American reality television stars have no class, and the American public wouldn’t have them any other way. When eight “Italian-American” youths identifying themselves as “guidos” and “guidettes” moved into a beach house in the town of Seaside Heights on the Jersey Shore for a summer of partying and debauchery to be filmed by MTV in all its god-awful glory, it created a pop culture atom bomb and many conversations about identity among viewers, politicians, and civil rights groups. New Jersey’s politicians representing the real-life Jersey Shore have been ill-advisedly harping on a “reality” show that nobody but them takes seriously. The cast boorishly and drunkenly offers viewers copious amounts of hair gel, self-tanner, and egos as big as Rhode Island, but in truth, the only ones taking them at face value are politicians and civil rights groups who just don’t get it.
Glorifying self-proclaimed “guido” values like physical beauty, a Tropicana-colored tan, “wind-proof” hair, and strong Italian ethnic identity, the people of “Jersey Shore” don’t ring true to the average American. Most of us will never encounter Snooki, the pint-size “Italian-American” 21-year old “guidette” (female guido) that has a penchant for topless hot tubbing and frequently saying “FML.” To know the club-going, body-shot taking, sex- and alcohol-loving cast of “Jersey Shore” is to study their words, but maybe not too intently (for fear of liver damage). Snooki, whose much less interesting real name is Nicole Polizzi, borders on comic genius (albeit unintentionally) while musing on her love life in episode four. “He’s a really good guy. That’s the kind of guy I need in my life. I think his name is Ron,” (it was actually Russ). Narcissism mates with idiocy in episode five when Sammie “Sweetheart” Giancola, the vain 22-year old who is the only cast member actually from New Jersey, remarks, “I definitely want to look good for Ronnie's parents...Like, I want them to think like wow, that's her. She's really pretty, and whatever.” The women of the show are vapid, their hair extensions are long, and their breasts are augmented—all these things, though looked down on by society, are strong aspects of their identity, even if the moral majority doesn’t approve of who they choose to be.
The show’s “guido” males are just as outrageous. Ronnie Ortiz-Magro, a burly “juicehead” (guy who works out a lot) from the Bronx, says of housemate Jenny “JWOWW” Farley in episode five, “JWOWW’s pussy must be rainbows and pasta treasure.” Sometimes the show’s denizens can be downright politically explosive like when Angelina Pivarnick, whose stint on the show was short-lived due to her refusal to work regular hours at their assigned summer job selling T-shirts on the boardwalk, comments, “If a girl’s a slut, she should be abused.” Viewers are treated to brief glimmers of “Guido” humanity in episode four from 28-year-old Pauly D (Paul DelVecchio), who owns his own tanning bed back at home in Rhode Island. “I couldn't have sex with my girl, she had her period. I go to take her pants off - she wouldn't let me, no big deal.” This is surprisingly gallant in a man who is willing to kick two girls out of their shore house to make room for two other women that are more likely to have sex with him. One of the show’s biggest stars, Mike Sorrentino, or “The Situation” (his cryptic and vaguely suggestive nickname), even flirts with borderline rapist mentality in episode two. “As far as I know, everybody loves The Situation, and if you don't love The Situation, I'm gonna make you love The Situation.” And it seems that he has, to an
extent—except for politicians and Italian rights groups, of course.
MTV isn’t fooling anyone by feigning innocence of the depravity the people they are presenting and saying that they are just exposing some sort of irreverent youth subculture like on “The Real World” or “The Hills.” However, MTV doesn’t need to defend its transmission of smutty programming. The cast members on “Jersey Shore” just aren’t walking, breathing, Mystic-tanning stereotypes that are harming American society and its foundations. Actually, to credit them with awareness of their status as cultural emblems (before the show exploded onto the pop scene, of course) is to overestimate what caliber of brains might be found under Snooki’s enormous pouf hairdo. These outrageous and vulgar people exist in some realm not immediately adjacent to that of the typical television viewer, and although they do identify themselves as Italian Americans, this doesn’t make them powerful and real emblems of American culture. They’ve been appropriated by civil rights organizations, politicians, and shamelessly exploited by MTV. Verbally abusing and even pitying the orange-toned philanderers and pleasure-seekers of the “Shore” is one thing—taking them seriously as representatives of a culture is quite another.
It’s important to remember that three of the cast aren’t actually Italian, but claim Italian heritage as their identity—loudly, insolently, and with not a little swagger. The use of the word “guido” which in this case refers to an Italian-American male (“Guidette” for females) usually from New York or New Jersey who enjoys faux-tanning, plucking, working out, and looking pretty as well as clubbing and picking up women that are as physically artificial as themselves. It’s a constructed identity that is fairly new. Having been originally contrived as an insult for Italian-American immigrants, “guido” has taken on a new meaning when utilized by Italian-American youths—it might still not be a great word, but a small group of Italian American youngsters is attempting to reclaim it. The immortal words of “guido” Pauly D in the first episode describe how the “Jersey Shore” characters define themselves. “I was born and raised a guido,” he says. “It's just a lifestyle. It's being Italian. It's representing family, friends, tanning, gel.” There it is, and that’s how it should be taken—not that Pauly D should be regarded as a fount of wisdom. Ethnic groups have taken racially coded words and turned them into pop culture gold by appropriation and re-association before, and they can do it again. Pauly D’s explanation is simple, unlike the minefield that the show’s use of the term has stumbled upon, and it should be taken at face value—to do anything else would be giving these “guidos” and “guidettes” far too much credit.
The twenty-somethings of “Jersey Shore” are the heirs to two cultures often stereotyped for their arrogance, narcissism, and general obnoxiousness: American and Italian. Americans love Americans and the U.S., while Italians love Italians and Italy. Why wouldn’t—crucially—some of the children of these cultures be the way they are? As caricatures, not stereotypes, the characters on “Jersey Shore” are priceless and humorous. A nation looking at the dredges of humanity that it has produced at its very lowest levels should approach it with humor and self-criticism. These kids, no matter how much they flaunt their Italian heritage, couldn’t be a more American invention. They are products of the United States’ culture and reality television.
Clearly the only ones taking “Jersey Shore” seriously are those who haven’t seen it. Is New Jersey senator Joseph Vitale sitting at home watching the show each Thursday and counting the number of times Snooki uses the word “guidette” to poorly represent each and every Italian-American? Fighting the program’s stereotypical representation is a losing battle. UNICO, the U.S.’s largest Italian-American service organization, probably has to say something about it. However, let them, not the politicians or the general public, worry about it and argue about semantics, while the rest of us watch the show, laugh at the cast of “Jersey Shore,” and recognize exactly who they represent—a small group of stupid young people.
Mike “The Situation” proclaims in episode two, “Everybody loves me, babies, dogs, ya know, hot girls, cougars. I just have unbelievable mass appeal.” This has turned out to be quite prophetic. Americans love a controversy as well as trashy reality stars, and politicians should just stay out of it—or get their own reality television show and see how many people want to watch.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Holmes Revisited: No Pipe, No Problem
If one goes to “Sherlock Holmes” expecting cold detached intelligence, Calabash pipes, a magnifying glass, and use of the word “elementary,” he might be disappointed—or confused. However, if movie-goers seek action thrills, appealing characters, and the usual intrigue twentieth-century audiences have come to expect from mystery tales but presented in a new way, they will discover “Sherlock Holmes” to be a satisfying experience. It is appropriate material for director Guy Ritchie —heists, robberies and tricky situations are found in his strongest work. Over one hundred years after the release of the classic tales, “Sherlock Holmes” has been catapulted into the twenty-first century with action, humor, and wit that couldn’t be more appropriate for today’s audiences.
Robert Downey Jr.’s Sherlock Holmes and Jude Law’s long-suffering Doctor Watson dominate the film—it is clear that they are a natural pair, both through the script’s witty banter and also through their clear camaraderie while acting together. The classical nudes in the window of Watson’s office gracefully illustrate his value of order and perfect physical harmony, while the mise-en-scène of Holmes’ office with its resident chaos immediately clues the viewer in to their respective personalities and the apparent differences between the two friends. The fact that Holmes’ room utilizes the same set as Sirius Black’s house in “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” comes as no surprise—this Sherlock Holmes is a dark and complex character.
Holmes as portrayed by twenty-first century actor Robert Downey Jr. is not at all the classic cold intellectual of Doyle’s tales. He is adaptable and resourceful, and his flippant attitude frequently unmasks his healthy ego. His darker aspects are acknowledged; oblique references to his drug use are included, such as when Watson asks rhetorically, “You do know what you are drinking is meant for eye surgery?” Clearly the writers picked out Holmes’ most captivating attributes—his darkness, humor, and relationship with Watson—and transformed the pipe-wielding detective of yesteryear into a man much more recognizable to modern day audiences in his vulnerability, eccentricity, and genuineness.
In creating a love interest for a character seemingly without a strong inclination to women, writers did the best they could with Rachel McAdams’ Irene Adler. As Holmes’ kryptonite, the character of Miss Adler, though sufficiently devious, serves as a simple distraction for Holmes. Lord Blackwood, the movie’s chief antagonist, is a formidable foe for Holmes, and he also represents with his “magical” powers the seamlessness of reality and fantasy that pervades the film, not only in its plot but also in its design.
The film’s images have staying power—a writhing woman in a white dress, a dark figure hanging by the neck over the Thames from a shipyard chain, a man that ignites into a flaming inferno upon firing a gun...an inky late-1800s London is enlivened through the costumes, makeup and set design. Radiant costumes light up the dusty but electric London streets—Adler adds color with her crisp bright dresses and tailored menswear. Holmes’ world is not at all stuffy; it stubbornly asserts its reality with dirt, texture, and chiaroscuro light effects that are a testament to Sarah Greenwood’s mastery of the film’s production design.
“Sherlock Holmes” is replete with action to satisfy today’s audiences. It might not utilize the classic pipe or magnifying glass, but if one does not happen to be an inflexible and die-hard aficionado of the classic tales, “Sherlock Holmes” can provide an entertaining movie-going experience, making this film anything but elementary.
Robert Downey Jr.’s Sherlock Holmes and Jude Law’s long-suffering Doctor Watson dominate the film—it is clear that they are a natural pair, both through the script’s witty banter and also through their clear camaraderie while acting together. The classical nudes in the window of Watson’s office gracefully illustrate his value of order and perfect physical harmony, while the mise-en-scène of Holmes’ office with its resident chaos immediately clues the viewer in to their respective personalities and the apparent differences between the two friends. The fact that Holmes’ room utilizes the same set as Sirius Black’s house in “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix” comes as no surprise—this Sherlock Holmes is a dark and complex character.
