I take a great deal of pride in my disinterest in the lives of celebrities, but every so often something big enough does come along to peak my interest, and certainly the series of taped phone conversations touted as "the absolute end of Mel Gibson's career" seemed like enough of a blockbuster to draw even me into the slums of the internet tabloid sites.
The initial information I was hearing was about Gibson on a "racist rant," so I was expecting something more along the lines of Kramer-gate. This isn't exactly the case. Over the twenty-some minutes of phone conversation, there were, by my count, two racial slurs, neither of which were directed at Gibson's girlfriend who on the other line. (She is someone that does something and I really don't care enough about her to bother looking up her name again.) There was, however, a whole host of death threats, c-bombs, and at least one confession of domestic abuse. Funny, given all that, that the media keyed in on the two rather insignificant racial slurs. I guess "racist" has a better ring than "live-in-girlfriend/baby-mama puncher" Not to go all Bill O'Riley-Blame-the-Victim about it, but there's also a fair amount of baiting from the girlfriend, who is fully aware she's taping a very drunk and irate Gibson, to aid old Mel in further digging himself into a hole.
If anything the experience was... entertaining. Though the time would have been better spent watching Cheers, probably.
Now, I'm not big fan of racism or domestic abuse. Truth be told, I think they're both just crumby. But honestly, why would I, or anybody else, feel even a gram of emotion over this? Frankly the personal nature of the incident prevents it from even being a meltdown on par with that of Kramer-gate, which, if nothing else, took place publicly, and at people who, outside of maybe being rude, were minding their own business. I think it's become embarrassing stain on our society that we create a job market for this brand of shit-seeking. So we can be exposed to personal phone calls and wring our hands deciding if Mel needs to go to jail for his lady punching or rehab for his substance abuse problems. Substance abuse problems we've all determined must be present because WE heard twenty minutes of taped phone conversation featuring the drunken star of Maverick.
I'm certainly not defending what I heard, I simply don't protest to know any more about the inner-workings of the mind of Mel Gibson than he knows about mine. For all I'm aware, Mel Gibson might be an upstanding guy who's fallen on hard times, or he might be a rampaging lunatic who likes to do blow off of stripper dicks and get choked by trannys to get his rocks off. Either way, Godspeed (You! Black Emperor) It's not my concern. My concern begins and ends with Maverick. Much in the same sense that the girl who bags my groceries might be a swell young lady who helps the elderly cross the street and volunteers at soup kitchens, or she might dish out sexual favors behind Taco Bell dumpsters for meth. Again, my concern is how it may or may not affect the bagging of my groceries.
This holds especially true in the case of actors or other celebrities who's work doesn't carry a certain level of intimacy with the audience. Elliott Smith wrote songs about his life, and Mel fought marauders in a world devoid of gasoline, so I feel like I have a slightly better window into the life of the former. Does that mean I actually know any more about Elliott Smith? Maybe, but probably not.
Anyway, I still like Chuck Berry, Gary Glitter, Michael Jackson, and Chris Benoit, so there's a reasonably significant chance I'm not the best person to ask. And I'm not going to tell you that J-Lo looking fat in a bikini doesn't validate your life in some way. It might. ...it just probably shouldn't. You'd be best served by not giving the slightest rats ass about the domestic squabbles of people you've never met. The time you spent caring are precious moments you'll never get back again.
In a strange way, you sort of want to root for Eminem. It's a rare gift when an artist has the self-awareness to address the overall shittiness of some of their previous work, which comes up frequently on Recovery. Despite that I'm not what you'd call a "fan," as someone who took the time to listen to both Encore and Relapse I appreciate the apology. It was nice of him. Unfortunately that is probably the most positive thing I have to say about Recovery. The idea of Eminem making some grand return to prominence with a truly raw, evocative new album is what that just seemed... right. It seems like the natural course of history, wherein a once monumental figure of hip hop overcame a difficult period to release something truly excellent. Unfortunately, the most accurate description of the album is "well, it's not embarrassing or terrible."
And, in truth, it's not embarrassing or terrible. It's just not very good. Eminem's lightening fast and furious delivery seems to be the focus, which, in itself, is back to where it once was, but the songs themselves often fall flat and it seems more like you're listening to an exhibition of technical proficiency than an album. It's like Dream Theater, but with Michael J. Fox jokes. More frequently than not, Em's "fire" overwhelms the rest of what's going on on the track. The beats are academic and, while I wouldn't say "uninspired," because he clearly is very focused this time around, they're predictable and often disconnected from the lyrics. The music seems like an afterthought.
As has become the tradition with Eminem records, Em is at his best, and most clever, when he isn't trying to be topical. The pop culture references are kept to a bare minimum here, which plays in the albums favor. Even as a snobby jerk who doesn't enjoy this type of material at all, there were a few lines that managed to make me crack a smile, which I take as a good sign for his audience.
Not surprisingly, one of the highlights here is the Dr. Dre produced "So Bad" which sounds positively retro and is one of the few songs that actually seems to have a traditional hook, in contrast to the rest of the album which has an unfortunate tendency to blend together. "Almost Famous" and "Love the Way You Lie" also manage to pop a little, but by that point you've been listening for nearly an hour. It seems like you could have easily cut most of the opening seven tracks and wound up with a much stronger final product.
Overall, fans will probably be pleased. This is certainly a marked improvement over Em's last two records and hopefully the opening notes of the second chapter of his storied career. Conversely, while an avid hip hop fan will appreciate much of this, there is absolutely nothing here for the casual listener. So don't bother.
Imagine for a second that you have an extremely annoying and musically clueless little cousin who's approximately 14-17 years old. Then use your powers of make believe to envision them running up to you one day and proclaiming "oh mi gawd, Michael (for the sake of this example, your name is Michael) two of the dudes from Panic! At the Disco started a new band and it sounds JUST LIKE The Beatles!! It's amazing and/or is horrible and they sold out!!" Short of beating yourself to death with a heavily instrument, you would, at very least, not bother with the record in question since it a) doesn't sound like The Beatles as your cousin is an idiot who's sole insights into the music of the 1960's came from the film Across The Universe and b) is no doubt the newest variation of deplorable emo claptrap you just haven't been made aware of yet.
Well, you'd be half right. It doesn't sound like The Beatles. What's funny is that you wouldn't even need an intimate knowledge of the '60s to be able to come up with at least three hugely mainstream examples that the debut offering from ex-Panic! offspring The Young Veins sounds more like. The Kinks, The Hollies, The Kinks, The... okay for fuck's sake, it sounds a lot like The Kinks if anything. I'd like to be able to name-check something more obscure to impress the name-check crowed, but that does seem to be the leading influence here.
Even without a detailed account of the inner workings of emo upstarts Panic! At the Disco 'round about the time of their break-up, it's not exactly difficult to surmise what happened here. Four school friends start trendy emo band, get signed, have hit record, discuss possible adventurism on sophomore record, make said record to surprisingly good results, then break up because half of the band had heard albums that weren't by Fall Out Boy and decided that those records were pretty good too. "But, Fall Out Boy, Dude!" the other half proclaimed. ...but by that point it was probably no use.
