Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen – Movie Review

A motion picture has the power to inform, educate, enlighten or simply be a needed escape. No one type of film serves that last purpose better than summer blockbusters. What is it about the season of rejuvenation that makes us want to soak up the sun and then enter a dark theater to see things explode? Whatever it is, it’s a formula that’s worked for years. But now that the spectacle of the “movie house” has to compete with that of the home entertainment system and on-demand access, can a summer blockbuster serve a similar purpose as loud exploding home entertainment? I attempted just that with Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen.

"Transformers?" More like "Suckformers!"

Although I missed the film during its initial theatrical run as I spent a month in the hospital recovering from global pandemic known as X-Men Origins: Wolverine, I did have certain expectations from being caught up in nationwide Transfever. While most reviews were overwhelmingly negative, even by “Directed by Michael Bay” standards, my friends went out in droves. The most vocal response was that of my white friends, who thought the film was “Racist.” The second most vocal was that of my black friends, who thought it was “Awesome.” Moviegoer opinions aside, I had nothing but positive things to say about the tremendous promotional tie-in with Burger King whose delectable “Double Stackticon” sandwich based on the movie remains the single greatest movie-based sandwich since the “Rodeo Burger” from 1999’s Small Soldiers. Not unlike the “Rodeo Burger,” the “Double Stackticon” was flame-broiled and delicious. Too bad the movie wasn’t nearly as satisfying.

There aren’t enough profanities in existence to describe how I felt watching this two-and-a-half hour long toy commercial/sitcom hybrid. From the needlessly dizzying opening credits to the “who cares” conclusion, watching this convoluted hodgepodge of lights and sounds felt like some sort of penance. A person I’ve wronged flashed in front of my eyes every time Megan Fox “attempted” “acting.” I heard my mother cry every time a evil robot was revealed. By the time the credits rolled, I looked down and saw my palms bleeding. This isn’t so much a movie as a propaganda piece sent to Earth from a superior species to convince us that we don’t deserve dominion over such a majestic planet and will hand these galactic overlords the wheel without so much as a protest or a plea. I did not like this motion picture.

I’m sure some of you are wondering “how could a sequel to a movie nobody really liked about trucks that turn into robot aliens really not deliver what it promised?” Well, as someone who enjoyed the precursor more than most, let me count the ways. First of all, in a film franchise it’s the role of the sequel to answer questions the previous film left open while improving upon its mistakes and added new elements to keep the viewer interested enough for another installment. Here, despite complaints that the first Transformers film was too long and focused too much on the Shia LaBeouf-Megan Fox love story, we have an even longer film that focuses even more so on the only two leading characters who can’t turn into trucks. LaBeouf has surprisingly become quite the actor, which makes it all the more frustrating that in a film where hordes of giant violent robots are fighting over the secrets of their own origin buried in his head, he’s saddled with a painfully unfunny subplot about entering college life with an irritating conspiracy nut roommate.

But the biggest issue with the original was Bay’s direction of the fight scenes where the camera comes so close, you can’t tell what’s happening on screen. While the sequel does, instead, borrow heavily from the Japanese style of shooting-giant-fighting-monsters movies, most of the action occurs in an uninhabited desert. How massive are these robots? We can’t tell because, with nothing to contrast size with, we’re left with history’s loudest most expensive particularly obnoxious episode of “Battlebots” ever. Did I mention the addition of two jive-talkin’ bug eyed gold-toothed robots? A failure on every conceivable level, this is one case where I have to update the old adage and say, honestly, the burger was better.

We give Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen a 1 Out of 5

Until next time, let’s agree to agree!

Adventureland – Movie Review

If you didn’t get the memo, “awkward” is the new “cool.” While the 80s had the boisterous ripped action star as its male archetype and the 90s had the sly urban smartass, we’re in a decade where testosterone has been relegated to frustration and leading men speak softly and carry a big shtick. One-liners after something explodes have devolved into stammering mumbles when tensions fly high. What was once a bit part of the “shy friend” had gained enough momentum to become a subgenre until today where comedy has become defined by awkward silences, Freudian slips and pop culture references. Welcome to Adventureland.

Adventureland? More like "AdventureBland!"

