CleverDonkey.com …Musings, Commentary, Opinions, and Drivel

So, The Rock has *it*. That may already have been evident to his wrestling fans, and maybe to others after his film debut in The Scorpion King, but I remained undecided. His performance in Scorpion was better than I expected it would be, but it still didn’t convince me that he was destined to blossom into a legitimate movie star.

But The Rundown has made me a believer. The Rock still has a few rough edges, but in Rundown he’s funny, cool, menacing and charismatic. Now, this is an action/buddy/comedy, so he’s not being asked to demonstrate a Method actor’s range, but he does an excellent job with the material at hand.

The film itself is mindlessly/mildly enjoyable, with some good action sequences, beautiful jungle scenery, trite-but-relatively-inoffensive storyline and dialogue, rapacious monkeys, an inexplicable Scotsman, and Christopher Walken doing an excellent impression of Christopher Walken at his most menacingly cruel. It also has Sean William Scott, who may be on his way to replacing Keanu Reeves, in my mind, as the luckiest dope to ever fall ass-backwards into a film career.

The storyline is basically an amalgamation of Romancing the Stone, Midnight Run, Raiders of the Lost Ark, and The Magnificent Seven. The plot is unremarkable, but it also manages not to get in the way of the heart of the film, which is the action, the stunts, and the scenery. Several of the stunts looked real (not CGI) and quite painful, and the fight scenes have some amazing looking moves that, again, do not appear to be computer-generated. There are a couple of places where the trickery is noticeable, but it never devolves into Crouching Angels Reloaded fantasy-fighting. And the mountains of Hawaii are breathtaking as they stand-in for the jungles of Brazil.

So, the best part of this film is The Rock laying the foundation for what appears to be a long and successful career. Pay close attention to the first few minutes of the film to see what appears to be the (deserved) passing of the Action Hero torch from one generation to the next. I hope that The Rock chooses his next few projects wisely, as he is on the verge of superstar status, and many before him have been at this same watershed point, only to take their eye off the ball and end up Van Damm-ed to mediocrity.

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One of the wonderful things about a friendship and relationship is the glorious dance of discovery and compromise that comes about as you mix and match your preferences, likes, and dislikes with those of your mate. Often, your similar likes are what bring you together in the first place: a shared reverence for the Beastie Boys’ Paul’s Boutique album, the ability to quote from The Princess Bride, a fondness for wry humor and a well-turned phrase, a love of technology.

Then, as you get to know each other better, you find that some of your tastes don’t always match up. I remember being a bit taken aback when I first learned Scott found my morning staple of NPR pretentious and tedious, and instead revealed that he had been a Howard Stern listener. I was surprised by his look of pained endurance (much like a faithful hound dog getting a medical procedure) as we watched one of my favorite all-time movies, the Burt Reynolds / Dolly Parton musical The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. In turn, I’m sure he was disappointed when we watched one of his favorite movies, What’s Up, Doc? and I was irritated and impatient with the female character’s nasal voice and intrusive meddling.

However, this experimentation also leads both parties to the wonderful broadening of experience and taste as you are exposed to things your mate likes that you also find delightful. I now love the movies So I Married an Axe Murderer (“We’ve got a piperrr down!!”) and Doctor Strangelove (“I do not avoid women, Mandrake… but I deny them my essence.”). He and I now both watch his favorite show of Seinfeld together constantly, and I even loved Howard Stern’s movie Private Parts. Similarly, Scott now listens to Eminem and Busta Rhymes with me and even enjoyed 8 Mile after we saw it together. He loves the short-lived cartoon show The Critic that I introduced him to and watched The South Park Movie at my urging (loved it).

Over the years of our friendship, relationship, and marriage, Scott has always loved Weird Al Yankovic. God forbid the Coolio song “Gansta’s Paradise” be played, lest Scott feel the need to belt out Weird Al’s parody, “Amish Paradise”:

It’s hard work and sacrifice

Living in an Amish paradise

We sell quilts at discount price

Living in an Amish paradise

That parody annoyed the hell outta me! First of all, I liked Coolio’s song, and the Stevie Wonder song on which it was based. Weird Al’s song spoiled it for me! Because, after enough repetitions of Scott singing or playing the Weird Al version, I would hear the Weird Al lyrics in my head even if I was listening to the Coolio version.

Years ago, when Scott bought the album “Running with Scissors” and played the song “The Saga Begins” (about Episode One of the Star Wars series), I thought the lyrics were mildly clever but I wasn’t a big Star Wars fan, so it didn’t really do much for me (sung to the tune of “American Pie”):

Oh my my this here Anakin guy

May be Vader someday later; now he’s just a small fry

And he left his home and kissed his mommy goodbye

Sayin’ “Soon I’m gonna be a Jedi”

“Soon I’m gonna be a Jedi”

Then he played a song I thought was pretty funny, because it hit me squarely in my mid-20’s demographic: an original zydeco ditty called “My Baby’s In Love With Eddie Vedder”.

