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(04/14/05 4:00am)
Baseball season is officially here and with it comes the aptly-timed flick "Fever Pitch." As directed by the Farrelly brothers (purveyors of the '90s glut of gross-out comedies, i.e. "Dumb and Dumber," "Kingpin" and "There's Something About Mary"), the film is an across-the-pond adaptation of British author Nick Hornby's ("High Fidelity," "About a Boy") semi-autobiographical book. The difference: in Hornby's memoir and its 1997 cinematic translation starring Colin Firth ("Bridget Jones's Diary") the protagonist is a high school English teacher and avid Arsenal booster; here he's Ben Wrightman (Jimmy Fallon), a high school math teacher and die-hard Boston Red Sox supporter. It's an appropriate switch, as the Brit soccer club makes its fans suffer nearly as much as the BoSox did until they won last fall's World Series -- ending an 86-year slump. \nBen is an all-around nice guy and a good catch for any gal seeking companionship. In "Pitch" she's Lindsey Meeks (Drew Barrymore), a successful businesswoman who initially denies Ben's affections, as he's out of her tax bracket. Realizing the error in her ways, she accepts a date with Ben, only to be stricken with food poisoning. Decent dude that he is, Ben cleans up after and takes care of her. Soon enough, they're in love. Little does she know, she's into "Winter Guy," who's sweet and sensitive. "Summer Guy" is an entirely different beast: replete with season tickets, an apartment resembling a Red Sox souvenir shop, a wardrobe that's more jerseys than J. Crew and priorities in which spring training and a home game against the Seattle Mariners take precedence over visiting her parents and Paris. Before you can say "Bill Buckner," Ben blows the relationship amid his fandom. This being a romantic comedy, you can guess what happens next.\nAddressing the whole romantic comedy issue, "Pitch" is a change of pace for the Farrelly brothers. While they often bridge humor with heart, and "Mary" and "Shallow Hal" could be considered romantic comedies (albeit a twisted one in the former's case), they've never tackled the genre with such earnestness. Gone are many of the lewd laughs of their former works -- save for a gonad-grooming gag and some physical comedy involving women getting hit in the head with balls (sports-related, mind you). This results in one of the Farrelly's least funny flicks. The first half-hour is horrendous, chock-a-block with conventional crap. Luckily, things pick up considerably when Ben's Red Sox fixation comes to the forefront. Also, screenwriting team Lowell Ganz and Babaloo Mandel ("Parenthood," "City Slickers") couldn't have written a better ending than the one fate wrote for them. \nBarrymore, who I generally don't dig, is effervescently adorable in the pic -- almost equalling her career-topping turn in "The Wedding Singer." Fallon is also likable, even though he's no great shakes either. He's seemingly made a career out of wanting to be Adam Sandler, what with the comedic crooning and going so far as impersonating the Sand-man on "Saturday Night Live," now he essentially is him by teaming with Barrymore for a romantic comedy. I'll say this for Fallon, his boyishness knows no bounds, and it's apropos for the role. It's also funny to see Fallon play another Sox fan after having done so on a series of "SNL" skits. Long story short: the pair is appealing enough for audiences to root for their relationship.\nHornby captures the minds of men struggling to grow up better than anyone else, so it's ironic that the Farrelly's continue their maturation process by adapting one of his works.
(04/14/05 4:00am)
Let's get something straight: I hate MTV. I dug it when I was a kid and it actually showed music videos (good stuff like the Smashing Pumpkins' "Tonight, Tonight" and "1979," the Beastie Boys' "Sabotage," Weezer's "Buddy Holly" and Aerosmith's Alicia Silverstone trilogy) or had decent shows like "Beavis and Butt-head," but in recent years it has turned into something else entirely. What's the point of having something called "Music Television" that doesn't show any damned videos? You got me? Thankfully, someone of some modicum of intelligence over at the Viacom-owned corporation saw it fit to remedy the problem. The solution: the newly revamped MTV2.\nNot only does the network now show a substantial amount of videos (specifically those in my favorite genres: rock and hip-hop, as opposed to the teen-pop pap that inundates MTV), but its new shows -- "Wonder Showzen" and "Team Sanchez" -- are wildly entertaining. Taking a cue from SpikeTV (also a Viacom property, whose "MXC" kicks ASS) and the Time Warner-owned Cartoon Network's Adult Swim ("Aqua Teen Hunger Force" and "Family Guy" are essential, and its newest offering, the Seth Green-created "Robot Chicken," ain't half-bad either), MTV2 is reaching out to the young, male audience. As that's me, I'm happier than a kid in a candy store. \n"Wonder Showzen" is the brainchild of Vernon Chatman (former writer on "The Chris Rock Show" and "Late Night with Conan O'Brien," as well as the voice of "South Park's" Towelie) and some nobody named John Lee. Picking up where sketches seen on "Mr. Show" ("The Altered State of Drugachusetts") and "Chappelle's Show" ("Knee-high Park") left off, "Wonder Showzen" is akin to "Sesame Street" on crack. Its mix of children, puppets, animation, old educational films and content that's equal parts vulgar and subversive is ridiculously refreshing.\nOne of the show's best segments is a little number known as "Beat Kids," with an intro theme that goes as follows: "Kids on the beat, Kids on the street, Beat Kids!, Beat Kids!" As sung by children, it's sickly funny and ironic to say the least. The gist of these skits is placing tykes into the field to compile news reports. One placed a red-headed moppet at a race track, where he interviewed an aging gambler. Their interaction was priceless.\nMoppet: "I can do an impression of you, wanna see?"\nMan: "You can do an impression of me? Let's see it."\nMoppet: "Gamble, gamble, gamble, gamble, die."\nOther munchkins asked Wall Street traders who they'd exploited that day. A butcher is queried, "Who pays for all this ... I mean, spiritually?"\nWere this stuff to come from adults we'd come off as assholes (see Tom Green, et al), but since it's coming from children it's not only comedic but creepy as well.\nAnother skit, entitled "Funny, Not Funny," shows a series of images in which a bevy of kids dub the photos "funny" or "not funny." My favorite depicts video of an unconscious child being pulled from a swimming pool, to which the kids holler: "Not funny!" The show's creators -- masterminds that they are -- then run the footage in reverse, so it looks as though the lifeguard/parent/etc. is dumping the body back into the pool. Obviously, the kids proclaim this one "Funny!" Yeah, I'm going to hell for laughing at this stuff.\nOther highlights include a "Kids Say the Darnedest Things" send-up in which munchkins are asked "What is Heaven?" One kid replys: "When you order six Chicken McNuggets and get seven ... and a switchblade," another says she'll never know with sincere sadness. The kids' trip to a hot dog factory in which processed meat is shown coming out of the grinder's nozzle in a fashion reminiscent of defecation spurs comments ranging from: "That's what my dog did ... in my hands" to "That's what my grandma did on the coffee table." Vietnam vets are sent-up as homeless drunkards in a cartoon "G.I. Joe" spoof and puppets not only have gay sex -- they prove God fallible, to which he shoots himself and they gorge on his remains. Obviously, you can tell whether the show would interest, entertain or amuse you based on the above description. Most would be sickened by it; I, sick bastard that I am, find it hilarious. I'll be damned, and probably already am, if this stuff isn't funny.\nNext up is "Team Sanchez," a European take-off on "Jackass," where three Welshmen and a Londoner one-up Johnny Knoxville and Co. by hammering nails through their skin into two-by-fours, jumping on snow shovels propelling them into someone else's nuts, sitting naked in snow for prolonged periods of time and shooting one another at point-blank range with paintball guns while wearing jockstraps. There's not much else to say about the show, other than it's really entertaining and will undoubtedly please fans of "Jackass." A nice addition to the daredevil formula involves interviews with these maniacs' families, friends and girlfriends. All in all, this is the nicest dirty "Sanchez" anyone will ever experience.\nSurely, MTV is still evil for unleashing Carson Daly upon the world (which in turn spurred the fast-growing, petri dish-scraping spawn otherwise known as Ryan Seacrest). Other atrocities include giving the Simpson sisters, Paris Hilton ("House of Wax" won't be scary, the notion of this blonde bimbo having a film career is), losers looking to get "Made," Ashton Kutcher's gullible celebrity pals and steroidal "Real World/Road Rules" rejects face time. Thank God that MTV2 is around to pick up the slack and make minute amends. Hell, they're even showing worthwile videos like Weezer's "Beverly Hills," Kings of Leon's "The Bucket," the Arcade Fire's "Rebellion (Lies)" and the Kaiser Chief's "I Predict a Riot." Toombs out.
