The Film Skinny

I read an interview with Scarlett Johansson in Spin magazine recently in which the ingenue talked about her new album: She sings a bunch of covers of Tom Waits songs. (Fellow Waits fans, allow yourself a minute to wrap your brain around the concept.) Like oh so many singing actors before her (I'm looking at you, Kevin Bacon ... and Russell Crowe ... and Bruce Willis ... and Eddie Murphy ... and, oh forget it), Johansson defended her, ahem, artistic crossover by pointing out that musicians — like Waits, himself — are allowed to cross the line in the other direction without catching much flak. She has a point. Or does she? Is it easier for an actor to make good music, or for a musician to act? Why is Tom Waits in a movie cool while Scarlett Johansson singing is ridiculous? (To be fair, I haven't heard the album yet. Maybe it's awesome.)

There doesn't seem to be any hard and fast rules. Some musicians, like Waits, John Lennon, Elvis, David Bowie and Prince can get by in movies simply because they're cool. They just have to be themselves and people will forgive their thespian shortcomings. Others, like Paul Simon, John Mellencamp, Britney Spears, Madonna and Sting, try and fail. Still others, like Cher, Harry Connick, Jr., Frank Sinatra, Will Smith, Mark Wahlberg and Queen Latifah, can/could actually act.

The transition in the other direction is less frequent, and the folks who try it are often ridiculed. (See list above.) Why is this? My theory: People are snobbier about music. Think about it: When a musician goes from making albums on a four-track in his basement to signing with a major label, it's inevitable that most of his fans will call him a "sellout." But who ever calls an actor a sellout? Directors, maybe. And Nicolas Cage. But look at Johnny Depp: He's been in some of the biggest films of all time, and yet maintains his integrity among critics and fans. (He's also a musician in a crappy band that no one takes seriously.)

Is this snobbery justified? Is making music harder than acting? I dunno. I will say this: Good musicians generally have to be creative AND talented (at least in the singer/songwriter mode of modern music). Whereas an actor can get by on just being talented (and/or pretty). The director handles the creative stuff.

I don't have a conclusion here. Just some rambling thoughts. That's what blogs are for, right?

Posted by da playa at 04:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

So last week, one of my fellow T-S movie reviewers wrote in his review of "Iron Man" that its final moments, "dethroned the short reign of 'There Will Be Blood' as the best ending ever." I suspect it was hyperbole, but it got me to thinkin'. What ARE some of the best movie endings ever. Opinions undoubtedly differ, but here are a few of my faves:

My first thoughts went to the twist endings. Few could top "The Usual Suspects" in that category, though "The Sixth Sense" was a good "ohmigod" (before M. Night Shyamalan became a parody of himself). "Primal Fear" had a nice turn, too. "Planet of the Apes" (don't laught). "Se7en": "What's in the box?" And "Memento," that backwards-moving thriller, puts the whole movie into a new context with its head-scratcher finale.

Then there are the classics: "Citizen Kane," with its famous "rosebud" revalation; "Casablanca"'s bittersweet "beautiful friendship" line; "Chinatown"'s creepy shootout; "Dr. Strangelove," with Slim Pickens riding the H-Bomb like a bronco; and "Taxi Driver"'s holy-crap bloodbath.

The inspiring category: Back when I worked at a video store, every time I put on "The Karate Kid" (which was frequently), a crowd would gather for the last scene. People could not drag themselves away. Other sports movies, like "Rocky" and "Hoosiers" have a similar pull, though people forget that Rocky actually lost the fight. And "The Shawshank Redemption" just makes ya feel good.

In the indie (or indie in spirit) category, "Requiem For a Dream" left me speechless. "Being John Malkovich" ended on a beautifully poetic note. "Barton Fink" cast John Goodman in a frightening light: "I'll show you the life of the mind!" "Before Sunset" was perfectly elliptical. "Brazil" (the original downer ending, not the "love conquers all" studio re-do). "Buffalo 66": So romantic. "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind," which used the crazy concept of memory erasure to create the perfect depiction of a warts-and-all relationship. "Do The Right Thing"'s ambiguous call to arms. "Fargo": Two words: Wood chipper. "Magnolia": It's raining frogs! "Midnight Cowboy": Sad and wonderful.

Then, of course, there are the big blockbuster denouements: The Death Star explosion in "Star Wars," "E.T." heading home; the face-melting in "Raiders of the Lost Ark."

See, this is why you shouldn't get me started. Just a few more: "Ferris Bueller's Day Off," "Thelma and Louise," "Unforgiven," "12 Angry Men," and "Silence of the Lambs."

I'm sure I forgot some good ones. Lay 'em on me.

Posted by da playa at 04:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Please forgive this — yet another nerd-a-thon blog entry on my childhood hero, Indiana Jones. But the way I figger it, if you can't get your nerd on in a blog, then you may as well grow up. And I'm not about to do that.

Herewith, my argument for why Indy should be immune to the type of "He's so old ..." jokes justifiably lobbed at Rambo, Rocky and John McCain.

The crux is this: He's an archeology professor. As such, he has always been a reluctant hero, perpetually in over his head, flying by the seat of his canvas pants and more often than not getting the living crap beat out of him. Granted, Harrison Ford will be 70 in five years. But my grandpa was a professor and didn't fully retire until he turned 76. Of course, Gramps could no more swing from a bullwhip than bend the Matrix. But he's not Harrison Ford. And I honestly believe Harrison Ford could still whoop some ass.

In the early movies, he was less believable as a college prof. He has grown into that role. It's kinda like the Batman flicks. Michael Keaton made a great Bruce Wayne, but was kinda Mr. Mom-y for the caped crusader. Val Kilmer had the opposite problem. George Clooney, well, let's just not talk about that. My point is that, as long as Steven Spielberg doesn't have him doing helicopter kicks from a one-armed handstand, Indy's age just adds more subtext to his reluctance as a hero.

Or perhaps I'm just a softy who can't stop worshiping a childhood idol. Either way, I've put myself in a vulnerable position. One of my few remaining slivers of childlike awe will be offered like a prized archeological relic come May 22. Be gentle with me, Indy.

Posted by da playa at 04:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)