Worst Book = Best Movie?

Maybe. For the first couple Harry Potter movies, it was enough (barely) to parade the high points of the books on the screen with sort of a “there, see? We built a Hogwarts set!” attitude. Azkaban was the turning point, where Alfonso Cuaron begin filming the movies like, you know, movies as opposed to theme park rides.

Altho, full confession – I’m totally going to the Harry Potter theme park when it opens. First in line.

Back to the recap and review. Goblet of Fire failed to live up to the bar set by Azkaban, much of that blame landing squarely on the disheveled shoulders of Michael Gambon and his horrible “homeless hippie” interpretation of Dumbledore. But good news, Muggles – Order of the Phoenix might just clear the bar altogether.

As the source, the fifth novel is prolly the weakest of the series. I say prolly assuming (desperately hoping) that the soon-to-arrive-seventh tome will send Harry off in style, unlike Revenge of the Sith, Lemony Snicket or The Sopranos. It’s where the series really started to bloat (hundreds of pages building up to the OWL exams where… they pass and everything’s fine) and is dragged down by the jarring characterization of Harry becoming a teenager. Where he spends the first third of the book being angry, stomping around, speaking in ALL CAPS to prove how angry he is, yelling at friends and acting generally, well, angry.

But the necessary exercise of trimming the fat to transition it to film has helped this story immensely. Instead of reading chapter after chapter of ANGRY HARRY, we see it in Daniel Radcliffe’s performance. Instead of drowning in detail over his obsession with Cho, we get the necessary notes that kill that relationship while sowing the seeds of another. And, thankfully, instead of diverting our attention with concern over who’s to be Quidditch Captain, we focus on the fact that, you know, the Dark Lord has returned and there’s war in the air.

Aside from a few iffy matte shots in the broom ride through London sequence, the film looks magnificent. Gone are the awkward CGI moments and flow-killing special effects sequences. Everything is shot beautifully and integrated seamlessly. Not a frame of film is wasted on unnecessary exposition, and what plot points do need to be explained are done so by zooming through dynamic newspaper headlines of the Daily Prophet – a nicely magical update to a traditional storytelling device.

If there’s one criticism to make, it’s that the end feels a little eh, but that’s a problem from the original pages. It’s a bit rushed and some of the big reveals fall slightly flat, but never fear – it’s nowhere near a letdown on the level of, say, Matrix Revolutions. Overall, it’s a well-trimmed tale told terrifically well. Enjoy.

Don't Forget Singing the Bee Lyrics!

We've seen this before. Armageddon vs. Deep Impact. Volcano vs. Dante's Peak. Antz vs. A Bug's Life. Two movies, two studios, one plot. This time, strangely, it's not dueling asteroid or eruption or insect flicks, it's two competing karaoke shows. I guess it's not shocking, given the success of stuff like Dance Dance Revolution, Guitar Hero, American Idol, etc. What is surprising is that one of them doesn't suck out loud. Read on to find out which one.

The Singing Bee is on NBC, and hosted by former N'Sync-er and Dancer with the Stars, the unfortunately named Joey Fat One. The second he frantically ran-danced through the aisles, randomly picking singers from the crowd, it was as if I could hear the bow of the ship scraping against an iceberg. The show is an abject disaster, highlighted (if only briefly) by the fact that the scantily clad backup dancers are called The Honey Bees and are dressed like... honeybees:
The flow of the show is that several audience members are called up on stage where they, along with Joey Fat One, sort of pseudo-dance to the everpresent music. The house band, featuring a variety of brutal cover singers, launches into a song and the contests must complete the lyrics. The second they make a misstep, a loud buzzer sounds and Joey Fat One smiles. They keep doing this to whittle it down, and the last singer standing wins some incredibly small cash prize. It feels like a particularly bad Saturday Night Live sketch.

Don't Forget the Lyrics, while unoriginal on several levels, is actually the better of the two. Altho it feels like a rushed ripoff of Singing Bee's karaoke concept with a title that's, oh, a bit too on the nose, they smartly "borrowed" Who Wants to Be a Millionaire's format. Instead of a cavalcade of hacks, we track the progress of one singer as he or she butchers several songs en route to a million dollar prize. Wayne Brady makes a great Regis, there are three similar lifelines, etc... it's basically the same show, set to music.

