye Dunaways, and Ray Liottas of the world will soon be lost to us, and then whom can the next generation look to for training in the hallowed traditions of rampant scenery-chewing? Let us drink in the euphoria of the Madness of Nic before it's too late! I accidentally watched Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance, and the filmmakers blessed us with but one scene of that patented Nic Cage crazy. And not even one scene of him punching out women while wearing a bear suit. Get this man $10 million and a director with no ability to rein him in! HADDAGEBURN? HADDAGEBURN? HADDEGEBURN, HADDEGEBURN!
3. Ban Peter Jackson
Sure, his movies suck, but not in a fun way. Every film he makes now is seventeen hours long. Who wants to see that? Nobody. The Hobbit has ballooned up to not two but three films. New rule: Peter Jackson is to go back to New Zealand (alternate name: "Australia's Canada") and live off the blood of the young virgins he sacrificed to make people think his Lord of the Rings is any good. All movie cameras everywhere are to be wired with self-destruct devices and proximity fuses to detonate whenever Jackson comes near them. Seriously, even if you like Jackson's Rings--and God help you if you do--please ask yourself if we really need three Hobbit movies.
4. Enough With the Remakes
Wait, I'm not complaining about how Hollywood isn't original anymore. Hollywood was never original. I know better than to ask for an innovative story, a new take on character, or a fresh perspective. All I'm asking, Hollywood, is that when you rip off an old idea, change the name. That's it. How long does it take to put words in a configuration into which no one has put those exact words before? The next time you decide to steal from Philip K. Dick (by which I mean, oh, tomorrow), have the decency to try to hide the lack of creativity behind a slightly different name. Instead of doing a remake of a beloved classic like Fright Night or Conan the Barbarian, just do what you used to do: Steal the story and characters but slap new names on them. No fresh characters, no plot that avoids cliche--just take 5 minutes to change the names. You know, like Avatar. Xerox the exact same movie as Dances with Wolves, but like, the title's different. Creativity! Oh, and don't let Kevin Costner be in it. Because, really, Kevin Costner eats more than Rosie O'Donnell at a Golden Corral.
5. Pander to a Different Demographic
Wait, you thought I was going to say stop pandering to the audience and green-lighting movies based on demographic "research"? Puh-shaw! This list isn't about making movies good. It's about making them entertainingly bad. So instead of pandering to 13-year-old boys and making every movie Transformers, start pandering to 13-year-old girls and make every movie Twilight! Let's have more Blood and Chocolates, more Snow White and the Huntsmans, more Red Riding Hoods. I can't get enough of pale teen-agers staring moon-eyed at each other and occasionally mustering up enough energy to stammer out a half-formed sentence before sinking back into Hot Topic-induced lethargy! Give me half-baked alleged rip-offs of Romeo and Juliet or give me death! But mostly give me the rip-offs.
There you have it, my ideas for how to save Hollywood from a mortal slide into the failure of utter mediocrity. Follow these suggestions and...well, you'll still fail, but your implosion will provide some damn fine entertainment! Forget the whimper and go out with a bang! What do you say?
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