Synopsis: Academy Award winner George Clooney stars in the title
role of this suspense thriller. As an assassin, Jack (played by Mr.
Clooney) is constantly on the move and always alone. After a job in
Sweden ends more harshly than expected for this American abroad,
Jack retreats to the Italian countryside. He relishes being away
from death for a spell as he holes up in a small medieval town.
While there, Jack takes an assignment to construct a weapon for a
mysterious contact, Mathilde (Thekla Reuten). Savoring the peaceful
quietude he finds in the mountains of Abruzzo, Jack accepts the
friendship of local priest Father Benedetto (Paolo Bonacelli) and
pursues a torrid liaison with a beautiful woman, Clara (Violante
Placido). Jack and Clara's time together evolves into a romance, one
seemingly free of danger. But by stepping out of the shadows, Jack
may be tempting fate.
Full review soon . . .
Running Time: 1 hr. 35
min.
Rating: R for violence, sexual content and nudity.
From the time they’re young children, most people are taught that
there’s good and evil in the world, along with angels and demons,
God as well as the devil. But while many continue to believe in this
cosmic supernatural battle throughout their lives, many others also
cease to believe.
But what would happen if you stopped
believing in the devil – and even felt you had the means and a
mission to prove he doesn’t exist – only to find out that you
might be wrong and it might be too late to ever regain a strong
enough belief to save yourself from his attack?
That’s the creepy
question underlying the new horror film “The
Last Exorcism,” in which a former child preacher named Cotton
Marcus (Patrick Fabian), who became famous for casting out demons,
has grown up to be a sarcastic con artist scamming people out of
their hard-earned dollars with fake ceremonies and false promises.
But after years of deception, Marcus has become wracked with
guilt after hearing of a young girl who died after undergoing an
exorcism, and as a result he’s hired a film crew to follow him on
one last job in an attempt to reveal on-camera just how fake
exorcisms are and teach people that the devil is just a figment of
our collective imaginations. He picks a request by the Sweetzer
family, who live down a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, and
heads out to “free” their teenage daughter Nell (Ashley Bell) and
prove that her bizarre behavior has nothing to do with possession.
Well, anyone who has seen the film’s creepy posters and bus
ads knows that Nell ain’t going to go quietly. Soon, she’s veering
between her normal sweet disposition and a vicious rage that leads
her to slice Cotton’s hand, climb the walls and talk like an ogre –
and we haven’t even gotten to the fact she shows up with a catatonic
stare in the hotel room of a crew member despite the fact they’re
miles away and never told her where they were staying.
Cotton suddenly realizes he might be having to tangle with
Satan after all, but his lack of faith may very well have rendered
him powerless. With one twisted moment after another spinning out of
control, viewers are left to wonder if he can pull salvation back
from the brink.
“The Last Exorcism” follows in the footsteps of other famous
horror mockumentaries like “The Blair Witch Project” and “Paranormal
Activity,” but it scores on several levels above and beyond those
prior efforts. “Blair” was almost entirely raw-looking and drew its
fear-mongering from its normal-young-adult protagonists slowly
losing their minds and cool while hopelessly trapped in some
desolate woods, while “Paranormal” relied on dispassionate
security-style footage to convey its dance with the dark side.
But “Exorcism” has a vibrant and charismatic lead to follow
while still maintaining the feel and appearance of being utterly
real. It’s the slicker-looking, professional feel of the footage
that makes the gambit work so well, because it makes it easy for the
viewer to think as long as pros are involved in the film’s story,
nothing can get too crazy. They’ll know how to handle anything,
right? Right?
“Exorcism” also has an inherent wit that was utterly lacking
in its forebears, as Cotton tries to keep his wisecracking cool
throughout when the Sweetzer family’s not looking. Director Daniel
Stamm and writers Huck Botko and Andrew Gurland wisely chose total
unknowns for the leads, which is key to the effectiveness of the
genre, and dole out the scares in a tasteful enough fashion that
amazingly keeps the film at a PG13 rating while being utterly
terrifying as it spins ever further into darkness.
For secular horror-movie fans, “Exorcism” is a terrific work
of terror. But for Christians, the movie harbors a worldview that is
disconcerting in much deeper ways.
SPOILER ALERT (not of plot details as much as broad ideas):
While Cotton Marcus offers a fresh twist on the timeworn character
of a hypocritical minister, his depiction in the film will probably
only serve to further secular-minded viewers’ idea of Christian
leaders as charlatans. Even as he starts to realize the evil he’s
facing is real, he can’t quite seem to regain his beliefs, leaving
the film to bear the message that evil reigns supreme.
That may not come as much of a surprise to those who are wise
enough to shy away from Hollywood’s often pointlessly gruesome
excuses for horror in the slasher-film genre. But when that message
is at the heart of a film like “Exorcism” that is vastly better made
than most horror films, Christian viewers should be warned that it
risks leaving a lasting impression on their minds. I saw the film
two months ago at a film festival, and I still can’t quite shake it.
And while it might have been the filmmakers’ goal, that’s probably
not a good thing for my soul.
If there were such a thing as GQ Jr. or Esquire for Kids — a young-dude
analogue for magazines like Seventeen or Teen Vogue — it might be something
like “Takers,” a primer in juvenile, aspirational cool for guys who might
not be able to handle the suavity of the “Oceans 11” franchise or the
leathery angst of “The Expendables.”
Not that everyone involved in the movie is young, by any means. Matt Dillon,
once among the prettiest faces in Hollywood, has long since grown into a
lean, haggard maturity, and could play a weary, stressed-out Los Angeles
detective in his sleep. He gives “Takers” a measure of gravity, just as
Idris Elba, playing Mr. Dillon’s smooth-but-beleaguered bad-guy counterpart
— the De Niro to his Pacino, to the extent that comparisons to “Heat” are
warranted — gives it a shot of low-key, no-nonsense professionalism.
As for the rest, there is plenty of nonsense, a great deal of stylish
posturing and clothes-horsing, and a few action sequences that manage to be
both gripping and preposterous. The story is a basic heist plot, with a few
complications thrown in for texture and filigree. A group of well-dressed,
ruthless and highly polished robbers knocks over a bank. Led by Gordon
Cozier (Mr. Elba), they favor fine clothes and watches, single-malt Scotch
and a luxury lifestyle that blends fashion-magazine gloss with hip-hop
bravado.
None of them is especially interesting. Or rather, the actors have more
cachet than the guys they are playing. The almost talented Chris Brown and
the brooding Michael Ealy play black brothers, while Paul Walker is the
white man with the furrowed brow, and Hayden Christensen is the other white
guy, who wears a silly skinny-brimmed hat and an annoying smirk. They seem
to enjoy their work, which is more than can be said for Detective Jack
Welles (Mr. Dillon) and his partner, Eddie Hatcher (Jay Hernandez), who
manfully shoulder the burden of cop-movie clichés. Welles has a young
daughter who he loves desperately but neglects in favor of this job (which
also obviously destroyed his marriage), while Hatcher is a family man with a
sick child and growing economic worries.