From first generation Apatow acolyte Greg Mottola (director of Superbad, and several episodes of both “Arrested Development” and “Undeclared”) comes a movie about, what else, kids in their late teens on the cusp of adulthood trying to make sense of themselves and the wacky grown-up world around them. While just as hormone-driven as the teens in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, American Pie or even Class of Nuke ‘Em High, their ‘I’m-a-good-looking-attention-seeking-young-adult’ bravado has collapsed into a quiet yearning and satisfaction, as if the protagonists are sharing their endeavors with the viewer like some trusted secret. The sly have been replaced by the shy, and in movies like this, the loudest sound is silence.

Jesse Eisenberg (Zombieland and Fred Durst’s The Education of Charlie Banks) stars as “James Brennan,” a recent college graduate who reluctantly has to fund his dreams of grad school in the fall by taking the only summer job that will accept him – a carnival. While there, as these movies often go, he has a wacky boss who is just a tad too passionate for his job (SNL’s Bill Hader and Kirsten Wiig, stealing every scene), a girl who seems interested in him (Kristen Stewart), the attractive cool guy with a horrible secret that she’s dating (Ryan Reynolds), the prettier girl who he briefly courts when things begin to go sour (Kelsey Ford), the parents that just don’t understand (Jack Gilpin and the welcome return of “Just Shoot Me’s” Wendy Malick) and the oddball friends who are the catalysts for every little change and major event that helps him find himself. I like the genre, and I’ve enjoyed the director’s previous forays into such territory. However, what made Superbad so endearing was because it touched upon so much uncharted territory of being in those formative years. Two years and countless Michael Cera performances later, Adventureland only stands out by how much it doesn’t stand out.

That’s not to say the film doesn’t try to. One such device is that it takes place in 1987. While period pieces do lend themselves to help find an audience and perhaps generate interest through either shared memories or comparable reminiscing, Adventureland reeks of a contrived nostalgia for people who weren’t alive to experience it first had. As an avid fan of my hometown heroes The Replacements and Lou Reed’s Transformer album (the latter of which becomes a crucial plotpoint) the use of music in this film seems less like capturing a moment and more like the director showing off his cool record collection in efforts to impress rock-savvy audiences nationwide. It takes a lot for me to not enjoy the inclusion of my favorite Husker-Du song onscreen, and this film does it.

At this point, writing a negative review of a film like Adventureland is like writing a negative review of Burger King. It’s a formula people love that defines itself by not being the McDonald’s that everyone’s already accustomed to. Yes, Greg Mottola does a great job capturing the frustration, uneasiness and triumph of the late-teens early-20s, but this is the guy that directed Superbad! Does this Whopper taste like the Whopper I had two years ago? Yes, but that Whopper was great because it was flame-broiled and until that point I had only had Big Macs. Am I disappointed? Yes, but maybe that’s my fault for expecting more from the same sandwich everyone else has been asking for. Adventureland is a barely filling value meal, but as strong as the sides were, I’d rather recommend Taco Bell.

We give Adventureland a 2 out of 5.

Until next time Let’s Agree to Agree!

The Messenger & Girls on the Wall – Movie Reviews (CMJ ‘09)

CMJ, the College Music Journalism festival, has been a staple of New York City for years. One of the largest music festivals in the country, its love affair with the city predates Youtube, Myspace and even the internet as a whole. Originally a venue for college radio and publications to discover new music, the festival has recently expanded to include the cinema. Previous lineups have included everything from music documentaries to Jean Claude Van Damme films, so you can imagine any celluloid would be in some very exclusive company. While attendance and critical reception of the musical side of things has waned in recent years, I’m happy to report that the film selections this year were better than ever. At the top of the list are two of the best films I’ve seen this fall, the documentary Girls on the Wall and the darkly humorous drama The Messenger.

"Girls on the Wall?" More like "Girls in the Good Movie!"

Girls on the Wall is a documentary about a correctional facility for teenage girls in Illinois who wrote and performed a musical about their lives. Director Heather Ross does what more documentarians should do and gets out of the way to allow the girls to tell their stories as well how their future weaves in and out of their creative endeavor. I’m usually pretty critical of documentaries centered around prisons or at-risk youth, mainly because they prey on sensationalism or an attempt at shock value to prove a point. This is not the case here. The girls are honest, slowly open up and show a self-awareness usually missing from this type of film.

It’s tempting to call Girls on the Wall minimalist in its approach. It isn’t over-edited or stylized to reflect some desire for an “urban” genre-ficiation. It’s several stories and a chain of events that happen when those stories converge. Brave for a documentary in 2009? Perhaps, but Ross knows what works. Truly one-of-a-kind.

"The Messenger?" more like "The Bestenger!"

