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(01/22/04 5:00am)
The Crystal Method came onto the electronica scene in the mid-to-late '90s as America's response to England's infinitely superior the Chemical Brothers. Seven years have passed since the duo, comprised of Ken Jordan and Scott Kirkland, dropped its debut, Vegas (the city from which they both hail) -- nothing has changed. \nAdmittedly, I know little about the artists. I've seen them live twice -- once with the Foo Fighters and Ben Folds Five, the second as part of the Family Values tour (yes, I liked Limp Bizkit in 12th grade too). Both times the pair managed to entertain. I don't own any of their records, and don't pretend to be a connoisseur of the musical genre that they inhabit. With this in mind, I was a tad disappointed with the ridiculously titled, Legion of Boom.\nThe record's not bad per se, it's just too damned long. Bleeps, bloops and the occasional rock-y guitar line are entertaining -- just not for 60-plus minutes. Though, I suppose it's suitable enough music to shake your ass or pop pills to. Leadoff cuts "Starting Over" and "Born Too Slow" (featuring former Bizkit guitarist, Wes Borland), as well as the coyly monikered, "Weapons of Mass Distortion," manage to rise above the paltry beats, silly lyrics and embarrassing guest appearances (Hello, Milla Jovovich! Keep singing like this and you'll be damned to a life of watching Kuffs on constant loop.). Legion of Boom isn't all gloom but it could certainly use more zoom.
(01/21/04 9:42pm)
The Crystal Method came onto the electronica scene in the mid-to-late '90s as America's response to England's infinitely superior the Chemical Brothers. Seven years have passed since the duo, comprised of Ken Jordan and Scott Kirkland, dropped its debut, Vegas (the city from which they both hail) -- nothing has changed. \nAdmittedly, I know little about the artists. I've seen them live twice -- once with the Foo Fighters and Ben Folds Five, the second as part of the Family Values tour (yes, I liked Limp Bizkit in 12th grade too). Both times the pair managed to entertain. I don't own any of their records, and don't pretend to be a connoisseur of the musical genre that they inhabit. With this in mind, I was a tad disappointed with the ridiculously titled, Legion of Boom.\nThe record's not bad per se, it's just too damned long. Bleeps, bloops and the occasional rock-y guitar line are entertaining -- just not for 60-plus minutes. Though, I suppose it's suitable enough music to shake your ass or pop pills to. Leadoff cuts "Starting Over" and "Born Too Slow" (featuring former Bizkit guitarist, Wes Borland), as well as the coyly monikered, "Weapons of Mass Distortion," manage to rise above the paltry beats, silly lyrics and embarrassing guest appearances (Hello, Milla Jovovich! Keep singing like this and you'll be damned to a life of watching Kuffs on constant loop.). Legion of Boom isn't all gloom but it could certainly use more zoom.
(01/21/04 9:35pm)
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.
(01/15/04 5:00am)
Faithful readers, after a prolonged respite I've returned with yet another installment of my ceaseless and predominantly pointless lists. Another year has come and gone, and with it comes the requisite, and by requisite I mean clichéd, Top Ten Films List. One must keep in mind when reading this list that I didn't see everything that came down the pipeline in 2003, though I did my damnedest. This list is not set in stone, and therefore, the Irish immigrants of In America, the teen temptresses of Thirteen and Charlize Theron and her newly mangled mug (Monster) will be riding the pine -- for now. So, with no further ado:\n1.) Lost in Translation -- Seeing this flick made me wish that Sofia Coppola hadn't starred in Godfather III, but rather directed it over her once great father. With LIT, she guides Bill Murray to the best performance of his career (yes, this includes his masterful turn in Rushmore), transforms the already solid Scarlett Johansson into the 21st century's first full-blown ingénue, pens the year's best original screenplay and proves that her stirring debut, The Virgin Suicides, is no flash in the pan. This is small-scale filmmaking done