596 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
(05/22/03 12:37am)
The Wachowski Brothers have returned four years after the immeasurable success amassed by "The Matrix," with a sequel, "The Matrix Reloaded." While the results are astounding, they pale in comparison to the earth-shattering cool exuded by the original.\n"Reloaded" opens with Neo (Keanu Reeves), Morpheus (Laurence Fishburne), Trinity (Carrie-Anne Moss) and newly anointed Nebuchadnezzar operator, Link (Harold Perrineau Jr.), landing the aforementioned ship upon the oft-discussed underground city of Zion. While there, viewers are introduced to a host of new characters: Niobe (Jada Pinkett-Smith) a fellow fighter and former flame of Morpheus', her current beau and superior, Commander Lock (Harry Lennix), Link's overprotective wife, Zee (Marvin Gaye's daughter, Nona) and the paternal figurehead of Zion, Councilor Hamann ('70s schlock actor, Anthony Zerbe).\nCritics and viewers alike have complained about the Zion-centered introduction and more extensively about a concurrent "rave"/sex scene. Personally, I feel that seeing people dancing with abandon or making love lends the fantastical world of "The Matrix" a sense of gravitas. Much of the other criticism is justified. Characters philosophize and pontificate endlessly to bookend mesmerizing action sequences. The worst offender is Fishburne's Morpheus—his bloated address to the people of Zion is laughably bad and serves as the bar none worst moment in either "Matrix" flick.\nThe best moments of "Reloaded" occur within the Matrix, much like its predecessor. Here, we're introduced to a cavalcade of interesting new villains; the Euro-trash power duo of the Merovingian and Persephone (a smarmy Lambert Wilson and a stunning Monica Bellucci), a pair of ghostly, dreadlocked, albino twins (Adrian and Neil Rayment) and an amusing onslaught of Agent Smith (Hugo Weaving) clones. A new hero also emerges in the form of the Keymaker (Randall Duk Kim), an elderly Asian man who appropriately enough holds the key to mankind's survival.\nVisual delights are also aplenty -- from an astonishing 14-minute freeway chase to a stair-based sword skirmish to the much ballyhooed, and rightfully so, "Burly Brawl," in which Neo battles the hundreds of Agent Smith incarnations. The film's greatest ideologies are also gleaned in the Matrix. Neo has a subsequent encounter with the Oracle (the late, great Gloria Foster) that's quite the humdinger and a later meeting with the self-described Architect (Helmut Bakaitis) that's just too mind-blowingly intriguing to spoil.\nAesthetically, much has improved with this installment. Major kudos go to Moss, who's created the silver screen's toughest, sexiest action heroine to date, and Weaving whose Agent Smith persona is funnier, fresher and more furious than before. Reeves remains the perfect savior -- a take-charge badass when needed, but more often than not just a blank slate. The fights, as choreographed by Hong Kong legend Yuen Woo-Ping, raise the bar on karate cool, as do the stunning special effects supervised by visionary effectsman John Gaeta. \nAnd that's part of the problem. "Reloaded" is like that cheerleader you wanted to date in high school. Sure, it looks great, but ultimately doesn't have much to say. While perhaps "Reloaded" does, it goes about doing it in a rather convoluted manner. Structurally, the movie suffers from its repetitive philosophy-fight-philosophy-fight narrative -- smoother transitions between the two would have done wonders. As is, "The Matrix Reloaded" is an entertaining afternoon at the movies, a semi-intriguing second chapter in what's sure to be a revolutionary trilogy and really, not much more.
(05/01/03 4:00am)
Boomkat, comprised of brother-sister duo Kellin and Taryn Manning, has made a debut album that's equal parts tricky trip-hop and overproduced pop pap. Boomkatalog One is entertaining when left to its own devices, but also grating with overly shimmery pop sensibilities that'd make Pink blush.\nTaryn, who starred as Kirsten Dunst's crackwhore pal in "Crazy/Beautiful," Britney's pregnant pal in "Crossroads" and Eminem's jilted ex in "8 Mile," will draw listeners to the group. But it's her brother Kellin who's the real deal. Where Taryn sounds as though she's been inhabited by the nasally annoying warble of the late Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes, Kellin drops phat beats and incessantly catchy hooks left and right.\nThe disc's real downfalls come with lamely titled and even lamer sounding cuts like "Yo!verture," "B4 It's 2 L8," "Bein' Bad" and "What U Do 2 Me." Earth to Boomkat, this wasn't cool in 1992, and ain't cool now. Perhaps I'm not Boomkat's target audience? It's certainly better than much of the pop circulating today, but better suited to a 14-year-old girl than a 21-year-old man.
