The Barnesyard

In the interests of killing two birds with the same stone, this week's Top 5 will rank the top 5 films that I've seen in recent weeks that I haven't had the chance to review yet. This list won't take into account the promised review of "Get Rich or Die Tryin'", the long-overdue Dare Daniel review of "It Runs in the Family", or the Dan and Dub's Duelling Review of Ingmar Bergman's "Shame". I apologize for the lack of recent posts, but I have been getting more assignments for the News and Review, and also learned this week that Barnesyard International will be moving its offices again next month. In the meantime, enjoy...

5) "Brick" (2005 - Dir.: Rian Johnson) Or, "The Long Goodbye" meets "Bugsy Malone". This slang-heavy high school noir is too gimmicky by half, but it's got a densely layered, near-indicipherable plot, tons of malevolent atmospherics, and a talented cast of actors. Most notable is Jospeh Gordon-Levitt as a nerdy, teenage Philip Marlowe attempting to solve the murder of his ex-girlfriend, and the dead-sexy Nora Zehetner (she's 25, I looked it up!) as the requisite femme fatale. Director Rian Johnson is a little too infatuated with his own cleverness, but he's also got a lot of promise as a filmmaker. Decent. GRADE: B-.

4) "The Dying Gaul" (2005 - Dir.: Craig Lucas). Like "Brick", this is a 2005 Sundance fave that is finally seeing the light of day (on home video this time). It tells the story of a gay Hollywood screenwriter selling out his semi-autobiographical story of homosexual love to a manipulative, bisexual producer. When the producer's wife finds out, she becomes significantly more manipulative, accosting the screenwriter in online chat rooms and pretending to be a reincarnation of his dead lover. The story begins strong, but only grows more muddled the more it goes on. However, the trio of leads -- Peter Sarsgaard, Campbell Scott, and Patricia Clarkson -- are all brilliant, and are cast in roles that play to their strengths (Sarsgaard = raging vulnerability; Scott = narcissistic contempt; Clarkson = frisky intellect). The film is directed by Craig Lucas, the writer of the underrated "The Secret Lives of Dentists", and like Rian Johnson, he announces himself as a potential major talent despite the shortcomings of his debut.
GRADE: B.

3) "Aliens" (1986 - Dir.: James Cameron) I've seen the film before, but this was the first time I've seen it on the big screen (at the Thursday night retro revival series in Davis). I was struck by how little Cameron shows us of the aliens until the end, instead concentrating on a series of over-the-top, enignmatically lit set pieces, and Sigourney Weaver's passionate, oddly sexy performance as Ripley. The best of the setpieces is the revelation of the mother alien (complete with giant birthing sac), and the final mom-on-mom showdown between the alien and Ripley, in which Weaver protects her adoptive daughter (who is cruelly offed in the opening minutes of "Alien3") by crawling into the walking forklift that was ripped off and multiplied by ten thousand in "Matrix: Revolutions". "Aliens" also marks the first and last time that Paul Reiser would be cast as a villain, although he'll always be a force for evil in my book.Bonus: Barnesyard perennial favorite Bill Paxton, who is enjoying a career renaissance thanks to his role on "Big Love", as a scared-shitless soldier whining lines like, "Maybe you haven't been keeping up on current events, but we just got our asses kicked, pal!" GRADE: B+.

2) "Die Hard" (1988 - Dir.: John McTiernan) Like "Aliens", this, lean-and-mean, action-flick prototype offers proof that movies once viewed as soulless, overblown exemplars of Hollywood decadence and stupidity can look like smart, low-budget, Fritz Lang potboilers when compared to what come afterwards. The fact that every action film from 1988 on came with the tag "'Die Hard'-on-a-bus/plane/subway/merry-go-round" didn't help the film's reputation much, but the original is still the best of the bunch, a tightly wound story about international terrorists taking over a "modern" high-rise office building on Xmas Eve in Los Angeles. Anchored by Bruce Willis' star-making performance as an NYC cop on the edge, "Die Hard" introduced us to a whole new world of cliches -- British actors as effete villains of indeterminate European descent, law enforcement superiors who are more dangerous than the terrorists, manipulative media scumbags exploiting the crisis, and a female lead who learns to renounce feminism in the face of tragedy. Everything considered, "Die Hard" is still fun as hell. GRADE: A-.

