(You’re either tired of hearing me talk about a silly piece of fanfic I wrote years ago, or you have no clue what I’m talking about.)
I loved that story, and mentioned to my wife that it would be sweet if we could get our grandkids to do a video live reading of I, Candy and present it to me as a Christmas gift. And, to my and everyone’s delight, they did it! Sort of.
They were camera shy, so they just did the audio. So, I took that and, while messing around with some video making software, made a video of it. I added text and other stuff while Kayla, aged 13, and Kamryn, aged 9, read the story aloud.
It probably would have been a little tighter and more polished if I were a bit more tech-savvy, but I think it turned out kinda cute.
Believe it or not, I sometimes watch movies that aren’t screwball comedies, studio flops, or B-movies that I riff, or pick apart. NYAD is one of those films. I knew going in that if it was going to be bad it wouldn’t be the type of bad movie I could goof on. If it was going to be a good movie, then there’d be a good chance I or my wife will be left an emotional wreck by the end.
So, when I saw that movie titans like Jodie Foster and Annette Bening were starring in a biopic about marathon swimmer Diana Nyad, I knew I was in for some serious glub glub. I don’t pay attention to, or care very much about Academy Award nominations for films or actors; I only care if I like or don’t like it.
I only remembered minute details about the early 2000s saga of Diana Nyad; I knew she attempted to swim from Cuba to Key West, but didn’t remember if she actually made it. Well, she did actually make it, but I had no idea that it was after four failed attempts. FOUR. And that Nyad was in her mid-sixties when she tried it.
At its core, NYAD is a movie about perseverance, dedication, and letting nothing stand in the way of what a person believes in their heart to be their true calling. As facts about the record-breaking swim emerge, we learn that in order for Nyad to pull this off, it would mean over sixty hours of swimming. To paraphrase a comedian whose name I don’t remember: I wouldn’t even want to do something that feels good for sixty straight hours. Swimming is a sport, but it’s one of the few sports that if you’re bad at it, you might die. As it is, I could probably splash around in a hotel swimming pool for about ten minutes before I’m ready to get out and dry off. Nyad is planning on being in the Caribbean Sea for two and a half days. And she wants to do it with only the minimum of safety and security measures (no shark cage; jellyfish repellent swimwear),
Though I can’t confess to being that fond of swimming, I do have hobbies and activities that I’m passionate about. For instance, I have been DJing for more than thirty-five years and my love for it hasn’t diminished in the slightest. But if someone said, “Hey you want to break the world record for nonstop DJing? I’d be like, “I could give you five, maybe six quality hours. Anything after that wouldn’t be any kind of DJing I’d want my name attached to.” So, I can’t really relate to what makes a person want to subject their body and mind to such a rigorous routine. That didn’t stop me for rooting for Diana, and even after numerous setbacks that left her looking and feeling like an old catcher’s mitt, she didn’t give up.
From a movie perspective, Bening and Foster are at the absolute top of their game. There’s acting all over the place in this thing. And it’s damn good. A good actor can make you forget that you’re watching someone play a character. And Annette Bening doesn’t just play Diana Nyad, she becomes her. Also, near as I can tell, she’s doing all of her own swimming. Ain’t no CGI; ain’t no soundstage. That’s really sixty-five year-old Bening in that water. “It’s not that I don’t know I’m this way,” Nyad says. And it was like she spoke directly to my soul.
Foster plays Nyad’s coach and best friend Bonnie, who is reluctant at first, but after she sees how determined Diana is, Bonnie recruits a team of seafaring professionals (who are working for free, BTW) and they hit the water. And the ater hits back. Again, and again. But, she doesn’t give up. Even after dying for a few seconds, she’s like, “let’s go again!” By the time Nyad finally staggers onto U.S. soil, I had to convince my wife that the lump in my throat was due to COVID.
The directing and cinematography, as well as the soundtrack, is top notch as well. See it. See it on a 4K TV with surround sound, if you can. If you can’t, drop by and I’ll gladly dial this one up again. Five out of five stars.
And when I say “dark,” I’m not talking about the screenplay or the script. I mean that the movie is so damn dark, you can’t even see what’s going on for most of the movie’s runtime.
