The Daily Procrastinator

John Favreau, the accomplished director of the two Iron Man films (among others), recently gave an interview with MTV in which he commented on the next Iron Man movie and its possible villain, The Mandarin.

Iron Man 3's Villain?

“You have to do The Mandarin,” he said. “The problem with The Mandarin is, the way it’s depicted in the comic books, you don’t want to see that. He also has 10 magical rings, and it just doesn’t feel right for our thing, so it’s either tech-based or the rings are not really rings.”

“But maybe with ‘Thor’ and all those others you’ll introduce magic to that world and it won’t seem so out of place,” he said.

Okay, I LOVE what Favreau has done with the Iron Man films – he’s made ol’ Shell Head into one of the most successful comic-book movie franchises (behind Batman and a certain web-slinger which is now being rebooted), despite using a hero many non-comic book readers would consider a B-list hero – but let’s examine that last line a bit more closely: “introduce magic to that world and it won’t seem so out of place.”

Excuse me?

This is a world in which a man can create a body suit of armor in a few weeks using spare parts from stolen weapons.  This is a world in which the same man can create armor that flies at supersonic speeds and fires rockets and repulsor beams, all powered by a power cell that apparently has no ill-effects whatsoever, environmentally or physically. This is a world in which a man exposed to gamma radiation turns into a raging green behemoth when angry.  This is the same world in which a high school kid can get bitten by a radioactive spider and develop the proportional strength and reflexes (and webs!) of the arachnid.  And this is the same world in which people are born with latent fantastical powers (concussive eye-blasts, sheathed claws, the ability to control the weather, etc.) that manifest themselves at the onset of puberty.

And Favreau thinks magic would be “out of place”?

Sure, I agree that historically the character of the Mandarin has been a bit insensitive, a bit politically incorrect.  But Favreau’s not bound by that history (and the villain’s undergone a makeover recently in his comic book, anyway); look how he changed the character of Whiplash for the new film:

The comic book Whiplash

Iron Man 2's Whiplash

(By the way, anybody else notice the times Rourke wore his hair pulled up in a topknot, and how the hair had green highlights?  Well, I thought it was a clever nod.)

I’m worried, though, that Favreau thinks we movie-goers want the “real world” in our comic book movies.  Yeah, Batman Begins and The Dark Knight are praised for their realistic look at the Caped Crusader, but…come on.  It’s a guy in a bat costume whose extreme wealth allows him to buy any damn thing he needs.  And the arguments for the movies’ realism also ignore the incredible coincidences (and the impossible physics) that allow Batman to win the day.  Any discussion of “realism” and comic book movies completely misses the point of superheroes: it’s their extraordinary nature that leads us, the audience, to wonder, to be inspired, to dream.

I guess what I’m arguing is that magic in the Marvel Universe is just another power.  In a world where men and women fly or can lift buildings or turn invisible, what’s the difference if someone chants a few words and something fantastic happens?  And here’s a chance for Favreau to move beyond the technology themes he’s developed in the films so far, and address what can be considered technology’s opposite: mysticism. Favreau’s now made two movies that match Iron Man up against another technological terror; the Mandarin, though, comes from a very different tradition than Stark, and the east vs. west conflict represented by Stark and the Mandarin is and will continue to be relevant for the foreseeable future.

Movie-goers buying a ticket to an Iron Man movie aren’t going into it expecting realism – we want escapism.  We want to see what we’ve never seen before; we want to marvel at the feats of our heroes, we want to be entertained.    The magic of the Mandarin shouldn’t be a stumbling block for Favreau, it should be an opportunity for him to make some more of his own.

A new Spider-Man is coming at you in 2012

According to this article, Sony has decided to reboot the Spider-Man franchise now that director Sam Raimi has told the powers that be that he cannot meet the desired deadline for the 4th film (matters of artistic integrity, it seems).  I’m not entirely sad about this news, as Raimi’s penchant for ridiculous humor really irritated me at times, but he did give us the second Spider-Man movie, probably the third best superhero movie out there (after Iron Man and Dark Knight).   It also means that I won’t have to suffer through Tobey Maguire as  Peter Parker anymore – has there been a more uninteresting one-note actor? – nor will I any longer have to accept Kirsten Dunst as supermodel Mary Jane Watson.