1) And the number one slot goes to...well, rip it up and tell Aunt Mary, it's our old buddy, Sacramento's own The Georgia Peach, Little Richard, The Quasar of Rock! No, not the de-orgied, quasi-saintly neuter from that pathetic TV movie, but the real rocking, pimping, scripture-quoting, drug-abusing, bisexual article! I'm talking about the man who made Elvis possible, blew Jerry Lee Lewis off of every stage, gave Jimi Hendrix his first break, and buggered Buddy Holly...the man who created rock-and-roll so he could denounce it as sinful, then kept on a-rocking anyway. Congratulations once again to the Peach -- I'll FedEx your plaque to you tomorrow morning, as usual.

********

Up next: The American Hagio-Pic, Part II: "Get Rich or Die Tryin'"

"Little Richard" (2000 - Dir.: Robert Townsend)

As I alluded in my previous reviews of "The Notorious Bettie Page" and "Walk the Line", Hollywood biopics are less biographies than hagiographies -- there is an assumption that every story should be "inspiring", even if the subject isn't. "Walk the Line" displayed more warts than most, but showed its hand in the too-brief scene where Johnny Cash wakes up bleary-eyed and coked-out on Merle Haggard's couch, which the filmmakers would have us believe was Cash's darkest hour. First of all...what the fuck? That's every boy's dream! Second of all, even if it was his darkest hour, wouldn't it be more interesting than the cliched flirt-and-resist love story that dominated the film?

In the TV movie "Little Richard", the great rock-and-roll pioneer/scripture-quoting orgyist has his edges sanded down so severely he's pretty much an effete, piano-playing neuter. We get some rock-and-roll, a tiny bit of scriptures, and no orgies whatsoever. That might be Sam Cooke's life, or Wilson Pickett's, but it sure as hell ain't The Georgia Peach's. The movie was executive-produced by Little Richard, which may explain the soft bulbs in the spotlight. Over-involvement by the subject and/or their families accounts for the gentile, quasi-inspiring treatment of most modern biopics, but the idea that the story of a poor kid overcoming the odds to reach super-stardom and spiritual fulfillment is more entertaining than watching Little Richard act like a monstrously egotistical, salvation-minded lunatic-pervert for 90 minutes is a fallacy of the highest order.

The one-named actor Leon plays The Quasar, and although he looks a bit like Little Richard, his mannerisms suggest he's playing a stock homsexual caricature in an "In Living Color" sketch. The film touches the bases of Richard's life up through the late 1950's -- his poor childhood, his uncommon sexual leanings (although the gayest thing he does is admire a guy's muscles and wear pink shirts), his murdered moonshiner father, his musical apprenticeship, his eventual stardom and subsequent relapse into religion -- but gives little indication of his character or the forces and urges that drove him.

When you take out the bisexuality, the pimping, the complicated racial aspects (he felt betrayed and cheated by the white musical establishment, yet his music was always more popular with whites than blacks), and the orgies (at one point, Little Richard is warned, "Two more drinks, and this party could become an orgy!" -- never mind that post-show orgies were de rigeur for the Quasar at that point) from Little Richard's life, his story just becomes an extended cliche, and a poorly shot one at that.

Like "Walk the Line", the gaps are filled with concert performances (Leon lip-syncs) -- The Quasar's live shows were legendary, but Townsend shoots them with all the electric energy and excitement of a Madison, Wisconsin dinner theatre production of "Smokey Joe's Cafe". My favorite scene showed a pre-fame Little Richard scraping by as a dishwaher -- he's asked to take out the trash, and lugs what appears to be an empty can out to the curb. Apparently, the production wasn't budgeted for GARBAGE. Ironic, since so much of it appears onscreen masquerading as Little Richard's life.

Mr. Townsend, I know Little Richard. I've had orgies with Little Richard. Little Richard is a friend of mine. And whoever that motherfucker in "Little Richard" is supposed to be, he sure as hell ain't Little Richard!

GRADE: D+.

********

NEXT: The American Hagio-Pic, Part II: "Get Rich or Die Tryin'"

"The Notorious Bettie Page" (2006 - Dir.: Mary Harron)

Me and Darcey were in San Francisco for the weekend, and we caught a screening of the new Bettie Page biopic at the Clay, so I figured I'd go ahead and scoop every other Sacramento film critic. It's a clear-cut triumph for the Barnesyard...in case you're keeping score at home, that makes it Barnesyard: 1, Rest of the World: 18 million.

So the film -- eh, nothing special. It follows the standard conventions of the Hollywood biopic in telling the story of Page, the religiously reared Nashville beauty who ended up becoming a 1950's pre-porn pinup queen, and became notorious for modeling in a series of bondage photos and movies that now seem almost bizarrely wholesome. But like most biopics, "Notorious..." merely traces the outline of its subject, rather than coloring her in.