She says the way he grinds his molars is really sexy

She thinks he’s so darn dysfunctional and Generation X-ey

…

Now, every time I see him, well, he looks so grim

I guess it really must suck to be a rock star like him

What a pain in the butt to have so much success

Spending all his time moping and avoiding the press

But my girl can’t get enough of his sullen demeanor

Like he’s some big tortured genius and I’m some kinda wiener

I have to say, I found that one to be pretty hilarious. He pretty much nails Eddie Vedder right on (only Weird Al would think to describe him as having a “walleyed stare”) and aptly makes fun of how hilarious it was that Pearl Jam was so popular and fiscally successful as they seemingly eschewed material things and boycotted the music “machine” of MTV and Ticketmaster. And I thought that the song “Jerry Springer,” a rapid-fire parody of the song “One Week” by the Barenaked Ladies, was sorta funny.

So, at this point, I thought Weird Al could be funny in a hit-or-miss kinda way. Some of the songs were amusing but goofy — clever, but not genius.

Then… I heard… “All About the Pentiums”. It was a hard-rocking parody of a Puff Daddy song I’d never heard of called “All About the Benjamins”. “All About the Pentiums” is about technology, and I found it hilarious! To wit:

Hey fella, I bet you’re still livin’ in your parents’ cellar

Downloadin’ pictures of Sarah Michelle Gellar

And postin’ “Me too!” like some brain-dead AOL-er

I should do the world a favor and cap you like Old Yeller

You’re just about as useless as Jpegs to Hellen Keller

It’s tacky and crude, but completely funny! The song is laced with references I would categorize as “true computer geek” talk, the kinda stuff you can’t just sit down and write about unless you truly are a computer and Internet person:

Got a flat-screen monitor forty inches wide

I believe that yours says “Etch-A-Sketch” on the side

In a 32-bit world, you’re a 2-bit user

You’ve got your own newsgroup: alt.total.loser

So, “All About the Pentiums” became one of my favorite songs. I even put it on my Flash card for going running — it’s got a pretty good fast beat! Then, Scott bought Weird Al’s most recent album, Poodle Hat, and I realized that Weird Al is truly a genius.

The song, “Ebay” (parodying a Back Street Boys tune, or so my embarassed stepdaughter informs me), again nailed me right in the demographics. I’m a pretty regular Ebay shopper and seller, and the song made pretty clear that Weird Al had done his homework about Ebay:

I am the type who is liable to snipe you

With two seconds left to go, whoa

Got Paypal or Visa, what ever’ll please

As long as I’ve got the dough

And then… I heard the song “Bob”, an original Weird Al composition in the style of Bob Dylan. I chuckled as we listened to the nonsensical lyrics in the style of “Subterranean Homesick Blues”. The the last line of the song played, and Annalisa sputtered from the back seat, “that line, that’s one of … those… things!!!!” We listened to the words again:

Ah, Satan sees Natasha

No devil lived on

Lonely Tylenol

Not a banana baton

No “x” in “Nixon”

O, stone, be not so

O Geronimo, no minor ego

“Naomi,” I moan

“A Toyota’s a Toyota”

A dog, a panic in a pagoda

Yep, that’s right. Not only was the song a dead-on homage to Bob Dylan with its harmonica and strange crooning style, but every single lyric in the entire song is a palindrome. And so is the song’s title, ‘Bob’. I felt a series of synaptic explosions as the sheer genius of the song really struck me. And I was officially converted to being a full-time Weird Al fan.

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Local Hero is my all-time favorite film. On the surface it’s a quaint  romantic comedy about an American fish-out-of-water in Scotland. But the film  has layers that at first may not be apparent. The first time I watched this  movie I knew absolutely nothing about it, and only watched it because I couldn’t  find the remote, didn’t feel like getting up, and this movie came on. I had been  planning to drift off for a lazy Saturday afternoon nap, and the slow, quiet  pacing of this movie seemed like the perfect background noise to lull me off to  la-la land. But a funny thing happened…I found myself getting caught up in the  story and the characters, in the music and the cinematography, and in the  near-magical mood of the film. The basic story is that an oilman from Houston, Mac MacIntyre (Peter Riegert),  is sent to Scotland to buy up an entire town to become the site of a refinery. 

