miffedone Reviews

Pandora's Promise (2013)

Not at all convincing

[3/10 · 28 July 2013]

Well, with a title like "Not at all convincing", it will surprise some readers to know that I am a supporter of nuclear power. Unfortunately, this film is polemic, one sided, and so entirely slanted that it works against its own purpose.

Anti-nuke protesters are shown, but only the most extreme ("1,000,000 deaths in Chernobyl!") and holes are so wide you could drive a nuclear submarine through them ("Look! Chernobyl! Almost radiation free!")

The reality is that Chernobyl is a decaying mess, and it is the failure of the nuclear plant that caused it. Even if not directly, *it doesn't matter!* When the nuke plant blows up, nobody is going to stick around because some filmmaker found 27 souls who moved back to Chernobyl 10 years later and they're OK.

The problem of nuclear waste is real. It doesn't matter whether we've poured $30 billion into Yucca Mountain or not, the people of Nevada are unmistakably against it (nearly 75%!) so pretending it's a problem that will somehow go away is akin to howling at the moon.

Solar (and other renewables) are dismissed with "You can't do everything with solar power." Well, I don't know of anyone outside a few oddball extremists who ever thought that. Pretending that's a legitimate argument may allow you to demolish it, but then what have you accomplished? You've demonstrated that you can mount an effective argument against a lie? Good show.

I happen to be one who believes that humans have a limitless appetite for energy. I am sure that nuclear has to be part of that, and probably a BIG part of that. But reducing opponents' arguments to caricature and showing lopsided and occasionally irrelevant factoids is not the way to convince anyone.

Here's the question: do you want people to say "Yes, the industry should only use government approved designs, or should the 'free market' be allowed to produce anything it wants" flies in the face of the ideology of most of the supporters of nuclear power. Do you think anyone, anywhere wants the nuclear waste in their backyard? No? Why not? (I know, I know, everybody's irrational except you.) What would happen In New York City if that happy little nuclear power station on Long Island went up in smoke, as Fukushima did (which we were assured could never happen, of course.)

These are the questions I hoped the documentary would answer, for the good of the industry, global warming, the nation and the planet. Unfortunately this film is more of an infomercial for the nuclear industry, as phony as the chicken that come so perfectly baked (every time!) from that stove-top rotisserie grill you can buy for only 3 easy payments of $39.99.

Twenty Feet from Stardom (2013)

Great documentary about not quite making the top

[9/10 · 21 July 2013]

There are some people who toil anonymously in the music business: session musicians, recording engineers, producers and so on. And then there are the backup singers. Many of those, probably most dream of being out front, becoming a star, and gaining worldwide fame, applause, respect.

For most, it doesn't happen. Once in a while somebody breaks through: Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, Elton John, Barry Manilow, Sheryl Crowe, Phil Collins. More often, it's a day job, and they are called for sessions, sing their part and go home. Sometimes they will be a permanent part of the act, like the Raylettes with Ray Charles, but they don't get the big rewards the upfront star does.

Such is the story of "20 Feet From Stardom", where we meet a half dozen or more who have had a career in the back light, occasionally getting the break to record their own album, and then ... nothing. Darlene Love was the voice of the Crystals, except Phil Spector kept slapping somebody else's name on her recordings and she got nothing. (She ended up cleaning houses for a living. But two years ago, in much belated recognition, she was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.) Merry Clayton is another; she's the haunting female lead on the Stones "Gimme Shelter", but as a solo artist she just never took off.

It's a well constructed film, and if a bit indulgent here or there, it's just a matter of choice in the editing booth, not a failure of the director to deliver.

If you have any interest in the music industry, or have ever thought of a career as a singer, this is a great lesson on the realities of that business. (This would also apply to acting, where "That Guy" did a similar riff on that equally competitive business.

Of course it's worth noting that while there are lots of people "20 Feet from Stardom", there are legions more who never even get that close, and who wind up singing in saloons, street corners, and even subway stops. It's a tough world out there. "20 Feet From Stardom" picks a point closer to the pinnacle, but not quite, and that's what makes it interesting.

42 (2013)

Two heroes

[9/10 · 26 April 2013]

I was in fifth grade in 1957. Northern New Jersey, having just moved from California. "Racism" was a word, not to mention concept, I had never heard. It wasn't as though I ignored it, I was entirely unconscious that such a thing existed (something that would change a few years later when my family went to visit a Great Uncle in Florida.)