There's nothing particularly wrong about the film, and there's one element that is defiantly right about it -- heretofore unimpressive starlet Gretchen Mol's performance as Bettie. Mol is a dead ringer for Page (although it could be argued that most actresses in a jet-black, bangs-heavy wig could pass for Page), but she also nails her playful sexual exuberance, the talent for turning perversion into an invitation that also made her a ripe vehicle for exploitation.

Unfortunately, Mol continues a long biopic tradition of actors who fully inhabit their roles and are then let down by ineffective and/or barely interested writers and directors (e.g., Faye Dunaway in "Mommie Dearest", Robert Downey, Jr. in "Chaplin", Phoenix and Witherspoon in "Walk the Line", just to name a few).

Even more disappointing is that the director is Mary Harron, who made "I Shot Andy Warhol" and "American Psycho", and who would seem to be the perfect filmmaker to tell the story that combines sexual perversion and commercial exploitation. But with its flat visuals and overuse of stock footage, "The Notorious Bettie Page" seems more in line with Harron's decent but less ambitious work in cable television.

The film is shot in black-and-white, but looks pretty lousy (I never thought I'd say this, but it would have worked better in color -- in fact, the cinematography is so murky, flat, and green, I suspect that it was shot in color and then transferred to black-and-white in order to enable future color prints). Meanwhile, the supporting actors -- including Lili Taylor, Jared Harris, and David Strathairn -- are decent, but no one in the film fully inhabits their character except for Mol.

Harron and co-scenarist Guinevere Turner don't have anything resembling a take on the material -- they tell the basic outlines of Page's life without making any of it breathe. Fortunately, it's an interesting life, and Mol's performance dredges up subtle details and interesting paradoxes that are mostly ignored by the filmmakers.

Page's life and enduring iconic status are intriguing in that her demeanor held that peculiarly 1950's-ish promise of prosperity and satisfaction, even as she performed in costumes and situations that even her benefactors considered humiliating. She was exploited most of her life, but her pictures now seem like prototypes of female empowerment, especially compared to the hardcore pornography industry that followed.

In the film, Bettie Page seems to be a strange sort of sexual innocent -- she is so trusting of all men and initially unashamed of her sexuality that she is a huge target for perverts and pornographers. After an unfulfilling childhood that includes molestation, abuse, and gang rape (these sequences are so truncated, they're barely in the film), Page moves to New York in hopes of becoming a legitimate model-actress.

However, she quickly finds herself modelling on tabletops for pulp-paper photo mags, making quickie, softcore bondage films for "specialized" clients, and posing in the nude in backroom studios and for proto-feminist female photographers (in a sign of the film's structural confusion, one of the photographers appears halfway in and starts voice-over narrating, the only character to do so in the entire movie).

Eventually, Senate investigations, waning public interest, and personal dissatisfaction ended Bettie's pinup career, and her "notorious" reputation put the kibosh on any hopes for an acting career. Page is still alive at 83 years of age, but she has completely retreated from public view and doesn't consent to interviews (which may account for the film's many areas of biographical vagueness).

After her fame subsided, Bettie Page actually became quite mentally ill, stabbed three different people, and received an extended stay in a mental institution as punishment. None of this is shown in "The Notorious Bettie Page", although it seems more fascinating -- albeit less convenient -- than most of what made the final cut. Just another indication of the film's general timidity.

GRADE: C+

There were a lot of great 4/20 birthdays listed in the paper today, all of whom I imagine would be more than happy to smoke you out:

-Star Trek's George Takei (69)
-Jessica Lange (57)
-Crispin Glover (42)
-Grand Funk Railroad keyboardist Craig Frost (58)
-Clint Howard (47)
-and my personal favorite, Ms. Carmen Electra (34)

A few months back, me and DP developed a couple of movie-related weed-smoking games that I would like to share with you in honor of 4/20. First of all, you'll need to get some weed, a pipe, and DVD copies of "Star Wars: Episode 3" and "Battlefield: Earth". I'll give you a moment to acquire these items........OK, got them? Then let's proceed.

Essentially, you watch the films and take a toke whenever a pre-decided action or event occurs. I can't remember the exact parameters of the "Episode 3" game, but I recall that we took a hit whenever a Jedi did "some pussy-ass shit", which happens often enough in the film to drain all the butane from your lighter.

