A recent pop-cultural epiphany: I'm excited as fuck for the Watchmen flick. My rekindled interest compelled me to go back and flip through the comic for the first time since my freshman year of college. Though I can't say I was a big fan of Snyder's last film, "300"--though I adore the trailer--I'm not writing off the film like I had initially done.
Let's toss aside all the bullshit first: filmmaker Terry Gilliam considering the comic to be unfilmable, a pesky lawsuit regarding which studio had rights to the film, Alan Moore's distaste for adaptations of his work. What's left is a bunch of whiny fanboys (and fangirls, I s'pose. Fan...people? Oh right, fans.) complaining about a film they haven't even seen yet. So here are some things I must address.
"The comic is too large in scope. How are all the chapters, backstories, subplots, etc. going to be captured on film?" is a common defense for the fans' vitriol. Not everybody can be a Snyder fan (though the "Dawn of the Dead" remake pretty much shifts my bowels), but people can find solace in Snyder's appreciation for the comic. Disagree? How about a near 3.5 hour director's cut of the film for DVD? I assume this extended version will feature everything, but at the very least contains the Black Freighter-comic-subplot. Which is great to read, don't get me wrong, but seems superfluous for film. So why did Snyder shoot that particular material? To satiate the needs of a bunch of nerds.
Respect for the source material is fine and well, but so what if Snyder slightly strays from the events in the comic? Condensing and omitting sections or subplots can present a more concise narrative for the purposes of film. As I recently discussed with some friends of mine, one doesn't need to judge a film adaptation by its relation to the initial text; they're independent works. Hell, some might argue that one must divert from the source material to create something great. The book's nihilism, politics, and rich characters could translate well to film, but that's the only real overlap the film needs for it to be great.
Perhaps it might be easier to not treat the "Watchmen" comic like its sacred. I found that after rereading it that it lacked the punch it initially packed when I tore through it three years ago. Its impact had already been made; it shifted the way I view comics and art in general. Perhaps a widely distributed film can introduce a new set of people to this amazing story. There's no better time than now for this flick.
I, for one, will be watching the Watchmen.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button's Nomination and Other Nonsense
A confession: I've only seen one of the nominees for best picture. With that said, I'm not the only one hoping that "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" doesn't win. The technical nods would be well-deserved wins, but do we need another long, overwrought, cheesy film to swipe best picture?
I'm still more than interested to tune in and see what/who wins, but I agree with David Denby's sentiment: "The envelope, please—I guess."
Plus there's the two things that everybody is bitter about, such as the constant reminder that there's a separate category for animated films. The last time an animated film was included in the Best Picture category was 1991. Does the Academy truly believe animated movies are kids fodder or that they're not as good as their live-action counterparts? Or is it difficult to accept that an animated film with a wider audience is better than some quiet, boring, self-important Holocaust film that nobody saw?
Oh yeah, and the failure to include the Dark Knight for any other major category kind of sucks. Plus there's that conflicting feeling about Heath's nomination; he definitely deserves the nomination--perhaps the win, for that matter--but only received it as a form of pity. Sadly, I feel like a win for him would signify something worse: the inherent self-congratulatory nature of the Oscars, the "look at us, we're great for awarding this dead guy" factor. Wouldn't be the first time the Academy patted itself on the back for making a brave choice.
Now is not the time to release a film if you have any hopes of it being nominated for something. If so, it sucks to be you (but really, who am I kidding? The Academy doesn't embrace 'genre' films).
Here's a list of all the nominations. Happy watching/picking.
I'm still more than interested to tune in and see what/who wins, but I agree with David Denby's sentiment: "The envelope, please—I guess."
Plus there's the two things that everybody is bitter about, such as the constant reminder that there's a separate category for animated films. The last time an animated film was included in the Best Picture category was 1991. Does the Academy truly believe animated movies are kids fodder or that they're not as good as their live-action counterparts? Or is it difficult to accept that an animated film with a wider audience is better than some quiet, boring, self-important Holocaust film that nobody saw?
Oh yeah, and the failure to include the Dark Knight for any other major category kind of sucks. Plus there's that conflicting feeling about Heath's nomination; he definitely deserves the nomination--perhaps the win, for that matter--but only received it as a form of pity. Sadly, I feel like a win for him would signify something worse: the inherent self-congratulatory nature of the Oscars, the "look at us, we're great for awarding this dead guy" factor. Wouldn't be the first time the Academy patted itself on the back for making a brave choice.
