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grrgoylJito the pitbull was a lot better this weekend than last -- running out to the yard like a pro, even acting affectionate enough for me to let him lick my face (not without a tiny twinge of apprehension). I think this is because of Hamish, a Scottie pup that ruled the ward. At first I thought he resembled a vacuum cleaner beater brush, dashing around on his short legs with his long fringe brushing the ground. Then he would start spinning around and he looked more like a Roomba.
Then he would strut back inside, chest all puffed out, full of attitude. I watched him stop at Jito's cage. They'd stare at each other for a moment, then Jito would suddenly remember something he had to do on the opposite end of the run-thru. Leave it to a Scottie to have the stones to stare down a pitbull. By the end of the weekend they were more like pals. Here they are saying hello:
Hamish andBitchFriend
Tery supplied Hamish's voice for me -- since the Scottish is a bit trickier, he sounded decidedly Irish instead. "Jito, lad! What sort of name is that, Jito? Never mind. We're breakin' out t'night. You be the muscle and I'll be the brains, sonny boy!"
I also had Leo, a wee Italian greyhound. Although I didn't photograph him in action, he was all spindly Daddy long-legs. Adorable:
Leo and Friend
Another example of the lack of respect Tery gets at work: She specifically asked an employee to clean off the filthy, dust- and hair-covered emergency light at the foot of the stairwell. She ran her finger through it to demonstrate how dirty it was.
The next day it hadn't been touched. Tery happened to be walking with the same employee and asked her about it. She insisted up and down that she'd cleaned it, despite obvious evidence to the contrary. When I went in that night she asked me to look at it. Sure enough, an inch of dust and enough fur to make another small dog sat up there. There was no way in HELL anyone had touched it in months, let alone hours.
The lesson here is if you're going to lie about completing a task, make sure it isn't so quantifiable. I mean, techically I'm supposed to mop every night, but frankly the floor is so old and scarred that there's really no telling whether I do or not, so I tend to just spot wipe. But when Tery makes an exception and tells me specifically to do something, I do it. The other lesson is her employees clearly operate under the motto, "If you ignore something long enough, someone else is bound to come along and do it for you."
On a lighter note, one of those singing rubber fish plaques has sat on the wall in the hallway for as long as I can remember. This weekend I walked past it and it suddenly burst into life, singing "I Found My Thrill (on Blueberry Hill)" and wolf whistling at me. My heart just about jumped out of my chest. I took it down, shut it off, and left a note about how little I needed strange voices jumping out at me in the middle of the night (to sort of make up for my other insulting notes).
~*~
Next, a few reviews I've been putting off out of pure laziness (I apologize for the sheer number, but never let it be said I do things halfway, even laziness):
Tery called me one night at the hospital, all excited because she had finally tracked down a horror movie from her childhood based purely on her memory of an ankle-high, homicidal fetish doll. Yes, it's the Trilogy of Terror!!!!
The Trilogy is actually three vignettes, all starring apparent horror cult actress Karen Black (the case mentions her "tremendous acting talent" and calls this movie in particular a "virtuoso performance"), but the only one we care about is the last, "Amelia."
Amelia's complicated, love/hate relationship with her mother, as well as with her erstwhile professor boyfriend (neither of whom we are destined to meet), are outlined in painstaking detail over the course of a 10-minute, wholly one-sided phone conversation. All this to tell us that her mother is so severely addicted to their weekly Friday night get-togethers that she hangs up on her own daughter because she insists on missing one to go out on a date with her new beau. Also the way to the heart of her man is through the purchase of a butt-ugly Zuni fetish doll, accompanied by a warning not to remove the gold chain around his waist, which will release the warrior spirit that inhabits him; naturally the chain immediately falls off the minute her back is turned and the doll vanishes.
"Ayaryaryaryaryaryaryar!!!!!"
Her bemused search through her hopelessly dated condo (that we learned she is actually subletting in that huge expository phone call) quickly turns into a fight for her very life as the enraged doll chases her around with his pen knife-sized spear. Which sounds about as painful as your average ferret bite, but to see her reaction you'd think he had a Scottish claymore.
