I don’t watch as much TV as I used to. It’s not that I think I’m “too good to waste my time on such a brain-numbing blot on the history of popular culture” or anything like that. But I am lazy, and watching a TV show--not just one episode, but an entire show--takes time and dedication. For the time being, the only TV series I plan to follow this year is Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., and that’s more out of loyalty to Joss Whedon than anything else. Any other TV shows that I decide to watch can wait for a DVD release.
But the pool of season premiers that slowly trickles out this time of year still holds a place in my heart. I used to watch TV, and a lot of it. I could have been described as a couch potato, except even potatoes need to go outside and get sunlight now and then. When I was a kid, a new episode of The Simpsons was always a landmark event. Besides, I really hated going to school, and having a new season to look forward to in September helped soften the summer-ending blow of academia that always coincided with the dead leaves and dropping temperatures.
Of course, that's all in the past now that I'm an adult. Summer vacation can't end if it doesn't start, so the autumn brings with it no new wounds for the lineup of premiers to heal.
Perhaps someday I will gather the energy to watch TV like a champ, and will once again reap the rewards that only September and sometimes October can bring. But for this year, I will have to admire the 2014 season premiers from a distance, my heart aching with the nostalgic echoes of a pleasure that only comes to those watching a hotly-anticipated episode on its original air date.
Saturday, September 20, 2014
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Forrest Gump: The Novel
Tomorrow, one of my favourite movies will be getting a theatrical re-release to celebrate its 20-year anniversary. I'm speaking, of course, about that beloved Tom Hanks vehicle, Forrest Gump, which beat out such classics as The Shawshank Redemption and Pulp Fiction to win the 67th Academy Award for Best Picture. Love it or hate it, there's no denying the movie's near-universal appeal among audiences and critics alike.
But this blog post isn't just about the movie.
Instead, I want to talk briefly about the film's source material. This isn't a review, just a quick paragraph or two to make sure that everyone knows a little about the book behind one of the most enduring characters of 90's cinema. The novel Forrest Gump was written by Winston Groom, published in 1986. I've read it twice, and the sequel (Gump & Co., also written by Groom, and published in 1995) once, and it's interesting for me to realize that the most famous image of Forrest Gump, the one that you are probably picturing right now, is so different from the one that I'm picturing. In the books, Forrest is a very large man (according to a 1994 article in the New York Times, Groom pictured John Goodman in the role) with a surprisingly cynical outlook and a very foul mouth, and although he is on about the same intellectual level as his cinematic counterpart, he does have an impressive aptitude for advanced mathematics. I don't know why Forrest's savant syndrome was cut from the movie--in my opinion, it was of the most interesting aspects of his character.
I am definitely going to see the movie again during its big-screen revival, and I'm sure I won't be alone. But I'm going to ask everyone reading this to at least consider picking up a copy of the book as well. Forrest Gump is a good comic novel, and deserves to be remembered for more than inspiring an award-winning dramatic movie.
But this blog post isn't just about the movie.
Instead, I want to talk briefly about the film's source material. This isn't a review, just a quick paragraph or two to make sure that everyone knows a little about the book behind one of the most enduring characters of 90's cinema. The novel Forrest Gump was written by Winston Groom, published in 1986. I've read it twice, and the sequel (Gump & Co., also written by Groom, and published in 1995) once, and it's interesting for me to realize that the most famous image of Forrest Gump, the one that you are probably picturing right now, is so different from the one that I'm picturing. In the books, Forrest is a very large man (according to a 1994 article in the New York Times, Groom pictured John Goodman in the role) with a surprisingly cynical outlook and a very foul mouth, and although he is on about the same intellectual level as his cinematic counterpart, he does have an impressive aptitude for advanced mathematics. I don't know why Forrest's savant syndrome was cut from the movie--in my opinion, it was of the most interesting aspects of his character.
I am definitely going to see the movie again during its big-screen revival, and I'm sure I won't be alone. But I'm going to ask everyone reading this to at least consider picking up a copy of the book as well. Forrest Gump is a good comic novel, and deserves to be remembered for more than inspiring an award-winning dramatic movie.