There are, however, a couple things that really irritate me about this move by Sony.  One, I’m going to have to suffer through another origin movie when the next Spider-Man movie comes out.  I’d love to know how many audience members at a Spider-Man film are truly ignorant of how milquetoast Parker got his spider-powers. Two, I have no trust whatsoever that Sony and its hand-picked director will bother staying  true to the source material; Spider-Man 3 was clearly movie-by-committee, trying to incorporate too many plot points and too many villains (I dislike Venom, anyway), and I think Raimi’s hands were tied to a degree by corporate decree.  But then there’s the news of which direction the 4th movie would have gone: John Malkovich as  The Vulture and an actress to be names later as the Vulturess.  The Vulture – another flying villain and an octogenarian at that?  What about the Lizard, whose alter-ego, Dr. Curt Connors, has been seen in both the second and third films? And for the non-Spider-Man readers out there: there’s no such villainess as the Vulturess – never has been.  And the name’s stupid, too.

A much better choice of villain for Spider-Man

I suspect the powers-that-be at Sony want a younger cast with a more open direction, and there’s nothing inherently wrong with that – it worked wonders for Batman – but I also worry that they will sacrifice character in favor of marketing numbers.  Spider-Man is the biggest name in the Marvel pantheon, and Sony’s only real motivation will be money, as they know that fans of the character will continue to pay to see the films.

What I really wish is that Marvel Studios could buy back the rights to the character – a definite possibility since Disney has purchased the House of Ideas.  As seen with Iron Man and the latest Hulk film, when Marvel has final say-so over the script and production values, they turn out some truly incredible films.  Let’s hope that, no matter who ends up producing the new Spider-Man films, quality story-telling will win out.

Though I fear history suggests otherwise.

Rule #34: See this film immediately

Zombieland, and I mean this in the most admiring way, is a fast-food movie. Just as Super-Sonic Cheeseburgers aren’t wolfed down for their nutritional value, Zombieland is mindless fun: it’s hilarious, winks at the audience continually, and takes well-deserved shots at the now-established traditions of zombie flicks.

No where are these shots more obvious than in Columbus’ (Jesse Eisenburg) rules for survival (“Rule #1: Cardio” – as scenes of fat guys being chased down by zombies are played). Throughout the film, Eisenberg’s rules are displayed on screen as those who fail to follow the rules end up as human tartare for the zombies. The gore of these kills, though, is more cartoonish than frightening, and only serves to elevate the humor of the film. Dispatched zombies (of which there are plenty), are always accompanied by satisfyingly large splatterings of blood and bile as it’s vital not to forget Rule #2: the Double Tap.

Batter up!

The plot (okay, the term is used a bit loosely here) of the movie centers around Eisenberg’s milquetoast, who is attempting to make his way back to his hometown (Columbus) to see if his parents are still alive. This journey is interrupted by Tallahassee (a screamingly funny Woody Harrelson), a man with two drives in life: revenge against zombies and a quest to find Twinkies. These two later take up with two other survivors, Wichita (Emma Stone) and her 12 year old sister Little Rock (Abigail Breslin). The city names are references to their hometowns, as Tallahassee wishes to avoid any emotional attachment (which, in the movie’s only truly sentimental moment, is revealed why later). The four end up traveling together to California to search for zombie-free areas.

The cast of Zombieland

So much of the fun of the movie is seeing the relationship develop between Tallahassee and Columbus, as their back and forth bantering and antagonization of each other reveals real comic timing. But, of course, the true hilarity of the film comes with the creative zombie deaths – look for the “Zombie Kill of the Week” performed by a nun with a piano. And a certain movie star’s cameo is inspired (don’t look at imdb’s credits if you want to be surprised).

At a running time of just about an hour and a half, Zombieland never has a chance to go stale, and remains pitch perfect in its blend of humor and horror. But don’t be fooled: this movie is first and foremost a comedy, and the frights only serve to set up the reactions from the film’s players. If you’re looking for a post-apocalyptic film with a message, wait for Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. If you want some fries with your zombies, though, Zombieland‘s being served at a theater near you.

