A Simple Plan

It's all quite Hitchcockian. These are ordinary characters caught up in extraordinary circumstances. There are even symbolic black crows guarding a destroyed plane, a sort of Pandora's Box. Sam Raimi's "A Simple Plan," from 1998, does Hitchcock better than most other post-Hitch films.

The film reunites Bill Paxton and Billy Bob Thorton, who both starred in "One False Move" six years earlier. Paxton is Hank Mitchell, a working man and college graduate seemingly happy in love with a pregnant wife (Bridget Fonda). He is employed but of course faces not unusual economic troubles. His brother, Jacob (Thorton), is considerably less intelligent, rational, and respected in their Minnesota community than his younger brother. One cold, snow-covered day, the two venture into the woods during a hunting trip with Jacob's drunk friend (Brent Briscoe), who, like Jacob, is unemployed. They stumble upon a crashed plane with a dead pilot (black crows devouring his eyes) and millions of dollars in stolen money. While Hank is initially the calm Boy Scout, insisting the money be turned over to the police, he is eventually convinced into keeping the money. The three make a series of promises and missteps, all the while the situation and their chances of not getting caught deteriorate.

Thorton's performance is the great moral centerpiece of the film, as Paxton's character struggles but overcomes his sense of guilt. Jacob, unable to be analytical about such feelings and complex situations, cannot help but "feel evil." If "evil" is a word only best fit for fiction, then that is satisfactory for this man; any deeper evaluation would be too great.

"A Simple Plan" requires some patience, for some scenes are a bit annoying. Paxton's character acquiesces to the desire of money, the root of all evil, too quickly, while Fonda's character is so much Lady Macbeth that during her first moments with her new baby, she quickly but calculatingly insists that her husband set up one of the members of the trio. Still, one cannot deny how engaging it becomes as the stakes constantly rise. Here are characters trying to rationalize their irrational behavior, and the film has such terrific actors, some of whom (like Paxton and Thorton) have never really been given their full appreciation. And unlike Hitchcock films, there is a certain amount of Biblical symbolism here (the Biblical Jacob's brother, Esau, had a unique relationship with his brother, though the Biblical Jacob was the shy one).

This is a terrific movie. Danny Elfman's score, during a period in his career where he shifted away from comic book films and surreal fantasies to more dramatic films like this and "Mission: Impossible" and "Good Will Hunting," is spot-on. Raimi's direction is awesome, understanding perfectly how to set the mood and motivations of each moment. It is Hitchcockian without ceding too much to influence. "A Simple Plan" should be remembered for a long time.

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Outrage

There is a respectable person speaking about himself being so respectable in the opening moments of Kirby Dick's "Outrage." This "respectable person" "doesn't do those things." The respectable person is Larry Craig. Those things are gay things.

Larry Craig, in case one has forgotten, is the former senator of the state of Idaho (a state where, like Iran, there are no gay people). He had famously said that Bill Clinton during the Lewinsky scandal was a "naughty boy." Craig, despite having a solidly anti-gay voting record during his career in Congress and a preacher of all those family values things, was the man who was arrested in a Minneapolis airport for soliciting gay sex in a male restroom. Defending himself as having a "wide stance" to explain the way his foot stretched into the other stall to call for fun, he became partly a laughing stock, partly another sex scandal, but mostly the face of a disturbing hypocrisy among closeted politicians. The hypocrisy is obviously the call to discriminate against gay people and simultaneously lead a gay lifestyle.

Craig is the obvious target. Also discussed are Charlie Crist, Ed Schrock, David Dreier, Jim McCrery and Ed Koch. These are men who largely have refused to support issues regarding HIV/AIDS, hate crimes, gays in the military, gay adoption and gay marriage, among others. Crist is the example that is really troubling, particularly because of the Macbeth-style ambition of the man. Crist, of course, has been in the news lately--he is the sitting governor of Florida who is also running for the Senate. When it appeared that Marco Rubio, the Tea Party favorite, would defeat Crist in the Republican primary, Crist abandoned the Republicans (becoming more common among moderates these days) and created a three-man race. Crist had also apparently offered his endorsement to Rudy Giuliani for president, and then when it became likely that McCain would win Florida and the possibility arose for Crist to be a front-runner for the vice-president nomination, Crist changed his mind and endorsed McCain (and he didn't call Giuliani to let him know). Inconveniently, though, Crist was single, and of course a single man cannot make it to such a high position. The McCain campaign, according to the documentary, already with so many hindrances and distractions and shortcomings, could not afford to defend their man as a straight man (so they picked Palin, who was facing ethics violations and could barely make a coherent sentence). Conveniently but in vein, Crist married six weeks before the vice-president nominee was chosen.

Barney Frank points out in the film that in 1976, Gerald Ford and Jimmy Carter were about even on gay rights. Since then, Democrats have gotten better (passing the Matthew Shepard Act and poised to repeal Don't Ask, Don't Tell) and Republicans have gotten much, much worse (leading calls of hatred to ban same-sex marriage mostly on the grounds of firing up their base). Former representative Jim Kolbe, a Republican from Arizona, is interviewed and discusses telling John McCain that he is gay, to which McCain immediately stated something along the lines of, "Jim, it's okay. I know. You're a good legislator, and it makes no difference to me." McCain, of course, is the man who said several years ago that he would support repealing DADT if the military approached him offering their support of the repeal. Now that the Commander-in-Chief (the commander of the military), the Secretary of Defense (who incidentally served the role in both a Democratic and Republican administration), and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff all have supported a repeal, McCain has for whatever lack of logic changed his mind.

Ninety percent of these cases are Republican, and a section of the film discusses Dreier, who was denied a leadership position in the Republican caucus of the House of Representatives because he was too "moderate." The famous Barney Frank quote goes that, "Yes, in the sense that I marched in the 'moderate' pride parade last summer and went to a 'moderate' bar." Washington in the film is called gayer than San Francisco, but much more in the closet.

But these discussions are sparked by the film but do not really offer an evaluation of the film, so here it is: This is a very good documentary. Dick, just as he did with his brilliant "This Film Is Not Yet Rated," is asking common-sense questions and being met with absurd answers and realities. The film's flaw is that it seems to be unbalanced in its emotions, such as when it provided a catharsis of gay politicians explaining the freedom of coming out, then shifting again to the hypocritical nature of those remaining in the closet.

"Outrage" raises the analogy of anti-gay bully who happens to be gay--he behaves this way to exemplify the image that he is obviously not gay, for no gay man would hate himself and those like him. As Bill Maher said, "hating yourself is the greatest love of all."

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Lost

Beautiful...absolutely beautiful. That has been my reaction after the finale of the final season of "Lost," arguably the greatest television drama in history. There has been a certain amount of audacity with "Lost" that cannot be found anywhere else on television.

And here is a list of my favorite moments:

WARNING: Nobody likes (or should like) spoilers. "Lost" is a show filled with an enormous amount of twists. If you have not seen "Lost," if you are not caught up on all the episodes, if you have never seen the show and actually don't expect ever to see the show (there's still a chance you will change your mind), please, I implore you, I beg you, please don't read this post.