Still, scary enough -- until she retreats into the bathroom only to discover the 6-inch doll can actually reach, and operate, doorknobs. Oh COME ON NOW. Did he pick that up back in his tribal days in the deserts of New Mexico?
Then she finally gets the phone and dials 911 -- which back then actually entailed dialing six or seven numbers, in this case 1-1-1-1-1-5, because it was a rotary phone and it would have added five minutes to the run time to dial anything longer. She weepingly asks the operator to send help, and when asked her location, she shrieks, "I don't know where I am!" as if the operator was out of her mind asking such a thing. "How on earth did she get home?" Tery wondered.
She eventually traps the doll in the oven, and suddenly the jutting countertop that seemed annoyingly obtrusive while cooking turns out to be fantastically practical as something to brace her body against to hold the door shut.
You think that's the end of it, but there's a silly denouement that seems to imply the spirit has possessed Amelia, and has lured her lonely mother to her sublet to chase HER around with a Barbie doll spear.
We started listening to some commentary, but the first ten minutes was merely Karen Black admitting she didn't remember a single thing about making the movie and remarking on how pretty her hair looked. Oh, and she didn't even want the role, except it provided the opportunity to wear large glasses that magnified her too-small eyes. It's too bad that being a cult actress doesn't pay well enough to afford more flattering eyewear.
Tery remembers seeing this in high school and all her classmates being abuzz over it on Monday. Watching it through our jaded, adult eyes, the only thought on our minds was how to bring this to the attention of the MST3k team.
~*~
I got a call from Chris, Tery's ex-technician and some-time friend, he of the "You may not like this movie, but you'll RESPECT this movie" when talking about such stinkers as Reign of Fire and All the Pretty Horses. He was calling looking for Tery, but apparently had unfinished business wth me.
"We haven't had a movie exchange in awhile," he said. Because you have appalling taste in movies, I thought. He asked if I were still mad about All the Pretty Horses -- no, if anything I was still mad about Reign of Fire and being tricked into enduring a Matthew McConaghey movie.
I asked him if he'd ever seen Unleashed -- for some reason that came to mind as something that would appeal to him, because unlike him, I try to take his tastes into consideration. Unleashed, if you haven't seen it, is a Jet Li martial arts film with heart. Bob Hoskins trains him from childhood to become a vicious killing machine when his collar is removed, like a pitbull. After a chance meeting with Morgan Freeman and his step-daughter, Danny the Dog starts to learn he can have a normal life when living among decent people who don't treat him as subhuman. It was a surprising, heartwarming gem of a film and I thought Chris would like it both for that and the fighting.
He agreed to it. Then he said if I liked Jet Li and fighting movies, I should watch The Replacement Killers with Jet Li. I enthusiastically agreed. Then he called back a short while later and said it was actually Chow Yun Fat. I liked him in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon so said it was fine.
Emma Thompson, in the commentary for Sense and Sensibility, made a remark which is a gross generalization but I feel more true than not. She compared "chick flicks" to guy movies ("dick flicks," though Ms. Thompson would never use so crude a term). She said in her experience, women enjoyed movies with lots of plot and character development, whereas "dick flicks" tended to be heavier on the action and lighter on the depth (she actually called them "shallow"). I found an even better summarization on a random website while trying to verify her quote. This person's friend said in chick flicks one person dies slowly, while in dick flicks lots of people die very quickly. True dat.
Now I hesitate to admit that the difference is that black and white, but at the same time I don't think The Replacement Killers is the best example for the case against. It firmly falls into the dick category. I furthermore don't classify this as a "fighting movie" but actually a "shooting movie." Lots and lots and lots of gunplay, which isn't the slightest bit interesting to me. I mean, it worked well in The Boondock Saints because it was done stylistically and had an interesting premise. Ditto The Matrix. Here it was just one thinly-veiled excuse after another to fire lots and lots of bullets.
