Photoshop Wizard Wanted

My logo has been called, "ugly," "impossible to look at," and "the result of half an hour on MS Paint." Would any readers out there who are skilled in the ways of photoshop like to fix this? You won't be paid but will be credited and lavished with thanks and praise. I recommend a logo based on the current one, but if you have a different idea I'm more than open to it. It might be a good idea to put your name somewhere around the bottom corner of the piece so that you will remain credited for all posterity.

I look forward to seeing what you guys come up with.

Reappraisal: Alvin and The Chipmunks- The Chipmunk Adventure

I suppose I may as well explain myself. 

Reappraisal is a new series I've started for the dual purpose of reassessing films of old and exploting my readers for whatever I might earn from my Amazon Associates account. The primary focus will be to draw attention to over-looked classics (and obscure oddities), though I will occasionally attempt to dethrone false idols. 

This first edition's subject is something of a pity review, an attempt to restore honor to a thoroughly sullied name. Are there better films? Films more obscure and more deserving of attention? Aboslutely, but how many of those films belong(ed) to franchises that recently spawned anything that could be dubed a "squeakwel?" [Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel (Single-Disc Version)] (I'm unemployed, so you'll have to forgive me for whoring myself out on occasion)

Without further addo, Alvin and The Chipmunks- The Chipmunk Adventure.       

I'll be blunt: this is a guilty pleasure. In the interest of gauging the ratio between guilt and pleasure, I'll say this one is worth owning for anyone who remembers the Chipmunks cartoon series from the 80's- or simply has an affinity for retro music and animation- but it's not worth the embarrassment of  allowing one's friends, colleagues, loved ones, etc. to see said DVD proudly displayed, much less watching it with them. Why the embarrassment? If you honestly don't already know, then you've probably never seen anything (much less anything animated) that was produced in the 1980's and marketed towards children. 

For starters, the story: The Chipmunks- including the trouble making Alvin, the brainy worry-wort Simon, and the chubby but kind-hearted Theodore- are envious of their adoptive human father Dave, who is taking a business trip to "Europe." (Translation: whatever part of Eurasia the plot needs him to be in) Whilst in an arcade venting their frustrations with their female friends/rivals/love-interests the Chipettes (all three of whom dress in the same colors and have roughly the same character traits as their male counterparts), Alvin's bragging that he could navigate around the world in a hot air ballon with ease is over-heard by a pair of sibling diamond smugglers. The crooks hit upon the infalably brilliant idea of funding a convoluted race around the world between the Chipmunks and the Chipettes as a front for their illicit enterprise, and the young rodents are all too eager to accept this offer, completely unsuspecting of any ulterior motive. What do the villains' claim their reason is for paying six children to endanger themselves? "We're very wealthy, and very bored." Complications, stereotypes, bad jokes, and musical numbers ensue in various countries around the world. 

If that synopsis doesn't already have you blushing then the voice acting certainly will. I'm not sure how well any actor can voice a character when their speech needs to be sped up considerably to achieve the desired effect, but whether or not it's anyone's fault, the dialogue can be painful to listen to. All of the chipmunks over-emphasize every alternate word in such a way that it seems the producers may have been worried their audience would forget the characters' personalities within ten minutes. The worst of the bunch is easily Simon (voiced by Ross Bagdasarian Jr., not that it matters) who seems conditioned to drag out the last word of every sentence into a faux-academic whine. Most of the human characters are easier on the ears but the chipmunks are the ones we hear the most and they can get quite grating. 

The other half of the audio, the music that is, is of course essential to any chipmunks movie, since the boys are a singing group (which calls into question why their father and songwriter would be taking a business trip without them, but I digress) and the results are good- certainly as far as kids' films are concerned. The songs are catchy and energetic without being excessively stupid; it's not Beatles but it's not Jonas Brothers either. The uber high voices sound great, especially when harmonizing, and the musical flavors on display are as varied as the locales. 

And herein lies the issue of guilt vs. pleasure: a lot of what makes Chipmunk Adventure hard to watch (in company anyway) is what makes it fun to watch. The songs will be stuck in your head indefinitely, but you'll get some funny looks if you get caught singing them under your breath; the story, characters, and jokes are all too goofy not to love, but also too goofy to receive anything but blind dismissal from any dignified blogger (oxymoron of the year right there). Embarrassment is really the only thing keeping you from enjoying Chipmunk Adventure, because no matter how legitimate its faults technically are, judged on its own merits as a viewing experience it's undeniably joyous. It "borrows," certain elements from Around the World in 80 Days, but stealing from stories that are older than dirt is perfectly acceptable and even the most stereotyped characters are incredibly fun to watch as they chew the scenery like a lawn mower on loan to a community theater. On top of everything, the animation and artwork are frequently stunning: gorgeous and detailed backgrounds, fluid motions, clever lighting, and marvelous use of color.