But honestly, it's harmless fun. Certainly not high art, not exactly appointment viewing, but worth a watch and worlds better than, well... The Singing Bee ;)

Improved with Age or Just Old?

While I technically grew up in the 70s, that wave of nostalgia meant nothing to me, as I wasn't really into pop culture things at 8, when they ended. I suppose if, instead of flared jeans, people had gotten back into Garanimals, I'd've been all over it. But really, I'm a child of the 80s.

Two relics of that era, Optimus Prime and John McClane have bashed their way back onto the big screen – how do they hold up? First, Transformers. Unfortunately, this is a bit like discovering a slice of limburger that you left in your toy chest 20 years ago. Full disclosure – I read the script for this a year and a half ago, so some of the issues weren't a big surprise. Also, I saw a screening about a week ago, but didn't want to run afoul of NDAs and such. Because what I would have posted is that this was a mess.

I used to consider myself a shameless Michael Bay fan, but over time I've realized that it really means I just liked Armageddeon. He puts big robots on the screen pretty well in this one, but everything else is a disaster. The plot has holes you could drive an Optimus Prime-size semi thru, most of the performances (particularly Jons Voight and Tuturro) are abysmal, and the pacing drags on and on. At some point, someone will rip the fight scenes off the DVD – that's worth a watch, but otherwise... not so much. Live Free or Die Hard, however, is a pleasant surprise. It doesn't really feel like "a Die Hard movie," in that he's not trapped alone in a building – it's more like Die Hard with a Vengeance in that Bruce Willis (with sidekick) are thrown together in a sprawling adventure. Full disclosure #2: I saw this movie at the end of what friends and I called "DH-Day," where we watched the first three movies before wrapping up the evening with number four.

Yippee-ki-yay.

But here's the thing – part four is fun. McClane has aged well, and they've acknowledged the fact that he's not twenty years younger. Justin Long as the hapazard associate is funny without being Richard Pryor in Superman III. The (mostly practical) stunts are spectacular, even tho they start to strain credibility pretty quickly. For sequels like these, much of their job is just to not piss all over the franchise, and never fear – this isn't Blues Brothers 2000 or Phantom Menace. It's a solid shot of old-school adrenaline that's definitely worth a watch.

Best. Five. Seconds. Ever.

I'm not the biggest "check out this funny link" guy in the world, but... check out this funny link.

Tagged by a Tough One

Well, not Valerie, who did the actual tagging, but the tag itself – list your favorite movies. Traditionally, I get all film geek at this question, insisting that I can't compare apples to oranges, that I'll only pick the top films of a specific genre, blah blah blah. Rather than belabor you with a ton of internal deliberation, I'll just go with gut responses (and photos ;) So this is isn't well considered, it's prolly not too accurate, but I'll count down my five regardless:
#5: The Matrix. The first one. Every so often, I make a concerted effort to pretend the sequels never existed, dig out the DVD and am surprised at how fantastic this flick still is. While bullet time has lost some of its gee-whiz appeal, the movie itself hasn't lost a bit of its power. From the "he's beginning to believe" moment when Neo wrangles the helicopter on, this one's still a killer.

#4: Scream Trilogy. Speaking of killers, my favorite horror series makes the list. The pop culture parts are less relevant now, and the meta-appeal of characters being aware of the film versions of their peril has now been overdone, but at the time, Scream was like that shot of adrenaline plunged into Uma Thurman's chest in Pulp Fiction. Set the (fairly stupid) horror industry on its ear, turning what's traditionally an exercise in exploitation into a hyper-literate whodunit... and kept the momentum thru two remarkably solid sequels.

#3: Empire Strikes Back. Another exercise in pretending a certain section of the saga doesn't exists (the prequels instead of the sequels), but if you can forget Teenakin and the Jar-Jars remember how big a deal it was when Darth Vader said "I am your father." It's become kind of cliche to say that Empire's the best of the Star Wars saga, but watch it again – it's an incredible mix of action and emotion, pyrotechnics and pathos.
#2: Raiders of the Lost Ark. I almost went with another "whole saga" vote here, but a) Temple of Doom, while not as bad as I originally remembered, still ain't great and b) dunno how Part IV will turn out... yet. Last Crusade was a fantastic return to form – but the form was founded with Raiders. It's Lucas doing what he does well (story, not script), Spielberg at his absolute best and Harrison Ford before he started making stuff like Firewall. An absolutely perfect adventure.

