Great (and not so great) Expectations

Our mental perceptions entirely determine how "good" or "bad" a given piece of creative work is.  I've never been more convinced of this fact than in recently viewing the juxtaposition of two films: Shutter Island and Gothika.  The first, directed by Martin Scorsese, starring Leonardo DiCaprio, Mark Ruffalo, Ben Kingsley, Max von Sydow, and Michelle Williams, came with lots of critical acclaim and more than a little hype.  I understandably had pretty high expectations of it.  The latter, debuted several years ago and  has been routinely panned ever since.  It's apparently one of Halle Berry's worst movies, and so I was curious to check it out, but sure that it would stink.  Both movies are psychological mysteries / thrillers set in a hospital or prison for the criminally insane.


Shutter Island, much to my chagrin, was a terrible disappointment.  There are numerous problems with it.  First, the film was completely un-balanced.  The lead character (DiCaprio) is a U.S. Marshal investigating a patient (who supposedly drowned her children) escaped from an insane asylum in 1950s New England.  He was formerly in the U.S. Army during World War II (assisting with the liberation of Dachau), and his wife supposedly died tragically in a fire.  To which end, we are constantly presented with flash backs or dreams in which DiCaprio's character relives these tragic and heart-wrenching scenes.  These cut scenes are expertly directed and acted, but they come around far too often in the film.  It's one thing to establish the character's motivation and psychological baggage early in the film with a flash back or two, but seemingly every 5 or 10 minutes Scorsese feels the need to bring us nearly to tears with these horrifically sad events.  This completely throws off the rhythm of the film and doesn't really make the lead character any more (or less) sympathetic.

Guess what, I have a Southie Boston accent in this movie too!

Secondly, while I love a good twist ending in thrillers, the "twist" is both predictable and utterly infuriating in its silliness.  One can guess from the first scene that the "headache pills" that the warden of the asylum gives to DiCaprio are, in fact, some pharmaceutical agent to subdue him.  And then, after nearly 2 hours of various conflicts, cut-scenes and adventures, we are told that all the events were actually a complex ruse, or play acting, to somehow help DiCaprio's character come to grips with his past (he really is an inmate/patient at the asylum).  Now, I know federal and state governments had a lot more money to burn in the 1950s than they do today, but would any psychologist, warden or bureaucrat ever allow the placing of staff, patients and townspeople at risk by pretending that one of their patients is a federal agent, just to possibly avoid having to do a lobotomy on him (an unfortunately common procedure at the time)?  Not only is this premise ridiculous, but it also makes the conflicts and events in the film tantamount to being "all just a dream."  If that's the case, then the themes explored therein are meaningless.  The final line in the movie is somewhat haunting, but by that time I just don't care about DiCaprio's character enough to reflect on it.


Gothika wasn't any better, but then again, I didn't expect it to be.  It was a fun little jaunt of a thriller although there were definitely gaping holes in the plot.  For example, we learn that Halle Berry's character clearly killed her husband with an ax, but evidently that's OK, because at the end of the film she is shown freely walking on the street and back at her old job as a psychiatrist.  I've practiced law for a few years, and I never heard of a prosecutor just dropping murder charges because the defendant helped expose the fact that her victim was a sadistic serial killer and rapist.  Not to mention the fact that there is nothing "gothic" about the movie other than the fact that it is dark (and not just in terms of the subject matter; the lighting is actually not very good).  Gothika is kind of the mirror image of Shutter Island insofar as the protagonist (Berry) was a psychiatrist in a mental hospital only to then be held there as an inmate/patient when it is found that she murdered her husband (of which she has no recollection).  It turns out she did commit the murder after being possessed by the spirit of a girl that her husband previously murdered.  In contrast to the faux "realism" of Shutter Island, this supernatural aspect of the movie actually helps to suspend disbelief and just have some fun with the "ride".  The angry ghost is alternately helpful (letting Berry's character escape from the institution), and pretty un-helpful (beating and frightening her, not to mention forcing her to kill her husband).  The acting isn't very good (from anyone), but taking it at face value makes it not un-watchable.

Unlike anyone watching this in a theater, Halle Berry
was not alone.

In sum, the great difference between the two movies is that Shutter Island presents itself as an almost realistic mystery thriller, which turns out to be anything but realistic (or much of a mystery).  In contrast, with Gothika, you know in the first 15 minutes that something "supernatural" is happening, which grants an explanation (albeit ridiculous) for much of what transpires.  Don't waste your time with either (unless you've got some time to kill).

