Man on Film: Drive Angry [3D]

Jesus, it's been a long damn time since I actually saw this. I went on opening weekend, keeping my streak of consecutive Nicolas Cage movies seen in the theater alive at nine--a feat that may be my proudest accomplishment.

While my accomplishment is something to behold, Drive Angry was unfortunately disappointing. Don't get me wrong, this was markedly better than Season of the Witch, but it failed to go as far as I had hoped it would. It played things just a little too safely, shackling Cage with a script that lack enough imagination and a foil not up to the challenge of giving an opposing 110% in the form of Billy Burke.

With Cage playing it up as only he can, he is complimented quite nicely by William Fichtner, playing The Accountant, whose mission is to bring Milton (Cage's protagonist) back to Hell, from where he had broken out to save his daughter. Fichtner plays it pitch-perfect, calm in destruction, dry in wit.

Adding to the film is eye-candy in the form of the insanely hot Amber Heard and the much less clothed Charlotte Ross. Ross does not look her age to be sure, and Heard, while not prancing about in various stages of undress as she did in The Informers, sure looks good. I can't decide whether her choice of accent works or not, as it's insanely thick and possibly bad but over-the-top is the name of the game here. Any shoddy accent work can probably be excused given the circumstances.

Where the film lives and dies is in its action sequences, and unfortunately this is where it comes up short. While promise is shown in the trailer, the action scenes simply lack the requisite verve to make the film what it should be: a trashy explosion-fest with crazy deaths and balls-to-the-wall energy.

Reading Rainbow: High Society: The Life of Grace Kelly by Donald Spoto

This may seem like a weird choice if you don't know me well and know why I was reading it. I can't really get into why I was reading it in this space, but whatever. I read it. It happened.

High Society: The Life of Grace Kelly

For those not familiar with Donald Spoto, he is one of the authoritative Golden Age of Hollywood writers. He wrote the seminal books on Alfred Hitchcock The Art of Alfred Hitchcock and The Dark Side of Genius: The Life of Alfred Hitchcock. It was while writing The Art of Alfred Hitchcock that he became friends with Princess Grace, who he was lucky enough to have interviewed at length.

Not relying solely on his aged notes from 25 years earlier, Spoto interviews seemingly everyone that has ever known Grace Kelly in completing an exhaustively researched biography of the captivating actress. Her spirit seems to have made its way to these pages largely due to Spoto's concern for honoring her memory. He never crosses a line into a tawdry realm. Taste and discretion are always observed if something cannot be corroborated by multiple accounts of events.

Obviously, most of you would only read this if you were interested in Grace Kelly. If you are, this is a damn fine book with effortless prose and passion for his subject.

Man on Film: Biutiful

If you have seen Alejandro González Iñárritu's other three feature-length directorial efforts, you likely understand what you are getting into with Biutiful. If one were to list Amores Perros, 21 Grams, and Babel's shared traits, it would be that they are visually arresting, often bleak, and run perhaps a little long. While I happen to like those three films, I wouldn't necessarily cite the third trait as a strength, and the second limits his films' rewatchability. 

On Blu-ray May 31st

Biutiful marks the first feature that he has done since his public falling out with scribe Guillermo Arriaga, who got up on his soap box about authorship of films in the ramp-up to the Oscars when Babel was nominated for seven awards. While I happen to love Arriaga's work, both with Iñárritu* and without him, it is a little refreshing to see something different from Iñárritu himself. 


*The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada may have been my favorite movie of the past decade. 

Citing his father's life as inspiration for this film, this is clearly a very personal film for Iñárritu. More than any of his previous works, there are truly heartwrenching moments in this film. Uxbal, played to perfection by Javier Bardem, is a father of two in Barcelona living on the fringe, hustling to make a dime in morally ambiguous ways, and trying to get his affairs in order as terminal cancer is bearing down on him. As he scrambles to leave something for his two young children while their mother's grip on life loosens at every turn, your heart breaks. 


The film is deeply affective, in spite of its length. Bardem alone should get you excited about watching this film, as there are not many in the acting game who are as consistently amazing as he is. Uxbal is far from perfect and isn't above exploitation to serve his own benefit, but Alejandro González Iñárritu's world in film is not one of black and white. 












A quick formatting note, I updated the site to include the Amazon Associates widget. There will be links in some of the entries now. Apologies if this is a turn-off. I assure you, this will not affect what I write at all. 


And don't look now, but there are already three entries written for this week, and I'm starting another.