What's noteworthy about Take a Vacation! in contrast to so many other strictly-revival records of the past ten years is that it doesn't seem to have any inclination to claim the sound as it's own. Rather it's almost an exhibition of talent in The Young Veins' ability to portray the 60's so effortlessly, they don't seem to be interested in giving it an edgy, modern twist. The songs sound truly dated, which, in this case, is actually kind of charming. A nice break from modern records which often ask the listener for a rather hefty emotional investment. Nothing here is epic and nothing here is trying to be.
The clear stand-outs come in "Change," the lead single which has been floating around myspace for the better part of a year, and curiously sounds like in the right context, could play as somewhat of a dis-track to Ross and Walker's former bandmates. "Some people never change / The just stay the same way," as well as the breezy title track.
With the retro-revival trend dying off, it's funny that one of the strongest examples of how to do it right comes from such an unlikely source. Say what you will about Panic! At the Disco, The Young Veins are clearly something else entirely, and it would be foolish of anyone to write off this fun summer record without giving it a fair shake. It's a very enjoyable little vintage-sounding romp with not a single groaner among the tracks to be found.
I've been finishing up my spring semester over the past several weeks, and, as such, I haven't had as much time as I'd like to devote toward voicing my deeply important opinions about my favorite storytelling medium. So I figured rather than desperately claw away at a gigantic pile of back-viewing, I'll just get back up to speed with a series of miniature reviews. Think of it like youtube comments, except that I probably won't bring up illegal immigrants or Hitler.
Newsish:
Lie to Me gets third season pick-up... for 13 episodes.
Fox never has faith in anything. So it comes as no surprise that while they haven't had the balls to give up on Lie to Me yet, they still refuse to let it run like a show they trust. Odd considering I don't know what Fox thinks might magically happen in season three of the show. This is it fellas. This is your audience. These are your numbers. Pick a viewing season, order a full 24, or shut the fuck up and go home already.
To clarify, there's nothing wrong with a 13 episode season if that's what you do. Frankly, more shows would benefit from a 10-13 season rather than 24, but in the states, and on network, 13 means is you're a bubble show. ...or there's a writers strike. I've enjoyed season two up until present, but there still isn't much of an ongoing serial element, which is going to be the eventual death of the series.
Starz Cancels Party Down
Seriously? Were it not for the unexpected juggernaut of Community, Party Down would have been the most promising sitcom is years. As history stands, it comes in a distant second place, but even still. It was creative, loveable, and outrageously funny. Given the lack of sets, special effects, or heavy promotion (although the promotion wasn't awful), I'm guessing that the cast had a hefty price-tag, and the ratings didn't offset the cost. Still, why doesn't anyone have any pride in their programming anymore? Starz is a bottom-feeding third-tier movie channel and it was nice to see them offer up a really impressive piece of original programming. What else does the crumby wouldbe HBO have? (Granted, I have not seen "Gravity", which might be decent.) As a newbie in the original programming world, a savvy business move would have been to absorb the cost of Party Down to cater to the hip, indie-TV audience, and help draw more viewers in to other subsequent projects. Instead we get twenty great episodes and starz will return to the place to watch three-year-old movies in your underpants while you're drunk.
Reviewish:
Family Guy – Season 8
Family Guy has undergone an unusual transformation process. In 11 years, it's gone from being a grab at The Simpsons, to being a grab at South Park, to finally becoming something truly unique and special. I thought season seven of Family Guy was a stand-out, and building on that, season eight may be the show's finest yet. The series has reached a point where character development normally begins to stagnate, yet Family Guy always seems open to exploring new relationships and aspects of it's cast. Seemingly at the moment a character begins to fall into regular patterns, or become mono-dimensional, Peter and company will tack on a much needed additional layer substance. The best examples this season were the expansion of Quagmire, the newfound disdain between he and Brian, and the taming of Lois' predictable "voice of reason." The highlight episode, and I think perhaps one of the ten best in the show's history, was "Brain and Stewie" which beautifully exemplified the complex, multifaceted relationship between the two. It's strange how Seth MacFarlane can manage to bring more humanity to a cartoon dog and baby, in-between poop jokes, than most modern dramas can when they're being deadly serious for 44 minutes. The show is also eager as ever to make fun of itself along the way, which is something it's predecessor The Simpsons could take a lesson from (no, one Bart-Man joke in ten years doesn't count has having a sense of humor about yourself.) This season was richly textured and laugh out loud funny. I'm really excited about round 9 of Family Guy.
Lost – Seasons 1-4
I'm trying to get over my anti-boner for shows which are a mainstream success. I know it's a bad habit, but it's not my fault I'm so hopelessly punk-rock. I'm approaching my 30s and I've come to realize that not everything HBO shits out in infallible, and not everything on network is The Biggest Loser. It's easy to clinically pick apart promising procedural dramas or subject myself to five painful season of Bones, but when something is touted as true television art and it doesn't have boobs or cusses, I'm hesitant. In truth though, Lost is probably the best television series since...
um.
Lost is possibly the best television series that's ever been. Had John From Cincinnati been given more time, then history would have unfolded differently, but it's hard to find anything else that even begins to encompass the depth or complexity of Lost... at least that didn't eventually wonder into the realm of hapless postmodern bullshit. I'm not going to actually give you a review of the show because that seems silly, given it's cultural impact and the fact that I have two season left, but if you haven't watched it, watch it, and if you won't, you're sort of an idiot.
The Cleveland Show – Season 1
Cute. A very nice little homage to 70s sitcom spin-offs with enough laughs to not make you regret watching it. It's the least strong of Fox's Sunday animation block, but it's a fitting enough replacement for King of the Hill until something better comes along.
Royal Pains – Season 1
I like Psych. I manage Burn Notice. I didn't need a combination of the two. Skip and/or Kill it with fire.
Archer – Season 1
Can't get back on the air fast enough. Adam Reed's boldly self-conscious drop-pause-egotism humor meets the golden pipes of H. Jon Benjamin. Nothing rewarding about the series from a storytelling or development standpoint, but unrealistically funny dialog, one-offs, and gags. Endlessly quotable.
NCIS: Los Angeles – Season 1
So far beyond derivative you might actually suffer brain-death if you try to watch more than one a day. This is why adults tell kids that TV is bad for them. ...poor LL Cool J.
CSI: Crime Scene Investigation – Season 10
Unexpectedly great and easily the best season in six years. Worthy of it's own full review, which I'll get to, hopefully. If, like me, you wrote the series off years and years ago, this is worth giving the franchise another shot.
Community – Season 1
Best sitcom in a decade. Will discuss further at a later date.
Futurama – Season "Six" ...so far.
The first episode was off. The second episode was a travesty unto the series. The third was... pretty good.
She watches a series like I do. Start on episode one, sit and stare until series finale. We'll talk and exchange notes and thoughts about storyline and the like, but she frequently asks me what's going to happen next. "Watch and find out" I usually respond, not wanting to spoil anything for her.
Since most of the stuff we watch is out of my collection, I've usually seen it first. However, in the case of the recently departed Lost, I'm actually clueless. I don't watch TV on TV, so it's not the kind of thing where I just catch a random episode here and there.
That said I've decided to tease her by being as annoying as possible.
The project is, in the course of watching Lost, I'm going to ask her questions about EVERYTHING. And really stupid questions at that.
Questions I Asked My Mom About The First 20 Minutes of Lost
Why's that man in bamboo?
Who's dog is that?
Were they in a plane crash?
Is the man Jack a doctor?
Is that pregnant lady gonna have a space baby?
Who's that fat guy? Why's he so fat?