The town is a tiny, idyllic fishing village, called Furness, populated by a cast  of characters who may at first appear to be stereotypical, but turn out to be  deeply drawn and fully realized, even if some of them only have a few moments of  screen time.  When I watch the film I get the feeling that each character,  no matter how major or minor, represents the tip of the iceberg of a complex and  real person.  And I don’t mean that in the intense, method-acted,  angst-filled, emoting-from-the-diaphragm perspective, I mean it from the  humorous, simple, and natural interaction of actual people perspective.   Mac tries to diplomatically address the disruption of lives and displacement of  the locals, while the locals joyously (and secretly) can’t wait to sell at a  high price.  Mac’s negotiating opponent is the local chartered accountant,  Gordon Urquhart, played with sublime canniness by Denis Lawson.

To tell more of the story would be a shame, as you should experience it for  yourself.  The layers of this film are not hidden or exposed, obscured or  highlighted — they are merely there for you to see and/or feel for yourself.   The topmost layer…which is the basic storyline…is very enjoyable in and of  itself.  The script is witty and poignant, the acting and directing are  flawless, and the scenery is beautiful beyond description.  My suggestion  is that you get a copy of this film on DVD, then wait for a cold, rainy day when  you have nothing much to do other than stay safe and warm at home.  Have  some wine, or a hot toddy, or some single malt scotch, unhook the phone, snuggle  in and watch this movie.  Then wait a few days, or a few weeks, or a few  months, or a few years, and then watch it all over again.  Repeat as  necessary.

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******************** THIS REVIEW MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ********************

I am not particularly geeked out by art-house flicks, nor do I have any particular fondness for foreign-language films. Nowhere in Africa is both, and I still loved it. The film is not a stereotypical art-house flick, in that it is not avant-garde, film noir, experimental, hyper-sexual, nor stupid. What it is, is a very real story about real people trying to live their lives during extraordinary circumstances.

The film is set around the time of the rise of the Nazi party in Germany. The story follows a married couple and their daughter, who are Jewish, as they try to adapt and survive in a changing world. When the story begins the mother, Jettel, and daughter, Regina, are living the last few precious days of their privileged lives in Germany. The husband, Walter, is off in Kenya (where there is a nascent Jewish community) attempting to create a livelihood and homestead for his family, and bring them out of Germany to escape what he senses is the upcoming devastation of the lives of Jews in Germany.

As we all know, his guess turns out to be correct, but at the time and place of this story it’s still not clear exactly what, if anything, might befall Jewish people, other than some more overt, but not catastrophic, anti-Semitism. But he finds work in Kenya as the bwana (manager) of a farm, working for an unsympathetic-but-not-evil landowner. Walter sees the drastic changes to their lives in crystal clear terms, and implores his wife to leave their fancy china behind in order to make room to bring a refrigerator. They will be living hard lives in an unknown land and won’t have the resources for frivolities. The wife, either not understanding this or refusing to accept it, brings the china, spends their last few marks on a ball gown, and unapologetically shows up refrigerator-less.

This begins one of the primary plot themes, as Walter expects his wife to quickly let go of her old world view and accept the new reality, and Jettel refuses to accept that everything that had defined her up until this point in her life was gone, and that all she has left is life as the wife of a poor farm manager in Kenya. Caught up in the middle of all this is Regina, who is five years old when they move to Kenya. She immediately bonds with their cook Owuor, who is a tall, good-natured, middle-aged Masai tribesman who is more than happy to work in the house of a bwana. Regina and Owuor develop a spiritual kinship despite the difference in their ages and backgrounds.

The story is told primarily from Regina’s point of view, as she explores the new world and new reality with the open mind, open heart, and resilience of a child. The story spans many years, from their emigration to escape the Nazis, to the end of WWII and their agonizing struggle to figure out what to do in the *new* new world. In between these bookends the film tells the story of their lives in Kenya, trying to make a living, keep their family together, educate their child, understand what’s happening to their families back home, and understand their adopted country.

This doesn’t sound very exciting, and it isn’t, but it is engrossing and meaningful, as their day-to-day struggles are the same as ours, only magnified by their bizarre circumstances. Should they be happy to still be alive, or should they be grieving for the loss of the life they once had and the peril of their families back home? Or both? Should they be raising their daughter to be a Kenyan, a German, or a Jew?

The Kenya they live in is hard and beautiful, and the native Kenyans benevolently/bemusedly tolerate these strange residents of their land. There is just a touch too much of the “noble savage” stereotype for my tastes, but it is subtly done and the viewer is not clonked over the head with it. The locations are both breathtakingly beautiful while also feeling real and not staged for the film. The cinematography does justice to the natural beauty.

