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(04/22/04 4:00am)
It's been said before and I'll say it again: Quentin Tarantino sure knows how to compile one hell of a soundtrack. Once more, he resurrects numerous forgotten musicians and songs, while seamlessly integrating his snappy dialogue into the proceedings.\nThose who dug the album accompanying "Vol. 1" may be disappointed with the new record. That's not to say it isn't any good -- it certainly is -- it's just disparate from its predecessor.\nRumors suggesting that "Vol. 2" is little more than an unabashed love letter to spaghetti Westerns seem founded, as much of the music is in this thematic milieu. Registering best among said cuts is Ennio Morricone's beatific "L'Arena." \nOther highlights include; Luis Bacalov's rockin' and reelin' "Summertime Killer" (a track tailor-made for onscreen ass-kicking), Johnny Cash's achingly heartrending "A Satisfied Mind," Morricone's ominous "A Silhouette of Doom" (this should be committed to memory by now, as it's appeared in nearly every trailer), notorious Sex Pistols manager Malcom McLaren's kitschy, between the sheets bombast "About Her" and RZA's untitled bonus cut featuring a prototypically foul-mouthed but nonetheless hilarious Dirt McGirt a.k.a. Ol' Dirty Bastard, which hearkens back to the inspired sounds of RZA as Bobby Digital in Stereo only traversed to Tarantino-land.\nThe record's not perfect, however. Shivaree's insipidly chick-y "Goodnight Moon," is likely to grate on your last nerve, and Chingon's "Malaguena Salerosa" (produced by Tarantino's filmmaking brother in arms and "Kill Bill: Vol. 2" scorer, Robert Rodriguez) sounds like something you'd hear in a Mexican eatery i.e. it's better after three or four Coronas in the midst of digesting fajitas.
(04/01/04 5:00am)
DMX's film career has essentially been what one might assume it'd be. Uninspired. He made his debut in hip-hop video stalwart Hype Williams' visually arresting if conceptually vacant hood saga Belly. He followed this up with a trio of slickly produced Joel Silver actioneers, i.e. Romeo Must Die, Exit Wounds and Cradle 2 the Grave, each with varying degrees of success. His latest, Never Die Alone, is a throwback hybrid of blaxploitation and the hard-boiled crime yarns of yore (after all, the flick is based on a novel by late junkie author Donald Goines).\nNever Die Alone director Ernest Dickerson's cinematic career could easily be compared to his star's. Dickerson cut his teeth as a cinematographer, ably lensing many of his NYU classmate Spike Lee's early films. He later branched out into directing with one of the earliest albeit least effective urban films to proliferate the early '90s, Juice. This was followed by an onslaught of crap: Surviving the Game, a schlocky Hard Target rip-off which displaced Jean-Claude Van Damme with Ice-T, brain-dead guilty pleasures Demon Knight and the Adam Sandler/Damon Wayans starrer Bulletproof and lastly, the lamest (and that's a bold statement) horror flick ever committed to celluloid, Bones.\nSuffice it to say, both of these talented men haven't been working up to their respective potentials. Sadly, the same can be said for their latest venture.\nNever Die Alone casts DMX (in a performance which is equal parts inspired and insipid) as King David -- easily his most morally reprehensible role to date. This character is not above breaking a glass bottle across a child's face or turning women onto coke, switching their dosage to heroin without notice and ultimately, when these chickenheads start grating on his nerves, spiking them with car battery acid. Monstrous misogyny of this sort is rarely seen on screen.\nThe story's structure is reminiscent of Sunset Boulevard, as David's story unfolds posthumously via audiotapes obtained by a journalist (David Arquette, in a surprisingly restrained turn). The fact that David recorded his life's travails is unlikely; the voiceovers which ensue are even more so, "We reap what we sow. Payback's a motherfucker."\nThe film's saving grace is the sterling cinematography of Matthew Libatique (best known for his bravura work in Darren Aronofsky's Requiem for a Dream). Gritty, flashy and assured - it's everything the flick wanted to be but failed. \nSo far as gangland cinema goes, this one's better than the similarly themed New Jack City, but viewers are still better off staying in and checking out Brian De Palma's Scarface or Abel Ferrara's King of New York -- true classics of the genre.