Ultimately, Chipmunk Adventure is that one friend we all have. Do you want to take him home to your parents, follow his advice, or prop him up as a shining exemplar of human culture? God no, but do you think he cares? He's got the big book of acceptably racist humor, a full tank of helium, and the greatest hits of Duran Duran, and he's having a party. Whether or not you can take off your adult armor for a little over an hour and enjoy the party is up to you.      

I'll gladly accept suggestions for future Reappraisals, but bear in mind that I'd prefer to limit selections to movies released 10 years ago at the very least. The idea is to highlight more obscure pieces, though I might consider more famous ones, but if you suggest a so-called "classic," bear in mind that I may be inclined to call into question its position of honor. 

Film Review: Predators

I can't help but wonder if there is such a thing as a critic who is mismatched for a movie that he's reviewing. Predators seems like it should be a dream come true; a proper follow-up to a well loved classic after years of sequels ranging from mediocre to nigh unbearable, made by a talented company and featuring reputable actors in a fascinating setting. Add to that a fairly compelling premise of trapping a bunch of murderers on an extra terrestrial game reserve- meaning that the alien predators are hunting our societal predators- and you have what sounds like a solid movie. And it is a solid movie. For me, that's part of the problem.
Predators is a good movie. Well written- if predictable- very good acting, cool action bits, well maintained mood. All in all, there's really nothing wrong with it. So why don't I like it? I'm honestly not too sure. I feel as though I'm trapped in my own statistical impossibility: everything about it sounds fantastic, all of the elements work in the final product (lead actor Adrien Brody is even surprisingly effective as a bad ass), and it's quite simply a solid film; not a crack for legitimate criticism to fit through. But I cannot say I like it.
I cannot.
I don't.
Why don't I?
Why?
Is it simply not my cup of tea? No, it's a bunch of evil aliens hunting people who deserve to be eviscerated with invisibility armor and lazer cannons on their shoulders. How is that not anyone's thing? I don't know why I'm making such a big deal out of this, it's nothing I truly dislike and doesn't really have any aspects that scream out for snobby nit-picking. For me, it just kind of sits there: good dialogue spoken by interesting characters as they get ready to die in cool looking ways. And yet I don't care. On reflection, perhaps I've been missing the point: characters can be "interesting," but not compelling; dialogue can be "well written," but not really saying anything one cares to hear; action scenes can be "impressive," but not at all exciting; and movies can be "good," without me wanting to see them ever again. That's what Predators feels like: a movie that was so busy trying to be "good," that it forgot to give anyone a reason to love it, much less like it.
If you think this movie sounds as good as I did before seeing it, then there's really no reason not to see it. You won't leave the theatre feeling ripped off certainly. However that's not the same as a recomendation, it's just not a warning either. Ultimately, my reccomendation for Predators is roughly the same as my feeling whilst watching it: apathetic. Sure readers, go see it if you're bored, just don't make me try to write any more about it.

Film Review: Despicable Me

One trap that many movie critics can- and do- fall in to with all too much ease is judging everything they see the same way. Typically, this means that every film that receives a positive review must be written in such a manner that it is ingenious, multi-layered, complex, morally ambiguous, and (in the best cases, so they see it) utterly alienating to the average audience member. Something that is brave, bold, uncompromising, has a serious message, and doesn't rely on silly gags and cutesy moments. In short, most critics would consider a good movie to be a movie that is absolutely nothing like Despicable Me. This may explain why most critics are bitter, unpopular old men with inexplicably large numbers of readers. That is not to say Despicable Me is a masterpiece, much less that it's in any position to challenge the works of Pixar. But even if it doesn't necessarily deserve mountains of praise, if there's one thing it doesn't deserve, it's criticism.
This is somewhat ironic, because Despicable often seems to be begging for criticism: it subscribes to more cliches than a trench coated lone ranger ignoring the explosion he's walking away from; it occasionally resorts to cheap gags, though most of these featured heavily in the trailers, leaving the good bits to surprise viewers; and perhaps most deviously, it shamelessly takes advantage of human empathy. Aside from the comically cliched villainous protagonist Gru, the film's lead characters are a trio of undeniably adorable orphans. It's like an evil mastermind's equation for cuteness: spunky girl + bossy girl + youngest/most adorable girl x wacky situation - overly heavy drama = irresistable. See what I'm getting at? Critics are supposed to criticize that: it's formulaic, it's predicatable, it's stupid... right?
Thing is, none of that matters. What matters is that it works. Despicable subscribes to formulas, embraces them, and pulls them off better than any movie that pretends to be above them. Story wise things are kept similarly simple: Super villain Gru wants to steal the moon, he needs a shrink ray to do it, a rival villain steals the ray and the only way he can steal it back is with the help of three adorable orphans. He inititially sees the girls as little more than loud, hyperactive tools, but naturally falls in love with them in due course which naturally complicates his villain work. The film seems utterly unashamed of how basic this set up is, and instead places the focus on the characters: Gru's mommy-issues, the girls' adorable-ness, his henchmen's hilarity, and so on. This means that the actual story feels quite light by comparison, but that's ok; a story that's light and fluffy can work as long as we still care, and really, you'd have to be the most cynical person on earth to not care. Watching Gru play with (and mock) a finger puppet story book for his surrogate daughters is the sort of thing that would make you go "Aww," without restraint in real life, so why not in an animated movie?
Despicable Me is full of those moments; moments that don't beg for judgemental losers like me to love it, but for you to love it- you the audience member. Will you love it forever? Probably not, but like a grilled cheese sandwhich, the simple processed joy far outweighs the negative aspects, provided that's not all your intake. I wouldn't say this belongs in the DVD collection of anyone who isn't a babysitter, but anyone with kids or a fully developed heart should go out and see it as soon as they can. It's devilishly corporate, but (much like the little girls who seem unperturbed about their "dad's" evil occupation) genuinely doesn't care, and neither should you.