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Review: The Silkworm by Robert Galbraith
By now, it's common knowledge that Robert Galbraith, author of last year's critically acclaimed mystery novel, The Cuckoo's Calling, is actually Harry Potter creator J.K. Rowling. I was a big Harry Potter fan in high school, and when I read Rowling's first adult novel, A Casual Vacancy, I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that I could never stop contrasting it to her early work. I did the same with The Cuckoo's Calling, though not as much. Well, I'm happy to say that I've finally kicked that habit. While reading "Galbraith's" second novel, The Silkworm, I never forgot that J.K. Rowling was behind every word, but I barely thought about Harry at all.
I'm not going to give away the ending to this book, or it's predecessor, but if you know the first one's story (Cormoran Strike, a decorated Afghanistan war veteran turned private detective, is hired to investigate the alleged suicide of a famous model), then you won't be surprised to hear that he successfully proved that the suicide was a murder, or that the resulting publicity granted him an influx of clients. The majority of Strike's new jobs are standard private investigator stuff involving sexual infidelity, but there is one that catches his interest: a woman named Leonora Quine hires him to track down her missing husband, an egotistical novelist named Owen Quine. Leonora thinks that he's run off to a writer's retreat. He hasn't; when Strike does find Quine... well, I won't describe the body in detail, but I will say that it's not pretty.
Two of Rowling's three greatest strengths are her characterization and her plotting. (Her third strength is worldbuilding, which doesn't factor into a book like this, set in real-world London.) Like all good mysteries, this one has a strong lineup of suspects; among the most memorable are: Elizabeth Tassel, Quine's long-suffering yet thoroughly unpleasant agent; Kathryn Kent, a writer whose blog posts make Zero Wing look like Strunk and White's The Elements of Style; and Michael Fancourt, an established novelist and rival of Quine's. All of these people (and more!) have their own individual reasons to loathe Mr. Quine, but they've also got a stronger, shared motive: his last, unpublished novel, Bombyx Mori (latin for "silkworm of the mulberry tree," according to Wikipedia) includes insulting and in some cases outright libelous depictions of many of Quine's associates. Fortunately, all of the characters are genuinely interesting, fleshed-out people. In typical Rowling fashion, some of these characters can come across as more humorous than serious, but they never become full-fledged comic relief.
I can't discuss the plot in detail without giving too much away, but I will say that I found the solution a bit out there. The Silkworm reminds me of A.A. Milne's The Red House Murder, insofar as both books involve a particularly complicated deception that completely turns the case on its head. Okay, so plot twists are an important part of a good mystery, but some have more of a "conspiracy theory" vibe to them. Compared to The Silkworm, The Cuckoo's Calling was much more believable. But then that's exactly why I preferred Strike's sophomore adventure to the original. I like mysteries with clever, unlikely-but-still-possible solutions, as long as they don't involve hiding evidence from the reader, and The Silkworm never cheats like that. It has a tough answer, but a fair one.
It's worth noting that, for a mystery novel, this book puts a lot of emphasis on the characters' love lives. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, mind you, but it isn't always necessary. The references to Strike's ex-girlfriend and her impending marriage, in particular, don't feel like an organic part of this novel so much as a set-up for a bigger plot point in a later book. Robin's subplot--that her fiance is jealous of her relationship with Strike--is a lot more fleshed-out and interesting, but it runs parallel to the Owen Quine plot more than it runs through it. It does make Strike and Robin feel more like real people, but if you don't like books with unnecessary romantic subplots thrown in, you'll probably get annoyed by this one.
A lot of people used to wonder if J.K. Rowling would ever escape Harry Potter's shadow. Well, that's hard to say. She's written three non-fantasy novels, all of which have sold well (though A Casual Vacancy has a lot of detractors, even among Harry Potter and Cormoran Strike fans), but none of them have entered the public consciousness in the same way as the Harry Potter books. Try asking your friends if they know who Dobby the House Elf or Vernon Dursley are, then ask them about Cormoran Strike, and you'll still find Harry's supporting cast getting a lot more recognition than Rowling's newest hero. I imagine that the Boy Who Lived will always be Rowling's most famous creation. Even so, The Silkworm proves once again that he's going to have some very well-written, entertaining, and memorable siblings.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
We Only Have One Weakness: Rat Pfink a Boo Boo a Me
Do you have a guilty pleasure? Something that you love, even though you can't for the life of you figure out why? Maybe it's a book with terrible writing, or a singer who can't sing. Well, I have one. It's a low-budget, black-and-white movie from 1966 called Rat Pfink a Boo Boo. It was directed by Ray Dennis Steckler, best known for the movie The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies (which was featured on Mystery Science Theatre 3000). Rat Pfink a Boo Boo is one of the worst movies I've ever seen. Every year or two, I get the urge to rewatch it, and I never tire of doing so.
