What comes to mind when you think of epic movies? What comes into your train of thought when you think the word, "epic?" Is it some shoddy spaghetti western? Some Peter Jackson adaption of a series of books? Or maybe a universe spanning crossover that forces you to buy thirty comics you don't really want in the first place? Well, to me, "epic" is three and a half hours of some of the greatest visual storytelling I've ever seen. Now, I'll be honest, I'm not nor have I ever really been a student of the "classics." I read Shakespeare only in class. Silver Age comics are a mind numbing bore into my skull. And the bible. Well, I've wanted to roll a few fatties with those pages. And I used to nod off during mass as a young teen. Now don't get me wrong. I feel one can have respect for the classics. For a legacy. But there comes a time in history, when super hero stories about a woman being trusted to run an aircraft company, who's more interested in tying the knot with a super hero she's met all of twice. And his alter ego who tries to out do his magic space ring wearing self with indulgences in chauvinism, who spews dialog that makes me want to tear my ears off, even though it's printed is just passe. But there are some things that truly transcend time, and history and most of all technology itself. And Akira Kurosawa's "Seven Samurai" is just one of those things. This movie has fucking everything. And to think it feels like it starts right smack in the middle of a plot point. This movie is something every director of so called cinematic masterpieces like, Jackson, Ridley Scott, Lucas and Bay need to learn from. It's called story, plot and pacing. Something Kurosawa did in spades with this flick.
You would think the name says it all. But the samurai are truly only half the story. The journey to find these seven noble warriors willing to risk their lives for people you wouldn't spit on. There is something to be said for honor. For pride. For just fucking doing what is right. And don't get me wrong, there are a lot of good people out there, who do good things and ask for very little in return. And quite often, they get just that; very little.
The samurai were of noble heritage. Think of the knights. And just like knights from Europe, most were drunkards, who pillaged and looted near empty villages and raped women and murdered children. It seems civility cannot be made by being born into nobility.
Kurosawa shot this film for release in 1954, six years before the release of The Magnificent Seven, which was an obvious remake. I've never seen that Steve McQueen movie, but I'm sure it's not nearly as majestic as Seven Samurai. You don't often get films like this these days that aren't bogged down with massive continuity problems, shot with million dollar equipment or CGI enhanced till it makes your fucking eyes bleed. Oh, fuck's sake help me, in 3D.... It's a gimmick Hollywood, just like foil enhanced covers for comics and gold stamped baseball cards. It does not substitute for quality. And it should never be mistaken for it either. Kurosawa had a vision that he launched into several epic in scope movies. Most of his films were remade by Hollywood into "color" spaghetti westerns. Complete with tough guys with no personality, who were almost villainous in character. Well, FUCK THAT! It's bullshit to rip off someone's idea and then not only NOT improve upon it, but make it that much worse. Well Kurosawa is the original. The guy who inspired those spaghettis westerns that inspired John Woo that "inspired" Tarantino, complete with lousy tough guys spouting a verbal diarrhetic of unintelligible jabber.
Some of you may know these reviews, and some of you may not. Well, a quick recap of my grading system. It's called the Hardcore Review for a reason. I cuss, I'm often drunk while writing them. And I use moments from professional wrestling history as a basis for my grade. The more hardcore, bloody, sexual the action; or awesomely fucked up the verbiage, the more I liked and heartily recommend this work. And here goes. In 1993 a small promotion in Pennsylvania took on a short lived relationship with an organization that had seemingly folded years before. Less than one year after that merger, there was a tournament to crown the new NWA World Heavyweight Champion. Now this didn't make much sense after WCW split from the NWA and crowned their own World Title, and the then WWF had had their version for years. But this little upstart company, that was making waves and with this moment solidified their mark in wrestling history. Shane Douglas won the two day tournament. And as he was presented with the newly minted NWA belt, he spoke a few words. He dedicated the win to his recently deceased father. He mentioned ever major champion in NWA history, even his much hated Ric Flair. And then... he threw down the belt and said, "And they can all kiss my ass!.... Cause I am not the man to be handed a torch from a company that died, RIP seven years ago! I am the man who ignites the new flame of THE SPORT of professional wrestling." He then grabbed the ECW (Eastern Championship Wrestling) Heavyweight Title and proclaimed himself the ECW World Heavyweight Champion.
Showing posts with label ric flair. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ric flair. Show all posts
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Monday, November 15, 2010
JLA Earth 2; A Hardcore Review
At Tucson Comic Con I picked up a few books, including JLA Earth 2, volume 2 of Love and Rockets and Denny Riccelli's Get That Chicken. Today I will be reviewing JLA Earth 2 which features the core of the Justice League, of Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman, Flash and Kyle Rayner Green Lantern going up against alternate Earth versions of themselves in the Crime Syndicate. Written by Grant Morrison and illustrated by Frank Quietly this graphic novel burst onto the scene in the early 2000's.