#1. The Lord of the Rings. Yes, the Extended Editions and yes, the whole damn thing, as I consider it one twelve-hour movie. One can quibbles with a few details and someone will eventually surpass the special effects, but for raw grandeur and sheer spectacular emotion, it can't be beat. I have, on occasion, sat and watched all three extended edition DVDs in a row – it's a hell of a day. Confession: I got a little teary the first time I saw Rivendell. Anyway, the most impressive example of consistent filmmaking vision I know.

Some honorable mentions that occurred along the way: Back to the Future Trilogy, particularly Part II, which I think is beyond brilliant. The New Jersey Trilogy consisting of Clerks, Chasing Amy and Clerks II (ignore Mallrats and Jay & Silent Bob, etc.) And can't forget the two great two-letter sequels, T2 and X2.

Frank and Chris, you're it. Everyone else – thoughts?

Superheroes Suit Me

Ok, lemme preface this by saying I'm a Batman guy. I don't read him consistently anymore (have gotten a little more Marvel than DC), but how can one argue with a man driven half (at least) insane by blind rage, keeping himself going only by waging an endless, unwinnable revenge quest to strike holy terror into the black hearts of evil criminals? Don Quixote, my ass. Plus, Catwoman. C'mon.

And I loved Batman Begins. It regularly shoots out for Best Superhero Movie with X2, the most recently viewed generally being on top. So I'm biased. That said, WB released a promo image of the new Batsuit, and while I'm well aware of the perils of commenting on still shots of costumes (remember how terrible the X-Men looked? and how great Superman looked? Whoops.) prior to seeing them onscreen, I'm gonna take a shot regardless. And I'm gonna do it without resorting to any of that "Holy Insert Pun Here" Adam West/Burt Ward nonsense that still haunts my dreams. So click the pic for a bigger shot and read on.

Given that trying to leverage the cloth comic look would land us squarely in the Christopher Reeve camp, I think they've done a fantastic job with this costume. It fits with the design ethic of military suit parts put to another use, much like the Batmobile (I'm not sold on the Batpod, but that's another post). Plus, it doesn't have a big yellow target in the center or nipples. More detail...

Things I like:

• Multiple pieces in the cowl means Batman can finally turn his head. The world's greatest crimefighter goes through life with about a 30 degree cone of vision? Um, no. "Hey, criminal cohorts – I've figured out how we can finally defeat our mortal enemy... approach him from the side!"
  
• Spikes on his arms are retractable. Otherwise he'd have a hard time fitting thru doors and alleys.
• It looks like armor that goes over his muscles, not armor that's made of muscles.
• He's standing – and denting – on a police car. 9-1-1- is a joke in Gotham, too! Take that, 5-0!
  

Things I don't like:

• The utility belt's still strangely gold and a little crotchy. Yes, we can assume Batman's packing a high-caliber weapon down south. Move on.
• Ears are still too big. It's as if some D-girl keeps saying "But people won't understand that he's a Bat, man." They look slightly streamlined, but should be more like short nubs. Better balance.
• Wish the cape was bigger/cooler. Supposedly it's got some powers of its own, but it should be almost a living extension of his hate and rage. Not like Christian Bale tied a towel around his neck.

Overall I'm good with it. And having gotten a fairly detailed script synopsis a few months ago, I'm fairly confident that the flick will rock. For now, I believe in Harvey Dent.

Fant-eh-stic Bore, Too

The first Fantastic Four flick certainly didn't live up to its title. This one's a bit better, altho I dunno if they're gonna get to the point where they have to consider what to name Fantastic Four... IV.

