MOVIES: 'War of the Worlds' 1953 vs. 2005

MOVIES: 'War of the Worlds' 1953 vs. 2005

The Martians are coming! The Martians are coming! In a fit of madness, I sat down over Thanksgiving weekend and watched Earth go up in flames not once but twice, watching two takes on H.G. Wells' 1898 invasion epic "War of the Worlds" — first the 1953 movie, then last summer's Tom Cruise remake. And for a week I was filled with paranoid dread.

I hadn't seen the 1953 "War of the Worlds" since I was a kid, and was surprised by how much fun it is, albeit as a guilty pleasure. It's got that Technicolor, stagey feel of other sci-fi golden oldies like the original "The Blob" and "The Fly." But it's fast-paced, entertaining and holds up pretty well more than 50 years later. Gene Barry is Dr. Clayton Forrester, one of those great 1950s clench-jawed he-man scientists, who is first at the scene when Martians invade the earth with an arsenal of terrifying weaponry. Forrester uses his know-how along with the army to battle the alien machines, but nothing seems to stop them. They even throw a nuke at the bug-eyed beasts, in a stunning scene that still packs a visceral punch. The final act, when all seems lost, is done with an apocalyptic vigor as Forrester runs alone through a destroyed city, visiting churches filled with huddled refugees, hoping against hope for a savior — which comes from a most unexpected source.

While it's corny by modern standards (Dig the square dance social in the opening scenes! Note how Dr. Forrester never loses his tie!), "WOTW" is still a blast. The alien ship designs are still an iconic classic, and it's a breezy 90 minutes long. Of course, like most classics, it had to be remade. Along comes Steven Spielberg, with the 2005 "War of the Worlds." While boasting fine visuals, story-wise it's a sullen disappointment, all menace but little heart.

"War of the Worlds" 2005 just feels joyless and grim, without the sense of wonder Spielberg's brought to dark sci-fi films like "Minority Report" and "A.I." (both of which I loved). Yeah, it's about the end of the world, but does it have to be such a downer, man? It lacks the popcorn-movie kick an alien invasion movie really should have. Instead of swarthy scientist Barry, the lead this time is swarthy ... auto mechanic Tom Cruise, as a loser divorced dad with his two squawky kids visiting for the weekend. Of course, the kids visit the weekend the Martians invade. Things go boom, Tom runs, and he and the kids set off on a cross-country odyssey barely keeping one step ahead of death by ray-gun.

"WOTW 2005"'s initial scenes of alien invasion are truly scary and creepy, "E.T." gone psychopath. Spielberg as always is a master of establishing tension. But there's way too many holes in the plot, which leave you scratching your head, and the final third of the movie is a deflating bore. Once the action moves to a claustrophobic farmhouse siege with guest-psycho Tim Robbins (and the movie really starts to rip off 2002's similar "Signs"), all momentum is gone.

There are some amazing moments in the new "WOTW," showing Spielberg's typically vivid imagery -- an idyllic river in a beautiful setting, which gradually fills with corpses floating downsteam; a train on fire, screaming along the tracks like a ghost; the immense, clanking designs of the alien ships. It's also an interesting tactic, making Cruise's self-involved father the central character watching the invasion from a man-on-the-street angle. You don't watch man's efforts to battle the aliens as vividly as you did in the original "War." But it also distances you from the movie if you don't really care what happens to Cruise, and this character is far from his best role. (Little Dakota Fanning, though, is great as his daughter.)

Both movies are kind of let down by the unfulfilling ending of Wells' original book — which I won't spoil here just in case you've never seen or read any "War of the Worlds." It's logical enough and was novel back in 1898, but it's also static and lacks the energetic release two hours of alien-fleeing tension deserves. I had a better time watching the 1953 version, even though you can clearly see the wires holding up the invading spaceships in several scenes. It's got an energy and kitschy charm that the dour remake self-consciously avoids indulging in. It's almost as if in trying to subvert the clichés of the genre, Spielberg's "War of the Worlds" fades away like people blasted into dust by laser beams.