I just sat through it, wondering if Chris had ever spoken to me or knew anything about me at all. To make matters worse, it was on VHS and it wasn't even rewound when I got it. If you insist on loaning me a damn VHS tape, PLEASE don't make me rewind it first.
Here's an example of what I'm talking about: One of my favorite movies of all time is Carrington, a slow-moving but touching story about the odd love between artist Dora Carrington and homosexual writer Lytton Strachey during World War I. I would never in a million years loan it to Chris, because I'm sure he would hate every second of it. Because I believe the purpose of having a movie exchange is to say, "Here's a movie I enjoy that I'm reasonably sure you might too." Not to say, "Here's a movie I enjoy that I don't care if you do or not, but you'll RESPECT it."
I've decided at this point in my life that I've had it up to HERE with people saying, "You should watch this, you would love this. Oh, you want me to watch what? No thank you, not interested."
One of his other choices was Guarding Tess, which I most certainly saw back during my Nicolas Cage obsession. I disliked it this time probably for the same reason I did then: It's a mildly amusing, sweet movie about a Secret Serviceman putting up with an incorrigible ex-First Lady. That is until the end, when she's kidnapped suddenly and they find her buried eight feet down in an abandoned farmhouse. The kidnappers, ostensibly amateurs, never intended to release her, were just going to remove her air supply and let her die, Nic announces. That seems a bit hard-core for a pair of first-timers, and I said as much to Chris.
"Remember that movie when they kidnap Bette Midler and they don't have a clue what they're doing? The one with Judge Reinhold?" (ed.note: Ruthless People)
"What? How can you even compare it to that movie?"
"I'm not comparing the movies. I'm comparing the kidnapping scenario. Amateur kidnappers wouldn't be so eager to cross the line into murdering a First Lady..."
"She wasn't a First Lady. Not anymore." He concluded triumphantly. Missing the point entirely. At least this proves I suppose that Chris isn't a fan solely of dick flicks.
He called back a week later and somehow maneuvered the conversation in such a way that he got my feedback on his movies while saying not a word about mine. Something else I'm sick and tired of in my life.
~*~
I almost forgot about Extras. I'll say it here and now: I didn't think the original British Office was that great. I think Ricky Gervais is a little too good at playing an overbearing ass and his portrayal left no room for any kind of sympathy, or pity, or other emotion besides intense loathing. Unlike Steve Carell's character.
We started watching Extras fearing it was just Gervais reprising this role. How can a man build an entire career on playing a self-centered idiot perpetually caught in one faux pas after another? This perception wasn't helped by the outtakes, which consisted of his co-stars manfully (or occasionally womanfully) trying to remain professional while Gervais ruins take after take with uncontrollable gales of hyena-like cackling. "It's a damn good thing he's the creator," we both thought.
However, all was redeemed with the Season One finale, "Patrick Stewart." I just about wet myself when the dignified actor described, completely straight-faced, his prospective screenplay which featured a series of opportunities for him to see ladies unexpectedly naked by removing their clothes with the power of his brain (not at all like Dr. Charles Xavier). I would say this ep is worth the purchase price alone, and certainly made us more excited for Season Two (here from Netflix as we speak).
I'm not at all pleased with the new trick of calling six episodes a "season." Not at all. I'm looking at YOU, BBC. It seems your reality shows and sitcoms aren't the only things America is stealing.
~*~
Finally Ryan and I went to see Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. To people who say Harrison's getting too old for this, I say perhaps, but he's still a damn fine-looking man. And to those who say Shia Lebouf is hot, I say oh please, but I liked him better after seeing this movie than I did before.
This movie does its job nicely, namely tying in as many references to the previous trilogy while providing a whole new (sort of) adventure. You've got father Henry Jones, Sr's picture on the desk, Marcus Brody immortalized in a statue, a glimpse of the Ark of the Covenant and one very brief nod to Indy's well-known single phobia.
