Reviews.... on hold

Just a general announcement...

I have finished my recovery and have returned to work. These days, I barely have time to watch a 30-minute TV show, let alone a 90-plus minute feature with the added hour to write and edit a rough review. It was a fun distraction that kept me from boredom, and gave me brief sense of purpose instead of lolling around in bed all day.

Once in a blue moon, I may have time to punish or praise some of the second-hand muck that is the staple of the Netflix streaming universe. Let's face it, their streaming library is not nearly as satisfying as their DVD selections; once you start exhibiting a film for profit, instead of renting the media, you have to deal with licensing, which is expensive. So I don't hold much hope for my patience. I expect Netflix will provide me with hours of background noise as I play back seasons of old TV comedies when I have 20 minutes to kill.

Until the next time I'm laid up...

House Of Card; original Netflix series, Season 2

Francis Underwood is back.

Just soak that up for a second… Speaker of the House and soon-to-be Vice President Underwood, the cagey, polished, and sinister Southern Democrat, returns in the second season of the Netflix original series. Played with distinction by the chameleon cum thespian Kevin Spacey, Underwood (heir to the typewriter’s fortune) is the king of serpents, slithering his way up the treacherous ladder of politics, his eyes set with certainty upon a power-thirsty agenda. What the first season hints at, the second delivers in terms of character development and evil politicking - but not much more.

House of Cards is based on three British series/miniseries, the first of which shares its name with the entire Netflix version, which themselves were based on a novel of the same name by Michael Dobbs. All three track the sensational rise to power of a fictional, old-school, smokey-room politicking member of Parliament, and were quite the hit on BBC. Fast-forward a few years, and the idea of an Americanized version, with Kevin Spacey attached as both actor and producer, was sold to Netflix as the video-streaming company began its venture into original programming.

The first season followed Underwood as he schemed and plotted his way from House Whip to being appointed Vice President, but wrapped before he was sworn in. There was, as expected in a political drama, stories of backstabbing, abuse of power, graft, collusion, and political mayhem in the underbelly of the Capitol. Nobody is spared a part in the orchestra that Underwood conducts; and when a flat note interrupts his well-crafted plan, that player pays dearly.

Sadly, the day-to-day drama of political shopping and constituent/client pandering becomes humdrum and repetitive no matter how exceptional the cast. Even the notable West Wing, which helped define a new school of political drama, eventually suffered from the same fate – politics just isn’t that interesting. It’s the side stories, whether personal corruptions deeper than a bank account, or acts of extraordinary nobility and humanity, that make the stories of politics interesting.

The first season avoided the trite by providing an exceptional foil to Underwood’s ambitions in the form of an unstoppable pixie, cub reporter Zoe Barnes (Kate Mara), whose off-the-record relationship with Underwood gives her an inside source; and him, a pawn with which to manipulate the press. They feed off each other, not just in terms of their symbiotic/parasitic relationship, but in their performances; each keeps raising the bar in their scenes together. Add other newsroom characters, including editors and jealous reporters, stir vigorously, and the entire fifth estate plays cat-and-mouse with Frank. But Zoe learns a little to late that Underwood is actually the cat.

With a deft performance as the aloof Claire Underwood, Robin Wright provides a dependable, nearly blank cypher in the series. Usually following in her husband’s wake, she steers afield with an urgent need for independence, which are slaked for reasons never fully explored. Their open, somewhat deviant marriage allows them to slip in and out of dalliances like so many overcoats, letting both use sex as another tool in the political arsenal.

The first season was a coup d'etat, attracting enough critical acclaim and popular appeal that the new and unorthodox demographic of streaming media consumers made a statement that has since frightened cable TV. Netflix confounded the establishment by releasing 12 hours of content at once. Binge viewers could digest an entire season if they had the stamina to spend an entire day in front of the television, and David Fincher’s exercise in using television as the medium gave rise to a highly anticipated second season.

And the season just didn’t deliver.