The Messenger, which closed the festival, really took the audience by surprise. The story of a war hero serving his final months as death messenger to the families of fallen soldiers, the marketing for the film can’t seem to help but make it appear to be a bleak uncomfortable character study. While this is true, and I can imagine the challenge to convey otherwise within a two minute coming attraction, it’s comic relief is among the hardest I’ve laughed at a movie this year. Ben Foster (“Angel” from X-Men – The Last Stand) stars as Staff Sergeant Will Montgomery, a mid-20s decorated war hero whose life follows all the war movie conventions – he left a girl behind, he lost friends and he’s fortunate to be away from the turmoil he was once in. However, the genre similarities end there. The girl he left behind is about to marry another man, he’s slowly going blind from his heroism, and he has to return to a world that kept spinning after he left it.

On film, with the exception of character development for the “Crazy Nam vets” in film, we rarely get a glimpse into the stress of a soldier’s life outside of combat. As a result, The Messenger offers a refreshingly original story. With an unflinching honesty that would make historical critic and perpetual buzzkill Howard Zinn blush, Montgomery’s tragically human portrayal pours on the empathy. His by-the-books good ol’ boy superior and partner Captain Tony Stone (an Oscar-worthy performance by Zombieland’s Woody Harrelson) seems straight-laced and always on the verge of collapsing at the same time.

The film takes an interesting turn when Montgomery falls for a twenty-something next-of-kin (Academy Award nominee Samantha Morton) that he had to break the news to. Contrived as that might read, the performances from Foster and Morton are nothing short of spellbinding. An emotionally charged film, it only begins to drag in the final reel as the perpetual tension is alleviated. Until then, Montgomery speaks volumes about his life both with what he does and in what he doesn’t do. While Harrelson keeps the atmosphere from being soul-crushingly depressing, it remains a powerful film that I recommend even for those not partial to the war genre.

We give Girls on the Wall a 5 out of 5.

We give The Messenger a 4 out of 5.

Until next time, let’s agree to agree!

Bronson – Movie Review

Dig if you will the picture of a well behaving Christian child anticipating Christmas. It’s his favorite Holiday and he’s made it a point to be an extra good boy all year. He knows the 25th of December is right around the corner, and he knows this is going to be the best Holiday ever. With a perfect snowfall forecasted, a dutifully mannered wish list, and a perfect tree in the corner of his family’s living room, he’s ready for the one night of the year that seems nothing could possibly go wrong. Then, Christmas finally comes only to discover his family decides to spend it in the cold garage and only give him clothes they bought for themselves as gifts while not mentioning anything about the holiday season in favor of showing you the awful paintings they made in their first week of an adult community college art class the previous week. Feel bad for the kid? Now you know how I felt watching Bronson!

"Bronson?" More like "Bronsucks!"

It pains me to preface my review with a description of the film because it seems spreading awareness of such a can’t-miss prospect that misses to such a degree is cruel in and of itself. Bronson follows the true story of the UK’s most famous prisoner “Charles Bronson” (not the actor, but the prisoner who adopted his moniker for his fight name) as he spends 30 years fighting from one prison to the next. Bronson is a legitimate psychopath who also happens to be charismatic and absurdly entertaining. For years, his entry, which covers everything from his 47-hour rooftop protest that cost $75,000 in damages to a hostage situation where he demanded “an inflatable doll, a helicopter and a cup of tea,” has been my absolute favorite page on Wikipedia. For someone who has spent all but four of the past thirty-five years in solitary confinement, he’s (for lack of a better term) accomplished a great deal that would be fantastic to see on screen, all without killing a single person. Sadly, the film adaptation of such a life is a far greater crime than anything committed by its subject.

I’d like to blame writer/director Nicolas Winding Refn, and I think I will. With a tremendous untold story in his hands and a tremendous actor in Tom Hardy leading a fantastic cast, all Refn should have had to do was get out of the way and let the magic happen. Instead, his “directs” this mess with the hands of a nine-year-old playing with all the buttons on his first camera and over-stylizes the film until you flat out forget what you’re supposed to be watching. While the trailer hinted at Bronson being less-conventional than a standard biopic, the level of pretentious abstraction Refn sinks to would be laughable had it not been so frustrating. From fight scenes in slow motion with the sound replaced by classical music to the narrator revealing he was laughing following implied crying, no art school cliche goes unturned. It’s Wolverine for the indie kids.

