Seriously, Tom Hanks. Why the Hate On Comedy? It's not like it hasn't needed you. God, how it's needed you.
Quite honestly, I got a little burnt out on Dramatic Tom Hanks–I can name the ones I’ve seen on one hand, probably–I realized while watching The Burbs, Joe Dante’s 1989 comedy, that I liked League of Their Own and Forest Gump, and figured Hanks would get back to comedies.
I’m still waiting.
Often considered the heir to Jimmy Stewart’s Everyman throne, it’s fitting that Hanks stars in a film about a bored man conflating the importance of his neighbors’ activities; Stewart’s version of this was Hitchcock’s ‘Rear Window,’ and I’m not really saying the two are comperable outside of ‘they are kind of similiar thematically and they both contain carbon-based life.’
I won’t lie, I love The ‘Burbs, but I was surprised how low it scored on Rotten Tomatoes. I suppose it might be considered a nostalgia piece, and except for one very interesting idea:
That reminiscing on the glorious good old days is a total crock.
Sound familiar? That’s because similiar territory was covered in the Coens’ existential masterpiece, No Country for Old Men, and is the cornerstone of current academic thought on history.
There’s a moment in the Burbs where we hear the story of Skip, a suburbanite who for all intents and purposes is happy with his soda fountain job, white picket fence and 1.8 children or whatever the percentage is. But then we find out the horrible truth–Skip wasted his family with an ice pick one fine summer day, and the story has become the kind of small-town lore they don’t include in the Chamber of Commerce literature. It’s the kind of thing ALL small towns have–violence, scandal, and intrigue are nothing new in the course of human events, and every small town has some kind of American Gothic weirdness going on that gets whitewashed when people talk about the Good Old Days out on the porch.
Skeletons in the closet, toys in the attic, ants at a picnic–however you qualify it, something is rotten in the state of Surburbia.
From Suburbia come delicious, free-range humans, delivered overnight to your local supermarket.
Hanks and his team of misfits –Rick Ducommen and Bruce Dern, with Corey Feldman checking in now and then with an ‘Awesome!’, ‘lame!’, or other 80’s era teenspeak– become more and more obsessed with the notion that all is not well next door. When they cross the line, Walter Fielding (Hanks) is an unwilling participant, but quickly takes up leadership of the group when evidence surfaces suggesting the Klopeks might be up to something unsavory.
I could easily see The Burbs being remade, if it were handled properly. IT might be fun to mix up the setting a little–set it in a little town in England and the Hanks/Ducommon duo could be reimagined with Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, of Hot Fuzz/Shawn of the Dead fame.
‘The Burbs is a fun, tightly-directed and performed comedy almost anyone can hang out and enjoy.It occasionally wanders into ‘zany’ territory, but strong comedic performances from Hanks–especially his breakdown at the end–help ground it and keep it from straying into wacky land.
File that understatement along with others such as ‘Salma Hayak is attractive’ and ‘I enjoy dairy products.’
Isn't it amazing someone signed off on this artwork?
When the 80’s movie action ball really started rolling, you got the A group of Schwarzeneggar, Stallone and Willis, then the B group of Lundgren and Van Damme, then the C group of Dudikoff and Jackie Chan.
Way on down the alphabet, somewhere around the weird numbers like ‘Q,’ you’ll find Fred Ward as Remo Williams.
The movie is subtitled ‘The Adventure Begins’ because it was based on a ‘men’s adventure series’ of books with names like ‘The Destroyer.’ It was intended to be the first of a series, but since the first movie never really caught fire the series was abandoned.
There are a couple reasons why the movie didn’t catch fire–the action scenes are lackluster, the villain not that engaging (although he could have been; he’s an arms manufacturer creating faulty weapons and scamming the US military), and the movie gets off to a slow start.
But before we get too much into it, let’s talk about the elephant in the room:
Can you spot the authentic Asian man in this picture? Neither can I, because there isn't one.
Chiun.
Chiun is Williams’s Korean mentor, teaching him everything from martial arts to what not to eat (hamburgers). From him Remo learns how to fight, how to climb stuff, how to dodge bullets and run on water.
The problem is that Chiun, though he is a fantastic character and his chemistry with Remo carries the film at times, is not an Asian man.
Not at all.
