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(05/12/05 12:39am)
Smack in the middle of his two biggest commercial triumphs, 1975's Born to Run and 1984's Born in the U.S.A., Bruce Springsteen released his single finest (and yet somehow most obscure) record. Armed with nothing more than his voice, harmonica and acoustic guitar, Springsteen painted 1982's Nebraska as a bleak, haunting portrait of Reagan's America that clawed its way deep into the brain of anyone who dared give it a listen. 13 years later, the criminally underrated Ghost of Tom Joad proved itself the sequel to Nebraska in terms of tone and topicality. Both albums showcased Bruce virtually solo, telling gripping, first-person stories of individuals left behind by their own society, grasping at any semblance of optimism, affection or self-worth.\nSpringsteen's 13th studio and third solo album, Devils & Dust, quickly proves itself more heavily produced than either Nebraska or Joad (courtesy of Brendan O'Brien, who gave The E Street Band's last collaborative effort a splash of grandeur), but rather than overshadowing the intimacy of the lyrics or sincerity of the performance, the added tonal flourishes only amplify what Springsteen is aiming at here, which is a politely cautionary yet hopeful album designed specifically for these heady times.\nOften heralded as a spokesman for the common working man, especially on earlier classic tracks like "Stolen Car" and "One Step Up," Springsteen shifts gears on Devils & Dust to paint himself as a voice for the chronically disillusioned. The title track is a lament by pawns on both sides of the current war as they mistakenly assume their own personal deity is on their side while at the same time simply doing their best to survive the whole ordeal. \nThe touching "Matamoros Banks" is an elegy for every Mexican who perishes in their attempt to find a better life for themselves and their family by crossing the Rio Grande. "The Hitter" tells the tale of a man who makes his living through violence despite being, in his own mind, a desperate and weary pacifist, while "Leah" emanates from the mouth of someone who desires nothing more than a grounded life and comfortable love in the face of stars that seem to be aligned against him.\nDelving into graphic sexual territory for the first time ever on a Springsteen record, "Reno" is less about the instant, guiltless gratification of a tryst with a prostitute than it is about a piteous search for fleeting companionship. "Long Time Comin'," "Maria's Bed" and "All I'm Thinkin' About" are more upbeat than fans of Springsteen's solo work are used to, but all three exude an air of country flair that are unmistakably infectious. Even the dobro and pedal steel are all-inclusive, and only The Boss could make a washboard seem universal.\nIf Devils & Dust has a single weak moment, it's "Jesus Was an Only Son," which is a competent, if formulaic tune in its own right but feels forced when placed up against the 11 superb tracks that surround it. The track ought to have been left off in favor of one of several possible B-sides that packed more of a punch.\nSpringsteen, solo or with E Street, has not recorded an album as confident, consistent or intimate as Devils & Dust since 1987's Tunnel of Love. It's a remarkable return to form for a man who has recently been preoccupied with partisan politics (however noble) and the resurrection of a more rational pre-9/11 national mindset. As Springsteen says on "All the Way Home," "I know what it's like to have failed, baby, with the whole world lookin' on." Regardless of his recent political failure, he's conjured up the finest record of 2005 so far.
(04/28/05 4:00am)
Last year saw a double dose of visually breathtaking cinema by way of Zhang Yimou's "Hero" and "House of Flying Daggers" -- two films that found their way out of Hong Kong to grace American screens. This feat is becoming less and less rare as Asian cinema burrows its way into our cultural mainstream.\nWhile "Hero's" storyline was leaner and more linear, "Daggers" veers off the beaten path and borders on overly complex. Set during the Tang dynasty in 859 A.D., "Daggers" follows the story of lawmen Leo and Jin as they attempt to squelch a rebellion engineered by revolutionaries known as the Flying Daggers. They meet up with an overly informed blind dancer played by Zhang Ziyi, and three acts of visual beauty mixed with emotional distance follow.\nI should digress from the plot points in "Daggers," since Yimou's heavy guns come out in the form of a three-way collaboration between Menfond Electronic Arts, Digital Pictures Iloura and Animal Logic Film to create the visual effects, as well as the gorgeous martial arts choreography of Zhang Jianmin. There are many scenes, such as a stunning fight amid a bamboo forest, that seem to exist simply as visual stimuli, and on that level they work beautifully. Yimou and cinematographer Zhao Xiaoding made great strides in determining how a modern martial arts film can look, as well as giving rise to the notion that with the right amount of funding, top notch Asian filmmakers could soon compete valiantly against Hollywood's industry domination.\nFeatures on this edition of the film include an obviously studio-produced making-of doc, as well as a by-the-numbers feature-length commentary from Yimou and lead actress Ziyi. Perhaps the most worthwhile extras here are a mini-doc on the creation of the film's stunning visual effects, and a peek into how several standout scenes made it from their initial storyboards to the screen.\n"House of Flying Daggers," along with Yimou's "Hero," will stand as visual, if not narrative, documents to early 21st century martial art film ambition. A flick that looks this great, especially on this high-def transfer, can easily be forgiven for its narrative shortcomings and appreciated as fine visual artistry on film.