In a nutshell, Indy is enlisted by Shia to save his mother from the Russians, who are in search of some ancient Mayan treasure. Cate Blanchett has been charged with collecting supernatural artifacts to build an ultimate weapon for Stalin.
Eventually the trail leads to the titular crystal skull, peculiarly elongated, which Jones attributes to the tribal practice of binding infants' craniums to more closely match those of their gods. However, it hardly comes as a surprise at the end when we learn that it's actually the skull of an alien, one of thirteen imprisoned under the set of Apocalypto awaiting the skull's return to its owner. They come to life and Cate gets her wish of receiving access to their knowledge, which is so intense it fries her from the inside out, because lesson #1 in an Indiana Jones movie: you should always be careful what you wish for, particularly if you plan to use it for nefarious purposes.
Lesson #2 is here as well: If the building is collapsing around you, the person who wastes his time scooping up gold and jewels is only going to die anyway. Greed = Bad. Got it.
The other thing this has in common with the first three is the ability to make something as simple as a car chase truly and uniquely gripping. I don't know how Lucas and Spielberg do it after writing so many, but they did.
I liked it. I thought Harrison held his own, and when he didn't Shia stepped up for the more grueling action. I liked bringing Marian back, and unlike other reviewers, I even liked the aliens. I thought it was a way to look forward into the future in spirit. I also thought this was a great stopping place, so let's let Harrison relax and enjoy his golden years.
Then he would strut back inside, chest all puffed out, full of attitude. I watched him stop at Jito's cage. They'd stare at each other for a moment, then Jito would suddenly remember something he had to do on the opposite end of the run-thru. Leave it to a Scottie to have the stones to stare down a pitbull. By the end of the weekend they were more like pals. Here they are saying hello:
Hamish and
Tery supplied Hamish's voice for me -- since the Scottish is a bit trickier, he sounded decidedly Irish instead. "Jito, lad! What sort of name is that, Jito? Never mind. We're breakin' out t'night. You be the muscle and I'll be the brains, sonny boy!"
I also had Leo, a wee Italian greyhound. Although I didn't photograph him in action, he was all spindly Daddy long-legs. Adorable:
Leo and Friend
Another example of the lack of respect Tery gets at work: She specifically asked an employee to clean off the filthy, dust- and hair-covered emergency light at the foot of the stairwell. She ran her finger through it to demonstrate how dirty it was.
The next day it hadn't been touched. Tery happened to be walking with the same employee and asked her about it. She insisted up and down that she'd cleaned it, despite obvious evidence to the contrary. When I went in that night she asked me to look at it. Sure enough, an inch of dust and enough fur to make another small dog sat up there. There was no way in HELL anyone had touched it in months, let alone hours.
The lesson here is if you're going to lie about completing a task, make sure it isn't so quantifiable. I mean, techically I'm supposed to mop every night, but frankly the floor is so old and scarred that there's really no telling whether I do or not, so I tend to just spot wipe. But when Tery makes an exception and tells me specifically to do something, I do it. The other lesson is her employees clearly operate under the motto, "If you ignore something long enough, someone else is bound to come along and do it for you."
On a lighter note, one of those singing rubber fish plaques has sat on the wall in the hallway for as long as I can remember. This weekend I walked past it and it suddenly burst into life, singing "I Found My Thrill (on Blueberry Hill)" and wolf whistling at me. My heart just about jumped out of my chest. I took it down, shut it off, and left a note about how little I needed strange voices jumping out at me in the middle of the night (to sort of make up for my other insulting notes).
~*~
Next, a few reviews I've been putting off out of pure laziness (I apologize for the sheer number, but never let it be said I do things halfway, even laziness):
Tery called me one night at the hospital, all excited because she had finally tracked down a horror movie from her childhood based purely on her memory of an ankle-high, homicidal fetish doll. Yes, it's the Trilogy of Terror!!!!
The Trilogy is actually three vignettes, all starring apparent horror cult actress Karen Black (the case mentions her "tremendous acting talent" and calls this movie in particular a "virtuoso performance"), but the only one we care about is the last, "Amelia."