The acting is virtually flawless. Regina is played by two different actresses, one as the young Regina, one is the adolescent Regina, and both capture the same spirit and tone so that the transition is smooth. The adult characters are very deeply drawn and well-acted, even those with small roles. The film is over two hours long, and the pacing is deliberate, but the story spans multiple years and kept me totally engaged throughout. The main characters all speak German in the film, with English subtitles, but this is not as distracting as it may sound. There are multiple languages being spoken by many of the characters, so almost any viewer would need at least some subtitles in order to understand. After the first few language changes I stopped noticing the subtitles.

Refreshingly, the film does not depict the Nazis, WWII, or the Holocaust, but instead tells the smaller story of real people caught up the larger events of the world. World events occur elsewhere and only impact our characters via letters and radio broadcasts. I find this refreshing because while there are many films made about WWII, there are very few that are made about such a remote but oddly fascinating facet of that period. This film told a story about real characters who felt like real people to me. I laughed with them and agonized with them and was confused by the unfolding events, just as they were. I believed what was happening on the screen, and I cared about the characters and about what happened to them. What more can you ask from a film?

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This movie came up randomly on cable last night, and it’s ridiculous and almost so silly you want to turn it off. But we just couldn’t! First of all, it’s hard to resist such a cast:

• Sir Alec Guinness
• David Niven
• Maggie Smith
• Peter Falk
• Peter Sellers
• Truman Capote
• … and VERY young James Cromwell

The premise of the movie (which is a Neil Simon, by the way) is spoofy in the extreme: a psychotic and eccentric millionaire has invited the world’s greatest sleuths to his rambling, creaky English country house for a planned murder that they must all solve. The sleuths include:

• Inspector Sidney Wang, a very toothy and hilariously un-PC Chinaman Peter Sellers
• Dick and Dora Charleston, an upper-crust British crimefighting couple (Niven and Smith)
• Sam Diamond, a hard-boiled San Francisco private eye (Falk, doing his best Bogart)
• Jane Marbles, a tweedy old English sleuthing bird
• Monsieur Perrier, an uptight and constantly ravenous crime-solving Belgian

The targets to be spoofed can hardly be mistaken. Having grown up on Agatha Christie novels (I literally read every single one and every play by the time I was 12), this was too hilarious to pass up. Although the premise hasn’t aged that well (what with the Clue movie, Austin Powers, and the like), the actors were so great in their adopted personae. Alec Guiness is especially hilarious as the blind butler; he looks like he’s just having the best time. Truman Capote is perfect as the effete marionette-master eccentric millionaire.

Of course, the murder occurs and the sleuths band together to try and solve the crime. There’s much silliness and slapstick, but some of the dialog is truly hilarious. To wit: Dick Charleston (David Niven) is inspecting the naked body of the dead butler (Guiness) for signs of a gunshot wound. “Wait, I think I found one… oh, nevermind, not a bullet hole.” It’s delivered so deadpan you almost miss it.
The movie has enough of these type of treasures to make it truly worth it. It’s a trifle, an old movie spoofing an even older literary genre, but it’s pretty darn funny. Set a Wish List on your TiVo, and check it out if you’re ever in the mood to watch something but you’re not sure what. This would be perfect.

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******************** Caution: May contain spoilers ********************

Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle is a good, solid, entertaining, escapist summer film. In addition to the stunts, explosions, prurience, humor, and action you would expect from this movie, there is also a dash of drama and a pinch of…well…tragedy. Nothing heavy-handed, mind you, but integrated well into the story and a bit unexpected.

Sadly, my first thought after leaving the theater was that seeing this film has caused me to like the Matrix films even less than I already do. The Angels director, McG, and company have of course included the requisite big-budget, CGI driven stunts that the movie studios expect that summer audiences expect from this type of film. I’m okay with that, in theory. However, my understanding is that the Angels, while being quite good at what they do (solving cases, kicking asses, titillating), are not superheroes, and they do not have any superhuman capabilities, nor do their adversaries. How, then, are they able to regularly violate the laws of physics? I’m not talking about a kung-fu move that seems implausible, I’m talking about the ability to change direction in mid-air, the ability to dodge bullets, and the ability to fly (or at least glide) by virtue of the aerodynamic properties of a lace blouse. I mean, I’ve never seen Stevie Nicks get airborne, and she’s spent most of her career spinning around in lace tops.

The blame is shared by the popularity of the Matrix films and the herd mentality of Hollywood. Even though I don’t care for the Matrix films, I will freely admit that the superhuman activities of their characters makes perfect sense within the logic of the story. Those same activities are ridiculous in a film like Full Throttle. Seeing McG insert these slavishly-wannabe-Matrix segments into his film was disheartening, as my opinion after the first Angels film was that he was developing a unique voice as a filmmaker. He still might, but I hope if there’s another film in this franchise that he remembers that there are a lot of folks in the audience like me, who will buy (and have probably come to see) the implausible, but who find themselves completely jolted out of the enjoyment of the film by seeing the impossible.