(04/01/04 5:00am)
N.E.R.D. broke out from behind the boards two years ago with its critically acclaimed (and rightfully so) debut, In Search Of…. The group comprised of super-producers du jour the Neptunes (Pharrell Williams and Chad Hugo) and fellow Virginian vocalist Shay have issued a follow-up, Fly or Die, and while very good, it may not be dug by the masses.\nThis record is a completely different beast than its predecessor. Where In Search Of… is essentially a straight ahead hip-hop album, albeit a really well done one, Fly or Die is a musical melting pot. Funk, punk, folk, pop, hip-hop and soul are integrated into a cohesive whole that's both entertaining and interesting, though, it may take a few listens to fully ingratiate yourself with the band's burgeoning sound.\nThe most conspicuous cuts off the record are actually its least compelling. Leadoff single, "She Wants to Ride," leaves something to be desired in spite of its side-splittingly stupid lyric, "Her ass is a spaceship I want to ride." Ditto the title track, "Fly or Die," which falters in lieu of prototypically proficient production and poignant subject matter -- the chorus is simply irritating and redundant.\nThe guest appearances, which normally undercut most hip-hop records, actually work to great effect here. "Jump," features a surprisingly tolerable turn by the Madden Brothers of Good Charlotte infamy. But the real showstopper is "Maybe," featuring masterful musicians Lenny Kravitz on guitar and the Roots' ?uestlove on drums. This is soul/rock at its finest.\nFly or Die oscillates between idiocy and integrity with great aplomb. "Don't Worry About It" is a track tailor-made for a Friday night kegger with its incessantly catchy chorus, "She's bad-bad-badass!" Without a doubt, this overtly sexual funk nugget will burn its way into your brain and you'll be all the dumber for it, but at least you'll be having fun. "Backseat Love" picks up where Prince left off in 1984, so ladies keep your distance from the speakers lest you get pregnant. In the midst of such stupidity comes "Drill Sergeant," a number which is simultaneously pop and political. When Pharrell sings of his fear of blowing up, you get the idea he's speaking literally as opposed to figuratively. Fellow artists take note: this is the way an antiwar song should be done.\nN.E.R.D. have relegated Spymob, the backing band off the first record, instead opting to play the instruments themselves. In doing so, neophyte guitarist Hugo leads the band through honorable homages to Curtis Mayfield ("Breakout"), Burt Bacharach ("Wonderful Place") and Stevie Wonder ("The Way She Moves," Chariot of Fire"), all of which are further propelled by Pharrell's stirring falsetto. Unoriginal, sure, but in spite of everything else, these guys make the old seem new again.
(04/01/04 4:08am)
N.E.R.D. broke out from behind the boards two years ago with its critically acclaimed (and rightfully so) debut, In Search Of…. The group comprised of super-producers du jour the Neptunes (Pharrell Williams and Chad Hugo) and fellow Virginian vocalist Shay have issued a follow-up, Fly or Die, and while very good, it may not be dug by the masses.\nThis record is a completely different beast than its predecessor. Where In Search Of… is essentially a straight ahead hip-hop album, albeit a really well done one, Fly or Die is a musical melting pot. Funk, punk, folk, pop, hip-hop and soul are integrated into a cohesive whole that's both entertaining and interesting, though, it may take a few listens to fully ingratiate yourself with the band's burgeoning sound.\nThe most conspicuous cuts off the record are actually its least compelling. Leadoff single, "She Wants to Ride," leaves something to be desired in spite of its side-splittingly stupid lyric, "Her ass is a spaceship I want to ride." Ditto the title track, "Fly or Die," which falters in lieu of prototypically proficient production and poignant subject matter -- the chorus is simply irritating and redundant.\nThe guest appearances, which normally undercut most hip-hop records, actually work to great effect here. "Jump," features a surprisingly tolerable turn by the Madden Brothers of Good Charlotte infamy. But the real showstopper is "Maybe," featuring masterful musicians Lenny Kravitz on guitar and the Roots' ?uestlove on drums. This is soul/rock at its finest.\nFly or Die oscillates between idiocy and integrity with great aplomb. "Don't Worry About It" is a track tailor-made for a Friday night kegger with its incessantly catchy chorus, "She's bad-bad-badass!" Without a doubt, this overtly sexual funk nugget will burn its way into your brain and you'll be all the dumber for it, but at least you'll be having fun. "Backseat Love" picks up where Prince left off in 1984, so ladies keep your distance from the speakers lest you get pregnant. In the midst of such stupidity comes "Drill Sergeant," a number which is simultaneously pop and political. When Pharrell sings of his fear of blowing up, you get the idea he's speaking literally as opposed to figuratively. Fellow artists take note: this is the way an antiwar song should be done.\nN.E.R.D. have relegated Spymob, the backing band off the first record, instead opting to play the instruments themselves. In doing so, neophyte guitarist Hugo leads the band through honorable homages to Curtis Mayfield ("Breakout"), Burt Bacharach ("Wonderful Place") and Stevie Wonder ("The Way She Moves," Chariot of Fire"), all of which are further propelled by Pharrell's stirring falsetto. Unoriginal, sure, but in spite of everything else, these guys make the old seem new again.
(04/01/04 3:58am)
DMX's film career has essentially been what one might assume it'd be. Uninspired. He made his debut in hip-hop video stalwart Hype Williams' visually arresting if conceptually vacant hood saga Belly. He followed this up with a trio of slickly produced Joel Silver actioneers, i.e. Romeo Must Die, Exit Wounds and Cradle 2 the Grave, each with varying degrees of success. His latest, Never Die Alone, is a throwback hybrid of blaxploitation and the hard-boiled crime yarns of yore (after all, the flick is based on a novel by late junkie author Donald Goines).\nNever Die Alone director Ernest Dickerson's cinematic career could easily be compared to his star's. Dickerson cut his teeth as a cinematographer, ably lensing many of his NYU classmate Spike Lee's early films. He later branched out into directing with one of the earliest albeit least effective urban films to proliferate the early '90s, Juice. This was followed by an onslaught of crap: Surviving the Game, a schlocky Hard Target rip-off which displaced Jean-Claude Van Damme with Ice-T, brain-dead guilty pleasures Demon Knight and the Adam Sandler/Damon Wayans starrer Bulletproof and lastly, the lamest (and that's a bold statement) horror flick ever committed to celluloid, Bones.\nSuffice it to say, both of these talented men haven't been working up to their respective potentials. Sadly, the same can be said for their latest venture.\nNever Die Alone casts DMX (in a performance which is equal parts inspired and insipid) as King David -- easily his most morally reprehensible role to date. This character is not above breaking a glass bottle across a child's face or turning women onto coke, switching their dosage to heroin without notice and ultimately, when these chickenheads start grating on his nerves, spiking them with car battery acid. Monstrous misogyny of this sort is rarely seen on screen.\nThe story's structure is reminiscent of Sunset Boulevard, as David's story unfolds posthumously via audiotapes obtained by a journalist (David Arquette, in a surprisingly restrained turn). The fact that David recorded his life's travails is unlikely; the voiceovers which ensue are even more so, "We reap what we sow. Payback's a motherfucker."\nThe film's saving grace is the sterling cinematography of Matthew Libatique (best known for his bravura work in Darren Aronofsky's Requiem for a Dream). Gritty, flashy and assured - it's everything the flick wanted to be but failed. \nSo far as gangland cinema goes, this one's better than the similarly themed New Jack City, but viewers are still better off staying in and checking out Brian De Palma's Scarface or Abel Ferrara's King of New York -- true classics of the genre.
