Nicolas Winding Refn’s “Drive” is the essence of crime cinema cool boiled down to its bones, combining the spartan feel of Jean-Pierre Melville’s “Le Samourai” with the sheen of Michael Mann’s ’80s output like “Thief.” Throw in a protagonist reminiscent of Ryan O’Neill’s strong silent wheelman in Walter Hill’s “The Driver,” and you’ve got a shiny movie buff confection.

Ryan Gosling completely owns the nameless lead role, shiny scorpion jacket and all. The year Gosling had in 2011 effectively silenced his critics who wrote him off as a pretty face in “The Notebook,” with “Drive” standing at the head of the pack. His soft exterior makes his cool-yet-vicious character in “Drive” all the more potent whenever he has to stomp some poor henchman’s head in.

I love grizzled, masculine action heroes like Liam Neeson and Lee Marvin as much as the next red-blooded American, but Gosling steps up to the plate, points to the outfield, and knocks the ball straight into the spark-spewing lights. Don’t let his soft features or feathery surname fool you. Gosling brilliantly channels the brand of cool perfected by Alain Delon in Melville’s quiet heist & hitman sagas.

Another great turn is given by Albert Brooks, normally known for playing lovable characters with low self-esteem in “Broadcast News” and “Defending Your Life.” Any trace of Brooks’s natural likability is nowhere to be found in “Drive.” He completely embodies a truly frightening gangster heavy with a penchant for fileting his enemies with a razor. In a conversation with Gosling, he says, “I used to produce movies, in the eighties. Kinda like action films, sexy stuff. One critic called them European. I thought they were shit.” This makes me wonder if Brooks’s character isn’t a homicidal take on Menahem Golan or Andy Sidaris. Maybe both?

As my co-host on the HomeVideodrome podcast pointed out this week, “Drive” was snubbed at the Oscars this year, garnering only one nomination for Achievement in Sound Editing. There were only nine nominations for Best Picture, as opposed to the ten from last year. So it would seem one of the year’s most acclaimed movies was snubbed in favor of … nothing. Ouch. But “Drive” seems like too much of a weird, arty genre outsider to get a nod from Oscar.

Thankfully, “Drive” doesn’t need the potential for gold statues to boost its cred, as it’s already gained a fanatical following from movie fans (when I stopped by Best Buy to pick it up, the racks containing it were almost empty). Excuse me, but I’ve gotta crank Kavinsky & Lovefoxxx’s “Nightcall” while I write the rest of this article.

Available on Blu-ray, DVD, and Amazon Instant

Speaking of Michael Mann, he produced a new flick that’s out this week, and his daughter, Ami Canaan Mann, took up the directing duties.  The title is ridiculous and intriguing all at once: “Texas Killing Fields.” Being a man who has a taste for Texas-fried genre fiction by guys like Joe R. Lansdale, this sounded like a yarn that could be right up my alley. I love sweaty, southwestern noir like “No Country for Old Men” and “The Killer Inside Me,” and “Texas Killing Fields” promised some solid talent, including Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Chloe Grace-Moretz, and Jessica Chastain, who had the best year of any actress in 2011 (Sam Worthington’s in there too, but he ain’t really a “draw” for me). Shame what they served up was just a bland, boring mess.

“Texas Killing Fields” is about as dull as murder mysteries get, it’s characters are burdened by cliche, and the story lacks focus, and happens to be devoid of meaning to boot. A hothead small-town cop (Worthington) is paired up with an emotional detective from New York (Morgan) to solve a string of murders, and a bunch of stuff you won’t care about happens in the meantime. You know the drill, crime scenes procedurals, cliched cop dialogue, it all adds up to something you’ve seen done better a gazillion times before elsewhere.

It could only help the film if it could be called “formulaic,” because at least formula means it would at least hit the proper beats. Instead it’s a ball slow, muddy sludge, with fruitless subplots and a boring mystery. The story might not be such a drag if Mann’s direction added any flavor, but it just lies there on the screen like a dead fish. I would say it’s “television quality” direction, but doing so would be unfairly dismissive of the far more satisfying work in the genre that we see on TV every day.

It’s wildly disappointing when such a talented cast and crew cooks up a big fat nothing-burger like “Texas Killing Fields.” Even the most brilliant talents squeeze out the occasional turd, they are human after all. This is one of those movies that you might come across flipping through the NetFlix Instant Queue one night after you’ve had a few too many beers which might arouse your curiosity, but trust me, hombre, just keep flipping until you find something else.

Available on Blu-ray and DVD

Other Noteworthy Releases

Transformers – Dark of the Moon 3D: Michael Bay’s celebration of boys & their toys finally comes to 3D home video. I sort of admire Bay for making something as unapologetically vapid as this movie is, it’s pretty much a Bay’s trademarks blasted straight at your face without any hint of pretensions towards character and coherent storytelling. You can also grab the entire series in a deluxe box set, which should make for a remarkable tool if you’re into marathon S&M sessions.

Available on 3D Blu-ray

Star Trek – The Next Generation – The Next Level: I loved the Blu-ray releases that were put together of the original series, and it looks like they’re doing something similar with “The Next Generation”, offering re-created effects for high-definition. This three-episode set is a taste of what the full season sets will offer, serving three episodes that have been given the hi-def treatment: “Encounter at Farpoint,” “Sins of the Father” and “The Inner Light.” The beauty of what they did with the original series was they offered you a choice: you could watch it with the old effects, or the flashy CGI stuff, whatever floats your boat. Hear that, George Lucas? Choice. We like that. This release comes at an affordable price, but it’s a release for the impatient. If you’re gonna buy the whole shebang anyway, save your money and wait for the real deal.