Holmes as portrayed by twenty-first century actor Robert Downey Jr. is not at all the classic cold intellectual of Doyle’s tales. He is adaptable and resourceful, and his flippant attitude frequently unmasks his healthy ego. His darker aspects are acknowledged; oblique references to his drug use are included, such as when Watson asks rhetorically, “You do know what you are drinking is meant for eye surgery?” Clearly the writers picked out Holmes’ most captivating attributes—his darkness, humor, and relationship with Watson—and transformed the pipe-wielding detective of yesteryear into a man much more recognizable to modern day audiences in his vulnerability, eccentricity, and genuineness.
In creating a love interest for a character seemingly without a strong inclination to women, writers did the best they could with Rachel McAdams’ Irene Adler. As Holmes’ kryptonite, the character of Miss Adler, though sufficiently devious, serves as a simple distraction for Holmes. Lord Blackwood, the movie’s chief antagonist, is a formidable foe for Holmes, and he also represents with his “magical” powers the seamlessness of reality and fantasy that pervades the film, not only in its plot but also in its design.
The film’s images have staying power—a writhing woman in a white dress, a dark figure hanging by the neck over the Thames from a shipyard chain, a man that ignites into a flaming inferno upon firing a gun...an inky late-1800s London is enlivened through the costumes, makeup and set design. Radiant costumes light up the dusty but electric London streets—Adler adds color with her crisp bright dresses and tailored menswear. Holmes’ world is not at all stuffy; it stubbornly asserts its reality with dirt, texture, and chiaroscuro light effects that are a testament to Sarah Greenwood’s mastery of the film’s production design.
“Sherlock Holmes” is replete with action to satisfy today’s audiences. It might not utilize the classic pipe or magnifying glass, but if one does not happen to be an inflexible and die-hard aficionado of the classic tales, “Sherlock Holmes” can provide an entertaining movie-going experience, making this film anything but elementary.
More "Sherlock"
Having revisited my "Sherlock Holmes" review, I found a few more cool, more recently written online pieces and a video about it.
Some interesting info on Guy Ritchie:
http://english.cctv.com/program/cultureexpress/20100315/103003.shtml
Some stuff about the sequel...I did like the movie, but I don't know if I'd go see a sequel:
http://www.comingsoon.net/news/movienews.php?id=64035
Some interesting info on Guy Ritchie:
http://english.cctv.com/program/cultureexpress/20100315/103003.shtml
Some stuff about the sequel...I did like the movie, but I don't know if I'd go see a sequel:
http://www.comingsoon.net/news/movienews.php?id=64035
Bridges' Bad Blake Buoys Up "Crazy Heart"
Jeff Bridges as Bad Blake says during “Crazy Heart”, “Ain’t rememberin’ wonderful?” Remembering might be wonderful, but one doesn’t need to remember anything at all to enjoy “Crazy Heart.” Though the film draws heavily on classic country influences, this tale of an alcohol-addicted country singer isn’t at all memorable for its plot. What makes the film unquestionably worth seeing is a raw, bedraggled, and poignant performance by Bridges as Bad Blake.
When a beaming, aged and weathered party store shopkeeper gives washed-up country singer Blake a bottle of scotch at the beginning of the film, viewers can see exactly what kind of celebrity he is. With his pants constantly undone, Jeff Bridges’ Bad Blake is a slightly gross, and at times vulgar, star of the show that has fallen from grace but is still beloved by his fans. When Blake sings at that night’s bowling alley show, “I used to be somebody, now I am somebody else,” his talent is overwhelming. From there on, the slow-paced film carries viewers along with Blake’s journey around the American Southwest.
Glowing western landscapes crowns the highways of Blake’s tour, while the strong musical score by Ryan Bingham and T Bone Burnett rises and falls poetically in the background. Blake’s wardrobe is simple, his pants often undone, and he seems to pay about as much attention to it as the audiences does (not much). The glistening sweat on Blake’s face during most of the film, as he huffs and puffs (he’s rather out of shape) is almost tangible. His physicality captured through the cinematography throughout the film is notable, as well as his depth as a character. Indeed, none of the characters are ever allowed to get far away from the camera lens, which provides intimate portraits of them for the audience.
A slightly refreshing alternative to the dusty world of country music and Blake’s addiction, Maggie Gyllenhaal’s Jean Craddock and her almost overly (but not quite too) adorable and precocious son Buddy are an important vein in Blake’s development. She oddly overlooks his drunk driving and obvious alcohol problem, not recognizing it as an issue until he loses her son buddy while drunk. There relationship is awkward and somewhat forced on screen—as a younger actress, Gyllenhaal might have a lot of films under her belt, but she can’t stand up to Jeff Bridges’ mastery of his character.
The only major failure of the film is Colin Farrell’s Tommy Sweet, who seems very artificial, portraying a country star with wiggling eyebrows and forced-casual lean. However, Farrell’s lilting voice does provide a nice complement for Blake’s low and classic country tone. When they team up onstage in “Fallin’ and Flyin,”” the track is instantly transformed into magic. Fortunately, Farrell is discussed a lot in the film, but never gets a lot of face time.
Many beautiful, “country” images inhabit the very realistic space of “Crazy Heart”. Blake leans with his guitar in his all-denim outfit against dusty rose stucco walls; he’s feeling down at the moment about his alcohol abuse but ultimately confident in his place in not only country music, but its personal story. The gorgeous sets serve as a dramatic backdrop to his somewhat more humble tale of addiction and cleansing.
Simplicity is key to “Crazy Heart.” It is where most of its appeal lies—in its sweeping, bare western landscapes, its moving and convincing lead character, and the basic storyline of a country singer on tour. I might have just imagined it, but when Bad Blake sang “Fallin’ and Flyin’” in a cramped southern bar on screen, I swear I could smell the cigarettes, sweat and an electrified bar calling out for “Bad Blake.”
When a beaming, aged and weathered party store shopkeeper gives washed-up country singer Blake a bottle of scotch at the beginning of the film, viewers can see exactly what kind of celebrity he is. With his pants constantly undone, Jeff Bridges’ Bad Blake is a slightly gross, and at times vulgar, star of the show that has fallen from grace but is still beloved by his fans. When Blake sings at that night’s bowling alley show, “I used to be somebody, now I am somebody else,” his talent is overwhelming. From there on, the slow-paced film carries viewers along with Blake’s journey around the American Southwest.
Glowing western landscapes crowns the highways of Blake’s tour, while the strong musical score by Ryan Bingham and T Bone Burnett rises and falls poetically in the background. Blake’s wardrobe is simple, his pants often undone, and he seems to pay about as much attention to it as the audiences does (not much). The glistening sweat on Blake’s face during most of the film, as he huffs and puffs (he’s rather out of shape) is almost tangible. His physicality captured through the cinematography throughout the film is notable, as well as his depth as a character. Indeed, none of the characters are ever allowed to get far away from the camera lens, which provides intimate portraits of them for the audience.
A slightly refreshing alternative to the dusty world of country music and Blake’s addiction, Maggie Gyllenhaal’s Jean Craddock and her almost overly (but not quite too) adorable and precocious son Buddy are an important vein in Blake’s development. She oddly overlooks his drunk driving and obvious alcohol problem, not recognizing it as an issue until he loses her son buddy while drunk. There relationship is awkward and somewhat forced on screen—as a younger actress, Gyllenhaal might have a lot of films under her belt, but she can’t stand up to Jeff Bridges’ mastery of his character.
The only major failure of the film is Colin Farrell’s Tommy Sweet, who seems very artificial, portraying a country star with wiggling eyebrows and forced-casual lean. However, Farrell’s lilting voice does provide a nice complement for Blake’s low and classic country tone. When they team up onstage in “Fallin’ and Flyin,”” the track is instantly transformed into magic. Fortunately, Farrell is discussed a lot in the film, but never gets a lot of face time.
Many beautiful, “country” images inhabit the very realistic space of “Crazy Heart”. Blake leans with his guitar in his all-denim outfit against dusty rose stucco walls; he’s feeling down at the moment about his alcohol abuse but ultimately confident in his place in not only country music, but its personal story. The gorgeous sets serve as a dramatic backdrop to his somewhat more humble tale of addiction and cleansing.
Simplicity is key to “Crazy Heart.” It is where most of its appeal lies—in its sweeping, bare western landscapes, its moving and convincing lead character, and the basic storyline of a country singer on tour. I might have just imagined it, but when Bad Blake sang “Fallin’ and Flyin’” in a cramped southern bar on screen, I swear I could smell the cigarettes, sweat and an electrified bar calling out for “Bad Blake.”
Friday, March 12, 2010
The Oscars: a Spectacle of Little Substance
Sunday night’s particularly vapid red carpet banter was the perfect introduction to 2010’s 82nd annual Academy Awards Ceremony. From the moment Shari Shepard said to Jeff Bridges’ wife, “Your husband looks so mmm...yummy,” there was no going back—the night was doomed to its usual spectacle of bored, often empty-headed, attractive people being honored (or embarrassed) at a live awards show and on television.
“The Hurt Locker” was far and away the star of the night, winning six categories, including Best Picture. One could also say women triumphed as well, as Kathryn Bigelow became the first woman to win Best Director. Though the movie-going public might have never heard of the Iraq War film critics and audiences lauded “The Hurt Locker” not for its budget but its content. “The Hurt Locker” was certainly an appropriate David to “Avatar’s” Goliath in a world where a big budget usually trumps all.
Though all the films honored might have their merits, the show itself had nothing to offer home audiences. For those watching it as a live show it might have been better (unlikely based on their expressions), but as television entertainment the 82nd Academy Awards failed miserably. Yes, everyone might have looked nice in their Marchesa gowns and Tom Ford suits, but the jokes and presentations were often cringe-worthy. It fulfilled its ostensible goal of handing out the awards, but the show itself alternated between stiff and rehearsed, and awkwardly unscripted.
The priceless look of distaste on Jeff Bridges’ face after a tacky opening number by Neil Patrick Harris and a bunch of sequined, feathered showgirls caught by a poorly-timed camera shot showed how the musical number might have looked to anybody that isn’t on board with the bastardization of “Old Hollywood.” Jon M. Chu’s “Legion of Extraordinary Dancers “ turned up the energy, at least, with a confusing and disjointed break-dance number to music nominated for Best Original Score. The theme of the entire set, which seemed to be “dirty household lampshades,” just didn’t have the class one might expect at the Oscars.
