The Matador

If you go back and do a little homework, you’ll find there’s a strong connection between actors playing iconic figures and failing careers afterward. Look at anyone who’s played Superman. Have you seen Michael Keaton do anything good lately? How about anyone who ever played James Bond? Oh sure, Sean Connery managed to step outside the shadow after about a decade or so – there are always exceptions. But when the brainiacs at MGM shitcanned Pierce Brosnan as Bond and replaced him with a guy who’d be better cast as a Nazi officer in a prequel to Schindler’s List, they pushed Brosnan off the plank to either sink or swim.

And if The Matador is any indication of Brosnan’s swimming prowess, the man has no worries. He plays a hitman who’s losing his edge, and Greg Kinnear plays a businessman years into a run of bad luck. While both on business, they become friends after a few awkward conversations. What could have easily turned into yet another sorry buddy movie completely sidesteps the possibility by infusing its characters with such bizarreness and dropping them into situations so random that you can’t avoid laughing.

In addition to demented humor, The Matador is also a very clever character study into what makes a psychopath tick. Brosnan’s character admits to being a psychopath and the way his character unravels is also the result of good choices and a great script that’s every bit hilarious and edgy as it is witty. Greg Kinnear and Hope Davis also turn in performances that turn on a dime, going from straight to wounded to offbeat. But make no mistake, this is Mr. Brosnan’s show.

For as much as I thought Brosnan was the best Bond since Connery, he’s pretty much been playing the role of either a spy, a thief or some variation thereof for the last 20 years. Admittedly, a hitman isn’t too far off, but at least the man’s proved he’s capable of more than making soccer moms wet. He’s also delivered his best role ever. Including James Bond.

Brokeback Mountain

In reading this review you may expect to read certain words. Fag may be one of them. Backyard drilling, ass banditry, butt pirates, felching, canned goods, tops & bottoms, pitcher & catcher, friends of Dorothy, down low, water sports, snow monkeys, donkey punchingByou get the idea. You may even expect me to refer to this film as Bareback Mountain or Brokeass Mountain. But I’m not going to.

For one, there’s no point. You can’t turn on a talk show without hearing a Brokeback Mountain joke of some kind. It’s pretty redundant and not even that funny anymore. Although it was pretty funny when at a Q & A in Kansas someone asked George W. Bush if he saw the movie and he said no, but he could talk about ranching.

The fact of the matter is for a movie about a 20-year relationship between two cowboys, Brokeback Mountain isn’t gay. Or at least not that gay. This is coming from a guy who’s been to a few drag shows, politely turned down a few propositions from men, has a few gay friends and delivers copies of this paper to the stretch of gay bars on Allen every other Thursday. The thought of two men kissing or going at it neither repulses nor does anything for me.

Maybe it’s the steady diet of liberal media talking here, but what the hell’s the big goddamn deal? Two guys work on a mountain herding sheep one summer. It’s a cold night, they’re sleeping in the same tent, wake up horny in the middle of the night and go for it. Job’s done, they go their separate ways, and each gets wrangled into a subsequently miserable marriage that’s somehow bearable as long as there’s a trip to the mountain on the horizon.

But what does put me off is a movie that’s consistently depressing from beginning to end. The whole white trash ain’t-never-had-me-no-education and otherwise thoroughly dismal setting didn’t exactly suck me in. The forbidden love scenario didn’t come off as entirely convincing either. Yeah, yeah. Forbidden love isn’t supposed to be all chocolate and hookers, but if you’re going to risk getting your ass stomped by a bunch of good old boys can’t you at least say I love you?

But then you’re dealing with men after all. Even though they go on Afishing trips@ where the only things they catch are trouser snakes, there’s not too much talking about their feelings. Jake Gyllenhaal’s character Jack is definitely the bitch as he eventually gets prissy when Heath Ledger’s character Ennis can’t make the summer uh, fishing trip some 20 since they first met.

Contrary to what you may have heard, the sex is not frequent, overbearing or graphic. You see more nudity out of Anne Hathaway and Michelle Williams than you do out of Gyllenhaal and Ledger. This is not to say that Brokeback Mountain is all depression and potential nausea. There’s a fun and random sequence where Jack and Ennis deal with their respective Thankgivings. And Gyllenhaal grows a sweet cookie duster toward the end of the movie.

