Shine A Light (USA, 2008, dir. Martin Scorsese)

It seems that biopics and musical documentaries are slowly becoming Scorsese's things as of late, the former represented by The Aviator and the rumoured upcoming Sinatra flick; the latter comprised of the 2005 Dylan picture No Direction Home, the also rumoured Bob Marley doc, and of course, Shine A Light. The Departed was Marty's rightful farewell to the mobster genre that he had so skilfully mastered over the years, leaving room for the venerated filmmaker to express his passion for music once more. Next up: The Rolling Stones.

For those who argue that Marty's talents are better employed making fictional feature films as opposed to music docs and concert films (an opinion belonging to my lecturer, who wasn't impressed by SAL, if you must know), the output doesn't prove them to be correct, nor does it condemn their wish for Scorsese to stick to the thrillers and gangster flicks they revere him for. Shine A Light will not please everyone (it won't convert non-Stones fans), though if you're into the music, and you're out to have a good time, it won't disappoint.

For those wondering whether this concert flick matches, or supersedes, the quality of 1978's The Last Waltz, I'll tell you now: it sure as hell doesn't. Although, for what it attempts, it very nearly succeeds to the best of its efforts. After all, Shine A Light has all the ingredients: the music, cinematography and onstage personalities all do good in carrying the film to its rockin' curtain call. The flaws that hold it back should be as evident as daylight, or to put it more bluntly, as evident as the deep wrinkles adorning the saggy, decrepit face of Keith Richards. Sorry, I had to go there.

The Rolling Stones do indeed look like animated corpses bouncing around on stage. Mick Jagger at least maintains his trademark swagger, strutting up and down the makeshift catwalk with confidence whilst the remaining members of the band do their thing in the background, drowned out by the sheer presence of their frontman. The camera stays on Jagger for the majority of the runtime, with second place going to Richards... and I don't even remember catching sight of Charlie Watts.

To combat the ghastly sight of The Rolling Stones looking like mouldy fruit, the filmmakers have cunningly decided to plant stupidly hot young females in the front row, just in case, y'know, we want to touch ourselves in the cinema. In all seriousness, I appreciate the sentiment, but putting actual Stones fans in the right places might have been an effective way to showcase an intimate communication between the band and their fans, instead of having to put up with a legion of clueless blonde girls feigning a sing-a-long mere inches away from Jagger's feet.

The placement of these 'fans' is the only significant qualm I have with Shine A Light, as the majority of the film is packed to breaking point with what you pay your money for: an expertly filmed concert featuring the very best of the Rolling Stones back catalogue. Some songs hit harder than others, particularly with the big songs popping up at the beginning (Jumpin' Jack Flash, Shattered) and end (Satisfaction, Start Me Up) of the set, though the middle space is occupied appropriately by collaborations with the likes of Jack White, Christina Aguilera and Buddy Guy, ensuring your attention never wavers.

All this is captured with some dazzling cinematography by a whole host of contributors, perfectly keeping up with the charismatic to-ing and fro-ing of Jagger; infusing the screen with as much colour as the exuberant tunes of the Stones.

The concert footage is intercut with archive footage of the musicians in their youth, consistently stating their ambitions for the band that always seem to revolve around how long they'll last. Well, they've lasted a hell of a long time, and in that respect, Shine A Light seems as though it has something to prove for the band.

Maybe it has something to prove for Scorsese, that he can still shoot a concert film to the best of his abilities. It isn't perfect, but so what? For the most part, Shine A Light does what it says on the tin, and delivers on its promises. And really, do most films these days succeed so admirably?

***

The Red Album

I love Weezer. They try my patience, but I bloody love them.

The crushing truth of the matter is that they haven't produced anything worth a damn in the last 10 years. Which is upsetting because The Blue Album and Pinkerton are easily two of the best albums of the '90s, and the soundtrack from better days in regards to yours truly. The Green Album has its moments but is far removed from the Weezer of old, Maladroit is unfortunately sending the band headfirst into guitar-pop hellfire and the less said about Make Believe, the better.

"We are all on druuugs".....*shudder*

I was informed tonight that the much anticipated (?) Red Album, due out in June of this year, had 8 of its tracks recently leaked onto the internet. I took a sneaky listen, though I swear I'll either delete it if I don't like it, or pay for it if I do. I promise. It's Weezer.