Available on Blu-ray

In Time: Andrew Niccol’s stuff hasn’t ever really scratched my sci-fi itch, though “Gattaca” was pretty sweet. I love how Harlan Ellison sued the makers of this film for ripping off “Repent, Harlequin! Said the Ticktockman”, only to drop his lawsuit once he saw the film. I guess he only likes to take credit for stuff that’s good.

Available on Blu-ray, DVD, and Amazon Instant

The Thing: Back when I would gobble up any horror film I could get my hands on, curiosity would’ve been a good enough motivator to see this one. It doesn’t seem like it’s sure whether it’s a prequel or a remake, so I’ll just stick with the John Carpenter one, thanks. Also, the Christian Nyby/Howard Hawks classic is pretty swell too.

Available on Blu-ray, DVD, and Amazon Instant

The Big Year: A film starring Steve Martin, Jack Black, and Owen Wilson about bird watching … which bombed badly at the box office. Given that my Father is an avid birder, I’ll be watching this one with him for kicks some day soon.

Available on Blu-ray, DVD, and Amazon Instant

Dream House: Another bomb, this Jim Sheridan film starring Daniel Craig looks like a script someone dug out of M. Night Shyamalan’s garbage can. A sure sign a movie needs to make some fast cash after a bad box office draw: it’s available for rental on Amazon Instant the day it comes out, instead of making you purchase it for streaming. Not a rule, but it’s interesting how duds often come out of the gate accepting rentals there.

Available on Blu-ray, DVD, and Amazon Instant

The Double: In case you were wondering what Richard Gere is up to.

Available on Blu-ray, DVD, and Amazon Instant

Outrage – Way of the Yakuza: A new Takeshi Kitano film?!  Sign me up!  Ever since I saw him terrorize high schoolers in “Battle Royale”, I’ve been a fan.

Available on Blu-ray and DVD

The Magnificent Ambersons: Orson Welles’s half-masterpiece finally gets a stand-alone DVD release.

Available on DVD

Blubberella: I just wanted to point out that this exists. Of course, Uwe Boll is involved. Note how the titular character is firing off machine guns while gripping the clips in the cover art. Just sayin’.

Available on DVD

To Kill a Mockingbird: Man, it’s been a long time since I’ve watched this. Time to give it another look now that it’s got a Blu-ray dip coming out.

Available on Blu-ray, DVD and Amazon Instant

Adaptation: The best Charlie Kaufman creation, “Adaptation” is as brilliantly meta as it gets.  Nic Cage haters need to remember that the man is great when he’s in the right movie.  This one, “Moonstruck,” “Wild at Heart,” “Raising Arizona,” “Leaving Las Vegas”… recognize.

Available on Blu-ray

Shakespeare in Love: It’s Oscar season, so a bunch of movies that got a bunch of wins/nominations are getting Blu-ray dips. I couldn’t ever muster up the will to force myself to watch this movie. Now that it’s on Blu-ray, I’m not shocked I still don’t care.

Available on Blu-ray

The English Patient: Anthony Minghella’s middle name was “Oscar” during his career. Another one of his movies, “Cold Mountain,” also comes to Blu-ray this week.

Available on Blu-ray

The Piano: When I think of tortured female-driven dramas, I think of Jane Campion’s “The Piano” starring Holly Hunter and Harvey Keitel’s penis.

Available on Blu-ray

Frida: Being an admirer of Diego Rivera’s murals, I really enjoyed Julie Taymor’s biopic on his wife, Frida Kahlo, which covers her career, and their tempestuous relationship. Taymor’s such a visually-driven director that this Blu-ray release should look fantastic.

Available on Blu-ray

Malcolm X: He may have blocked my mouthy self on Twitter (hey, shameless plug time, follow me because you love me), but I do enjoy me some Spike Lee movies when he hits the right notes. “Malcolm X” is one of those times where he knocked it out of the park.

Available on Blu-ray

This article originally appeared over at Parcbench

Hard to disagree with any of this, inclusing the demise of the musical and the efense of this technique when appropriate in films such as “Hurt Locker.”

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Whenever I’m accused of carrying water for conservative-leaning films, my best defense is always “Transformers 2,” which I ranked as number 1,2, and 3 in my list of the five worst films of that year. Love me some Michael Bay for making the Obama administration part of the problem and treating the United States Military with the respect it deserves, but…

And I’m a Michael Bay defender. Other other than the shaky-cam, I didn’t hate the first one, but it’s no exaggeration for me to say that sitting through the sequel was the most purely painful cinema-going experience of my life  … and I’ve seen “Grace is Gone.”

Bay and his star Shia Le-what’s-his-name have both fessed up to the awfulness of part 2 and have a pretty valid excuse for where it all went so wrong, the writer’s strike. So let’s give them the benefit of the doubt and trust they’ve learned from their mistakes.

Hard to judge the three-quel from this trailer but at least the camera doesn’t look like it’s having a seizure. We will know a whole lot more July 1st.

In a nutshell, this poster said that the antithesis to “The Green Zone,” and diatribes of that ilk, would be some dim witted, cheer leading, Michael Bay style action movie where the Arabs are sneering villains and the American G.I.’s are square jawed pretty boys out to save the world.

Where does one begin?

His post reinforces the primary myth that drives all debate in our country. The central conceit is that leftist ideology is “complex,” “educated,” “nuanced” etc. Conservative and libertarian ideology is “simplistic,” “black and white,” and often times driven by superstitious religious beliefs and not “hard facts and science.” To suppose that the “conservative” version of “The Green Zone” is a movie like 1986’s “Delta Force” misses the point…big time.

