Sideways

Back in 2004, I used to write movie reviews for the USM student newspaper, the "Student Printz". Because I occasionally feel lazy, and it seems a shame that all of five people ever read these, I've decided to repost them here, in the original versions that I emailed to my editor, Noel, all those years ago.

Finally, we have an achievement of the year for filmmaking – a clever turn on the familiar buddy road film. But this general plot line is where “Sideways” pulls away from its more popular cousins, like “Taxi” or “Tommy Boy” and sides more with “Lost in Translation”. “Sideways” is warm and fuzzy one minute, then depressing and provocative the next. Of course, a movie this good isn’t playing in Hattiesburg, but should you go home for the holidays and find it playing nearby – definitely check it out.

“Sideways” is a about Miles (Paul Giamatti), a very depressed author and wine connoisseur. Miles used to be happy of course, but his earlier divorce destroyed him realizing that he has long past his peak and is gradually sliding towards death. At the complete other end of the spectrum, is Miles’ old college friend, Jack (Thomas Haden Church) a washed-up actor and womanizer, just a week away from his marriage. For his last week of bachelordom, Miles is taking his friend Jack on a trip through California wine country. Miles wants a good glass of wine and golf, and Jack wants a lot of wine and a couple of flings before he’s tied down. Their travels bring them across Stephanie (Sandra Oh) and Maya (Virginia Madsen), a wine-pourer and waitress, respectively. While Jack and Stephanie become sexually entangled, Miles attempts to woo Maya. Of course, Stephanie and Maya eventually find out about Jack’s wedding, and Jack and Miles have to return home to their lives.

“Sideways” is in a lot of ways similar to director Alexander Payne’s other work like “Election”: the plot may not be breakneck, but its obvious that there’s a whole lot going on, and by the time the movie is over, you can’t help but being entertained. Miles is very similar to Mathew Broderick’s character in “Election”, a teacher, yearning for something much more but only being shadowed by other people’s success. But don’t think that the movie is only wilted flowers; in fact it is very humorous which only helps to make the film feel more real. Giamatti and Church’s acting is spectacular, and the dialogue and secondary characters only add to the body of the film. And to top it off, the cinematography is fantastic, as it appears that the color scheme was taken from a random pick box of wines: lots of warm and friendly hues, which combined with the Jack character, only makes you pity Miles just that much more.

I would like to say that’s there is nobody out there who wouldn’t like this movie, but then I think about those poor fools locked in that “unfeasible fortress of unknown disability” and I realize that there is more than a few people who wouldn’t like this movie; probably not enough explosions and gunfights to keep you preoccupied. But this movie really is fantastic, and the disillusioned philosophy majors out there would probably really enjoy it. I think the greatest strength of the movie though, is the ending: instead of spending ten minutes wrapping it up, the credits roll pre-denouement, leaving you thirsty for more.

Cause and Affect 3: Oh Geez...

My uncle flew re-fueler planes in Vietnam; just close enough to the action to hear it, but far enough to not really participate in it. The Air Force uses a so called "guard channel" that radio traffic about enemy planes is relayed over. The fighter pilots are a hard bunch - they have the speed and the firepower, so they are in the melee all the time, but again, they are battle-hardened, so they are uniquely unfazed about things that would make most other pilots take pause, at least. Routinely listening to traffic, you could hear various pilots relaying clipped, urgent messages back and forth to each other as they came in contact with bogeys, reacting in ways that seem fairly normal to the rest of us. But among this excited (possibly worried) chatter, the fighter pilots would stick out with simple, terse lines like: "Bogey, 10 O'clock, low. Got him." One particular story is during a refueling flight, my uncle's plane linked up with a fighter element, and the various pilots would go through, reading off their remaining fuel, until it gets to the last plane, who replies in a high-pitched squeal, "I'm almost out of fuel!"