As seems so consistent with trilogies, be it JRR Tolkien adaptations or even the grand-daddy Star Wars trilogy, the middle episode languishes much like a second act left to stand on it own. Both are bereft of comparably interesting storylines, and instead serve as development vehicles between the opening and closing films/seasons. Ask die-hard Star Wars fans that list the Empire Strikes Back as their favorite why, and they usually profess to be fans of the character development.

It doesn’t take very long, but in short order, Vice President Underwood marginalizes the entire antagonistic game with the newspapers. Gone is the threat of press exposure; all of Frank’s problems now come from within the beltway political machine. Instead of worrying about scandal, the plot gets wrapped up in the tedium of playing petty, incestuous politics in the name of unbridled ambition.

Little by little, the characters who were once likable or sympathetic in the first season sprout a hard layer of callus, losing their appeal in the process. The second seasons presents few likable new characters in this fictional Washington. Even news reporters are more informed, and antagonistic, than realistically expected. Claire quickly loses her ambiguity, as do the West Wing players. Nobody is innocent, nobody is clean, and nobody can avoid the evil.

And that is the man in the center of the ring. Not Keyeser Soze, but a man far more ambitious and perhaps more cunning; in other words, a role tailored for Kevin Spacey. But to weave a story about an evil, unsympathetic character, the opposite needs to be supplied in abundance to both provide relief and to serve as a yardstick. It doesn’t matter how well a bad guy is played; an audience needs somebody to like for comparison.

That’s not to say there aren’t some wonderful scenes through the run of the second season. There are plenty of smart set pieces that give Spacey and the ensemble cast the chance to show their chops. But no performance can overcome a flawed season. The audience needs someone to cheer for; and even though Underwood is the smartest, craftiest, and most powerful player in the first person, there is nothing inherently attractive about his sinister character, except for a sophisticated classiness than separates him from the rest of scum in the pond.

In essence, the only force compelling anyone to watch Underwood’s antics is the unspoken question at the center of it all: why is Frank Underwood doing all of this? There is an undercurrent of something greater afoot than mere personal ambition in the political arena; a faint aroma of a quiet plot brewing through the first two seasons and readying an explosive final season. It’s much like how Empire Strikes Back bridged the gap between Star Wars and Return of the Jedi.

Although a significant letdown in my own peculiar opinion, I get the feeling this season, like politics, is a necessary evil. Not nearly as fun or easy to watch as the first season (but still much better than most weekend television), it’s still sprinkled with memorable moments and first-rate performances that outshine most network and premium cable channel offerings alike.

Better than any show about housewives, but not nearly as strong as its first season, its still a rewarding trip, whether seen on its own or in the context of the series as a whole. Just don’t expect to be quite as impressed, and be prepared to sit through some plodding storylines that just don’t move as seamlessly as in the first season. Were anyone but Spacey leading the charge, it would fall under its own heavy weight. But his presence and sheer talent keeps this ship afloat, so the political wrangling can continue for a third season.   

The Whale; documentary, 2012

Imagine being – oh, maybe three to five years old – and abandoned. Fortunately, even though your family neglected to keep their eyes on you, you find yourself in a comfortable house, where there is always food and snacks lying around. But there is nobody around with whom to talk. You are young, eager to establish those social connections that enrich the lives of smart, hip young mammals everywhere. Your pod abandons you, so you make the most of it – calling the names of your relatives through the night, but in the day, playing with the apex predator that lives on the other side of seawater surface, living in the atmosphere.

That’s what may well have happened to Orca L98, later named Luna by a Seattle newspaper contest in 2000, before his sex was known. Possibly abandoned as early as late 2000, when up to 5 members of his pod died, Luna was also declared dead until his reappearance in July of 2001 in Nootka Sound, on Vancouver Island’s Northwest coast, where the whale took up residence. In spite of attempts to keep this apparently orphaned killer whale a secret, by the end of 2001 the story of Luna began to circulate.