As a quick side note, Menahem Golan’s “Delta Force” kicks ass. I recommend it highly.

What is silly about this narrative, especially in the discussion of “The Green Zone” is that it not only knocks conservative ideas, principals, and factual evidence down a few pegs, but it elevates leftist ideas far beyond their merit.

“The Green Zone” is based on a leftist fantasy. The film’s plot is rooted in a conspiracy theory that is no more factual or logical than 9/11 Trutherism. The fact that publications like the New York Times, major news networks, and supposedly respected leftist bloggers reinforce and repeat this fantasy does not make it true. The fact that leftist film critics have embraced this film as “speaking truth to power” is laughable and should discredit these individuals rather than give credence to the film’s plot and supposed revelations.

To embrace the ideas behind “The Green Zone” is to indulge in simplistic, blinded, poorly informed, and historically detached information. There is nothing “educated,” “nuanced” or “complex” about the idea that the United States government lied to the world to depose Saddam Hussein in an effort to steal Iraq’s natural resources. To believe that requires a lack of intellect and critical thinking, not an elevated amount of intelligence.

All conspiracy theories tend to fall apart when you analyze the facts and examine the motivations. Toss in the fact that it is difficult to keep even a few people quiet about things, and the possibility of grand conspiracies becomes even more remote.

Most “factual” accounts of the theory behind “The Green Zone” start their time lines after 9/11. Bush wanted to invade Iraq. It was a foregone conclusion they say. Regardless of the evidence, the administration wanted to invade Iraq and would do whatever they could to manipulate the facts to support their plans. Of course, this would mean that Bush had many accomplices, and that the plan began far before 9/11. In fact, the plan would have to begin before Bush even took office or was elected. Throughout the 1990s there are tons of interviews, articles, news reports, etc. that addressed Iraq’s WMD program. Rove, Cheney and Bush would have had to recruit a bunch of other politicians and world leaders to lay the ground work for their nefarious plot. People like Bill Clinton, Al Gore, Hillary Clinton, Joe Biden, and John Kerry must have subscribed to the plot years before the invasion, for all of them believed that Saddam was packing heat and that he posed a threat to the world.

The WMD story predates Bush and is a global narrative, not one cooked up in Dick Cheney’s secret bunker.

Of course, Saddam himself could have put an end to the speculation by complying with the weapons inspections that were a provision of the peace agreement he entered into after the first Gulf War.

The biggest ally in the Bush/Rove/Cheney/Simon Barsinistar plot, it seems, was Saddam Hussein!

What about the motivations? Again, examining the facts reveals less about the dark hearts of the Bushies and more about the ignorance of the educated and enlightened left.

Letfists don’t understand money. This is a well documented fact and a fact that they seem to reinforce daily. Read any Paul Krugman op-ed and you will see what I mean. With that in mind, how much money would Bush and Co. make off the war? Who makes the money? And how much money would individuals make compared to the money that these individuals already have? Sure $500 million sounds like a lot to the average person, but is that worth the risk for a multi-billionaire? And these supposed oil, war, and reconstruction “profits” are all being paid to publicly held companies. Those profits are offset by costs, and then those dividends are divided amongst shareholders. So, a billion dollars paid to a company results in a few hundred million in “profit” that then is reduced to millions when it filters back to the executives and high level shareholders. Is that enough motivation to risk the consequences should one person start singing like a canary? Besides, no one who subscribes to this mythology has ever provided a distinct money trail, choosing instead to offer nebulous anecdotes about oil companies, Haliburton, and other generic Texas residents who’s net worth is over a million bucks.

Indeed, if you understand money and government, you can devise numerous other, better schemes to make a ton of cash. After 9/11, Bush could have used oil resources as a signature issue. Bankrupt the terrorists and their Middle Eastern enablers. The Republican controlled Congress could have acted in the same underhanded manner as the current Congress to force drastic changes in environmental and oil policy. Bush could have forced drilling in Alaska, coastal California and other places, awarding no bid contracts to both construction and oil companies to develop the new sites. Couple that with some protectionist trade rules through executive orders that barred oil imports form specific countries or groups (like Opec) and within five to ten years the “Rethuglicans” and their evil cronies could have remade the world oil market and had more money than they could ever hope to siphon from Iraq.

This oft repeated conspiracy simply doesn’t add up. I can find more circumstantial evidence and better motivations behind the theory that Elvis is alive and living in Ohio than I can the drivel that masquerades as the plot for “The Green Zone.”

Those who believe these stories are not “smarter” or more “complex” than the rubes, like myself, who understand history and economics. Quite the opposite. Like Obama’s speeches, these narratives are juvenile, emotional, and partisan rants wrapped in big words and condescending tones. You can add as much faux sincerity and shaky cam as you want; it doesn’t change the fact that at it’s core “The Green Zone” is a sophomoric, under thought, and ignorant story.

As for the conservative Iraq movie, I would focus on individuals. Complex narratives start with the journey of a character, not convoluted plots. I personally know three Iraq war veterans and their stories of heroism, danger, tragedy and triumph could fill ten screenplays.

And not a single one of them would be about America as a villain. That’s just stupid.

Count Mr. Goldstein as one of the Polanski toadies. Let me begin by giving you a little insight into Mr. Goldstein’s personal morality. He’s views the drugging and rape of a 13 year old as a “personal transgression.” As my regular readers know, I am a self proclaimed “rube” who lives out in the culturally barren wasteland know as the Midwest. Out here where we lack the gravitas of those Hollywood newspaper types, a “personal transgression” is when you bump into some coming out of church on Sunday. You say “excuse me” and go home and not to the south of France for thirty years to avoid the consequences of your actions.   