(04/13/05 4:52am)
Let's get something straight: I hate MTV. I dug it when I was a kid and it actually showed music videos (good stuff like the Smashing Pumpkins' "Tonight, Tonight" and "1979," the Beastie Boys' "Sabotage," Weezer's "Buddy Holly" and Aerosmith's Alicia Silverstone trilogy) or had decent shows like "Beavis and Butt-head," but in recent years it has turned into something else entirely. What's the point of having something called "Music Television" that doesn't show any damned videos? You got me? Thankfully, someone of some modicum of intelligence over at the Viacom-owned corporation saw it fit to remedy the problem. The solution: the newly revamped MTV2.\nNot only does the network now show a substantial amount of videos (specifically those in my favorite genres: rock and hip-hop, as opposed to the teen-pop pap that inundates MTV), but its new shows -- "Wonder Showzen" and "Team Sanchez" -- are wildly entertaining. Taking a cue from SpikeTV (also a Viacom property, whose "MXC" kicks ASS) and the Time Warner-owned Cartoon Network's Adult Swim ("Aqua Teen Hunger Force" and "Family Guy" are essential, and its newest offering, the Seth Green-created "Robot Chicken," ain't half-bad either), MTV2 is reaching out to the young, male audience. As that's me, I'm happier than a kid in a candy store. \n"Wonder Showzen" is the brainchild of Vernon Chatman (former writer on "The Chris Rock Show" and "Late Night with Conan O'Brien," as well as the voice of "South Park's" Towelie) and some nobody named John Lee. Picking up where sketches seen on "Mr. Show" ("The Altered State of Drugachusetts") and "Chappelle's Show" ("Knee-high Park") left off, "Wonder Showzen" is akin to "Sesame Street" on crack. Its mix of children, puppets, animation, old educational films and content that's equal parts vulgar and subversive is ridiculously refreshing.\nOne of the show's best segments is a little number known as "Beat Kids," with an intro theme that goes as follows: "Kids on the beat, Kids on the street, Beat Kids!, Beat Kids!" As sung by children, it's sickly funny and ironic to say the least. The gist of these skits is placing tykes into the field to compile news reports. One placed a red-headed moppet at a race track, where he interviewed an aging gambler. Their interaction was priceless.\nMoppet: "I can do an impression of you, wanna see?"\nMan: "You can do an impression of me? Let's see it."\nMoppet: "Gamble, gamble, gamble, gamble, die."\nOther munchkins asked Wall Street traders who they'd exploited that day. A butcher is queried, "Who pays for all this ... I mean, spiritually?"\nWere this stuff to come from adults we'd come off as assholes (see Tom Green, et al), but since it's coming from children it's not only comedic but creepy as well.\nAnother skit, entitled "Funny, Not Funny," shows a series of images in which a bevy of kids dub the photos "funny" or "not funny." My favorite depicts video of an unconscious child being pulled from a swimming pool, to which the kids holler: "Not funny!" The show's creators -- masterminds that they are -- then run the footage in reverse, so it looks as though the lifeguard/parent/etc. is dumping the body back into the pool. Obviously, the kids proclaim this one "Funny!" Yeah, I'm going to hell for laughing at this stuff.\nOther highlights include a "Kids Say the Darnedest Things" send-up in which munchkins are asked "What is Heaven?" One kid replys: "When you order six Chicken McNuggets and get seven ... and a switchblade," another says she'll never know with sincere sadness. The kids' trip to a hot dog factory in which processed meat is shown coming out of the grinder's nozzle in a fashion reminiscent of defecation spurs comments ranging from: "That's what my dog did ... in my hands" to "That's what my grandma did on the coffee table." Vietnam vets are sent-up as homeless drunkards in a cartoon "G.I. Joe" spoof and puppets not only have gay sex -- they prove God fallible, to which he shoots himself and they gorge on his remains. Obviously, you can tell whether the show would interest, entertain or amuse you based on the above description. Most would be sickened by it; I, sick bastard that I am, find it hilarious. I'll be damned, and probably already am, if this stuff isn't funny.\nNext up is "Team Sanchez," a European take-off on "Jackass," where three Welshmen and a Londoner one-up Johnny Knoxville and Co. by hammering nails through their skin into two-by-fours, jumping on snow shovels propelling them into someone else's nuts, sitting naked in snow for prolonged periods of time and shooting one another at point-blank range with paintball guns while wearing jockstraps. There's not much else to say about the show, other than it's really entertaining and will undoubtedly please fans of "Jackass." A nice addition to the daredevil formula involves interviews with these maniacs' families, friends and girlfriends. All in all, this is the nicest dirty "Sanchez" anyone will ever experience.\nSurely, MTV is still evil for unleashing Carson Daly upon the world (which in turn spurred the fast-growing, petri dish-scraping spawn otherwise known as Ryan Seacrest). Other atrocities include giving the Simpson sisters, Paris Hilton ("House of Wax" won't be scary, the notion of this blonde bimbo having a film career is), losers looking to get "Made," Ashton Kutcher's gullible celebrity pals and steroidal "Real World/Road Rules" rejects face time. Thank God that MTV2 is around to pick up the slack and make minute amends. Hell, they're even showing worthwile videos like Weezer's "Beverly Hills," Kings of Leon's "The Bucket," the Arcade Fire's "Rebellion (Lies)" and the Kaiser Chief's "I Predict a Riot." Toombs out.
(04/13/05 4:47am)
Baseball season is officially here and with it comes the aptly-timed flick "Fever Pitch." As directed by the Farrelly brothers (purveyors of the '90s glut of gross-out comedies, i.e. "Dumb and Dumber," "Kingpin" and "There's Something About Mary"), the film is an across-the-pond adaptation of British author Nick Hornby's ("High Fidelity," "About a Boy") semi-autobiographical book. The difference: in Hornby's memoir and its 1997 cinematic translation starring Colin Firth ("Bridget Jones's Diary") the protagonist is a high school English teacher and avid Arsenal booster; here he's Ben Wrightman (Jimmy Fallon), a high school math teacher and die-hard Boston Red Sox supporter. It's an appropriate switch, as the Brit soccer club makes its fans suffer nearly as much as the BoSox did until they won last fall's World Series -- ending an 86-year slump. \nBen is an all-around nice guy and a good catch for any gal seeking companionship. In "Pitch" she's Lindsey Meeks (Drew Barrymore), a successful businesswoman who initially denies Ben's affections, as he's out of her tax bracket. Realizing the error in her ways, she accepts a date with Ben, only to be stricken with food poisoning. Decent dude that he is, Ben cleans up after and takes care of her. Soon enough, they're in love. Little does she know, she's into "Winter Guy," who's sweet and sensitive. "Summer Guy" is an entirely different beast: replete with season tickets, an apartment resembling a Red Sox souvenir shop, a wardrobe that's more jerseys than J. Crew and priorities in which spring training and a home game against the Seattle Mariners take precedence over visiting her parents and Paris. Before you can say "Bill Buckner," Ben blows the relationship amid his fandom. This being a romantic comedy, you can guess what happens next.\nAddressing the whole romantic comedy issue, "Pitch" is a change of pace for the Farrelly brothers. While they often bridge humor with heart, and "Mary" and "Shallow Hal" could be considered romantic comedies (albeit a twisted one in the former's case), they've never tackled the genre with such earnestness. Gone are many of the lewd laughs of their former works -- save for a gonad-grooming gag and some physical comedy involving women getting hit in the head with balls (sports-related, mind you). This results in one of the Farrelly's least funny flicks. The first half-hour is horrendous, chock-a-block with conventional crap. Luckily, things pick up considerably when Ben's Red Sox fixation comes to the forefront. Also, screenwriting team Lowell Ganz and Babaloo Mandel ("Parenthood," "City Slickers") couldn't have written a better ending than the one fate wrote for them. \nBarrymore, who I generally don't dig, is effervescently adorable in the pic -- almost equalling her career-topping turn in "The Wedding Singer." Fallon is also likable, even though he's no great shakes either. He's seemingly made a career out of wanting to be Adam Sandler, what with the comedic crooning and going so far as impersonating the Sand-man on "Saturday Night Live," now he essentially is him by teaming with Barrymore for a romantic comedy. I'll say this for Fallon, his boyishness knows no bounds, and it's apropos for the role. It's also funny to see Fallon play another Sox fan after having done so on a series of "SNL" skits. Long story short: the pair is appealing enough for audiences to root for their relationship.\nHornby captures the minds of men struggling to grow up better than anyone else, so it's ironic that the Farrelly's continue their maturation process by adapting one of his works.
(04/07/05 4:00am)
Booze, broads and bullets -- this is the world of Frank Miller's "Sin City," a series of celebrated graphic novels now translated to celluloid by Miller and writer/director/producer/cinematographer/editor/composer Robert Rodriguez. Rodriguez left the Director's Guild of America to ensure Miller's co-direction credit, as well as freeing up filmmaker friend Quentin Tarantino for guest directing duties. Smart move -- this is undeniably the most faithful comic book adaptation ever brought to the big screen.\nThe movie is structured somewhat similarly to Tarantino's "Pulp Fiction," in that it's drawn from three (four counting the prologue and epilogue featuring Josh Hartnett) of Miller's seven "Sin City" books -- these being "The Hard Goodbye," "The Big Fat Kill" and "That Yellow Bastard." This allows characters from different stories to interact with one another, sometimes in spite of having been killed earlier in the picture.\n"Sin City" kicks off with the first third of "Bastard," casting Bruce Willis as Hartigan, a hardened cop with a heart of gold, pursuing a senator's sicko son (Nick Stahl). This segues into "Goodbye," in which massive malefactor Marv (Mickey Rourke, in a career and film-best performance) looks to avenge angelic Goldie's (Jaime King) murder at the hands of cannibalistic cretin Kevin (Elijah Wood -- far from the Shire). Then comes "Kill," where dashing Dwight (a cool as a cucumber Clive Owen) clashes with crooked cop Jackie Boy (Benicio Del Toro, playing against the nobility of his "Traffic" trooper) while romancing barmaid Shellie (Brittany Murphy) and homicidal hooker Gail (Rosario Dawson, sporting Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time" duds and Pat Benatar's hairdo). Lastly, "Bastard" is brought to a close when Bruce busts out of the big house to save supple stripper Nancy (Jessica Alba) from the clutches of our titular yellow terror (also Stahl).\nSo far so good -- the film, shot digitally in black and white with flourishes of color, is undeniably gorgeous in spite of its grisly content and is slavishly faithful to its source material. This is a bodacious blessing and a compact curse. With Rodriguez using Miller's comic book panels as storyboards, coverage and transitions are occasionally lacking. The voice-overs that worked so well in the comics also seem hackneyed onscreen sometimes. Lastly, while Willis is great as Hartigan, he's too young to play a man nearing 70 and his makeup doesn't convey the age aptly. The role would've been tailor-made for Lee Marvin were he still alive. Perhaps Clint Eastwood could've donned his duster?\nNitpicks aside, "Sin City" is one hell of a ride -- noirish and nasty. It's rare for old school style and new school savagery to meld so cohesively: Miller, Rodriguez, Tarantino and their all-star cast make it fly.