I started watching "Curb Your Enthusiasm" recently, and I was thinking about it in terms of the idea of reaction-based scenework (see my two previous posts, Cause and Affect 1 & 2 in the archives), and Larry David would not, by any means, be considered a "badass". He is only interacting in a very "real" universe: there are no zombies, storm troopers, or supervillains; only the regular kind of everyday people even you could encounter on a regular basis. And in this world, he cannot fulfill the basic criteria for being a badass: 1) having the capability to affect change and 2) being willing to do whatever is necessary to make it happen. Larry David repeatedly shows that he lacks completely the capability to affect change (sure, he can make small gains, but he is so nebbish, tactless, and misanthropic that he routinely fails in relating to others) and is generally more than willing to allow perceived slights against him to go un-remedied and often un-addressed.

So then, why is this character able to maintain a story around himself? The answer is that Larry David is an anti-badass (The complete opposite of a badass. Goodbutt? Nicetush? Greatfanny?) Here's the way it works: Larry doesn't actually cause much change around him, but what he does do is changed by much of what goes on around him. Small stimuli from others around him, cause him to change greatly. He gets very bent out of shape, deeply affected, and dramatically changed in mental and emotional ways by every single one of those stimuli. Remember how we can tell if someone is a badass (or make someone a badass) by creating change to their affects? Batman starts fighting 20 thugs, and we know whether or not he is a badass by whether or not he beats them, and how easily. If he doesn't break a sweat, he is more badass, if he barely crawls away, he seems like less of a badass. If he is defeated, he's not a badass any longer. In effect:

[BF] = [HE] - [EOH]

Where:

BF = Badass Factor (how badass a character seems)

HE = Hero effect (what and magnitude of changes precipitated by hero

EOH = Effect on Hero (what changes the Other precipitates on hero)

Now, in Larry David's case, he effects so little change and is so greatly affected by everyone around him that his BF is effectively negative, which makes everyone else a badass. Remember that there has to be a response to stimuli in order to register change - you can't force the Other to change for you, but you can choose to be changed by stimuli, and because Larry is so changed everytime - greatly frustrated, embarrased, anxious, and angered by everything that goes on around him, that he makes everyone else badass.

Greatbehind?

Field Guide to the North American Improv Scene

My father and his two brothers grew up in east Texas, and from what I can tell, the vast majority of their formative education appears to have been built around naturalism. It's not nearly enough for them to be outdoorsmen – they want to be able to identify literally everything in the natural world. Typical conversations with them go something like this:

Me: Oh, that's a cool [tree, bird, animal, fish].

My Dad or either Uncle: That's called a [name of tree, bird, animal, fish, as appropriate].

Me: Cool.

They seem to have a near encyclopedic knowledge of the various flora and fauna (which may be more a product of growing up on a farm, pre-internet, than anything) but these facts allow them to draw parallels about the world, to understand it beyond merely wandering through it. By that same token, I'm the one my father calls when he wants to know “what else [actor/actress's name] has been in”. This kind of fundamental information becomes critical in truly understanding our worlds, so here is a review of the four basic scenes (I would like to specifically thank iO West's Brian O'Connell who taught me this list).

Straight/Absurd: The most commonly encountered scene. Person A is wacky and strange; he has strange points of view, is irrational and expresses those elements. Person B is a normal guy – he's us, the audience – reacting to the craziness. This basic scene is one of the most commonly exploited for laughs; provided you set up the A causes B frustration (a hammer/anvil situation) then you've got comedy. “Ghostbusters” is a classic example, where depending on the scene, different people play the part of straight or absurd (which is a key element of this dynamic: it's all relative). Peter and Egon sell Ray's family home, and they're absurd and he's straight. They visit the new headquarters and critique it as Ray slides down the pole; now he's absurd and they're straight. Janine asks Egon what his hobbies are and he replies “I collect spores, mold, and fungus”, and you get the idea.

Character: This is the second most common, and is in essence just an extension of the previous scene type. In this one, two characters have similar (often identical) viewpoints. In this one, the points of view often have to be far more exceptional, because now the burden of the “straight man” has passed to the actual audience, who has to recognize the ridiculousness. It's important to note that in a character scene, A and B need not have peculiar characterizations, it's more about how they think. Also, if a third player enters and presents a different viewpoint, you're back to a Straight/Absurd.

