Not To Brag, But...

***************************SPOILERS FOR DARK KNIGHT!***************************

After an hour and half long drive through rush hour traffic, this afternoon a group of four close friends and I received the ultimate payoff for enduring horn honking and middle-finger wagging; the chance to see "Dark Knight" on an IMAX screen. And while the drive down was set to the music of ABBA and the "Banana Phone Song", as we each stumbled out of the theatre, not a word was said except for, "Wow." This was my third time around seeing the latest and greatest of the superhero flicks, but being able to see every drop of sweat on The Joker's face and Tumbler tires the size of a mid-size building, I don't know if I'll ever be able to fully appreciate the film any other way again. I could spend quite a significant period of time here shooting my mouth off at the wonders of the IMAX screen; something I hadn't experienced since the disappointing"Superman Returns" some years ago, but I, as a moderate Batman comic fan, will give you my quick and brief thoughts as to my mildly educated prediction on what we may expect to see in the next installment.

First off, I would like to give my very minority-based opinion that in my deepest and most passionate dreams, there is no 3rd movie in this "Batman" series. Chris Nolan's Dark Knight has always been based in a very dismal and bracing reality, and for once, it may be refreshing to see a real-life ending here, without the victorious hero and true love's undying kiss. If we want the enduring and shining superhero, we can turn to Superman. Batman presents a unique opportunity for a conclusion where the villain lives on, and the warrior with the noblest and most moral of intentions is forced to flee. How much closer could you possibly get to reality itself? One of the most obvious and frequently asked of questions regarding the final minutes of "Dark Knight" relates to the mortality of Two-Face. Now, if this were a comic book, there would be no question that the fallen DA would rear his ugly eyeball in some future issue. On the page, no one is ever dead forever. At some point, an evil robot twin or deal with the devil will pop up and solve everything. However, in Chris Nolan's universe, Harvey Dent's character arc has safely concluded. We watched the White Knight tumble from the greatest of heights into the slime of crime and revenge. Yet, his legacy lives on. What more do we need to see? Well, if a frequent and observant viewer of some of Nolan's other work may tell you, "everything". Nolan has a penchant for repeating themes and ideas throughout his films; using repetition for foreshadowing and further development. Twice prior in "DK", we saw characters fall from a great height, such as the one Two-Face stumbled off, and live to tell the tale. Wouldn't it make sense if the same fate befell Dent?

If Two-Face has flipped his last coin, then in the next movie there is always the question of which villains will show up to the party. Rumors are flying around the internet about The Riddler and Johnny Depp possibly taking up the mantle. Now, I love the green question mark as much as the next BatHead, but I would really rather see a baddie who hasn't previously appeared onscreen. Watching Scarecrow work his mojo in the "Batman Begins" was a thrilling new experience, and refreshing to say the least. If I had my pick, I would greatly hope for either a Black Mask/Catwoman confrontation or to see the ever-creepy Mad Hatter. Black Mask is a suitably dark villain that could offer up a chance for a duel redemption from both Catwoman and Bruce Wayne. Plus, now that Rachel Dawes is out of the picture, there is always room for another woman in Batman's life. (And I'm not talking about Robin) I think the Selina Kyle that was seen in "Batman: Year One"- meaning the vengeful prostitute not the stuffed animal-loving assistant- would fill that opening nicely. Plus, there was the much talked about jest by Fox at the ability of Batman's new armor to protect against cats. Mad Hatter is (if possible) an even more twisted and corrupt figure than The Joker or Black Mask. His OCD could easily reflect upon our psychology-domineered modern society, but his trademark crime- pedophilia- may cross into territories too dangerous for a PG-13 franchise to explore. 

Finally, the question that has left everyone hanging (much like its subject), is whether or not  The Joker will live to bomb another day. Please no. Please please please please. No. Heath Ledger's beyond perfect interpretation of the crazed clown has already ingrained itself into our collective conscious as a culture. To cast another actor in the role would be blasphemy and a grave disrespect to Ledger's fans. Yes, they replaced Katie Holmes with the infinitely more talented Maggie Gyllenhall, but I don't need to tell you that Heath is no Katie Holmes. The Joker arrived in the movie out of a chaotic and random oblivion. It wouldn't be too far from his style to leave it the same way. 