(03/25/04 5:00am)
Say what you will about David Mamet: the man can write. I can think of few stage or screenwriters who use the immensely versatile word "fuck" with such aplomb (okay, Quentin Tarantino and Kevin Smith come close). In giving the coarse class, Mamet has turned obscenity into art. I respect this. You should too.\nSadly, his directorial chops just aren't up to snuff with the written word. Scripts scribed but not directed by Mamet include: "The Untouchables" and "Glengarry Glen Ross" -- both classics. Compare this to films in which Mamet sat in the director's chair. His debut, "House of Games" is nothing more than its title suggests -- a parlor trick. "Oleanna" is based on one of his stageplays, and it shows. "Heist" did little more than pilfer seven dollars from this critic's pocket. This brings us to "Spartan," Mamet's tenth film, and while it's a marked improvement (his criminally underrated "The Spanish Prisoner" notwithstanding), there's still something to be desired.\n"Spartan" casts Val Kilmer as Scott, a cool-as-a-cucumber Military man sought to reclaim the President's abducted daughter (relative newcomer Kristen Bell). Longing to aid him in the mission are Curtis (the likable Derek Luke) and Jackie Black (Tia Texada). Scott, lone badass that he is, rebuffs such notions of teamwork with the assertion, "If I want camaraderie, I'll join the Masons."\nSuffice it to say, the girl's kidnapping may not have been accidental, and thus, political cynicism runs rampant throughout. Such skepticism would be welcome were it not for an overall lack of wit, i.e., Mamet's trademark. The aforementioned line of dialogue and another ("Do you want to gossip or do you want to shoot somebody?") are about as pithy as things get. Also, the film is far too oblique. The President, while obviously the President, is never seen or referred to as such. Hence, barbs fly, but targets are murky. Lastly, when the considerable talents of William H. Macy and Ed "Al Bundy" O'Neill are squandered, something's obviously amiss.\nThat's not to say "Spartan" doesn't have its strong suits. Kilmer stoically underplays his role, though he can't wrap his tongue around Mamet's dialogue with the proficiency Alec Baldwin did in "Glengarry." A mid-movie con game (another Mamet staple) and two unexpected but deftly executed death scenes also elevate the material considerably. I just wish Mamet would give me my cake and allow me to eat it too.
(03/24/04 8:49pm)
Say what you will about David Mamet: the man can write. I can think of few stage or screenwriters who use the immensely versatile word "fuck" with such aplomb (okay, Quentin Tarantino and Kevin Smith come close). In giving the coarse class, Mamet has turned obscenity into art. I respect this. You should too.\nSadly, his directorial chops just aren't up to snuff with the written word. Scripts scribed but not directed by Mamet include: "The Untouchables" and "Glengarry Glen Ross" -- both classics. Compare this to films in which Mamet sat in the director's chair. His debut, "House of Games" is nothing more than its title suggests -- a parlor trick. "Oleanna" is based on one of his stageplays, and it shows. "Heist" did little more than pilfer seven dollars from this critic's pocket. This brings us to "Spartan," Mamet's tenth film, and while it's a marked improvement (his criminally underrated "The Spanish Prisoner" notwithstanding), there's still something to be desired.\n"Spartan" casts Val Kilmer as Scott, a cool-as-a-cucumber Military man sought to reclaim the President's abducted daughter (relative newcomer Kristen Bell). Longing to aid him in the mission are Curtis (the likable Derek Luke) and Jackie Black (Tia Texada). Scott, lone badass that he is, rebuffs such notions of teamwork with the assertion, "If I want camaraderie, I'll join the Masons."\nSuffice it to say, the girl's kidnapping may not have been accidental, and thus, political cynicism runs rampant throughout. Such skepticism would be welcome were it not for an overall lack of wit, i.e., Mamet's trademark. The aforementioned line of dialogue and another ("Do you want to gossip or do you want to shoot somebody?") are about as pithy as things get. Also, the film is far too oblique. The President, while obviously the President, is never seen or referred to as such. Hence, barbs fly, but targets are murky. Lastly, when the considerable talents of William H. Macy and Ed "Al Bundy" O'Neill are squandered, something's obviously amiss.\nThat's not to say "Spartan" doesn't have its strong suits. Kilmer stoically underplays his role, though he can't wrap his tongue around Mamet's dialogue with the proficiency Alec Baldwin did in "Glengarry." A mid-movie con game (another Mamet staple) and two unexpected but deftly executed death scenes also elevate the material considerably. I just wish Mamet would give me my cake and allow me to eat it too.
