If You Don't Know, Now You Know

Patton Oswalt: My Weakness Is Strong

2009-08-22T12:00:00.000-07:00

There are so many great writers that unfortunately aren't great comedians, but there aren't many truly great comedians who aren't great writers. Patton Oswalt is currently at the top of his game both as a comic and a writer in his new special My Weakness Is Strong. It's amazing how carefully chosen his words are while rarely seeming obvious. Even his profanity borders on poetry. While it might not be edgy to hear a white comedian drop the "N" bomb, it's charming just how inoffensive he can make a profoundly disturbing scenario of post-Apocalyptic forced sodomy in context. Patton Oswalt's greatest gift as a writer is his ability to maintain a conversational tone to his material, telling the audience a story riddled with great lines without waiting for the laugh and his audience tends to keep up. Highly Recommended.

Inglourious Basterds

2009-08-22T11:47:00.000-07:00

The greatest strength of Quentin Tarantino has always been his pure and unadulterated love and worship of all cinema, the good, the bad and especially the ugly. He cares about both the film and the audience because he is both. His latest film, Inglourious Basterds is certainly his finest work since Pulp Fiction and surpasses that film in sheer intensity by a longshot. Genuinely intriguing as a period piece, a genre film and an homage all at once, Basterds finds Tarantino pushing his writing further and pulling his direction back (although thankfully only a bit) and succeeding brilliantly with a lesser known (though no less talented and well-selected) cast. Brad Pitt as Lt. Aldo Raines and Christoph Waltz as Hans Landa each deliver stunning performances that blur the lines between character and caricature as the film delivers its own twists and turns to history. It's like "Valkyrie" on acid. Tarantino may have just single-handedly created his own future cult subgenre: Jewish Revenge Porn. And even though I felt he was a bit miscast, I did not hate Eli Roth for two hours and thirty two minutes. Quentin Tarantino is a true magician.

WHAT THE FUCK Re: The new Wolfman trailer

2009-08-20T11:55:00.001-07:00

The trailer for the Wolfman movie is on the internets.

Here's what I want to know:
Was this movie conceived as the cartoonish mess that the trailer suggests it probably is or did they hire these actors thinking that they were going to get serious period performances? The studio knows this shit is terrible or they wouldn't be opening it in February. Aside from everything looking absolutely insane from the costume design to the CG, Benecio Del Toro is acting like he's on a sitcom and Antony Hopkins has developed a nasty case of Al Pacino syndrome in his old age.

While it's easy to look at a trailer this bad and write the movie off, I offer an alternative option: Embrace it. I know that I will personally be there in February with bells on and a bowl cut. It'll be like the Snakes On A Plane version of Van Helsing. I'm tired of these motherfucking movies on these motherfucking screens!

Bowerbirds - Upper Air

2009-08-17T07:21:00.001-07:00

Despite the rave reviews for Bowerbirds' debut Hymns For A Dark Horse, I never really connected with that record. Call it a case of "wrong place, wrong time" or perhaps even just expectations not quite matching up with the actual. Upper Air, on the other hand, has become a recent staple. Though less obviously brilliant than some of their peers, Bowerbirds' flair for beautifully arranged, airy folk-pop makes this a deceptively great record. Songs that seem simple or even forgettable once through transform after repeat listens into things both lovely and dramatic. "Teeth" is the obvious standout for me, but there's not really a weak link throughout. The upside of making a record with such an even keel is that you really don't run the risk of alienating the listener with an ill-advised step in an uncomfortable direction. The downside is that unless you're Belle & Sebastian, it's hard to make the leap from "consistent" to brilliant.

Upper Air is pleasant, breezy and enjoyable without any effort on your part. There might not be a ton to discover beneath the surface, but this record eloquently makes the argument that there doesn't always need to be.

"This is the story of how we forget to remember" indeed, Mr. Simon.

2009-07-30T13:05:00.000-07:00

Paul Simon's 1986 album Graceland probably seemed like a really good idea at the time. Such a good idea, in fact that upon its release in 1986, I'm fairly certain it was immediately added to all of those miserably biased and diplomatic "Best Of" album lists that every music magazine feels the need to update every ten years. Celebrating African culture at a time when that continent's politics were beginning to enter the public consciousness was probably the best marketing move Simon has ever made short of reuniting with Garfunkel for cash-grab reunion shows.

Synthesizers, drum machines and chant-singing just don't mesh with some of Simon's least intriguing songs to date. It's easy to think of tracks like "Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes" and "You Can Call Me Al" and decide that Graceland is a perfectly harmless and pleasant album. The album's back half is littered with weak writing ("That Was Your Mother") and awkward instrumentation ("All around The World or The Myth Of Fingerprints.") The latter track was apparently written by Los Lobos, who were given no credit for the composition. If the guys whose biggest hit was a schlocky cover of "La Bamba" don't care enough about a song to fight for the royalties, you know it's garbage. When was the last time you listened to the first few tracks for that matter? Simon's attempts at African cultural music seem about as valid and tasteful as Robin Williams' imitation of an urban youth.

Let's not "forget to remember" that noble intentions don't justify bad art. Simon's ham-handed -incorporation of African performers into his Graceland album has been praised for the last twenty-three years. It won the almost always poorly-chosen "Album Of The Year" Grammy and hasn't been doubted since. Somehow even the most cynical of critics find themselves wooed by Simon's combination of political maneuvering and bubbly pop. I can't argue with "You Can Call Me Al," with its delightfully absurd lyrics and its forward/backwards bass solo, but beyond that, I just couldn't hide my contempt for this record any longer.