The Queue Continuum: Exit Through The Gift Shop

Sorry I've been so absent here. The start of baseball season sort of messes up my schedule for a few weeks until I can reacclimate/make myself care less about the Royals. Here's some catching up. I'll try to get another entry queued up for Friday, as well.

Available on Blu-ray as well

While it is hard to suss out whether or not this film is operating on the level or not, the message still comes through loud and clear: The art world is a messed up place.


Regardless of whether or not you buy the premise that to movie is operating under, the fact remains that the awful, awful crap that Mr. Brainwash produced sold for a veritable assload of cash based solely on the hype that they successfully built up around a nonsensical show lacking in theme, taste, and restraint.

Even if you elect to believe that Banksy was really punking the Establishment, the film is ultimately a compelling one, and given his and Shepard Fairey's involvement there is at least a little prominent insight into the street art movement.

If this isn't near the top of your queue, it should be. That's where John De Lancie would want it to be.

Reading Rainbow: The Sportswriter by Richard Ford

Full disclosure: I finished this book two months ago. I'm not sure why it has taken me this long to get around to this post, but it has. Do not take the fact that it has taken me roughly 10 weeks to get around to this as a reflection of how I felt about the book in any way.

In short, I loved this book. This was my first venture into the writings of Richard Ford, Pulitzer Prize-winning author of Independence Day (the sequel to The Sportswriter). He had come pretty highly recommended from a few friends whose literary tastes I trust. Their recommendations are going to be more highly regarded going forward.

The novel follows Frank Bascombe, a writer who has abandoned being a novelist for writing about sports, a subject he is largely indifferent to. It is set against Easter weekend, the weekend marking the anniversary of his son's death at the age of nine and the point at which his life was thrown into a tailspin. Frank is essentially detached in every way imaginable. He even seems to be detached from himself. As he visits his son's grave, heads to Michigan with his girlfriend on a work-related weekend getaway, returns to nondescript suburban New Jersey to have an unhinged friend drop in on him, and his relationship with Vicki disintegrates at a family dinner, Frank Bascombe wanders dreamily through these episodes. Luckily, Ford toes a line that keeps Frank from erring into a territory in which he could come across as irritating or frustrating.

To say that I simply loved this book would be doing a disservice to how I really felt. While reading, I became engulfed in the book. His style floored me. I continuously marveled at his ingenuity in turning a phrase, in the unpredictable ways that his sentences would twist and turn. There seems to be nothing tethering him to the standard usage patterns of the English language. Reading his prose was, quite simply, awe-inspiring. For me to actually want to sit back, take some time, and savor the style of a writer is rare, yet that is precisely what I found myself doing while reading The Sportswriter.

To put it another way, I was so taken by The Sportswriter that I went out and bought four other Ford books as soon as I finished it.

But you don't have to take my word for it...

The Queue Continuum: The Cove

If you want to get angry about dolphins, this is your movie.

Seriously though, it's pretty damn good. The footage that they get of the dolphin slaughter is pretty damn shocking, and the work they go to to film it is impressive. Unfortunately, it seems like this film will never see the light of day in Japan. Despite its success in elucidating the horrors being perpetrated against these dolphins, it just doesn't seem like it is likely to affect change.

Regardless, the film works on every level other than the fact that it isn't likely to produce the desired effect in Taiji, and this is coming from someone who doesn't really give a shit about animals.

But you don't have to take--shit, wrong column.

Man on Film: The King's Speech

Well, it's been well over a month since I saw this one. I guess I've been sidetracked.

I'll keep this relatively short (at least for me). At this point, I'd imagine almost all of the readers here at Inconsiderate Prick have seen this film anyway.

The King's Speech was very good--probably even great. Colin Firth was outstanding, as was Geoffrey Rush. Their nominations were completely justified. Firth, clearly growing tired of always being the bridesmaid, decided to heed the advice Kirk Lazarus gives in Tropic Thunder. He is a great actor outside of this and the award is justified even if I would have preferred that James Franco* had won it.

*I don't give a damn about the bombing as host. While Firth had a stellar supporting cast, Franco carried the weight of 127 Hours on his shoulders. He was in every scene, had to convey the complexity of hopelessness, resolve, claustrophobia, joie de vivre, desperation, and humor, and managed to make a movie that largely happens in space confined to three feet wide immensely entertaining. More of 127 Hours' success was owing to Franco.

It feels like the reaction to the film, however, is perhaps a bit overblown. Yes, it was a great film. It managed to rise above the standard British Oscar trash that appeals to the older voters in the Academy. Hell, Tom Hooper & Co. managed to turn a story about a privileged man with a stammer into a compelling movie. For this they deserve all the credit in the world.

