I have very fond memories of reading the "Sunday Funnies" when I was a kid. Dad would bring the Sunday Pittsburgh Press in from the front porch and immediately strip the comics section and hand it to me. (Back then, the colorful Comics section worked as an eye-grabbing cover for the newspaper. Back then, the Sunday paper was a gigantic one-pound slab of newsprint, too -- but that's a sad rant for another day.)
I would collapse on the living room floor and spread the comics out in front of me. The front page of the section contained Peanuts above the fold, featuring "Good Ol' Charlie Brown," and Prince Valiant starred below the fold. In hindsight, I'm ashamed to say I usually skipped the Prince. I got the jokes of Peanuts immediately, but the lavish detail and strange, balloon-free below-the-art captions of Prince Valiant left me cold. I wish I could go back and look at all those old weekly strips of action and adventure that I missed.
DC Comics is helping me fix that mistake. They've started a 12-week experiment entitled Wednesday Comics, and it's just about the most fun I've had reading comics in a long time. The weekly issue comes packaged in the dimensions of a typical comic book, but it unfolds four times to the size of a newspaper -- 16 huge pages. Printed on newsprint, yet! Each page is a separate adventure featuring a different DC star, continued from week to week, and depending on your taste, you're bound to find something to like.
My favorites were Kamandi, with gorgeous art very reminiscent of the Prince Valiant days; a very solid Superman; a splashy, fun Metamorpho; and a Strange Adventures featuring Adam Strange that brought back the old style and appeal of Flash Gordon in a big way. There were a few minor nitpicks -- the Wonder Woman strip was way too busy and a tad hard to follow, not to mention a bit Disneyfied in its approach; and the Green Lantern strip didn't even bring on the hero until the final panel. But the rest of it was great.
It's a tough sell at $3.99 a week, but this is one comic that I think will lose something in the "graphic novel" trade paperback size. Who cares if it doesn't appreciate in value, and is likely to fade on the newsprint? That's the nostalgic point!
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Fathers' Day
It's Fathers' Day, and the tradition around our house is that I can do whatever I want. (The same goes for Mothers' Day and all three family birthdays.) The day started out OK; we skipped church, since the pilot light on our water heater was on the fritz, which meant no hot water for showers. I got the pilot relit, but only long enough for the three of us to clean up with fairly tepid water, so I put in a call for the plumber. Good thing I'm off for the next two months -- that could be how long we have to wait for the plumber.
Anyway, I got some nice things -- a CD of classic '60s tunes for our car trip to Maine next month, the newest John Sandford and Lee Child thrillers (standard Fathers' Day gifts for several years now), and a lifesize Gandalf the White walking staff. (John found it on the internet.) They took me to lunch at the Cheesecake Factory, and we were so stuffed that we brought our cheesecake home for dinner. Terri even indulged me with a browsing trip to Barnes & Noble. I considered going to a matinee with John, but the only thing playing that semi-interested me was The Hangover, which I was not about to take John to see, so we decided to crash at home. Which is how I wound up relaxing in front of the computer, enjoying life and reminiscing about my father.
My father wasn't around much after my folks split; my brothers chose to live with him down south, while I chose to stay behind and finish high school in Pennsylvania. But I do remember Dad taking me to movies when I was little. One of my earliest movie memories -- and this predates Jason and the Argonauts -- is of Dad taking me to see Lawrence of Arabia. I didn't last long; all I remember is the motorcycle crash at the beginning, and then I fell asleep. I also remember getting to see The Sword in the Stone, King Kong vs. Godzilla, and even The Birds, which was a pretty traumatic movie for a 5-year-old to see, let me tell you. Dad took me to all of those, and he was quick to give me a dollar on Saturday afternoon whenever I wanted to go catch a matinee with my buddies. He never really objected to any of the movies I asked to see. I was 9 when I saw a double feature matinee of Bonnie and Clyde and Cool Hand Luke with my older cousin, and in hindsight, those were two pretty "adult" movies for a 9-year-old to see without his parents.
