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  • Sex, Steroids, Muppets. SpoutBlog Week in Review.

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  • Mel Brooks Closes Film Production Co.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful. [What do you think?]
    Under discussion:

    Blazing Saddles  (1974)

    The Elephant Man  (1980)

    My Favorite Year  (1982)

    Solarbabies  (1986)

    Spaceballs  (1987)

    Xanadu  (1980)

    It’s a sad day for Mel Brooks fans. With us still mourning yesterday’s passing of Harvey Korman, who appears in a number of Brooks’ films, today Page Six reports that the Spaceballs director is “quietly shuttering” his film production company, Brooksfilms. In addition to Brooks’ directorial works from A History of the World: Part 1 through Dracula: Dead and Loving It, the company also made such films as The Elephant Man, 84 Charing Cross Road, My Favorite Year and one of my childhood favorites, the underrated guilty pleasure Solarbabies.

    I first caught wind of the news from Stu over at Defamer, and seeing as how his post features a montage of Brooksfilm clips that excludes Solarbabies (for which he apologizes), I present you with a clip from the film here. Isn’t it great to know that breakdance and beatboxing is still cool in the waterless post-apocalyptic future? Another thing that would be cool in the future: a Broadway adaptation of Solarbabies. Hopefully Brooks will forget about that Blazing Saddles musical that’s rumored to be in the works and concentrate on bringing one of his non-classics to the stage. It’d be kinda like Starlight Express meets Urinetown. If Xanadu can be a hit and Young Frankenstein can’t, I say this idea should at least be explored.


    Originally posted on:SpoutBlog

  • The Critic Who Wouldn’t Wait For F-ing James Gray. BlogNosh 5/30/08

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    Under discussion:

    Two Lovers  (2009)

    • Who was the “major U.S. critic” who allegedly “stormed away from a mobbed, delayed 10:30 p.m. Cannes press screening of Two Lovers declaring she’s ‘not going to wait an hour for f—–g [director] James Gray’”? After allowing the blogosphere to stew on it for a week and a half, EW’s Lisa Schwarzbaum uses the Pop Watch blog to come clean. ” stormed away from a mobbed, delayed 10:30 p.m. Cannes press screening of Two Lovers declaring she’s “not going to wait an hour for f—–g [director] James Gray. “Dear reader, the storming, cursing critic in this international incident was me.”
    • Girls in terrible earrings! Boyfriends looking for an out plan! Radar has a photo gallery from a first New York public screening of Sex and the City.
    • Burbanked salutes the late Harvey Korman with a clip from High Anxiety.
    • Remember ROFLcon? It’s going on tour, with stops in San Francisco, New York, Chicago and Seattle through the summer. More info here.

    Originally posted on:SpoutBlog

  • Crashing the Set of ‘Brooklyn’s Finest’, Part I

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    Under discussion:

    Training Day  (2001)

    Midday, May 27, 2008. I was on the edge of East NY, Brooklyn, looking for a shop that sold $10 Boost phone cads. Not the $20 ones– what am I, Trump?

    Somebody told me to go over to Pitkin Avenue in Brownsville, across the L train tracks. Once there, I stumbled across a great commotion at the Vad Dyke Houses housing project. Crowds were gathered and men with walkie talkies darted about. A crime scene. No, a movie shoot. I went up to a short black woman with dreads, a headset and a hardware store full of items hanging from her cargo pants.

    “What’s shooting?” I asked. “Brooklyn’s Finest, a movie,” she said. “Cop stuff, huh?” “Well, sorta. It’s the director who did Training Day, Antoine Fuqua.” “Ah, Fuqua,” I said, remembering how much I love that director’s tactile widescreen compositions but mostly loathe his vision of humanity.

    Never mind. I had my digital recorder on me, so I whipped it out and decided to play Film Journalist with the cute P.A. “Can I interview you?”

    “Well, I don’t know anything about the film that you couldn’t get off Google.”

    “No, not about the film. About you, what you’re doing here.”

    “Umm, if you’re really interested in me…” She took out a 3×5 cardboard flyer with TV on the Radio-ish band posing on a tree. There she was in the center, but with straight blue hair instead of dreads. She looked like Storm of X-Men’s curvy cousin. “…call me and we’ll talk about my band.”

    Cool.

    I went into the courtyard, where the crew was clustered around a project building corner with giant HMI lights, reflectors and scirms pointing into windows. I recognized Fuqua from publicity stills. He was slapping five with a bunch of extras and crew members as tall and stocky as he. They all looked like cops and soldiers. A friend of mine whose NYU professor once worked for Fuqua as a screenwriter had related a story of the prof’s being chewed out by the director, and “sobbing like a little girl” in the aftermath. So I had been curious as to what an action director who could make a grown man cry looked like up close. Well, he looked like a killing machine. Wearing camouflage pants and a tight black muscle shirt, Fuqua had the presence of somebody who could command the likes of Denzel Washington, Bruce Willis and Chow Yun-Fat.