(04/27/05 4:53am)
Last year saw a double dose of visually breathtaking cinema by way of Zhang Yimou's "Hero" and "House of Flying Daggers" -- two films that found their way out of Hong Kong to grace American screens. This feat is becoming less and less rare as Asian cinema burrows its way into our cultural mainstream.\nWhile "Hero's" storyline was leaner and more linear, "Daggers" veers off the beaten path and borders on overly complex. Set during the Tang dynasty in 859 A.D., "Daggers" follows the story of lawmen Leo and Jin as they attempt to squelch a rebellion engineered by revolutionaries known as the Flying Daggers. They meet up with an overly informed blind dancer played by Zhang Ziyi, and three acts of visual beauty mixed with emotional distance follow.\nI should digress from the plot points in "Daggers," since Yimou's heavy guns come out in the form of a three-way collaboration between Menfond Electronic Arts, Digital Pictures Iloura and Animal Logic Film to create the visual effects, as well as the gorgeous martial arts choreography of Zhang Jianmin. There are many scenes, such as a stunning fight amid a bamboo forest, that seem to exist simply as visual stimuli, and on that level they work beautifully. Yimou and cinematographer Zhao Xiaoding made great strides in determining how a modern martial arts film can look, as well as giving rise to the notion that with the right amount of funding, top notch Asian filmmakers could soon compete valiantly against Hollywood's industry domination.\nFeatures on this edition of the film include an obviously studio-produced making-of doc, as well as a by-the-numbers feature-length commentary from Yimou and lead actress Ziyi. Perhaps the most worthwhile extras here are a mini-doc on the creation of the film's stunning visual effects, and a peek into how several standout scenes made it from their initial storyboards to the screen.\n"House of Flying Daggers," along with Yimou's "Hero," will stand as visual, if not narrative, documents to early 21st century martial art film ambition. A flick that looks this great, especially on this high-def transfer, can easily be forgiven for its narrative shortcomings and appreciated as fine visual artistry on film.
(04/21/05 4:00am)
Garbage formed in 1993 amidst a flurry of similar established acts like Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine, but while those bands relied totally on their minimalistic walls of sound and brooding lyrics, Garbage infused their tracks with serious pop hooks that, while radio-friendly, didn't insult their fans' intelligence. With producer extraordinaire Butch Vig controlling the boards and edgy Scottish chanteuse Shirley Manson's come-hither vocals everpresent, Garbage's self-titled debut became an MTV staple during the "Buzz Bin" era. Their two following discs, Version 2.0 and Beautiful Garbage, had their hits, but were generally panned.\nBleed Like Me, which features the identical lineup of Garbage that released its debut exactly 10 years ago, starts off with the sneering "Bad Boyfriend" before easing into that groove of upbeat malaise that serious Garbage fans relish wallowing in. The record is nothing if not consistent, which bodes well for Manson and Vig's songwriting chops, even if it's easy to forget where one track ends and another begins.\nThe real problem with Bleed Like Me is that even though Garbage has been around for more than a decade, the album sounds like it came straight out of 1995. "Boys Wanna Fight" makes reasonable attempts at Linkin Park-ish programmed percussion, but soon after we're given "Why Don't You Come Over," which evokes comparisons to the worst of Foo Fighters' B-sides. Perhaps general consistency bodes well for some acts that emerged in the mid-'90s (Oasis and Weezer to name a couple), but for a band like Garbage, who seem destined to write bitter breakup songs until the end of time, the formula wears thin far more easily.\nOddly enough, for an album chiseled out of Vig soundscapes and feelings of breakup animosity, the songs that tend to slow the tempo down just a bit and flow more lethargically transform into the most attention-grabbing tracks. "Run Baby Run" and especially the semi-epic closer and album highlight "Happy Home" tease the band away from their usual 3-and-a-half minute narratively and structurally concise radio hopefuls only to showcase what Garbage could accomplish if only they were still on their indie label, Almo Sounds, and could experiment more freely.\nThough perhaps experimentation isn't in their nature, despite Vig's obvious taste for striving to reach higher planes of sonic greatness, he did produce Nirvana's Nevermind and the Smashing Pumpkins' Siamese Dream. Bleed Like Me is certainly no Siamese Dream or Nevermind, but how many albums are these days? Almost none, I suppose. For now, and maybe for all time, all we have is the same old Garbage.
(04/21/05 4:00am)
The 1994 genocide of the Tutsis minority by the Hutu extremists in Rwanda is the central focus of Irish filmmaker Terry George's "Hotel Rwanda," a film of significant emotional power undercut by made-for-tv conventions.\nConjuring up his best performance since bringing Buck Swope to life in "Boogie Nights," Don Cheadle is the Schindler-esque moral center of the movie, Paul Rusesabagina, a man who selflessly placed his own head on the chopping block to save countless others from death by harboring them in his place of business. Sophie Okonedo offers up a graceful turn as Paul's wife, but the film's raw emotion can't escape the syrupy candy coating and overly melodramatic score drizzled over the true violence and brutality of the events in question. Turning a film that by all rights should have been a hard-R in the vein of "Black Hawk Down" (in order to truly understand the devastation) into a safe PG-13 was a misstep by all involved.\nThis single-disc edition boasts two documentaries: "A Message for Peace" which chronicles the making of the film in standard form and "Return to Rwanda," a retrospective look into the film's real-life locales. Most importantly, the full-length audio commentary by director Terry George, and especially the subject of the film, Paul Rusesabagina, sheds light on the horrific and hopeful events behind the story, making the film all the more emotionally draining. Selected commentary by Cheadle and musician/activist Wyclef Jean is also embedded in various locales throughout the disc.\nA par-for-the-course drama at best (save Cheadle's excellent performance), "Hotel Rwanda" is most meaningful when taken into context as a pointed shedding of light toward the injustices that go on in this world while no one outside the lines pays any mind. Rusesabagina and his countrymen's true story of bittersweet transcendence over nearly impossible adversity will not be forgotten anytime soon.