The only time I remember my father objecting to one of my movie choices was when he heard I was planning to go see Love Story with my friends from school. He didn't think that was an appropriate movie for 12-year-old boys to see. Of course, that just made us want to see it even more. This was in direct contrast to the time I wanted to see Thunderball when I was 8, and my mother hit the roof. Dad just thought it was an action picture I would like. When my mother reminded him that the last James Bond picture had a naked girl covered in gold paint, Dad just looked at me and said, "Here's a buck. Have a good time."
Dad and I were apart for years, in more ways than one. I know that he always felt bad that he could never help me with my career, like the way he gave advice and guidance to my younger brothers. I was interested in writing and journalism as a career when I went to college, and later, when I turned to teaching, Dad was even more at a loss. (We're talking about a guy whose love letter to my mother in her senior yearbook contained 7 spelling errors, including "kat." I'm serious.)
But we became closer once I was on my own in Baltimore, starting my teaching career (and a family, as well). Whenever Terri and I (and John, when he arrived) would drive to South Carolina for a visit, movies were almost always on the agenda. Dad loved to take the whole family, including all of the grandchildren, out to a movie, where he could play the host, insisting on paying for everyone's ticket and buying all the popcorn and soda. I remember the Christmas of 1997, when John was five. Dad wanted to see Titanic, but there was no way his 5-year-old grandson would sit still for three hours, so Grandma and Terri took John to see Mouse Hunt while "Pop-Pop" and I went to see Titanic. I remember watching that film with my father, the history buff. There was a moment when Dad looked puzzled and whispered to me, "The lights on that boat should have gone out by now," and an instant later, the ship's lights onscreen blinked out. Swear to God.
Then there was the time -- the last time my Dad came to Baltimore, as it turned out -- when Dad and John and I went to see a matinee of The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. I was eager to get his opinion on the film, and was a little disappointed when Dad said he wasn't crazy for it. His words: "Too much of that Gollum guy." Of course, I loved the movie, which I kept to myself.
My final trip to the movies with Dad was our summer 2006 visit the year before he died. Dad, my brother Jimmy, and I went to see Superman Returns while the ladies went to see The Devil Wears Prada. (John was at Scout Camp.) I remember Dad saying there was "no damn way (he) was going to see a Meryl Streep fashion movie." Dad fell asleep three times. I saw the Prada movie on Netflix a year ago, and I remember thinking that Dad called that one wrong.
Dad died in October of 2007, and we knew that my stepmother Karyn would want family around her for the holiday, so we all went down to visit that Christmas. Once again, the family (a grandmother, three sons, three spouses, and four grandchildren) gathered together and went to see a movie: National Treasure: Book of Secrets. I remember not liking the movie very much; most of us thought it was just a retread of the first movie. But, thinking back on it now, maybe Dad's absence had something to do with it, too.
Happy Father's Day, Dad.
Anyway, I got some nice things -- a CD of classic '60s tunes for our car trip to Maine next month, the newest John Sandford and Lee Child thrillers (standard Fathers' Day gifts for several years now), and a lifesize Gandalf the White walking staff. (John found it on the internet.) They took me to lunch at the Cheesecake Factory, and we were so stuffed that we brought our cheesecake home for dinner. Terri even indulged me with a browsing trip to Barnes & Noble. I considered going to a matinee with John, but the only thing playing that semi-interested me was The Hangover, which I was not about to take John to see, so we decided to crash at home. Which is how I wound up relaxing in front of the computer, enjoying life and reminiscing about my father.
My father wasn't around much after my folks split; my brothers chose to live with him down south, while I chose to stay behind and finish high school in Pennsylvania. But I do remember Dad taking me to movies when I was little. One of my earliest movie memories -- and this predates Jason and the Argonauts -- is of Dad taking me to see Lawrence of Arabia. I didn't last long; all I remember is the motorcycle crash at the beginning, and then I fell asleep. I also remember getting to see The Sword in the Stone, King Kong vs. Godzilla, and even The Birds, which was a pretty traumatic movie for a 5-year-old to see, let me tell you. Dad took me to all of those, and he was quick to give me a dollar on Saturday afternoon whenever I wanted to go catch a matinee with my buddies. He never really objected to any of the movies I asked to see. I was 9 when I saw a double feature matinee of Bonnie and Clyde and Cool Hand Luke with my older cousin, and in hindsight, those were two pretty "adult" movies for a 9-year-old to see without his parents.