(05/01/03 4:00am)
"Identity" is a tricky flick to review. The less you know about this slasher-soaked whodunit the better, and as such, this write-up will be fairly nondescript.\nJohn Cusack leads an all-star ensemble as Ed Dakota -- a former cop turned limo driver. He's chauffeuring a spoiled, past-her-prime actress (an almost unrecognizable Rebecca De Mornay) through a violent thunderstorm in the middle of the Nevada desert. \nAn accident occurs and despite the protests of his whiny passenger, Ed takes a family of three (John C. McGinley, Leila Kenzle and gifted child actor Bret Loehr) with them to a nearby motel. The roads are flooded in either direction, phone lines are down, and others soon converge upon the same creepily flea-ridden dump that'd make Norman Bates wince. \nThe other characters are nothing more than a cavalcade of stock B-movie archetypes. There's the hotheaded cop (Ray Liotta) who's escorting a shackled, wild-eyed prisoner (Jake Busey) on a prison transfer, the young, dumb and incessantly argumentative newlyweds (Clea Duvall and William Lee Scott), a recently reformed hooker (Amanda Peet) and the motel's seedy hillbilly of a night manager (John Hawkes). \nIn a none-too-thinly veiled homage to Agatha Christie's Ten Little Indians, the guests are knocked-off one by one in a variety of different, but equally brutal, ways. Shooting, stabbing, decapitation, impalement, vehicular homicide and incineration are all in vogue until the closing credits roll.\nDespite its slasher flick origins, "Identity" is a sharply made thriller boasting a solid cast. Cusack gives a stellar performance, which further removes him from his oft-remembered '80s image of innocence. He's never been this gruff, tough or old onscreen, and it suits him nicely. Liotta, while not given a role with the breadth of his recent work in "Narc," turns in a few moments of finely tuned comedic timing and lends his character an appropriately omnipresent sense of intimidation. The comely Peet and character actor Hawkes give strong supporting performances. Both add humor to the proceedings, but also shine in smaller character moments. \nThe film also coasts on its smarter than average script (written, funnily enough, by "Jack Frost" scribe, Michael Cooney), the opulently moody cinematography of Phedon Papamichael ("Moonlight Mile") and overall deft direction. As directed by James Mangold ("Cop Land" and "Girl, Interrupted"), the flick is an atmospheric exercise in old-school horror. More akin to "Psycho," "Seven" and "The Usual Suspects" (twist ending and all) than "Friday the 13th" or "Halloween," "Identity" is one killer thriller.
(04/30/03 2:38pm)
"Identity" is a tricky flick to review. The less you know about this slasher-soaked whodunit the better, and as such, this write-up will be fairly nondescript.\nJohn Cusack leads an all-star ensemble as Ed Dakota -- a former cop turned limo driver. He's chauffeuring a spoiled, past-her-prime actress (an almost unrecognizable Rebecca De Mornay) through a violent thunderstorm in the middle of the Nevada desert. \nAn accident occurs and despite the protests of his whiny passenger, Ed takes a family of three (John C. McGinley, Leila Kenzle and gifted child actor Bret Loehr) with them to a nearby motel. The roads are flooded in either direction, phone lines are down, and others soon converge upon the same creepily flea-ridden dump that'd make Norman Bates wince. \nThe other characters are nothing more than a cavalcade of stock B-movie archetypes. There's the hotheaded cop (Ray Liotta) who's escorting a shackled, wild-eyed prisoner (Jake Busey) on a prison transfer, the young, dumb and incessantly argumentative newlyweds (Clea Duvall and William Lee Scott), a recently reformed hooker (Amanda Peet) and the motel's seedy hillbilly of a night manager (John Hawkes). \nIn a none-too-thinly veiled homage to Agatha Christie's Ten Little Indians, the guests are knocked-off one by one in a variety of different, but equally brutal, ways. Shooting, stabbing, decapitation, impalement, vehicular homicide and incineration are all in vogue until the closing credits roll.\nDespite its slasher flick origins, "Identity" is a sharply made thriller boasting a solid cast. Cusack gives a stellar performance, which further removes him from his oft-remembered '80s image of innocence. He's never been this gruff, tough or old onscreen, and it suits him nicely. Liotta, while not given a role with the breadth of his recent work in "Narc," turns in a few moments of finely tuned comedic timing and lends his character an appropriately omnipresent sense of intimidation. The comely Peet and character actor Hawkes give strong supporting performances. Both add humor to the proceedings, but also shine in smaller character moments. \nThe film also coasts on its smarter than average script (written, funnily enough, by "Jack Frost" scribe, Michael Cooney), the opulently moody cinematography of Phedon Papamichael ("Moonlight Mile") and overall deft direction. As directed by James Mangold ("Cop Land" and "Girl, Interrupted"), the flick is an atmospheric exercise in old-school horror. More akin to "Psycho," "Seven" and "The Usual Suspects" (twist ending and all) than "Friday the 13th" or "Halloween," "Identity" is one killer thriller.