In what is either an inspired or monstrously insensitive casting choice, Chiun was played by veteran actor Joel Grey, best known as the Master of Ceremonies in Cabaret and father of 80’s actress Jennifer Grey. The makeup was so convincing that it was nominated for an academy award but lost to Mask.
Adorable! But Adorable =/= Asian.
The use of Yellowface in movies has rarely stirred the same kind of discussion that blackface has, yet it’s no less offensive to the minority it seeks to depict.
Now, there’s a place for it. I think part of what makes a good actor is the ability to create believable characters, and if you can create a character that’s nothing like yourself and it’s still compelling, you’ve done something. It’s probably little consolation that the filmmakers hired one of the best actors of the time to portray Chiun, mostly because there are real Asian actors struggling to get any work in Hollywood.
The bottom line for me is that I didn’t even know a white man played Chiun until I watched the movie last night, and I grew up watching this film. I saw Joel Grey’s name in the credits and thought ‘Huh, I wonder who he plays?’ Then I noticed how there were so few names in the opening credits, had a brainwave, and cringed. “Oh god, they DIDN’T.’
But they did. And you know what? Grey is pretty convincing. It helps that the character is actually well-written: Chiun is Korean, fiercely proud of his heritage and way of life, disdainful of Williams and his lazy American lifestyle, and when he isn’t training Williams is usually seen eating traditional Korean dishes, practicing calligraphy, or watching his soap operas. He is proud of what he’s accomplished with Williams, but would never admit it to the man’s face.
It helps that the film’s writers had dozens of books and some already well-fleshed out characters to draw on–again, it’s hard to accept that they were unable to find a Korean or at least Asian actor to portray Chiun, but I think they were looking for something other than complete authenticity. Remo Williams doesn’t necessarily wink at the audience, but there is some element of self-awareness to the film–it’s in the ludicrous stunts, and just in Fred Ward’s self-effacing, blustery performance. Hell, they got his name off the bottom of a bedpan!
Kate Mulgrew, best known as Janeway from…one of the Star Trek shows that is not Original Series or Next Generation and therefore I know nothing about, puts in a convincing performance as a Major investigating the corrupt arms dealer. It was weird seeing a strong, self-directed woman character in this movie, as entrenched in 80’s action cliches as it is, but there she was, a breath of fresh, ball-busting air.
Bottom line: Remo Williams is a weird, fun actioner ahead of its time in some ways, and strangely staid in others. Ward has a passing charm as a leading man, if only because of his blue-collar, hangdog approach to the world, and he clearly has done some of his own stunts–his face is easily viewable in a few scenes.
This movie has me interested in tracking down some of the books. Apparently there are over a hundred in the series by now, and they’ve been going since the 70’s–with such ample room for character development there’s probably a lot of good stuff being missed out on.
Here’s the short version of this entry: I just love Coraline.
Look out, world!
There haven’t been a lot of movies made in the last ten years that I can watch over and over again and still enjoy, that offer a really escapist feeling, that I’m not distracted by overblown production values or weak performances; Coraline definitely falls into that category.
There’s something beyond reproach about it. That’s not to say it doesn’t have flaws, but when you’re completely engrossed in the liquid grace of the stop motion puppetry, the textures of the world, sharp writing, brilliant characterizations, and beautiful music, it’s easy to forgive.
There’s also the beauty of the color palette.
We first meet Coraline as she moves into a depressingly drab house on a gray, late-winter day. Dead trees cluster in the background, and a slate sky drops rain. Her parents are just as drained, with good reason: her beige-sweater sporting Mom was recently in a car accident and also wears a neckbrace, and Coraline’s dad resembles the microwavable version of Adrien Brody.
I shouldn't make fun, I'm only a few steps away from this myself.
From a child’s standpoint, Coraline’s parents might be viewed as selfish and neglectful; an adult looks on their attempt to focus on their desperately-needed work and sympathizes. After all, without the catalogue, the family doesn’t eat, since they’re freelance writers.
There were even a few moments when their plight seemed more serious than Coraline’s, and her whining for their attention made her less sympathetic and seem overly-self centered, even for a child.
It’s a depressing world for anyone, and an intelligent child like Coraline is doubly affected.
Which is where the color palette comes in.
I'd watch this cooking show. Hell, it's less terrifying than anything Paula Deen can come up with.