to epic proportions. \n2.) City of God -- Imagine splicing Goodfellas and Kids together, displace said work to the slums of Rio de Janeiro and you might have some facsimile of a clue as to the power of City of God. Stylish, sexy and scary as all get out -- this film announces the unadulterated cinematic strength of Brazilian director Fernando Meirelles. Working with a talented cast of young amateurs and aided by the top tier cinematography and editing of César Charlone and Daniel Rezende, he's created a masterpiece. \n3.) Kill Bill Vol. 1 -- Bar none, the coolest flick of this past year. Quentin Tarantino's six-year hiatus serves him well. The man can still fuse sight and sound with the best of them i.e. Martin Scorsese, Cameron Crowe and Wes Anderson. Additional props must also be given for bringing Sonny Chiba to mainstream American audiences' attention in a role that just screams badass and for crafting the best cliffhanger ending I've ever seen. Sadly, Vol. 2 has just been delayed to April. It can't come soon enough.\n4.) The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King -- Peter Jackson has made the greatest epic trilogy of all-time. Sure, other films in other trilogies are better than any one installment of this one, but from beginning to end this one takes the cake. Better than The Two Towers and a tad shy of the greatness that is The Fellowship of the Ring -- ROTK features the most awe-inspiring battle sequences ever committed to celluloid. With spectacle this grand, one is well advised to take it in at least a few times in the theater.\n5.) 21 Grams -- Without a doubt the most heartwrenching (no pun intended for those who've seen it) movie of the year. Immaculately structured and acted from top to bottom, the film makes good on the promise hinted at in Mexican director Alejandro González Iñárritu's startling debut, Amores Perros. If Sean Penn is to win an Oscar this year (personally, I'm pulling for Bill Murray), I hope it's for this and not the more highly touted Mystic River. His performance here is a thing of beauty. Similarly, Naomi Watts ups the ante on her Mulholland Dr. tour de force with one of the most emotionally raw portraits of grief I've ever seen and Benicio Del Toro equals the greatness that is his Oscar-winning work in Traffic. \n6.) Cold Mountain -- Director Anthony Minghella is batting two for three with me. I'm one of the few who sees The English Patient for what it truly is -- overly emotional pretentious tripe. His follow-up, The Talented Mr. Ripley, is a riveting psychological thriller of Hitchcockian proportions. Now, with Cold Mountain he's made his best film to date. Sure, it's essentially "The Odyssey" played out during the Civil War, but I'll be damned if it's not a stirring piece of cinema. The flick's opening and only battle sequence is a real humdinger -- soldiers' clothes are literally blown from their bodies. As lensed by veteran cinematographer John Seale, this is the most sumptuous-looking film of the year starring Hollywood's most stunning actress (Nicole Kidman). \n7.) Big Fish -- With this beautifully realized and thoroughly whimsical slice of Americana, Tim Burton has made his most emotionally satisfying film since Edward Scissorhands. The picture is elevated to wondrous heights via the performances of Ewan McGregor and Albert Finney -- they inhabit the same role in youth and old age. You'll want to call your dad and/or grandfather once it's all over -- that is, if you can stop crying. \n8.) Finding Nemo -- More fish. More crying. I'm a puss.\n9.) The Last Samurai -- Kurosawa this ain't. Though, it's a fine samurai film nonetheless. Tom Cruise is good, but it's his Japanese counterpart Ken Watanabe who truly astounds. The lush cinematography of frequent Cameron Crowe collaborator, John Toll, doesn't hurt matters either. \n10.) Mystic River -- This stands toe-to-toe with Unforgiven and the criminally underrated A Perfect World as Clint Eastwood's best directorial effort to date. Who knew Dirty Harry had the capability of turning what would normally be your standard issue police procedural into a gangland saga of Shakespearean proportions? Apparently, Sean Penn and Tim Robbins, who both kicked considerable ass in the film.
