The Second Opinion

After putting blogs on the back-burner for awhile, it seems I’ve sold one of the university’s websites on the idea of a new movie review blog written by yours truly, which means my focus has to change. First, the final rounds between Bluth and Miyazaki will have to be suspended indefinitely (which will give me time to make up my mind on the movies of theirs I saw too long ago to give a fair judgement on but not long enough to go in with a clean slate). Replacing it is a clash of cities, with the cinema recorded here in Pittsburgh taking on a new city every week, each throwing in their best entry from a specific genre.

In the meantime, today I’d like to offer my small nod to Ted Demme, nephew of oscar-winner Jonathan Demme, who was still working to get out from behind his uncle’s shadow when he died of a heart attack at 38. I pull no punches in my review of this early effort of his, titled The Bet, which I think makes the praise significant; hopefully it says something worthwhile about the young director.

Ted Demme’s The Bet opens not with a scene but with images, of relatively still streets and shops in New York City. Demme knows that they’re familiar images to the audience, but there is little to no affection in the shots. The Bet is not nostalgic, and it’s not hopeful; it does not pass judgment one way or the other on any of its characters, save for one. It is, through and through, a “slice of life” movie.

If it had taken out one character and replaced him with a wife, a father, or some other character in a relationship destined to sit passively and cut their losses, it would have been a recycled story with all parts conveyable in one sentence (perhaps two, after its final twist). Harry (Josh Mosby) owns a sandwich shop left to him by his father, but he is indebted to mobsters due to a gambling problem and can only think of going to the track one more time to save himself, risking what can only escalate to everything. The additional layer comes from his partner, the more responsible and weary but hopeful brother Henry (John Benjamin Hickey). In a way, this is the most closely-knotted relationship possible. Henry and Harry don’t just play on the same team; they are the whole team and the owners. They are each other’s only means of success.

Henry dreams of turning his deli into chain, just enough to gain some prominence and recognition, and without a hindrance, he may have the business savvy to do it. But Harry is stopping him. Harry shows us right away that he’s a petty game-player with money. Phrases such as “I give you my word” and “I swear to God” by now are only means of buying time for him. Henry needs a partner, but though Harry seems to care about his brother’s well-being, he doesn’t tell Henry what he really wants.

In fact, we have no reason to think that Harry knows himself. Peeling back his lies only reveals more lies. He might have already sealed his fate. When he’s cornered by his lender’s thug demanding a straightforward answer, he can only submit to a thumb-breaking.

The villains are less impressive, despite sincere efforts from Vincent Pastore and Anthony Crivello to breathe some life into the thug and boss archetypes. As usual, the most telling thing about the thug is the consumer item he enjoys while doing his business; the true Rocky and Mugsy caricature usually carries a cigar, while the more everythug type may enjoy a sandwich or a pastry. This thug seems to be getting in touch with his inner child; he enters sipping a pink snow cone. His Steve Buscemi gangster of a boss only gets a few moments to chew the scenery when we meet him while the thug switches to sinisterly biting into apples, evidently on a new diet.

Demme makes some decent use of scenery, as when a shot of the city slowly turns to face Harry’s uncle, who’s made his brief appearance to help us contemplate Harry. The story, however, can only lead to the inevitable climax of Harry attempting to solve his problems with more gambling, putting everything on the line behind his brother’s back. Amoral though it may be, I admit I wanted to just once see what happens when putting all his faith in a horse pays off for the gambler and suddenly gives him everything he wanted. I won’t reveal whether the movie gave me my wish, but I will say the mild surprise it gave quickly turned into something just as cliché. It’s a shame too, because, actually, if the ending had taken more time to develop and convey true authenticity, it could have been a rather poignant statement. It was definitely on to something.

Now that I’ll have to focus most of my blogging on entries for one of the University’s websites, this is probably my last chance to mix it up… How ‘bout an album review?

Tre is the final album in a sort of trilogy released this year by punk rock band Green Day, still working at a steady pace after fifteen years. This one, described by one of its members as a “mixed bag” of songs, does attempt to inject some variety, but most of the songs have this in common; they can’t help but come off as somewhat generic. Many of them feel like typical examples of their kind and will probably remind you of other songs you know; in fact, the song Sex, Drugs, and Violence (which admittedly contains an entertaining refrain) might remind you of Green Day’s own song Missing You, which made its appearance about thirteen minutes prior.

