I don't really know what else to add to the almost universal praise I've seen all over not only the Blogosphere, but in "real" media as well, for IRON MAN. Practically everybody has responded very positively to its sharp mix of drama, politics, action-adventure and plain old geekery, and I certainly won't deviate from the throng this time.

For decades, I've lamented the scripting on the various attempts to bring superheroes to the big screen- too often, it seemed like the scriptwriters and filmmakers simply had no respect for the source material, thinking that they had to play it broadly, for laughs, or at least with a wink to the audience as if to say "Hey c'mon- we're not fanboy nerds...we couldn't possibly take this seriously, and we're sure you don't either". Thing is, though, as time went by more and more people- "fanboy nerds" in many cases- coming up through the ranks said- "Wait- we do take it seriously and we want to do it right!" The Spider-Man films were a step in the right direction, although as if to overcompensate for the lack of smirk we got a lot of sodden drama. The latest Batman film had a down-to-earth tone as well, although casting and scripting problems plagued it. The Ghost Rider film tried (a little too hard) to be a fast-paced trash-cinema romp, and almost succeeded, with a 60-40 stupid to cool ratio. Although the Fantastic Four and Superman films were steps backwards (although in my opinion the FF flicks had their moments), there was a sense that eventually, someone would get it right. Throw enough crap at the wall, and some of it's bound to stick eventually, no?

Against all odds, Iron Man is that film. It's got just about anything you could want in this sort of film- intelligent, spot-on casting, a script that is fast-paced, with a nice balance of drama and action, and just the right amount of humor to keep it from devolving into a Hulk-like torpor. There are even some subtle (and not-so) shots at the military-industrial complex, timely these days. Robert Downey, Jr. delivers his most memorable turn since Chaplin oh so long ago, able to veer from cynical to sarcastic to idealistic and sincere at the drop of a hat and dominating practically every scene he's in, but not to the detriment of the other actors, who get room to shine as well. I was afraid at first that he was going to be too glib, too shallow in his depiction of Tony Stark, but he soon got in a groove and stayed there for the duration. I'm fairly certain he won't get an Oscar nomination, but he sure as hell ought to be at least considered. Gwyneth Paltrow brings a lot of subtlety to a character which was never really developed all that much in the comics, or at least not when I've read them. I've not always liked her in films before (she was all wrong in Sky Captain, just to name one) but here she's a great foil for Downey's Stark. Jeff Bridges is solid as always in the role of the bad guy; he underplays so well that when he does finally snap at the end, it's surprising. Terrence Howard, normally a fine actor, isn't given much to do as Stark's military buddy Rhodey, but he does have a few nice scenes and a memorable line or two. Cast and script aside, you also can never underestimate the glamour and appeal of the tech- it's one of the reasons that last year's Transformers did so well, all the cool robots and how real effects technology can make them these days- it adds to the verisimilitude and convinces us that this world we're seeing can happen. I also appreciated the lack of turgid melodrama which many scriptwriters think they have to infuse scripts of this sort with- it practically ruined the last Spider-Man film, to name one example.

Of course, you probably know by now that you should sit through the (really long) credits to see the little fanboy-servicing coda at the end; it points to the direction that Marvel Films, if not necessarily the Iron Man franchise, might go. It also points out how much of a template the Millar/Hitch/Neary Ultimates series are for how the House that Jack Built wants their properties to be portrayed. And as someone who used to watch the old 60's semi-animated Marvel Super-Heroes cartoons back in the day, it was great to hear the swanky, ring-a-ding-ding IM theme song referenced not once, but twice.

Of course, I can nitpick; I thought the choice of comparatively recent, comics-wise anyway, Iron Man villain Obidiah Stane was an odd one. If I may slip into comics-geek talk for a minute, perhaps it's just that name that bugs me; it's as if Stane's creator Dennis O'Neil (who, to me, seemed to completely lose his mojo when he left DC for Marvel) was just trying to come up with names by looking through a list of some sort, and "Stane" was chosen because it's pronounced the same as "stain" and that word's connotation. I'd be willing to bet that there's no one in the world with that surname. Anyway, don't get me wrong, I suppose the writers thought they should go with as realistic a character as they could, to maintain the tone of the film. And believe me, I don't think the likes of the Unicorn or the Melter would have been a better choice. Bridges is able to invest him with enough charisma to make him work, because he's just that good, but the character is still lackluster, even in that Iron Monger armor. I'm betting that in a sequel, we could get a really nicely done Mandarin, especially if they refer to the recent Enter the Mandarin miniseries. I also have a hard time believing that as soon as Stark returned to civilization after escaping his captors, he wouldn't simply have the shrapnel removed rather than create a brand-new, upgraded power source for his chest device. And how deep exactly is that conduit that said device fits in? It looks deep enough to be sticking out his back, especially in the scenes in which he asks Pepper to adjust the wire down in there. But really, I find it hard to believe that the medical technology and surgeons someone like Stark would have access to couldn't remove that stuff and free him from having to wear that snazzy little night-light. Of course, that thing drives the plot, so we can't have that...but still. Obviously, I'm in the minority of people who even have a problem with this. Also, it's a bit of a stretch for me to believe that under those conditions (even though, I know, he had a lot of his tech there at that insurgent camp) Stark could rig a suit of armor that would be as impervious to harm as it is, achieve flight, and enable him to survive a drop of several hundred feet. Sure, sure, suspension of disbelief- and believe me, this film makes it easy.

I may nitpick, but really- none of this was a major detriment to my appreciation of this hugely enjoyable film. Who'da thunk that Iron Man, of all of Marvel's multitude of licensed properties, would get a showcase like this. Almost gives ya hope for Ant-Man, doesn't it?

Mr. Door Tree over at the Golden Age Comic Book Stories blog has been doing us all here in the Blogosphere a great service, posting covers and pages from a wide and varied assortment of Golden and Silver age comics and pulps. It's a must-stop site. Lately, he's been holding a Poe tribute of sorts, and today posted the entirety of a Poe comics adaptation of "The Cask of Amontillado" that appeared in Creepy #6 (1966), scripted by Archie Goodwin and impeccably illustrated by Reed Crandall. It's a typically outstanding work by two comics legends. But.

One *little* problem. This particular adaptation has always bugged me, ever since I read the original Poe short story a few years later- and it can be found in the last page, posted above. Poe ended his story as it appears in the first page scan at left, with Montresor bricking Fortunado up in the wall, and the chilling, deadpan "In pace requiescat" as his final word. But, for some reason, Goodwin added an extra page to the story, in which the chamber floods and Montresor is prevented by escaping by the skeleton of Fortunado- an EC-style ending which would suggest that no evil deed should go unpunished. Click on the images, of course, to see them larger.

This still blows my mind, four decades later. Believe me, I have nothing but reverence for the writing of Goodwin; I consider him one of the best scripters in the history of the field. But why he did this, I have no idea. Perhaps he felt like an extra page was needed, to make eight. Perhaps he was under the impression that the Comics Code would object, hardly likely since Warren magazines weren't subject to the code. Maybe, just maybe, he felt like the original ending wasn't satisfying enough or not EC-ish enough, which I find hard to believe. Either way, I think it was a hell of a poor choice by a normally brilliant author.

Anyway, if you want to see all the scans, and don't mind that I spoiled the story, go here and here.

Mr. Tree also makes me a happy boy by posting a killer Jerry Grandenetti Poe adaptation as well, which can be found here.