(04/30/03 2:37pm)
Boomkat, comprised of brother-sister duo Kellin and Taryn Manning, has made a debut album that's equal parts tricky trip-hop and overproduced pop pap. Boomkatalog One is entertaining when left to its own devices, but also grating with overly shimmery pop sensibilities that'd make Pink blush.\nTaryn, who starred as Kirsten Dunst's crackwhore pal in "Crazy/Beautiful," Britney's pregnant pal in "Crossroads" and Eminem's jilted ex in "8 Mile," will draw listeners to the group. But it's her brother Kellin who's the real deal. Where Taryn sounds as though she's been inhabited by the nasally annoying warble of the late Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes, Kellin drops phat beats and incessantly catchy hooks left and right.\nThe disc's real downfalls come with lamely titled and even lamer sounding cuts like "Yo!verture," "B4 It's 2 L8," "Bein' Bad" and "What U Do 2 Me." Earth to Boomkat, this wasn't cool in 1992, and ain't cool now. Perhaps I'm not Boomkat's target audience? It's certainly better than much of the pop circulating today, but better suited to a 14-year-old girl than a 21-year-old man.
(04/24/03 4:00am)
Austin-based rockers And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead bridge the gap between last year's Source Tags and Codes and whatever its next album happens to be with the inspired EP, The Secret of Elena's Tomb.\n The disc contains a mere five tracks, clocking in at less than 20 minutes, and serves as a natural progression from Source Tags -- one of 2002's best rock albums. Aside from the opener, "Mach Schau," the band seems to have found a new bent. "Intelligence" most fully conveys this trend by implementing heavy doses of drum machine and a writhing electronica beat. Who knew these cats could sound like the bastard love child of Nine Inch Nails and The Cure?\n"Crowning of a Heart" and "Counting Off the Days" are beautifully orchestrated ballads chock full of acoustic guitars, cellos, layered harmonies and ironic lyrics. "All St. Day" is a musical kick to the nuts replete with throbbing tribal drumming, nasty guitar riffs and an arena anthem chorus that further differentiates the musical palette of the disc.\nDespite its length, The Secret of Elena's Tomb is a sonically diverse treat, which should appease Trail of Dead fans until the next LP arrives.
(04/24/03 4:00am)
"Family Guy" is one of the most underrated shows in recent memory. Luckily, the animated adventures of the Griffin clan established a cult following and Twentieth Century Fox finally saw it fit to release the first two seasons of this much lamented and impeccably hilarious cartoon on DVD.\n"Family Guy" centers on the sordid misadventures of the Quahog, Rhode Island-based Griffins: Peter, the patriarch is cut from the mold of a dumber Homer Simpson, and Lois, his doting and incessantly patient wife. Their daughter Meg is a whiny high schooler who longs for little more than social acceptance and a lack of familial embarrassment. Chris, the eldest son, is a 13-year-old overgrown, idiot man-child. Stewie, the family baby, is a megalomaniacal one-year-old hell bent on world domination. Brian, the Griffin's dog puts a whole new spin on being a "booze hound."\n"Family Guy" is well-worth adding to any DVD library. Despite minimal extras (though, the commentaries are funny) and an impending televised resurrection via the Cartoon Network, the show's just that funny. "Family Guy" melds the best elements of "The Simpsons" and "South Park" into a comically cohesive whole. It's a modern cartoon classic.
(04/24/03 4:00am)
Robots, monsters, mutants, pirates and all other things violent. Another summer filmgoing season is upon us, and as such, I'm recommending 15 flicks that look to be worth both your time and money.
(04/23/03 8:39pm)
Robots, monsters, mutants, pirates and all other things violent. Another summer filmgoing season is upon us, and as such, I'm recommending 15 flicks that look to be worth both your time and money.
(04/23/03 8:37pm)
"Family Guy" is one of the most underrated shows in recent memory. Luckily, the animated adventures of the Griffin clan established a cult following and Twentieth Century Fox finally saw it fit to release the first two seasons of this much lamented and impeccably hilarious cartoon on DVD.\n"Family Guy" centers on the sordid misadventures of the Quahog, Rhode Island-based Griffins: Peter, the patriarch is cut from the mold of a dumber Homer Simpson, and Lois, his doting and incessantly patient wife. Their daughter Meg is a whiny high schooler who longs for little more than social acceptance and a lack of familial embarrassment. Chris, the eldest son, is a 13-year-old overgrown, idiot man-child. Stewie, the family baby, is a megalomaniacal one-year-old hell bent on world domination. Brian, the Griffin's dog puts a whole new spin on being a "booze hound."\n"Family Guy" is well-worth adding to any DVD library. Despite minimal extras (though, the commentaries are funny) and an impending televised resurrection via the Cartoon Network, the show's just that funny. "Family Guy" melds the best elements of "The Simpsons" and "South Park" into a comically cohesive whole. It's a modern cartoon classic.