With the exception of this bad case of Matrix-pox, I enjoyed Full Throttle. The girls are very cute, Demi Moore is sufficiently menacing as the bad gal, the cameos are well done, and the soundtrack is nearly perfect. And the special effects, even if inappropriate, are also well done and state of the art. Bernie Mac is pretty funny as the new Bosley, and they handle the transition from Bill Murray fairly smoothly. The story revolves around the Federal Witness Protection program, and the various underworld syndicates (Japanese, Italian, Irish, etc) who want to get their hands on the list of hidden witnesses. The film even delves deeper into the back-story of one particular Angel, but I won’t spoil it by telling you which one. In a totally unrelated note, Drew Barrymore is one of the producers of the film.

So now there are two Charlie’s Angels films, and I hope they make more. Given the ensemble nature of the cast, I could see this turning into a Bond-like franchise, with the Angel’s roles being passed down to each successive generation of new, young, upwardly mobile stars. As long as they keep the mix of humor, action, and drama I’ll be looking forward to it.

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We saw The Italian Job last night, and it was a very enjoyable movie-going experience. I went in with lowwwww expectations, as the previews seemed to depict a movie that was The Fast and the Furious meets The Truth About Charlie, with a dash of Cooper Mini autos added for that “Do the Dew” cred. In other words, really not my cup of tea.

However, the movie was much better than I expected. Yes, the story is fairly predictable, but the action sequences are well-done, and there are some genuinely funny parts. There is also a wonderfully refreshing lack of forehead-slapping stupidity and triteness. That may sound like damning with faint praise, but the truth is that so many of the movies being made today are just slipshod repitition of ideas from other currently popular films. This one is different because it isn’t slipshod, and it has just enough originality to stand on its own merits.

If you’re looking for an entertaining, summer action flick check out The Italian Job.

