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  • Watching, Cataloging and Honoring Web Videos. SpoutBlog Week in Review

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  • Hulk as The Hulk. Clip of the Day

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    The thing I love about YouTube is that you can usually find what you’re looking for even if you don’t know it exists. Case in point: I wanted to find a clip of Hulk Hogan acting like The Incredible Hulk, and I found this gem of an action sequence from the Hulkster’s 1989 movie No Holds Barred. I guess I was one of the few people who missed this when it arrived in theaters just one week after Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, but it was a busy time for action movies (who knew that 1989 was so much like 2008? You had Indy, Batman and Hulk all in the same summer!*) and despite opening at #2, the movie finished #64 for the year.

    This weekend’s big opener, The Incredible Hulk, will likely fare better, though it similarly won’t be able to top the grosses of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull and The Dark Knight (Batman came in first for 1989 — can he do the same in 2008?). And it probably isn’t be as much fun to watch as No Holds Barred probably is. Too bad it’s not available on DVD (yet Suburban Commando, Mr. Nanny and The Secret Agent Club are) and I can’t add it to my Netflix queue.

    For more video evidence of why the blond variety of Hulk is better than the green: Hulk vs. Gremlins; Hulk vs. Animatronic Santa; Hulk in a tutu.

    *If you want to try and dismiss the release of No Holds Barred not being the same kind of Hulk movie, let me also direct your attention to that year’s The Trial of the Incredible Hulk, which kicked off the summer movie season when it aired on NBC in early May.


    Originally posted on:SpoutBlog

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

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    “Antoine’s the best. I couldn’t think of anybody better to direct this movie than Antoine Fuqua. He’s got a great sense of the characters. He’s not from New York, but he got out here and just wanted to be around everything Brooklyn, soak it up.”

    That’s first-time screenwriter Michael Martin, in the midst of telling me his amazing Cinderella story, which begins with a tollbooth clerk from East New York writing an original screenplay called Brooklyn’s Finest and ends with the script being produced by Paramount with Mr. Fuqua (Training Day) directing.

    I knew nothing of that story when I discovered the film shooting in my Brooklyn neighborhood last month. My first reaction to the sight of a huge Hollywood crew and thugged-out extras in gold chains was, another bigass Ho’wood King-Kong-ain’t-got-nuthin perp pageant. But, hanging out with the crew–the friendliest and most accessible I’ve ever observed– I wanted to believe that these nice people weren’t just here for pulp plunder.

    So when my editor pointed me to Martin’s cool life story, I prepared to eat my shoe. Two weeks later, the crew was still working hard at the Van Dyke Houses housing project. A heatwave had descended recently, bringing to mind another long hot summer flick shot on the streets of Brooklyn, Do the Right Thing. At midday lunch, Martin endured the heat, and my questions, in a project courtyard.

    MICHAEL MARTIN: [Fuqua] wants everything to be as authentic as possible. That’s why they’re shooting out here, using people from the community, giving them prominent roles, background roles…

    STEVEN BOONE: To that end, does Fuqua keep you involved on the set?

    MM: Yes, with everything. And even more than that, there’s a lot of technical advisors from the neighborhood, as far as making everything as authentic as possible. We don’t want to make a bad Brooklyn movie. We really want to show exactly how it is, how beautiful it is, how gritty it is, in every way, shape possible.

    SB: Does this experience give you a yen to shoot your own stuff?

    MM: Definitely. I kind of got good at screenwriting, and it opened up some opportunities, but my first love is directing. The great thing about Antoine is I get to kind of be on his shoulder and see how he works– really see how an A-list director controls the set, controls the camera. It’s like film school all over again for me.

    SB: Do you think you’ll ever “go Hollywood” in a sense?

    MM: No. Brooklyn forever, man. I want to make movies based in New York, real New York stories. Hollywood’s not for me. I mean, it’s for me as far as getting the opportunity to make something like this, but it doesn’t change my mentality or change the stories I’m gonna write.

    SB: Talking to the kids out here, I see that a lot of them are really inspired by all this.

    MM: That was one of the biggest things for me, man, being on the set and seeing these kids of 8, 10, 12, it shook them when somebody said, “This is the writer”– kinda shocked. Really funny. Somebody said, “I never would have pictured you as a Hollywood screenwriter. I didn’t know what a Hollywood screenwriter was, but I didn’t think it was gonna be you. Antoine brings a lot of kids around, lets them sit in his chair, talks to them about movies, like, “You can do this, too.” You should see the way these kids light up. The possibilities, and a whole new world they didn’t know existed, right in their own neighborhood.

    SB: Are there any projects you would turn down?