Disney’s latest updated live-action, politically-corrected remake, is everything the 1953 original isn’t: dark, dull, and would be the perfect film to show on a loop in Dismaland.
The filmmakers’ first attempt to modernize the story is evident in the title itself, half-assed and backhanded as it is. Frankly, this is Wendy’s movie, so why not just name it Wendy, or Wendy Darling: Pirate Slayer, even? She does way more ass-kicking than Peter Pan does; in fact, PP, Wendy’s brothers, and the Lost Boys (updated to include girls, of course) are all mere background players to the awesomeness that is Wendy.
Peter even gets himself killed by Captain Hook, that’s how lame he is. (Worry not, Tiger Lily shows up and smears some magical pesto on his chest and he gasps back to “life.”) Peter, or more accurately, the actor playing him, is so bland and worthless, the movie doesn’t just grind to a halt whenever he’s front and center, it goes in reverse. If this was the original Peter Pan, there’s no way he would have ever ended up on jars of peanut butter. Peter was always an immature jerky kinda guy, heck, that was part of his charm. But in this film, he’s also boring. And borderline psychopathic. I mean, if you don’t want to stay in Neverland forever and be his friend, he might just cut your hand off and feed it to a crocodile. As one does.
Actually, the movie is indeed dark in other ways besides visually; there’s little to no fun to be had during the adventures in Neverland, which looks less like a whimsical paradise and more like an uninhabited part of the British Isles. Cpt. Hook eventually catches up to the Darlings, but no matter; Wendy and co. are quite capable of taking on an entire ship full of pirates.
Oh yeah, just like the movie almost did, I forgot about Tinker Bell. Yeah. She’s in this, too.
This is a “retelling” we certainly didn’t ask for, or need. If you don’t have quick access to Hook, go and watch the original from seventy years ago; just fast-forward through “What Made The Red Man Red” and the other racist stuff, you’ll be fine. Zero out of five stars.
Here we go. M. Night Shyamalan’s at it again. This time, it’s not the trees that are killing people (or making people kill themselves to be more specific, as trees haven’t evolved hands to hold knives or guns with), or an alien threat, or any of the other baddies in his previous films. It’s a deadly beach. A beach that makes you…Old.
I mean, I can relate. Every time I go to the beach, I feel like I’m gonna be there till I die. There’s sand, sun and/or wind, sand, rowdy kids, sand, gulls trying to steal your lunch, sand, gross seaweed, sand, jagged shells digging into your feet on your way into the salty stinky sea, and sand. I mean, that stuff gets everywhere. Two kinds of people go to the beach: those who know it sucks, and those who pretend it doesn’t suck for the sake of pleasing no one.
In addition to the regular beach reasons, the beach in Old sucks because it makes you age at a ridiculously rapid rate. Like one hour equals two years of your life. Why? Well, the characters will spend a lot of time speculating as to why this is happening but they don’t really know. No one does. What they do know, especially after a couple of them die trying, is that there’s no way off this beach.
The aging is more visible in the kids, who are ages 5,6, and 11 (as far as we know), because their bodies undergo more drastic visual changes, y’know, with puberty and adolescence and all. They try to address the fact that growing kids need tons of food (they’re supplied with a huge basket of what appears to be astronaut food? Freeze-dried pasta just add water? Whatever. They’d need more than one basket of food to survive, but then surviving was never the endgame for the folks running this “resort.”), but apparently the adults don’t need to eat at all even though they are aging at the same rate. An hour without food is equivalent to two years without food? That’s a hell of a hunger strike, but nobody withers away and drops dead. Why? Even the characters with all their clunky dialogue can’t figure that one out.
The script? Hoo boy. It comes across like the parts of the screenplay that you’re not supposed to read out loud. “We are on the beach.” “The dead dog was just alive a minute ago.” “I’m going to ask everyone in sight what their names and occupations are.” You’ve heard of “show, don’t tell?” Well, M. introduces us to “show them telling.” The characters spend so much time trying to dumb down this already dumb movie. For every “why” that the screenwriter (Shyamalan, of course) answers, five more questions take its place. After a while you simply don’t care anymore why all this sh*t is happening, you just want everyone to be more interesting. And less face-punchable.