Amelia's complicated, love/hate relationship with her mother, as well as with her erstwhile professor boyfriend (neither of whom we are destined to meet), are outlined in painstaking detail over the course of a 10-minute, wholly one-sided phone conversation. All this to tell us that her mother is so severely addicted to their weekly Friday night get-togethers that she hangs up on her own daughter because she insists on missing one to go out on a date with her new beau. Also the way to the heart of her man is through the purchase of a butt-ugly Zuni fetish doll, accompanied by a warning not to remove the gold chain around his waist, which will release the warrior spirit that inhabits him; naturally the chain immediately falls off the minute her back is turned and the doll vanishes.
"Ayaryaryaryaryaryaryar!!!!!"
Her bemused search through her hopelessly dated condo (that we learned she is actually subletting in that huge expository phone call) quickly turns into a fight for her very life as the enraged doll chases her around with his pen knife-sized spear. Which sounds about as painful as your average ferret bite, but to see her reaction you'd think he had a Scottish claymore.
Still, scary enough -- until she retreats into the bathroom only to discover the 6-inch doll can actually reach, and operate, doorknobs. Oh COME ON NOW. Did he pick that up back in his tribal days in the deserts of New Mexico?
Then she finally gets the phone and dials 911 -- which back then actually entailed dialing six or seven numbers, in this case 1-1-1-1-1-5, because it was a rotary phone and it would have added five minutes to the run time to dial anything longer. She weepingly asks the operator to send help, and when asked her location, she shrieks, "I don't know where I am!" as if the operator was out of her mind asking such a thing. "How on earth did she get home?" Tery wondered.
She eventually traps the doll in the oven, and suddenly the jutting countertop that seemed annoyingly obtrusive while cooking turns out to be fantastically practical as something to brace her body against to hold the door shut.
You think that's the end of it, but there's a silly denouement that seems to imply the spirit has possessed Amelia, and has lured her lonely mother to her sublet to chase HER around with a Barbie doll spear.
We started listening to some commentary, but the first ten minutes was merely Karen Black admitting she didn't remember a single thing about making the movie and remarking on how pretty her hair looked. Oh, and she didn't even want the role, except it provided the opportunity to wear large glasses that magnified her too-small eyes. It's too bad that being a cult actress doesn't pay well enough to afford more flattering eyewear.
Tery remembers seeing this in high school and all her classmates being abuzz over it on Monday. Watching it through our jaded, adult eyes, the only thought on our minds was how to bring this to the attention of the MST3k team.
~*~
I got a call from Chris, Tery's ex-technician and some-time friend, he of the "You may not like this movie, but you'll RESPECT this movie" when talking about such stinkers as Reign of Fire and All the Pretty Horses. He was calling looking for Tery, but apparently had unfinished business wth me.
"We haven't had a movie exchange in awhile," he said. Because you have appalling taste in movies, I thought. He asked if I were still mad about All the Pretty Horses -- no, if anything I was still mad about Reign of Fire and being tricked into enduring a Matthew McConaghey movie.
I asked him if he'd ever seen Unleashed -- for some reason that came to mind as something that would appeal to him, because unlike him, I try to take his tastes into consideration. Unleashed, if you haven't seen it, is a Jet Li martial arts film with heart. Bob Hoskins trains him from childhood to become a vicious killing machine when his collar is removed, like a pitbull. After a chance meeting with Morgan Freeman and his step-daughter, Danny the Dog starts to learn he can have a normal life when living among decent people who don't treat him as subhuman. It was a surprising, heartwarming gem of a film and I thought Chris would like it both for that and the fighting.
He agreed to it. Then he said if I liked Jet Li and fighting movies, I should watch The Replacement Killers with Jet Li. I enthusiastically agreed. Then he called back a short while later and said it was actually Chow Yun Fat. I liked him in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon so said it was fine.