(04/06/05 4:39am)
Booze, broads and bullets -- this is the world of Frank Miller's "Sin City," a series of celebrated graphic novels now translated to celluloid by Miller and writer/director/producer/cinematographer/editor/composer Robert Rodriguez. Rodriguez left the Director's Guild of America to ensure Miller's co-direction credit, as well as freeing up filmmaker friend Quentin Tarantino for guest directing duties. Smart move -- this is undeniably the most faithful comic book adaptation ever brought to the big screen.\nThe movie is structured somewhat similarly to Tarantino's "Pulp Fiction," in that it's drawn from three (four counting the prologue and epilogue featuring Josh Hartnett) of Miller's seven "Sin City" books -- these being "The Hard Goodbye," "The Big Fat Kill" and "That Yellow Bastard." This allows characters from different stories to interact with one another, sometimes in spite of having been killed earlier in the picture.\n"Sin City" kicks off with the first third of "Bastard," casting Bruce Willis as Hartigan, a hardened cop with a heart of gold, pursuing a senator's sicko son (Nick Stahl). This segues into "Goodbye," in which massive malefactor Marv (Mickey Rourke, in a career and film-best performance) looks to avenge angelic Goldie's (Jaime King) murder at the hands of cannibalistic cretin Kevin (Elijah Wood -- far from the Shire). Then comes "Kill," where dashing Dwight (a cool as a cucumber Clive Owen) clashes with crooked cop Jackie Boy (Benicio Del Toro, playing against the nobility of his "Traffic" trooper) while romancing barmaid Shellie (Brittany Murphy) and homicidal hooker Gail (Rosario Dawson, sporting Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time" duds and Pat Benatar's hairdo). Lastly, "Bastard" is brought to a close when Bruce busts out of the big house to save supple stripper Nancy (Jessica Alba) from the clutches of our titular yellow terror (also Stahl).\nSo far so good -- the film, shot digitally in black and white with flourishes of color, is undeniably gorgeous in spite of its grisly content and is slavishly faithful to its source material. This is a bodacious blessing and a compact curse. With Rodriguez using Miller's comic book panels as storyboards, coverage and transitions are occasionally lacking. The voice-overs that worked so well in the comics also seem hackneyed onscreen sometimes. Lastly, while Willis is great as Hartigan, he's too young to play a man nearing 70 and his makeup doesn't convey the age aptly. The role would've been tailor-made for Lee Marvin were he still alive. Perhaps Clint Eastwood could've donned his duster?\nNitpicks aside, "Sin City" is one hell of a ride -- noirish and nasty. It's rare for old school style and new school savagery to meld so cohesively: Miller, Rodriguez, Tarantino and their all-star cast make it fly.
(03/31/05 5:00am)
Surfing the new wave of New Wave -- think: Franz Ferdinand and the Killers -- comes Leeds, England-based band the Kaiser Chiefs (named after the South African football club). Cribbing off rock luminaries from the '60s (the Kinks), '70s (the Jam and the Clash), '80s (Adam Ant ... when he still mattered) and '90s (Blur), the Chiefs do chiefly what Kasabian -- the British band whose debut I reviewed last week -- didn't. They've taken their influences and run freely with them. Melding mod, punk, post-punk and the aforementioned New Wave into a cohesive whole is no simple task, but these Leeds lads make it sound so.\nEmployment is ably jump-started with the one-two punch of "Everyday I Love You Less and Less" and the album's Clash-like lead single "I Predict a Riot" (which might well insight one, it's that damned catchy). The first of these two tracks sets forth a trend that runs rampant through the rest of the record: breakups. This motif is heard on half of Employment's 12 tracks. The best of the bunch are Kinks-esque numbers "What Did I Ever Give You?" and "Team Mate" (the former has that band's mordant wit, the latter its sentimental balladry). Though, it's "Less and Less" that really hammers the hysterical heartache home. The track's just as propulsive as anything released by the Jam, and funny as hell to boot. Lead singer Ricky Wilson hollers hilarious hooks rhyming with the song's title, i.e. "I can't believe once you and me did sex" and "It makes me sick to think of you undressed," over the group's signature surging guitar (Andrew White), bass (Simon Rix -- no, not the dude who's done gay porn, MTV VJ'ing and Paris Hilton) and drum (Nick Hodgson) smash-ups. \nPerhaps I'm biased having heard just last week that my ex-girlfriend is getting married, but few bands tackle breakup bitterness as blithely as these Brits. Then again, the content leads one to believe the dumping was deserved, what with their prickish posturing -- as mine was. On "You Can Have It All" Wilson sings, "You can never hold my hand in public;" the obnoxiousness is upped on "Born to Be a Dancer" ("I came down at your request, to touch your breasts") and peaks with the aforementioned "What Did I Ever Give You?" ("I treat you like you're see through"). If this weren't enough, some cuts are homoerotic enough to make Tyler Durden blush. This is most evident on "Saturday Night," which includes the following ("Cut through the city on a Saturday night/Watching the boys on their motorbikes/I want to be like those guys/I want to wear my clothes tight") and the Beach Boys nod, "Caroline, Yes" -- "People say now that you look like me/'Cos you are everything I want to be."\nI struggle to remember a recent debut as assured as the Kaiser Chief's Employment (perhaps the Strokes' Is This It? or Kings of Leon's Youth and Young Manhood). Therefore, it's appropriate that "I Predict a Riot" is their calling card, as they are in fact one.
(03/30/05 4:54am)
Surfing the new wave of New Wave -- think: Franz Ferdinand and the Killers -- comes Leeds, England-based band the Kaiser Chiefs (named after the South African football club). Cribbing off rock luminaries from the '60s (the Kinks), '70s (the Jam and the Clash), '80s (Adam Ant ... when he still mattered) and '90s (Blur), the Chiefs do chiefly what Kasabian -- the British band whose debut I reviewed last week -- didn't. They've taken their influences and run freely with them. Melding mod, punk, post-punk and the aforementioned New Wave into a cohesive whole is no simple task, but these Leeds lads make it sound so.\nEmployment is ably jump-started with the one-two punch of "Everyday I Love You Less and Less" and the album's Clash-like lead single "I Predict a Riot" (which might well insight one, it's that damned catchy). The first of these two tracks sets forth a trend that runs rampant through the rest of the record: breakups. This motif is heard on half of Employment's 12 tracks. The best of the bunch are Kinks-esque numbers "What Did I Ever Give You?" and "Team Mate" (the former has that band's mordant wit, the latter its sentimental balladry). Though, it's "Less and Less" that really hammers the hysterical heartache home. The track's just as propulsive as anything released by the Jam, and funny as hell to boot. Lead singer Ricky Wilson hollers hilarious hooks rhyming with the song's title, i.e. "I can't believe once you and me did sex" and "It makes me sick to think of you undressed," over the group's signature surging guitar (Andrew White), bass (Simon Rix -- no, not the dude who's done gay porn, MTV VJ'ing and Paris Hilton) and drum (Nick Hodgson) smash-ups. \nPerhaps I'm biased having heard just last week that my ex-girlfriend is getting married, but few bands tackle breakup bitterness as blithely as these Brits. Then again, the content leads one to believe the dumping was deserved, what with their prickish posturing -- as mine was. On "You Can Have It All" Wilson sings, "You can never hold my hand in public;" the obnoxiousness is upped on "Born to Be a Dancer" ("I came down at your request, to touch your breasts") and peaks with the aforementioned "What Did I Ever Give You?" ("I treat you like you're see through"). If this weren't enough, some cuts are homoerotic enough to make Tyler Durden blush. This is most evident on "Saturday Night," which includes the following ("Cut through the city on a Saturday night/Watching the boys on their motorbikes/I want to be like those guys/I want to wear my clothes tight") and the Beach Boys nod, "Caroline, Yes" -- "People say now that you look like me/'Cos you are everything I want to be."\nI struggle to remember a recent debut as assured as the Kaiser Chief's Employment (perhaps the Strokes' Is This It? or Kings of Leon's Youth and Young Manhood). Therefore, it's appropriate that "I Predict a Riot" is their calling card, as they are in fact one.