Anyway, the reason this one succeeds slightly is that it's freed from the burden of exposition. We know who the Four are, we know what Fantastic things they can do, so it's good to see them just do it. Human Torch's fire effects seem to have improved, and they had a bit more fun with Mr. Fantastic's stretchability, but The Thing still looks and acts like... a guy in a rubber rock suit. Jessica Alba's basically her own special effect, altho they do saddle her (not as fun as it sounds) with a weird wig/dye job and bizarrely blue contacts.

The new wrinkle this time is the arrival of the Silver Surfer, who looks like the morphy T-1000 from Terminator 2... on a surfboard. He works for Galactus, the Destroyer of Worlds, who sends the Surfer to scout out worlds for him to, well, destroy. In the comics, Galactus is a really big guy who actually eats planets. The movie shows him as an indistinct cloud that engulfs Earth. I get that a giant in a pink hat eating the world prolly doesn't work well on film but a big cloud is still basically a big cloud.

There's a lot of hand-wringing about Mr. Fantastic and the Invisible Woman's wedding, proving that no action movie can exist without cliched character drama. There's a hardass army general, proving that a moral compass or common sense don't appear on any recruiting (or Central Casting) form. There's Dr. Doom again, proving that Hollywood still wants more villains so they can sell more action figures. There's the second Stan Lee cameo of the summer, proving that we should stop paying him homage. And the whole thing feels really poorly paced, proving that director Tim Story is a Chris Columbus-level hack.

What works? The races and chases with the Surfer are fun. Chris Evans highlights the film again as Johnny Storm. His banter with Ben Grimm is amusing. And it's short.

Should you go? Dunno. If you're a big Fantastic Four fan, you'll likely be both pleased and pissed as it gets as many notes wrong as it does right. If you're not, you'll likely slot it in somewhere between Daredevil and Ghost Rider in terms of iffy superhero movies. If you're a kid, you'll likely enjoy it, altho you're also not likely reading this. So overall, prolly not – Netflix The Incredibles instead.

13th Time's a Charm

Ok, just to clear the air – I was "in" for Ocean's 11, and thought the only real problem with 12 was that it wasn't called Ocean's Dozen. The Julia Roberts mistaken identity stuff was a bit misguided, and the whole thing smacked a bit of having been dreamed up over too much vino on Clooney's Lake Como veranda, but still – harmless.

Regardless of how far 12 fell from the tree, 13 is a refreshing return to form. There's little to no unnecessary exposition (the line "it's not their fight" explains why Roberts and Catherine Zeta-Jones are absent) and the reason for being is simple and fun – revenge. Al Pacino, an evil casino owner (are there good ones?) named Bank, gypped the crew's mentor out of money and the shock drove him to the hospital. The gang comes up with a plan to bankrupt Bank and bury his opening night gala.

And... that's it. The rest of the flick follows the ups and downs of getting it done. The scheme is brilliant, it's shot with style, and this time the cast lets you in on the fun. It's not high art - if caper movies do nothing for you, this ain't gonna change your mind. But if the idea of watching a bunch of supercool guys pull a supercool scheme, all the while acting... supercool, then there are way worse ways to spend ten bucks and two hours.

So-So pranos

After successfully avoiding getting spoiled on Monday, I hunkered down to watch the Sopranos series finale last night. Funny story – right at the end of the episode, while Meadow was parking and Creepy Guy went to the bathroom, the DVR recording ran out early. Thinking I missed some shocking revelations, I dialed it up on On Demand, fast forwarded to the end and – less funny story – didn't miss a thing. I realize this isn't news at this point, but thought I'd share my views.

Overall, eh. Maybe even feh. I wasn't surprised that it didn't end with a bloodbath or 80s style freeze frame, but it was still pretty annoying. Yet typical. From the 18+ month breaks between reduced-episode seasons to the excruciating explorations of less-than-secondary characters to satisfy the creators' whims, the show unfortunately evolved from a brilliant, breakthrough take on a tired genre to a self-important exercise in indulgence.

The series slid so far off the rails, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, but even the things it used to do well were botched – Phil getting his head shot and then crushed by a car full of babies while random onlookers laugh and vomit is smacks more of Naked Gun than Sopranos.