Here, the drugging and raping of a child is the kind of thing that gets you shot by an angry father and gets him exonerated for justifiable homicide whether the rapist made great films or worked at the feed and grain.

Goldstein also criticizes me when he says I “barely bother[ed] to take umbrage with Polanski.”  He could be right on that. I only directly called him a pedophile and a cockroach by inference. Maybe in Hollywood those are seen as accolades, but again where I live that kind of talk might get you an ashtray in the eye at the local bar.

Just to show us how sophisticated he is Mr. Goldstein takes an out of left field snide swipe at two commercially successful film directors, Michael Bay and Dennis Dugan.  Apparently in Mr. Goldstein’s mind making an Adam Sandler film is much worse than raping a child. Those guys he mocks may also be guilty of a crime worse than child rape in Hollywood, they may be conservatives!

Unknowingly, I may have committed another Hollywood transgression in my piece on Polanski and his supporters; I called one of them a “limousine liberal.” I only cited only one example of Pierce Brosnan’s liberalism in the piece and Mr. Goldstein seems to think that is the only example that exists. However, due to a marvelous system we in the hinterlands call “the internet” I found many examples of Mr. Brosnan’s liberalism.

It’s too bad that Mr. Goldstein doesn’t have access to the Internet or he wouldn’t have had to guess about a comment I made on Mr. Brosnan’s statement that in order to work with Polanski an actor needs to “know his onions.”

Perhaps my sense of humor isn’t quite broad enough for him to catch when I am being flippant about something, so I’ll try to go slower this time so he understands my point. The etymology of the phrase “knowing one’s onions” is a little foggy but is most definitely not “presumably obscure Scottish slang.” Why Mr. Goldstein would presume Mr. Brosnan would use Scottish slang is also beyond me, Mr. Brosnan being Irish and all.  You’d think a guy who writes about Hollywood for a living would know something that. He really ought to get this internet thing; it’s great for checking one’s facts!

This raises a couple of questions.  The first is, “Who is Mathew Marsden?”  Well, he was an up-and-coming young English singer and actor with athletic roles in Rambo and Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen.  Which leads to the second question – why would writer Jackson Williams be so giddy about the revelation that Marsden apparently does not hew obediently to the Hollywood left’s party line?

Well, it sure isn’t because he’s interested in giving Marsden’s career a boost.  Like the grinning little snot in every elementary school class who gets off on the high of narc-ing out the other kids to the schoolmarm, Jackson’s purpose was to tattle to every producer, agent, actor and other Hollywoodoid that Marsden had been a bad, bad boy.  He exercised his right to think for himself. Maybe Jackson should wear a sash:  “Political Hall Monitor.”  But it’s clear that his article is simply a nomination of Marsden for a spot on the New Hollywood Blacklist.

And what is Marsden’s alleged thoughtcrime?  Well, since Jackson’s “reporting” appears to be based solely on his reading of some newspaper articles, and because Jackson never bothered to ask Marsden anything, it’s difficult to tell.  It appears the actor was a guest of a “sneaky” “conservative” “outfit” called the Council for National Policy that was “smoked out” when it held a “secret, far-right conclave” in an Austin hotel.  We know it’s “sneaky” because its website fails to provide all of the information Jackson thinks it should, though having a public website would seem to be the opposite of “sneaky.”  For that matter, having its event in a public hotel seems to be the opposite of “secret.” 

In any case, you really don’t need to know any more than the fact that it appears that some evangelicals are involved.  Case closed.   To the keepers of the New Blacklist, evangelical Christians are clearly agents of the antichrist, mostly because they believe in Christ.  Or something like that.

Jackson’s particular bugaboo seems to be the kind of “lunatic” who spews “right-wing screeds,” and for this he cites Pat Boone and Chuck Norris.  If you’re wondering what kind of screeds these are, well, some seem to be “anti-gay.”  I guess Jackson is referring to those who support traditional marriage – you know, like the majority of the American people and our President.   Or perhaps he is referring to those with belief in a Creator, a belief he labels “creationism” – you know, like the belief shared by the majority of the American people and our famously Christian President. 

Marsden’s purported embrace of the same values and beliefs of most Americans and our President apparently somehow has the effect of placing him far outside the mainstream.   Of course, to the New Blacklisters, the mainstream consists solely of a few thousand Hollywoodoids dwelling in the 310 area code.  Well, maybe some folks in the 212 qualify too – you know, for diversity.

Nothing in Jackson’s article – which, after all, is just a summary of someone else’s reporting – offers any explanation of why Marsden might be less than thrilled to have his political beliefs publicized.   Maybe he doesn’t feel like he wants to impose his views on his fans.  Maybe he feels he should learn more before speaking out.  Or, I dunno, maybe he doesn’t want a bunch of left-wing bigots indulging their prejudices and blacklisting him from future work because he dares think for himself.

Jackson’s big objection seems to be that Marsden doesn’t make a big public spectacle of his beliefs, which he seems to think makes Marsden liable for lefty animus.  Strangely, Jackson seems to argue that conservative animus toward Hollywoodiods who are not only public about their views but beat paying customers over their heads with them is misplaced.  So, the guy who quietly works for his beliefs – evil.  Loudmouth no-talents who stop their concerts to trash their country to paying customers or who prance about in North Vietnamese AA-gun emplacements –– well, they’re America’s greatest heroes. 

