“As it looks beyond the elections of 2006, a Republican Party known for ideological solidarity is on the cusp of a far more searching philosophical battle than are the Democrats, historically accustomed to bruising fights over the finer points of political theory. The coming Republican brawl reflects the fact that President Bush will leave office with no obvious heir, and Bushism as a political philosophy has yet to establish itself in the way that Reaganism did.” E.J. Dionne previews the coming campaign for the soul of the GOP.
Month: July 2006
Red Sun, Red States.
“Movies would gradually drift away from the ideals of 1970s Hollywood and more to the simplistic, self-deluding certainties and monochrome morality espoused by the new president. In that sense, Donner’s Superman, and to come extent Dick Lester’s sequel – the one in which General Zod and his minions traverse the universe apparently trapped inside the album-sleeve of Queen’s Sheer Heart Attack – were prescient works of art.” By way of LinkMachineGo, John Patterson of The Guardian argues that, despite his origins under Siegel & Shuster, Superman’s appeal is inherently conservative. Hmm, ok. I’d be more impressed with his thesis if [a] he didn’t immediately write off all comic-book adaptations and [b] he actually got Superman’s name right.
The Times They Are A-Changin’.
I’m a bit late in hearing this excellent news: Bob Dylan’s 44th album, Modern Times (and his first album of original material since Love & Theft, released on 9/11) comes out next month: August 29, to be exact. Tracks include “Thunder on the Mountain,” “Spirit on the Water,” “When the Deal goes Down,” and “Beyond the Horizon.”
The Death of Dubya Diplomacy.
“‘It’s difficult to think of many other times and many other presidencies when so many dangerous events were happening at once,’ says Wendy Sherman, a State Department official under President Clinton. ‘But there’s so much going on in every global hot spot because the Bush Administration really opened up Pandora’s box with little-to-no plans to support their actions.’” TIME Magazine composes a cover story obit for the Bush doctrine. Good riddance: “As it turns out, Iraq may prove to be not only the first but also the last laboratory for preventive war. Instead of deterring the rulers in Tehran and Pyongyang, the travails of the U.S. occupation may have emboldened those regimes in their quest to obtain nuclear weapons while constraining the U.S. military’s ability to deter them.“
Geneva comes to Gitmo.
In a happy day for the rule of law, and following the Supreme Court’s recent decision in Hamdan, the Dubya White House and Pentagon reverse themselves and announce that the Geneva Conventions will now apply to Guantanamo detainees. Yes, good news indeed…Still, given that this administration can so rarely be taken at its word, vigilance will be required to see if the treatment of detainees actually changes at all: “Neither the White House nor the Pentagon provided any immediate details as to what would be done differently or how the decision would effect the controversial policies on interrogation, which have provoked an international outcry as well as considerable domestic controversy.“
Viva Italia!
A belated congrats to Italy on winning the 2006 World Cup. I was rooting for France, and a PK shootout is a truly terrible way to choose the Cup champion, but — after headbuttgate and the Baggio mishap in 1994 — Italy seemed karmically due. At any rate, see y’all in 2010. And, now, alas, we’ve hit the sports dead zone until September…perhaps it’s time to give MLS another go, what with Red Bull United now on the pitch… Update: Zidane speaks.
Pugilists, Presidents, and Prestidigitators.
In the movie bin, Sly Stallone lets the XBox 360 go to his head in another look at Rocky Balboa, watchman Ben Stiller braves Ricky Gervais, Robin Williams-as-TR, and the increasingly overexposed Owen Wilson, among other things, in the Jumanji-esque new trailer for Night at the Museum, and YouTube and ET conjure up our first impressions of Christopher Nolan’s take on The Prestige, with Christian Bale, Hugh Jackman, Scarlett Johansson, Michael Caine, David Bowie, and Andy Serkis.
Point Him At The Sky.
And if you survive till two thousand and five, I hope you’re exceedingly thin. For if you are stout you will have to breathe out while the people around you breathe in…Shine on, Syd Barrett, 1946-2006.
Abandon Ship.