Submitted for your consideration, at left: a cover by British artist Warren Pleece, from the 1994 Vertigo series Mobfire, a cheeky mix of black magic and London gangsters, very underrated and pretty much by now forgotten. Pleece did the art for all six issues, and it was there that I was won over by his unorthodox style, with its oddly placed emphasis lines (not so much in evidence on this cover, I'll admit) that ever so slightly reminded me of expressionism, perhaps even something of a cubist approach. His panel to panel sequential pacing skills were also strong. It was a style that I hadn't seen before- or at least I couldn't spot too many other influences- and I liked it. I had seen his work on the previous year's Tattooed Man miniseries, Skin Graft and while I liked it OK, this one really grabbed me. Apparently others, including his editors, didn't. After Mobfire came out to low sales and less than widespread acclaim, it seemed like everything else Pleece drew for Vertigo (such as the Deadenders series) was heavily inked by a succession of embellishers that while on a person-to-person basis were very good inkers indeed, they sanded off the rough edges and smothered everything I thought was unique and distinctive about his work, to the point that I no longer cared to pick up anything that sported his increasingly-rare byline. In the case of Deadenders, that may have been a mistake; that's an interesting looking series to me now.

Anyway, hadn't thought of Pleece for a while until I started seeing solicits for a new hardcover Vertigo graphic novel that was coming up, called Incognegro. I was a little interested, because Pleece and Pleece alone was credited on art. I thought to myself, "Self", thought I, "You should perhaps check that out". Well...this morning, I followed a link to this site, which featured a few unfinished sample pages, and much to my surprise and dismay I saw (and so will you, if you make with the click on the image at right) that this art, purportedly by Pleece, bears little to no resemblance to the work which impressed me 14 years ago- in fact, it looks more like that style which I have come to refer to as "Vertigo House Style", an anonymous-looking sort of not-cartoonish but not-realistic art whose best practitioners are the likes of Peter Gross, Mark Buckingham, Pia Guerra, and many others. It's bland and tedious (although Gross and Buckingham tend to liven theirs with some designerly panel arrangements) and I don't care for it at all. So this makes me very sad to see, because it certainly seems like Pleece has subjugated his natural style in order to conform to some sort of editorial whim, in order to get work...and that's, as Paul McCartney would say, "a bit of a drag, innit?" Oh well, it's not like I was gonna drop 20 on this anyway, but if the Pleece art had looked like Pleece art, I would have been sorely tempted for sure.

JOHNNY B HEART THE MOVIES: 2007



In the past, I've done "best of" lists about movies, music, etc., but the last couple of years I've kinda let that go by the wayside as I haven't really been spending a lot of money to catch current films when they are released; it's more common for me to see a film on DVD than in theatres. But yesterday I was looking around on Wikipedia for something, and happened across a "2007 in movies" page, and was surprised to note that I have, as it turns out, seen several films that came out in the previous year- mostly on DVD, but I've seen them just the same. And I thought I'd share my impressions with you.

Code Name: The Cleaner: Good one to start on, huh- these are in chronological order, so that's the way the ball bounces. Sat and watched this on cable one afternoon when there was nothing else on and I was too lazy to turn off the TV and do something. It's just a silly, stupid contrived spy-movie vehicle for comic actor Cedric the Entertainer, who really is very good in supporting roles but just isn't leading man material. Lucy Liu provides eye candy, but it's not enough.

Alpha Dog: Bleak treatment of what is supposed to be a true story, mostly notable for the fine turn done by Justin Timberlake as a conflicted teen who ends up as accomplice in murder. I got caught up in it, but I don't really have any desire to see it again ever. I watched it with my son, who was visiting, and I thanked him for not turning out like these kids did...

Smokin' Aces: This was hugely entertaining for a while, but got too clever for its own good in the last 30 minutes or so with a headache-inducing conclusion. Still, lots to like, mostly a good cast in offbeat roles. If they ever do a 100 Bullets movie, I hope it looks like this.

Zodiac: Outstanding film, a tad long perhaps but wonderfully acted and completely involving until the unresolved ending, which is frustrating, but hey- they didn't solve the real case on which this is based either so whaddaya expect? Shame on the moviegoing public for not making this a bigger hit. Guess it was that ending.

Grindhouse: Death Proof: I still haven't seen Planet Terror, so the jury is still out on Grindhouse as a whole, but I thought this was awfully pointless and self-indulgent. The wild-ass ending redeems it somewhat, but QT, I think, forgot that setting out to make a grindhouse classic on purpose is something that the Andy Milligans and H.G. Lewises of the world never did...and I would think he'd know better than that.

Spider-Man 3: Too much soap opera, too many villains. They could have made a good movie with the Sandman (and really, the Sandman parts work best) or Venom, but having them both together and icing it with that weepy, tiresome Peter Loves Mary Jane subplot just made for an overlong, noisy, crowded film that was nowhere near as much fun as its predecessors. I know it's contrary to the Way of the American Blockbuster Movie, but sometimes less really is more.

Shrek the Third: Many slagged this one as unnecessary, but really, even though it was kinda by-the-numbers (especially at the end) I enjoyed it as much as 2, and it wasn't a whole lot worse than the first one either, for that matter. It's no landmark of cinema, but it was mostly clever, entertaining and didn't seem to go on forever. Could have been a whole lot worse.

Knocked Up: Now THIS one took me by surprise in a good way- I was expecting a dumb smirkfest, but it's really quite perceptive, with very good performances by the leads and naturalistic dialogue. Of course, there's a fair share of fratboy and geek humor, but it's never mean spirited. I didn't think I'd like this one when a friend loaned it to me, but damned if it might not be one of the best films I saw this past year.

Ocean's Thirteen: If you like the Ocean's films, and I have so far, then you'll probably like this too- Clooney and Co. have a great rapport onscreen. But the payoff in this one was a little too routine for my tastes and that was a letdown.

Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer: I could sit and nitpick this, like I'm sure most of you reading this, but at the end of the day I came away liking this OK, better than Spider-Man 3, anyway. I think, all things considered, the Four are well cast, and they play off each other well. I still have some reservations about Jessica Alba as Sue- she just looks too much like your garden variety bimbo. I say this as someone who grew up with Lee and Kirby's Invisible Girl- her portrayal may play better to non-initiates and those whose memory of the FF in comics doesn't go back much farther than Byrne. Anyway- I thought Doom was more of a credible menace, liked the CGI Silver Surfer even though I never heard Larry Fishburne's voice in my head for all these years when I've read Silver Surfer comics, and even kinda liked Unca Stan's obligatory cameo. I wonder if Unca Jack would have made an appearance in one of these if he'd lived. The big reveal of Galactus was a ripoff. Altogether not a great flick, but no disaster either, and it went down smooth.

Transformers: This one surprised me a little, too. I was prepared to ignore it completely (Transformers, the 80's toys and cartoons, were more my son's thing) until a chance viewing, walking by the electronics department of Walmart, of the scene in the desert in which the Army or Marines or somebody battles this huge robotic scorpion- it was a blast, and I thought that this might be a good, turn-your-brain-off action flick, and maybe I should Netflix it- which I did, and I was right...that's exactly what it is. Fortunately, the script didn't ignore the humans too much and benefited from some good turns by some experienced scene chewers like John Tuturro (of all people). Not bad, for what it is.

Stardust: I've always blown hot and cold over the work of Neil Gaiman- while his work in general isn't exactly innovative, and his writing voice is precious and mannered, he excels at seizing upon a central idea or theme- Underground cities in London, a family of demigods that represent human nature- and then expanding these central ideas brilliantly. When Stardust the 4-issue limited series came out, it was after he had finished up his mostly outstanding Sandman series, and I was curious about how he would follow it up. Frankly, the first issue bored me. As a result, I didn't buy the next three and was mostly unfamiliar with everything but the basic premise, and I think that helped me enjoy this as much as I did, which was quite a bit actually. It's an imaginatively presented, sweeping adventure with a little humor, not excessive but enough to keep it light (even though it sometimes veers too close to Princess Bride territory), and an appealing cast, although Claire Danes, though attractive, is a little too lumpish to be a really entrancing ethereal starperson. If Terry Gilliam had had half the budget and studio interference that Matthew Vaughn was given, Brothers Grimm would have been a masterpiece, so I guess we've come that far at least.

