Maybe this isn't the story we think it is - Dec 17 - Friday Video Distractions

 

   A week out from Christmas Eve, and I'm feeling especially frayed. Anxiety overload - professionally, personally, existentially - easily threatening to make me even more useless, which will then become part of the same, depressing, feedback loop.  It's no way to live.
     I've done you the small service of deleting the three paragraphs that followed - and expanded on - the above. No one's paying you to be my therapist, and it's off-topic for a blog series that's supposed to be about movies, tv, and streaming entertainment media.
     Once again, not much in the way of a focus this week.

     My recent/current favorite weekly fixes include series I've talked about before: Star Trek: Discovery (new episodes Thursday on Paramount+), Hawkeye (Wednesdays on Disney+) which just aired it's fifth and penultimate episode of the season, It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia (Wednesdays on FXX), with its cast of people behaving very badly -- more characters who are only funny as characters, being that were they real people in one's life they would be horrors, Dexter: New Blood (Sundays on Showtime) which had nearly convinced me they were still too close to the sloppy mechanics of the series final season, when matters tightened up and got more interesting this past Sunday, and The Expanse (Fridays on Amazon Prime), the second episode of this final season being the reward I'll give myself for getting this piece posted.
     Today on Netflix, season two of supernatural adventure series The Witcher arrives.The titular character, aka Geralt of Rivia, is played by Henry Cavill. A superhuman monster-hunter, he's generally welcomed when he's needed, but otherwise shunned as a potential monster himself. Deep, dark forests, magic, castles and various schemers of schemes of revenge and conquest.
     When I first tried to get into the series, back in late 2019, it was initially a rough grind, but that had more to do with my natural defenses against epic fantasy. Too many attempted introductions of not merely characters but of kingdoms and Great Houses. I need a substantial hook into characters and events before I'm sufficiently interested even attempt to remember anyone's name - something that's almost as rudely true of me in real life as it is with fictional people and places. However, I did get back to it later and enjoyed it. (Though I don't seem to have made mention of that with a follow-up piece.) So, here's the trailer for this new season:

     I expect that, especially given the production delays that made for a two-ear gap between seasons, that it'll start with a recap/reintroduction.
     Currently in theaters, and set to arrive on Amazon Prime next Tuesday, the 21st, is the Alan Sorkin- written and directed Lucy & Desi biopic Being The Ricardos (2021 R  2h 5m). Regardless of how well one believes their comedy work has aged, they were an unconventional, powerhouse couple whose impact is still echoing. I've deliberately steered clear of even promotional material until now, and am interested primarily in the details, though I'm more than a little curious to see how Nicole Kidman and Javier Bardem handle the lead roles -- not to mention seeing what J.K. Simmons and Nina Arienda do with their roles as William Frawley and Vivian Vance, though I don't know how much screen time those latter two will have.

      Over on HBO Max, I've been revisiting the still engaging The Matrix (1999), and (with less enthusiasm) the pair of 2003 sequel films, The Matrix Reloaded and The Matrix Revolutions, all as the lead-up to The Matrix Resurrections (2021  R  2h 28m), which will be arriving there (and in theaters) next Wednesday, the 22nd.
 

     Living in a world where our entertainments can reasonably convincingly be rendered to sight and sound, and where many of us over the past 21 months (at least) have been looking into screens far more of the time than at someone's in-person face, the nature of personal reality has arguably never been slipperier. The flux of reality & artificial reality have been themes for my entire conscious life, and have become so much more mainstream in the past 30 years. It's interesting to me to contemplate how this all seems to newer generations that have soaked in it since childhood as part of the cultural broth.
    I've been catching various movies recently, each of which deserves more attention than I'm prepared to give them via a write-up today. Among them was The Humans (2021 R for sexual subjects and language 108m) Written and directed by Stephen Karam, adapting his Broadway stage play. Set at Thanksgiving, it was released in theaters and on Showtime (where I saw it) the day before Thanksgiving.
     A six-character drama, three generations of the Blake family converge on the new-to-them, somewhat creepy Manhattan apartment of one of their daughters and her new husband. Numerous tensions are in play, old family items and more recent, unpleasant matters come to a head, but there are also warm moments.  The reading of something the family's living matriarch, Momo, now in the depths of sudden shouts of gibberish and general dementia, wrote back when she realized her faculties were beginning to slip, was my favorite part.
     I went into this with no information, completely unsure of what was to be offered, acting on a whim, and immediately being familiar with at least half of the cast: Richard Jenkins, Steven Yeun, and Amy Schumer. The crumbling, pre-war, duplex lends a creepy atmosphere to some of it, but I'll give you the advantage of telling you that there's nothing overtly supernatural going on. The haunts are all in characters' pasts and secrets. As with many an extended family gathering, it's a mixed bag of emotions. One has to choose which elements to emphasize, and which to allay.
     I'd only just recently become aware of a 1997,made-for-tv version of 12 Angry Men, made 40 years after the 1957 (math!) version that starred Henry Fonda. This newer version is available on available on YouTube, with commercial breaks. (I checked Tubi, but it's not available there. Both versions can be bought or rented on Amazon Prime.)  12 Angry Men (1997 1h 57m)

