» Fringe Blog – Writing on Film, Culture, and Things on the Fringe

Fringecast 11

jelewis8 — Fri, 30 Jun 2006 08:42:49 +0000

We’ve got Superman on the brain as we contemplate the arrival of the new Superman Returns by comparing DC Comics to Marvel, and then taking it a step further and creating a Superhero Ratings Council, which does exactly what it sounds like. Tim relates a disturbing story about him and a Bible story character, and Joe and I discuss the experience of babysitting and our observations of the use of a baby to attract the ladies. Then there is a frank and honest discussion of proper usage and technique for toilet paper. Listen if you dare.
The current episode is here (direct download), or you can listen to the iTunes feed. The XML feed can be accessed directly as well.
Previous episodes are on the sidebar. Music came from the Podshow Podsafe Network, which provides free music for podcasters to use without worrying about licensing issues. It’s more than the UN does for anyone!

Postal Thoughts

jelewis8 — Sat, 07 Jan 2006 01:58:15 +0000

I hate it when I don’t have time during the day to post. It means communications between my brain and my body have broken down somewhere along the way. I have already used 138 peak minutes on my cell. Ridiculous. I got eight calls today, which is unusual, granted, but still. It’s only the sixth. I’m not answering the phone for the rest of the month. Just to be safe.
Standing in line at the post office got me to thinking. When you’re dropping a package off, you stand in line for what, fifteen minutes? Thirty? An hour? Okay, but once you’re done, you’re done. You leave. Finito. But those poor people behind the thick plexar bulletproof glass…they endure a non-stop stream of people who hate standing in line. Each time, it’s the same, with little abbreviation or interlude to the flow. It is, as Friedrich Nietzsche might have said, hell, only with longer lines.
The same could be said of any other job where endless queues stream past in a faceless blur of unmitigated monotony. I sometimes wonder if that’s how God views us? He’s the ultimate cashier and clerk, and life is the line. When it’s our turn, we go up, pay our money (or soul), and in return, we get shipped off to either the Caribbean or the Sahara, depending on what we’ve requested. The only difference is, we all get free shipping. Waiting in line is the same, though.
We all want stuff we can’t have: the better job, the hot wife/husband, the sweet car, the video iPod. I mean, we can have it, but it’s more like on lease to us. We tend to think of our current lives as something to move forward from. I guess it’s only when we face the window, finally, and realize we’ve left our wallet behind, that the truth of our condition hits us. Sadly, there’s no going back home. There’s only a brief flash and then you’re either sipping margaritas and talking to ancient dead people or squeezing fiery maggots from the brimstone pimples that develop on your skin in the extreme heat.
Not to leave you with that unsavoury thought, but it’s Friday. I hope you have a pleasant weekend, no matter where you are. See you Monday.

Cocoa Krispies and Haircuts

jelewis8 — Thu, 06 Oct 2005 21:45:02 +0000

You haven’t lived if you haven’t eat Cocoa Krispies for breakfast. No, wait, what I mean to say is, if you want to live, don’t eat Cocoa Krispies for breakfast. Or any other meal, for that matter. This is clearly a cereal marketed toward the part of a kid’s brain that has no intention of ever living right. It consists of tiny puffs of rice-based cereal (so not eligible for Communion food) dipped in a chocolate-like substance. It however does not have the pleasing taste of chocolate, rather the equivalent of a sickening dread you get when you are being stalked by an unseen, omnipotent killer (I could say cereal killer, but that might be going too far). If any of you has ever been stalked by a killer, you know exactly what I mean.
Los Angeles is currently experiencing another spate of round-the-clock hotness. One problem with moving to a new location is you’re never sure if the weather you’re experiencing is the norm or an anomoly. Even if it’s an anomoly, it might be a normal anomoly, and if you want total confusion, you can consider that the weather is neither normal nor an anomoly, but the onset of a new weather pattern paradigm. Then everyone’s screwed, and we can all blame Bush for not signing Kyoto.
In general, moving to a new town means having to establish new routines, new places to frequent, new schedules. I have happily found a coffee shop that, despite its lack of wifi, is quite good, and I go there often to wake up in the morning. One thing I haven’t found is a hair cuttery. This is quite a frightening ordeal, going into an untested hair place. You never know if you’re going to come out looking like your stylist was a psychotic lawn care professional or not. The most you can hope for is not to be disappointed. You will almost never come out of a new place thinking, “That was the most amazing experience of my life.” Then again, not everyone has access to Hollywood’s finest.
So I have yet to get a haircut, despite that I am back on my short hair kick. I like short hair, I like not having to deal with the intricacies of hair combing and knot untangling and shedding. I think I look better with short hair. But with no haircut, I’m fearful every morning. I wake up and look in the mirror and think about the possibility of immediate removal with a surgical, military strike. But no, I haven’t lost every brain cell.
I apologize for my lack of updates. I have a review of A History of Violence half-finished, and another short story I’ve been wanting to start writing. I have no excuse. Please forgive me, and come again tomorrow. I promise I won’t be slack.