The film stars real-life singer Ron Haydock as fictional singer Lonnie Lord; Steckler's real-life wife Carolyn Brandt as Lonnie's fictional girlfriend, Cee Bee Beaumont; and real-life Titus Moede as a fictional gardener named Titus, last name Twimbly. Standing between this trio and a happy ending are the Chain Gang: Linc (named after a chain he always carries around with him), Hammer (named after a hammer that he always carries around with him), and Benji (who is unarmed but laughs a lot and doesn't seemed to be named after anything)--played by George Caldwell, Mike Kannon, and James Bowie, respectively.
The story kicks off with the Chain Gang, bored and looking for someone to harass, deciding to pick a random name out of the phone book; they end up picking Cee Bee. It's a terrifying premise, but to be honest, Rat Pfink a Boo Boo isn't as frightening as it could be. Of course, that's all subjective, and I have seen people who disagree with me on that one. There's one noteworthy sequence, about 17 minutes in, where Linc follows Cee Bee to the store, successfully remaining unseen the entire time. He ultimately walks off without doing anything; clearly Steckler values terror over horror. Admittedly, the sequence works on paper, and I can understand why some people would like it. The main problem for me is that, as I've already mentioned, this movie's acting and writing are very poor. Consequently, I can never find myself worrying too much about Cee Bee because I never really forget that she's actually Carolyn Brandt playing Cee Bee in a movie.
I do sort of like the musical numbers, though. I suppose that might say more about my own personal taste in music than anything, but most of the musical sequences are fun and upbeat and... wait, what's that? You don't think a movie about three violent criminals stalking a young woman should have upbeat musical numbers? Well, it probably shouldn't. I also want to point out that although Lonnie and Cee Bee don't seem to be having any relationship problems, three of his four songs are about cheating girlfriends. But if you can get past how thematically inappropriate the songs are, these scenes really aren't that bad. Certainly not Busby Berkeley, but they're still fun and filled with energy, and the music is actually kind of catchy.
But that's not why I love this movie.
After Steckler had shot about half of this picture, he started to lose interest in his idea. However, he wasn't willing to throw out all that footage, so instead he decided to take the film in a different direction. The Chain Gang, switching their motivation to something a bit more financially rewarding, decide to kidnap Cee Bee. Lonnie, after hearing the terrible news, decides to pass the time singing one of his less-upbeat cheating songs. Eventually, he gets a phone call from Benji, who demands a $50,000 ransom, to be paid that night, in exchange for Cee Bee's safe return. Lonnie says that it'll take him until at least the following morning to raise that kind of money, but Benji isn't interested in letting logic spoil his payday; he just repeats his demand: $50,000 by tonight, or Cee Bee's "had it."
His back against the wall, Lonnie decides that there's only one option left.
"This looks like a job for You Know and Who," he tells Titus, and the two of them step into the closet. They emerge about a minute later, dressed like this:
"Remember, Boo Boo, we only have one weakness," says Lonnie.
"What's that, Rat Pfink?" asks Titus.
"Bullets!"
So now, at the half-way point, and with absolutely no foreshadowing whatsoever, Lonnie and Titus finally reveal their superhero alter egos. The movie has abandoned all pretenses of being a serious crime story, instead choosing to live out its remaining screen time as a campy Batman spoof--and this is before Adam West started playing the Caped Crusader, I might add. The movie even switches from a sepia tint to a pink one at very moment it becomes a comedy, though that might have been added to my copy of the DVD.
The second half of the movie is what cinches it for me. The plot from this point on is simple: Rat Pfink and Boo Boo hop on their motorcycle and chase the Chain Gang around, getting into fist fights when necessary, until a gorilla shows up out of nowhere and kidnaps Cee Bee. (Hey, simple isn't the same thing as predictable.) The jokes aren't particularly clever, but there's a certain charm to them. Here's one of my favorites: during a fight scene, Boo Boo falls and breaks his watch. Benji stops fighting and offers to fix the watch, tosses it to the ground and stomps on it several time, then returns it. When Boo Boo puts it back on, he is delighted to find that it's working again, and leaves himself open to a sucker-punch. Okay, so it isn't exactly Peter Sellers. But I can't think of many filmmakers who would put a joke that ridiculous in a movie, and fewer still who would put it in what had lived its first 40 minutes of life as a drama.