Why's that old man looking majestically out into the ocean?
Is that a hobbit?
Why's that hobbit's feet so small?
Do plane wings really explode when they fall fifteen feet and hit sand?
Are they gonna do it?
What does that fat guy eat so much of?
I don't like that bitch. Do you like that bitch? I don't like that bitch.
Does the Asia man do karate?
Why would you let the fat guy handle the food?
What's that movin' trees around? A dinosaur? Is this a dinosaur island?
Is it a tyrannosaurus rex?
twenty minutes down, all but twenty minutes of six years left to go.
Full disclosure. When I wrote the review for the first season of Bones, I was mid-way through the second season. By this point I'm a few episodes from the finale of season five (the most recent season.)
In the course of five years, Bones has been... well... something like three entirely different shows, to varying degrees of success. The first incarnation is most prominently displayed in season one when Bones serves as a hard-science forensics show with a forced romantic undertone and no elements of ongoing plot. It's also the most god awful. The supporting cast is alienating and lacks chemistry. Dr. Temperance "Bones" Brennan (The stunningly un-charming Emily Deschanel), serves as this clustershag superhero-ninja-scientist hybrid who transitions from being socially maladjusted to perfectly normal with no real rhyme or reason. The lack of on-going story elements means that it takes until season two for the show to start developing it's own mythology. It's just really... really terrible.
The biggest and most desperately needed changes in the show occur between seasons two and very early four, where the cast is filtered and re-established. Dr. Camille Saroyan (Tamara Taylor) shows up early in season two and serves as a desperately desperately needed check on Bones, who up until that point apparently controlled the universe because she was an expert at forensic anthropology. Camille ("Cam") comes in as the new head of the Jeffersonian Institute's forensics department. She's also a pathologist, which was one glaring technical error from the first season, since, ya know, there's a few obvious steps between "found dead body" and "examine skeleton."
Cam is a foil to Brennan for a while which gives the cast some slight balance. When you have a character who's both the best at everything and in charge of everything, there's no... oh what's the thing every story needs... right! conflict! There's no fucking conflict.
The second major cast adjustment is the slow phasing out of Zach Addy (Eric Millegan) who's minor crime is being a superfluous character, as Brennan's protege with the same field of expertise, and who's major crime is being absolutely and unbearable annoying. The entire Zach Addy character is a single punchline that plays over and over for three years. He's written out through a monstrously convoluted storyline in season three that, frankly, makes zero sense when you put it all together, but you spend so much time overjoyed that he's gone, you don't really care. After three years of Millegan's nasally drone, the story could have very well involved him being abducted by aliens and whisked away to planet Zed, and you'd swear it was as good, if not better than, the last episode of the Sopranos. Though, to the show's credit, he's largely uninvolved with season three until the conclusion.
So Cam shows up, Addy is gone, Hodgins (T. J. Thyne) gets to have actual hair and not that ridiculous white-guy 'fro, and we get Dr. Lance Sweets (John Francis Daley) and "the interns."
Sweets enters as an FBI psychiatrist who's job is to evaluate whether or not Bones and Agent Booth (David Boreanaz) can still work together after Booth *mufflemufflemuffle this would be a spoiler* He eventually winds up as part of the team serving as the in-house ego/id/phials guy.
"The Interns" actually make for a creative addition to the show, though I'm sure it's something that's been used somewhere else before. I just haven't seen it, and if TV has taught me anything, if I haven't seen it, then it's fucking new to me, now, isn't it? Anyway, there's a six-member intern rotation to help spice things up from episode to episode. They're all intensely bright but more or less do menial shit-work on cases, which makes a great deal more sense than Zach Addy who managed to be the second most vital member of the team despite that he should have been fetching coffee and digging through trash. He was an intern.
All the interns have distinct personalities and, despite not being central to the A-story, you find yourself getting excited when your favorites come up in the rotation.
"oh yay! it's a Vincent episode!" "oh crap... it's a Daisy episode."
You get the idea.
I usually find it a trying task to come up with nice things to say about the mind-rotting wasteland that is Bones, but the interns angle was a really good idea for several reasons. It gives a perfectly valid reason to expand your B-cast and build your mythology without having to find a reason to write characters into an episode. It's just "oh hey, it's Clark's week on the rotation." No needless exposition as to why. They're simply there. And thank god, really. If they had to take time to explain why Clark was there, they'd have to cut into the time spent needlessly explaining the plot or having Bones and Booth make facial expressions at each other.
By season four the cast is complete fixed from season one and actually resembles a show someone might watch of their own free will and possibly enjoy. ...well, the cast at least.
:: Cigarette and Tang break. ...never a bad time for the orange-ish taste of Tang. ::
Like I was saying earlier, about it's hard-science beginnings, Bones never really decides what kind of show it wants to be. There was the aforementioned awful start, which was followed by a period of being deeply concerned with building it's own mythology via several on-going storylines, a host of callbacks, and other little goodies and do-dads that are rewards for having paid attention. The show transitions from a procedural drama to a life-affirming sit-dramedy. It was more noticeable when Bones had a "serious" episode among the usual lighthearted ones, as opposed to a "funny" episode ah la X-Files / every other drama series ever. We'll call this Bones: Phase II.
Bones: Phase II is actually probably the best incarnation of the show because you're not really supposed to take it all too seriously. The show's strength, if one can be found, is when it's playful. By season four, Bones, as a character, has finally been fleshed out into something that makes sense on a regular basis. She's consistently awkward and develops limitations. The show careful wrote out all of her fight-scenes, which was a godsend, since if you pair up a scientist with a tough-guy FBI agent, she probably shouldn't be able to defeated a room full of assailants in mortal kombat. Not to offend anyone's feminist sensibilities or anything, but a character that's the brains and the brawn is fucking boring, regardless of gender. If you disagree, just go watch Burn Notice and never stop watching Burn Notice for the rest of your miserable life.
Anyway, season four concludes with a really unfortunate choice for a finale. It's a dream sequence episode which Booth has in a coma and, while it's a pretty decent episode, it's usually not the best idea to have your big, final story of the year be one that has absolutely nothing to do with the plot. Season Four ends and thus begins Bones: Phase III: The Romancening.
Our third incarnation is a Detective/Romance Scientific Drama which, for my bitching about the "forced romance" in season one (and two, but I haven't actually bitch about that yet) at least this time around it's a central angle of the show. It's not something you get beat over the head with as a subtext to the story, it's the actual focus of the plot, which works. Not WELL, mind you, but it works.
By this point in the story it's almost unreasonable for Booth and Brennan to have not knocked boots yet. I mean, it's impossible. There are no two human beings who have had so many tender moments without ONE of them going "yeah, I should probably kiss him/her right now." I don't care how awkward or nervous you are. Literally EVERY episode ends with them looking longingly into eachothers eyes, usually sharing a drink, embracing, or walking arm-in-arm. Prior to the 100th episode I actually figured the show was just going to pull a CSI and have them go "oh, yeah, we've been a couple for years."
The big reveal comes in episode 100 where they explain their origin story to Sweets. They'd kissed once, six years prior, then fought, then didn't talk for a year.
response of the viewer: "so?" intended response: "OMG! NO WAY! OH IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW!"
// spooooilers below //
To close the episode, which is entirely told in flashback form, the two finally kiss. My exact response while watching was "thank fucking GOD. enough already!" ...but my relief was premature. No, he wants to, she's scared, blah blah blah, let's keep this train a-rollin'. Now he's not gonna wait for her anymore.