    MM: I don’t think I’ll turn down anything. Any story can get told. I guess seeing all this and seeing the way some of the actors are dressed, with all the jewelry, you might say, “This is a Hollywood movie, man. They’re gonna exploit this neighborhood.” But it’s not that type of movie. If you give yourself a barrier, what’ll happen is somebody will tell the bad version of this movie because you refused to tell your version. Everything can be told. You need the best storytellers to tell it.

    SB: Not the joke, the delivery.

    MM: Exactly. People pass by and think we’re making a big hood drug movie, but we’re not. It’s a movie about how police officers feel exploited and how that exploitation trickles down to everybody, down to this neighborhood as well, as a result of people in power not paying attention to what’s really going on. And everybody knows that– I can’t say everybody. Everybody here knows that. Maybe not everybody in New York knows that, not everybody in the world knows that.

    SB: It sounds like you have a political–not a political agenda but a strong political awareness.

    MM: That’s what Antoine and I talked so much about. Like the Sean Bell shooting. Because there is a shooting in this movie, involving police officers. The entire movie is a result of that. We’ve sort of lost that in movies, that anger, dealing with what happens when something like this happens and that anger comes out. It goes back to Spike Lee and Do the Right Thing. You saw what happened in Howard Beach and how it inspired him to tell the movie and express those feelings out to the world. And we’re doing the same thing here.

    SB: As intense as the movie sounds, I was shocked at how cool and laidback the set is. I see Don Cheadle, that guy from Clockers, that other guy from The Wire just in the mix with the people.

    MM: We have the Nation of Islam doing security, but there hasn’t been one single incident the whole time we’ve been here. I know the Mayor’s Office, their thought was, “This is gonna be horrible, gonna be the worst possible thing. People are going to get injured, put in jeopardy”– I mean, they really said this.

    SB: (laughs) Wow.

    MM: “Expect to get bricks thrown at you, ice cubes.” They said all that stuff, and we were like, “You’re talking about people like they’re animals. And you see it out here. It’s completely the opposite.

    Editor’s note: I couldn’t find any images of Martin or set pictures from Brooklyn’s Finest, so I appended this story with the music video for “Brooklyn’s Finest” by Jay-Z and the Notorious B.I.G. I thought its high 90s, blown-out Hype Williams flash would provide an interesting contrast to Martin’s stated mission of telling “real New York stories” in gritty Brooklyn.


    Originally posted on:SpoutBlog

  • Review: My Winnipeg

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    My Winnipeg  (2008)

    Guy Maddin’s Winnipeg is a dreamland patchwork of half truths and exaggerations, a standard-issue suburban incubator carved into blank screen fields of snow so blinding white they seem almost hot, on which Maddin has projected a secret life. He was commissioned to make My Winnipeg, an ostensible non-fiction portrait of his hometown commissioned by The Documentary Channel, but the city itself is only of concern to him insofar as it’s an extension of and metaphor for his psyche. He casts the project as his attempt to come to terms, once and for all, with his fever stream of memories (real and fabricated) inextricably intertwined with the places and spaces where he grew up. The question of “real” doesn’t matter. While Darcy Fehr, the actor hired to be his (younger, improbably attractive) stand-in, nods off next to a bottle on a moving train, the real Maddin, our narrator, informs us of his designs on Winnipeg: “I must leave it! I’ll film my way out!”

    “Sleepwalking, sleepchugging.” This is how Maddin’s voiceover at one point describes the peculiarly narcoleptic denizens of Winnipeg moving through their days and nights. The phrase is an apt descriptor for the tone of the film: it’s not just groggy, it’s intoxicated, often frustratingly so. One could be generous, and praise Maddin for effectively tapping into the muddied logic of the small town in endless winter, where physical numbness from the inhuman external elements often leads to a kind of booze-aided intellectual numbness, where so many frigid anti-socials rock a kind of mutual indifference that, when it gets really bad, borders on inhumane (I’ve never been to Winnipeg, but I did spend three winters in Chicago). One could also recalibrate that as a pejorative: you could just say that Maddin directs like a drunk.

    One specific drunk, actually. Rarely allowing one image stand on its own for more than ten frames or so before dissolving in something new to see, generally dictated more by pattern than a linear thought, Maddin unravels his yarn in psychedelic, kaleidoscopic layers that seem a few years advanced down the timeline from his usual silent era influences. He’s basically playing at being a Busby Berkeley for the chronically depressed and/or cheerfully repressed.

    “The forks, the lap, the fur,” Maddin moans, conflating the topography of his hometown with his mother’s birth canal and the comic-violent car accident that may or may not have involved the dissolution of his sister’s virginity. Maddin can’t quite remember how it all went down, and, determined to sort one or two things out before giving up the ghost town for good, he rents his childhood home, hires actors to play his mother and siblings, an proceeds to mount deadpan recreations of the boyhood memories by which he’s most haunted.