(01/15/04 4:15am)
Faithful readers, after a prolonged respite I've returned with yet another installment of my ceaseless and predominantly pointless lists. Another year has come and gone, and with it comes the requisite, and by requisite I mean clichéd, Top Ten Films List. One must keep in mind when reading this list that I didn't see everything that came down the pipeline in 2003, though I did my damnedest. This list is not set in stone, and therefore, the Irish immigrants of In America, the teen temptresses of Thirteen and Charlize Theron and her newly mangled mug (Monster) will be riding the pine -- for now. So, with no further ado:\n1.) Lost in Translation -- Seeing this flick made me wish that Sofia Coppola hadn't starred in Godfather III, but rather directed it over her once great father. With LIT, she guides Bill Murray to the best performance of his career (yes, this includes his masterful turn in Rushmore), transforms the already solid Scarlett Johansson into the 21st century's first full-blown ingénue, pens the year's best original screenplay and proves that her stirring debut, The Virgin Suicides, is no flash in the pan. This is small-scale filmmaking done to epic proportions. \n2.) City of God -- Imagine splicing Goodfellas and Kids together, displace said work to the slums of Rio de Janeiro and you might have some facsimile of a clue as to the power of City of God. Stylish, sexy and scary as all get out -- this film announces the unadulterated cinematic strength of Brazilian director Fernando Meirelles. Working with a talented cast of young amateurs and aided by the top tier cinematography and editing of César Charlone and Daniel Rezende, he's created a masterpiece. \n3.) Kill Bill Vol. 1 -- Bar none, the coolest flick of this past year. Quentin Tarantino's six-year hiatus serves him well. The man can still fuse sight and sound with the best of them i.e. Martin Scorsese, Cameron Crowe and Wes Anderson. Additional props must also be given for bringing Sonny Chiba to mainstream American audiences' attention in a role that just screams badass and for crafting the best cliffhanger ending I've ever seen. Sadly, Vol. 2 has just been delayed to April. It can't come soon enough.\n4.) The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King -- Peter Jackson has made the greatest epic trilogy of all-time. Sure, other films in other trilogies are better than any one installment of this one, but from beginning to end this one takes the cake. Better than The Two Towers and a tad shy of the greatness that is The Fellowship of the Ring -- ROTK features the most awe-inspiring battle sequences ever committed to celluloid. With spectacle this grand, one is well advised to take it in at least a few times in the theater.\n5.) 21 Grams -- Without a doubt the most heartwrenching (no pun intended for those who've seen it) movie of the year. Immaculately structured and acted from top to bottom, the film makes good on the promise hinted at in Mexican director Alejandro González Iñárritu's startling debut, Amores Perros. If Sean Penn is to win an Oscar this year (personally, I'm pulling for Bill Murray), I hope it's for this and not the more highly touted Mystic River. His performance here is a thing of beauty. Similarly, Naomi Watts ups the ante on her Mulholland Dr. tour de force with one of the most emotionally raw portraits of grief I've ever seen and Benicio Del Toro equals the greatness that is his Oscar-winning work in Traffic. \n6.) Cold Mountain -- Director Anthony Minghella is batting two for three with me. I'm one of the few who sees The English Patient for what it truly is -- overly emotional pretentious tripe. His follow-up, The Talented Mr. Ripley, is a riveting psychological thriller of Hitchcockian proportions. Now, with Cold Mountain he's made his best film to date. Sure, it's essentially "The Odyssey" played out during the Civil War, but I'll be damned if it's not a stirring piece of cinema. The flick's opening and only battle sequence is a real humdinger -- soldiers' clothes are literally blown from their bodies. As lensed by veteran cinematographer John Seale, this is the most sumptuous-looking film of the year starring Hollywood's most stunning actress (Nicole Kidman). \n7.) Big Fish -- With this beautifully realized and thoroughly whimsical slice of Americana, Tim Burton has made his most emotionally satisfying film since Edward Scissorhands. The picture is elevated to wondrous heights via the performances of Ewan McGregor and Albert Finney -- they inhabit the same role in youth and old age. You'll want to call your dad and/or grandfather once it's all over -- that is, if you can stop crying. \n8.) Finding Nemo -- More fish. More crying. I'm a puss.\n9.) The Last Samurai -- Kurosawa this ain't. Though, it's a fine samurai film nonetheless. Tom Cruise is good, but it's his Japanese counterpart Ken Watanabe who truly astounds. The lush cinematography of frequent Cameron Crowe collaborator, John Toll, doesn't hurt matters either. \n10.) Mystic River -- This stands toe-to-toe with Unforgiven and the criminally underrated A Perfect World as Clint Eastwood's best directorial effort to date. Who knew Dirty Harry had the capability of turning what would normally be your standard issue police procedural into a gangland saga of Shakespearean proportions? Apparently, Sean Penn and Tim Robbins, who both kicked considerable ass in the film.