The Crime Syndicate are easily the best part of this book with Johnny Quick, The evil Flash needing Speed Force-like drugs to keep up his normal hyper self. And when he comes down he begins to annoy the Ring, Green Lantern's counterpart. The Ring's power ring is a mystical sentient being of it's own and continually talks down to him. While Batman's doppleganger is Owlman, who is just as cunning, but way more ready to kill anyone who gets in his way, possibly even the passive aggressive Ultraman who at first glance seems to be Superwoman's bitch. Lois Lane is the Earth 2 Superwoman who feeds on her own narcissism and deep seeded need to control others, like Jimmy Olsen and Owlman.
The strange thing about this whole storyline is that it's built around failure, not success. And I don't mean a failure of a story, cause it's awesome. The concept is that the only ones who can succeed on their respective Earths are the heroes that belong there themselves. It's a great concept that spawned a few episodes on Justice League the cartoon and an animated movie, Crisis On Two Earths, which you can watch on Netflix.
What would you do if you knew there was another Earth with an exact opposite version of yourself? Would you attempt to change that world for the better/worse?
The book begins with the Justice League attempting a rescue on a jet liner that is about to crash. After the plane is landed by the team, they discover all 24 passengers are dead, their money with pictures of Benedict Arnold instead of George Washington and their hearts on the right side of their bodies. Martian Manhunter discerns that there is some parallel dimension that the plane was pulled from. Meanwhile on the Crime Syndicate's Earth an identical plane appears with people from our Earth.
The whole story is filled with some amazing scenarios, including Owlman and Superwoman having an affair all in the plain view of Ultraman who appears to be wrapped around Superwoman's little finger.
In the end, the Justice League realizes nothing they do is going to change Earth 2. That the harder they try, the more they are destined to fail. Earth 2 cannot and will not allow the Justice League to win. It's an amazing ideal that the ultimate goodguys are in fact badguys on Earth 2. A fascinating concept. But the Justice League does in fact decide to do something evil in order to gain access to the Crime Syndicate.
It's essentially something I was just thinking about last night. Being a hero sometimes means knowing nothing you do will change the world for the better. No matter how hard you try. But as a hero you still do everything you can, no matter the futility.
This is the first review I have done in a while, as my laptop has been on the fritz and is probably on it's last legs in some respects. I am working to rectify this situation as quickly and as inexpensively as possible.
The grade for this book is a fairly recent match from TNA and more than 20 years in the making. Flair versus Foley in a Last Man Standing match. Or a Death Match if you will. Both combatants blade, with Flair pulling another four alarmer. Battling up and down the entrance ramp and back into the ring. Flair takes a back body drop onto a pile of thumbtacks. Ultimately the ending, which some feel was lackluster, I really liked. Flair lands a splash onto Foley putting them both through a table. And as the count reaches ten, both Flair and Foley stand with Flair crumbling to the mat just after. The end result being that even though Flair was the work horse for so many years it was the man he called a "glorified stuntman" who could take more punishment. And the match ended with Foley having his hand raised.
The Crime Syndicate are easily the best part of this book with Johnny Quick, The evil Flash needing Speed Force-like drugs to keep up his normal hyper self. And when he comes down he begins to annoy the Ring, Green Lantern's counterpart. The Ring's power ring is a mystical sentient being of it's own and continually talks down to him. While Batman's doppleganger is Owlman, who is just as cunning, but way more ready to kill anyone who gets in his way, possibly even the passive aggressive Ultraman who at first glance seems to be Superwoman's bitch. Lois Lane is the Earth 2 Superwoman who feeds on her own narcissism and deep seeded need to control others, like Jimmy Olsen and Owlman.
The strange thing about this whole storyline is that it's built around failure, not success. And I don't mean a failure of a story, cause it's awesome. The concept is that the only ones who can succeed on their respective Earths are the heroes that belong there themselves. It's a great concept that spawned a few episodes on Justice League the cartoon and an animated movie, Crisis On Two Earths, which you can watch on Netflix.
What would you do if you knew there was another Earth with an exact opposite version of yourself? Would you attempt to change that world for the better/worse?
The book begins with the Justice League attempting a rescue on a jet liner that is about to crash. After the plane is landed by the team, they discover all 24 passengers are dead, their money with pictures of Benedict Arnold instead of George Washington and their hearts on the right side of their bodies. Martian Manhunter discerns that there is some parallel dimension that the plane was pulled from. Meanwhile on the Crime Syndicate's Earth an identical plane appears with people from our Earth.