(03/11/04 5:00am)
Having only seen '70s TV cop staple "Starsky and Hutch" a few times, the premise of seeing the show revisited as a feature-length held little to no interest for me. That is, until I realized who was before and behind the cameras. As co-written and directed by impending comedic cinema maven Todd Phillips ("Road Trip," "Old School") and starring the seemingly inseparable Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson (following "The Cable Guy," "Permanent Midnight," "Meet the Parents," "Zoolander," "The Royal Tenenbaums" and botched sitcom pilot, "Heat Vision and Jack," this marks their seventh collaboration) -- the film held promise. Luckily, much of this promise is realized. Sadly, it isn't up to snuff with Phillips' previous efforts nor is it on par with much of the Stiller/Wilson output. Then again, that's a fairly tall order.\nStiller stars as David Starsky, a hardnosed, by-the-book cop who looms in the shadow of his deceased policewoman of a mother. Fellow officer, Ken "Hutch" Hutchinson (Wilson), plays by his own rules. The character is introduced in a slapstick homage to Cassavetes, i.e. he's knocking over a Chinese bookie. Hutch isn't above pilfering cash from dead men's wallets, cavorting with pimps and other nefarious types and doing drugs recreationally. Both men are embarrassments to the Bay City Police Department, and therefore, are teamed as partners by their Captain (blaxploitation icon Fred Williamson). After all, misery loves company.\nSoon enough, the boys stumble upon a washed up corpse and their first case. All signs point to Reese Feldman (a scenery chewing/fu manchu-sporting Vince Vaughn) -- a smarmy pusherman under the guise of model citizen and upper class philanthropist. Aiding the dynamic duo in their pursuit are lovable snitch, Huggy Bear (a solid if somewhat underused Snoop Dogg) and Starsky's prized cherry red 1976 Ford Gran Torino. \nStiller and Wilson are better than they've been in a while, as both are given roles tailored to their onscreen personas. Stiller's uptight asswad routine and Wilson's lackadaisical stoner shtick are honed to perfection. The two also have impeccable chemistry, which is good, as the homoerotic subtexts of the series are turned up to 11. Speaking of which, Will Ferrell absolutely kills in a cameo as a gay, dragon-obsessed prison inmate with the hots for Hutch. Though both men have romantic interests in the forms of cheerleaders: Holly (the comely Amy Smart) and Staci (Carmen Electra) -- the film is ultimately a love story between two dudes replete with Barry Manilow's "Can't Smile Without You" and a flittering, cartoon bird.\nEntertaining as all of this is, the flick is not without its problems. Many of the jokes are recycled and/or ruined by the trailers and television spots. A disco dance-off that pits Stiller against a portly Chia-head is laughable, but it's all too reminiscent of the walk-off in "Zoolander" or a similar number from the recent "American Wedding." Another gag involving a gun and its role in a horse's untimely demise dates all the way back to "Animal House." Lastly, ill-timed cameos from the original Starsky (Paul Michael Glaser) and Hutch (David Soul) sink the film in its waning moments.\n"Starsky and Hutch" is an entertaining waste of two hours. It's slick, sly and sports a gymnastically inclined Asian youth with a proclivity towards throwing knives -- if that ain't worth eight bucks what is?
(03/11/04 5:00am)
Playing the newly released "Ninja Gaiden" for Xbox will transplant many gamers to their youths -- rainy days spent indoors hacking and slashing through the side-scrolling adventures of ninja badass Ryu Hayabusa.\nPlayers again assume the role of Hayabusa, but the similarities essentially end there. Where the Nintendo and Sega Genesis incarnations (which are included as bonuses here) were fairly primitive, this version boasts the most cutting edge of 3-D technology. The graphics are generally very good, but it's the CG cut-scenes which will leave you writing to Tecmo asking for a new pair of jeans.\nSo, how is all this graphical wizardry being employed? Simple. The game is far more violent than its predecessors; in fact, I haven't seen katana-based havoc wrought like this since exiting Tarantino's splatterfest "Kill Bill Vol. 1." \nExercising such bloodletting is fairly simple with the game's responsive and easily graspable controls, but that's not to say the thing is easy. Many of your opponents may lose their heads like Martin Lawrence on a summer jog, but level bosses are more likely than not to bitch slap you back to grade school Rick James-style. The game is hard -- "throw your controller through the TV in a fit of anger" hard. Some of this is attributable to sharp AI, the rest can be blamed on a camera that's periodically tripped up like Hugh Grant on a hurdles course. \nFlaws and all, "Ninja Gaiden" is as mind-blowing as a shuriken to the temple.