Have you ever wondered why shows in the UK are six episodes long? To avoid this bullshit. When you let things drag on forever, constantly teasing your conclusion, people get annoyed and bored. Granted, I've been watching Bones for two weeks, but there are people that have put up with five years of this shit. Hell, even Scrubs had the good sense to take JD and Elliott off the table for a year or two at a time. X-Files dragged it out forever, but at least there was a storyline about alien invasions I cared about in the mean time. This show is a fucking romance in which every side-character has had sex but the two leads who hold hands and cuddle on couches didn't think to kiss each other for FIVE YEARS.
The degree of patients the show expects from it's audience is totally unreasonable. Unlike many of my "television as literature" brethren, I honestly don't mind romantic sub-plots so long as they're addressed in the story. Well, okay, I have about six-hundred and seven rules about them, but they can be done without me pissing and moaning at my screen. They do invariably pay off with some sort of emotional reward, albeit a cheap one, and I like a good ballpark hotdog and a beer just as much as foie gras. But for god's sake, there comes a point where you've gotta... um... hang on, I'm thinking of a more eloquent way to write "shit or get off the pot."
Anyway, I have read ahead enough to find out that there isn't going to be a satisfying conclusion this season. There are four episodes left to bring me up to date, and I'm not sure if I'm disappointed or excited to be done with this bucket of hell until the fall.
Further self-indulgent analysis to come once I'm up to speed.
I used to make mix-tapes. Both when I was a kid and well into my early adulthood after mix-tapes underwent a small High Fidelity-inspired revival. I would spend countless hours trying to learn and develop the craft of making an excellent mix with flow, build, and a climax. These days I have smart-lists and the last of my tape-playing anything is in storage. I will vouch for the fact that making a good mix is somewhat of an art, provided that it's not just some crappy gift to a girlfriend to express how you feel. However, I can't recall a time I made a mix and thought "well.. I made an album." I hadn't created anything original, I just took some things and stuck them together like a collage.
Enter Bones. Quite possibly one of the most derivative shows ever put on television. It is, more or less, a mix-tape of many other things that were once fairly original. Think of it as, say, CSI: HOUSE FIL3S. Now, lifting from CSI isn't a huge deal since CSI put the procedural forensic science detective drama on the map as it's own genre. It's become so much of a TV hallmark that characters like Dexter, who's a forensic blood splatter analyst, don't even need their job explained that thoroughly to the audience. Forensic analyst now ranks with "Firefighter" or "Police Officer" as jobs that people recognize and understand by name. Not to mention that CSI eventually made sock a mockery out of itself that there's always room for improvement. I'm told by a chemistry-major friend of mine that the science involved with Bones is actually fairly accurate, so I can't fault them their concept. If the show's only plagiarism was being a post-CSI detective show, it'd be fine.
Unfortunately, it doesn't end there. Aside from the individual cases the show, focuses on the adventures of and relationship between Dr. Temperance "Bones" Brennan (Emily Deschanel) and FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth (David Boreanaz) who have the ol' science vs. instinct dynamic and romantic tension of, say, Dr. Dana Scully and FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder. Brennan herself is equal parts Scully (unrelentingly scientific), Dr. Gregory House (cold and uninterested in interpersonal relationships), and Mork (completely clueless about all things human.) I'd like to say Bones has at some point gone beyond those three archetypes, but... not really. There's nothing else to explain. She's a genius, science-driven space-alien without the slightest understanding of social nuances.
The rest of the team has some familiar dynamics as well. Dr. Jack Hodgins (T. J. Thyne) and Zack Addy (Eric Millegan) serve as the comic relief while pulling double-duty as the friendly-feuding back-up experts (think CSI's Nick Stokes and Warick Brown, but nerds.) Then there's Angela Montenegro (Michaela Conlin), who's the team's free-spirity facial recreation artists (over-emphasis on artist.) Montenegro serves as Bones' humanity adviser, as well as a foil to the geekiness of Hodgins and Addy. For the sake of grabbing another tv character for her... uh... lets go with Blanche Devereaux.
Impressively, the only character that isn't directly out of another series' playbook is Booth, who despite the fairly predictable introduction as old fashion tough-guy FBI agent, actually developed into something pretty unique over the first season. Booth never has the well-worn "oh he's a tough guy with a heart of gold" sudden moment of sensitivity moment, which is about the only thing in the show that's surprised me thus far (I have a good drinking game for the individual mysteries, but more on that later.) Perhaps as a huge credit to David Boreanaz who actually offers up the mildest degree of subtlety, Booth makes for a somewhat unique guy in the television landscape.
Most often with the jockish FBI agent, there comes some obvious turn where that's all a mask and deep down inside he's a sensitive guy with a heart of gold, not that Booth isn't, but there's no tacky "mask" element to it. We just come to understand the value of the jockish FBI agent instead of making it the two-dimensional facade of a three-dimensional character. Most shows focus too much on "the opposite being true" with a character. Big predictable moments where the tough-guy cries or the weak stand up for themselves against the more aggressive. Booth has moments of sensitivity, moments of heroism, moments of goofiness, and moments of Machiavellian cruelty, and none of them ever are an unveiling to some locked away personality, they're just aspects of a complicated character. Plus he wears silly socks.
He can also apparently hit a target with perfect accuracy via revolver at 75 yards... which is slightly less than realistic. But hey, sometimes people are TV are superheros. We just have to let it slide, right?
...no.
The individual stories are horrendous and the acting... my god.
Bones: The Drinking Game -
Every time Booth and Bones have an awkward, forced romantic moment, do a shot. Every time a character mentions how Hodgins is a conspiracy theorist, do a shot. Every time a character mentions how Montenegro is an artist, do a shot. Every time there is unnatural exposition of the plot (as in, a character explains the plot to someone that should probably already know it,) do a shot. and finally, wait ten minutes. for every minute AFTER minute ten you haven't figured out whodonit, do a shot and have someone punch you in the arm.
You'll find yourself drunk pretty quick. Well, except for on the last rule.
There show goes way, WAY, over the top in exposing who they want you to think the bad guy is, and without fail, that's never the murder. In a couple of episodes, the camera actually pans to someone with shifty eyes for several seconds and you're supposed to go "oh! it's them!" Then it comes as a surprise when the real killer is someone to whom you had no clues about. The reason it becomes so easy to guess, is that it's always the person with the least cause or evidence against them.
That's just poor storytelling. A good mystery is one in which you should be able to figure out the killer (or crook, whatever) by putting the picture together for yourself. You expose the reader/viewer to some clues or information that the protagonists aren't entitled to, maybe, thereby justifying why the reader figured it out but the good guys didn't get it as quickly, however you don't just make up some ass-backwards motive and spring it on everyone in the final scene.
In Bones this is more of a failure of the writing and directing than the acting I think. I mean, what's a guy supposed to do when they get the direction of "okay we're gonna pan to you. Look around all scared-like."
...shifty eyes, for god's sake.
Another issue is that we came to the goofy stuff way too early in the series. Within the first season, it's usually a bad sign if you've already gotten to lost pirate gold, voodoo magic, and ghosts. There's very little underlying serial storyline in the first season of Bones (this changes in subsequent season.) There's no main conflict other than that you get it drilled into your head how much you want Bones and Booth to knock boots.
