Many of the regular readers of this blog also know that I am a Royals fan. This has me leading life charmed with the duality of watching one of the worst teams in the sport (at least at the Major League level) while reading some of the best writers on the net dedicate their time to this team. One such writer is Rany Jazayerli, a co-founder of Baseball Prospectus and author of Rany on the Royals.
His newest entry is not about the Royals, which will either turn off the readers who flock there for Royals-related content or attract an entirely different subset of internetters. It is about 19th Century Muslim leader Abd al-Kader, and it is fantastic. Do yourselves a favor and read it.
As for me, I've been bogged down with other things, and as such have had other obligations take precedent over the blogging of late. I hope to rectify this soon, as I have a backlog of things to write about including, but not limited to: The A-Team, Predators, The Training Ground by Martin Dugard, a long overdue post about "Justified," and eventually an entry about Midnight's Children (assuming I ever finish it).
I actually finished this months ago and just realized that I had not gotten around to writing this up. As I will be getting up very early tomorrow morning to catch a flight to retrieve a very special 1985 Grand Wagoneer, this looks to be a rather brief entry.
If ever there was a case of my having purchased a book based on its title, it was this one. Marketing/presentation aside, the novel was a funny one. Sam Pulsifer, the novel's protagonist is the classic post-modern schlemiel, in the vein of Pynchon's Benny Profane. Pulsifer accidentally burned down Emily Dickinson's house as a teen, killing a husband and wife in the process. After ten years in prison, he begins a new life, finds a wife, starts a family. Then his old life comes crashing in on his new life, and everything he does makes things worse. That's when other writers' homes beginning to go up in flames, and the hero must delve into the mystery of who is framing him.
The book does a good job of sending up much of the literary community and academia. It's funny with a few laugh-out-loud moments. The read itself is relatively light, which is by no means a bad thing. The first-person narration is engaging, and the unfolding of the mystery is done deftly.
Basically, if you want to read a book in which Emily Dickinson's home was burned down (read: me), then this is a book for you.
Despite the fact that I've got at least two other entries to write, yesterday's news that Starz is cancelling "Party Down" bumps all other entries to the back-burner.
I really love this goddamn show.
Almost everyone else I know watches (and loves) it, too.
That latter fact is one that leaves me wondering how the hell Starz is figuring that only 74,000 watched its finale. Really? I think maybe Starz needs to reexamine how it is assessing viewership.*
*I started this post Thursday night, and Lizzy Caplan pretty much shared my take on things in an interview on Friday. She, too, is upset.
That 74,000 figure could very well be correct for people who were staying home on a Friday night to watch original programming at 10:00 pm EDT, but Starz makes all of its programming almost immediately available to stream instantly on Netflix. I know many people who went about watching the show this way. The delay is less than a day.
I subscribe to Starz. I have seen every episode of "Party Down" DVRed directly from the premium cable station I subscribe to, yet I have probably only seen five of the episodes in the series' two season run (a "season" is a "series," for any of you confused Brits out there) as they aired on Friday night.
Really the problem here is that shows that appeal to a tech-savvy subset of the viewing public* somehow get left by the wayside, with the arcane methods by which ratings are calculated falling short of capably gauging how many people watch these shows.
*Read: the public whose TV isn't stuck on CBS, a network that I am actually currently watching because the irreverent Craig Ferguson is on, and he demands my viewership. The clip embedded should explain why.
But enough of this embittered ratings-fueled cancellation venom-spewing. Really, I am upset because this show is so funny. Yes, my life is probably a little closer to the lives of the characters on "Party Down" than most people, but it doesn't feel like my enjoyment is a result of occupational similarity, as so many friends who do not work in or around private parties share this love of "Party Down."
I'll admit, what drew me in initially was the fact that Rob Thomas, the creator of one of my favorite shows ever, "Veronica Mars," had co-created a show with Paul Rudd*, who would be on the very short list of My Official Boys here at Inconsiderate Prick. Ken Marino and Martin Starr being in the cast certainly helped things.
