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

Aeon Flux

jelewis8 — Tue, 06 Dec 2005 19:18:16 +0000

What I don’t understand or appreciate of sleek dystopian futures is usually made up for by my appreciation of women in tight polyfiber outfits that make liberal use of bum and breast accentuation for maximum sensuous, yet haughty action heroine stunts. Aeon Flux is surely, if anything, a shining fashion shoot for the future, yet it is also a baseline appeal of a distant future in which wrongs must be righted by one for whom facial expressions are limited to vague representations of sadness or blank rage.
Charlize Theron, as the title character (yes, her name is Aeon Flux, as though a name with such imagined coolness need not be explained), is obviously capable of being pretty and her body is such that it never looks out of place with or without skin-tight material covering vital portions. But even as my own criticism of Theron’s acting has often ranged into the theatric itself, here, I must admit, the problem is not so much her lack of talent as it is Phil Hays’ and Matt Manfredi’s amateurish and adolescent script that sinks the film into mediocrity and general boredom.
Background story is told at the start of the film, in white titles. Essentially, after 99% of the world’s human population dies from a virus, a scientist named Goodchild finds a cure, and relocates the survivors to Bregna, who now, 400 years later, live under the gentle bootheel of the same scientists that saved them. There is general unrest in the society of survivors, though this is never shown. A group of rebels known as the Monicans are bent on the utter destruction of the regime. Enter Aeon, the Monicans’ most able assassin, who is assigned the mission of killing Trevor Goodchild and helping install the Monicans’ leader, played by a wild-haired Frances McDormand.
Along the way, she must battle poison dart-spewing coconuts and knife-blade grass, encounter a condom-clad Pete Postelthwaite inside a large floating jellyfish, sleep with the enemy, and of course, perform numerous body-wrenching stunts that usually end with Aeon spread eagled and crouching in a pose that reminds one of the benefits of hiring female assassins.
It was a pleasure seeing Jonny Lee Miller as the bad guy Oren, but he does little even in his plotting and scheming to make much of an impact. Likewise, Sophie Okonedo, as Aeon’s handy assassin partner, has little to do–it’s a long way from her impactful supporting role as Don Cheadle’s wife in Hotel Rwanda (Why, oh why do good actors take bad roles?). Martin Csokas is little more daring than Pride & Prejudice‘s Matt MacFayden in portraying Trevor, a man with only two emotions: sullen, and deeply somber.
There were ample opportunities to mock the film, though it was certainly better than my uber-low expectations. Mostly though, it wasn’t interesting enough to keep my attention. Which is sad, considering how much I enjoy watching women in faux-leather kicking butt. Aeon Flux is cool in name only. Sometimes, that’s all you need. Not so here.
Fringe Rating: out of 5