Months ago, when I saw the first film trailer for the movie Where The Wild Things Are, I freaked out with anticipation. Images of Maurice Sendak’s big furry beasts galumphing through the wilderness in a wild rumpus immediately flooded my mind. I had flashbacks to lying in my bed as a kid and trying to figure out how that one monster could possibly have lizard legs, buffalo horns, tiger stripes, and bear paws and yet still intend no harm to little Max.

Since I was a kid, this has always been my favorite image from Wild Things.

I had high hopes that the movie would echo the idea, so prevalent in the book, that not everything (or everyone, more to the point) that looks scary is actually a threat. My hopes were sorely denied.

Apparently, Spike Jonze (who is now on my List Of People To Punch In The Nose On Sight not only for his mistreatment of Wild Things, but also for his ridiculous deliberate misspelling of his assumed last name) didn’t think that the original text of the book was important to the making of the film. Instead of being the benevolent beasts of the book, the Wild Things in the movie are a bunch of whiny, self-obsessed, violent conflict-mongers.

When Max arrives on the island, his first encounter with the Wild Things involves watching the monster pictured above (named Carroll in an apparent homage to the creator of the Jabberwock) as he destroys the homes of his fellow Things for no apparent reason. We soon learn that he’s pissed because one of his fellow Things, K.W., has run off. No explanation for K.W.’s behavior is ever offered, though, and the plot of the film never regains any sense of purpose. This first encounter does, however, set up the complicated relationship that Max and Carroll will share throughout the rest of the film.

In one of the film's best moments, Carroll gives Max a lift.

To complicate matters further, Jonze (and collaborator Sendak, the book’s original creator) decide to make the Wild Things clearly male and female, and two different pairs of them are couples. The Things Judith and Ira, a bumbling oaf of a guy and a narcissistic bitch of a woman, plague the film with their relationship. Likewise, Carroll’s anger over K.W.’s departure seems to be based on a relationship that the two may or may not share. It’s never really clear.

When K.W. brings back some new friends to the Things’ fort, the rest of the gang, especially Carroll, refuses to accept them as part of the group. Carroll turns to Max to solve the situation, since he’s serving as their erstwhile king, but he doesn’t have any answers. It seems that Jonze is trying to make a political statement about how we and our leaders treat those unlike ourselves, but the issue is left unresolved and only serves to complicate an already unnecessarily complicated film.

Although the plot of the movie is disastrous, Where Wild Things Are is interesting to look at. The costumes of the Things are fantastic, accurately duplicating the images from the original art. The film offers many close-ups of the Things as they speak, and their big furry faces clearly register a variety of emotions that must have required untold hours of either mechanical animatronics or computer animation. The Things’ eyes, in particular, are beautiful. As the adage suggests, they give us a view of each Thing’s soul.

As the Things rumble around the island, they often jump to great heights, and the animation of their jumps is wildly amusing. They seem to rise into the air as if by levitation, springing toward the treetops despite their stumpy legs and thickly built bodies. In fact, they jump exactly the way the monsters in a little boy’s imagination might jump, which I find perfect, as all the events on the island happen in Max’s imagination.

Q: What have learned so far? A: While the plot is bad, the visual effects are good. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. The plot isn’t a complete loss, though. I need to mention a couple moments that stand out as high points. As I mentioned above, the scene in which Carroll lets Max ride on his back is sweet. Also, there’s a scene in which all of the Things sleep in a giant pile, calling good nights to one another as they collectively drift off into huge, furry slumber.

Finally, the scene in which Max leaves the island (don’t groan about spoilers; you knew it was going to end this way) is simultaneously beautiful and infuriating. All the Things gather at the beach to watch Max as he sails back to his home, and their howling as he sails into the surf is heart-wrenching. Visually, it’s a beautiful scene, and the music, camera work, and sound effects are perfect. I wish I could stop writing about the scene now, but I can’t. Although Max’s farewell is a fantastic moment, it’s also ridiculous because there’s never any explanation of why Max chooses to leave the island. It’s as if he just randomly decides to split in the middle of the conflict on Thing Island. The implied theme: When you mess things up really badly, run away; that will make things better.