–

In my experience, there are three types of people in Hollywood.  There are a few smart ones.  Most of them had to work for success and have life experience in the real world that gives them a certain level of wisdom.  Then there are the ones who are dumb but think they are smart – mostly because they’ve been told they are awesome by sycophants and suck-ups like Jackson (Ms. Streisand and Ms. Sarandon, you are so “honest” and brave in your liberalism – can I come to the party now?).   And then there are the ones who are dumb and know it but don’t care because they are really good looking and rich to boot.

I can deal with the first and the third kind, and they are also the two types that do not go in for the New Blacklist nonsense.  They couldn’t care less about your political views as long as you do your job. 

It’s the dumb ones who impose lefty political litmus tests.  The dumb ones come in two types – people who just aren’t that bright to begin with and people who went to expensive, prestigious universities and therefore became dumb by buying into commie academic nonsense. 

The first kind tends to end up on camera pledging to be a servant to a politician.  The second tend not to know anyone to the right of Dennis Kucinich and therefore buy into every negative stereotype about normal Americans that they come across on the HuffPost.   Alienating huge numbers of potential paying customers by attacking those few in Hollywood who share their beliefs is just bad business.  Jackson sneers at the “Left Behind” books in his article.  Hey, they aren’t my cup of tea either, but if a major studio made a movie out of one it would do Twilight-level box office.  Hollywood, there are a lot more evangelical Christians out there with nothing to spend money on at the multiplex than lonely teenagers pining away for emo bloodsucker sagas.

The New Blacklist barring those with dissenting views is particularly dumb in an age of technology that makes the old Hollywood-centric model of a single, monolithic entertainment complex increasingly untenable.  Pretty soon technology is going to make major motion picture studios obsolete.  Anyone will be able to make a professional movie.  Just look at Panic Attack, a robot invasion short some dude in Paraguay made for about 100 pesos, lira, shiny rocks or whatever they use for currency in Montevideo.   And the distribution system based on film stock will go the way of phrenology, buggy whips and popular faith in global warming as the next generation of movies is transmitted to theaters digitally.  In the past, the Hollywoodoids could maintain a blacklist because only they could make and distribute movies; tomorrow, the blacklisted will just go around them.

Now, not everyone in Hollywood with a political opinion is a fool.  The man who was arguably the greatest American of the last half-century was an actor – an actor who spent years in the political arena, developed and honed his views, and convinced his countrymen to elect him their president.  On the left, actors like Mike Farrell and Martin Sheen expose the silliest leftism, but there can’t be any doubt that they both have learned and developed expertise regarding their issues – they just got the issues completely wrong.  But their usual acting work is generally non-political, making it easy for fans to appreciate their craft while ignoring their views.  Hell, I’m even a huge fanof HuffPost columnist Alec Baldwin’s acting – in fact, he’s one of my top four favorite Baldwin brothers.

Here’s an idea.  It may not be so popular anymore but it seems due for a comeback.  It’s called freedom.  It’s the idea that people are free to say, do and think what they want without petty fascists trying to punish them for presuming to think differently.  Liberals used to believe in that – until they got the power to do the punishing. 

Hopefully, and despite Jackson’s best efforts, the revelation that Marsden dares to have opinions that many in Hollywood do not share will not harm his career.  There’s probably another Transformers movie on the horizon, and while I have no clue as to Michael Bay and his team’s politics, I do know they are HUGE supporters of our troops and therefore deserve the benefit of the doubt. 

By the way, Marsden himself is a big soldier supporter too, and he actually did a parachute jump with the U.S. Army’s Golden Knights (Airborne – all the way, Matt!).  Uh oh, I probably just moved him up the New Blacklist about twenty spots by revealing that he doesn’t hold our fighting men and women in sufficient contempt.  I can see his panicked agent now, nervously tugging on his Armani tie, telling his client, “Hey, Matt, you gotta get in front of this thing!  You gotta turn it around!  You gotta hug a Latin thug, burn a flag or maybe spit on a wounded Marine!   You do that and, well, I think I smell an Oscar!”

Numbing doesn’t begin to describe the experience. The movie is simply awful, Bay’s worst since “Bad Boys 2.”

Sam (Shia LeBeouf) and Mikaela (Megan Fox) are still together, but he’s on his way east to college and a long distance romance via webcam looms. His first day at school, Sam’s brain starts to go haywire just as the Decepticons ready some kind of comeback that can only be accomplished with what’s in Sam’s head. With the help of Optimus Prime, Bumblebee and a number of “comic-relief” Autobots, Sam and Mikaela outrun explosions as big robots fight over something that could kill the sun or something.

The plot is borderline incoherent. Large swaths of lengthy exposition make up mythology for no other reason than to allow for another action set-piece. Everything finally lands in Egypt amongst the pyramids for a “big climax” where the stakes never feel real and it appears no one seemed at all interested in trying to create any sense of danger.  No peril, no tension, just directionless mayhem – much of it in pointless slow motion – and Fox always posed like Victoria Secret model, even while on the run.

Just as President Bush did in the first film, President Obama does take a few hits here. The president is named and his National Security liaison, a posturing, snotty Paul Begala-esque simp who disrespects the military, takes the same appeasement, anti–American Leftist position we saw in Iraq. Rather than blame the bad guys, the President blames the good guys for attracting the bad guys and demands Optimus Prime and the Autobots leave Earth until “every diplomatic option” with the Decepticons is explored. To Bay’s credit this is handled with some subtlety, much more subtlety than the cinematic attacks on Bush these last few years.