(12/11/03 5:00am)
Ron Howard has an immensely eclectic cinematic rap sheet. His directorial decisions have brought him into contact with mermaids, midgets, millionaires and mathematicians, as well as parents, pyros, pugilists and publishers. Now with his latest film, The Missing, he's attempting to rescue the oft-ignored Western genre. The resulting work, while not bad, is certainly less than awe-inspiring. \nCate Blanchett stars as Maggie, a frontierswoman raising two daughters and maintaining a ranch. One day, her estranged father Jones (Tommy Lee Jones) returns after having deserted the family in favor of living amongst the Indians.\nShortly after he and Maggie part acrimoniously, Lilly (Evan Rachel Wood), her eldest daughter, is abducted by an evil Indian shaman by the name of Chidin (an effectively creepy Eric Schweig).\nSadly, the outcome is never in doubt. Howard uses the John Wayne classic, The Searchers, as an obvious structural template. Though, The Missing sorely lacks that film's moral ambiguity.\nThe Missing is an entertaining and intermittently engaging thriller, but it pales in comparison to Howard's glory days, i.e. Apollo 13 and A Beautiful Mind. It's not a bad film per se, something's just "missing"
(12/10/03 10:20pm)
Ron Howard has an immensely eclectic cinematic rap sheet. His directorial decisions have brought him into contact with mermaids, midgets, millionaires and mathematicians, as well as parents, pyros, pugilists and publishers. Now with his latest film, The Missing, he's attempting to rescue the oft-ignored Western genre. The resulting work, while not bad, is certainly less than awe-inspiring. \nCate Blanchett stars as Maggie, a frontierswoman raising two daughters and maintaining a ranch. One day, her estranged father Jones (Tommy Lee Jones) returns after having deserted the family in favor of living amongst the Indians.\nShortly after he and Maggie part acrimoniously, Lilly (Evan Rachel Wood), her eldest daughter, is abducted by an evil Indian shaman by the name of Chidin (an effectively creepy Eric Schweig).\nSadly, the outcome is never in doubt. Howard uses the John Wayne classic, The Searchers, as an obvious structural template. Though, The Missing sorely lacks that film's moral ambiguity.\nThe Missing is an entertaining and intermittently engaging thriller, but it pales in comparison to Howard's glory days, i.e. Apollo 13 and A Beautiful Mind. It's not a bad film per se, something's just "missing"
(12/04/03 5:00am)
With three movies released this fall (The Alamo would've been his fourth had it not been delayed), Billy Bob Thornton is one of the busiest actors working in Hollywood today. His latest, Bad Santa, is directed by documentarian-turned-comedic auteur Terry Zwigoff (Ghost World) and co-stars comedian Bernie Mac, senior "Gilmore Girl" Lauren Graham and the late John Ritter. This darkly comical holiday farce casts Thornton as a down-and-out swindler by the name of Willie T. Soke, who uses Christmas as means to the con. The film came out last week. Prior to its release, he was kind enough to sit down and chat with myself and a few other collegiate reporters via phone. What follows are excerpts from the conference call interview.
(12/04/03 5:00am)
Oopstress Britney Spears seems fixated upon one thing and one thing only with the release of her new record In the Zone: SEX. \nThe theme is so overarching that the album might as well be dubbed In the Erogenous Zone. The whole "I'm Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" schtick is permanently laid (pun intended) to rest. Spears moans and breathes heavily through none-too-subtly-titled cuts ranging from "Breathe on Me" to "Touch of My Hand," the singer's unintentionally hilarious ode to self-love. \nThough the record's mind is trapped in the gutter, it isn't without its merits. "Me Against the Music" is a mildly diverting first single featuring Spears' pop predecessor, Madonna. In all honesty, the cut's better than it has any right to be (much like the album itself), and a remix that appears in the disc's waning moments is even better. \nGranted, I'm not a fan of Spears nor have I ever been. I don't own any of her previous works and know her solely through the singles, which I don't like. As such, In the Zone is surprisingly decent but still a big, fat wad of overly sexualized teen pop pap.
(12/03/03 10:10pm)
Oopstress Britney Spears seems fixated upon one thing and one thing only with the release of her new record In the Zone: SEX. \nThe theme is so overarching that the album might as well be dubbed In the Erogenous Zone. The whole "I'm Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" schtick is permanently laid (pun intended) to rest. Spears moans and breathes heavily through none-too-subtly-titled cuts ranging from "Breathe on Me" to "Touch of My Hand," the singer's unintentionally hilarious ode to self-love. \nThough the record's mind is trapped in the gutter, it isn't without its merits. "Me Against the Music" is a mildly diverting first single featuring Spears' pop predecessor, Madonna. In all honesty, the cut's better than it has any right to be (much like the album itself), and a remix that appears in the disc's waning moments is even better. \nGranted, I'm not a fan of Spears nor have I ever been. I don't own any of her previous works and know her solely through the singles, which I don't like. As such, In the Zone is surprisingly decent but still a big, fat wad of overly sexualized teen pop pap.
(12/03/03 10:02pm)
With three movies released this fall (The Alamo would've been his fourth had it not been delayed), Billy Bob Thornton is one of the busiest actors working in Hollywood today. His latest, Bad Santa, is directed by documentarian-turned-comedic auteur Terry Zwigoff (Ghost World) and co-stars comedian Bernie Mac, senior "Gilmore Girl" Lauren Graham and the late John Ritter. This darkly comical holiday farce casts Thornton as a down-and-out swindler by the name of Willie T. Soke, who uses Christmas as means to the con. The film came out last week. Prior to its release, he was kind enough to sit down and chat with myself and a few other collegiate reporters via phone. What follows are excerpts from the conference call interview.