ZZZZZZzzzzzzz ... Station

Reviewing the recently released cover album AHK-toong BAY-bi Covered, also provides me with the chance to extol the virtues of another rare completely-awesome album: U2's Achtung Baby.


First, the original:


Achtung Baby was released in 1991, after a tremendously successful tour for the incomparable masterpiece that is The Joshua Tree (but on the heels of the highly criticized Rattle & Hum film / album).  A neat little fact I barely remembered, is that this album was recorded shortly after the reunification of Germany in 1989 (yes, there used to be two Germanys).  Achtung is arguably more experimental than is Joshua Tree, featuring more electro-pop rhythms, and the birth of the Bono alter-ego he used on the ZooTV tour (The Fly). Nevertheless, Achtung contains some of the band's biggest and longest-sustained hits: Mysterious Ways, One, and Even Better Than the Real Thing.


As with Joshua Tree and the later All That You Can't Leave Behind, U2 created a very balanced and mature album, where the freneticism of Zoo Station and Even Better introduces the listener to the pop power of this album, only to then seamlessly transition you to the uplifting traditional anthem One (I wonder how many tributes and charities have used that song over the last 20 years?).  Adam Clayton's driving bass and The Edge's guitar lines push Bono's lyrics of betrayal to new heights on Until the End of the World, and Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses?.  More subdued songs like So Cruel, Tryin' to Throw Your Arms Around the World, and Love is Blindness contain Bono's ruminations on relationships (and their failure), and provide balanced juxtaposition to the sexual pop energies of Ultraviolet (Light My Way), Mysterious Ways and The Fly.  One of the most interesting songs on the album - Acrobat - illustrates a certain disillusionment that was felt by Bono at the time ("No nothing makes sense" ... "I'd join the movement if there was one I could believe in / I'd break bread and wine if there was a church I could receive in").


There's now several "extra" "ultra" "deluxe" versions of the album available in honor of the record's 20th Anniversary, some of which might be worth checking out.  But if budget's a concern, at least get the basic classic version of Achtung Baby; it is a must-own.


Now, about that cover album ...


It is hard for me to give a negative review of AHK-toong BAY-bi Covered for a couple of reasons.  First, sales revenues of that album go to charity (Concern Worldwide helping east African poverty; a worthy goal).  Secondly, by all accounts it should be awesome: it's a classic U2 album covered by Nine Inch Nails, U2 (remix), Damien Rice, Patti Smith, Garbage, Depeche Mode, Gavin Friday, Snow Patrol, The Fray, The Killers, Glasvegas, and Jack White (of White Stripes / Raconteurs fame).


However, by-and-large, AHK-toong BAY-bi Covered is an uninspired re-hash of the songs on Achtung Baby, most of which are turned into miserably melancholy pieces.  Achtung Baby has power, balance, and a really well-integrated flow, while this cover album is overall very mono-tempo.  Ever wonder what it would sound like if U2 were heroin addicts?  Then this cover album is for you.


Some of the greatest disappointments are Until the End of the World (which Patti Smith turns into a thoroughly depressing country song); Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses (which Garbage - whom I normally like - fail to really explode in guitar rock & vocals); Mysterious Ways (only Snow Patrol could turn a sexually-charged pop hit into a sad emo song); Tryin' to Throw Your Arms Around the World (The Fray make it altogether too "top-40"); and last, but most offensive, Damien Rice's rendition of One.


I'm not familiar with Rice's music, but I understand he is an Irish folk-rock musician, and I'm sure he's fine at what he does.  However, U2's One has been an inspiring, uplifting song for a generation of men and women ("Love is a temple; love, the higher law" ... "One life, with each other, sisters, brothers" ... "One life, but we're not the same; we get to carry each other") and Rice's cover of One is slow, soft, and sad.  To say that it is melancholy would be an overstatement of it's emotion; it is perhaps the most depressing thing I've heard in the past decade.

How long, how long must we sing this song?

