It must be incredibly difficult to make a documentary about your friend. Especially if your friend died reasonably young and happened to be one of the Founding Fathers of a musical movement. Julien Temple’s “Joe Strummer: The Future is Unwritten” is remarkably objective and concise for being a touching tribute to such an important man. However, it still, perhaps unavoidably so, falls into the trappings of a documentary made by a friend. It's just too long. The good news is that is my ONLY criticism of this film. Everything else is just nitpicking. The film covers Joe Strummer's entire life from his childhood with his brother and his foray at boarding school to dealing with his brother's suicide and how that contributed to the man he became. It covers the quiet period between the end of the Clash and the beginning of The Mescaleros that has previously been a bit of a mystery. It ends, of course, with Strummer's untimely death and implicates the full extent of why this was a tragedy. The man simply had so much more to do.

The Clash is absolutely my favorite band. They are also one of the most documented bands and definitely the most documented founding punk band besides, perhaps, The Ramones. It wasn't as easy back then to just carry a camera around with you so it must have been pretty clear to everyone that Joe Strummer was a big deal. What he was doing was important and needed to be filmed. Much of this footage must have been filmed by Temple himself because I have seen every Clash documentary I can get my hands on and I only recognized a handful of the shots in this movie. The only narration is from the man himself, taken primarily from a radio broadcast he recorded. The film is filled with interviews from the people who were close to him, most of which were shot around a roaring camp fire in several cities. The way the interviews were shot, with the people who loved Joe gathered together around a warm campfire, really illustrates how much of an influence he really had on everyone who he touched. This is evident even before you learn that the campfires are a tribute to an ongoing event that Joe had organized himself.

Temple also ignored another documentary film staple. Titling his interviewees with their names. You either recognize an interviewee (the most recognizable of whom is Bono) or you learn who they are through the stories they are telling. If you never learn who they are (the Sex Pistol's Steve Jones is quite a bit more bloated than his skinny young counterpart), it doesn't really matter. The film isn't about them. It's about Joe. His story has been told before and will, thankfully, be told again. But Julien Temple's telling of it is perfect.

June 5, 2007
Categories: Filmpinions . Tags: thereel . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

“The Ten” is written by the same team responsible for one of my favorite comedies of all time, “Wet Hot American Summer”. You might also know these folks from an old MTV sketch comedy show called “The State”. Some of the alumni went on to make “Reno 911” and another sort of surrealistic comedy troupe called “Stella”. I think all of these projects are brilliant (save the short-lived “Stella” TV series that was a bit of a disaster). So I was half ecstatic, half worried to see “The Ten”. Would it be the filthy surrealistic humor that I love from David Wain and Ken Marino, or would it be the flaccid failure that was the “Stella” TV show?

I was overjoyed to learn that it's the former. “The Ten” is glorious. It's very difficult to make a sketch film. Not even all the “Monty Python” movies are great. There are bound to be some weak moments, as with most film, but they will become more apparent when the moments are entire concepts for a scene. Wain and Marino were smart to start with such a strong theme: Take the 10 Commandments and write 10 scenarios in which each commandment is grossly broken. Hilarity doth ensue.

It's true, there ARE still weak moments. But they only serve to introduce characters who will go on to be a part of a really strong moment. Our narrator is the ALWAYS enjoyable Paul Rudd. (And I do mean ALWAYS. I haven't watched “The Object of My Affection” at least 5 times on Lifetime because I'm a big Jennifer Aniston RomCom fan.) Rudd introduces each story after furthering his own plot as man who is in the midst of breaking the commandment about adultery. His jilted wife is played by the tremendous Famke Jansen (Jean Grey!) who can make the phrase “There's something you're not telling me about the pec juice” uproariously funny. Trust me, it makes sense in the context of the scene. Sort of.

The film is actually filled with usually dramatic actors being absolutely hilarious. Liev Schreiber plays a man obsessed with competing with his neighbor…by buying the most CAT scan machines…with tragic results. Winona Ryder plays a woman who has a steamy affair with a ventriloquist's dummy….with tragic results! Of course, all this tragedy is actually hilarious because they are spot-on parodies of dramatic film conventions. And now that I think about it, the less you know about this film, the better. This film scored a distribution deal at Sundance, but whether that means it will be coming to a theatre near you or a streaming video website near you, I'm not sure. All I know is that “The Ten” is destined to be a comedy classic a la “The Meaning of Life” and “Kentucky Fried Movie”.