If you’re on the fence as far as whether or not to see Brokeback Mountain, don’t avoid it because two men ride the hobbyhorse or because it allegedly defames the classic image of the American Cowboy. That’s a really dumb reason to avoid a beautifully shot film by Ang Lee, one of the best directors working today. If you pass because it’s drawn out, morose, and brooding, then those are valid reasons not to see it. Oh, and it doesn’t end well. I’ll tell you that right now.

Underworld: Evolution

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I remember that fall day back in 2003. Sucked in by the eurotrash glamour ad campaign of the original Underworld and the excitement of my friend Amanda to see it, we decided that even if all there was to the damn thing was Kate Beckinsale in skin-tight vinyl and some cool special effects we’d be happy. Besides, the idea of vampires fighting werewolves seemed kind of intriguing.

We got one of the two that day. The special effects were indeed special – that is, if you’re going by the Corky Thatcher definition of special. Straight-to-video production values and the overwhelming desire to be another Matrix as blatantly phony werewolves took on the weakest representation of vampires ever depicted anywhere. Magnificently powerful creatures were reduced to candy-ass ravers who were going to party party party until Terrible Tuesday hit. And the werewolves were like badly CGI’d pro wrestlers that the producers would believe convincing given the lack of dialogue. It had no drive B no effective buildup that really had you rooting one way or the other. But let’s not dwell on the negative.

Let’s talk about the then-Miss Beckinsale, before she married the movie’s director, Len Wiseman. She looked good, no doubt about that. So do strippers at a strip club before you realize you can’t touch and get subsequently bored. She looked slimy through the whole thing and the scowling got old fast. The fuse went out pretty quickly there.

Of course, with any movie of this nature, they’ve got to leave it open for a sequel. I wasn’t too scared there, because I thought Underworld a bad movie, but had the potential to be a great implement of torture. Kind of like former Creed frontman Scott Stapp’s solo albums, or Syd Barrett tribute shows.

But Underworld: Evolution? Ye gods, where was this script two and a half years ago? It’s a brilliant metaphor for the American government today. The vampiric Republicans trying to edge out the Democratic werewolves as their grass roots sensibilities are about to be extinguished. And Beckinsale’s conscience guiding her to do what’s right and just, as she slinks around in black vinyl, telling the vampires, Ayou used to have this. Now you can’t.@ Alliances change. The line between good and evil is incredibly blurred. And if you believe a word of this crap you deserve to lose the price of admission for the most unnecessary and pointless sequel in recent history (and I’m including both Matrix sequels in that statement).

The best way I can describe watching Underworld: Evolution is like knowing that you’re going to have a very long and even more trying day ahead of you. Relatives, a 12-hour shift at work... hell, let’s throw Christmas Day in there while we’re at it. And you’ve got only a bottle of your preferred poison with maybe enough to keep you sane for maybe twenty minutes. Oh, and you’re in a dry county.

So if the end of the original Underworld left you wanting more of a D&D-inspired gothfest, drier than Kafka on the moon, I’m sure you and your Hot Topic wardrobe will be very happy. If you’re slowly moving away from the idea but you still want to see vampires fight werewolves, I suggest watching American Werewolf in London and throwing those Anne Rice books you haven’t read in ten years at the TV. Ohhh! That werewolf looks pissed! What are you going to do now Lestat?

Glory Road

Well it’s January. And in the world of the local cineplex, that means its time for an inspirational, based-on-a-true story sports tale of underdogs overcoming all obstacles and never wavering in the face of adversity. Coach Carter, Remember the Titans, Friday Night Lights. Are bells and whistles going off yet? If you’ve seen them, you’ve seen Glory Road. If you don’t care, move along. These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.

So why the hell should you bother with Glory Road? I can’t give you one good reason. Of course we start with the up-and-coming coach with way too much to prove, who is put in charge of a gang of undisciplined players/students who were never given a chance. Let’s not forget the team that always wins that they’re going up against for the final game, where our heroes will prove their worth and show that they didn’t come all this way for nothing.