With all that said, there are some bright spots on AHK-toong BAY-bi Covered.  Some of the high-lights include Nine Inch Nails' cover of Zoo Station to open the album.  Contrary to my post's title, if you liked the Social Network soundtrack, you'll enjoy Trent Reznor's re-invention of Zoo Station here.  The Jacques Lu Cont mix of U2's Even Better Than the Real Thing is also really good, as it captures the original pop energy of the ZooTV tour (but with a 21st century electronic conception), without going too far afield of the original song.  I love the ethereal cover of So Cruel performed by Depeche Mode, as it strikes the right balance between emotional lyrics and aural energy; again being quite true to the original performed by U2.  Ultraviolet (Light My Way) covered by The Killers is a bit more down-tempo than the original, but is still pretty good as it lives up to my expectations for them.


In my opinion, the shining star of this cover album is Love is Blindness performed by Jack White.  I admit that - although I do consider Achtung Baby to be an overall great album - I never cared for the last song (Love is Blindness) because I felt it was an awkward way for the album to end on such a down note.  But Jack White injects his raw, garage-rock energy to this song and performs the lyrics, guitar and organ with painful intensity.  This cover would be at home on any White Stripes or Raconteurs record, and sort of reinvigorates the listener after the many down-tempo renditions on AHK-toong BAY-bi.


In sum, although AHK-toong BAY-bi is generally a far cry from its titular parent, there are several tracks worth purchasing; not only because they support a good cause, but also because they are interesting versions of some of U2's best songs from this era.

Something Worth Listening To

There was a time - seemingly not too long ago - when you had to buy a whole album (record, tape, CD, whatever) just to get those one or two songs that you really wanted to listen to.  In the past decade, music has been so commoditized that the value of any one individual track is now from 0 to 99 cents.  With the advent of Napster and now iTunes, everyone is free to buy only those songs that they know they want; only the "hits".  On a certain level, this is indisputably a good thing.  After all, who hasn't been burned by shelling out $16 or more on a whole album, enticed by the constant terrestrial radio play or MTV video exposition of a band, only to find that the record was 90% unlistenable crap?

You sir, are no Kurt Cobain!

I remember back in 2002 being really excited about a band call The Vines.  Their song Get Free sounded like a power-trio grunge hit circa 1992; kind of like Nirvana by way of Silverchair.  So, I bought Highly Evolved (the CD with that song on it), and listened to it start to finish.  And you know what?  It was mostly psychedelic bubblegum pop-rock.  With the exception of Get Free, it sounded like a random Beatles record to me - which of course isn't shit - but when you purchase something expecting to hear Kurt Cobain, getting Paul McCartney is a bit of a disappointment to say the least.

So, good riddance to the tyranny of the full album!

But now, I fear that the pendulum has swung too far in the other direction.  Now that kids can buy Smells Like Teen Spirit for 99¢ why would they purchase all of Nevermind for $10?

In this fragmentation of music - especially with older albums - consumers today very well might miss out on the joy of accidentally finding non-hit songs that they like and appreciate just as much as, if not more than, the popular favorites.  Some albums in their entirety are good to own regardless of how many "hits" are on them.  

Therefore, in an attempt to provide some useful advice for music consumers of today (sans any input, coercion, or influence from the bands / recording labels), I will periodically suggest great, must-have albums.

In general, I have found that thoroughly listenable albums can be split into two main categories: those that have a similar sonic or lyric theme running through them (essentially "concept" albums), and those that are broadly variable their sound from song-to-song, but each and every song is independently good, and the manner in which the songs are organized within the album makes listening to the whole thing a pleasurable experience.  While there are perhaps dozens of great albums in each category (grains of sand amongst the thousands of records produced each year), I thought I'd start this series with a couple of the best examples of each type.

1. Dark Side of the Moon (Pink Floyd):

This record is a great example of the "concept" album.  As has been fully described elsewhere, Dark Side of the Moon explores ideas of human life and the human societal condition (Time, Money, death, madness) both lyrically and aurally throughout this album.  The songs, by design, pass into each other seamlessly.  Similarly, the rhythms, chords and tones used in each song of Dark Side are woven together, creating a subconscious correlation betwixt them.  For example, Us and Them (track 7) is a jazzier exposition of the chords in Breathe (track 2), and Any Colour You Like (track 8) certainly has sonic call-backs to The Great Gig in the Sky (track 5).  And, most obviously, Brain Damage (track 9) cannot be completed without Eclipse (track 10).

Even if you are not generally a classic rock fan, or know anything about Pink Floyd, this album, Dark Side of the Moon, is a must-own.

