Culture
Horse Racing once stood atop the pinnacle of American sporting pursuits. The sport of kings, a competition relying not on human strength and skill, but instead the brute power of a beast, controlled by the skill of a man who steered the critter to victory and in some cases immortality. The names of prized Thoroughbreds were once household names: Man O'War, Secretariat, Affirmed. The sport translates poorly to television, where the thrill of a radio announcer calling out the leaders at various points along the course is replaced by the vision of a pack of horses almost entirely indistinguishable from each other stampeding around an oval track.
For the Kentucky Derby, the slow down has resulted in a greater focus on it, the signature jewel in the Triple Crown. To win at Churchill Downs is still prestigious. And the Belmont Stakes will draw the eye of casual observers if and only if some horse has triumphed in the first two races. That leaves the Preakness. The middle kid. Sleighted by its siblings, underloved, under appreciated and challenged for relevancy. Two of my blogospheric buds have taken notice of Saturday's race. The irrepressible slanch noted the new marketing campaign aimed at the youths who couldn't be bothered to visit Pimlico last year. Note to race organizers, kids like drinking, so more booze, more kids.
Aaron Torres recounts his own experiences in Maryland, where believe it or not, he was unable to verify the existence of the actual races.
Either way, three years removed from my first Preakness, I'm glad to say I went. Glad to say that I got to experience it in its truest form, before rules and regulations limited one of the best events on the calendar.What makes Pimlico intriguing is that the nature of popular culture places particular pressures on bridge events. And frequently those middles are worthy of the challenge. The signature sequel that exceeded the movie it followed was The second chapter of the Godfather. The youngest child suffered in comparisons to its elder siblings of much renown. A similar fate befell Return of the Jedi, which never could match the brilliance of either the good Star Wars nor the exceptional Empire Strikes Back. Recently the middle story has spelled the doom of latter sequels as the weight of continuing past greatness while setting up future brilliance has proven too great a burden to bear. Whether it's sports film franchises like Major League, or the Mighty Ducks or fantastical tales of adventures past (Pirates of the Caribbean) or future (The Matrix) being second was worse than being Malcolm in the Middle.
The 2007 and 2008 Preakness Stakes will go down as two of the funnest sporting events I've ever attended in person.
Who cares if I barely saw a horse.
There is hope, though. Two summers past, Chris Nolan gave us the Dark Knight, a sequel so stunningly superior to its predecessor that its partisans heralded it as the finest film of the year. (It was close, I preferred Wall-E myself) So Preankness planners take heart. Your well-deserved entry into the A-list is close. You need merely to re-animate Heath Ledger dress him as the Joker and set him loose on the unsuspecting infield
Why so serious?
no commentsUndeniable, irrefutable logic.
This discussion topic henceforth shall be closed.
(HT-JVL)
no commentsThe Downfall parodies are dead.
Sheer brilliance and a fitting cap to a meme that never failed to provide a laugh.
(HT-JVL)
no commentsThe latest Twilight Movie has a trailer announcing its premiere on June 30th. The trailer provided the Orlando Sentinel's Roger Moore an opportunity to opine on what will become of Robert Pattinson.
...having seen a couple of Pattinson films outside of his Twilight role, that the kid may not have it. He's getting the opportunities, but like Julia Roberts, early in her career, his success in a part seems inordinately tied to the height of his hair and whether the part allows him to brood and flex his jaw in deep, dark reflection.
He plays the lighter scenes in Remember Me with all the comic acumen of Bela Lugosi. How to Be was even more of a tone-deaf turn.
It may be that his range is limited, that the abrupt changes of tone and in his character may be a product of the script or the editing. But it may be that the fangs are what make the man.
I've endured his performances in both Twilight movies, How To Be and the fourth Harry Potter film. His role was so limited in the Goblet of Fire as to make it difficult to assess his skills as an actor. And as a kid among giants (literally in the case of that film) of British cinema, nerves are to be expected. The trio at the heart of the Harry Potter films are just shaking off those nerves six films in.
But Twilight is his franchise. And his contribution is effectively non-existent.