Across the Universe: I love the visual innovation of director Julie Taymor, and of course you all know how much I revere the music of the Beatles, so someone was gonna have to try really hard to get me to dislike this. But sometimes great expectations can lead to bitter disappointment- fortunately, that was not the case. While the script was kinda cliched and obvious, the visuals and imaginative staging and from time to time some of the vocal performances even transcended it. So far, this is my favorite film of last year.

No Country For Old Men: Then again, sometimes great expectations actually do end up leading to colossal disappointment. Sadly, that was the case here. For a good 120 minutes or so, I was excited by the best Coen Bros. flick I've seen since O Brother, Where Art Thou?. Dialogue was outstanding, performances were great, and the direction was excellent. Atmosphere, marvelous. Some of the scenes were Hitchcockian in the tension they delivered. I was absolutely caught up in the cat-and-mouse game between Llewellyn Moss and Chigur, and was anticipating the resolution...

...and beware of spoilers here, those who may be reading and haven't seen it...

...which never came.

Like an ADD-stricken kid, the Coens suddenly dropped it and walked away! We were set up for what surely was going to be the final confrontation in the El Paso hotel. But suddenly, we get Tommy Lee Jones arriving too late at the scene of a shootout which forced us to assume that it hadn't gone well, and shifted the focus to Jones' conflicted and ineffectual character. By not giving us some sort of resolution to what had been established as the backbone of the film, I felt as if a bait-and-switch had been pulled on me, and the longer I sat there the madder I got.

I don't know. The more I think about it, the more I think the theatre must have left out a reel or something. I almost turned to the other five people in there with me and asked them if they felt the same way I did about it. I haven't seen this brought up in any of the reviews or blog posts I've read, either- and I'm 99.9% sure I didn't nod off or something, so I'm just confused and saddened.

I get that the Coens were all about setting up Chigur as some sort of inhuman monster, and thematically dealing with choices we all have to make and the inevitability of death and probably a dozen other things that those more perceptive than I have picked up on...but all I know is that they really fucked up what I thought was, as I said, the backbone of the film, and I just can't wrap my head around that.

I think I'll have to sit down and watch it again when it comes out on DVD, and see if I perceive it any differently. I'm not optimistic. As compromised and bad as The Ladykillers was, at least they followed up on what they promised.



And that's my look at the films of 2007 that I've seen, so far. I'll be getting Eastern Promises today or tomorrow, and I might add it if I get the chance.

I finally got to see 3/4 of Superman Returns last night. I say 3/4 because just after the big Supes-rescues-Lois-and-Cyclops scene, I got an important phone call that I had to take and it lasted just long enough for me to see the final scenes. Hey, it was money and bid'ness, OK?

Anyway.

Did anybody out there hate this film as much as I did?

"Huh-WHA? Hate, you say? But JB!"

No, I hated it. Hated it even as I was watching it. Hated it for the fact that they chose to recreate the production values and simpleminded, lowest-common-denominator-aimed script of the 1979 film, even as they laded on the 2007 CGI. Hated the fact that they had a lead actor playing Superman, the Iconic Man of Steel, that looked like he could have been sharing that apartment with Derek Zoolander, he was so pouty and clueless. I don't know what YOUR ideal Superman looks like, but that ain't mine. Oh, his performance was decent enough, considering that all he did was ape Christopher Reeve (another wooden prettyboy actor who grew into the role, thankfully). I know Smallville is all the rage among those who don't know better or don't care one way or the other, and I know that finding an actor with the proper physique and acting skills is hard to do. But at least the cat that plays Clark Kent in Smallville is supposed to be playing a young Superman, so his lack of build isn't such an issue. But this is supposed to be ADULT CLARK KENT! Five years after the 1979 film- FIVE YEARS! He barely looks older than Jimmy Olsen!

Crap. I don't have the time or the critical vocabulary to lay into this movie properly. But I'll do what I can.

Yeah, there were one or two decent effects-heavy setpieces, none of which eclipsed Dick Lester's in Superman II. And while I'm bitching, what the hell is up with this revisionist history that claims that Lester somehow ruined II when he took it over from Richard Donner, necessitating that money-grab "Director's Cut" that came out last year? Hell, as far as I'm concerned II is the best of the lot; not as ridiculous as its two successors and unburdened with the campiness of the second half of the first one. Maybe it's just because Lester directed Hard Day's Night and I'll always cut him slack because of it, but while II had its silly scripted moments as well, it was directed just fine.

Kate Bosworth? As Lois Lane? Now Bosworth is very attractive, and can even act a little, as she proves here; but the only examples of more egregious miscasting in comics-based films I can think of offhand are Katie Holmes, overmatched in Batman Begins, and of course Halle Berry in that wretched Catwoman film. She is fine, she just isn't Lois Lane, or at least the Lois Lane that exists outside some clueless producer's mind.

"Kevin Spacey!" You say. "Kevin Spacey! One of the finest actors in recent memory! SURELY he avoids your scorn, JB!" Yeah, well, OK. Spacey knows how to underplay and be menacing, and he does that real well here. Half the time he seems to be self-consciously channeling Gene Hackman, but he does manage to exude a nerdy, Keyser Soze-sort of malevolence the other half. I'll give Spacey a pass, he does the best with what he had to work with. And what he had was a dumb, tired rehash of the first flick's "beachfront property" scheme, dovetailed into the only slightly less-tired "I hate and want to kill Superman because he's an alien" trope. Why, oh WHY do Hollywood screenwriters want to make Luthor into a buffoon? Do they not want him to somehow send the wrong message to the kiddies and impressionable idiots out there, who could possibly think that Luthor has more charisma and is cooler than their wooden, lifeless Superman? They ALWAYS have to saddle him with a doofy sidekick (thanklessly played by ol' Kumar, Kal Penn) and a ditzy Miss Tessmacher-type "moll" (again, thanklessly played by Parker Posey, who is SO much better than this crap), and make bald jokes with all the wigs, and hit every single note that has been hit in the character's three other big screen appearances. Sigh. I will say that I got a chuckle to his annoyed reaction when Lois teased him about being out of the public eye for so long. And in all fairness, to have Lex find the Fortress of Solitude, steal the crystals, and make mischief was a decent idea. But it wasn't THAT good of an idea.

Just so I'm not completely negative all the time, I will go on record as saying that of all the company, Frank Langella's performance as Perry White was as good as any of them, including Spacey.

I won't even go into all the Jesus Christ Posing that the scriptwriters and director saw fit to jam in; I have my blood pressure to think of. Not to mention the whole Superman's kid thing.

I could rant on and on, but I'll spare you. Who knows, I might see the 15-30 minutes of the movie I missed when I got my phone call, a light will switch on (or a candle, as the case may be) in my head, and I'll reconsider. And maybe I've been spoiled by the vastly superior Superman: The Animated Series, still the gold standard for depicting the Man of Steel and his friends and foes as far as I'm concerned. But damn- for all the money they spent, and the pre-sold audience they had, to make such a pretentious, sodden, dull, dimwitted, noisy motion picture like this is almost unconscionable.

Say what you will about Marvel's filmed output- and I understand Spider-Man III has its share of head-scratching scripting and pretensions too- between this and the watchable-in-spite-of-itself Batman Begins, it's time for an old DC guy like me to admit that right now, Marvel is making the superior motion picture product by far. There's no reason why a Batman or Superman film couldn't be at least as entertaining, even in a "big dumb fun" way, as I'm hearing that Ghost Rider or Fantastic Four 2 are. But they have just GOT to look beyond 1979 and 1990 as starting points, and remember that they're trying to be entertaining without being moronic. I believe that it can be done- just look at Spider-Man 2.

Cripes, did I hate this movie. Not to put too fine a point on it.

CONFESSIONS OF A SPINNER RACK JUNKIE.

That semi-regular feature in which I opine upon various works of sequential fiction that I have perused in the interval since the last time I inflicted said opinions upon one and all, or to be specific, the period from approximately 23 May to 13 June, some of which may even still be on sale at finer comics selling establishments worldwide if you're lucky. Or not, as the case may be.