[Argh! Shiver me timbers! I had just finished this post, when an accidental double-click conspired to send it to the depths of Davy Jones’ locker. Ok, let’s try this again…]
Given that it just enjoyed the biggest opening weekend ever and that #3 (World’s End) is already pretty much in the can, I suppose it doesn’t really matter what I thought of the relentlessly overstuffed Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man’s Chest, which I caught last Friday with the rest of America. Still, for what it’s worth, I found Pirates 2 both remarkably disappointing — sadly, this film is yet another whiff in a summer full of them so far– and literally stunning, in that the movie spends two and a half hours remorselessly beating the audience senseless with spectacle, to the detriment of plot, character development, pauses for breath, or anything else you might think to expect in a 150-minute flick. (AICN’s best reviewer, Alexandra du Pont, hit the nail on the head on this one: “The movie is stimulating without being dramatic. Nothing is properly contextualized..”) What we have here with Dead Man’s Chest is a reasonably well-directed film brimming over with talented actors (Say what you will about Orlando Bloom and Keira Knightley, but Johnny Depp, Bill Nighy, Jonathan Pryce, and Stellan Skarsgard? That’s a Murderer’s Row), expertly crafted special effects, striking cinematography, and — yes — rousing action sequences, and for some reason it all adds up to so much less than the sum of its parts. Pirates’ magic, this is.
So, what’s the gist of Dead Man’s Chest, besides all the furious running back and forth, and then back again? Well, that’s most of it. Somewhere in there, a malevolent magnate of the East India Company (Tom Hollander, doing a Peter Sarsgaard impression) has decided to break up the wedding of Will Turner (Bloom, bland and pretty) and Elizabeth Swann (Knightley, pretty and bland), in order to send them out to locate the formidable Captain Jack Sparrow (Depp, even stranger than last time) and — more importantly — his magic compass. Sparrow, meanwhile, has run afoul of the unfortunately not-so-mythical Davy Jones (Nighy, by way of Serkis), the squid-headed commandant of a ship of lost souls — among them Bootstrap Bill Turner (Skarsgard), Will’s dad — that he has retrieved from shipwrecks (and who are now turning into sea creatures as a side-effect of their Faustian bargain.)
With the board thus set, the pieces move…and boy, do they. Jack and Will spend a good forty-five minutes running to and from natives, Elizabeth stows away on a “haunted” ship, Will serves some time with dear old Dad, the Kraken — a ginormous creature of the deep — attacks not once, not twice, but three times (“ah ah ah!), everyone stops in for a few voodoo sessions and/or swordfighting, and all the characters from the first movie drop by every once in a while for a pop-in or three. This all may sound fun, but trust me — the frenetic result goes from intriguing to exhausting to mind-numbing in surprisingly short order. After a smile on my face for the first quarter-hour, I was starting to check out after forty-five minutes, trying to will my watch faster after seventy-five, and was ready to cut a deal with Davy Jones myself by minute one-hundred.
I liked the first Pirates, although I also said that it felt twenty minutes too long, Well, for almost its entire running time, Dead Man’s Chest basically feels like being trapped in that extra twenty minutes. Still, I have to admit, it also feels like something of a watershed. Perhaps the best way to look at Pirates 2 is as [a] an homage to the action-packed, plot-irrelevant, somewhat nonsensical pirate serials of yesteryear and [b] a sequel to a movie based on a Disney theme park ride — really, how good could it have been? And yet, in another way this really does feel like the type of flick film historians of the future might look back to as a signpost in the devolution of American film — as the moment when the summer blockbuster ethos, Krakenlike, effectively swallowed the moviemaking process whole. (There may be something about the increasing caffeinization and decreasing attention span of America in there somewhere too.) I mean, when reasonably talented people get together to spend a whopping $225 million and hundreds of man-hours to make a “movie” like this, which, as DuPont also suggested in her review, is effectively a two and a half hour version of Indy running from the big ball in Raiders — and then are so amply rewarded for it, to boot — one has to fear for the quality of future film offerings. Can we turn this ship around, or are we just going to have to watch it run aground?
Dark Lord of Flatbush.
“In buildings like 712 Nostrand Avenue, residents, many of whom are small children or seniors, go for months at a time without heat or hot water in a building that is little more than a sieve, with holes in the walls, dislodged window frames, and the wraith of a roof door off its hinges.” Friend, poker buddy, and journalist Olaf Bertram-Nothnagel evalutes the sordid career of Olufemi Falade as part of the Village Voice‘s Ten Worst Landlords series.