Now, the idea that there’s an area on planet Earth that ages people two years for every hour of real time, is a dope idea. It’s a great concept that a writer and director can run with and have a ghoulishly fun time. That writer and director need to be competent though, especially if they are the same person. There are scenes that, if there were better actors saying better lines, could have been downright chilling. Some of the death scenes could have been gruesome (even for a PG-13 money grab) and horrifying, if they weren’t surrounded by so much overripe cinematic cheese.
I’m a writer myself. I know all too well the whimsy a writer feels when they get that kernel of an idea: “Hey, what if there was a place that made you old?” Yeah, that’s interesting, but it’s not a story until that kernel pops. And it ain’t gonna pop unless the plot oil and script heat are sufficient and now I want popcorn. But hang on, it’s not even an original idea of Shyamalan’s; he got the story from a French graphic novel titled Sandcastle. The novel has a pretty dismal ending, while Old goes for the Hollywood ending. Several endings, actually. There are no guns with perfect aim and unlimited ammo, but there are matches that stay lit and people who can hold their breath underwater longer than David Blaine.
Pretty much the only thing they nailed with this movie was the casting of the two main kids. As they age they are, of course, played by different actors, and even if it was dumb luck, it works brilliantly.
Nothing else works, though.
Is Old so bad it’s good? Both my wife and I had fun watching it and picking it apart while laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it all (“Go in groups of two in case you black out.” Why, so you can black out together?). It’s on HBO Max, so if you have that, dial it up when you have nothing better to do. One and a half out of five stars.
I’d been reading comics earlier, but before I picked up issue #23 of The New Teen Titans at a comic store in Balitmore, Maryland, I’d never paid attention to who wrote and drew them.
The cover in the display pic is issue #485 of Adventure Comics. At the time, it was where you could find stories about Dial “H” for Hero, a unique series where two teenagers use a special dial to change into superheroes. And the superheroes were all created by comics fans and readers. Chris King and Vicki Grant would change into a different (allegedly) fan-created character every time and as far as I know, they’re never the same hero twice.
I guess the reason I bring this up is because hell–look at how many characters are on this cover. It’s got a gaggle of supervillains and monsters ganging up on two superheroes. But here’s the thing: All of these completely made-up, non-canon characters only appeared in this one story and were never seen again. If there was ever a situation where an artist could’ve taken it easy drawing a cover, this’d be it. But that’s the thing of the thing: George didn’t phone in shit. He put in all this effort and detail into making a cover for the very definition of “one-shot” characters. Because the man simply loved what he did. And so the hell did we.
Titans wasn’t even the first thing he’d ever worked on. His career as a comics artist began when I was still in preschool. He did so much work for Marvel Comics on The Avengers and random covers for other random Marvel comics before he came over to DC and put his indelible mark on Justice League, the aforementioned random covers, and what was arguably the greatest comics miniseries ever–Crisis On Infinite Earths.
Everybody gives it up for Mr. George Pérez, and well they should. The man has given the art world so much, and has been entertaining and astonishing comic book geeks like myself, as well as non-geeks like yourself, for the better part of 40+ years. Though he worked in printed media almost exclusively, his influence reaches far beyond your local comics shop. The reimagining of Wonder Woman? That was George. TV shows like HBO’s Titans, CW’s The Flash, and cartoons like Teen Titans GO! and other straight-to-video DC movies? All influenced by characters and stories Mr. Pérez created or recreated.
As the 1980s began, Mr. Pérez teamed with legendary writer Marv Wolfman to bring us a comic series that was unlike anything ever experienced before in the Silver Age of comics. Characters in The New Teen Titans had all the angst, pathos and tribulations of everyday schlubs like ourselves. More, actually. George not only treated us to some of the most visually spectacular action scenes ever seen, but he also took the time to infuse the characters’ facial expressions with all the feels that writer Wolfman ran through them. You could tell when they were scared, surprised, shocked, drunk, or seconds away from death, and it made you feel some kinda way, too.