AMERICAN VIRGIN 15
S: Steven T. Seagle; A: Becky Cloonan, Jim Rugg. (DC/Vertigo, $2.99)

Well, this was going to be (once again) my final issue, but Seagle has gone and introduced a new, interesting character who really livens this stagnant narrative up when she appears. Otherwise, more of the same old same old, well drawn as usual, and I guess I'll stick around just to see how long it takes Seagle to kill her off or dump her. This is my yo-yo book, apparently. B-

THE BLACK DIAMOND 1
S: Larry Young; A: Jon Proctor. (AiT/PlanetLar, $2.95)

I did some Googling to try and remember what I wrote about On Ramp, the teaser issue for this series that came out back in 2005 (!) and sadly, I came up empty. Seems I reviewed it for Comic Book Galaxy when I did my Last Call column, and sadly, (I guess that depends on who you ask) those columns no longer exist on the Intarwub. So, at the risk of contradicting myself about what I may have written earlier, I'll just deal with the right here right now- and right off the bat one thing that Black Diamond has going for it is Larry's specialty, the high concept...and this one's 1970's Grindhouse/Drive-in all the way, with (of course) Death Race 2000, the Mad Max films, and even The Searchers or perhaps The Vanishing figuring into the mix. The notion of the government grounding all commercial airflights as a reaction to terrorism fears isn't all that far-fetched and sounds just logical enough to help us buy that the other part of this reaction includes building the high-rise titular super-super highway, which must do wonders for property values on the ground below, as cars are prone to come flying over the barrier, to crash on Earth below. This one's all setup, as we establish the initial scenario in which Baltimore dentist (who just happens to be married to the Diamond's designer) Dr. Don McLaughlin finds out his wife (who's in Washington) has been kidnapped by terrorists, and has to take his brother-in-law's '73 Mercury Cougar, get on the superhighway, and come to the rescue. Pretty cool, huh. If I was inclined to quibble, I'd question the use of a 1973 muscle car when one from 1970 or '71, before insurance companies, Ralph Nader, and government restrictions began to force Detroit to scale back the power as early as 1972 would have been even cooler. Like I said, just nitpicking there. I'm down with the concept, but I'm not completely sold on the art, which seems to be color flats laid down in illustrator and then traced in outline by Proctor; it's a lot like the other trend I've seen from AiT artists (Goodbrey, Milady- see review below) lately, in which photographs are manipulated in Photoshop or some art program to get rid of all midtones and quartertones, resembling old Xerox copies in which all the image detail is blown out. Proctor's is more colorful for sure, and reminds me a bit of Richard Linklater's A Scanner Darkly and Waking Life, or Ralph Bakshi's not-always-successful rotoscope animation. It's fine as far as it goes, and tells the story well enough, but while his machines look OK even without a lot of surface detail, his figure drawings and especially facial expressions (most notably early on in the dentist office scenes) are not so great. This artificial-looking approach just takes me right out of the story sometimes, especially when I'm confronted with a mouth like that on page three, or faces like those on on pgs. five and seven. Not a deal-breaker, but I'm hoping it gets better. All things considered, though, this promises to be a lot of fun, and those looking for fast-paced action-thriller fiction should make damn sure that this is on their short list. Now, what we need is a KISS cameo and maybe, just maybe, Larry could have a character who drives a '72 Chevelle SuperSport, just like your humble scribe used to own... B+

THE BOYS 7
S: Garth Ennis; A: Darick Robertson. (Dynamite Entertainment, $2.99)

Picking up right where #6 keft off, Garthie takes the usual shots at comics-as-PR in the form of a gnomish old guy (more Bridwell than Lee, I suspect, and good on Ennis for avoiding the obvious cliche) who publishes the propaganda pieces in BoysWorld, and I'll bet ya a dollar that Robertson originally drew him on the toilet in the cover illo. Funnier by far is the plight of poor Tek Knight, who should hook up with the animal buggerers from Preacher. As long as Ennis skewers the so-called good guys along with the so-called bad guys, I'm still on board. When this changes, I'll be sure to let you know. B+

CRIMINAL 6
S: Ed Brubaker; A: Sean Phillips. (Marvel/Icon, $2.99)

Another arc, another criminal...and while AWOL soldier Tracy doesn't promise to be as sympathetic as poor Leo was in issues 1-5, he also promises to be no less interesting as he looks to get payback for the life of his brother from the gang of small-time crooks he was hanging with. As always, Phillips just kills, providing tons of mood and atmospherics. He's so underrated it's a, well, crime! Promising beginnning. A-

DAREDEVIL 97
S: Ed Brubaker; A: Michael Lark, Steven Gaudiano. (Marvel, $2.99)

The "Is Melvin Potter homicidal, or crazy, or both?" storyline rumbles on, and remains solid as it keeps us guessing. Me, I believe the answer lies with surprise returnee Lily, who has been known to drive men astray in the past. Brubaker also seems to be setting up some sort of turmoil within the Matt/Milla marriage, on shaky ground already. So, interesting ongoing subplots, check; a little action to keep things moving, check; typically stellar art by Lark and Guadiano, check. Yep, another outstanding issue of Daredevil. A-

JOHN CONSTANTINE: HELLBLAZER 232
S: Andy Diggle; A: Leo Manco. (DC/Vertigo, $2.99)

In which John sets himself up in the casino owned by last issue's Pearly Gray, in order to perpetrate some as-yet-unnamed scheme. The notion of having ol' Conjob do his business in a gambling establishment is such a good one that I'm amazed nobody's used it yet- and gives me another reason to believe that I'm gonna like Diggle's tenure. Manco, for his part, tries hard but just doesn't enliven the proceedings very much at all. B+

HELLBOY: DARKNESS CALLS 2
S: Mike Mignola; A: Duncan Fregredo. (Dark Horse, $2.99)

Boy, that was quick- seems like just a week or so ago that I read #1! Anyway, chapter two finds HB struggling with a group of witches (and a deranged undead witchfinder) who seem to want to strike up some sort of truce with him, and through a series of convoluted events winds up in the clutches of the Baba Yaga on some other plane of existence. I was enjoying this just fine until that last wrinkle; the way it developed didn't make a lot of sense and seemed to be a rare breakdown by Mignola the scripter and Fregredo the artist. Otherwise, Fregredo is as dynamic and outstanding as always as he strives to stay true to that static Mignola feel even as he seeks to remain true to his style. The push and pull is really interesting, for those like me who tend to notice such things. B+

THE HOMELESS CHANNEL
S/A: Matt Silady. (AiT/PlanetLar, $12.95)

More and more comics and graphic novels, it seems to me anyway, are coming across as TV show pitches; so it's not all that surprising that we now get a graphic novel that's about TV show pitches. Homeless Channel details the startup of a TV channel devoted to shining a light on the plight of the homeless (hence the title, duh) and focuses specifically on lead character Darcy, who pitches and helms the endeavor. Oh, and she has a homeless sister, too, and of course that figured significantly later on. It's a good idea, and Silady writes good Sorkin-style dialogue, which helps it a lot. Not so good is story structure; scenes often run smack in to each other, without any visual or scripted cues to help the reader discern how much time has passed- more than once I found myself backtracking to look for a character I thought I had overlooked, or to figure out how long after event a event took place. Not the first time I've had to do that with a book, and (I'm sure) not the last, but it does kinda spoil the reading experience. The art doesn't help, either- it's yet another example of someone taking what appears to be photos (many people are thanked at the end for posing- I wonder if they did this gratis or were they paid, and who paid them?) and blowing out all the midtones, quarter tones, and highlights; just leaving the shadow areas and then tracing in the rest...and it's just realistic enough to distract from rather than illuminate the script, unlike when Goodbrey did it, difference being that Goodbrey's surrealism needed a certain visual approach to emphasize its otherworldliness; Silady's story is grounded in the here and now of the real world and the not-quite-realistic approach works against it in a lot of ways. Homeless Channel is a fine, mature read; I found it a little hard to follow sometimes between the art and the somewhat disjointed script, but judging from the other reviews I've seen I"m in the minority there. Say, here's an idea- why don't YOU be the judge? B+

