More MOVIE MADNESS~!, courtesy of Bayou Video.

An Evening with Kevin Smith
So it's not a movie, exactly, but it is a DVD. It's a four-hour (!) compilation of Q&A sessions writer/director/actor, sort of, Kevin Smith (of Clerks) did at several colleges in 2001. Four hours may seem excessive, but Smith is a hilarious storyteller, and it's a blast to hear him talk. Worth a rental, if only for the obscenely funny story about what happened to his script for Superman Lives (Hairdresser-turned-producer Jon Peters: "You know why you and me are gonna do a great job making Superman? ...Cause you and me, we're from the streets."). If you're not a fan of Smith's films, you probably won't have a good time, though.

(Rating: ****1/2, but only for View Askew fans)

A.I.: Artificial Intelligence
Not a easy film to get through. Easily one of the strangest movies I've ever seen. Steven Spielberg took over this project from the late Stanley Kubrick, and the result is an occasionally distracting marriage of two disctintly opposite filmmaking styles -- the warm, emotional (some might say sentimental) tendencies of Spielberg with the intellectual, detatched (some might say cold) methods of Kubrick. But despite all that, it's still a great film, and the lack of Oscar nominations for Spielberg's direction and especially Haley Joel Osment's devasting performance as the robot child David are an absolute travesty.

(Rating: ****1/2)

A Clockwork Orange
Speaking of Kubrick. A friend of mine once told me that this was his favorite movie. At the time, I hadn't seen it, so I just said, "Oh, that's cool." But now that I've seen it twice...that kinda disturbs me. Because this one fucked-up movie, my friends. I don't even really know what to say about it -- I'm not sure if I liked it. But most Kubrick films leave me with that feeling, that "What the hell was that?" feeling in my brain, where I'm not sure if I was entertained or anything. The movies just sit there, refusing to leave my head. I guess that's why he was such a great filmmaker. This is certainly an excellent film, but I don't know if I'd ever want to watch it again.

(Rating: ****)

The Shining
(I actually borrowed this from my friend Robert, as opposed to renting it.) Kubrick again. Watching this movie prompted a very long, very heated discussion with my friend about the liberties this film takes with the Stephen King novel (and it does take a lot of liberties). He's a die-hard King fanatic (as am I), and was quite unhappy with the plethora of changes -- he felt the film deflated and destroyed the book's story. I pointed out that it just changed the story slightly -- the book was about the Overlook Hotel's ghosts using Jack Torrance to get to his son, Danny, so that they could become real (or some shit, it's been years since I read the novel). But in the movie, Kubrick simplified things: the Overlook Hotel's ghosts are now just after Jack for reasons that aren't explained. In the book, the hotel loses. In the movie, the hotel wins. These changes (along with some problems with the film itself, like some bad acting and questionable choices in the score) led my friend to hate the movie. I, on the other hand, accepted the alterations as Kubrick recognizing that some elements of the novel were impossible to film -- such as the lion-shaped bushes that come to life and eat people -- while others were too complicated to work in a film version -- such as the croquet mallet that became an ax in the movie, and the hotel's long and storied history -- and did what he had to do to make a good movie. And I also admired Kubrick's fascinating camerawork: he shies away from close-ups, instead using medium and long shots, and always leaves an unusual amount of empty space above the actors' heads. When a character goes from one place in the hotel to another, we don't cut away -- Kubrick follows them through corridor after room after hallway in long, unbroken shots. All this together gives us the impression that Jack, Danny and Wendy are dwarfed by the hotel, that their eventual fight against it is futile. Oh, and I think I win my argument about the changes: after all, ABC aired a new six-hour mini-series of The Shining a few years ago, scripted by Stephen King himself to be as faithful to the book as possible, and it sucked ass. So there.

(Rating: ****)

High Fidelity
It's about a year ago, right, and a few friends and I were sitting in a car in the parking lot at College of the Mainland during acting class. We're supposed to be learning our scenes, but our scenes all suck, so we're just hanging out, talking. One guy, Wayne, is in the backseat, reading a script that I never finished. The owner of the car, this great girl named Kelly, is throwing CDs into the stereo almost at random. She starts playing this one song, and it's really really good. I've never heard it before, but it's easily one of the coolest songs ever. "Who is this?" I say. She smiles, a really wide smile, and says, "The Beta Band." "It's good," I say, and she laughs. "Yeah, I know. You can have this CD if you -- it's a burned copy. I have the original at home." I gladly take the CD. She's still laughing, so I ask what's up. "Have you seen High Fidelity?" she says. I haven't, so I say so. She says, "See it. You'll understand." Now I have seen it. And I do understand. Oh, man, what a great movie. And my all-time top five track ones, side ones: "Smells Like Teen Spirit," Nirvana; "Enter Sandman," Metallica; "Everything in Its Right Place," Radiohead; "On the Bound," Fiona Apple; and "So Much to Say," Dave Matthews Band. (Just see High Fidelity. You'll understand.)