So now I'll circle back to my original question: why do I like this movie so much? The answer is that I honestly don't know. I guess that a good guilty pleasure also has but a single weakness: you can't always explain it. Why have I seen Rat Pfink A Boo Boo more times than Citizen Kane, or Casablanca, or The Godfather, or any of the other cinematic masterpieces that clearly deserve such attention more than this movie does? It hardly seems fair. But then personal taste is a funny thing, and the fact remains that Rat Pfink a Boo Boo is a personal, desert-island-list favorite of mine. I'm not going to claim it's a great movie. Heck, I'm not even going to claim it's a competent movie. Sure, Steckler was a smart guy: he had some good ideas, could get a lot of mileage out of a shoestring budget, and his cinematography was actually pretty good. But that doesn't change the fact that Rat Pfink a Boo Boo inhabits the same corner of the cinematic landscape that Plan 9 From Outer Space, Trolls 2, and Manos: Hand of Fate dominate. This movie's greatest draw is the jarring difference in tone between it's first and second half. I mean, if I had to watch the two halves separately, would I like the movie? What if it came out as originally envisioned, with no superhero elements? Or if it was a campy superhero spoof all the way through? I just don't know.
And yet I do love the movie. And here's the embarrassing part: I don't even love it ironically. I don't put myself above the movie, or laugh at how bad it is.
Then why?
I suppose that I love the movie because of everything it is and everything it does, whether right or wrong. I love the camp, I love the dialogue, I love the music, I love the jokes, I love the novelty, and I love those things when they're at their best and I love them when they're at their worst. But most of all, I love this movie because it's just plain fun. A lot of bad movies get that way because no one on the crew really cared about it--it was a job and a paycheck, but nothing more. Rat Pfink a Boo Boo doesn't have that problem--it was clearly a labor of love, and the result is a movie that (for lack of a more secular term) has a soul, or maybe two or three different souls. Some things are simply better than the sum of their parts, even when some of those parts are rusty and others look like they got put in the wrong box by mistake. Rat Pfink a Boo Boo might be a ridiculous mess of a movie, but it'll always have a place in my collection.
The story kicks off with the Chain Gang, bored and looking for someone to harass, deciding to pick a random name out of the phone book; they end up picking Cee Bee. It's a terrifying premise, but to be honest, Rat Pfink a Boo Boo isn't as frightening as it could be. Of course, that's all subjective, and I have seen people who disagree with me on that one. There's one noteworthy sequence, about 17 minutes in, where Linc follows Cee Bee to the store, successfully remaining unseen the entire time. He ultimately walks off without doing anything; clearly Steckler values terror over horror. Admittedly, the sequence works on paper, and I can understand why some people would like it. The main problem for me is that, as I've already mentioned, this movie's acting and writing are very poor. Consequently, I can never find myself worrying too much about Cee Bee because I never really forget that she's actually Carolyn Brandt playing Cee Bee in a movie.
I do sort of like the musical numbers, though. I suppose that might say more about my own personal taste in music than anything, but most of the musical sequences are fun and upbeat and... wait, what's that? You don't think a movie about three violent criminals stalking a young woman should have upbeat musical numbers? Well, it probably shouldn't. I also want to point out that although Lonnie and Cee Bee don't seem to be having any relationship problems, three of his four songs are about cheating girlfriends. But if you can get past how thematically inappropriate the songs are, these scenes really aren't that bad. Certainly not Busby Berkeley, but they're still fun and filled with energy, and the music is actually kind of catchy.
But that's not why I love this movie.
After Steckler had shot about half of this picture, he started to lose interest in his idea. However, he wasn't willing to throw out all that footage, so instead he decided to take the film in a different direction. The Chain Gang, switching their motivation to something a bit more financially rewarding, decide to kidnap Cee Bee. Lonnie, after hearing the terrible news, decides to pass the time singing one of his less-upbeat cheating songs. Eventually, he gets a phone call from Benji, who demands a $50,000 ransom, to be paid that night, in exchange for Cee Bee's safe return. Lonnie says that it'll take him until at least the following morning to raise that kind of money, but Benji isn't interested in letting logic spoil his payday; he just repeats his demand: $50,000 by tonight, or Cee Bee's "had it."