However, we had the brainstorm to make an exhaustive record of our "Battlefield: Earth" smoking game experience, and here are the rules of the game, with our unofficial (cause we were so f-ing stoned, breh) tallies:

"BATTLEFIELD: EARTH" SMOKING GAME -- TAKE A HIT WHENEVER YOU SEE/HEAR:

-Evil laughter (12)
-Pointless slow motion (36...maybe? This one was difficult to tally, since none of the slow-motion appears to have a point)
-References to "The Academy" or "the Home Office" (10)
-Someone says "Blow the dome" (10...of course, all of these occur within the span of 3-4 minutes)
-Breaking glass (7)
-Someone mentions "leverage" (7)
-Visible KISS boots (15)
-Terl calls something "crap-lousy" (5)
-Gratuitous "man-animal" grunting (22...another difficult one to tally, since it is impossible to distinguish between gratuitous and non-gratuitous man-animal grunting)
-Overwhelming irony (7...but that last one's a doozy!)

I should mention again that these are all unofficial tallies, and that since "Battlefield: Earth" weed-smoking games are a nascent branch of science, me and DP encourage those who follow in our footsteps to piggyback our findings and take the research even farther. Good luck, and happy smoking!

"Basic Instinct" (1992 - Dir.: Paul Verhoeven)
"Basic Instinct 2: Risk Addiction" (2006 - Dir.: Michael Caton-Jones)

Once again, this is an essentially pointless review, as "Basic Instinct 2" disappeared from theaters before anyone even had time enough to ask, "They made a 'Basic Instinct 2'? What the fuck for?" But in the interests of pointless space-filling (or as the French would call it, The Barnesyard's "raison d'etre"), I shall proceed.

The original "Basic Instinct" derived much of its interest from the fact that director Paul Verhoeven and writer Joe Eszterhas are both obvious lunatics. The plot is all hyped-up Hitchcock, but the oversexed, explicitly violent nods to "Vertigo" (the San Francisco setting, the edgy cop trying to outlive his past, the gallery of murderous blondes) made it seem more like an homage to Brian De Palma.

The film made a star out of Sharon Stone, but let's not hold that against it -- she's good in the film, although less of a revelation than most people remember...in fact, Michael Douglas out-acts her in nearly every scene. The plot concerns a bad-boy cop trying to go straight who gets sexually involved with the suspect of a gruesome murder he's investigating, while a mysterious psychiatrist completes the triangle. For a period in the early-mid 1990's, this was the plot of 85 percent of Hollywood movies, and most of them were scripted by Eszterhas.

However, "Basic Instinct" was probably the best of the bunch, and much of the credit has to go Verhoeven -- the faux-seemy atmosphere is ludicrously thick, every character is in a constant state of outburst, the sex scenes all bring the threat of violence and/or murder (given the 1992 setting, this can be read as an AIDS allegory, especially given the apparent bisexuality of every female character in the film), and it feels as though everyone onscreen is being stalked all the time. The dialogue is typical Eszterhas trash, but some of it is sublime trash (including the reference to Stone's "magna cum laude pussy", which is Darcey's favorite line from the film), and the actors are encouraged to relish every syllable.

None of "Basic Instinct" makes any logical sense (I'll give a special prize to anyone who can explain George Dzunda's cop-sidekick character -- he acts an octave higher than everyone else, calls Douglas' character "Hoss", and appears to frequent the only heterosexual cowboy bar in San Francisco), and it's at least 15 minutes too full of itself, but the plot actually grows more compelling as it goes along, to the point that the twist ending (SPOILER ALERT) -- the psychiatrist is killed by Douglas but indicted by a wave of circumstantial evidence that could easily have been planted by Stone -- delivers more questions than answers.

While promoting "Basic Instinct 2: Risk Addiction", Sharon Stone repeatedly promised that the second film would answer all leftover questions from the first. However, the only pertinent question to this inane, boring sequel is "How low will a washed-up former A-lister sink in order to land one last huge paycheck?" I don't have any exact figures on that one, but I'm pretty sure you'd need a backhoe to get there.

In the sequel, Stone returns (without Douglas or anyone else from the original cast) as writer/hobag Catherine Trammell, who is now boinking her way through London. The opening scene of the film is a doozy -- Stone speeds her sports car through the dark streets of London while pleasuring herself with the fingers of a passed-out soccer star, eventually smashing into the sea. She saves herself, but the man dies, so she is forced to see a British court-appointed psychiatrist, a character who is even more boring than he sounds.

David Morrissey plays the psychiatrist, and he's an anemic substitute for Michael Douglas' seething sexual paranoia. There are rumors that Stone turned down Benjamin Bratt for the role because she felt he was a terrible actor, but Bratt is Robert freaking Mitchum compared to Morrissey. Nothing that follows the opening scene held my interest for a moment -- "Basic Instinct 2" is essentially a made-for-Showtime movie that would show at 2:35 a.m., but with LESS sex. Stone's much-hyped nude scenes are fleeting and dull, and the crazy-bad dialogue of the original is replaced with bad-bad dialogue. This is unfortunate, since all anyone does in the sequel is talk talk TALK! Beyond that, we get to hear some passages from Trammell's books, which seem even more asinine and unreadable than the short story that Connery sobs over at the end of "Finding Forrester". "Basic Instinct 2" isn't even worth a what-the-fuck rental. Ghastly.