All the home audience needed to know could be read on the faces on their screens and the behavior of the live audience. Sarah Jessica Parker chewed gum during the ceremony while George Clooney visibly cringed at Alec Baldwin’s jokes. Not that the on-stage presenters and performers were much better/ A nervous Amanda Seyfried and a slouching Miley Cyrus, who were presenting Best Song to “The Weary Kind” from “Crazy Heart”, represented Young Hollywood’s chronic awkwardness. The stars’ onstage dialogues were what might be expected—Vera Farmiga praised George Clooney’s acting prowess by calling him a “fantastically fantastic Mr. Foxy Fox.” It’s a topical comment, but really, she might not realize that she’s onstage at the (usually aiming for classy) Academy Awards. Or, considering this year’s event, maybe she does.
At this year’s Academy Awards, Jeff Bridges had his first well-deserved Oscar win as did Sandra Bullock, which was a noteworthy moment. Other than that, everybody looked pretty in their outfits and self-congratulatory airs, and nobody did anything too embarrassing. Ho-hum.
Kate Winslet said in her red carpet interview that this year she could, “relax and enjoy it and watch everybody else panic.” And panic they did—you could see it in their faces. Boredom, passion, nerves, and intense discomfort...this year Hollywood’s biggest stars did little to hide their reactions to the show, whether positive or (mostly) negative.
“The Hurt Locker” was far and away the star of the night, winning six categories, including Best Picture. One could also say women triumphed as well, as Kathryn Bigelow became the first woman to win Best Director. Though the movie-going public might have never heard of the Iraq War film critics and audiences lauded “The Hurt Locker” not for its budget but its content. “The Hurt Locker” was certainly an appropriate David to “Avatar’s” Goliath in a world where a big budget usually trumps all.
Though all the films honored might have their merits, the show itself had nothing to offer home audiences. For those watching it as a live show it might have been better (unlikely based on their expressions), but as television entertainment the 82nd Academy Awards failed miserably. Yes, everyone might have looked nice in their Marchesa gowns and Tom Ford suits, but the jokes and presentations were often cringe-worthy. It fulfilled its ostensible goal of handing out the awards, but the show itself alternated between stiff and rehearsed, and awkwardly unscripted.
The priceless look of distaste on Jeff Bridges’ face after a tacky opening number by Neil Patrick Harris and a bunch of sequined, feathered showgirls caught by a poorly-timed camera shot showed how the musical number might have looked to anybody that isn’t on board with the bastardization of “Old Hollywood.” Jon M. Chu’s “Legion of Extraordinary Dancers “ turned up the energy, at least, with a confusing and disjointed break-dance number to music nominated for Best Original Score. The theme of the entire set, which seemed to be “dirty household lampshades,” just didn’t have the class one might expect at the Oscars.
All the home audience needed to know could be read on the faces on their screens and the behavior of the live audience. Sarah Jessica Parker chewed gum during the ceremony while George Clooney visibly cringed at Alec Baldwin’s jokes. Not that the on-stage presenters and performers were much better/ A nervous Amanda Seyfried and a slouching Miley Cyrus, who were presenting Best Song to “The Weary Kind” from “Crazy Heart”, represented Young Hollywood’s chronic awkwardness. The stars’ onstage dialogues were what might be expected—Vera Farmiga praised George Clooney’s acting prowess by calling him a “fantastically fantastic Mr. Foxy Fox.” It’s a topical comment, but really, she might not realize that she’s onstage at the (usually aiming for classy) Academy Awards. Or, considering this year’s event, maybe she does.
At this year’s Academy Awards, Jeff Bridges had his first well-deserved Oscar win as did Sandra Bullock, which was a noteworthy moment. Other than that, everybody looked pretty in their outfits and self-congratulatory airs, and nobody did anything too embarrassing. Ho-hum.
Kate Winslet said in her red carpet interview that this year she could, “relax and enjoy it and watch everybody else panic.” And panic they did—you could see it in their faces. Boredom, passion, nerves, and intense discomfort...this year Hollywood’s biggest stars did little to hide their reactions to the show, whether positive or (mostly) negative.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Folly? Not at all: Goya and Castellon at the K.I.A.
Humanity at its ugliest can inspire the most worthwhile and exquisite forms of expression. This is highly evident in “Fear and Folly: the Visionary Prints of Francisco Goya and Federico Castellon,” exhibited at the Kalamazoo Institute of Arts until May 23rd. The two artists’ horrifying and macabre conceptions of the human condition muse poignantly on the state of humanity. The compelling works are carefully selected from the K.I.A.’s own print collection. This is a wise move by the K.I.A., drawing on their own collection both saved money by not requiring the fees associated with an expensive traveling exhibition and promoted civic pride in the museum’s collection.
The austerely framed prints line the K.I.A.’s downstairs hallway, which provides a less-than-dramatic background for an exhibition meant to be striking and eerie; in addition, an inadvertent and rather jarring comparison is invited by the fact that the two artists’ works are separated by the museum’s small African and Mesoamerican collection. The constraints of a small museum are obvious in the show’s location in the building as well as signage—only some of the images have explanations for viewers.
The museum’s presentation of Goya’s lithographs was fairly strong. In “The Proverbs,” (most of the series is represented and is presented in the proper order) Goya offers up some notable images: a hellish horse carries away a woman in the aptly named “Unbridled Folly,” a shrouded giant looms over a battlefield in “Fearful Folly,” and distracted women toss about dolls that look horribly like men in “Feminine Folly.” His famous “Disasters of War” is rather more successful and impressive, but the “Follies” make their message known—the often futile ridiculousness of human life. The incorporation of Goya’s recognizable flying demons and people with faces like something he stretched out of putty makes this array of prints a mostly satisfying spread for a small Midwestern museum.
Though Goya is the better known of the two artists, his lithographs at the K.I.A. were outshone by Federico Castellon’s compelling and grim works, which were created around 150 years after Goya’s. Labeled a Surrealist by critics, Castellon produced piercing sequential illustrations of Poe’s “The Masque of the Red Death” in the 1960s. An etching early in the series, entitled “It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade,” (1968) depicts a shadowy nude woman surrounded by pot-bellied demons and black color fields. Castellon depicts other masqueraders at the deadly party—ladies in Battenberg lace dresses with rosebushes for heads, horned men, and all manner of despotic characters doomed to death. Hieronymus Bosch would appreciate the creatures that Castellon has created—they are vibrant and abhorrent, masquerading as fish-people, trees, and rotting ballerinas with buckets for heads. His figures throb with terror and the sense of loneliness that Poe’s tale makes so inescapable. The world he constructs for these creatures is hazy and atmospheric, and when the “Red Death” himself appears as a gaunt skeleton near the end of the series, the viewer, safe in the low hallway of the K.I.A., is rightly terrified.
Inciting fear in the hearts of Kalamazoo viewers with its horrific and devastating images, “Fear and Folly: the Visionary Prints of Francisco Goya and Federico Castellon” is certainly not folly.
The austerely framed prints line the K.I.A.’s downstairs hallway, which provides a less-than-dramatic background for an exhibition meant to be striking and eerie; in addition, an inadvertent and rather jarring comparison is invited by the fact that the two artists’ works are separated by the museum’s small African and Mesoamerican collection. The constraints of a small museum are obvious in the show’s location in the building as well as signage—only some of the images have explanations for viewers.
The museum’s presentation of Goya’s lithographs was fairly strong. In “The Proverbs,” (most of the series is represented and is presented in the proper order) Goya offers up some notable images: a hellish horse carries away a woman in the aptly named “Unbridled Folly,” a shrouded giant looms over a battlefield in “Fearful Folly,” and distracted women toss about dolls that look horribly like men in “Feminine Folly.” His famous “Disasters of War” is rather more successful and impressive, but the “Follies” make their message known—the often futile ridiculousness of human life. The incorporation of Goya’s recognizable flying demons and people with faces like something he stretched out of putty makes this array of prints a mostly satisfying spread for a small Midwestern museum.
Though Goya is the better known of the two artists, his lithographs at the K.I.A. were outshone by Federico Castellon’s compelling and grim works, which were created around 150 years after Goya’s. Labeled a Surrealist by critics, Castellon produced piercing sequential illustrations of Poe’s “The Masque of the Red Death” in the 1960s. An etching early in the series, entitled “It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade,” (1968) depicts a shadowy nude woman surrounded by pot-bellied demons and black color fields. Castellon depicts other masqueraders at the deadly party—ladies in Battenberg lace dresses with rosebushes for heads, horned men, and all manner of despotic characters doomed to death. Hieronymus Bosch would appreciate the creatures that Castellon has created—they are vibrant and abhorrent, masquerading as fish-people, trees, and rotting ballerinas with buckets for heads. His figures throb with terror and the sense of loneliness that Poe’s tale makes so inescapable. The world he constructs for these creatures is hazy and atmospheric, and when the “Red Death” himself appears as a gaunt skeleton near the end of the series, the viewer, safe in the low hallway of the K.I.A., is rightly terrified.
Inciting fear in the hearts of Kalamazoo viewers with its horrific and devastating images, “Fear and Folly: the Visionary Prints of Francisco Goya and Federico Castellon” is certainly not folly.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Pitches for Final Project (unsure which to choose!)
Kane Kwei s is a Ghanian artist (1924-1992) who creates coffins that represent important aspects of the deceased in life. For instance, for a fisherman he might make a fish-shaped coffin. His coffins are found in collections all over the world. I would like to focus on his works in the United States while comparing how his works are used and viewed elsewhere, particularly Ghana.
To research for this there are a few places to look. I already have a book ordered on Melcat that features an essay on Kwei. Oxford Art Online has an article about him, but there isn’t a lot of academic stuff on him, so I will also need to use reviews of his exhibits online.
Kane Kwei’s art certainly speaks to life and death, and also the utility of art. I will discuss whether or not Oscar Wilde would have valued Kwei’s coffins (probably not) and why American society values them. At Kwei’s workshop in Ghana, the coffins are shown together, being worked on by many people. In the United States, they are displayed completely on their own and obviously not being used for their intended purpose. I would like to discuss how this changes the meaning and what it says about the culture of death in the United States. A potential thesis is: Kane Kwei’s coffins in the context of the United States show the incredible fascination death holds for Americans, and how our culture glamorizes and fetishizes death, as compared to Ghanian culture, which celebrates it.
OR!
“The Jersey Shore” is a reality television show that follows eight people brought together for the summer in the New Jersey shore to work in a t-shirt shop, party, socialize, and get into trouble. The eight characters represent Italian-American stereotypes in an over-the-top way that has caught the attention of the United States in a sensational manner.