It makes me want to scream like a Wild Thing.

Occasionally, Jonze's adaptation is beautiful.

I wish I could tell you to go watch Where The Wild Things Are. I wish I could celebrate the successful translation of a classic children’s book to the big screen. I wish I could tell you to take your children to the movies. I can’t do any of those things, though. (I especially can’t recommend the film for kids. This is NOT a children’s move. They’ll be alternately terrified and bored. I promise.) Frankly, I’m saddened that future generations of kids will say things like, “Where The Wild Things Are is a book, too? I didn’t know that!”

Do yourself a favor: preserve your love of Where The Wild Things Are by avoiding this film. Let your imagination give life to the Things. If not for yourself, avoid the film for your kids’ sake. They deserve to see the Wild Things like this:

Let’s start with a basic fact: I read lots of novels. In the course of my literary wanderings, I encounter dozens of new authors every year, ranging from the talented and interesting to the banal and bound for unemployment. Rarely, though, do I read an author who makes me sit up and truly take notice–the sort of author who I immediately recommend to my friends. I’m pleased to announce that I’ve discovered just such a rare and fantastic writer. Procrastinators, say hello to Jeffrey Lent.

I'm sure he's pleased to meet you.

My experience reading Jeffrey Lent began when a traveling book liquidation company set up shop in my local mall a few months ago. Because all hardcover books were priced at four dollars, I went on a spending spree. (Seriously? Four dollars? I was in heaven.) Since they cost less than a foot-long sub, I bought a huge armload of books by authors I’d never even heard of. Why not? Among them was Lent’s novel Lost Nation.

As soon as I started reading, I felt that Lost Nation was different from anything I’d read in a long time. It’s the story of a mysterious man, known only as Blood, who travels into the Vermont territory during the years when its control was still contested by the United States and Canada. Along with the wagon-load of goods Blood intends to use in setting up a general store, he also brings with him a young woman named Sally, who he recently won while playing poker in a brothel. Lent uses her relationship with Blood to examine issues of lust, love, obligation, rejection, and acceptance. About midway through the novel, some long-lost acquaintances show up in Blood’s life and add further complications to the plot. The backdrop of governmental bickering over Vermont (which materializes as backwoods hit-and-run warfare) establishes an ominous tone that looms over the more personal aspects of Blood’s story. When the interconnected plotlines of the territorial dispute, Blood’s dealings with people from his past, and his relationship with Sally all reach simultaneous crescendo, the novel delivers a conclusion every bit as dramatic and nerve-wracking as The Fall of the House of Usher.

While the plot of Lost Nation, in and of itself, is enough to convince me to recommend the novel to my fellow readers, Lent’s style is every bit as important and impressive. He employs a stark, blunt style that brings echoes of Cormac McCarthy to my ears. Lent neither shies away from nor celebrates novel’s the often dark and tragic developments. The reader is left to come to terms with Blood’s world and its implications. I suspect that some readers may feel uncomfortable with the burden Lent lays upon them, but I found it rewarding.

Since reading Lost Nation, I have also purchased and read A Peculiar Grace, which I enjoyed even more. In a future post, I’ll review it. I promise. I’ve also bought Lent’s first novel, In The Fall, and I intend to buy the recently published After You’ve Gone. I’m literally thrilled with the expectation of reading them both. If they live up to my expections, you’ll hear about them.

In the meantime, track down a copy of Lost Nation. You won’t regret it.

So many careers owed to the man . . .

An icon of we Procrastinators died on Thursday:  John Hughes, writer/director of many of the most formative movies of our youth, passed away at the entirely-too-young age of 59 as a result of a heart attack.

Hughes’ catalog of films is astounding.  Consider the following streak of the 80s:

“National Lampoon’s Vacation” (1983)

“Sixteen Candles” (1984)

“The Breakfast Club” (1985)

“Weird Science” (1985)

“Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” (1986)

“Planes Trains and Automobiles” (1987)

“The Great Outdoors” (1988) [Hey, I liked the raccoons, dammit.  They killed.]