His back against the wall, Lonnie decides that there's only one option left.
"This looks like a job for You Know and Who," he tells Titus, and the two of them step into the closet. They emerge about a minute later, dressed like this:
"Remember, Boo Boo, we only have one weakness," says Lonnie.
"What's that, Rat Pfink?" asks Titus.
"Bullets!"
So now, at the half-way point, and with absolutely no foreshadowing whatsoever, Lonnie and Titus finally reveal their superhero alter egos. The movie has abandoned all pretenses of being a serious crime story, instead choosing to live out its remaining screen time as a campy Batman spoof--and this is before Adam West started playing the Caped Crusader, I might add. The movie even switches from a sepia tint to a pink one at very moment it becomes a comedy, though that might have been added to my copy of the DVD.
The second half of the movie is what cinches it for me. The plot from this point on is simple: Rat Pfink and Boo Boo hop on their motorcycle and chase the Chain Gang around, getting into fist fights when necessary, until a gorilla shows up out of nowhere and kidnaps Cee Bee. (Hey, simple isn't the same thing as predictable.) The jokes aren't particularly clever, but there's a certain charm to them. Here's one of my favorites: during a fight scene, Boo Boo falls and breaks his watch. Benji stops fighting and offers to fix the watch, tosses it to the ground and stomps on it several time, then returns it. When Boo Boo puts it back on, he is delighted to find that it's working again, and leaves himself open to a sucker-punch. Okay, so it isn't exactly Peter Sellers. But I can't think of many filmmakers who would put a joke that ridiculous in a movie, and fewer still who would put it in what had lived its first 40 minutes of life as a drama.
So now I'll circle back to my original question: why do I like this movie so much? The answer is that I honestly don't know. I guess that a good guilty pleasure also has but a single weakness: you can't always explain it. Why have I seen Rat Pfink A Boo Boo more times than Citizen Kane, or Casablanca, or The Godfather, or any of the other cinematic masterpieces that clearly deserve such attention more than this movie does? It hardly seems fair. But then personal taste is a funny thing, and the fact remains that Rat Pfink a Boo Boo is a personal, desert-island-list favorite of mine. I'm not going to claim it's a great movie. Heck, I'm not even going to claim it's a competent movie. Sure, Steckler was a smart guy: he had some good ideas, could get a lot of mileage out of a shoestring budget, and his cinematography was actually pretty good. But that doesn't change the fact that Rat Pfink a Boo Boo inhabits the same corner of the cinematic landscape that Plan 9 From Outer Space, Trolls 2, and Manos: Hand of Fate dominate. This movie's greatest draw is the jarring difference in tone between it's first and second half. I mean, if I had to watch the two halves separately, would I like the movie? What if it came out as originally envisioned, with no superhero elements? Or if it was a campy superhero spoof all the way through? I just don't know.
And yet I do love the movie. And here's the embarrassing part: I don't even love it ironically. I don't put myself above the movie, or laugh at how bad it is.
Then why?
I suppose that I love the movie because of everything it is and everything it does, whether right or wrong. I love the camp, I love the dialogue, I love the music, I love the jokes, I love the novelty, and I love those things when they're at their best and I love them when they're at their worst. But most of all, I love this movie because it's just plain fun. A lot of bad movies get that way because no one on the crew really cared about it--it was a job and a paycheck, but nothing more. Rat Pfink a Boo Boo doesn't have that problem--it was clearly a labor of love, and the result is a movie that (for lack of a more secular term) has a soul, or maybe two or three different souls. Some things are simply better than the sum of their parts, even when some of those parts are rusty and others look like they got put in the wrong box by mistake. Rat Pfink a Boo Boo might be a ridiculous mess of a movie, but it'll always have a place in my collection.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Review: Mandatory Fun by "Weird Al" Yankovic
I can't imagine how hard it must have been for "Weird Al" Yankovic to get where he is today. Making it as a musician is hard enough, and maintaining a musical career for several decades is even harder. Now try doing that with a career composed entirely of novelty songs, with a focus on parodies of other artist's work. No wonder so many people in the 1980s dismissed Weird Al as a passing fad! And yet it is now 2014, and Weird Al has just released one of his best albums to date: Mandatory Fun.