The whole story is filled with some amazing scenarios, including Owlman and Superwoman having an affair all in the plain view of Ultraman who appears to be wrapped around Superwoman's little finger.
In the end, the Justice League realizes nothing they do is going to change Earth 2. That the harder they try, the more they are destined to fail. Earth 2 cannot and will not allow the Justice League to win. It's an amazing ideal that the ultimate goodguys are in fact badguys on Earth 2. A fascinating concept. But the Justice League does in fact decide to do something evil in order to gain access to the Crime Syndicate.
It's essentially something I was just thinking about last night. Being a hero sometimes means knowing nothing you do will change the world for the better. No matter how hard you try. But as a hero you still do everything you can, no matter the futility.
This is the first review I have done in a while, as my laptop has been on the fritz and is probably on it's last legs in some respects. I am working to rectify this situation as quickly and as inexpensively as possible.
The grade for this book is a fairly recent match from TNA and more than 20 years in the making. Flair versus Foley in a Last Man Standing match. Or a Death Match if you will. Both combatants blade, with Flair pulling another four alarmer. Battling up and down the entrance ramp and back into the ring. Flair takes a back body drop onto a pile of thumbtacks. Ultimately the ending, which some feel was lackluster, I really liked. Flair lands a splash onto Foley putting them both through a table. And as the count reaches ten, both Flair and Foley stand with Flair crumbling to the mat just after. The end result being that even though Flair was the work horse for so many years it was the man he called a "glorified stuntman" who could take more punishment. And the match ended with Foley having his hand raised.
Friday, October 1, 2010
JCVD; A Hardcore Review
I am going to remind everyone who reads these reviews that the grading system I use is this: instead of thumbs up or stars, I rate on hardcore moments in pro wrestling history. The more hardcore the event, match, promo or moment the more I liked the book, comic, movie or video game I am reviewing. The less hardcore the moment, the more I disliked it. An example would be anything related to Hulk Hogan would be highly NOT recommended. Onto the review...
"Wrong place. Wrong time." This line has been said so many times and by so many bad guys. That line was not uttered once during this flick. But it pretty much sums up the film, and the life of Jean-Claude Van Damme. He came to America with a dream to be a movie star. He quite school early on in life, because he knew he had something to offer the world. And he became, "The Muscles from Brussels."
This film was shot at the beginning like a documentary. It made it seem very real to heart. As if Van Damme was trying to say something about his life and how it all went wrong. The opening sequence itself was brilliant in that he's filming an intense action scene and something goes wrong in the middle of a very long shot, that as film buffs know is not only expensive, but also very hard to do without putting in jump cuts. The response from the Asian film maker was, "I could care less that you brought John Woo to American audiences," as he throws darts at a Hollywood sign dart board at point blank range. This is the same lack of respect JCVD has gotten from the people who pay to see his movies. And I don't understand why. He's a better actor than Arnold. And at last he's not 60 and doing 'roids like Stallone. This is a guy who is very relatable to the public.
JCVD goes into a soliloquy in the middle of the movie. He talks about how fucked up his life is. But he makes a point. That he sees beauty in everyone. And that even though it is hard for him to judge others, it seems to be very easy for them to judge him. Whether these words are true or not, remain to be seen, but it is a beautiful idea none the less. It is true. We do cast our own insecurities upon those who rise above. We do enjoy to see them succeed. But as the Green Goblin said in the first Spider-Man movie, the one thing they like more than cheering a hero, "is to see a hero fall." And I think that is very true in a lot of us. I say that and I include myself. There's nothing as satisfying as seeing someone everybody "marks out" for have a human moment and fall from grace. That's just the way things are. I did it when Paris Hilton got busted for DUI. I wanted that twit thrown in the hole. I was glad to see that LeBron wasn't good enough to get his team to the finals. I felt some sort of twisted vindication because of that. Somehow, his failure made me feel like I was a better person. As if somehow I had succeeded where he had failed. And I think people felt the same way when Van Damme became a coke head and really fucked up his career. It doesn't make him a bad person. It makes him human.
And any time I can watch something or read something or listen to something and feel like I have learned something or grow as a person myself, I have to give it up for that.
In saying so, JCVD was in no way an action flick. You don't get to see him kick anyone's ass. He doesn't do the vaunted splits at any time. He plays himself. He plays a guy, who just happened to rise above, and achieve some fame, however fleeting it may have been. He plays a guy who does fight for his child. He plays a guy we've all pretended to be after exiting the movie theatre doors. And in watching this, I give him credit. At least he admits that he's human. At least he has that ability, however belated it might be. Or however dishonest it might have been. He plays JCVD, and this will be his crowning moment to me. He showed me he has the chops to take himself outside of the typecast characters he has played for twenty-something years, and become something more.
