Minutiae

To all future visitors:

Hi. Thanks for coming. I used to write here, but don't so much anymore. Now, I write at http://moviehawk.net. Go check it out there...or if you're an LJ-only person, add http://syndicated.livejournal.com/moviehawk to your friends list...or leave a message at the beep.

...beep.

The people who made Snakes on a Plane should be stripped of their SAG memberships, their director's chairs, and every business card in their Rolodexes that are remotely related to Hollywood. The movie has perhaps the campiest title of any film in the past four decades, has relied almost solely on Internet hype as marketing, and capitalizes on the public's glee at hearing Samuel L. Jackson scream profanities. Without a doubt, Snakes is the single dumbest idea for a movie that has made it through to production in the last five years. It's barely even a movie; at best, it's a bunch of calculated beats of horror and action thrown into a paper-thin plot. And yet, for all the same reasons, it's awesome.

( Please, though, no sequels... )

It should come as no surprise that Matrix trilogy veteran Keanu Reeves was cast as the lead in Richard Linklater's A Scanner Darkly, an adaptation of Philip K. Dick's novel about drugs and paranoia in a police state seven years in our future. The role of Bob Arctor, a personality split between a Substance D addict and a faceless undercover "Agent Fred" charged with narcing himself out, is one that perhaps only Reeves can master, so seasoned is his familiarity with altered mental states. And, after watching the film, it seems only natural that Linklater was the one responsible for bringing the tale to the screen: his patented rotoscoping technique, in which he computer animates live action film, is the perfect medium for bringing the audience into the same anxious haze as the characters. In fact, there's not much surprising about the makeup of A Scanner Darkly - it is even being praised as the most faithful word-to-screen translations that Dick's work has received. The only surprise, then, is how well it all works together.

( Should we list all the reasons I want a scramble suit? )

There will be significant changes to Minutiae coming in the somewhat-near future; namely, another move away from LiveJournal, for personal and professional reasons. The professional: the commenting system here is rough, and I want to try to encourage more comments, expand my readership, and hopefully eventually parlay this whole reviewing gig into a freelancing opportunity somewhere. What does that mean for you? The same content, with some new additions, including a possible podcast.

What I need before I move again is help in choosing a domain name. The following names are taken:

• minutiae.com
• jeffmartin.com
• jeffreymartin.com

I don't want to deal with putting numerals in my domain name (no more minutiae31.com or sjuhawk31.com, for my own sake). I don't know that minutiaeblog, theminutiaeblog, or minutiaetheblog are good names; you can help me decide that. What other ideas? You know what I write, who I am, and so on. The tone of the site isn't going to change much; hopefully it will get a bit funnier, but I'm not going for iaimtomisbehave.com (taken from a line in Serenity), so try to keep that in mind. Who has suggestions?

It's fascinating how Steve Carell has tiptoed up from behind us to become one of the best, most versatile comedic actors of at least the last ten years: as scene stealer (in Anchorman and Bruce Almighty), leading man (The 40-Year-Old Virgin), or ensemble member in a TV show full of hilarious actors (The Daily Show, The Office), Carell has not wasted a second on screen. He can play a loud dolt, a lovable loser, or an arrogant jerk and still be funny every time. In Little Miss Sunshine, the dark, subtle, broken comedy by first-time screenwriter Michael Arndt, Carell knocks it out of the park again as Frank, a gay scholar recovering from a suicide attempt, showing that he can excel in any role.

( Not that he doesn't have plenty of help... )

Currently buried under a handful of headlines on CNN.com about some kind of terror thing is today's biggest, most important story: Vanity Fair has apparently gotten their grubby little hands on the first pictures of Suri Cruise, daughter of noted Scientologists Tom Cruise and Kate Holmes. Why is this story important, you ask? It's only a picture of a baby, you say? Clearly your finger is far from the pulse of America. But Vanity Fair is one step behind. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but if those words are "here's a picture of a baby," they're useless. That's why Minutiae's own Jeff Martin got a hold of little Suri for a sit-down - or in her case, lying-on-your-back, interview.

( Read the interview here... )

One would think that aren't many people more qualified to bring an update of the 80's cop drama "Miami Vice" to the big screen than Michael Mann. Acclaimed for his directorial work on films including The Insider and Collateral, Mann has become known for his slick visual style and his dark, understated storytelling. On top of all that, he was there at the beginning of "Vice" and executive produced the thing for five years; if anyone were to prepare Crockett and Tubbs for movie life, it'd be Mann. Judging by the totality with which Mann's update fails, then, perhaps it's safe to assume that all our memories of "Vice" should be kept wrapped in pastel linen suits.