     It's a nice copy, and even has competent closed captioning -- as opposed to those where one's at the mercy of their interpreting software.
 

    Even though it's been more than a few years since I watched the 1957 version, I saw that more than once, and this is essentially the same screenplay. Each of the numbered jurors fills the same niche as they did in the earlier production, albeit now with a great deal more racial and cultural diversity. As the title locked in the gender of the main players, this newer version managed to work a woman in as the judge in the opening scene.
     The diametrically-opposed characters, initial hold-out juror #8, and the hot-tempered man, embodying toxic masculinity, estranged from his son for 14 years, juror #12, were played by Jack Lemmon and George C. Scott. In the earlier version they were played by Henry Fonda and Lee J. Cobb, respectively.
     I've set up a graphic lining up half of the jurors, the 1957 version on the left, the '97 on the right, to give you a sense of the casting choices. These include the meek, mild #2, the analytical, non-perspiring #4, the intensely bigoted #10, and the slum-born guy with hard-won dignity, #5. I've just used the default imdb head-shots for each actor, rather than trying to clip them from scenes from each production, especially as the resolution of the made-for-tv 1997 version is lacking the sharpness and clarity of the '57 film.
    Over the years I've seen the story come up as the subject of articles and rants various times, most often for discussions of juror #8's methods (and sometimes motivations), how and why they butt up against the sanctity of legal procedure (lawyers most uniformly take issue with the lone juror's move concerning the knife), but otherwise the pieces tend to reveal much more about the commentator than the source. I just read a doozy of an oddly anonymous Conservative blogger's piece on it that was so absolute as to be unintentionally amusing, mainly revealing the bats in his attic and the rats and rot in his walls. I'm not going to validate his efforts with a link, though.
     I do wonder when the screenplay will be cast anew, and if it'll continue to resist tinkering and retooling to expand the core social agenda, choosing to address other elements such as gender identity the way race and religion are here, simply through expanded representation. All these years later, issues of race and socio-economic class distinctions remain as ponderous as ever, and deserve to be a focus.
     Shifting near the close to a different bit of streaming entertainment:
         A recent music video of a George Harrison song from 51 years ago is a multigenerational and multimedia star/figure affair, where every face is at least a cameo. No crowdshot bystanders.

     I became aware of it when a friend who is generally far more laid back about such things had an initial reaction to it, largely by the way it was being virally marketed: On the basis of said cameos. The problem was that for a (fellow) sexagenarian, as the video rolls on, there are more and more faces that fail to register. The press for the video must have presented it in my friend's view as a sort of pop cultural intelligence test, at least implying that the cool kids and cultural cognoscenti will be lighting up with recognition with each frame, and those who don't are, well, lacking. That he's a lifelong Beatle fan, and so may resent any move to put any distance between himself and one of their members' classic solo songs, probably provided a little of the shading.
     I hadn't seen it when he brought it up, and so it didn't linger in conversation for long, but it was odd to have the tagging note for it being a note of irritation for him. This isn't someone who's prone to being easily irritated.
     I remembered to look it up during a quiet part of the evening. Opening with Mark Hamill and Fred Armisen, it started easy, then started to wobble between people whose faces and names I immediately knew, those whose faces I recognized but couldn't name nor in some places immediately place, and an increasing number of "I have no idea" faces. Now I know, between a check of the credits, some quick, targeted searches, and pieces such as this one from Variety on the project.
     The song is George Harrison's "My Sweet Lord." Here's the video, for you to take a look:

    How much of it clicked for you? The people you immediately identified, the ones you recognized but had to look up, and the I-have-no-ideas?
     If nothing else, after all these years, it was at least nice to have so much buzz around "My Sweet Lord" without anyone bringing up the successful (subconscious) plagiarism suit concerning the Ronnie Mack/Chiffons "He's So Fine." A rambling, tortured string of litigation and schemes that stretched from the early '70s into the early 1990s.
    Much, Much, MUCH to do, I'll wrap this here. As next week's piece will fall on Christmas Eve, I'll try to give it a more seasonal tilt. I hope your preparations for the holidays as you know them are going well, and that you're not driving yourselves crazy over it. I hope to see you next week, and for each of us to be feeling calmer, saner, and happier. As a last ditch move I'll go for the former and the latter, sanity be damned! ::reminder to pick up more rum and eggnog, and maybe something a little more creative::  - Mike