1957 was a time before pee-wee or Pop Warner football, at least in my town, and even predated most NFL broadcasts on television. Baseball was the national pastime, my pastime, and the subject of all my classmates' sports adoration of the era. And living in Jersey I had three teams from which to choose: Yankees, Dodgers, and Giants (at least for a couple years.) I chose the Yankees, home to Mickey Mantle, Phil Rizutto, Yogi Berra and others. I had all their baseball cards and many more.

I played Little League; my team was "Local 207", which I now understand was sponsored by "a union", although at the time I had no idea what that meant. I was All-Star Second Baseman one year, saved the final game of the year for my team by catching a hard-hit line-drive in the bottom of the ninth, and I was a hero for the next two months. The following year I made 16 errors, and did not try out for the team, or any baseball team again after that.

There is one other memory, burned into my brain so deeply I can remember the color of the sky and the exact location of the milk truck my teammates and I were sitting in; it belonged to one of the fathers and he used it to deliver to the neighborhood every morning at 4AM. It was a box truck, white with a rear door that slid out of the way, and on afternoon it was lousy with fifth graders, all jabbering about nothing as fifth graders often do, voices rising, rising again to be heard above the din. I sat in the back doorway next to two teammates. One of them was black, the only minority on the team, and one of the only ones I knew, our entire school having had only three that I recall, none of whom were in any of my classes.

Something out the back, and this part eludes me now, caused me to focus, then count aloud "Eenie, meenie, miney, moe, catch a n!gger by the toe." I instantly understood that I had made a terrible gaffe, but was too shell shocked to do anything but let my head fall and shut up. My black teammate got up, walked to the front of the truck, and we were never friends again.

I have never told that anecdote except once, this afternoon, to my wife as we left the showing of "42", the story of Jackie Robinson. She was aghast, I suppose it goes without saying. My tale only amplified the film, a revelation to her, for not only did she not know the Jackie Robinson story, she did not understand the pervasiveness of racism that existed throughout America at the time, in so many levels of society.

The bravery of Robinson, as well as Dodgers' owner Branch Rickey and others came as news, and for only the second time that I remember, she enjoyed "a baseball picture" ("Moneyball" was the first.)

Harrison Ford turns in a surprisingly good performance (to my surprise), and the rest of the cast is marvelous, including, of course, Chadwick Boseman as Robinson and Nicole Beharie as his wife. But it is the story which has such power, brought low only by the swelling trumpets at the end and the cliché ending which I will not spoil except to say, well, you know, baseball and a man at bat and...

If the "n" word bothers you, you will not enjoy the film, as it is used nearly as much as "Django", but if you, like me, ever had occasion to seek forgiveness for having used it, perhaps the film will help set you free. It was part of the landscape and we were all unconscious then.

Well, not all of us. Not Branch Rickey, and certainly not Jackie Robinson. Two heroes of America, who might just have changed the world.

Hitchcock (2012)

'Hitchcock' and 'The Girl'

[8/10 · 20 December 2012]

One of the first television shows I can remember growing up was "Alfred Hitchcock Presents." Of course I was around 10, and had no idea that Hitchcock was a renowned film director, or much of anything else. He was just a weird guy on TV with unusual dramas, which, like Twilight Zone and a couple of other shows I gravitated towards, always fighting with my father who wanted to watch westerns, westerns, Gunsmoke, Bonanza, and westerns.

Anyway, my wife, for reasons I do not understand, watched "The Girl" on HBO a couple months ago and recommended it highly. I had it on the TiVo but never got around to it - until earlier this week. It's the story of Hitch and Tippi Hedrin, who was one of Hitchcock's famous icy blondes, and one to whom he gave particular torment first in "The Birds" and then in "Marnie". She rebuffed his crude advances, whereupon he battered her psychologically and even physically (a film director can do all sorts of things while pretending it's "for the camera") although not, apparently, sexually.

Anyway, he comes off as a lout and a creep which, by other accounts, was largely true. Seeing "The Girl" made it an easier decision to see "Hitchcock", now playing at the local cineplex.