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******************** This Review May Contain Spoilers ********************
This is an intelligent, hardcore thrill ride of a movie. It’s part social  commentary and part philosophical exploration of the innate nature of humanity,  wrapped up and presented to the audience in the guise of an extraordinarily  well-done horror film. Actually, “horror” may be a mis-characterization of the  movie, depending on your definition. Suffice it to say that while nothing  supernatural happens, many horrible things do, so see it and decide the  semantics for yourself. I was pleasantly surprised to find a refreshing lack of preachiness or  over-explanation of the apocalyptic-ish events in this film. In fact, the events  are presented with almost no explanation, and the viewer is left to interpret  things based on what they (and the characters) experience. Also, the movie does  not resort to any sort of trickery, misdirection, or intentional ambiguity  designed to deceive the viewer, and instead tells a most extraordinary tale in a  most direct and unembellished fashion, as if a documentary film crew had  followed our protagonists during their adventure. 
******************** Okay, Definite Spoilers Here ******************** The movie starts at a primate testing lab, where some well-intentioned activists  have set out to free some chimpanzees that are being used for experiments.  Before they can open the cages, a hapless lab assistant stumbles upon them and  pleads with them not to release the chimps because they are infected with a  virus called “Rage”. They ignore him, open the first cage, are viciously  attacked by the chimp, and then the story jumps to 28 days later (hence the  title).  We now meet Jim, who is just waking up from a 4 week coma in a London hospital.  There are no doctors or nurses around, and Jim eventually wanders out of the  hospital and into the empty streets of London.
What has happened is that nearly  everyone in the city has either left, died, or become one of the “Infected”. The  Infected have the Rage virus, which gives them a sensitivity to light (so they  mostly come out at night), removes any semblance of humanity or abstract  thought, and seems to fill them with no instinct or feeling other than to spread  the Rage virus to any and all non-infected humans they can find. This transfer  is made via the blood, so you can imagine the carnage. Once the virus has been  transferred to a person, they transmogrify into one of the Infected within 10-20  seconds. 
As we follow Jim through the story, he meets up with a few non-infected humans,  some who live, some who die, and some who are more monstrous than the Infected.  Jim and his companions are on a quest – to stay alive, to keep from becoming  infected (because if you do your companions will instantly terminate you with  extreme prejudice, not to mention extreme haste), and to figure out what the  hell to do next. Our characters don’t really *know* anything. They don’t know  how long the Infected “live”. They don’t know the origins of the virus. They  don’t even know what’s going on in the rest of the UK, much less the rest of the  world, but before all the media stopped broadcasting they reported that Rage had  spread to Paris and New York. They do know that the Infected are still mortal, and can be killed just like any  other human. And once dead they stay dead, so we don’t have to deal with the  ultimate director’s cheap shot of the undead rising from their undeadness at the  most inconvenient times. In fact, one of the great strengths of this movie is that while the premise is  extreme and (one hopes) unthinkable, it *is* highly logical. The film lays out  the basic groundrules, and then extrapolates them in ways that are surprising  but still plausible and logical within those groundrules.
This makes the movie  almost feel more like hard science fiction than horror. Another strength of the  movie is that all of our characters seem like astonishingly normal people placed  into an unimaginably horrific situation. Our band can be plucky and determined,  ruthless and intelligent, unselfish and supportive, but none are mythically  heroic or larger than life. The story, however, speaks to some very large philosophical issues. For example,  the conflict of good vs. evil in this film is not uninfected vs. Infected, but  uninfected vs. uninfected. Yes, the Infected are key to the story, but while  they are dangerous and scary, they are not evil, as they have no intent. They  are simply carriers of a virus, and that virus turns them into the necessary  delivery mechanism. But that’s what the Infected are, a survival mechanism of an  unthinking virus. And while they wreak havoc, they are no more evil than a burr  that sticks to your clothes in hopes of spreading clover to a new plot of land  somewhere. In the end we find that while our cast of characters have determined that what  they have to do next is to preserve and restart the human race, they certainly  have some different ideas on how to go about it. As a viewing experience, this movie grabbed hold of me from the opening scene  and didn’t let go until the end. In fact, on the drive home from the theater 
Marie asked me what I was going to say in my review, and I told her that I  really had no clue, as I hadn’t once stopped to make any critical mental notes.  I was completely swept up in the story, which is very rare for me.  In fact, I didn’t even have any popcorn during the movie, which might be a first  for me, as popcorn is one of my favorite snacks. The theater complex was crowded  and our sneak preview theater was jam-packed, so I was going to wait until the  movie started then try to sneak out to the snack bar when it was less crowded.  But I didn’t. Just as a frame of reference, I’ve actually walked out of films  (and gotten a refund) when I found the snack bar didn’t have any “butter” for  the popcorn, so me not leaving the theater to get some says a whole lot about  how riveting this film was for me. Also, our sneak preview theater was filled with teenagers (despite the “R”  rating), and it appears that this film is being targeted to that demographic.  However, this film is not some campy “I Know The Wrong Turn You Screamed Last  Friday the 13th”, even if that’s how it’s being marketed. So don’t judge this  one by the marketing or the youthfulness of the patrons, as there are layers  that can be appreciated by thoughtful viewers of all ages.

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We just got back from seeing The Matrix Reloaded. It was exactly what I expected, which was all the lamest elements of the first one, magnified. To put this review in context, I was singularly unimpressed by the first Matrix movie. The effects were certainly interesting, and some elements of the story were mildly non-stupid. But the movie, as a whole, didn’t do much for me. But you could see the budget on the screen, and there’s a certain amount of entertainment value in that. The same is true with Matrix 2. There’s more (much more, numbingly more) fantasy fighting and other various effects. The cast members seem to understand that they don’t need to “act” in this movie, only pose, posture, and pontificate pretentiously.

The movie takes place in two “places”. The first place is the matrix, which is a computer generated world into which most of humanity is plugged, where they assume the identity of themselves and interact the way we do, in a world that resembles our world. But in reality their physical bodies are kept sedated and are connected to some massive energy production/storage system, and the machines have created the computer world in order to give their minds something to do, so that the bodies stay healthier. The world of the matrix is policed by “agents”, which are programs that work for the machines and ensure that the denizens of the matrix keep doing things the way the machines want them done. I’m sure I’ve got some of that wrong, and I urge all of you who wish to correct my errors in Matrix mythology to feel free to just keep it to yourselves.

The second “place” is the real world (apparently) which is peopled by humans who have been awakened/freed from the matrix. In this installment there are 250,000 free humans, and they live in an undergound city called Zion. The city of Zion looks like it was conceived by a collaboration between the production designers of The Jetsons, The Flintstones, Mad Max, and Survivor: Spelunking. Also, apparently, in this reality there is no such thing as stainless steel, Comet, paint, or needles and thread, as everything is dull, dingy, rusted, and/or artfully frayed.

