Cinema is my Religion

With “War Horse”, Mr. Spielberg brings to the forefront his publicity machine along with his great talent for self-promotion. Are we amazed his cloud of sycophants declare “War Horse” a sure Oscar contender while film is still running through the gate? We would be amazed if “War Horse” could claim ownership of a story with a beginning, middle, and a dramatic end, not just a place where he called a wrap as the music swells (“Lassie, come home”). 

His attempts at capturing the mood of the films of his sainted youth works occasionally as in “Raiders of the Lost Ark”. In fact it works so well he rolls it out over and over again when he is in need of easy cash after a shot at the adults. “Is this a children’s film?” “I really don’t know the age of the filmmakers, Sir.” When Spielberg has a novel with an adult theme and good story, he ignores it in favor of a series of great looking sequences, which fit together like a badly cut jigsaw puzzle. “How was the film?” “Great dinosaurs”. 

Do we really need another “Jurassic Park” movie; not that Spielberg bothered himself with either of the stories Michael Crichton gave us. His attack on Philip K. Dick’s, “Minority Report” kept the title and little else. The screenplay failed to note the “Precrime” police unit could only exist in a police state in which the Bill of Rights had been discarded. Tom Cruise’s Precrime Chief John Anderson is shown to be a drug addict, but there it ends. His addiction adds nothing to the story. The biggest howler is the introduction at the film’s conclusion of the 1861 Smith&Wesson .32-short-caliber Model 2 revolver. It is claimed this revolver was given to Civil War generals at the war’s end, a fact generals Grant and Sherman failed to mention in their memoirs. Civil War officers, including general officers, preferred large bore, hard hitting .44 caliber revolvers. The Robert Urich series, “The Lazarus Man” tried to pass off similar nonsense with the Colt .31 caliber Pocket Revolver. 

There is no doubt about Wells’, “War of the Worlds”. Wells pointedly explained the social purpose of this novel in Chapter One. It is doubtful Spielberg read Wells’ novel. Doubtless he relied on the Cliff Notes of Hollywood, the story analyst’s report. Spielberg jettisoned Wells’ idea for yet another rehash of his “reuniting families” theme. “War of the Worlds” will survive this hack attack. We can only wonder why Spielberg employed François Truffaut as an actor in the absurdly dreadful “Close Encounters of the Third Kind”, when he might have invited the Master to direct a film from a good script. A good script would preclude employment of his gallery of gag writers. To paraphrase Victor Hugo,''Cinema is our religion and the theater is our church.  Spielberg has desecrated the altar; he has blasphemed.

Will Farrell

Will Farrell has turned banality into an art form. A low art form. Those never introduced to real humor, that is humor that is actually funny, are moved to laughter by his somnolence. Exposure to decades of Saturday Night Live and other snooze fests, combined with the vulgarity that acts as a stand-in for comedy peddled by stand-up “comics”, have left the audience confused, befuddled, and ignorant of the wit that acts as the basis of comedy and humor.

Wit has seemed to elude Farrell and it doesn’t seem to bother him. He abandoned the effort, resigned from the chase. A case in point was his Broadway show, purported to be a comic impersonation of George Bush. When the banality ran thin, he sprinted to the vulgar like it was his long lost brother. It didn’t matter, his audience, seemingly composed of hand picked Bush haters, would laugh at any vapid comment directed at the ex-president. They showed as much sophistication as a cluster of rubes at a taping of Hee Haw.

So it is puzzling that Farrell was awarded the Mark Twain Prize for American Humor. But, perhaps not. In the past the prize has been awarded to performers, or to a person who writes for performers. Although awarded in New York, it’s a Hollywood prize, as much as the Oscars or the Emmys.

True American humorists; Dave Barry, Ian Frazier and Calvin Trillin, to name just three, will likely never be celebrated with the Mark Twain Prize. They don’t stand on stage and act the fool. They don’t make asses of themselves, which seem to be the standard for past winners.

Wall Street Greed

The Second Gilded Age is with us and every bit as ugly as the first; uglier really. The Ultra Rich have redefined avarice. Their endless thirst for wealth, wealth they have done nothing to earn, exposes their lust for the vulgar accumulation of wealth for the shear joy of watching the numbers in their accounts increase. The accounts they admit to owing, that is. They keep an army of tax lawyers and accounts busy avoiding taxes; taxes being the only dirty word they recognize. Taxes are the responsibility of the middle class as the Ultra Rich see it. Controlling more wealth than one person can ever spend is the burden they must bear, alas. The middle class bear no such burden so paying the taxes that support the government is the least they can do. The very least.