(Rating: *****)

And then there's The Life of David Gale...but that one's inspired me to write an actual full-blown review. I know I said I'd do that for Moulin Rouge!, but I mean it this time.


Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or am I miserable because I listened to pop music?

Rarely does anything I write make me laugh. I love humor, and I love comedy and funny things, but I can rarely seem to write them myself...at least in a way that seems funny to me.

But lo and behold, I actually managed to come up with an exchange that made me laugh long and hard...

ADAM: "You killed David!"
IAN: "No, I didn't, he committed suicide."
ADAM: "With your gun."
IAN: "Yes."
ADAM: "In your house."
IAN: "Yes."
ADAM: "In front of you."
IAN: "Yes."
ADAM: "By shooting himself in the face."
IAN: "Yes."
ADAM: "Twice."
IAN: "...Yes."

That's from Burned, the latest short film from Vacant Studios (who were working on another movie you may remember). The plot is...ridiculous, really, and I won't embarass myself by providing a synopsis here. But those lines make me laugh.

We just shot the film on Saturday, and we're now in the post-production phase. We're editing, we've got a guy working on a score, we've got sound effects to dub in -- there are moments during this production where I'm thinking, "Holy shit, I'm making a real movie!" Then I watch some of our footage (example: a moving car simulated by spraying a stationary car with a hose, creating "rain" that obscures the view of the non-moving background) and that feeling goes away.

The camera stuff is actually somewhat competent, in some cases. The film takes place in two locations -- one a place of happiness and contemplation, the other a den of sin and death. We shot the scenes in the happy location in the daytime, in a very white room, with bright light streaming through the covered windows, creating something that looks like the afterlife at times. The other location was photographed (er, well, I guess "videographed" or something, since we used my digital camera) at night, in my apartment, which features no air conditioning and very poor lighting. So everyone looks like death warmed over, they're dripping with sweat. The only lights in the room are almost always in the frame, creating bizarre shadows and making everyone seem ominous. Add to this the fact that we shot in black-and-white, and the effect is almost startling. Now, if only the movie hadn't been yet another goofy parody, we could've had something incredible.

But the experience of directing this short flick -- as dreadful as the process was at times, thanks mostly to my apartment's lack of air conditioning and my own determination to finish this fucking movie NOW, DAMMIT -- has inspired me to want to start writing again. I've got a strong desire to start writing another screenplay -- not just a goofy short film to shoot in one day with my friends, but a real, feature-length screenplay. It's been close to a year since I tried that. I think perhaps the time has come again.

Now, where is that Final Draft disc....


It could've been God stopped the bullets, changed Coke to Pepsi, found my fucking car keys. But you see, that shit don't matter.

Oh, I forgot one...

Ringu
The Japanese film that spawned The Ring. The original is superior, if only because it doesn't try so hard: while the American version featured non-stop rain and gloom and people coughing up medical equipment and such, Ringu manages to be far creepier by just looking normal. There are also some minor plot differences, all of them improvements -- this movie's story actually makes sense! Highly recommended, assuming that the Japanese audio won't bother you.

(Rating: ****. The Ring received ***.)


"If you could fight any celebrity, who would it be?"
"Shatner. I'd fight William Shatner."

Haven't updated in a while. Not like it matters, because no one reads this anyway. But I still feel bad.

I've been renting movies like a madman over the past month or so. Since my current financial situation doesn't allow me to purchase DVDs (though I've got quite the impressive collection already), I've rediscovered the joy that is renting. I think it was simply the evilness of those evil Satan-worshippers at Blockbuster that turned off in the first place, so now I'm going to Bayou Video, a little video store that resides between the Dollar General Store and a barber shop. It's small, but it's got class. And movies are cheap, plus no one there worships the Dark Lord Lucifer, at least to my knowledge.

Here's a list of the movies I've managed to rent there, along with a brief capsule review (I am planning to start writing full-blown reviews to add to my film reviews section, but this will do for now).

The Truman Show
What a great movie. When people talk about the 1999 Academy Awards, they usually talk about the "injustice" that was Saving Private Ryan's failure to win Best Picture (an award that went to the vastly superior Shakespeare in Love). But what few people remember is an even greater injustice: the nearly complete shutout of Peter Weir's stunning The Truman Show. A satire that manages to be both funny, pointed and moving, Truman features a brilliant performance by Jim Carrey and one of the great moments in all of cinema: Truman's reunion with his "long-lost" "father," all orchestrated by his unseen director, Christof (played superbly by Ed Harris). And the stunning climax, when Truman comes face-to-face with God and turns away. A true masterpiece.

