04.08.11
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Don’t Remake Me… Let Me Go!

You know the drill. There’s nothing playing at the movie theatres worth seeing and why leave your house anyway when you’ve just spent too much money on a flat screen TV/sound system? Or — why not stay home when you don’t have the money to go out and your laptop’s bookmarked with key websites from which you can download any film you want and can outsmart the flaccid reach of federal authorities.  Yes, downloading is illegal but when was the last time you heard of anyone arrested for what they viewed in the privacy of their own homes (if that were the case, we’d all be in jail!) just for themselves and the date/friends they couldn’t afford to take out on the town — a predicament they (we) like to blame on the authorities, anyway.

I won’t tell you which of the above categories I fall into (you can guess) but suffice it to say at various points in my life I’ve fallen into both. And even now somewhere in- between.

This week I’m watching the two- hour premiere of AMC’s “The Killing” and the first three hours of HBO’s five-hour miniseries “Mildred Pierce” (that’s many hours I could have devoted to, well…something else) It’s comfortable – I’ve got my popcorn, soda, chocolate and kitchen nearby in case that’s not enough. Minutes, half an hour, then an hour goes by and I begin to realize — THERE IS SOMETHING ABOUT THIS ALL THAT IS VAGUELY FAMILIAR – but not in a good way. And I’m not even at the movies.

“The Killing” had the moody atmosphere of a David Lynch film without much of the strangeness. That made it okay, but nothing special (and I’d rather be offended than bored because at least it wakes me out of my ennui. But wait – this isn’t a movie and I’m watching it at home so that criteria doesn’t apply). Then as I sped through the commercials (thank you – DVR) but not quite fast enough (curse you, clumsy remote control fingers) I come upon AMC’s promo for “The Killing” during “The Killing” and hear the words, “Who Killed Rose Larson?,” bragging about a special AMC “suspect tracker” and online clues that will keep you guessing and guessing as the truth behind the “Killing” unravels.

Being of a certain age, I finally realize. Didn’t David Lynch do television? Oh, “Twin Peaks, remember? Of course I remember the dancing midget little person, “Who Killed Laura Palmer?” You couldn’t have lived through the eighties or be any kind of film or television fan/student without remembering a show that became such a huge hit it even threw off Lynch and its creator Mark Frost because, guess what – they didn’t know who killed Laura Palmer at all because they didn’t think the damn show would be a hit! (I love that they didn’t because, well, that’s soooo David Lynch).

Unfortunately, I fear/know the makers of “The Killing” do know the truth (and a lot more) and that’s what’s wrong with the show.

“The Killing” is a remake of a hit Danish television series now a huge hit in England. It’s not bad, but watching it gives one the distinct feeling that no matter what the cast and director try to do, we’ve covered this territory before. Because we have. And in a far better way.

I had the same thought this morning when I turned on the news (liberal bias alert!) and saw the Republicans of Congress giving a press conference basically stating they are trying to save the American economy with massive budget cuts and the uncooperative president will leave them no choice but to shut the government down.

Is this 1995/6 or the 2010’s? Is John Boehner simply Newt Gingrich with a tan, elevator shoes and a swagger? Is Obama simply Bill Clinton with a tan? (going too far?) I don’t know, but once again, there’s something oddly familiar. And not in a good way. Because once again I’m getting bored and don’t think our current president can be anywhere near as entertaining as Mr. Clinton. But, I mean, who can?

Which is really the point when it comes to “Mildred Pierce.” It is extremely well-made, beautiful to look at, even has a bit of a resonant theme given the high unemployment in today’s world that certainly parallels the many out-of-work people in post Depression era Los Angeles. But as much as I loooove Kate Winslett, she couldn’t possibly be the campy fun of Joan Crawford. She’s actually acting the piece in a very believable dramatic way because writer-director Todd Haynes (the iconoclastic filmmaker who not only gave us “Velvet Goldmine” and “Safe,” but his brilliant first film“ The Karen Carpenter Story,” where he evokes the musical icon’s story with a cast of only Barbie dolls) seems determined to be hamstrung by sticking so closely to the book (remake) and the requirements of cliffhanging rising action of traditional cable TV moviemaking.

In short, I fear I’ve seen this story before. And not in a good way.

I start to wonder:

  • Is Libya, a rerun (co-run) of Afghanistan, which is a rerun of Iraq, which in turn is a remake of the Vietnam War?
  • Is Michelle Bachman a remake of Sarah Palin, after we had to briefly suffer through the even worse Palin remake that was Christine O’Donnell, which, let’s face it, no one (not even O’Donnell, I bet) really thinks worked
  • Isn’t the upcoming” “The Voice,” and “X-Factor” a remake of “American Idol?” But didn’t “America’s Got Talent” remake “Idol?” Sort of? But then again, “Idol” remade “Star Search” (that’s where Rosie O’Donnell and Brad Garrett were discovered, remember?), which was really a remake of one of my parents’ favorite shows, “Ted Mack’s Amateur Hour.”