I could fill this blog with some of my favorite images of George’s work, but there simply isn’t enough room for them all. Go ahead: do a search for George Pérez on Pinterest and you’ll find thousands of drawings. Prolific doesn’t even begin to describe the volume of work this man put in.
George was diagnosed with Stage 3 pancreatic cancer about a year ago, and made the decision to stop doing the convention circuit and opted for hospice at home with his family. He left this earth on May 6, 2022. He will live on in the pages of some of the best comics, storylines of some of the coolest TV shows, and in the imaginations of millions.
Violence is never the answer. But still, violence happens each and every day, for a number of reasons. I’ve never been one to advocate violence and will usually turn the other cheek, mostly because I float like a bee and sting like a butterfly, but that’s besides the point.
Chris Rock (ironically enough) said in one of his comedy routines, “There’s a reason to hit everybody; you’re just not supposed to do it.” Supposed to or not, people hit people all the time. I didn’t respond well to corporal punishment when I was a kid, so even playful nudges or smacks trigger me a little bit, so if I can avoid a fight, I’ll try. But sometimes, punches need to be thrown, if only to prove you’re not gonna take anyone’s crap.
I don’t care too much, at all, really, about Hollywood big shots getting slapped on the national stage over some stupid joke. You gonna hit a grown man because he made a joke in poor taste about your wife? Pull him aside out of the sight of cameras and talk it out like men. Grown-ass men who aren’t boxers shouldn’t be hitting each other in public. No good can come from it. Whatever; it was probably staged, anyway. If it wasn’t staged, it’ll be backpedaled, and Will and Chris will be making a movie together that will come out Christmas of 23.
But did y’all hear about this punch? Probably not, because these are just average Joes, and they don’t have millions of Twitter followers. But what happened between 22-year-old Corey Pujols and some old crotchety racist dickweed is FAAFO in action. This dumbass lost his life over not being civilized enough to wait through a delay in getting his overpriced, processed breakfast.
I had a similar situation not too long ago. It was at the Post Office (I know). The line to get service at the counter was slow because there were maybe two employees working the front. My wife and I were in line, waiting patiently and more important: we were waiting quietly. But not the guy in front of us.
Old white guy was just completely fed up with the wait time. Actually, there were two old white guys; one of them simply refused to wait in a slow line and decided he’d come back later or try another post office, because, leaving a post office, driving home or to another post office is a better use of his precious time than waiting in the line at the post office you’re already in, I guess. Guy in front of us decided to stay and kept complaining to Vikki about how long it was taking to get to the counter. We were waiting too, and our wait was going to be longer, because we were behind him. But we were quiet. We knew the people up front aren’t any happier about the slow line than we are. And they have to deal with customers, some of which are so clueless that they have to be told which side of the stamp to lick (neither side, as they are all self-adhesive). No, but let’s all stop what we’re doing and cater to Privileged Pete over here.
I say he was complaining to Vikki, because I had to turn away. All the crap that’s going on in this world, and the thing you wanna get all hot about is a long line at the post office? I’m turning the other cheek because if I don’t, I’m going to tell you to shut up and wait, like literally everyone else in here is doing. I would have asked to trade lives, as I would freakin’ love to have things going so well for me that I have time and energy to bitch and moan at a beleaguered postal worker for making me wait for an extra 20 minutes. I was perfectly fine with waiting a little bit longer, until you started spoutin’ off.
In truth, I probably would have said something snarky like, “Yeah, it’s a long line, but complaining isn’t making it any shorter, now is it?” Or, “If a long wait at the post office is the worst thing I have to deal with today, I’ll take it,” when what I really want to say is, “Man, if you don’t turn your bitch ass around and shut the f*ck up and wait. I know misery loves company, but this ain’t misery, my dude. Spend some time out here in the real world if you want to know what true misery is. Enough, already.” Then he would have directed his misdirected and unjustified anger at me, I would have told him again to shut up and wait, he would have called me a N—–, and I would have said “Sir, you forget yourself,” and punched him and hopefully ended up with just house arrest like Corey Pujols.