Okay, so the album isn't perfect. Some songs weren't as good as I was hoping, such as "Inactive," an unoriginal parody of Imagine Dragon's "Radioactive." Others turned out much better, though: "Foil," an aluminum foil-themed parody of Lorde's "Royals", and "Mission Statement," a corporate jargon-filled original in the style of Crosby Stills & Nash, both surpassed my expectations. I can say that there weren't any songs on the album that I outright disliked. My least favourite was probably "Sports Song," an overly formal fight song, but even it's worth listening to now and then.
The best song on the album is probably the Robin Thicke parody, "Word Crimes," which is about how people misuse the English language. Interestingly, "Word Crimes" seems to be one of Weird Al's more controversial songs; some people have actually complained that it's too condescending towards those with poor grammar. Yes, "Word Crimes" is mean. Extremely mean. But it's so blatant, tactless, and over-the-top in its rudeness that I am honestly surprised that so many people are taking it so seriously. Anyone who knows anything about Weird Al could tell you that he's not a mean-spirited man, and there is simply no way that he was being sincere when he wrote or sang those insults. Is he trying to satirize the smugness of prescriptive grammar as well? Maybe, though I think the most likely theory is that he didn't think anyone would take this song any more seriously than, say, "All About the Pentiums," which is just as mean-spirited, only towards people who aren't computer-savy. The simple fact of the matter is that if the "Word Crimes" narrator didn't come across as an antisocial, self-righteous jerk who gets riled up over nothing, then the song would lose half its comic value. However, as the song stands now, it is easily one of Al's funniest parodies.
Of the originals, my personal favourite is probably "First World Problems," a Pixies-style song about the the trials and tribulations of an unfortunate soul who must suffer through life with a pixel out in his laptop and a house so big he can't get Wifi in the kitchen. These style parodies are one of Al's specialties; most of his original songs mimic the musical style of a particular band without directly copying any one song. I have neither the training nor experience to comment on exactly how authentic the reproductions are, but I can certainly say that I like the results. Turns out that the King of Parody is a darn fine composer, too! And the lyrics are classic Al. Sure, the entire song is based around an internet meme, but Al comes up with some clever variants on the joke.
Like most of Weird Al's previous albums, this one has another polka medley of contemporary hits. This one is called "NOW That's What I Call Polka!", and the medley includes (among other songs) Miley Cyrus' "Wrecking Ball," Psy's "Gangnam Style," and Macklemore and Ryan Lewis' "Thrift Shop." Al's polka medleys are particularly interesting because they are the exact opposite of what he is usually known for; instead of changing the lyrics to other people's songs, he keeps the lyrics but changes the music. If you've never heard a "Weird Al" Yankovic polka medley, your should track one down. These medleys are always fan-favorites, and for good reason.
Aside from the aforementioned songs, this album also contains: an impressive home repair-themed parody of Iggy Azalea's "Fancy" called "Handy"; a Southern Culture on the Skids-inspired song about one man's vague connections to the rich and famous called "Lame Claim to Fame"; a Foo Fighter style parody called "My Own Eyes"; an epic nine-minute track, "Jackson Park Express," about a complex and bizarre conversation carried out entirely in body language; and, of course, the song that featured on Al's first Mandatory Fun video: "Tacky," a hilarious parody of Pharrell Williams's "Happy."
I was a bit reluctant to review this album. Most of my studies have been in literature and film, so I really have no more qualifications to review music than anyone else with an iPod does. But Weird Al has a special place in my heart. I'll admit that I intentionally sought out and bought all of the songs that Al parodies on this album and listened to them all several times to prepare myself for this release, and I know that I'm not the only Al fan who can say that. Sound silly? Maybe, but I didn't regret it, and I know that I'm not the only Al fan who can say that, either.
Okay, so the album isn't perfect. Some songs weren't as good as I was hoping, such as "Inactive," an unoriginal parody of Imagine Dragon's "Radioactive." Others turned out much better, though: "Foil," an aluminum foil-themed parody of Lorde's "Royals", and "Mission Statement," a corporate jargon-filled original in the style of Crosby Stills & Nash, both surpassed my expectations. I can say that there weren't any songs on the album that I outright disliked. My least favourite was probably "Sports Song," an overly formal fight song, but even it's worth listening to now and then.