Maybe one reason we’re not going out and paying for movies is because Russell Brand and Helen Mirren are starring in a remake of a film I vividly remember (and I’m not THAT old) called “Arthur.” Is it me, or does this film smell A MILLION MILES AWAY? Why is that? It can’t only be that it’s a remake, is it? I can remember the funny type A writer-director Steve Gordon who conceived the original “Arthur,” and had it financed by the then somewhat iconoclastic company called Orion. The proprietors being the former executives at United Artists responsible for original classics like “Annie Hall,” “Rocky” and “Network” who walked away because of interference and lack of any support from their corporate elders who didn’t crave originality. They then got their own financing and company and an original slate of films that included the original screenplay “Arthur.” It was a HUGE success seemingly out of nowhere, Gordon was hailed as a bit of a modern day Preston Sturges and then tragically died in 1983. Luckily, this was before the sad sequel to his comic gem, “Arthur on the Rocks,” and decades before the likely creative fiasco this weekend will become with this remake because I saw Helen Mirren on “Today” on Monday looking so oddly uncomfortable promoting it, and, well, if the Queen can’t divert me who can.

Maybe Martin Scorsese needs to do original films and not remakes like “Shutter Island,” which wasn’t bad but still feels like territory he’s traveled before (Oh come on, he’s not infallible). I know there is “Dragon Tattoo” fever but do you really think the American film is going to feel new? Yes, I know we’re all dying to see Barbra Streisand star in the film remake of “Gypsy,” but come on my brothers in gay and musical aficionados, do you really think….(fill in choice words)

It’s true “The Office” is a smash creative remake of the British series with Ricky Gervais and that “All In the Family” remade another British series, “Till Death Do Us Part.” And yeah, I’ll be tempted to see, the remake of, well, “Dune,” I suppose (not really, but fill in your own remake choice). But before writing me on that, think about the 2004 debacle called “The Stepford Wives,” then watch the 1975 original and consider — do you REALLY want to put your fingers to those keys and send me your objections? Do you? Do you?

Original is, of course, no recipe for success. But at least it has the chance of thoroughly offending me, rather than boring me to death. Which is, on its own, a victory. And it might even get me (us) off the couch and back into the movie theatre where I (we) belong.

Postscript: I won’t be watching Arnold Schwarzenegger’s newly proposed cartoon series called “The Governator,”” where he voices a superhero governor living on the Westside of Los Angeles who saves the world (presumably in between meetings with the state legislature). But it’s original, you say? Uh, I don’t think so. Not even slightly.

04.01.11
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Ya Oughta Be Committed!

It’s tough to get out of bed and start one’s daily journey into social networking “heck” when only yesterday morning your chosen media platform informed you that “live-able” traces of radiation were found in air particles worldwide, and that it might not be wise to eat sushi or tuna fish unless you could verify that the piscine you were devouring never swam anywhere near a nuclear power plant in their lifetimes.  And even then, how would you know for sure if either the fish or its captor weren’t lying?

I have some friends who are rabid vegetarians.  And though I stopped eating red meat long ago (except when it’s the only item on a plate at a seated dinner party (as it was last weekend) and I couldn’t bring myself to finish it), I can’t quite do the whole vegan full monty at mealtime.  First, I’m allergic to nuts and have gotten really sick at more than one vegan cardboard food eatery (and not just from the smell!).   Second, one of my best vegan friends used to chastise me relentlessly 15 years ago when he insisted on serving roast pork (a food which even now makes me physically nauseous) at dinner parties and when I tried to discreetly refuse to eat it was met with his consistent utter disdain.  Yes –  Revenge runs in my family, my astrological sign is Scorpio and I have trouble moving on even when I’ve made my point ad nausea (which should be thoroughly apparent to you if you’re a frequent or even infrequent reader of this blog).

What does energize me to get up when my sinuses are begging me to stay down is seeing other people’s passion or commitment to a task (despite the obvious likelihood of their failure).  It’s always been that way and I really can’t explain it.  Maybe it’s catching  — like radiation poisoning but in a good way.  Perhaps it was a bit too rare in my neighborhood in Queens where people didn’t think about existential states of being but rather having lox on a Sunday or Chinese food on a Sunday nite. More likely, it’s growing up as the son of a gambler with a natural aversion to take on tasks where the odds were clearly stacked against me/us.

Except – that’s all I’ve ever done in my life.

I entered journalism when all people ever said was I’d never start on anything but a small town newspaper; and the screenwriting sweepstakes when the first agent I ever met with sneered at my script and jeeringly told me my dialogue was too off-Broadway (I still can’t figure out if that was an insult).  These days, I continue to like “La Vida Loca” through all the Ricky Martin backlash.  And I don’t hesitate to say I’m a liberal, liberal, liberal, liberal, liberal, liberal in an age where it’s not cool to be labeled politically but ultra-chic to be labeled for your sexual practices, ethnicity or latest social networking proclivity (I’m not yet a Twitterer but I fear it’s right there over the horizon).  Those over 35 who doubt me should remember the day when you VOWED you would never be one of those people who had nothing better to do than natter on your cell phone.  Those under 35 (or even over) could pretend you’ve never watched and enjoyed reality television and then hit the playback of some conversation you had with your best friend, family or classmate years before about how lame “Fear Factor” or “The Real World” was.