MADMAN ATOMIC COMICS 2
S/A: Mike Allred. (Image, $2.99)

When Alan Moore got all pretentiously metaphysical in Promethea, you could respect, even if you had difficulty following along, because he seemed to have at least done his homework and knew his subject inside and out...because, well, he had. Allred, on the other hand, is utterly unconvincing when he does it because it just doesn't play to his strengths- he just doesn't have the hightoned vocabulary that such undertakings need. Fortunately, he snaps out of it about 3/4 of the way through and finally gets around to the gist of the story- and it begins to read like the Madman we've known and loved. Unfortunately, it may be too little too late, and I'm getting the feeling more and more that Allred did whatever he set out to do with the character over a decade ago, and is only spinning his wheels now. C+

THE RIDE: DIE VALKYRIE 1
S: Doug Wagner; A: Brian Stelfreeze. (Image, $2.99)

It's been a good two weeks for muscle cars in comics, hasn't it? More high-octane guilty-pleasure shenanigans in this, the latest in the Ride series from the 12 Gauge Comics guys, and it's as enjoyable as the other entires in the series to date. Heck, just seeing Lolita-esque hitperson and series star Laci with her posse of nuns is almost worth the price of admission. Even though it sometimes looks sketchy and underdrawn, Stelfreeze still is as good as anybody at depicting dynamic action, and this series plays to his strengths. First lap, good. We'll see how the rest of the race goes. A-

SHAOLIN COWBOY 7
S/A: Geoff Darrow; additional scripting by the Wachowski Bros. (Burlyman Entertainment, $3.50)

Darrow's insanely detailed art alone keeps me from dismissing this out of hand, but Mary, Mother and Joseph is this becoming a rambling, plotless mess. Characters talk and talk and talk and TALK and not much of anything happens, and I suppose Darrow is counting on his admittedly-excellent art to distract us from the fact that nothing is going on...but at least for my part, it's failing. As Warren Zevon once wrote, "Ha'ina 'ia mai ana ka puana", which roughly translated means "get to the point". Please. C+

THE SPIRIT 6
S: Darwyn Cooke; A: Cooke, J. Bone. (DC, $2.99)

In which Cooke aims high, seeking to replicate the feel of such Eisner-era mini-epics like "Ten Seconds" and "The Visitor", and is almost successful, sabotaged by an unsympathetic protagonist. As Eisner was prone to do, he makes Denny Colt a secondary participant in the story, and that's fine- the story's not really about him anyway. But the plight of the troubled, antisocial "Blue" just didn't really resonate with me, unlike the desperate Freddy from the aforementioned "Ten Seconds" to name but one, and as a result I just didn't really care much about anybody in the story. That's the way it goes sometimes. I'm happy that Cooke is reaching as high as he does, and I have faith that he'll grab something good very soon. Of course, art-wise this is excellent- Cooke and Bone combine to at least make everyone compelling from a visual standpoint, even though the club atmosphere came across as more 1997 than 2007. Cooke's Spirit remains better than the run of the mill, but still a little short of excellence. B+

Done!

BEST OF SHOW: Looks like CRIMINAL #6.

DOG OF THE WEEK(S): Sorry to say, SHAOLIN COWBOY #7, followed closely by MADMAN ATOMIC COMICS #2. Oh how the mighty do disappoint.

Coming later this week, reviews of

SOCK MONKEY: THE INCHES INCIDENT #4
JONAH HEX #20
RE-GIFTERS
BPRD: GARDEN OF SOULS #4
FABLES #62 and
DMZ #20.

Be there! Aloha!

Finished watching Terry Gilliam's Tideland yesterday.

At the beginning, Gilliam appears to address the audience in a scenario that reminded me of old films (such as Frankenstein, unless I'm mistaken) in which the director or some other interested party would step out and make the case for tolerance or understanding of the film they were about to present. In it, he states that some will love it, some will hate it, and some won't know what to think about it. I'm afraid I fall in that camp.

As with any Gilliam film, it's full of arresting imagery and odd characters, and a sort of muted-down dash of Monty Python view-askance humor. But it's presented in a such a shrill and hyperactive way that it becomes an endurance test instead of a showcase to depict how a child's essential innocence can deal with any sort of dire situation. And this one is dire indeed.

Jeliza-Rose, played with assurance and dodgy southern twang by Jodelle Ferland, is the daughter of way-past-the-sell by-date musician and junkie Noah (Jeff Bridges, who has this kind of role down to a science) and grotesque Courtney Love-analog Queen Gunhilda (Jennifer Tilly). Jeliza-Rose pretty much is the only reasonably competent member of the household, even to the point of cooking up her dad's smack and assisting him after he shoots up. When Gunhilda overdoses on methadone, the father and daughter flee to his Grandmother's house in Texas, which they find deserted and looking like something out of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre when they arrive. Later that night, Dad shoots up, overdoses, and Jeliza-Rose is left to her own devices...which include having frenzied, running conversations with her disembodied doll heads and encountering her neighbors, a deraged, witchlike taxidermist (eventually she administers her craft to Dad, and it's not the first time she's done so, to humans that is) and her lobotomized brother.

Somehow Gilliam manages to depict all this gruesomeness in imaginative fashion, but after a while the all the hysterics become wearing, and no amount of visual spice can help.

It's a brave film, I suppose, especially in this era that reveres and strives to protect the perceived innocence of children above and beyond all else. Performances are fine for the most part; Tilly is amusing in her limited screentime, and Bridges is always good, but the actors portraying Dell (the taxidermist) and Dickens (the brother) could have stood to have dialed it down a couple of notches. Anyway, I wish that there had been more of a point to it all- sure, we see that Jeliza-Rose can cope by descending into (what I perceived, anyway) as madness, but is that really a compelling reason to ask us to donate two hours of our time?

Tideland, I must conclude, seems to be for hardcore Gilliam admirers only, and few others. As several reviewers have noted, it appropriately ends with a trainwreck...but that's not fair. It has many merits...but sifting through the sludge to glean them may be too much to ask for those who aren't already acolytes, like me.


(Cross-posted from the LJ)

I meant to post this earlier, but got sidetracked, so now it's a day late since I'm writing it at 12:17 AM on Saturday the 26th. Oh well. Story of my life, I suppose.

Anyway, happy 30th anniversary to the little space movie that could, Star Wars.

The above image is, more or less (I looked for quite a while online for a pic of the actual poster itself, but alas came up empty), the first Star Wars thing I ever saw. When the film premiered, I was 17, and working at the local Pizza Hut. Pizza Hut, not Pizza THE Hut mind you, was giving away these posters, with art by Greg Hildebrandt, to promote the film and naturally I took one home. Not long after (or perhaps slightly before- as with so many things in my teenage years, I'm a little fuzzy on the details for some reason), I saw the Marvel Comics adaptation with art by Howard Chaykin and snapped that right up as well, since I was firmly a Chaykin fan even back then.



Yep, that's the cover, right there above. Funny how they took Bat Lash's tagline there, isn't it? I picked up the first 7 or 8 issues, sticking around long enough to realize that Chaykin was only going to be on board for the first few, and even then he was heavily inked by several people, many of which just didn't mesh well with his pencils at all. Besides, I have this peculiar psychological predilection to be disinterested at best and disappointed at worst by damn near every comic book adaptation of a film or TV vehicle, which continues to this day (I'm not buying Buffy, can't ya tell)...so that was pretty much it for my SW comics collecting experience.

