And so the summer movie season comes to a close, and the reigning champ proves to be a raccoon with a rocket launcher. Who woulda guessed? The indie flicks and awards contenders are on the horizon, and the fall TV season is kicking off, so lets enjoy the final hours of summer together, with a look at a (very) long awaited sequel, a brand new release of an old classic, a brand new face on an old franchise, a documentary about an old building and of course all the news you need in this week's buzz.
Movies: To paraphrase Rogers & Hammerstein, how do you solve a problem like Frank Miller? Well, before we get to that, let’s take it back a bit.
The year is 2005. The first wave of comic book movies were overtaking the 90’s B-movie chic that had reigned supreme, with only Tarantino keeping it afloat with the recently released conclusion to Kill Bill. The Spidey-sh*t had yet to hit the fan and temporarily tank it with its third installment, and the revolution had yet to begin with The Dark Knight and Iron Man each a few years off. Yet, the “comic movies are art” movement was on the horizon when a black and white neo-noir based on a cult comic called Sin City. The screen was set ablaze thanks to a perfect-fit performance from Mickey Rourke as fan-favorite Marv and the stunning visuals attributed to the duo of indie brat-teur Robert Rodriguez and the comic’s creator Frank Miller. The film signaled the phoenix-like rise of Rourke, solidified Rodriguez as an A-list director, and put the name Frank Miller on the tongues of film fans and the literate alike, bringing a new audience both to his old work and to a bubbling anticipation for his next project (made even more fervent when 300 hit the scene).
Almost ten years later, and Rourke’s an Oscar nominee, comic book movies are inescapable (and seem once again headed for a bubble-burst), and Robert Rodriguez has made one Machete movie to many and had several hits too few, whilst after the poor reception to his solo film debut The Spirit, the general public believed Frank Miller to have just fallen to the wayside, laying in waiting for the Weinsteins to finally green light Sin City 2. Finally, that day came, and twitter was abuzz with the first shot of Josh Brolin (taking on the role of a pre-surgery Dwight, played by Clive Owen in the first installment). The title, Sin City 2: A Dame To Kill For, thrilled long-time fans as it signalled the adaptation of one of the most beloved stories in the franchise, to be accompanied by three all new stories by creator/co-director Frank Miller.
Now, those who only know comic books as the things they make movies of rejoiced at the scintillating sights the first trailer yielded, but those who read said comics? All they could feel was dread at the words “new” and “Frank Miller”.
Which brings us back to Frank. After revolutionizing comics with his dark, gritty take on Batman with the insanely influential The Dark Knight Returns and his equally important work at Marvel revamping Daredevil, Miller moved to the independent comics world for books like 300 and Sin City. Yet, somewhere around the mid-90’s, things started to derail. First came a much anticipated and then much loathed sequel to his career-making comic, The Dark Knight Strikes Again. Next came an atrociously painful run of All Star Batman and Robin which was cancelled before he could complete his run (but not before giving us a Bruce Wayne who says “Are you retarded or something? I’m the god damned Batman”. Finally, the straw that broke the proverbial back of the camel came when Miller proposed a story entitled "Holy Terror, Batman" that was so disgustingly Islamophobic DC Comics refused to touch it. Miller’s once creative mind had become pickled with mysogyny, hatred and an obsession with macho violence. None of which boded well for the long awaited sequel.
From the first few minutes of screen time, something feels off. The visuals feels cheaper. The use of color is more prominent and less consequential. It’s unclear whether Rourke forgot how to play Marv, or Marv is just written radically different. Of the four stories presented in the film (though really three stories and a brief segment of Marv murdering a deranged man’s idea of fratboys), none feel worth the time, not even the surprisingly unfaithful adaptation of A Dame To Kill For. We’re introduced to Joseph Gordon-Levitt, who true to form as of late is miscast and dull, as a fantastic gambler out to swindle the “big bad” of Sin City, Senator Roarke, played by Deadwood’s Powers Booth. After the standard “cool guy” poker game victory with the (atrociously acted and inexplicably polychrome) pretty girl on his arm, Levitt naturally finds himself in deep with Roarke, and suffers the standard, uneventful consequences. “The Long Bad Night”, as this segment is dubbed, is the film’s longest, divided into two parts and proves to be so by-the-book noir that you basically play the entire second segment in your head before it even hits the screen.