I’ve never been a stickler for movies staying true to their source material. Whether adopted from history or a comic book, at the end of the day all I want is a good movie. That being said, a story like Bronson’s should be enough for any 82 minute movie, which makes it further baffling that a third of the events depicted in the film DID NOT IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM HAPPEN. The man has been kicked out of 120 different prisons, you don’t need to make up a clunky arch about him living in a brothel and stealing an engagement ring. While Hardy would surely be capable enough to pull off jumping such a sharktank of lies, Refn’s “direction” spends most of the time diluting his performance with unnecessary “Artistic” shots and a not-so-subtle commentary on the nature of celebrity that implies he used a heavy hand to get his head up his ass.

Bronson is an unappealing disaster of a film. With the subject matter barely accessed, next-to-no fighting and no real developed story, Refn manages to disappoint on all fronts. Instead we have a film obsessed with itself as “edgy” that never lets you forget you’re watching something that really believes it’s the next A Clockwork Orange. With a tremendous performance from Hardy, and really everyone, saving this from a complete panning, I can’t recommend this movie serving any purpose for any person, place, or thing.

We give Bronson a 2 out of 5.

Until next time, let’s agree to agree!

Big Fan – Movie Review

"Big Fan?" More like "I'm a Big Fan of this Movie!"

From the slums of Shaolin, or “Staten Island” for those of you who don’t speak ‘Wu’ comes the new movie from The Wrestler writer Robert D. Sigel – Big Fan. Joining him for his directorial debut is “King of Queens” star and voice of Ratatoulie Patton Oswalt. It’s a dark brooding bulldozer of a film that the team of Sigel and Oswalt pull off with exceptional craftsmanship. It’s also resulted in the first time anyone has ever used the words “exceptional craftsmanship” in association with anything having to do whatsoever with Staten Island.

Big Fan is an exploration of the life of Paul Aufiero. Paul (Oswalt) is an exceptionally obsessive New York Giants fan. He’s a 35-year-old who still lives at home, surrounded by his Giants bedsheets, Giants posters and finds happiness from attending Giants games (by watching a television in the parking lot of Giants stadium since he can’t afford a ticket) and calling in once-a-week with a pre-written rehearsed phone call to his local sports radio show. The New York Giants are his greatest passion, and he holds hia highest regard for their star linebacker Quantrell Bishop. When he finally meets his hero after following him to a New York nightclub, a fight ensues and Paul finds himself hospitalized and faced with the dilemma of potentially pressing assault charges that would wind up costing his favorite team greatly. Not helping the situation is the pressure Aufiero feels from his passively nagging Mother (Cry Uncle’s Marcia Jean Kurtz), his big-shot local attorney brother Jeff (Gino Cafarelli) and his only admirer and friend Sal ( “Grounded For Life’s” Kevin Corrigan).

Not unlike his work in The Wrestler, Siegel uses Big Fan to bring the viewer deep into one man’s existence within a very devoted and unacknowledged subculture. As wildly popular as football is in America, the excessive fandom explored in the film is a far cry from the typical Americana jock or blue collar enthusiast most associated with sport. Instead, Aufiero is an antisocial eccentric who lives only for his team. To him, football isn’t a hobby. It’s a way of life. But instead of being a one-joke throwaway character, what makes Aufiero so interesting to follow is the dedication and understanding in Oswalt’s performance.

Patton Oswalt brings the collector’s neurosis from his stand-up comedy into the character to an incredible effect. With his humor most known for reflecting his own love of niche interests like comics and horror films into obscure references and a giant web of pop culture, Oswalt takes those same sensibilities and translates them into the personality of a troubled Giants fan. He celebrates his eccentricity by fervently referencing his passion whenever possible, particularly in verbally chastising the antagonist he’s created for himself in rival sports radio caller Philadelphia Phil (Michael Rapaport, whose casting in this role is the stuff dreams are made of) who he debates on the air until things become too personal.

What may alienate the film to some people is the marketing that has made the film resemble a “sports film.” While the Giants are what makes the main character’s heart beat, this film is as much about football as Taxi Driver was about the cab industry. It’s a captivating character study that seems to tell an entire life story through the snapshot of a month of a person’s life. Not unlike Deniro’s Travis Bickle, Oswalt’s Paul Aufiero has his own gritty New York borough that shapes his perspective. Only instead of the perverse glamour of Manhattan, Aufiero has the oft-ignored Staten Island.