When the Other Mother builds a world to tempt Coraline, she fills it with lush, warm colors and luxuriant textures. The delicious food, the wallpaper, furniture, clothing, and plants of the Other World radiate color, almost drown the viewer in hues. My DVD came with a 3D version of the movie (and glasses! SO COOL!) and I haven’t given that a spin yet, but I hope it’ll be worth all the kerfuffle.
The color palette of childhood is simple, visceral. We want to wear our straw hats with our green pinafore and orange sweater and blue sock, possibly while wearing fairy wings or a tail, if we’re fairly young. Therein lies the appeal in the colorful mishmash of Coraline’s outfits: her pink dress and green tights, or the green and orange gloves she covets which her mother initially rejects have an individualistic charm to them, but also symbolize the time in our lives when we still did things for ourselves rather than others.
Once in high school a girl in my class was horrified with embarassment when a teacher pointed out the girl was wearing brown shoes with a black belt. I took this lesson to heart and swore never to make the same faux pas; now I could give a shit, although I do tend to shy away from bright colors.
From early high school until just two years ago, I wore black, gray, and if I was feeling saucy, purple or red. That was it. I was terrified of wearing The Wrong Thing together, and those four colors made me feel safe. Somehow, I forgot that wearing clothing had everything to do with what I liked, and nothing to do with what other people wanted. Inch by inch I’ve crept away from that security blanket, and now wear bright greens and blues, as well.
Now, I am seriously covetous of Coraline’s Other Outfit, which the Other Mother has made for her.
Cringing Genius Nerd and Horrific Ghost-child sold separately.
Part of the reason I like it is because the stars remind of me of the character Eleanor from Shirley Jackson’s Haunting of Hill House.
You don’t need to know the whole story of Hill House if you don’t already; what you need to know is that Eleanor is a shy, vulnerable woman bullied for years by her mother, who decides to take part in an experiment mostly as a way of asserting herself. As she drives to the house, she imagines a destiny for herself that is extricated from her overbearing mother: she’ll have a house some day, with stone lions guarding the front door, and she’ll drink from a cupful of stars. In short, she’ll do what SHE wants, HOW she wants, WHEN she wants.
The cupful of stars thing has always stuck with me, and when I saw the color and design on Coraline’ shirt it reminded me forcibly of Eleanor’s cupful of stars. It reminded me of those childhood things I’d given up or lost, most of all the intangible ones.
A person can live without their old toys, but not without the imagination that brought them to life.
There’s merit to the putting away of childish things as you become an adult, but finding a balance–neither giving up entirely on childish things nor retreating back into them–is what most people struggle with.
So I’d like to raise a cupful of stars to Coraline, for helping me find some of those things I thought I’d lost.
I actually found a woman on Etsy who’ll make the sweater, and while the child part of me wants it now, NOW, the adult part of me insists I wait until I actually can afford to drop 150 dollars on a sweater.
As a writer, I like to see a lot of the world. I can’t travel there, but I can learn from the observations of others–sometimes seeing something like Bangkok Girl, which both breaks the heart and turns the stomach, is necessary for helping to shift out of one’s comfort zone, but most of all, to remind us that our lives are pretty cushy by comparison.
This film has a hankie factor of 9.
Bangkok Girl is a 42 minute film documenting the life of Pla, a Thailand bar girl.
Made less on a shoestring budget than a duct tape and old gum budget, Bangkok Girl was made by Canadian filmmaker Jordan Clark, who had visited Thailand as a tourist and went back years later in order to learn more about the country’s nefariously wanton sex trade.
Before I’m accused of prudery, let’s clear something up:
I’m in favor of prostitution. It’s the oldest profession, and its complex role in society is often misunderstood by outsiders. While the majority of tricks are just straight sex, it’s not unheard of for people who are just unable to maintain relationships with others to utilize the services of sex workers. People who are shy or have emotional problems, widows and widowers, people who want a brief physical connection. I’ve read accounts of prostitutes who say that on some occasions, men just want to sleep next to them, want to have someone to wake up next to. That’s not the norm, but you see that it isn’t always a black and white issue.
The problem with prostitution though is that because it is illegal, it is co-opted by criminal elements and the sex workers are horribly exploited. They have no say over their own lives, they are manipulated and controlled by their pimps, subjected to physical and mental abuse, exposed to unsafe, diseased conditions, and often killed when they try to escape.