The best song on the album is probably the Robin Thicke parody, "Word Crimes," which is about how people misuse the English language. Interestingly, "Word Crimes" seems to be one of Weird Al's more controversial songs; some people have actually complained that it's too condescending towards those with poor grammar. Yes, "Word Crimes" is mean. Extremely mean. But it's so blatant, tactless, and over-the-top in its rudeness that I am honestly surprised that so many people are taking it so seriously. Anyone who knows anything about Weird Al could tell you that he's not a mean-spirited man, and there is simply no way that he was being sincere when he wrote or sang those insults. Is he trying to satirize the smugness of prescriptive grammar as well? Maybe, though I think the most likely theory is that he didn't think anyone would take this song any more seriously than, say, "All About the Pentiums," which is just as mean-spirited, only towards people who aren't computer-savy. The simple fact of the matter is that if the "Word Crimes" narrator didn't come across as an antisocial, self-righteous jerk who gets riled up over nothing, then the song would lose half its comic value. However, as the song stands now, it is easily one of Al's funniest parodies.
Of the originals, my personal favourite is probably "First World Problems," a Pixies-style song about the the trials and tribulations of an unfortunate soul who must suffer through life with a pixel out in his laptop and a house so big he can't get Wifi in the kitchen. These style parodies are one of Al's specialties; most of his original songs mimic the musical style of a particular band without directly copying any one song. I have neither the training nor experience to comment on exactly how authentic the reproductions are, but I can certainly say that I like the results. Turns out that the King of Parody is a darn fine composer, too! And the lyrics are classic Al. Sure, the entire song is based around an internet meme, but Al comes up with some clever variants on the joke.
Like most of Weird Al's previous albums, this one has another polka medley of contemporary hits. This one is called "NOW That's What I Call Polka!", and the medley includes (among other songs) Miley Cyrus' "Wrecking Ball," Psy's "Gangnam Style," and Macklemore and Ryan Lewis' "Thrift Shop." Al's polka medleys are particularly interesting because they are the exact opposite of what he is usually known for; instead of changing the lyrics to other people's songs, he keeps the lyrics but changes the music. If you've never heard a "Weird Al" Yankovic polka medley, your should track one down. These medleys are always fan-favorites, and for good reason.
Aside from the aforementioned songs, this album also contains: an impressive home repair-themed parody of Iggy Azalea's "Fancy" called "Handy"; a Southern Culture on the Skids-inspired song about one man's vague connections to the rich and famous called "Lame Claim to Fame"; a Foo Fighter style parody called "My Own Eyes"; an epic nine-minute track, "Jackson Park Express," about a complex and bizarre conversation carried out entirely in body language; and, of course, the song that featured on Al's first Mandatory Fun video: "Tacky," a hilarious parody of Pharrell Williams's "Happy."
I was a bit reluctant to review this album. Most of my studies have been in literature and film, so I really have no more qualifications to review music than anyone else with an iPod does. But Weird Al has a special place in my heart. I'll admit that I intentionally sought out and bought all of the songs that Al parodies on this album and listened to them all several times to prepare myself for this release, and I know that I'm not the only Al fan who can say that. Sound silly? Maybe, but I didn't regret it, and I know that I'm not the only Al fan who can say that, either.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Shakespeare in the Park
Yesterday, my father and I saw a Company of Fools' excellent production of William Shakespeare's As You Like It. It was a lot of fun, and very funny. The environment was very relaxed--people sitting around on towels or in lawn chairs, many of them with their children, and some with their pets. This is how I prefer to see Shakespeare handled--for audiences, rather than for students and scholars.
Don't misinterpret me--I'm not saying that schools should stop teaching Shakespeare. He's the greatest writer in the history of the English language, and young people should study him. But few fiction writers, if any, have ever written anything for the sole purpose of being studied in schools. That's why I think that live productions of Shakespeare are so important today--they help remind people that, although he's difficult, he's also wonderfully entertaining. His plays can be funny or tragic. His characters are impossibly eloquent, but they're also some of the most believable and human ever written. However good and however convenient Shakespeare's word may be on the page, we should remember that his plays were meant to be spoken and performed, and that's still the best way to really appreciate the Bard's genius.
It's a shame that so many people think of his work (or any great author's work, for that matter) as little more than particularly difficult homework assignments.
