I Admire Your Pictures Very Much

A Review of "Up in the Air"
By Jeff Webb

Do you know anybody with an iPhone? Or a Blackberry, for that matter? These people walk around, constantly playing with their phones, checking their Facebook walls and Twitter posts. They know what everybody is doing every second of their day, from what store their best friend is shopping at to what their favorite athlete is eating for lunch. It is a technology obsessed culture, one where people communicate more through text message than face-to-face meeting.

Such interaction, understandably, can lead to loneliness, a craving for something real, and this is the story of director Jason Reitman’s “Up in the Air.” George Clooney plays Ryan Bingham, a man who spends his life traveling from city to city, all for his job. That job is, fittingly, a termination specialist, someone who is contracted out to companies to come in and fire employees. It is a position that conditions him to not have connections. He must remain detached in his firing, and, because of his constant travel, he must remain detached from his home.

Bingham is someone who does not want human connection. Like last year’s Randy the Ram from “The Wrestler,” Bingham is a man who escapes in his work. However, instead of retreating to a fantasy world of the ring, he, instead, runs away from reality by isolating himself in airplanes and bars and motel rooms. Human connection brings responsibility and disappointment. Lovers leave, people die, etc. It is understandable someone might want to leave all this, and that’s what Bingham does, but, in so doing, one must realize something else. You may escape the burden of relationships, but you cannot escape loneliness. “Life,” as Bingham comes to acknowledge, “needs company.”

Clooney brings a desperateness to the role that he has shown perhaps only once before, in 2005’s “Syriana.” Bingham goes from a confident loner to someone who wants, so terribly, a meaningful relationship, and it tugs on the heartstrings to watch as he simply ends up jaded. The fast-paced world of the 21st century cannot allow him to form that connection. This is what he must come to realize, and Clooney plays it wonderfully, allowing himself to shed his cocksure image and achieve something much more everyman, something real and honest manifest in Bingham’s sadness.

Vera Farmiga plays Bingham’s love interest, and, while Farmiga is a wonderful actress, she feels a little underused and isn’t given much to work with. Anna Kendrick, however, who play’s Bingham’s young apprentice, is given the meatier of the female roles, allowing Kendrick to undergo a similar transformation in character to Clooney, from confident to jaded. She does so wonderfully.

“Up in the Air” will probably win Best Picture at the Oscars. It is not the best film of the year, in the opinion of this critic, but it is a great film, and it would be deserving of the title. Reitman delivers a strong script with fast dialogue, and there doesn’t seem a false note in performances. The story is somewhat Capraesque, but there is also a turn for the tragic, resulting in something much more like Cassavetes. It is that tragedy, that loneliness in the world, that resonates with viewers and makes the film special. The film, then, may look modern with its emphasis on technology, but its themes are something eternal. Something real.

Moby-Dick 2: Ahab's Revenge

By Jeff Webb

So, my American Literature class just finished reading—or Sparknoting, for some—Herman Melville’s _Moby-Dick_. While I found the novel to be quite the classic and well-deserving of its “Great American Novel” reputation, I think it did leave something to be desired. Then it hit me: the book needs a sequel.

Picture this: the last time we saw Ahab, he was being pulled down to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, tangled up in some lines attached to the Whale. We assume he dies, but what if he doesn’t?

Thus, the book’s sequel, tentatively titled _Moby-Dick 2: Ahab’s Revenge_. It begins with a legless, old man being washed up on some remote Pacific island. He is unconscious and stumbled upon by some of the island’s natives. They take him and nurse him back to health.

It is then that Ahab tells them the tale of Moby-Dick, how the Whale possesses supernatural powers, how he seeks revenge on it. He recounts how he survived the events of the first book, that he was being pulled down, but he managed to cut himself loose and the tide must have carried him to this island.

Ahab befriends the islanders, and maybe, just maybe, he might develop a romance with one of the women. However, his passion for revenge and the White Whale’s blubber overrides his want of a peaceful life. He convinces the islanders to help him construct a boat out of the island’s trees, and then he puts together a crew. During the course of this, too, he fashions himself a new leg out of a tree branch (and, if Robert Rodriguez were filming this, Ahab might go so far as to turn this branch into some sort of Gatling gun).

After a heartfelt goodbye with his romantic interest on the island’s shore, Ahab sets sail once again, seeking revenge upon Moby-Dick.