Since its release, many people have written about “The Jersey Shore”. I would like to examine why the Jersey Shore characters in particular appeal so much to the American people. How the people on the show are portrayed is meant to be ridiculous and invite comment. What do these people make us discuss? What issues about our society bring up? They certainly show how much we like to examine/insult people different from us. They also attack the moral underpinning of the nation and show how easy it is to “unpin” it. Group identity is important here: these “guidos” and “guidettes” are inhabitants of American culture but are not mainstream. Were they made mainstream by the show? I would like to explore all of these questions and attempt to answer them.
A possible thesis is: “The Jersey Shore” shows Americans yet another facet of society that they might not be familiar with; it lays bare the material, judgmental, base aspect of our lives...and shows us how important those attributes are to our sense of identity as a group and how we treat the “other”.
For resources, the television show will serve as a primary source while the many online blogs and criticisms will help as well.
To research for this there are a few places to look. I already have a book ordered on Melcat that features an essay on Kwei. Oxford Art Online has an article about him, but there isn’t a lot of academic stuff on him, so I will also need to use reviews of his exhibits online.
Kane Kwei’s art certainly speaks to life and death, and also the utility of art. I will discuss whether or not Oscar Wilde would have valued Kwei’s coffins (probably not) and why American society values them. At Kwei’s workshop in Ghana, the coffins are shown together, being worked on by many people. In the United States, they are displayed completely on their own and obviously not being used for their intended purpose. I would like to discuss how this changes the meaning and what it says about the culture of death in the United States. A potential thesis is: Kane Kwei’s coffins in the context of the United States show the incredible fascination death holds for Americans, and how our culture glamorizes and fetishizes death, as compared to Ghanian culture, which celebrates it.
OR!
“The Jersey Shore” is a reality television show that follows eight people brought together for the summer in the New Jersey shore to work in a t-shirt shop, party, socialize, and get into trouble. The eight characters represent Italian-American stereotypes in an over-the-top way that has caught the attention of the United States in a sensational manner.
Since its release, many people have written about “The Jersey Shore”. I would like to examine why the Jersey Shore characters in particular appeal so much to the American people. How the people on the show are portrayed is meant to be ridiculous and invite comment. What do these people make us discuss? What issues about our society bring up? They certainly show how much we like to examine/insult people different from us. They also attack the moral underpinning of the nation and show how easy it is to “unpin” it. Group identity is important here: these “guidos” and “guidettes” are inhabitants of American culture but are not mainstream. Were they made mainstream by the show? I would like to explore all of these questions and attempt to answer them.
A possible thesis is: “The Jersey Shore” shows Americans yet another facet of society that they might not be familiar with; it lays bare the material, judgmental, base aspect of our lives...and shows us how important those attributes are to our sense of identity as a group and how we treat the “other”.
For resources, the television show will serve as a primary source while the many online blogs and criticisms will help as well.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Pauline Kael: Questions and Answers
Pauline Kael liked to ask questions—and answer them. As a weekly columnist, she was able to disseminate her ideas to a varied readership. Kael was given an outlet where others could access her work and love it (or not) and became arguably the most famous literary critic. Her life story is tinged with tragedy, but the lasting legacy of Pauline Kael is her writing—Oscar Wilde would be proud of her contributions to art.
Strong writers elicit reactions. Kael’s excessive use of words like, “swallowing”, “pissing”, “flatulence”, or “manure,” condemned by Renata Adler in “House Critic,” are an important part of her repertoire. Kael is not, as Adler bemoans in “House Critic”, “mistaking lack of civility for vitality,” rather she is displaying her idiosyncratic way of writing. In “Afterglow” she says, “...I loved lowbrow taste, and that was hard to get across. One of the great things about movies is that they can combine the energy of a popular art with the possibilities of a high art.” By combining the language of “high” art and adding her own “lowbrow” sensibility in creating her pieces, Kael is reflecting what she is reviewing while doing something new—challenging the United States’ “movie critic” speak, with its words that indicate condescension even before one considers their actual meaning or what they say.
Following Kael’s commentary on actors is like being there when she meets them in person. She might not have the most refined things to say about them—Renata Adler quotes one of her articles on an actress, “She’s making love to herself,”—but manages to pinpoint what they are doing by close observation while connecting them to others and the rest of the world. She writes of Barbara Streisand in “Funny Girl,” “She conceals nothing; she’s fiercely, almost frighteningly direct,” and Kael could be talking about Streisand or perhaps even herself.
While loving or attacking actors might seem to be easy way to discuss a film, Kael goes further in her reviews. Often accused of “talking about anything but the film,” she points out cultural references and phenomena that movies reflect. This is arts journalism: instead of filling the basic functions of a review (information about the piece and where to see/find it, the reaction of the critic, and whether it is worth seeing), it both acknowledges other art and while creating a work of art in itself. For instance, she writes of “Hiroshima Mon Amour, “But what makes the dialogue crucial is that the audience...feels virtuous because they want to buy peace. And the question I want to ask is: who’s selling it?” By looking at larger issues that are inevitably entrenched in film culture, Kael is not ignoring movies she reviews but seeing them more deeply than many other critics.
In a world of art and people talking about it, not all voices have value. Why did Pauline Kael’s voice matter so much? She might have asked the same question (she was very fond of questions), but she would have an answer. Always sure of herself, combining lowbrow and “high” art, and reaching beyond movies to explore concepts of society, Pauline Kael’s contributions to art itself, no matter what the consequences to those she panned or raved, are considerable.
Strong writers elicit reactions. Kael’s excessive use of words like, “swallowing”, “pissing”, “flatulence”, or “manure,” condemned by Renata Adler in “House Critic,” are an important part of her repertoire. Kael is not, as Adler bemoans in “House Critic”, “mistaking lack of civility for vitality,” rather she is displaying her idiosyncratic way of writing. In “Afterglow” she says, “...I loved lowbrow taste, and that was hard to get across. One of the great things about movies is that they can combine the energy of a popular art with the possibilities of a high art.” By combining the language of “high” art and adding her own “lowbrow” sensibility in creating her pieces, Kael is reflecting what she is reviewing while doing something new—challenging the United States’ “movie critic” speak, with its words that indicate condescension even before one considers their actual meaning or what they say.
Following Kael’s commentary on actors is like being there when she meets them in person. She might not have the most refined things to say about them—Renata Adler quotes one of her articles on an actress, “She’s making love to herself,”—but manages to pinpoint what they are doing by close observation while connecting them to others and the rest of the world. She writes of Barbara Streisand in “Funny Girl,” “She conceals nothing; she’s fiercely, almost frighteningly direct,” and Kael could be talking about Streisand or perhaps even herself.
While loving or attacking actors might seem to be easy way to discuss a film, Kael goes further in her reviews. Often accused of “talking about anything but the film,” she points out cultural references and phenomena that movies reflect. This is arts journalism: instead of filling the basic functions of a review (information about the piece and where to see/find it, the reaction of the critic, and whether it is worth seeing), it both acknowledges other art and while creating a work of art in itself. For instance, she writes of “Hiroshima Mon Amour, “But what makes the dialogue crucial is that the audience...feels virtuous because they want to buy peace. And the question I want to ask is: who’s selling it?” By looking at larger issues that are inevitably entrenched in film culture, Kael is not ignoring movies she reviews but seeing them more deeply than many other critics.
In a world of art and people talking about it, not all voices have value. Why did Pauline Kael’s voice matter so much? She might have asked the same question (she was very fond of questions), but she would have an answer. Always sure of herself, combining lowbrow and “high” art, and reaching beyond movies to explore concepts of society, Pauline Kael’s contributions to art itself, no matter what the consequences to those she panned or raved, are considerable.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
NYT Defense: Manohla Dargis' Review of "Valentine's Day"
http://movies.nytimes.com/2010/02/12/movies/12valentine.html
This review by Manohla Dargis, co-chief film critic for The Times, is highly effective, especially given what it has to work with. The review holds true to the ideas of Oscar Wilde, that the critic is truly an artist whose work can transcend that of what it is reviewing.
Her opinion is strong, consistent and obvious from the first few words: “The best and really only sensible thing to say about the dire romantic comedy ‘Valentine’s Day,’ which is neither romantic nor remotely comedic, is that it makes you appreciate...the... basic competency...of ‘Love Actually,’ the ingratiating British movie it transparently and ineptly rips off.” The first sentence’s reference allows many readers to understand her more immediately. This is her “but,” located very early in the piece.
She describes each actor while pointing out the script’s weaknesses, pointing out how they are there to satisfy a certain demographic and gives no one much performance credit. She keeps the entire review brief, showing her disregard. Ending by comparing the film to “bad television” leaves the reader in little doubt of her opinion. She is harsh at the end: “...it’s grim, grim, grim. This might not be the Titanic of romantic comedies (it’s tugboat size), but it’s a disaster... But quick: there’s still time to escape!”
This review by Manohla Dargis, co-chief film critic for The Times, is highly effective, especially given what it has to work with. The review holds true to the ideas of Oscar Wilde, that the critic is truly an artist whose work can transcend that of what it is reviewing.
Her opinion is strong, consistent and obvious from the first few words: “The best and really only sensible thing to say about the dire romantic comedy ‘Valentine’s Day,’ which is neither romantic nor remotely comedic, is that it makes you appreciate...the... basic competency...of ‘Love Actually,’ the ingratiating British movie it transparently and ineptly rips off.” The first sentence’s reference allows many readers to understand her more immediately. This is her “but,” located very early in the piece.
She describes each actor while pointing out the script’s weaknesses, pointing out how they are there to satisfy a certain demographic and gives no one much performance credit. She keeps the entire review brief, showing her disregard. Ending by comparing the film to “bad television” leaves the reader in little doubt of her opinion. She is harsh at the end: “...it’s grim, grim, grim. This might not be the Titanic of romantic comedies (it’s tugboat size), but it’s a disaster... But quick: there’s still time to escape!”
Defense research
Here's an example of a far less effective review than the one that I will be doing my defense on...it reflects the material that it is reviewing, in a negative way.
http://www.time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,1963839,00.html?xid=rss-topstories
http://www.time.com/time/arts/article/0,8599,1963839,00.html?xid=rss-topstories
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Generating Light: The Kalamazoo College English Faculty Reading
On Wednesday night in the Olmsted Room, Gail Griffin invited her audience and the English Department to “generate a little light”. The English faculty responded with a glimmering phosphorescence of words, anecdotes, and description. The group, all of whom are either tenured professors at “K” or year or quarter-long visitors to the department, presented their current projects, thoughts, or chapters from their work that is soon to be released.