(04/20/05 5:09am)
The 1994 genocide of the Tutsis minority by the Hutu extremists in Rwanda is the central focus of Irish filmmaker Terry George's "Hotel Rwanda," a film of significant emotional power undercut by made-for-tv conventions.\nConjuring up his best performance since bringing Buck Swope to life in "Boogie Nights," Don Cheadle is the Schindler-esque moral center of the movie, Paul Rusesabagina, a man who selflessly placed his own head on the chopping block to save countless others from death by harboring them in his place of business. Sophie Okonedo offers up a graceful turn as Paul's wife, but the film's raw emotion can't escape the syrupy candy coating and overly melodramatic score drizzled over the true violence and brutality of the events in question. Turning a film that by all rights should have been a hard-R in the vein of "Black Hawk Down" (in order to truly understand the devastation) into a safe PG-13 was a misstep by all involved.\nThis single-disc edition boasts two documentaries: "A Message for Peace" which chronicles the making of the film in standard form and "Return to Rwanda," a retrospective look into the film's real-life locales. Most importantly, the full-length audio commentary by director Terry George, and especially the subject of the film, Paul Rusesabagina, sheds light on the horrific and hopeful events behind the story, making the film all the more emotionally draining. Selected commentary by Cheadle and musician/activist Wyclef Jean is also embedded in various locales throughout the disc.\nA par-for-the-course drama at best (save Cheadle's excellent performance), "Hotel Rwanda" is most meaningful when taken into context as a pointed shedding of light toward the injustices that go on in this world while no one outside the lines pays any mind. Rusesabagina and his countrymen's true story of bittersweet transcendence over nearly impossible adversity will not be forgotten anytime soon.
(04/20/05 5:04am)
Garbage formed in 1993 amidst a flurry of similar established acts like Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine, but while those bands relied totally on their minimalistic walls of sound and brooding lyrics, Garbage infused their tracks with serious pop hooks that, while radio-friendly, didn't insult their fans' intelligence. With producer extraordinaire Butch Vig controlling the boards and edgy Scottish chanteuse Shirley Manson's come-hither vocals everpresent, Garbage's self-titled debut became an MTV staple during the "Buzz Bin" era. Their two following discs, Version 2.0 and Beautiful Garbage, had their hits, but were generally panned.\nBleed Like Me, which features the identical lineup of Garbage that released its debut exactly 10 years ago, starts off with the sneering "Bad Boyfriend" before easing into that groove of upbeat malaise that serious Garbage fans relish wallowing in. The record is nothing if not consistent, which bodes well for Manson and Vig's songwriting chops, even if it's easy to forget where one track ends and another begins.\nThe real problem with Bleed Like Me is that even though Garbage has been around for more than a decade, the album sounds like it came straight out of 1995. "Boys Wanna Fight" makes reasonable attempts at Linkin Park-ish programmed percussion, but soon after we're given "Why Don't You Come Over," which evokes comparisons to the worst of Foo Fighters' B-sides. Perhaps general consistency bodes well for some acts that emerged in the mid-'90s (Oasis and Weezer to name a couple), but for a band like Garbage, who seem destined to write bitter breakup songs until the end of time, the formula wears thin far more easily.\nOddly enough, for an album chiseled out of Vig soundscapes and feelings of breakup animosity, the songs that tend to slow the tempo down just a bit and flow more lethargically transform into the most attention-grabbing tracks. "Run Baby Run" and especially the semi-epic closer and album highlight "Happy Home" tease the band away from their usual 3-and-a-half minute narratively and structurally concise radio hopefuls only to showcase what Garbage could accomplish if only they were still on their indie label, Almo Sounds, and could experiment more freely.\nThough perhaps experimentation isn't in their nature, despite Vig's obvious taste for striving to reach higher planes of sonic greatness, he did produce Nirvana's Nevermind and the Smashing Pumpkins' Siamese Dream. Bleed Like Me is certainly no Siamese Dream or Nevermind, but how many albums are these days? Almost none, I suppose. For now, and maybe for all time, all we have is the same old Garbage.
(04/07/05 4:00am)
Maya Arulpragasam (aka M.I.A.), the Sri Lankan-born Londoner who survived the guerilla warfare and social strife of her home country before moving abroad to pursue careers in music and art, has been recording her own beats and rhymes prodigiously for the past several of her 27 years. Her first two singles, "Galang" and "Sunshowers," infrequently haunted college radio in the fall of 2004, and a full-length LP was promised to be in the works. With several delayed release dates and one lengthy legal battle over a beat sample behind her, M.I.A. finally debuted Arular. \nLyrically, aside from the mostly indecipherable Brit slang in the call-outs and choruses, M.I.A. meshes vivid remembrances of her violent past with occasional sultry come-ons to male fans, only to turn the tables on a dime and veer off into one of many catchy sing-along choruses or insistent breakbeats. Her rhyme style invites comparisons to that of a female Dizzee Rascal, a claim which is somewhat founded, yet where Rascal possesses the impressive ability to discharge elaborate rhymes with the speed of the Micro-Machine Man, M.I.A. makes her presence felt with simple turns of phrase and lilting syllabic intonations.\nThe vast majority of the beats on Arular were pieced together by M.I.A. herself on various instruments of home-recording technology, and then sparingly professionally produced for album presentation. "Fire Fire" starts off inconspicuously enough before a gut-pounding beat kicks in and doesn't let up, "Pull Up the People" boasts a sound that could almost be called Kraftwerk-esque if the track weren't so energizing and the sparse. "Sunshowers" jumbles double-tracked political invective with a beat straight out of level 1 Virtual DJ. Despite Arulpragasam's unthreateningly sweet physical presence, this is an album that begs to be cranked up to 11.\nWith Arular, Arulpragasam has crafted a record suited just as well for dancehalls and trendy clubs as it is for an early morning walk to class with your iPod. The overt political messages embedded in the lyrics in no way distract from the auditory addictiveness of most of the tracks, and in blending the two aspects so seamlessly, M.I.A. has delivered one of the most consistent and engaging electro-dance-rap records that has yet emerged from the UK scene.