(04/23/03 8:29pm)
Austin-based rockers And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead bridge the gap between last year's Source Tags and Codes and whatever its next album happens to be with the inspired EP, The Secret of Elena's Tomb.\n The disc contains a mere five tracks, clocking in at less than 20 minutes, and serves as a natural progression from Source Tags -- one of 2002's best rock albums. Aside from the opener, "Mach Schau," the band seems to have found a new bent. "Intelligence" most fully conveys this trend by implementing heavy doses of drum machine and a writhing electronica beat. Who knew these cats could sound like the bastard love child of Nine Inch Nails and The Cure?\n"Crowning of a Heart" and "Counting Off the Days" are beautifully orchestrated ballads chock full of acoustic guitars, cellos, layered harmonies and ironic lyrics. "All St. Day" is a musical kick to the nuts replete with throbbing tribal drumming, nasty guitar riffs and an arena anthem chorus that further differentiates the musical palette of the disc.\nDespite its length, The Secret of Elena's Tomb is a sonically diverse treat, which should appease Trail of Dead fans until the next LP arrives.
(04/10/03 4:04am)
Brett Ratner surprised many with "Red Dragon" this past fall. The director's previous efforts ("Money Talks" and "Rush Hour") were fairly lame, though "Rush Hour 2" was an entertaining improvement over its predecessor and "Family Man" was a deftly crafted comedic drama. But who knew this guy was capable of taking on Hannibal Lecter and actually winning? If only the DVD itself were half as successful. Anthony Hopkins reprises the legendary role of Lecter, who after being arrested by FBI agent Will Graham (Edward Norton) assists his captor in apprehending a newfangled serial killer known as "The Tooth Fairy" (Ralph Fiennes). Murder and mayhem ensue in this well-made, all-star thriller, also starring such noted performers as Harvey Keitel, Emily Watson and Philip Seymour Hoffman. \nWhile the flick itself is certainly entertaining, the DVD is quite a letdown. The menus are overly long and annoying. Ratner and screenwriter Ted Tally's (who also adapted "Silence of the Lambs") commentary track is overly congratulatory. And all featurettes run no longer than a scant 10 minutes. Aside from the sterling transfer and sound mix, the disc is rather haphazardly strewn together. But the movie is great!
(04/10/03 4:00am)
The White Stripes have made their triumphant return after the breakthrough success of White Blood Cells with the infinitely entertaining, Elephant. The album, recorded in just two weeks at a London studio equipped with little more than an eight-track and other archaic recording duds, is a rollicking gem.\nThe Detroit duo comprised of singer/guitarist Jack White and his ex-wife, drummer Meg, fully fleshes-out its eclectic influences into a cohesive whole. Elephant is equal measures Muddy Waters and Led Zeppelin. Driven primarily by Jack's snarling vocals and crunchy guitar riffs and Meg's sonic backbeat, the strings and snares formula is occasionally offset by lilting piano lines hammered-out by Jack himself. Elephant is, at least from what I've heard, The White Stripes' most accomplished album to date.\nElephant kicks off with the hellacious one-two punch of "Seven Nation Army" and "Black Math." The former serves as one of the greatest album openers in an awfully long time. It's a simplistically catchy, pissed-off, fist-pumping anthem propelled by Meg's minimalist drumming and Jack's playful bass line. "Black Math" harnesses the energy established in the first track, and runs rampant with it through a sea of distortion and hyperactive, gnarly guitar solos. This segues into the Queen-esque "There's No Home For You Here" cut from a similar template as "Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground" from White Blood Cells. A stirring cover of Burt Bacharach's ballad, "I Just Don't Know What to Do With Myself," reveals, much like the duo's other material, an interesting dichotomy between pseudo-ironic bubblegum pop and bluesy punk, freely alternating between tenderness and viciousness with equal aplomb.\nLater highlights include Meg's pixie-ish lead vocal turn on "In the Cold, Cold Night," which is nothing more than a short, simple, slinky little number. The pessimistic, back-to-back balladry of "I Want to Be the Boy to Warm Your Mother's Heart" and "You've Got Her in Your Pocket," both lend Elephant a sense of romanticism, but also hint at a darker vulnerability lingering at the Stripes' fringes. "Ball and Biscuit" is seven minutes of pure, unadulterated, hypersexual blues, which serves as a more than ample vehicle for Jack's pyrotechnic fingering. This could quite possibly be the bluesiest track the duo's laid down yet. \n"The Hardest Button to Button," while repetitive in concept, is an ingenious bombast driven by Meg's incessant kick-drum. "Hypnotize" is to Elephant what "Fell in Love With a Girl" was to White Blood Cells -- catchy and sure to be a hit single. \nThe only drawbacks come in the form of the half-baked parody, "Little Acorns," out of place snippets of Detroit radio personality Mort Crim and the album itself simply not being long enough. Elephant brims with quality songwriting, witty lyrics and sharp yet unrestrained musicianship -- it's far darker than its predecessor, and benefits greatly from being so. The pop sheen employed masks overarching themes of cynicism, allowing Elephant to be an album enjoyed by the masses as well as purveyors of good taste.