(Rating: Essential #60)

Punch-Drunk Love
It's now official: writer-director Paul Thomas Anderson (who also gave us Boogie Nights and Magnolia) is the best American filmmaker working today. Punch-Drunk Love is the romantic comedy for people who don't like romantic comedies, and the Adam Sandler movie for people who hate Adam Sandler. Sandler's Barry Egan is strikingly similar to other Sandler creations like Happy Gilmore and Billy Madison: lonely, sexually frustrated, prone to violent outbursts. But unlike those characters, whose emotional deficiences are celebrated and played for laughs, here he becomes a object of pity, as we see him tormented by the relentless childish teasing of his sisters. He falls in love at first sight with the glorious Lena (Emily Watson) while avoiding the henchmen of the sinister operator of a phone-sex company (Phillip Seymour Hoffman). Yeah, it sounds bizarre, and it is, but what would you expect from the guy who had Tom Cruise strutting around a stage screaming "Respect the cock and tame the cunt"?

(Rating: *****)

The Evil Dead
I'd been waiting to see this for years. I'd heard so much about the greatness of this cheapo horror flick. I was skeptical -- after all, it was the film debut of director Sam Raimi, whom I've never been fond of (the man behind the horrible The Quick and the Dead, the cheesy For the Love of the Game, and the wildly overpraised Spiderman). But last night, I finally got a chance to see it. And....wow, did it suck. Sorry, people, I just don't get it. The first thirty minutes or so are pretty good, but it eventually decends into an endless stream of gore splattering across the screen. And it's just not scary at all. Sorry.

(Rating: *1/2)

Terminator 2: Judgment Day
This just might be the greatest action movie ever made. Do I really have to say anything else?

(Rating: Essential #38)

Unprecedented: The 2000 Presedential Election
George W. Bush is Satan. I wonder if he ever worked for Blockbuster....

(Rating: ****)

The Game
The film David Fincher made between Se7en and Fight Club. Anything is going to look bad between those films, and it doesn't help that The Game is pretty predictable. Looks great, well-acted, but the script lets Fincher down.

(Rating: ***)

Rushmore
The only movie I can think of that is actually funnier in retrospect than it is while you're actually watching it. Kinda like high school. A great movie, and what might be Bill Murray's best performance.

(Rating: ****1/2)

And that's it. I also rented Moulin Rouge!, but I think I'm going to write a full-blown review of that one. Gotta go now -- I have to go to the video store.


"I wish he would have done this for me when I was a kid."
"But you didn't have a drug problem then."
"It still would have meant a lot to me."

"Not Waving but Drowning"
by Florence Margaret Smith

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.


I love that poem. I read it in an English textbook years ago, and happened to stumble across it today while looking for something else. How about that.

Song of the week:

"Locomotive (Complicity)"
by Guns N' Roses

Gonna find a way to cure this loneliness
Yeah, I'll find a way to cure the pain
If I said that you're my friend,
And our love would never end,
How long before I had your trust again?
I opened up the doors when it was cold outside
Hoping that you'd find your own way in
But how can I protect you,
Or try not to neglect you,
When you won't take the love I have to give?

I bought me an illusion, and I put it on the wall
I let it fill my head with dreams, and I had to have them all
But oh, the taste is never so sweet as what you'd believe it is...
Well, I guess it never is
It's these prejudiced illusions that pump the blood
To the heart of the biz

You know I never thought that it could take so long
You know I never knew how to be strong
Yeah, I let you shape me,
But I feel as though you raped me,
Becaause you climbed inside my world and in my songs
So now I've closed the door to keep the cold outside
Seems somehow I've found the will to live
But how can I forget you,
Or try not to reject you,
When we both know it takes time to forgive?

Sweetness is a virtue
And you lost your virtue long ago
You know I'd like to hurt you
But my conscience always tells me no
You could sell your body on the street
To anyone whom you might meet
Who'd love to try and get inside
And bust your innocence open wide

'Cause my baby's got a locomotive
My baby's gone off the track
My baby's got a locomotive
Got to peel the bitch off my back
I know it looks like I'm insane
Take a closer look I'm not to blame
No

Gonna have some fun with my frustration
Gonna watch the big screen in my head
I'd rather take a detour,
'Cause this road ain't getting clearer
Your train of thought has cut me off again
Better tame that boy 'cause he's a wild one
Better tame that boy 'fore he's a man
Sweetheart don't make me laugh;
You's gettin' too big for your pants,
And I's think maybe you should cut out while you can

You can use your illusion, let it take you where it may
We live and learn, and then sometimes it's best to walk away
Me I'm just here hangin' on, it's my only place to stay
At least for now anyway
I've worked too hard for my illusions just to throw them all away

I'm taking time for quiet consolation
In passing by this love that's passed away
I know it's never easy,
So why should you believe me,
When I've always got so many things to say?
Calling off the dogs -- a simple choice is made
'Cause playful hearts can sometimes be enraged
You know I tried to wake you --
I mean, how long could it take you
To open up your eyes and turn the page?