The Whale, a documentary, chronicles Luna’s life; from his appearance as a lone animal that normally thrives in a highly social environment, to his reputation as a smart and friendly maritime friend who seemed to learn as much from us as we tried to learn from him. The story, as well as countless video of this lonely animal turning to humans for comfort, is something that should not be missed.

Ryan Reynolds narrates The Whale and, alongside Scarlett Johansson and Eric Destnik, is listed as executive producer. In short, it is an amazing documentary that might leave you questioning which species is truly smarter, more social, and potentially capable of forgiveness and love than ever expected.

The story follows Luna’s unusual history, with heaps of truly astounding footage gathered over years as the unique whale desperately seeks human companionship. At the same time, “experts” keep trying to prevent such interactions with crazy fines and stewardship. Something of a tourist attraction, a local legend, and revered by the local Native American tribes as a reincarnation of a former chief, Luna becomes an odd lynchpin for a number of efforts.

The state and Federal government want to move him and reunite him with his old pod. The local Native Americans want the spirit of their leader to stay where it seemed to want – in the local Nootka Sound area. It thrived in the sounds’ food-rich waters, so natural stresses never forced the orphan to leave the relative safety of his home. This battle – or difference of opinion, depending upon which side you take – becomes an important stand in the conversation about wildlife management. As in: how do you manage something that is wild, no matter how civilized, friendly and playful?

The film does an excellent job of exploring the difficulties in trying to keep to sentient, curious, friendly, 4 to 5 ton animal from playing and making friends where and when it wants. It’s nearly impossible to keep a straight face as one wildlife official, holding the two boats together by hand, explains that contact with Luna could result in a $100,000 fine; all the while Luna himself bobs up and down between the boats, playing with the ranger’s arm. It brings the ridiculousness, and difficulty of the situation, into some kind of focus. An animal like Luna should be in deep water, where they can fight with larger pray and play with their brothers, sisters, cousins; and here are humans, a poor substitute for play pals, but the only thing that approaches the magnificent animal’s intelligence for dozens of miles around.

All three angles are well covered in The Whale. One thing plainly obvious is that each group really cares about the health and well-being of Luna, even if they had different ideas on how help.

But it’s the footage collected over years that drive the most important point home – Luna was a lonely whale, craving the attention of the only creatures smart enough to see it. His playfulness and curiosity best compared to a kitten, swimming amongst the boats and docks of the Nootka Sound, bringing a sense of happiness and wonder to everybody whom he touched. But even beyond that, he seemed to take the whale equivalence joy with his interactions, sometimes mimicking human actions, like hosing down the side of a boat, holding the nozzle in his mouth. These were not trained behaviors, but learned through his observation. It was an animal that wanted to understand us, probably more than we wanted to understand him.

The different organizations and townspeople were concerned for his safety almost as one – the boat traffic in the sound was heavy. In many shots, Luna comes right up to boats’ propellers to play in the cavitation bubbles – a dangerous habit that caused lines of propeller scars to cover his young body. And then, one day it happened. Luna came too close to a familiar tugboat, the powerful engines were too much for the playful whale, and he was sucked into the propellers.

The Whale is a beautiful story in so many ways that it really deserves to be seen everybody, regardless of age. It’s one thing to talk about these majestic animals in captivity, but it’s another thing watching one lonely orphan befriending an entire community. It’s difficult to not project human-like qualities onto Luna when the whale, himself, tries so hard to communicate and befriend us. It’s the kind of tragic loss that is amplified by how much we could we could have learned, if we only gave him the chance.

Rating: 8 of 10 hugged trees

Pain level: 2-3

Medication: 10 mg cyclobenzeprene, 10 mg oxycodone

TO WATCH THE WHALE ON NETFLIX, CLICK HERE

John Dies at the End; horror/comedy, 2012

Admittedly, there are movies just made for fun; plot, character, coherent stories all take a backseat in these jovial and “devil may care” movies, which often have extremely convoluted plots to make all the bizarre actions tie up in the end. Think along the lines of Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, or Shawn of the Dead.