(04/07/05 4:00am)
Week before last, just in time to coincide with the release of the new Beck album, a friend of mine commented to me as I fawned over Beck's latest material that there had been no truly great records released since the turn of the century. Postulating that the last purely classic record to be released was Radiohead's 1997 opus, OK Computer, he went on to say that he felt bands and artists today weren't even attempting to make great records, and that the music industry would soon violently implode because of this fact. I quickly retorted that not only had there been many great records released since the untimely demise of the '90s, but that some of them would age like fine wine; their greatness and relevance only revealed with the passage of time. He chuckled, then asked me to reveal the list. I happily and chronologically obliged:
(04/06/05 4:47am)
Week before last, just in time to coincide with the release of the new Beck album, a friend of mine commented to me as I fawned over Beck's latest material that there had been no truly great records released since the turn of the century. Postulating that the last purely classic record to be released was Radiohead's 1997 opus, OK Computer, he went on to say that he felt bands and artists today weren't even attempting to make great records, and that the music industry would soon violently implode because of this fact. I quickly retorted that not only had there been many great records released since the untimely demise of the '90s, but that some of them would age like fine wine; their greatness and relevance only revealed with the passage of time. He chuckled, then asked me to reveal the list. I happily and chronologically obliged:
(04/06/05 4:29am)
Maya Arulpragasam (aka M.I.A.), the Sri Lankan-born Londoner who survived the guerilla warfare and social strife of her home country before moving abroad to pursue careers in music and art, has been recording her own beats and rhymes prodigiously for the past several of her 27 years. Her first two singles, "Galang" and "Sunshowers," infrequently haunted college radio in the fall of 2004, and a full-length LP was promised to be in the works. With several delayed release dates and one lengthy legal battle over a beat sample behind her, M.I.A. finally debuted Arular. \nLyrically, aside from the mostly indecipherable Brit slang in the call-outs and choruses, M.I.A. meshes vivid remembrances of her violent past with occasional sultry come-ons to male fans, only to turn the tables on a dime and veer off into one of many catchy sing-along choruses or insistent breakbeats. Her rhyme style invites comparisons to that of a female Dizzee Rascal, a claim which is somewhat founded, yet where Rascal possesses the impressive ability to discharge elaborate rhymes with the speed of the Micro-Machine Man, M.I.A. makes her presence felt with simple turns of phrase and lilting syllabic intonations.\nThe vast majority of the beats on Arular were pieced together by M.I.A. herself on various instruments of home-recording technology, and then sparingly professionally produced for album presentation. "Fire Fire" starts off inconspicuously enough before a gut-pounding beat kicks in and doesn't let up, "Pull Up the People" boasts a sound that could almost be called Kraftwerk-esque if the track weren't so energizing and the sparse. "Sunshowers" jumbles double-tracked political invective with a beat straight out of level 1 Virtual DJ. Despite Arulpragasam's unthreateningly sweet physical presence, this is an album that begs to be cranked up to 11.\nWith Arular, Arulpragasam has crafted a record suited just as well for dancehalls and trendy clubs as it is for an early morning walk to class with your iPod. The overt political messages embedded in the lyrics in no way distract from the auditory addictiveness of most of the tracks, and in blending the two aspects so seamlessly, M.I.A. has delivered one of the most consistent and engaging electro-dance-rap records that has yet emerged from the UK scene.
(03/31/05 5:00am)
Marc Forster's last project, "Monster's Ball," was an exposed, raw, throbbing nerve of a film with gut-wrenching if somewhat overpraised performances and a harsh, despondent worldview, which is why the elegance and lighthearted assuredness of his next project, "Finding Neverland," is such a surprising turn of style.\n"Finding Neverland" is the story of J.M. Barrie, the turn-of-the-century playwright who created the original incarnation of Peter Pan while being inspired by the hard times and high hopes of his neighbors, the Davies family, with whom Barrie shares his daydreams and original ideas. The Davies children, especially young Peter (the precocious Freddie Highmore, who will star alongside Depp this summer as Charlie Bucket to Depp's Willy Wonka), become quite dear to Barrie, and his wish that these children could live in eternal youth, without a care in their minds, translates to the moral at the heart of his new play.\nJohnny Depp portrays outlandish eccentrics better than almost anyone in Hollywood today, and while his embodiment of Barrie is understated and subtle compared to the ostentation of Ed Wood, Jack Sparrow or even his eerie Ichabod Crane, he still exudes a contagious air of whimsy while grounding Barrie's own fantasy world firmly within the realm of reality. As we see the world as it exists in Barrie's eyes, Depp glides through the performance with a confidence that assured him an Oscar nomination at this past ceremony.\nFeatures on this single-disc edition include a marginally effective commentary track by director Forster and screenwriter David Magee, a few deleted scenes that were wisely left on the cutting room floor, and "Creating Neverland," a standard making-of doc with a smattering of insightful cast interviews.\n"Finding Neverland" is one of those rare films that have the ability to tug on one's heartstrings without sappy trickery or subversive manipulation. J.M. Barrie once insisted that a smidge of simple fantasy can always outmuscle the overwhelming weight of the world, and this film makes you believe that, if only for a brief time.