It doesn’t help matters that Green Day is a little too concerned with being emotionless and indifferent, which they seem to believe is the formula for “cool.” This is most evident in my least favorite song on the album, the opening number Brutal Love, which is a song that whoever wrote Oh My Darling, Clementine might have created instead if he was a punk rocker half asleep from depression medications. It uses a repetitive and soft guitar melody that makes it sound less like “brutal love” than “sort of disappointed love,” which becomes a bit hilarious as the lyrics angrily try to live up to the title, even while sung so passively. I’m at a loss to say how it maintains the indifference as it builds all the way to “rocking out” on the electric guitar, but it finds a way. They made their name on this approach with one of their most popular songs Good Riddance, but that worked because it was about a weary subject, which the song effectively portrayed with a catchy beat. Here, it’s forced.

That’s the bad news. The good news is, one, that Green Day quickly injects some energy into the songs following their letdown opener, with the cynical detachment fading away to nothing by the halfway point to be replaced with some welcome sincerity. (It reappears later in their song Amanda and again minus the detachment in their song Dirty Rotten Bastards, which are both, thankfully, better outlets for it.) What’s more, the familiarity isn’t always a bad thing; Missing You is a throwback to exactly the kind of song I’ve been missing, the sort of upbeat happy punk song that gave the genre a good name. Today’s biggest hits don’t come like that anymore.

I wonder how deliberately they ordered these songs. The band seems to become more invested with each one. Early entries like 8th Avenue Serenade joyfully explore guitar solos in ways that add variety, but, as with that particular example, don’t always form a perfect whole, wandering off the set path until they get lost in forgettable jumbles. Sometimes they slow the music down again, now adding some real emotion and sometimes even a sense of joy, but they still have problems in creating variety at these points, now forgoing the jumbled solos for dull repetition. Still, they always offer something to take away; X-Kid is both the most dragged-out song and the most sincere, with the band drawing from a real place to sing about pain in getting older.

Green Day overcomes this and all other problems upon reaching possibly my favorite songs on the album, Walk Away and 99 Revolutions. Each represents a different solution. Walk Away, despite only having those two words for a refrain, assembles its tone perfectly, with a small, reflective opening that builds to its memorable chorus, and from there keeps building and building finally into a triumphant rallying cry. 99 Revolutions does not have that kind of variety, but finds a way to succeed just as well; as possibly the most upbeat, catchy and energetic song on the album, hearing more of the same in every verse is a toe-tapping, head-bobbing pleasure rather than a disappointment. With the right publicity, these songs might just be memorable enough to warrant the repeated airings on the radio that only a handful of songs receive each month and become a welcome addition the tracks that young partygoers always have ready. I can’t exactly call myself hopeful though.

The album’s closing track will likely end up as its most recognized, having been incorporated into the latest movie in the Twilight series. I’d be inclined to say that this is fitting, considering its slower pace, its lessened sense of excitement, and its attempts at sentimental sincerity. But I can’t. It’s just too convincing with the latter to be a match.

Green Day hasn’t quite found the inspiration to put themselves back into the center of the spotlight, but I look forward to seeing more of their efforts after they recharge their creative batteries from this long project. The drive is clearly still there.

Now that I’ll have to focus most of my blogging on entries for one of the University’s websites, this is probably my last chance to mix it up… How ‘bout an album review?

Tre is the final album in a sort of trilogy released this year by punk rock band Green Day, still working at a steady pace after fifteen years. This one, described by one of its members as a “mixed bag” of songs, does attempt to inject some variety, but most of the songs have this in common; they can’t help but come off as somewhat generic. Many of them feel like typical examples of their kind and will probably remind you of other songs you know; in fact, the song Sex, Drugs, and Violence (which admittedly contains an entertaining refrain) might remind you of Green Day’s own song Missing You, which made its appearance about thirteen minutes prior.

It doesn’t help matters that Green Day is a little too concerned with being emotionless and indifferent, which they seem to believe is the formula for “cool.” This is most evident in my least favorite song on the album, the opening number Brutal Love, which is a song that whoever wrote Oh My Darling, Clementine might have created instead if he was a punk rocker half asleep from depression medications. It uses a repetitive and soft guitar melody that makes it sound less like “brutal love” than “sort of disappointed love,” which becomes a bit hilarious as the lyrics angrily try to live up to the title, even while sung so passively. I’m at a loss to say how it maintains the indifference as it builds all the way to “rocking out” on the electric guitar, but it finds a way. They made their name on this approach with one of their most popular songs Good Riddance, but that worked because it was about a weary subject, which the song effectively portrayed with a catchy beat. Here, it’s forced.

