Famed creature creator Stan Winston, whose work was seminal to Aliens, Jurassic Park, Terminators I & II, The Abyss, Predator, Edward Scissorhands and one hundred bazillion more movies, died yesterday at the age of 62 after a long battle with cancer.
I've been unreasonably excited about Iron Man for weeks. This is weird, since I've never been a huge fan of the books. My imagination was, from my earliest comics-collecting days until now, been captured by different heroes, from the purely relatable (Spider-Man) to the dark and brooding, mysterious type (Batman, Wolverine) to the sexy imitable (Gambit, Nick Fury) to the simply alien and fascinating (Hulk, Beast, Mystique). Iron Man was never on my list of cool superheroes. He is, after all, just a rich dude in a mechanical suit.
He's also been such a goddamn good guy. Every time there's a crossover throwdown between books, it's Iron Man on the side the government, of The Man, while heroes I love are fighting against him. He did, after all, found the Avengers, the most whitebread superhero group of all time outside of Superfriends, whose duty has been for the past 30 years, more or less, to follow around the Hulk and make sure he doesn't fuck up too many civilians. Iron Man has, at times, toed the good-guy line in the face of such dissenting upstart rebels as Captain America. Let me reiterate: Captain America has been Iron Man's bad boy.
But Iron Man is awesome, for the simple reason that his alter-ego Tony Stark is awesome. I would read a book or watch a movie about Tony Stark even if you removed Iron Man completely from the equation. He's that interesting.
To wit: Tony Stark is a brilliant, insanely rich, incredibly talented man whose life, livelihood and hero aspirations are inextricably bound to a company founded by his father, Howard Stark, whose legacy pervades and informs the company's current status—even though Tony is clearly more moral, more intelligent and more driven than his dad. Tony will forever live under his shadow.
There's also the issue of very serious alcoholism, which the movie didn't fully address. In the comics, Tony is a full-fledged functional alcoholic, to the point of suiting up as Iron Man and causing unintentional destruction because he's so sozzled. He's deeply, deeply flawed, and his flaws are almost entirely because of his ties to the bottle. For instance:
And:
Like I said, the movie doesn't fully address this, and although the first time we see Stark, he's guzzling Scotch in a Humvee, he later graduates to what looks like wheatgrass, his booze disappearing as he embraces heroics. But if they're going to continue making movies, and they are, it's something they're going to have to tackle to remain true to character. It's also something Robert Downey, Jr. is fully equipped to play.
And Downey makes this movie. If there was ever a role that a career full of imbibing, wisecracking bastards prepared him for, this is it. I'm totally serious when I say that no actor has ever lived up to big-screen comic book expectations in the way that Downey has. Sure, Christian Bale is a good Batman, and Tobey McGuire a decent Spider-Man—and from what I've seen, Heath Ledger is going to break the mold for the Joker—but Downey is Stark. He's hilarious and fully believable as a brilliant, disconnected rich genius, because that's who Downey is, down to the substance abuse and famous father.
There are flaws in the movie, sure, and they're numerous. It's too long, for one thing, and the climactic fight, although awesome and somewhat necessary, feels a bit corollary to the origin story. The politics are well-meaning but sloppy, and the writers passed up a real chance to make some relevant commentary about American involvement in the Middle East. But there hasn't yet been a superhero movie that I've enjoyed more. The writing is tighter, the casting is better and the story is unspooled more capably than even my favorite comics-cum-films. (A lot of this may have to do with the fact that Iron Man is the first film Marvel produced independently, without the aegis of another studio. This means less studio wanks giving lousy input, and more nods to pure comics dorks, such as the wicked reveal in the last ten minutes, which I'll not spoil but that had me elbowing my wife with glee.) Jeff Bridges is delightful to watch and listen to, The Dude turned Machiavellian, and for the first time ever, I didn't want to pull Gwyneth Paltrow down from the screen and beat her to death. That's saying a lot.
Finally, this is one comic book movie that actually interested my wife, who puts up with my nerdiness but only occasionally indulges me with lengthy backstory explanation. Even rarer is genuine interest on her part, and Iron Man sparked it by a lot. She even, when I mentioned the Avengers, wanted to know who Ant-Man was. She grabbed my hand during the penultimate scene where Stark is finally suited up in the red and gold armor, and I thought, This might be the first time ever that Iron Man has gotten somebody laid. And that's a miracle.