June 5, 2007
Categories: Filmpinions . Tags: thereel . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

One of the millions of reasons I love living in Seattle, and one of the main reasons I moved here in the first place (11 years ago!) was because of the independent film scene. It used to be that the Seattle International Film Festival contributed a great deal to this scene by bringing small independent films that might not otherwise be seen on a big screen or, perhaps even make it to DVD to a theatre near you. (If you live in Seattle, of course). Unfortunately, over the years, SIFF has fallen prey to the same trappings that other big film festivals like Sundance and Cannes have. Thousands of hopeful filmmakers scrounge for $50 + postage and submit their small films to these festivals hoping to be discovered, not realizing that before a call for submissions even goes out, half the festival has already been programmed with sure-thing films. Those films have name stars or directors and often ALREADY HAVE DISTRIBUTION BY THE TIME THE FESTIVAL ROLES AROUND. These people do not need help. But, as is the Hollywood way, they get it anyway. I hate being so jaded, so I go to SIFF anyway. I wait in line to see a movie by Frank Oz. Of course, I like Frank Oz. He's YODA, for Jeebus' Sake! He also directed the film of my favorite musical of all time, Little Shop of Horrors. (I would like to say that this is the ONE film that is based on a musical based on a film that actually worked out OK and I hate that it is probably responsible for why that godawful Hairspray adaptation/remake is about to happen. But I digress…)

Death at a Funeral is Frank Oz's latest film. It has the formula for being great. British actors, or actors pretending to be British, dark comedy about death and funerals with drug references and Peter Dinklage. Sadly, I found it falls a little flat. The jokes are surprisingly cliche for a film about funeral mishaps. Also, my enjoyment of the film was impacted by the EXTREMELY overeager audience who, aware that Mr. Oz was in attendance, SCREAM laughed at every single joke. You think I exaggerate? I assure you that this is not hyperbole. The man next to me was shrieking as if his life depended on making sure Frank Oz knew he LOVED the film. The experience was both physically and emotionally painful.

There were good points about the film. The aforementioned Dinklage is always fantastic. Likewise with Alan Tudyk (he with the decent fake British accent and expressive face). In fact, the entire cast was pretty spot on. I just wish they'd been given something a little edgier to do with their talent. In the end, it felt like my boyfriend and I were actually attending movie night at the retirement home. For a movie with profanity and references to hallucinogenics and gay sex, the whole affair felt pretty tame. But at least now I know what DVD to get my grandmother for Christmas.

June 5, 2007
Categories: Filmpinions . Tags: thereel . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

I haven't seen Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End. But I don't think I need to. For one thing, every review has said it's awful. Worse than the second one. Let's go back in time…

It's 2003 and, being a person who is a fan of Johnny Depp, (when I was 8, I wanted to be a professional narc because of his role on 21 Jump Street) and of pirates in general and who has friends with happy childhood memories of the ride at Disney Land, I go see Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl. I have low expectations. My friends have low expectations. We may or may not be sneaking beer into the movie theatre. We are pleasantly surprised. The film isn't half bad. It's actually kind of good. And we're pretty sure it's not just the beer talking. The rest of America agrees with us. The movie is a huge hit.

Now it's 2006 and Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest is in theatres. I am less interested to see this one. Sequels are often horrible failures. Nonetheless, I see the film with much of the same group as in 2003. This time, there is no beer. I think this is only marginally responsible for why I LOATHE it. My companions also loathe it. We agree that it is aimless and cartoonish. For 2 and a half hours, Keira Knightly obnoxiously harrumphes around, Johnny Depp acts like Wile E. Coyote and peach-fuzz-faced Orlando Bloom whisper-acts in tights. The special effects are indeed grand but do not disguise the fact that there is no plot to speak of. There are at least 20 minutes of film that do not need to be there at all.