That’s the bad news. The good news is, one, that Green Day quickly injects some energy into the songs following their letdown opener, with the cynical detachment fading away to nothing by the halfway point to be replaced with some welcome sincerity. (It reappears later in their song Amanda and again minus the detachment in their song Dirty Rotten Bastards, which are both, thankfully, better outlets for it.) What’s more, the familiarity isn’t always a bad thing; Missing You is a throwback to exactly the kind of song I’ve been missing, the sort of upbeat happy punk song that gave the genre a good name. Today’s biggest hits don’t come like that anymore.

I wonder how deliberately they ordered these songs. The band seems to become more invested with each one. Early entries like 8th Avenue Serenade joyfully explore guitar solos in ways that add variety, but, as with that particular example, don’t always form a perfect whole, wandering off the set path until they get lost in forgettable jumbles. Sometimes they slow the music down again, now adding some real emotion and sometimes even a sense of joy, but they still have problems in creating variety at these points, now forgoing the jumbled solos for dull repetition. Still, they always offer something to take away; X-Kid is both the most dragged-out song and the most sincere, with the band drawing from a real place to sing about pain in getting older.

Green Day overcomes this and all other problems upon reaching possibly my favorite songs on the album, Walk Away and 99 Revolutions. Each represents a different solution. Walk Away, despite only having those two words for a refrain, assembles its tone perfectly, with a small, reflective opening that builds to its memorable chorus, and from there keeps building and building finally into a triumphant rallying cry. 99 Revolutions does not have that kind of variety, but finds a way to succeed just as well; as possibly the most upbeat, catchy and energetic song on the album, hearing more of the same in every verse is a toe-tapping, head-bobbing pleasure rather than a disappointment. With the right publicity, these songs might just be memorable enough to warrant the repeated airings on the radio that only a handful of songs receive each month and become a welcome addition the tracks that young partygoers always have ready. I can’t exactly call myself hopeful though.

The album’s closing track will likely end up as its most recognized, having been incorporated into the latest movie in the Twilight series. I’d be inclined to say that this is fitting, considering its slower pace, its lessened sense of excitement, and its attempts at sentimental sincerity. But I can’t. It’s just too convincing with the latter to be a match.

Green Day hasn’t quite found the inspiration to put themselves back into the center of the spotlight, but I look forward to seeing more of their efforts after they recharge their creative batteries from this long project. The drive is clearly still there.

I wrote this poem a few years ago while in the middle of a shaky but ultimately successful recovery from a rough period in my life. It might have been a little bit emo on my part, but I am sort of proud of how it turned out, especially since this was never something I did very often. So now that I found where I had it saved, I figure I could either put it away and forget about it again or offer it up for anyone who appreciates this type of thing. Critique it how you will.

I’d be your friend at a moment’s notice,

And it’d probably take you years to get close to me

I can be the life of the party

And I can be totally invisible,

Wryly pointing out to no one that you don’t know or care I’m right behind you

Am I anyone worth knowing?

I can stand against someone twice my size

I’ll fight to the death before I let you push me around

And I fear rubbing the most timid people I know the wrong way

Tripping over myself to stay out of their way when they didn’t ask

I loathe watching people see only their way, blind

I don’t always have it in me to call them wrong

I’m not always sure

I can be fun, breezy and cheerful,

And I can be off-putting and awkward,

Stumbling to find the words I meant to use

I’ll be a gentleman, who’s never done serious harm

I worry about what’s right,

And still I wonder if I deserve any respect at all,

Carrying the secrets I know I’ll never say aloud

I’d be the first one to tell you that pessimism is overrated

Why would anyone willingly carry such a weight?

I’ve had my share of humiliation

I’ve been the sad little boy on the verge of despair,

With a bloated bog of misery filling my head, leaving burns that heal slowly

I’m an insecure child who’d rather stay where I am and an impatient man eager to move forward

But I’m frozen, inside and out

Am I anyone worth knowing?