“Uncle Buck” (1989)

Each is a classic in its own right; not only are they funny as hell, but they had heart.  As a result, each became a staple of our upbringings here at the DP.  Admit it:  you still stop down for the battle between Ferris and Dean Rooney (couldn’t have been him, could it?)

Of course, not all of his stuff are classics (at least in our mind . . . let’s hope it wasn’t him who sold his soul to inflate the grosses on Home Alone).  But we won’t dwell on that or his infliction of young McCauley Caulkin on the movie-going public.   Instead, we here suggest you have your own Hughes marathon this weekend and reminisce about the part of your formative years that just died.

Greetings, procrastinators! I have returned from my foray into The Great White North! I hope all of you have been well in my absence. Now that my vacation is over, I can return to procrastinating, full-time. For starters, I want to tell you about a book I read (sort of) on my trip.

Nineteen hours each way is a LONG time to drive, and staying awake can be a bit of a challenge, since I like to drive straight through rather than lose vacation time by splitting the drive over two days. In the past, I’ve taken big stacks of music CDs, reserving the loudest and angriest ones for the last few hours of the drive. This strategy worked fine, but my mother was starting to get concerned that I always showed up at her house muttering about “Cowboys From Hell” or a “South Texas Deathride.” In an effort to stay awake without getting all hopped up on music that scares children, I decided to make the drive with an audiobook this time. It was a good call.

It just LOOKS good.

The Geographer’s Library by John Fasman is a 384-page tome in its hardcover incarnation, and it’s over 15 hours long as an audiobook. Honestly, this is why I chose it. I needed a book for a long drive. Considering that my selection was simply based on the length of the book, I feel that I got extraordinarily lucky. The Geographer’s Library is a remarkable, interesting, complex historical novel.

The book centers on two main plotlines. The first involves a Spanish Muslim cartographer, historian, and linguist named Al-Idrisi who served King Roger of Sicily in the 1150s. Al-Idrisi devoted considerable time and energy to collect fifteen priceless artifacts from all over the world, each of which was thought to be vital to the art of alchemy. Before he could fully understand their powers, though, the entire collection was stolen, and the individual objects  found their way to all corners of the world over the course of centuries.

Enter Paul Tomm, a journalist working for a small-town newspaper. When he is assigned to write a simple obituary for oddball university professor Jaan Puhapaev, his simple questions about the man’s life soon reveal that Puhapaev may not have been the man everyone thought he was. In fact, it seems he’d been trying to reassemble Al-Idrisi’s collection. But why?

Between these two storylines lie the individual tales of each artifact as they are bought, sold, stolen, and killed for throughout the course of history. Each one is an intriguing plot unto itself. Fasman’s descriptions of exotic settings throughout the Old World make these chapters especially rewarding to read.

Although I’m caught up in praising the book, I will say that The Geographer’s Library is not an easy read. I think that listening to it while I drove, which is far more passive than actually reading the book, probably simplified the process for me. I imagine that reading it might be a bit slow in some passages. Nonetheless, for readers who appreciate a remarkably well-written and researched book, I highly recommend Fasman’s tome. Imagine The DaVinci Code more intelligently written and without inflammatory intentions. I’m going to buy a hardcover copy of The Geographer’s Library for my bookshelf, and you should, too.

Careful! These brownies are special, and not in a good way.

There’s an email being forwarded around quite a bit that tells the story of a couple kids who want to go see a popular and critically successful movie that has material that some people might find objectionable, perhaps a sex scene, perhaps some language. The father of these two boys, who believes they should not go see the movie, attempts to teach them a lesson about the dangers of such entertainment by baking a batch of brownies and telling his sons that he’s used the highest quality ingredients, but added only a smidgen of horse manure to the batter. He then asks his sons if they feel “only a smidgen” of manure matters in the brownies, which otherwise are perfectly edible and tantalizing. The lesson, of course, is that the little bit of objectionable material ruins the entire thing, whether it be a film, a television show or a book, and is even potentially harmful.