Celibacy Is(n't) Power

One curious element of the recently released Last Airbender that I chose not to comment on in my review was the film's notion of celibacy. Lead character Aang is not allowed to "have a family," because of his duties as the Avatar. Not only is this stipulation not at all present in the original series, but what sense does it make for Aang to not be allowed a wife and child in his future? Naturally the movie is too busy squeezing a revered series into two hours of concentrated agony to justify this concept- not even with the traditional yet incredibly weak Spiderman argument ("If my enemies found you," "I can't be there for you," etc)- but this concept of a hero taking a vow of celibacy, sacrificing his happiness for the good of the many, has become something of a sci-fi/fantasy trope.

First, allow me to clarify: this article is not about Twilight in anyway. That phenomenon receives more discussion than it ever deserved as is and its various crimes against art, morality, and feminism are well known. What I would like to call into question is the notion of (typically religious) celibacy as a plot device in film, which is actually quite different from the thematic elements of Meyer's "Glitter-pire" epic. What Bella Swan's suitors preserve for her in their refusal to "bite" her is her (metaphorical) virginity. Celibacy is more than that; to be celibate is not only to renounce sex, but to renounce marriage- hence a French word for bachelor is "celibataire." Essentially, what this means for Airbender and other films that employ this trope is that the hero is not allowed to pursue his love interest because he'd be endangering her and/or distracting himself from his duties, (I cannot bring to mind any case in which a female lead has been stupid enough to make such a sacrifice) meaning that said love interest will tempt/persuade him and they will break the rules and get together anyway with absolutely no consequence- at least none that a competent character couldn't have found a way to deal with.

If you're merely skimming this article and didn't pick up on it, this little story telling device is something akin to the snake that eats its own tail. As soon as it's introduced, even the slowest audience member knows exactly how it will be resolved, meaning that it instantly fails at its only purpose: superficially building tension. Tension is an essential element to story telling, there's no denying that, and a romantic subplot will go stale and bland without it, but in romances, tension shouldn't come from the same sort of place it would in an action film's main plot: outside forces. In Airbender, and the series it was originally based on, the central point of tension comes from the Fire Nation invading its neighbors and whether or not Aang will be able to master all 4 elements and stop them; the tension comes from the hero and/or what he is trying to protect being effected by an outside force. A romance works differently; whether or not two people will get together can hinge upon circumstances, but in a movie where the audience knows the two will eventually get together and is more interested in the how (mainstream blockbusters work this way and I for one think it's fine) such a situation will more or less answer both the why and the how. They live in different countries? One of them will make sacrifices and move. They come from warring families? They'll elope (though chances of success are limited in this scenario). One of them has vowed celibacy? He'll break it.

This is why most truly great romances are about the conflict that comes not from a traditional outside force, but from a force between them as characters. In the original series, Aang and his love interest Katara do not get together immediately because Aang seems immature to Katara, he's afraid to reveal his feelings, he says some really dumb things to her out of said nerves, and so on. No need for some superficial plot device, the conflict comes from the characters as a result of their nature; they are naturally attracted to each other, yet elements of their personalities call into question whether they are truly meant to be together. Could this have been achieved in the film? Certainly, if Aang had been his immature, inexperienced, lovable self and Katara had more character than a sobbing postage stamp.
And so we see why this concept of celibacy is so popular. It's not the desire to make our movie heroes into saintly monks; it's to make our scripts easier to write, to eliminate the need for believable complex characters and replace it with tiresome tropes that can be easily inserted into various stories, whether it's a good idea or not. Instead of Han Solo taking responsibility in spite of his roguish nature and princess Leia looking past his veil selfishness to see a great leader, one need only write two lines:

He can't get married. She'll convince him.