The plot of the film is…irrelevent, as far as I can tell. Something about robotic octopi digging down to destroy Zion, and Neo (Keanu Reeves) trying to get into a really secure computer room. I know that sounds dismissive, but the plot just isn’t the point of a movie like this. If it were, I probably wouldn’t have these questions:

1. If machines are smart enough to take over the world, then why aren’t they smart enough to know there are far more efficient ways to store energy than in the horribly inefficient bodies of humans?
2. How did the guy who is the commander of the human defense forces get to be in charge if he’s such an ineffectual, whiney loser?
3. Humans can’t find a better way to zip into and out of the matrix than the telephone?
4. Why is it that whenever our plucky band of humans enters the matrix, they all wear sunglasses and choose to dress like rejects from Who Wants To Be an Art-Rock Star?
5. If Neo can fly at will, why does he spend so much time standing and fighting when what he really needs to do is get going?
6. Can…Laurence….Fishburne…..speak……any……..more…………ponderously?
7. Why do the humans/avatars/agents/programs insist on having so many fights, when, with the exception of one bullet (out of thousands) and one minor flesh wound no one in this movie seems to be able to inflict the slightest damage on anyone else?
8. During the striving-to-be-deep-but-laughably-shallow attempts at intellectualism, morality, and mysticism, did anyone else keep waiting for Neo to say, “Philosophize with him, dude!”.

But seeing the Matrix 2 was not a complete waste of time. For instance, it’s nice to see Edgar and Johnny Winter getting some work. Also, when my attention wandered during the movie, it was fun thinking up alternate, more accurate titles for the film, like:

The Matrix Regurgitated
The Matrix Rebloated
The Matrix Reloathed
The Matrix Real Odious

Now, I know there are those who will love this film, and who loved the first one, and more power to you. There are also those that will point out the impressive box-office numbers as an indicator of the popularity of this movie. I’ll be the first to say that this movie is very popular. After reading the paragraphs above you might conclude that I was disappointed by the movie, but I wasn’t. It was exactly what I expected, which was an overblown, campy film that is a fun shared cultural experience. But impressive numbers at the box office and popular popularity do not a great film make. Take a look at this list of movies and see if you can figure out what they have in common:

Home Alone 2
Twister
Mrs. Doubtfire
The Mummy Returns
Planet of the Apes (the *new* one)
Three Men and a Baby
What Lies Beneath

They all have at least two things in common. First, they are all in the list of top 100 grossing films of all time. And secondly, they all outgrossed little films such as the Godfather, Schindler’s List, Silence of the Lambs, Seven, and Alien, among many other widely acknowledged classics. We all know that Matrix 2 will soon outgross these classics as well. And I don’t begrudge this film its due. It *should* make money, not because it’s a good film, but because it is an *event*. And that just about sums it up…this movie sucks, and I recommend that you go see it.

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(Note: The songs in this rant have hotlinks to pages at music sales sites (Amazon, Barnes & Nobles) that have audio samples. This does not imply endorsement of these external sites or their products, but are presented simply as a convenience for you, the reader.)

I adolesced in the ’70s, in a small, coastal Texas town. My available music selections were country (ubiquitous), rock (one fuzzy, whiny AM station from Houston), pop (2 hours a day on the local station, one station out of Victoria), and whatever records or 8-tracks I could afford to buy (or borrow from my sister). And unlike many of my peers, music was not central to my teenage years. I mean, there was music that I liked, but I didn’t live/breathe music, or worship any bands, or scrimp and save to get the money to buy tickets for concerts in far-off, exotic places like Corpus Christi and San Antonio. I listened to some music, did a little country dancing, and that was about it.

Then I went off to college, at the University of Houston. College being college, many things changed for me, including my musical tastes and perspectives. For instance, I finally matured to the point where I began to get a glimmer of an understanding of the greatness of the Beatles. I realized that I wasn’t angst-y or disaffected enough to relate to punk rock. I heard the first twangs of the nascent new-country sound, and found it repugnant. I also started getting very tired of hearing ever-more-generic disco songs.

And I also discovered something else. I found that there were some core songs and groups, labeled as disco by most, that I not only never grew tired of, but that I grew to like more and more. And as I explored this predilection, I found that while disco was the colorful, thin, wispy candy shell, the chocolate inside was nasty, groovy funk.

That Was An Epiphany
It all started one evening during my first year of college. I was in the University Center (UC, sort of a student center), and I could hear the thump-thump-thump of music being played loudly in one of the large conference halls. The beat and sound were very appealing to me, so I wandered over and found that one of the local fraternities was having a fundraising dance. I paid my $2 and went inside and found that I was the only Caucasian in the place, as far as I could see (and, being 6’5″, I could see pretty far). The dance was being put on by the Omega Psi Phi fraternity, which is a primarily African American fraternity. You may know them as the fraternity that brands (or branded, I don’t know if they still do it) their pledges on the shoulder with the Greek letter Omega.