Andy Mozina led off with excerpts from “My Non-Sexual Affair”, a piece that could not have been written by anyone else due to its wit and candor. Visiting professor Beth Marzoni’s poem on Rothko’s Room at the Tate in London was an incredibly gorgeous and colorful trek for the audience, bringing them from rainy London to a rich red Pompeii to a hazy Florence. Marin Heinritz’s account of her mother was candid and personal, fitting well into the evening’s theme of personal experiences and journeys.
A sentimental Gail Griffin’s writing on the murder-suicide of Maggie Wardle and Neenef Odah was piercing—spectators were drawn into their worlds and tragedies. Dr. Griffin’s description of her personal odyssey in piecing together their story, carefully crafting the pieces, and presenting it to a new generation of students who might not have known their nightmare, and others who know it all too well.
Glenn Deutsch’s straightforward account of New York City and family life was strong; his slightly monotone delivery nonetheless revealed strong, realistic material in progress. Amy Rogers’ story of her search for information on Robert Frost’s son Carol as a graduate student seamlessly mixed academic and creative discourse, reconciling the night’s varied types of writing that were presented. Her advice on bonding with a character was highly appropriate for a crowd of young, aspiring, and attentive English majors and students.
Babli Sinha quickly changed the pace: with the driest material of the bunch, her paper on the Indian “New Woman” and technology was less immediately accessible to listeners. However, Dr. Sinha’s interest in her subject and obvious prowess as an academic in a different area of the English department was evident. Di Seuss’ description of a woman in New York City was all about self-awareness: “I watched myself watch myself.” Her focus on looking inside to find complete knowledge of oneself was not lost on the audience—there was copious applause. Professor Amelia Katanski’s account of her uncle and life cycles was commanding: the four sections highlighted the ups and downs of the deepest human desires, crafting a circular whole which satisfied listeners in only five minutes.
As the last presenter, Bruce Mills read from his memoir “An Archaeology of Learning”. It was an appropriate final piece, as it was personal and powerful. As a tale of dealing with his son’s autism, its theme of filling the empty spaces and seeing the beauty in them was the perfect finale to the evening’s theme of self-awareness, discovery, and journeys. Strong writing and verbal delivery is all is about confidence: the English Department at Kalamazoo College certainly has the confidence—and the talent—to continue to light up the campus.
Andy Mozina led off with excerpts from “My Non-Sexual Affair”, a piece that could not have been written by anyone else due to its wit and candor. Visiting professor Beth Marzoni’s poem on Rothko’s Room at the Tate in London was an incredibly gorgeous and colorful trek for the audience, bringing them from rainy London to a rich red Pompeii to a hazy Florence. Marin Heinritz’s account of her mother was candid and personal, fitting well into the evening’s theme of personal experiences and journeys.
A sentimental Gail Griffin’s writing on the murder-suicide of Maggie Wardle and Neenef Odah was piercing—spectators were drawn into their worlds and tragedies. Dr. Griffin’s description of her personal odyssey in piecing together their story, carefully crafting the pieces, and presenting it to a new generation of students who might not have known their nightmare, and others who know it all too well.
Glenn Deutsch’s straightforward account of New York City and family life was strong; his slightly monotone delivery nonetheless revealed strong, realistic material in progress. Amy Rogers’ story of her search for information on Robert Frost’s son Carol as a graduate student seamlessly mixed academic and creative discourse, reconciling the night’s varied types of writing that were presented. Her advice on bonding with a character was highly appropriate for a crowd of young, aspiring, and attentive English majors and students.
Babli Sinha quickly changed the pace: with the driest material of the bunch, her paper on the Indian “New Woman” and technology was less immediately accessible to listeners. However, Dr. Sinha’s interest in her subject and obvious prowess as an academic in a different area of the English department was evident. Di Seuss’ description of a woman in New York City was all about self-awareness: “I watched myself watch myself.” Her focus on looking inside to find complete knowledge of oneself was not lost on the audience—there was copious applause. Professor Amelia Katanski’s account of her uncle and life cycles was commanding: the four sections highlighted the ups and downs of the deepest human desires, crafting a circular whole which satisfied listeners in only five minutes.
As the last presenter, Bruce Mills read from his memoir “An Archaeology of Learning”. It was an appropriate final piece, as it was personal and powerful. As a tale of dealing with his son’s autism, its theme of filling the empty spaces and seeing the beauty in them was the perfect finale to the evening’s theme of self-awareness, discovery, and journeys. Strong writing and verbal delivery is all is about confidence: the English Department at Kalamazoo College certainly has the confidence—and the talent—to continue to light up the campus.
Monday, January 25, 2010
“Velvet Goldmine”: A love letter to all that is Glam
Oscar Wilde’s tombstone, covered with bright lipstick marks and messages of adoration in many languages, is a love letter to Wilde, the over-the-top, and art itself. Todd Haynes’ potent 1998 film “Velvet Goldmine” has the same function. The beautiful, the sublime, and the decorative are abstract topics, but the film embraces them through intense artifice in the performers’ elaborate costumes and makeup, the baroque interiors of their hotel rooms, and the stylized nature of the film itself from its acting to its camera techniques. “Velvet Underground” is also a love letter: to Oscar Wilde, Glam-rock, the taboo, and above all, art. As yet another musically driven pseudo-historical re-imagination of an epic epoch in music history, “Velvet Goldmine” is a richly textured, glittering, brazen film that succeeds in all aspects.
Considering the film has the fundamental concept of art at its core, it is not surprising that director Todd Haynes received the “Artistic Achievement” award at Cannes for “Velvet Goldmine”. Though it is not his most well known work, Haynes, who is openly gay, tackled the subject with passion and verve. Sexuality is addressed throughout; the “effeminate” rules in Haynes’ world. Art and artifice, as well as sexuality, are crucial to Haynes’ vision.
The effects, camera work, and set design were thoughtfully selected to make the viewer hyper-aware of the film’s existence of a piece of art. The careful stylistic choices are perfectly appropriate to the ideas of aestheticism and presentation that the film presents: to emphasize intense moments the camera zooms in tighter to pounding music, and cheesy newspaper and tabloid covers are flashed on the screen for the viewer to see. These effects give the effect of celebrity, media, and artifice—the film’s core ideas. Use of fade-ins, fade-outs, and other less-common (nowadays) film effects add to its artifice and take the viewer back to an earlier time. In creating a world where appearances are crucial, the camera work, effects, and set are flawless. The stylized world that these elements work together to create reflects the ideals of aestheticism and beauty crucial to Oscar Wilde.
The costumes were beautifully done- the most memorable is Brian Slade’s last outfit: he takes a gunshot with swan-like grace, literally. His white, feathered, over-the-top number makes him appropriately Glam-rock but also refers to the higher nature of his sexuality; and Oscar Wilde’s belief in the pure nature of “love that dares not speak its name”. Slade is adorned with symbols of innocence, yet the viewer knows he is anything but. In a world where appearances are (almost) everything, the wardrobe of characters like Slade looks really good.
Jonathan Rhys Meyers couldn’t be better for the flamboyant role of Brian Slade: a Dubliner by birth, fraught with personal issues that appear to have been beautifully channeled into Slade’s salacious and excessive lifestyle, Rhys Meyers’ Slade serves as a true Dorian Gray figure. His character’s vanity, obsession and lack of Victorian moral structure as well as obvious femininity and sexuality are appropriately portrayed by a languid and sexual Rhys Meyers. The musical Rhys-Meyers performed two tracks for the film: “Baby’s on Fire” and “Tumbling Down” are standout tracks in a strong lineup.
A slightly pudgy Christian Bale portrayed the rather confused Arthur Stuart to a tee. Scenes of him as a teen, listening to Brian Slade in his bedroom alone while his parents condemn his effeminate behavior, captures aspects of teenage angst, identity, and sexual confusion to a tee. He is perfect in the role; unsure, lost, and still searching for something, even in his more tame adulthood. While he tries to find out what happened to his idol Brian Slade, the audience believes him and the story of his past.
Ewan MacGregor’s Iggy-Pop-esque Curt Wild is highly effective; he successfully portrays the Rock-and-Roll lifestyle in his base physicality, attitude, and also manages to pull off a strange turn in sexuality: he and the others stand out in the sexual roles that were required of them in the film.
The female characters also succeed in the film, but by far the most believable is Toni Collette, whose Mandy Slade is alternately woeful, angry, and full of memory.
“Velvet Goldmine” is also a love letter to music history. The whole thing a tribute to seventies rockers, featuring their music, but newer stars were also included in the project. Modern-day rockers Thom Yorke, Johnny Greenwood, David Gray, Bernard Butler, Andy Mackay, Ron Asheton, Thurston Moore, Steve Shelley, and more. British and American musicians are represented here; Rock and Roll’s crossing of the Atlantic is crucial to the film. The soundtrack is poignant and appropriate, creating a seamless adventure through time and a particular time in music history.
“Velvet Goldmine” doesn’t apologize for itself. It is shamelessly self-promoting and unselfconscious in its self-consciousness. Presentation and appearance is everything: beauty is created even amidst the background of the characters’ personal lives. It deals with issues of sexuality and gender amidst the shimmering, pulsating backdrop of the glam rock movement of the 1970s. “Velvet Goldmine” closely examines the idea of celebrity and sexuality, and owes its debt to the high concepts of art and beauty, not to mention the taboo. Oscar Wilde never would have expected this kind of tribute, but he would have loved it.
Considering the film has the fundamental concept of art at its core, it is not surprising that director Todd Haynes received the “Artistic Achievement” award at Cannes for “Velvet Goldmine”. Though it is not his most well known work, Haynes, who is openly gay, tackled the subject with passion and verve. Sexuality is addressed throughout; the “effeminate” rules in Haynes’ world. Art and artifice, as well as sexuality, are crucial to Haynes’ vision.
The effects, camera work, and set design were thoughtfully selected to make the viewer hyper-aware of the film’s existence of a piece of art. The careful stylistic choices are perfectly appropriate to the ideas of aestheticism and presentation that the film presents: to emphasize intense moments the camera zooms in tighter to pounding music, and cheesy newspaper and tabloid covers are flashed on the screen for the viewer to see. These effects give the effect of celebrity, media, and artifice—the film’s core ideas. Use of fade-ins, fade-outs, and other less-common (nowadays) film effects add to its artifice and take the viewer back to an earlier time. In creating a world where appearances are crucial, the camera work, effects, and set are flawless. The stylized world that these elements work together to create reflects the ideals of aestheticism and beauty crucial to Oscar Wilde.