Now is not the time to release a film if you have any hopes of it being nominated for something. If so, it sucks to be you (but really, who am I kidding? The Academy doesn't embrace 'genre' films).
Here's a list of all the nominations. Happy watching/picking.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Dream: 2/18/09
You wake up, rising simultaneously with the sun. Instead of getting up, you choose to sprawl out and immerse yourself in your bed. Something’s wrong; you’re anxious, not feeling quite right. It’s inexplicable, but somehow it’s not a threat if you remain under your covers.
Your phone’s on the nightstand. You grab for it to check the time and notice you’ve got a message. The voice is muffled and you can’t place who it is, though it sort of sounds like a kid you knew in high school. Only certain words and phrases can be picked out from his call: ‘investment,’ ‘good deal,’ ‘company…all figured out.’ You barely knew this guy, and you’re surprised he even knows your name, let alone your phone number.
Another ten minutes pass and you muster up the courage to head downstairs. It’s clear now: this is the house where you grew up. Your brother’s in the kitchen, still dressed in his pajamas, a wifebeater revealing his glowing tattoo. He takes a break from his cereal to shoot you a look, then returns to his meal. You’re too distracted to question his attitude, so you head to the family room.
You’ve been settled on the couch for a good minute before you realize someone in your dad’s favorite chair. It’s the kid that left you the message, and somehow you’ve pulled his name from the contours of your memory.
“Andre.”
“Hey, man,” he says. He’s slightly different than how you remember him, less gangly, heavier, shorter. But he still has that baby face.
“I’ve got this great idea,” he continues. “Derek and I make t-shirts. We’re gonna need some capital if we want to start selling them. Thought you could help us out.”
Your brother’s standing on the periphery, not questioning Andre’s presence, but whether or not you’re going to help him.
“Sorry, man,” I tell him, treating him like a friend, “but I can’t really afford that right now.” And as soon as you say this, you’re wondering if this is why you’re living at home.
Andre just shakes his head. He doesn’t make any effort to leave. Your brother shakes his head disapprovingly. All this leaves you even more anxious, but you’re saved when your mother enters the kitchen.
“Hi, honey,” she says. She smiles reassuringly, and Andre and your brother have vanished. But still, you’re stressed. You don’t understand what’s happening. Are you dying?
“I’ve got your birthday present for you,” she tells you. You manage to pull yourself from the grip of the couch and follow her to the foyer. She digs through the closet, and though it sounds cluttered, it appears almost empty. She stops, turns to hand you the gift, and that’s when you really wake up.
Your phone’s on the nightstand. You grab for it to check the time and notice you’ve got a message. The voice is muffled and you can’t place who it is, though it sort of sounds like a kid you knew in high school. Only certain words and phrases can be picked out from his call: ‘investment,’ ‘good deal,’ ‘company…all figured out.’ You barely knew this guy, and you’re surprised he even knows your name, let alone your phone number.
Another ten minutes pass and you muster up the courage to head downstairs. It’s clear now: this is the house where you grew up. Your brother’s in the kitchen, still dressed in his pajamas, a wifebeater revealing his glowing tattoo. He takes a break from his cereal to shoot you a look, then returns to his meal. You’re too distracted to question his attitude, so you head to the family room.
You’ve been settled on the couch for a good minute before you realize someone in your dad’s favorite chair. It’s the kid that left you the message, and somehow you’ve pulled his name from the contours of your memory.
“Andre.”
“Hey, man,” he says. He’s slightly different than how you remember him, less gangly, heavier, shorter. But he still has that baby face.
“I’ve got this great idea,” he continues. “Derek and I make t-shirts. We’re gonna need some capital if we want to start selling them. Thought you could help us out.”
Your brother’s standing on the periphery, not questioning Andre’s presence, but whether or not you’re going to help him.
“Sorry, man,” I tell him, treating him like a friend, “but I can’t really afford that right now.” And as soon as you say this, you’re wondering if this is why you’re living at home.
Andre just shakes his head. He doesn’t make any effort to leave. Your brother shakes his head disapprovingly. All this leaves you even more anxious, but you’re saved when your mother enters the kitchen.
“Hi, honey,” she says. She smiles reassuringly, and Andre and your brother have vanished. But still, you’re stressed. You don’t understand what’s happening. Are you dying?
“I’ve got your birthday present for you,” she tells you. You manage to pull yourself from the grip of the couch and follow her to the foyer. She digs through the closet, and though it sounds cluttered, it appears almost empty. She stops, turns to hand you the gift, and that’s when you really wake up.
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