GRADES:
"Basic Instinct": B-
"Basic Instinct 2: Risk Addiction": D-

Blogger has a scheduled outage for 4 p.m., so rather than try to crank out a review of the NBA season and an analysis of mine and Jesse's October predictions, I will wait until the seedings are finalized tonight and write a full review for tomorrow morning. I have about 4 reviews pending for the News and Review, so things seem to be working out there. Little Richard says he is praying for my success, but he was jacking off at the time while a groupie was "sucking his titty" (the Quasar's words, not mine), so who knows.

I took Jesse to the Kings game last night, and we had a great time. We ate at Panera (great sandwiches), downed a few beers, watched the Kings finish the season strong with a win over the Sonics (they just need some help from the Hornets tonight in order to move up one seed and avoid an inevitable first-round sweep by the Spurs), and since it was fan appreciation night at Arco Arena, I arranged for a very cute little Kings dance girl to run up into the stands and award Jesse with an iPod nano. OK Jesse, NOW do you forgive me for linking you to international terrorism without evidence on several hundred occasions (although I maintain that it's mostly your fault for associating with terrorists in the first place)?

Since tonight marks the end of the NBA regular season, I thought it would be a good time for us to revisit the predictions me and Jesse made back in late October, and see how we fared (hint: the terrorists lost). There will be a full report on that this afternoon, along with movie reviews.

A few other things I wanted to mention earlier but forgot:

-The Little Richard TV movie starring Leon is at the top of my Netflix Queue and could arrive as early as Wednesday...a pathetically exhaustive report will follow.

-Heckasac returned to her roots this afternoon with a compelling interview of new Tower manager Dave Smith. A couple of weeks ago, I looked through Heckasac's archives to read some of her first posts, and she said that the main impetus behind starting the blog was to do interviews. This is one very entertaining, as usual.

-I have been surprised at how many people have linked to The Barnesyard searching for Cole Hauser-related links. Who knew the son-of-Wings was the most popular actor in the world? Little Richard, watch your back...I might have a new bandwagon to drive.

After what must seem like years to you, the Barnesyard has finally finishing moving our offices to Elk Grove, and we've re-opened for business. The new offices look great, aside from the location, the strange smell, the crap-lousy plumbing, the bug infestation, the fetid swamp in the backyard, and the malfunctioning phone lines. On the positive side, Little Richard stopped by on Sunday with about 20 of his friends to check out the new digs. Sufficed to say, they officially "christened" the copy room for about 75 minutes, followed by some inspiring Scriptures quotations, then lots more buggering...if you were looking to board that train, you're too damn late.

I've only had time to watch a couple of movies during our hiatus...I saw Naomi Watts in the indie film "Ellie Parker", but that review is the sole property of Chico Community Publishing...look for it in the Sacramento News and Review next week or soon after. I will also be reviewing the restored version of Orson Welles' underrated "Confidential Report" for a future issue. I was severely unimpressed with the lack of protests and rioting that accompanied my last News and Review piece, so just remember that without the threat of violence to force the News and Review's hand, I'm just another schmuck critic. With the violence and accompanying arrests and deaths, me and Little Richard could assume control of the paper and eventually take this shit town out at the knees. That'll fix the terrorists' wagon good.

I also watched Craig Lucas' "The Dying Gaul", with Campbell Scott, Peter Sarsgaard, and Patricia Clarkson. Look for a full review sometime in the next day or two. Like "Ellie Parker", it played at Sundance in 2005, and is finally on video after a fairly non-existent theatrical run. This seems to be the new trend (Steve Buscemi's "Lonesome Jim", currently playing at the Tower, also premiered at Sundance in '05), so one has to wonder when this year's Sundance darlings like "Quincinera", "God Grew Tired of Us", "A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints", "Stephanie Daley", and "TV Junkie" will see the light of day.

As far as regular Barnesyard features, I never wrote my Dare Daniel review of "It Runs in the Family" (did I? It's been a while), so I'll get on that. Dan and Dub's review of Bergman's "Shame" will be ready either late this week or early next week. There also won't be a top 5 this week, because me and Darcey are taking Friday off to spend a long weekend in San Francisco (it'll return next week). We'll be checking out some movies, some museums, and an A's game. Hopefully, we will make it back in time on Sunday for me to attend the Kabinet screening of "Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia" at 7 p.m. It's not my favorite Peckinpah (I'm partial to "Ride the High Country", though I haven't seen "Pat Garrett...", "The Ballad of Cable Hogue", or the restored "Major Dundee"), but I've only seen it once, and this is the first Kabinet film that seems remotely watchable. The April 30 show looks even better -- Buster Keaton's "Sherlock Jr." plus a Keaton short.