It's just that of the seven Best Picture nominees I saw this past year, I liked four of them more than The King's Speech. I liked The Fighter more. I liked True Grit more. I loved 127 Hours and The Social Network and would have been completely happy if either film had won Best Picture. Now I really liked those four movies a lot. This is no strike against The King's Speech. It just felt to me that The King's Speech was a little traditional. I feel like I've seen the overcoming adversity movie a thousand times over. Yes, the talent involved in this film was of an atypically high caliber, but the heartstrings were pulled in the same way that every other film of its ilk have been.

The Queue Continuum: The Parking Lot Movie

Maybe it's that I work in the service industry despite the fact that I have a degree and am at the very least smart enough to get into the Jeopardy! contestant pool twice, but this movie resonated with me.

Now I'm not some anthropology graduate student. I don't read Kierkegaard. I can't quote Locke.

I am not comparing myself to these guys, as they seem to be a somewhat exceptional collection of extremely well-educated chaps, but their contempt for much of the idiocy and assholery that they encounter from customers who prefer to treat them as sub-human is something that I can sympathize with. While I am actually relatively happy with all of my jobs and deal with those things much less than most of my comrades in arms, it is something that I encounter from time to time.


The Parking Lot Movie captures some of these moments, but mostly it is an entertaining look at a likely unique parking lot in Charlottesville, VA (I'm sure you parked there all the time, Sara). The crew of employees are smart enough that they are engaging to listen to (if sometimes a little over-intellectual) and that their criticism of the patrons of The Corner Parking Lot are pretty damn funny. Clocking in at a mere 74 minutes, it is definitely entertaining enough to warrant the modest amount of time it asks of you.

And the bassist from Yo La Tengo (James McNew) is interviewed, as he once worked there. Apparently his Sixth Grade Math Teacher was a dick.

Every time John Beers opens his mouth is golden, too.

If you want to watch an funny take on a microcosmic view of capitalism and class struggles, look no further.

Man on Film: Black Swan... Again

All right, look. Black Swan was a fine film. My initial pass at a review was a bit cheeky. Darren Aronofsky is clearly a skilled director, and while his parents were probably oppressive presences looming over his adolescent athletic endeavors, it doesn't seem to have damaged him too much. If anything, their presence and continual yelling at his youth lacrosse games (matches?) probably made him what he is: a dark director. A well-adjusted person probably doesn't make Requiem for a Dream, which is an amazing film but isn't exactly a Saturday in the park.


Aronofsky actually crafted a movie I found mostly compelling about ballet, which I find, well, diametrically opposed to all that is compelling. Weirdly, it really is the companion piece to his last foray into the cinemas, The Wrestler. Each features protagonists who are athletically gifted entertainers who ultimately give their all for their craft. The endings of each film are virtually the same, and both times it works. 

My main issue with the film is that Natalie Portman's performance was uneven. The scene they showed during the Academy Awards was one of the handful of scenes that I found unimpressive, and this one was probably the most glaring example. There are points in every film featuring Portman in which she does something that I find extremely irritating, perhaps irrationally so. I understand why she calls her 'mommy' in the scene, but that doesn't mean I cannot be irked by the way she does it. There is simply something that bothers me about Ms. Portman, the actress.

Maybe I'm weird. Maybe you're weird. I suppose we all have our little peccadilloes.

I did find it odd that at certain points while she was dancing, Portman actually looked like Barbara Hershey. Be afraid, Portman fans; bad plastic surgery may be in her future.

So what we have is a movie that is pretty good sometimes in spite of its lead. Vincent Cassell is outstanding, and Barbara Hershey pulls off the job, but those are the only two above reproach. Mila Kunis is tonally off at times, and Winona Ryder is pretty awful if we're being honest. I suppose this is all a testament to Aronofsky's skills as an auteur.

Man on Film: Black Swan

This was easily the most damning portrayal of Overbearing Little League Parent Syndrome ever. Natalie Portman's mother has her face pulled back so hard that she takes this and her own failed career as a ballet dancer out on her daughter, forcing her into a life of punishment to her body, submitting to her director, and delusively fantasizing about lesbianic trysts with the chick from That '70s Show while indulging in illegal narcotics.

If ever there were a movie that all horribly over-involved/-bearing/-zealous parents of child performers, it is this. Look shitty parents: your kid is going to screw a French dude, lose their grip on reality, and--well, what I was going to say here would be giving away the ending for those who haven't seen it.

I would generally post the trailer here, but let's be honest: The trailer kind of sucks. It doesn't make you want to see this movie, and I'm sure this review doesn't either.