Splitting up “The Long Bad Night” is the titular segment where Josh Brolin tries his hardest to bail out the nightmarish retelling of the beloved Sin City story, but a de-emphasis on the personalities of the prostitutes of Old Town (as though you can just hear Frank Miller saying “Whores is whores” with a shrug and a cigar) renders the segment empty and an overly long and unnecessary diversion into the cliche with Christopher Meloni and Jeremy Piven bring the story to a screeching halt, to say nothing of the absolutely horrendous (even by the seemingly al-forgiving standards of the neo-noir genre) Eva Green not only sinks the segment, but indeed the entire film, managing to beat out the shockingly cheap visual design as the greatest sin committed by Sin City 2, to say nothing of the (literal and figurative) hack job done to fan favorite Nancy in the final segment “Nancy’s Last Dance”. While the less said about that bit of character assassination the better, it is worth noting that the segment and therefor the entire film end so abruptly that in any other film it would be unforgivable, but here such a swift evacuation from the story feels merciful.
It’s hard, as a fan of films like Desperado and Once Upon A Time in Mexico, to shake your head and think “This is a bad flick from Robert Rodriguez” because it doesn’t feel like Rodriguez was involved. It’s not a glorious failure, like Machete Kills or even The Spirit, where ambition wasn’t met by ability or the pieces just didn’t quite come together. From the lack of energy and sensibility to the erratic use of color and “comic book” panels, the slowly paced storytelling and misunderstood characters, Sin City 2: A Dame to Kill For feels more in line with 300: Rise of an Empire or even Community Season 4. It feels like they made a sequel without the original creative team behind it, and what we got was a cheap, heartless imitation. Sin City 2 plays like some studio picked cronies who don’t understand the nuances of the original, bound to stay within the minuscule budget without a thought for the finished product, just churned out a sequel for quick cash. It’s not worth the drive to the theatre, its not worth the rental, its not worth a damn at all. It’s a tragic misstep that feels inauthentic and misses every mark, and a massive disservice to one of the comic book genre’s finest.
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“Show time” repeatedly intones Bob Fosse’s author surrogate Joe Gideon in his autobiographical magnum opus in the vein of 8 1/2 and Stardust Memories. The Criterion Collection has put out a phenomenal Blu-Ray/DVD combo pack of Fosse’s Palme D’Or winning film, and its absolutely a must own, even for those wary of the musical genre. Based largely on Fosse’s own attempts to edit his film Lenny whilst staging the 1975 Broadway production of "Chicago", the musical sequences in All That Jazz serve largely to represent Gideon’s perception of the problems in his life (or indeed his own physical and mental deterioration in the stellar Ben Vereen led finale “Bye Bye Life”;). A film both egotistical and self-ridiculing, Fosse’s parallel is brought to life brilliantly by Roy Schieder, who absolutely earns the Oscar he was nominated for (he lost to Dustin Hoffman for Kramer vs. Kramer, a film that has aged remarkably less well than All That Jazz). The Criterion is packed with extras including audio commentary from Sheider, interviews with Fosse and the cast, documentaries about the music and choreography as well as the man behind the movie, plus a new 4K transfer that makes the film look the best it ever has. All That Jazz is an American classic, and a must own for any true film fan.
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TV: For those unfamiliar with the cult hit Doctor Who, the basics are that the show is over 50 years old, with several actors taking on the role of the Doctor, a “time lord” alien who travels through time and space with various companions who “regenerates” with a new face every time he dies. After the series ended in the 80’s (and a failed TV movie in the 90’s) the BBC brought back the beloved sci-fi franchise in a reboot following the exploits of the 9th incarnation of the Doctor (Christopher Eccleston), inviting new viewers to jump in while still retaining the continuity of the original run. From 9th came 10th in the form of David Tennant, a man who’s now believed to be the finest incarnation of the role. After several years and a new show runner, Tennant left and the show performed what was essentially a re-pilot, casting a new Doctor and companions, allowing a whole new audience to dive into the Matt Smith era as he explained all the rules of the universe to new companion Amy Pond. After several years, Amy gave way to Clara “The Impossible Girl” Oswald, the War Doctor was introduced and…look, I’m sure by now you see even a basic overview would take too long. The uninitiated but intrigued are by now probably wondering if this new season premiere is another repilot, accessible to both old and new viewers, so let’s just address that: No.
For those looking to get into the world of Tardises and time travel, its best to journey back at least as far as the launch of the Matt Smith era (Hulu and Netflix have it all, don’t worry). This season premiere, even with a new Doctor, relies to heavily on past characters (including fan-favorite Strax) and DW mythology to not be a complete head spinner for those trying to jump in. Of course, assuming you know your Daleks from your Donnas, the key question is: is the new series worth it?