Choose kindness. There’s enough strife in the world. Don’t talk to me about how pissed you are at a long wait in line; spend that time trading dad jokes with me. Old white guys are supposed to be the absolute best at dad jokes.
That tagline is not mine; it’s a line uttered by one of the characters in the movie, during one of its many moments of self-awareness.
Coming 2 America isn’t so much a sequel, or a movie, for that matter, as it is a showcase for black talent, both old and new, and an embarrassingly high amount of “Remember this from the first movie? Well, here it is again, with absolutely no embellishments! Laugh, dammit!”
The showcase is more star-studded than the last twenty Tyler Perry films combined. I ain’t kidding–everybody is up in this piece. Except Tiffany Haddish, even though she was in some of the promo posters. Not sure what happened there. Anyway, it feels like the writers were instructed to come up with convoluted scenes to cram in celebs and up-and-comers, and worry about the story later.
Ahem. The “story.” Upon his father’s passing, Prince Akeem is now King Akeem of Zamunda, a vibraniumless fictional African nation. To help prevent war with the neighboring country Nexdoria (facepalm), a male heir must be found who can marry the Nexdorian general’s daughter, because even still, women are not allowed to rule because, tradition. Akeem must go back to Queens to find his bastard son because, tradition. Lavelle is resistant at first, then he isn’t, then he is again because, reasons? Never mind. Here’s another clip from the first movie.
The “jokes.” Every single throwback joke can be seen coming from miles away. Miles. And, while there were quite a few times when I laughed out loud, most of the new humor elicited far more groans, coming off like material even BET sitcoms would’ve rejected. A scene of the Nexdorian soldiers training with Shake Weights (2009) and Dance Dance Revolution (1999) is either an attempt at some Airplane!/Naked Gun-type humor, or a commentary on how behind the times some African nations are. Either way, NOT. FUNNY.
Leslie Jones and Tracy Morgan show up to do their Leslie and Tracy schtick, and they hit all the appropriate and expected notes. If they’re your cup of tea, you’ll laugh. And, as film franchises like National Lampoon’s Vacation, Police Academy, and Revenge of The Nerds have shown, making toothless PG-13 sequels of R-rated comedy classics does everyone a disservice. Really, Hollywood. Stop it. Learn from Borat and Deadpool. Keep it R.
Coming 2 America might have been better received as some sort of made-for-TV reunion special with musical numbers and dance routines. I will admit though, Eddie Murphy and Wesley Snipes acted their butts off with this mediocre material. They simply must do more movies together. If you haven’t seen them in Dolemite is my Name (excellent movie; 5 out of 5 stars; it’s that good), watch it. Now. Jermaine Fowler is better in Sorry To Bother You. Actually, everybody’s better in everything else. Coming 2 America isn’t the worst movie ever, but it’s not good, either. More cringeworthy than actually funny. One and a half out of five stars.
I’ve been a fanatic of the good folks behind Mystery Science Theater 3000, Rifftrax, Cinematic Titanic, and many of the offshoot projects of Joel Hodgson, Michael J. Nelson, Kevin Murphy, et. al. So, I figured what better way to pay homage than by taking some of the songs from some of the infamously bad movies they’ve riffed, and remixing, reediting, and flipping them.
Have a listen to It Stinks. Then download the entire album for free. I’d love to know what your favorite track is.
Family films don’t come any cuter than this. Soul is a very strong contender for my most favorite of the Disney/PIXAR films, threatening to knock Finding Nemo from its top spot. Probably after I’ve watched it as many times as I’ve watched Finding Nemo, it’ll be my #1.
Stories about what happens to your soul after it leaves (or before it comes to) your body have been told and retold in many different ways, and it’s a fun concept to play around with. Lots of authors and film directors have crafted tales about the afterlife, pre-life, or that fuzzy grey area between life and afterlife. Heck, I myself have a few. So, the main idea behind Soul isn’t exactly a new one. But they do such a fantastic job of putting a fresh, entertaining spin on it.