Ray

jelewis8 — Mon, 17 Jan 2005 23:39:22 +0000

I’m a little behind on watching all the Oscar hopefuls this year, which is why I’m only reviewing Ray now and not two months ago. One of the big reasons I actually avoided this film when it first arrived in theatres was because it had an overplayed trailer which did nothing but showcase how well Jamie Foxx was able to impersonate Ray Charles. Which is all well and good, but not being particularly interested in Ray Charles as a film subject, I just wasn’t pulled in.
Between its first and second run in theatres, I had enough time to let the trailer dissolve from my brain and I began to think about the film objectively. Given all the critical praise it’s received, and the remarkable performances that were said to have been captured, I grew intrigued, paid my four dollars and waited with no expectations.
What I watched transcended normal biopic limitations and myopia; this wasn’t a film about a legend who sailed through his life and career, but a man who deeply cared about his true passion, music, and yet struggled with the most personal aspects of his life. Ray is not a self-congratulating film; rather, it is a consummate filmmaker’s work of art.
Director Taylor Hackford (Devil’s Advocate, Proof of Life) and Writer James L. White clearly were more interested in creating a cinematic mood, a story of brilliance and darkness and a biography hiding nothing of the man behind the glasses, rather than simply showcasing Ray Charles’ music. Indeed, if anything, the film lacks enough of the musical inspirations and innovations that made Charles famous, and dwells too singly upon the personal aspects of his life. Nevertheless, the film is a solid story, backed by very strong performances and a fantastic soundtrack of Ray Charles hits.
Jamie Foxx has probably never played a more recognizable role, and his ability at mimicry becomes lost in the trueness of his performance. I had no difficulty forgetting I was watching Jamie Foxx. With his crooked, toothy smile and the customary swaying of his entire upper torso, Foxx doesn’t deal out caricature, but rather captures Charles’ every detail and nuance with sureness and enthusiasm. Perhaps his performance is so real because he actually wore eye prosthetics that blinded him during the shoot. In addition, he actually plays all the songs featured in the film himself. Charles’ infectious spirit, rollicking talent, and boundless gift of reaching souls through his multitude of musical styles is the highlight of Foxx’s performance, and is just enough to counter the stultifying darkness of Charles’ alter-ego.
Foxx is matched by a cast equally capable and enjoyable. Curtis Armstrong caused me to do a double take as Ahmet, an Atlantic Records producer and one of Ray Charles’ friends. He is one of the film’s more likeable characters, and I felt attracted to his genuine care for Charles as a member of the record company’s family, his gentle encouragement of his enormous talent, and his magnanimousness in the face of losing Charles to a more lucrative record deal with another company.
Regina King and Aunjanue Ellis share Charles as jealous girlfriends and members of his own selected Raylettes. They both provide convincing performances, though their material is a goldmine compared to Kerry Washington’s Della Bea Charles, Ray’s long-suffering wife. She digs deeply to find the heart of a person who truly loves Charles, not for his music or his talent or his money, but because of who he is to her. She beseeches Ray to open his heart to her, knowing that he is still entrapped in a self-made prison, knowing that he may never come around.
Also notable is Sharon Warren, in her debut role, as Ray’s mother, who from the time he was born raised him with toughness and undying love. Her toughness is what teaches Charles how to hear the world when his eyes are gone, and she conveys this simply and powerfully through sharp glances and longing looks at her son, knowing that his future will be a hard road if he does not take it in his hand. Her performance is riveting, and an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actress might be in her future.
Despite the amazing performances, a few problems mar this otherwise fantastic picture. To most people, Ray Charles made music the way God made the world. His innovations in rock ‘n’ roll, gospel, and country/western were the turning point in musical history, yet they are glossed over in favour of the intensely charged behind-the-velvet-curtain story of Charles’ drug addiction and his failures as a husband and a father. Whilst his victory over years’ long heroin addiction is quite a story, its darkness fails to sustain what should have been a more evenhanded look at Charles, both as a performer and an artist, and as a man struggling with demons. White and Hackford attempt to tie Charles’ drug addiction to his guilt over seeing his younger brother drown at age five and the torment of being blinded at age seven, but the connection is feeble and unconvincing. The ending is abrupt and seems forced, a compromise perhaps in the face of studio pressure to keep the film under two and a half hours.
From early childhood to his first days on the road, to Seattle where he first made a name for himself and began a career that would eventually span nearly fifty years, Ray is intelligently told and marvelously portrayed. Despite its unevenness, it still manages to inspire and convey with the most honest of expressions the life of an extraordinary artist and human being.
Fringe Rating: out of 5