(03/24/05 5:00am)
Leicester, England-based band Kasabian is the latest in a long string of U.K. rock bands making waves on their home soil (to the tune of a top five record), now looking to take the U.S. by storm. They certainly seem to have the tools for doing so in order. \nFirst, the band's name is shocking and/or bizzare as they're tagged after Linda Kasabian, one-time wheelwoman to the Manson Family-turned-key state witness. \nSecondly, they aren't original in the least. These dudes boast the sound of the Stone Roses and the swagger of Oasis. Lead singer Tom Meighan talks shit like an unofficial Gallagher brother, famously referring to Strokes frontman Julian Casablancas as a "posh fucking skier" in the pages of Britain's New Music Express -- this, in spite of sounding something akin to Neu!. While talented, Kasabian need to add up to more than the sum of their myriad influences (which also include, but are not limited to, DJ Shadow, Happy Mondays and Primal Scream) before flapping off at the gums. Their self-titled debut gives them a smidgen of ammo to do so, but it's more akin to the rations of a six-shooter than an M-16.\nThe album, culled from the band's most popular singles, opens admirably with the triumphant trio of "Club Foot," "Processed Beats" and "Reason Is Treason." The first comes on like Oasis' "Fuckin' in the Bushes" with a rip-roaring riff segueing into a heady, hooky bit of trance. "Processed Beats" boasts anything but and "Treason" is such a propulsive club-banger that it could get someone with two left feet dancing like John Travolta. Though, I could swear they sampled Lenny Kravitz's oft-heard "Lady" jingle from the Gap TV ads in the latter of the bunch.\nMuch of what remains on the rest of the record resembles filler, with exceptions being "L.S.F. (Lost Souls Forever)" "Test Transmission" and "Cutt Off." These numbers successfully bridge the gap between garage rock and house much like their forebears. "Running Battle" sounds like the ramblings of Jamiroquai's little brother, and the tunes unfortunate enough not to have vocals accompanying them (the ridiculously-titled "Ovary Stripe" for one) might as well be leftovers from a Basement Jaxx album. If that's not enough, Kasabian's closer "U Boat" sounds like the ugly, musical love child of Travis and Moby -- two artists OK on their own, but not together. After a long lapse, listeners are greeted by the bonus track, an insanely sped up remix of "Treason," sounding like the crap Orgy doled out in their late '90s heyday.\nIt's apparent that Kasabian have talent as evidenced by the brighter spots on this self-titled record. Now, if only they could find their own voice.
(03/24/05 5:00am)
Bruce Willis' latest attempt to breathe life into his once thriving career comes in the form of "Hostage." While better than his other offerings of late -- the dreaded "The Whole Ten Yards" and "Tears of the Sun" -- it's nowhere near the goodness that is the first and third "Die Hard" flicks, "Pulp Fiction," "Twelve Monkeys" and the M. Night Shyamalan double shot of "The Sixth Sense" and "Unbreakable."\nHere, Willis stars as LAPD hostage negotiator Jeff Talley. In the first few minutes of the picture, as is par for the action movie course, everything goes awry. He's in the midst of talking down a suicidal/homicidal man with an itchy trigger finger. Lo and behold, the nutjob offs his wife, kid and himself. Talley, feeling immense amounts of grief and guilt, flees the city for a "safer" gig working as chief of police in the small Southern California suburb Bristo Camino. \nShortly into the new job, chaos rears its ugly head once more. A trio of troubled teenagers -- brothers Dennis and Kevin Kelly (Jonathan Tucker and Marshall Allman, respectively) and their freakazoid pal Mars (Ben Foster) -- take shady accountant Walter Smith (Kevin Pollack) and his children, teenaged temptress Jennifer (Michelle Horn) and twerpy tyke Tommy (Jimmy Bennett), hostage in their colossal compound hoping to jack the family Escalade. Wrong time, wrong place, fellas. Turns out Smith's cooking the books for the Mafia, and they'll do damned near anything to extract the evidence, including abducting Talley's wife (Serena Scott Thomas) and daughter (Willis' goofy-looking, real-life progeny Rumer) forcing his hand in procuring said incriminating materials.\n"Hostage," based on the potboiler novel by television writer Robert Crais, isn't particularly original. Anyone who's seen the film's trailer could finger it for the "Die Hard" meets "Panic Room" pastiche it most assuredly is. What damns the picture is also what makes it half-way watchable -- an inherent sense of darkness. A woman is shot in the back; a young boy in the throat. Headshots become the norm in a climactic Western-esque gunfight. A bevy of baddies are burnt to death via Molotov cocktails. Willis' smart-ass schtick has been stripped away. Foster's grass-smoking, goth heavy is gruesome to the nth degree, and looks as though he wants to be The Crow something fierce. This makes him one of the most effective villains in recent memory. \nFrench filmmaker Florent Emilio Siri, who cut his teeth directing "Splinter Cell" video games and the so-so "Assault on Precinct 13" rip-off "The Nest," captures the savagery stylistically. This dude has obviously rented a fair share of Alfred Hitchcock's oeuvre, as he spends enough time on a crane to qualify for union dues. Dramatic push-ins and pull-outs are also the norm. Siri even rigs cameras to his actors resulting in "flotation" shots resembling those seen in Spike Lee's works.\nAlthough handsomely mounted and acted, "Hostage" is ultimately just too icky and unsettling for its own good. Seeing children put in jeopardy is one thing, having an entire film rest its crux on such notions is mildly offensive.
(03/23/05 4:45am)
Bruce Willis' latest attempt to breathe life into his once thriving career comes in the form of "Hostage." While better than his other offerings of late -- the dreaded "The Whole Ten Yards" and "Tears of the Sun" -- it's nowhere near the goodness that is the first and third "Die Hard" flicks, "Pulp Fiction," "Twelve Monkeys" and the M. Night Shyamalan double shot of "The Sixth Sense" and "Unbreakable."\nHere, Willis stars as LAPD hostage negotiator Jeff Talley. In the first few minutes of the picture, as is par for the action movie course, everything goes awry. He's in the midst of talking down a suicidal/homicidal man with an itchy trigger finger. Lo and behold, the nutjob offs his wife, kid and himself. Talley, feeling immense amounts of grief and guilt, flees the city for a "safer" gig working as chief of police in the small Southern California suburb Bristo Camino. \nShortly into the new job, chaos rears its ugly head once more. A trio of troubled teenagers -- brothers Dennis and Kevin Kelly (Jonathan Tucker and Marshall Allman, respectively) and their freakazoid pal Mars (Ben Foster) -- take shady accountant Walter Smith (Kevin Pollack) and his children, teenaged temptress Jennifer (Michelle Horn) and twerpy tyke Tommy (Jimmy Bennett), hostage in their colossal compound hoping to jack the family Escalade. Wrong time, wrong place, fellas. Turns out Smith's cooking the books for the Mafia, and they'll do damned near anything to extract the evidence, including abducting Talley's wife (Serena Scott Thomas) and daughter (Willis' goofy-looking, real-life progeny Rumer) forcing his hand in procuring said incriminating materials.\n"Hostage," based on the potboiler novel by television writer Robert Crais, isn't particularly original. Anyone who's seen the film's trailer could finger it for the "Die Hard" meets "Panic Room" pastiche it most assuredly is. What damns the picture is also what makes it half-way watchable -- an inherent sense of darkness. A woman is shot in the back; a young boy in the throat. Headshots become the norm in a climactic Western-esque gunfight. A bevy of baddies are burnt to death via Molotov cocktails. Willis' smart-ass schtick has been stripped away. Foster's grass-smoking, goth heavy is gruesome to the nth degree, and looks as though he wants to be The Crow something fierce. This makes him one of the most effective villains in recent memory. \nFrench filmmaker Florent Emilio Siri, who cut his teeth directing "Splinter Cell" video games and the so-so "Assault on Precinct 13" rip-off "The Nest," captures the savagery stylistically. This dude has obviously rented a fair share of Alfred Hitchcock's oeuvre, as he spends enough time on a crane to qualify for union dues. Dramatic push-ins and pull-outs are also the norm. Siri even rigs cameras to his actors resulting in "flotation" shots resembling those seen in Spike Lee's works.\nAlthough handsomely mounted and acted, "Hostage" is ultimately just too icky and unsettling for its own good. Seeing children put in jeopardy is one thing, having an entire film rest its crux on such notions is mildly offensive.