*To be fair, there were two other co-creators: John Enbom, who wrotethe indie Rory Cochrane star-vehicle The Low Life, which I've oddly seen about six times, and an assload of "Veronica Mars" episodes, including The Debasement Tapes in which Rudd guests as washed-up rock star Desmond Fellows; and Dan Etheridge, a producer on "Veronica Mars," who also produced Overnight Delivery and co-produced The Low Lifeand Bio-Dome.
Before long, "Party Down" was the first show that needed to be watched on the TiVo. The endless awkward situations, the blind leading the apathetic, the total clusterfucks that the parties ended up turning into... All of these elements combined with a likable cast and ridiculously strong writing to create a really great comedy about people suffering through a shitty job while waiting for their dreams to become a reality.
And the show was consistently hilarious. The characters seemed like real people. No one was perfect. They had their idiosyncracies; their insecurities. They were flawed, but ultimately sympathetic. As is too often the case, the person in charge (Marino's Ron Donald) was ill-equipped to do the job*, which led to countless hijinx ensuing. The failed actor Henry (Adam Scott) and his interplay with aspiring comedienne Casey (Lizzy Caplan, who some know from "Freaks and Geeks" or much more intimately from the first season of "True Blood") makes for some good inter-relational television without veering over into the lame or melodramatic.
*Or as Elvis Mitchell aptly describes him in this interview with Adam Scott, "the one man who wants to do it and cannot."
But really as much as the aforementioned three cast members make this show what it is (or sadly/precisely, was), the unsung hero was Ryan Hansen as Kyle. He wasn't central to the loose story arc that Henry had as he decides to walk away from his dream after being beaten down time and time again, but his presence really allows every other character to shine. Kyle is the yin to Roman's (Martin Starr) yang, and his dimness opens up the floor for Roman to spout off on his outcast nerd superiority rants at least once an episode. His being on the brink of making it (seemingly) while being more looks than talent/intelligence offer a perfect contrast to Henry, who by all accounts is teeming with talent but got swatted down at each turn. His general disrespect and occupational apathy open the door for Ron to mismanage countless situations. And in the first season, it was Kyle who played the best off of Jane Lynch's Constance, allowing for her otherwise overbearing character to fit in.
But what it boils down to is that this show is insanely funny. The last two episodes of this last season were outstanding. Watch the first 30 seconds of Cole Landry's Draft Day Party and try to tell me that you were able to stop watching.
I wasn't ever able to stop myself from watching this the instant I could. Now I don't get to watch it again.
DirecTV, where are you when I need another show rescued?
To say that this summer has been a shitty one for theatrically released movies would be a grotesque understatement. To drive this point home, when Peter and I were trying to decide on a movie, we were relegated to deciding between the reportedly awful Jonah Hex, Toy Story 3, and The Karate Kid.
What the fuck?
Now I am sure Toy Story 3 is all fine and dandy, but after Jeff Van Gundy creeped me out last week, there is no way in hell you are going to find me going to a children's movie with another dude, no offense Peter. I will wait for video on that one.
So given the dearth of options at our disposal, we settled on The Karate Kid.
Before I get too far into this review, we should probably establish just how much the original film meant to Young Josh, as that would most certainly affect how one would react to this film. As a child, I watched the first two installments a lot. They were taped off TV. I remember the first one was on a tape given to us by a family friend, taped directly off of the pre-commercial-break Disney Channel. Part II was taped off on NBC, with commercials no doubt crudely edited out with the pause button at the hand of an over-eager ten-year-old Old Man.
That being said, I haven't seen either of the first two in at least 15 years. What I have seen in that time are The Karate Kid, Part III and The Next Karate Kid. While there is a certain degree of nostalgia that seeing the poor man's Steven Seagal, Terry Silver*, try to corrupt Daniel LaRusso and then watch Danielle from "Camp Wilder" try to fill Macchio's shoes in the final installment, they hardly instill one with anything approaching wonder.
*I'm sure he's got a name, but who gives a fuck? Oh, right. I do. Because I have to know everything stupid like this I looked it up. Thomas Ian Griffith, the fourth-billed actor in John Carpenter's Vampire$.