It's not the same story but it's close, this time of Janet Leigh and the making of "Psycho", a film everyone told Hitchcock not to do, one which the studio refused to finance, one which the notorious Code Board refused to approve, and once it was all done and hurdles overcome, which theater owners refused to exhibit.

Great story, well acted, and he's still a creep. Fabulous performances by Anthony Hopkins (for who, against all logic, I held little hope of inhabiting the role) and Helen Mirren as his long- suffering and exceptionally talented wife. (A goodly amount of Hitchcock's success must be laid at her feet, although scarcely anyone outside the business knows that. The film is nominally the love story of Hitchcock and Alma, but it's much more than that.)

On the way to the theater I was explaining to my wife how Hitchcock opened his television shows: straight "fourth-wall" read to the audience, unusual then and even now. She, being a decade younger, had never seen the TV show. Wouldn't you know: the movie opens with Hopkins, aka Hitchcock, doing exactly that. Perhaps it's not brilliantly clever, but it worked.

Recommended: both the HBO show and the film. You will probably come away with simultaneously lowered and heightened opinions of the man, a brilliant - and under-appreciated - filmmaker in his era, and a fairly loathsome human being in most other regards. If not reciting filthy limericks to his leading ladies, then he was introducing himself to young women at parties with "Call me Hitch, hold the Cock."

They didn't have lawsuits in those days, I guess.

The Newsroom (2012–2014)

It's hard to write this review

[5/10 · 3 July 2012]

I have been a fan of so many of Aaron Sorkin's projects, from "The West Wing" to "An American President" to "Moneyball" to "The Social Network", even "Sports Night" and more, so I came to this show with high hopes.

And the Pilot delivered. No, it wasn't perfect, but there were more than enough satisfying moments to make up for the few bits of silliness. But by Episode 2 it is apparent that the characters here are not real, they're caricatures of what the might have been: the TV anchor who is an ass, the ratings driven madman confidant, the earnest executive producer, the smug Vice President of News, and so on.

After one good episode we get one that should have been taken back to the Scriptwriting laundromat. Spoiler alert: (How many coincidences can we stand? In Episode One the new guy just happens to know two people high up at BP. In this one the neophyte producer just happens to have hidden under a bed while a paramour, now gubernatorial spokesperson, carried on. How many times must the EP make a mistake sending a text message before we get it?) Silliness prevails!

I've only seen two eps, and I will give it one more chance, but the odds don't look good. Give the first Episode an 8, the second a 2. Average so far: 5, and that's generous.

Smash (2012–2013)

Great start, downhill from there

[7/10 · 18 April 2012]

After a stunning premiere episode, and a couple good ones that followed, the series has taken a dive as it's become ever more wrapped up in lame and awkward soap opera plot points that only detract from the theme. The casting is excellent: McPhee (Karen) and Hilty (Ivy) have a genuine rivalry and oodles of singing talent, you can feel a genuine backstory to Messing (Julia) and Borle (Tom)'s songwriting relationship, and Jack Davenport (Derek) is delicious as the egomaniacal director. Even other, less central cast members are well selected: the grinch you love to hate Ellis, Karen's love interest Jaffray (Dev), and of course Angelica Huston all fit like a glove.

So why is the show going downhill? Cheap writing, unrealistic plot developments, and everything is toooooo fast. Remember "Cheers"? Sam & Diane had a sexual tension for five *years* before getting together. On "West Wing" it was Josh and Donna tussling for seven. Here, by episode four, Julia has wrecked her marriage, it takes Ellis mere weeks to climb from "house sitter" to "almost co-producer", and only a month or two to get from one song to a full workshop, and soon to Boston with a new leading lady. Whiplash, anyone?

The writing is often just silly: Julia starts making out on the street in front of her own house with a paramour? The bartender keeps a basketball size stack of cash right under the bar, not even in a lockbox? Dev can't bring himself to tell his live-in that he didn't get a promotion, so he's going to split with her? This is the very definition of ham-fisted plot development.

More? Karen gets a lucky break when a mogul sees her at a bar-mitzvah, records a great demo, nothing is ever heard of it again. OK, it was an excuse to watch her sing, but that's it? Dropped plot point much? Ivy freaks out at Karen. Wait! Now Karen & Ivy are singing together in Times Square! Wait! Ivy is a bitch again! Wait! Now they're having drinks at the bar! We like Julia. No, we hate Julia! Oh wait, Julia's remorseful, we like her again. No wait ...