(03/11/04 12:43am)
Playing the newly released "Ninja Gaiden" for Xbox will transplant many gamers to their youths -- rainy days spent indoors hacking and slashing through the side-scrolling adventures of ninja badass Ryu Hayabusa.\nPlayers again assume the role of Hayabusa, but the similarities essentially end there. Where the Nintendo and Sega Genesis incarnations (which are included as bonuses here) were fairly primitive, this version boasts the most cutting edge of 3-D technology. The graphics are generally very good, but it's the CG cut-scenes which will leave you writing to Tecmo asking for a new pair of jeans.\nSo, how is all this graphical wizardry being employed? Simple. The game is far more violent than its predecessors; in fact, I haven't seen katana-based havoc wrought like this since exiting Tarantino's splatterfest "Kill Bill Vol. 1." \nExercising such bloodletting is fairly simple with the game's responsive and easily graspable controls, but that's not to say the thing is easy. Many of your opponents may lose their heads like Martin Lawrence on a summer jog, but level bosses are more likely than not to bitch slap you back to grade school Rick James-style. The game is hard -- "throw your controller through the TV in a fit of anger" hard. Some of this is attributable to sharp AI, the rest can be blamed on a camera that's periodically tripped up like Hugh Grant on a hurdles course. \nFlaws and all, "Ninja Gaiden" is as mind-blowing as a shuriken to the temple.
(03/11/04 12:37am)
Having only seen '70s TV cop staple "Starsky and Hutch" a few times, the premise of seeing the show revisited as a feature-length held little to no interest for me. That is, until I realized who was before and behind the cameras. As co-written and directed by impending comedic cinema maven Todd Phillips ("Road Trip," "Old School") and starring the seemingly inseparable Ben Stiller and Owen Wilson (following "The Cable Guy," "Permanent Midnight," "Meet the Parents," "Zoolander," "The Royal Tenenbaums" and botched sitcom pilot, "Heat Vision and Jack," this marks their seventh collaboration) -- the film held promise. Luckily, much of this promise is realized. Sadly, it isn't up to snuff with Phillips' previous efforts nor is it on par with much of the Stiller/Wilson output. Then again, that's a fairly tall order.\nStiller stars as David Starsky, a hardnosed, by-the-book cop who looms in the shadow of his deceased policewoman of a mother. Fellow officer, Ken "Hutch" Hutchinson (Wilson), plays by his own rules. The character is introduced in a slapstick homage to Cassavetes, i.e. he's knocking over a Chinese bookie. Hutch isn't above pilfering cash from dead men's wallets, cavorting with pimps and other nefarious types and doing drugs recreationally. Both men are embarrassments to the Bay City Police Department, and therefore, are teamed as partners by their Captain (blaxploitation icon Fred Williamson). After all, misery loves company.\nSoon enough, the boys stumble upon a washed up corpse and their first case. All signs point to Reese Feldman (a scenery chewing/fu manchu-sporting Vince Vaughn) -- a smarmy pusherman under the guise of model citizen and upper class philanthropist. Aiding the dynamic duo in their pursuit are lovable snitch, Huggy Bear (a solid if somewhat underused Snoop Dogg) and Starsky's prized cherry red 1976 Ford Gran Torino. \nStiller and Wilson are better than they've been in a while, as both are given roles tailored to their onscreen personas. Stiller's uptight asswad routine and Wilson's lackadaisical stoner shtick are honed to perfection. The two also have impeccable chemistry, which is good, as the homoerotic subtexts of the series are turned up to 11. Speaking of which, Will Ferrell absolutely kills in a cameo as a gay, dragon-obsessed prison inmate with the hots for Hutch. Though both men have romantic interests in the forms of cheerleaders: Holly (the comely Amy Smart) and Staci (Carmen Electra) -- the film is ultimately a love story between two dudes replete with Barry Manilow's "Can't Smile Without You" and a flittering, cartoon bird.\nEntertaining as all of this is, the flick is not without its problems. Many of the jokes are recycled and/or ruined by the trailers and television spots. A disco dance-off that pits Stiller against a portly Chia-head is laughable, but it's all too reminiscent of the walk-off in "Zoolander" or a similar number from the recent "American Wedding." Another gag involving a gun and its role in a horse's untimely demise dates all the way back to "Animal House." Lastly, ill-timed cameos from the original Starsky (Paul Michael Glaser) and Hutch (David Soul) sink the film in its waning moments.\n"Starsky and Hutch" is an entertaining waste of two hours. It's slick, sly and sports a gymnastically inclined Asian youth with a proclivity towards throwing knives -- if that ain't worth eight bucks what is?
(03/04/04 5:00am)
English art rockers the Cooper Temple Clause will likely overwhelm listeners with its eclectic and all together heady mix of pop, jazz, metal and electronica, and that's not necessarily a bad thing.\nKick Up the Fire, and Let the Flames Break Loose follows the band's critically acclaimed UK debut See This Through and Leave with a sound that can best be described as Pink Floyd by way of Nirvana by way of Radiohead only far less accessible. Evidence of this can be seen most clearly in the album's closer, "Written Apology," an epic 10 minute number driven by the odd trio of lilting piano, progressively aggressive guitar and sci-fi synthesizer.\nThe Cooper Temple Clause shines most brightly in its flirtations with the mainstream and intermittent instances when instrumental tinkering takes a backseat to lead singer Ben Gautrey's vocals (think Thom Yorke fronting an emo band). "Blind Pilots" is most indicative of this trend. Therefore, it's my favorite cut off the record, and most likely to achieve crossover success. That title would likely have been occupied by "Into My Arms," a song tailor-made for the most passionate of make out sessions, that is, until it degenerates unexpectedly and more so unnecessarily into a Nine Inch Nails-lite exercise in Industrial. Sadly, excessive tinkering of this sort permeates the otherwise stellar album.