The only time I remember my father objecting to one of my movie choices was when he heard I was planning to go see Love Story with my friends from school. He didn't think that was an appropriate movie for 12-year-old boys to see. Of course, that just made us want to see it even more. This was in direct contrast to the time I wanted to see Thunderball when I was 8, and my mother hit the roof. Dad just thought it was an action picture I would like. When my mother reminded him that the last James Bond picture had a naked girl covered in gold paint, Dad just looked at me and said, "Here's a buck. Have a good time."
Dad and I were apart for years, in more ways than one. I know that he always felt bad that he could never help me with my career, like the way he gave advice and guidance to my younger brothers. I was interested in writing and journalism as a career when I went to college, and later, when I turned to teaching, Dad was even more at a loss. (We're talking about a guy whose love letter to my mother in her senior yearbook contained 7 spelling errors, including "kat." I'm serious.)
But we became closer once I was on my own in Baltimore, starting my teaching career (and a family, as well). Whenever Terri and I (and John, when he arrived) would drive to South Carolina for a visit, movies were almost always on the agenda. Dad loved to take the whole family, including all of the grandchildren, out to a movie, where he could play the host, insisting on paying for everyone's ticket and buying all the popcorn and soda. I remember the Christmas of 1997, when John was five. Dad wanted to see Titanic, but there was no way his 5-year-old grandson would sit still for three hours, so Grandma and Terri took John to see Mouse Hunt while "Pop-Pop" and I went to see Titanic. I remember watching that film with my father, the history buff. There was a moment when Dad looked puzzled and whispered to me, "The lights on that boat should have gone out by now," and an instant later, the ship's lights onscreen blinked out. Swear to God.
Then there was the time -- the last time my Dad came to Baltimore, as it turned out -- when Dad and John and I went to see a matinee of The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. I was eager to get his opinion on the film, and was a little disappointed when Dad said he wasn't crazy for it. His words: "Too much of that Gollum guy." Of course, I loved the movie, which I kept to myself.
My final trip to the movies with Dad was our summer 2006 visit the year before he died. Dad, my brother Jimmy, and I went to see Superman Returns while the ladies went to see The Devil Wears Prada. (John was at Scout Camp.) I remember Dad saying there was "no damn way (he) was going to see a Meryl Streep fashion movie." Dad fell asleep three times. I saw the Prada movie on Netflix a year ago, and I remember thinking that Dad called that one wrong.
Dad died in October of 2007, and we knew that my stepmother Karyn would want family around her for the holiday, so we all went down to visit that Christmas. Once again, the family (a grandmother, three sons, three spouses, and four grandchildren) gathered together and went to see a movie: National Treasure: Book of Secrets. I remember not liking the movie very much; most of us thought it was just a retread of the first movie. But, thinking back on it now, maybe Dad's absence had something to do with it, too.
Happy Father's Day, Dad.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
My Favorite Summer Movie
Over at AintitCool.Com, they're running a blog thread about various writers' favorite summer movies. I'm not talking about this summer's best movies. I'm talking about the one movie in your life that comes to mind when you think "summer." For many people it has been Jaws, for others, it has been one of the Star Wars movies. Jaws is indeed a great "summer movie," and it would be my second choice. But my no. 1 choice for my most cherished summer movie experience harkens back to 1978, and National Lampoon's Animal House.
I chose Animal House because I saw it twice in the late summer of 1978, and the second viewing was even better than the first, which is pretty rare. Initially, I saw it with my cousin in mid-August, not long before I went back to Penn State for my junior year. (My cousin was the guy with whom I had seen the first Star Wars only the year before.) I remember we laughed -- a lot. The theater was not far from St. Vincent College, which the Pittsburgh Steelers used as a training camp site (and still do), and I'm pretty sure the last couple rows of the theater were filled with Steelers players laughing their heads off along with the rest of us.