Anyways, I was fully primed for Star Wars by this time, and one Saturday afternoon, when my folks went shopping in Bowling Green, I asked them to let me off at the twin cinemas in the (soon-to-be obsolete, even though we didn't know it then) town Mall, where I could screen this phenomenon for myself. And yeah, I liked it a lot...I could tell that it was going to change a lot of the rules in the future. The thing I remember being most impressed by, and I know this seems like the most trivial thing here 30 years later, was the scene in which the Rebel fighters were being prepped to fly into battle against the Death Star, and they (and us, the audience as well) viewed a computer-generated diagram of the orbiting spherical warship, which turned and twisted hologramically right there in front of all of us...and that really struck me in that way which only previously-unimagined-of visual input can strike. It was far from the most important special effect in the film, but it made the deepest impression on me.

So looking back now, as a theoretical adult, I can see just how simplistic the basic idea Lucas and his people had was...and I think that's the beauty of it. Sometimes the most direct and unencumbered ideas ring the truest. It wasn't until subsequent years, when he larded his vision with cutesy-poo tribal alien teddy bears and finally went up his own ass, twenty plus years later, with (ironically) the same CGI that the earlier debriefing scene helped usher in, that he watered down and diffused his saga almost to the point of ruining it...and even then, the simple homage-to-the-old-movie-serials concept provided a strong enough skeleton to support whatever dubious material he wished to hang on it. So, even though I was hot-and-cold on the most recent prequels, I believe overall the whole SW shebang was a qualified success.

That said, I think it's time for Lucas to either rest on his laurels, or make a movie about something else (which he's strangely never showed an inclination to do) and please stay far, far away from this particular galaxy for a while.

JOHNNY B HEART NETFLIX! in which I provide some observations and comments on films I've seen lately mostly through the auspices of that most wonderful of online video rental services, but also on TV (marked with **) as well.

THE PARALLAX VIEW (1974)**
At left is the poster for the movie, which I just LOVE. Click to see it in detail. Wish I could find one, and I might just have to look one of these days. Parallax is a 1974 political-conspiracy theory thriller which stars Warren Beatty, giving perhaps the best performance I've ever seen from him, who plays a newspaper reporter who slowly learns about a covert operation which is turning out assassins to shape world events. The image represents a situation at the end, in which a group of people at a political rally are assigned to turn those flash cards which make up images- you've seen 'em. In this film, the presidential candidate whose life is threatened is preparing to speak at a rally, and the card display is part of the show. The cards depict Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln (I think...the classic presidents, anyway), and the candidate himself. But the poster designer used it to beautifully illustrate the underlying theme of the film- the sinister machinations of the shadowy minions that some believe influence world events. The movie also features a great Clockwork Orange-Ludovico treatment type montage that Beatty is subject to at one point in which random idyllic Norman Rockwell-style scenes, horrible violent acts and the like are quick-cut interspersed with words which state "happiness", "mother", "love" and so on. Several times in the succession of images we get a Kirby illustration of Thor, along with a Kirby monster from one of the old Marvel monster books. I suppose Thor is there to suggest the fair-haired Nordic warrior stereotype, which makes sense in that context. Anyway, it's a challenging scene, one which draws the viewer in and forces him to experience the same reactions that Beatty's character does. I thought this was a sharp, smart film, and was very impressed with Beatty. Another '70s film, like Jaws and Taking of Pelham One Two Three, that I can't believe I haven't seen till now. God, I hope they never remake it. Interesting note; one of the screenwriters was none other than Lorenzo Semple, Jr. of Batman TV show fame! A

MAGICAL MYSTERY TOUR (1968)
I've been reading the new Bob Spitz Beatles book lately, and of course part of it deals with the genesis and filming of this. Frankly, it's amazing- not only the complex series of coincidences and events that had to break just right as they ascended to fame, but also extraordinary that, after they had achieved the toppermost of that poppermost and internal as well as external hassles and rancor and strife and drugs and the natural letdown after gaining their goal began to override and affect everything these gifted men did, that they were able to do anything together at all, let alone make some of the most imaginative and satisfying music in the history of popular music. Tour was Paul McCartney's baby, conceived before Brian Epstein died but not realized until after his unfortunate demise, and he rode herd over everyone to get it filmed, much to his mates' chagrin. They mostly couldn't really be bothered and obviously thought it was silly as hell- well, John and George, mostly, Ringo was always game for a film...and they're right. This is a mess, a mish-mash of goofy sub-Pythonesque comedy and red-eyed 60's psychedelica, written and filmed on the fly on a minimal budget on what appears to be Super 8 stock and it shows. Critics savaged it when it aired the day after Christmas in England, another nail in the slow-building coffin of the Beatles story. But this is not to say that it's completely worthless- there are still some wonderful songs like "I Am The Walrus" and "The Fool on the Hill", pastorically lovely despite its self-pitying tone- and these musical interludes are well staged, especially "Your Mother Should Know" which features the boys in white tuxes in a big Busby Berkeley-type production number. The bits with Ringo and "his" Aunt Jessie are hit and miss, but the sequence with John shoveling spaghetti at her in a dream that will remind you of the yet-to-come Python antics. There was also a small revelation for me, in a scene which shows all the men on the tour taking in a strip show, and music is provided by the Bonzo Doo Dah Dog Band, who perform a number called "Death Cab For Cutie"- immediately I cried "Oh my God! That's where that band my son and his girlfriend love got their name!" Overdue epiphanies aside, I think everyone should see this once, and the hardcore will sit through it over and over. This was my second time, in case you're wondering. C+

ASSAULT ON PRECINCT 13 (2005)**
John Carpenter made this perfectly good low-budget urban crime thriller back in 1976, and since Hollywood can't leave well enough alone, someone got the bright idea to remake it and jazz it up for the Aughts. The original is better still, but this isn't a total disaster, mostly benefiting from nice acting jobs from Ethan Hawke and Laurence Fishburne, who's gonna have to be renamed Laurence Whaleburne if he puts on any more pounds. It's as loud and noisy as all action movies these days apparently must be, but it's at least not dull and if you don't think about it too hard you'll get caught up in it like I did until the ending, which has a few too many twists and doesn't seem to hold together very well. B-

TEAM AMERICA: WORLD POLICE (2005)
Oh, god, is this a twisted movie. Using the puppet animation from such fondly remembered childhood epic series like Supercar and Thunderbirds Are Go!, South Park masterminds Trey Parker and Matt Stone make fun of anything and everything, liberal left and conservative right alike, and it's just as freewheeling and scattershot as Orgazmo was and South Park can be- and when it hits, it's hilarious. And sometimes it's just gross- never thought I'd live to see puppets performing a hot carl, but it just goes to show ya. This is a bit overlong- I wish the script had been funnier and tighter...but it's the kind of movie that you can go around quoting all day if you're so inclined. B+

THE SADDEST MUSIC IN THE WORLD (2004)
This is my first exposure to the work of one Guy Maddin, whose apparent specialty is approximating the look of low budget early-talkie era films from the 20's and 30's. It's got some interesting stars- Isabella Rosselini, Mark (Kids in the Hall, SNL) McKinney- but it's just so steadfastly oddball that after a while it became wearisome. Still, the story is fun- during the Great Depression, beer baroness Rosselini, who lost her legs thanks to the drunken father of McKinney's character, announces a worldwide contest to perform the saddest song in the world. I won't synopsize it further- if you're interested, go here- but I will say that Rossellini gives the best performance I've seen from her myself, and McKinney is excellent as the fast-talking smoothie who has a history with her and ends up representing the US in the contest. It's a fascinating film visually, but like I said it kinda runs out of steam eventually. B

MILLION DOLLAR BABY (2005)**
I've never been a big boxing fan; I know that there is art and strategy to it but it just seems like a big circus (especially these days, without a dominant or interesting personality such as Ali or Frazier to humanize it a bit) in which people beat the shit out of each other for the vicarious entertainment and gambling urges of others. Of course, this is less a film about boxing per se; it uses the boxing world as a metaphor for human nature and relationships, and it succeeds with aplomb by making us care deeply about these characters, not only Hilary Swank's pugnacious white trash waitress who yearns to make money by fighting, but director Clint Eastwood's grizzled trainer and his friend and partner Morgan Freeman. This is especially a triumph for Eastwood, who gives his character shades that the younger Clint wouldn't have been allowed, or wouldn't have allowed himself, to have- in fact, it wasn't the tragic fate of Swank's character and the hospital scenes which made me tear up a little; it was Eastwood's haunting talk with a priest that he previously had a sort of antagonistic relationship with. Seeing the crusty, features-chiseled-of-granite Eastwood break down with tears of guilt and responsibility for his injured protege, well, if you didn't get a little misty there's just no hope for ya, that's all. There was very little, if any, of the clumsy foreshadowing that hinders most Hollywood films these days in my eyes, and the temptation to clumsily impart life lessons was also thankfully absent. Once in a while a movie lives up to the hype, and Million Dollar Baby is one of those films. A