With this movie I find it hard to relate back to a moment of true hardcoreness in pro wrestling. In doing so somehow makes me feel like it would unvalidate the ideals I hope Jean-Claude has taken upon himself. So I will do my best to make this a choice of not only hardcore history, but a moment that defined a human being... This was a night several years back in Greensboro, North Carolina when "The Nature Boy" Ric Flair returned to his nostalgic form before our vary eyes. This was suspension of disbelief that a man in his mid fifties could win the World Heavyweight Title from "The Game" Triple H. The whole night leading up to a defining point in Ric's career... The comeback. All night long we were treated to the thought that Ric was gonna fight for the title. And you knew he couldn't win. Butn when Hunter entered his dressing room, and talked down to Flair, it lit something in belly of the "wheelin' dealin', kiss stealin', limosine ridin', jet flyin' son of a gun." He became the greatest worker in the business AGAIN. And you believed, until, Hunter hit "the Pedigree," that Flair would become the 17 time World Champ.
"Wrong place. Wrong time." This line has been said so many times and by so many bad guys. That line was not uttered once during this flick. But it pretty much sums up the film, and the life of Jean-Claude Van Damme. He came to America with a dream to be a movie star. He quite school early on in life, because he knew he had something to offer the world. And he became, "The Muscles from Brussels."
This film was shot at the beginning like a documentary. It made it seem very real to heart. As if Van Damme was trying to say something about his life and how it all went wrong. The opening sequence itself was brilliant in that he's filming an intense action scene and something goes wrong in the middle of a very long shot, that as film buffs know is not only expensive, but also very hard to do without putting in jump cuts. The response from the Asian film maker was, "I could care less that you brought John Woo to American audiences," as he throws darts at a Hollywood sign dart board at point blank range. This is the same lack of respect JCVD has gotten from the people who pay to see his movies. And I don't understand why. He's a better actor than Arnold. And at last he's not 60 and doing 'roids like Stallone. This is a guy who is very relatable to the public.
JCVD goes into a soliloquy in the middle of the movie. He talks about how fucked up his life is. But he makes a point. That he sees beauty in everyone. And that even though it is hard for him to judge others, it seems to be very easy for them to judge him. Whether these words are true or not, remain to be seen, but it is a beautiful idea none the less. It is true. We do cast our own insecurities upon those who rise above. We do enjoy to see them succeed. But as the Green Goblin said in the first Spider-Man movie, the one thing they like more than cheering a hero, "is to see a hero fall." And I think that is very true in a lot of us. I say that and I include myself. There's nothing as satisfying as seeing someone everybody "marks out" for have a human moment and fall from grace. That's just the way things are. I did it when Paris Hilton got busted for DUI. I wanted that twit thrown in the hole. I was glad to see that LeBron wasn't good enough to get his team to the finals. I felt some sort of twisted vindication because of that. Somehow, his failure made me feel like I was a better person. As if somehow I had succeeded where he had failed. And I think people felt the same way when Van Damme became a coke head and really fucked up his career. It doesn't make him a bad person. It makes him human.
And any time I can watch something or read something or listen to something and feel like I have learned something or grow as a person myself, I have to give it up for that.
In saying so, JCVD was in no way an action flick. You don't get to see him kick anyone's ass. He doesn't do the vaunted splits at any time. He plays himself. He plays a guy, who just happened to rise above, and achieve some fame, however fleeting it may have been. He plays a guy who does fight for his child. He plays a guy we've all pretended to be after exiting the movie theatre doors. And in watching this, I give him credit. At least he admits that he's human. At least he has that ability, however belated it might be. Or however dishonest it might have been. He plays JCVD, and this will be his crowning moment to me. He showed me he has the chops to take himself outside of the typecast characters he has played for twenty-something years, and become something more.