It’s refreshing to see a “New York” film taking place in the fifth borough, and Siegel does a great job catching all of its quirks. With the exception of Oswalt, the entire cast is New York-born, adding to the authenticity. But while the surroundings help define Aufiero’s plodding existence and greatly aid both the temp of the film and the character’s logic, the bleakness occasionally gets in the way of scenes themselves and leave a desire for more from the surrounding characters. Still, the film doesn’t reek of “trying to be quirky” or “trying to be dark” or “trying to be different.” It truly is quirky, dark, different, and a must see.

We Give Big Fan a Four Out of Five

Until next time, let’s agree to agree!

Bruno – Movie Review

Bruno? More like BruYes!

The meteoric rise of Sasha Baron Cohen has been one of the more peculiar success stories of the past decade. From his breakthrough television series “Da Ali G Show” to appearances alongside Will Ferrell in 2006’s Talladega Nights: the Legend of Ricky Bobby, Cohen has made some powerful friends in the industry expanding his cult audience into a nation waiting for whatever he was going to do next. Cohen’s career has also enjoyed the rare luxury of being both a tremendous critical and commercial success. With his 2006 masterpiece Borat becoming one of the biggest surprise hits of the decade, all eyes were on him for his follow-up Bruno. What resulted was one of the more baffling reactions in recent memory.

Largely meeting with a lukewarm critical reception and bad word of mouth, Bruno may be the most joyfully referenced disappointment in recent memory. With over a year of a rabid fanbase trying to figure out which reported Bruno sightings were stunts planned for the film, many felt it lacked certain element that made Borat such an enjoyable movie. But what went wrong? You had Cohen portraying another one of his beloved characters spawned from the same show that gave us Borat. You had returning Borat director Larry Charles, a tremendous talent who also recently transformed two hours of Bill Maher’s atheistic ranting into a fun-for-all-faiths great film in Religilous. You also had a budget and a studio willing to do anything to ensure the film’s success. So why isn’t Bruno “very nice?”

The main difference between this and his previous film is that the Borat character is given a full back-story and while he says, does and believes things that are completely abhorrible, you forgive him and wind up rooting for him because his heart is in the right place. As a result, you had an endearing catalyst you forgive like a puppy. A happy-go-lucky grown man who looked at our familiar country with a childlike wonder we’ve long since forgotten. When it came to the stunts, resulting the “got’cha” exposure of the populations on the coasts and middle America were mostly out-in-the-open reactions to a friendly outsider trying his best to fit in.

Bruno, on the other hand, is dropped on screen as a vapid talking-head fashionista. While the argument could be made that that’s exactly the type of shallow figure Cohen was looking for, it really hinders the potential the film has to connect with the viewer like its predecessor. Whereas Borat was a protagonist, Bruno screams of an antagonist who deliberately goes out of his way to get his reactions. He doesn’t have a story to tell, he has other people’s stories to interrupt. This disconnect from the viewer really hurts the pacing of the film and replaces what exists of the plot with just some silly stunts on screen.

That being said, those silly stunts are largely incredible. Outside the running gag of “Bruno is clumsy” which is sub-Jackass material, just about everything hits as the ante gets progressively up’ed. From the attempted seduction of Ron Paul to the bewildered test audiences seeing Bruno’s television pilot, there are plenty of scenes that would not have been possible to stage in the first film. What’s also notable is Cohen and Charles applying what they’ve learned from the first film in regard to building to a climax. Without revealing too much, the crescendo in Bruno is a large scale production that seems very, very dangerous. It’s ambitious, unsettling and infinitely more satisfying than Borat’s attempted abduction of Pamela Anderson.

After getting past the initial shock and the disappointment of it not being Borat, it’s hard to deny that Bruno, the film, is very, very funny. Yet the character himself (while I appreciate Cohen’s bold choice to not give him a series of catchphrases for a trend-obsessed overzealous fanbase to repeat ad nauseum) isn’t as developed on screen as Borat and I think the replay value will suffer greatly for it. Borat was a character in play, Bruno is just a vessel for gags. While it’s not the classic its predecessor was, it delivers enough solid laugh and unforgettable images to warrant a recommendation.

We give Bruno a Four Out of Five.

Until next time, Let’s Agree to Agree!