STAR WARS EPISODE III: REVENGE OF THE SITH (2005)
I didn't care much at all for the first two of the modern "prequel" SW films; in fact, except for the first two (#'s 4 & 5, actually) Star Wars films in general have left me cold. #6 was OK, especially towards the end, but I couldn't stand those @#!%$ Ewoks. Anyway, by emphasizing the human (and one Muppet) actor, and de-emphasizing the cartoonish CGI that overwhelmed #2, Lucas has finally given me reason to care about these characters, especially the whole Amydala/Anakin/Obi-Wan triangle. It's not easy to impart some dramatic tension to events that people have been aware of for over twenty years. There's plenty of action to be had, as well- I enjoyed the big action set piece as Ewan McGregor's Obi-Wan battled the cool-looking robot with the grievously dumb name, General Grievous- his lizard-stallion was a nice bit of CGI, for sure. It was fun to see Chewbacca in a cameo, and even Jar-Jar Binks- although the setting wasn't quite as much fun. McGregor was fine throughout, even though I keep expecting to hear him break into song ever since Moulin Rouge; Natalie Portman was outstanding, gratifying since her wooden performance in Episode 5 had convinced me she'd never be an actress of consequence until she did Cold Mountain and Garden State; Hayden Christensen did a good job of standing where he was supposed to do, but the lad has no presence as an actor; God forbid he and Orlando Bloom should ever do a buddy pic. Really, until he donned the black armor and was able to wax melodramatic, he was barely there at all. I thought Ian McDarmid did a great job as the prissily malevolent Palpatine; his was probably the best non-Muppet performance of them all, including the normally reliable Samuel L. Jackson, who looked as embarrassed to be there as he did last time out. I was also happy to see that Christopher Lee was a bit more lively and mobile than he was in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory- I was afraid premature rigor mortis had set in on the great actor. Or was that CGI? With these flicks, who knows? Anyway, when Lucas made the first one in 1977, he wanted to give the people a high-tech version of the popcorn-cinema space operas of yore, and had two successes right off the bat. he then floundered with the next three, cutesiness and too much CGI strangled the life out of them. But with Revenge of the Sith, he finally recaptured the magic and went out with a bang. Wonder what he'll do next? Honestly, can you see Lucas directing something like, oh, Glory Road or Rumor Has It ? Neither can I. But I sincerely hope that he will let the Star Wars franchise rest in peace now. B+

OK, that's it for now, more later hopefully. How much later remains to be seen! Coming soon: Fantastic Four, Sahara, The Man Who Fell to Earth, and The Spy Who Came in From the Cold, and maybe more.

The Final Word on Roxy Music. I promise.

 

Sweet poster, huh! Marlene Dietrich! 

The first time I heard of Roxy Music, I was 14 and read a review of their then-current release Stranded in Creem magazine. Sounded interesting. I was intrigued by the name of the band, and since there weren't any pictures of the group to give me any idea who was who, for all I knew there was a lead singer named Roxy Music or some such (remember, these were the Gary Glitter days), and that sounded cool to me. So, the next time my parents made their weekly trip to Louisville to visit friends and shop, I got the ten bucks they usually gave me, headed over to the Oxmoor Center record store I liked to frequent in those long-gone days (but I don't remember the name, sorry to say...Disc Records or something like that. Not Disc Jockey, by the way) and plunked down my cash for RM's third elpee. Looking at the inside sleeve on the way home, I first noticed that there was nobody named "Roxy" in the group at all, and it was kinda hard to tell much about the fellows in the group since they were represented by monochromatic, blurry pictures on the inner sleeve. But when I got it home and put it on I was transfixed. I had never heard such sounds before in my life, from the swirling atmospherics of Eddie Jobson's strings to the melancholy, retro-sounding woodwind sounds of Andy Mackay, to the live-wire guitar of Phil Manzanera...and the attitude and world-weary air of the singer totally captivated me, or as much as a fourteen year-old Kentucky boy could process the Ferry mystique...I listened to that album constantly for the next few weeks. At some point later the same year, RM's next LP, Country Life, was released, and of course I had to get it. When I plucked it out of the rack, I was a bit puzzled...I thought RM always had pinup girls on their covers. Why was this one covered in opaque green shrinkwrap? When I sat down in the mall after purchasing it, and looked under the wrap, I discovered why! There were two girls, photographed from the thighs up, both wearing nothing but their lace undies (one topless!)! I sat there and wondered how the hell I was gonna keep my parents from seeing this one...then I had a brainstorm: I just wouldn't take the shrinkwrap off. And I kept that record in my collection like that for the next few months, sliding it out of the wrap (when they weren't home) to...admire...the photography. Yeah, that's it. Heh. Anyway, I eventually left it out and kept it in my growing record stack, being careful to keep it out of sight (my 'rents were pretty cool about a lot of things, but not nudity or cussin' in their only son's records). By the time the year was over, I had also picked up the first two RM albums, Roxy Music and For Your Pleasure, and had added RM as one of the pantheon of my favorite Glam bands like Bowie, T.Rex, and others in those waning days of Glitter Rock.

Of course, as is so often the case, not long after they got their hooks in me the band went on hiatus after releasing the excellent Siren and began to concentrate on solo projects for the next 4 years. I dutifully bought as many as I could find, and while I liked (even loved) many of them, I kept hoping they would reunite someday and give me another Stranded. Problem was, as the times changed, so did Bryan Ferry & Co.'s tastes and styles, and when RM did finally get back together it sounded like an altogether different creature. Gone was the avant-garde experimentation and the what-the-hell edge, replaced by Ferry's world-weary lounge-lizard persona cranked up to eleven and a overly slick, synth-dominated sound, professionally if not passionately played by some of the most well-known studio musos in the business. So while I found much to like, I wasn't nearly as captivated by this edition of RM so eventually I stopped buying. The last RM-related albums I picked up were Ferry's 1987 bland Bete Noire, and Phil Manzanera's 1989 Southern Cross- an overproduced, glossy snoozefest with no trace of that fantastic, distorted, howling guitar sound of his RM peak.

Okay. Now, here's my top five favorite RM records, in order of preference.

1. Stranded (1973) Even though Eno had left, there was still enough of the reckless spirit of the first two records left with Ferry, Manzanera and Mackay that every cut here is a keeper, from the Eno-ish opener "Street Life" to the closing, hushed, even reverent "Sunset". I don't think Ferry ever wrote better lyrics than those to "Mother of Pearl". Underrated cut: the lovely and atmospheric "Just Like You". This record strikes a perfect balance between the compromised convention of subsequent records and the nutball feel of the first two.

2. For Your Pleasure: The Second Roxy Music Album(1973) I just think it sounds better with the full title. My favorite cover. This one is strong cut for cut but has a couple of clunkers which keep me from completely embracing it: the plodding, endless "The Bogus Man" and the lugubrious title cut, with its cheesy-spooky vocal treatments as it gradually comes to an end. But the good ones are very good indeed: the audacious "Do The Strand", the creepy/cool/weirdo Manzanera/Eno showcase "In Every Dream Home a Heartache", "Editions of You", fun and rocking and a chance for everyone (even Ferry, who plays a hilarious one-hand keyb solo) to take the spotlight, and the crooning "Grey Lagoons" with its strong melody and interesting arrangement.