LIFE: The Way of the Weaning

LIFE: The Way of the Weaning

Could you refuse this face?

So, we've finally taken the last dramatic steps toward leaving babyhood behind. Toddler Peter has been mostly weaned for a few months now, only doing a brief nighttime feeding, but faithful wife Avril and I decided it was time to go "cold turkey" and adjust the lad to life without the breast. At 21 1/2 months old, he's been doing it for a while, but heck, he's an extremely healthy, happy boy who's a lot bigger than most other kids his age, so breast-feeding clearly has agreed with him. But everything has to end eventually... It's time to get hardcore.

Last night was the first "nurse-free" one, and apparently it went really well (I had to work early, so Avril got to stay up and soothe the boy till 10:30 or so). No crying or hollering at all. It ain't over yet, and we'll see how Night 2 goes tonight, but we're doing better than we feared. The keys seem to be distraction and keep stuffing him with food. Truth be told, Peter is probably ready for this even if he doesn't quite know it. It'll be at least a week before it sticks, and we'll have to hear his plaintive little inquiries of "nur... nur?" (nurse) for a little while yet, though. Brave wife deserves 99.9% of the credit for easing him through this change. I, however, do give very good horsey rides.

I'm already getting sad at the idea my mini-me boy won't be a baby forever. He's running, talking and coming up with new words all the time ("helicopter," "digger" and compound sentences are his latest feats). Toilet training lurks on the horizon, which will definitely be a highlight of 2006. He'll start preschool in 2007. Then before you know it he'll be stealing the keys to my car. We're pretty sure we're a one-child family, but you can see how quickly the urge to make another perfect li'l critter just like the one you've got can sneak up on you...

MUSIC: The Perfect Songs, Part I

MUSIC: The Perfect Songs, Part I

There are a handful of Perfect Songs in your life. Inspired by bloggers like the redoubtable Greg Burgas who does something like this, here's part the first of an occasional list of songs that don't have a wasted lyric, a missed note. A great many are love songs because, heck, that's what most songs are, and I'm a lovin' kind of fella. These songs are all attached to something for me, like most perfect songs have to be -- a place, a time, a person -- and that's a big part of what makes 'em perfect, of course. They tell their story, they pluck the heartstrings or boogey-joint (everyone has a boogey-joint), and they stick in your brain, buzzing away. Perfection is subjective; I'm right and you're wrong, or maybe the other way around, yadda yadda yadda. Here's three of my Perfect Songs, in no particular order --

1. "Wildflowers," by Tom Petty. A friend is in trouble, someone you adore who's bright and smart and yet has the world's worst taste in men; she deserves better, she really does, but she has to be free to make her own mistakes. One of Petty's most fragile, lovely songs, sung in a tumbledown bar on the edge of town; sentimental without being sappy, as true as it is bittersweet. That girl got messed up bad and you two never were quite the same. "You belong somewhere you feel free."

2. "Ocean," by Sebadoh. You know when you lust after someone but kinda want to kill them at the same time? That's this song, the soundtrack for those final days of a relationship. A bouncy jangling jingle, about love turning into hate, a girl who can't make up her mind, that moment when you realized you're trapped between people. Sebadoh, a half-forgotten band from the grungy slack mid-1990s with former Dinosaur Jr. member Lou Barlow at the helm. Lou sings this one with a bemused detachment, combining wry amusement with that awful ache. He knows his obsession is absurd but he can't quite give it up. In 1997 I listened to this song approximately 518 times. "But you answer every question with a riddle / And refuse to even choose to let me go."