Now, there is a problem with that last non-tangential (but needlessly drawn out) sentence: the "Macchio's shoes" statement. Any honest assessment of the original Karate Kid franchise cannot be completed without wondering how Macchio was given a film franchise. He'd been on a season of "Eight Is Enough" and The Outsiders, and neither would seem to have pointed toward a future box office superstar.
In retrospect, it would seem that Morita is probably a little lacking in acting chops as well. Having recently happened to catch the scene in which Mr. Miyagi mourns the death of his wife on the event's anniversary, I can safely say that objectively the film is not without its flaws, and many of those lie in the fact that the lead actors (the always stunning Elisabeth Shue excepted) cannot actually do what they were paid to do--act.
I think any objective observer would quickly come to the conclusion that Jackie Chan is a far more interesting personality to watch than his Japanese counterpart. His star power alone sets this remake/relaunch on a slightly new level in terms of a starting point for the casual observer. Sure, Pat Morita was nominated for Best Supporting Actor, but he was basically a caricature, and the 1980s were awful for Oscars. While the original film had John Avildsen* at the helm, Harald Zwart, auteur of such gems as Agent Cody Banks, One Night at McCool's, and The Pink Panther 2, is inarguably the lesser director.
*Heart-string pulling director of For Keeps?, Lean on Me, and 8 Seconds. Oh, and Rocky, too, although one could argue that being at the helm for the only shitty Rocky installment, Rocky V, should outweigh some of the goodwill earned by having directed what can very reasonably be deemed the greatest sports movie of all-time.
With the casting of the mentor and the respective directors essentially working out to be a push, we're left with Jaden Smith and Macchio. Maybe it's just me, but I don't actually think those are big shoes to fill. While the Fresh Prince's kid isn't necessarily great, he is serviceable, and it would probably be tough to argue that he was worse than Macchio*. Hell, Jonathan Brandis was better than Macchio in Sidekicks.
*I think it would be very easy to argue that Macchio's turn in The Karate Kid is about as bad as Mark Hammill's in Star Wars. Neither can really act a lick, but they are each intrinsically linked with a loved piece of many of our childhood's. Sure, we loved those films when we were 10 and seeing them again as adults takes us back to that innocence of childhood. If they were to come out now, though, they'd be hokey. I suppose that contributes largely to their charm to our generation, but The Karate Kid and Star Wars are both pretty damn corny when it comes down to it.
Now, The [New] Karate Kid is not without its issues.
While I do like its marriage of the best parts of The Karate Kid, Part II and The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift, there is the two issues that KRD touched on a few weeks ago:
...why is the karate kid (oops! the KungFu Kid!) 12? I mean, the original film was a teen flick. Jaden Smith is not a teen. Ergo, this is not a teen flick. What's with that? If they had to have him, couldn't they have waited until he hit 16?
Point 1: Yes, kung fu, not karate. While I get wanting to preserve the title for branding purposes, is it really necessary to have a movie with a kung fu competition as its climax have an entirely different school of martial arts in the title? Ultimately, it is a minor point, but it is still irksome.
Point 2: A 12-year-old? For the future of a potential franchise, I suppose it makes sense to cast the almost 12-year-old Jaden Smith in the title role. Macchio was 22 when The Karate Kid was released in June of 1984. While the original was a teen flick, technically, I think it ultimately played to a younger audience than some of its raunchier 80s teen flick counterparts. Perhaps given the youth sports movie angle, it is a cagey decision to take it to a Mighty Ducks age-group starting point. When Jaden Smith is Pacey in the "Dawson's Creek" relaunch, we'll all have a hearty laugh. It still feels a bit off with the Karate Kid being a 12-year-old.
Now, I'm 1,100 words in to this thing, and I've still not really gotten to the film itself.
In a vacuum, the movie works. That is probably the most important part here. Outside of Taraji P. Henson, who just seems out of place cast in this role, there really isn't a glaring weakness in the film. Asian John Kreese pulls off being a totally imposing dick well, even if his motivation for being one is foggy at best. Dre's (Smith's character) nemesis, while not necessarily imposing in stature (as one would expect from a tween), certainly excels at having that look of disdain on his face for every instant he is on the screen.