(11/20/03 5:00am)
Going to a White Stripes show can be a rather precarious thing. One is likely to wonder, much like I did, if the twosome can possibly sound as full and vibrant onstage as they do recorded. The answer: an undeniable yes. \nUnfortunately, stage presence and presentation are something the bass-less Detroit duo surprisingly lacks. Jack White rarely spoke to the audience, and when he did, he spoke in a feebly annoying tenor, sounding something akin to Alvin and his chipmunk brethren and less the full-fledged rock star. \nI've got no quibbles with Meg White's performance, as antisocial tendencies are her hallmark. Also, as the most bizarrely cute woman working in rock today, she's endearing. \nLastly, the light show backing the band was lackluster to say the least -- stagnant patterns of red, white and black -- boring. Where's the ingenuity seen in video after video? Not here apparently. Many audience members had cooler, similarly colored displays going on in their eyes. \n Musically, there were little to no faults. The Stripes played unrelentingly. Rarely were there interludes between numbers. Songs jumbled one into the next. This isn't a bad thing per se, as it does give listeners a whole lot of musical bang for the buck. Though I'm a fan of performers who interact with the crowd, and in their own voice mind you.\nThe set lasted a little over an hour and a half and covered a substantial portion of Elephant -- a particular highlight was the prolonged take on "Ball and Biscuit," greatest hits snippets of White Blood Cells and a smattering of rarities, unreleased tracks and cuts off the self-titled and De Stijl. \nOne interesting side note: Jack did a rousing rendition of Chicago's "Mr. Cellophane," in what could only be thought of contextually as a potshot toward his ex-girlfriend, starlet Renée Zellweger.\n While the show was certainly worthwhile, my attention was often diverted. Sticking out like a sore thumb amid the eclectic crowd was a surly, drunken, overweight, middle-aged man sporting a cowboy hat and a pair of grabby hands. He must've groped his date a dozen or so times. Watching her rebuff his advances time and time again as he crawled about the floor barking like a dog, yelping in a fashion similar to that of Ric "Nature Boy" Flair and eventually passing out was more entertaining than watching and listening to the White Stripes. This was my lasting memory.
(11/19/03 10:40pm)
Going to a White Stripes show can be a rather precarious thing. One is likely to wonder, much like I did, if the twosome can possibly sound as full and vibrant onstage as they do recorded. The answer: an undeniable yes. \nUnfortunately, stage presence and presentation are something the bass-less Detroit duo surprisingly lacks. Jack White rarely spoke to the audience, and when he did, he spoke in a feebly annoying tenor, sounding something akin to Alvin and his chipmunk brethren and less the full-fledged rock star. \nI've got no quibbles with Meg White's performance, as antisocial tendencies are her hallmark. Also, as the most bizarrely cute woman working in rock today, she's endearing. \nLastly, the light show backing the band was lackluster to say the least -- stagnant patterns of red, white and black -- boring. Where's the ingenuity seen in video after video? Not here apparently. Many audience members had cooler, similarly colored displays going on in their eyes. \n Musically, there were little to no faults. The Stripes played unrelentingly. Rarely were there interludes between numbers. Songs jumbled one into the next. This isn't a bad thing per se, as it does give listeners a whole lot of musical bang for the buck. Though I'm a fan of performers who interact with the crowd, and in their own voice mind you.\nThe set lasted a little over an hour and a half and covered a substantial portion of Elephant -- a particular highlight was the prolonged take on "Ball and Biscuit," greatest hits snippets of White Blood Cells and a smattering of rarities, unreleased tracks and cuts off the self-titled and De Stijl. \nOne interesting side note: Jack did a rousing rendition of Chicago's "Mr. Cellophane," in what could only be thought of contextually as a potshot toward his ex-girlfriend, starlet Renée Zellweger.\n While the show was certainly worthwhile, my attention was often diverted. Sticking out like a sore thumb amid the eclectic crowd was a surly, drunken, overweight, middle-aged man sporting a cowboy hat and a pair of grabby hands. He must've groped his date a dozen or so times. Watching her rebuff his advances time and time again as he crawled about the floor barking like a dog, yelping in a fashion similar to that of Ric "Nature Boy" Flair and eventually passing out was more entertaining than watching and listening to the White Stripes. This was my lasting memory.