Kindness is a treasure
And it's one towards me you've seldom shown
So I'll say it for good measure
To all the ones like you I've known
You know I'd like to shave your head
And all my friends could paint it red
'Cause love to me's a two way street
And all I really want is peace

But my baby's got a locomotive
My baby's gone off the track
My baby's got a locomotive
Got to peel the bitch off my back
I know it looks like I'm insane
Take a closer look I'm not to blame
No

Affection is a blessing
Can you find it in your sordid heart?
I tried to keep this thing together
But the tremor tore my pad apart
Yeah, I know it's hard to face
When all we've worked for's gone to waste
But you're such a stupid woman
And I'm such a stupid man
But love like time's got its own plans

'Cause my baby's got a locomotive
My baby's gone off the track
My baby's got a locomotive
Got to peel the bitch off my back
I know it looks like I'm insane
Take a closer look I'm not to blame
Yeah
If love is blind, I guess I'll buy myself a cane

Love's so strange...

The world is an enormous crock of shit and I hate everyone

Just some random hatred tonight, folks.

1) People on the internet who TyPe LiKe THiS, mAkINg iT FuCkInG IMpoSsIbLe tO REaD. You are not cute. Cut it out.

2) The word "jalapeno" is pronounced "ha-la-pain-yo." Not "halla-pee-no." Or "ha-la-pay-no." Or "halla-pain-ya." Or "hal-a-pee-na." Or anything else. Say it together now: "ha-la-pain-yo." There you go.

3) On a related note, the word "extra" does not have a "y" in it anywhere. So please explain to me what the hell makes some people pronounce it "x-tree." Stop that!

4) When someone reverses their position on something, they do not do a 360, they do a 180. A 360 is a complete circle. If they did a 360, they'd end up where they started. So do a 180 on this 360 crap.

5) If you ever find yourself in a politcal discussion with someone who occupies the right side of the political spectrum, heed this advice: when, in response to a criticism of a Republican official (especially Fearless Leader himself), the conservative brings up Bill Clinton's sexual escapades, that is the point where you can stop taking them seriously. Everything intelligent, interesting, or even relevant that they had to bring to the conversation has now been said, and they're running purely on inertia. Bringing Clinton's penis into a discussion that way is the political equivalent of "Yeah, well, at least my mom's not on the cover of Crack Whore magazine!"

6) If someone likes a song/band/movie/sports franchise that you yourself don't care for, this does not make them "stupid," "gay," or "fucking retarded." While they may be any and all of those things, coming to this conclusion based solely on the fact that they cheer for the San Diego Padres is, perhaps, a bit hasty.

7) Guys: put a fucking shirt on. Seriously. I don't know what the purpose is here -- maybe you think that if all the men take off their shirts, women will think that's what they're supposed to do and follow suit. I don't know, and I don't care.

8) And for god's sakes -- tip the pizza man, you cheap bastard!

That is all.

I've worked too hard for my illusions just to throw them all away...

Song of the week:

Snowblind
by Styx

Mirror, mirror on the wall
The face you've shown me scares me so
I thought that I could call your bluff
But now the lines are clear enough
Life's not pretty even though
I've tried so hard to make it so
Mornings are such cold distress
How did I ever get into this mess

I'm snowblind, can't live without you
So fine I just can't get away
Now I'm snowblind, snowblind, snowblind

Harmless and innocent you devil in white
You stole my will without a fight
You filled me with confidence, but you blinded my eyes
You tricked me with visions of Paradise
Now I realize I'm

Snowblind, can't live without you
So fine I just can't get away
Now I'm snowblind, snowblind, snowblind

Mirror, mirror I confess
I can't escape this emptiness
No more reason to pretend
Here comes that same old feeling again

Snowblind, can't live without you
So fine I just can't get away
Won't you throw me a lifeline
I'm going down for the third time
I'm snowblind, and I can't get away

Well, if that happened in a movie, I wouldn't believe it

My friends and I watched P.T. Anderson's Magnolia last night. I swear, that movie gets better every single time I watch it. I tried to write a review of it just now, as I've tried to do in the past, but I can't do it. There's just too much there to say; to cram it all into a review seems impossible. Perhaps my own emotional attachment to the film is too great: after all, it sits at #4 on my 100 favorite films list. I can't see myself reviewing The Silence of the Lambs, either.

After the movie, we broke out the coolest board game ever that isn't Clue: HeroQuest. Or, as I described it to a friend of mine, "Dungeons & Dragons, except not shitty." That game rules. We played only one quest, and we all got our asses kicked. I've rarely had that much fun losing.

I'm working on something that I'll post here, probably before the weekend's over. It's something of a non-fiction piece that I've wanted to write for years now. The first part is done, so you should be seeing it before Sunday's out.