The music - or most of it, at least - is excellent. McPhee and Hilty each bring something very different to the table. Hilty is a bit "big" for the small screen, but then McPhee would likely be a bit "small" for the Broadway stage, so neither is "just perfect" but both are great here. The songs are catchy, memorable, and there have been (with only one or two exceptions) no attempt to jam Glee- ish material into corners where it doesn't not comfortably fit. And no, nobody thinks Wittman and Shaiman should be producing four original songs per episode, although by some reports they could.

No, the series has gotten sidetracked into a cheesy soap opera world of secondary characters we don't really care that much about, and has lost credibility (and viewership) along the way. One hopes that with a new showrunner in Season Two there can be a reboot, that it can transcend the mistakes of the first season, that it can be a big (*a lot, actually) smarter, but the steady and continuing ratings decline presage a difficult restart next season. I'm hoping for a bit turnaround, and it can't happen fast enough for me, because I began the season with such high hopes.

Leap Year (2010)

The scenery was great!

[5/10 · 9 January 2010]

And by 'scenery', I mean Amy Adams. And for the ladies, I suppose, Matthew Goode. Ireland isn't so bad, either, but Director Anand Tucker manages to keep the lens tight on the two stars rather than the sumptuous countryside, with only a couple of exceptions. So while there is a decent feast for the eyes, for the brain? Not so much.

Every move is telegraphed, every plot twist tortuously engineered; heck, Lucy Ricardo had more subtlety setting up contrivances, every next scene is a rehash of an endless line of romantic comedies, and there are barely a couple of giggles along the way. If it were not for the denouement in the final 10 minutes, the 2-minute preview would have sufficed.

Which is a shame, because Adams has shown that she has the chops to carry a picture, and Goode buttresses his part well enough, but somehow the anti-chemistry never dissolves into believable passion, and with the paucity of real humor, this turns out not to be either very romantic, or very much comedy.

Still, if you love Amy Adams (as I do), it's probably worth a look, otherwise, look elsewhere.

Nine (2009)

Nine. It gets a Five.

[5/10 · 2 January 2010]

So Rob Marshall of "Chicago" fame has, at last, taken on another project, this one the film adaptation of the Tony winning 1982 musical "Nine", and he has stocked it with a bevy of Hollywood stars: Daniel Day Lewis, Nicole Kidman, Drew Barrymore, Penelope Cruz, Fergie, and the not-so-Hollywood Judi Dench, Marion Cotillard, and even Sophia Loren.

Alas, all this eye candy rolling around in cheap and sleazy outfits does not eliminate the need for plot, or even for singing ability, only a little of which is apparent in this overlong and indulgent transplant. As terrific an actor as DDL is, we quickly tire of his same-old same-old exposition of a dried up director, unable to connect with his muse, devoid of character arc or even thought, while a seemingly endless supply of once past and potential inspirationettes come to the spotlight, sing yet another unmemorable song, and disappear.

I was surprised to learn that "Nine" won a Tony at all, but even moreso to find that it beat "Dreamgirls" and "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat" in 1982. Perhaps it was because of the connection to Fellini's "8 1/2", that director's narcissistic melanges still in vogue at the time. "Cats", another musical without the merest shred of story won in 1983, so maybe Tony voters thought that plot had become irrelevant? I don't know and I don't remember, and even more sadly, I don't care.

Well, I went because it was Rob Marshall, and disappointed as I was in his choice of material, it was a tolerable two hours - if you like musicals, if you haven't seen one for a while, and if you don't mind singers who don't sing so well coupled with dance numbers shot to camouflage whether the dancers can dance, too. In the case of these stars, who don't much dance for a living, perhaps that's what Marshall was trying to accomplish: to see if he could skip the audience past the singing and dancing part of a big budget celluloid presentation of what might have been a hoofer and belter delight two decades ago on the boards of New York's 46th Street Theater - using unknown but exceptional "capital B" Broadway talent.

Except for Fergie's dance routine, which does interesting things with sand, the rest are pedestrian, the music forgettable (I've already forgotten it!) and the story line practically non-existent, this film is a big letdown. "Nine." I give it a five.