(04/10/03 4:00am)
"Phone Booth" ends the prototypical wintertime filmgoing doldrums, and optimistically ushers in a new season of cinema. Shot in 10 days on a 10-million-dollar budget, this 81-minute morality play boasts more thrills and chills than other more highly touted and budgeted flicks of late. In a word, it's electric.\nColin Farrell anchors the film as sleazy publicist, Stu Shepard. Prowling the very non-Giuliani-esque streets of New York like a madman, lying and scheming into his cell phone and belittling his youthfully naive assistant along the way, Stu is a spoiled, media-induced, rat bastard. His comeuppance comes as he enters the last operable phone booth in Manhattan, wanly removes his wedding band and calls Pam (Katie Holmes), a client and prospective girlfriend. Why the booth? Because his wife, Kelly (Radha Mitchell), wisely inspects the cad's monthly cellular bills.\nThe phone in the booth rings, and Stu, rightfully assuming it's a "booty call," answers. But the caller's not Pam nor some other vixen, but rather a sardonically psycho sniper (Kiefer Sutherland), with a hair trigger and a personal vendetta. Chaos ensues and police are called to the scene, where Stu slowly builds rapport with the understanding Capt. Ramey (Forest Whitaker).\nAs directed by Joel Schumacher and written by schlockmeister Larry Cohen (the pen behind such "classics" as "Maniac Cop" and "Uncle Sam"), "Phone Booth" is a shrewd, economical and largely entertaining thriller. The film stumbles a tad with its somewhat overly preachy climax and amid the limitations of being so blatantly high concept. Redemption comes not only through the top-notch cinematography of frequent Darren Aronofsky collaborator, Matthew Libatique, but in bravura performances by Farrell and Sutherland (whose work is predominantly vocal).\nSchumacher, who has had his fair share of hits ("The Lost Boys," "Falling Down" and "A Time to Kill") and misses ("Batman and Robin," "8MM" and "Bad Company"), should collaborate with Farrell more often. "Phone Booth" marks the duo's second collaboration, this following Farrell's largely unappreciated American debut, "Tigerland." The two appear to infinitely elevate one another's game, and as such, "Phone Booth" is a suspense-riddled, cinematic call well worth taking.
(04/10/03 4:00am)
Brett Ratner surprised many with "Red Dragon" this past fall. The director's previous efforts ("Money Talks" and "Rush Hour") were fairly lame, though "Rush Hour 2" was an entertaining improvement over its predecessor and "Family Man" was a deftly crafted comedic drama. But who knew this guy was capable of taking on Hannibal Lecter and actually winning? If only the DVD itself were half as successful. Anthony Hopkins reprises the legendary role of Lecter, who after being arrested by FBI agent Will Graham (Edward Norton) assists his captor in apprehending a newfangled serial killer known as "The Tooth Fairy" (Ralph Fiennes). Murder and mayhem ensue in this well-made, all-star thriller, also starring such noted performers as Harvey Keitel, Emily Watson and Philip Seymour Hoffman. \nWhile the flick itself is certainly entertaining, the DVD is quite a letdown. The menus are overly long and annoying. Ratner and screenwriter Ted Tally's (who also adapted "Silence of the Lambs") commentary track is overly congratulatory. And all featurettes run no longer than a scant 10 minutes. Aside from the sterling transfer and sound mix, the disc is rather haphazardly strewn together. But the movie is great!