(03/30/05 5:26am)
Marc Forster's last project, "Monster's Ball," was an exposed, raw, throbbing nerve of a film with gut-wrenching if somewhat overpraised performances and a harsh, despondent worldview, which is why the elegance and lighthearted assuredness of his next project, "Finding Neverland," is such a surprising turn of style.\n"Finding Neverland" is the story of J.M. Barrie, the turn-of-the-century playwright who created the original incarnation of Peter Pan while being inspired by the hard times and high hopes of his neighbors, the Davies family, with whom Barrie shares his daydreams and original ideas. The Davies children, especially young Peter (the precocious Freddie Highmore, who will star alongside Depp this summer as Charlie Bucket to Depp's Willy Wonka), become quite dear to Barrie, and his wish that these children could live in eternal youth, without a care in their minds, translates to the moral at the heart of his new play.\nJohnny Depp portrays outlandish eccentrics better than almost anyone in Hollywood today, and while his embodiment of Barrie is understated and subtle compared to the ostentation of Ed Wood, Jack Sparrow or even his eerie Ichabod Crane, he still exudes a contagious air of whimsy while grounding Barrie's own fantasy world firmly within the realm of reality. As we see the world as it exists in Barrie's eyes, Depp glides through the performance with a confidence that assured him an Oscar nomination at this past ceremony.\nFeatures on this single-disc edition include a marginally effective commentary track by director Forster and screenwriter David Magee, a few deleted scenes that were wisely left on the cutting room floor, and "Creating Neverland," a standard making-of doc with a smattering of insightful cast interviews.\n"Finding Neverland" is one of those rare films that have the ability to tug on one's heartstrings without sappy trickery or subversive manipulation. J.M. Barrie once insisted that a smidge of simple fantasy can always outmuscle the overwhelming weight of the world, and this film makes you believe that, if only for a brief time.
(03/24/05 5:00am)
There's a burning question hovering about in the heads of Hollywood's power players these days; that question being "Is Steve Jobs' Pixar Animation Studios even capable of making a film that doesn't win the hearts and dollars of tens of millions?" Apparently not, as the near-universal critical and monetary praise of Pixar's latest effort, "The Incredibles," would show. Not having seen the film when it was in theaters last November, I had to assume Pixar had done something right, seeing as it took me 10 phone calls and about 4 gallons of gas to even find a copy of the film available to rent.\nWithout any hesitation, I can call this Pixar's best film to date and possibly even the best animated film since Disney's "Fantasia" in 1940. Keep in mind, coming from me, calling something the best animated film ever is kind of like saying it's on par with "The Phantom Menace." Regardless, director Brad Bird's tale of former superheroes exiled into a soul-crushing suburban existence by a lawsuit-happy society only to be reinvigorated to their former glory by way of extenuating circumstances rings true on many levels, and is capable of being just as entertaining to adults as it is to children -- only on an entirely different level.\nExtras in this double-disc set include feature commentary by writer/director Brad Bird as well as the film's accomplished animators, a new short called "Jack-Jack Attack" and another standard set of Pixar bloopers and outtakes that once again fail to amuse because they are in fact not actually spontaneous moments. However, the most valuable extra is the purposely shoddily animated "Mr. Incredible & Pals" cartoon with hilarious commentary by Samuel L. Jackson in Frozone mode.\nDespite my usual stubborn bias against most all things animated and bearing in mind I was not the world's biggest "Finding Nemo" fan, I found "The Incredibles" to be triumphant if only for its sheer visual splendor (this being Pixar's first film with honest-to-goodness, fleshed-out human characters) and the quality of its screenplay, which balances laughs with brutal honesty. The brilliant sheen of the computer graphics on display here was simply made for a good DVD presentation, and it's safe to say the animators truly outdid themselves.\n"The Incredibles" boasts enough syrupy sweet moments to keep the kiddies and their legal guardians happy, but at the same time there are moments of sadness, emotional distress and even terror rarely seen in contemporary animated films.
(03/23/05 4:32am)
There's a burning question hovering about in the heads of Hollywood's power players these days; that question being "Is Steve Jobs' Pixar Animation Studios even capable of making a film that doesn't win the hearts and dollars of tens of millions?" Apparently not, as the near-universal critical and monetary praise of Pixar's latest effort, "The Incredibles," would show. Not having seen the film when it was in theaters last November, I had to assume Pixar had done something right, seeing as it took me 10 phone calls and about 4 gallons of gas to even find a copy of the film available to rent.\nWithout any hesitation, I can call this Pixar's best film to date and possibly even the best animated film since Disney's "Fantasia" in 1940. Keep in mind, coming from me, calling something the best animated film ever is kind of like saying it's on par with "The Phantom Menace." Regardless, director Brad Bird's tale of former superheroes exiled into a soul-crushing suburban existence by a lawsuit-happy society only to be reinvigorated to their former glory by way of extenuating circumstances rings true on many levels, and is capable of being just as entertaining to adults as it is to children -- only on an entirely different level.\nExtras in this double-disc set include feature commentary by writer/director Brad Bird as well as the film's accomplished animators, a new short called "Jack-Jack Attack" and another standard set of Pixar bloopers and outtakes that once again fail to amuse because they are in fact not actually spontaneous moments. However, the most valuable extra is the purposely shoddily animated "Mr. Incredible & Pals" cartoon with hilarious commentary by Samuel L. Jackson in Frozone mode.\nDespite my usual stubborn bias against most all things animated and bearing in mind I was not the world's biggest "Finding Nemo" fan, I found "The Incredibles" to be triumphant if only for its sheer visual splendor (this being Pixar's first film with honest-to-goodness, fleshed-out human characters) and the quality of its screenplay, which balances laughs with brutal honesty. The brilliant sheen of the computer graphics on display here was simply made for a good DVD presentation, and it's safe to say the animators truly outdid themselves.\n"The Incredibles" boasts enough syrupy sweet moments to keep the kiddies and their legal guardians happy, but at the same time there are moments of sadness, emotional distress and even terror rarely seen in contemporary animated films.