2. The Bends (Radiohead):

Containing such popular hits as Just and Fake Plastic Trees, The Bends was indisputably a commercial success for Radiohead.  With lyrics more mature in their complexity from what Thom Yorke wrote for Pablo Honey, featuring explosive guitars, driving bass, and, alternately, melancholy organ and strings, The Bends is that strangest of all musical things: a tremendously great sophomore record by a popular band.  In my opinion, The Bends remains the best of all Radiohead albums; quintessential in its mid-90s alternative rock.  The songs all convey their meaning and emotion without trying too hard, and have a wonderful variability throughout.  From the sadness of High and Dry or Fake Plastic Trees, to the tremendous power of Bones, Just or Black Star, this album might tire you out emotionally, but you will never tire of listening to it.  Thus, The Bends remains a great example of the second category of must-own albums: every song on it is excellent, and the album overall is evenly and beautifully balanced between the slow and fast, heavy and quiet, sad and angry.

So, if you're thinking of just purchasing Fake Plastic Trees because it has a full "popularity" bar on iTunes, I implore you to forego your coffee tomorrow morning, or take some cash out of savings if you need to, and spend the extra $8 on the whole album.  I guarantee you won't regret it.

Hill Holds Up

Now that Halloween is but a stomach-ache filled memory, I decided to turn my attention to more pleasant visual fare lately.  With the recent return of Beavis and Butthead to MTV, I thought, why not check out that other Mike Judge vehicle on Netflix; King of the Hill?

I'm really glad I did.  While this series originally aired from 1997 to 2010 on Fox, it was always kind of an also-ran to The Simpsons and Family Guy for me.  Often pre-empted by a long football game or late baseball series, I never really got into it while it was on TV.  Sometimes I would catch re-runs on local TV, but I didn't ever invest the time to immerse myself in the Arlen universe until the past couple of months.

Well, I finally learned what I was missing: consistent fun and periodic hilarity!  Unlike the latter years of The Simpsons and the early (well, frankly, all) episodes of Family Guy, the funny situations that Hank, Peggy, Bobby, et al. find themselves in episode after episode seem to have a firmly-rooted basis in a realistic life of a propane salesman in Texas.  Although the main characters' suburban naiveté leads to a host of hilarious circumstances (Peggy fooled into performing on a foot-fetish website; Peggy being tricked into smuggling cocaine into a prison; Hank accidentally becoming a pimp; or Bobby inadvertently burning down the church), these rubes are nevertheless portrayed as good-hearted and earnest in their trust and care for their fellow Arlinites (or is it Arlinians?).

For a lifelong Yankee like myself, the country-music tinged, high-school football-loving conservatism of the Hills is also a bit of counter-cultural fun.  Hank in particular is like a relic of a bygone era, where men had the skills and gumption to fix anything around their house themselves (except maybe their relationships with their father / son), and, above all, took pride in their work (and yard).  And, unlike the predicted paucity of laughs in a "Lisa" episode or a "Meg" episode of the afore-mentioned Fox shows, there's no un-funny character in Arlen.  Whether it's an episode focusing on Hank's love of propane, Cotton's hatred of the Japanese, Bobby's longing to be a prop-comedian, Luanne's love-life, Dale's paranoia, or Peggy's big feet, an episode focusing on any one of these characters is great.

Finally, King of the Hill holds up.  With the exception of maybe the one or two Y2K or presidential election-themed episodes, it never seems dated.  Probably just using the acronym "Y2K" no doubt dates me.  But overall, the Arlen of 1997 is just as funny, just as relevant, for anyone watching today.

So, to sum it up, I give King of the Hill 4 out of 5 propane tanks, and highly recommend you check it out if you haven't already.  I hope you enjoy this series as much as I do!

Overrated Velvet

In heaven, everything is fine! 

.tevleV eulB naht retteb hcum si sihT

I like and respect David Lynch as a director (even more so than as a Stoolbend, VA bartender).  I've thought highly of him since seeing Eraserhead back in the late 90s - this was back when you could only find those sorts of beautifully obscure films via a friend's borrowed Japanese-import DVD (or was it a videotape?) - I have enjoyed the trippy surrealism of Lost Highway and, of course, his magnum opus: Twin Peaks.

So it seemed like a foolish oversight for me not to have watched Lynch's most critically-acclaimed work, Blue Velvet.  After all, Blue Velvet has a 7.8 (out of 10) rating on IMDB, and 91% positive rating on Rotten Tomatoes.  Not so, I found.  In fact, it was foolish for me to have watched this overrated movie, if not foolish for Lynch to have made it in the first place.