(03/23/05 4:37am)
Leicester, England-based band Kasabian is the latest in a long string of U.K. rock bands making waves on their home soil (to the tune of a top five record), now looking to take the U.S. by storm. They certainly seem to have the tools for doing so in order. \nFirst, the band's name is shocking and/or bizzare as they're tagged after Linda Kasabian, one-time wheelwoman to the Manson Family-turned-key state witness. \nSecondly, they aren't original in the least. These dudes boast the sound of the Stone Roses and the swagger of Oasis. Lead singer Tom Meighan talks shit like an unofficial Gallagher brother, famously referring to Strokes frontman Julian Casablancas as a "posh fucking skier" in the pages of Britain's New Music Express -- this, in spite of sounding something akin to Neu!. While talented, Kasabian need to add up to more than the sum of their myriad influences (which also include, but are not limited to, DJ Shadow, Happy Mondays and Primal Scream) before flapping off at the gums. Their self-titled debut gives them a smidgen of ammo to do so, but it's more akin to the rations of a six-shooter than an M-16.\nThe album, culled from the band's most popular singles, opens admirably with the triumphant trio of "Club Foot," "Processed Beats" and "Reason Is Treason." The first comes on like Oasis' "Fuckin' in the Bushes" with a rip-roaring riff segueing into a heady, hooky bit of trance. "Processed Beats" boasts anything but and "Treason" is such a propulsive club-banger that it could get someone with two left feet dancing like John Travolta. Though, I could swear they sampled Lenny Kravitz's oft-heard "Lady" jingle from the Gap TV ads in the latter of the bunch.\nMuch of what remains on the rest of the record resembles filler, with exceptions being "L.S.F. (Lost Souls Forever)" "Test Transmission" and "Cutt Off." These numbers successfully bridge the gap between garage rock and house much like their forebears. "Running Battle" sounds like the ramblings of Jamiroquai's little brother, and the tunes unfortunate enough not to have vocals accompanying them (the ridiculously-titled "Ovary Stripe" for one) might as well be leftovers from a Basement Jaxx album. If that's not enough, Kasabian's closer "U Boat" sounds like the ugly, musical love child of Travis and Moby -- two artists OK on their own, but not together. After a long lapse, listeners are greeted by the bonus track, an insanely sped up remix of "Treason," sounding like the crap Orgy doled out in their late '90s heyday.\nIt's apparent that Kasabian have talent as evidenced by the brighter spots on this self-titled record. Now, if only they could find their own voice.
(03/10/05 5:00am)
Ten years after "Get Shorty" hit theaters comes the unnecessary but intermittently entertaining sequel, "Be Cool." Despite dismissals from numerous critics across the country, "Cool" actually lives up to its name at times. Downfalls come about as the movie is propelled less by plot than a series of vignettes, i.e. the sum of its parts don't add up to a cohesive whole.\nJohn Travolta reprises his role as shylock-turned-movie producer Chili Palmer. Disillusioned with the film biz, Chili opts to throw his hat into the music-managing arena, as the recording industry is comparatively "more honest about its dishonesty." In doing so, he takes fresh-faced diva Linda Moon (the cute as a button Christina Milian) under his wing and partners up with indie label-owning Edie Athens (Uma Thurman), the widow of Chili's late Brooklyn buddy, Tommy (James Woods). As is always the case, there's a snag. Linda's already under contract with the inane girl group Chicks Int., managed by wanksta Raji (the always hilarious Vince Vaughn) and shyster Nick Carr (Harvey Keitel). As such, the men sic Raji's gay, actor wannabe bodyguard, Elliot Wilhelm (The Rock), and ham sandwich-eating, swing-dancing assassin Joe Loop (the late Robert Pastorelli) on Chili. To throw fuel on the fire, Edie's label is in debt to Suge Knight stand-in Sin LaSalle (Cedric the Entertainer) and his recording artists/hired muscle the Dub-MDs -- headed up by trigger-happy twerp Dabu (André Benjamin aka André 3000 of OutKast) and a bevy of black bodybuilders. What's more, Chili witnessed Tommy's gangland slaying at the hands of a toupe-topped Russian Mafiaso, so the Russkies are also out for blood.\nWhile the movie and many of its performers often entertain, there's a weird ambiance to the proceedings. Vaughn expertly throws a healthy dose of Vanilla Ice into his patented wiseass shtick. The Rock hysterically cites "Bring It On" and sings Loretta Lynn's "You Ain't Woman Enough." And the usually annoying Cedric the Entertainer bests solid work in "Intolerable Cruelty" and his series of Bud Light ads with a Samuel L. Jackson-esque monologue about black appreciation. However, the film's faults are many. It's often too self-reflexive, i.e. Travolta and Thurman's dance number nod to "Pulp Fiction" and Chili's acknowledgment of the one f-bomb per PG-13 movie quota, to which he says, "Fuck it." The flick is also insanely dated: characters chill at the Viper Room, Sixpence None the Richer's "Kiss Me" is played without irony, etc. Cameos from Danny DeVito, Wyclef Jean, Gene Simmons, Fred Durst, Anna Nicole Smith, The RZA, Seth Green and Aerosmith (Steven Tyler creepily owns up to the notion that the sexually-charged "Sweet Emotion" is a tribute to his daughters) are obvious attempts to fill-in plot gaps. Lastly, much of the humor stems from running gags concerning hairpieces and homosexuality, which places them well within the realm of low-brow.\nDirector F. Gary Gray ("Friday," "The Italian Job") replaces "Shorty" shooter Barry Sonnenfeld on "Cool," and while neither man is a particularly great filmmaker, Sonnenfeld's style better suits the material. The same can be said for screenwriter Peter Steinfeld, whose mob miss "Analyze That" should've made him the last choice for this similarly-themed Elmore Leonard adaptation. "Shorty" scribe Scott Frank is a natural with Dutch's material, as evidenced by the aforementioned picture and "Out of Sight." While "Be Cool" isn't up to snuff with "Sight" or "Jackie Brown" ("Rum Punch" in book form), it's world's better than last year's "The Big Bounce," and therefore lives up to its title halfway.
(03/09/05 4:39am)
Ten years after "Get Shorty" hit theaters comes the unnecessary but intermittently entertaining sequel, "Be Cool." Despite dismissals from numerous critics across the country, "Cool" actually lives up to its name at times. Downfalls come about as the movie is propelled less by plot than a series of vignettes, i.e. the sum of its parts don't add up to a cohesive whole.\nJohn Travolta reprises his role as shylock-turned-movie producer Chili Palmer. Disillusioned with the film biz, Chili opts to throw his hat into the music-managing arena, as the recording industry is comparatively "more honest about its dishonesty." In doing so, he takes fresh-faced diva Linda Moon (the cute as a button Christina Milian) under his wing and partners up with indie label-owning Edie Athens (Uma Thurman), the widow of Chili's late Brooklyn buddy, Tommy (James Woods). As is always the case, there's a snag. Linda's already under contract with the inane girl group Chicks Int., managed by wanksta Raji (the always hilarious Vince Vaughn) and shyster Nick Carr (Harvey Keitel). As such, the men sic Raji's gay, actor wannabe bodyguard, Elliot Wilhelm (The Rock), and ham sandwich-eating, swing-dancing assassin Joe Loop (the late Robert Pastorelli) on Chili. To throw fuel on the fire, Edie's label is in debt to Suge Knight stand-in Sin LaSalle (Cedric the Entertainer) and his recording artists/hired muscle the Dub-MDs -- headed up by trigger-happy twerp Dabu (André Benjamin aka André 3000 of OutKast) and a bevy of black bodybuilders. What's more, Chili witnessed Tommy's gangland slaying at the hands of a toupe-topped Russian Mafiaso, so the Russkies are also out for blood.\nWhile the movie and many of its performers often entertain, there's a weird ambiance to the proceedings. Vaughn expertly throws a healthy dose of Vanilla Ice into his patented wiseass shtick. The Rock hysterically cites "Bring It On" and sings Loretta Lynn's "You Ain't Woman Enough." And the usually annoying Cedric the Entertainer bests solid work in "Intolerable Cruelty" and his series of Bud Light ads with a Samuel L. Jackson-esque monologue about black appreciation. However, the film's faults are many. It's often too self-reflexive, i.e. Travolta and Thurman's dance number nod to "Pulp Fiction" and Chili's acknowledgment of the one f-bomb per PG-13 movie quota, to which he says, "Fuck it." The flick is also insanely dated: characters chill at the Viper Room, Sixpence None the Richer's "Kiss Me" is played without irony, etc. Cameos from Danny DeVito, Wyclef Jean, Gene Simmons, Fred Durst, Anna Nicole Smith, The RZA, Seth Green and Aerosmith (Steven Tyler creepily owns up to the notion that the sexually-charged "Sweet Emotion" is a tribute to his daughters) are obvious attempts to fill-in plot gaps. Lastly, much of the humor stems from running gags concerning hairpieces and homosexuality, which places them well within the realm of low-brow.\nDirector F. Gary Gray ("Friday," "The Italian Job") replaces "Shorty" shooter Barry Sonnenfeld on "Cool," and while neither man is a particularly great filmmaker, Sonnenfeld's style better suits the material. The same can be said for screenwriter Peter Steinfeld, whose mob miss "Analyze That" should've made him the last choice for this similarly-themed Elmore Leonard adaptation. "Shorty" scribe Scott Frank is a natural with Dutch's material, as evidenced by the aforementioned picture and "Out of Sight." While "Be Cool" isn't up to snuff with "Sight" or "Jackie Brown" ("Rum Punch" in book form), it's world's better than last year's "The Big Bounce," and therefore lives up to its title halfway.