Where Have All the Reruns Gone?

In the midst of these hot summer months, with inflated gas prices, staycations and humidity, you would think that this was the time of year when Americans would need new and fresh entertainment more than any other. While we have the typical flash-bang affair at the local multiplexes, as well as some little Batman movie people keep fussing over, the six or seven minute drive is remarkably inconvenient, when in the winter and fall months, all we need do is flip on the tube in our living rooms for some quality enjoyment. Sadly, in these summer months, when one presses the "on" switch they are confronted with a barrage of reality television. While there may be the occasional gem in the rough (I personally enjoyed "Hell's Kitchen"), on the whole, these shows can have you wishing that you were birthed into this world in the body of a more intelligent species. A cow perhaps. For surely their only great indecency is chewing with their mouths open, while NBC christians its warm weather series under the theme the  "All American Summer".  While I may call myself a patriotic person on the whole, if being "All American" includes crushing beer cans between size DDDDD breasts on national television ("America's Got Talent"), I'm packing up and moving to Australia. If beer breast crushing isn't "American" enough, one may simply tune into another night on NBC. For instance, on Wednesdays, we have the new series "Baby Borrowers" in which teens are 'lent' a child to care for and subsequently succumb to abstinence for the rest of their lives based on the horrifying experience. Finally we have "American Gladiator", since we can't press our similarities to Rome-on-the-brink-of-collapse enough, here's a show to draw even more similarities. You know, but instead of live lions, we have Rocketball. What happened to the days when the summer months were filled with reruns and failed pilots? I for one would rather tune in to watch Future Dwight save Stanley from the poison coffee for a tenth repeat viewing than see a giant pig attempt to create a masterpiece with watercolors on prime time. Vaudeville died out for a good reason- let's not try to bring it back, people. ABC is less shameless about their summer fare; instead focusing on prepping for the premieres of their more well respected shows with a "Lost" bookclub and activities of the like. In the meantime, they have chosen to occupy viewers with one of the worse television programs ever devised, "The Mole", and the pathetic and masochistic "Wipeout!". CBS doesn't even bother advertising its summer shows on its website, filling their page instead with "fall 2008 previews", and while usually in a case such as this, my curiosity would impel me to tune in and discover just what they are hiding, I think this time I can make a brain saving exception. Summer vacation be damned; someone just wake me up when "Heroes" starts up again. Until then, I'll be dog-day afternoon dreaming of the good ol' days when reruns were the most American thing around. 

The Top of the Stairs

The world needs more babysitters. Or maybe, the parents of the world need more discretion. In my repeated viewings of "Dark Knight" following the climactic midnight screening almost a week ago today, I've noticed a disturbing phenomenon of small children filling the theatre seats. While I do realize that the movie is 'just' PG-13, the material contained within it seems to me the stuff of every nightmare I've been visited by since age 3. A horror movie fan myself, being known for throwing the most lavish and terrifying Halloween parties this side of sanity, it is my own prognosis that as a whole, "Dark Knight" is simply more terrifying than any recent horror film in my memory. 

Much like a child who has recently discovered the 'truth' about Santa Clause, America seems to have become obsessed with the concept "seeing is believing". In the tragic remakes of classic slasher flicks that arrive in cineplexes today, we stare wide-eyed at the screen as every drop of the none-too sparse blood flies out of bodies in high definition. After walking out of Rob Zombie's 2007 version of "Halloween", my face was as white as one of Michael Meyer's corpses as a contemplated the staggeringly high body count; a friend later gave me an estimated number of one every two minutes. Looking forward to the upcoming reinterpretation of "Friday the 13th", though I've never been overly found of the original, I can only predict that Marcus Nispel's (who is he anyway?) version will be more intense, bloodier, more graphic, and ultimately, awful. 