The set design for the outdoor festival (the name has escaped me) is pretty great. The soundtrack, while not appealing specifically to me, works in the film for the most part. Getting to shoot in China allows for some much more arresting backdrops than its predecessor had in sunny Southern California.
A couple of sidenotes that I don't have the energy to segue into:
I like the assertion that the film makes in moving the family from Detroit to China. Things apparently are so shitty in Detroit that China is a better option? Awesome.
The fly scene was a tasteful and humorous homage to the one in the original.
Loved the uncredited Michelle Yeoh cameo.
Wen Wen Han was very cute as Mei Ying.
Does anyone else think it was totally bizarre that the first person to befriend Dre in China was a poster child for the Aryan race? I understand that some eight-year-old white kid in small town North Dakota who has never seen an Asian or black person in real life might have a hard time finding a character reflecting him/herself in this film, but do we really need one of the kids from The Village of the Damned? The character is so thinly fleshed out and superfluous that it seems he was only put in for this reason.
All that being said, on its own merits and separated from the fact that it is exploiting what many of my generation have cherished for 15 years, The Karate Kid as an enjoyable little film, and Jaden Smith seems to be on the verge of being a big star in his own right.
If there is one thing that readers of this blog should already know, it is that Ben Affleck is my main man. Now, unlike Ahmad Rashad, I don't go around slapping that label on just anyone willy-nilly. I have One Main Man. It is Ben Affleck.
Yes, I feel very strongly about the genius that is Nic Cage, but we all know there's only one Ben Affleck.
I say this all (and really we're just reiterating a proven fact, aren't we?) because tonight my alarm bells were a-ringin'.
Like many of you, I was watching the ultimately disappointing Game Seven of the NBA Finals this evening when a shocking development transpired. It appears as though Jeff Van Gundy saw Ben Affleck's daughter, Violet Anne, out eating at a restaurant with her mother, Jennifer Garner. As they spoke of this on air, Mark Jackson raised the first warning flag. Jackson stated (and I'm paraphrasing here) that Van Gundy had embarrassed them with his [presumed] googly eyes. It was after this that Van Gundy began to talk about how cute Violet was, segueing into an open offer to baby-sit for the Affleck/Garner clan. He then went a step further and said that he felt like he'd seen her grow up before his eyes in the pages of US Weekly and People.
WTFuck?
Something is very, very wrong here. I know that Chad, Mark, and I were all worried for Violet's well-being when Jeff Van Gundy made his disturbing revelation.
Mr. Affleck, please do not let Jeff Van Gundy baby-sit your children.
Can you imagine what would the world would be like if Ben Affleck had been stripped of his innocence at such a young age? I sure as hell don't want to think about it.
Despite the fact that Nicholas Stoller's directorial debut, Forgetting Sarah Marshall,might just be my favorite of the Team Apatow productions*, I was not exactly excited for the latest Apatow Productions film, Get Him to the Greek.
*Now, it should be noted that Step Brothers is a film that I've seen approximately 30 times (unfortunately, none of those times were in the theater). It's weird because despite the fact that the Apatow Productions title card is in front of the film it feels like this is not a product of Team Apatow. Perhaps it's the "Freaks and Geeks"-lessness of the cast, but they seem only loosely related to one another. I do love Step Brothers but am reluctant to put it in the conversation with the other Apatow products.
Yes, I really loved FSM, but a lot of Get Him to the Greek relies on Jonah Hill, something I was reticent about heading into the film. Generally speaking, I like almost all of the films Hill has been in, yet I often feel like he is one of the weaker links in the film. While he is certainly capable of being very funny, there is something about his energy that can be off-putting. Luckily for us all, Get Him to the Greek is not a film in which that holds true.
Since my reluctance (and I do not believe I am alone in this) lied in the film's obvious reliance upon Hill, I will start by talking about him. As the regular music fan who got into the music industry because of his fandom, Hill's character, Aaron Green, is ideally constructed to suit his strengths. He isn't supposed to play anything that lies outside of his wheelhouse. As a regular dude who has ceded any semblance of a social life to his girlfriend's schedule and her desire to watch "Gossip Girl" (or maybe it was "Grey's Anatomy") on DVD, Jonah Hill is not only believable but also likable.