(03/03/05 5:00am)
I love "The O.C." There, I've done it. Friends, family and co-workers know I dig television's premiere prime time soap (and poke fun at me unmercilessly for doing so), now so do you. Am I a wuss? Maybe, but not because of my affinity for Fox's firecracker of a series.\nSure, it's not the best thing on TV. That honor could go to a slew of other, better programs (HBO's "The Sopranos," "Curb Your Enthusiasm" and "Deadwood;" FX's three late-night dramas "The Shield," "Nip/Tuck" and "Rescue Me;" Comedy Central's "South Park" and "Chappelle's Show;" NBC's "Late Night with Conan O'Brien" or even other Fox shows "The Simpsons," "24," "Arrested Development" and the soon-to-return "Family Guy"), but I'll be damned if it's not one of the most addictive.\nFor those not in the know, I'll summarize the greatness that is "The O.C." as succinctly as possible. It's a soap opera, so bear with me. The show revolves around the Cohen clan -- attorney, dad and all-around good guy, Sandy (Peter Gallagher), mom and real estate maven, Kirsten (Kelly Rowan), and their smart-alecky son, Seth (comedic wunderkind Adam Brody). The Cohens, good folks that they are, have taken in an underaged client of Sandy's. His name is Ryan Atwood (Benjamin McKenzie), and as per usual, he's from the wrong side of the tracks. In the case of Orange County, Calif., that'd be Chino. In spite of being a rather nice and intelligent dude, Ryan's wreaking havoc on suburbia (think: "Good Will Hunting" syndrome); punching-out player haters at debutante balls, torching a model home, impregnating his old school, Chino chica, balling the well-to-do babe next door, Marissa Cooper (sexy stick figure Mischa Barton), etc. \nSpeaking of the Coopers -- they're in a whole other realm of screwed-up. Jimmy (Tate Donovan), the patriarch, was Kirsten's high school sweetheart and served as an investment banker until he got caught with his hand in customers' proverbial piggy banks. His wife, Julie (the deliciously bitchy Melinda Clarke), soon thereafter divorces him, tries to have Marissa committed, shacks up with and later marries Kirsten's father, Caleb Nichol (the appropriately priggish Alan Dale) -- this, in spite of boning her daughter's ex-boyfriend (Abercrombie and Fitch poster boy Chris Carmack) and her ex-husband. \nIf this weren't enough, Jimmy eventually screws around with Kirsten's wild-child sister, Hailey (Amanda Righetti, who defected to Fox's ill-advised "North Shore"). Ryan begins hooking-up with Caleb's illegitimate love child, Lindsay (Shannon Lucio, or as I like to call her -- Lindsay Lohan's clone). Seth has the conundrum of incessantly having to choose between the hot, Wonder Woman costume-wearing, mallrat, Summer (Brody's real-life girlfriend Rachel Bilson), the hot, emo and comic book-loving, Anna (pixie-ish actress Samaire Armstrong, also of HBO's "Entourage") and the hot, punk rock chick, Alex (the lovely Olivia Wilde) -- the last of whom is now unavailable as she's currently swapping saliva with Marissa (Hot!).\nEssentially, everyone is related in some shape or form. It's the stuff three-eyed babies, Jeff Foxworthy standup routines and peoples' preconceived (inaccurate, mind you) perceptions of Kentucky are made of -- only these O.C. inhabitants are lavished with loads of moolah and California sunshine.\nSure the show is contrived, but I'll give you four reasons why it's not the second coming of tripe such as "Beverly Hills, 90210" or "Melrose Place."\n1.) The Writing -- Creator Josh Schwartz knows his stuff and often writes the show's best episodes. "The O.C." is self-reflexive week in and week out. It mocks itself, its characters and its actors with wanton abandon, i.e. an episode entitled "The L.A.," where the kids hit Tinseltown and run into actor Grady Bridges (Colin Hanks), star of fictitious series "The Valley," who's essentially an assbag Seth/Brody proxy. Also, the pop culture references are second to none -- see last week's "Spider-Man" movie parody as a reference point. Lastly, the dialogue is witty -- a novel notion for prime time soaps.\n2.) The Babes -- Barton is gorgeous, but I'd love to take her to an In-N-Out Burger in hopes that she wouldn't catch the innuendo. Wilde is even better looking. Bilson is adorable, though, I'd have preferred to see her in Princess Leia's metal bikini as opposed to Wonder Woman's duds. Even the moms are a couple of MILFs; granted they're only 10 to 15 years older than the actors playing their kids.\n3.) The Dudes -- OK, you're hearing it here first: I have a hetero-man crush on Adam Brody. Perhaps I'm an egotist? Seth is a hell of a lot like me -- he's into movies, music, comic books and video games, is a smart-ass and frequently has problems with members of the opposite sex. Then again, he's half-Jewish, rich, lives in Cali, weighs about 50 lbs. less than me, etc. Either way, the dude's funny. I've suffered through the good "bad" movie "Grind" (it's like a car crash in that you can't divert your eyes) a few times on HBO just to see the cat in something else. His sterling work on "The O.C." seems to be paying off with supporting roles in the upcoming Brad Pitt/Angelina Jolie comedic actioneer "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" and the all-star satire "Thank You for Smoking" with Robert Duvall and William H. Macy.\nIn addition to Brody, there's Peter Gallagher. This guy never got enough credit for his solid turns in Steven Soderbergh's "Sex, Lies, and Videotape" and "The Underneath," as well as Sam Mendes' "American Beauty" (he was sleazy real estate "king," Buddy Kane). On "The O.C.," Gallagher stands in contention with Homer Simpson, Tony Soprano and Peter Griffin ("Family Guy") as TV's coolest dad -- only he's actually a good father and surfs. How cool is that?\n4.) The Tunes -- As a tip of the hat to the Flaming Lips' performance on "90210," "The O.C." often sports cool musical guests, i.e. Modest Mouse and the Killers. Episodes have also featured tunes by Elliott Smith and Jeff Buckley, as well as alive rockers Interpol, Ben Kweller and the Thrills. Covers of Oasis' "Wonderwall" by Ryan Adams and OMD's "If You Leave" by Nada Surf further highlight the show. Even the theme song, Phantom Planet's "California," while played-out, is cool.\nMaybe I'm not a nancy boy after all for liking "The O.C." Hell, I spent last Saturday afternoon shooting handguns and enjoy about a third of Sylvester Stallone's filmography (also referenced on "The O.C" -- Sandy rented the Italian Stallion's arm-wrestling classic "Over the Top" on last year's "Chrismukkah" episode). Then again, I could just be a creepy, gun-toting, Stallone-loving nancy boy.
(03/03/05 5:00am)
The Strokes meets Skynyrd label still holds true on Nashville, Tenn.-based Kings of Leon's sophomore album, Aha Shake Heartbreak, although having spent time touring and partying (as seen in the pages of Rolling Stone) with the aforementioned new school city slickers seems to have rubbed off. Much of the country flavor has been pared away (though, it's still very much present in the album's closer "Rememo"), replaced with Strokes-esque riffs, choruses, hand clapping and vocal intonations. It's as if the brothers Followill: Caleb (pipes), Nathan (skins) and Jared (slaps), and their cousin, Matthew (licks) -- their credits, not mine -- were asked, "If the Strokes jumped off a bridge, would you?" And the answer is a resounding, "Yes!" Luckily, it sounds pretty damned good.\nThere's a weird dichotomy at work on both this disc and the Kings' debut, Youth and Young Manhood. See, these youthful band mates (ranging in age from late teens to mid-20s) are the sons and nephew of a Pentecostal minister -- the titular Leon. While Leon evangelized on the road, the boys familiarized themselves with the devil's music. This furcated nature is especially apparent on Heartbreak, as the record is simultaneously cruder and more God-fearing than its predecessor. Allusions to cigarette-smoking, hard-drinking and deflowering virgins (the CD's vaginal cover art is no accident) parry with imagery of receiving the Lord's mercy and notions of bowing down upon one knee in prayer. \nUndeniably, brimstone and Bible belt make interesting bedfellows. I'm just surprised by how far Kings of Leon pushed the boundaries this time out. Lyrical violence is nothing new to these fellas -- the insanely catchy "Joe's Head," off the debut, made reference to popping a cap into some poor schmuck's dome and following that up with a smoke. Here, brutality rears its nasty head on the ferocious (both lyrically and instrumentally) "Four Kicks," in which the guitar, bass and drums literally battle one another and Caleb barks the following in a Bon Scott-esque bluster, "You get your switchblade posse/I'll get my guns from the south/We'll take to the yard like a cockfight/Four kicks whose strutting now." He continues onward in an equally aggressive manner: "This party is overrated/but there ain't shit else to do/She's a lovin' on the boy from the city/I'll be lovin' him under my shoe." It's the wit seen in the latter portion of this passage that makes things palatable.\nSexually, the album is even more adventurous. The rousing opener, "Slow Night, So Long," sports undulating guitar riffs and bass licks which slither like a trouser snake, alongside suggestive lyrics such as: "Slow night so long, she's frenching out the flavor, she's 17 but I done went and plum forgot it." The tune's milieu doesn't cease there -- "She's opened up just like she really knows me/I hate her face, but enjoy the company/ I'll take you home, or back to Oklahoma/You're not so nice, but the sex sells so cheap." If you think this is the long and short of it, you're sorely mistaken. "Soft" is one of the most sexually explicit songs I've heard since Prince found God. Ironic, as the Kings came up as Holy Rollers. While the instrumentals are pure Strokes, the lyrics are more akin to a flaccid Penthouse Forum entry: "I'm passed out in your garden/I'm in I can't get off so soft/I'd pop myself in your body/I'd come into your party but I'm soft." Sexuality is inherent to rock 'n' roll, it's just funny to hear it come from a lot of preacher's kids.\nContent aside (not that any of it's bad -- in fact, it's quite good -- just surprising), the record is rad. Under the direction of producer/mixer Ethan Johns (who oversaw Manhood), the Kings recorded live in the studio without overdubs. For a band that's supposedly better onstage than on disc, the stripped-down style works nicely. "King of the Rodeo" is hooky as hell, as is "Taper Jean Girl." The first single, "The Bucket," is even catchier. "Pistol of Fire" sounds like Creedence Clearwater Revival if John Fogerty were punched in the nuts and kicked in the ass by Satan himself. "Milk," Heartbreak's sole ballad is appropriately beatific with a fully-developed sense of desperation. "Razz" has so much forward motion it sounds as though it were cut for an action movie promo. "Day Old Blues" manages to make yodeling cool (yes, you read correctly), and "Velvet Snow" seems tailor-made for a methamphetamine-fueled episode of "Hee Haw."\nKings of Leon have already made waves overseas, especially in the U.K., where "hillbillies" serve as a novelty act. Hopefully with the edgier and altogether more formidable Aha Shake Heartbreak, they'll soon be rock royalty here in the states.