(04/10/03 4:00am)
The world we're living in right now is certainly a ridiculous one. Soldiers -- men, women, husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends and even children (If you can't legally have a drink here in the great, old U.S. of A, you're still a child in my book.) are fighting a commerce fueled war in Iraq, and for what? So we can sit on our fat, predominantly ignorant, all-American rumps watching stupefyingly bad reality television and pinning hopes on cheaper prices at the gas pump.\nDriving around Bloomington even has social/political ramifications these days. I drive past protests in the square as hippies both young and old sport placards suggesting I honk if I'm against the war. I'm not for the war, and I'm not entirely against it either. But I'd be far more inclined to chime in with the sound of my horn if those signs read, "Honk if you're horny." This is college after all. Shouldn't we be making love as opposed to war? \nThis insanity even permeates into popular culture. The new Amanda Bynes teenybopper vehicle, "What a Girl Wants," had its poster altered at the last minute because the young starlet was flashing the peace symbol. Warner Bros. (the studio releasing the aforementioned tripe) feared that some might interpret the ad as an anti-war statement. First off, when the advertised film is unlikely to be of any merit, let alone making some sort of sociopolitical commentary, why sweat some stupid poster? Sadly, the studio's fear may be legitimate.\nJust look at the media thrashing documentarian Michael Moore has taken as of late. So the guy said some things that don't exactly gel with popular convention. Need he be booed off stage and incessantly harangued in print, radio and television? No. Those of us possessing half a brain should have realized that this is exactly what Moore was going to do. The man has made a career out of being ultra left-wing. Just because he didn't French kiss Halle Berry or make shout-outs to his boys in Baghdad, should he really be ostracized? \n"Bowling for Columbine" is not only the most liberal film of last year, but also the best. Moore deserved his accolade, and had every right to say whatever it is he wanted on that podium. After all, our soldiers are fighting to preserve the American way worldwide -- what's more American than freedom of speech? Should these freedoms only be extended to those saying things likely to appease the consensus? It's not as though Moore's tirade was broadcast on Al-Jazeera. He needn't fear being anally branded via a hot poker brandished by Saddam himself. \nIn this haze of war-spurred ultra-sensitivity, many are turning their backs to the very things that make this country so great.\nFat documentarians and air-headed, silver screen nymphets aren't the only ones taking the heat. Musicians ranging from Bloomington's very own John Mellencamp to the Beastie Boys have taken flack for producing anti-war songs. These fellas have entertained us for years -- why can't we reciprocate by listening to whatever it is they have to say for several minutes without bitching? Pearl Jam fans staged a walkout at a recent show in protest of lead singer Eddie Vedder's anti-Bush and anti-war sentiments. Why pay thirty bucks to simply walk out? Wouldn't it make more sense to bail on the dentist's office or math class? This dude had quite the beef with Ticketmaster a few years back, and fans seem to think he'll simply sit back and remain mum about Bush's somewhat dubious war plans. I think not. Meg Ryan's recently shelved, female-oriented boxing flick, "Against the Ropes" was delayed because Paramount didn't know how to properly market the film amid war. Just release the thing, and speed-up its inevitable placement in video store discount bin obscurity. \nSo, in a nutshell, what this dude wants is for stateside Americans on a whole to grow some stones, and let your fellow man speak, record or advertise without fear of social leprosy. Clichéd as this might sound, I want our troops to return home safely and as soon as possible, and for this war to run its course and be done with, just not at the cost of our civil liberties. If I want to drive down the strip in a gas-guzzling SUV adorned with American flags, while smoking a cigarette and blasting Outkast's "Bombs Over Baghdad" or get a tattoo of a smiling Saddam Hussein replete with mortar board on my right butt cheek, let me do so.
(04/09/03 6:04pm)
The world we're living in right now is certainly a ridiculous one. Soldiers -- men, women, husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends and even children (If you can't legally have a drink here in the great, old U.S. of A, you're still a child in my book.) are fighting a commerce fueled war in Iraq, and for what? So we can sit on our fat, predominantly ignorant, all-American rumps watching stupefyingly bad reality television and pinning hopes on cheaper prices at the gas pump.\nDriving around Bloomington even has social/political ramifications these days. I drive past protests in the square as hippies both young and old sport placards suggesting I honk if I'm against the war. I'm not for the war, and I'm not entirely against it either. But I'd be far more inclined to chime in with the sound of my horn if those signs read, "Honk if you're horny." This is college after all. Shouldn't we be making love as opposed to war? \nThis insanity even permeates into popular culture. The new Amanda Bynes teenybopper vehicle, "What a Girl Wants," had its poster altered at the last minute because the young starlet was flashing the peace symbol. Warner Bros. (the studio releasing the aforementioned tripe) feared that some might interpret the ad as an anti-war statement. First off, when the advertised film is unlikely to be of any merit, let alone making some sort of sociopolitical commentary, why sweat some stupid poster? Sadly, the studio's fear may be legitimate.