It’s tough to say. The premiere is a fine one, without any real bombast. A frazzled, newly regenerated Doctor tries to determine who he is with the help of his confused companion. There’s the standard “Doctor reacts to his new appearance with disappointment”, there’s the “Doctor acts cray searching for clothes”, the companion not knowing “who the Doctor is anymore”. All things considered, little clockwork robot bad guy aside, it functions almost precisely the same as the David Tennant introduction for most of the episode, which makes it rather boring for the most part, yet the end takes a darker and ambiguous turn, leaving us the viewer unsure of who this new Doctor is, and that’s just enough to make it potential worth watching (though show runner Moffat has taken intriguing ideas like River Song and the entire series of Sherlock and ruined them, so let’s not put too much faith in this).
The Thick of It star Peter Capaldi is thrilling and engaging as an older but just-as-tenacious Doctor, bringing a bit more gravitas to a role that’s been gradually getting more pander-heavy as the years have gone on. His interaction with certain Who staples like Strax and Vastra are as engaging as his battle of wits with the villain, and indeed, the only part that feels like is the most crucial part of any series: his chemistry with his companion. Moments between the Doctor and Clara Oswald consistently fall flat, enough that they had to pull Matt Smith back in for a moment (in a scene that defies logic, as a 11th Doctor that young would have had no ability to make that phone call on Trensalore, as he didn’t now he was even going to regenerate until he was much older. Please comment down below if we’re missing how that works out, as it seems like a glaring mistake) to try and save the series. Perhaps Oswald wasn’t decide to interact with such a more dominant and distinguished Doctor. Maybe its just that the actress doesn’t personally get on well with Capaldi, and it shows in the scene. Either way, the fact that the series has already admitted they’re introducing additional companions soon, and that Calara will be gone by Christmas, proves that the team at least recognizes the weaknesses of this now 12th retooling of the series, and intend to fix it. So for that alone, even with a fairly cookie cutter premiere, the new Who seems worth the time for now.
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News: Well, the dust has settled on what might be the most poorly produced Emmys in history. You don’t come to a news section to hear about poorly chosen camera angles or a series of host jokes falling flat, so let’s focus on the real news: Every musician who played in that house band is likely never to work again.
Oh, and the winners. Let’s not forget them. In a series of not at all shockers, few winners that night were first timers (and even fewer deserved them, but that’s besides the point). Once more Julia Louise-Dreyfus took home the Best actress in a Comedy trophy (her third year in a row), as did Jim Parsons for the fourth time. A fifth victory went to Modern Family for Best Comedy, which was seemingly met with groans even in the crowd, whilst Breaking Bad, Bryan Cranston, Aaron Paul and Anna Gunn got their final Emmys (their second, third or fourth in the span of 7 years). Even the new show wins went to old faces, where Allison Janney took home Supporting Actress in a Comedy, Louis C.K. took Best Writing for a Comedy, and Sarah Silverman took home Best Writing for a Variety Special, all of whom are now searching for practical uses for the plethora of Emmys in their apartments (Janney won herself a nice set of bookends this year alone with another Emmy for her guest role on Masters of Sex). Indeed, the only real surprise of the night was seeing Fargo knock out the titanic train wreck known as American Horror Story: Coven and Sherlock winning big with what was easily its worst episode, scoring statues for Martin Freeman, Benedict Cumberbatch, show runner Steven Moffat and the series itself.
Sure, there were snubs to discuss, but we’re gonna just ignore those, alright alright alright? We’re gonna just keep livin’, you know? Because that’s what you’ve gotta love about the Emmys, man. Other shows may be better, but they still vote for the same thing, yes they do. Yes they do.*
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Short Film: Of all the shorts The Buzz has reviewed over the past two months, Ponte Tower is easily the most pristinely assembled and visually stunning of them all. This documentary about the Johannesberg landmark building is crafted with such care and observational affection for its subject that it’s easy to just get lost in the look of the film. Perhaps its best, as the content never really lives up to the look, but the subject is fascinating all the same.
We learn from the three talking heads introduced that Ponte Tower used to be a swanky residential area, but then became crime ridden “with the coming of democracy”, and now is on the upswing, but none of this is ever quite explained. The film lacks the kind of background info to make those unfamiliar with African political history aware of the implications the statements by the interviewees make, and it makes the viewer aware of the tower, its history and hazards, without really delving into much or providing much info beyond a vague introduction, almost as though it were more a real-estate ad and less a documentary. That said, the cinematography is so gorgeous its worth looking past the flaws and just looking at the screen.
*Childish, Outraged Editorial: Alright, seriously, how do you not give it to McConaughey? Cranston has three already, Emmys. He’s fine. Matt coulda made history winning the Oscar and the Emmy in the same year, and I don’t care how flat a circle time is, that kinda opportunity don’t come around twice. We as a people could collectively voice our outrage, but our opinion would likely fall as flat as the night’s jokes or the notes from the house band.
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