Don't misinterpret me--I'm not saying that schools should stop teaching Shakespeare. He's the greatest writer in the history of the English language, and young people should study him. But few fiction writers, if any, have ever written anything for the sole purpose of being studied in schools. That's why I think that live productions of Shakespeare are so important today--they help remind people that, although he's difficult, he's also wonderfully entertaining. His plays can be funny or tragic. His characters are impossibly eloquent, but they're also some of the most believable and human ever written. However good and however convenient Shakespeare's word may be on the page, we should remember that his plays were meant to be spoken and performed, and that's still the best way to really appreciate the Bard's genius.
It's a shame that so many people think of his work (or any great author's work, for that matter) as little more than particularly difficult homework assignments.
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Thoughts on Abbott and Costello
Sometimes, I look back on myself, and don't know whether to marvel how much I've changed or at how little. For example, let's look at my greatest passion: comedy. When I was a child, I loved Saturday-morning cartoons. When I became a teenager, I preferred more "mature" humor, like Family Guy. But when my chronological age become more adult, my sense of humor became less so; in the last few years, I've been drawn more to classic black-and-white Hollywood comedies--movies made when the Hays Office held gangster movies to a standard that would seem constrictive to a children's book. Don't get me wrong: I do not support censorship, never did, and never will. But every generation has its own style and its own sense of humor, and it just so happens that I laugh more at things that were funny in the 1920s to the 1940 than things that are funny now.
For my first blog entry, I'm going to focus on one of the most iconic comedy teams in the history of the American cinema: that of mean-spirited straight man Bud Abbott, and his lovable oaf of a sidekick, Lou Costello. I'll admit that, until about a year ago, I thought of Abbott and Costello as second-tier film comedians--good, but below the likes of Charlie Chaplin or the Marx Brothers. But I've been watching their movies with my family a lot in the last year or so, and old Bud and Lou have definitely grown on me.
To understand Abbott and Costello's movies, I think that it's important to know that they've been performing a lot of their routines on stage and radio before they started working in film. Most comedies draw their jokes from the plot, characters, or situation; even in a completely insane movie like Airplane! (1980), the jokes come from the plot. For Abbott and Costello to really play to their strengths, though, they had to take standalone routines and force them into a story, even if they needed a sledgehammer to do it. The next time you watch Buck Privates (1941), watch how subtly Abbott introduces the "You're 40, She's 10" routine into the conversation.
Ironically, that's a big part of why I've come to admire the pair so much. Yes, Abbott and Costello often relied on recycled routines that were shoehorned into some (let's be honest here) otherwise unremarkable movies. On the other hand, Abbott was quite possibly the best straight man in the history of Hollywood cinema, and Costello is one of the best verbal comedians. You may have heard the joke, and you may see the punchline coming, but that isn't going to save you. I suppose I still believe that Bud Abbott's and Lou Costello's movies are still only second-tier comedies. But I've also come to realize that the movies wouldn't even achieve that if they didn't star first-class comedians.
For my first blog entry, I'm going to focus on one of the most iconic comedy teams in the history of the American cinema: that of mean-spirited straight man Bud Abbott, and his lovable oaf of a sidekick, Lou Costello. I'll admit that, until about a year ago, I thought of Abbott and Costello as second-tier film comedians--good, but below the likes of Charlie Chaplin or the Marx Brothers. But I've been watching their movies with my family a lot in the last year or so, and old Bud and Lou have definitely grown on me.
To understand Abbott and Costello's movies, I think that it's important to know that they've been performing a lot of their routines on stage and radio before they started working in film. Most comedies draw their jokes from the plot, characters, or situation; even in a completely insane movie like Airplane! (1980), the jokes come from the plot. For Abbott and Costello to really play to their strengths, though, they had to take standalone routines and force them into a story, even if they needed a sledgehammer to do it. The next time you watch Buck Privates (1941), watch how subtly Abbott introduces the "You're 40, She's 10" routine into the conversation.
Ironically, that's a big part of why I've come to admire the pair so much. Yes, Abbott and Costello often relied on recycled routines that were shoehorned into some (let's be honest here) otherwise unremarkable movies. On the other hand, Abbott was quite possibly the best straight man in the history of Hollywood cinema, and Costello is one of the best verbal comedians. You may have heard the joke, and you may see the punchline coming, but that isn't going to save you. I suppose I still believe that Bud Abbott's and Lou Costello's movies are still only second-tier comedies. But I've also come to realize that the movies wouldn't even achieve that if they didn't star first-class comedians.
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