The cops and robbers are set on a collision course when Ghost (Tip Harris,
better known to rap fans as T.I.) a former member of Cozier’s crew, is
released from prison and cajoles his erstwhile confederates into one more
big job. They trust him even though he seems smarter and more ruthless than
any of them — Mr. Harris, with his slow, Southern speech patterns and his
menacing, reptilian charisma, dominates every scene he is in — and even
though Ghost is clearly jealous that one of his colleagues has taken up with
his former girlfriend, Lily (Zoe Saldana, reduced to slinky decoration).
Meanwhile Cozier has a sister (Marianne Jean-Baptiste) just out of rehab,
Welles has some trouble with internal affairs, and the clock is ticking
toward a big showdown.
“Takers,” directed in what has become the usual fast-cutting, run-and-gun
style by John Luessenhop (who is also one of four credited screenwriters),
was conceived and executed with just enough skill and flair to make you wish
it were better. It views both sides of the law with a detached curiosity and
a measure of respect, which gives it some of the amoral, analytical feel of
a Hong Kong policier. (The slow-motion shoot-outs and tilted frames also
give a nod to the violent pre-Hollywood prime of the Hong Kong maestro John
Woo).
For its first hour or so this picture even displays some restraint, keeping
the body count low and showing some deference to physical laws and
sociological realities. But then a familiar anxiety seems to take over, as
if the filmmakers suddenly became aware of the danger of making things too
subtle and psychologically complex. And so a potentially above-average crime
thriller (along the lines of Spike Lee’s “Inside Man” or Tony Scott’s
underrated remake of “The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3”) reverts to the mean, with
a clattering climax of double-crosses, endless gunfire and chases that go on
too long. “Takers” is kind of cool, but not nearly as cool as it wants to be
or thinks it is.
“Takers” is rated PG-13 (Parents strongly cautioned). Surprisingly little
swearing, sex or blood.
The story of Pat Tillman's life and death is all that Hollywood craves:
heroism, iconoclasm, conspiracy, sports, a little romance, a lot of tragedy.
Imagine how much the studios would love to make a movie about the NFL safety
who quit pro football to fight alongside his brother in Iraq and Afghanistan
only to die accidentally at the hands of his fellow rangers. For good or
bad, this is one true story they won't get their hands on, at least not for
a long while. In the meantime, The Tillman Story, a documentary from
director Amir Bar-Lev, gets behind the making of a would-be legend in a way
that may invalidate any future attempt at a biopic.
Just as his prior film, My Kid Could Paint That, subverted ideas about art,
especially as a commodity, Bar-Lev's latest questions the entire nature of
myth-making, particularly as collaborated by government and media in time of
war. Additionally The Tillman Story is a fascinating look at a kind of
family too rarely seen in the 21st century. Between reality television and
the continued obsession with celebrity deaths, we're so used to seeing
people exploit their own family members, living or dead, for the sake of
fame and fortune that it's unbelievable how protective Tillman's parents,
brothers, friends and widow are of his image and legacy. Ultimately, The
Tillman Story is as much about what isn't discussed as what is.
You may know the basics, that Pat Tillman, formerly of the Arizona
Cardinals, was killed and then immediately turned into a hero, celebrated by
the Bush administration and elsewhere as having died valiantly as a defender
of freedom. Weeks later it was revealed he did not sacrifice himself to save
his platoon, as originally reported; rather, he was the victim of friendly
fire in a horribly confusing incident. Given my suspicious mind, it
immediately sounded to me entirely premeditated, yet I am glad Bar-Lev
avoids the theories that Tillman was intentionally murdered in order to be
utilized as a propaganda tool. It is enough to document the known
corruptions and exploitations, including a definite -- though mostly denied
-- cover-up by most military leaders of the truth behind Tillman's death.
Yes, General McChrystal is among those allegedly involved, and though he's
only mentioned for a moment in the documentary, it was enough to excite the
large audience at Silverdocs. The uproar (seriously, I heard enough loud
exclamations of "oh geez!" that I missed what the film actually had to say
of McChrystal's part in the matter) somewhat ironically reminds me of how
even controversy can be part of the myth machine. And so I wonder if in a
way The Tillman Story still feeds a legend -- if not the government-desired
legend -- of its subject.
Just as the dramatic film Flags of Our Fathers previously tackled the
concept of military lore and its affect on real lives distorted for PR
purposes, Bar-Lev's documentary provides a new narrative to an old story it
means to correct and clarify. And while the film, which was written by Mark
Monroe (The Cove) and hits on agitprop machinations both completely made up
(such as John Wayne movies) and embellished from real life (the Jessica
Lynch story, in which Tillman played a part as one of her saviors), appears
to be a necessity in terms of both telling the truth and criticizing the
system of wartime proselytism, I can't help but think the humble and private
Tillman would have disapproved of even a non-fiction movie about his story.
There is a lot of doubt to be had with the documentary medium as
truth-teller that doesn't save it from myth-making. Look at Bar-Lev's other
works: My Kid communicates a sort of legend of its young artist while
Trouble the Water, which the filmmaker co-produced, is one of the biggest
hero creations of the Hurricane Katrina aftermath. The Tillman Story merely
puts Tillman on a different kind of pedestal and celebrates him as a
different sort of idol than the military and media had done in the past.
Meanwhile, it reminds of so many war film myths that it doesn't completely
undermine them -- it matters little that Bar-Lev ended up not including a
clip from Saving Private Ryan as he originally intended, because most
moviegoers will likely think of it, and not necessarily negatively.
I admire the Tillman family's pursuit for answers and justice, as well as
the candidness of those few military men who offered their sides of the
story. And I especially respect Marie Tillman, who has apparently declined
multiple attempts from Hollywood to acquire rights to her husband's life
(Bar-Lev shared one cheesy example of what the scripts she's received are
like). Even a film dealing with the controversy might just seem a rehash of
either (or both) Courage Under Fire and Wag the Dog, only with a "based on a
true story" selling point. But as great as the story is and as great as it
is presented in this well-crafted yet over-narrated (by Josh Brolin)
documentary, paced to perfection by editor Joshua Altman (We Live in
Public), I just can't entirely say it's a better idea than the alternative.
Warning! This is not a review of the finished movie! This is a review of a
work print, and may not reflect the finished product. It’s quite possible
that the final cut is even worse.
I now know what it is like to die. We are all going to Hell, because only in
a world ruled by Satan and devoid of a kind and loving God could a movie
like Vampires Suck exist.
To put it another way, this is not a very good movie. It’s an utterly
toothless satire of Twilight and New Moon, and if that pun made you laugh,
then you’re in luck – a large majority of the jokes in the movie are puns
ripped straight from the pages of a knock-knock joke book for third graders.
This replaces the duo’s former tropes of lame Michael Jackson jokes and
Brangelina adoption references. This movie actually shows Friedberg and
Seltzer breaking some new comedy ground by exchanging some of their old bad
habits for new habits that are bad in completely different ways. For
example, there isn’t a single midget to be found, and only one character
gets farted on. Also gone are the parade of endless pop-culture references
and characters from random movie trailers. These have been replaced by…
absolutely nothing. Vampires Suck may very well be the first comedy ever
made that consists almost entirely of characters walking between set-pieces,
and occasionally driving between them. Most of this is in slow-motion. Not
all has changed, though – the movie contains the absolutely staggering
amount of fight sequences and totally pointless dance-offs that Jason
Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer are known for. In fact, the last fifteen minutes
are almost entirely made up of alternating dancing and fighting scenes.