Stephen King once wrote in "Danse Macabe" about the phenomenon "at the top of the stairs". I may have referenced it once before on this blog, but it revolves around the basic concept that while the walk by the main character up and over the creaky stairs with the beat of a pulsating heart in the background may turn hairs white in terror, but when they reach the ultimate landing at the top and the monster leaps out at them, what follows will inevitably never reach the expectations established only moments ago. What one may take from this idea, is that in horror novels and books,  atmosphere is the most powerful demon of all. While there are the very rare exceptions, one obvious example being "The Exorcist", (who can forget that backwards spider walk?!) the concept generally holds true. One of the most powerful experiences I've had in watching a horror movie was at a pre-screening of Neil Marshall's 2005 film, "The Descent". Being seemingly stuck in the darkened movie theatre watching a movie where the slow luring into blackness leads to madness by a group of female cavers, I experienced a profound sense of vertigo, usually reserved for repeated roller coaster rides and bumpy car trips. While the monsters themselves within "The Descent" were respectably terrifying, it was the moments they were not onscreen that caused the cold sweats I quickly broke into. While it's now showing its age amidst hordes of copycats and high budget imitators, "The Blair Witch Project" held the basis of its appeal on the "top of the stairs" concept. The final scene, though no 'witch' ever appears on camera, was enough to cause me more than a few nights of lost sleep. 

"Dark Knight" benefits greatly from its PG-13 rating in the terror department, for while the most gruesome and terrifying acts committed by The Joker are left to play out after the plot has moved on to another scene, our minds are left pondering the horrifying "what if", rather than sinking into the pathetic "gross out" factor of blood flying into our faces from all angles. We are left to wonder if the monster is still out there, and its havoc playing itself out, somewhere in the unseen darkness.

Off the Radar #2: Billy Crudup

Just hours ago, the majority of the world was introduced to what is easily the best superhero movie ever made; "Dark Knight". After emerging from the movie, it may be hard to think of anything but The Joker, Batman and Harvey Dent, but hopefully audiences will also remember one of the previews that, to the joy of the many superhero fans in the midnight audience, premiered before "Dark Knight" began. Based on the trailer for "Watchmen", it seems that Zac Snyder's (300) big screen adaption due out this March will be in keeping with the legacy of the source material as one of the greatest graphic novels yet written. I've written about "Watchmen" briefly before on this blog, but to give you a quick reminder, the plot unfolds in a world on the edge of Doomsday as the Cold War rages on, and nations become more and more powerful and careless in their responsibilities. In the midst of this war, another one brews as "masked vigilantes" (notice, not superheroes, as only one among them has actual powers), who one attempted to fight crime and evil are protested against by the very people they were trying to save. The most lengthy and visually stunning scene in the trailer comes at its beginning as we see the making of Dr. Manhattan, a scientist transformed into the government's ultimate weapon; a walking nuclear bomb capable of dismantling matter at his fancy. Oh yeah, and in this reality, he just happened to win the Vietnam War. If you or some reason haven't seen the compete preview yet, here is a link:

www.apple.com/trailers/wb/watchmen

Yes, that devastatingly handsome man who unfortunately gets shocked by the particle cannons is Mr. Crudup. It's not too much a misfortune though, as once he is transformed into Dr. Manhattan, he goes around wearing nothing but a radioactive glow the rest of the movie. It was Zac Snyder's intention in casting "Watchmen" to not use any prominent stars in Hollywood, for fear that they would overpower the material itself. While Mr. Crudup may not be a household name, his body of work is already extensive and varying. He seems to prefer playing creative types; artists and writers, and manages to consistently flesh them out to their very soul. His most commonly seen roles are those in "Big Fish"Will Bloom, Edward Bloom's son, and "Almost Famous" as Russell Hammond- the reckless guitarist who memorably takes an acid trip to the roof of a house and jumps into a swimming pool screaming "I am a golden god!!" However, it is in his less known roles that he excels the most. My high school theatre teacher swore by his work in "Stage Beauty", a movie whose glory was crippled by the release of the far inferior of "Shakespeare in Love"a few years earlier. Crudup plays Ned Kynaston, the greatest and last of the Shakespearian cross-dressing actors and manages to retain al dignity and beauty in a role that could easily be played for farce. 