I also just realized I never wrote my "Basic Instinct 2" review, although that one bombed severely, and probably isn't playing in theaters anymore. It would be a pointless waste of time to review it now, which makes it the perfect Barnesyard feature. Look for that one over the next couple of days.

First of all, let me apologize for the lack of posts over the last couple of days. Me and Darcey are in the process of moving out to Elk Grove, so expect similar delays over the next couple of weeks. However, once things get started up again, I guarantee that The Barnesyard will become one of the most powerful forces for international peace and prosperity that the world has ever seen. But I don't want to oversell it, just read and make up your own minds.

Now back to the movies -- as the Sacramento Kings have proven all year long, an organization with tons of talent can perform consistently mediocre if they have just a few mismatched pieces. In the case of the Sacramento Kings, the square pegs are the coach, the general manager, and the fact that they have eleven swingmen but no decent backups at point guard or center.

In the case of "Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story", the glaring problem is director Michael Winterbottom, who in the last decade has shown a predilection for hopping between genres, and the talent to excel at none of them. "Tristram Shandy" has been described as a postmodern mockumentary (and as long as we're making up words: flibble gibble flanghorn) -- but mostly it's just a mix tape of half-baked ideas and leaden style. Winterbottom is ambitious but chaotic -- he's one of those directors you admire but don't necessarily like. "Tristram Shandy" stars British comedian Steve Coogan as himself (naturally), who is attempting to mount a movie version of the supposedly unfilmable novel "The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy", while his offscreen life story becomes as sexually muddled and difficult to tell as the book. I have come to like Steve Coogan from his old TV show "The Alan Partridge Show" (and definitely not from his role in Winterbottom's execrable "24 Hour Party People") -- his schtick is that he's an ego-driven, shallow celeb in performance and in reality. Coogan seems made for the performance-as-reality-and-vice-versa vibe of "Tristram Shandy", but it seems there is also a necessary element of pathos in the second half of the film that he just can't deliver -- he's a one-trick pony.

GRADE: C+

Harold Ramis' "The Ice Harvest" is another promising film torpedoed by mismatched players. John Cusack stars as a Mob lawyer in Wichita, Kansas, who steals millions of dollars from his employers but can't seem to get out of town. The script was by Robert Benton and Richard Russo, and it's a squirrely-cynical, character-driven noir that would have sat quite well in the late 1960's/early 1970's. However, Harold Ramis shoots "The Ice Harvest" like it's a broad comedy, playing up the slapstick and lighting the movie like a Christmas tree -- the visual style doesn't fit the tone of the movie at all, so too many scenes feel jarring and far-fetched. A director more apt to the material might have recognized the dark shadings of the script, and added the elements of local atmosphere and entertaining violence that would have taken the material to the next level. It just goes to show: there are no more Don Siegels and Sam Peckinpahs out there -- hell, there aren't even any more Robert Bentons! Cusack is another mismatched piece -- I like the guy, but he still looks like an overgrown 19 year-old. His character is supposed to be a morally desiccated slimebag, and Cusack misguidedly attempts to play him as world-weary and cynical -- he should have tapped the cocky but vulnerable vibe that worked so well in "The Grifters". The movie is easily stolen by the supporting players: Connie Nielsen as the femme fatale, Billy Bob Thornton in an underwritten role as Cusack's partner, and Oliver Platt, who steals the film as soon as he's onscreen.

GRADE: C+

Someone linked on to my blog today after searching Google for "Cole Hauser and Shakespeare". Personally, I've always felt the two go together like cheese and crackers, but it feels good to get some validation on that. Mike Dub will tell you I've argued for years that "Paparazzi" is essentially a modern variation on Othello, only with Tom Sizemore in the place of Iago, a white Hollywood actor in place of a Moorish soldier, and fucking terrible in place of great.

I was browsing around Netflix yesterday, and I discovered that a Little Richard TV movie was produced back in 2000. The movie is called "Little Richard", and was directed by Robert Townsend of "Hollywood Shuffle" and unwatchable television fame. The Georgia Peach is played by Leon, who had a little experience playing musical icons through his roles in Townsend's "The Five Heartbeats" and "The Temptations", and had supporting roles in "Above the Rim", "Cool Runnings", and "Cliffhanger". Here is the Netflix description:

"He rocked, he rolled … he changed the world of music. This is the story of Little Richard -- from his poor Southern upbringing to dealing with the trials and tribulations of being a black singer in the 1950s to his born-again phase and brief "retirement" from rock and roll. This engaging biopic of the legendary musician stars Leon, Jennifer Lewis and Carl Lumbly."