Thailand is considered the Red Light district of earth. There are an estimated 800,000 girls and women working the sex trade–and that’s not counting the ladyboys or male prostitutes. Men can legally pay for a sex act, but women can’t charge for a sex act, a situation that is widely exploited by the police and pimps as they charge women operating costs.You see how this situation can cause problems–women with no education or career prospects working in an economically depressed country with a highly-corrupted civil infrastructure .
Yeah, it gets depressing.
Another interesting point was the industry of marrying falang (Western Foreigner) tourists. European tourists are aggressively pursued as possible johns, and also as possible meal tickets. At first I found it a loathsome institution, but came to understand that these women’s education ended at age 12 ( I think that’s when public school ends?) and they had no prospects at finding jobs other than bar girls, escorts or prostitutes. Their job is finding a man who will support them.
I also came to reconsider the whole ‘creepy guy with a Thai mail-order wife’ thing, because as Pla’s plight unfolded I wanted to save her. I wanted to find some organization that helps Thai women get educations for jobs, or some kind of exchange program so they can get jobs in the US. I wanted to send her money so she could escape. I realized ‘shit, if I’m feeling this way watching a movie abotu it, imagine how someone who goes over there must feel after they’ve hung out with these girls for a week or so.’
Is it beyond the realm of possibility that some sex tourists head over there for a little fun, and find themselves making a real connection–or at least thinking they are, the way some men fixate on a stripper? Especially since the Thai girl’s expectations for true love are ‘don’t beat me, and please take care of me financially.’ I found myself rethinking the grossness of some socially awkward guy bringing home a Thai bride–who can blame or judge anyone for wanting to protect, to save, to rescue, to play Prince Charming to these women, even the relationship dynamic is severely lopsided?
I’m going to tell you now that Bangkok Girl does not end well for Pla.
As a writer, I like to see a lot of the world. I can’t travel there, but I can learn from the observations of others–sometimes seeing something like Bangkok Girl, which both breaks the heart and turns the stomach, is necessary for helping to shift out of one’s comfort zone, but most of all, to remind us that our lives are pretty cushy by comparison.
I’d say if you’re going to see this one, have a small pile of something uplifting to watch afterwards. Like two or three Pixar movies, or some Wallace and Gromit.
For the most part, these are silly neuroses and I’m aware of that. I let these smaller concerns trouble me because the big reason I’m afraid of the ocean, I mean the really really big reason, is this:
Conceptually, the ocean is huge. And it has its own thing going on, completely independent of human evolutionary development. We came from the ocean, and yet have no business there anymore. Oh, we use boats, and scuba tanks and snorkels and submersibles and underwater robots and sonar and fishing nets, but when you come down to it, we don’t have business in anything but the very immediate coastal seas. We just aren’t made for it. we can swim, but no matter how practiced or strong a swimmer, our kind of swimming is more of a controlled flailing.
I have a fear of the ocean, and a love of BBC nature documentaries narrated by Sir David Attenborough.
Sir David and a Ring Tailed Lemur, known colloquially as 'those squirrel-cat things from Madagascar.'
If I ever perchance am eaten alive by something–a pack of hyenas, a killer whale, or a colony of ravenous hagfish–I would want Sir David Attenborough narrating. It would just make the whole thing easier to deal with.
Sir David narrates the shit out of things.
Being a huge fan of both Sir David and watching animals do things, I was elated to find some of his BBC documentaries available on Instant Watch.
Unfortunately, they were about the ocean.
Of which I am FUCKING TERRIFIED.
To answer your question, yes, I’ve been in the ocean. I grew up in South Florida the daughter of a boating enthusiast, and though we went boating in freshwater much more often, we did go boating and to the beach on occasion. At the time, I was uncomfortable, but not terrfied of the ocean. I waded, I swam, I snorkeled, I got sunburnt.
Not so much with the actually being IN the ocean anymore.
Now I can go wading. I can wade like a motherfucker. And when it comes to sushi or fried shrimp, just set down the tray and back away, and then bring more in about fifteen minutes.
And I like watching oceanic documentaries, but as a coping mechanism I have convinced myself they are documenting the life of another planet or dimension. Otherwise, I would never be able to even look at the ocean again.