Alternate Reality: In this very rarely encountered scene, the players are normal, but the world has gone absurd. Whatever universe these characters inhabit, it has different rules than our own. iO West's Lusty Horde revels in this kind of scenework, where ice bases, dragons, mole men, and other classic B movie fare are considered normal. The fun comes in watching how life works in this other realm. By this same token, Improvised Shakespeare and Improvised Musical pieces could also be considered this scene type, since each of those shows present worlds with different rules than our own.

Roommate: You don't actually have to be roommates in this scene, but this dynamic is one that is set in our own reality, and has normal characters. A and B will often have very similar statuses, and this scene can also have elements of any of the other scene types, but the emphasis is on highlighting reality – absurdism is kept to a minimum. Shootin' the Shit with EJ is great example, but so is Shotgun!, Dinner for Six, and Hold 'em.

Those are your four basic scene types; they can intermingle and hybridize, but you'll find that when you're in a scene, if you can identify the particular species, you can figure out how to make it thrive.

Cause and Affect 2: Being a Badass

What do Batman and Penny from “Inspector Gadget” have in common, and why are they inherently different from Superman and Alvy Singer (“Annie Hall”)?

I was thinking for a while about what makes a particular character “badass”. Some characters (like Batman, for instance), are almost always referred to as being badasses (TV Tropes even uses a picture of Batman in their definition of “Badass Normal”), while some characters (like Superman), are not usually put into that category. Meanwhile, some characters are not considered to be badass, but can have moments in a narrative (think Toby Jones' character in “The Mist” or Shaun in “Shaun of the Dead”), that despite any of their previously expressed traits, that would definitely be “badass moments”. So what makes the difference?

By all accounts, Superman should be one of the most badass characters that exists – he can fly, has superspeed, super senses, heat vision, freeze breath, x-ray vision, is invulnerable, and can (apparently) turn back time (and it should be pointed out that one explanation for why no one puts the whole Clark/Supes thing together is that he also has subconcious kryptonian hypnosis – whatever that is). This should be one of the most badass characters ever created anywhere, but he's not. Superman is introspective, moody, and mopey, regardless of whether or not we're talking comics or “Smallville”. By that same token, Woody Allen's Alvy Singer is not badass (no Woody Allen character usually is, they're too nebbish for that), but it is clearly demonstrated that Alvy has the ability to break the metaphysical constraints of his story: he can talk to the audience, he can freeze events to comment on them, even bringing media theorist Marshall McLuhan onto screen to rebuke an insufferable man at a movie theater. Alvy has some control over his own world, as he can bend and even knock over the forth wall at will. (In this way, he his empowered similarly to Zach Morris from “Saved by the Bell”, another character not really considered badass, but who does have a lot of power.)

So having the capability to do amazing things does not make someone a badass (see also: Dr. Manhattan). That's clear from characters like Batman, who obviously has no superpowers, but is very capable, just in a more human way. Now, why Inspector Gadget's niece Penny? Gadget is the bumbling fool in the show – he is superpowered to the point of being able to do basically anything – fly, a Mr. Fantastic-style reach, magnets, additional hands, and a whole slew of other gadget-related abilities – but Gadget is a bumbling character, and Penny does all the real work. Penny, with Brain, her watch and laptop, can hack computers, do research, and just about anything else computer related. Penny is kind of a badass.

But it isn't an inverse rule of 'no powers = badass' (think Nightcrawler's White House attack in the beginning of X2). What I eventually came to realize is that badasses exert whatever capability they have – they are badass by virtue of their ability to affect change. They see what needs to be done, and they do it. Batman and Penny are badass because they use whatever abilities they have to get things done. By that same token, Superman, Alvy, and Zach have the capability to do some really incredible things, but don't – Superman and Alvy are both too introspective, and Zach would prefer to use his powers to make jokes. As a great example, look at the T.V. series “Heroes”, which had Hiro, who could stop time, travel through time, and teleport – his ability is almost too powerful, so the writers have to figure out ways to limit it, and make Hiro decidedly lame. (“Heroes” also suffered from some other people who had powers that were way too powerful and also had to be limited.) This is an interesting corollary to this: “affects change = badass”. If someone is too powerful, they cross over into a god-like territory where they can affect too much change at will. (This is mostly due to a stakes issue – there's no dramatic tension when someone can do anything.)