25. Joe Purdy's "Wash Away" (season 1)
24. Desmond is on Oceanic 815 (season 6)
23. There is a light in the hatch (season 1)
22. "Who's the President of the United States?" (season 5)
21. The first DHARMA Initiative video (season 2)
20. "Ben Linus, European History" (season 6) (of course the show's main "bad guy" teaches European History)
19. Hurley writes "The Empire Strikes Back" (season 5)
18. The tables are turned and Sayid is tortured by DHARMA (season 5)
17. Ethan's name can't be found on the flight's list (season 1)
16. The black chick? Rose's husband is found (season 2)
15. Ben confronts Whidmore off the island (season 4)
14. The introduction of Jacob and the Man in Black (season 5)
13. Richard is reunited with his dead wife (season 6)
12. Boone visits Locke in a dream (season 3)
11. The death of Charlie (season 3)
10. Desmond finally contacts Penny (season 4)
9. Mikhail's "death" (season 3)
8. "I was wrong"--the destruction of the hatch (season 2)
7. In a cabin in a woods--the introduction of Jacob (season 3)
6. The hatch is more comfortable than one would think (season 2)
5. "You guys got any milk?" (season 2)
4. Oceanic 815 in retrospect (season 1)
3. The plane crash (season 1)
2. Jack's flashback isn't exactly a flashback (season 3)
1. Locke's walkabout, sort of (season 1)

Aside from season four, which was the only season that seemed to provoke more anger and frustration from me than happiness and satisfaction, all seasons were tremendous. If I were to list them in order of least greatest to greatest, it would be as follows: seasons 4, 5, 6, 2, 3, 1. Season one in particular was exceptional because of its ability to construct a more entertaining form of "Castaway" and do so by introducing its audience to such profound characters, which only grew as the seasons progressed. Season two had much of that same energy, and it introduced great characters like Ben Linus, Mr. Eko, and Desmond, but it seemed to digress as the characters were now washing their hair with shampoo and wielding guns against the Others. Season three seemed to return to that sense of energy and adventure of season one, and had such a brilliant finale. Season four, again, was frustrating, with new characters who were not quite as engaging, and season five's only flaw that I can remember was its time travel which became taxing. Season six, other than the mythology episode and some other minor annoyances, was stellar.

Take, for example, the opening of season six, which opened with the sky. Jack stared out the window of the plane, and it was as if nothing--no Smoke Monster, no Others, no Jacob--had happened. Some things, though, were quite peculiar. Astute observers would have noticed that unlike the actual opening on season one, Jack was now a bit alarmed by the plane, while Rose was the calm one. But things were really peculiar when Desmond, who certainly had nothing to do with the flight, happened to be on the plane. Why? Viewers would have to wait literally to the end to find out. But it was an immediate, succinct, and calm way to start the newest and final season with a bit of a twist.

There were some very humorous moments, as well, such as when Dr. Chang discovered that several new members of the DHARMA Initiative were actually from the future. Dr. Chang suddenly believed that Faraday was right--Faraday, Hurley, and Miles were from the future, and Miles was Chang's son. Could it really be? Miles, angry about his father and the lack of guidance he had from him in his life, denied the fantastical reality. Hurley also wanted to deny the allegations. "Dude, that's ridiculous," he assured Chang. But Chang knew he was dealing with an idiot. "What year were you born?" he immediately asked. They were in the year 1977, and Hurley was not capable of doing such quick math. "Ah...19...31," was his answer. That would make him forty-six years old, Chang wondered out loud. That's correct, Hurley replied. "So you fought in the Korean War?" he is asked. "There's no such thing." (Perhaps Hurley shouldn't be blamed, for the Korean War is practically skipped in U.S. History classes.) A final question: "Who's the President of the United States?" Unable to understand that it was Jimmy Carter, he surrendered: "Alright, dude, we're from the future." Not groundbreaking or surprising, but nonetheless it was quite funny. (On a side note: I suppose I was a bit disappointed that in season six, it was never explained what happened to Chang in the real timeline, and since Miles left the island, it could be assumed that Chang was left behind.)


There were some inevitable angry moments. Admittedly, it took me a bit to be at peace with the decision to kill off Locke and have his persona sort of reincarnated through "the Man in Black," or Jacob's nemesis. I was eventually able to appreciate that Terry O' Quinn was provided another vehicle to demonstrate his range by being a full-flown villain (and, after all, we saw John Locke often in the flash sideways story line). One thing that could not be initially reconciled, however (until the writers fixed it), was the revelation early in season six in which the Smoke Monster returned. After killing several adversaries, Locke/Man in Black reemerged and apologized to Ben. "I'm sorry you had to see me like that." The Smoke Monster was Jacob's enemy? But eventually it seemed that the creators fixed their mistake, for it was revealed (though not explicitly explained) that the Smoke Monster had emerged from the magic light, killed Jacob's brother (which turned out to be "Adam") and thus only occupied his body, just as it had later done so with John Locke's body. At least my conclusion has been that, alas, the Smoke Monster is a genuine monster, not simply an arbitrary tyrannosaurus periodically showing up, or Jacob's brother, but some sort of genuinely evil entity, a demon per se. Either the writers had planned this all along, or they heeded the viewers' complaints.

There were other minor annoyances. I did not like how Mikhail was "killed"--and by killed, I mean blood squirting from his head--but then randomly showed up again, only to die a second time (and sort of, at least, a third time). If the justification was that his character was good enough to arbitrarily return, I suppose I could be satisfied with that. There was also the weird thing about the "darkness" inside "crazy Claire," which was just ignored for the remainder of the show. And many reviewers were so impressed with Evangeline Lilly's performance (she has always been one of "Lost's" best performers), but I could not help but find it silly that she "remembered" her time on the island after viewing Claire's you-know-what during the childbirth scene, with that vaudeville crossed-eye look of hers.

One thing that I was satisfied with was the writers' refusal to answer every question. With season six, there was a growing chorus arguing that virtually every mystery must be answered. The writers had mixed results with this. There was Hurley literally saying, "So...that's what the whispers are?" when that pointless revelation was issued, but there was also the right path chosen: not every mystery needed to be solved. I was reminded of "Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home," one of the better "Star Trek" films. The film begins with a group of aliens who return to Earth, and it seems that these aliens are angry without explanation, for they start to destroy the planet. Spock and others conclude that the aliens have been trying to communicate with whales, which in this hypothetical future, the whales are extinct. Thus, the crew must journey home to 1986 to bring back a whale to the future and calm the aliens down. But the studio was not happy with the opening, and insisted that subtitles be issued to assure that the audience would understand what was going on. But director Leonard Nimoy and others stood their ground--ambiguity is sometimes necessary. As was the case with many of "Lost's" mysteries.


At first I wanted to concentrate on my anger about the lackadaisical manner of killing off some of the characters, or the ill-timed mythology episode featuring Allison Jenning. But why focus so much energy on forgettable things? Will I really remember such anger? Or will I remember the brilliance of such a show, and the fantastic moments I have had watching it? How can I possibly offer sincere criticism of the writers simply because I slightly disagree with some of their actions? If I were on their level of brilliant writing and creativity, then perhaps such criticism would be acceptable, but as of now, it is not.

One side note that has almost nothing to do with the aforementioned observations: Did you ever notice that Fisher Stevens, the man who plays the ill-fated crew member of the freighter and who later appeared in season six as flash-sideways Desmond's driver, is the Oscar-winning producer of "The Cove?"