Our hero is Joe Gardner, a piano playing man who is eternally hopeful that his big break is just around the corner. He makes ends meet by being a middle school band teacher, but that gig does little to feed what he feels is his true passion. He thinks he’s on his way to the big time when he lands another substitute gig in a jazz quartet fronted by one of his idols, but because of a freak accident, he’s fast-tracked to the Great Beyond.
Joe is understandably reluctant to say goodbye to his life. Truthfully, this brings up one of the few issues I have with the story: It’s presented as if Joe is the only soul who doesn’t want to ascend. With the way people are, I’d expect there to be millions of souls every day, trying to escape back to life. But sure, let’s pretend that Joe’s the only rogue. Anyway, he stumbles into becoming a mentor for souls who are on the brink of becoming lost. Some of these souls belong to living people, while others have yet to descend to Earth.
Joe is tasked with helping an “old” soul known only as 22, and while I think unassigned souls should be genderless, 22 is identified as a she. 22 has tried the patience of literal saints, so she’ll be a tough nut to crack. Joe cuts a deal with 22 that he thinks will get him back to his body before his chance at stardom goes by the boards. Many hijinks and shenanigans ensue along the way, and Joe and 22 learn quite a bit about what it means to be truly alive. And to be a cat.
Soul is a pleasing watch, with the jokes coming at you rapid-fire (one of the reasons it warrants repeat viewing), and giving you the feels while not becoming sickly-sweet and sappy. It’s visually stunning, especially on a 4K television, and contains lots of music without becoming a musical. See it if you haven’t, and see it again if you have. Four out of five stars.
Has Mark(y) Mark Wahlberg successfully completed the transistion from 90s white-hop douche to accomplished leading man? Probably. I dunno. He hasn’t put out any cringeworthy quasi-rap albums lately, but has acted in lots of films. Some good ones (The Departed, Three Kings), and some turkeys (The Happening), so people must like seeing him in stuff.
As if it wasn’t evident, I didn’t have much use for Wahlberg during his “Marky Mark” phase (had absolutely no use for the Funky Bunch). With his inability to wear shirts or button his pants, raps that were laughable, and a face that was extremely punchable, It wasn’t hard to guess why New Kids On The Block kicked him out of the group. So, when he said he was going to start making movies, I immediately prepared my self for Cool As Ice 2: Boston Boogaloo. But, he started out with bit parts and cameos and was relatively unremarkable. Leading roles in films like The Perfect Storm and Boogie Nights showed that he wanted to give acting a real go. Movies like Ted and The Other Guys showed that he was also ready to be a funny guy, albeit with varying levels of success.
Which brings me to the latest Netflix joint, Spenser Confidential. It’s a rollicking blend of action, comedy, suspense and more punches than a Subway Sub Club card. Wahlberg plays Spenser, a good ex-cop (and ex-con), Boston-born and bred boxing enthusiast who teams up with a man called Hawk. And if any of that sounded familiar, it’s because they are the same characters from that 80s crime drama Spenser: For Hire.
Spenser’s not “for hire” here; he’s just trying to blow the lid off of Boston’s corrupt cop syndicate “because it’s the right thing to do.” Winston Duke plays Hawk, who in this iteration, is an animal-loving gentle giant whom Spenser bonds with through the sweet science of boxing. Alan Arkin is also along for the ride because when you need a crochety old goat to spout zingers, there’s no one else better (or still alive).
Wahlberg plays Spenser with a certain degree of smoothness but, as Hawk says, he does get beat up a lot. Of course, the best boxers will tell you that learning how to take a punch is just as important as learning how to throw a punch. So he gets punched, hits back, while uncovering more dirty secrets, and pretending to keep away from his girlfriend Cissy, who might be somebody’s idea of a catch, but I’d’a thrown her back into the Hahbah.
Still, Spenser, Hawk, Uncle Henry and Cissy make for an amusing motley crew, and the laughs are aplenty. The story’s fairly typical buddy cop fare, and the twists don’t really shock, at all. They could’ve trimmed about 20-30 minutes off as well. No word yet if Netflix is going to go to series with this reboot of Spenser. I wouldn’t bother if I were them; it won’t be worth all the dough Mark Wahlberg would probably require. Two and a half out of five stars.