(03/10/05 5:00am)
I suppose I should open with a few simple queries. Is there actually anyone out there who truly feels that Ray Charles made the finest album of 2004? Was Green Day's American Idiot too overtly blue state-friendly? Was Kanye West's The College Dropout too generously explicit? Were Usher's Confessions and Alicia Keys' The Diary of Alicia Keys jam-packed with too much pedestrian and mundane R&B? I suppose none of that matters, because Charles died, and untimely death will always take precedence over genuine artistry.\nBefore I go any further, I should make it known that I respect Charles' work on myriad levels. The man recorded many extremely influential albums during the first 30 years of his career (roughly 1957 to 1987, Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music and Ray Charles Live at Newport most specifically), and all are worthy of praise. The man made so many fine records, yet the final one of his lifetime, the Grammy-winning Genius Loves Company, was nothing more than a middling mix of thrown-together duets featuring the likes of the forever-boring Norah Jones and Diana Krall, as well as a couple decent but forced tracks with industry stalwarts such as Elton John, Van Morrison and James Taylor. All in all, it was less than a fitting farewell to a genuine musical legend.\nAnd yes, I am aware that the outcomes of award shows such as the Oscars and the Grammys, which are typically inter-industry ass-kissing festivals, do not reflect actual artistic merit. Let's not forget some of the less-than-stellar discs that have won Album of the Year at Grammys past during years literally loaded with great music, like Glen Campbell's By the Time I Get to Phoenix in 1968, Tony Bennett's MTV Unplugged in 1994 and the O Brother Where Art Thou Soundtrack in 2001. And while we're at it, we should also revisit some of the subpar films which have won the Academy's Best Picture honor, such as when the meanderingly endless "The English Patient" beat the Coen brothers' brilliant "Fargo" in 1996, or when the racially juvenile "Driving Miss Daisy" beat the racially radical "Do the Right Thing" in 1989 (and I won't even begin to get started on "Shakespeare In Love's" tragic besting of "Saving Private Ryan" in 1998).\nThese rants must seem like pure afterthought to someone reading this column several weeks after Ray's wins at the Grammys and Oscars, but weren't all those awards also, in essence, afterthoughts? Instead of honoring people while they still walk this earth, major award shows insist on bestowing honors to those since passed. My educated assumption is that if Charles were still alive today, not only would Green Day hold a deserved Album of the Year Grammy, but Ray's own biopic would have graced nothing grander than a television screen. I fear that the great Martin Scorsese, after losing to Clint Eastwood (who's Best Picture-winning boxing film "Million Dollar Baby" pales in comparison to Marty's own boxing saga, "Raging Bull") at this year's Oscars, may have to wait until he himself passes away to be honored by the Academy.\nWhat many people don't realize is, "Ray" was originally planned as a TV movie of the week. A television network devised the project, and Jamie Foxx was signed up due to his striking similarity to the legendary musician in question when wearing sunglasses. While Foxx is a talented performer in his own right, he does not actually sing the songs in the film, as Charles' original live and studio recordings are dubbed over the action. When the subject of the film tragically passed away of liver disease in June of 2004, film studios clamored to get a piece of the financial action they knew would come from producing his life story into a major motion picture. Marginally known film director Taylor Hackford was assigned, and the rest is well engineered history.\nFoxx truly studied Charles to prepare for the role. The two men met before production began, and they struck up a beautiful friendship. Foxx impersonated Charles masterfully in "Ray," but in the end it was simply that, an impersonation. Foxx himself offered up a more impressive performance this year in Michael Mann's "Collateral," for which he was also nominated by the Academy, but I suppose that role was too nondescript. In the end, Foxx won his Oscar and many other acting awards for his performance as Charles, regardless of the fact that Leonardo DiCaprio transcended Howard Hughes' emotionally disturbed persona with assured finesse or that Don Cheadle portrayed Paul Rusesabagina with a visually tangible inner fire and grace. In the end, Foxx's Oscar was less a personal nod of achievement to his acting prowess and more of another in a long line of tributes to Charles himself.\nMy real issue here, quite possibly arising too late and in the final paragraph, is that major music and film award ceremonies rarely honor art that is truly worthy of said honor. Recall the 1999 Oscars, for example, when Roberto Benigni beat a bump on a log for Best Actor in the horrid and Holocaust-mocking "Life is Beautiful." In turn, Green Day, as well as many other artists, made a far better album than Charles in 2004, and other than the conciliatory Best Rock Album nominations and Best Alternative Album monikers for these bands, none were acknowledged by the powers that be for their work. Some would try and comfort me by saying that the outcomes of award shows don't have any effect on society or national trends in popular entertainment, and for now I will agree with them -- until the year when Barry Manilow dies, his duet album with Clay Aiken and Kenny G topples the Grammys and his biopic, "He Wrote the Songs," sweeps the Oscars.