And oh, how much I have left out. I did not write about my favorite characters--the complexities of Ben Linus, the flaws of John Locke, the struggles of Jack Shepherd, Michael Giacchino's excellent musical score, the Biblical symbolism of Jacob (notice that Benjamin is the son of Jacob in the Bible), or even some of the Korean moments. I did not write about the feud between Ben and Charles Whidmore, or the beautiful moment of Penny and Desmond being reunited, or the satisfactory way in which the secret of Richard Alpus's everlasting youth had been revealed. There was philosophy ("man is the author of his own soul" as John Locke the actual philosopher said), religion (not really faith versus science so much as order versus nothingness, according to the writers). There was science fiction (time travel and parallel universes), mythology (Jacob and his brother, plus a considerable amount of mythological archetypes), mystery (everything) and pop culture references (mostly to "Star Trek" and "Star Wars").

I do not profess to be a deep thinker of these things. Indeed, I did not foresee that Dr. Chang would be Miles' father or that Juliet would be Jack's ex-wife in the sideways story line. But that further justifies my main thesis of "Lost": while adding additional layers of "thinking persons'" material, it has always been essentially a show to entertain. One could totally ignore all the symbolism of the show and still be truly entertained by it. It was, at its essence, a show about characters lost on an island. And it was absolutely brilliant. And it will absolutely be missed. There will never be another show like "Lost."

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The Best of SNL--Part 2

The final part: the Best of SNL--Part 2...

14. Canteen Boy (1994)

Criticized for being too raunchy and controversial for suggesting pedophilia, Alec Baldwin's role was as a creepy Boy Scout Scoutmaster attempting to seduce his young Scout, Canteen Boy, played by Adam Sandler. After being teased by the fellow Scouts, the Scoutmaster, played by Baldwin, insisted that the boys leave Canteen Boy alone and that they return to their tents to sleep. After Canteen Boy insisted that their taunts were simply "sticks and stones," the Scoutmaster's arm was thrust around Canteen Boy's shoulder, and there was an immediate recognition of the situation. Ripping off his shirt, the Scoutmaster claimed--"Whoops, my shirt fell off." Wine spilled on Canteen Boy's sleeping bag, so it was insisted that Canteen Boy share the sleeping bag of the Scout Master, then to rub bug repellent on his chest (though Canteen Boy points out that it is February and the bugs must have hibernated). The skit was controversial enough to persuade SNL to clearly state the next time that Canteen Boy was in fact a twenty-seven-year-old man.

13. Coffee Talk (1992)


Though heavy on the Jewish stereotypes, "Coffee Talk with Paul Baldwin" and later "Coffee Talk with Linda Richman" (both starring Mike Myers in the title role), featured a number of traits, such as a passion for Barbara Streisand and historical topics, like "The New Deal was neither new nor a deal--discuss" and "the Progressive Era was neither progressive nor an era--discuss." The most memorable moment was when Streisand herself made an unexpected appearance. Myers was joined by guests Roseanne Barr and Madonna (both also as stereotypical Jewish women--large, hard hair and periodically licking the teeth). The three of them (two actually, for Roseanne's character was a bit distracted and "gassy") were disappointed to the point of crying in lieu of the multiple nomination's Streisand's film "The Prince of Tides" received--the disappointment came in the omission of a Best Director nomination for Streisand. They became chocked up--or feklempt--but were disrupted by Roseanne's story of a man whose gallbladder exploded. The skit continued. A caller mentioned it would be a good idea for Barbara to do a duet with Madonna, to which Madonna's character, though expectedly, dismissed it as a bad idea. "She's a tramp--every day with a different boyfriend." Myer's Linda though mentioned that her legs were like "buttah." Finally, they repeated: Barbara's movie was "like buttah" (Madonna), "like buttah" (Myers), "like a big stick-ah buttah" (Barr). Then, unexpectedly, approached Barbara, who mentioned that with all the talk of food, she was getting hungry. The three of them--and the audience--burst into applause. Apparently, only Myers knew of her appearance ahead of time.

12. The Ambiguously Gay Duo (1996)


Always bound to inspire laughter, Robert Smigel's "TV Funhouse" cartoons featured the hysterical "Real Audio," in which dialogue from celebrities (usually politicians) would be animated to create bizarre situations. The real gem from Smigel was his "Ambiguously Gay Duo" of Ace and Gary, a take on the Batman and Robin archetypes. Smigel capitalized on the ambiguous nature that was clearly evident in superhero comics (particularly Batman--keep in mind this was not the seriousness of the 1940s period but instead the "nah-nah-nah-nah-nah Batman! and before the Frank Miller/Tim Burton/Christopher Nolan period), Ace and Gary were two crime-fighting and highly-friendly heroes, animated in the style of cartoons from decades ago. Voiced by Stephen Colbert and Steve Carell (neither were SNL members, but they were members of Second City, "The Dana Carvey Show" and "The Daily Show" together), the two characters happily saved the city from the villainous villains, only to have friend and foe unlike be perplexed by the, well, ambiguity of their actions: patting each other, climbin on each other, and driving a peculiar car. It didn't help the two that their episode titles were also ambiguous, like the one titled "A Hard One to Swallow."

11. Clinton-Bush-Perot Debate of 1992 (1992)


While interesting enough of an actual debate to watch, 1992 featured not only the first televised debate featuring three candidates, but also a hilarious spoof on SNL. While Phil Hartman was Bill Clinton, Dana Carvey played both Perot and Bush, which allowed the audience to see the contrast in his calm, wimpier-John-Wayne voice of Bush with the hyperbolic and staccato annunciation of Perot. The funniest moment was when each was allowed a final response. The camera would zoom in on an opponent, and the audience would see what that candidate was thinking. So when Clinton gave his final thoughts, Bush envisioned the Arkansas governor as a 1960s radical, pot-smoking hippy; when Clinton focused on Bush, he saw an old lady from the World War II-period. Finally, for Perot, both Clinton and Bush saw the Mayor of the Munchkin City.

10. The Ford/Carter Debate of 1976 (1976)


By the time this faux-debate came about in 1976, Chevy Chase had already established Gerald Ford as a bit of a goof, falling down frequently. As it has been stated often, even on the show, Chase looked and talked nothing like Ford, but he capitalized on the fact that Ford had a tendency to fall down and trip. The highlight of this skit was when the moderator, Jane Curtain, began a rather long question for the president. "Mr. President, you said that the Humphrey-Hawkins bill will cost a possible six billion dollars. But isn't it true that the jobs provided by the bill will create up to a hundred and fifty billion dollars in increased production--using Walter Heller's figure that for every one percent unemployed, there is a resulting thirty-nine percent billion dollar loss in GNP. Now, at the present rate of taxation of GNP of thirty-nine percent, doesn't this come to about the same sixty billion dollars in increased revenue?" The whole time Curtain had delivered the question, the camera slowly zoomed in on Chase's face, as the sweat on his forehead became more and more obvious. Finally, he said, "It was my understanding that there would be no math during the debates."

9. Land Shark (1976)

A spoof of "Jaws," with John Williams' score and everything, Land Shark detailed a conning shark (even claiming to be a dolphin) who eventually tricked his victims into opening the door for him (voiced by Chevy Chase) to devour. There is hardly anything to write, but perhaps no skit sums up the absurdity of SNL's humor better than the Land Shark.