\nJust look at the media thrashing documentarian Michael Moore has taken as of late. So the guy said some things that don't exactly gel with popular convention. Need he be booed off stage and incessantly harangued in print, radio and television? No. Those of us possessing half a brain should have realized that this is exactly what Moore was going to do. The man has made a career out of being ultra left-wing. Just because he didn't French kiss Halle Berry or make shout-outs to his boys in Baghdad, should he really be ostracized? \n"Bowling for Columbine" is not only the most liberal film of last year, but also the best. Moore deserved his accolade, and had every right to say whatever it is he wanted on that podium. After all, our soldiers are fighting to preserve the American way worldwide -- what's more American than freedom of speech? Should these freedoms only be extended to those saying things likely to appease the consensus? It's not as though Moore's tirade was broadcast on Al-Jazeera. He needn't fear being anally branded via a hot poker brandished by Saddam himself. \nIn this haze of war-spurred ultra-sensitivity, many are turning their backs to the very things that make this country so great.\nFat documentarians and air-headed, silver screen nymphets aren't the only ones taking the heat. Musicians ranging from Bloomington's very own John Mellencamp to the Beastie Boys have taken flack for producing anti-war songs. These fellas have entertained us for years -- why can't we reciprocate by listening to whatever it is they have to say for several minutes without bitching? Pearl Jam fans staged a walkout at a recent show in protest of lead singer Eddie Vedder's anti-Bush and anti-war sentiments. Why pay thirty bucks to simply walk out? Wouldn't it make more sense to bail on the dentist's office or math class? This dude had quite the beef with Ticketmaster a few years back, and fans seem to think he'll simply sit back and remain mum about Bush's somewhat dubious war plans. I think not. Meg Ryan's recently shelved, female-oriented boxing flick, "Against the Ropes" was delayed because Paramount didn't know how to properly market the film amid war. Just release the thing, and speed-up its inevitable placement in video store discount bin obscurity. \nSo, in a nutshell, what this dude wants is for stateside Americans on a whole to grow some stones, and let your fellow man speak, record or advertise without fear of social leprosy. Clichéd as this might sound, I want our troops to return home safely and as soon as possible, and for this war to run its course and be done with, just not at the cost of our civil liberties. If I want to drive down the strip in a gas-guzzling SUV adorned with American flags, while smoking a cigarette and blasting Outkast's "Bombs Over Baghdad" or get a tattoo of a smiling Saddam Hussein replete with mortar board on my right butt cheek, let me do so.
(04/09/03 5:50pm)
"Phone Booth" ends the prototypical wintertime filmgoing doldrums, and optimistically ushers in a new season of cinema. Shot in 10 days on a 10-million-dollar budget, this 81-minute morality play boasts more thrills and chills than other more highly touted and budgeted flicks of late. In a word, it's electric.\nColin Farrell anchors the film as sleazy publicist, Stu Shepard. Prowling the very non-Giuliani-esque streets of New York like a madman, lying and scheming into his cell phone and belittling his youthfully naive assistant along the way, Stu is a spoiled, media-induced, rat bastard. His comeuppance comes as he enters the last operable phone booth in Manhattan, wanly removes his wedding band and calls Pam (Katie Holmes), a client and prospective girlfriend. Why the booth? Because his wife, Kelly (Radha Mitchell), wisely inspects the cad's monthly cellular bills.\nThe phone in the booth rings, and Stu, rightfully assuming it's a "booty call," answers. But the caller's not Pam nor some other vixen, but rather a sardonically psycho sniper (Kiefer Sutherland), with a hair trigger and a personal vendetta. Chaos ensues and police are called to the scene, where Stu slowly builds rapport with the understanding Capt. Ramey (Forest Whitaker).\nAs directed by Joel Schumacher and written by schlockmeister Larry Cohen (the pen behind such "classics" as "Maniac Cop" and "Uncle Sam"), "Phone Booth" is a shrewd, economical and largely entertaining thriller. The film stumbles a tad with its somewhat overly preachy climax and amid the limitations of being so blatantly high concept. Redemption comes not only through the top-notch cinematography of frequent Darren Aronofsky collaborator, Matthew Libatique, but in bravura performances by Farrell and Sutherland (whose work is predominantly vocal).\nSchumacher, who has had his fair share of hits ("The Lost Boys," "Falling Down" and "A Time to Kill") and misses ("Batman and Robin," "8MM" and "Bad Company"), should collaborate with Farrell more often. "Phone Booth" marks the duo's second collaboration, this following Farrell's largely unappreciated American debut, "Tigerland." The two appear to infinitely elevate one another's game, and as such, "Phone Booth" is a suspense-riddled, cinematic call well worth taking.