It seems we have learned one thing from history, that avarice takes precedence over the knowledge of our mistakes. The Ultra Rich still manage to convince the so-called Average Joe their interests are superior to the interests of the men and women who do the work, produce the wealth. After all, might not we join the ranks of the Ultra Rich? The lotto awaits.

There is a greater likelihood of winning the lotto than joining the ranks of the Ultra Rich. They simply would not allow it. The employees of the Ultra Rich occupying the seats of Congress are there simply to protect the wealth of their employers . They believe their reelection to their House or Senate seat is vital to the welfare of the Republic. If the unthinkable should happen and one of the politically less skillful should be turned out of office, they may take comfort in the fact a lucrative job in the so called “private sector’’ awaits them, along with the Ultra Rich golf courses of the world.

The protests against Wall Street have gone on for weeks, and you know they cause Wall Street nerves to fray by the simple fact the cops have been sent in to bust some heads. How long will it be before protest organizers can expect the door kicked in at 3 am and the protester disappeared, never to be heard from? Why else would the Ultra Rich employ hard-core corporate security operatives? Travel in limos with the same or better armor than protects the president; protected by ex Special Forces Operators who carry weapons superior to what is available to Secret Service agents?

It is time to consider finishing the work begun with the French Revolution, absent the blade of the guillotine. Can justice be found in our courts? Too soon to tell.

In the meantime there is plenty of room in the streets for the people. People who cannot pay their mortgage, buy food or afford to buy gas for their cars as they drive the streets in hopes of finding a job, any job, that will see the family through another day.

While they consider their bleak future they can recall the bonus’ paid in the tens of millions of dollars to executives whose, greed, incompetence and sense of entitlement helped turn the United States of America into little more than a banana republic, where the civil servants party at so called meetings at the most expensive Washington hotels, and the city managers of mid sized towns pay themselves more than a heart surgeon earns in years.

Finally, we can ask why we are still in a war longer than World War One, World War Two and the Korean War combined. We should expect an answer from an ex president who lied and lied and lied so he might conduct a private war in Iraq. A vulgar, stupid little man cooked-up a story that has cost countless American lives, ruined others and hastened the Treasury to bankruptcy. The Ultra Rich benefit from both wars. The warriors are the losers, along with the people who will pay for the private wars of the Ultra Rich for decades, it not longer.

Rest assured the Ultra Rich will get richer. That’s what they do.

COWBOYS AND ALIENS

Wikipedia reminds us:

"Steven Spielberg, one of the film's executive producers, visited the director and the writers during pre-production to look over the script and the artwork. He provided Favreau with a collection of classic Western films.[15] Spielberg also invited the director and the writers to a private screening of several Western films and provided live commentary on how to make one properly.[22] The films included Stagecoach, My Darling Clementine, and Destry Rides Again."

Now, you have to ask yourself, who did George Stevens ask before he made SHANE? Or whom did Howard Hawks seek instruction from before he shot RED RIVER? Or Anthony Mann before me made WINCHESTER'73? They struck out on their own, armed with a good screenplay, written by writers of talent and experience.

Well, its seems the director and writers were foolish enough to pay attention to Spielberg
(ah, what was the name of the Western he made? Oh, that's right, he never made one), and came up with COWBOYS AND ALIENS

The reviews are in. I don't know about you, but I can't say I’m surprised. The film stinks. When was the last time Spielberg made a good film?

Last weekend I subjected myself to INDIANA JONES AND THE KINGDOM OF THE CRYSTAL SKULL. Besides being a rehash of the first Indiana Jones film, it was dull. It would take an army of archeologists to detect any Kingdom in this disaster (except perhaps the Kingdom of the Blind, lacking a one eyed man). It did have one humorous note. Jones, under suspicion of being a Red by the FBI, advises a student to read V. Gordon Childe (a Marxist archaeologist).


Sadly, Speilberg has WHEN WORLDS COLLIDE on his chopping block for future butchering. I expect the same bloody job he did on WAR OF THE WORLDS; a story he clearly did not understand despite the fact the author explained it to the reader in the first chapter. But then, he would have had to read the novel.