8. Julia Childs Cuts Herself (1978)

Fans of the recent Meryl Streep film "Julie & Julia" would have noticed a scene where Amy Adams' character and her boyfriend watch a scene from "Saturday Night Live" with Dan Aykroyd as Julia Childs. The sketch would have sufficed had Aykroyd simply been in drag and a high-pitch Childs-esque voice and manner, but the stakes were raised when the character cut herself while cutting chicken. Aykroyd hardly looked or sounded like Childs (see above regarding Chevy Chase and Gerald Ford), but it was the gratuitous amount of fake blood that sprayed about the set that elevated his performance. The advice to "first, stop the bleeding" was good enough only to spare perhaps a drop of blood. Eric Idle, who hosted the show in the 1970s, said that Aykroyd, for his ability to write and act in these skits, made him the only SNL cast member worthy of being a member of Monty Python.

7. Schweddy Balls (1998)


The skit already started as pure gold--Anna Gasteyer, Moll Shannon and a guest (usually Alec Baldwin) somehow kept a straight face as they lampooned the incredible monotony of the radio voices of NPR. Shannon's character mentioned that she would be asking Santa for some rat traps to help her with the "excessive" rat problem she was having, while Gasteyer's character mentioned that she always leaves out tap water and rice for Kris Kringle (Shannon's could not leave out food due to the excessive rat problem). It only became better when host Alec Baldwin as Pete Schweddy brought out his special food--in the case of the first time, it was his Schweaty Balls. "Tell us about your balls, Pete." With the amount of laughter from the audience, especially the double entente after double entente, it was truly testimony to the ability of these three actors to keep a straight face. "No one can resist my Schweddy Balls."

6. Celebrity Jeopardy (1996-2002)

The absurdity was simple: celebrities playing Jeopardy. The categories were also simple, a bit too simple: months that end in "tober," presidents who are on the one dollar bill, countries between Canada and Mexico, and members of Simon and Garfunkel. Jimmy Fallon usually had great impersonations, as did Norm McDonald as Burt Reynolds, but while Darrell Hammond would usually play different celebrities--from Michael Donohue to John Travolta---once he settled comfortably into an impersonation of an unlikely player named Sean Connery, a Sean Connery who constantly annoyed the host Alex Trebek (Will Ferrell), did the skit really take off. Connery usually would challenge Trebek's authority, and Trebek desperately tried to keep his composure as he was dealing with idiots. What seemed to annoy Trebek the most (in addition to the Bond-like quips Connery threw at them) was his sophomoric, probably-intentional ability to incorrectly pronounce the categories (like "anal bum cover" instead of "album cover"). There were also accusations that he slept with Trebek's mother. Another thing that seemed to make this skit work was the existence of videos on the internet of the actual Trebek being rather annoyed (Trebek himself made a cameo during one of these sketches). Supposedly, according to Macdonald, the skit was created only for him to do his Burt Reynolds impersonation, and Reynolds actually enjoyed the skit, so much that the show planned for Reynolds to crash the set, punch Macdonald, and finish playing the game with answers even dumber than before (with Macdonald being fired from the show, that never came to be).

5. The Joe Pesci Show (1996)

So many things were magical about "The Joe Pesci Show," chief among them the bizarre idea of Joe Pesci, the actor who portrayed such violent characters in "Goodfellas," "Casino," and "Home Alone" having a talk show. The sketch usually featured the host, Pesci, with a spot-on impersonation from Jim Brewer, and an SNL host (frequent hosts Alec Baldwin or John Goodman, for example) as guest Robert De Niro, and usually climaxed into an angry assault by Pesci and/or De Niro on the guest(s). One highlight was when the actual Pesci and De Niro showed up, in perfect deadpan, and turned the tables. But the greatest moment was when host Jim Carrey (a natural from his days on "In Living Color") appeared as Jimmy Stewart. Hunched over and frequently shifting his jaw in Stewart fashion, barely finishing his poem about a fish he caught but released due to sympathy (a spoof of Stewart's poem to his late-dog on "The Tonight Show"), Carrey was perfect. The skit got better as Pesci's second guest was none other than Jim Carrey (Mark McKinney). McKinney's impersonation was good, but the pricelessness of the situation was the angry look on Carrey/Stewart's face. "Smoke a lot of dope, do ya?" an annoyed Stewart asked. McKinney/Carrey then did an impersonation of Stewart, but was one-upped as Carrey/Stewart slowly rose to his feet to return the impersonation: "I'm Jim Carrey! I'll do anything for a laugh. I need attention twenty four hours a day. Look at me! Look at me!" He then proceeded to imitate a donkey. As expected, Pesci assaulted McKinney/Carrey with a baseball bat, and Carrey/Stewart protested that he did not agree with "gratuitous violence," which provoked Pesci to whack him in the head. But James Stewart, a veteran of World War II, did not go quietly, as he nabbed the bat from Pesci and wreaked havoc on the set.

4. The Katie Couric and Sarah Palin Interview (2008)


Sarah Palin was a good enough joke before SNL took advantage of the situation. Recall that when John McCain picked her as his running mate in August of 2008, SNL had not yet returned for a new season. But everyone noticed Palin as looking remarkably similar to Tina Fey, a former cast member and writer for the show. Not letting a perfect opportunity go to waste, Fey returned to open the next season as Sarah Palin, noting that she could "see Alaska for my house" (which helped define the narrative of Palin). But that skit featured Amy Poehler as Hillary Clinton, and while Poehler's impersonation of Clinton was never really good, it also seemed to distract the skit for the sake of being fair. The next time, however, SNL could not resist but to decimate Palin. The disastrous interviews Palin did with CBS's Katie Couric, in which Palin could not cite a moment of McCain supporting financial regulation while he was a senator (though moments early she said he had a record of it) and where she could not recall which newspapers she read, provided such an opportunity. The perfect moment was Fey/Palin's explanation of the "ill" bailout, using big words like "ultimately" and "deficit" while juxtaposing it somehow with health care reform and "shoring up" the economy and small business and "reining in spending" with a heavy emphasis on "reining." The real painful reality, though, was that, as numerous videos on the internet have demonstrated, Fey's impersonation of Palin seemed to be a word-for-word mimic of what the latter had actually said, confusion and all.

3. Gerald Ford Dead Today (1996)

The idea was perfect: Tom Brokaw (Dana Carvey) of NBC was ready to go on vacation. As a precaution, NBC ordered Brokaw to film any potential stories that might occur while he was away. The hypothetical was tragic--Gerald Ford dead. "Gerald Ford, well he's in good shape." But they wanted to just make sure. Then the other, less-likely hypothetical situations came: being shot (Ford was actually shot at twice in one week), suicide, drug overdose, and my two favorites--eaten by wolves and strangled to death by the corpse of Richard Nixon. Brokaw became angrily skeptical, but was reassured when it was explained that "it happened to Taft."

2. King Tut (1978)


The king of SNL's sophomoric nature was Steve Martin's rendition of a musical homage to Tutankhamen. While starting as what seemed to be a sincere tribute to the late king evolved immediately into a bizarre dance that was perfected by the absurdist behavior that has defined Martin's sense of comedy over the decades. Wildly shaking his arms and bizarrely singing about Tut's consumption of a crocodile and the fact that "he gave his life for tourism," "King Tut" has been a defining moment for "Saturday Night Live."