As usual, Bay’s affection for the military is obvious and sincere. He portrays them as they are: professional, compassionate and valorous. They just deserve a better movie, but that’s true for all of us.

As far as all the noise about ”jive-talking” ‘bots Skids and Mudflap being some sort of “racist” characterization, that’s simply absurd. Both are completely over-the-top in the satiric department. Like the flamboyant gay man we see everywhere today or Randy Quaid’s portrayal of a redneck Southerner in the “Vacation” movies, there’s not a hint of a mean-spirit anywhere in sight. Is Wednesday “Innoculate Blacks From Satire Day?” You see, I’m all confused, because last week’s uproar from part of the gay community over “Bruno” fell on a Wednesday, too. Anyway, CAIR must be happy. That leaves them the six other days.

Other than the awful shaky-cam (which thankfully doesn’t rear its ugly head here), the first “Transformers” at least qualified as dumb summer fun. You certainly couldn’t argue you didn’t get your money’s worth. What went wrong with “Fallen” started with the script and ended in the editing room. And that’s unfortunate because we won’t see many big-budget studio films with the guts to tweak Obama or the decency to portray our military and country in the positive way both deserve.

To My Obama-Loving Friends:

Please read on, this is fifteen years of experience talking….

You’re excited. Why wouldn’t you be? It’s summertime, it’s Michael Bay, the trailer’s loaded with explosions and hot chicks and mayhem and by gawd you need this – no… you deserve this. You deserve a couple hours in the dark, in the air conditioning, in a place where you’re lifted from the stresses, worries, and hassles of an all-too real world. 

And dammit, you paid good money for this escape, this drug, this promise of both. Hell, crack is cheaper … and lasts longer (from what I hear). 

The lights dim, the movie starts, and you’re digging it. Sure it’s kinda dumb, but you knew that coming in. But the promise is kept. Mayhem, explosions, crunching metal, political sucker punch. Whoa. Wait…

POLITICAL SUCKER PUNCH? 

Whuh-tha-hell? 

Now imagine waiting for this to happen … All. The. Time. Oh, it may not happen every time, but it happens enough that no matter what television show you watch or movie you pay good money for, you wait for it. That’s right, anything new that comes out of Hollywood cannot be viewed without waiting for it. You’re always on guard and can never completely relax because the insult, the breaking of the spell, the cheap shot, the sucker punch can come at anytime from anywhere… 

If this report is true… 

“In this movie, exactly one real-life politician is named: “President Obama.” They went out of their way to make sure they named the craven, obstructionist president as Obama.” 

…and I’ll know for sure in less than a couple hours, please do get all “So what gives?” over it, and know that you have our sympathy. Kind of.

Looking back at The Karate Kid (1984), which turned twenty-five years old this week, a thought keeps recurring.

Wow. . . Avildsen made it work twice.

John G. Avildsen is, in some ways, a director of little distinction when compared with well-known marquee names like Spielberg, Scorsese, Nolan, and Tarantino. The vast majority of his movies are utterly forgotten by the average filmgoer — indeed, he’s been nominated for Worst Director at The Razzies three times. And yet, like Victor Fleming decades earlier with his twin successes The Wizard of Oz and Gone with the Wind (both 1939 — read a great recent article on Fleming here), Avildsen has twice punched way above his weight, netting himself an Oscar for Best Director and giving birth to some of the most memorable moments in motion picture history.

His first triumph, made on a shoestring budget and a scant few weeks of shooting time, was a little picture called Rocky (1976). He had no money, no stars, no amazing effects, and yet Avildsen used camera, music, and editing to craft scenes of immense power and impact. Has there ever been a film, before or since, that ends on a more rousing wave of uplift? That takes such pains to create identification and empathy with its wide array of characters? That more patiently or expertly builds up to its cataclysmic swell of emotion? That has the guts and sense of timing to fade to black at the exact peak, frustrating our desire to know what happens next even as it leaves us too blissful to care?

Rocky did all of that and much more, and despite its fight scenes now looking like slow-mo hokum compared to the MMA-style mayhem that now rules on TV, it remains the most memorable and effective boxing film ever made. That’s really saying something, given the immense amount of solid competition the genre boasts.

But as other directors began ineptly looting and mimicking Avildsen’s style and innovations, it looked as if everything that made Rocky great would quickly become so cliché as to make a repeat impossible. We all know that sinking feeling when we begin perceiving the clunky wheels of the typical “Hollywood sports plot” turning — that excruciatingly slow crawl towards the utterly predictable final showdown, where the very last seconds of a contest are shamelessly milked until the hero finally hits the last shot/punch/goal/basket. Even the Rocky sequels couldn’t escape these pitfalls, and it would be hard to blame an audience for glumly concluding that Avildsen’s 1976 artistic triumph had spoiled the sports movie for all time.

So who would have guessed that, eight years later, Avildsen would essentially pull off the same trick again? How on earth did he once again make a Rocky-style plot arc work, without the end result becoming a pale pastiche?

He achieved this feat in large part by turning everything we remember from Rocky on its head. Ralph Macchio’s Daniel Larusso is played not as a thickheaded lummox, but as a fast-thinking, bone-skinny teen whose nasal Jersey whine sounds more like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer than Sylvester Stallone. He’s neither a down-and-out fighter with his best years behind him, nor is he looking to “go the limit” to prove something profound to himself. He’s just a kid at the very beginning of his adult life, who for most of the film limits his ambition to simply not getting beat up. Similarly, Elizabeth Shue’s Ali Mills is light years away from Talia Shire’s Adrian Pennino: rich instead of poor, charming rather than an ugly duckling, sociable not shy. And Pat Morita’s unforgettable Mr. Miyagi isn’t washed up or pathetically ambitious like Burgess Meredith’s Mickey Goldmill — he’s the very epitome of contentment and balance and wisdom.