(Just) Another Day – First-Look Movie Review

2009 has been an interesting year for Hip-Hop artists on film. From will.i.am of the Black Eyed Peas in the truly awful Wolverine to Common’s truly awful performance in Terminator: Salvation to Cage’s cameo in Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, (which I didn’t see but if the movie is anything like the Burger King sandwich based on the film, the Double Stackticon, it’s delicious but truly awful for my entire genetic makeup) putting a rapper in your movie is just as much a Hollywood trend as making something terrible. This is no surprise to those of us, like myself, who peruse every dark corner of Blockbuster and Netflix looking for something ridiculously terrible starring rappers for a night of entertainment. Yes, Hollywood has finally wised up to the independent underworld’s secret of throwing a rapper in whenever possible to connect with a market so next year I’m sure we can all look forward to Sir Ian McKellen starring alongside Dogg Pound member Kurupt in the rumored big budget remake of 2004’s I Accidentally Domed Your Son.

But then, there’s the off-chance that the collision of Hip-Hop and Hollywood works out. While I have a special place in my heart for 1985’s Krush Groove, there’s also 8 Mile and Hustle & Flow which, while not particularly a fan of the film, validates its existence by allowing me to say “Academy Award Winners Three-6 Mafia.” But that’s without even mentioning how well Hip-Hop has translated into the documentary genre. From 1982’s seminal PBS-funded Style Wars to an entire booming direct-to-DVD industry, there’s an entire niche-within-a-niche that’s thriving more than ever. I attribute most of that critical and commercial success to visionary director Peter Spirer.

If you’ve seen a Hip-Hop documentary over the past decade and found it intentionally entertaining, chances are Spirer was the man behind the camera. From 1997’s Rhyme & Reason through 2003’s Beef and up to 2007’s Notorious B.I.G. – Bigger than Life (otherwise known as the good Biggie documentary) Spirer has known how to get out of the way, let the rappers be themselves and let their stories and interactions paint pictures of the industry as well as allow the artists to be both superstars and regular people the audience can identify with.

Perhaps it’s this documentary background that allows his new film (Just) Another Day (2009) to work so well. The film tells the stories of fictional rappers Young Eastie and A-Maze, one on the verge of signing a deal and the other an established major label artist who finds himself burnt-out by the politics of the industry. In the hands of anyone else, the story would be a cliched fable about an underdog succeeding with the overhanging cloud of “be careful what you wish for.” But Spirer adds the device of having all of the films events take place over the course of one 24 hour period. Spirer also shies away from the more absurd gags and violence that “rap industry” movies are known for in favor of a fairly haunting slice of life.

Wood Harris and Jamie Hector (A-Maze and Young Eastie, respectively) do a fantastic job of turning what would be standard caricatures into characters. They’re charming, moody, determined and believable. Neither the actors nor Spirer make it a point to have one or the other be the all-out “good guy” of the film. Instead, they are protagonists who wind up doing fairly despicable things that the audience can’t help but understand.

The choice of rap cameos in the film is an interesting batch that is nonetheless effective. One of the all-time greats Big Daddy Kane gives a surprisingly well executed performance as a record executive who, instead of being the standard slimeball, exhibits a certain logic for why he acts the way he acts. Also enjoyable is Miami’s own Trick Daddy as “Roman,” a local thug (would you expect less from Trick Daddy?) whose reputation in the neighborhood results in one of the many interesting twists that tie these stories together. Most surprising is Ja Rule, as himself, in a rare moment of humility having a laugh at his own expense.

Spirer’s film works because it reflects reality with a certain subtlety often missing from the genre. The 24-hour device gives the film an enjoyable tension and the various twists are shockingly believable. While the version I saw was still a work-in-progress, so far it’s one of the best films I’ve seen this year. At the screening Spirer said he made it a point to make the film not come off too cynical, but what’s in place of that cynicism is a stoicism that the pays the film a tremendous service.

We Give it a Four out of Five

Until next time, let’s agree to agree!

SEPTEMBER – Month Review

If you’re like me, you’re the type of person that follows the Gregorian Solar Calendar to plan events and monitor your own decay. It seems every year we, as humans, are treated to the same twelve months over and over. For whatever reason, the blogosphere and even terrestrial journalism has put these twelve annual overseers on a pedestal that’s somehow above criticism. In the interest of fairness, I’m going to venture into uncharted territory and begin reviewing months of the year and I’m starting with the month that’s been on everybody’s lips – September.

September originated sometime after August 31st. It has a long and storied history of being one of the more polarizing months, as well as representing great change in the environment and television schedules. Different cultures have designated it both a time for clear thinking and a time for reflection. But it’s these differing perspectives and the month’s own penchant for ups and downs that render it painfully average.