1. More Cowbell (2000)


I will concede that my number one and number two choices are essentially a tie as I believe that both do the best job at visualizing what "Saturday Night Live" has been these past thirty-five years. In this skit, starring one of SNL's greatest hosts, Christopher Walken, the audience was explained the behind-the-scenes story of the Blue Oyster Cult's "(Don't Fear) The Reaper." What probably was conceived as SNL's explanation for the odd-sounding cowbell in the song, Will Ferell played a long and overbearing (and offended) cowbell player who conflicts with the direction of the cowbell's sound with other band members. It was Walken, as Bruce Dickenson ("yes, the Bruce Dickenson") who insisted that there must be more cowbell. The confrontations increased, but Dickenson demanded more--"I gotta have more cowbell, babe!" Walken has been one of Hollywood and the theatre's best actors for the past thirty years, but it was SNL (and Quentin Tarantino's casting of him in "Pulp Fiction") that introduced the world to a more humorous Walken. He utilized every aspect of that persona in those sketches. Walken has mentioned in interviews that people will randomly approach him and request a bit more cowbell. "Guess what? I got a fever. And the only prescription is more cowbell!" And thus was spoken SNL's immortal line (that, and "live for New York, it's Saturday Night!").



There were of course some that did not make the list but of course deserve recognition. In 1982, Frank Piscopo and Eddie Murphy gave a perfect duet as Frank Sinatra and Stevie Wonder respectively (was that word really needed?). Martin Short and Billy Crystal's characters and sketches were both left out, but both delivered quality performances. A favorite actor of mine, Tim Curry, hosted the show in the early 1980s and performed "the Zucchini song" with suggestive lyrics. Current senator from Minnesota Al Franken had great moments not only as a writer but also as his Stewart Smalley character (Franken's enemies of the right still refer to him as Senator Stewart Smalley). Did you know that Robert Downey, Jr., Anthony Michael Hall, and Ben Stiller were at one point cast members? Or that Sarah Silverman and Conan O'Brien were once writers on the show (the latter was the one who wrote the infamous "penis sketch")? Perhaps it was the biggest crime on my part to have not seriously discussed Gilda Radner's role in the show.

"Saturday Night Live" is, simply put, a remarkably important part of American pop culture and even history. If nothing else, it is the funniest show on television, certainly with regards to longevity and consistency. There were the periods of doubt (notice that not much of the early 1980s is represented? This was the period when producer Lorne Michaels had left the show), but for the past thirty-five years, hearing that "live from New York, it's Saturday night," has been an essential.

SNL, Alec Baldwin, Canteen Boy, Mike Myers, Adam Sandler, Saturday Night Live, Clinton, Bush, Daily Show, Jaws, Jeopardy, Sarah Palin, Joe Pesci, Tina Fey, Steve Martin, Christopher Walken, Tim Curry

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The Best of SNL--Part 1

In honor of the 35th anniversary of "Saturday Night Live," one of the two greatest television shows in history, here is a comprehensive list of the greatest moments in SNL history.

25. Mr. Robinson's Neighborhood (1982)

Credited with making SNL popular again in the early 1980s and for a time carrying the show on his back, Eddie Murphy provided some of the show's best characters--Gumby, Buckwheat and his singalongs, and a black man attempting to expose racism in the workplace by disguising himself as a white man. Some of his best moments involved his turn as a "Mr. Roger's Neighborhood" spoof. Instead of a peaceful, WASPy suburban house, Mr. Robinson appears to be in the projects. The jolly, serene and inviting presence of Mr. Robinson succumbs to a loud, angry, and a bit stereotypical anger as he is disrupted. "Who is it?" he shouts. Mr. T once appeared as his neighbor, and Mr. Robinson was not able to put up as forceful a resistance.

24. Betty White--"Thank you for being a friend" (2010)

With all due respect to the other famous SNL Digital Shorts--"Dick in a Box, "Jizz in My Pants," "Natalie Portman Rap," etc. it was the quasi-tribute to Betty White with her iconic "Thank you for being a friend" song from "Golden Girls" that made me laugh the hardest. Starting very conventionally and cheerfully, host Betty White (who was brought to the show to satisfy the request of a large Facebook fan club) was guided to a chair by Adam Samberg, the creator of the digital shorts. Wishing to express their thanks to her for all she's given, the cast sang "Thank You for Being a Friend," and White chuckled wholeheartedly...until she insisted that she preferred her version better. Pulling a ski mask over her face, she began a rather harsh heavy medal version of the song, with serious hints at BDSM and blood everywhere. "Happy Mother's Day," she said, "mother fuckers."

23. Lord and Lady Douchebag (1979)

Set in the Salisbury Manor in 1730, Lord Salisbury (played by Harry Shearer, a writer for the show who later became a contributor to Christopher Guest's comedic films as well as providing multiple voice characters for "The Simpsons") was hosting a dinner party, with guests including Lord Worcestershire (Jim Downey) and Earl of Sandwich (Bill Murray). The butler (Garrett Morris) announced the newest guests--"Lord and Lady Douchebag!" with host Buck Henry and Gilda Radner as the the lord and lady respectively. Shearer went to great them. "Well, well, well," he says. "I was just asking Sandwich, where the devil are those Douchebags?" Lord Douchebag would be happy to explain what kind of a project he had been working on, but perhaps after his host had finished eating. Murray's character Sandwich was happy to see the couple as well, as he greated him in a buddy fashion of "Douchebagggg!"

"Don't tell me for the first time in memory we're going to have a House of Parliament for the first time without a Douchebag," he says. The puns just kept continuing. This was the last skit of the last episode of the last season featuring members of the original cast.

22. "Star Wars" auditions (1997)

With impersonations of Barbara Streisand from Anna Gasteyer and Richard Dreyfuss from Darrell Hammond, it was really host Kevin Spacey carrying the skit on his back, with hysterical impersonations of Christopher Walken auditioning for Han Solo, Walter Matthau for Obi-Wan Kenobi, and an irritated Jack Lemmon for Chewbacca. Spacey has a talent for a rare amount of impersonations, as evidenced by his interview on "Inside the Actor's Studio" and this terrific skit.

21. Oops! I Crapped My Pants (1998)

The fake commercials have long-been a staple sketch for SNL, among the best being the hyperbolic cereal commercial featuring Phil Hartman and the calm but ridiculous fashion in which a bank promises to provide whatever change amount a customer wishes. One of the best is "Oops! I Crapped My Pants." Starting as expected with happy characters in normal yet complicated everyday situations, a grandmother decided her bowel movements had prohibited her from playing tennis with her family. An older man, presumably the grandfather, insisted that the younger ones go and play while he talks with the grandma. "You're still having control problems, aren't ya?" he asked. He introduced her to a little secret--Opps! I Crapped My Pants: diapers for older adults. "Oops! I Crapped My Pants,"

"I've heard of those," she says. "Do they really work?" Of course they do, and to prove it, the older gentleman demonstrated by pouring a pitcher of ice tea, representing a gallon of feces, into the diapers. It concluded with a thankful Grandma saying, "Thanks, Oops! I Crapped My Pants!"

20. Stay the Course--the Great Debate of 88 (1988)

Perhaps SNL's best employments of humor has been through its political satire, cementing in American pop-culture the public's perception of Gerald Ford (Chevy Chase) as a clumsy fool; Ronald Reagan (Phil Hartman) as a kind, sweet, harmless old man in public and yet a fierce hawk in private meetings; Bill Clinton (Darrell Hammond) as a horndog; and George W. Bush (Will Farell) as America's number one idiot (until Sarah Palin via Tina Fey came along). In 1988, an election year that moments like the Pledge of Allegiance debate and Michael Dukakis's ridiculous ride in a tank. SNL nonetheless had fun. Dana Carvey, in one of his thousands of impersonations, was George Bush, running for election after two terms of Reagan, and Jon Lovitz as Dukakis, the "inspiring" candidate from Massachusetss. Carvey portrayed Bush as seriously lacking the Hollywood acting of his boss, and desperate in his Peggy Noonan lines of "staying the course" and a "thousand lights." The length of time it took to utter these lines did not completely fill the amount of time the moderators had given him, so he repeated them, further stressing each word, further motioning his hands, as if he really, really wanted a thousand points of life. Finally satisfied, the moderators turned to his opponent. "I can't believe I'm losing to this guy," was Dukakis's response.