(03/04/04 3:46am)
English art rockers the Cooper Temple Clause will likely overwhelm listeners with its eclectic and all together heady mix of pop, jazz, metal and electronica, and that's not necessarily a bad thing.\nKick Up the Fire, and Let the Flames Break Loose follows the band's critically acclaimed UK debut See This Through and Leave with a sound that can best be described as Pink Floyd by way of Nirvana by way of Radiohead only far less accessible. Evidence of this can be seen most clearly in the album's closer, "Written Apology," an epic 10 minute number driven by the odd trio of lilting piano, progressively aggressive guitar and sci-fi synthesizer.\nThe Cooper Temple Clause shines most brightly in its flirtations with the mainstream and intermittent instances when instrumental tinkering takes a backseat to lead singer Ben Gautrey's vocals (think Thom Yorke fronting an emo band). "Blind Pilots" is most indicative of this trend. Therefore, it's my favorite cut off the record, and most likely to achieve crossover success. That title would likely have been occupied by "Into My Arms," a song tailor-made for the most passionate of make out sessions, that is, until it degenerates unexpectedly and more so unnecessarily into a Nine Inch Nails-lite exercise in Industrial. Sadly, excessive tinkering of this sort permeates the otherwise stellar album.
(02/19/04 5:00am)
A dark horse has emerged in the race for Oscar's Best Animated Film. Funny, freaky and subtly sweet in a way that's not overly cloying, "The Triplets of Belleville" may have what it takes to broadside the Mouse House and Pixar's perennial powerhouse, "Finding Nemo."\n"Triplets" is a warped comic fable that plays out like a far-flung hybrid of Walt Disney's serials of the '30s, the surrealist paintings of Salvador Dalí and Tim Burton's early exercises in the eccentric with a little Lance Armstrong thrown in for good measure. Oddities range from an elderly woman decimating a pond full of frogs via hand grenade to a Fred Astaire-esque dancer being eaten alive by his own tap shoes.\nWhat story there is focuses on Champion, an oddly aloof young man who lives with his sparkplug of a grandmother, Madame Souza, and their morbidly obese dog, Bruno. The boy eventually takes to cycling, and Souza, happy that her otherwise morose grandson now has a hobby, throws herself valiantly into his training. After a series of montages depicting the old lady -- whistle incessantly pressed to lips -- pedaling a tricycle behind her progeny, Champion reaches his goal of competing in the Tour de France.\nThen, without warning, he is abducted by two blocky baddies who plan to use him as part of an illegal gambling outfit. This entails Souza and Bruno's pursuit of the gangly grandson's captors. In doing so, the action is transplanted from Paris to the fictitious Belleville -- think New York City by way of Montreal (home of writer/director Sylvain Chomet) replete with a bloated Statue of Liberty mock-up. Here, they meet up with the titular Triplets -- vaudevillian jazz singers of yore who may hold the key to reclaiming Champion.\nEssentially void of dialogue, "Triplets" connects with audiences by way of startlingly good 2-D animation, some of the most innovative sound design I've heard in ages and an Oscar nominated title song that'll be stuck in your head until Spring Break … that is, if you're lucky. Still, there are lapses in the film i.e. ten minutes could've been cut from its midsection, but boredom is quickly quelled by way of the bizarre. \n"The Triplets of Belleville" won't appeal to everyone, and shouldn't be thought of as a children's film due to the fact that it's animated -- breasts, albeit cartoon ones, are flashed and a bicyclist is shot in the head. The film is also slyly anti-American -- U.S. citizens are portrayed as Neanderthal lard-asses whose lives revolve around Mickey Mouse and cheeseburgers. These traits are likely to alienate many, but those who enter with an open mind are in for a French treat from the fringes.
(02/19/04 12:43am)
A dark horse has emerged in the race for Oscar's Best Animated Film. Funny, freaky and subtly sweet in a way that's not overly cloying, "The Triplets of Belleville" may have what it takes to broadside the Mouse House and Pixar's perennial powerhouse, "Finding Nemo."\n"Triplets" is a warped comic fable that plays out like a far-flung hybrid of Walt Disney's serials of the '30s, the surrealist paintings of Salvador Dalí and Tim Burton's early exercises in the eccentric with a little Lance Armstrong thrown in for good measure. Oddities range from an elderly woman decimating a pond full of frogs via hand grenade to a Fred Astaire-esque dancer being eaten alive by his own tap shoes.\nWhat story there is focuses on Champion, an oddly aloof young man who lives with his sparkplug of a grandmother, Madame Souza, and their morbidly obese dog, Bruno. The boy eventually takes to cycling, and Souza, happy that her otherwise morose grandson now has a hobby, throws herself valiantly into his training. After a series of montages depicting the old lady -- whistle incessantly pressed to lips -- pedaling a tricycle behind her progeny, Champion reaches his goal of competing in the Tour de France.\nThen, without warning, he is abducted by two blocky baddies who plan to use him as part of an illegal gambling outfit. This entails Souza and Bruno's pursuit of the gangly grandson's captors. In doing so, the action is transplanted from Paris to the fictitious Belleville -- think New York City by way of Montreal (home of writer/director Sylvain Chomet) replete with a bloated Statue of Liberty mock-up. Here, they meet up with the titular Triplets -- vaudevillian jazz singers of yore who may hold the key to reclaiming Champion.\nEssentially void of dialogue, "Triplets" connects with audiences by way of startlingly good 2-D animation, some of the most innovative sound design I've heard in ages and an Oscar nominated title song that'll be stuck in your head until Spring Break … that is, if you're lucky. Still, there are lapses in the film i.e. ten minutes could've been cut from its midsection, but boredom is quickly quelled by way of the bizarre. \n"The Triplets of Belleville" won't appeal to everyone, and shouldn't be thought of as a children's film due to the fact that it's animated -- breasts, albeit cartoon ones, are flashed and a bicyclist is shot in the head. The film is also slyly anti-American -- U.S. citizens are portrayed as Neanderthal lard-asses whose lives revolve around Mickey Mouse and cheeseburgers. These traits are likely to alienate many, but those who enter with an open mind are in for a French treat from the fringes.