    The crew packed up equipment and went for craft service at the Van Dyke community center. “I’m gonna be in the movie one way or ‘nother,” a pretty young girl pushing a stroller said. A 20-something fly guy said, “I’ma get in this movie even if I hafta go get my gun an’ start my own shoot-out.” “Noo,” singsonged a middle aged church woman nearby. “Don’t say thaat.” I went on to the Pitkin Avenue shopping area to continue the phone card quest.

    When I passed through the Van Dyke houses on my way back to East NY, the place had gone all Training Day: Police tape, bigger crowds than before, patrol cars and an ambulance. I nestled into a small group of women who were hanging over a fence watching Fuqua compose a shot with a director’s finder. Several thugged-out extras and one Don Cheadle stood by. A husky AD came up to us and shouted, “Okay, when we get ready to roll, I need y’all to face that way,” he said, pointing to a murder scene across the courtyard. “And be angry. Y’all are mad, sad.” We said, “Okay.”

    They rehearsed. Cheadle rolled up in some kind of sleek black car with tinted windows and hopped out with a small thug entourage, grim-faced. He had on a Kangol, black satiny baseball jacket with the sleeves drawn back to the elbows and camouflage pants like Fuqua’s. He stormed past us, all Oscar-serious. “He looks like he just got home from prison,” said the woman next to me. Yeah, he did sort of look like an O.G. out of step with fashion, especially in contrast to the teens he was slapping five with.

    “Cut! Back to one!”

    While the crew reset, I asked Pop, a chubby 17 year old in geek glasses who was busy cracking up his homeboys, what he made of all this. “It’s great, a great opportunity for this neighborhood to come up.” Did he think this crime film would reflect reality well? “It might be a little exaggerated, but yeah.” Are there any young filmmakers in Brownsville that he knows of? “Me, of course,” said Pop’s friend B. “I’m the next dude to shoot a movie over here. I’m shooting a movie over here. Watch. Probably, like 2012. Around there. I’ll be, like, 20-something. Probably be rich by then, make a movie.”

    What would your movie be about? “About my life, man. Growing up out here.”

    Would there be much gunplay in your movie? “Nah. I don’t believe in all that violence.”

    His buddy Jamel asked me for tips about getting picked for a bit part in the movie. He said he wanted to become an actor but had a “standby” career– lawyer. I started to tell him what little I knew about getting into acting when he started musing about my earlier question. “I’ve been here since 3rd grade. It’s been about nine years. I had one bad experience. A close friend of mine. He got tossed out the window from the 10th floor. Right across the street.” He gestured beyond the camera crane and grip trucks. “He died.”

    “What’s up with that?” I said. “Every housing project I’ve ever been to or heard of, there’s always that: Somebody gets tossed out the window.”

    “I guess that’s the theme,” Jamel said. We all laughed.

    These kids. No offense to Mr. Fuqua, but I’m much more anxious to see their film than his new crime saga, which, glimpsed from the sidelines, at least, looks like Training Day, Brooklyn Style.


    Originally posted on:SpoutBlog

  • 5 Ways to Dismiss The Sex and the City Movie

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    I feel like in order to talk about Sex and the City in any depth more than I already have, I have to tell you a little something about my personal worldview, to explicate how it’s possible that a pushing-30 single gal living in New York could not only not identify with but actually feel hostile towards, as Susie Bright put it in an excellent piece in Salon, the “racket part of what once was recognizable as the sexual self-emancipation of the feminist movement.”

    Fortunately for all of us, talking about my personal life on this blog is the last thing in the world I want to do. So, instead, I combed the panoply of reviews of and writings about film that have come online over the last week, in order to cull five different commonly-cited grounds for why this film is a toxic scourge on the entirety of the human race. Or maybe just not the best possible way to spend 2.5 hours.

    1. The women aren’t attractive!

    Proponents: Anthony Lane, Roger Ebert, Noah Forrest, Armond White, virtually every male blogger with aspirations to be Harry Knowles.

    Representative Pullquote: “The most human character is Louise (Jennifer Hudson), who is still in her 20s and hasn’t learned to be a jaded consumerist caricature…Louise is warm and vulnerable and womanly, which does not describe any of the others.” — Ebert.

    Who Says it Best: Lane, who hasn’t produced a review to gain this much traction in the blogosphere since his legendary pan of Revenge of the Sith. Still, it’s not so much what Lane says (he makes fun of not just the ladies’ thirst for expensive outfits but the outfits themselves, complaining that all four are “little better than also-rans” compared to Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face) as the illustration the New Yorker saw fit to attach to his review. A masterpiece of grotesque caricature, it’s the only piece of critique of the film that this self-professed third (or is it fourth?) wave feminist considers to be truly, maliciously misogynist.

    2. The men are ciphers!

    Proponents: Ebert and Lane, as well as Manohla Dargis,

    Representative Pullquote: Ebert again, speaking of Chris Noth’s Mr. Big: “He’s handsome in the Rock Hudson and Victor Mature tradition, and has a low, preternaturally calm voice that delivers stock reassurances and banal cliches right on time…But he’s … kinda slow. Square. Colorless. Notice how, when an old friend shouts rude things about him at an important dinner, he hardly seems to hear them, or to know he’s having dinner.”