Now don't get me wrong, I like surrealism and generally appreciate Lynch's aesthetic.  However, despite Blue Velvet's presentation as a quasi-realistic film noire, few of the characters pursue any well-thought-out course of action.  This is my first criticism of the movie.  As I railed about last week, if you're going to present your material, your themes, your viewpoint, in a supposedly realistic setting, then it is absolutely incumbent upon you to present your characters in a similarly realistic manner.  
Of course, we can forgive somebody like Frank Booth (Dennis Hopper) his irrationality - he's a sex-crazed drug addict and criminal.  But take, for instance, the leading man: Jeffrey Beaumont (played by Kyle MacLachlan).  He is a college student who accidentally finds a severed ear in a field during a return trip to his home town in the Pacific Northwest (Loggerton, I believe).  He takes it to police, but, despite the police officer's exhortations to the contrary, insists on investigating the whole mystery himself.  In the course of trying to figure out who belongs to the severed ear, he gets stabbed (nearly seriously) by the distraught masochistic singer Dorothy Valens (Isabella Rossellini) whose apartment he broke into in the first place.  At this point, you would think Beaumont would leave well-enough alone (his curiosity satisfied) and return to his own affairs.  But you would be wrong.  Evidently young Jeffrey didn't have enough on his plate (his father laid up in hospital, a young potential girlfriend (Laura Dern) and running his father's hardware store), and instead needed to get intertwined in this weird woman's personal affairs which include a kidnapped husband and son, a sadistic "boyfriend" who runs a drug gang ... and a police corruption scandal.  In contrast, the incessant inquisitiveness of MacLachlan's nearly identical character in Twin Peaks, Agent Dale Cooper, makes perfect contextual sense, insofar as Cooper is an FBI Agent.  It was his job to investigate similarly strange, and dangerous, goings on.

Why do I care?

Jeffrey is not the only unbelievable character though, as it is never explained how (or why) Sandy Williams (Laura Dern) takes Jeffrey back as her boyfriend after it is plainly obvious that he had a sexual relationship with Dorothy.  Likewise, why didn't poor Ms. Valens seek police help when her family was first abducted?  And, if we are led to believe that Frank has abducted Dorothy's husband and son just to extort bizarre sex acts from her, why doesn't he just save himself the trouble and visit a prostitute?


Not only are the characters unbelievable, but so are the very plot "twists" and situations they find themselves in.  How does Dorothy wind up naked and beaten on Jeffrey's doorstep?  Neither she, nor her criminal paramour Frank, had ever been to his home to know where it is.  Why would Frank be dressed in a disguise of the "well-dressed-man"?  Why were the corrupt police officer (the "yellow man") and Dorothy's husband beaten and shot dead in her apartment?  None of this is ever explained, but nor did I care.  That is, the characters went so undeveloped in this film, that I really didn't care what happened to them.  It's not that I actively disliked any character (other than the obvious "villain" Frank), but we are offered so little insight into what motivates these individuals, that I just couldn't care what happened to Jeffrey, Sandy, Dorothy, or her son.

But these are not metaphysical questions; they are all practical questions.  And that is my most damning indictment of this film.  Unlike most of Lynch's work, every tiny bit of symbolism and metaphor is explained to death in Blue Velvet.  The worst scene in the movie, is when Sandy and Jeffrey park their car - in front of a Church even - where Sandy recounts a dream she had wherein there was a lot of darkness and evil in the world, and then all these robins fly in, and the robins bring love to conquer the evil.  Do you think Sandy is supposed to represent the purity of unspoiled youth and the power of love? 

The movie Anchorman had deeper symbolism than this. 


When watching a David Lynch work, part of the fun, in my opinion, is that the viewer is usually left with mysterious, if not deep, questions.  Why is there a lady with mumps in the radiator?  What does the man's head being turned in to erasers mean?  Who or what is Robert Blake's character?  What is the Black Lodge?  And, the ever ubiquitous, Who killed Laura Palmer?  These sorts of ruminations in the viewer's mind, holding over like cinematic ghosts long after you've left the theater, or turned off the TV, are what mark these cellophane imprints as something more than "movies", they distinguish the films really meaningful work.


Unfortunately, such significant questions are totally lacking from the aftermath of Blue Velvet; both because all the metaphors are painfully obvious, but also because the characters are devoid of anything really important to say.