The movie only has a handful of member reviews, the best and most comprehensive by one Spoogy Spoog (presumably a nom de guerre):

"I used to have the same complex of Richard Peddleman. Growing up I always dated taller girls. They had bigger hands promoting the appearance of a little richard. Till I met this midget chick, well she was more like a dwarf. She played a male oompa loompa when I was working as a grip on the set of a movie. It was when I let her have a grip that I let my complex go. Wrecked 'em? Dang near killed 'er."

Sold! The Peach's actual name is Richard Penniman, but it sounds like ol' Spoogy got everything else right. I'll review that one next week.

Also, I will have my Dare Daniel: "It Runs in the Family" up later tonight, along with my review of the "Basic Instinct" duology.

Incidentally, my "Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio" review should be in this week's News and Review. It's in the In the Mix section near the back of the paper.

"Seconds" (1966 - Dir.: John Frankenheimer)

DUB'S REVIEW:

If the “Twilight Zone” ever translated into the perfect movie, then “Seconds” is it. John Frankenheimer’s 1966 thriller oozes the kind of imagination and subtext that made up the best of the “Twilight Zone” series. It is dark, intense, imaginative, and alternately (sometimes even simultaneously) horrifying and darkly comic.

I went into this film knowing virtually nothing about it, only that it was directed by the sometimes great John Frankenheimer (who directed the original “Manchurian Candidate”), it starred Rock Hudson, and it was some kind of a thriller. And, honestly, I think that that is probably the best way for anyone to go into this movie. This film is so brazenly vacant of the typical structure of a Hollywood movie (especially one made in 1966 – before the Big Bang of 1967’s “Bonnie and Clyde” and “The Graduate,” among others), the plot twists and turns so methodically, the pacing is so deliberate, the developments are so emotionally violent, that I think the best way to fully appreciate it and to be fully effected by it is to know as little about it as possible before you see it. That being said, I will summarize only this much of the plot: an unhappy, middle-aged man, Arthur Hamilton (played perfectly by John Randolph) receives phone calls from an old friend that was thought to have died 25 years ago; the old friend invites Arthur to come see him, and the story moves on from there. Oh, and there is a totally bizarre (and inspired) scene featuring a huge orgy/baptism that takes place in a bucket of wine grapes.

Instead of plot, then, I would like to mention the film’s absolutely brilliant technical performances. The editing, by David Newhouse and Ferris Webster, is masterful in the way that it chops around, punching the viewer with images for a split second, then reverting back to the main focus of what’s happening on screen. It is an effective device, purposeful without coming off as gimmicky. The performances, too, are wonderful – Randolph is fantastic, and so is Rock Hudson, who seems obsessed with proving that he is capable of a great performance. The entire supporting cast is dead on too – every single one of them, which is quite a feat for so many people in the movie – from Francis Reid, who plays Arthur’s wife, to the great character actor Jeff Corey, who is the head salesman for a peculiar company. And Frankenheimer makes great use of all the performances, and masterfully keeps control over a plot that could have very easily grown way out of hand.

But if there is a non-actor star to this film, it’s cinematographer James Wong Howe, who stretches every ounce of tension in every shot as far as a camera can possibly take it. He gives almost every scene in the film an extra bit of awkwardness – a weird angle, an unsettling tracking shot in a crowded place, obstructions that block parts of a character’s face; in fact, throughout most the film, it seems as though the camera is either too close or too far away from its subjects. All of this goes a long way in creating the kind of eerie atmosphere necessary for the film to be taut and suspenseful. There is also a particularly magnificent shot that contains four faces in the same frame, all staring in different directions, perfectly balanced, coherent, and revealing.

It may be interesting to note that John Frankenheimer and his screenwriter, Lewis John Carlino, both came out of television – the golden age of television, if there ever was one. And it has that kind of a feel to it, the kind of energy and immediacy that came from the television dramas of the early 1960’s. It is thoughtful, haunting, and totally enthralling. One of the best American movies to come out of the early/mid 1960’s.

Final Grade: A

********

DAN'S REVIEW:

I was going to write a full review of Frankenheimer's film, but after watching it last weekend, I realized I would be quite satisfied by just sticking big ditto marks under Dub's review. I agree with everything he says, from the Twilight Zone comparisons to his comments about James Wong Howe's cinematography (the Chinese expat worked in Hollywood since 1923, and also lensed such visually stimulating and diverse films as "The Thin Man", "King's Row", "Picnic", "Sweet Smell of Success", and "Hud"), to his comments about the way the film's satiric humor and genuine horror are inseparable. I also agree that reciting the plot would defeat the pleasure of discovery, so I will refrain from synopsizing the picture and just encourage you to see it ASAP.