Crudup, while already sporting a respectable film resume, has made an even more respected name for himself on Broadway. I personally have seen him onstage three times; and all three plays now occupy a spot atop my favorite dramatic literature list both for his own performance in them, as well as the strength of the productions as a whole. In 2005's  "The Pillowman", he was mesmerizing as the leading character Katurian K. Katurian, a short story writer being questioned by two police officers in a fascist state for the presumed murder of several local children. Guiding the entranced audience through four-page long monologues and gruesome tales, Crudup was the emotional anchor of the production; our own navigator through a world we would like to think is too horrible to be called our own. More recently, I witnessed his Tony-winning performance in 2006/2007's "Coast of Utopia" trilogy, in which he was featured in the first two parts. While the Stoppard material itself could have bored many who didn't have a familiarity and affection for classical Russian Literature (I can't speak to this, having written my high school thesis on Crudup's real-life character and Dostoevsky), Mr. Crudup, as the suffering literary critic, Vissarion Belinsky, was the humanity behind the constant revolutions being detailed in the show, the character that stole hearts and souls with his honesty and passion. Before the first of the trilogy, I had the enormous privilege of meeting Mr. Crudup outside the stage door on his way into the theatre, and, after carrying on a short conversation with him, found him to be a most agreeable and humble man. While I can only give him praise and tell you that he is one of many reasons to see "Watchmen" when it arrives in March, in my heart I am secretly hoping that it isn't too big a hit, so that Mr. Crudup may soon return to the stage and I may hope again personally witness his diverse and touching performances. 

Midnighting Part 2

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows:

On July 21, 2007, every light occupying a house where the words "magic", "spell" and "Avada Kedavra" had even briefly been mentioned, was burning into the wee hours of the morning, as well as the afternoon following as fans and casual readers from America to Japan lay sprawled across their beds devouring every syllable of the final installment in J.K Rowling's seven part series chronicling the adventures of a young wizard- but more importantly, a young man as he struggled with the forces of love and evil in the world around him. But, do I really need to even tell you that? The Harry Potter series has become part of the world cultural lexicon. In my own classrooms at school, discussions on Camus or ethics frequently carry analogies and references to events Harry Potter. The films draw record audiences to their own midnight releases, and millions of young kids who would otherwise never pick up a book go through the 700-page Potter novels in record time. 

I always felt that I was born in a special year; 1990 was not only the final year of the Cold War time period, but also the ideal time to be born to fully take advantage of the Harry Potter series. I was just seven years old when "Sorcerer's Stone" was released, eight when "Chamber of Secrets" arrived on shelves, and nine when "Prisoner of Azkaban" came out. While I was still younger than the Harry of the novels during that period, by the time the fourth and fifth books came out, I was slowly gaining on the Potter gang in my own years, and by number seven, experienced my own 17th birthday just days before I read about Harry's own. Selfishly, my friends and I always have thought that the Harry Potter trilogy was "our generation's" treasure, and that those more than a year removed from us in age were either too old or too young to fully appreciate the magic. However, when I went to Barnes and Noble at 12:01 am to pick up my copy of "Deathly Hallows", that opinion changed completely. Going off to college the next year, I was suddenly feeling... old. Responsibility was weighing down upon me, and in my secret heart of hearts, I was wishing that Peter Pan would somehow show up on my windowsill and whisk me away to Neverland. Even though I couldn't yet legally buy an alcoholic beverage, I was already wondering about how my generation and I would be remembered. As I looked around the bookstore, I got my answer. Everywhere there were children, their parents and even the occasional grandparent dressed in black Hogwarts gowns or the striped scarves of their favorite houses. Lightening bolt scars were applied to faces, and wands both plastic and wood were waved about, not without the faintest hope that maybe sparks might this time fly from its tip. Though of course the books themselves were entirely J.K Rowling's own wonder and creation, I couldn't help but feel some strange sense of pride that the gift of my generation was magic. While we can't lift feathers with a flick of our wrists, the fantasy novels, films and even fan fiction that have come out over the past decade are enough to make even the staunchest realist believe in prophecies, phoenixes, one rings and dragons. From some primal desire to depart from the chaos and depression in our own lives, we joined together and created new ones together. To see young children and ones still young at heart brought literal tears to my eyes at how powerful these universes could become. The evening of the book's release, a show I had been working as a dramaturg in opened, and our stage manager had to quite literally pry the copies from the hands of each actor in the company as they squeezed in a few more pages before they went onstage. When I finally arrived back home, I finished the last chapters in the comfort of my own bed, and as I read those final words; "The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well," I once again broke into uncontrollable sobs. To close the cover of this book meant closing the object which had defined my childhood and adolescent years- becoming an adult and facing the end. As I cuddled my teddy bear and cried hot tears into its fur, I slowly removed the wizard's hat I had been wearing both then, and the midnight before, and remembered the kids at Barnes and Noble who had found Harry on their own and been touched by his magic years after I had found it myself, and then of the children who in the many years to come would also come to be touched by that light. This wasn't an end. This literature was something eternal- a story- one which could be passed down for generations which have yet to be born. And as I sit white haired in my floating rocking chair sixty years from now, something in my heart tells me that I will still be able to brag that I was there that midnight- that midnight when Harry's last tale was born, and have others around me who also came to know of Hermione, Ron and Dumbledore stare wide eyed, gaping that the magic they still experience has lasted just this long. That's what midnighting is all about. The bragging rights. And the magic that will never die.