With this movie I find it hard to relate back to a moment of true hardcoreness in pro wrestling. In doing so somehow makes me feel like it would unvalidate the ideals I hope Jean-Claude has taken upon himself. So I will do my best to make this a choice of not only hardcore history, but a moment that defined a human being... This was a night several years back in Greensboro, North Carolina when "The Nature Boy" Ric Flair returned to his nostalgic form before our vary eyes. This was suspension of disbelief that a man in his mid fifties could win the World Heavyweight Title from "The Game" Triple H. The whole night leading up to a defining point in Ric's career... The comeback. All night long we were treated to the thought that Ric was gonna fight for the title. And you knew he couldn't win. Butn when Hunter entered his dressing room, and talked down to Flair, it lit something in belly of the "wheelin' dealin', kiss stealin', limosine ridin', jet flyin' son of a gun." He became the greatest worker in the business AGAIN. And you believed, until, Hunter hit "the Pedigree," that Flair would become the 17 time World Champ.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Friday the 13th UNCUT; A Hardcore Review
Today I review one of my all-time favorite movies, the original Friday the 13th. This time UNCUT. And what exactly does uncut mean? It means 10 extra seconds of footage that was not in the original theatrical release back in 1980. It means a grizzlier death for the man who is so popular he inspired a game called "Six Degrees of Separation from..." Yup you guessed it. Like so many other people who are now pretty damn famous, some more deserving than others, Kevin Bacon got his big screen start in the original Friday the 13th. And with the uncut version, right after a post sex joint, Bacon gets goozled from under the bed by an arrowhead. It was a great shot of the abilities of Tom Savini, who at one point in his career denounced all the horror special effects he did and said it had been a waste. Then went back on that and started making movies again.
Anyways. For those of you not in the know, the killer in this movie WAS NOT Jason Voorhees. Had Drew Berrymore known this in Scream she'd still be alive today. I saw this first when I was about 12 or 13 and in Junior High. It was a magical time in my life. Being loathed by so many people at school. Even being made the butt of a joke that the entire school knew about, and I didn't. It was fun times. Especially when I would sit in class and remember watching all these horror movies and envision killing a lot of those who surrounded me in equally R rated kinda ways. But why I may ask myself, when but two decades later, they're all saddled with kids and wrinkled and flabby flesh and me, I'm better than ever. Stronger, smarter and tougher than they could ever think of. I think kids really need to go through some hardships in their lives to come to appreciate life more. We have way to many online high schools to avoid having to deal with bullies and shitty class sizes and faculty that are so underpaid they don't give a shit about you and your thoughts for six years of junior and senior high school.
But back to the movie. I watched this at my girlfriend, Christina's place on Friday the 13th with some friends, her brother Ron and her podcast cohort, Matt, who proceeded to entertain us all and scream like a little girl every time someone got killed. And not to mention when Christina's sister knocked on the door, Matt just about lost it. It was great. Eating "Spooky Meaty Chili" and drinking Kilt Lifters while Matt asked what was going to happen next every five minutes was a lot of fun. The fact that he had never seen the movie before made it a blast, cause it's always good to watch horror movies with someone who's never seen it before. The deaths brought out with dvd quality and sound. Kevin Bacon gurgling on his own blood. And then the voice..... "help meeeeee." Ah, I fuckin' love that part. Each time. It's so fucking eerie. "Help Meeeeeeee." And almost completely inaudible from the rain. Then you get to meet the killer. Expecting it to be some massive shape that tears through the camp counselors like cheap linens. But it's not, it's frail little Mrs. Voorhees. All one hundred ten pounds of her. Now in Scream they discerned that there were rules for surviving a scary movie. One of which was you couldn't drink or do drugs, another was you had to remain pure like Laurie Strode in Halloween. However if you watch closely, and listen to the cast and crew commentary, you'll notice sole survivor Alice, not only smokes weed and drinks a few beers during the course of the movie, there is also implications of her having sex with the new owner of Camp Crystal Lake. And when all is said and done, Alice, safe in the canoe in the middle of the lake, safe as can be. Being called to by the Sheriffs on the shore as she wakes from post massacre slumber....
THE TORCH IS PASSED! And wee little Jason Voorhees who would grow up to be a massive king of death, pulls Alice under. The final moments being Alice in the hospital being questioned by the Sheriff, asking her what she remembered. "Strip Monopoly." "What?" "Oh nothing. What about the boy, Jason. The one who pulled me under the water?" Only for the sheriff to look at her blankly and say, "We didn't find any boy." Adrienne King who plays Alice looks at the screen and says, "Than he's still out there....."
This movie holds such a special place in my heart for so many fucked up reasons. And not just fucked up reasons. But really good reasons too. The grade this movie receives is equally old school yet very hardcore in nature. Flair versus Funk in 1989, NWA Clash of the Champions. It started when after his third match in a series with Ricky Steamboat, Funk came into the ring to congratulate Flair. Clad in a tuxedo, as a judge for the match. Funk attacked Flair and then gave him a piledriver through a table. This brought upon an "I Quit" match at the next Clash of the Champions. The two, who may be the two greatest wrestlers in the profession go back and forth in the ring and out on the floor. Funk even piledrivers Flair TWICE. Once in the ring and once on the cold floor or particle board that was covering a hockey rink. After probably fifteen minutes of fighting, a table is brought into play. No one gets put through the table, but both Flair and Funk taste the wood. There was no blood, but plenty of carnage. In the end, Flair works on Funk's legs, who sells like no one else in the business. A Man who was all about business and what was best for the industry. Funk sold the Figure Four for Flair like very few else have done. And after being beaten and chopped, finally achingly shouting, "Yes I quit."