1. Troublemaker - Yeah, this is a good opener. It doesn't exactly signify that this album will be an immediate return to form for the band, but it starts the proceedings off optimistically. Although, I'm a little uneasy at Rivers rhyming the words "beeyatch" and "keeyads".

2. The Greatest Man That Ever Lived - WOW. This is easily the best track on the album so far. It's more complex than Weezer have allowed themselves to ever be, and it works. There are a lot of different parts, from the Isaac Brock-sounding opening lyrics, to the finishing rush of guitars that seem so reminiscent of early Weezer. A great, great song.

3. Pork and Beans - This was the first track that anyone heard from this album, and it generally pleased fans and critics alike, some saying it was a sign of a return to form. I'll agree; it's a catchy, feelgood anthem, without sounding like something that would belong on Maladroit. It seems almost Pinkerton...

4. Heart Songs - River gets emotional on our asses, and I'm not entirely sold. It starts off sounding like an R'n'B song, before building up into a climax that utilises a guitar melody I'm positive they've used before on a Blue Album song. I just can't remember which one. I don't dislike this song, it just hasn't grown on me yet. I'm not sure it will.

5. Everybody Get Dangerous - Uh, what. This is one of the worst Weezer songs I've ever heard. The title is basically the chorus, basically sung on repeat over a three chord riff that wouldn't seem out of place on the soundtrack of a racing game. Oh, what's that? It features on the new Gran Turismo game? Fucking hell. Things were going so well, too.

6. Dreamin' - Fluffy, poppy anthem here. I didn't like it at first, but on repeat listens I notice that at a five-minute runtime, I actually like more than half of it. It does get better as it progresses, I'll give it that. It still hasn't got the sour taste of Everybody Get Dangerous out of my mouth, but I think we're getting there. Decent song, and I dig the last part.

7. Thought I Knew - Who's this singing? It ain't Rivers, but what the hey time for a bit of a mix up. Not a bad song, not a good song. Sort of middle of the road, but it might just grow on me more so than Heart Songs. I could give it a thumbs up for now.

8. Cold Dark World - I actually really like this one. It's a slow-burner, but it's also quite a dark treat on an otherwise so-far so-chummy LP. Thumbs up? Yeah, go for it.


So...out of the 8 tracks so far we have three very impressive opening tracks, along with two decent tracks, two semi-decent tracks and one simply atrocious song that I will never, ever warm to. Now, there's two extra tracks due for the official release, plus four bonus tracks. I'm a little worried about quantity superseding quality here, but alas my fears of this being Make Believe Pt. 2 have been proven fatally misjudged.

It's definitely not a return to form as I would have hoped, though on the basis of the first three tracks, I know Weezer can still pull out a tune or two and fingers crossed the closing tracks may just rescue the whole thing. It'll probably end up slotting underneath Pinkerton and above Green. Weezer are hanging on by a very small thread, but oh man, do I love 'em.

In Bruges (McDonagh, Ireland, 2008)

Let me start by saying that In Bruges is the best film of 2008 so far. At least, from the batch of films I've seen from the past four months, this dark picture easily takes the lead. If you know what I've seen, it isn't hard. In Bruges certainly doesn't achieve this accolade by default; rather, its achievements are many, coming across as both a black comedy and a very human drama.

Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson star as two hitmen, Ray and Ken, that travel to Bruges for reasons unknown. Something bad happened back home, and the boys are taking a much needed vacation on the orders of their boss, Harry, played by Ralph Fiennes. The events that unfold from the opening to closing credits depend solely on the actions of each character, all three driven by their own distinguishable ethics and morals.

From the moment Fiennes is introduced fairly late on, he portrays the mob boss with a visceral ferocity, but it's Farrell, and in particular the on form Gleeson, that entertain most with the ease in which they play off one another. In travelling through Bruges, they adopt a father and son relationship that never feels false; Farrell constantly retreating to a worried, huddled sit-down on the nearest bench, or nipping off to the pub at the most impromptu time, whilst Gleeson does the 'old man' schtick of savouring the sights of Bruges.

Bruges looks spectacular, and acts as a remarkably colourful backdrop to the film, but it's the equally colourful characters that really drive it towards its conclusion. They feel authentic, as if acting on their own voice instead of a script. It's great that Farrell got this role, one that he seems comfortable in portraying. I'm not the biggest Colin Farrell film, but In Bruges does well to showcase the talent I believe he does possess; a far greater role than those he played in The New World and Miami Vice, despite both these films being significantly stronger than In Bruges.