(11/13/03 5:00am)
Fans of "Late Night with Conan O'Brien" will be elated to know that his foulmouthed, cigar-chomping puppet foil has finally been given his just due. As such, Triumph the Insult Comic Dog (voiced and created by renowned "SNL" staple Robert Smigel) has released his own comedy record, titled appropriately enough, Come Poop with Me.\nIf vulgarity isn't your particular brand of vodka, you might want to skip out on this album. Though, since most of the jokes revolve around animals, the sheer crudeness of it is dulled somewhat. While Triumph is funny solo, he stacked the deck in his favor with guest stints from Doug "TV Funhouse" Dale, O'Brien, executive producer Adam Sandler, Horatio Sanz, Jack Black and Maya Rudolph. The CD is also packaged with a DVD, which features a humorous mini-scuffle between Jared "Subway" Fogle and the Dell Guy, the world's shortest commentary track and a sing-along option.\nChock full of over 70 minutes of filthily hilarious cuts ("Underage Bichon," "Benji's Queer," "Lick Myself" and the dis track single "I Keed" rate especially high) and cranks (Triumph makes a booty call to a kennel and later phones a Chinese restaurant looking for his brother), Come Poop with Me is good, and not just for me to poop on.
(11/12/03 11:11pm)
Fans of "Late Night with Conan O'Brien" will be elated to know that his foulmouthed, cigar-chomping puppet foil has finally been given his just due. As such, Triumph the Insult Comic Dog (voiced and created by renowned "SNL" staple Robert Smigel) has released his own comedy record, titled appropriately enough, Come Poop with Me.\nIf vulgarity isn't your particular brand of vodka, you might want to skip out on this album. Though, since most of the jokes revolve around animals, the sheer crudeness of it is dulled somewhat. While Triumph is funny solo, he stacked the deck in his favor with guest stints from Doug "TV Funhouse" Dale, O'Brien, executive producer Adam Sandler, Horatio Sanz, Jack Black and Maya Rudolph. The CD is also packaged with a DVD, which features a humorous mini-scuffle between Jared "Subway" Fogle and the Dell Guy, the world's shortest commentary track and a sing-along option.\nChock full of over 70 minutes of filthily hilarious cuts ("Underage Bichon," "Benji's Queer," "Lick Myself" and the dis track single "I Keed" rate especially high) and cranks (Triumph makes a booty call to a kennel and later phones a Chinese restaurant looking for his brother), Come Poop with Me is good, and not just for me to poop on.
(11/06/03 5:00am)
In 1999 when The Matrix debuted, it was rightfully declared an instant classic. This past summer came The Matrix Reloaded. The flick didn't connect with audiences or critics nearly as well as its predecessor did though I dug it. Well, as the tagline says, "Everything that has a beginning has an end," and hence, The Matrix Revolutions is upon us. Is it an apt conclusion? Yes and no.\nDue to having a sense of direction comparable to Magellan's left nut, I was 20 minutes late to the pre-release screening. As such, this review is based upon what I saw, namely, a little over three-quarters of the flick.\nI entered as Neo (Keanu Reeves) was having one of his prototypically philosophical discussions with The Oracle (Mary Alice, filling in beautifully for the late, great Gloria Foster). Through the dialogue, it was easy to discern what happened prior: Neo awoke from his coma, and Morpheus (Laurence Fishburne), Trinity (Carrie-Anne Moss) and Seraph (Ngai Sing) faced off against the Merovingian (Lambert Wilson) and Persephone (Monica Bellucci) -- guns were fired -- end of story. \nSoon after, Bane (Ian Bliss) is awoken from his coma. Trouble ensues, as he's little more than a vessel for Agent Smith (Hugo Weaving). Matters become all the more dire as sentinels descend upon Zion, and Neo discovers that he must go mano a mano with Smith to save humanity.\nThe Zion battle, much ballyhooed by producer Joel Silver, isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sure, the mechs, or APUs as they're referred to in the film, are cool, but the whole affair is repetitive and most of the characters aren't developed enough to be cared about. The sequence smacks of a video game aesthetic fueled by admittedly breathtaking special effects. Sadly, these elements take precedence over narrative and characterization.\nHowever, another action centerpiece, the concluding aerial fight between Neo and Smith, is a real showstopper. Gorgeously choreographed and shot, this is the pinnacle of what action filmmaking should be.\nSuffice to say, the movie was a tad underwhelming. Though I will give the Wachowskis and Co. credit for having some stones, i.e. don't get to attached to these characters for many of them will bite it by the final reel. This film is much bloodier than the other two, and that's always cool. \nAlso, credit must be given where credit is due -- I cried not once but twice, and there's something to be said for that -- or not, as I'm a puss.