    Who Says It Best: Though Lane gets off a cute line about Evan Handler’s resemblance to Dr. Evil, Dargis beautifully encapsulates why shallow love interests make a film like this fall flat: “Unlike the show, which allowed the men to emerge occasionally from the sidelines with lines of actual dialogue, the male characters in the movie stand idly by, either smiling or stripping, reduced to playing sock puppets in a Punch-free Judy and Judy (times two) show. I’m all for the female gaze, but, gee, it’s also nice to talk — and listen — to men, too.

    3. It’s racist!

    Proponents: Ed Gonzales at Slant, Matt Zoller Seitz (commenting at The House Next Door), White.

    Representative Pullquote: “Watching Parker’s cynical chic angles face-to-face with Hudson’s broad-featured innocence confirms that they have nothing in common. Their employee/servant camaraderie isn’t any more enlightened than in the Joan Crawford era; they simply gush over Louis Vuitton bags—the sisterhood of consumerism.” — White.

    Who Says It Best: Gonzales, who makes it the lede of his review: “Is a demeaning representation better than no representation at all? … American Idol also-ran [Jennifer Hudson] allows herself to be typecast as a modern-day mammy to Sarah Jessica Parker’s Carrie Bradshaw…[director Michael Patrick] King’s desperate attempt at “racial balance” pathetically backfires but at least proves useful in putting the show’s inherently materialistic and borderline-supremacist ethos into sharper focus.”

    4. It fails to critique free market capitalism/irrational economic exuberance!

    Proponents: Pretty much everyone. Except for Owen Gleiberman, whose B+ review gives a big “You go, middle aged girls!” to SatC’s embrace of “the holy right to be cosmetic, acquisitive, and — yes! — superficial.”

    Representative Pullquote: Jette Kernion at Cinematical: “I never was able to sympathize much with these high-strung, high-maintenance, over-privileged characters. What can I say: I wear flat sandals and tennis shoes, I thought the designer purses were ugly as sin, and I don’t think every woman needs a Brazilian in order to keep her man.” See also, once again, White: “Carrie’s opening line ‘Girls come to New York City looking for the two Ls—labels and love’ is an infuriating canard.” Oh no — not a canard!

    Who Says It Best: Dargis again, who illustrates how the obstinate lack of politics in the world in which these gals consume is, of course, its own kind of politics: “Awash in materialism and narcissism, a cloth flower pinned to her dress where cool chicks wear their Obama buttons, this It Girl has become totally Ick.” See also Jezebel’s Tracie Egan, speaking in that same Salon article in which Bright was quoted (much of the SatC coverage on her own site was handed over to Emily Gould, internet pariah du jour): “I feel like Carrie’s spending habits are so much more dangerous than her sex habits. A bad credit history is more dangerous than herpes.”

    5. It wants you to think it’s progressive, but it’s actually old-fashioned, and that makes it hypocritical!

    Proponents: Forrest, White, Egan, Bright

    Representative Pullquote: One last gem from White: “These beneficiaries of the women’s movement share a peculiar self-righteous insistence that a modern Cinderella fantasy is, in fact, a liberated woman’s entitlement.”

    Who Says It Best: We comes back to the Salon piece for a lengthy quote from long-time sexual historian, educator and advocate Bright: “[The SatC girls are] desperate to get married. They obsess about their marital status…I can’t watch these women, you know, make asses of themselves and be so petty and small-minded about sexual possibility. I take it too personally. I feel like someone drove over me with a truck. I feel invisible. I feel — you know what I feel like? I feel like Trotsky when Stalin airbrushed him out of all the pictures of the Russian Revolution. I feel like the revisionist version of the sexual liberation movement is so stupid and shallow…This used to be something.”


    Originally posted on:SpoutBlog

  • Brad Pitt Pompadour. Clip of the Day

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    Under discussion:

    Johnny Suede  (1992)

    Raising Arizona  (1987)

    The Big Lebowski  (1997)

    A new R-rated trailer for the Coens’ Burn After Reading showed up online this week, and though it reminds me of a lot of Coen favorites, particularly Raising Arizona and The Big Lebowski, it initially made me think of Tom DiCillo’s Johnny Suede. I don’t know if you could classify Brad Pitt’s hairstyle in Burn After Reading a pompadour, but that first shot of him in the trailer called to mind his tall greaser ‘do in the 1991 cult classic.

    So, here’s a few clips from the earlier film (for the Burn After Reading trailer, go here) in which the title character (Pitt) encounters Freak Storm (Nick Cave, who would later appear in and score Pitt-starrer The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford). Note the conversation Freak has in the bar. It in turn reminded me of the Coens, who always seem to have a variation of “I need my money” or “where’s the money” or something like that. It’s too bad DiCillo never rose to the Coens’ status or talent, despite working with Coen Bros. regulars like Steve Buscemi and John Turturro.


    Originally posted on:SpoutBlog