I have just a few extra comments to add to Dub's review:

1) For about five years, John Frankenheimer was one of the best and most original directors in Hollywood. This is a little shocking to people who only remember Frankenheimer's extended "dutiful hack" period, but from 1962 to 1966, he made "All Fall Down" (an extremely underrated film with Warren Beatty), "Birdman of Alcatraz", "Manchurian Candidate", "Seven Days in May", "The Train", and "Seconds". That's one hell of a run, and with the prevailing themes of political paranoia and the illusory quality of free will, a great case could be made for early-Frankenheimer-as-auteur. Ironically, Frankenheimer fell off in the late 1960's/early 1970's, right around the time that all-powerful auteur-directors became the norm in Hollywood. He worked pretty steadily until his death in 2002, but his resume is filled with TV movies, non-starters, and outright duds (e.g., "Reindeer Games", "Black Sunday"). How bad did things get for Frankenheimer? "Ronin" was considered his comeback.

2) "Seconds" is one of the few American films to accurately portray the helpless, vertiginous quality of a nightmare -- the silent screams, the complete loss of control, the paranoia, the sensory discombobulation. American films tend toward the literal when it comes to portaying the surreal, but "Seconds" is filled with the proper queasy atmosphere and elusive meaning.

3) "Seconds" also presages America's obsession with plastic surgery -- an old man, unhappy with his dull life, looks to plastic surgery for personal fulfillment and freedom, but finds he's even more trapped in his new life than his old. The movie plays fascinating as a critique of modern values coming from 1966.

4) Besides the obvious Twilight Zone comparisions, "Seconds" also struck me as sort of a proto-Charlie Kaufman picture, especially comparable to "Being John Malkovich". The body-switching technology of "Seconds" has its decedents in the magic portal of "Malkovich" and the brain-erasing techniques of "Eternal Sunshine..." Like a Kaufman picture, the most surreal and outlandish elements in "Seconds" come out of the most petty and banal settings and situations.

5) It has one of the most disturbing endings I've ever seen.

GRADE: A.

Earlier today, someone from Bismarck, North Dakota accessed the Barnesyard after making a Google search for "Anna Paquin tush in jeans in 'the squid and the whale'".

I've also gotten search links for "little richard long tall sally", "little richard madame oop", "sophia loren", "address of jessica marie alba's house" (I wish I knew, buddy), and, most cryptically, "penguins readers madame doubtfire resume".

Last week, I finally got a site meter for the Barnesyard. I didn't have any sort of counter before, so I had no idea who was looking at my site. I'm sure this is quite common, but I have been getting hits from all over the globe. In the 4 days since I've subscribed to the site meter, I have gotten hits from Canada, Portugal, Spain, Finland, Italy, Japan, Singapore, Australia, New Zealand, Germany, Hungary, and Great Britain. I'm sure there are a myriad of reasons that someone might stumble onto my blog (I assume they're all googling "Little Richard" and "bisexual orgy" together), and most of them only make 1 page view per visit. However, I was extremely excited this morning because my site was accessed by someone from Slough, Great Britain!!! Fans of the the original Office with Ricky Gervais will remember that this was the city in which the show was set. I would like to think it was a lonely and bored office drone at a struggling paper supply business who was surfing the net on company time, but I can't be sure.

********

I will return later today with mine and Dub's Duelling Review of the John Frankenheimer chiller "Seconds", starring Rock Hudson.

Also, I got "It Runs in the Family" in the mail, so I will try to watch that one tonight and have a review up for tomorrow.

I also re-watched the original "Basic Instinct" this weekend, but I'll hold off writing a review until I see the sequel on Tuesday night.

********

Incidentally, me and Darcey stumbled across a great breakfast place yesterday called Sweetwater Restaurant and Baron 57th and J. We spurned our usual haunts Fox and Goose and 33rd Street Bistro because of the long lines, but lucked out when we spotted a Sunday Brunch poster outside of Sweetwater. I had an omelet with spinach, prosciutto, and goat cheese that was one of the finest breakfasts I've had in months, and the potatoes and toast were far above average. They also have unlimited mimosas for six bucks, and the waitress refilled my coffee at least seven times. I don't usually do restaurant reviews because everyone knows that I'll eat a plateful of nickels if they have enough spicy brown mustard on top, but you should check this place out if you get the chance.