Anyways. For those of you not in the know, the killer in this movie WAS NOT Jason Voorhees. Had Drew Berrymore known this in Scream she'd still be alive today. I saw this first when I was about 12 or 13 and in Junior High. It was a magical time in my life. Being loathed by so many people at school. Even being made the butt of a joke that the entire school knew about, and I didn't. It was fun times. Especially when I would sit in class and remember watching all these horror movies and envision killing a lot of those who surrounded me in equally R rated kinda ways. But why I may ask myself, when but two decades later, they're all saddled with kids and wrinkled and flabby flesh and me, I'm better than ever. Stronger, smarter and tougher than they could ever think of. I think kids really need to go through some hardships in their lives to come to appreciate life more. We have way to many online high schools to avoid having to deal with bullies and shitty class sizes and faculty that are so underpaid they don't give a shit about you and your thoughts for six years of junior and senior high school.
But back to the movie. I watched this at my girlfriend, Christina's place on Friday the 13th with some friends, her brother Ron and her podcast cohort, Matt, who proceeded to entertain us all and scream like a little girl every time someone got killed. And not to mention when Christina's sister knocked on the door, Matt just about lost it. It was great. Eating "Spooky Meaty Chili" and drinking Kilt Lifters while Matt asked what was going to happen next every five minutes was a lot of fun. The fact that he had never seen the movie before made it a blast, cause it's always good to watch horror movies with someone who's never seen it before. The deaths brought out with dvd quality and sound. Kevin Bacon gurgling on his own blood. And then the voice..... "help meeeeee." Ah, I fuckin' love that part. Each time. It's so fucking eerie. "Help Meeeeeeee." And almost completely inaudible from the rain. Then you get to meet the killer. Expecting it to be some massive shape that tears through the camp counselors like cheap linens. But it's not, it's frail little Mrs. Voorhees. All one hundred ten pounds of her. Now in Scream they discerned that there were rules for surviving a scary movie. One of which was you couldn't drink or do drugs, another was you had to remain pure like Laurie Strode in Halloween. However if you watch closely, and listen to the cast and crew commentary, you'll notice sole survivor Alice, not only smokes weed and drinks a few beers during the course of the movie, there is also implications of her having sex with the new owner of Camp Crystal Lake. And when all is said and done, Alice, safe in the canoe in the middle of the lake, safe as can be. Being called to by the Sheriffs on the shore as she wakes from post massacre slumber....
THE TORCH IS PASSED! And wee little Jason Voorhees who would grow up to be a massive king of death, pulls Alice under. The final moments being Alice in the hospital being questioned by the Sheriff, asking her what she remembered. "Strip Monopoly." "What?" "Oh nothing. What about the boy, Jason. The one who pulled me under the water?" Only for the sheriff to look at her blankly and say, "We didn't find any boy." Adrienne King who plays Alice looks at the screen and says, "Than he's still out there....."
This movie holds such a special place in my heart for so many fucked up reasons. And not just fucked up reasons. But really good reasons too. The grade this movie receives is equally old school yet very hardcore in nature. Flair versus Funk in 1989, NWA Clash of the Champions. It started when after his third match in a series with Ricky Steamboat, Funk came into the ring to congratulate Flair. Clad in a tuxedo, as a judge for the match. Funk attacked Flair and then gave him a piledriver through a table. This brought upon an "I Quit" match at the next Clash of the Champions. The two, who may be the two greatest wrestlers in the profession go back and forth in the ring and out on the floor. Funk even piledrivers Flair TWICE. Once in the ring and once on the cold floor or particle board that was covering a hockey rink. After probably fifteen minutes of fighting, a table is brought into play. No one gets put through the table, but both Flair and Funk taste the wood. There was no blood, but plenty of carnage. In the end, Flair works on Funk's legs, who sells like no one else in the business. A Man who was all about business and what was best for the industry. Funk sold the Figure Four for Flair like very few else have done. And after being beaten and chopped, finally achingly shouting, "Yes I quit."