3. "Downtown Train" by Tom Waits. Among the many sins for which Rod Stewart deserves to be burned at the stake is the fact that more people know his cover of this song than Waits' gruff, gorgeous original. Tom Waits has a voice that's been run over by a truck and scraped up and patched back together again, and that works beautifully for this lovelorn fable of a spurned man waiting for that train, that girl, that dream. It's far more audience-friendly than almost anything else Waits has ever written, and even Rod Stewart couldn't screw it up too badly. But drenched in rain and whiskey and stubble, powered by a marvelously shimmering, heartbroken guitar riff, the original can't be touched. "The downtown trains are full with all those Brooklyn girls / they try so hard to break out of their little worlds."

Look for more Perfect Songs in the near future!

Waiting in line for 7 hours at a Wal-Mart the day after Thanksgiving is my personal idea of what Hell must be like. Seriously, I don't get it. The amount of money you save on trinkets and gadgets doesn't account for the amount of aggravation, in my mind.

Of course, I do most of my rather sparse Christmas shopping in October and November. Yeah, I'm one of those people.

COMICS: Cruisin' with 'The King'

...So you might notice the new little link button right over there -- yes, that one. I've joined the secretive cabal that's really running the Internet, BlogCritics! It's a nifty site that combines the efforts of more than a thousand different bloggers on pop culture topics from all over the spectrum, and I'm pleased they've let me join their evil conspiracy. Seriously, though, it's a swell site, a kind of "best of" the critical net voices out there, and you'll be able to find my writing there hopefully a couple times a week. You can head over right now and read my cheaply reposted piece from this site on "Low" by Hugo Wilcken. Go browse, I can wait.

Anyway, for those who stuck around, let's get back to my post for today....

COMICS: Cruisin' with 'The King'

The good folks at Top Shelf have sent yours truly some fine comix lately to read which I'll be reviewing on here periodically. When I got their box of comics, the first one that jumped out at me was Rich Koslowski's "The King." I mean, c'mon -- Elvis! In a fearsome gold mask! I'm in. As I mentioned mere days ago in a footnote, I only recently really developed an appreciation for that Presley kid's impact on music history.

Now along comes Rich Koslowski (creator of "The 3 Geeks" among others), who's crafted a graphic novel that's both a cunning tribute to Elvis and an insightful dissection of what our idols really mean to us. Elvis has returned, you see, or someone claiming to be him, a top-notch impersonator who wears a golden helmet and has all the King's moves down pat. From his home base in Vegas, "The King" is drawing fans and a growing cult of obsessions. He claims to be the real Elvis –- and that he's even become a kind of god, resurrected to do his work again. Paul Erfurt, a disgraced tabloid journalist desperate to make the big time, is sent to Vegas to find out the truth about Elvis. He doesn't have a clue what he's getting into.

There's a real air of soulful enigma to "The King" that I liked. Koslowski doesn't go in for easy jokes about Elvis, nor does he stoop to fanboy worship. He's hunting for answers about what Elvis means to the people who're following him -- and to himself. Erfurt interviews many people trying to get to the truth -- spurned lovers, acolytes, bodyguards and people who might know who this new Elvis really is -- but in the end answers are all subjective. "The King" is a kind of existential pop culture romp, "Twin Peaks" meets "Jailhouse Rock" -- a bit of drama, bit of action, bit of introspection and a fair amount of wry humor. Koslowski's art is crisp and clean, with a cartoony edge that emphasizes the characters' emotions. Black and white with nice use of duotone shading, it's a gorgeous little book, with Top Shelf's typically eye-catching design sense. If you're a fan of Elvis -- or just a fan of explorations of fame in general -- "The King" is worth seeking out. $19.95, 250 pages, available at Top Shelf or finer comic stores everywhere.

...No posting for the next few days, as we're getting ready for my folks to roll into town tonight and all that Turkey Day goodness. Hope you and yours have a fine holiday full of stuffing and no bad cranberries.

MOVIES: 'Walk The Line'

MOVIES: 'Walk The Line'

Johnny Cash walked the line between Satan and salvation much of his life.