John Dies at the End is one of the latest to fit into this odd little niche – films that are so fun to watch you don’t bother with the flaws or weird incidental sidetracks that make no sense to the story. This is a story involving an alien drug, zombies, other universes, time travel, and parallel planets preparing to take over the earth. Except that our two unsung heroes, along with a faithful pooch, are there to save the day.

The film is based on a comic horror novel by David Wong (who named the story protagonist after himself) that originated as an internet publication. Director Don Coscarelli optioned the book, and with Paul Giamatti on board as both executive producer and as the part of Artie Blondestone, an investigative reporter, the film went forward.

David Wong (Chase Williamson) is leading a strange, paranormal life, starting the film with a question – maybe real, maybe not. A Zombie is beheaded, requiring the replacing of an axe handle. Another use required replacing the blade. When the zombie returns, he can’t help but ask “is that really the same axe?”

This story is revealed to Artie in a restaurant. As well as tales of David and his best friend, John (Rob Mayes), saving a woman only to learn they perceive her differently – at which point she explodes into snakes, before turns into a demon created from frozen meats and searching for Marconi (Clancy Brown), a television spiritualist personality in impeccably tailored dark clothes. One phone call that David makes to Marconi dispatches the demon.

Unimpressed by these tales, Arnie is dismissive, until David begins showing off psychic ability. A side effect, he explains, from an odd, injected drug called Soy Sauce that “opens doors to new universes.” David was himself accidentally exposed by a needle prick while tending to John in the throws of an overdose, and can now see the future. As well, it seems as ghosts. And he keeps getting calls from John in some other parallel universe, invariably giving him clues.

After trying to understand the drug, and the effects, a pan-dimensional creature shows up in David’s car (Daniel Roebuck) throwing some kind of weird alien into his shirt to try and keep him at bay, from which David manages to escape. The film continues with more oddities and silliness, until it’s revealed that David and John are part of a plot to end an invasion from an alternative Earth that is run by some freaky organic computer that is planning the attack. A giant LSD bomb, provided by Marconi, does in the big ol’ freaky creature/computer, an all is well in the world. Until the future comes again, asking for the friends’ help.

The film is, at its most basic, funny. There is nothing great about it, or necessarily exceptional. There is no real reason to watch expecting a good story, or interesting characters with great acting (with the notable exceptions of one of Giomatti’s better performances, with less overacting than is his usual), or great camerawork. The writing, although funny overall, missed opportunities while trying to make all the time/dimension mechanics viable. Not lackluster by any means, it just seems to drift in quality as much as the story drifts in its attention.

This is at best a top-notch stoner film; at worst, a good concept wasted by trying to convert too much written material to script in order to tell a film-length story. It’s one of the reasons so many adaptations fail – the necessary omissions from print to film. It feels as if the writers wanted to hard to stay true to the print version than explore the other directions film could take them. But even at its worst, it entertains.

I enjoyed John Dies in the End and its consistent quirkiness, but I can’t say it is a good movie. Chances are most folks will have a good time, even though its difficult to give it a decent rating. I guess what I am trying to say is, even though I am giving it a poorer than normal rating for all the things it should have been, it is still very worth watching for what it is when you just want mindless fun for a change.

Ratings: 2 of 5 bleeding limbs

Pain Level: 2

Medication: 10 mg cyclobenzaprine, 10 mg oxycodone

TO WATCH JOHN DIES AT THE END, CLICK HERE

Lovelace; drama, 2013

“Blue films,” stag films, have been around almost as long as film itself. It wasn’t long before our more prurient interests were recorded, and played back at special occasions when (mostly) men gathered. At some point, explicit fare reached exhibition houses, shown in seedy, darkly-lit micro theaters with sticky floors. Even the Supreme Court tackled the issue of pornography on a number of occasions. And the floors of their chambers are much cleaner.

But nothing popularized pornography in our culture more than the movie Deep Throat, which thrust celebrity on Linda Lovelace (real name Linda Boreman) because of this breakthrough film. It was an X-rated movie with a story, some humor, and was “viral” before people had computers. It was a legitimate film with sex between plot points. Couples went to see the film in droves, with the movie entering public consciousness to the point the Washington Post named their Watergate source in a perverted homage. It was the film that legitimized pornography and paved the road to the multi-billion dollars industry it has become.