Now, I know my usual thing with reviews of these kinds of movies is to go
over every single joke, but I can’t bring myself to do that for this one.
Not because the jokes are so excruciatingly bad, but because they’re so
excruciatingly dull (also, because since the movie’s not out yet, I’m trying
to keep my spoilage to the bare minimum as to not get sued.) At least
Disaster Movie had the courtesy to be spectacularly atrocious. If anything,
it exists as a time capsule of the very moment we, as a society, decided
that having people dressed like pop culture figures walk onto the screen and
state their name directly into the camera could constitute as an entire
joke. Vampires Suck, however, is so unremittingly lame that mocking it seems
almost cruel. For example, take the scene that parodies the part in New Moon
where Bella drives a motorcycle really fast down a winding dirt road. In
Vampires Suck, Bella drives a motorcycle really fast down a winding dirt
road… while playing a guitar! Or, take the parody of with scene from
Twilight where Edward watches Bella sleep. In Vampires Suck, Edward watches
Bella sleep… while wearing curlers in his hair and applying Crest
Whitestrips! How the fuck do you even make fun of something like that? It’s
two minutes of setup apiece, and neither one ends in a complete punchline.
It’s the cinematic equivalent of an editorial cartoon from Readers Digest.
“Werewolf peeing on a fire hydrant” is ripped straight out of a
Halloween-themed coloring book. “Vampires eat Count Chocula” is so lame it
wouldn’t be printed on a box of Count Chocula.
Let’s try going over the very first scene in detail. The movie opens with
Edward Sullen (if you’re already rolling your eyes, I highly recommend
closing your browser window now) exposing himself to the Volturi at a
Vampire-themed High School prom. Stripping naked in the sunlight, his body
starts to glitter and his penis turns into a disco ball (this is the
audience’s cue to march out of the theatre and demand a refund.) The Volturi
stand around and apply sunblock while drinking True Blood out of 40oz malt
liquor bottles. A swarm of women in Team Edward shirts, and another swarm of
women in Team Jacob shirts, start duking it out with medieval weapons for no
particular reason, except to introduce a running gag where Twilight is a
series of books and movies that exists in a universe that’s identical to
Twilight already, except with far more characters getting kicked in the
groin. This gag later culminates into the cast going to the movies to watch
Eclipse and spoiling the ending to the people waiting in line. It’s the kind
of metahumor that Mel Brooks could pull off effortlessly in his prime.
Vampires Suck, however, makes Dracula: Dead and Loving It seem like Young
Frankenstein. It makes Stan Helsing seem like Dracula: Dead and Loving It.
Anyway, Bella comes running to save him, leaping high into the air in slow
motion, a gag that will be repeated approximately one hundred and eighty
billion times by the end of the movie. A vampire with one giant middle tooth
leaps in the air to stop Becca. The movie freeze-frames here, and it’s the
last we’ll see of the Volturi again until this exact same scene happens
again during the climax in slightly under an hour.
That’s less than two minutes of running time right there. By the 18 minute
mark, there have already been two giant fight scenes, two incest jokes, a
bowling ball getting dropped on a baby, the cast of The Jersey Shore showing
up in a high school cafeteria for no reason whatsoever, and good look at a
vampire’s Facebook profile (same as everyone’s, apparently).
Twilight’s famous scene of a fan blowing Bella’s scent to Edward is parodied
by having Edward put on a hazmat suit. A man gets his neck broken and
screams in pain for a disturbing length of time. Bella farts in her sleep
and blows Edward out the window. Edward shows he’s dangerous by shooting
Alice and knocking her down the rabbit hole. Edward is attacked by a vampire
squirrel. I’m not even skipping that much – the movie is really that devoid
of jokes, and the ones that do exist really are that dire. The jokes that
aren’t horribly disgusting are so juvenile they’d be rejected from a
Saturday morning cartoon. Vampires put condiments on people, drink blood
with a silly straws, wear false teeth, see the big picture by literally
looking at a giant picture, and walk human-form werewolves on leashes. A
vampire drinks someone’s blood by biting them on the INSERT FANGS HERE
tattoo on their neck. The movie ends with Ken Jeong being made Prom King, a
plot that was only introduced five minutes earlier, and Edward gets killed
by a girl with a TEAM JACOB shirt. It’s even more boring to write about than
it is to watch, and I can’t imagine reading it is any easier. And I haven’t
even touched on the smaller gags, like how all the businesses in town of
Sporks (yes, Sporks) are Vampire-themed.
There are exactly five punchlines that the movie recycles over and over
again, and they are LOL VAMPIRES, LOL GROSS, LOL PUN, LOL GAY, and LOL
BLACK. I’ve covered the first three in more than enough detail already, but
the last two deserve a brief look. I’ve accused Friedberg and Seltzer of
making movies that come across homophobic and racist in the past, and this
movie isn’t any different. All of the buff, shirtless natives are flamingly
gay and dance to “It’s Raining Men”, and the black vampire is perpetually
stoned. The movie has exactly one black character, and he’s a stoner. In
2010. I honestly can’t remember a single black character from any
Seltzerberg movie that wasn’t a massive pothead, or a single gay character
that wasn’t flaming. I’m not sure how a script with a gay character yelling
“Go get him, girls!” to a bunch of other gay men managed to get greenit in
twenty fucking ten, but here it is!
The casting of this movie is just downright depressing. The head of the
Volturi is played by Ken Jeong, who gets maybe five minutes of screen time,
and manages to do absolutely nothing with it. His character is given no
motivation or character definition, and his pasty white makeup ends up
making him look like he has food poisoning. Dave Foley has even less screen
time as the High School principal, and spends his few brief scenes on the
verge of tears and with a look of utter self-loathing in his eyes. Diedrich
Bader, who plays Bella’s father, gives the movie its single good
performance, and occasionally manages to reel the movie in from
“unwatchable” to just “bad”. The rest of the cast is passable, neither good
or memorably bad. Everyone and everything is just so forgettable that I
started hoping for a truly terrible performance just so something
interesting would happen.
The movie simply putts along from scene to scene until at some point it
decides to end. In case you’re curious what the movie’s actually about, the
first half is Twilight, and the second half is New Moon. If you thought
those movies were hard to sit through on their own, just wait until you get
to sit through both! The movie edges over the line from bad to godawful
right around the time the vampires eat finger sandwiches with actual fingers
in them, and it just keeps getting worse and worse until it finally
mercifully ends. Instead of an endless parade of pop culture crap, it’s just
a straight retelling of the first two Twilight movies, except with vampires
putting condiments on people, and the occasional racist slam against black
people. Even the cast members don’t seem to be having any fun. It’s just a
completely miserable and joyless experience, and I seriously doubt any
amount of editing can change that. It’s only 75 minutes long, but it’s only
surpassed by Nukie in “perceived length of movie vs. actual length” agony.
I seriously doubt there will be a worse movie released this year, or any
year.