For Patriotic Americans like myself, the first thing that springs to mind when the topic comes up is, of course, Labor Day. Growing up a product of the Reagan/Bush/Clinton years, the first Monday of the month was always designated the dreaded dreadful final day of summer. With school starting bright and early on Tuesday, you had to cram those final lazy afternoon and evening hours with enough sunscreen and tom-foolery to last you until Christmas break when you could once again soak in the beautiful marsh of apathy and atrophy. Sure, you could make the argument that this allowed you to see all your schoolyard chums again, but if you’ve ever taken the time to talk to anyone between the ages of 3rd and 8th grade, you’ll find that they’re among the most overrated mean-spirited wretches alive. However, things were not a total waste as the following day promised an entirely new afternoon cartoon lineup to look forward to. In the 90s, we didn’t have the luxury of a 24-hour cartoon network on the internet to give us a constant source of pretty colors, violence, and loud noises. With Nickelodeon’s afternoon lineup largely consisting of British (re: boring) dramas that nobody cared about or wacky (re: boring) sports shows that nobody cared about, you had to choose between the soft batch Disney Afternoon or the brass knuckle brutality of the Fox Kids line-up. When you’re young, these are the decisions you make and they affect you the rest of your life.

Growing up, September becomes a month of migration. Young adults return to college, the rich return to their west coast offices and carnies return to the boardwalk. This can be a time of either spiritual rebirth and a fresh start, or tremendous stress and frustration as moving is unquestionably the single absolute worst ordeal that we voluntarily choose to undertake. Whether dorming, subletting, pulling items out of storage or having to maneuver around others moving in or out of your environment, it’s often a time of great deception and malice. This cavalcade of lies can be traced back to the name of the month itself. Septum the Latin word that “September” is drawn from, means “Seven.” Yet, it’s the ninth month of the year. There’s also SEVEN deadly sins, SEVEN things the Lord hates, and SEVEN players needed for Ultimate Frisbee. COINCIDENCE? Of course, there’s also the Seven Wonders of the World, Seven Sacraments and the always refreshing 7-Up. Once again, September breaks even.

As a journalist, it would be irresponsible to not mention how September has now permeated modern American society through the events of September 11th. It was here a few years back that rappers 50 Cent and Kanye West released albums on the same day. Our nation banded together to choose sides in a feud that was ultimately won by Kanye’s album “Graduation” having higher first week sales. This happened exactly one year after my friend Neil and I couldn’t get tickets to an event at Madison Square Garden and shared a awful plate of nachos at Chevy’s on what became known as “the worst 9/11 ever.” Never forget.

Despite those tragedies, or perhaps in light of them, September has become a month of constant inspiration for the arts. Woody Allen’s intentionally unfunny drama September ironically takes place in September, as does Earth, Wind and Fire’s “September” and the American pop standard “September Song” by Kurt Weill. My personal favorite of these is James Brown’s rendition of the Weill song on his under appreciated 1970 orchestral-backed album “Soul on Top.” It’s a cover just good enough to swing the month back into a favorable light. Behold:

Still, the fact that the best thing you could say about a month is a cover song is further evidence that it suffers from being stuck in the past. It’s home to Japan’s “Respect for the Aged Day,” Germany and South Africa’s “Heritage Day,” and even America’s “Grandparents’ Day.” For a month that’s supposed to signal a new start, it’s painfully derivative. Even the month’s flowers are Forget-Me-Nots, but at this redundant rate, who could? But while the month is a repetitive one-trick pony, that one trick remains a welcome familiarity.

We give September a 3 Out of 5

Until next time, Let’s Agree to Agree!

J.I.L.S. ~ Chino XL & Playalitical – “Something Sacred” album review.

Welcome to the first installment of Journeys in Liquidation Sales. In this ongoing series, I’ll be reviewing CDs I’ve acquired over the past year at any number of music store “Everything Must Go!” sales. With the collapse of the physical music industry eminent, these sales have become fairly frequent and seeing as present-day New York rap consumers only really seem to care about present-day New York rappers, it allowed someone like me to really clean up once things hit the 70-80% off mark and I could get entire artist discographies for under five bucks. Not only was I able to fill the gaps in my collection, but once the discount hit 90% at Circuit City and Virgin Megastore locations, I was able to take chances on artists I had never heard that were recommended to me, as well as things that just looked interesting.

"Something Sacred"...not so much.