The costumes were beautifully done- the most memorable is Brian Slade’s last outfit: he takes a gunshot with swan-like grace, literally. His white, feathered, over-the-top number makes him appropriately Glam-rock but also refers to the higher nature of his sexuality; and Oscar Wilde’s belief in the pure nature of “love that dares not speak its name”. Slade is adorned with symbols of innocence, yet the viewer knows he is anything but. In a world where appearances are (almost) everything, the wardrobe of characters like Slade looks really good.
Jonathan Rhys Meyers couldn’t be better for the flamboyant role of Brian Slade: a Dubliner by birth, fraught with personal issues that appear to have been beautifully channeled into Slade’s salacious and excessive lifestyle, Rhys Meyers’ Slade serves as a true Dorian Gray figure. His character’s vanity, obsession and lack of Victorian moral structure as well as obvious femininity and sexuality are appropriately portrayed by a languid and sexual Rhys Meyers. The musical Rhys-Meyers performed two tracks for the film: “Baby’s on Fire” and “Tumbling Down” are standout tracks in a strong lineup.
A slightly pudgy Christian Bale portrayed the rather confused Arthur Stuart to a tee. Scenes of him as a teen, listening to Brian Slade in his bedroom alone while his parents condemn his effeminate behavior, captures aspects of teenage angst, identity, and sexual confusion to a tee. He is perfect in the role; unsure, lost, and still searching for something, even in his more tame adulthood. While he tries to find out what happened to his idol Brian Slade, the audience believes him and the story of his past.
Ewan MacGregor’s Iggy-Pop-esque Curt Wild is highly effective; he successfully portrays the Rock-and-Roll lifestyle in his base physicality, attitude, and also manages to pull off a strange turn in sexuality: he and the others stand out in the sexual roles that were required of them in the film.
The female characters also succeed in the film, but by far the most believable is Toni Collette, whose Mandy Slade is alternately woeful, angry, and full of memory.
“Velvet Goldmine” is also a love letter to music history. The whole thing a tribute to seventies rockers, featuring their music, but newer stars were also included in the project. Modern-day rockers Thom Yorke, Johnny Greenwood, David Gray, Bernard Butler, Andy Mackay, Ron Asheton, Thurston Moore, Steve Shelley, and more. British and American musicians are represented here; Rock and Roll’s crossing of the Atlantic is crucial to the film. The soundtrack is poignant and appropriate, creating a seamless adventure through time and a particular time in music history.
“Velvet Goldmine” doesn’t apologize for itself. It is shamelessly self-promoting and unselfconscious in its self-consciousness. Presentation and appearance is everything: beauty is created even amidst the background of the characters’ personal lives. It deals with issues of sexuality and gender amidst the shimmering, pulsating backdrop of the glam rock movement of the 1970s. “Velvet Goldmine” closely examines the idea of celebrity and sexuality, and owes its debt to the high concepts of art and beauty, not to mention the taboo. Oscar Wilde never would have expected this kind of tribute, but he would have loved it.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Article 3- "Holmes Strikes Back"
http://thekosmo.com/?p=2668
Holmes Strikes Back written by Joseph Schafer
Posted on 02 January 2010.
There is a class of films that require virtually no real criticism—not because they are so great or horrible that there can be no differing opinion, but because they don’t need opinion, they are just ubiquitous. The point of a movie review is to give you, the reader, a better idea of whether or not any given movie is worth watching. This review is pointless: you are going to see Sherlock Holmes whether you like it or not, and probably Sherlock Holmes 2, 3, and so on.
This film, like Star Wars: A New Hope and Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl before it, is pure franchise-starting gold mined from the long-forgotten stone of pulp literature. Where Holmes differs from its ilk is in its pacing; I have never seen a Hollywood blockbuster that feels like the middle part of a trilogy. There is no origin story, and no real conclusion. Holmes and Watson, as well as love interest/part-time villain Irene Adler all exist at the beginning of the film, and even though the mystery is solved, the game, as Sherlock himself would say, is still on as the credits roll.
The story works thanks to the kinetic and maverick style of director Guy Ritchie, who not only brings endearing grime to Holmes and 19th century London, but uses this film as an opportunity to salvage his career from the tailspin it’s been in since his crime-comedy masterpiece, Snatch. His camera is fluid, his characters charming, and his drive relentless. Sherlock Holmes belabors nothing (thank god) and finishes its two-plus hours running time feeling like a ten minute jog.
Props, then, to Robert Downey Jr. who has successfully kick-started his second film series playing the same character. This Holmes is essentially Tony Stark AKA Iron Man, who was himself only a pumped-up rehash of Harry Lockhart from Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang (still his best performance). Yet I’m still not tired of his antics, the man is most certainly unique and talented, even if he only plays variations on one theme.
The internet was aflame with people calling Downey Jr. out for his stylized and less-refined take on Holmes. Those people need to shut the fuck up. This is still Arthur Conan Doyle’s Holmes, just all the most renegade aspects of him: Holmes the drug addict, Holmes the manic-depressive, Holmes the bare knuckle boxing enthusiast, all of whom were present in The Hound of the Baskervilles but overshadowed by Holmes the gentleman.
The gentleman here is Jude Law’s Doc Watson, whose story is the real emotional heart of the film. The bickering back and forth between Law and Downey Jr. is the film’s trump card. Whenever the two are alone together high gear is engaged. Whenever a peripheral character is caught in their crossfire, chaos ensues. Wondrous chaos, if the peripheral character is his fiancée Mary Morstan.
Too bad his screen time is eaten up by Rachel McAddams’ Irene Adler, who feels more like a sketch than a well-drawn character, even if her chemistry with Downey Jr. approaches excellent when it’s not bogged down by obtuse dialog.
The weakest link is Mark Strong’s Lord Blackwood, a muscle bound pseudo-Satanist whose deception is about as opaque as stained glass. Though he’s afforded a few interesting moments, particularly his first set piece’s sleight-of-hand with a glass needle, he quickly becomes old hat and thankfully won’t be returning for the inevitable sequel.
*It is especially interesting to read what other "K" students outside the class think of the film. This review on the Kosmopolitan Online (not officially affiliated with K, but put on by only K students)is satisfying in its bluntness and clear organization. Though it doesn't address all aspects of the film, it is up-front and colloquial, even admitting the review's uselessness right at the beginning- yet I kept reading. Altogether a nicely short and honest review of the film.
Holmes Strikes Back written by Joseph Schafer
Posted on 02 January 2010.
There is a class of films that require virtually no real criticism—not because they are so great or horrible that there can be no differing opinion, but because they don’t need opinion, they are just ubiquitous. The point of a movie review is to give you, the reader, a better idea of whether or not any given movie is worth watching. This review is pointless: you are going to see Sherlock Holmes whether you like it or not, and probably Sherlock Holmes 2, 3, and so on.
This film, like Star Wars: A New Hope and Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl before it, is pure franchise-starting gold mined from the long-forgotten stone of pulp literature. Where Holmes differs from its ilk is in its pacing; I have never seen a Hollywood blockbuster that feels like the middle part of a trilogy. There is no origin story, and no real conclusion. Holmes and Watson, as well as love interest/part-time villain Irene Adler all exist at the beginning of the film, and even though the mystery is solved, the game, as Sherlock himself would say, is still on as the credits roll.
The story works thanks to the kinetic and maverick style of director Guy Ritchie, who not only brings endearing grime to Holmes and 19th century London, but uses this film as an opportunity to salvage his career from the tailspin it’s been in since his crime-comedy masterpiece, Snatch. His camera is fluid, his characters charming, and his drive relentless. Sherlock Holmes belabors nothing (thank god) and finishes its two-plus hours running time feeling like a ten minute jog.
Props, then, to Robert Downey Jr. who has successfully kick-started his second film series playing the same character. This Holmes is essentially Tony Stark AKA Iron Man, who was himself only a pumped-up rehash of Harry Lockhart from Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang (still his best performance). Yet I’m still not tired of his antics, the man is most certainly unique and talented, even if he only plays variations on one theme.
The internet was aflame with people calling Downey Jr. out for his stylized and less-refined take on Holmes. Those people need to shut the fuck up. This is still Arthur Conan Doyle’s Holmes, just all the most renegade aspects of him: Holmes the drug addict, Holmes the manic-depressive, Holmes the bare knuckle boxing enthusiast, all of whom were present in The Hound of the Baskervilles but overshadowed by Holmes the gentleman.
The gentleman here is Jude Law’s Doc Watson, whose story is the real emotional heart of the film. The bickering back and forth between Law and Downey Jr. is the film’s trump card. Whenever the two are alone together high gear is engaged. Whenever a peripheral character is caught in their crossfire, chaos ensues. Wondrous chaos, if the peripheral character is his fiancée Mary Morstan.
Too bad his screen time is eaten up by Rachel McAddams’ Irene Adler, who feels more like a sketch than a well-drawn character, even if her chemistry with Downey Jr. approaches excellent when it’s not bogged down by obtuse dialog.
The weakest link is Mark Strong’s Lord Blackwood, a muscle bound pseudo-Satanist whose deception is about as opaque as stained glass. Though he’s afforded a few interesting moments, particularly his first set piece’s sleight-of-hand with a glass needle, he quickly becomes old hat and thankfully won’t be returning for the inevitable sequel.
*It is especially interesting to read what other "K" students outside the class think of the film. This review on the Kosmopolitan Online (not officially affiliated with K, but put on by only K students)is satisfying in its bluntness and clear organization. Though it doesn't address all aspects of the film, it is up-front and colloquial, even admitting the review's uselessness right at the beginning- yet I kept reading. Altogether a nicely short and honest review of the film.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Article: "Sherlock Holmes"
http://articles.latimes.com/2009/dec/25/entertainment/la-et-sherlock-holmes25-2009dec25
'Sherlock Holmes'
Guy Ritchie turns the master sleuth into an action hero, with mixed results.
MOVIE REVIEW
December 25, 2009|By Kenneth Turan FILM CRITIC >>>
There's a mystery at the heart of "Sherlock Holmes," and it's not the one the great master of detection has been called on to solve. It's how a film that has so many good things going for it has turned out to be solid but not spectacular.
Solid, of course, is more than many studio films can muster these days, but we expect better when we're dealing with the world's greatest consulting detective, someone who has been played by more than 70 actors in something like 200 films, good enough for inclusion in the Guinness Book of World Records.
We also expect more when Robert Downey Jr. is in as fine a form as he is here, bringing an energetic insouciance as well as a raffish air of bohemian disrepute to a man who lives by the motto, "Data, data, data, I cannot make bricks without clay."