Lovelace is a not the “authorized” bio-pic of her life, if one is inclined to believe her autobiography “Ordeal.” But in the time since its release, 8-minute stag loops have been uncovered that challenge this film, and her autobiography, which both maintain was her first and only x-rated adventure. The true story of Linda Lovelace is buried somewhere in the backstory of the seedy, drug and crime-filled industry as it blossomed in the 70’s.

Lovelace gained had already gained infamy in pre-production, with multiple cast changes plaguing the start of filming, including a period when Lindsey Lohan was cast in the lead – a role which was eventually passed along to Amanda Seyfried. The cast includes a list of well-known character actors like Hank Azaria and Eric Roberts.

The film tries to tell the story by bouncing around from one time period to another, including multiple flashbacks, and refuses any sense of linear progression. Although difficult at times to follow, time is sequenced out of order in what appears to be an attempt to tell the story of from two perspectives - the fame, and the shame.

Lovelace starts with Linda Boreman, in her young 20’s and living with her parents, meeting up with Chuck Traynor (Peter Sarsgaard). His easy charm and deft people skills manage to win over her conservative and hyper-protective mother (played by an aging Sharon Stone; at first. But Linda’s late night out past curfew with Chuck was the last straw for Mrs. Boreman, who kicks her daughter out.

Naturally, she moves in with Chuck, whose go-go bar has a porno theater in the back. His controlling nature infiltrates their relationship, becoming increasingly violent and manipulative once they marry, forcing Linda into prostitution at gunpoint. Even in their bed, his controlling nature forced her develop an unnatural gag reflex, which he documented on 8mm film. At an audition he arranged with a few porn producers, which Linda seems to think was for a legit movie, he shows the film – the producers are not only amazed at her oral specialty, but immediately begin writing a script around her unusual talent.

The film gets finished; it’s an unprecedented hit. Linda gets invited to the Playboy mansion for a screening, where a young Hugh (James Franco) courts her (to put it politely). She became an unusual celebrity as the first adult film actress to become a household name. But in time, her career flounders at the hands of her increasingly volatile manager/husband/pimp. Her refusal to do any more films only brings forth more abuse.

Her first attempt to escape the trifecta of mental, physical and emotional abuse by running back to her parents is of no comfort. Her mother kicks her out for a second time, telling her to obey her husband. She is finally freed when Anthony Romano (Chris Noth), Deep Throat’s financier, is so offended by the abuse he squirrels her away to safety. Six years after, she is living a new life in New York, denouncing the porno industry, becoming a voice for abused spouses and eventually reconciling with her family.

This is an odd little film in many ways. The story is presented through dichromatic good side/bad side glasses from the moment Chuck has the wide-eyed Linda in his marital clutches. For a large chunk movie's first half, everything is rose-tinted good times as her relationship with Chuck develops, as she is introduced into pornography, makes the film, and becomes a minor celebrity.

There is almost an innocence of fun at first, in spite of strong hints of ugliness lurking under the surface. Perhaps its difficult to portray the 70’s party/porn atmosphere without chasing the ghosts of Boogie Nights’ faithful homage, but at times the comparison here just can’t be helped – both in terms of the subject matter, the characters, and of course, the set and costume design.

But then the film, through disjointed time juxtapositions and odd flashbacks, begins to re-tell the story, but including the abuse and beatings, of being forced into prostitution, forced into making the film, and being pimped out because of her celebrity. Only then do we learn of her struggles and fears, of her own helplessness in the face of Chuck’s manipulations and violence. In one touching scene, Linda and her father John (Robert Patrick) have a heartfelt phone call that leaves both in tears, which seems to be her motivation to quit.