Needless to say, I felt pretty out-of-place. I mean, I was a tall, white, 17 year old country boy come to the big city, so this was a very new experience for me, to say the least. However, my little hometown was peacefully racially diverse, and my mom had instilled in me an open mind and tolerance for others, plus the music was really grabbing at me, so I didn’t turn around and walk out. Instead I grabbed a coke, mingled, and tried to ignore the stares, which ranged from covert glances to open challenges. It was such a freaky scene.

To this point in my life my dancing experience consisted of country dancing, and then doing some boot-shuffling to the pop/disco songs that the country joints would play between blocks of country. So at the Omega dance I was resigned to being a wallflower. But I did notice some things…first of all, I wasn’t familiar with most of the songs being played, but I liked them. I wasn’t hearing anything from the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack, for example. Nobody was wearing a white leisure suit. Nobody was mimicking Travolta’s choreographed “disco” moves. Nobody was doing the Hustle.

But everyone was sure having a good time. I found myself moving to the beat, almost involuntarily. It was like an awakening. And I wanted to dance. But I felt out of place and out of my league, like a bottle of Ripple in a fine wine cellar. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave, so I stayed and struggled with myself to either get up the courage to dance, or to finally give up and leave.

And then I heard the opening guitar riff of a song that I knew. Knew and loved. And the crowd recognized it, too, and started flooding onto the dance floor.

It was a sign.

It was Play That Funky Music, by Wild Cherry.

It was an epiphany. I spotted the nearest likely candidate and asked her if she’d like dance, and she did, so we did. And I ended up dancing the night away, and having the time of my young life. Over the course of the evening I discovered my dancing muse, and found my voice (so to speak). And that muse was funk.

I Can’t Define Funk, But I Know It When I Hear It
Now, I’m no musicologist…in fact, I can’t even play an instrument…but I’m going to try and define funk for you. Funk has a nasty, relentless, hypnotic rhythm. Most funk songs are not very complex, lyrically, but they are dense, musically. There are exceptions, like Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin) by Sly and the Family Stone, which has a simple guitar hook, a few horns, and a lot of funk. And then there’s You Haven’t Done Nothin’ by Stevie Wonder, which is both musically dense and lyrically powerful. In fact, if you want to want a crash course in funk, listen to these three songs, all by Stevie Wonder:

Maybe Your Baby
I Wish
You Haven’t Done Nothin’

If all you know about Stevie is his later work (like Ebony and Ivory), these three songs will be eye-openers (as well as leg-twitchers, if you have any funk in your soul). But if you listen to those three Stevie songs, you will know the definition of funk. If those three songs don’t move you, or they sound like “disco” to you, then you should probably resign yourself to being a funk philistine, and stop reading. (The links are just to samples on various music sites, so for the full effect I suggest you legally acquire copies of these songs to which to listen.)

I could write a whole separate rant (and probably will someday) on Stevie Wonder, whom I consider to be a certain genius, a probable brother from another planet, and even a possible time traveler.

Everybody Move
The three Stevie songs above, although 200 proof funk, are just the tip of the iceberg. Here, according to this ranter, are some of the rest of the funkiest songs out there:

Body Movers
Jungle Boogie (Kool & the Gang)
Burn Rubber (The Gap Band)
Brick House (The Commodores)
Love Rollercoaster (The Ohio Players)
Too Hot to Stop (Bar-Kays)

Meat and Potatoes
It’s Your Thing (The Isley Brothers)
Let It Whip (The Dazz Band)
Fire (The Ohio Players)
Flash Light (Parliament)
Dazz (Brick)
Fight the Power (The Isley Brothers)
Atomic Dog (George Clinton)

Slow Grooves
Strawberry Letter 23 (The Brothers Johnson)
Use Me (Bill Withers)
Got To Give It Up, Part 1 (Marvin Gaye)
Groove Me (King Floyd)

Instrumentals
Rockit (Herbie Hancock)
Pick Up the Pieces (Average White Band)
Outa Space (Billy Preston)

Neo Funk
Give It Away (The Red Hot Chili Peppers)
Paul’s Boutique (most of the album, The Beastie Boys)

Give a listen to some or all of those songs, and you will “get” funk. If you find that it’s moving your body and making you want to dance, go out and find some of it, because the best way to experience funk is with your whole body. If you live around Houston, you may want to try The Mercury Room [editor’s note: this club has since gone out of business]. Some of their regular bands (like Soul Circus) lay down some slick, funky grooves. But remember, you can always just slip in the disk, crank up the volume, and jam right there in your car during rush hour. Funk is good for what ails you, no matter what it may be. Remember, it’s your thing, do what you wanna do.

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