Rocky achieved its verisimilitude with generous dollops of grime, rust, blood and profanity, whereas The Karate Kid is notable for its relative wholesomeness (note how Elizabeth Shue even wears a one-piece swimsuit to the beach instead of the obligatory teen-movie bikini). The music marks yet another telling departure. Rocky’s iconic score, by Bill Conti, was a mix of 1970s funk, heroic brass, and a choir acting as a Greek chorus, all combined into a sonic brew that still ranks as one of the most recognizable and rousing in film history. For The Karate Kid, Conti was once again brought in as the composer. But this time, in between pop songs like Bananarama’s “Cruel Summer,” he chose a light mix of delicate strings, only occasionally allowing them to burst forth into full orchestral splendor. For the training montage, Conti completely eschews Rocky’s reliance on trumpeting brass and instead opts for the lonely skirling of Gheorghe Zamfir’s pan flute, creating a more spiritual and intimate vibe.

Avildsen’s camera, for its part, is probing and observant, often making excellent use of telephoto lenses to highlight what would otherwise be a missed reaction or expression. He achieves true poetry in the training scenes: on the beach among the circling cranes, on the lake amidst glittering golden waters, and even in the fights and strategies that pulse through the climactic tournament. He also warred with the studio when necessary to protect certain crucial scenes, such as the one where a drunken Miyagi reveals his service in WWII to Daniel. That one adds a whole new layer of depth to what was already a touching and authentic relationship, and yet the studio wanted it cut, deeming it superfluous.

On top of all that, the excellent screenplay by Robert Mark Kamen (who distinguished himself more recently by penning the immensely satisfying kidnap flick Taken) consistently leads Avildsen down novel paths. The teen villains of the story (portrayed by, among others, Steve McQueen’s son Chad and Elizabeth Shue’s brother Andrew) are refreshingly human, at times even gaining our sympathy. Unlike the usual faceless, gormless teens in Hollywood fare, this group is delineated exceedingly well, and remain recognizable as individuals even when hiding behind Ray Harryhausen-esque skeleton makeup in a genuinely chilling night scene. Kamen fleshed out his bad guys so well that the Cobra Kais, led outside the dojo by actor William Zabka’s smirking blond-haired bad boy Johnny Lawrence, now have a sizable fan following among Karate Kid aficionados. One admirer even made a clever YouTube re-edit of the final fight so that Johnny wins:

Meanwhile, a band called No More Kings has made a song about the redemption of Johnny called “Sweep the Leg,” with a fun “Karate Kid continuation” music video written and directed by Zabka himself:

In interviews, Zabka has expressed pleasant surprise that The Karate Kid remains so alive in the popular culture, calling it a “sacred film” and noting that there are even Cobra Kai bowling teams out there. It’s enough to convince me that The Karate Kid II should have been all about Miyagi reforming the Cobra Kais, slowly rehabilitating them into good guys.

In so many ways, Avildsen’s 1984 film is courageous in the way it deviates from the instantly recognizable Rocky formula. How strong must the pressure have been on Avildsen to make the easy, safe choices, mimicking his earlier masterpiece in every detail? His resistance to those impulses does him credit, and hence to dismiss The Karate Kid as a mere Rocky clone is to do it an injustice.

But if there is one overriding secret to the success of The Karate Kid, it is the transcendent performance of Pat Morita as Mr. Miyagi. In 1984, most Americans still conceived of the East, at least in cinematic terms, as a mystical wonderland of Kung-Fu magic and swordplay. Hong Kong directors like Jackie Chan, Sammo Hung, John Woo, Tsui Hark, and Ringo Lam were only beginning to create the explosion of masterful, modernized pictures that would eventually change the entire way the world looked at Asians on film. It’s hard to remember how utterly fresh a character like Mr. Miyagi was to 1984 audiences, completely unexposed as they were to the renaissance happening in Hong Kong. Fully fleshed out, with a compelling backstory and potent motivations, he was written as charmingly colloquial and disheveled, a character who could consistently shatter the stereotype of the “magic Asian” to raucously humorous effect.

Almost always in American cinema — to this day — Asian protagonists are depicted as cardboard caricatures at best and laughingstocks at worst. Avildsen rejected the initial front-runner for the part of Miyagi — the great Japanese actor Toshirô Mifune — and instead bet his entire film on the talents of a thoroughly Americanized stand-up comedian, one who in his salad days used to bill himself in comedy clubs as “the Hip Nip.” Comedians have a strangely robust record of shining in good dramatic roles — think Robin Williams, Bill Murray, Jim Carrey, Tom Hanks, Billy Crystal, Steve Martin, et al. — and they often manage to strike a solid balance between laughs and drama. Morita did exactly that in The Karate Kid: affecting just the right Japanese accent, leavening his character’s power and seriousness with just enough comedy, and always figuring out ways to make you laugh with Miyagi instead of at him.