He said, "It's all in your head."
And I said, "So is everything," but he didn't get it...

Sacrelige

So right now, I'm watching The Godfather Part III, which I've actually never seen before. The Godfather? Seen it a dozen times, gets better every time. The Godfather Part II? Incredible. So now I'm watching the third one. I'm 49:21 into it as I right this. And may I just ask....

What the fuck?!

This...is HORRIBLE. And everyone seems to know it -- Pacino looks bored and pissed off. Diane Keaton looks like she wants her agent's head on a platter. And Sophia Coppola is the worst actress since...ever. The only one who looks like he gives a damn is Andy Garcia, and he's got nothing to work with.

This is why sequels are a bad idea. Sometimes, you get a good one, like...well, The Godfather Part II. But most of the time, you get this.

In more pleasant news, I bought Evanescence's Fallen today. I won't bore you with a big long review, but I'll just say that it kicks a healthy amount of ass. And no matter what "Bring Me to Life" may make you think, they do not sound like Linkin Park at all for the rest of the album. In fact, a couple of songs -- "My Immortal," "Hello" -- get into a Fiona Apple/Tori Amos vibe. And I'll say this: this chick can sing, my friends. Oh yes.

It's my birthday tomorrow. Hoo-ah.

Leave the gun. Take the cannolis.

Song of the week:

"Driving Sideways"
by Aimee Mann

At least you know
You were taken by a pro
I know just how you feel
She talked a perfect game
Deflecting all the blame
You took the jack and changed the flat
And got behind the wheel

Now you're driving sideways
Taken in by the scenery
As you're propelled along
And your companion will not help you to navigate
For fear she may be wrong

And you will say
That you're making headway
And put it in overdrive
But you're mistaking speed
For getting what you need
And never even noticing
You never do arrive

Cause you're driving sideways
If you roll down your window
You'll see you're where you don't belong
And you companion will not help you to navigate
For she may be wrong

And you're powered by the hopeful lie
That it's just around the bend
And when this, by default,
Comes screeching to a halt
Let's hope that you know what to do
To start it up again

Driving sideways
Hitting "scan" on the radio
So she can sing along
And she'll sit, thinking you're going to handle
Until she's proven wrong
Until she's proven wrong
Until you prove her wrong

-

Paul Thomas Anderson used this song on the soundtrack to his film Magnolia. It's in the scene where the Solomon brothers fire Donny. God, I love that movie.

Jumping the shark: the thrilling conclusion

Okay, now I remember what I was talking about.

See, the whole "jump the shark" thing came to me because I found an old cassette tape in one of my desk drawers (of course, not the tape I was looking for, but whatever). It was a tape I'd found in a rental car back at my old job, and it was just a mix tape someone had made of a bunch of songs they liked.

It had Red Hot Chili Peppers, Harvey Danger (who remembers them? come on, don't be shy), and some other stuff, not all of it good. But on side two, there were three songs from the Offspring. Specifically, from their album Americana.

Now, I liked the Offspring. They were a loud, brash, punk band from California. Their first two albums, Ignition and a self-titled release, but didn't come to prominence until their third album, Smash, in...1994? That sounds about right.

The album featured a little ditty called "Come Out and Play (Keep 'em Seperated)" that instantly became a huge hit. I mean, when the song came out, you could not get away from it. It was everywhere. The next single, "Self Esteem," was a huge hit as well. The songs were loud, with a taste of punk flavoring, but featured killer pop hooks -- the Eastern-style bass line of "Come Out and Play" and the "la la la la" chorus of "Self Esteem" embedded themselves in your brain and would simply not go away.

I got Smash as a Christmas gift well after its release. While the remainder of the album wasn't as adorned with pop hooks, it's still awesome, and Smash is listed on my 100 Favorite Albums of All Time list (which I'll post here someday if I feel like it).

One of the cool things about the album was its sense of humor. The record opens with a deep-voice narrator telling you that it's "time to relax" with "a glass of wine, your favorite easy chair, and -- of course -- this compact disc playing on your home stereo....Music soothes even the savage beast." And then the drums kick in and the guitars scream into the punk anthem "Nitro." It's hilarious.

A few years later, the Offspring returned. Now signed to a major label (Sony/Columbia...doesn't get much more major than that), they released Ixnay on the Hombre. Now, Ixnay is a good album. Very good, in fact. But there were some warning signs -- "shark bait," if you will.

For one, the humor which had been lightly sprinkled throughout Smash was dealt in much heavier doses this time around. Some of it was very funny -- after the last song ended, the CD continued to play in silence. Thus, the listener waited for the hidden track, only to hear, after about ten minutes, Larry "Bud" Mellman (from the Letterman show) yelling, "Maybe you guys should try heavy metal! Kiss my ass!!" and then the CD ended. That is funny. But some of the other tries -- a song called "Don't Pick It Up," for example, with tired Saturday Night Live references and insipid lyrics -- were not.