Just imagine it, though. The woman asks him, standing there in the sunrise, the boat rocking back and forth on the ocean, she asks and pleads, “Ahab, why do you have to do this? Stay here and be happy.”

Ahab, the most sentimental we’ll ever see him, kisses her face and says, “It’s what I have to do. Billions of years have led to this moment. I’m going to kill the Whale.”

Thus ends Act 1 of _Moby-Dick 2: Ahab’s Revenge_.

Act 2 could see Ahab return to his old self, captain and dictator of the ship. It could also lend for some interesting—and, at times, humorous—events, as Ahab will be working with a ragtag team of islanders who have never manned a whaling vessel before. Unlike the experienced Starbuck or Stubb, Ahab must not only lead these men, but he must also teach the basics of maritime etiquette. All the while, they steadily get closer and closer to Moby-Dick.

Act 3 could conclude the novel with an epic fifty-page showdown between Ahab and the Whale. This time, instead of letting the Whale ram the ship, Ahab turns the ship toward the Whale, and the two crash in a head-on collision. The ship—it’s only made of trees, remember?—breaks apart and men fall into the ocean, drowning. Ahab treads water as the Whale comes toward him, opening its mouth, and, like Jonah, swallowing Ahab whole.

However, inside the Whale, Ahab sees this as a perfect opportunity for victory. He somehow makes his way to the heart, stabs it with his harpoon, then he claws his way out as Moby-Dick finally perishes. Ahab has, at last, achieved his revenge.

The novel can end with a little epilogue, detailing that Ahab returns home to Nantucket. After his voyage with the Pequod and then his time on the island and his voyage with the islanders, Ahab had been at sea for nearly five or six years. He was thought dead, and, as such, his wife has moved on, marrying another man.

Ahab, also, finds that a young man named Ishmael had survived the Pequod endeavor and told everyone the story about his madness, thus ending any whaling company ever wanting to hire Ahab as a captain. He may have killed the White Whale, but, in doing so, he has garnered a reputation as a madman, and nobody wants to entrust a ship to a madman.

Thus, we end with Ahab, old and alone, drinking in a bar and telling stories of his glory days to anybody that will listen. His life and love had always been at sea, but now he can never go back. He must end his poor, miserable life on land.

The question becomes this: Ahab has gotten his revenge, but at what cost?

Tell me you don’t want to read that book.

Zombies, oh my!

'Invictus' Trailer Now Online

Over the past decade, Clint Eastwood has proven to be the most consistent and best American director working today. With films like "Mystic River," "Million Dollar Baby," "Letters from Iwo Jima," and "Changeling," Eastwood's films offer a tough view of the world, but they are, always, full of human emotion and power. It looks like Eastwood's latest effort, "Invictus," will be no different. The film, due out later this year, tells the true story of Nelson Mandela and the South African rugby team's quest to make the 1995 World Cup Championship. The trailer was just recently released online, and we have embedded it below. Feel free to take a look:

C'etait un rendez-vous

With Halloween approaching, it's always worth looking at some scary movies, and, though _C'etait un rendez-vous_ isn't a scary movie in the classical sense of the term, it is, nonetheless, absolutely 8 minutes of suspense. On an early Sunday morning, Claude Lelouch set out on the streets of Paris in his Mercedes, and the result is one of the best car chases--it's not a chase, but you get the idea--ever filmed. There is also some romance involved, which is always a bonus. So, check out the video below. Feel free to turn up your speakers and enlarge the screen to get the full effect.

SYC Wants You!

My Experience as a Tutor at Stockert Youth Center
By Jeff Webb

It’s that time of the year again. The leaves are changing color, people are getting sick with the flu, and Stockert Youth Center is asking for volunteers.

As an education major, I’ve put in two semesters at Stockert, and, I must say, the time I spent there was some of the most rewarding time I’ve ever had in my life. It was even more rewarding than the time I met LFO (anybody? anybody?) after their performance at the Charleston Sternwheel Regatta, but that’s the topic for a future blog post.

During my time at Stockert, I worked with two separate students. Without breaching confidentiality, I’ll simply say that one was an elementary-aged girl, and the other was a middle school-aged boy. The girl was perfectly nice and eager to learn and quite the conversationalist. She’d tell me about her day, and then I’d help her with her homework and maybe we’d play a couple games of “Hangman” or something to end the session. For one hour, two days a week over the course of one semester, this is what I did.