So, characters are badass because they see what needs to be done, they become steadfast in their convictions, and they figure out a way to do it that makes the most of their abilities. This is worth noting, because it carries over into character/story dynamics; tragic characters have the ability to fix their problems, but are reluctant and ultimately fail to do so, and badasses do whatever is necessary, and when the Call comes, they answer it.

To carry this over to scenes, we as players have no control over whether or not our stimuli will effect change – we merely do, and our worlds respond how they do (not every explosion shatters a mountain). But as fellow players on stage, we can make others powerful by being affected (Batman is badass because villains are thwarted – not because he attempts to thwart them). Be affected – make someone a Badass.

Team America: World Police

Back in 2004, I used to write movie reviews for the USM student newspaper, the "Student Printz". Because I occasionally feel lazy, and it seems a shame that all of five people ever read these, I've decided to repost them here, in the original versions that I emailed to my editor, Noel, all those years ago.

The Hollywood action film is about to get a major overhaul, done with: wood. “Team America: World Police” is an insanely funny movie by the creators of “South Park” and done entirely with wood constructed marionettes. The movie takes the action genre, which over the years has degenerated into shallow productions, and sets it against a politically minded plot to create movie that is everything it promises to be and more.

“Team America: World Police” follows the exploits of Team America, a group of globetrotting adventurers who travel the world fighting terrorism, capturing weapons of mass destruction, and destroying practically everything in sight. The story begins with the recruitment of Gary Johnston (voiced by Trey Parker), a Broadway actor who is recruited by Team America to help them infiltrate a terrorist organization in the Middle East. Even though their mission is a success, the terrorists pull of an attack on Panama Canal and it becomes obvious that there is a larger terrorist plot at work. To make matters worse, Team America’s actions are protested by the Film Actor’s Guild, their secret headquarters in Mount Rushmore come under protest, and most of the team is taken hostage by the true terrorist mastermind: Kim Jong Il.

Undoubtedly, anyone who is a fan of Trey Parker and Matt Stone’s previous work like “Baseketball”, “South Park: Bigger, Longer, Uncut”, or “Orgazmo” will find this movie to be nothing less than hysterical. The movie was not only written by the duo, but also directed, produced, performed, and every song but two was written and performed by Trey Parker. The use of marionettes allows the movie to take full comic advantage and do something very original. The movie makes it completely obvious that strings control these characters: one of the first fight scenes features hand to hand combat where the two puppets just jiggle around next to each other. Additionally, since every character is made of wood, the opportunity to have people detonate or melt away is relished in every scene.

What this movie really has to offer is what it says about Hollywood and action movies in general. Originally Trey Parker and Matt Stone’s idea was to create a marionette version of “The Day After Tomorrow” and release it on the same day as its live action counterpart. Although legal matters prevented this, they decided the idea was good enough to warrant a movie that shows just how shallow and interchangeable action movies are. The entire movie is actually meant to satire the use (or over-use as the case often is) of CGI and lame special effects as a crutch for good acting and a decent plot in movies. By using wooden marionettes, they have an enormous amount of flexibility in creating an nearly typical action movie, yet making it different enough to be downright amazing. The movie also takes the opportunity to make some interesting statements about the political atmosphere in America. Instead of seeing a ‘politician’ in the movie, the only political statements are made by characters meant to be Hollywood stars. Additionally, the entire movie is presented as being ethnically unconscious, for example, every location is presented as being a certain distance from America.

“Team America: World Police”, is an incredibly hilarious film, quite possibly the funniest movie to come out all year. Despite the limitations of wooden puppets as the only actors, the movie is an extremely successful satire of not only action movies, but also the political atmosphere. “Team America: World Police” may be crude at some times, but there really is no substitution for good comedy.