And it ended that way. I guess I get the point, that they've made it thru their immediate trials, but their life will always be a series of looking over your shoulder moments, but it felt so inconsequential that it's hard to get invested in it. When a show thumbs its nose at you, trying to flaunt its supposed superiority, it better deliver. And this was a few peppers short of a Satriale's sandwich.

For those in search of closure:

Ok, this isn't what I had for lunch, but...

...it is what I had for dinner over the weekend at onesixtyblue. That's their signature dish, the Delmonico, a perfectly marbled ribeye topped with carmelized shallots and watercress salad with potato puree (i.e. mashed potatoes) and shallot sauce. I'm not the biggest steak guy in the world, but this was like some sort of benevolent meat god slicing off pieces of himself for you to enjoy. Unreal.

Speaking of biggest guys in the world, this one was hanging out at the bar:
Yes, MJ himself, here shown perhaps finishing off the last of his Maine Diver Sea Scallops (which I also loved – perhaps there's a god of shellfish as well). I was under the impression he didn't own the restaurant anymore; maybe he still has a stake, maybe he still comes for the steak. Regardless, it was good to see him hold court again, even if that meant telling stories to a circle of his buddies.

Service takes a tad to get used to, in that the waiter puts some strength behind his suggestions ("I've ordered you a cheese course" or "under no circumstances should you order the squab"), but they proved to be dead-on. And once you settle in, it's terrific – his offer with the cheese course he insists on was "I'll buy it if you don't love it." And we did.

Dinner might cost in the neighborhood of the restaurant's name, but onesixtyblue's well worth it. Ask for Stephen and enjoy.

Blogundrum

While I'm not struggling to justify my existence, haunted by memories of another life, I do find myself a bit lost. It's about this blog. I originally created it to build up a portfolio of sorts in order to pursue a job critiquing pop culture media. As Some Guy's favorite guy might say, "Mission Accomplished." Not that I got said job, but I've filed enough entries for that purpose should the opportunity arise.

So.

An unexpected bonus of blogging has been reconnecting with a bunch of friends, so I'll definitely still hang around and comment. While life has taken some turns that take me away from the keyboard more, I'm still interested in posting – but I'm toying with what to post. I don't want to just do daily updates, as there are a million of those, and it'd be mostly filled with rants about working in the ass end of advertising – even I'm not interested in that.

So I turn it over to you, my (few but loyal) readers. Should I blog about...
...nothing, just abandoning the whole deal
...the same basic stuff, 60 word reviews of movies and tv, expecting things to pick up more around the fall season
...reviews of anything and everything, from comics I read to what I had for lunch
...ponies and unicorns (please don't vote for this ;)

Once, Twice, Three Times a Spidey

If your ten bucks didn't contribute to the $150 millionish that Spider-Man 3 made last weekend, here's a quick hit on whether it's worth a couple of fivers. Absolutely... with reservations.

Overall, I liked it didn't love it. The web-slinging action is ineffincredible, and the villains are wonderfully realized. However, there are just too damn many of them. Sandman, Venom, New Goblin, flashbacks of the original Goblin, Mary Jane's dour presence... on and on and on. While the film manages to string all these threads together, it turns into a bit of an ugly sportscaster sweater by the time it's done.

There's so much going on that it's hard to care a great deal about any of it. Spidey as a movie doesn't really get going until he swings into action to save potential new girlfriend Gwen Stacy from falling out of a building, but then she's wasted as basically just an object lesson about loving Mary Jane. Onscreen origin stories are always tough, and this flick's shoehorns in three villain's worth. Plus there are the obligatory scenes of Aunt May providing Peter with soothing spider strength and J. Jonah Jameson getting irrationally angry.

Hm. That sounds like you should run screaming from the theater – sorry. There are things that work terrifically well. Sandman, while the film would benefit from him not being in it, looks great. Topher Grace is terrific as Eddie Brock/Venom. Bryce Dallas Howard's Gwen Stacy is miles ahead of Mary Jane. And again, the superhero action stuff is near perfect.

So go. Have a good time. Bring something to read for the first 40 minutes or so. Don't concern yourself too much with some coincidental plot elements and examples of deus ex machina and just watch Tobey swing around.

Who's Gonna Drive You Home?