The boy, on the other hand, was a bit more difficult. He had some learning disabilities, and it was often hard to get him to focus. There were days where he was completely uncooperative and just sat at the desk with his head down, refusing to work or even to talk. Being the young educator I was—I’m still a young educator—I was left a little lost. I didn’t know what to do with a kid that so stubbornly refused to work. All of education, though, can be summed up in doing whatever you can to “get their attention,” so I learned the kid’s interests—he liked football, I remember—and I tried to gear the learning in our session toward football in someway.

Alas, this still didn’t work, and, actually, my inability to reach the student still irks me a bit to this day. But, that’s life. It’s never going to come out perfect, and there are some students—no matter how hard you try—you just might not be able to reach.

The important thing is, though, I kept meeting with the student for the remainder of the semester. Granted, I was required to for one of my education classes, but, every tutoring session, I still tried to engage him. I tried and tried and tried different methods, none of them really working, but I kept trying, and, from that, I got my reward.

Knowing that I had some effect on these students—be it positive or negative—was perfect intrinsic motivation. Knowing, though, that I was doing something useful with my time—when, normally, I’d probably be spending that hour in the afternoon sitting in my dorm room, reading a book for Russian literature or, more likely, watching Youtube videos—was, perhaps, even more rewarding. In some small way—call it the butterfly effect, if you will—I was doing my part in bettering the world. That’s really the essence of all volunteer services, and it’s also really something you probably wouldn’t understand until you take part in a volunteer service.

So, yes, now that Stockert is looking for volunteers and tutors, perhaps you should give it a consideration. It can be difficult, indeed, but it can also be so satisfying.

If you are interested in volunteering at Stockert in some capacity, you may contact SYC at (304) 473-0145.

I Admire Your Pictures Very Much

A Review of "Inglourious Basterds"
By Jeff Webb

There is a scene in the final act of Quentin Tarantino’s WWII drama “Inglourious Basterds” wherein two characters—on opposing sides of the war—shoot each other dead. Said scene is bloody, loud, and fused with wonderful Ennio Morricone music, and, then, Tarantino cuts away from it, as well he should. The characters are dead; their story is done. But, just a couple minutes later, as mayhem ensues in other realms of the story, Tarantino cuts back to the two characters, an overhead shot—almost God-like—looking down on the stillness of the bodies laying side-by-side. It is, perhaps, the most poignant shot in the film.

Likewise, the whole story of “Inglourious Basterds” just might be summed up in that one single shot. Two characters—two forces, essentially, or two ideologies—clash, and they destroy each other in brutal fashion.

Or, perhaps it’s better described with the words of the film’s Lt. Aldo Raine, that he didn’t come all the way from the Smoky Mountains to be humane to the “Natzee” bastards.

In short, war is hell, and both sides, when paired with absolute certainty and fanaticism, are equally capable of destroying one another.

In this meditation on violence, Tarantino does for war movies what Peckinpah’s “Wild Bunch” did for Westerns. That is, Tarantino takes our classic idea of the hero and twists it, perverts it, and, doing so, he reveals that oftentimes the good guys aren’t good.

In this case, it’s the Basterds, a group of American-Jewish soldiers who blaze their way through Europe, scalping and torturing any German soldier that crosses their path. As the audience, we cheer for them because—why? They’re American, yes, and perhaps the Nazis have it coming to them, but do even the Nazis deserve such cruel punishment? And what of the ones who fight more out of compulsion, out of allegiance to home or their fellow countrymen as opposed to out of allegiance to the Fuhrer? Do they deserve to die such horrific deaths?

See, the Basterds use intimidation and torture and suicide-bombings as standard war tactics. Does any of this sound familiar? Yet, we see them as the good guys, and we want them to succeed, but, yet, they are just as savage as the evil in which they fight.

Tarantino isn’t insinuating that the Americans who fought in WWII were just as bad as the Nazis or that they used terrorist tactics, because, in short, this isn’t a real WWII film. It’s an alternate reality, the WWII time period serving more as a filmic allusion than as a historical setting. Tarantino, in his usual style, wanted to make a film that harkened back to war films like “The Dirty Dozen” and Spaghetti-Westerns like “Once Upon a Time in the West.” The WWII setting simply provides Tarantino a setting in which to blend those two genres.