Artful Dodges and Other Life Hacks - November 5 - Friday Video Distractions

 

   Another week to remind me that groans and complaints about things already tasking me only seems to invite new ones, while doing nothing to alleviate the old. I've made it to another Friday feeling not only drained and behind schedule, but keeping my ear cocked for the phone, part of a chain of likely expensive bits of news and decision(s) to make. But hey, that's life. Now, to escape it in controlled packets.

     A quick aside: One of the viewing highlights for this week was episode 9 of season 3 of Doom Patrol over on HBO Max. I've lauded the series before, and recent weeks have only reinforced that for me.
     This season's turns as they've been dealing not only with their manifold personal problems, but contending with the Sisterhood of Dada, coming through the weaponized art of The Eternal Flagellation with several members seemingly healed into action irrelevance, and now the return (though new to nearly all there) Brotherhood of Evil, have been gloriously entertaining. Wild fun. The snippy domestic friction between the Brain and hirsute housemate Monsieur Mallah, the latter peeved that this revival of Brotherhood nonsense is disrupting the tranquility of their long retirement in Boca Raton, remains one of several scenes I'm already anxious to revisit.  Next week will wrap season three, and season four will be too long in coming.
     Recently finally got around to watching  and enjoyed the 10-episode comedy-drama (is "dramedy" now a passe' term, or been tagged as something more distinct? What are the young people and the cognoscenti saying these days?) on HBO Max: Hacks.
    Starring Jean Smart and Hannah Einbinder, respectively as a legendary comedy diva who has been largely in a Vegas cocoon of fans who've happily kept her insulating from adapting to the times, and as a 25 year-old comedy writer whose first blush with success was derailed by an "insensitive" tweet she made, which cost her her job and helped make her a professional pariah. A mutual agent lines up the two in the hopes of fixing two problems, even though the first isn't looking for a writer, much less an update of material, and the latter really doesn't want this job.

     It's a fun, occasionally thoughtful trans-generational and -cultural clash. If there's a core message it's that we all tend to form largely dismissive opinions of others, and that's a character and operational flaw we'd be wise to correct. Most meaningful growth, at least as adults, involves discomfort. Most of the messages in Hacks are cautionary tales about the need for (negative) impulse control.
     I'd have moved through it even more quickly than I did once I tried it, were it not for my schedule and deciding I didn't want to rush it. The series ran from mid-May through June this year, and was renewed for a second season back in June. So, if you have HBO Max, add it to the list of items to get around to, and if you don't, add it to the list of reasons to consider trying the service (which has a huge inventory) in the months ahead.
     The next series I want to mention is one that reminds me how once strong entertainment appetites can be overwhelmed by formula and sheer, repetitive volume, all the more rapidly as lesser talents get involved. I can still remember when zombie apocalypse was a relatively small, sub-genre, decided off the mainstream, existing almost exclusively on the big screen. Jump ahead to 2021, and Kirkman's adaptation of comics' The Walking Dead has not only been on the air for 11 years and spawned two spin-offs, but I wandered away from it during a mid-season hiatus a solid three seasons back. In this age of aggregating, streaming content such things have become like reading material -- things to often be stacked-up for binge-attention at some later, somehow more appropriate time. They're not pressing, as we have this sense of "having" them.
     So it was that I was almost surprised at myself when I set DVR pre-sets to record a new, Syfy series Day of the Dead, which started back in mid-October. Friday nights at 10 (Eastern), tonight will be the fourth episode. It momentarily seemed odd that I was open for this, when I'd left so many familiar characters behind in this genre halfway through their war with Negan back in season 8 of The Walking Dead.
     While there's a little more to it, I realized it's mostly two things: First, the new series offers what I'll luridly reference as "zombie porn," which is most decidedly not a reference to any nudity or sexual material, but rather just to one of the hooks of the genre: We get to see new characters facing the new and unbelievable to them - the beginnings of this rising of the dead. It's made loosely novel again via the surrogates.