Bottom Line: The body count is high and the personalities click in this
old-school testosterone fest.
Sylvester Stallone and his cast of fellow action stars flex substantial
ensemble muscle in this high-energy battle between good mercenaries and bad
mercenaries. An effective mix of lean and over-the-top, "The Expendables" is
often ridiculous, but it achieves the immediacy of a graphic novel without
the overdone mythology.
Genre fans for whom there's no such thing as overkill will make it a
fearsome contender at the boxoffice when it opens stateside Aug. 13. The
director/star's newest since "Rambo" is also sure to be a muscular performer
in international markets.
Even when they're going for the obvious laugh or comeuppance, Stallone and
his co-writer, David Callaham, use deft shorthand to etch their characters
in bold outline, and the actors put their well-defined personas to work to
complete the process.
A group of freelance warriors who have lost their connection to righteous
causes in favor of almighty cash, the Expendables may be hardened, but
they're not yet inhuman.
Leader Barney (Stallone) regards friends and enemies alike with a sad gaze
(beneath strangely distracting eyebrows). Knife whiz Lee Christmas (Jason
Statham) is man enough not to hide his hurt over a busted relationship,
while combat expert Ying Yang (Jet Li) is angling for a raise.
In smaller roles, Terry Crews and his biceps handle the operation's biggest
weapons, and Mixed Martial Arts star Randy Couture explains things, like his
cauliflower ear, in fine scientific detail.
After the high-body-count rescue that opens the film, Barney chooses to cut
loose sniper Gunner (Dolph Lundgren), believing his (unseen) drug use and
high volatility make him untrustworthy -- a conviction that's soon validated
when Barney and Gunner are on opposite sides in a clobbering car chase.
A couple of women figure in the story, but the subject is really the ties,
broken and otherwise, in this brotherhood of latter-day samurais. In the
film's most nuanced scene, Mickey Rourke, ultra-charismatic as the
ex-Expendable whose tattoo parlor serves as HQ and clubhouse, recalls the
moment in Bosnia when he knew his soul had dried up.
The mission that wakens Barney's dormant compassion involves the fictional
South American island country of Vilena, where a former CIA operative,
Monroe, pulls the puppet strings of dictator Gen. Garza (David Zayas, of
"Dexter"). As the icy evil-in-a-suit rogue Munroe, you couldn't do much
better than Eric Roberts.
Determining that if they take out the general they'd be sacrificing
themselves to save the CIA embarrassing headlines, Barney and his boys turn
down the assignment. But then he meets the general's beautiful rebel
daughter, Sandra (newcomer Giselle Itie, suitably fiery), and for the first
time in years, money isn't everything.
Americans are both heroes and villains in "The Expendables," which avoids
political specifics while embracing brute force as righteous retribution --
and shows the bad guys resorting to waterboarding. It can be an uneasy mix,
but mostly it's played on too broad a scale to take seriously. DP Jeffrey
Kimball frames the action for kinetic impact and velocity. The extended
fight scenes deliver the easy catharsis of straight-up violence, all with a
comic-book sense of pow and splat.
The winking boys-will-be-boys quality is at its most blatant in a scene
containing uncredited cameos by Bruce Willis and the moonlighting
Governator. (Outside the film's Los Angeles premiere, California state
workers protested their pay cuts by Arnold Schwarzenegger, but most
action-film fans will probably delight in the scene's self-consciously
starry chemistry, and its punchline.)
Production designer Franco-Giacomo Carbone's evocative sets and locations
(in Los Angeles, Louisiana and with Brazil playing Vilena) enhance the body
blows and the camaraderie. But even with action writ large, Brian Tyler's
score too often reaches for bombast.
Quite quickly over the last seven years, Michael Cera has become the
iconic millennial’s straight man, and to his strength, is continually
surrounded by acerbic, off-kilter fools onscreen. With an angelic face,
Cera’s hysterical alter egos puff their lines with circumspect and struggle
to keep up with life’s crazy tide. Often times, Cera archetypes must go out
of their way to get the girl of their dreams, i.e. enduring work at a
beachside frozen banana stand (Fox’s blessed sitcom series “Arrested
Development), hoarding beer into the wrong party (“Superbad”) and
transforming into an evil, hip French personality (This year’s underrated
“Youth in Revolt”).
In director Edgar Wright’s charming feature adaptation of Bryan Lee
O’Malley’s graphic novel “Scott Pilgrim vs. the World,” Cera, as the ad
spots exclaim, must defeat the seven evil ex-boyfriends of Ramona Flowers
(Mary Elizabeth Winstead), the girl whose hand he so desires.
Like Charles Grodin, Bill Murray, Fred Willard and Ray Romano, Cera can
satirically knock at the everyman without knocking him completely down.
Cera’s performances are infectious and well beyond his twentysomething years
in timing and nuance. Many burgeoning actors at his age continue to search
for their sense of character, or vie to exhibit multiple emotional levels;
but Cera is completely in tune to his undertone strengths and he is the
grease which spins the comedic wheels in “Scott Pilgrim.”
In the Cera canon, Scott is an evolution from the high school squares the
actor has portrayed. Pilgrim, a slacker and bass guitarist for the wannabe
Toronto apartment grunge band Sex-Bob-Omb, doesn’t have to worry about
getting girls; he’s broken plenty of hearts which is a decent score
considering Envy Adams (Brie Larson), his ex-girlfriend and established glam
rocker, “kicked his heart in the ass.” As one character calls Scott, he’s “a
total lady killer and wannabe jerky jerk.”
Scott takes gleeful solace in Knives Chau (vivacious newcomer Ellen Wong), a
Catholic high schooler much younger than him. The two are like peas in a
pod, playing ninja videogames in perfect choreographed unison. Scott is an
impressionable force on Knives, and in return she becomes the band’s number
one groupie. But Knives, given her innocence, is an easy fetch for Scott.
Scott lives his wrinkled life with his gay, suave roommate Wallace Wells (a
wonderfully blunt Kieran Culkin), a dude who never pines for love and who
snitches on Scott’s comings and goings to his sensible, younger sister
played by Oscar nominee Anna Kendrick. If there’s anything of importance in
Scott’s wintery days it’s his band composed of drummer and jaded
ex-girlfriend Kim Pine (Alison Pill), lead guitarist/vocalist Stephen Stills
(Mark Webber) and flunky aspiring bassist Young Neil (Johnny Simms). The
band gets a shot in the local Battle of the Bands contest, giving them a run
to ultimately be discovered by music producer titan Gideon Graves (Jason
Schwartzman).
Love at first sight hits Scott when he spots Ramona Flowers (Mary Elizabeth
Winstead), a doe-eyed, pink-haired New York transplant who takes his breath
away. If she seems familiar, it’s because Ramona once saved Scott during a
desert-like nightmare. Scott must choose between the noble Knives or the
unpredictable Ramona and throws his chips behind the mysterious gal. Despite
being new in town, Ramona has a reputation and Scott is sternly warned by
his circle, specifically the potty-mouthed Julie Powers (the glorious
deadpan Aubrey Plaza), to stay away from the girl.