But the second viewing is what cinched my choice for me. Less than two weeks later, I was back on campus, and about 15 to 20 of us, male and female alike, banded together after lunch one afternoon during orientation week and walked downtown to the local two-screener to catch a matinee of Animal House. The place was jammed with raucous, screaming college students. I can't remember the last time, before or since, when a theater crowd elevated my enjoyment of a film to such heights. It really felt like a shared experience; we were a community, claiming this movie for ourselves. Hell, the movie was about college students! WE WERE COLLEGE STUDENTS!!! Well, most of us weren't as depraved and disgusting in our behavior as John Belushi, but we tried. That year, we tried a lot. (Belushi -- now there's a comic actor I really miss.)
The matinee that afternoon touched off what turned out to be my favorite year of the four I spent at Penn State. There was the dance marathon (where my partner and I placed second), our Sugar Bowl bout with Alabama, my interview with the singers following a Hall and Oates concert, and my first steps into my journalism major. It was a memorable year, and it began with my all-time favorite summer movie experience.
What's yours?
I chose Animal House because I saw it twice in the late summer of 1978, and the second viewing was even better than the first, which is pretty rare. Initially, I saw it with my cousin in mid-August, not long before I went back to Penn State for my junior year. (My cousin was the guy with whom I had seen the first Star Wars only the year before.) I remember we laughed -- a lot. The theater was not far from St. Vincent College, which the Pittsburgh Steelers used as a training camp site (and still do), and I'm pretty sure the last couple rows of the theater were filled with Steelers players laughing their heads off along with the rest of us.
But the second viewing is what cinched my choice for me. Less than two weeks later, I was back on campus, and about 15 to 20 of us, male and female alike, banded together after lunch one afternoon during orientation week and walked downtown to the local two-screener to catch a matinee of Animal House. The place was jammed with raucous, screaming college students. I can't remember the last time, before or since, when a theater crowd elevated my enjoyment of a film to such heights. It really felt like a shared experience; we were a community, claiming this movie for ourselves. Hell, the movie was about college students! WE WERE COLLEGE STUDENTS!!! Well, most of us weren't as depraved and disgusting in our behavior as John Belushi, but we tried. That year, we tried a lot. (Belushi -- now there's a comic actor I really miss.)
The matinee that afternoon touched off what turned out to be my favorite year of the four I spent at Penn State. There was the dance marathon (where my partner and I placed second), our Sugar Bowl bout with Alabama, my interview with the singers following a Hall and Oates concert, and my first steps into my journalism major. It was a memorable year, and it began with my all-time favorite summer movie experience.
What's yours?
Sunday, May 17, 2009
May Movie Madness: Coming Up for Air
It's happening again, only worse. Three years ago, the stars were aligned in May 2006 to offer up a movie-a-week -- literally, a new movie every week that I was just dying to see. I planned it out months in advance, letting Terri know about my plans so she would be prepared with the customary eye rolls, shoulder shrugs, and what-can-I-do?-my-husband's-an-idiot looks. One after the other, I scoped MISSION IMPOSSIBLE III, POSEIDON, THE DA VINCI CODE, and X-MEN: THE LAST STAND. In hindsight, of course, not the best of months. Now here comes May 2009, looking to blast May 2006 out of the Ward Record Books, and -- surprise, surprise! -- my wife is coming along for part of the ride.
Here's the rundown, only partially filled at this time: WOLVERINE, STAR TREK, ANGELS & DEMONS, TERMINATOR: SALVATION, NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM: BATTLE OF THE SMITHSONIAN, UP, and DRAG ME TO HELL. Actually, my wife doesn't know about that last one yet, but by the time May 29th rolls around, she'll be too exhausted to care.
The verdict? WOLVERINE -- disappointing. STAR TREK -- An outstanding reboot to the franchise. ANGELS & DEMONS -- surprisingly entertaining. The rest of them -- well, I hope the best is yet to come. Although they'll have to go far to give STAR TREK a run for its money. For a change, I'm not pontificating. (Sorry to disappoint you, Chaz.) I'll wait for the May picnic meeting.