Plus, the second single was a track called "Gone Away," and is your typical ode-to-a-lost-loved-one power ballad. Now, there's wrong with these songs in and of themselves. But it was so radically different -- so commercial-sounding, so bred for radio -- that it just smelled like trouble.

And trouble arrived in 1998 with Americana. Suddenly, the comedy became the main focus of the band's material, as evidenced by the first single, "Pretty Fly (For a White Guy)." Sure, it's funny the first time, but it gets old really fast -- "Oh, see, he's white, and he's trying to be black. Ha ha ha! Aren't white people FUNNY? Ha ha ha!" There are some good songs on Americana -- some very good ones. But the focus was on the jokes, and none of them were very funny (oh, a parody of "Feelings" all about hate instead of love, aren't we the comic geniuses). <>Americana sent the Offspring hurtling right over the shark.

Their next album, Conspiracy of One, was more comedy, but it still wasn't funny, and this time, none of the songs were good. Too bad.

Well, Smash still kicks ass.


Oh, and if you see my dad
Tell him I slit his throat in this dream I had

Jumping the shark

I love that phrase: "jump the shark." It's so useful, so original. An all-purpose catchphrase.

For those of you who don't know, "jump the shark" is a term referring to the exact moment when something -- generally a television show, but the term has extended to the world of music as well -- reaches the point where you realize that it's never going to be the same, that's it all downhill from here.

The phrase has its origins in an episode of Happy Days, in which the Fonz donned a pair of water skis and jumped a shark in the Pacific Ocean (still wearing his trademark leather jacket). At this moment, every Happy Days fan knew, deep down, that it was over. The show continued to plod along for a time afterwards, but it wasn't the same.

There's a website devoted to jumping the shark (I'll let you exercise your own little grey cells and try to figure out the address -- I'm sure you can do it youself without my help), and even a book titled Jump the Shark. The book is a fun, entertaining read, even if I disagree with some of its "jump the shark" moments.

For example, author John Hein asserts that the point of no return for The X-Files was the release of the film, Fight the Future, between the fifth and sixth seasons. For me, the show jumped a year later, during the first two episodes of season seven, "The Sixth Extinction" and "The Sixth Extinction II: Amor Fati." In these episodes, Mulder contracted a brain disease that was revealed to be alien in origin, gave him telepathic and telekinetic powers, and alterted his DNA to make him part alien. Also, Scully finally crossed to the dark side and admitted in the existence of extra-terrestrial life, the evil Cigarette-Smoking Man revealed that he was Mulder's father (which had long been suspected by everyone -- Mulder included -- for a long time), and Mulder spent the majority of the second episode in a coma, dreaming of a life where he lived in suburbia and banged Mimi Rogers all day. And as if the blatant homage to The Last Temptation of Christ (did I mention that?) wasn't obvious enough, we even got Mulder in a full-blown crucifixtion pose, complete with brain surgery scars as a crown of thorns.

None of it made much coherent sense, and the events directly lead to Mulder's abduction, Scully's pregnancy, and the horrendous mess that was the eighth and ninth seasons.

But that's just my opinion.

Now...what was I talking about? I got sidetracked by The X-Files thing....

...uh....

Ah, screw it.


"Hail to the thief! Hail to the thief!"
But I'm not!

Three updates in one day. Yeah, baby.

Exposure, Scene 3

Back to the house. Kyle is putting some things away. As he’s walking past, he sees the photo. He picks it up and looks at it.

From behind him – JACK: “I hate that fucking picture.”

Kyle turns around, wearing different clothes. (Flashback.)

KYLE: “It’s not bad.”

JACK: “I look like a douche.”

KYLE: “It’s not that bad.”

JACK: “You look like a douche, too.”

Kyle chuckles and puts the picture down.

JACK: “Have you talked to Sarah recently?”

Kyle freezes for a millisecond – it’s barely noticeable. “...Not since the weekend, when we went bowling.” Pause. “Why?”

JACK: “She’s just acting weird lately. She’s…distant.”

Kyle doesn’t respond. Jack shakes his head.

JACK: “It’s probably nothing. You know me – always inflating the little things. Mountains out of anthills.”

KYLE: “Molehills.”

JACK: “Whatever.”

From off-screen, we hear the voice of Sarah: “Kyle?”

Kyle snaps back to the present.

KYLE: “In here, Sarah.”

Sarah enters. She looks around.

SARAH: “You cleaned up? Jesus. You know, sometimes I think our relationship is a cover for something.”

Kyle fixes her with a half-angry glare.

She laughs, crosses to him and puts an arm around his shoulder. “I’m kidding, Kyle. Nothing wrong with cleanliness.”

KYLE: “Right next to godliness.”

SARAH: “You talk to Brandon?”