It becomes apparent to Scott what everyone is talking about when his first
gig is disrupted by Ramona’s first ex-boyfriend, Matthew Patel (Satya Bhabha),
who explodes through the roof and engages Scott in a “Matrix”-high wired
fisticuffs ablazed with Nintendo videogame iconography and Japanese magna
colors (Scott was warned through a crazy e-mail from Matthew, which he
intentionally ignored). This is just the beginning, as Scott must battle six
other exes from Ramona’s life (aka the league of execs), including celebrity
skateboarder Lucas Lee (Chris Evans), vegan rocker and fellow bandmate to
Scott’s ex-girlfriend Envy, Todd Ingram (Brandon Routh); Ramona’s bi-curious
gone bi-furious g.f. Roxy Richter (Mae Whitman who played Cera’s g.f. in
“Arrested Development”), Asian sonic synthesizer twins Kyle and Ken
Katayanagi (Keita and Shota Saito) and the godfather of past lovers, Gideon
Graves.
Blinging video-game fight sequences abound with the pace of a late ‘60s
“Batman” TV episode, complete with onscreen labels for sounds effects (a
phone ringing) or character’s emotions (Knives reveals that she’s in LOVE
with Scott by exhaling the pinkish word out of her mouth). When boyfriends
die at the hands of Scott, they’re reduced to a pile of Mario Brothers’
coins. Jonathan Amos and Paul Machliss kinetic editing creatively cuts
different states of Scott’s life. Resonating throughout “Scott Pilgrim,” are
a string of Beck’s songs, both underscoring the testosterone and romantic
nature of its leading man.
This carnivalesque world serves as perfect window dressing to the
emotions of twentysomethings. Instead of breaking into song to emote
themselves, the dramatis personae of “Scott Pilgrim” go for each others’
throats like a “Zelda” videogame. In many, ways “Scott Pilgrim” is
reminiscent of a bubble-coated “Trainspotting” without the heroin and toilet
scenes; a bloodless John Woo melodramatic actioner wrapped in pink
cellophane.
Most of the cast members are pungent in their performances, with each
character more distinguishing than the next. Cera plays Scott as a peppy,
optimistic guy in a world laden with cynical folk who shrug the pursuit of
love. It’s Cera’s dry sense of humor and self deprecation that continually
rallies the laughs as he wryly criticizes the outrageousness of his
situation. When Gideon phones to taunt Scott, Cera interrupts the foe’s
bravado speech with an “Ouch!” “What is it?” asks Gideon sinisterly. “Oh,
nothing, I just spilled hot cocoa on my pants,” replies Scott.
It’s hard to pinpoint exactly what’s so charming about Ramona – to both
Scott and her previous b.f.s. We know hardly anything about her and it seems
crazy for Scott to turn his back on Knives, who so jives with him. Winstead
plays Ramona’s enigma at an even keel; she isn’t any more complex than what
you see, and as fickle as the best woman in life can be (against her will,
without even thinking, she’s programmed to do what Gideon wants as indicated
by the chip implanted in the back of her neck). What appears shallow in
Ramona is more symbolic – she simply represents love as her hair changes
from pink (sexuality, purity) to blue (loyalty, stability) to green (good
luck) by the end of the film. If the personalities of “Scott Pilgrim” were
written with the gravity of those in a John Hughes film, the comedy would
lose its luster.
“Scott Pilgrim” dotes on the weight of young love, with all its kisses and
warts, and how often we’re reminded that the fling was as short and
adolescent as a videogame. ‘Game Over’ might be flashing on the screen, but
the experience was a hell of a lot of fun — and “Scott Pilgrim” is surely
that.
If movies are shared dreams, then Christopher Nolan is surely one of
Hollywood's most inventive dreamers, given the evidence of his commandingly
clever "Inception." Applying a vivid sense of procedural detail to a
fiendishly intricate yarn set in the labyrinth of the subconscious, the
writer-director has devised a heist thriller for surrealists, a Jungian's "Rififi,"
that challenges viewers to sift through multiple layers of (un)reality. As
such, it's a conceptual tour de force unlikely to rank with Batman at the
B.O., though post-"Dark Knight" anticipation and Leonardo DiCaprio should
still position it as one of the summer's hottest, classiest tickets.
As a non-franchise follow-up to the enormous success of "The Dark Knight,"
this long-gestating project reps something of a gamble for Warner Bros. at a
time when sophisticated original entertainments are neither as common nor as
bankable as they once were. Availing himself of the resources that come with
a studio's confidence, Nolan places mind-bending visual effects and a
top-flight cast in service of a boldly cerebral vision that demands, and
rewards, the utmost attention. Even when its ambition occasionally outstrips
its execution, "Inception" tosses off more ideas and fires on more cylinders
than most blockbusters would have the nerve to attempt.
Our guide to this world of high-stakes corporate espionage is Dom Cobb (DiCaprio),
an "extractor" paid to invade the dreams of various titans of industry and
steal their top-secret ideas. Cobb plunders the psyche with practiced skill,
though he's increasingly haunted by the memory of his late wife, Mal (Marion
Cotillard), who has a nasty habit of showing up in his subconscious and
wreaking havoc on his missions.
That's what happens during a dream-raid on wealthy businessman Saito (Ken
Watanabe), who is in fact merely auditioning Cobb for a far riskier job. The
target is Saito's future rival, billionaire heir Robert Fischer Jr. (Cillian
Murphy), and the goal is not to steal an idea but to plant one -- the
"inception" of the title -- that will lead to the dissolution of Fischer's
empire.
In Nolan's hands, this ingenious conceit becomes no more implausible than
that of a caped crimefighter, as the writer-director grounds his flight of
fancy with precise methodology and an architect's attention to detail.
Indeed, Cobb retains an actual architect, Ariadne (Ellen Page), and teaches
her how to mentally construct every street, building and room in the
artificial world (essential if the dreamer is to be deceived) in a series of
visually playful scenes whose trompe l'oeil quality brings Magritte and M.C.
Escher to mind.
In classic heist-movie tradition, various brainiac specialists round out
Cobb's dream team: Arthur (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), his longtime organizer;
Eames ("Bronson's" Tom Hardy), a "forger" who can shapeshift at will; and
Yusuf (Dileep Rao), who supplies the powerful sedative that pulls Fischer
and Cobb's gang into a collective stupor.
As the motley crew comes together, so does our understanding of this
strange, mercurial world (which owes something to the virtual-reality
dystopia of "The Matrix") and the rules by which it operates: the
consequences of dying in a dream; the nature of dream time vs. real time;
and the perils of layering ever more elaborate dreams within dreams.
Numerous laws and paradoxes come into play once Cobb and Co. plunge down the
rabbit-hole, at which point "Inception" takes on dizzying levels of
complexity as the characters navigate the chambers and antechambers of
Fischer's mind.
It's heady, brain-tickling stuff, and like the spinning top that serves as a
key plot device, it seems forever on the brink of toppling over, especially
toward the end of the nearly 2 1/2-hour running time (editor Lee Smith has
his hands full, at one point cutting feverishly among four parallel lines of
action). The sheer outlandishness of the premise may open it up to some
narrative nitpicking -- why do these dreams, for instance, so closely
resemble action movies? -- and attentive viewers will have a grand time
"aha!"-ing at certain points and poking holes in others.