19. The Chris Farley Show (1993)

I hate to cheat and clump skits together, but I will with this one. "The Chris Farley Show" featured Chris Farley as the antithesis of himself, in this case a shy, speechless young interviewer terribly nervous in the presence of his interviewees, such as Jeff Daniels, Martin Scorsese, and Paul McCartney. After listing his guest's accomplishments, he would stumble, ask them if they recalled certain moments (like when McCartney was in the Beatles), or other stupid questions (like if the scene in "The Last Temptation of Christ" where Jesus gets angry at the money collectors in the synagogue was Scorsese's idea). He further digressed, and then stuttered that whatever moment, relevant or not, "was awesome."

18. Bass O-Matic (1976)

Dan Aykroyd was the salesman, in rapid, lightening-speed, of the Super Bass O-Matic 76. Finally, through this salesman, we were offered a means of consuming the whole fish, from head to tail and with all the bones still intact. Laraine Newman took a sip (of hopefully something besides liquid bass) and exclaims, "Wow! That's terrific bass!"

17. Happy Fun Ball (1990)

The king, in my opinion, of SNL's fake commercials, Happy Fun Ball was the most fun little ball sweeping the nation, and with a price of only $14.95! But what appeared to be only a harmless little ball was also described by narrator Phil Hartman as containing a number of warnings--that pregnant women, the elderly, and children should avoid exposure to the Happy Fun Ball, that it contains a dangerous liquid that should not be looked at, the toy should not be bounced on concrete, and a whole host of others. Incidentally, it is also "being dropped by our warplanes on Iraq." Finally, do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.

16. The Blues Brothers "Soul Man" (1978)


Admittedly not a funny moment, it was still priceless. Dan Aykroyd and John Belushi were the Blues Brothers, not only one of the best musical guests but also spawning the only exceptional SNL movie two years later. This film's only competition, however, from SNL material has been movies such as "It's Pat," "Coneheads," and "Night at the Roxbury."

15. "Jane, you ignorant slut!" (1978)

Many will probably place Chevy Chase, with his sardonic tone and iconic "I'm Chevy Chase, and you're not" line, or Norm Macdonald (who Chase said was the only one who replicated the humor of the original) at the top of the list for the "Weekend Update" sketches. My favorite moment, though, was when Chase had left the show, he was replaced by two co-anchors, Jane Curtain and Dan Aykroyd. The sketch would usually end or climax with a heated, but not over the top, debate between the two regarding a variety of current issues. Curtain usually provided a rational opinion and argument, though she at least once described her opponent as a disgusting pig. Aykroyd, in turn, in a line that has come to be a legendary one, harshly replied, "Jane, you ignorant slut!"


More best SNL moments are on the way!

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It Cannot Be Taken Away, Ever

In an interview with Jamie Graham of Total Film magazine, Daniel Day-Lewis discussed his early love for the cinema. Day-Lewis talked about "This Sporting Life," "Saturday Night and Sunday Morning," and "Kes." He also talked about "Taxi Driver."

"'Taxi Driver' was huge," he said. "That was sort of my awakening to the possibilities in America, which had never occurred to me--that I would be part of American cinema."

According to Day-Lewis, he and his friends saw "Taxi Driver" about five or six times and were completely mesmerized by the film, and of the work of its star, Robert De Niro. "You know, I've admired him from that moment ever since. He's one of the great actors. Not just of our time, but of all time."

Since Day-Lewis first saw De Niro, the two have become very similar. Both are world renowned stars and acting heavy weights, known for their painstaking methods to achieve a performance. Sometimes it may seem a bit weird, like De Niro ordering clothes from Al Capone's tailor when portraying the infamous gangster in "The Untouchables," or Day-Lewis walking around New York City dressed in 19th century attire while filming "The Age of Innocence." The two also are the few to have won two Oscars. Both are also two of Martin Scorsese's favorite actors.

Graham's next question was a thoughtless one, a question of groupthink proportions: "[De Niro] now churns out three or four films a year and doesn't exhibit the commitment of old. As someone who looks up to him, what do you think of him phoning in performances?"

Day-Lewis did not buy it. Here is his response verbatim: "I've actually got a lot of pleasure from some of his performances in the last few years. A lot. I love him as a comedian; he makes me laugh a lot. I actually watched "Analyze This" again recently with my boys and it made me laugh. I just loved it. I loved it that he could take the piss out of himself to that extent. I really am not that judgmental, and I find it quite upsetting when people re-assess his work in the light of his choices in the last few years. You cannot take away from what he has given to the cinema. It cannot be taken away, ever."

Need anymore be written?

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Shutter Island

Martin Scorsese's "The Departed" began with the usual notes: the Rolling Stone's cool "Gimme Shelter," a favorite of Scorsese's, for it has also appeared in his "Goodfellas" and "Casino." The lyrics, about a coming storm, could certainly be seen as allegorical, but they would be more fitting here, in his "Shutter Island," because much of the film takes place during violent rain. How, though, could the Rolling Stones' music fit in this period piece set in the 1950s, a psychological thriller and mystery.

Instead, the opening notes are Ingram Marshall's "Fog Tropes." The notes are complicated but quiet, and fit not only with the ship approaching the island but also with the melancholic, dark and gloomy atmosphere of this movie. Wisely, Scorsese has opted for a soundtrack that lacks an original score but instead is one of modern classical music. Move over George Harrison, Eric Clapton and the Ronettes--here come Max Richter, John Cage, and Krzysztof Penderecki.

Scrosese's films have famously dealt with everything from gangsters, rock 'n' roll, and Jesus Christ. Here, his theme and mood is more closely aligned with "The Aviator" than it is with "The Departed" (save for the paranoia aspect). Both were made for visceral experiences in psychology, and both are spectacular. With the "Aviator," there are so many aspects of Hughes's story--his love life with many woman (and possibly men), his brief role in politics, and his giant empire. Instead, Scorsese started with Hughes as a filmmaker, and the film evolved into a story about Hughes as a psychological subject. In "Shutter Island," a similar route is chosen: it starts as a rather conventional thriller and mystery, then goes through a metamorphosis into psychological study. Psychology is an under-appreciated component of many films and never seems to get its fair share of discussion (such as the groupthink aspect of "12 Angry Men").

Leonardo DiCaprio (Howard Hughes in Scorsese's "The Aviator" and also the lead in his "Gangs of New York" and "The Departed" and probably many more to come) is Teddy Daniels, a U.S. Marshall sent to Shutter Island off the coast of Boston to investigate the recent escape of a patient. He is there with his partner Chuck Aule (Mark Ruffalo), and becomes aware that everything is not as it seems. The island hosts a hospital for the criminally insane, and one of their patients, or as Teddy repeatedly calls, "prisoners," has escaped, "as if she completely vanished." The man in charge, a sympathetic and progressive psychologist (Ben Kingsley), is not providing much help, and things are not getting better, especially as a tempest of a storm is coming in. Teddy himself seems to have recovered, but not completely, from the death of his wife, and his temper is easily sparked.