Growing up dirt-poor in Arkansas with a bitter, drunken father, and suffering the early loss of a beloved older brother in a hideous accident, Cash knew pain — and transformed that hurt into a passel of fantastic tunes, becoming an early rock ’n’ roller, a country music icon and one of the few musicians cool to just about everyone.

He struggled with drug addiction for years, and long-unrequited love for a fellow singer. He raised a lot of hell — yet he was also a committed Christian.
He’s one of the few musicians to end up in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and the Country Music Hall of Fame, and he had hits stretching from the 1950s right on up to months before his death in 2003.

Johnny Cash’s epic American life was made for a movie, and “Walk The Line” delivers, thanks to remarkable performances from Joaquin Phoenix as Johnny Cash and Reese Witherspoon as his future wife, June Carter.

It’s mostly a rousing joy, although director James Mangold bogs down a little too much in the drug abuse and darkness of Cash’s life. The potent romantic chemistry and soaring music performances give “Walk The Line” its real kick.

The musical numbers crackle with an electric tension, particularly when Phoenix and Witherspoon duet. Believe it or not, these two actually sang every note themselves. Phoenix really manages to evoke the spirit of Cash’s deep drawling majesty, echoing Cash without just imitating him. It’s a smart move — merely lip-synching Cash’s tunes would not have had the same weight onscreen.

The story follows the first 40 years or so of Cash’s life. Trying to support his wife Vivian and children as a young man — a marvelous bit shows the travails of “John Cash, door-to-door salesman” — Cash flounders, knowing that he wants to play his music, but unsure how to achieve it.

In an audition before pioneering Memphis record producer Sam Phillips, we watch Cash feel his way through a halting performance of “Folsom Prison Blues,” discovering his signature sound right before our eyes (“steady like a train, sharp like a razor,” June Carter calls it).

These early scenes capture the musical camaraderie and shaping of young Cash’s image. Future legends like Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis and Cash cram into cars and drive from show to show in small Southern towns.

On the tour, Cash meets June Carter, part of a legendary country singing family. They become friends, and then more — but Cash and Carter are both married unhappily to other people, and Carter turns down Cash’s constant flirtations. For more than a decade, the two fight their attraction, and Cash dulls his heartache with a steady diet of amphetamines, slowly killing himself even as he becomes world-famous.

Phoenix, best known for supporting roles in “Gladiator” and “Signs,” takes on the tough task of portraying a beloved pop culture figure and pulls it off. He gets Cash’s self-destructive edge and the hole left in his soul by his brother’s death and the casual cruelty of his father (played by a fierce Robert Patrick). We watch a hopeful young singer turn into the dark, dramatic Johnny Cash who would change music.

And as the tough, spirited June, who becomes Cash’s obsession and lifesaver, Witherspoon gives an amazing performance, light years from the frothy comedy of “Legally Blonde.” It’s her first truly “adult” role, and a fine showcase of her versatility.

Johnny Cash’s life was too big for one movie to hold, and there’s a lot “Walk The Line” misses or fudges a bit for dramatic purposes (one particularly emotional onstage scene at the climax didn’t happen like that in real life). The basic structure here comes perilously close to biographical cliché — rags to riches to rags to riches again — but Phoenix and Witherspoon’s powerhouse acting sells it.

The fiery romance of Johnny Cash and June Carter was one part of their legend, and “Walk The Line” makes you feel that burning passion all over again. Look for it to win some Oscar gold next year.

MEDIA: Man of the Year

MEDIA: Man of the Year

Yeah, it's that time of the year, when all the big ol' year-end magazine issues start coming out summarizing the good, the bad and the ugly of the year that was. I love these things. TIME is one of the 800-pound gorillas of the genre, with their "Person of the Year" award coming up. There's only one logical choice for this year, and that "man" would have to be Mother Nature. Between the Asian tsunami (which technically happened at the very end of 2004, but the full scale became apparent to the world this year), Pakistan earthquake (which killed 80,000 people) and a few hurricanes that you might have heard about, this was a year where we were reminded who the boss is, and how insignificant we can be when the world reminds us of it. All told, millions of people had their lives ended or changed by the whims of nature and weather this year.