Why, Nathan Fillion, of course. Sorry, Ric Ocasek fans. The fanboy favorite of Buffy, Firefly and Slither stars in Fox’s new series called Drive. It’s like The Amazing Race, except the contest is called only “The Race,” and if you get eliminated, you don’t get a conciliatory hug from an affable Aussie… your wife gets killed. Or something equally bad happens. Maybe.

Buried secrets abound in this show, and it’s a fairly safe guess they’ll all come to light once a group of ordinary strangers are forced to Cannonball Run across the country in search of $32 million and resolution of their personal dilemmas. So is it any good?

Based on the first handful of episodes, I’d say… sure. With reservations. Drive requires a pretty healthy suspension of disbelief. And I mean healthy like Bruce Willis in Unbreakable healthy – if you’re one of those people who say things like “that wouldn’t happen,” then watching this show shouldn’t happen. The Race itself is a little questionable, some of the pairings are suspect (particularly the estranged good/bad brother combo), and the show has a flight of fancy feeling overall.

But if you don’t get hung up on the details, it’s fun. Fillion’s always good, the accountant from The Untouchables is appealing as The Race’s DungeonMaster, and it’s a decent car chase every week. Plus, the producers have a good pedigree, with shows like Angel and Wonderfalls under their belt. Put your mind on cruise control and enjoy.

Thank Whoever or Whatever You Happen to Believe In You're Here

Pilot Opinion: Thank God You're Here
This new comedy show, sort of a spiritual successor to Whose Line is it Anyway, is an Australian import. Guest comedians are sent into a scene with no more preparation than than their character's costume – they've got to improv their way to comedy gold! It's funnyish, but unfortunately it strikes something more like comedy bronze. Maybe comedy brass.

The setup is sound, but the execution is... safe. As host, former In Living Color player David Alan Grier fawns all over the guests and tries to come up with synonyms for the door he sends the comedians thru. "Enter the Portal of Possibilities" and such. Kids in the Hall alum Dave Foley is ostensibly the judge, but it's like American Idol with all Paulas. "Ohhh, so wonderful – I can't decide which is funner!" Hm. I can.

Even the improv feels approved for network family hour. Comedy ought to be a little dangerous and plenty provocative, and the first two episodes of TGYH won't do anything to upset your V-Chip. The show also got less funny as it went on; past the initial gimmick it's a bit devoid of life.

It's pleasant enough watching; ok to have in the background, but not worth clogging space on your DVR.

The debate is over...

...it IS a Cheer-ocracy!

As faithful readers may or may not remember, I've been all over this issue since the beginning – do we, or do we not, live in a Cheer-ocracy. I am happy to report that further evidence has come to light, thanks to an often-prophetic force - teenybopper girl pop singers.

One can track their cheerful influence on top pop hits thru the decades. Take "Hey, Mickey, you're so fine." With a cheerleader-based video so fine it blew your mind. Or more recently, Gwen Stefani's declaration that she Ain't no Hollaback Girl. Listen to the lyrics: "bananas... b-a-n-a-n-a-s" and you'll wonder whether you are, in fact, listening to Nostradamus instead of No Doubt.

And despite the protests of a fellow blogger, another pop princess is in the process of confirming our Cheer-ocracy status - lil' Avril. Her new opus, Girlfriend, follows in the pom-pon-clad footsteps of the aforementioned cheeriffic hits.



Take a listen to the lyrics, dominated by "hey! hey!" and handclaps and I'm sure you'll agree - we live in a Cheer-ocracy.

Which may give Hilary an unforseen edge in '08.

What happens in Vegas...

...is pretty much that my money stays in Vegas. So I abandoned my career as a college basketball handicapper and hit the Strip for some non-gambling sights.

First, The Bellagio, where I caught the admittedly dorky, but still kinda cool Dancing Waters...
...an Ansel Adams show...
...and the Chihuly lobby and conservatory. Wrapped up the day at The Wynn, where I caught John O' Hurley in the Vegas version of Spamalot.
Hurley drew on his Dancing with the Stars experience to be a worthy King Arthur compared to the original Tim Curry. The rest of the cast fared less well tho, particularly Nikki Someoneorother as The Lady of The Lake, a far cry from Sara Ramirez, who you prolly know better as Dirty Hot Callie on Grey's. Also, to condense the show to an hour and a half with no intermission, a couple songs got chopped, but nothing essential. Anyway, good stuff overall.