Setting this party into motion is the latest release from an all time favorite of mine, rapper Chino XL. On “Something Sacred,” he is joined by Denver rapper/producer Playalitical (real name Dustin Robbins, which I think would have worked just as well, if not better as a rap moniker) for a mostly uneven collaborative album that sees Playalitical behind the boards for all but one track, and Chino absent from a full third of the album’s tracks. At first glance, the album reeks of a shoddy cash-in designed to lure one of rap’s most dedicated niche audiences into throwing money towards anything with Chino on it. The art work seems like a hastily-thrown together random assortment of pictures of Chino at an Affliction photo shoot, and the back cover’s track listing includes a, given the situation of my purchase, tragically ironic advertisement for the album itself now being available on iTunes.

But less than desirable marketing conditions are, sadly, nothing new for Chino. In 1996, after making a name for himself as one-half of rap group Art of Origin with darkly comedic punchlines that ran through pop culture references with the barbed wit of an insult comic (“Your career’s like George Burns, I can’t believe it ain’t dead yet”) he found himself signed to Rick Rubin’s American Records for the release of his debut “Here to Save You All.” It’s this approach that made him two major enemies in the music industry – Tupac Shakur and Whitney Houston. As a result, promotion for the album got pulled and while it was released, it quickly went out of print a few short years later. Chino returned in 2001 with an oft-delayed release “I Told You So” on Metro Records which seized creative control from him and released the project with an inaccurate track listing and faulty packaging, resulting in numerous scratched CDs. The album also suffered from being released on September 11th, 2001. Some guys just have the worst luck.

But Chino continued with 2006’s “Poison Pen,” an album that, not unlike its predecessors, featured numerous noteworthy collaborations but suffered from no distribution or marketing. Not that this particularly stifled Chino’s career as he spent the meantime joining the cast of Reno: 911 and appearing in the Rob Reiner film Alex & Emma. Despite this raised profile, “Something Sacred” arrives with anything but fanfare on the Select-o-Hits label, which does nothing but make the man label-mates with Jimmy Buffet.

As for the album itself, certain elements are better than I expected. Playalitical is not only a capable producer, but a good rapper in his own right. While Chino’s presence seems mainly to elevate Playalitical’s own status, it’s his solo tracks like the haunting “Things to Do in Denver When Your (sic) Dead,” and the album’s closer “Smoke Screen” that make him worth listening to. His voice falls somewhere between Saafir and Ja Rule, and his subtle storytelling adds to the bleak soundscape of his production.

Which is largely why this album doesn’t work. Why any rapper would want to do (or promote his album as) a collaborative album with Chino XL is puzzling enough when you know you’re targeting a fanbase that won’t want to hear you is puzzling enough, but on the tracks where both appear Playalitical shifts his style to match Chino’s punchline-oriented lyrics and, more often than not, can’t keep up. Likewise, Chino neglects the introspective side he showcased on 1996’s “What Am I,” one of the best racial identity songs ever committed to wax, for nothing but his punchline affair, save his final appearance on the album “Be With You” where his waxing poetic about missing his daughters is outshined by troubled Bone Thugz N Harmony member Bizzy Bone’s continued complete insanity.

“Something Sacred” suffers from not satisfying any audience with the shadow of what it could have been. While it succeeded in tipping me to Playalitical’s existence and the reminder on Chino solo tracks like “Stay in the Lines” that he’s still the king of “what did he just say?” punchline rappers, most of the production is a poor fit for him. His flow is better than ever, but with his 16-bar verse chopped into 8 bar fragments on a handful of his appearance, you would never be able to tell. For the solo tracks, I’d recommend it for a solid $2.00 Liquidation purchase. Otherwise, Chino fans are better off waiting for next year’s “Ricanstruction.”

We give it a 2 out of 5

Suggested tracks – “Stay in the Lines,” “Be With You,” “Smoke Screen.”

Until next time, let’s agree to agree!

Greetings Blogospheric Echo Chamber!

Good evening,

I’m Chaz Kangas. I’m a graduate of Tisch at NYU with a BA in Cinema Studies. I’m also an underground semistar rap artist and a teacher of at risk youth in Harlem. These credentials give an automatic importance and omnipresent context to everything that I say or type.

I’d like to welcome you to the beginning of what is sure to be an enriching and entertaining journey into things I have to say. I encounter a lot of media from Film and TV to Music and Poor People Asking for Money, so I’ll have plenty to write about and review here!

So get ready for my Popular Opinions and, as we’ve started saying around these parts, “Let’s Agree to Agree!”