But the effect falls flat for the most part, rendering the film almost schizophrenic. In a segment where Linda meets Harry Reems (Adam Brodie), her “co-actor” for her first scene, he comments on what a great job they have, almost waxing poetically about being an adult actor for a moment. By the time the dark turn comes, its onset is confusing and at times convoluted, forcing the audience to remember too many plot points without enough setup. Its as jarring as downing a cup of orange juice after brushing your teeth with toothpaste. On one hand there is a girl who appears on all accounts to be having a princess experience, and then, well... there is the unseemly underbelly of the rest of it. And nowhere do the two easily meet. It leaves audience distrusting what they watch, not quite sure what they are being asked to follow.

To both directors’ credit, it appears there was a deliberate decision to avoid titillation, which is surprising (but perhaps necessary) for a film dealing with the prurient topics of porn and fellatio. Even the simulated sex scenes feature no real nudity, and the rare peeks have more to do with establishing the characters than sex. In fact, sexuality seems completely stripped from the film after the brief pre-marital happiness, banished to the end sequences where the act itself represents nothing but violence and control, the very antithesis of “making love.”

But maybe that was the point in examining poor Lovelace’s life; that she was a victim in every sense of the world. Depersonalized, objectified, and denied any sense of self from her family and lover, forced to live a lie through violence and deception, it’s a wonder Linda Boreman was able to return to a regular life, let alone a self-empowered woman. But as a biopic, it leaves something to be desired, as if it once had a focus, but couldn’t quite decide which kind of a story it wanted to tell.

Rating: 4 of 10 VHS tapes

Pain level: 2-3

Medication 10 mg cyclobenzeprene, 10 mg oxycodone

TO WATCH LOVELACE ON NETFLIX, CLICK HERE

A note on my ratings.

Over the years, I have found that most commercially released films fit in the “average” bucket, while there are few that ever make the “totally crap” or “exemplary and near perfect”, there are a number of films that fall further and further to one side of average.

When I use a system of 10, figure that most films rate between 4-6. Those are all completely watchable films, but some better than others. The 2 and 3 are reserved for films found on Netflix that would likely not receive distribution anywhere else. The 7 and 8 are excellent films, where you often wish you saw them in the full theater experience. The 1’s are basically the worst of the worst, and only worth watching if you are a bona fide masochist. Lesser folks often have the urge to gouge their eyes out after watching these. And the 9 and 10s are those truly rare, spectacular movies that you kick yourself for not first seeing in IMAX theaters with all the trimmings.

I may find amazing moments in awful movies that are worth noting, or harp on the weak points of an otherwise flawless film. After all, film art is a perpetual ying and yang, unpredictable and odd. But even when tearing apart Ed Woods films, there are rare moments of genius amidst the heaps of trash. And that is one of the great things about Netflix – the search for hidden gems.

Update

So it's nearing the three months checkup where my doctor takes x-rays and decides if there is enough bone growth to allow me to return to work. Last thing anybody wants is something smacking me in my neck, and my spinal cord becoming severed as the bone anchor fails. Let's just hope it all went well and the doc sees no issues other than the continuing neuropathic pain. That takes a few months to resolve.

Thanks to a small but devoted group of readers, who - I might add - are quite vocal in their persuasive discussions, I have decided, with their helpful advice, to continue this ill-thought out plan of reviewing movies from Netflix. Its not like these are new movies, or even movies that have just hit the cable circuit. Nope, these folks are the last line for streaming point-to-point distribution, with a library piled high with DVD releases of short-lived reality shows and television seasons of mediocre dreck sprinkled lightly with the one or two decent films they agree to license for a month.

Admittedly, I am looking forward to binging on Kevin Spacy's partnership in the brilliant House of Cards series that may well change the business paradigm. So I am hopeful about this adolescent video jukebox. But is there a place for reviews specific to the Netflix culture? That's the question I need answered, but not on I will find immediately.

Stay tuned for more reviews, plus the up-and-coming addition of a Facebook page for this blog. When you see things slow down here, check out my other project - a natured documentary on coral reef extinction called "Putting the Pieces Together," at http://www.puttingthepiecestogether.com.

Cheers.