But even when questions arise, one so completely senses a guiding
intelligence at the helm that the effect is stimulating rather than
confusing. Never one to strand the viewer in a maze, Nolan remains a few
steps ahead, keeping total comprehension just out of reach but always in
view; like a mechanical rabbit on a racetrack, he encourages us to keep up.
As dreams go, "Inception" is exceptionally lucid, especially compared with
the more free-associative nightmare logic of David Lynch's "Mulholland Dr."
or "Inland Empire." Those were movies to get lost in; here, it pays to stay
focused.
Like Nolan's 2001 indie breakthrough, "Memento," the film toys with themes
such as the blurry line between perception and reality, the insidious nature
of ideas, and the human capacity for self-delusion; significantly, it also
focuses on an antihero captive to the memory of his dead wife. Because the
picture privileges the mind over the heart, Cobb's unresolved guilt,
intended as the story's tragic center, doesn't resonate as powerfully as it
should, though the actors certainly give it their all: Cotillard is a
presence both sultry and menacing, and DiCaprio anchors the film
confidently, if less forcefully than he did the recent "Shutter Island" (in
which he also played a widower at the mercy of dark visions).
Supporting roles are thinly written but memorably inhabited: Gordon-Levitt
cuts a dashing figure; Hardy tears into his smartass supporting role with
lip-smacking gusto; Watanabe brings elegance and gravity to his corporate
raider; and Murphy plays the unsuspecting dreamer with poignant reserve.
Page's repartee with DiCaprio could have been sharper in places, but the
appealingly plucky actress makes Ariadne an ideal stand-in for the viewer.
Shot across four continents by Nolan's regular d.p., Wally Pfister, and
outfitted by production designer Guy Hendrix Dyas, "Inception" is easily the
director's most visually unbridled work; its canvas stretches from the
skyscrapers of Tokyo to the bazaars of Tangiers, from an amber-lit hotel
corridor to a snowy mountain compound (a setpiece that plays like an homage
to "On Her Majesty's Secret Service"). Pic has arresting effects and images
to spare, such as the sight of Paris folding in on itself like a book or
Gordon-Levitt's Arthur performing a fight scene in zero gravity (the
explanation for which is even more dazzling).
Hans Zimmer's surging score trumpets danger and excitement with
near-operatic fervor, at times suggesting the world's most portentous
foghorn, while Edith Piaf's recording of "Non, je ne regrette rien" serves
as an ironic motif (and sets up a nice inside joke with "La Vie en rose"
star Cotillard).
If "Inception" is a metaphysical puzzle, it's also a metaphorical one: It's
hard not to draw connections between Cobb's dream-weaving and Nolan's
filmmaking -- an activity devoted to constructing a simulacrum of reality,
intended to seduce us, mess with our heads and leave a lasting impression.
Mission accomplished.
Comedian Artie Lange is a born
story teller. For the past seven years Lange has told many of them, some
good, some bad, but all of them funny in some way, shape or form in-depth on
The Howard Stern Show and in his stage act.
Whether admitting to a threesome he had at a party in Los Angeles during his
days on MadTV, or the time he picked up cocaine while in makeup as a pig
lifeguard for the same show, or stories on his several addictions (cocaine,
heroin, alcohol, gambling) and the hilarious and oftentimes harrowing
results, or the time when he was just a little kid and his father used young
Artie in order to meet Frankie Vali, Lange manages to ring out the pathos in
every story, touching on a wide range of emotions in the process.
So when Spiegel & Grau approached Lange with a book offer it seemed a
no-brainer for him to do so. And with Anthony Bozza at his side Lange has
authored a real page turner here with Too Fat To Fish (the title is itself a
chapter involving something Lange's mother said to him), a chronological,
but not fully-realized autobiography, hitting on some major chapters in his
life.
Lange digs up a lot of emotion throughout, especially in the chapters
involving his father's paralysis, his addictions and the depths that they
took him (particularly a startling revelation that before this book only a
select few knew about), as well as his recent trip to Afghanistan as part of
Operation: Mirth where he performed for troops in areas that no celebrity
had dared go to before along with other comedians and Stern show producer
Gary Dell'Abate.
For fans of Lange this is going to be a real treat of a read. All the way
through it is a very funny read and it gives a lot of perspective on why he
is the way he is. For Stern fans there is an extra treat as Stern (an
acclaimed author in his own right) himself wrote the book's foreword. What's
fantastic is that, despite being extremely funny, Stern's foreword in no way
overshadows the rest of Lange's Too Fat To Fish, which I'll definitely be
reading again and again.
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION IN SANTO DOMINGO by T. Lothrop Stoppard
HITLER'S SECRET BOOK by Adolf Hitler
PROTOCOLS FOR THE 21st CENTURY By Mark Steyn
RACE, EVOLUTION & BEHAVIOR by J. Phillippe Rushton
The COLOR
of CRIME by Jared Taylor
FINAL ENTRIES: 1945 by Joseph Goebbels (Putnam & Sons)
His testament
of the final days of World War II in Germany.
HEGEMONY
OR SURVIVAL by Noam Chomsky
The Gulag Archipelago by Aleksandr Solzhenitzyn
Stalin's Willing Executioners by Yuri Slezke
Goebbels by David Irving (Focal Point Books): the shortsighted dynamo
of the Third Reich;
Unholy Alliances Warren Kinsella White Hoods Julian Sher the rise and fall
of the modern-day Canadian Ku Klux Klan
Web Of Hate Warren Kinsella
Is God A Racist? Prof. Stanley R. Barrett Entertaining and scholarly account
of the White Nationalist movement in Canada, including the Edmund Burke Society, Western Guard and Nationalist Party
We would have easily preferred YOU to any of the Z-listers that they
enlisted this year!
Joan Rivers was never approached to compete on this season's Dancing
With the Stars - probably because she actually HAS a legitimate career
and to qualify for the show you apparently need some sort of has-been
status - and she's none too pleased about it!
She says:
"They've never asked me, so they can go fuck themselves! I don't know
why because I certainly fall into their old lady category. I would do it
for the exercise. Making yourself dance everyday for six hours a day I
think would be so great."
Well, we would have DEFINITELY watched you, so it's their loss!
Casting fail to the max!
Controversial Family Guy Abortion
Episode To Be Available On DVD!
A banned episode of Family Guy is being made available to buy on DVD.
Partial Terms Of Endearment, a never-seen episode of the animated
series, is going on sale in the US in September, more than a year after
the Fox network deemed it outrageous even by Family Guy standards and
pulled it from last season's run of episodes.
In the notorious episode of Seth MacFarlane's series, bumbling, moronic
Peter Griffin and his patient but libertine wife, Lois, throw themselves
into the abortion debate.
The episode's narrative has never been a secret. In fact, it was
performed live last summer by the cast (including Seth, the series'
creator, who serves as executive producer, writer and the voice of
numerous characters) for members of the Academy of Television Arts And
Sciences as well as members of the press.