In a good non-serial drama, there's always an element of serial to it. When the monster of the week is beaten, there's usually something bringing the viewer back. Something they want to know or see happen. House VS. the new head of the hospital. X-Files' entire myth arc. The serial-killer of the season in CSI.
In Bones, they think a (very) forced romantic angle is good enough. Brennan and Booth manage to cover all seven years of Mulder and Scully's tender moments into about a season, with nearly every episode concluding with either Bones or Booth doing something sweet for the other. The "will they or won't they" aspect of television has gotten to the point where it's almost expected. You scan through the cast of any pilot and go "okay, who am I supposed to hope bangs." And Bones is in no way subtle about the fact that you're supposed to be rooting for these two.
Part of what made the romantic aspects of The X-Files so perfect was that it evolved naturally. It took an entire season of the show for the main characters to even really warm up to eachother. There wasn't forced sexual tension because the characters didn't have to have an awkward conversation about sex every couple of episodes. Eventually they just loved eachother and we didn't have to have a scene explaining that they were together.
Bones (and many other shows) are like a clingy boyfriend that always need let you know where they stand. It always has to reinforce that the characters don't openly have romantic feelings about eachother while they exchange clumsy, cutesy glances.
The show gets slightly better later on, but I might have just invested so much time into the characters by this point that I've softened. Sort of like how if you listen to an album enough times, you'll eventually like it.
However, I wouldn't recommend you make the effort.
Nine out of a possible twenty-seven cubic centimeters.
It's hard to begrudge the first season of 24 for some of it's faults. Afterall, the whole real-time serial aspect is pretty unique and I wouldn't imaging it'd be something the writers would have perfected the first time around. Also, as I understand it, the series wasn't sure it'd be around for the long haul, so the story is broken into two clunky acts, the first of which ends around episode 13ish in case the show wasn't picked up. This is fairly easy to see, regardless of if you looked it up or not. It's really obvious that there was a lot more thought put into the first half than the second, which is forgivable. Being an untested network serial drama in your first year, where you might get canceled after two episodes, isn't easy. So I assume you make a lot of concessions in order to front-load your story. ...and front-load they did.
The first act of season one is positively thrilling. The story itself starts out around midnight, the night before the California Democratic presidential primary, and begins as a set of three seemingly unrelated stories. Counter Terrorist Unit (CTU) Federal Agent Jack Bauer (Kiefer Sutherland) gets called in to work over a non-specific threat on the life of presidential candidate David Palmer (Dennis Haysbert.) Meanwhile, Bauer's daughter Kim (Elisha Cuthbert) sneaks off to a party leaving Jack and his wife Teri with an "i" (Leslie Hope) to try and find her, while Jack attempts to balance the troubles of both the nation and his troubled family. Then, over in story number three, something fishy is going on in the Palmer camp, seemingly unrelated to the aforementioned assassination plot.
It's hard to discuss anything in detail since the events of, say, episode four would kinda ruin episode three if, like me, you hadn't seen it. Needless to say the stories eventually interweave as things get progressively more intense and sinister. Now, obviously we're not talking about the first season of The Sopranos or anything, but for a network political/crime thriller, the first act is some pretty top-shelf stuff. Some of the plot devices are a little far fetched at times, but the bad guys are left ambiguous enough that you have no real reason to sit around second guessing how they managed to build such a complicated mouse trap for Senator Palmer and Jack. The first act builds up the kind of suspense that leaves you begging for mercy with no end in sight as things seemed to always be going from bad to worse.
The story climaxes and has a brief cooldown which serves as the start of act two. Now, again, I don't blame the show for this, but the two-act thing really ruins the momentum of the story. Especially given that this is all supposed to be taking place in a 24 hour period. This is where the suspension of disbelief breaker comes in and you start asking questions, and questions are never a good thing to be asking a network serial, since odds are, they're not going to get explained. The rest of the season remains suspenseful, but a far cry from the first half, leaving a sort of clusterfucked final three episodes and a double-twist ending. One of the twists is quite good. The other is... well. Dija ever see The Village? It's not quite that bad, but it's close. (For the record, the twist in the last few seconds is the good one, not the one that closes the second to last episode.)
Thus I concluded season 1 in about three days.
It made for an easy viewing and left me interested enough in the surviving characters to want to keep going. It's not without it's obvious problems and would be far better suited for HBO, since it's somewhat unrealistic that every other word out of the perpetually angry Jack Bauer's mouth isn't "fuck," but it's an interesting concept for a show, despite the obvious limitations to the storytelling. There are moments you'll find yourself screaming "oh, come on!" at your screen, but those are quickly washed away by the next interesting plot twist. So if, like me, you managed to avoid the show entirely, I'd say it's definitely worth giving it a shot.
In honor of Fox's flagship drama coming to it's conclusion, I decided to actually start watching 24. From the beginning. I've managed to go eight-and-a-half years without a single spoiler, which might sound unlikely, but living in a cave has it's advantages. I also just saw The Usual Suspects for the first time three months ago. ...yeah, and I run a media blog, right?
I suppose this might be a good time to let you in on some of the methodology behind this site. My TV isn't plugged into anything but my computer. I watch Countdown With Keith Olbermann and Hardball with Chris Matthews in the kitchen while I cook or eat dinner (back living with my mom for a year before I move in with my fiance in November. LIKE A MEGA MAN,) I watch The Daily Show on my laptop, and aside from that, there's an army of harddrive lights illuminating my room at night. Prior to that it was DVDs of season, and before that VHS tapes of anime and episodes of mst3k. I do this so I don't know which chain restaurants to eat at or medications I should ask my doctor about. So, while I may sometimes be an hour or two behind the newest episodes, I also live a reasonably spoiler-free life.
So, 24 was always a show I found somewhat compelling, as horrifying as the idea of a 24-episode season of a serial drama may be. I mean, that's basically a 17 hour movie, and at this point I find 13 episodes of Dexter trying enough. Then again, that's Dexter, the biggest orgy of great acting and hack writing in the history of television. But, ya know, they can swear, so that's automatically six bonus points of realism. Anyway, 24. I found the concept really interesting, but something that'd get old really quick. I mean, and I'm sure this has been mentioned in a billion reviews over a decade, but there's really only so many interesting days a dude can have that mysteriously wrap up in a twenty-four hour period. Then again... I hadn't watched the show. Maybe there's two interesting events in a day. Maybe A day that took forty-eight hours. ...yeah yeah, there's an obvious flaw. But we're suspending disbelief. That's what we do.
Despite all the frightening aspects and obviously surface flaws, I went in with an open mind.
Have you ever watched Psych and thought "god, I wish this wasn't funny"? Or, like me, are you a fan of procedural crime-dramas with hugely exaggerated uses of a "real" science?
Well good news on both counts! Fox has an on-the-bubble series you might want to check out. Filling the void left by a departing Numb3ers, Lie To Me works roughly around the same premise of taking something scientifically interesting and turning it into a crime-fighting super-power. Tim Roth plays Dr. Cal Lightman, a slightly more humanish House who's the world's leading expert on lie-detection. Lightman and his quirky team take time from their busy schedule of actual research to gallivant around with the always-incompetent FBI, CIA, police, or whoever else pays them to catch baddies when they're fibbing. As is the case in most series, everyone from criminals to law enforcement are predictable, borderline-retarded shmucks that are easily thwarted or manipulated by Lightman and company. Not that that's a problem. If they weren't, there wouldn't be a show.