The (only) thing that I found interesting about Glory Road was how, when a team of predominantly black players was put in for the final game, everyone went batshit like there was some kind of human sacrifice happening on the court. What? Were all the honkies upset because black people found a way out from underneath Whitey’s thumb? The movie takes place in the mid-60s and makes out like discovering that black people can play basketball is akin to the reinvention of fire. Ooh! So what can we expect now? A movie showing that blacks are better athletes?

Look. I’ve already reviewed this movie about half a dozen times. Aside from the fact that Glory Road threw in a racial aspect as well as the hard-ass coach pushing a bunch of players/students who are good kids, but just need a step in the right direction. I’ve enlisted the help of someone who may have caught something I might have missed. A different perspective, if you want to call it that. A female perspective:

I recently was required to attend a screening of Glory Road as part of a “Team Building” outing with 6 coworkers and my boss. Every once in awhile my boss gets a hair up his butt to try to make us in middle management “bond” so we have better teamwork or something.

Imagine being forced to hang out with the people you work with. Not just the cool people, ALL of the people. The weird, skinny, quiet guy with thick glasses whose pants are too short and who no one really talks to. You know, the guy who won the vote for most likely to come in Friday morning shooting. Then there’s the fat balding dude whose belt length clearly exceeds his height, who sweats like a pig even in January and breathes too hard even when he’s been sitting in a chair for two hours. And don’t forget the divorced lady who laughs too loud, who has been smoking since she was like 6 years old so her voice sounds like someone’s rubbing her trachea with sandpaper and her teeth are reminiscent of baked beans. How long have you had that cough? 8 years? Eh, I’m sure it’s nothing. Oh, and the kiss-ass, that guy you want to punch in the face because not only does he take the job way too seriously, but he does nothing but complain until someone in a position above you is within earshot, and then it’s nothing but spineless yes-man-isms and brownnosery. Ya, those guys. You have to be seen in public with these people. As if it’s your choice. Take a moment and ponder it. This was my plight the evening of Jan 18^th.

The evening started out at Fuddrucker’s. There was apparently no consideration given to those of us who don’t eat meat. So I had that going for me. After we ate (my salad was okay) we played a game to see who knew the most about our fellow coworkers. We all had to write down a secret talent and then we all had to guess whose was whose. My secret talent? I can beat just about anyone at Tekken 3. It’s true. But no one guessed it right. Anyway, to my complete disgust and chagrin, I won the game by guessing the most correctly. How the hell that happened, I have no idea. I must have a subconscious understanding of the mildly freakish (which also explains my last three boyfriends). My prize B I got to pick out a temporary tattoo my boss had to wear on his forearm all night. I chose a dancing frog. Then I prayed for death.

We then went to the movie. We stood around for a few minutes, all looking mildly uncomfortable, trying to make non-work related small talk. Eventually a few of the guys discovered a mutual love of online computer games, and I quietly slunk into a corner and contemplated the movie I was about to see with these people, and wondered how it was possible that someone still smelled like coffee, even though we hadn’t been in the office or near coffee in like 2 hours. Eventually, we went into the movie. Of the eight of us, six were guys. I watched as they all sat down, instinctively leaving the “I’m not gay” seat between them. They didn’t even talk about it. They all just did it. I’ll never understand that about men. Then the previews started, which I don’t remember, because I was heavily immersed in a text message conversation. And then the movie began.

First and foremost, Glory Road is about basketball. I despise basketball. To me, it’s three hours of guys running back and forth. Every once in awhile someone falls down, and looks mad. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not anti-sports, but for some reason I just can’t stand basketball. The movie is based on a true story about the first all-black starting lineup in a college basketball championship game. I probably am missing some of the finer details, but frankly I don’t care. The coach was white, some actor whose name I don’t know, but he looked vaguely familiar and he was kinda hot. His acting abilities fall somewhere in the range of William Shatner and Bill Pullman. Apparently, in whatever year this movie was supposed to take place in (1950ish?), this all-black lineup was a big deal, and a lot of people were highly against it. This team then went on to win the national championship, and they were all very happy. Hope I didn’t ruin it for you.         

I was apparently supposed to learn something about teamwork from this movie, but frankly all I got from it was how stupid people in the 1950s were, and how uncomfortable it is when you’re forced into social situations with people you could care less about and have virtually nothing in common with. How I’m supposed to use that at my job every day, I’m not sure.

-Jessica