Midnighting

As we enter into this third week of the hottest summer month, there's only one thing on the world's mind- not the next trip to the beach, but "The Dark Knight". The movie has been awaited for years, even before the release of its forbearer, speculation was at hand as to when the next installment would arrive. When Batman flipped over a card to reveal the telltale Joker at Part One's conclusion, I vividly remember the audience gasping at the obvious cliffhanger, and the guts it would take director Christopher Nolan to overturn the legendary interpretation by Jack Nicholson in the 1989 incarnation of the superhero franchise. Since that road was first introduced as the intended direction, the hype surrounding the hero has only multiplied after the death of supporting actor Heath Ledger, a perfectly executed viral campaign, the rising career of its leading actor, and the remarkably high quality of  reboot "Batman Begins". Being the pop culture and comic book fanatic that I am, I purchased midnight tickets for this Thursday night almost a month ago today, and laugh and evil chuckle inside whenever I overhear a conversation in which the subject was unable to procure tickets, "like a whole week ahead of time". Filing into my local megaplex in the late hours of the evening is by no means a rare occurrence of mine. Falling a little short of the Z list, it's the closest thing that I have to experience to a movie premiere. Only, I consider it to be a lot more fun. Instead of ten foot dress trains and strangling tuxes, the featured wardrobe is nerd chic, with costumes of related characters both obscure and obvious, and ceaseless chatter about all things in the related universe. I can't accurately remember the amount of "midnighting" that I've done in my lifetime, but more memorable experiences have been at the "Harry Potter" films and book releases, the most recent "Indiana Jones", "Star Wars Episode I" (tragically), "Hellboy 2", "Iron Man", "Snakes on a Plane" and the iphone 3G. While I won't go into the details of all these events, I can write a little regarding the two which stand out for me the most, one for its sheer stupidity, and the other for being something of a life affirming experience.

"Snakes on a Plane"

I can't believe I'm even admitting that I midnighted this one. Truly, it pains me to relate this on a public medium, but on a July night not too long ago, I donned a pair of-get ready- snakeskin boots and a stuffed cobra and set out to view the film that, through its most famous line (all together now)" "That's it! I've had it with this motherf****** snakes on this motherf****** plane!" and its infallibly adorable internet acronym (SOAP). I wasn't really caught up in the entirety of its online hype, only reading about it in publications and hearing about it as something of a watercooler joke among friends. For lack of better things to do, I decided to midnight this odd little movie and see what all the fuss was about. While the movie itself was pathetically stupid, good only for the aforementioned moment and one particularly gruesome reptilian originated homicide in an airplane toilet, the audience had me banging my head at giving my best Herbert Morrison imitation of "Oh the humanity!". Yes, I'm likening the viewers of "Snakes on a Plane" to the Hindenburg. Once the lights went down, the entire theatre filled with hissing mixed with cries of "Whoo! SNAKES!" I'm not done yet. When "the" line was said, the audience actually gave a standing ovation. I only wish this were an exaggeration. Anyway, while I wasn't really expecting that much out of the product itself, it was intriguing enough to see just how powerfully internet hype could affect a movie. But I wasn't thinking about that at the time. I was more concerned with covering my face and hoping that no one from the civilized world recognized me that night. The giant stuffed cobra around my neck would probably be a dead giveaway as to my intentions. On the other hand, last summer, I experienced a midnighter which was a spiritual experience to confirm the purity and goodness of the human soul.