Everything about Lie to Me is painfully by the numb3rs (ha), but that's never really a reason not to watch. First of all, people like teams comprised of unrealistically dissimilar and unnaturally racially diverse characters. I guess it's what prevents scenes where two white guys in their late 20s talk about how much they both like My Morning Jacket for 45 minutes. Instead we have the grumpy brilliance of Lightman, his second in command, Dr. Gillian Foster (Kelli Williams), who's sort of like Marg Helgenberger in CSI with the advantage of not actually being played by Marg Helgenberger, Eli Loker (Brendan Hines) the young hipster of the crew who's only reason for being seems to be for the sake of having someone quirky around, and scrappy latina Ria Torres (Monica Raymund) and who serves as Lightman's unlikely protégé. Then, towards the end of season one, we wind up with FBI Agent Ben Reynolds (Mekhi Phifer) who, through the magic of convoluted plot devices winds up on the Lightman team as well, since Lightman needed someone with a gun and the show needed a black fella. The team gets together to once a week outsmart some sinister dick who's pulling a fast one, with each episode having little-to-no impact on what happens in the next, which again, isn't a problem. If everything was Dexter, then Dexter wouldn't be all that special, would it?
There's one inevitable flaw with science shows in that their lifespans are subject to how many cool tricks you can pull with said science. Just like how there's only so many ways blood splatter can solve a crime, and a limited amount of neat crap you can do with math to predict who's going to rob a bank, there's also only so many times someone can frown for a fraction of a second to break a case before it gets incredibly tiresome.
Not that all procedural science-based shows are doomed form the start. I mean, House has managed to keep compelling regardless of how many times the answer wasn't Lupis. But it's pretty evident within a few episodes that we're not really dealing with House-caliber writing here. The side characters don't offer much, other than to move along the individual stories and let Lightman showcase his charming eccentricity, so by the end of season one, any of them could be eaten by sharks and it wouldn't really bother you all that much. You actually wind up more concerned with Lightman's spunky teenage daughter than any member of the team, which doesn't say much for the show's longevity once it's initial coolness wears off.
Still, we're talking network non-serial drama, which is one of the biggest sinkholes in all of television, so by the standards of the genre, Lie to Me is practically Citizen fucking Kane. I mean we're talking about the same format of show as NBC's Trauma, so comparatively things are still looking good. I mean you have a compelling main character, an interesting pseudo-science hook, some decent writing, and a cast that haven't all played Crack Dealer #2 on Law & Order. You're options are to look for stuff like Lie to Me as bright spots in the network drama universe or just watch every episode of The X-Files until you have them all memorized. Trust me, I've actually done that, and it's not as enriching an experience as you might expect. By the third time I watched the carnival freak town episode I found my own reflection in the screen sexually attractive for a brief moment before I got a nose-bleed and blacked out for four days.
Season one of Lie to Me is 13 episodes and about 4.4 gigs of hard-drive space, so it's not the biggest commitment you'll ever have to make. If you can manage through the wild plot-holes and bland supporting cast, Roth's gives a pretty outstanding performance as Dr. Lightman and manages to carry the rest of his crew on his jumpy British shoulders. And, if nothing else, the heavily fictionalized science is fun while it lasts. Maybe I'm just a sucker for shows like this. They're like... cinematic bang-buddies. It's not the type of deeply connected emotional relationship you get with, say, Fringe, where you find yourself counting down the days until you can see them again. No, when they leave, you don't really think about them much, and when they pop back up, it's a pleasurable enough experience, but not one that really affects you in any way. You like them, but you don't like like them. Still you're grown adults with physical needs, so why not, right? And I can certainly think of worse ways to spend a night than Lie to Me.
Oh, I haven't decided on a rating scale for reviews on this blog yet so, uh, lets call this a 713/1000 or a mild thumbs-up? kay?
A ways back I was in a band, and naturally did the whole cliched "guy in a band" bit. Drugs, sex, constant shows, constantly trashed and winding up in various place. It was fun at the time. Then some stuff happened and I wound up in locked in my bedroom for three years where I didn't do much of anything but watch TV and Anime I'd stolen off the internet. I even eventually started up a blog named "Oh Tetsuo" about the latter, which eventually transformed into an anime-themed music & media semi-news-based... disaster. As it's lack of a coherent personality grew, my interest eventually dissipated. I found myself posting loads of videos and other various chunks to pump it full of content, but the problem I had was that wasn't why I'd gotten into it. Truth be told, I just really liked writing long, self-indulgent analysis as opposed to scouting around on the internet looking for crap to re-post.
Then some other stuff happened.
I wound up going back to school and releasing a new album. You'd assume this would mean I'd be making new friends, playing shows, and generally out of the house most of the time, but in reality I'm moving in November and I'm trying to keep any social activity to a minimum. For a couple of reasons. One being that I wouldn't want to make a load of new friends and start a new band just to leave in a few months time, and two, I've found that staying in my bedroom and watching downloaded TV generally keeps me out of trouble.
So it's here that our tales begins. All the drama, excitement, and romance of my life in front of four monitors. And you'll be here for it all. Thrill as I examine Lie to Me in my underpants drinking vodka and cherry lime-aid. Gasp! as I try to draw illogical connections between Party Down and Fawlty Towers. It's going to be a pulse-pounding white-knuckle ride, and you're invited.
oh, also. everything prior to this post is just crap from Oh Tetsuo I imported.
Director :: Hiroaki Sato Language :: English Dub Runtime :: 15 Episodes (13x30 min. 2x90 min) Genre :: Drama. Sci-Fi. Cyberpunk.
A truly great short anime series is the kind of thing you can bang out on a Sunday afternoon. It'll start with lunch and poppin' on a new title and before you realize it the final credits are rolling, it's dark outside, and you can't believe how quickly the day's gone by. I can remember sitting totally lost in the beautiful world of Kino's Journey or laying in bed with a cold but still enchanted by the whimsy of Jing: King of the Bandits. However, it seems like an entire lifetime has gone by in the time it's taken me to painstakingly drag myself through Key The Metal Idol. In fact, in some ways it has... Since I first stepped into the world of Key, my dad's passed away, I've moved, and my best friend has gotten married. Albeit that those things just happened to all taken place over the span of a month, it really does feel like a significant amount of time has passed since I was first introduced to the little robot girl who spoke exclusively in the third person on her quest to become human.
In the first installment of Key, the leading robo-lady's grandfather passes away and in his final message to her he reveals that she only has a short time left on this world before her battery runs dry, but there is a way for Key to go on. If she can make 30,000 friends, Key can become a real girl. Upon learning the rules of the world I'd entered into, I sat at my computer with a gob struck look on my face and could only muster up a quiet "oh god" as I realized the fate I was doomed to for the next nine anime-hours of my life.
I can remember the first day I excitedly started the series just to realize that, what seemed like hours later, I'd actually only watched three episodes. I can also recall the joyous feeling I got when I assumed I was nearing the end only to find that I had completed a mere eight episodes. Now, I may be painting a grim picture of the series and it's not completely without some decent qualities. The world itself is inventive at times and the villain is a right dick who's well constructed and pretty haunting, and if you can stomach the pop idol worshiping nonsense that story itself isn't terrible, but the pacing. My god, the pacing.