As directed by Guy Ritchie, Downey's take on the dean of 221-B Baker St. is, as the spin on the film has emphasized, considerably more physical than what moviegoers are used to. His Holmes is as much Victorian action hero as master deducer, a buff and muscular lad who likes to indulge in bare-knuckle brawling and fits producer Joel Silver's description of being "like James Bond in 1891."
It's helpful to add in the brisk style of British filmmaker Ritchie, best-remembered for two of his earlier films, "Snatch" and "Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels." A director with onscreen energy to burn, Ritchie initially has fun with this story of Holmes versus master criminal Lord Blackwood, a man who dabbles in the black arts, says gnomic things like "death is only the beginning" and threatens to end civilization as we know it.
On the other hand, though, all this "new Holmes" talk is something of a smoke screen. What is problematic about the film is not so much the change in character as the change in the nature of the classic Sherlock Holmes vehicle. This Hollywoodized epic has attempted to do too much, has had to serve too many masters. That has, in turn, given the picture an air of trying too hard, which is the one thing Sherlock Holmes should never have to do.
No less than four credited screenwriters had a hand in the Holmes script (story by producer Lionel Wigram and Michael Robert Johnson, script by Johnson and Anthony Peckham and Simon Kinberg) and apparently director Ritchie took a pass as well. With so many writers and so many focuses, it's no surprise the film feels more disjointed than organic.
*This review by Kenneth Turan was the first mixed review of Sherlock Holmes that I came upon. It made me re-think the movie. He sets the context well; giving background on the Holmes past and really emphasizing how many times this subject has been tackled by filmmakers. I didn't find this review particularly entertaining, but it did make me think about the movie in a different way.
'Sherlock Holmes'
Guy Ritchie turns the master sleuth into an action hero, with mixed results.
MOVIE REVIEW
December 25, 2009|By Kenneth Turan FILM CRITIC >>>
There's a mystery at the heart of "Sherlock Holmes," and it's not the one the great master of detection has been called on to solve. It's how a film that has so many good things going for it has turned out to be solid but not spectacular.
Solid, of course, is more than many studio films can muster these days, but we expect better when we're dealing with the world's greatest consulting detective, someone who has been played by more than 70 actors in something like 200 films, good enough for inclusion in the Guinness Book of World Records.
We also expect more when Robert Downey Jr. is in as fine a form as he is here, bringing an energetic insouciance as well as a raffish air of bohemian disrepute to a man who lives by the motto, "Data, data, data, I cannot make bricks without clay."
As directed by Guy Ritchie, Downey's take on the dean of 221-B Baker St. is, as the spin on the film has emphasized, considerably more physical than what moviegoers are used to. His Holmes is as much Victorian action hero as master deducer, a buff and muscular lad who likes to indulge in bare-knuckle brawling and fits producer Joel Silver's description of being "like James Bond in 1891."
It's helpful to add in the brisk style of British filmmaker Ritchie, best-remembered for two of his earlier films, "Snatch" and "Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels." A director with onscreen energy to burn, Ritchie initially has fun with this story of Holmes versus master criminal Lord Blackwood, a man who dabbles in the black arts, says gnomic things like "death is only the beginning" and threatens to end civilization as we know it.
On the other hand, though, all this "new Holmes" talk is something of a smoke screen. What is problematic about the film is not so much the change in character as the change in the nature of the classic Sherlock Holmes vehicle. This Hollywoodized epic has attempted to do too much, has had to serve too many masters. That has, in turn, given the picture an air of trying too hard, which is the one thing Sherlock Holmes should never have to do.
No less than four credited screenwriters had a hand in the Holmes script (story by producer Lionel Wigram and Michael Robert Johnson, script by Johnson and Anthony Peckham and Simon Kinberg) and apparently director Ritchie took a pass as well. With so many writers and so many focuses, it's no surprise the film feels more disjointed than organic.
*This review by Kenneth Turan was the first mixed review of Sherlock Holmes that I came upon. It made me re-think the movie. He sets the context well; giving background on the Holmes past and really emphasizing how many times this subject has been tackled by filmmakers. I didn't find this review particularly entertaining, but it did make me think about the movie in a different way.
Article 1: "Sherlock Holmes"
http://www.rollingstone.com/reviews/movie/28065483/review/31461044/sherlock_holmes
Sherlock Holmes
Starring: Robert Downey Jr., Jude Law, Rachel McAdams
Directed by: Guy Ritchie
RS: 2of 4 Stars Average User Rating:3-5of 4 Stars
2009 Action
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle never imagined his cerebral London detective as a ball-busting action hero. But director Guy Ritchie did. And he's persuaded Robert Downey Jr. to mainline testosterone. You never saw Basil Rathbone, the best movie Holmes, or Jeremy Brett, the best TV Holmes, strip down in a freestyle-fight ring. You do here. Even old Dr. Watson is a scrapper in the studly person of Jude Law. Ritchie directs with the kind of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels gusto that's meant to batter you into submission.
The time is 1891, and the place is still London, but Ritchie can't be bothered with period details, especially dialogue. Noticing that the villainous Lord Blackwood (Mark Strong) has scratched bloody messages all over his filthy prison cell, Holmes quips, "Love what you've done with the place." Holmes scholars will cry their eyes out over this update from hell. Rachel McAdams is mere window dressing as a mystery woman from Holmes' past. In place of romance, we get cheesy computer effects (that collapsing bridge — please). Ritchie is all about the whooshing and headbanging, leaving no space between Holmes' words to savor their meaning. Downey is irresistible. The movie, not so much.
*For the Rolling Stone reader, this article might be helpful. However, I find that this article is a little too wrapped up with the traditional Holmes story. However, I did think it was important to review negative articles like this because mine was positive.
Sherlock Holmes
Starring: Robert Downey Jr., Jude Law, Rachel McAdams
Directed by: Guy Ritchie
RS: 2of 4 Stars Average User Rating:3-5of 4 Stars
2009 Action
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle never imagined his cerebral London detective as a ball-busting action hero. But director Guy Ritchie did. And he's persuaded Robert Downey Jr. to mainline testosterone. You never saw Basil Rathbone, the best movie Holmes, or Jeremy Brett, the best TV Holmes, strip down in a freestyle-fight ring. You do here. Even old Dr. Watson is a scrapper in the studly person of Jude Law. Ritchie directs with the kind of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels gusto that's meant to batter you into submission.
The time is 1891, and the place is still London, but Ritchie can't be bothered with period details, especially dialogue. Noticing that the villainous Lord Blackwood (Mark Strong) has scratched bloody messages all over his filthy prison cell, Holmes quips, "Love what you've done with the place." Holmes scholars will cry their eyes out over this update from hell. Rachel McAdams is mere window dressing as a mystery woman from Holmes' past. In place of romance, we get cheesy computer effects (that collapsing bridge — please). Ritchie is all about the whooshing and headbanging, leaving no space between Holmes' words to savor their meaning. Downey is irresistible. The movie, not so much.
*For the Rolling Stone reader, this article might be helpful. However, I find that this article is a little too wrapped up with the traditional Holmes story. However, I did think it was important to review negative articles like this because mine was positive.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Sherlock Holmes (2nd version)
If one goes to “Sherlock Holmes” expecting cold detached intelligence, Calabash pipes, a magnifying glass, and “elementary”, they might be disappointed-or confused. However, if movie-goers seek thrills, satisfying characters, and the usual intrigue audiences have come to expect from mystery tales but presented in a new way, they will discover “Sherlock Holmes” to be a satisfying experience. Over one hundred years after the release of the classic tales, “Sherlock Holmes” has been brought into the twenty-first century with action, humor, and wit. The film incorporates disparate elements like religious cults, action-hero sequences, tender moments of “bro-mance”, and humor to bring Baker Street to life in an altogether novel way.
“Sherlock Holmes” can be trusted in the hands of director Guy Ritchie—heists, robberies and tricky situations are his specialty, along with the glitz and glamour of Madonna’s films. As a classic tale of mystery, the new film adaptation of Sherlock Holmes might disappoint some lovers of the traditional tale. However, the writers of the film manipulated the classic story to please twenty-first century audiences. The most significant focus is put on the characters—Watson earns a significant promotion from lackey to respected and valued equal of Holmes.
Robert Downey Jr.’s Sherlock Holmes and Jude Law’s Doctor Watson effectively dominate the film in one’s memory—it is immediately clear that they are a natural pair, both through the script’s witty banter and also through their clear camaraderie while acting together on screen. The classical nudes in the window of Watson’s office gracefully illustrate his value of order and perfect physical harmony, while the mise-en-scène of Holmes’ office with its resident chaos immediately clues the viewer in to their respective personalities and the apparent differences between the two friends. The fact that Holmes’ room utilizes the same set as Sirius Black’s house in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix comes as no surprise—dark films are the order of the day, as is clear with the current macabre trend in film and television.
Though the relationship between Holmes and Watson is well-constructed and fulfilling, the true star of the film is Holmes. Sherlock Holmes as portrayed by a twenty-first century actor is not exactly the classic cold intellectual of Doyle’s tales; he is adaptable, resourceful, and has a flippant attitude that frequently unmasks his healthy ego. His darker aspects are not ignored; oblique references to his drug use are included, such as when Watson asks rhetorically, “You do know what you are drinking is meant for eye surgery?” Clearly the writers picked out what they considered the most interesting aspects of Holmes—his darkness, his humor, and his relationship with Watson—and transformed the pipe-wielding detective of yesteryear into a man much more recognizable to modern day audiences in his vulnerability, eccentricity, and genuineness. The construction of Holmes and Watson’s roles through the script as well as the actors’ talent in portraying their own versions of the residents of Baker Street combine to make Holmes and Watson highly memorable in this film adaptation.
In creating a love interest for a character seemingly without a strong inclination to women and would seemingly rather be gallivanting about with Watson, writers did the best they could with Rachel McAdams’ Irene Adler. As Holmes’ kryptonite, the character of Miss Adler, though sufficiently devious, serves as a simple distraction for Holmes. The presence of a love interest was clearly important in a film for today’s audiences, though Adler better fulfills the role of accomplice and helper more so than passionate love interest. She is the least fulfilling character, but she successfully fulfills her function as distraction and eventual helper the film.
A strange and sinister antagonist provides the dramatic tension in the movie. Lord Blackwood is introduced dramatically in an occult scene at the beginning of the film. Blackwood is a formidable foe for Holmes, the convincing nature of his “powers” keeping the audience intrigued throughout. Blackwood represents the seamlessness of reality and fantasy that pervades the film, not only in its plot but also in its design aspects.