Emma Thompson, in the commentary for Sense and Sensibility, made a remark which is a gross generalization but I feel more true than not. She compared "chick flicks" to guy movies ("dick flicks," though Ms. Thompson would never use so crude a term). She said in her experience, women enjoyed movies with lots of plot and character development, whereas "dick flicks" tended to be heavier on the action and lighter on the depth (she actually called them "shallow"). I found an even better summarization on a random website while trying to verify her quote. This person's friend said in chick flicks one person dies slowly, while in dick flicks lots of people die very quickly. True dat.
Now I hesitate to admit that the difference is that black and white, but at the same time I don't think The Replacement Killers is the best example for the case against. It firmly falls into the dick category. I furthermore don't classify this as a "fighting movie" but actually a "shooting movie." Lots and lots and lots of gunplay, which isn't the slightest bit interesting to me. I mean, it worked well in The Boondock Saints because it was done stylistically and had an interesting premise. Ditto The Matrix. Here it was just one thinly-veiled excuse after another to fire lots and lots of bullets.
I just sat through it, wondering if Chris had ever spoken to me or knew anything about me at all. To make matters worse, it was on VHS and it wasn't even rewound when I got it. If you insist on loaning me a damn VHS tape, PLEASE don't make me rewind it first.
Here's an example of what I'm talking about: One of my favorite movies of all time is Carrington, a slow-moving but touching story about the odd love between artist Dora Carrington and homosexual writer Lytton Strachey during World War I. I would never in a million years loan it to Chris, because I'm sure he would hate every second of it. Because I believe the purpose of having a movie exchange is to say, "Here's a movie I enjoy that I'm reasonably sure you might too." Not to say, "Here's a movie I enjoy that I don't care if you do or not, but you'll RESPECT it."
I've decided at this point in my life that I've had it up to HERE with people saying, "You should watch this, you would love this. Oh, you want me to watch what? No thank you, not interested."
One of his other choices was Guarding Tess, which I most certainly saw back during my Nicolas Cage obsession. I disliked it this time probably for the same reason I did then: It's a mildly amusing, sweet movie about a Secret Serviceman putting up with an incorrigible ex-First Lady. That is until the end, when she's kidnapped suddenly and they find her buried eight feet down in an abandoned farmhouse. The kidnappers, ostensibly amateurs, never intended to release her, were just going to remove her air supply and let her die, Nic announces. That seems a bit hard-core for a pair of first-timers, and I said as much to Chris.
"Remember that movie when they kidnap Bette Midler and they don't have a clue what they're doing? The one with Judge Reinhold?" (ed.note: Ruthless People)
"What? How can you even compare it to that movie?"
"I'm not comparing the movies. I'm comparing the kidnapping scenario. Amateur kidnappers wouldn't be so eager to cross the line into murdering a First Lady..."
"She wasn't a First Lady. Not anymore." He concluded triumphantly. Missing the point entirely. At least this proves I suppose that Chris isn't a fan solely of dick flicks.
He called back a week later and somehow maneuvered the conversation in such a way that he got my feedback on his movies while saying not a word about mine. Something else I'm sick and tired of in my life.
~*~
I almost forgot about Extras. I'll say it here and now: I didn't think the original British Office was that great. I think Ricky Gervais is a little too good at playing an overbearing ass and his portrayal left no room for any kind of sympathy, or pity, or other emotion besides intense loathing. Unlike Steve Carell's character.
We started watching Extras fearing it was just Gervais reprising this role. How can a man build an entire career on playing a self-centered idiot perpetually caught in one faux pas after another? This perception wasn't helped by the outtakes, which consisted of his co-stars manfully (or occasionally womanfully) trying to remain professional while Gervais ruins take after take with uncontrollable gales of hyena-like cackling. "It's a damn good thing he's the creator," we both thought.
However, all was redeemed with the Season One finale, "Patrick Stewart." I just about wet myself when the dignified actor described, completely straight-faced, his prospective screenplay which featured a series of opportunities for him to see ladies unexpectedly naked by removing their clothes with the power of his brain (not at all like Dr. Charles Xavier). I would say this ep is worth the purchase price alone, and certainly made us more excited for Season Two (here from Netflix as we speak).