Since I depend partly on other people’s passions to spark some of my own, it is conversely true that lack of passion and half-heartedness bugs the living crap out of me.  Though I try very hard and don’t roll my eyes or sigh audibly as I once did, there is something personally enraging about watching someone not put any effort in (students beware) or purposely/carelessly do something in a half-assed way because they can (eg – the people my landlord has remodeling our duplex).

That makes it especially difficult to live in the nuances of today’s world.  We are in a “limited military engagement” in Libya and not a war – which seems to be a good thing on the surface until one considers its contradicts everything we all know about the effort it takes to win.  We also know passion projects in film and television are the ones particularly impossible to get made these days yet it is on record for everyone working in the fields of entertainment (and at the major studios) that most of the best and most POPULAR (yes, that means financial success) pieces in television and movies grew out of one person’s (or group of people’s) passion, commitment, drive and determination to get a story told.  And if they don’t know that, it’s because they’re not passionate themselves and are living a half-assed life.  Because it’s my blog and, once again, I set the rules.

LIST

  • Margaret Mitchell took a decade to write “Gone With the Wind” based on what she’d seen growing up in the South.
  • Sylvester Stallone (supposedly) wrote “Rocky” in desperation over a weekend (though I never bought it and think it took him at least two) from his own desperate life experiences.
  • Matt Weiner’s “Mad Men” got turned down several times from every network and other outlet all over town and yet has won the Emmy for best series three years in a row and has launched a classy profile for AMC, the only studio to give it a chance. (Note:  With its success, AMC is now trying to cut back and interfere with Weiner’s creative vision and is shortening each episode and killing off characters in a hackneyed cost cutting measure.  Ooops – news flash – they just relented [compromised?] and Weiner re-signed.)

Let’s not even go through Spielberg and Lucas and the childhood passions they were determined to bring onscreen.  Or Francis Coppola’s unique ability to inject themes of family he held so closely to a work like “The Godfather.”  Or Norman Lear essentially basing  “All in the Family”’s famed Archie Bunker on his own father and their turbulent relationship growing up.  Or did I just mention them all.

Dedication.  Personal passion. Commitment.  And I’ve left out all of the other arts.  And haven’t even gotten into sports, Oprah or the latest Ricky Martin record even though I could make a convincing case for each.  (I can’t make a case for Disney just signing beautiful actress Jennifer Garner to play a revamped version of Agatha Christie’s 80 year old British Sleuth Miss Marple for the start of a new tent pole series of films – though I have no doubt she will give her all as an actress if it does get made because she’s known for doing that sort of thing.  So there still is half a case to be made about that).

It’s important to care and do your best work because you don’t know where it will lead or whom it will inspire.  But mostly because it’s too easy to live in a world where it seems those who are immoral and lazy will get ahead.  And if we’re to have any future as an admirable society it is our collective obligation to prove that theory wrong.

I was in a bit of a passion rut last week until I was obligated to attend a fundraiser my students were having to raise money for autism.  It was on a Sunday and, truth be told, I was tired, cranky, hadn’t slept well the previous night because my nightmarish landlord is still remodeling, and generally was annoyed that a screenplay I worked very hard on for a producer which I deemed more than admirably now seems to be perpetually stalled.

Who wanted to see a talent lineup of non-famous students and their friends that included: an opera singer; a Shakespearean monologue from a budding actor; a reading of a short story; at least three young original singer-songwriters playing their own material; an a cappella male vocalist doing “Sounds of Silence;” four unknown comedians; one comedian/singer/You Tuber; an improv group with four members, and maybe even a partridge in a pear tree for all I knew.  It was so much easier to stay home, play Scrabble on my iPad, make fun of Charlie Sheen myself and be politically outraged on Facebook.

But being committed to at least following through on my commitment (out of guilt, not any sense of my own nobility, I promise), I forced myself out of my house.  And guess what?  It was pretty fabulous.  I mean, like – really, really.  Even the reading of the short story (who likes readings?).  The incredible soaring notes of the opera singer, the stand-ups, and improv group.  And on and on.  I’m not saying this because many (but not all) of them were my students and could be reading this.  I actually, truly, passionately mean it.

Why do they take the time and energy to hone their crafts when they all have day jobs and almost never get paid (yet) for their creative endeavors? Passion.  Commitment.  Dedication.  What they’re doing is coming from a real place.  And yes, they are all of the things I just mentioned and more.  Most won’t “make it” commercially but some will.  Which ones – I have no freakin’ idea because long ago I’ve given up that guesswork.  But even those that don’t might inspire someone who will and get out a message that might not have gotten out in the world unless perhaps that particular messenger heard that said person perform.  And that, in itself, is something.

Because it makes me (us?) get out of bed each day no matter how bad my sinuses are.  Or consider becoming vegan if my nut allergy is cured – or perhaps even before.  I’m not sure it’s an antidote to radiation or world peace, but at least it’s a start on the road to —- ?

And now, for some inspiration…