( Patience is a virtue, but Mann's snail pace is a vice... )

At some point, you have to wonder how many times Will Ferrell can successfully trap his comedic lightning in a bottle. Sure, he's had his instances of misfire, mostly when he tries too hard to put a dramatic spin on his mania (Bewitched) or takes a small role in an eclectic arthouse film (the terrible A Winter Passing), but when Will Ferrell decides to just be himself - the sometimes arrogant, often empty headed man-child we've seen in Elf, Old School, and Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy - it's gold. Anchorman, in particular, has rocketed Ferrell's stock higher than most people could have imagined: it started as a mid-level comedy that did well in the box office, but with the release of the DVD it has turned into a phenomenon. Ferrell teamed back up with Anchorman writer/director Adam McKay on Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, and as far as I can tell, they've struck that gold again.

( Even if the jokes don't come as fast as Bobby drives... )

When a book is turned into a movie, there are, more often than not, considerable cuts to make. Multiple background characters are sometimes rolled into one sidekick, main character histories are glossed over in favor of starting in media res, and motivations are explained on the fly to make way for plot advancement. From what I understand of Lauren Weisberger's "The Devil Wears Prada," the opposite tactic was used in readying the story for the screen; the most used adjective describing her book is "glossy," as if there's not much beneath the high sheen of what's on the page. The film adaptation, while keeping much of the veneer that I assume the book has, is not quite as shallow as it lets on, and the added depth lets the actors, particularly genius Meryl Streep, a chance to breathe in their roles.

( Warning: Adjectives like divine and delicious may lie ahead... )

You have to give M. Night Shyamalan credit for his body of work. He's often panned as a one-hit wonder, that hit being 1999's The Sixth Sense. But Shyamalan has created entertaining films in Signs, The Village, and the criminally underrated Unbreakable. Though his latest effort, Lady in the Water, may not join the ranks of his other films - it's by far his most self-serving, egotistical venture to date, and it doesn't have the fresh bite of Sixth Sense - but it certainly doesn't deserve the beating it's getting from critics.

Based on a bedtime story that Shyamalan told his children, which in itself is possibly an amalgamation of other fairy tales, Lady in the Water tells the tale of Cleveland Heep (Paul Giamatti), the superintendent at a Philadelphia-area (if you say so, M. Night) apartment complex called The Cove. The tenants complain to Heep about an unseen late-night swimmer in their community pool, and one night, he finds the cause: Story (Bryce Dallas Howard), a young sea nymph from the Blue World. Together with the residents, Heep must find a way to get Story home before a terrifying beast gets to her.

( An interesting Story peeks out of a Heep of bad scripting... )

Everybody has some experience with the creepy house down the block. Legend has it that the place is haunted, and even though all the kids know that nobody lives there, the window shades somehow are open one day and closed the next. There's even websites dedicated to all the creepy places that people claim are haunted (scroll about a quarter of the way down the page, and see the high school my sister went to in Drexel Hill). It should be no surprise, then, that this almost universal childhood experience made its way into a movie. The only real head scratcher is why Monster House, a brilliantly balanced family-comedy- meets-horror-film, was released in the middle of the summer and not at Halloween.

( Actually, it's so the DVD can sell then, but that's not the point... )

It must be hard to be a synth pop band from the British Isles. After all, for all its cushy sentiment, Coldplay has put an effective stranglehold on America's taste for imported wimp rock. Don't get me wrong, I'm among the many who have swallowed their gallon of the Coldplay Kool-Aid. Their brand of music has become so well-liked in the States that every band whose sound reaches the radio on this side of the pond is immediately compared to them. Every vocalist is a "raspy" or "stronger" Chris Martin, every guitar hook echoes one song or another from A Rush of Blood to the Head. Though most would imagine that Coldplay's popularity built a transatlantic bridge for like minded British artists, perhaps it's the very reason that, until their song "Run" turned into a megahit after appearing on the teen drama of the day on the WB, a band like Snow Patrol didn't make waves on American airwaves.

( Nobody said it was easy... )

I was trying to post at least one meaningful entry each day this week, but I'm so tired right now I can't even think. So I will treat you to a spectacular video.

Oh, and if you want to see why I'm so ridiculously tired, come see Beauty and the Beast at Upper Darby Performing Arts Center this weekend and next. I'll be the guy backstage the entire show.

( Video behind the cut )

Some very exciting news from the LiveJournal world...users can now embed videos. This will undoubtedly provide me with way too much stuff to post. As an introduction to the feature, I bring you this:

( Video behind the cut )

Whenever a film comes out that is based on a published novel, you are bound to hear bunches of people coming out saying "I like the book better," and for good reason. In most cases, the characterization and detail that an author can spread liberally over 400 pages is too heavy a load for a screenwriter to condense into 160 pages of dialogue and action beats.