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Kirby King of Comics: A Hardcore Review
Into it holds the idea that we should be fair and balanced and be "nice" and not be damning of a product or its creators. I say this. It would not be truth if I only reviewed things I liked or always in a favorable way. In fact the reviews where I have panned something have brought me the most kudos from readers. And quite simply, if you do not like things to be reviewed fairly and in an editorial manner... DON'T FUCKING READ MY REVIEWS! In fact if that's how you feel you should probably never read anything I write... EVAR!
I am going to remind everyone who reads these reviews that the grading system I use is this: instead of thumbs up or stars, I rate on hardcore moments in pro wrestling history. The more hardcore the event, match, promo or moment the more I liked the book, comic, movie or video game I am reviewing. The less hardcore the moment, the more I disliked it. An example would be anything related to Hulk Hogan would be highly NOT recommended. Onto the review...
I read the except that appeared in an issue of Wizard magazine. And I dug it a lot. I have fallen off when it comes to the pioneers of the comic book industry. I don't really acknowledge my roots as it were in that regard. So I was really glad to read this book which gave such a great perspective on the man who co-created over half of the modern Marvel Universe and made such an impact on the industry that fifty years from now, people will still read his work and artists will still be influenced by his art.
Jack Kirby is simply one of a very select few who could be anointed into comic book godhood. Knowing his life story and how all he really wanted out of all of this is stuff that is virtually guaranteed to people who are doing less than spectacular work now. He wanted to be acknowledged, respected and have some financial security, as well as some creative say so in his life. That's really not a lot to ask for a man who drew a thirty plus page comic book over the course of a weekend. And that was while he was working on other projects too. Kirby was simply a machine. He worked hard, and he loved what he did, while it simultaneously tore him apart inside. Jack just wanted the respect people slather all over Stan Lee. Kirby just didn't want to become a footnote in the history of this industry. He never will though. Jack Kirby will always be a legend in the field. More than ten years after his passing people still remember the man, and his amazing lineage of work. This was a man who on a regular basis turned out 18 interior pages plus 8 or nine covers a week. Holy shit! The standard now for professionals is ONE page a day. Just one. And sometimes that can be like pulling teeth. I for one don't know if I could live up to those terms that Kirby set.
He was driven and focused, mainly because he desired to be a man who could provide for his family above all else. But at the same time, he was down to earth and humbled by the daunting task of being the measuring stick for an entire industry, whether it was good or bad. I mean there were editors who wanted Kirby to not be Kirby. If that is even fathomable. Jack is one of the first people to really make art POP off the page by breaking the barriers of the panels. This is something I love to do on a regular basis and I have been chastised by a few editors who say not to do it unless it propels the story. I think that is what makes it necessary, not simply propelling the story, but adding graphic impact to a page. Making it dynamic. Giving the pages ZAZZ! Kirby believed that you needed to have dynamic artwork inside the comics otherwise people wouldn't stick around for the next issue. If the art sucks or doesn't make you want to jump out of your seat, then you might as well be reading a book.
The writer of Kirby's life, Mark Evanier weaved a truly great tale of the master. Kirby didn't want any sway good or bad about his life. He wanted it to be honest. And I feel Evanier did his request true justice. The book was so well put together with art being contributed from people's private collections as well as the excerpts about Jack's contemporaries and how they contributed to his legacy.
I think knowing where we come from is an important thing. As of late I have been taking more of an interest in the history and lives of the earlier greats of this field like Eisner and Kirby, after looking mostly at modern artists of the past twenty years. Jack Kirby truly defined hard work and passion for his craft. I got into comics in a bigger capacity after Kirby's passing. Not that I wouldn't have known who Kirby was. If you're an artist in this field, it's hard not to hear his name every time you walk into a comic book shop. It's tough to not compare your work to those who once passed through these halls. And it's really tough to still have the drive to create after knowing that it's all been done before, and probably better too. But seeing Jack's work, and hearing his own thoughts and ideas, makes me want to create even more.
This is such a hard grade to give. Because essentially I am giving the grade to the man, as well as the book about his life. And for that, I have to go to another measuring stick, in another industry. Ric Flair. The man wrestled for more than three decades. He was a master of his craft. And a top notch performer in every sense of the word. I gauge his work with Dusty Rhodes in a steel cage at Starcade in the early 80's for the NWA World Heavyweight Championship belt as one of the greatest, and most grizzly sights. This is a few years after Flair broke his back in a plane crash and could have easily bowed out of the sport with nobody blaming him. He only went on to win the World Title 16 times. And having hundreds of matches with each of his contemporaries during the late seventies and all of the 80's he made a mark that could not be equaled in work rates, or performance. So from one measuring stick to another. My grade is Dusty Rhodes versus Ric Flair inside of a ten foot high steel cage. Where Flair delivers another "five alarm" blade job and makes us all believe. Flair put Dusty over so high in that match, it was just about perfect in every way.