Most of the episode dwells on Lois (voiced by Alex Borstein) agreeing to
become a surrogate mother for a friend who can't have a child. But after
her friend and her husband are killed in a car crash, the Griffins are
left with the difficult decision of whether to proceed with the
pregnancy or not.
What, in other hands, could have been a serious, even heart-wrenching
story is, on Family Guy, a devilish burlesque - not to mention a
wickedly astute examination of the current abortion clash.
Season 9 of 'Family Guy' Preview
"Family Guy" is one of those shows that can
be obnoxious the one moment and funny the next. Some of the folks
associated with the show let loose some tid bits for the upcoming
season.
Among the tid bits:
• A murder mystery in which most of the cast gets killed.
• Brian writes a self help book, goes on Bill Maher and then kind
of wish he hadn't.
No offense, as the guy certainly has become
a TV icon in his own right, but doesn't Larry King want to retire AT
ALL?! Seriously, the man is like 213 years old! Maybe it's time put the
suspenders down for a nap!
Sources are suggesting that Ryan Seacrest is looking for ways to keep
his good pal Larry in the game a bit longer after his CNN show goes to
someone else. Supposedly, Ryan is putting feelers out to get Larry a new
syndicated radio show. The show would be part of this big media-mega
deal Ryan is trying to launch since his contract with Clear Channel is
up in November.
The guy just has too much money for his own good and now he wants to
make more?! When is enough enough for you, sir?!
Though we're sure a return to his radio roots wouldn't be too strenuous
for Larry, we still think it is time for him to start thinking about
taking up shuffleboard, before it is too late.
Just sayin'
Sharon Osbourne Slams Elizabitch Hasselbeck
And we love it!
Sharon Osbourne made it very clear how she feels about Elizabitch
Hasselbeck on Late Night With Jimmy Fallon.
When asked who her least favorite member of The View was, Sharon
replied, "The least? Oh that little blonde idiot. You know what she
needs? She needs a good schtuping. She needs to get some humor
there - it's like, lighten up bitch!"
We wish Sharon could have said that to Elisabitch's face!! We would have
LOVED to seen her priceless reaction!
An all grownup Hanson MMBops back to hometown
The last time Hanson played Cain's Ballroom
in their hometown of Tulsa, Zac Hanson wasn't old enough to buy adult
beverages at the bar, brother Isaac had only been of legal age a couple
of years, and Taylor-in-middle was barely 21.
Yet they were already seven-year veterans of
the recording industry, had just established their own label, 3CG
Records (stands for Three Car Garage, which is where it all started in
T-town), released "Underneath,” their third studio album — not counting
holiday and live packages — and Taylor was a husband and proud father of
a 1½-year-old baby boy. They had come a long way from "MMMBop,” the
infectious pubescent-pop megahit that had made them stars in 1997 at the
ages of 16, 14 and 11.
They're all married with children now. They've just released their fifth
studio album, "Shout It Out,” and are on a national tour that brings
them back Wednesday for their second appearance at Cain's. This time,
the bar will be open to all three of them, should they choose to imbibe.
"We didn't play a lot of bars,” Taylor Hanson said of the band's early
days, which date all the way back to 1992. "We played everything else
and literally anything else. I mean when you're a local band, you just
hope people hear you. You're just trying to build a little fan base. And
so, we played arts festivals, and we even played block parties, and some
cases we played outside of bars.”
Their parents, Walker and Diana, were supportive from the beginning. Dad
was a "frustrated poet” who worked as an accountant for an oil company
so that Mom, who majored in voice on a "full ride” scholarship at North
Texas State University, could stay home and raise their seven kids.
Creativity was encouraged in the Hanson household, particularly the
musical kind.
"Our parents continue to be huge supporters and facilitators,” Taylor
said, speaking from the band's Tulsa recording studio in a recent phone
interview. "We're all adults now, obviously, but from the beginning they
were just right there with us. Our mom would be selling merchandise and
trying to help get us another gig. And our dad would be back there at
the soundboard, working the sound.”
At home around the dinner table and throughout the house, there was a
lot of a cappella harmonizing on 1950s and '60s rock and R&B classics
and gospel tunes.
And the influences of those family singalongs can be heard quite clearly
on "Shout It Out,” which serves up Hanson's signature style of bright
pop-rock with a generous measure of soul seasonings. These come in the
form of guest artists such as Funk Brothers bassist Bob Babbit, who has
played on some of Motown's greatest hits, and horn arranger Jerry Hey,
who has worked with Michael Jackson, Quincy Jones and Earth, Wind and
Fire, to name a few.
"Musically, every album is a reflection of what's going on around you,”
said Hanson's lead singer, "and this record is called 'Shout It Out' for
a lot of reasons. Just that title, it's a call back to old soul records.
The title of the album is reminiscent of Stax/Volt record titles and
Motown, and it's kind of a celebration sort of record. Part of it is
really shining a light on our influences from when we started.”
This follows the group's 2007 album, "The Walk,” which was fueled by a
revelatory trip to Africa, becoming a fervent humanitarian call for
action coinciding with the organization of barefoot one-mile walks to
focus the world's attention on the HIV/AIDS epidemic and extreme poverty
in sub-Saharan Africa.
And between making these two records, with all the activism and taking
care of the business side of the band and raising four children of his
own, Taylor Hanson somehow found time in 2009 to join a supergroup side
project with Fountains of Wayne singer-bassist Adam Schlesinger,
Smashing Pumpkins guitarist James Iha and Cheap Trick drummer Bun E.
Carlos called Tinted Windows. That group recorded a self-titled album
and even managed a limited tour in spring 2009.
"It's hard not to enjoy working with people that are friends that bring
so much talent in their own right,” Taylor said. "It's kind of a nice
way to be able to stretch your muscles differently.”
But is there really that much difference between these two groups that
specialize in power-pop?
"The key difference is the sort of backbeat and the roots of R&B and
more old-school rock 'n' roll that's in (Hanson's) sound,” he said.
"There are a lot of terms, but (Tinted Windows') power-pop sound is more
Caucasian, to be honest. It's melodic songs, it's hook songs, but it's
guitar-driven. There's no keyboards. There's no fat bass backbeat.
There's not a lot of sitting in the groove and thick three-part
harmonies. It's really about that driving guitar riff and a big chorus,
but it's definitely a different breed.”
Taylor Hanson thinks there's a good chance he'll contribute lead vocals
to another incarnation of Tinted Windows in the future, but for now his
full focus is on the family business.
"It's just one of those things that fits in around our main bread and
butter,” he said. "And Hanson is more like the essence of what we are,
what I am. And it's kind of the full plate.”
And it's a man-sized plate. These aren't MMMboys anymore.
Could throat tumor battle cost Michael Douglas his
voice?
Michael Douglas��� treatment for throat
cancer could have a devastating side effect: the loss of his voice or a
change in its quality.
The 65-year-old actor has opted to battle
his tumor on three fronts - surgery, chemotherapy and radiation. Any one
of these treatments can adversely affect the voice, experts say.
How a throat cancer patient’s voice is affected by treatment depends
upon the location, the size and the state of the tumor, doctors say. A
throat tumor could occur in various areas such as the tongue, the vocal
cords, above the vocal cords or on the tonsils.