(02/05/04 5:00am)
Ben Folds fans rejoice! The name and fingers behind rock's greatest three-piece fivesome has returned with a series of three EPs. This, after an all-too-long hiatus following his 2001 solo debut, Rockin' the Suburbs, and his subsequent and wittily titled, Ben Folds Live, which dropped in late 2002.\nThe first of the bunch is a self-titled by a supergroup known simply as the Bens. The trio consists of Folds and fellow Ben's -- Kweller and Lee. I'm a huge fan of both Folds and Kweller, though Lee has never grown on me. I figure the guy gained notoriety solely as the former man slave of "My So-Called Life" starlet Claire Danes. Hell, he even managed to pooch-up his last record, Hey You. Yes You. -- to do so in spite of Dan the Automator producing is quite the bungle. Regardless, working with the Bens has done good things for this Ben i.e. he's far less grating. \nEach artist has his moment in the sun on the EP. Lee's showcase, "Xfire," is my least favorite of the bunch, but it's still catchy as all get out and his voice seems to be maturing nicely. "Stop!" sounds as if it were the kissing cousin of any track off Kweller's masterful debut, Sha Sha, "Bruised" echoes the golden days of Ben Folds Five and "Just Pretend" is the cute bastard child of these two styles. All in all, it's really solid stuff.\nThe other EPs, Speed Graphic and Sunny 16, are solo efforts. Of the two, I prefer 16. This is Folds in his element -- railing back against childhood bullies, wearing his heart unabashedly upon his sleeve amid romantic turmoil and mocking both the proliferation of commercial America and the inanity of the music biz. That he does so with such humor, grace and gravitas is the man's greatest asset. That's not to say Graphic isn't without its charms. Folds covering the Cure ("In Between Days") is a kick, and hearing him perform "Wandering," a song co-written with former bandmate Darren Jesse is a treat and a half.
(02/05/04 1:03am)
Ben Folds fans rejoice! The name and fingers behind rock's greatest three-piece fivesome has returned with a series of three EPs. This, after an all-too-long hiatus following his 2001 solo debut, Rockin' the Suburbs, and his subsequent and wittily titled, Ben Folds Live, which dropped in late 2002.\nThe first of the bunch is a self-titled by a supergroup known simply as the Bens. The trio consists of Folds and fellow Ben's -- Kweller and Lee. I'm a huge fan of both Folds and Kweller, though Lee has never grown on me. I figure the guy gained notoriety solely as the former man slave of "My So-Called Life" starlet Claire Danes. Hell, he even managed to pooch-up his last record, Hey You. Yes You. -- to do so in spite of Dan the Automator producing is quite the bungle. Regardless, working with the Bens has done good things for this Ben i.e. he's far less grating. \nEach artist has his moment in the sun on the EP. Lee's showcase, "Xfire," is my least favorite of the bunch, but it's still catchy as all get out and his voice seems to be maturing nicely. "Stop!" sounds as if it were the kissing cousin of any track off Kweller's masterful debut, Sha Sha, "Bruised" echoes the golden days of Ben Folds Five and "Just Pretend" is the cute bastard child of these two styles. All in all, it's really solid stuff.\nThe other EPs, Speed Graphic and Sunny 16, are solo efforts. Of the two, I prefer 16. This is Folds in his element -- railing back against childhood bullies, wearing his heart unabashedly upon his sleeve amid romantic turmoil and mocking both the proliferation of commercial America and the inanity of the music biz. That he does so with such humor, grace and gravitas is the man's greatest asset. That's not to say Graphic isn't without its charms. Folds covering the Cure ("In Between Days") is a kick, and hearing him perform "Wandering," a song co-written with former bandmate Darren Jesse is a treat and a half.