The thing that takes what could have been a cute little robot-girl-Pinocchio story into such a grueling task is the fact that there's very little cause for what's happening on screen the majority of the time. What one minute seems like establishment of character relationships the next winds up irrelevant. Development often happens only to then be undone or explained away as a fluke as the cast are randomly exploded, ripped to shreds, or simply vanish into the scenery. (Not that the series is particularly violent, but when they time is right, Key does like to go for the gusto.)
There's also the assault of very annoying quirks peppered throughout like Key's third-person speak and meanwhile-back-at-evil-headquarters cutaways that rarely make sense or serve a purpose other than to establish "yeah, these guys are jerks."
The most exciting episode, ironically, is the first feature-length one, "System" wherein two of the characters (one from the good camp and one from the baddies) deliver simultaneous monologues explaining all the story that the series had yet to bother with before the final confrontation. That might sound like an exaggeration, but I'm not kidding, the entire episode takes place in a park and the aforementioned evil headquarters. No development. No action. Nothin'. Just a conversation and a soliloquy. And, yes, it really is the best 90 minutes of the entire series. Mostly because after all that work making it to that point, you're finally rewarded with a glue-and-duct-tape together explanation of why everything you saw over the last seven hours mattered in any way. The final episode is the inevitable showdown at "the big concert" ...not to give too much away.
The decision to end with two feature-length mini-movies is something that I'd have loved were Key a more enjoyable experience. I can't imagine how fun it would have been to have FLCL or either season of Black Lagoon end with a couple of movies that close the story arc (as opposed to the usual anime move of tossing in an out-of-sequence unrelated movie at the end. ...I'm lookin' at you Cowboy Bebop.)
Despite coming together fairly well in the end and certainly not being the worst thing I've seen (or rated for Oh Tetsuo) I can't in good conscious recommend anyone go dig up this series simply for the sheer amount of time and will-power it takes to plow through.
Artist :: Jet Album :: Shaka Rock Release :: 25 August, 2009 Label :: Atlantic Records Genre :: Garage Rock Revival, Rock N Roll
Long before my days slagging 90's anime robots and covering the occasional random album release here on Oh, Tetsuo, I used to sling reviews at a pretty huge public music community that shall remain nameless. I found, though, after about five years, that I truly loathe most people who consider themselves avid music fans. If asked to explain this seemingly irrational hatred of a pretty sizable group of people, I like to use Jet as a prime example.
Jet crawl under the skin of the Animal Collective collective, like nails on a chalk board or. ..um. well ...Jet. A harmless poppy throwback rock n roll band with catchy songs and some fist-pumping guitar riffs. But, harmless fun being the bane of the average indie music fan, this clueless bunch of Aussie rockers with a severe Beatles and AC/DC addiction have managed to become the antichrists of audio to the pitchfork media crowd, which is reason enough to love them to death.
Over on that there site, I've explained about a hundred times that I'm a fan of pop music, yet I still get a constant stream of private messages and site references about my "perplexing taste" ...because I think TV on the Radio are cool, but I also thought there were some good songs on Paris. Which isn't really all that hard to understand really. I'm someone who really enjoys music and spends absolutely zero time attempting to impress anyone with my taste. Sometimes Fleet Foxes make one of the best albums of the year and sometimes I like to listen to Journey really loud in my car in a non-ironic way.
Now, that said, there's more to my love of Jet than that Pitchfork can't stand them.
The problem I had with much of the garage rock revival of '01 was that every band needed a gimmick. Unique or not, someone was releasing vinyl exclusively or had silly back stories like The Hives. Hell, The Vines had a legitimately mentally handicapped singer, although I don't think anyone knew that when they came out. Especially being as close to Detroit as I am, the dirty non-art artrock garage nonsense was thick.
Then along came these four kinda thickheaded guys who played some furious guitar riffs and the singer shouted "yeah" a lot on top of some really catchy tunes. Months after learning about these guys and going to see them live they wound up with a huge hit that was a ripoff of an Iggy Pop song (which I might add is dramatically better than the song it lifts from) and... well... that was pretty much the end. There wasn't much else by way of mainstream success in the States. The story of Jet that most people are aware of.
The more well-read folks know that there was a second album, but not many people bothered to listen to it, which of course didn't stop anyone at the aforementioned league of hipster douchebags from shitting all over it. It charted higher than the band's debut in the US, but that's slightly misleading because of the dramatically more abysmal chart sales conditions at the time. Which was really unfortunately because the album itself was spectacular. Excellent harmonies, pounding drums, classic-rocky solos, great songs, all kinda uplifting stuff on account of the singer and drummers father had recently passed away. A lot less AC/DC and a lot more Beatles (god forbid.) Just a really enjoyable album from top to bottom without an ounce of pretense.
So that leaves us with a major hit, a solid debut of fun rock songs, and a pretty amazing sophomore effort full of some ambitious classic pop. How fucking horrible is Jet, right? Obviously lacking the talent of the legendary Panda Bear who is the only man brave enough to loop sounds for seven minutes while guys with indie beards have their jaws drop in Rodger Rabbit-esque fashion.
...but I digress.
Needless to say I've been anxiously awaiting their third LP, Shaka Rock (yes, I'm on to the actual review now.) Which was increased tenfold upon hearing the lead single "K.I.A. (Killed In Action)" which seemed like more of a take on their first record but utilized a marching band drumline, and that's always enough to make my clap my hands like a seal.
Finally getting my grubby little hands on it today I exercised extreme digital-music-collector OCD protocol. I loaded it into J. River Media Center. Got 500x500px album art. Got my display on my secondary monitor up. Loaded all my genres, styles, label info, tags, etc. Finally when everything was absolutely perfect, I hit play.
There it was! "K.I.A.!" Hell yeah! After being in an M. Ward / Mountain Goats indie folk kinda mood all week, 24 seconds into the song I was suddenly ready to squeeze into some flares and drink Rolling Rock at some shitty club in The D. I was ready to go. I was here for the party. ...but a funny thing happened after that first 3:28.
...the rest wasn't all that great.
I mean, it's perfectly good, but I was dishearten to see that this wasn't the Jet I'd known and loved and most fucking importantly defended a LOT.
The second track "Beat on Repeat" in is easily the worst of the bunch, serving as a sort of creepy, slimy disco funk number sung in part by drummer Chris Cester who's now apparently singing in full accent (never a good idea. Nice one, Ringo.)
There's still plenty of decent stuff on Shaka Rock. "She's a Genius" "La Di Da" and 80's-ish "Let Me Out" (Jet have heard music from the 80s?) all make for excellent editions to the catalog, and I'd still take Jet and a steak knife to the shoulder over Portishead any day of the week, but there's just something missing here.
Shaka lacks the urgency or instant gratification of the first two records, which, are really all Jet are about in the first place. They also seem to be broadening their musical influences, which I'm not sure how great of an idea that maybe for a band who are essentially a really awesome tribute act.
So it's worth checking out, and worth a couple listens to see what all clicks. If you like your catchy rock tunes that still sound like four guys playing them in a room instead of a grand mess of glossy production magic, Jet are still here for you, suffering the slings and arrows of the indie militia to bring you a fond and fleeting memory of what rock music used to sound like.
Director :: James Wong Runtime :: 82 Minutes Genre :: Action.