(03/02/05 4:55am)
The Strokes meets Skynyrd label still holds true on Nashville, Tenn.-based Kings of Leon's sophomore album, Aha Shake Heartbreak, although having spent time touring and partying (as seen in the pages of Rolling Stone) with the aforementioned new school city slickers seems to have rubbed off. Much of the country flavor has been pared away (though, it's still very much present in the album's closer "Rememo"), replaced with Strokes-esque riffs, choruses, hand clapping and vocal intonations. It's as if the brothers Followill: Caleb (pipes), Nathan (skins) and Jared (slaps), and their cousin, Matthew (licks) -- their credits, not mine -- were asked, "If the Strokes jumped off a bridge, would you?" And the answer is a resounding, "Yes!" Luckily, it sounds pretty damned good.\nThere's a weird dichotomy at work on both this disc and the Kings' debut, Youth and Young Manhood. See, these youthful band mates (ranging in age from late teens to mid-20s) are the sons and nephew of a Pentecostal minister -- the titular Leon. While Leon evangelized on the road, the boys familiarized themselves with the devil's music. This furcated nature is especially apparent on Heartbreak, as the record is simultaneously cruder and more God-fearing than its predecessor. Allusions to cigarette-smoking, hard-drinking and deflowering virgins (the CD's vaginal cover art is no accident) parry with imagery of receiving the Lord's mercy and notions of bowing down upon one knee in prayer. \nUndeniably, brimstone and Bible belt make interesting bedfellows. I'm just surprised by how far Kings of Leon pushed the boundaries this time out. Lyrical violence is nothing new to these fellas -- the insanely catchy "Joe's Head," off the debut, made reference to popping a cap into some poor schmuck's dome and following that up with a smoke. Here, brutality rears its nasty head on the ferocious (both lyrically and instrumentally) "Four Kicks," in which the guitar, bass and drums literally battle one another and Caleb barks the following in a Bon Scott-esque bluster, "You get your switchblade posse/I'll get my guns from the south/We'll take to the yard like a cockfight/Four kicks whose strutting now." He continues onward in an equally aggressive manner: "This party is overrated/but there ain't shit else to do/She's a lovin' on the boy from the city/I'll be lovin' him under my shoe." It's the wit seen in the latter portion of this passage that makes things palatable.\nSexually, the album is even more adventurous. The rousing opener, "Slow Night, So Long," sports undulating guitar riffs and bass licks which slither like a trouser snake, alongside suggestive lyrics such as: "Slow night so long, she's frenching out the flavor, she's 17 but I done went and plum forgot it." The tune's milieu doesn't cease there -- "She's opened up just like she really knows me/I hate her face, but enjoy the company/ I'll take you home, or back to Oklahoma/You're not so nice, but the sex sells so cheap." If you think this is the long and short of it, you're sorely mistaken. "Soft" is one of the most sexually explicit songs I've heard since Prince found God. Ironic, as the Kings came up as Holy Rollers. While the instrumentals are pure Strokes, the lyrics are more akin to a flaccid Penthouse Forum entry: "I'm passed out in your garden/I'm in I can't get off so soft/I'd pop myself in your body/I'd come into your party but I'm soft." Sexuality is inherent to rock 'n' roll, it's just funny to hear it come from a lot of preacher's kids.\nContent aside (not that any of it's bad -- in fact, it's quite good -- just surprising), the record is rad. Under the direction of producer/mixer Ethan Johns (who oversaw Manhood), the Kings recorded live in the studio without overdubs. For a band that's supposedly better onstage than on disc, the stripped-down style works nicely. "King of the Rodeo" is hooky as hell, as is "Taper Jean Girl." The first single, "The Bucket," is even catchier. "Pistol of Fire" sounds like Creedence Clearwater Revival if John Fogerty were punched in the nuts and kicked in the ass by Satan himself. "Milk," Heartbreak's sole ballad is appropriately beatific with a fully-developed sense of desperation. "Razz" has so much forward motion it sounds as though it were cut for an action movie promo. "Day Old Blues" manages to make yodeling cool (yes, you read correctly), and "Velvet Snow" seems tailor-made for a methamphetamine-fueled episode of "Hee Haw."\nKings of Leon have already made waves overseas, especially in the U.K., where "hillbillies" serve as a novelty act. Hopefully with the edgier and altogether more formidable Aha Shake Heartbreak, they'll soon be rock royalty here in the states.
(03/02/05 4:24am)
I love "The O.C." There, I've done it. Friends, family and co-workers know I dig television's premiere prime time soap (and poke fun at me unmercilessly for doing so), now so do you. Am I a wuss? Maybe, but not because of my affinity for Fox's firecracker of a series.\nSure, it's not the best thing on TV. That honor could go to a slew of other, better programs (HBO's "The Sopranos," "Curb Your Enthusiasm" and "Deadwood;" FX's three late-night dramas "The Shield," "Nip/Tuck" and "Rescue Me;" Comedy Central's "South Park" and "Chappelle's Show;" NBC's "Late Night with Conan O'Brien" or even other Fox shows "The Simpsons," "24," "Arrested Development" and the soon-to-return "Family Guy"), but I'll be damned if it's not one of the most addictive.\nFor those not in the know, I'll summarize the greatness that is "The O.C." as succinctly as possible. It's a soap opera, so bear with me. The show revolves around the Cohen clan -- attorney, dad and all-around good guy, Sandy (Peter Gallagher), mom and real estate maven, Kirsten (Kelly Rowan), and their smart-alecky son, Seth (comedic wunderkind Adam Brody). The Cohens, good folks that they are, have taken in an underaged client of Sandy's. His name is Ryan Atwood (Benjamin McKenzie), and as per usual, he's from the wrong side of the tracks. In the case of Orange County, Calif., that'd be Chino. In spite of being a rather nice and intelligent dude, Ryan's wreaking havoc on suburbia (think: "Good Will Hunting" syndrome); punching-out player haters at debutante balls, torching a model home, impregnating his old school, Chino chica, balling the well-to-do babe next door, Marissa Cooper (sexy stick figure Mischa Barton), etc. \nSpeaking of the Coopers -- they're in a whole other realm of screwed-up. Jimmy (Tate Donovan), the patriarch, was Kirsten's high school sweetheart and served as an investment banker until he got caught with his hand in customers' proverbial piggy banks. His wife, Julie (the deliciously bitchy Melinda Clarke), soon thereafter divorces him, tries to have Marissa committed, shacks up with and later marries Kirsten's father, Caleb Nichol (the appropriately priggish Alan Dale) -- this, in spite of boning her daughter's ex-boyfriend (Abercrombie and Fitch poster boy Chris Carmack) and her ex-husband. \nIf this weren't enough, Jimmy eventually screws around with Kirsten's wild-child sister, Hailey (Amanda Righetti, who defected to Fox's ill-advised "North Shore"). Ryan begins hooking-up with Caleb's illegitimate love child, Lindsay (Shannon Lucio, or as I like to call her -- Lindsay Lohan's clone). Seth has the conundrum of incessantly having to choose between the hot, Wonder Woman costume-wearing, mallrat, Summer (Brody's real-life girlfriend Rachel Bilson), the hot, emo and comic book-loving, Anna (pixie-ish actress Samaire Armstrong, also of HBO's "Entourage") and the hot, punk rock chick, Alex (the lovely Olivia Wilde) -- the last of whom is now unavailable as she's currently swapping saliva with Marissa (Hot!).\nEssentially, everyone is related in some shape or form. It's the stuff three-eyed babies, Jeff Foxworthy standup routines and peoples' preconceived (inaccurate, mind you) perceptions of Kentucky are made of -- only these O.C. inhabitants are lavished with loads of moolah and California sunshine.\nSure the show is contrived, but I'll give you four reasons why it's not the second coming of tripe such as "Beverly Hills, 90210" or "Melrose Place."\n1.) The Writing -- Creator Josh Schwartz knows his stuff and often writes the show's best episodes. "The O.C." is self-reflexive week in and week out. It mocks itself, its characters and its actors with wanton abandon, i.e. an episode entitled "The L.A.," where the kids hit Tinseltown and run into actor Grady Bridges (Colin Hanks), star of fictitious series "The Valley," who's essentially an assbag Seth/Brody proxy. Also, the pop culture references are second to none -- see last week's "Spider-Man" movie parody as a reference point. Lastly, the dialogue is witty -- a novel notion for prime time soaps.\n2.) The Babes -- Barton is gorgeous, but I'd love to take her to an In-N-Out Burger in hopes that she wouldn't catch the innuendo. Wilde is even better looking. Bilson is adorable, though, I'd have preferred to see her in Princess Leia's metal bikini as opposed to Wonder Woman's duds. Even the moms are a couple of MILFs; granted they're only 10 to 15 years older than the actors playing their kids.