After that blending, though, the story becomes entirely his. He distorts history to his own means, as any artist should. However, to dismiss “Inglourious Basterds” for this reason is a tremendous mistake, for, even with its distortions, it is, still, perhaps one of the best war films to emerge from Hollywood in recent years. The commentary on violence and justice, feminism and nationalism—it’s all there, handled maturely, handled well.

However, perhaps what is most interesting about the film is one of its many subplots. In this case, the subplot revolving around the premiere of a German propaganda film entitled “Nation’s Pride,” and the pride, indeed, the Germans take in such a film. They watch and cheer as a German sniper kills hundreds of Allied troops, and, at the same time, we watch and cheer as a squad of American soldiers kill German troops. This cannot be coincidence on Tarantino’s part. No, this is his own propaganda film, and, perhaps the only reason we ever find ourselves cheering for the Basterds is because Tarantino, very subtly, has conditioned us that way. The Germans are presented on ominous terms, the Americans on light terms. This is Tarantino’s own propaganda film making a statement about propaganda. That is, we are all capable of being fooled, of being roped in under false pretenses, of being tricked by our governments, or, on a more personal basis, our friends, for a thread of deceit runs all throughout the film.

“Inglourious Basterds” is not Tarantino’s best film; that would still be “Pulp Fiction.” However, in its layering of theme and story, it is his most complex film, his one most provocative for discussion. And that’s a good thing.

On a technical level, the film is near perfect. The cinematography—especially in the first fifteen minutes—is so beautiful and, at times, so unbelievably tense, almost delivering Hitchcock-like suspense. As for the acting, there is not a single weak performance. Much has been said of Eli Roth’s Bear Jew, but Roth, exuding arrogance and temper, does just as the part requires. The true stand-outs of the film, though, as many other reviewers have commented, are Christoph Waltz as Hans Landa and Melanie Laurent as Shosanna. Both of them, especially Waltz, deserve nominations when the time comes.

For those that love movies, “Inglourious Basterds” is all the more wonderful with its frequent allusions to older films. For those that don’t necessarily possess quite an encyclopedic knowledge of film as Tarantino does, that’s okay; the film still has much merit. It teaches us about violence, about war, and, with its epic theatre atmosphere, it constantly removes us from the story, asking us to see it objectively, to see it as it is: a story. Thus, at the end of things, we can view it clearly, that the Basterds are just bastards and the Natzees are just Nazis, and there is just so much hatred, so much aggression, that it all just explodes in a hail of gunfire, dynamite, and celluloid.

Woodstock Remembered

Forty years ago, from August 15th to August 18th, nearly half a million people gathered in upstate New York to watch the likes of Arlo Guthrie, Santana, Canned Heat, the Who, Janis Joplin, and Jimi Hendrix. Below is a video of one of the best of these performances. So, without further ado, here is Joe Cocker performing the Beatles' "With a Little Help from My Friends."

I Admire Your Pictures Very Much

A Review of "Julie & Julia"
By Jeff Webb

First of all, I liked “Julie & Julia.” I didn’t necessarily expect to, but I had a great deal of fun watching the film. The charming performances of the leads, the vicarious experience of encountering wonderful foods, and the straightforward and simple comedy all create a light-hearted, escapist atmosphere. Perhaps above anything else, it is an incredibly relaxing film.

Now, with that aside, it’s probably not a film I would care to see ever again.

The problem with “Julie & Julia” is the script. It revolves around two stories, the first taking place in the mid-twentieth century and depicting chef Julia Child’s efforts to create a French cookbook for American women. The film’s second story is set in 2002 and shows blogger Julie Powell’s attempt to make every recipe in said cookbook within a year’s time.

It is the latter story that I take issues with. Amy Adams plays Julie Powell, and Adams is wonderful, as always. However, when the main conflict of a story is whether or not a character will meet her deadline in time, it’s a little hard to be enthralled or to leave the theater feeling you have learned something monumental about life. Now, perhaps perseverance is the life lesson here, but when it is about something so mundane as cooking, it still feels empty. Perhaps if the film was in the hand’s of a more competent director, someone adept with the mundane—someone like Jim Jarmusch, for instance—something could be taken away from the story, but, alas, the film is in the hands of Nora Ephron, a talented romantic-comedy director but really nothing more than that.