If you haven’t seen The Karate Kid in awhile, you’re in for a treat — Mr. Miyagi was no fluke, he remains one of the most winning characters in the history of cinema. It was the role of a lifetime for Morita, who garnered a well-deserved Oscar nomination (as it happened, he lost that year to Haing S. Ngor in The Killing Fields, who himself became the first Asian to win an acting Oscar). Any number of others would have played Miyagi as either an embarrassing joke or an irremediably grim Samurai grandmaster. But in his every glare, mannerism, and pose, Morita elevates the character into a veritable Gandalf. Look closely at the scene when he bows gravely to a shocked Daniel (who has just discovered that his hated chores were actually important lessons), or when towards the end he smacks his hands together with such orchestra-enhanced thunder that the audience jumps. In those moments The Karate Kid — so often seen as an also-ran and afterthought to Rocky — breaks away from that film’s orbit and soars free all on its own.

So Avildsen pulled it off not once, but twice — I still can’t believe it. And if he never makes another great movie, he can still sit back and rest easy, secure in the knowledge that two of the very best fight pictures ever made have his name on them. That he did both of them on such low budgets should give hope to conservative filmmakers who assume liberal Hollywood will never give them a chance. There is nothing in The Karate Kid that couldn’t be accomplished on a micro-budget — all you would need is the gumption to dream up the script.

But will anyone take on the challenge, as Avildsen did those many years ago? Only time will tell. Until then: wax on, wax off. . . wax on, wax off. . . .

I also found these quotes from Ms. Fox:

“I don’t want to have to go on talk shows and pull out every single S.A.T. word I’ve ever learned, to prove, like, ‘Take me seriously, I am intelligent, I can speak.’ I don’t want to have to do that. I resent having to prove that I’m not a retard.”

And…

“Women are expected to be conformist automatons in L.A. but in Britain you can be more yourself and people will take you on face value.”

Far be it from me to point out that the base audience for “Transformers” is young males in Middle America, the same men that Fox condemns to a robot apocalypse.  I doubt the bi-coastal elites from Beverly Hills to the Upper West Side will be waiting in line for the midnight showing of Michael Bay’s latest opus.  Alienating your core audience is never a good idea.  Perhaps Ms. Fox holds an associate’s degree from the Timothy Geithner School of Business Management.

Fox asserts that she is “not a retard” and that she bucks the system by not being a “conformist.”  Is it bad for me to call foul on both points?

I learned something a long time ago.  Back in my fraternity days at USC (oops, man, did I just give the Huffington Post ammo?… A USC FRAT BOY!!!!!!  No wonder…) I noticed how the guys who constantly bragged about their sexual prowess really didn’t do too well.  The guys who were discrete, never bragged, never felt the need to prove anything, had a steady stream of attractive dates and girlfriends. The braggarts would spend their weekends regaling in tales of three ways and sex with strippers while drinking forty-ouncers and challenging each other to games of “Street Fighter” on the Super NES.

The same goes for intelligence.  When you feel compelled to tell the world how smart you are, how intellectual your positions are, how deep your education runs, the sad truth is that you probably aren’t that bright.

Megan Fox is a panderer.  She trashes Middle America to the British Press.  She wears “Star Wars” T-shirts to make Fan Boys drool, then calls those Fan Boys “retards” to the hipsters in Silver Lake.  She talks up her intelligence and non-conformity…. by making stupid, conformist statements.

Lauren Bacall made this observation about Hollywood: “When I first went into pictures, women absolutely ran the show. Bette Davis practically owned Warner Brothers.”  Bacall doesn’t know many of the stars of today. “They’re all too self-involved, y’know? And they’re so unaware of what goes on anywhere else.”

Hmmmm…is there any way that we can draw a parallel between the rise of “correct” thought in Hollywood as evidenced by self-absorbed automatons like Megan Fox and the observation that Hollywood used to be BETTER for women?  Is it, perhaps, that whiny divas who parrot talking points to look cool, who lack independent thought and rely on their good looks instead of honing their craft, have made Hollywood WORSE for women?  That may be a stretch.  Maybe I need some self-professed smart person to help me make that argument.

Bacall, Bette Davis, Katherine Hepburn, Joan Crawford…these women are legends.  Not just because they are superior, gifted actresses, but because you can feel their presence, their intellect, their “moxie” in every thing they did.

As a reformed frat guy I can tell you…these women had “balls!”

I have a friend.  An actress.  The one pictured above that you might not recognize.  Her resume is similar to Fox’s, before her lucky break in “Transformers.”  This actress is not an automaton.  Her politics are a unique blend of feminism, social liberalism, libertarianism, and hawkish neo-conservatism.  She has a business degree from BYU, although she’s never mentioned it to anyone to further her “smart” credentials.  When she walks into a party she doesn’t instantly turn the conversation into a discourse on her sexual habits a la Ms. Fox, nor does she sit by and let a comment about that “fascist George Bush” go by without a rebuttal.

Yet while Megan Fox was busy being pampered on the set of “Transformers,” this actress worked with me on the direct to video knock-off movie “Transmorphers.”  While Megan Fox sat in her trailer waiting for make-up, this actress did her own make-up, then stood outside in the freezing rain for 12 hours in an old junkyard near Topanga.  While Megan Fox pocketed hundreds of thousands of dollars, this actress got paid $50 a day.  No complaints.  No crying.  Just smiles and hard work.

Yes, Megan Fox, women in Hollywood still face issues and obstacles.  But not in the way that you think.  While you are gaming the system, being part of the problem and not the solution, others are advancing the cause despite you.

I know a couple of other actresses like my friend.  They feel alienated, blacklisted, and closed off.  Not because they are as attractive as Megan Fox and people can’t get past their looks.  Not solely because of the male stranglehold on Hollywood.  They feel out of place because they have “balls.”

And the last thing you want to be in the tolerant world of Hollywood is a woman with “balls.”

Megan Fox is clearly lacking a pair.