(03/10/05 5:00am)
Even for someone possessing the brash bravado of Curtis Jackson (aka 50 Cent), following up a record as brutally loaded as his own debut, Get Rich or Die Tryin', would prove an overwhelming task. With 11 million copies sold, Get Rich threw 50's intimidatingly talented hat in the ring while doing its part to bring back some of rap's ferocity lost after the deaths of Biggie and Tupac. It's also become somewhat of a modern rap classic.\n50's second LP, The Massacre, opens with the double shot of "In My Hood" and "This Is 50," back-to-back tracks that mirror the violent vehemence of Get Rich's finest moments, even if they pale in comparison in terms of sheer wordplay. Massacre only truly kicks into full gear with the spectacular "Piggy Bank," an all-encompassing diss track with a hard-charging beat that starts more beefs than any mere mortal can realistically handle.\nAside from select tracks produced by Eminem, Dr. Dre and Scott Storch, 50 mostly employs lesser-known beatmakers on Massacre. This decision gives the album a more freewheeling feel than Get Rich, which often felt like it was perpetually bearing down on you. Hi-Tek, Needlz, Sha Money XL and others craft competent grooves around 50's confident flow, resulting in an album with no weak or skippable tracks to speak of, even though some could be better if they were less laid-back.\nMassacre contains its fair share of dance club hits, namely the already heavily rotated "Candy Shop" and "Disco Inferno," as well as the Dre-produced "Outta Control" (an album standout and worthy successor to "In Da Club"), but this time around 50 shows not only his sensitive side with the moving "Build You Up" (the most graciously non-misogynistic rap song in ages), but also his conceptual side on "Baltimore Love Thing," in which he takes on the persona of heroin as he taunts and scolds a female addict.\n50's rhyming skills are as impressive a display as ever on Massacre, though missing is some of the playful humor of its predecessor. This could indicate that 50 now takes himself more seriously, a notion that is backed up by the insert booklet's photo spread (witness 50 walking on water and mimicking James Bond). Regardless, aside from Eminem and Jay-Z, 50 is probably the best rapper in terms of base skill recording today and reserves the right to take himself as seriously as he sees fit.\nAll told, Massacre's contents add up to an album that, while broader in scope and vision than 50's debut, doesn't pack quite the same visceral punch. Late in the album, 50 claims he's "the biggest crook from New York since Son of Sam." Get Rich made you believe he was a serious badass, but Massacre makes you wonder if he's not become content to roll amongst his stacks of cash while drinking Formula 50 Vitamin Water, pimping his line of Reebok G-Unit sneakers and conjuring up feuds with inferior rappers just for the sake of sport. It's no matter. When you're on top of the game, you might as well enjoy it.
(03/09/05 4:24am)
Even for someone possessing the brash bravado of Curtis Jackson (aka 50 Cent), following up a record as brutally loaded as his own debut, Get Rich or Die Tryin', would prove an overwhelming task. With 11 million copies sold, Get Rich threw 50's intimidatingly talented hat in the ring while doing its part to bring back some of rap's ferocity lost after the deaths of Biggie and Tupac. It's also become somewhat of a modern rap classic.\n50's second LP, The Massacre, opens with the double shot of "In My Hood" and "This Is 50," back-to-back tracks that mirror the violent vehemence of Get Rich's finest moments, even if they pale in comparison in terms of sheer wordplay. Massacre only truly kicks into full gear with the spectacular "Piggy Bank," an all-encompassing diss track with a hard-charging beat that starts more beefs than any mere mortal can realistically handle.\nAside from select tracks produced by Eminem, Dr. Dre and Scott Storch, 50 mostly employs lesser-known beatmakers on Massacre. This decision gives the album a more freewheeling feel than Get Rich, which often felt like it was perpetually bearing down on you. Hi-Tek, Needlz, Sha Money XL and others craft competent grooves around 50's confident flow, resulting in an album with no weak or skippable tracks to speak of, even though some could be better if they were less laid-back.\nMassacre contains its fair share of dance club hits, namely the already heavily rotated "Candy Shop" and "Disco Inferno," as well as the Dre-produced "Outta Control" (an album standout and worthy successor to "In Da Club"), but this time around 50 shows not only his sensitive side with the moving "Build You Up" (the most graciously non-misogynistic rap song in ages), but also his conceptual side on "Baltimore Love Thing," in which he takes on the persona of heroin as he taunts and scolds a female addict.\n50's rhyming skills are as impressive a display as ever on Massacre, though missing is some of the playful humor of its predecessor. This could indicate that 50 now takes himself more seriously, a notion that is backed up by the insert booklet's photo spread (witness 50 walking on water and mimicking James Bond). Regardless, aside from Eminem and Jay-Z, 50 is probably the best rapper in terms of base skill recording today and reserves the right to take himself as seriously as he sees fit.\nAll told, Massacre's contents add up to an album that, while broader in scope and vision than 50's debut, doesn't pack quite the same visceral punch. Late in the album, 50 claims he's "the biggest crook from New York since Son of Sam." Get Rich made you believe he was a serious badass, but Massacre makes you wonder if he's not become content to roll amongst his stacks of cash while drinking Formula 50 Vitamin Water, pimping his line of Reebok G-Unit sneakers and conjuring up feuds with inferior rappers just for the sake of sport. It's no matter. When you're on top of the game, you might as well enjoy it.