I see the movie AGAIN with my boyfriend who could not make it the first time. That's love for you. This time there is (maybe) beer, but it doesn't help. It is still so much worse the second time. I believe this is because every second I know exactly how much longer I have to sit there and endure this atrocity. My boyfriend agrees that it is awful but we aren't the sort of people who leave movie theatres. When it is finally over, I vow that I will not see the third one. I was raised Catholic so I have a background in self-inflicted suffering, but I think even Jesus would agree that this is just too much.

This does NOT look good.

Back to the future! My very sweet boyfriend who loves pirates and has a faulty memory wants to see At World's End. My knee-jerk response is a violent outburst of “Eff no!” followed by a more controlled “I mean, you can go see it with your friends but I don't really care to see it myself.” He admits that the reviews all say it's terrible. Worse than the second. And longer. LONGER. Forget Hell. In Sunday School, they should just teach kids that if they're bad, they will be sentenced to an eternity watching Gore Verbinski director's cuts. My boyfriend may still see it. He may not. He and I both know it will suck. AMERICA knows it will suck. The WORLD knows it will suck. The title: At World's End may or may not be a portend for the Apocalypse. The world will see it anyway. I tried to warn you.

May 29, 2007
Categories: Filmpinions . Tags: thereel . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment

Sure, it starts with a crappy teenage actor who is way too pretty to grow up into the grizzled, equine Nic Cage, but after we get through all the business with Johnny Blaze selling his soul to the Deveeeel for a deal you KNOW has a terrible loop hole, “Ghost Rider” turns into the most glorious ham-flavored camp-fest in comic book adaptation history. In short, this movie is awesome. I fell in love with it at precisely the moment that Nic prepared to jump about 10 18-wheelers with Ozzy's “Crazy Train” blaring throughout the stadium. Why “Crazy Train”? Because, clearly, Johnny Blaze is craaaaaazy (train). But what the stadium full of blood-lusting rednecks doesn't know is that he CAN'T die. The Deveeel won't let him. One of these days, Peter “Mephistopheles” Fonda, is gonna call on his contractually obligated little dare devil to do some biness. Deveeel Biness. And knowing Satan, it's probably going to be when you're getting ready to reconcile with your estranged first love, who also happens to be a giant wino. And of course it's going to involve turning your head into a flaming skull. Isn't that just like Satan?

There are only about a million things to love about Nic Cage's performance: Teetotaler Blaze's relaxing martini glasses full of jelly beans (“Come on, man. You know alcohol gives me nightmares”). His love for shows about and starring monkeys (“Hey man, turn the monkey show back on”). His dressing room warm-ups sountracked by the Carpenters. Every ridiculous line is delivered with an unparalleled understanding of how to pull off the world's cheesiest dialog and still maintain a certain level of dignity. My companions and I haven't laughed so hard in a movie theatre in a very long time. But we weren't laughing AT Ghost Rider. We were laughing WITH Ghost Rider. I am now convinced that Cage has found his calling. Forget Oscar fodder about alcoholics. This is what he was born to do.

But Cage couldn't have done it alone. He was ably backed by Wes Bentley as Blackheart, the rebellious son of Satan, and Sam Elliott, who has the most impressive facial hair ever captured on celluloid. Peter Fonda phones it in somewhat. But a Peter Fonda phoning it in is still better than many actors who give it their all. (Isn't that right, Ben Afleck?)

To give you a better understanding of what you're in for, allow me to describe one of my favorite moments.

Johnny Blaze is the son and protege of Barton Blaze, who died in a tragic stunt accident which may or may not have been orchestrated by the Deveeeel. As Johnny prepares to jump his motorcycle over the spinning blades of several helicopters, his friend naturally asks him why the crazy with the certain death jumping over helicopters. We flash back to Barton Blaze saying how one day he'd reaaaaally like to jump over the spinning blades of ONE helicopter. Tragically, he never got the chance. Back in the present, a ruminative Johnny Blaze explains to his friend, in his Elvis-esque brogue, “My dad thought it'd be cool.” And then he jumps in his motorcycle!

I'm not saying “Ghost Rider” is the next “Citizen Kane”. But for a movie about a guy with a flaming skull for a head who fights evil, it's pretty incredible.

February 20, 2007
Categories: Filmpinions . Tags: thereel . Author: Baxter . Comments: Leave a comment