(04/09/03 5:42pm)
The White Stripes have made their triumphant return after the breakthrough success of White Blood Cells with the infinitely entertaining, Elephant. The album, recorded in just two weeks at a London studio equipped with little more than an eight-track and other archaic recording duds, is a rollicking gem.\nThe Detroit duo comprised of singer/guitarist Jack White and his ex-wife, drummer Meg, fully fleshes-out its eclectic influences into a cohesive whole. Elephant is equal measures Muddy Waters and Led Zeppelin. Driven primarily by Jack's snarling vocals and crunchy guitar riffs and Meg's sonic backbeat, the strings and snares formula is occasionally offset by lilting piano lines hammered-out by Jack himself. Elephant is, at least from what I've heard, The White Stripes' most accomplished album to date.\nElephant kicks off with the hellacious one-two punch of "Seven Nation Army" and "Black Math." The former serves as one of the greatest album openers in an awfully long time. It's a simplistically catchy, pissed-off, fist-pumping anthem propelled by Meg's minimalist drumming and Jack's playful bass line. "Black Math" harnesses the energy established in the first track, and runs rampant with it through a sea of distortion and hyperactive, gnarly guitar solos. This segues into the Queen-esque "There's No Home For You Here" cut from a similar template as "Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground" from White Blood Cells. A stirring cover of Burt Bacharach's ballad, "I Just Don't Know What to Do With Myself," reveals, much like the duo's other material, an interesting dichotomy between pseudo-ironic bubblegum pop and bluesy punk, freely alternating between tenderness and viciousness with equal aplomb.\nLater highlights include Meg's pixie-ish lead vocal turn on "In the Cold, Cold Night," which is nothing more than a short, simple, slinky little number. The pessimistic, back-to-back balladry of "I Want to Be the Boy to Warm Your Mother's Heart" and "You've Got Her in Your Pocket," both lend Elephant a sense of romanticism, but also hint at a darker vulnerability lingering at the Stripes' fringes. "Ball and Biscuit" is seven minutes of pure, unadulterated, hypersexual blues, which serves as a more than ample vehicle for Jack's pyrotechnic fingering. This could quite possibly be the bluesiest track the duo's laid down yet. \n"The Hardest Button to Button," while repetitive in concept, is an ingenious bombast driven by Meg's incessant kick-drum. "Hypnotize" is to Elephant what "Fell in Love With a Girl" was to White Blood Cells -- catchy and sure to be a hit single. \nThe only drawbacks come in the form of the half-baked parody, "Little Acorns," out of place snippets of Detroit radio personality Mort Crim and the album itself simply not being long enough. Elephant brims with quality songwriting, witty lyrics and sharp yet unrestrained musicianship -- it's far darker than its predecessor, and benefits greatly from being so. The pop sheen employed masks overarching themes of cynicism, allowing Elephant to be an album enjoyed by the masses as well as purveyors of good taste.
(04/03/03 5:00am)
"Head of State" is far better than the trailers would suggest, but still not as good as it could've and should've been. The film is a political comedy with no true political stance, nor any fully earned belly laughs. It's a mild diversion and nothing more.\nChris Rock stars as Mays Gilliam, a good-hearted Washington D.C.-based alderman. When both the presidential and vice presidential candidates of an unnamed party (obviously Democratic) die in a head-on campaign-plane-smash-up, a replacement is sought. Inexplicably, Mays is that replacement.\nMays has his hand held during the first couple weeks of his campaign by a pair of overbearingly square advisers, Martin (Dylan Baker) and Debra (Lynn Whitfield). That is until his slaphappy, bail bondsman of an older brother, Mitch (Bernie Mac) intercedes. He tells Mays to speak his mind, and speak his mind he does. Not only does Mays' campaign transmogrify itself into a wheel-based, hip-hop parody, but he also names the outspoken Mitch as his running mate.\n"Head of State," co-written, produced and directed by Rock, lacks much of the conscience and weight of his stand-up act, but still manages a few pointedly funny barbs. Mays is supplied with an around-the-clock prostitute because, as Geller explains, "We got tired of getting caught up in sex scandals, so we commissioned our own team of superwhores." He also imagines his inauguration… as interrupted by a sniper's bullet.\nRock is likable and occasionally funny, but has yet to develop a formidable on-screen presence. Mac is hilarious and has good chemistry with Rock, but is underused. Women get the short shrift in "Head of State" as "Head of the Class" refugee, Robin Givens, gives an annoying, one-note performance as Mays' shrill, stalker-like ex-girlfriend, and Tamala Jones, while cute, figures into a rather hackneyed romantic subplot. "SNL" staple Tracy Morgan makes good, goofy use out of his few minutes of screen time as a stolen meat-selling hooligan.\n"Head of State" is Rock's directorial debut, and as such, it's not bad. Many of the jokes are recycled and then reiterated one too many times, but the flick is not without merit. Hopefully, Rock will inject more of the razor sharp wit he's honed to perfection onstage into his next big screen project.