This parable irritates me because the analogy it makes is patently false; viewing a movie or reading a novel containing some objectionable material and digesting manure-tainted brownies are two completely different processes. Most people, by using their brains (though I might be already assuming too much), can differentiate between what is “good” and what is “bad.” I’ve even heard that parents can teach their children to do so, and not be subject to the corruptive influence of the media (cue ominous music). The stomach, however, cannot differentiate between brownie batter and manure, and will attempt to digest everything that enters it. Yes, garbage-in/garbage-out works in the case of the stomach, but it’s not quite so easy when considering the brain.

For example, I teach Huckleberry Finn every year. The novel uses the word “nigger” a little over 200 times, and, if the above parable and its adherents are to be believed, after reading it, a reader should be more likely to actually use the word. But of course that’s ridiculous – it doesn’t happen. My students recognize the context of the word’s use and know that it is a word they neither want to use nor will use.

This modern-day parable is also refuted by the Bible, both in verse and as a work. There are any number of risque passages in the Old and New Testaments; a particular passage about a former prostitute and her longings for the old days comes to mind (Ezekial 23:19-20). There are many more like this one that you won’t hear on Sunday mornings, but were considered crucial by those compiling the books of the Bible. But no one’s calling to purge these verses from the work; in fact, my church gives copies of an unedited Bible to our fourth graders (gasp!). But we’re Lutheran, so we’ve historically been rebels.

The point? Every one of us has been blessed with a brain, and I’m troubled by how many people choose not to use it. As I’ve stated time and time again in my classes, context counts. And there’s a vast difference in reading the word “nigger” in Huck Finn and reading it in Klan propaganda, or between nudity seen when watching Schindler’s List and some late night Cinemax flick. If you suggest otherwise, you’re shoveling your special brownie ingredient.

Just when I think I’m out, you pull me back in!

Hello, my name is FlashCap, and I have an action figure problem. For the past six or so years I’ve been collecting the Marvel Legends line of figures, first under the Toybiz line and then under Hasbro when Legends switched hands back in 2007. I’ve amassed around 50 or so Marvel superhero figures, most of which were at one time or another Avengers. Check out some pics here.

Yeah, that's entirely too much money on those shelves. I'm sorry.

The Hasbro figures’ quality wasn’t close to that of the line while under ToyBiz, and this difference, along with rising oil prices led to what I can only believe to be the demise of the 6″ Legends line. Hasbro also announced plans for a new 3″ figure line they would call “Marvel Universe.” I didn’t think much about them b/c my collection dwarfed this new series, so I thought my figure collecting had come to an end.

Then the damned figures started appearing on the shelves at the local Wal-Mart.

I kept thinking they looked pretty good. The detailing was a heck of a lot better than the Hasbro figures’, and the variety of figures that would be available would eventually surpass the Legends line. Plus there was a kick-ass, modern-costumed Iron Fist:

The First Temptation of FlashCap.

But still I resisted their siren song. I even found a Captain America and put it back after carrying it around Wal-Mart for awhile. I just couldn’t.

But about two weeks ago, I finally pulled the trigger. I was walking through Wal-Mart and noticed the Wolverine: Origins figures. Normally I wouldn’t give those a second thought but I noticed they had a “comic series” – they had a Deadpool.

This damned figure doomed me.

I caved like Cookie Monster at a Chips Ahoy packaging factory. Two days later, I went back and bought Captain America and Iron Fist from the Marvel Universe line. I also grabbed a Spider-Man. The following day I bought a Ms. Marvel, Silver Surfer, and Ronin from the local Target, which I found had a bigger selection. A week later, I returned and picked up the Hulk, Black Panther, and the Punisher.

I’m now planning on moving my 6″ Marvel Legends figures to a display case I have in my room, and start putting the 3″ figures on my shelves. I’ve already bought 50 clear plastic peg stands to do so.

Help me. Please?

Hello, procrastinators! Today is the 4th of May!

May 4th!

May the 4th!

May the 4th be with you.

Go forth into the world, friends, and use this nerdy pun to its fullest potential. You’ve only got a few hours left!