With the potential dilemma of Hill having been addressed, the success of the film lies largely on the shoulders of Russell Brand, whose reprisal of the character Aldous Snow is pitch-perfect. He is larger than life and unabashedly self-centered. As the caricature of the drug-addled rock star with a posse of enablers, Brand hits every note with aplomb. It is Snow's ridiculously destructive and self-serving behavior that drives much of the comedy and nearly all of the drama within the film. When he is called on to have a withdrawal-fueled freak out, he kills. When called on to deliver the bloated pomposity that is "African Child," he imbues the song with a clueless sincerity not matched since Paul McCartney ripped off David Hasselhoff* for his egregious post-9/11 *cough* anthem "Freedom."
*This reminds me that despite my repeated assertions about Rocky IV and the David Hasselhoff performance above having won the Cold War, I've not blogged about it in this space. For this, I am sorry. Hopefully I'll have the time in the near future to tackle this at length and in detail.
Now Brand is great to be sure, but he is not alone. In his limited role as the executive at the label, Sean Combs is outstanding. From the dressing down of his employees in the staff meeting to his on-set argument with Pharrell, he is hilarious. More surprising (because if you remember Made, Combs's hilarity isn't necessarily unprecedented) is how fucking amazing Rose Byrne is as Snow's ex-lover Jackie Q. Seriously. If you need proof, I'll refer you to the shockingly lewd anal sex single embedded below (stick around through the end).
Despite my hesitancy to embrace Byrne in years past, I am fully on board, as she has been great in everything I've seen her in for a few years now.
Past the cast though, the film works. At its heart, Get Him to the Greek--as so many of the Team Apatow films are--is a film about male bonding and the perils of getting too close to your idol. On both counts, Stoller & Co. succeed. Despite all his faults, Snow ultimately finds value in what Green brings to the table, on a personal and professional label, even if he ends up vomiting on himself at least once a day.
First things first: This is going to be briefer than I'd like. I want to have something to write about, but I've been insanely busy with work(s). In addition to the late Spring onslaught I've been enduring at the docks, I also went out to DC for a couple of days (this was the second time I'd been there in as many months) to go to "Jeopardy!" auditions. I showed well and am in the contestant pool for this upcoming season. Hopefully I get the call this time around...
This all has meant that I've been unable to consume media at the ridiculous pace that I generally do. I've been slogging through a Martin Dugard book about Grant, Lee, Sherman, and Davis in the Mexican War for about a month and a half, largely because I've been reading a reference-y book on the Presidents on the can as pseudo-preparation for the aforementioned tryout.
I've also not been able to get out to the theater since Iron Man 2, so there's not much to say on that front.
I also anticipate writing up a little something on "Justified" as the season comes to an end, but nothing else on the TV front has tickled my fancy enough to write about it lately (as is also evident over at Munch My Benson).
Then there's the whole UFC obsession that has taken over the lives of Chad, Peter, and myself, but I'll not be getting into that just yet.
As for Starman, I sat down and watched it for the first time last night and was pleased as punch that I did. From John Carpenter's* decision to go for the gusto with the awesome Jack Nitzsche score to Karen Allen actually sort of acting penultimate real film role**, the entire experience was an awesome one.
*The cool John Carpenter, not the creepy Bob Crane sidekick who filmed him on his escapades and then likely killed him as portrayed by Willem Dafoe in Auto Focus. And yes, I do feel the need to make the clarification between the two.
**Yes, I'm stating that the only movie she did after this in which she was worth a damn was Scrooged. Do you disagree? That's what I thought. I don't want to see any feigning of indignation in the comments section here card-holding members of the Karen Allen Fan Club.
What was really awesome, though, was Jeff Bridges stunted speech. I think if I could choose one way to talk from any movie, it would be the manner of speaking utilized by Jeff Bridges in his Oscar-nominated turn as Starman.
Watching Bridges own the role brings to mind the fact that he must have been livid when he was shooting K-Pax and Spacey was just sitting there blowing what Bridges had done better.