I suspect COWBOYS AND ALIENS will be yet another nail in the coffin of the movie Western, but will fill theaters with the dullards who wouldn't sit through STAGECOACH on a bet. But a STAGECOACH colorized, pursued by CGI enhanced aliens; well, that's a horse differently colorized.

Falling Skies

TNT unveiled its science fiction series, FALLING SKIES, from the childish minds of Steven Spielberg and his
gag writers last Sunday. Noah Wyle, the lead, claims he agreed to do the show (and I am not making this up) to gain creditably with his children. Poor kids, they must have seen old dad in an episode of ER.
Wyle has so little screen presence I have no doubt even he forgets he is on screen.

The story: six months before the opening, aliens attack Earth and killed off 90% of humanity. Why they are
here is never explained, other to kill Wyle’s wife, thereby eliminating the expense of paying an actress. It may be inferred Wyle is upset at her death, but his dull expression seems to suit his every emotion so we can’t be sure. Spielberg’s subtext of putting together families (can we forget the butcher’s work he did on WAR OF THE WORLDS? Did he completely miss the theme of that memorable book, even after Wells went to the trouble to explain it in the first chapter?), yes his family making is ever present, even when he stumbles through World War II in Pvt Ryan and a couple of other films. His reverence for the War was nowhere to be seen in the dreadful 1941. He managed to make a comic jackass out of General Joseph Stillwell, hero of Burma.

One of Wyle’s sons has been captured by the bad ETs. After capture human youngsters have something attached to their spines by these outer space folk. It looks like the tingler from the movie, THE TINGLER
("Terror is just over your shoulder!") and causes these poor kids, day players I’m sure, to wander around like zombies.

Which is just a step above the acting of the rest of the cast. Perhaps these kids are on their way to acting class? “What’s my motivation? What’s my motivation?” they must drone. A SAG card and
a weekly player’s contract, is the likely answer.

The aliens come in two forms: two legged robots that use the same laser targeting system the predators
in the Predator movies employ, and machine guns
behind their hands, like the mechanical Cylons in BATTLESTAR GALACTIA. The biological aliens look like six legged dogs, and act like an actor’s agent
chasing a free meal. You may wonder how such a creature with no arms, let alone hands with opposing thumbs, can build a ship that can travel to another star, but the minds behind this show are clearly
liberal arts majors who’s grasp of evolution is as shaky as their hold on the concept of “story”.

OK, Wyle was a teacher of history at Boston Collage who's read a lot of military history. He says crap like;
this is like the Scots against the English at
Stirling Bridge (forgetting the fate of William Wallace a few years later, and the fact his audience in the story and at home had no idea the Scots ever fought the English). He spouts this nonsense but his wisdom
is never acted upon, by him or anyone else.
While leading his first patrol he stumbles into a trap any boy scout could avoid. This stupidity is followed by yet another: he surrenders his guns.

He is in the Resistance, a unit calling its self the 2nd Massachusetts. There is no 1st or 3rd Massachusetts.
"Captain" Dale Dye (he insists on the honorific,
although he was a warrant officer for most of his time in the Marines. Warrant officers are addressed as, “Mister”. Oh, that wouldn’t do for the likes of Dye), veteran DI of many a war film, has been promoted to the rank of Colonel and commands the Resistance. Will Patton; the only actor in the bunch is Wyle's commander.

Anyway, the show's pretty much a dud and has none of the cleverness of BATTLESTAR GALACTIA.


I did detect a hint of Robert Heinlein's THE PUPPET MASTERS in this mess, without the Science Fiction Master's interesting characters, dialogue, or storytelling ability.

It should be noted the patriot Spielberg had this series shot in Canada, although it takes place in Boston.

Hospital CEOs: Naked Greed Heads

The LA Times articles outing CEOs of public hospitals and the venal yearly compensation they receive should cause our lawmakers to hold hearings, at the very least.

They might discover the job description of these greed heads is two fold.

1) To figure out new ways to screw the hospital employees, and
2) To figure out new ways to screw the patients.

The shameless spokesman for one hospital claims, without offering any evidence, hospitals must pay top dollar to these clowns because the are the best.

Now, how did he find that out? Did he Google their names? Check the ads in Naked Greed Monthly?

The spokesman went on to say the compensation for public hospital CEOs pales in contrast to what private sector CEOs receive. More like beyond the Pale.