    The reenactments star aged noir siren Ann Savage as Maddin’s mother, here recast as the female lead of Ledge Man, Winnipeg’s (fictional) only local television production. Ledge Man, Maddin tells us, comes on every afternoon, and his mother never misses a chance to see herself on the small screen. Every episode is roughly the same: a young man (played by Darcy Fehr, the actor who sleeps as Maddin in the train sequences) stands on a ledge outside his mother’s window, threatening to end it all; the proud, resilient old bat spends the length of the episode talking him into coming in. As Mrs. Maddin, Savage watches herself as Mama Ledge Man with wide, glazed eyes, enraptured over her own power over the boy. In his voiceover, Maddin refers to her simply as “Mother,” and when it comes time to direct her, he’s sure she’s playing a power game. “Just to show me who’s boss, she’ll transpose a line,” he sneers. “Anything to flub a take.”

    That Oedipal tug-of-war (and Maddin’s masochistic resignation to it: “Her lap, a magnetic pull, a direction from which I can’t turn for long…”) is the closest thing My Winnipeg’s blur of personal history and fake history has to a connecting narrative string. The further Maddin drifts from the family reenactments, the more tenuous that string becomes, and though the latter half’s memorials to Winnipeg’s dying landmarks and “game playing reveries lost in time” offer both melancholic beauty and a few good jokes, after a short 80 minutes it feels like we’ve seen two films.

    A review of My Winnipeg published earlier this week ruined a good 24 hours of my life. I sat at the bar that night and railed: “This is it––contrarianism has gone too far!!!” My friends rolled their eyes a bit but humored me. Yes, I’ve seen My Winnipeg three times since in premiered at Toronto last fall and consider myself an unabashed (though not uncritical) Guy Maddin fan. But I didn’t care that the review was negative; I cared that it suggested that even contemplating My Winnipeg as something worth contemplating is a waste of time.

    “[N]o aggravated efforts of either elevation or condemnation are warranted here,” sniffed Reverse Shot’s Andrew Tracy, in a review that nonetheless devoted over 900 words to Winnipeg, most given over to skepticism regarding Maddin as a critically beloved character. The actual complaints offered were, as promised, less than strenuously argued. One gripe had to do with Maddin’s sexually ambiguous filmic mode of address, and the supposedly incongruous fact that in real life, he apparently only likes to **** women. This makes him the only artist––as far as I know, ever––to either work out anxieties and alternate, amorphous desires in their work rather than in their real worlds, or to employ a politicized stylistic mode out of context.

    What follows is a condemnation of Maddin’s use of “cheap irony” at the expense of “serious irony”, the refusal to say anything either political or deeply critical about sexuality, the fact that “for all the polymorphous perversion on display throughout his films, there is little about the Maddin oeuvre that genuinely touches upon the erotic.” In short: Maddin doesn’t mean it. But whose to say that farce is necessarily insincere? If My Winnipeg succeeds in painting home as where the heart of wildly narcissistic delusion is, it’s largely because it deflates that delusion just enough by using a collage of self-indulgent lies and confession and tastes curated to personal preference not as a defense mechanism, but as an offense.


    Originally posted on:SpoutBlog

  • The Train to ComicCon. Trade Roughage 06/13/08

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    Under discussion:

    City of Ember  (2008)

    • Walden Media is planning a huge blitz to promote their fall Bill Murray starrer City of Ember at ComicCon. The current plan is to “re-create the mythical city depicted in the film on a private two-car train that will transport 25 members of the media on a 2½-hour journey to the convention’s San Diego locale,” accompanied by the film’s director, screenwriter and producer.
    • Expect to be inundated with “Hulk Smash!” headlines on come Monday morning. Variety kindly suggests that The Happening “will likely play like a traditional horror film rather than a broad summer title”––read: $20 million opening––leaving the by all accounts imperfect but not that bad Hulk to reel in mid-five figures.
    • Sony Pictures Classics, the only studio other tha IFC to seriously stock their shelves last month at Cannes, has announced another acquisition: Palme D’or winner The Class.

    Originally posted on:SpoutBlog

  • FilmCouch #74 - Kung Fu: Self-Mastery or Self-Discovery?

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    Kung Fu Panda  (2008)

    Bomb It  (2008)

    Resolved  (2007)

    An enjoyable trip to the cinema to see Kung Fu Panda leads to some unexpected ponderings. If kung fu is the epitome of lifelong self-discipline, what does it mean when Jack Black’s fuzzy panda learns the ancient art overnight? In our epic quest to define the true spirit of kung fu, we look at a few new documentaries: Resolved, a fascinating account of competitive high school debate, and Bomb It, which tracks the evolving art of graffiti around the globe.

     (Subscribe to FilmCouch–Spout’s weekly movie podcast–in the iTunes store or to our RSS feed and an episode will download each Friday)

    filmcouch-74 

    Kung Fu Panda, Resolved, Bomb It


    Originally posted on:SpoutBlog