     Second, as it's a Syfy series I'm never sure where and when it's going to land as streaming content -- eventually, most likely it'll be Netflix, but it could be a looooong wait -- where I'll be able to watch it sans commercials. It's at the stage of currency where having the DVR catch it, so I can watch it when I want and do Hulk-like, 30 second leaps through the commercial breaks with the press of a well-worn button, is optimal. The downside is that my Fios DVR service has storage limits, so there's more of a press to watch items there so I can delete them and free up space for upcoming shows and movies. So it is that often lesser items get a faster viewing track than better material that's in a more stable location.
     Anyway, this new series is still at an early enough stage that we don't know the exact mechanism nor all the rules. The reanimated dead here are more Romeroesque in general slowness (much as those of The Walking Dead), though we're still working out whether or not being bitten is a death sentence, and  the usual head-shot solution isn't a remedy here. There are also elements of the very non-Romero, zombie sub-genres where whatever contamination or force that's reanimating corpses is also affecting the long-buried, so the local cemetery is suddenly busting out with corpses (some of whom dies with pretty amazing sets of teeth, it seems) erupting from the ground. Inexplicably, even parts of bodies are seen to move with deliberation. Magic or silliness -- it's too soon to tell.
     In a note reminiscent of one of the casual but repeated references in Jim Jarmusch's 2019 dark comedy zombie-fest The Dead Don't Die (which I and son Nick enjoyed, but didn't seem to be a crowd-pleaser), there seems to be a connection between local fracking operations and the undead unrest, though it may not be as direct as simply new contaminants.

     Some of the characters in this new series at least start off as cliches, none so more than this small-town, rural Pennsylvania mayor, Paula Bowman, who's cast in a role that would normally have been given to a man: White, Conservative, pro-gun (and pro-open carry), mayor who is tied to the town's contract with a fracking company, and otherwise tends to sneer at the feelings of "snowflakes" while acting in service of greater personal power and glory. She has a trophy husband whose looks have meant he's never had to focus on developing his wit or intellect -- a nice guy, but used to being generally kept. So far Paula's interesting mostly because she manages to walk the walk, as it were, demonstrating a willingness to act decisively and forcefully despite very possibly being the physically smallest character in the town. She's played by Canadian actress/singer-songwriter Miranda Frigon, who's under 5' 4".
     Anyway, there are other characters of interest, which we get to spend much of the time with - younger (and much older), more ethnically-diverse and simply likeable characters, but not such that I'll spend the time on them here at this early stage. (I'm already a little thrown that I've taken this much time with it.)
     As with most Syfy fare I so far can't really recommend it, but I still wanted to point it out while it's still relatively new, and episodes can be streamed on Syfy's site and likely one's cable provider -- albeit with commercials. If any of the above, and the trailer (in a moment) combine to be of interest to you, you now know that it exists. My work is done.

     I'll have much to highlight over on Disney+ as we roll through the month, but this week I'll just note that X-Men: First Class (2011, 2h 12m) has joined the offerings there, where it may end up remaining for all time. Part of the now-defunct Fox X-verse of films, from their attempt to relaunch the franchise with new actors. It's all owned by Disney now, so with the multiverse and all there's always the possibility of some eventual, cameo call-backs. No special reason for me to mention it, but it popped out at me while checking for newly-arrived items at the streamers. Probably just impatience waiting for new Marvel material while mostly ignoring The Eternals.

     Hulu's gotten an infusion of new-to-them, old material as of the new month, too.
     Not generally much of a John Wayne fan, but a few of his that I've liked to watch are now in the mix here: True Grit (1969), The Quiet Man (1952 and horribly dated -- but worth it at least for the cross-country fist-fight, complete with pub break), and The Shootist (1976 1h 40m Wayne's final film role, and something that coincidentally I brought up in lab conversation earlier this week.)
  

   Also in the Hulu mix is the George Pal-produced War of the Worlds (1953  1h 25m), which is one of those films fondly remembered from childhood. Sure, the ghastly 1950s U.S. socio-political atmosphere infected it with ham-fisted, pro-religion touches that likely would have gotten an apoplectic rise - or at least an overt series of eye rolls - out of secularist H.G. Wells had he lived to see hear them. I know I groan at a few spots. The last couple times I watched it I shut it off while the Martians were still winning, or at least before the final narration, so as to at least let it end on a more dignified note.
     Many, many changes from the source novel as the human center of the tale was relocated to the Pacific Coast, but the alien war vehicle redesigns, including trading in the mechanical tripod design for ones with invisible, electromagnetic ones, remains elegant. I'll want to check, but I expect this is the hi-res, restored 2018 version that the Criterion collection later put out, where they went back to the 3-strip Technicolor originals, instead of the inferior Eastman Color stock they'd been replaced by during the '60s, seeking to restore the visual quality it originally wowed with.
     Paul Frees' narration, including an on-screen turn as a broadcast correspondent, are among my most fondly-remembered touches in the film.
 