So that's it for Vegas, next time I check in, it'll be from...

What happens in Vegas...

...prolly will stay here, unless I get blogger-happy and post a bunch. I'm in Sin City for the opening rounds of March Madness. Hoping that SC can be this year's George Mason. Anyway, if I see any white tigers, I'll let you know.

Sex, Death, God and Power Pop

I finally joined The Black Parade a couple of days ago, along with my friend Frank. It was a culmination of a long-held desire (well, at least since the start of this blog). As for my review, a quick preface: while I stand behind my take on TV and movies, I don't profess to be much of an authority on music. My iTunes library isn't gonna impress anyone, my CD rack is mostly filled with scores from movies and I'm often the guy who doesn't realize that that hot new song is, in fact, a decades-old cover. That said, how was My Chemical Romance? With apologies to David Letterman, I'll say they...

Blew. The. Effin. Roof. Off. The. Dump.
(the Effin's mine, not Dave's – it's a familyish blog)

Unfortunately, "Dump" is pretty appropriate. While the view from the floor of the Allstate Arena was pretty good, it sounded like the show was being broadcast from the floor of the Atlantic Ocean.

However, MCR managed to rise against the poor sound mix... often due to the "pyrotechnics and strobe lights" that we were warned of on the way in. This was a full-out, old-school arena rock show. Spotlights. Lasers. Lighters. Guns. Blimps. And fire.

Giant, choreographed columns of fire.

The Black Parade is a concept album, loosely hung around the idea of a young dying cancer patient. To open the show, said patient was rolled out on a hospital gurney in front of a black curtain. When the first power chord kicked in, the patient ripped off his gown to reveal himself as Gerard Way, the lead singer, and the curtain dropped to show off the band, dressed in matching black skeletal band outfits. They blistered thru the set, playing the album in order, highlighted by shooting off ticker tape cannons during the title track.

Did I mention the giant, choreographed columns of fire?

Anyway, the crowd ate it up. The crowd, of course, being mostly half my age. If Frank and I wanted to hook up some prom dates, we'd have been in great shape. To be fair, there were a few audience members that weren't half my age... they were, perhaps, a third.

After strutting thru The Black Parade album, the band ditched the skeleton schtick for the encore, dedicating the second set of earlier hits to the "MCRmy" They wiped off the face paint, traded their dead band outfits for traditional leather jackets, and busted out five or six songs in front of a floor-to-ceiling curtain featuring a circle of guns around the word "revenge."

MCR may not be the most original band in the world; Frank pointed out that the lead singer was channeling Freddie Mercury and David Bowie almost pose for pose. Good thing my musical reference drawer is pretty shallow. And while tapping into teenage angst and rebellion has also been done before, it's for a good reason... it's a backbone of good ol' rock and roll.

So a hearty reco on the show – if The Black Parade is coming to your town, break out your best black wardrobe and get ready to revel in darkly beautiful musical excess. As the band says, "Come one, come all to this tragic affair."

Back... with Black

Almost filled my DVR by taking a vacation, but I'm finally close to caught up. Rather than comment on shows from three weeks ago, I'll concentrate on those from the last few days.

The Black Donnellys: Just the pilot, but wow. Fresh off The Departed’s Best Picture win, another Irish mob drama announces its presence with authority. This tale of four brothers struggling to find their place in the neighborhood doesn’t sounds like the most original idea, but it’s shot with style and acted with sincerity. The pilot airs again Thursday– watch if you missed it.

American Idol: After a staggeringly bad debut, a couple of the guys rebounded, like strangely-named Sundance Head. Some fell off the table – looking at you, Sanjaya. It’s quickly getting down to a few-horse race (Chris Richardson, Blake, maybe Phil), so it’ll be good to get to the co-ed shows, as many of these men are just grist for the pop music mill.