Anyway, I don't know who or what TIME will pick, although I'd bet cash money on some configuration of Nature, Poseidon or whatever getting it when the issue comes out Dec. 19. One thing that always annoys me a little bit about this issue, though, is how many people believe it's meant to be some kind of honor. This from TIME itself: a man, woman, or idea that "for better or worse, has most influenced events in the preceding year." That doesn't mean a hero, necessarily. Look at the past names honored -- 1938, Adolf Hitler. 1939, Joseph Stalin. 1971: Richard Nixon. 1979: Ayatallah Khoemeni. Um, George W. Bush, twice, in 2000 and 2004. Point being, "most influenced" doesn't necessarily offer a value judgment with it, and it's not always an honor.

In fact, I'd argue that in 2001, picking Rudy Giuliani was kind of a wussy way of addressing 9/11 -- not that Rudy didn't do a nice job recovering from it -- but the man who most influenced the year surely was wack-job murderer Osama bin Laden. Of course, all them folk who don't get what "person of the year" means would have burned down TIME's offices if they'd done that. To remain true to what "Person of the Year" means, TIME has to keep in mind their own definition and not kowtow to the public's misunderstanding of it. If that means sometimes the "bad guys" win, so be it.

Great Caesar's ghost, it's my third post in one day! I'm a madman!
It isn't the perfect iPod shuffle, but it's close. Tonight's iPod exercise regime shuffle - with annotations!

She's The One - The Ramones
Drown - Smashing Pumpkins
Jet Plane In A Rocking Chair - Richard Thompson
Hump Me One More Time - John Lee Hooker*
Gone For Good - The Shins
Original Prankster - The Offspring
Magic Finger - James Superstar Kolchaka
(Now And Then) There's A Fool Such As I - Elvis Presley**
Knockin' On Heaven's Door - Guns 'N' Roses***
One Line - PJ Harvey****
Smothered in Hugs - Guided By Voices
It's Just Too Much - The Velvet Underground
A Forest - The Cure
'Cause I Love You - Johnny Cash*****
To The End - Blur

*If there's a finer song title in existence, I don't want to know it.

**I used to consider Elvis strictly as an object of kitsch, after two visits to Graceland and an infinity of Elvis jokes with my old pal John H. It took the greatest hits CDs "1" and "2nd To None" to convince me there was a reason they called him King.

***Yeah, this so-awful-it's-good cover is a guilty pleasure, as is most Guns 'N' Roses. However, it suffers from what I'd call the band's fatal flaw (besides Axl Rose being, how do you say, batshit insane) -- the song goes one a good two minutes longer than it needs to. About the time the idiotic phone call interruption starts and the gospel chorus kicks in, skip to next track. I'd argue the same critical flaw for several of their other songs, except for "November Rain," which goes on so very long that it goes right through the membrane of "suck" and back out into something resembling epic cool again.

****I am torn between the three sexiest women's voices in rock - PJ Harvey, Sinéad O'Connor, or Lucinda Williams.

*****Going to go see "Walk The Line" tomorrow. Hurray!

Superman Returns: The first teaser trailer here, and I am intrigued. It's very short, but it sure looks purty. The heavy reliance on the classic first two Christopher Reeve movies as backstory is something that could go very wrong, or very right (hearing Marlon Brando's dead voice as Jor-El on the trailer is a spooky effect). Still, director Bryan Singer done good with the "X-Men" movies, so I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. This will either be next summer's "Spider-Man," or, its "Ang Lee's Hulk." And let's hope Richard Pryor doesn't make a cameo.

I can't believe I didn't know this was coming out Tuesday.

If you haven't seen "The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou", you don't know what I'm talking about. If you have, an entire album of pidgin English/Portugese David Bowie covers with a Caribbean tilt? Could any sane man pass that up? I (heart) Seu Jorge.