Not content with letting Bruges be our eye candy, McDonagh lays on some striking musical pieces to accompany some of the film's more darker glimpses, fusing well with the images to create some truly tense, gripping moments. It is a dark film, no matter how the poster may mislead you; the marketing campaign seems to have gone for the all-out comedy approach, but there's a lot of grit beneath the surface of the film, especially once we hear Fienne's voice for the first time, thus realising the implications. That's not to say In Bruges is without its funny moments; it's littered with as much swear words and midget jokes to satisfy those that did admittedly show up for a few shameless laughs. Placing it in the comedy genre, however, does not do its merits justice, nor does calling it a British gangster movie. We're not on Guy Ritchie levels of superficiality here.

There is a recurring theme throughout In Bruges of the child, as first evidenced in the father/son exchanges between Ray and Ken. Without spoiling how this theme carries on into the remainder of the movie, I'll just say that it had me second-guessing the actions, motives if you will, of particular characters in the final minutes. While what happened completely took me by surprise, in the end I couldn't quite work out whether McDonagh had completely missed a shining thematic opportunity, or if the characters themselves had ran purely on their ethics (perhaps blindly), as I alluded to before. Either way, it still works; the final act of In Bruges easily supersedes the previous ninety or so minutes, utilising gorgeous visuals and haunting musical scores for maximum effect, an excellent execution.

Fock'n see it.

***

The Accidental Husband (Dunne, USA, 2008)

LOL


I'm very bored, and I'm putting off some coursework, so writing about this film is mainly an exercise in amusing myself. That's because it is an amusing film, albeit not one I would risk recommending to anyone, unless I really, really didn't like them. Sitting through this film is comparable to...

I'm gonna hold it there. In this write-up, I'm gonna refrain from giving my opinion of this film. Instead, I'm going to give you the bare facts. Before doing so, take one look at the poster above. Look at Colin Firth, he looks like he's in another world!

Anyway, here's some of the things that happen in The Accidental Husband.

• Colin Firth has an eating disorder. He literally stuffs his mouth with food at any given point in the movie. Pretty much the only thing he does.
  

• Jeffrey Dean Morgan is the Accidental Husband. Here is a list of things we see him do in the opening ten minutes:

1. He enters his flat, where he is greeted warmly be friends. He screams "QUIET!!!" There is no explanation.
2. He proceeds to kiss a bald man on the head.
3. Confident that no one can see him, he then gets out of the window, descends down the exterior fire exit and dives into the bedroom of a teenage boy.
4. He reclines on the bed.
5. With the help of the teenage boy, who is supposedly an internet whizz-kid, he manages to marry Uma Thurman online - without her consent.

• Uma Thurman plays a radio therapist who gives advice on-air concerning the troubled relationships of her listeners (how ironic LOL~!)
• When Uma Thurman gives advice, the camera spins round her in a dizzying motion, probably trying to seem all philosophical and stuff.
  
• In a restaurant scene, we can see a camera reflected in the mirror.
• In the kitchen of said restaurant, a boy waiter gives Colin Firth some munchies, before walking into the camera and hitting his head. He takes a step back.
• People actually walk in front of the camera, obscuring our view of the alluring Uma Thurman. Heh.
• Some characters appear in a certain position in one shot, before materialising elsewhere in the next, erasing all immediate continuity.

Look, I could go on with the faults of The Accidental Husband all bleedin' day. Really, I could. But perhaps the key thing to take on board is that, instead of actually typing out a write-up on my thoughts, I simply explained events that happen in the movie. When an opinion is unnecessary, when the details of a film tell us all we need to know of its quality, then there's only one way this can go.

1/2*

Jumper (Liman, USA, 2008)

I'll tell you what, Jumper is so damn lucky that I managed to (drunkenly) view The Accidental Husband before I had the chance to post this entry. The latter film, starring Uma Thurman as a radio therapist that gets forced into a marriage over the internet (don't ask), gets a juicy 0/10 from me...though Jumper is almost equally as dire. It's borderline unwatchable.

In Jumper, we're introduced to David Rice - a boring protagonist moniker if ever there was one - known as a 'Jumper'; as in, he can teleport at will to locations he has visited, or seen, at least once before. David has just one problem, and that problem's name is the silver-haired Samuel L. Jackson, a 'Paladin' obsessed with the belief that Jumpers are the downfall of civilisation, that they have no right to possess the privilege of teleportation. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, yeah?