KYLE: “Yeah. He’s coming. Bringing Reggie.”

SARAH: “Who’s Reggie?”

KYLE: “New guitarist.”

SARAH: “Ah.”

KYLE: “Where’s your brother?”

SARAH: “Locked in that cavern he calls a bedroom. Working on some new story, doesn’t want to leave. He’s coming, though.”

KYLE: “Are you sure?”

SARAH: “He said he was.”

KYLE: “He said he was coming last year, too.”

SARAH: “He won’t miss it this year. He can’t.”

KYLE: “Yeah.”

They look at the picture.

SARAH: “I miss him.”

KYLE: “So do I.”

They look some more.

KYLE: “He said I looked like a douche in that picture.”

SARAH: “Well…”

Kyle gives another glare. Sarah laughs. Kyle does, too.
_______________

It comes alive, and I die a little more

As promised...

Metallica, St. Anger: The Review

St. Anger is a fifty-megaton detonation right in your face. It's the sonic equivalent of being punched in the stomach repeatedly for an hour and fifteen minutes. (And I mean that in a good way.) The album is simultaneously a harkening back to the raw energy and fury of their early works and a bold step into the future. And it might just be the best thing they've ever done.

The rhythm and blues experiments on the Loads? Gone. The sleek, crystalline production of the black album and ...And Justice For All? Not here. Ballads? Yeah, right. St. Anger's eleven tracks hit with a unified, primal force the band has never reached before -- there aren't even any trademark Kirk Hammett guitar solos to break the tension (that's right, no solos at all, but you won't notice). Just seventy-five minutes of old-school, in-your-face fury.

The technically excellent, if slightly sterile, atmosphere of previous records is traded for a sound that suggests the band simply standing around a mircophone playing the songs. It's a revelation. There are a few tradeoffs to this -- the bass guitar (played by producer Bob Rock, current four-stringer Robert Trujillo not having joined the band until after recording completed) is often lost in the roar of the drums and guitars, and the drums (the snare especially) have an odd, metallic ring to them that can be distracting occasionally. But in exchange, the emotions and power of these songs are driven directly into the listener, undiluted by radio-friendly sweetening.

St. Anger is the most collaborative effort might by the band to date (Hetfield, Ulrich, Hammett and producer Rock share songwriting credit on all eleven songs), but it truly shines as a showcase for legendary frontman James Hetfield. His lyrics bite and snap with energy not seen in a long time, effectively chronicling his battle with alcoholism "My lifestyle determines my deathstyle," he growls on the opener, "Frantic." The titular deity of the album's title track is sought as a method of channeling his rage constructively; as a masterful counterpoint, Hetfield draws references to some of their more violent earlier tracks: "Fuck it all and fuckin' no regrets / I hit the lights on these dark sets." On "The Unnamed Feeling," easily the record's highlight and one of the best songs the band has ever recorded, he moans, "I just wanna get the fuck away from me...I wanna hate it all away."

Hetfield's voice is a far cry from the last few albums -- slick double-tracking and crooning harmonies are tossed aside in favor of just letting the man sing the songs. It's a techinque that reminds me quite a bit of Nirvana's In Utero, where Kurt Cobain just stepped up the mic and screamed. As on that album, Hetfield's voice is delightfully unpredictable, wailing from growl to howl to shriek and back again. Sometimes, he overshoots his boundries, and when he does, he voice shatters with piercing emotion. It might not be MTV-sweet, but it's powerful as hell, and damn near moving at times.

I would say the album is a step back on track, but I don't think they were ever off track to begin with. I'll say that St. Anger is a fully rewarding experience, in every way. Metallica's gone through a lot in the last three years, and this their response -- an extended middle finger and a fist in the face. It's absolutely beautiful.

Memo to Godsmack, Mudvayne, Slipknot, and all the other "nu-metal" bands out there: this is how it's done.

Rating: *****

It's out there right now. Go get it. It even comes with a free bonus DVD featuring video of the band in rehearsals, playing all the songs from the record. So go on. You'll thank me.

The Wait

It's out there. Right now. In boxes, on shelves, in display cases. Wrapped in cellophane, marked with a price tag. Waiting for me. As I wait for it.

St. Anger. Brand new Metallica.

The clock on my computer says it's exactly 1:00 AM as I write this. That means I'll have the CD in my hands anywhere from ten to twelve hours from now.

Too long.

Metallica is my favorite band. Have been since the first time I heard "The Unforgiven" over eleven years ago (at age eleven, I may have been too young to understand what James Hetfield was talking about, but it hit me like a ton of bricks just the same). When I first started playing bass guitar six years ago, the first song I learned from start to finish was "Enter Sandman." I named my band the Disposable Heroes, after the Metallica song. I seriously considered spending five to six hundred dollars on a five-string bass solely for the purpose of playing "Sad But True" and "Carpe Diem Baby." The subject of my junior year English research paper? Metallica. (No, seriously.)