Because the ocean is big.
Real big.
There's also just way, way too much of it.
And we, as humans, aren’t really adapted to it. Oh sure, every once in a while somebody swims the English channel or there’s footage on the news of some handful of fools doing a polar bear dip, but when you come down to it humans don’t swim too well.
We don’t have webbing, we don’t have nictitating membranes to protect our eyes underwater, we don’t have sonar, and we have shitty lung capacity.
Also, the whole ‘can’t breathe water’ thing.
But the absolute worst thing about the ocean for me is all the horrible, horrible stuff living in it.
There are THINGS down there. Terrible things!
The Blobfish is currently in negotiations with David Cronenberg to star in a film where it crawls out of James Woods's thorax-vagina. Have you SEEN Videodrome?
And no matter how horrifying and grotesque something looks, it can ALWAYS be worse.
Wikipedia has this to say about the blobfish: ‘the flesh of the blobfish is primarily a gelatinous mass with a density slightly less than water.’
That means it probably feels like holding an egg yolk in your hand.
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!
Or there’s some damn thing that reproduces by attaching itself to the female’s underside and becomes part of her body and continually releases sperm. Or there are clouds of tiny squid who reproduce by filling the surrounding waters with their eggs, in order to be fertilized by floating sperm packets.
PACKETS.
Or there are killer whales killing young gray whales and only eating the jaw and tongue–so there’s a giant whale carcass just out there, floating around and being picked at by all these little fish until it falls to the bottom and is consumed by beings too horrific to even talk about.
There are predators against which there is no escape. If a bear comes after you, you climb a tree or something. If a shark comes after you, you’re lucky if you drown before it starts eating you.
And everything, EVERYTHING, from whales to dolphins to eels to sunfish to regular fish to sharks to jellyfish to krill, is covered in slime. These slime cocoons act as protective barriers to the ocean water, which can carry all kinds of weird shit. When you swim, they tell you not to touch the fish because touching this protective mucus tracksuit can affect the fish’s natural defenses to the aforementioned weird shit. SLIIIIIIIIME.
Bioluminescence is kind of cool I guess, but my god, at what price?
So the ocean to me is kind of like rolling around on the floor of a peep show.
For the most part, these are silly neuroses and I’m aware of that. I let these smaller concerns trouble me because the big reason I’m afraid of the ocean, I mean the really really big reason, is this:
Conceptually, the ocean is huge. And it has its own thing going on, completely independent of human evolutionary development. We came from the ocean, and yet have no business there anymore. Oh, we use boats, and scuba tanks and snorkels and submersibles and underwater robots and sonar and fishing nets, but when you come down to it, we don’t have business in anything but the very immediate coastal seas. We just aren’t made for it. we can swim, but no matter how practiced or strong a swimmer, our kind of swimming is more of a controlled flailing.
It’s true what they say, you really can’t go home again.
Also, the ocean is big in a spatial sense. I mean we might think ‘Oh, it’s not that big on a universal scale,’ but that’s the problem: past a certain point, we humans have no concept of how big it IS. We might ascribe values to it in the quadrillions, but like age, it ain’t nothing but a number. It’s ascribing an abstract to a massive, massive concrete. And if the average person can’t even conceptualize the ocean, which again is not that big on the universal scale, how the fuck can we possibly conceptualize other concepts measured by numbers so big they need scientific notation? They have to ABBREVIATE the gigantic numbers they use to quantify these things. RIDICULOUS.
No wonder so many people have trouble understanding the importance of space travel, the concept of global warming, or the multifarious process of evolution. It’s all a question of scale, man.
This is just bullshit.
Nevertheless, I found the Blue Planet series both informative and terrifying.
The series is broken down into episodes like Coastal Seas, Tidal Seas, Open Ocean, The Deep (terrifying!), Arctic Seas, and others I haven’t gotten into yet.
It was during The Deep episode, in a segment detailing the lives of creatures living absolutely sunless existences on the edge of volcanic vents that I began to be excited by the prospect of life on other planets. If life can evolve in such conditions, surely it can spring forth elsewhere in the universe!
Then I got excited thinking about the prospect of otherworld life, and from thence the VERY exciting idea of otherworld nature documentaries. I hope it happens soon enough that the BBC can make a documentary about it, and Sir David can narrate it.