Before I even begin to touch on the atrocious waste of 90 minutes that is the plot of Jumper, let me first say something about Hayden Christensen, the 'actor' that plays David Rice. When we first see David, it's during a montage in which he is seen at some of the most famous world landmarks, describing his day as we watch it unfold. He ends the narration with something along the lines of "You could say, I'm on top of the world." I don't know if this was supposed to sound clever, but it comes across, along with the rest of the monologue, like a dyslexic man reading from an upside-down script. Ok, so that isn't the case, but it's the next worst thing - the black hole of charisma that is Hayden Christensen, somehow finding himself in another sci-fi leading role, delivering his lines with absolutely no conviction.

Honestly, why is this man still in a job? The world got a glimpse of his terrible acting in the Star Wars prequels, in which he skulked around with a permanent scowl on his face, secretly wetting himself over the possibility the he'll look 'like, totally badass' in the final cut. He does more or less the same thing here, moving about as stiff as a robot and showing no signs of human emotion. In fact, I do often start to wonder if Hayden Christensen is actually a fully functional human being; he's certainly incapable of speaking like a normal person. Is it that bloody hard to apply some tone to your voice?

The hammy acting doesn't stop there. Mr. Black Hole of Charisma sucks away all acting talent from those he meets during the course of the film, so that the able likes of Jamie Bell and Samuel L. Jackson suddenly seem as confused as Keira Knightley in a 21st-century feature film. I swear Jamie Bell utters the line "Did you think you were the only one?" about three times, as Hayden Christensen responds with the only thing he can do properly - a brooding frown.

A gratuitous sex scene with Mr. Black Hole of Charisma and Rachel Bilson takes place during the first half hour and serves absolutely no purpose whatsoever, other than to be featured in the trailer to get the horny teens swarming to the cinema to see 'that chick from the OC get her bewbs out'. Sorry kids, no nudity here. Bilson isn't totally meaningless here actually; she's Mr. BHoC's obligatory love interest, a studio blockbuster must, that causes most of the hoo-ha by continually finding herself being snatch up by ol' 'Paladin' Sammy. She is the source of conflict, the hostage.

This brings me to the plot of Jumper, spread over a thin 90 minutes. You're probably wondering why a sci-fi flick built to potentially kick-off a franchise (oh, it's true) is running at a particularly brief run-time. That's because nothing happens. Nothing happens.

I've told you what there is to know. Jumper is all about Samuel L. Jackson chasing Hayden Christensen and Jamie Bell across the globe, eventually capturing Rachel Bilson to draw the pair in with ease. I haven't spoilt anything; this is all perfectly evident from the trailer, and really, what does that tell us? They say that the trailer of a film contains all of its best bits. Well, for what little impressive aspects of Jumper there are, you'll find them in the trailer, thus saving you time and money on this total piece of trash. Honestly, if I had to find anything good to say about ths film, it's that some parts just...look Ok. Yep, there's the odd special effect here and there, but surely that doesn't account for the total lack of plot or character development.

No, Jumper is just another empty film with nothing to say, but a lot to show off. Its few visual effects are merely passable, but I can at least award it a mark for those. Again, you only need to watch the trailer to see them.

As I said at the start of this write-up, Jumper escapes my most vengeful wrath by being marginally better than The Accidental Husband. Oh, how I will enjoy writing about that film. =)

*

Them damn, dirty apes.

Just posting for the obligatory R.I.P. to Charlton Heston, who passed away yesterday, aged 84 years old. The chariot race in Ben Hur will always be one of the greatest action scenes of all time.

Unfortunately, most people from this generation will only know Mr. Heston as the senile old man that notorious fat fuck Michael Moore unfairly took advantage of, through manipulative editing and ill-judged accusations in his 2002 documentary, "Bowling For Columbine." Quite a shame.

Final Flair...

At midnight last Sunday I dimmed the lights, made myself some peanut butter sandwiches and moved the couch into prime position in front of the television set, which had the volume turned up unreasonably loud. Maybe it was to keep me from falling asleep (I kept reverting to a horizontal position), but mainly it was to build upon my excitement for ... Wrestlemania XXIV.

Now, I won't bore with the details of all that went down at this event. I'll only reveal that I was very satisfied and felt I'd got my money's worth. Or my dad's money's worth. Or something.