Then I'll pontificate. (Just watch 'em head for the door. Heh, heh.)
P.S. And what about Terri, might you ask? Well, she liked ANGELS & DEMONS a lot more than DA VINCI CODE, as I did. And she's the main reason NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM is on the calendar -- she laughed a lot at the first one. Plus, she wants to see UP as much as I do. Three date movies in less than a month -- it's like 1989 all over again, but with higher ticket prices.
Here's the rundown, only partially filled at this time: WOLVERINE, STAR TREK, ANGELS & DEMONS, TERMINATOR: SALVATION, NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM: BATTLE OF THE SMITHSONIAN, UP, and DRAG ME TO HELL. Actually, my wife doesn't know about that last one yet, but by the time May 29th rolls around, she'll be too exhausted to care.
The verdict? WOLVERINE -- disappointing. STAR TREK -- An outstanding reboot to the franchise. ANGELS & DEMONS -- surprisingly entertaining. The rest of them -- well, I hope the best is yet to come. Although they'll have to go far to give STAR TREK a run for its money. For a change, I'm not pontificating. (Sorry to disappoint you, Chaz.) I'll wait for the May picnic meeting.
Then I'll pontificate. (Just watch 'em head for the door. Heh, heh.)
P.S. And what about Terri, might you ask? Well, she liked ANGELS & DEMONS a lot more than DA VINCI CODE, as I did. And she's the main reason NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM is on the calendar -- she laughed a lot at the first one. Plus, she wants to see UP as much as I do. Three date movies in less than a month -- it's like 1989 all over again, but with higher ticket prices.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Watchmen on DVD
Hey John,
How come everything else comes out on DVD in 30 seconds and a movie like Watchmen, which didn't burn up the box office is set for a July release???? I am really jonesing for that one.
How come everything else comes out on DVD in 30 seconds and a movie like Watchmen, which didn't burn up the box office is set for a July release???? I am really jonesing for that one.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
So Much For the Superhero Winning Streak
2008 was a great year for comic geeks at the movies, with the success of Iron Man, The Dark Knight, and to a lesser extent, The Incredible Hulk and Wanted. But 2009, unfortunately, has not gotten off to the same flying start. Watchmen turned out to be overrated and somewhat pretentious, and now, here comes Wolverine, the Canuck with Claws, stepping away from X-Men "group mode" to fly solo. It's bits and pieces of a fun movie that don't add up to a whole heck of a lot.
Wolverine is, arguably, the most popular character in the Marvel Comics stable, so it was only natural that the powers that be would send him out on his own, sooner or later. (It helps when you give Hugh Jackman, the man with the claws, a producer's credit. Not to mention letting him film the thing in his own Australian backyard. What, did Canada decide to raise its taxes?) But the movie was such a mess, I found myself nitpicking from the get-go.
Let's start with the background detail, which takes up the first 15 minutes. I've gotten along perfectly well without Wolverine's backstory for over 30 years, thank you very much. I really didn't need to know that his real name is -- or was -- James Howlett, and as a child, he suffered the trauma of unwittingly killing his ...oh, please. If you can't fill in that blank on your own, you've already failed Screenwriting Cliches 101.
I think I knew from the comics (It's hard to say, since I haven't read Wolverine or X-Men regularly since about '95) that Wolverine has always had some sort of blood feud going with the psychotic Sabretooth. That little tidbit is given ample screen time here, with Wolverine and Sabretooth as half-brothers bouncing from one war to the next across the decades. I guess the "healing factor" that makes Wolverine a mutant also works as its own immortality drug. (Well, at the very least, it must slow the mortal part down a lot.) Wolverine/James Howlett/Logan/Who the hell knows? is recruited by Col. William Stryker for a special ops detail made up of other secretive mutants, and Sabretooth comes with him, mainly for the chance to kill lotsa folks legally. Stryker, played by the older Brian Cox in X2, is played here with equally bureaucratic smarm by Danny Huston, who I liked as the head vampire in 30 Days of Night. Knowing that Stryker has to live so he can cause all sorts of mischief in X2 kind of takes away the suspense, but that's the way it is with prequels, folks.