Three years ago, my friend Stephen and I drove all the way up to Dallas to see a Metallica concert where the lead singer wasn't even there, and I still loved it. It featured the most incredible, transcendent musical experience of my life: Metallica playing "Master of Puppets," with bassist Jason Newsted (my musical idol) on lead vocals. They hit the break about halfway through, and instead of playing the bridge, the singer from System of a Down (who had performed earlier in the day) stepped out, lyric sheet in hand, and they performed "Welcome Home (Sanitarium)" in its entirety...and then went right back to "Master of Puppets" without missing a beat. Awe-inspiring.

I love Metallica. When they dropped their death-metal stylings in favor of Zeppelinesque blues and AC/DC swagger on the Load and Reload albums, a lot of the "true Metallica fans" (which I found to be a euphemism for "annoying douchebag") called them "sellouts" and said they were "soft."

Not me. I loved both of those records.

When they went after Napster, fighting for the rights to their own copyrighted works and trying to stop internet piracy, a bunch of those "true Metallica fans" and others called them "greedy" and said they only cared about their money.

Not I. I agreed with Lars and the band 100%. Still do. Not because they're Metallica, but because they're right. (After extensive debate on this topic with a number of people, the only coherent pro-download argument seems to be this quasi-hippy notion that "music should be free, man." Whatever.)

The last seven years -- from the release of Load to the present -- have been the most complicated, trying, and emotional times in Metallica's history. I've stuck with them. Since Reload in 1997, I've waited for a new album. I've waited through Garage, Inc., the album of covers (which I loved -- "Loverman," baby). I've waited through S&M, the experiment with the San Fransisco Symphony Orchestra (which I loved even more, and the DVD of which is playing on my television as I write). I picked up the Mission: Impossible 2 soundtrack to get "I Disappear," which, admittedly, is not one of their best efforts. But I liked it. And it was new Metallica. I had to have it. It was like crack. That was three years ago, and it was a small, weak hit.

A whole kilo of pure comes in just hours. I'm almost giddy. This is like Christmas Eve.

When I do get the album, a full review with be forthcoming right here on this page. See you then.

If I close my mind in fear,
Please pry it open.
And if my face becomes sincere,
Beware.
And if I start to come undone,
Stitch me together.
And when you see me strut,
Remind me of what left this outlaw torn.

Work on my script continues. Here's scene two, which takes place one year after the first. Enjoy (I hope).

Exposure, Scene 2

We see THE HOUSE from the outside. It’s daytime.

Inside: A montage of a young man cleaning the house. This is Kyle – we recognize him from the photo in the first scene.

As he’s cleaning, we spot that same photo, sitting on a table.

As the montage ends, the telephone rings. Slightly out of breath, Kyle answers.

KYLE: “Hello?”

The person on the other end is Brandon, whom we also recognize. He’s sitting at a computer while using a speakerphone.

BRANDON: “Hey, man.”

(Intercut with the two of them.)

KYLE: “Oh, hey.”

BRANDON: “You all right?”

KYLE: “Uh, yeah.”

BRANDON: “You sound out of breath.”

KYLE: “Uh, no.”

BRANDON: “You’re not cleaning the house up, are you?”

KYLE: “…No.” He reaches over and wipes off something else. “What do you need, man? You’re still coming, right?”

BRANDON: “Sure, yeah. You need me to bring anything?”

KYLE: “No, no, I’ve got it covered.”

BRANDON: “Cool. Hey, you did say I could bring someone else if I wanted, right?”

KYLE: “Yeah.”

BRANDON: “Okay, good, cause I told Reggie he could come.”

KYLE: “You’re bringing Reggie?”

BRANDON: “Yeah.”

KYLE: “Awesome.” (pause) “Who the fuck is Reggie?”

BRANDON: “Huh? Oh, he’s our new guitarist. The rest of his family went to Vegas without him, so I figured he could hang with us.”

KYLE: “No problem.”

BRANDON: “Cool. See ya in a bit.”

(end on Brandon)

He pushes a button to hang up. He swivels in his chair, revealing REGGIE sitting on a couch behind him.

BRANDON: “See? No problem.”

REGGIE: “I don’t know, man. I mean, they’re your friends; I don’t want to get in the—”

BRANDON: “Dude, shut up. You won’t be in the way. It’ll be cool. They’re cool people. Don’t worry about it.”

REGGIE: “Okay.”

Brandon’s satisfied with this. He turns back to his computer and starts typing.

REGGIE: “So what is it you guys are getting together for, anyway?”

Brandon’s eyes travel up to a shelf, where a copy of that same photo sits. His eyes focus on Jack.

BRANDON: “Long story.”

-------------------------------------------
I plan on playing either Brandon or Reggie, for the curious.