(01/29/04 5:00am)
Kevin Costner returns to the frontier with his latest entry to the Western genre, Open Range -- new to DVD. The film received strong critical notices upon its release this past August, and yet went relatively ignored by mass audiences. Those of you who missed Range during its theatrical run would be well advised to check out this sterling, 2-disc DVD set.\nRange is a welcome throwback to the Westerns of yore (i.e. it's the perfect movie to watch with your father, grandfather or John Wayne-lovin' uncle). Costner and Robert Duvall star as a pair of free grazers who eventually run afoul of a ruthless rancher (acclaimed Irish thespian, Michael Gambon). Troubles mount, and as was custom, squabbles are settled with six-shooters and scatterguns -- resulting in one of the best Western gunfights ever committed to celluloid. Yes, this includes Tombstone, Butch Cassidy, The Wild Bunch, The Magnificent Seven and any number of Sergio Leone's great spaghetti Westerns.\nThe DVD is good but not nearly as compelling as its source material. The special features are all very Costner-centric, which is to say there isn't a pie here that he doesn't have his finger in. I suppose this is appropriate, as Costner not only stars in the film but also directs and produces it, but I'd prefer to hear the insights of screen legend Duvall. Costner narrates the featurettes, "America's Open Range" (which is especially cool for its inclusion of letter excerpts from Teddy Roosevelt's cowboy days), and "Beyond Open Range," a director's journal that's notable for the unintentional humor of his spewing obscenities toward wary investors. A lackluster commentary track by Costner, unneeded deleted scenes, storyboards and a music video montage mostly consisting of, surprise, surprise, Costner riding atop his horse, fill-out the extras.\nWhile the DVD itself might be an exercise in egocentrism, one shouldn't hold that against the film. Open Range is one of the best (sure, it's also one of the few) Westerns I've seen in years.
(01/28/04 11:17pm)
Kevin Costner returns to the frontier with his latest entry to the Western genre, Open Range -- new to DVD. The film received strong critical notices upon its release this past August, and yet went relatively ignored by mass audiences. Those of you who missed Range during its theatrical run would be well advised to check out this sterling, 2-disc DVD set.\nRange is a welcome throwback to the Westerns of yore (i.e. it's the perfect movie to watch with your father, grandfather or John Wayne-lovin' uncle). Costner and Robert Duvall star as a pair of free grazers who eventually run afoul of a ruthless rancher (acclaimed Irish thespian, Michael Gambon). Troubles mount, and as was custom, squabbles are settled with six-shooters and scatterguns -- resulting in one of the best Western gunfights ever committed to celluloid. Yes, this includes Tombstone, Butch Cassidy, The Wild Bunch, The Magnificent Seven and any number of Sergio Leone's great spaghetti Westerns.\nThe DVD is good but not nearly as compelling as its source material. The special features are all very Costner-centric, which is to say there isn't a pie here that he doesn't have his finger in. I suppose this is appropriate, as Costner not only stars in the film but also directs and produces it, but I'd prefer to hear the insights of screen legend Duvall. Costner narrates the featurettes, "America's Open Range" (which is especially cool for its inclusion of letter excerpts from Teddy Roosevelt's cowboy days), and "Beyond Open Range," a director's journal that's notable for the unintentional humor of his spewing obscenities toward wary investors. A lackluster commentary track by Costner, unneeded deleted scenes, storyboards and a music video montage mostly consisting of, surprise, surprise, Costner riding atop his horse, fill-out the extras.\nWhile the DVD itself might be an exercise in egocentrism, one shouldn't hold that against the film. Open Range is one of the best (sure, it's also one of the few) Westerns I've seen in years.
(01/22/04 5:00am)
Torque is a tough movie to review. By calling it a movie I'm already giving this rubbish too much credit. Though, it's certainly entertaining rubbish.\nAs directed by Joseph Kahn, who cut his teeth lensing videos for acts as diverse as U2 and Eminem, Torque plays out as an hour and a half exercise in MTV-style quick cutting and crass commercialism. Product placement has never been this blatant -- biker chicks fight before Mountain Dew and Pepsi banners and every character drinks beer, that is, so long as it's Budweiser. \nThis isn't a narrative so much as it's a series of elaborate action sequences (the coolest of which places two bikers atop, inside and in front of a moving passenger train) strung together through incoherence. Again, this isn't an entirely bad thing. Stripped of any and all pretension, the cast and crew of Torque seem to know full well what it is they've gotten themselves into -- a cheesy, tongue-in-cheek throwback to the biker movies of the '60s and '70s spruced up with modern bells and whistles. Story and characterization are nil, but the bikes are bitchin' and the babes bodacious -- that's what truly matters in this serio-cartoony Jerry Bruckheimer Jr. fantasyland.\nWhat plot there is focuses upon Cary Ford (Martin Henderson of The Ring), who's suffering through two allegations seen in almost any low-rent action flick -- "you stole my drugs" and the more widely used, "you killed my brother/sister/mother/father/do-g/whatever" bent, which actually predates the dinosaurs. Anyway, he's just returned to Southern California from Thailand, where he sought refuge after accidentally coming into possession of some crystal meth belonging to mullet-headed biker/"Hee Haw" reject, Henry (Matt Schulze, who previously starred in The Fast and the Furious, of which this a blatant rip-off).\nHe's returned for his girl, Shane (the cute but all together too prissy for her role, Monet Mazur), his ragtag biker buddies (Jay Hernandez and Will Yun Lee) and to set things straight. But this is all thrown out of whack once he's framed for the murder of Junior (Onyx frontman Fredro Starr), younger brother of Trey (Ice Cube, scowling like you've never seen him scowl before -- he even mutters the eternal phrase, "Fuck the police"), a rival gang leader. Also hot on Ford's tail is a precocious FBI agent by the name of McPherson (Adam Scott), who wears Chuck Taylor's and rolls around in a jet black Hummer -- the guy seems more fit to host "TRL" than uphold the law.\nHaving rented a moped this past spring break, I know a thing or two about life on two wheels. Torque is about as far from that reality as can be, but it sure is a fun, albeit stupid, ride.