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.
Monday, February 22, 2010
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.
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