    Arriving on Hulu today is the second (new) season of the revival of Animaniacs. I watched the first couple this morning -- each with a piece featuring Wakko, Yakko and Dot, and another with Pinky & the Brain, and the rapid-fire, frequently cutting humor is still there. At worst the production lag resulted in more of an emphasis on Trump and even Brexit in one piece set in ancient Rome, but, hey, it works, and unfortunately it's not as if either of those real world debacles have gone away.
     Also newly-arrived (okay, yesterday) on Hulu is Playing God (2021  1h 35m). A con artist team targets a grieving billionaire, offering him a meet and greet with God. Despite a trailer that otherwise seems to give the movie away, I'm still uncertain what to expect in terms of a message, and I'm leery of digging for more info, not wanting to give even more away. Alan Tudyk (grieving billionaire) and Michael McKean (playing God) get me interested enough to risk potentially shoddy plotting and an indecisive message. The two leads (Hannah Kasulka and Luke Benward), playing the sister-brother con team are almost completely unknown to me.

     On Netflix, as I know at least one person who's a fan, I'll mention that season 5 of the animated, raging hormone adolescence comedy series Big Mouth landed today. A little of this goes a loooooong way for me -- I'm not sure I've gotten out of season one yet. The subject matter's not a go-to for me, and the line style succeeds a little too well for me in conveying the unpleasantness of most people as sexual beings. Hey, I'm at least owning my hang-ups.

     On Netflix since Wednesday is a new, made-for-Netflix, gangsta western The Harder They Fall. Interesting cast and possibilities.

     While not strongly drawn in by the true crime genre, and particularly wary of anything with an "inspired by true events" tag (the best one can hope for is that it helped the writers think of a story worth telling), Swedish production, The Unlikely Murderer, looks as if it could be an interesting series. Based on events surrounding the 1986 assassination of Swedish prime minister Palme, and how inept police work allowed the assassin to get away with it in nearly plain sight. The total run time is 3h 48m.

     Arriving today on Amazon Prime we have the intersection of Benedict Cumberbatch and Victorian era cats in The Electrical Life of Louis Wain (2021  PG-13 1h 51m). A biopic focused on the ultimately tragic tale of late 19th century artist Louis Wan, whose rise to prominence came through his surreal cat paintings, which reflected his failing sanity. The popularity of Wain's work is credited with popularizing cats as house-pets, rather than simply keeping one around to deal with local rodents. Co-written and directed by Will Sharpe, the film also stars Clair Foy, Andrea Riseborough, and Toby Jones. I'm informed it even has a brief appearance by Nick Cave, appearing as H.G. Wells.

     I'm looking forward to watching this, but at the same time I want to try to line up something else, or a different, affirming activity, to follow it up as I'm expecting it to leave me sad in the balance.
     It would probably have been classier to close on that note, but this Sunday. over on Showtime, we'll be seeing the return of serial killer Dexter Morgan, who we last saw in a mute, dehumanized state back on September 22, 2013, when the 96th episode of Dexter aired. Over eight years?!
     A great deal of (former) fan ire's been unleashed on that series finale over the years, in what I still see as an unfair focus. In reality, it was most of that final season that was a problem, with the show having gone fully off the rails well before the final episode, the audience's credulity abused beyond all reason by how Dexter managed to remain free and seemingly undetected. To only react to the final images of the series as if those are the problem still strikes me as absurd. The final few episodes had a clear arc, as the sociopathic Dexter had been stripped, a piece at a time, of his support system, his near life-long project of faking humanity till he might make it finally, fully abandoned. The silencing of his inner monologue was just the final deconstruction. We were just left uncertain with how temporary or final that state was to be.
     Anyway, starting Sunday we'll get to see where the intervening decade of survival adaptations has taken him as we see the start of Dexter: New Blood.

     Looking forward to it, including the full makeup of his new life. I'm particularly taken with how adoptive sister Deb has become his new, internal sounding board and general Jiminy Cricket virtual conscience, replacing adoptive father, Harry, who was banished as part of the late season eight deconstruction mentioned earlier. I can't be the only one looking on with interest. Any (former) fans with an opinion?

     Continuing my Friday vigil for the first of the diagnostic calls concerning the car. (It's quiet. Too quiet.) I don't know how late I should let it go before calling for an update. Making arrangements for an almost certain transfer from one mechanic to another will only be part of it, and it's getting late on a Friday afternoon. Finding out what support they have with respect to a rental car will be another.
     Wish me luck in sorting things out. Ideally I'll be in a much better state next week! Take care, and stay warm! - Mike