The primary flaw of the film is its conclusion, which is fairly simple to guess almost immediately and not clever or original. Indeed, it even seems to hurt the film slightly above being just a simple annoyance. But it is the details that matter and which are so attractive, with a crescendo of intensity and a perfectionist's direction. There is a hint of Cold War paranoia, possible Nazi allegories and the ethics of lobotomies. There is rain--constant rain--fire, rats, disfigured faces, loud music reminiscent of the old Hollywood era, with whispers and shouts in the dark. The intensity level is so high and there are hardly any moments of rest. When it is not raining, it is snowing, but surely nothing is more peaceful than it was before. There are obvious influences here, such as Hitchcock's "Psycho" and "Vertigo," Kubrick's "The Shining," and to a lesser extent Demme's "The Silence of the Lambs" and Michael Powell's "Peeping Tom." (Perhaps it would be an annoying reminder to point out that the late Powell's wife is Thelma Schoonmaker, Scorsese's frequent editor.) This level of Scorsese being influenced is quite striking, simply because it is usually Scorsese who does the influencing (like on the works of Paul Thomas Anderson and Quentin Tarantino), not the one who is influenced. Regardless, being influenced is hardly ever a bad thing, and the influences are appreciated.

And unlike some directors who have recently had their actors play make-believe in front of green screens, Scorsese always brings out the best in his performers, particularly DiCaprio, who has been better and better in each Scorsese film. His other actors--Ruffalo, Kingsley, Michelle Williams, Max von Sydow, Emily Mortimer, Patricia Clarkson, Jackie Earle Haley, Elias Koteas, Ted Levine and John Carroll Lynch--are all fantastic, as well.

This is a film in which the ending--that sometimes make or break moment--was not so satisfying to me, but Scorsese's craftsmanship is so perfect as it always is that I seldom thought of the ending. Instead, I remembered everything I liked about it--its thrills, its noir approach and its effect. With a director as terrific as Scorsese, who really cares about the endings? There is no buyer's remorse here.

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Dying as Fast as the Compact Disc

I had a professor who reminded me of Pauline Kael. My professor had a profound sense of authority and audacity to her, and she could instantly command respect as well as admiration (incidentally, she was the same professor I mentioned in my review of "Every Little Step"). I deeply admired her intellect, just as I deeply admire Kael's (may she rest in peace). In 2001, when Pauline Kael died, I was a freshman in high school, just starting my true love affair with the movies and having no idea who she was. I had grown up with Siskel and Ebert, and even then I never listened to them or read their reviews, and I only slightly remember the death of Gene Siskel, but I knew that "Siskel and Ebert give it two thumbs up" really meant something.

With Kael's death, many have since argued that film criticism is dead, or at least it's barely on life support. Many simultaneously claim that the collapse was brought on actually by Siskel and Ebert themselves with their simplistic little thumbs, effectively "dumbing down" film criticism. Some have argued that Ben Lyons was the final insult.

I asked on the Internet Movie Database if film criticism is really dying. One individual wrote a response: criticism is dying, in all cases, and the significance of a film's successful outcome, due to journalistic criticism, is getting smaller, due to the fact that "NOBODY gives a sh*it" (individual's words).

The individual further argued that it would be difficult for any of us to remember a time when somebody said, "If that critic thinks it's a bad record of a bad movie, then I'm skipping it." Nobody cares anymore about "what 'he,' 'she,' or 'they' of 'that' magazine (for example) say about anything. And we should be thankful that the power of the review is dying. In the 70s or 80s, if a movie managed to get a bad rating, by a media-darling of 'bigger significance,' distributors would in some cases drop the ball on the project. Because of that, some ares in the States, or some countries even, never got a chance to see a specific movie (for example)--just because of what ONE SINGLE person thought. It's a new age and era, and even though the reviewer will live on, his power and significance is undoubtedly dying as fast as the Compact Disc."

Quite a pessimistic assessment.

On a side note, my question was not so much whether or not film criticism is as potent as it used to be, but whether or not it was as worthy to read as it used to be. My curiosity was not based on the lack of influence from the film critics these days, but by the so-called "death" in film criticism quality.

Kael once said that if you wanted to actually write what you thought, you had to find the right magazine. She knew these people, she said, and they were not as stupid as what they were writing. Thankfully, the internet has provided a vehicle in which many can engage in dialogue on the cinema. It seems pointless to debate the "death" of movie criticism, but perhaps the commenter was accurate: maybe it is a good thing that the voice of one is trumped by the voice of many. I don't know; I tend to side with the argument that "a person is smart, people are dumb."

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On Violence in Movies

Last year, as his "Inglourious Basterds" was setting itself up for at least one Oscar win for the following March, Quentin Tarantino was asked to discuss his favorite twenty films since 1992 (the year in which his first film, "Reservoir Dogs," was released). The films varied from Korean drama/thrillers like Park Chan-wook's "Joint Security Area" to Paul Thomas Anderson's brilliant "Boogie Nights" to Trey Parker and Matt Stone's masterpiece "Team America: World Police." His favorite film was the 2000 Japanese film "Battle Royale," directed by Kinji Fukasaku. It was a movie Tarantino wished he had made.

The movie, based on a novel by Koshun Takami, takes place in a future Japan in which violence and rebellious youths have provoked the government to make laws requiring students to be gathered up and sent to an island in which they will participate in a competition to eliminate one another until there is only one left. The last survivor wins the game; the losers are dead. Both the book and the movie have generated a fair share of criticism for their violent content.

Fukasaku's film is epic and operatic, horrifying and yet beautiful, as these Japanese students struggle for survival to. What I appreciated the most in this film was the symbolism. Having difficulty attempting to figure out the allegories behind the film, I discovered one through a review (though I have not been able to find it again to give it proper citation) from a viewer who teaches in Japan. He discussed the unfortunate reality that Japanese youths face enormous pressure to succeed, especially in their education, and this is what sometimes inspires cheating at worst and uncreative teaching at best. Having spent close to a year teaching in South Korea, in which I have become acutely aware of this Asian youth competition and the strict and at times unethical expectations of students, I deeply appreciated Fukasaku's film and its allegory. I will concede though that Korean and Japanese students are different in some aspects. Scott Aubrey's essay on the two groups discusses the differences: Korean students tend to speak English in class regardless of grammar mistakes in an effort to communicate their ideas, while Japanese students tend to avoid speaking English unless they are perfectly confident they will deliver a perfect sentence. Aubrey also describes the level of patriotism between the two, as Koreans are incredibly proud of their enormous accomplishments in the face of so much tragedy, whereas Japan, after centuries of being the "aggressor," has now embraced pacifism and its students lack the nationalism of their Korean counterparts. This is a bit of digression, isn't it? Regardless, the metaphor found by this viewer was profound to me and elevated my experience of the film.

I couldn't help but notice, though, that Tarantino probably did not have the same reaction. For a man who has crafted his films with dialogue as witty and quick as Ben Hecht's, with a style and tone as entertaining as Sergio Leone's, and influences such as blaxploitation and Martin Scorsese, Tarantino has never seemed interested with societal themes. His other films on his list included ultra-violet movies like Japan's "Audition" and Korea's "Oldboy," and so it can be concluded that what attracted Tarantino to "Battle Royale" was its story, characters, and especially its violence.