(11/06/03 5:00am)
Two years ago, the Strokes catapulted to the pinnacle of rock's musical spectrum with its critically acclaimed debut Is This It. Now, after serious bouts of touring, a failed collaboration with producer extraordinaire Nigel Godrich (Beck, Radiohead) and a return to former boardman Gordon Raphael, the furious fivesome have avoided the dreaded sophomore slump and hit pay dirt with Room on Fire.\nThe record isn't successful for straying from the formula set forth by its predecessor but rather by honing it. Where the first album had a loose, low-rent sound, Room on Fire seems methodically plotted. Listeners will quickly realize production values have been increased substantially. Though, this is money well spent, the resulting cuts are much richer and fuller sounding. \nThe record kicks off with the highly ironic "What Ever Happened?" in which frontman Julian Casablancas navigates his way through a warbled sea of distortion singing, "I want to be forgotten/And I don't want to be reminded." Strange, coming from one of rock's supposed saviors.\nThis is followed by the sterling one-two punch of "Automatic Stop," a reggae-tinged look into a flawed threesome replete with witty lyrics ("So many fish there in the sea/She wanted him/He wanted me"), and leadoff single "12:51," which with its synth-like guitar lines and incessant handclapping is a shoo-in for catchiest song of the year.\n Further highlights include Casablancas' stab at crooning with the neo-soul of "Under Control" and "The End Has No End," a jumbled bit of new wave boogie-woogie tailor-made for someone doing the "Carlton" dance and playing Q*Bert simultaneously.\nThese silver-spooned New York scamps long to be taken seriously (hence, the flirtation with Godrich), and in spite of lyrics concerning high school dances, parents being gone for the weekend and worrying about finals, the bid pays off beautifully. The Strokes are no flash in the pan but rather five young men on the cusp of bigger and better things. \nGranted, Room on Fire is essentially little more than a reinvention of Is This It, which itself was a riff on the Velvet Underground, Television and, yes, even Buddy Holly, but it wasn't boring then and it sure as hell isn't boring now. If anything, the album's only drawback is its length -- at a paltry 33 minutes, the Strokes are giving Weezer a run for its money in the short record department. When rip-off artists are as adept as these guys, more is certainly merrier.
(11/05/03 10:51pm)
Two years ago, the Strokes catapulted to the pinnacle of rock's musical spectrum with its critically acclaimed debut Is This It. Now, after serious bouts of touring, a failed collaboration with producer extraordinaire Nigel Godrich (Beck, Radiohead) and a return to former boardman Gordon Raphael, the furious fivesome have avoided the dreaded sophomore slump and hit pay dirt with Room on Fire.\nThe record isn't successful for straying from the formula set forth by its predecessor but rather by honing it. Where the first album had a loose, low-rent sound, Room on Fire seems methodically plotted. Listeners will quickly realize production values have been increased substantially. Though, this is money well spent, the resulting cuts are much richer and fuller sounding. \nThe record kicks off with the highly ironic "What Ever Happened?" in which frontman Julian Casablancas navigates his way through a warbled sea of distortion singing, "I want to be forgotten/And I don't want to be reminded." Strange, coming from one of rock's supposed saviors.\nThis is followed by the sterling one-two punch of "Automatic Stop," a reggae-tinged look into a flawed threesome replete with witty lyrics ("So many fish there in the sea/She wanted him/He wanted me"), and leadoff single "12:51," which with its synth-like guitar lines and incessant handclapping is a shoo-in for catchiest song of the year.\n Further highlights include Casablancas' stab at crooning with the neo-soul of "Under Control" and "The End Has No End," a jumbled bit of new wave boogie-woogie tailor-made for someone doing the "Carlton" dance and playing Q*Bert simultaneously.\nThese silver-spooned New York scamps long to be taken seriously (hence, the flirtation with Godrich), and in spite of lyrics concerning high school dances, parents being gone for the weekend and worrying about finals, the bid pays off beautifully. The Strokes are no flash in the pan but rather five young men on the cusp of bigger and better things. \nGranted, Room on Fire is essentially little more than a reinvention of Is This It, which itself was a riff on the Velvet Underground, Television and, yes, even Buddy Holly, but it wasn't boring then and it sure as hell isn't boring now. If anything, the album's only drawback is its length -- at a paltry 33 minutes, the Strokes are giving Weezer a run for its money in the short record department. When rip-off artists are as adept as these guys, more is certainly merrier.