Barring a handful of very well executed exclusions, comic book adaptations are always a hard pill to swallow. It's never an easy task to take decades of story and character development and jam them into the first ten minutes of a feature film so that the audience understands "well that guy with the visor is called 'cyclops' and he shoots beams out of his eyes." It's always hamfisted and it's usually terrible but we accept it anyway because we've got a talky to make it through. And, since as a culture we've totally run out of movies to make, it's a necessary evil.
As you'd probably expect, the same rules apply for the anime adaptation. When previews for Dragonball Evolution came down the pike I imagine every self-respecting anime fan took a deep breath and went "oh boy. this is gonna be a tough one."
...which of course it is.
But still, to take the piss out of Db:E almost seems detrimental to our cause. We're going to have to start suffering a lot of these americafied anime remakes and it's probably a good idea we start learning to live with them instead of screaming "not our fault" every time one shells out an unsuspecting theater (or... dvd rack.)
Now, that isn't to say I'm trying to defend it as good, and lets get that out of the way early. Dragonball appeals to no one, the action sequences range between par and bad, the special effects are dated, the acting is silly (but that means nothing in a comicbook adaptation), and the story is too convoluted for children and too ridiculous for adults. If this movie has a target demographic outside of "anime fans" then it's probably 13-15 year old boys who are a little too weinery to like the violent grown-up action flicks yet. Additionally, one point of awfulitude I haven't seen brought up anywhere is the movies unchecked schizophrenia with regards to setting. Goku lives in some sort of mountain temple-house yet rides his bike every day to science-fiction futurama valley highschool (a cross between Clueless, Never Back DOwn, and the Jetsons), which is apparently two towns over from a mud-and-grass hut village and two hours from an active volcano.
Still there are some decent points. Justin Chatwin plays a remarkably likable Goku. James Masters has less than ten lines as Lord Piccolo. There are bright colors.
Okay, so there's not much going for it even if you are an anime fan. But still, I never once sat watching it and wondered when it would be over, or laughed at how absurd anything was. I simply watched and did what I could to enjoy, taking it for what it is... a live-action movie about magical glowing space balls that summon a wish-granting dragon.
If you go in expecting The Shawshank Redemption, you're probably gonna want your money back.
Artist :: Spinnerette Album :: Spinnerette Release :: 2009 Label :: Anthem Records Genre :: Alternative Rock
Farewell Brody Dalle, it feels as though we hardly knew ye.
In the tradition of finding backing bands that sound like cover versions of whatever her husband's band sounds like, as is "Brody" Bree Joanna Alice Robinson-Dalle-Armstrong-Homme's way, it comes as no surprise that the ex-Distillers frontwoman's new band, Spinnerette, sounds startlingly like Queens of the Stone Age (Dalle is hitched to QotSA's Josh Homme incase you live under some sort rock or wet board.)
Now, my qualms with Queens of the Stone Age are pretty simple: It's painfully simple music played with zero energy and little-to-no lyrical perspective. There's no context to any of the music, which all seems to be by the grand design of Homme who never manages to get the result to sound 10% like I assume it does in his head, and yet, as Peter from the Family Guy said regarding The Godfather... "It insists upon itself."
So it's not really the biggest surprise of my lifetime that Brody Dalle's crappy knock-off QotSA band doesn't exactly strike a chord with me on any sort of significant level. Muddy and ugly. Plodding and with a total lack of energy despite all the shouting. Brody's sexy venom that made The Distillers more than just one of a thousand other faceless crappy punk revival bands never once gets the chance to emerge from under the distorted murk and shine on Spinnerette.
Sure, I understand she's trying, and that Cortney Love-esque voice of hers is still top-shelf, but it seems to have nothing to cling onto musically. Like a lioness scratching hopelessly at a smooth steel wall, Brody makes a lot of sparks but no actual traction.
The only notable highlights here are "Ghetto Love," which had been previously released late last year on their Getto Love EP, and "Impaler" which is the only track that manages to develop a little personality between the clouds of thudding distorted one-note bass riffs. I suppose the closest other thing to a highlight would be the tacky crotch-shot cover art, as, even if her musical career seems to all but made it's final circulation of the drain, at least she has very nice hips. 2/5
Artist :: Arctic Monkeys Album :: Humbug Release :: 2009 Label :: Domino Genre :: Indie Rock, Post-Punk Revival
To impressionable American youth, if Oasis made Manchester seem like party central in the early 1990’s, then Arctic Monkeys have done fine work in painting Sheffield, England as the boiling mouth of hell from which there’s no return.
On their third full-length, Humbug, Alex Turner and company make the dark and seedy stories on 2006’s Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not sound like fresh-faced optimism and wacky teenage hijinks with Turner now deeply submersed into the world that he and his friends used to point and laugh at from their high-tops at the bar.
The most notable difference from their debut is that the overall tone of the songs has changed dramatically. A change that was foreshadowed by their sophomore effort Favourite Worst Nightmare in which the more sinister chord progressions and creepy reverb became present, but still took a backseat to the furiously fast guitars and Turner's never-ending verbal assault. This time around Turner and company ease off the throttle enough to let that creepiness come through with great success.
There are no "Brainstorm"s or "I Bet You Look Good On the Dancefloor"s this time around, just slow-paced strut and tangled webs. The lead single, "Crying Lighting," is the closest the band get to the furious energy from what seems like forever ago. But where the drunken teenage anthems have become a thing of the past, Turner has developed into more of a songwriter with a far more poetic tongue as opposed to a one-trick-pony who's only musical device is telling a sixty page story in three minutes thirty seconds.
Among the albums strongest moments are the lead two tracks. "My Propeller" which opens the affair as not only the records best track but also a musical mission statement for what's about to come. Slow burning and swaggering as it builds towards the songs instantly memorable final thirty seconds, where it explodes into the atmosphere as Turner pleads "my propeller won't spin..."
"Crying Lightening" carries on in the bands fine tradition of seedy stories about sketchy people, only with seemingly a more personal twist.
Humbug is another excellent entry into the Arctic's catalog that showcases a tremendous amount of growth and poise. For anyone wondering what the Arctic Monkeys would sound like grown up, this is your first glips. Still, though, with this new turn in direction, there's something to be said for that frenetic energy from the first two records. Spastic barroom tales and clever lines put on the shelf it seems everything in music must change or it'll eventually die. It's good to see the Alex Turner and company have chosen the former. 3.5 / 5
Now, I'm not big fan of racism or domestic abuse. Truth be told, I think they're both just crumby. But honestly, why would I, or anybody else, feel even a gram of emotion over this? Frankly the personal nature of the incident prevents it from even being a meltdown on par with that of Kramer-gate, which, if nothing else, took place publicly, and at people who, outside of maybe being rude, were minding their own business. I think it's become embarrassing stain on our society that we create a job market for this brand of shit-seeking. So we can be exposed to personal phone calls and wring our hands deciding if Mel needs to go to jail for his lady punching or rehab for his substance abuse problems. Substance abuse problems we've all determined must be present because WE heard twenty minutes of taped phone conversation featuring the drunken star of Maverick.
This holds especially true in the case of actors or other celebrities who's work doesn't carry a certain level of intimacy with the audience. Elliott Smith wrote songs about his life, and Mel fought marauders in a world devoid of gasoline, so I feel like I have a slightly better window into the life of the former. Does that mean I actually know any more about Elliott Smith? Maybe, but probably not.
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