Vocal cord tumors, though less likely to spread than cancers in other
areas of the throat, may be treated by removing the vocal cords,
explains Dr. Chandra Ivey, director of the voice and swallowing division
in the Ear, Nose and Throat Department at NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital
Columbia.
But many other throat cancers don’t require this operation.
A second treatment, radiation, tends to affect cells that are growing
quickly, she says.
Since both the skin cells on the vocal cords and the cells on the nearby
salivary glands are fast-growing, these would be affected by radiation.
"Almost everyone who undergoes radiation to some part of the voice box,
or larynx, will have some degree of hoarseness," says Dr. D.J. Verret,
assistant clinical professor at UT Southwestern Medical School in
Dallas.
"Even folks with the earliest stages of laryngeal cancer who are treated
with only radiation have some degree of hoarseness. And it is a
permanent effect."
The saliva glands in the throat are needed for good voice quality,
because otherwise people sound like they have a "dry, creaky voice,”
Ivey says. But they don’t have to be sacrificed during a patient’s
treatment. "What radiotherapists can do to save as much of the saliva
glands as possible it to put shields on them during the radiation to
preserve them."
Chemotherapy has a less direct effect on voice quality: it can affect
the taste buds and cause a lack of appetite, for one thing. When
patients lose a lot of weight, their vocal cords thin out as well, Ivey
explains, and the voice is affected.
Just because Douglas is opting to have surgery plus chemo and radiation
doesn’t necessarily mean that he has a large or more invasive tumor,
Ivey says. "The doctors may be doing surgery to remove the tumor, and
then adding chemo and radiation to make sure there is no microscopic
spread of the cancer," she says. "The risk for a recurrence can be lower
with all three."
In cases where the voice is affected by the cancer treatments, the
solutions are much better than they were years ago when the only option
might have been a vibrating device, held to the throat, which caused the
person to sound robot-like. Today, Ivey explains, doctors can perform a
surgical procedure that allows the person to force air through a small
prosthetic device so that some voice quality is preserved.
"These days we try to get something that is a little more natural than
the vibrating devices," she says. The good news is that most throat
cancers are curable, and the majority of patients are able to maintain
speech, swallowing and appearance, says Dr. William Keane, professor and
chair of otolaryngology and neck surgery at Thomas Jefferson University
Hospital in Philadelphia.
"There may be some change in voice quality but it would be more
difficult for a singer than for an actor," Keane says. "The prognosis
can be quite good for the preservation of Michael Douglas’ voice for
swallowing and for maintaining his career."
Police: Mel Gibson was 'a gentleman' after Malibu
crash
Mel Gibson
crashed his 2008 Maserati into a rocky Malibu hillside Sunday night, but
the actor was unhurt, according to a California Highway Patrol
spokesman.
Alcohol is not suspected in the wreck on Malibu Canyon Road, which the
investigator concluded was "non-intentional," CHP Officer Leland Tang
said.
"At that location and on that road, it could have happened to anybody,"
Tang said.
"For unknown reasons, Mr. Gibson steered his car to the right and struck
the rock hillside," the police news release said.
Gibson, who is in a bitter child custody dispute with his ex-girlfriend,
is the target of celeb photographers. Gibson publicist Alan Nierob,
asked if the paparazzi might have been a factor in the accident, said,
"Not that I'm aware of."
The CHP spokesman said the actor made it out of the crash with "no
injuries, not even a scratch." He theorized Gibson must have been
wearing his seat belt.
"He's OK," Nierob said.
When Gibson was arrested for suspicion of driving under the influence in
Malibu four years ago, he became belligerent with Los Angeles sheriff's
deputies. He was given three years probation after entering a no-contest
plea to a charge of drunken driving.
He later admitted making anti-Semitic remarks during his arrest and
apologized, saying the comments were "blurted out in a moment of
insanity."
Gibson "was extremely cooperative, he was a gentlemen" after Sunday's
wreck, Tang said.
His damaged car was towed away and Gibson rode home with a friend,
according to the police report.
The
announcement that Justin Bieber, the hip-swiveling Canadian teen-pop
sensation who looks like a 12-year-old Hilary Swank in a windswept
helmet, would be starring in his very own 3-D biopic, to be directed by
Davis Guggenheim ("An Inconvenient Truth," "It Might Get Loud"),
occasioned shrieks of gratitude (at least, from his fans), along with
more than a few chortles and eye rolls.
All of that may be deserved. Bieber is now 16 years old, which sort of
makes you wonder: Will the first half hour of this movie take place
while he's still in a high chair? To put it mildly, he doesn't seem to
have lived a long enough life to be telling his life story, and the list
of biopics that actually star the subjects as themselves is very, very
short, and not auspicious.
When Muhammad Ali chose to portray himself in "The Greatest," back in
1977, even that, coming from one of the most mythological self-promoters
of the 20th century, seemed at the time like a rather startlingly blunt
act of egotism run amok.
Nevertheless, I have to say: This is an incredibly shrewd move on
Bieber's part. For one thing, he's a very talented dude, with more
personality in his soaring rockin'-bird vocals, and his dance moves,
than you'd find in all three Jonas Brothers mashed together. What's
truly savvy about the idea of a Justin Bieber biopic, though, as
shameless and calculated an act of marketing as it may be, is that it's
just so damn ... in-your-face. It's Bieber's way of saying: "I'm here.
I'm a sizzling commodity. Get used to it." And that's what a teen idol
today has to do to cut through the clutter. He, or she, must seize the
focus, force the hot spotlight right onto his talent.
I imagine that the Bieber movie will feature a fair amount of
performance footage anyway -- that the "biopic" aspect may, in fact, be
just a way of dressing up a concert film. For the sheer audacity of the
announcement, though, I'd have to say that Bieber and his army of
handlers have won the week.
Justin Bieber To Guest-Star On 'CSI' Season
Premiere
CBS is
about to get a lot more dreamy. The perfectly coifed teen dream that is
Justin Bieber just inked a deal to guest-star in the season premiere of
"CSI," according to E! Online.
The pop star will play Jason McCann, a "troubled teen who is faced with
a terrible decision regarding his only brother — a decision that leads
him into an explosive confrontation with the CSIs. It is the beginning
of an emotional story that will conclude later in the season," CBS told
E!
Bieber seems to be up for the role. The 16-year-old — who is in the
middle of his My World Tour, which stopped in Los Angeles this week —
tweeted Thursday, "Morning world...we got the acting coach
here....learning 'a new craft.' "
CBS also seems pretty excited about getting Bieber on the forensics
drama. "Every 20 years, a phenomenon like Justin Bieber graces our
world," the network's Carol Mendelsohn, Don McGill and Anthony Zuiker
wrote in a statement. "We'd like to believe that the phenomenon of CSI
has had the same impact on popular culture. The opportunity to bring
them together in the premiere is a great treat for our audience and all
of its new viewers. This will be true event television."
The multiplatinum young singer is following in the footsteps of another
chart-topping pop star: Taylor Swift also appeared on the long-running
TV show back in March 2009. On the show, Swift played a brunet country
singer named Haley Jones, whose family owned a seedy Las Vegas motel.