The CEO of a local private hospital got his picture in the paper a few years back for his magnanimous act of handing out Snickers candy bars to employees he thought were caught in the act of doing a good job. One victim/employee is rumored to have told the sawed-off little squirt what he could do with his candy bar.

Consider the fact the million-dollar CEO makes five times the money of your average doctor’s income.

Next time you’re kicked out of the hospital the day after an operation when medical opinion concludes your condition merits a few more days’ hospitalization, just think of these CEOs. And the vulgar rich who run Medical Insurance Companies. And THEIR employees in Congress.

If you don't call him traitor, what do you call him?

I've been reading Josephine Tey's DAUGHTER OF TIME courtesy of David Stokes, who sent me a copy. I'm 60 pages left to read and thoroughly enjoying it.

It is about a Scotland Yard Detective (or, a Detective from the Yard) who becomes intrigued by a print of a portrait of Richard III. He is a man who reads faces as part of his work, and becomes convinced Richard is not the murderer of Shakespeare's play. He begins research and concludes things don't add up. The man with the face in the portrait could not have murdered his two nephews. He just does not have a criminal face. The two boys ahead of him in the line of succession were killed by a a true villain, and Richard was not a villain. On the contrary, he was a good and just man.

And Henry Tudor, fated to be Henry VII, father of
Henry VIII and grandfather of Elizabeth, left his character open to question with his attack on the legal King of England. Tutor's Claim to the throne was on rather shaky ground. He defeated Richard at Bosworth Field with an army comprised of French mercenaries. Very unEnglish, ol' chap. So, in his lust for the Monarchy he led foreigners fighting for money, most likely loot, against his own countrymen for a Crown he had little claim to. In my mind that makes him a traitor. His son became a national disgrace, remembered a a fat, gluttonous swine obsessed with sex and looting the Church for the money to finance his obscene appetites. He did not create a new church as an act of conscious, but as an act of greed.

It was left to Elizabeth to build England's great navy, remembered as was Themistocles when he built a navy for Athens. The Greek navy destroyed the Persian navy for good. The Battle of Salamis in 480 BC insured Greek democracy until the Greeks destroyed it themselves decades later a result of the Peloponnesian War.

I've been consulting the final volume of a tetralogy about the Plantagenet Dynasty (Henry II was the Dynast and Richard was the last Plantagenet) . I first read them in paperback as a youngster, and several years ago I
found a boxed hardcover set in a used bookstore in Glendale at a reasonable price. The last 75 pages are about Richard.

I suspect Richard had been famed, and Thomas Costain, historian and author of historical novels like THE BLACK ROSE, and author of the Plantagenet histories, agrees. It was in Shakespeare's best interest to make the Tudors look good and Richard look bad. A child murderer. The only thing worse is a Tea Bag Republican.

Later I was thinking about THE THREE MUSKETEERS, which takes place right after the time of Elizabeth, with as King James and the Duke of Buckingham as featured players. In the films anyway, do we ever see the musketeers with muskets? No. Sword fighting only. Swords are expensive and it takes a long time to learn to fight with one. Fight well anyway. Fight so you can survive the experience. Fighting it out with muskets would be a dull affair. I don't think those guys were really musketeers. Mule skinners more likely.

As I recall they were at war; at war with who I don't know I'll ever remember. It may have been during the time of the the 100 Years War. The French are very crabby and were always ready to fight someone. It was a Century long slaughter between the adherents to two different superstitions, the major difference between the two was how money was to be exhorted from the working poor. The French needed money to buy food because they live to eat, not eat to live. The French will eat almost anything if its topped with the proper sauce. Depends what you consider what is proper and what is a sauce I guess.

I remember reading somewhere the Duke of Buckingham was the boyfriend of James I (who had been James VI of Scotland and was very gay, but not in the sense of being happy). I think its funny, both in the sense of strange and haha) that the man who ordered the Bible be translated into a language slightly more people than before could read, the Bible that mandated gay men be killed in some awful Christian manner for being gay, was himself gay.

Well, I suppose there was an upside. The James Court was chock full of hansom young men with a great fashion sense and were wonderful decorators (it would take several hundred years for them to get their own TV show, though).

The Duke may have paid a price for his Christian lifestyle. A Puritan Lieutenant in the army who went by the name of John Felton gave the Duke a blade somewhere in the torso. He went to Tyburn Tree for a necktie party crying like a little girl who's Christian faith was open to question.

James had to find a new Glory Hole.