I am going to remind everyone who reads these reviews that the grading system I use is this: instead of thumbs up or stars, I rate on hardcore moments in pro wrestling history. The more hardcore the event, match, promo or moment the more I liked the book, comic, movie or video game I am reviewing. The less hardcore the moment, the more I disliked it. An example would be anything related to Hulk Hogan would be highly NOT recommended. Onto the review...
I read the except that appeared in an issue of Wizard magazine. And I dug it a lot. I have fallen off when it comes to the pioneers of the comic book industry. I don't really acknowledge my roots as it were in that regard. So I was really glad to read this book which gave such a great perspective on the man who co-created over half of the modern Marvel Universe and made such an impact on the industry that fifty years from now, people will still read his work and artists will still be influenced by his art.
Jack Kirby is simply one of a very select few who could be anointed into comic book godhood. Knowing his life story and how all he really wanted out of all of this is stuff that is virtually guaranteed to people who are doing less than spectacular work now. He wanted to be acknowledged, respected and have some financial security, as well as some creative say so in his life. That's really not a lot to ask for a man who drew a thirty plus page comic book over the course of a weekend. And that was while he was working on other projects too. Kirby was simply a machine. He worked hard, and he loved what he did, while it simultaneously tore him apart inside. Jack just wanted the respect people slather all over Stan Lee. Kirby just didn't want to become a footnote in the history of this industry. He never will though. Jack Kirby will always be a legend in the field. More than ten years after his passing people still remember the man, and his amazing lineage of work. This was a man who on a regular basis turned out 18 interior pages plus 8 or nine covers a week. Holy shit! The standard now for professionals is ONE page a day. Just one. And sometimes that can be like pulling teeth. I for one don't know if I could live up to those terms that Kirby set.
He was driven and focused, mainly because he desired to be a man who could provide for his family above all else. But at the same time, he was down to earth and humbled by the daunting task of being the measuring stick for an entire industry, whether it was good or bad. I mean there were editors who wanted Kirby to not be Kirby. If that is even fathomable. Jack is one of the first people to really make art POP off the page by breaking the barriers of the panels. This is something I love to do on a regular basis and I have been chastised by a few editors who say not to do it unless it propels the story. I think that is what makes it necessary, not simply propelling the story, but adding graphic impact to a page. Making it dynamic. Giving the pages ZAZZ! Kirby believed that you needed to have dynamic artwork inside the comics otherwise people wouldn't stick around for the next issue. If the art sucks or doesn't make you want to jump out of your seat, then you might as well be reading a book.
The writer of Kirby's life, Mark Evanier weaved a truly great tale of the master. Kirby didn't want any sway good or bad about his life. He wanted it to be honest. And I feel Evanier did his request true justice. The book was so well put together with art being contributed from people's private collections as well as the excerpts about Jack's contemporaries and how they contributed to his legacy.
I think knowing where we come from is an important thing. As of late I have been taking more of an interest in the history and lives of the earlier greats of this field like Eisner and Kirby, after looking mostly at modern artists of the past twenty years. Jack Kirby truly defined hard work and passion for his craft. I got into comics in a bigger capacity after Kirby's passing. Not that I wouldn't have known who Kirby was. If you're an artist in this field, it's hard not to hear his name every time you walk into a comic book shop. It's tough to not compare your work to those who once passed through these halls. And it's really tough to still have the drive to create after knowing that it's all been done before, and probably better too. But seeing Jack's work, and hearing his own thoughts and ideas, makes me want to create even more.
This is such a hard grade to give. Because essentially I am giving the grade to the man, as well as the book about his life. And for that, I have to go to another measuring stick, in another industry. Ric Flair. The man wrestled for more than three decades. He was a master of his craft. And a top notch performer in every sense of the word. I gauge his work with Dusty Rhodes in a steel cage at Starcade in the early 80's for the NWA World Heavyweight Championship belt as one of the greatest, and most grizzly sights. This is a few years after Flair broke his back in a plane crash and could have easily bowed out of the sport with nobody blaming him. He only went on to win the World Title 16 times. And having hundreds of matches with each of his contemporaries during the late seventies and all of the 80's he made a mark that could not be equaled in work rates, or performance. So from one measuring stick to another. My grade is Dusty Rhodes versus Ric Flair inside of a ten foot high steel cage. Where Flair delivers another "five alarm" blade job and makes us all believe. Flair put Dusty over so high in that match, it was just about perfect in every way.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