Special Affects

One summer before college (probably 2002), my friends and I got together and hung out, and one of us (I think my friend Harrison) brought along a blue foam paddle. I don't know where he got it, or why he had it, but we discovered a wonderful game, of which the only rule was: hit each other with said paddle. While not a complicated game, it was a whole bunch of fun, and we set about boxing each other around with this thing, smacking each other wherever, with the other goal being to catch someone when they weren't expecting it. Now, I should point out, these paddle hits weren't painful – in actuality, they were little more than mildly irritating, but that didn't stop us from howling in (faux) pain every time we were socked with it. My friend Josh and I were both working at the movie theater, and this being a rare night when neither of us were working, and this also being one of those dog summer days when we actually had all night to do anything, and had planned on doing nothing, we ended up trucking down to the theater anyway to say hi to our fellow employees slaving away. We brought along the blue foam paddle, as this game was nary three hours old, and had nowhere near lost its luster. When we got there, we ran into Genghis (so named because he got a hold of the name tag maker and made himself a name tag that said as much), who seemed interested in our game, but upon being hit once with it, remarked that it didn't hurt. That poor blue paddle went into retirement that instant, and we never played that game again.

Our game had been deflated by someone who poked a hole in our logic – there was simply no point in playing a game that had so summarily had it's effects removed. And this point is a singularly destructive element that can cripple scenes: stimuli must affect change. Hitting each other with that blue paddle, we all now knew, would be fruitless, so what was the point? Similarly, two characters in a scene who are not affecting change are going through the motions (pointless, blue paddle motions). It's been called the “ABC's” by multiple writers and instructors: Always Be Changing. The bottom line though is that a cause has to create an effect – that's how the human brain works; we're always looking for causal relationships in the universe, but in an improv scene, there is actual opportunity for someone to break down a causality by not reacting (or, usually, reacting in a way that actor has deemed as “funny”, which is a hollow choice). For our blue paddle, the hit elicited howls from the target, and once we knew that it was just an act, it no longer seemed interesting – prior to that, with the veil still pulled, we could pretend that the affect was honest.

The so-called modern “existentialist” dilemma can be drawn back to a feeling that we are ineffectual in our worlds. (In “Something Wonderful Right Away”, Del even says that the improviser lives out the existential choices on stage.) In existentialism, we, as the individual, are ultimately responsible for providing our own lives with meaning, and living that life authentically – which is to say, passionately and sincerely, and for expressing ourselves. When we inhabit lives that are ultimately ineffectual, or feel meaningless or pointless, we are encountering those prevailing forces. I think of it this way: when you use a computer, you feel productive. You can type documents, surf the web, or listen to music, and we feel fulfilled in the use of the computer. However, when you click on a button and the computer freezes (I'm talking no hourglass/spinning pinwheel), what do we do? You click the button again a bunch of times. It doesn't make sense to our human brains that the clicking didn't produce an effect (because in all other cases, a click did produce an effect – maybe we missed?). So when you're in a scene and someone drops a bombshell like “I want a divorce” we expect to see some effect. It violates the audience's known existence for it not to.

When I see the dreaded transaction (salesman/customer or teacher/student) scene not working, I see ridiculous offers and ridiculous responses that don't seem to match, and I see two characters not reacting. That's it, bottom line – no mysteries here. Want to have scenes with life? Pick an offer and be changed by it; have a strong reaction to it. The more honest the better, but really any reaction is better than no reaction. When fire touches paper, we'd be bored if it didn't do anything, we're interested when it bursts in to flame and is reduced to ash. (If your a twelve year old boy, you then want to see other things be affected by flame). Our whole universe is built on reactions, A and B meet, and C happens. This is important, and should not be overwritten.

YMCA class pictures

I taught an improv class to a YMCA class (I honestly don't know what to call them - they weren't teenagers, they were probably in the 10-12 year old range. "Pre-teen" or "young adult" feels to official, and "kids" is a bit condescending.) a few weeks ago. Here's some pictures that were taken during the class (which was one stop as part of a larger, rotating afternoon - including art, fashion, and screen-printing).