Veronica Mars: This season’s second case (who shot the Dean?) closed with a whatever. The campus rape case wasn’t great, but at least you cared about whodunit. The twist in this one unfortunately involved finding out that it wasn’t one unlikeable character responsible, but several. The Logan/Veronica relationship is the main thing keeping this show going. Here’s hoping the standalone eps help.


Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader? After an awkward intro on American Idol, Jeff Foxworthy re-emerged from redneck jokes to host a game show where stupid adults match wits with smarmy children. It’s marginally amusing to watch contestants struggle with grade-school questions, but mostly just points out that everything we learned at that age was worthless. I’d say Pass, but – Fail. And Worst. Theme. Song. Ever.

Amazing Race: All-Stars: After whipping around the world 10 times, this show went the retro route, bringing back teams you loved and teams you loved to hate. Unfortunately, it’s not enough to raise this show out of the rut it’s been in for years. It’s still a lot of waiting in airports and missing cabs, and exotic destinations don’t deliver much impact.

Goodbye to The OC, Bitch

I've kind of abandoned the Limerick Critic gimmick for now, but dusting it off for my...

Ode to The OC

There once was a show – The OC
That died from a rough Season Three
The show ended well
Lots of wedding bells
Here's to a long life on DVD!

Rockstar

Still out of town and mostly out of touch, but couldn't resist popping in with a quick Mile-a-Minute Comment about last night's Grey's. And updating the Quote of the Night. Anyway, about the show – in a word, wow. In 60 words...
Grey's Anatomy: This ep was one of those that makes me glad I finally decided to watch a “doctor show.” As the Empire Strikes Back of this three-part arc, it hit all the right notes and pulled all the right punches. Say what you will about Grey’s; it’s melodramatic, it’s dogmatic, it’s a bit too eccentric… but add that it’s terrific.

These little town blues...

...will be gone in a few short hours. I'm heading out to the Big Apple to surround myself with toys and movies. Back in a bit over a week to get back to TV and movie reviews.

Mile-a-Minute Catchup

The last few nights’ shows, 60 words or so per each. If the count’s off, feel free to blame Bill Gates or that animated paper clip in Microsoft Word.

Veronica Mars: As much as I love this sassy new Nancy Drew, I feel like Veronica’s lost in space. The first two seasons were built around year-long story arcs; trying to break that pattern seems to have sent the show floundering. Characters and plots come and go, and the news that the last five eps will be stand-alones is particularly discouraging.

Friday Night Lights: Despite its second best night of ratings, The Dillon Panthers’ future is still in doubt, on and off the field. There’s only so far critical acclaim will go. Anyway, fairly standard episode this week… which means it’s fairly fantastic. Great relationship stuff, romantic and otherwise, throughout the entire ensemble cast. Maybe the most honest show on TV.

Smallville: This show gets better as it gets more “super.” Justice League Junior is floating around, classic hero Martian Manhunter saved Clark last week, and this episode featured the best break from the original “no flights, no tights” rule when Clark flew Lois across the moon to one-up her former boyfriend, Green Arrow. Lex & Lana’s relationship is still ick, tho.

The Office: Wow. Killer ep. Set up all the things that make the show sing and knocked ‘em down in style. Have to agree with some other posters that this Office may have outdone the British Office. It’s not quite an apples to oranges comparison, maybe more like oranges to tangerines, but still – these Dunderheads are reliably brilliant.

The OC: To borrow a bit of Seth’s comic fanboy lexicon… retcon alert! Heavy flashback episode inserted Taylor into the gang’s past and played with the various Cohens’ futures. While I appreciate recasting the flashbacks (as opposed to actors trying to play 10-30 years younger), the choices were odd – apparently Kirsten had a lot of work done and Sandy was JFK, jr.

Oh well, Marcel

Going back to Mile-a-Minute style for a while, as my limerick muse is taking a break. So, 60 words or so per show on...
Top Chef: Ilan and Marcel go chef-o a chef-o in the season finale. Ilan's spiced-up Spanish beats Marcel's molecular gastronomy, which I think is a shame. They're both killer cooks, but Marcel's a visionary.

The episode overall was remarkably restrained for reality TV. No hokey flashbacks, no strained reunion, no over-gimmicked final challenge. Glad to see there’ll be Top Chef 3.