Just look at the disdain in Bridges eyes as he looks at the man who has won an Oscar chomping into a banana like a smug dick while Bridges mantel lay bare. The irritation is real (and justified). Really, does anyone think that F. Murray Abraham deserved an Academy Award for playing himself in a wig and a ruffled shirt? Come on.
Regardless, Bridges is the shit here, and Carpenter's sci-fi romance hits the mark at almost every turn, including this one...
It was not without a healthy amount of trepidation that I walked into Greenberg. While The Squid & The Whale was a solid outing, I'd hardly say I was in head over heels in love with the film. Margot at the Wedding was so fucking unbearable that I couldn't make it 20 minutes into the movie. Somehow I actually made it through Kicking and Screaming, but holy fuck do I wish I hadn't. And as a member of the faction of Wes Anderson fans (a fandom which has been waning for the past five-plus years) who still look at The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou and sigh with disappointment, I hold Noah Baumbach largely responsible for its failure.
Does the fact that I was somewhat leery of what Greenberg had in store for me really need to be elucidated any further? I think the reticence has been justified.
What I got in Greenberg was a second solid outing from writer/director Noah Baumbach. In having seen three of his films entirely, part of the fourth, and another that he has co-written, it has become evident that there is going to be lacking in resonance on a personal level for me with his works. I guess that is to be expected, as there isn't much crossover between my middle-class, Midwestern upbringing and his privileged, Brooklyn childhood. It seems that he may very well have had a childhood like the one illustrated in The Squid & The Whale, and frankly it is one that most of us couldn't possibly have much in common with.
With Greenberg, I was able to find common ground with Baumbach's work where I'd previously been unable to--Ben Stiller's Roger Greenberg has willfully ignored conventional expectations for success, is largely a dick, and is easy to dislike, all things that could be said about me. That being said, it isn't always the most comfortable experience seeing characters that you share undesirable character traits with uncomfortably exposed on screen*.
*I had similar feelings after seeing Rachel Getting Married, as the self-absorption/-destructiveness of Anne Hathaway's character struck a little too close to home for comfort.
For the most part, this doesn't get in the way of the enjoyment of the film. While self-destructive, Roger is often scathingly funny. His letters of complaint to the varied businesses that he feels slighted by are funny. His sweet moments with Greta Gerwig's Florence Marr work well, as do the awkward ones.
Where the film does over-reach is in the presumption that Florence would somehow remain interested in Roger after his repeated abuse. She doesn't seem broken in the beginning, and his intermittent shoddy treatment of her should realistically drive her away. But it doesn't, which doesn't really feel believable.
The film does look good, as Baumbach's style actually works well in Los Angeles, and the pacing is actually pitch-perfect. While often veering into the realm of the uncomfortable, the film never drags. Stiller and Gerwig are great, and Rhys Ifans is serviceable. Generally speaking, I could do without Jennifer Jason Leigh, but she wasn't in the film enough to really bring it down in my book. In all, Greenberg was a nice little film, and it gives Stiller a chance to stretch his legs a bit.
For whatever reason, I've not been making it to a lot of foreign fare in recent years. There was a time when TSLF and I would see about 50% foreign and 50% domestic films. That isn't the case anymore.
Well, I took in A Prophet a few weeks back with Chad and Steve (my only friend in Austin who is also a Super Furry Animals fan), and I was floored. I knew very little about the film other than the fact that it was a French prison movie. Having seen a fair share of French films, I expected some cursing cheese-eating surrender monkeys munching on baguettes, wearing berets, and occasionally raping each other whilst smoking cigarettes. What I got was an exceptional movie-going experience.
This being the first Jacques Audiard film I've seen, I came into the film not knowing what I was about to be given. This is easily the best prison movie since The Shawshank Redemption, which I loved. The film chronicles the rise of an Algerian prisoner through the inmate power structure of a French prison. The closest parallel to his story I can think of is that of Don Corleone story in The Godfather, Part II. This comparison is apropos in both the narrative and the qualitative sense, as A Prophet really does deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence as the best of The Godfather films.