One match stood out on the card: Shawn Michaels vs. Ric Flair. The biggest showdown of the night as far as anyone was concerned coming into and out of the event. If Ric Flair lost he would have to retire. We all knew it was coming to this; we were all well aware of the outcome. It was how we would reach that eventual outcome that made all the difference.

Well, the pair of them went at it and told a tremendous story in the ring. For all the show that professional wrestling puts on, one essential ingredient to deliver a blockbuster match is storytelling. If you don't commit that, there's no incentive to watch, and nothing to play for. Watching this match, watching Michaels hesitate to pin Flair, watching Flair struggle to his feet with a small ounce of fight left in him, watching Michaels mouth "I'm sorry" before the final superkick, watching Flair tear up as the final three-count of his career was slammed into the mat, watching grateful farewell from the fans at the end of it all...it made me proud to be a wrestling fan.

There's a lot of people who say to me things like "Wrestling's so fake, it's shit you're shit blahahawamzz." I don't really have time for those people or those comments, mostly because they're so unfounded, and those guys all have the same copycat interests as the next person anyway. I can't even bring myself to go into defending professional wrestling to those who aren't willing to listen, though all I have to say is: if standing there sneering "it's so fake" is the best argument you've got, it's back to the drawing board for you. Wrestling is all about putting on a spectacle for the fans; the entertainment supersedes the 'sport' aspect. If you really want to take it that seriously, then you're just as bad, if not worse than the little kids who think it's all well and real. It's fun - it's the kind of thing I can walk into after a hard day, or a bad reflection about how a certain thing in my life isn't going so well, and I can sit down and watch Triple H bash John Cena in the head with a sledgehammer. Ironically, the violence of it all seems so innocent at times.

I feel I know plenty about the professional industry, not just what happens in the ring, but backstage too. The whole industry has such a rich history, filled with so many legacies and great memories. It's one of the greatest industries in the entire world - unidisputed FACT.

Now, back to Ric Flair. So it appeared that, as presumed, Wrestlemania XXIV would be the curtain call on his storied 36 year career. At 59, he was hanging up the boots. What really put the icing on the cake was the celebration that took place the following night, on Monday Night Raw. Ric Flair came to the ring for his Farewell Adress, and instead of commenting on his own achievements, being the humble man that he is, he thanked the fans for all the great memories.

Out came the likes of Triple H, Shawn Michaels, John Cena, Dave Batista, Chris Jericho, The Four Horsemen, Flair's family and the rest of the Raw roster. "Thank you Ric" chants filled the arena, each person took their turn giving a hug and thanking the man personally for his contributions to the business. Ric was bawling his eyes out, it was a truly touching moment. Lance Storm actually went into his wrestling academy the next day and told all of his pupils that if they didn't get choked up by the ceremony, they have no place in the business and should leave right away. The man is rarely wrong.

Here's why this ceremony, this particular moment on Raw meant a lot not just for Flair but for the business as a whole. Firstly, it was very classy and heartfelt. Seeing all the wrestlers break kayfabe (that means come out of their character personas) was a sobering experience and really gave an impression of togetherness and family within the company. Classy is the buzzword: after seeing ridiculous skits such as Vince's Kiss-My-Ass club and Hornswoggle running through a painted hole in the wall, it's moments like this that help restore some prestige to the name of wrestling. It reminds us that there are legacies being built within the business, and not only are they worth a hell of a lot, but so are the friendships gained along the way.

Secondly, the ceremony was deserved at a time when wrestlers are seemingly dying before anyone can say goodbye. I've forgotten the statistic that I read, but it stated an ungodly amount of athletes that passed away in the last decade. With the untimely death of Eddie Guerrero, and the tragedy of Chris Benoit's double murder-suicide last year, it felt only right that a wrestler, Ric Flair in this case, be finally sent off in the correct fashion - at the end of his career, with a chance to thank others and be thanked himself, to say farewell and step out of the door with grace - dignity and health intact.

I've been following professional wrestling for about 10 years now. Unfortunately this has meant an introduction to Ric Flair relatively late in his career, though I made the effort to go back and watch old matches that have helped immortalised him as a wrestling legend. All I can really say is that he's one of the best, if not the best. There's no one quite like him, and I doubt there will ever be. Thanks, Ric!

"To be the man, you gotta beat the man! Wooooooo!"