3. Siren (1975) Their fifth group release is more conventionally structured than the first four, but every cut is strong both lyrically and musically. "Love is the Drug", their only US hit, is deserving and very catchy but it's the two songs after that, "End of the Line" and especially "Sentimental Fool", which grab me the most. "Just Another High" is also a remarkable song...but there's a samey-ness to this album which tempers my enjoyment a bit.

4. Country Life (1974) There's a samey-ness to this one, too, but it's a murky kind of feel rather than the pristine-ness of Siren. After I had listened to this one for several years, I could tell that they were beginning to feel a bit limited because there's a trace of ennui in all these songs, even though they're all great cuts. My faves include the surging opener "The Thrill of it All", the insistent "All I Want is You" (love the ending "Oo-ooh, I'm all cracked up on you"), "If it Takes All Night", which has always had a vaguely Fifties-ish feel to me and I wish Dave Edmonds would cover it, and while some may disagree, I've always had a soft spot for the goofy closer/tribute to Ferry's then-girlfriend "Prairie Rose", with its wink-wink lyric and chiming Manzanera guitar.

5. Roxy Music (1972) This is just a weird-sounding record. Everything sounds excessively separated and muffled, and can be distracting, especially upon first listen. I suppose in hindsight, getting King Crimson lyricist Peter Sinfield (a longtime favorite artist of mine, I have to add) to do his first solo production job for your debut might not have been the strongest of strategies. Still, there's not a bad track on this one, and some are brilliant, like "If There is Something", one of my fave RM tracks, and "Sea Breezes".

Others, and I won't list solo releases because this is already a Godzilla-sized post, include the 1976 Viva! Roxy Music Live! which isn't really all that bad for a live record but doesn't particularly improve on the songs chosen; 1979's Manifesto, the reunion record but really, it sounds more like a Ferry solo record that he invited the others to play on. It has a stripped-down, disco-poppish sound and some OK tracks, including the title cut, "Trash", and "Dance Away". The next record, 1980's Flesh and Blood is even more anonymous and bland than its immediate predecessor but when I get in a mood I can enjoy the title cut, the Byrds cover and "Oh Yeah". Everybody seems to love 1982's Avalon but me. I mean, "More Than This" is a great song, but nothing else on this slick, overproduced, homogenized record registers with me at all. Still, lotsa people dig it so what do I know?

And that concludes, boys and girls, my thoughts on Roxy Music. Thanks for your time.

And now for a line or two about...
Jethro Tull's Minstrel In The Gallery!

Minstrel is otherwise known in many circles as The Last Good Tull Album. It was certainly the last gasp of the classic Tull sound, an odd mix of blues, jazz, rock, and Edward Lear with flutes. If you're totally unfamiliar with Jethro Tull (the band, not the inventor of the seed drill) then you should probably go here, then here. Theirs is a long and twisty story, and life is short. Probably the most relevant thing to know going in to MITG is that it was the follow-up to their successful WarChild album, which featured their biggest hit "Bungle In The Jungle", and was only the latest in a four year streak of best selling LPs and sold out concert tours. At the time of MITG's 1975 release, Tull was one of the biggest bands in the world. Hard to believe now, but it's true.

Of course, such a profile does not come without a down side. By '75, Tull received a lot of flak from music critics, who have always been snide and cynical when confronted with music and musicians who make them feel less clever than they feel themselves to be, and the perception was that Ian Anderson & co.'s increasingly opaque and metaphor-laden lyrics and complicated, involved arrangements were just too much to bear– and they were out for blood. Tull must be taken down a notch! How dare they be so clever! They seemed to say. After their back-to-back album length song suite efforts Thick as a Brick and A Passion Play the critical vitriol was so bad the Anderson declared that Tull was retiring in 1974 because he was tired of the constant sniping. Of course, he disavowed that statement many years later but he said it nonetheless. A sort of concilatory gesture was made when WarChild was released as a set of seperate songs, but it didn't help much. Next, after a best-of collection to recharge the batteries, was Minstrel, and Anderson was determined to have his turn.

Thematically, that's what MITG is. A defiant, cynical, hostile Anderson firing back at his critics and defending himself against his perceived persecution. The opening title track finds him roleplaying a bit in a spoken intro in which he is introduced to an audience which greets him with half hearted applause. He states his theme, which is this is what I feel, think, and do; and if you like it fine, if not, fuck off. Musically, it's a bit schizo. It begins with Anderson singing the main lyric accompanied only by his ubitiquous flute and acoustic guitar. When this ends, then lead guitarist Martin Barre jumps in with a nasty lick and the track lurches to life and continues with a propulsive cowbell. A fine opener, if a bit overlong at damn near eight minutes, and I think it was an FM radio hit here in the states.

Next is Cold Wind To Valhalla, with Ian singing a come-on to some lass, using Norse mythological imagery. It's breezy and fast paced, and has a nice middle section with a slightly out of tune guitar solo playing against singing strings. Black Satin Dancer is next, another lyrical love song, but it comes across as a bit of a Frankenstein construction with multiple passages stitched together to form a somewhat less than beguiling whole. Still, there's another nice middle section which features a glockenspiel playing a music-box tune as heavy guitars and ponderous strings sneak up behind. Track four, Requiem, is probably the least successful offering. It's just Ian and guitar, playing a tuneless melody and singing slice-of-life lyrics, quite straightforward but also unfortunately quite dull.

However, the next series of songs is much, much better...it's a suite of sorts, featuring a number of seperate tunes again, in the spirit of his Passion Play and Thick As A Brick albums but, unlike the earlier Black Satin Dancer, the stitching is much more seamless. Starting with One White Duck/0 tenth power=Nothing At All(sort of an acoustic intro although not really part of the upcoming suite) then segueing into short pieces with great titles likeBaker Street Muse, Pig-Me and the Whore, Crash Barrier Waltzer, and Mother England Reverie before reprising Baker St. Muse at the end, this is pretty much where Anderson stands his ground and flips off his detractors. The lyrics on tracks 5-7 are quite convoluted and metaphor-heavy, and I'm sure they mean much more to him than they do to the casual listener, but his intent is quite clear from lines like "Something must be wrong with me and my brain/ If I'm so patently unrewarding/ But my dreams are for dreaming and best left that way/ And my zero to your power of ten equals/ Nothing at all". Musically, tracks 5-7 run the gamut and almost form a retrospective of Tull music to that point. The Baker St. Muse reprise builds up a nice head of steam until it comes crashing to an end in a wash of strings and guitar, and ends with Anderson, all alone, humming "I'm just a Baker St. Muse" to himself as he puts away his instrument and walks to the studio door, whereupon he realizes that it's locked and exclaims to himself "I can't get out!"...a clever ending and one which shows that Anderson had not completely lost his sense of humor. A brief acoustic tune, Grace, so inconsequential as to almost not be there, finishes the album on a quiet, and odd, note.

So while some of the musical arrangements plod when they should drive, and more often as not I have no idea what the heck Anderson is going on about, I think this period of Tull and this album (and the excellent A Passion Play, which is a whole 'nother blog page) in particular represents some outstanding musicmaking of the type that rarely comes along these days, and may have been perhaps the last gasp of Anderson's real creativity-but hindsight is 20/20. Sometimes Anderson could be heavy-handed and oblique, but when he was on (1970-75) he had a unique and distinctive songwriting voice, and in my book that shouldn't be ignored. After this, the pickings got slimmer...Tull released the dull and conventional concept album "Too Old To Rock 'n Roll, Too Young To Die" in 1976 which was a huge disappointment aesthetically if not sales-wise, tried to retreat into folk again the next year with "Songs From The Wood", a super-slick and overproduced folkish record, and endured several personnel changes in subsequent years, sliding into irrelevance in direct proportion to the production gloss of each subsequent release. Jethro Tull is these days a forgotten musical entity, usually made fun of and lumped in with the Totos and Bostons when they're remembered at all, except by those who are die hard fans and those, like me, who fondly remember when...