Malik el Djebena as played by Tahar Rahim* is essentially a slightly more passive young Don Corleone if he had the ability to assimilate himself into nearly any group. Malik's prison ascension is compelling, and as the Arab having to be a lap dog to the Corsicans for much of the movie, it is hard not to root for him.
*It's weird but Rahim reminds me a lot of Maurice Compte, who I've always recognized as the guy from The Dream Catcher--not the shitty Stephen King adaptation--a film I recall having liked. Unfortunately, no one else in the world other than Compte himself would remember him. He was one of Gunn's peeps when Gunn was introduced on "Angel."
Generally speaking, the acting seems solid. I use the word 'seems' here because I hesitate to trust myself when evaluating the acting in a foreign-language film. Regardless, nothing seems to be amiss on the acting front.
Now I should note that the pacing of the narrative is very European. It takes its sweet time in getting rolling, but once Malik endears himself to the Corsicans, the film finally gets its legs under it. The slow start works in this case, and his efforts to embed himself in the backyard of the Corsicans and the ensuing double-/triple-agent life he takes on is fascinating.
All in all, the film is great, and it still seems to be playing in art-house theaters. Go see it. You'll be so happy you did.
If I'm not mistaken, this is actually the first time in the history of Inconsiderate Prick that I'll have ended up writing about the sequel to a movie that I have also written about. In that regard, I suppose this is a milestone of sorts. To celebrate this, I have treated myself to a bowl of Honey Nut in honor of Omar. Now I'm going to drop a dramatic deuce and engage in a self high-five*.
*All right, I just spent about ten minutes trying to find a video to no avail. The video was that of the short-lived mid-'90s Fox sitcom "Too Something," a show I can't say I ever actually remember having seen, but I do remember the promo that Fox surely ran about 10,000 times leading up to its lackluster premiere. Weirdly, the concept of the self high-five was emblazoned into my memory then and its execution still kind of amuses me. Unfortunately, there is no video that I can provide for you to lay down a framework for what I'm talking about. Now, as far as the experience of seeing Iron Man 2 was concerned, it was an engaging film that left me thinking, That was pretty good. That may not be the most glowing reaction, but given my feelings about much of the high-profile films what I've seen lately, I was mostly pleased.
As was the case with Sherlock Holmes and the first Iron Man, Robert Downey, Jr., makes this film work. Both of those films could have failed easily if not for the wiles and charms of Downey, just as Iron Man 2 could have. His cocksure bravado is precisely what this franchise needed. It fuels this sequel, infusing it with an energy that is needed as the film comes to its close slightly anti-climactically.
Yes, Iron Man 2 does kind of rush into and through its conclusion. Some complaints levied against the film and its according narrative shortcomings chalk them up to biting off too much in regards to foils for Tony Stark. I would hardly say that is the case. X-Men or Spider-Man 3 this film is not. Mickey Rourke's Ivan Vanko and Sam Rockwell's Justin Hammer both add much more to the film than their possible division of dedicated screen-time to villainy could take away. Rockwell is especially solid as the slimy defense-contracting douche.
As was the case with the first Iron Man, the staging of the climactic end fight scene simply leaves a bit to be desired. For starters, much of the flight/pursuit action borders on unintelligible. Perhaps this can be attributed to my second row seat, but there were 10 - 15 second sequences at the end that were a blur as much as anything else. When War Machine and Iron Man finally face off against Whiplash, the fight seems to end almost as soon as it begins.
Luckily, Iron Man 2 is ultimately character-driven, and it works entirely in that regard. While Justin Theroux's (holy hell, did I think it was weird that Theroux was writing this movie) screenplay may be unbalanced from a narrative standpoint, it succeeds on the personal front, and Stark's dealing with his mortality works exceptionally well.
Ultimately, the film's shortcomings don't do enough to detract from one's enjoyment of the film, and it does leave you looking forward to the eventual foray into the Avengers series of films down the line.
Many of the regular readers of this blog also know that I am a Royals fan. This has me leading life charmed with the duality of watching one of the worst teams in the sport (at least at the Major League level) while reading some of the best writers on the net dedicate their time to this team. One such writer is Rany Jazayerli, a co-founder of Baseball Prospectus and author of Rany on the Royals.