I have to note that I liked Liev Schreiber's portrayal of Sabretooth. Even though he looks nothing like the comic book character, Schreiber is a hell of an actor, and he chews into his role (literally) with feral glee. The movie wakes up every time he comes onscreen, which is often enough to warrant a Netflix rental down the road, I guess.
But one good performance is not enough to save this movie. There's all sorts of things going on here that really make no sense. For instance, why would Stryker spend a kazillion dollars to turn Wolverine into an adamantium-laced force of nature, then attempt to kill him when he doesn't want to play ball? Can bureaucrats be that petty? (Dumb question.) Soon after Wolverine goes on the run, he meets up with Ma and Pa Kent (or wait -- was that Uncle Ben and Aunt May?), a pair of walking homespun cliches with targets on their backs whose sole reason for being in the film is to give Wolverine another excuse for opening a mega-can of whoopass on the bad guys. (As if Jackman needed another reason, being stuck in this movie and all.)
I was waiting for something special, and kept getting stiffed. Even the CGI was lame this time around. The claws looked painted into the frame, and as for that final smackdown -- wouldja believe Wolverine, Sabretooth, and Deadpool duking it out atop the Three Mile Island nuclear reactor? No damn way that's going to look real.
I think the saddest part was waiting until after the end credits for what has now become the signature of all Marvel Comics movies: the "special surprise" extra scene. Even that was boring. I read somewhere that they actually have a couple of different "special surprise" scenes playing at the end of different prints of the film, and if you want to see them all, you have to see the film multiple times. Fat chance of that. I'll wait for the inevitable special edition Blu-Ray. Maybe.
Give Liev Schreiber 4 stars out of 10, tack on an extra 2 stars for a cool helicopter fight scene, and you've got something that's worth a rental on a rainy day. Me, I'm already counting the hours until the Star Trek premiere.
Wolverine is, arguably, the most popular character in the Marvel Comics stable, so it was only natural that the powers that be would send him out on his own, sooner or later. (It helps when you give Hugh Jackman, the man with the claws, a producer's credit. Not to mention letting him film the thing in his own Australian backyard. What, did Canada decide to raise its taxes?) But the movie was such a mess, I found myself nitpicking from the get-go.
Let's start with the background detail, which takes up the first 15 minutes. I've gotten along perfectly well without Wolverine's backstory for over 30 years, thank you very much. I really didn't need to know that his real name is -- or was -- James Howlett, and as a child, he suffered the trauma of unwittingly killing his ...oh, please. If you can't fill in that blank on your own, you've already failed Screenwriting Cliches 101.
I think I knew from the comics (It's hard to say, since I haven't read Wolverine or X-Men regularly since about '95) that Wolverine has always had some sort of blood feud going with the psychotic Sabretooth. That little tidbit is given ample screen time here, with Wolverine and Sabretooth as half-brothers bouncing from one war to the next across the decades. I guess the "healing factor" that makes Wolverine a mutant also works as its own immortality drug. (Well, at the very least, it must slow the mortal part down a lot.) Wolverine/James Howlett/Logan/Who the hell knows? is recruited by Col. William Stryker for a special ops detail made up of other secretive mutants, and Sabretooth comes with him, mainly for the chance to kill lotsa folks legally. Stryker, played by the older Brian Cox in X2, is played here with equally bureaucratic smarm by Danny Huston, who I liked as the head vampire in 30 Days of Night. Knowing that Stryker has to live so he can cause all sorts of mischief in X2 kind of takes away the suspense, but that's the way it is with prequels, folks.
I have to note that I liked Liev Schreiber's portrayal of Sabretooth. Even though he looks nothing like the comic book character, Schreiber is a hell of an actor, and he chews into his role (literally) with feral glee. The movie wakes up every time he comes onscreen, which is often enough to warrant a Netflix rental down the road, I guess.