When are they going to understand that it won't convince us?

Film Review: M. Night Shayamalan's Last Airbender

The Last Airbender is the newest film to join a very select group; a collection of movies that defy the tradition of critics bashing genre fiction and fans defending their favorite properties with their dying breath. Airbender joins such unforgettable works as The Spirit, Dragon Ball Evolution, and Batman and Robin, as a film that unites fans and critics in an unbreakable bond of passionate, undying hatred. If the best films are enjoyable on every level then the worst films are despicable on every level, and Airbender could be used to teach a class on that thesis. Airbender’s plot follows the same basic structure as the first season of Nickelodeon’s award winning Avatar series: Aang is a young Airbender, a monk capable of manipulating air to his advantage, who is destined to master the bending of all four elements (fire, water and earth being the others) and thus become the Avatar, the world’s greatest hero. He runs away from his responsibilities and sacrifices and ends up frozen in an iceberg. One hundred years later he is rescued by new friends Sokka and Katara of the Southern Water Tribe and the three set out to save the world from the fire nation, which has seized control in the century for which Aang has been absent.

Ironically, this is actually a fairly faithful adaptation on the surface: the story hits all the same basic beats, elemental bending works roughly the same way, and the visual style of the show is beautifully captured, especially in terms of costume and set design. However, notice how I said “on the surface." Unlike looser but more enjoyable adaptations like Kick-Ass, or Star Trek, this surface is so thin one need not look any deeper to see just how unfaithful Airbender really is to its source. Many fans’ anxieties about M. Night Shayamalan’s position as writer, director and producer were assuaged when they found out that Shayamalan is himself a huge fan of the show, but that’s what Airbender feels like: fan fiction. It has the same characters and settings and basic rules down, but it doesn’t understand what makes them special. Aang has no character, Sokka (and everyone else) is completely humorless, and no one comes off as likable, or even human. If you’ve never seen Avatar and don’t know or care about any of these characters, this movie won’t change that at all.

Even if the original show had never existed and this was completely a creation of Shayamalan, it would still be terrible (worse in fact, without the existence of an infinitely superior alternative). It’s certainly difficult to take a 20 episode epic and condense it into a movie and the strain shows: Airbender feels way too rushed, skipping over its most visually impressive and (potentially) touching moments so as to get through all the story it has to cover as soon as possible. As little as I was enjoying the film and as much as I wanted to leave, when the climactic final battle was raging, I couldn’t help thinking that I should still be watching the middle of the movie. The film should have been three hours; a long time to sit through a movie to be sure, but as the Lord of the Rings films taught us, a good story is worth taking that kind of time for, and Airbender could’ve been that story. So why isn’t it? Because of M. Night Shayamalan. He’s not talentless- I loved his movie Unbreakable- but as much as he clearly enjoys the series his style is completely mismatched for the material; Avatar relies on three things to carry it: characters, atmosphere (the world, the bending, etc.) and action. Can Shayamalan do good characters? Yes, but they have to be completely humorless and act like entranced drones, which only works in specific situations and not at all for the characters and story of Avatar. Can he do atmosphere? Yes, but again, it’s only that specific kind of atmosphere all his own: dark, paranoid, and depressing, none of which really describe how Avatar’s world and mood feel. Can he do action? Well this is his first real try at it, and it’s an admirable first try, but as solid as the choreography and effects are on their own, he does present them with the necessary cinematography to make them really feel alive, and he treats the bending in an incredibly underwhelming manner, possibly out of fear that he wouldn’t be able to accomplish the sort of epic landscape altering combat seen in the show (the laughable low point for me was watching a troop of earth benders stomp into frame doing a Monty Python-esque silly walk that was supposed to pass for martial arts and using the combined power of five, six, maybe seven earth benders, they shot one tiny rock at a fire bender).

Non-fans will be mystified and uninterested, fans will be enraged. This is truly a film that will send children home from the theater in tears. However, do not give up hope: this is book one, and if the fans and the easily mislead public believe the trailers and sacrifice their pennies to this horrible beast (but not too many), maybe it’s masters at Nickelodeon will green light a sequel, but choose a better director, and maybe one of the show’s original writers. Maybe, if we can endure one truly horrendous film, then when the sequel rolls around, the Avatar will truly return. And Toph will be there. And it will be awesome.

Maybe.