I'm not at all pleased with the new trick of calling six episodes a "season." Not at all. I'm looking at YOU, BBC. It seems your reality shows and sitcoms aren't the only things America is stealing.
~*~
Finally Ryan and I went to see Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. To people who say Harrison's getting too old for this, I say perhaps, but he's still a damn fine-looking man. And to those who say Shia Lebouf is hot, I say oh please, but I liked him better after seeing this movie than I did before.
This movie does its job nicely, namely tying in as many references to the previous trilogy while providing a whole new (sort of) adventure. You've got father Henry Jones, Sr's picture on the desk, Marcus Brody immortalized in a statue, a glimpse of the Ark of the Covenant and one very brief nod to Indy's well-known single phobia.
In a nutshell, Indy is enlisted by Shia to save his mother from the Russians, who are in search of some ancient Mayan treasure. Cate Blanchett has been charged with collecting supernatural artifacts to build an ultimate weapon for Stalin.
Eventually the trail leads to the titular crystal skull, peculiarly elongated, which Jones attributes to the tribal practice of binding infants' craniums to more closely match those of their gods. However, it hardly comes as a surprise at the end when we learn that it's actually the skull of an alien, one of thirteen imprisoned under the set of Apocalypto awaiting the skull's return to its owner. They come to life and Cate gets her wish of receiving access to their knowledge, which is so intense it fries her from the inside out, because lesson #1 in an Indiana Jones movie: you should always be careful what you wish for, particularly if you plan to use it for nefarious purposes.
Lesson #2 is here as well: If the building is collapsing around you, the person who wastes his time scooping up gold and jewels is only going to die anyway. Greed = Bad. Got it.
The other thing this has in common with the first three is the ability to make something as simple as a car chase truly and uniquely gripping. I don't know how Lucas and Spielberg do it after writing so many, but they did.
I liked it. I thought Harrison held his own, and when he didn't Shia stepped up for the more grueling action. I liked bringing Marian back, and unlike other reviewers, I even liked the aliens. I thought it was a way to look forward into the future in spirit. I also thought this was a great stopping place, so let's let Harrison relax and enjoy his golden years.
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no subject
Date: 2008-06-06 04:06 am (UTC)But I'm also biased because I started watching the UK version before they ever started working on the US version, and I do like them both equally.
I personally enjoyed the second season of Extras much more than the first. I thought the plot was more cohesive, the guest actors were better and the general message of the show was more interesting and endearing. The Daniel Radcliffe episode is verrry memorable.
no subject
Date: 2008-06-06 03:36 pm (UTC)Carell's character is an idiot, he doesn't care about anyone but himself, but there are some moments where I truly feel genuinely sorry for him (like the intensely emotional hearing with Jan when he has to choose between her and the company he loves, and that moment when he realizes that the company doesn't support him as much as he supports the company).
It's not just about Carell, though. I think the supporting cast is better too. Jim/Pam is way more interesting than Tim/Dawn, Gareth is nowhere near the same league of funny as Dwight Schrute, and even all the rest are far more memorable and lovable (of course, obv the American version has the advantage of running longer as well, giving us more time to get to know everyone).
We watched the first half of Extras 2 last night, and I agree, it is funnier than 1. We loved Orlando Bloom throwing himself at Maggie in vain. And Dan Radcliffe, yes! (though I'd already watched all his clips on YouTube). Looking forward to disc 2 very much.
no subject
Date: 2008-06-07 02:54 am (UTC)I have to disagree about the supporting characters. As you said, "..the American version has the advantage of running longer as well, giving us more time to get to know everyone." But one of the reasons that I like them both is because I see them as really being two different shows with two different types of comedy and story-telling, even though they share the same premise.