\n3.) The Dudes -- OK, you're hearing it here first: I have a hetero-man crush on Adam Brody. Perhaps I'm an egotist? Seth is a hell of a lot like me -- he's into movies, music, comic books and video games, is a smart-ass and frequently has problems with members of the opposite sex. Then again, he's half-Jewish, rich, lives in Cali, weighs about 50 lbs. less than me, etc. Either way, the dude's funny. I've suffered through the good "bad" movie "Grind" (it's like a car crash in that you can't divert your eyes) a few times on HBO just to see the cat in something else. His sterling work on "The O.C." seems to be paying off with supporting roles in the upcoming Brad Pitt/Angelina Jolie comedic actioneer "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" and the all-star satire "Thank You for Smoking" with Robert Duvall and William H. Macy.\nIn addition to Brody, there's Peter Gallagher. This guy never got enough credit for his solid turns in Steven Soderbergh's "Sex, Lies, and Videotape" and "The Underneath," as well as Sam Mendes' "American Beauty" (he was sleazy real estate "king," Buddy Kane). On "The O.C.," Gallagher stands in contention with Homer Simpson, Tony Soprano and Peter Griffin ("Family Guy") as TV's coolest dad -- only he's actually a good father and surfs. How cool is that?\n4.) The Tunes -- As a tip of the hat to the Flaming Lips' performance on "90210," "The O.C." often sports cool musical guests, i.e. Modest Mouse and the Killers. Episodes have also featured tunes by Elliott Smith and Jeff Buckley, as well as alive rockers Interpol, Ben Kweller and the Thrills. Covers of Oasis' "Wonderwall" by Ryan Adams and OMD's "If You Leave" by Nada Surf further highlight the show. Even the theme song, Phantom Planet's "California," while played-out, is cool.\nMaybe I'm not a nancy boy after all for liking "The O.C." Hell, I spent last Saturday afternoon shooting handguns and enjoy about a third of Sylvester Stallone's filmography (also referenced on "The O.C" -- Sandy rented the Italian Stallion's arm-wrestling classic "Over the Top" on last year's "Chrismukkah" episode). Then again, I could just be a creepy, gun-toting, Stallone-loving nancy boy.
(02/24/05 5:00am)
Many comic book geeks have cried foul through the production and subsequent release of "Constantine," an adaptation of the DC/Vertigo title "Hellblazer." I'm only mildly familiar with the book and therefore have no attachment to the source material. Though, after seeing the flick, it's easy to empathize with these folks' consternations.\nIn "Hellblazer," John Constantine is a chain-smoking, blond Brit with a razor-sharp wit. Here he's ... well ... Keanu Reeves. Perhaps Paul Bettany ("Master and Commander") was too busy swatting balls while shooting the ill-advised "Wimbledon" or simply isn't a big enough name to carry a franchise. Either speculation is unfortunate, as the role is tailor-made for Bettany's look, lineage and onscreen persona. Instead we're saddled with Reeves, an actor who plays confusion far better than sarcasm, but at least he smokes. This casting misstep in conjunction with a divergent script from the brain trusts that brought us "Suburban Commando" and "The Glimmer Man" was enough to drive comic creator Alan Moore to have his name stricken from the film's credits. Smart move.\nAs I've already established, Reeves stars as the title character, an exorcist and supernatural detective of sorts. He's asked to assist policewoman Angela Dodson (the lovely yet obviously slumming Rachel Weisz) in figuring out the circumstances surrounding her twin sister's (also Weisz) suicide. In doing so, the two are thrown into the seamy underbelly of Los Angeles (which ironically enough is often thought to be hell on earth) replete with demons, an alcoholic priest, possessions and the like. I'd go into greater detail concerning the story were there more to explain. Sadly, this is about it aside from some mumbo jumbo revolving around the Christ-killing Spear of Destiny. Plot holes are prevalent and characters exist with no real purpose, i.e. Constantine's cabbie sidekick, Chas (Shia LeBeouf), who is neither funny nor looks old enough to drive. \nThat the filmmakers were able to snag the cast they did is impressive, especially considering the material's drabness. Accomplished actors such as Tilda Swinton, Coen brother and Jerry Bruckheimer regular Peter Stormare and Oscar-nominee Djimon Hounsou class this crap up in their respective roles of androgynous archangel Gabriel, Satan and voodoo weirdo Midnite. Sadly, the same cannot be said for the rest of the players. Reeves and Weisz should never work together again; between this and the 1996 clunker "Chain Reaction" bad omens are forming. Bush frontman Gavin Rossdale doesn't fare much better as the evil Balthazar. This dude should stick to doing what makes both he and the masses most happy: boning Gwen Stefani and not making new Bush records.\nThe film's saving grace comes in the form of director Francis Lawrence, a veteran of countless music videos for artists such as the Black Eyed Peas, Justin Timberlake and Aerosmith. Granted, the movie is a mess, but in his hands it's a beautiful one. Interesting camera angles, desaturated colors and varying film speeds lend this dreck a sense of artistry. His visualization of hell is also second to none, though it's eerily similar to images of Judgment Day seen in "Terminator 2." The bottom line is this: Lawrence is a talented bloke who'd benefit from better material. Audiences should say to hell with "Constantine" and await his next picture.
(02/23/05 5:05am)
Many comic book geeks have cried foul through the production and subsequent release of "Constantine," an adaptation of the DC/Vertigo title "Hellblazer." I'm only mildly familiar with the book and therefore have no attachment to the source material. Though, after seeing the flick, it's easy to empathize with these folks' consternations.\nIn "Hellblazer," John Constantine is a chain-smoking, blond Brit with a razor-sharp wit. Here he's ... well ... Keanu Reeves. Perhaps Paul Bettany ("Master and Commander") was too busy swatting balls while shooting the ill-advised "Wimbledon" or simply isn't a big enough name to carry a franchise. Either speculation is unfortunate, as the role is tailor-made for Bettany's look, lineage and onscreen persona. Instead we're saddled with Reeves, an actor who plays confusion far better than sarcasm, but at least he smokes. This casting misstep in conjunction with a divergent script from the brain trusts that brought us "Suburban Commando" and "The Glimmer Man" was enough to drive comic creator Alan Moore to have his name stricken from the film's credits. Smart move.\nAs I've already established, Reeves stars as the title character, an exorcist and supernatural detective of sorts. He's asked to assist policewoman Angela Dodson (the lovely yet obviously slumming Rachel Weisz) in figuring out the circumstances surrounding her twin sister's (also Weisz) suicide. In doing so, the two are thrown into the seamy underbelly of Los Angeles (which ironically enough is often thought to be hell on earth) replete with demons, an alcoholic priest, possessions and the like. I'd go into greater detail concerning the story were there more to explain. Sadly, this is about it aside from some mumbo jumbo revolving around the Christ-killing Spear of Destiny. Plot holes are prevalent and characters exist with no real purpose, i.e. Constantine's cabbie sidekick, Chas (Shia LeBeouf), who is neither funny nor looks old enough to drive. \nThat the filmmakers were able to snag the cast they did is impressive, especially considering the material's drabness. Accomplished actors such as Tilda Swinton, Coen brother and Jerry Bruckheimer regular Peter Stormare and Oscar-nominee Djimon Hounsou class this crap up in their respective roles of androgynous archangel Gabriel, Satan and voodoo weirdo Midnite. Sadly, the same cannot be said for the rest of the players. Reeves and Weisz should never work together again; between this and the 1996 clunker "Chain Reaction" bad omens are forming. Bush frontman Gavin Rossdale doesn't fare much better as the evil Balthazar. This dude should stick to doing what makes both he and the masses most happy: boning Gwen Stefani and not making new Bush records.\nThe film's saving grace comes in the form of director Francis Lawrence, a veteran of countless music videos for artists such as the Black Eyed Peas, Justin Timberlake and Aerosmith. Granted, the movie is a mess, but in his hands it's a beautiful one. Interesting camera angles, desaturated colors and varying film speeds lend this dreck a sense of artistry. His visualization of hell is also second to none, though it's eerily similar to images of Judgment Day seen in "Terminator 2." The bottom line is this: Lawrence is a talented bloke who'd benefit from better material. Audiences should say to hell with "Constantine" and await his next picture.