(11/05/03 10:37pm)
In 1999 when The Matrix debuted, it was rightfully declared an instant classic. This past summer came The Matrix Reloaded. The flick didn't connect with audiences or critics nearly as well as its predecessor did though I dug it. Well, as the tagline says, "Everything that has a beginning has an end," and hence, The Matrix Revolutions is upon us. Is it an apt conclusion? Yes and no.\nDue to having a sense of direction comparable to Magellan's left nut, I was 20 minutes late to the pre-release screening. As such, this review is based upon what I saw, namely, a little over three-quarters of the flick.\nI entered as Neo (Keanu Reeves) was having one of his prototypically philosophical discussions with The Oracle (Mary Alice, filling in beautifully for the late, great Gloria Foster). Through the dialogue, it was easy to discern what happened prior: Neo awoke from his coma, and Morpheus (Laurence Fishburne), Trinity (Carrie-Anne Moss) and Seraph (Ngai Sing) faced off against the Merovingian (Lambert Wilson) and Persephone (Monica Bellucci) -- guns were fired -- end of story. \nSoon after, Bane (Ian Bliss) is awoken from his coma. Trouble ensues, as he's little more than a vessel for Agent Smith (Hugo Weaving). Matters become all the more dire as sentinels descend upon Zion, and Neo discovers that he must go mano a mano with Smith to save humanity.\nThe Zion battle, much ballyhooed by producer Joel Silver, isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sure, the mechs, or APUs as they're referred to in the film, are cool, but the whole affair is repetitive and most of the characters aren't developed enough to be cared about. The sequence smacks of a video game aesthetic fueled by admittedly breathtaking special effects. Sadly, these elements take precedence over narrative and characterization.\nHowever, another action centerpiece, the concluding aerial fight between Neo and Smith, is a real showstopper. Gorgeously choreographed and shot, this is the pinnacle of what action filmmaking should be.\nSuffice to say, the movie was a tad underwhelming. Though I will give the Wachowskis and Co. credit for having some stones, i.e. don't get to attached to these characters for many of them will bite it by the final reel. This film is much bloodier than the other two, and that's always cool. \nAlso, credit must be given where credit is due -- I cried not once but twice, and there's something to be said for that -- or not, as I'm a puss.
(10/23/03 4:00am)
Mystic River marks Clint Eastwood's 24th stint in the director's chair, and by all accounts, it's his best. Sure, he reinvigorated the Western with his Oscar-winner Unforgiven and made one of the '90s most overlooked gems in the form of A Perfect World, but here, Dirty Harry elevates what could've been your standard Boston-based police procedural/Irish gangland saga to Shakespearean proportions.\nSean Penn leads an extraordinary ensemble cast as Jimmy, an ex-con sent on the straight and narrow after having been released from the pen (no pun intended) and gaining sole custody of his infant daughter, Katie (Emmy Rossum). Together with his wife, Annabeth (a terrifyingly good Laura Linney), he raises the now teenaged Katie, as well as two younger scamps. Tim Robbins co-stars as Dave, a marginally employed handyman with a wife, Celeste (the always-reliable Marcia Gay Harden), a young son and a closet chock-full of skeletons. Rounding out the cast is Kevin Bacon, who portrays Sean, a Beantown cop with marital woes and a smart-assed partner, ironically named Whitey (Laurence Fishburne). \nThe three men, Jimmy, Dave and Sean, were friends as children. That is until, one fateful day, two men claiming to be police officers abduct Dave. What ensues is four days spent in a locked basement presumably prey to a horrid onslaught of sexual abuse. The boys sever ties in wake of the trauma, only to be reunited when tragedy strikes again. Katie is brutally murdered, Sean is assigned the case, Dave is the primary suspect and a grief-stricken Jimmy is set loose upon a mafia-tinged warpath.\nThe acting is solid across the board, but it's Penn (harnessing his inner De Niro) and Robbins (seemingly shrinking under the weight of his character's scorched psyche) who standout. Eastwood's direction, which by nature is somewhat slow and languid, guides the narrative and moreso his cast's finely tuned performances perfectly. Viewers grow to know these troubled characters and major, even welcomed, gray areas are established. That the director also provides a hauntingly beautiful score doesn't hurt matters either. Once the payoff is doled out, it's a heartbreaker, albeit a somewhat overwrought and ambiguous one.\nMystic River is a major achievement in a film career that's spanned nearly 50 years. It's not happy-go-lucky Friday night entertainment, mind you, but a cinematic event nonetheless.