There are moments of real human drama in Julie Powell’s story, but they are brief moments, fleeting moments. There never is any tension, and that is because the conflict isn’t engaging. Every story, no matter the genre, needs a conflict, and it needs to engage the audience.

The film’s other story, revolving around a young Julia Child, is a bit more fulfilling to watch, but even it suffers from a similar problem. Its tone is too light to be accommodating as a biopic for a real person, and its suspense is killed by the interjection of the Julie Powell story. Perhaps more than anything else, though, the audience never comes to know Julia Child. We see her efforts to publish her book, but she is the same woman at the end of the film as she is at the beginning. There is no real development to her as a character, as a person.

Yes, Meryl Streep is fantastic and proves, once again, why she is the best actress of her generation, but she really isn’t given much to work with. Her Julia Child becomes a parody of the real thing, an embodiment of the woman on TV, and Streep, with the exception of one or two scenes, never probes deeply into the person that was Julia Child. But that’s a flaw of the script.

“Julie & Julia” is a good way to kill two hours, and it fits perfectly into the summer movie season. It just fails to deliver human drama, and, while funny, it’s nowhere close to being a classic of the comedy genre. To end with a terrible food analogy, the film is almost like hospital food: it’s not necessarily bad, it’ll fill you up and taste alright, but it’s not something you ever really want to eat ever again.

I Admire Your Pictures Very Much

A Review of "Funny People"
By Jeff Webb

It’s interesting to watch the direction of Judd Apatow’s directorial career play out on cinema screens. With his first film, “The 40-Year-Old Virgin,” Apatow introduced audiences to his stories of “bromance” and men stuck in adolescence. With “Knocked Up,” Apatow covered similar territory, but this time making it a bit more personal, basing it somewhat on his own experiences with becoming a father. Still, there was a sense of the cartoonish in the characters, an outrageousness to the film. With his third and latest film, though—the newly released “Funny People”—Apatow has hit his stride. It is his most focused feature yet, completely realistic and understated and restrained.

The problem with Apatow’s previous two films is not that the stories lack a moral—for they do have a point—but that they sometimes lose focus of that moral, wandering into territory where it just seems like comedy for the sake of comedy. Nothing is learned. Plot and characterization is not advanced.

That is not the case with “Funny People.” Yes, the movie is long—perhaps a bit too long—but every scene plays a part in the bigger story. That story revolves around George Simmons, a popular comedian who, upon finding out he has leukemia, starts to reevaluate his life. Helping him on this journey of self-discovery is young and insecure comedian Ira Wright.

Adam Sandler plays Simmons, and Seth Rogen plays Wright. For the latter, it is clearly the best role of his career, one that is truly unique from his other characters. For Sandler, it is his best since work since 2002’s “Punch-Drunk Love,” and, even at that, Sandler may be even better here than in PTA’s mini-masterpiece. Simmons is Sandler, Sandler is Simmons, and through the course of the film, Sandler plays his part to perfection, never ringing a false note, never going for the zany over the dramatic. It is a character wrought with pain and disappointment, and Sandler plays him just as such.

Some people will walk into the film expecting a comedy, and, while the film is a comedy, it carries quite a bit of dramatic weight with it, as did Apatow’s “Knocked Up.” However, unlike “Knocked Up,” the drama in “Funny People” doesn’t come across as forced or schmaltzy. It feels natural, perhaps because the premise is a serious premise. It is about a man dying. If anything, it is the laughs that feel forced, but the very fact that the man in question is a comedian makes it all seem right.

There is nothing outrageous about “Funny People,” no hair-waxing scene or mushroom trips to Las Vegas or shock value shots of female genitalia. No, like the characters in his films, Apatow finally seems to be growing up, not only addressing themes of adulthood, but also addressing them like an adult: serious, focused, and in control.

Without giving it away, the ending of the film is enough evidence of Apatow’s maturity as a filmmaker. There is nothing grandiose about it. It’s just a plain and simple ending to a fairly plain and simple story, and, thus, by making it all the more real, it becomes all the more relatable.

And that is something every filmmaker—be the genre comedy or drama—should strive to achieve.