One of the things that made the original so unique was that it was truly a mockumentary, to the point that when it first aired in England, some people thought that it was a real documentary. Throughout its whole story, the show maintains that facade pretty damn well. I think that because of this, the way that the stories unfolded had to be done very delicately, making sure that the characters never gave away much more information about themselves than they would in a real office setting.
Whereas the American version, after maintaining that facade in the first season and not succeeding too well with American audiences, developed much more blatant forms of story-telling and kind of lost the documentary feel. Not completely, but to me it currently falls between mockumentary and American sitcom. It's not really a bad thing, but it's just what the writers/directors had to do to fulfill their own vision, and make it presentable to American audiences.
What I mean by all that rambling is that the American show, by its very format, allows for the characters to be more over-the-top, and probably more endearing. The British version is at least a bit realistic. Many of the workers fade into the background, and only a few of them have the extreme personality traits that you see in sitcoms. In the American version, it's obvious they're all characters, and that they're exaggerated versions of real types of people, whereas the British characters are more subdued and like their real-life counterparts. For me, this adds to my enjoyment of the British version, because it really finds that absurdity in everyday life. The American version is enjoyable too, for very different reasons.
That's why I find Tim/Dawn just as compelling as Jim/Pam. I rooted for Tim/Dawn just as much, and I thought that the mockumentary aspect made it even more interesting because they gave away just the right amount of information about the two. I appreciated the fact that it left so much open-ended, and didn't lay everything out. I understand why some people don't like that, but I do. And Dwight is much more likable as a person than Gareth, but I personally don't think he's more funny or interesting. Dwight's one of the more extreme characters, and his life details are interesting, but I also like the fact that I'm much more likely to meet someone like Gareth on the street (an awkward, arrogant jerk with a low-brow sense of humor) than Dwight (an eccentric jerk who lives on a beet-farm).
I didn't mean to go off on this, but there's been a lot of backlash against the British version with the success of the American one, and I just want to say my part.
I would talk about why I feel David Brent is a sympathetic character too, but I've talked too much already!
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Date: 2008-06-07 03:48 pm (UTC)I always thought the opposite was true, that the British version was hailed as superior universally, and I fully expected my bold opposite stance to be unpopular.
I guess the original never got a chance to get close to my heart because A.) much shorter run, and B.) I had to watch it sort of hastily in my off-hours because Tery wasn't interested in it at all.
Having said that, let me add that my favorite scene from the original was when Tim and Dawn take the piss out of Gareth by asking him all those questions about military maneuvers and he comes out looking quite gay.
I'll still stand by other British firsts: I want nothing to do with an American "Spaced" for instance, and I saw with disgust that we're also stealing "Life on Mars." I hate that America can't seem to have a single original thought when it comes to creating new shows.
I want to be clear that our disagreement on this issue is nothing like the falling-out I had with Jamie over Harry Potter and I still love and respect you, Rox. ♥
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Date: 2008-06-08 05:14 am (UTC)Yeah, it takes a special kind of person to convert a British show as well as the Office team did (one of the things I like about the US version is that a lot of the background characters are played by the writers, which is something I enjoy seeing), and I shudder to think about the potential fate of Spaced. I mean, one of the reasons The Office works in different countries is because it has a central theme that practically everyone can relate to. Spaced? Uh.......yeah, that's trouble. That's a whole different kind of quirky.
Oh yeah, I didn't mean to argue so strongly. I'm normally not confrontational, but one of the things I'm stupidly passionate about is comedy and culture, and I feel a strong desire to defend both versions of The Office because it's such a great show all around. I wasn't expecting to change your opinion, though; I just wanted to offer my perspective on it. But I wouldn't even be arguing about this if I didn't care about what you think, and I hope I didn't seem to hostile. I was raised by a lawyer, and I think my inner debater comes out once in a while because of that!
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Date: 2008-06-08 05:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-10 10:30 pm (UTC)You're recap has slayed me dead from laughing.
Dead with a tiny spear.
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Date: 2008-06-11 05:21 pm (UTC)I didn't mean to slay you dead! ::doing tiny CPR and applying tiny respirator mask::