Sure he's dealing with a post-modern vegan take on the vampire genre, where the brood to blood ratio is maximized. With little range required, his performances fit the preferred theme. Safe. There are points throughout the films where one wishes someone, anyone would treat Edward Cullen like the Godfather did with Johnny Fontaine. Smack him some and tell him he can be a man. But Stephenie Meyer did not create a manly vampire at the center of Bella's obsession. And so the limits we see with Pattinson may be specific to the film.
That doesn't however explain How To Be. And no matter how hard I have tried to purge the recollection of those wasted minutes from my mind I can't. The film borders on unintelligible. Pattinson brings nothing to the role. He broods. He mopes. He's ineffective at communication. He wants to be different, but really, he can't be. There's no moment of clarity where an epiphany shows him a new path. But by the films end he appears different. And the viewer could care less. Whatever warm feelings we could have felt towards the character vanished before the first act ended.
Playing social misfits can have a powerful effect on a young actors career, by demonstrating their range, to go from manic to mopey, sad to glad to mad in a single scene. Pattinson didn't show any such range. He lived down to the Shakespearean description of a poor player, as he strutted and fretted his hour upon the stage. The next line of the Sonnet describes what may lay ahead for Pattinson.
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"Over-long" and "wordy" rarely enter the lexicon of Scorsese films. Even his lengthier pieces tend to move quickly, punctuated by action, drama and flourishes that prompt us to suspend our imaginations along with our observation of the progression of time. "Shutter Island" plods along deliberately dwelling on concepts of perception and misdirection, but on balance rewarding moviegoers for their patience.
The film continues two trends readily apparent in the second half of the great director's career. He renews his collaboration with Leonardo DiCaprio as the star performer in the film. The previous work has paid off with what may be the actor's best performance to date.
In addition Scorcese once again tumbles back in time to examine life as it once was. The curiosity to revisit the past showed up in his dramatic as well as documentary work, and will be seen with his next major project, a biopic of Frank Sinatra, set to star (wait for it) Leonardo DiCaprio as old Blue Eyes.
But first let us tackle the curious case of Shutter Island. Mr. Peabody's way-back machine lands us in 1954, aboard a ferry in Boston Harbor. Our introduction to Marshal Teddy Daniels shows him weakened by the rolling waves, struggling to keep from retching. The film works like the waves to keep both us and Daniels off balance and frequently spinning.
A prisoner disappearance has prompted the trip on the choppy harbor waters. On the ferry Daniels meets his new partner, deputy Marshal Chuck Aule (Mark Ruffalo). Aule is quietly deferential to his senior, calling him boss and working at every opportunity to gain a greater understanding of both his new partner and the situation they investigate.
The obvious barriers to their investigation are John Cawley, the head doctor at Ashecliff Hospital (Ben Kingsley) and Dr. Jeremiah Naehring - Max von Sydow in a delightful turn as a man barely capable of restraining his sense of self-satisfaction that he has all the answers.
Naehring serves as the lightning rod for Daniels initial expressions of rage, focusing on Herr Doktor's German accent in a scene that mingles with Daniels' recollection of his role in the liberation of Dachau. Their mutual enmity sparks the perception of obstruction in the investigation. Cawley, as Naehring's foil, presents the model of outward cooperation that belie their combined attempts to hinder Daniels and Aule.
Dream sequences filled with smoke and ash, death and destruction introduce us to Daniels dead wife, Dolores (Michelle Williams), victim of a firebug that Daniels is convinced is held on Shutter Island. A prisoner/patient named Andrew Laeddis whose existence is denied by all those questioned.
The quest to find Laeddis has been Daniels obsession, one coupled with his desire to blow the lid off the terrible things he's heard are being done on Shutter Island. Throughout, the pacing allows us to chew over the elements we've just observed and judge their veracity. The fantastical events prompt us to ask the same questions that Daniels and Aule ponder. Could Rachel Solando escape her room without anyone seeing her? Who would have helped her break out? And more critically why?
With exceptional performances throughout, Shutter Island entertains and provokes thought. While it cannot touch the fine works that earned Scorsese his reputation as one of film's finest directors, "Shutter Island" exceeds most other works that currently inhabit the multiplex.
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