The film’s images have staying power in the viewer’s memory—a writhing woman in a white dress, a dark figure hanging by the neck over the Thames from a shipyard chain, a man that ignites into a flaming inferno upon firing a gun...a dark London in the late 1800s is enlivened through the costumes, makeup and set design. Holmes’ world is not at all stuffy; it stubbornly asserts its reality with dirt, texture, and chiaroscuro light effects. Radiant costumes light up the inky London streets—though an overall dark film, the character of Irene Adler adds color with her crisp bright dresses and tailored menswear. The images created the film of a dusty but electric London with dark laboratories filled with things that ooze, old buildings falling apart before one’s eyes, and sweeping views of the Thames are a testament to the mastery of the film’s design.
The movie reads as a blow-by-blow, just like the audience is treated to a preview of Holmes’ attack tactics before they happen on-screen. Events are paced with the deliberation of a good book, while keeping in mind modern audiences’ need for incessant action. Considering the recent vogue for all things gloomy, “Sherlock Holmes” takes a dark situation and keeps it comfortably paced and never dull. If one does not happen to be a die-hard aficionado of the classic tales, “Sherlock Holmes” can provide an entertaining movie-going experience.
It might not have the classic pipe or the magnifying glass, but “Sherlock Holmes” can draw modern-day viewers into the past while relating it to the present. The intriguing complexities of Holmes’ mind engage with the depth of all the characters and the dark beauty of the film design, along with complex music that would never be considered cliché for a mystery film, making “Sherlock Holmes” anything but elementary.
“Sherlock Holmes” can be trusted in the hands of director Guy Ritchie—heists, robberies and tricky situations are his specialty, along with the glitz and glamour of Madonna’s films. As a classic tale of mystery, the new film adaptation of Sherlock Holmes might disappoint some lovers of the traditional tale. However, the writers of the film manipulated the classic story to please twenty-first century audiences. The most significant focus is put on the characters—Watson earns a significant promotion from lackey to respected and valued equal of Holmes.
Robert Downey Jr.’s Sherlock Holmes and Jude Law’s Doctor Watson effectively dominate the film in one’s memory—it is immediately clear that they are a natural pair, both through the script’s witty banter and also through their clear camaraderie while acting together on screen. The classical nudes in the window of Watson’s office gracefully illustrate his value of order and perfect physical harmony, while the mise-en-scène of Holmes’ office with its resident chaos immediately clues the viewer in to their respective personalities and the apparent differences between the two friends. The fact that Holmes’ room utilizes the same set as Sirius Black’s house in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix comes as no surprise—dark films are the order of the day, as is clear with the current macabre trend in film and television.
Though the relationship between Holmes and Watson is well-constructed and fulfilling, the true star of the film is Holmes. Sherlock Holmes as portrayed by a twenty-first century actor is not exactly the classic cold intellectual of Doyle’s tales; he is adaptable, resourceful, and has a flippant attitude that frequently unmasks his healthy ego. His darker aspects are not ignored; oblique references to his drug use are included, such as when Watson asks rhetorically, “You do know what you are drinking is meant for eye surgery?” Clearly the writers picked out what they considered the most interesting aspects of Holmes—his darkness, his humor, and his relationship with Watson—and transformed the pipe-wielding detective of yesteryear into a man much more recognizable to modern day audiences in his vulnerability, eccentricity, and genuineness. The construction of Holmes and Watson’s roles through the script as well as the actors’ talent in portraying their own versions of the residents of Baker Street combine to make Holmes and Watson highly memorable in this film adaptation.
In creating a love interest for a character seemingly without a strong inclination to women and would seemingly rather be gallivanting about with Watson, writers did the best they could with Rachel McAdams’ Irene Adler. As Holmes’ kryptonite, the character of Miss Adler, though sufficiently devious, serves as a simple distraction for Holmes. The presence of a love interest was clearly important in a film for today’s audiences, though Adler better fulfills the role of accomplice and helper more so than passionate love interest. She is the least fulfilling character, but she successfully fulfills her function as distraction and eventual helper the film.
A strange and sinister antagonist provides the dramatic tension in the movie. Lord Blackwood is introduced dramatically in an occult scene at the beginning of the film. Blackwood is a formidable foe for Holmes, the convincing nature of his “powers” keeping the audience intrigued throughout. Blackwood represents the seamlessness of reality and fantasy that pervades the film, not only in its plot but also in its design aspects.
The film’s images have staying power in the viewer’s memory—a writhing woman in a white dress, a dark figure hanging by the neck over the Thames from a shipyard chain, a man that ignites into a flaming inferno upon firing a gun...a dark London in the late 1800s is enlivened through the costumes, makeup and set design. Holmes’ world is not at all stuffy; it stubbornly asserts its reality with dirt, texture, and chiaroscuro light effects. Radiant costumes light up the inky London streets—though an overall dark film, the character of Irene Adler adds color with her crisp bright dresses and tailored menswear. The images created the film of a dusty but electric London with dark laboratories filled with things that ooze, old buildings falling apart before one’s eyes, and sweeping views of the Thames are a testament to the mastery of the film’s design.
The movie reads as a blow-by-blow, just like the audience is treated to a preview of Holmes’ attack tactics before they happen on-screen. Events are paced with the deliberation of a good book, while keeping in mind modern audiences’ need for incessant action. Considering the recent vogue for all things gloomy, “Sherlock Holmes” takes a dark situation and keeps it comfortably paced and never dull. If one does not happen to be a die-hard aficionado of the classic tales, “Sherlock Holmes” can provide an entertaining movie-going experience.
It might not have the classic pipe or the magnifying glass, but “Sherlock Holmes” can draw modern-day viewers into the past while relating it to the present. The intriguing complexities of Holmes’ mind engage with the depth of all the characters and the dark beauty of the film design, along with complex music that would never be considered cliché for a mystery film, making “Sherlock Holmes” anything but elementary.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Sherlock Holmes
As a classic tale of mystery, the new film adaptation of Sherlock Holmes might disappoint some lovers of the traditional tale. However, the new imagination of Baker Street and Holmes himself certainly brought new things to the table. It was a film with only a few images that truly have staying power in one’s memory—a writhing woman in a white dress, a dark figure hanging by the neck over the Thames from a shipyard chain, a man that ignites into a flaming inferno upon firing a gun...these areas of the movie, while the most shocking and perhaps visually memorable, are actually not where it is most successful. Lord Blackwood, Holmes’ chief antagonist is introduced dramatically in one of these sinister scenes. Indeed, as Watson states decisively, “And that is the end of Lord Blackwood,” the audience is assured that this is certainly not the end of Lord Blackwood, and the movie’s main tension is born. Lord Blackwood is a formidable foe for Holmes, the convincing nature of his “powers” keeping the audience interested throughout.
However, the highlight of the film is in the relationship between Robert Downey Jr.’s Sherlock Holmes and the reluctant Doctor Watson, played by Jude Law. The classical nudes in the window of Watson’s office gracefully illustrate his value of order and perfect physical harmony, while the mise-en-scène of Holmes’ office with its resident chaos immediately clues the viewer in to their respective personalities and the seemingly differences between the two friends. The fact that Holmes’ room utilizes the same set as Sirius Black’s house in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix comes as no surprise—dark films are the order of the day, as is clear with the macabre trend in film and television nowadays. The snippy banter between Holmes and Watson stands out, as well as Downey Jr.’s Jack Sparrow-esque portrayal of Holmes: a land pirate now and moved from the Carribbean to the dirty streets of London in the late 1800s, Sherlock wields significantly superior weapons of ingenuity but the same vague and zany characteristics as Depp’s beloved pirate. An early scene in which Holmes boxes is particularly strong; the power of his mental talents is effectively and physically impressed upon the viewer in a striking manner. Rachel McAdams’ Irene Adler plays a somewhat superfluous role in the film. As Holmes’ kryptonite, the character of Miss Adler fails to pack a real punch, though not for lack of talent on McAdams’ part. Her character, though charmingly roguish as most less-than-savory seductive female characters in mysteries tend to be, fails to fulfill any real purpose in the film.
The movie reads as a blow-by-blow, just like the audience is treated to a preview of Holmes’ attack tactics before they happen on-screen. Events are paced with the deliberation of a good book, while keeping in mind modern audiences’ need for incessant action. Considering the recent vogue for all things gloomy, Sherlock Holmes takes a dark situation and keeps it comfortably paced and never dull. All in all, if one is not a die-hard aficionado of the classic tales, Sherlock Holmes can provide an entertaining movie-going experience. And of the ending? Well, some movie-goers might walk away with a bit of frustration at not hearing the man with the magnifying glass’s classic line; however, I’ll say it: this movie is elementary.
However, the highlight of the film is in the relationship between Robert Downey Jr.’s Sherlock Holmes and the reluctant Doctor Watson, played by Jude Law. The classical nudes in the window of Watson’s office gracefully illustrate his value of order and perfect physical harmony, while the mise-en-scène of Holmes’ office with its resident chaos immediately clues the viewer in to their respective personalities and the seemingly differences between the two friends. The fact that Holmes’ room utilizes the same set as Sirius Black’s house in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix comes as no surprise—dark films are the order of the day, as is clear with the macabre trend in film and television nowadays. The snippy banter between Holmes and Watson stands out, as well as Downey Jr.’s Jack Sparrow-esque portrayal of Holmes: a land pirate now and moved from the Carribbean to the dirty streets of London in the late 1800s, Sherlock wields significantly superior weapons of ingenuity but the same vague and zany characteristics as Depp’s beloved pirate. An early scene in which Holmes boxes is particularly strong; the power of his mental talents is effectively and physically impressed upon the viewer in a striking manner. Rachel McAdams’ Irene Adler plays a somewhat superfluous role in the film. As Holmes’ kryptonite, the character of Miss Adler fails to pack a real punch, though not for lack of talent on McAdams’ part. Her character, though charmingly roguish as most less-than-savory seductive female characters in mysteries tend to be, fails to fulfill any real purpose in the film.
The movie reads as a blow-by-blow, just like the audience is treated to a preview of Holmes’ attack tactics before they happen on-screen. Events are paced with the deliberation of a good book, while keeping in mind modern audiences’ need for incessant action. Considering the recent vogue for all things gloomy, Sherlock Holmes takes a dark situation and keeps it comfortably paced and never dull. All in all, if one is not a die-hard aficionado of the classic tales, Sherlock Holmes can provide an entertaining movie-going experience. And of the ending? Well, some movie-goers might walk away with a bit of frustration at not hearing the man with the magnifying glass’s classic line; however, I’ll say it: this movie is elementary.
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