(03/09/05 4:21am)
I suppose I should open with a few simple queries. Is there actually anyone out there who truly feels that Ray Charles made the finest album of 2004? Was Green Day's American Idiot too overtly blue state-friendly? Was Kanye West's The College Dropout too generously explicit? Were Usher's Confessions and Alicia Keys' The Diary of Alicia Keys jam-packed with too much pedestrian and mundane R&B? I suppose none of that matters, because Charles died, and untimely death will always take precedence over genuine artistry.\nBefore I go any further, I should make it known that I respect Charles' work on myriad levels. The man recorded many extremely influential albums during the first 30 years of his career (roughly 1957 to 1987, Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music and Ray Charles Live at Newport most specifically), and all are worthy of praise. The man made so many fine records, yet the final one of his lifetime, the Grammy-winning Genius Loves Company, was nothing more than a middling mix of thrown-together duets featuring the likes of the forever-boring Norah Jones and Diana Krall, as well as a couple decent but forced tracks with industry stalwarts such as Elton John, Van Morrison and James Taylor. All in all, it was less than a fitting farewell to a genuine musical legend.\nAnd yes, I am aware that the outcomes of award shows such as the Oscars and the Grammys, which are typically inter-industry ass-kissing festivals, do not reflect actual artistic merit. Let's not forget some of the less-than-stellar discs that have won Album of the Year at Grammys past during years literally loaded with great music, like Glen Campbell's By the Time I Get to Phoenix in 1968, Tony Bennett's MTV Unplugged in 1994 and the O Brother Where Art Thou Soundtrack in 2001. And while we're at it, we should also revisit some of the subpar films which have won the Academy's Best Picture honor, such as when the meanderingly endless "The English Patient" beat the Coen brothers' brilliant "Fargo" in 1996, or when the racially juvenile "Driving Miss Daisy" beat the racially radical "Do the Right Thing" in 1989 (and I won't even begin to get started on "Shakespeare In Love's" tragic besting of "Saving Private Ryan" in 1998).\nThese rants must seem like pure afterthought to someone reading this column several weeks after Ray's wins at the Grammys and Oscars, but weren't all those awards also, in essence, afterthoughts? Instead of honoring people while they still walk this earth, major award shows insist on bestowing honors to those since passed. My educated assumption is that if Charles were still alive today, not only would Green Day hold a deserved Album of the Year Grammy, but Ray's own biopic would have graced nothing grander than a television screen. I fear that the great Martin Scorsese, after losing to Clint Eastwood (who's Best Picture-winning boxing film "Million Dollar Baby" pales in comparison to Marty's own boxing saga, "Raging Bull") at this year's Oscars, may have to wait until he himself passes away to be honored by the Academy.\nWhat many people don't realize is, "Ray" was originally planned as a TV movie of the week. A television network devised the project, and Jamie Foxx was signed up due to his striking similarity to the legendary musician in question when wearing sunglasses. While Foxx is a talented performer in his own right, he does not actually sing the songs in the film, as Charles' original live and studio recordings are dubbed over the action. When the subject of the film tragically passed away of liver disease in June of 2004, film studios clamored to get a piece of the financial action they knew would come from producing his life story into a major motion picture. Marginally known film director Taylor Hackford was assigned, and the rest is well engineered history.\nFoxx truly studied Charles to prepare for the role. The two men met before production began, and they struck up a beautiful friendship. Foxx impersonated Charles masterfully in "Ray," but in the end it was simply that, an impersonation. Foxx himself offered up a more impressive performance this year in Michael Mann's "Collateral," for which he was also nominated by the Academy, but I suppose that role was too nondescript. In the end, Foxx won his Oscar and many other acting awards for his performance as Charles, regardless of the fact that Leonardo DiCaprio transcended Howard Hughes' emotionally disturbed persona with assured finesse or that Don Cheadle portrayed Paul Rusesabagina with a visually tangible inner fire and grace. In the end, Foxx's Oscar was less a personal nod of achievement to his acting prowess and more of another in a long line of tributes to Charles himself.\nMy real issue here, quite possibly arising too late and in the final paragraph, is that major music and film award ceremonies rarely honor art that is truly worthy of said honor. Recall the 1999 Oscars, for example, when Roberto Benigni beat a bump on a log for Best Actor in the horrid and Holocaust-mocking "Life is Beautiful." In turn, Green Day, as well as many other artists, made a far better album than Charles in 2004, and other than the conciliatory Best Rock Album nominations and Best Alternative Album monikers for these bands, none were acknowledged by the powers that be for their work. Some would try and comfort me by saying that the outcomes of award shows don't have any effect on society or national trends in popular entertainment, and for now I will agree with them -- until the year when Barry Manilow dies, his duet album with Clay Aiken and Kenny G topples the Grammys and his biopic, "He Wrote the Songs," sweeps the Oscars.
(03/03/05 5:00am)
The perfectionists at Polyphony Digital are known for their obsessive attention to detail and utter worship of the automobile, and it shows more than ever in their latest offering, "Gran Turismo 4." In 1998, Polyphony redefined video game racing with the first "GT," and the sequel that followed quickly after was simply an extension of the original. Polyphony reinvented the wheel, quite literally, in 2001 with "GT3: A-Spec." Now, after countless missed release dates and months of fine-tuning, "GT4" has finally arrived.\nAs always, at the heart of "GT4" lies its massive car selection. The Polyphony design team has recreated, in staggering detail down to their individual engine purr and realistic handling, everything from an 1886 Daimler Motor Carriage (classic cars from the early 20th century through the early 1990s are in great supply this time around) to the most advanced prototype concept cars you never knew existed. Each can be modified down to the port polishing as you strive to create the ultimate racing machine. It'll cost you, though, and earning credits to buy and mod cars in the absence of a money cheat code can be frustrating when all you want to do is drive each and every one of the damn things (an urge that the Arcade Mode only slightly satisfies). Yet, even that aspect of the game is ultra-realistic, since you actually put much thought into which cars you buy and great care into every aspect of their modification.\nThe selection of tracks has been considerably beefed up as well, with new and exact recreations of real tracks like California's Laguna Seca Raceway and Germany's slenderly treacherous Nurburgring Nordschleife, as well as several ice and mud-covered tracks for an extra challenge. A new breed of city courses including Tokyo, Hong Kong, Paris, Seattle and New York offer excellent scenery and extremely difficult corners, yet the most impressive tracks, like the new El Capitan at Yosemite National Park and the gorgeous Cote d'Azur and Costa di Amalfi, showcase the beauty of racing amidst nature while successfully pushing the PS2's graphical limitations to the breaking point.\nSome gamers will gripe at the lack of once-promised online capability in "GT4," but with this kind of realism at their fingertips, I would argue against the need for online play, as it would only serve to muddy up the graphics and curb the frame rate. My only legitimate complaint with "GT4" is that the computer opponent drivers are still, while formidable, ultimately unresponsive to players' actions as they insist on carving out the same racing line every time.\nWhile "GT4" is not so much a quantum leap in the series as it is a brilliant refinement on the tried and true "GT" style, it still delivers everything a racing simulator should deliver on a grand scale. With more than 650 cars and over 100 unique tracks to traverse with them, "GT4" will keep discerning racing game fans and meticulous automobile enthusiasts busy for months.