Somebody on the internet found this, and thank god they did.
No film to date has depicted so perfectly the complete ineptitude, bigotry, and moral bankruptcy of the Department of Homeland Security. Containing copious amounts of full-frontal nudity (the requisite for any worthwhile comedy), a hilarious scene where H&K enjoy a cocaine-lace joint with George W., and more Doogie Howser psycho-sex-madness than any one movie should contain, Round 2 of the H&K adventure is the sickest, boldest, funniest flick you'll see this year.
Remember last week, when I mentioned the petition to get Uwe Boll to stop making movies? Well, Boll has provided a crazy, expletive-ridden response in which he refers to himself, not once but twice, as a genius. Watch it here. Seriously. It's priceless.
Eli Roth, whom Boll attacks in the response, responded himself, saying, "This video is further proof of Sacha Baron Cohen's genius. Uwe's my favorite character he's created yet."
It's come to my attention that director Uwe Boll, probably the worst living director and responsible for movies like Blood Rayne, Blood Rayne 2 and the upcoming Blood Rayne 3, has announced that he'll stop making movies if one million people sign an online petition asking him to. And guess what? There is such a petition, and it's up to over 50,000 signatures. I urge you to add your name to it, and if you need some convincing, here's the trailer to Blood Rayne:
I watched When We Were Kings again last night. I think it's the third or fourth time I've seen it and it never fails to blow me away. The moment that really gets me is when he's in his hotel room talking to the camera about the coming fight with the formidable young George Foreman, who was heavily favored against the brilliant aging shit-talker. Ali, shadow boxing, says to the camera:
I just gotta pound it. I'm not even gonna realize it until after. I'm gonna look at the face and say "How did I do that?" Allah, God—I'm his tool. God got in me. My purpose is for my people. This man looks slow. God has made this man look like a little kid. His so-called right hand ain't nothin now. I don't even feel it. I don't got no fear of it. I go in and take my shots because I've got God in my mind. I thinking about my people being free. And I can help with just one fight. Now he looks little in comparison to what I'm gettin from it. He ain't nothin now. But if I think about me—just me, and "George Foreman knocked out George Frazier like he was God. George Foreman knocked out Ken Norton. And the white press and power structure ranked me to get tired in five or six." Then I go in like Norton and [?] and get scared. But I'm not looking at the world and what they say. My God controls the universe."
Words to live by. Beautiful. And he did it. He beat George Foreman in eight after George Foreman punched himself out after five rounds. rounds. Boxer, prophet, poet, revolutionary. Watch them shits if you've never seen it!
Okay, so you may hate Errol Morris (lookin' at you, Dicker!), but you should also see Standard Operating Procedure, the new documentary about Abu Ghraib and those who recorded the weird n' wacky stuff that went on there. The New Yorker ran a story last week about the photos that were taken by Sabrina Harman, who is responsible for most of the photos you've seen, including this iconic one:
Harman first started snapping pictures just because—the story also references a series she did with a mummified kitten's head—but later began to document the treatment of prisoners at Abu Ghraib out of disgust and moral obligation. It's a great thing that she did, otherwise the world would probably have no clue.
And by depressing, I mean the way this documentary strips our government naked the way our government had soldiers strip detainees naked and point at their genitals. It's hard to watch and feels humiliating. Humiliating to be American and to know that these things were not only done, but done in our name, and quite clearly done with full knowledge that went all the way to the top.
Starting with the death of a young taxi driver in Afghanistan named only Dilawar, the film traces the US government's denials and contrasts them with the testimony of the young soldiers who did the dirty work from Bagram to Abu Ghraib..
If you think waterboarding is bad, wait till you find out that the real torture is in the gloves and blackout goggles.
Alex Gibney also skillfully implicates us all for our complicity as Americans without scolding. Anyone with a conscience would do well to sit tight and take it.
(Opens tomorrow night at Kimball's)
I am not even fucking around—it's the trailer for Lost Boys 2: The Tribe.
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