Many find Tarantino to be obsessed with violence. His "Kill Bill," influenced by Japanese cinema, was criticized for being too violent. "Kill Bill" is a bit difficult to defend (I didn't care for it anyway, so defend I shall not), but his finer films like "Reservoir Dogs," "Pulp Fiction," and "Jackie Brown" have notably not shied away from violent characters or situations, but have been Greek-like in their portrayal of violence. The infamous ear scene in "Reservoir Dogs," for example, was not seen, as Tarantino's camera shifted to the left, away from the imagery. Not too dissimilar from "Oedipus," no?

The violence of "Battle Royale," though, is one aspect of the film I found difficult to forgive. Martin Scorsese defended violence in his films in an interview with NPR in 2002 for his movie "Gangs of New York." Scorsese claimed that violence is justified in films if it is honest. The violence of "Battle Royale" is, similar to countless Japanese films, hyperbolic. What is unusual, however, is that the violence is directed towards children. Gene Siskel said in his review of "Aliens" that one of the cheapest effects employed in films is to show a child in peril. Siskel would be absolutely disgusted by this film, because the violence is practically exclusive to teenagers, and unlike many Hollywood films in which older, adult actors play teenagers, these are genuine fifteen-year-olds playing these characters. Violence against children, in movies or not, has never been attractive to me, and these teenage characters are frightened, confused, and the vast, vast majority of them are killed in a terrible way. The first two executions in particular are such awful images and if they deserve some defense, it cannot be found from this reviewer. Tarantino will forever be more of an authority figure on motion pictures, and so it would be interesting to hear his thoughts on this.

Until then, it strikes the question of whether or not violence is always necessary in films, or if the world's filmmakers, like Tarantino, are obsessed with images of violence. If Scorsese is right that violence is necessary in movies if it is honest, then both American and Japanese filmmakers do not always fall in line with that, especially the makers of "Battle Royale."

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Crossing the Line

At the beginning of Daniel Gordon's documentary, "Crossing the Line," James Dresnok is "doing very good," but he's a little angry. Why he is angry is explained later, but the point is that Mr. Dresnok is a blue-eyed good ol' Southern boy, who happens to be living in North Korea.

Dresnok explains that he has never regretted coming to North Korea. His particular statements are what make his story and this film so fascinating. North Korea is universally acknowledged to be the last testament of the Cold War, completely isolated from the world and sheltered to the point of chronic alienation. Propaganda is propaganda (and Gordon and his crew do an extremely effective job at largely avoiding a propagandist vernacular and tone), and the Western world has come to fear North Korea, its nuclear arsenal, and its leader, believed by the West to be erratic and dangerous, possibly unstable. How could an American be living in North Korea? Has he been brainwashed? Is he being held against his will? No regrets? The latter appears so, and Dresnok will explain why. Mr. Dresnok is going to tell a story he has never told anyone.

James Joseph Dresnok has been living in North Korea twice as long as he lived in America. He has a sweet Southern twang, and is a large fellow, simultaneously frightening and harmless. He is described by the narrator Christian Slater (who is constantly matter-of-fact and neutral in his narration) as being of a broken home, abandoned parents, and developing a rebellious attitude, always wanting to run away. He is heartbroken in describing his first wife who fell in love with another man while he was stationed in Germany. He again left for the army and was stationed at the DMZ, a place Bill Clinton described as the scariest place on the planet. Having been to the DMZ myself, his statement is mostly accurate, though I would not use the word scary so much as surreal. After seriously disrespecting the orders of his superiors, he said "to hell with this," and in daylight ran across the mine field and was captured by North Korean soldiers. The recounts of his defection are described by Dresnock, U.S., and even North Korean soldiers (one of whom wanted to kill him because both of his parents had been killed by the Americans).

North Korea is scary enough now, so imagine what it would have been like for an American four decades ago. While South Korea is still one of the most homogeneous nations in the world, it is climbing towards one million foreigners in its land; the same cannot be said about their neighbors to the North, and North Koreans probably would have had even greater hatred and suspicion of Americans than today.

Dresnok soon met a fellow defector, and eventually there were a total of four. One of them was named Charles Jenkins. They all became scared, confused, and ready to retreat to the Soviet Union, whose embassy turned them back over to the North Koreans. Dresnok became determined to understand Korean culture and language and become one of them. The four were initially viewed skeptically by the North Koreans, but they, especially Dresnok, eventually became celebrities when the government instructed them to appear as American villains in a 1978 propaganda film. Incidentally, while South Korea's cinema has reached a global audience in an incredibly short period of time, North Korea claims to have given to a global audience the world's most "wonderful" movies. I challenge you to find someone who has seen a single North Korean film.

At the time of the filming, Dresnok was the last defector in North Korea. Two had died, and Jenkins and his wife, a Japanese woman who had been captured by North Korea, escaped to Japan. He was arrested and served thirty days in prison. He released a book describing his misery in Pyongyang, and claimed that Dresnok would beat him if he did not fully comply with the government's wishes. Dresnok claims he is an absolute liar, and Dresnok's emotions shift from reflective to empathetic to sad to proud (as almost any man his age would); it is here, in describing Jenkins—his actions and his words—where Dresnok gets really, really angry. As for Jenkins, he is still alive, living in Japan, and several years ago he returned briefly to the United States to visit his ninety-one-year-old mother before returning to Japan. Dresnok also has a family. His second wife was an Eastern European woman, who birthed him two handsome boys, and although it is not mentioned in the documentary, they are constantly striking awe and flirtation in Korean women, though one of them at least does not want to marry a Korean woman. Dresnok's third and current wife is the biracial daughter of a black parent (again, this is not mentioned in the documentary). Their very young son, Dresnok's third, has curly hair and darker skin. All three of his children are attractive, and Dresnok appears totally blissful in Pyongyang, a country where people are starving to death (at least the government recently executed the scapegoat behind their failed currency redenomination). Dresnok at least is perfectly aware that North Koreans are starving, and he is deeply moved that he still gets rice rations from the government.

Documentarians are often praised for their bravery. These filmmakers are incredibly brave, having filmed in North Korea for three different documentaries (one on the country's soccer team and another on athletes preparing for the Arirang Festival). They are also risking the possibility of facing accusations that they are giving undeserved attention to a defector, communist and anti-American traitor. Sympathy is sympathy and empathy is empathy. Do both exist here? It's in the eye of the beholder, but I found both, though I suppose I'm a little weary of being called a communist.

Movies are usually seen through prisms and experiences. Here's mine: I have lived in South Korea for about seven months. I have become much more interested in North Korea than I was in the United States, but not because South Koreans are interested in North Korea (most of them are clearly not). I have been to the DMZ, as mentioned, and tours to a city called Kaesong, or Gaesong, have been suspended by the South after North Korean soldiers shot and killed a South Korean tourist. The North and South are currently negotiating terms to open up the tours again. Relations between the two are currently at their usual worst, but if the tours were to reopen, I would consider traveling to Kaesong in a second. When I watched this film, it was about a week after a South Korean vessel suffered an explosion and thereby sank it, causing the deaths of nearly fifty South Korean navy men. As of now, it is not clear if North Korea was responsible. If conflicts do heat up again, Mr. Dresnok and I are geographically speaking not too far apart, and we will be first-row witnesses to the tempest.

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