But one good performance is not enough to save this movie. There's all sorts of things going on here that really make no sense. For instance, why would Stryker spend a kazillion dollars to turn Wolverine into an adamantium-laced force of nature, then attempt to kill him when he doesn't want to play ball? Can bureaucrats be that petty? (Dumb question.) Soon after Wolverine goes on the run, he meets up with Ma and Pa Kent (or wait -- was that Uncle Ben and Aunt May?), a pair of walking homespun cliches with targets on their backs whose sole reason for being in the film is to give Wolverine another excuse for opening a mega-can of whoopass on the bad guys. (As if Jackman needed another reason, being stuck in this movie and all.)
I was waiting for something special, and kept getting stiffed. Even the CGI was lame this time around. The claws looked painted into the frame, and as for that final smackdown -- wouldja believe Wolverine, Sabretooth, and Deadpool duking it out atop the Three Mile Island nuclear reactor? No damn way that's going to look real.
I think the saddest part was waiting until after the end credits for what has now become the signature of all Marvel Comics movies: the "special surprise" extra scene. Even that was boring. I read somewhere that they actually have a couple of different "special surprise" scenes playing at the end of different prints of the film, and if you want to see them all, you have to see the film multiple times. Fat chance of that. I'll wait for the inevitable special edition Blu-Ray. Maybe.
Give Liev Schreiber 4 stars out of 10, tack on an extra 2 stars for a cool helicopter fight scene, and you've got something that's worth a rental on a rainy day. Me, I'm already counting the hours until the Star Trek premiere.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Harper's Island
I caught the premiere episode of the new CBS mystery thriller Harper's Island earlier tonight, and I was hoping someone else on the blog had seen it, too. It's a surprisingly effective take on the old And Then There Were None plot device -- if Agatha Christie had been inclined to dabble in Italian giallo, that is.
A couple of dozen invited guests are boated out to an island resort off the coast of Washington state to attend a wedding. There are the usual soap opera touches -- the from-poverty groom "isn't good enough to marry" the rich bride, the groom's childhood friend must revisit the scene of a family tragedy, ex-boyfriends show up, yadda yadda yadda. It's all set-up for what CBS is really trying to sell: a creepy, violent, 13-week serial killer show.
Because it seems that the guests are going to die, one by one. (CBS even adds a crawl inviting people to log on and vote to predict next week's victim.) The premiere episode actually offered two shocking deaths for the price of one, bookending the show. The first one (Say, have you seen Cousin Ben?) is surprisingly gruesome for network TV, and you immediately find yourself wondering just how far CBS, the home of the geezer demographic, is willing to go.
Evidently pretty damn far, if the second death is any indication. It's shocking on two levels -- the way it is filmed, and the identity of the victim. The viewer is immediately reminded of the death of Janet Leigh in Psycho, and I was left with the feeling that all bets are off. I'll be back to see it next week, and if the storyline improves, I might just last until this thing wraps in July. Which is more than I can say for most of the cast, apparently.
A couple of dozen invited guests are boated out to an island resort off the coast of Washington state to attend a wedding. There are the usual soap opera touches -- the from-poverty groom "isn't good enough to marry" the rich bride, the groom's childhood friend must revisit the scene of a family tragedy, ex-boyfriends show up, yadda yadda yadda. It's all set-up for what CBS is really trying to sell: a creepy, violent, 13-week serial killer show.
Because it seems that the guests are going to die, one by one. (CBS even adds a crawl inviting people to log on and vote to predict next week's victim.) The premiere episode actually offered two shocking deaths for the price of one, bookending the show. The first one (Say, have you seen Cousin Ben?) is surprisingly gruesome for network TV, and you immediately find yourself wondering just how far CBS, the home of the geezer demographic, is willing to go.
Evidently pretty damn far, if the second death is any indication. It's shocking on two levels -- the way it is filmed, and the identity of the victim. The viewer is immediately reminded of the death of Janet Leigh in Psycho, and I was left with the feeling that all bets are off. I'll be back to see it next week, and if the storyline improves, I might just last until this thing wraps in July. Which is more than I can say for most of the cast, apparently.
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