Continued tomorrow!

Off the Radar #1: Reefer Madness

I'd like to take this chance to introduce to you all a new weekly feature that will now begin appearing on this blog. I finally decided to make "Who's Afraid" a tri-weekly "publication", and now feel like some more continuity should be added to the scheme of things. Starting today, two out of the three entries will be as always- related to trends or occurrences in pop culture today, but the third will be much like this first installment- something I am calling "Off the Radar", in which I'll introduce something- a movie, book, show or celebrity that flies just a little too low to be openly noticed by the regular consumer. I hope you enjoy it! And without further ado....

Every October, one of my closest friends and I spend hours scouring the internet for any trace of a showing of "Rocky Horror Picture Show" within the entire state of Colorado. After five years of searching, we still haven't found a regular theatrical showing in any month of the year in our own state, as well as any of the ones directly bordering it. Somehow in the past twenty years, Dr. Frank-N-Furter seems to have packed up his lab once and for all and left popular culture for the planet of Transsexual. While many musicals have been hailed as its replacement (Snakes on a Plane comes to mind first), none seem to have really fulfilled on their promise. While it would please me greatly to herald to coming of a new Brad Majors, I can only tell you all that while "Reefer Madness" may never enjoy the widespread acclaim, or maybe, total lack of it, if you can persuade a group of friends with a flexible sense of humor to a in-house showing of it, you might once again be reminded of the glove-snapping, Time-Warping days of yore. 

After a 2005 premiere at the Sundance Film Festival, "Reefer Madness" was given an airing on Showtime, after which it picked up an Emmy for best music/lyrics and received nominations for choreography and makeup design. With a surprisingly strong roster of actors, including Alan Cumming (X-Men 2), Kristen Bell (Heroes, Forgetting Sarah Marshall) and Neve Campbell (Scream), Reefer Madness is a tongue in cheek, cautionary tale satirizing the 1937 film of the same name, which preached to parents the danger pot posed to their children. Oddly enough, the one great fault I found with the film was that the tongue wasn't quite planted firmly enough in the cheek, and I cared about the leading characters almost too much to take the joke completely. Nonetheless, the musical numbers were catchy and ridiculous- with titles that are almost as telling as the songs themselves, ranging from "Listen to Jesus, Jimmy" to "Jimmy Takes a Toke". The story begins with a government agent (Alan Cumming) explaining to a group of nervous, 1930's-era parents how the demon weed was taking over their communities, using the parable of "The Harper Affair" to illustrate his point. "The Harper Affair" follows little Jimmy and Mary Lane who finds themselves staring into the face of temptation- the lit joint. You don't have to be a marijuana fan to enjoy this film and the humor within it- having never touched the stuff myself, I still was able to appreciate the sensationalized hype that still today can seize a society in its grip. The film, though satire, doesn't fall into the fatal trap of using throwaway characters and hoping we might take heed of their plight, but seems to genuinely examine their arcs (however ridiculous), and is assisted by some top-notch performances on behalf of its lead actors. Kristen Bell as Mary Lane is particularly delightful to watch; as both a sunshine-y Sandra Dee-esuqe throwback and latter, as a naughty S&M fiend. While the formula of the movie as a whole may seem a little too close to comfort to "Rocky Horror", that's part of the appeal of the piece itself. Much like its predecessor, "Reefer Madness" takes one of the underbelly aspects of our society, marijuana, (or as those in the movie say, "Mary Jew Wanna", and laughs in the faces of those who are too afraid to look into it a little closer. It's not quite "out-there" as aliens from the galaxy of Transylvania creating a sex-monster, but in my opinion, that's for the best in our more realist, contemporary age. Take a watch for yourself and see. Maybe in a few more years, "Jimmy Takes a Toke" will have beat out "The Time Warp" as the geek-dance of choice. Maybe. But frankly, I'm not sure I'm quite ready to let it go.