As I searched through the archives of this blog, I realized that I never gave the late TV series Love Monkey the attention I gave it in real life. I adored the show, and am still secretly hoping that I see Tom Cavanaugh back on the screen at the helm of his own series. The show featured a host of fascinating characters, each of whom could have had a whole season dedicated to them through the eyes of Cavanaugh's character. If that much detail could be hinted at in what amounted to a miniseries, certainly you'd see as much breadth of character in the source material, right?

( Well, yes and no... )

After the jump, photo evidence of my car passing the 10,000 mile mark. My little Tucson is growing up, ladies and gentlemen.

The fortunate thing is that I was stopped when I took the picture, so it was,What's the depressing thing about the milestone? It was, not surprisingly, spent driving from my house to Upper Darby Performing Arts Center. Hey, at least it wasn't on my way to work in the morning.

( Click to pic... )

It's almost hard to believe that it was twelve years ago that Kevin Smith first took Hollywood by storm with Clerks, his grainy, black and white opus to his own life as a counter jockey at a local convenience store. Smith has since become a cult hero, a champion for aspiring film makers who have plenty of attitude but no budget, and a figurehead for geeks in mainstream culture. And though his movies haven't always resonated with the majority of America - and his last film, Jersey Girl, was pandered by critics and fans alike (I'm on the record as a low-level fan of the flick) - he's remained a respected storyteller and a successful pusher of his own brand. As a present to his friend Jason Mewes, who went into a battle with drugs and came out the other side sober, Smith decided to revisit the scene of the crime that made him so popular in the first place.

( A pack of smokes and a Mooby burger, please... )

For the past few years, the reality of a CGI "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" movie was only hinted at, and only recently (in my mind) did it become real enough to start following the news. At long last, though, the dream is taking a concrete shape: the "TMNT" trailer hit the Apple.com trailer list today.

Frankly, I couldn't be happier with the trailer. It's a teaser, yes, and that hints at the fact that none of the footage would actually be in the movie, but think about it: a TMNT trailer! The turtles look great, there looks to be a ton of action, and best of all, a great comedic beat.

If this and "Transformers" are done well, I might not grow up for another 15 years. I'd explain more, and write more coherently, but I'm too excited.

Count me among the many who just don't understand the appeal of the brothers Wilson. While I've almost uniformly enjoyed every movie I've seen either Luke or Owen in, I consider them opportunists. Each time around, they've found themselves surrounded by better, funnier actors, and their job is to poke their head into the plot every so often and insert a decent joke. Owen's had some decent success with Zoolander (featuring a much funnier Ben Stiller) and Wedding Crashers (sharing time with the hilarious Vince Vaughn), and Luke scored big in Old School (thanks to Vaughn and Will Ferrell). Maybe the best work done by the brothers is in Wes Anderson's The Royal Tenenbaums; in fact, it's the only movie in which they are both what I'd consider funny. The real test for one Wilson's skill comes in You, Me and Dupree, in which Owen shoulders the brunt of the comedic load, with straight man Matt Dillon and vanilla-ice-cream-in-a-sugar-cone Kate Hudson, who is known more for her looks than her laughs.

( What happens to buddy comedies when the leads aren't buddies? )

This past weekend, Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest became the highest-grossing opening weekend movie in history, surpassing 2002's Spider-Man and this spring's Aquaman. When I went to the theatre to catch Pirates, I was struck not by how many people were out to see it, but by the diversity of the crowd. Young or old, geek or prep, people showed up in droves to see Johnny Depp swashing and buckling. Why? Because pirates - the 16th century kind that are portrayed in the Caribbean movies, at least - have a wide appeal. Where aliens creep some people out and superheroes might only entice those familiar with their pulpy comic origins, pirates live the kind of life we all wish we had: free of the law, out on the sea, snatching up all the booty, booze, and beauties that they can find. As I was walking out of Dead Man's Chest, I began to think about another series that featured a newbie pirate, an island of cannibals, and quite a bit of quirky humor. After much consideration...okay, fine, in the time it took to walk from my seat in the theatre to my car...I came to an important decision: I want to bring that series to the silver screen. After all, if Pirates of the Caribbean can succeed, so can this. And so, I announce to you, my readers, the next big project for Minutiae: developing and selling a screenplay for the 1990 video game The Secret of Monkey Island.*

( You are a bunch of foul smelling, grog swilling pigs... )