YR L1CNS 1S RTRDD

jelewis8 — Thu, 27 Jan 2005 08:09:40 +0000

I’ve nearly had it with people who put the kind of car they drive on their license plates. In fact, my disgust with these kinds of people goes beyond my dislike for the jerks who put those “My kid is an honor roll student at Milk Dud High School” stickers on their bumpers. Like we care!
No, I’m not some mean old man who’s grown bitter and tired of the world. In fact I am a young man who’se grown bitter and tired of the world (on Tuesdays, at least). I find both practices patently offensive to intelligence, common sense, and rules of nomenclature. We know you have a Dodge Viper because it says so in chrome letters on your bum. Is there really a need to reassure me that you do indeed have a Dodge Viper by putting VIP3R on your license plate?
The fact that you used a 3 for the E means that some other idiot already took VIPER. That should have been your first clue that this would wind up on some anonymous blogger’s site. If you read Time Magazine (which you don’t, you’re not the type, I can tell by your license plate), you’d know that bloggers are a powerful force. We can wreck your life. You don’t want to get on our bad side.
Your second clue should have been the look the DMV lady gave you when you requested that sequence of letters. Those DMV clerks can smell pathetic before you even take a number, and believe me, they smelled it on you like cheap cologne from Bath and Body Works:
Looking for an enhancer for that lame Emo bullcrap you call a persona? This time, wrap yourself in the alluring scent of Loser. This whiny, freshman underoo cologne combines the irritating musk of your first failed sports tryout, the dungpile fragrance of all of your romantic failures, and a mealy-mouth, butt-kissing office jockey stench that will surely leave you breathless with pathetic gasps for air through your tiny, malformed lung tissue. It debuts on your birthday — to commemorate the day the world’s biggest wiener was born — and will be available in any cheap outlet store or your favorite body care and home fragrance essentials shop. When you want to smell like you, choose to Lose with Loser Scent and accompanying soaps and shampoo.
The last clue, and most glaringly obvious one, was the fact that you thought it was a good idea to put VIP3R on your license plate. What have I told you before? Any thought that starts with “I think this would be a good idea” should immediately be jailed, sentenced, and then drawn and quartered in a very public ceremony that will leave all other stupid thoughts quaking in mortal fear of being sent up the pike in a similar style. Get it!?
Now when it comes to vanity plates, one must approach with care and caution. Not every vanity plate must be funny, but it should be a socially viable message, ie. one that most of the driving populace can “get” and appreciate, if not admire. This means no plates with your initials and those of your lover/partner/driving instructor. I’m serious. It must contain the most amount of information in the space provided, and must be clever. In other words, B0BSCKS is lame.
TI 3V0M, on the other hand, is exceedingly clever, as the full weight of its message is only appreciated when looking at it in the rear view mirror.
When possible, you must form a vanity plate that contains multiple meanings. Entendres are clever, as are personal intents that become, by dint of social perceptions, jokes and teasers.
Here’s one I like: NDFLMKR
There’s two, maybe even three legitimate conclusions you could draw from this plate. It’s got mystery, but also style and a sense of confidence that proves that the driver of this car–a 1990 Honda Civic, in this case–isn’t afraid to bare his passion, his soul, and possibly his body in pursuit of the noble art of cinema. Or it might just be that he’s from North Dakota. Alas, neither of those explanations is true (there is a third alternative), but are examples of a private life becoming a public joke.
I won’t tell you how I know all this, I’ll just say that one gets more questions regarding said license plate in parking lots and at traffic lights than you will believe.
All this is to say: if you’re going to remind us all what kind of car you drive by putting the make and model of it on the license plate, don’t be surprised if you find yourself the subject of ridicule on some guy’s website somewhere. If you’re contemplating making this socially suicidal move, just think:
It could be you. And you really, really don’t want it to be you.

The Marathon Challenge

jelewis8 — Tue, 02 Mar 2004 00:31:13 +0000

As some of you may already know, I am a sucker for challenges. I like trying new things, especially when there’s a stake behind it. For me, it’s great fun to beat something previously thought to be unbeatable, or at least very difficult. When someone throws me a bone, I’m going to pick it up.
This year seems to be the year of challenges for me. January, I was challenged to watch at least 52 movies in a month’s time. I did that, and more, and you can read about my various adventures in the realm of cinematic “bum paralysis” here, if you wish. February, I didn’t really have a challenge, but my March challenge is to finish my film Doppelganger. Haven’t started yet, but if you know me, I do all my best work under pressure (Cue Queen).
April, I think will have to be either a mini-challenge or part of my May challenge. For you see, I have decided to run a marathon.
Yes, a marathon. Except, I will be racing against myself, and the challenge is even more extreme than that. Beginning May 1, I will run 1 mile. Day 2, I will run 2 miles. Day 3, three miles. Day 4, four miles. And so on and so forth. Except every 7 days I will take a rest from running. I will continue this trend until the end of May. The last day of which will comprise a total of 26 miles. I’ll tack on a .2 to make it an even marathon distance.
Impossible? No. Unlikely. Yes. I doubt I’ll even get halfway. But why shouldn’t I try? David Blaine starved himself in a glass box for 40 days. A Greek courier ran 26.2 miles to report a battle to the king. And that was without training. So why shouldn’t I go for it?
Exactly. Besides, it makes for brilliant copy. “Man Decides to Run Himself to Death” run the headlines.
Which is why I’m using March and April to train. I’m beginning today, in fact. Running is a discipline. I hate it, I really do, but I’ll have to train myself to run extreme distances. I’m also going for an average no greater than 9 minutes per mile. But that’s a subsidiary goal, which I won’t hold myself to if I don’t think I can make it.
Here’s my caveat. Everything I report on this website is true and factual. So if I say I made it, that means I made it. I’ll post my daily stats once I start the actual challenge in May, and I will probably keep you posted on my training habits.
Wish me luck. I’m going running.