As people say goodbye to Michael Jackson, we can look past Bubbles, surgeries, sexual ambiguity, Corey Feldman, and general creepiness of his final years and focus on his artistic contribution to popular culture…in film.
Okay, so Michael Jackson is famous for his music, but his contributions to the history of film are still important. It all starts with the 1978 Sidney Lumet film, The Wiz, which we can also say changed the direction of Jackson’s music career. Musical supervisor on the film, Quincy Jones, would produce Jackson’s next three albums: Off the Wall, Thriller, and Bad.
Spending five years focusing on genre-defining music for a generation, Jackson’s next film credit was his extended music video/short film, Thriller. Of course, prior to that, he also made plot-driven videos like “Billie Jean” and “Beat It,” bringing new credibility to music videos as an art form. One record exec who worked with Jackson said the pop king always avoided the term “videos,” instead calling his pieces “short films.” In this regard, Jackson was prolific, making MTV into a cultural staple, and marrying film to music in a way previously unseen.
Jackson would work with many directors, from John Landis (Thriller, “Black or White”), Francis Ford Coppola (Captain EO), and Martin Scorsese (“Bad”), to Spike Lee, John Singleton, and special effects guru, Stan Winston, along with countless others in between. The gloved one even directed and wrote a number of his short films, helped usher in the era of morph technology, and even appeared on The Simpsons during its early years, writing “Do the Bartman” and singing in an episode. Throw in the scores of films that contain his music, from Revenge of the Nerds to 27 Dresses, and his impact on film becomes obvious.
Everyone remembers 1988’s Moonwalker, Jackson’s only feature starring role, a loosely connected series of his musical “short films.” However, few remember Michael’s 1997 effort, Ghosts, co-written by Jackson and Steven King. Similar forgettable efforts marked his final forays into film. Though Jackson could still parade friends like Eddie Murphy, Chris Tucker, and even Steven Spielberg into his later short films, they lacked the spirit of his earlier work. Everyone gets old, and regardless of whether or not people can admit it now, Michael Jackson got old.
Perhaps his increasingly bizarre nature and molestation allegations contributed to his diminishing success, but quality certainly played a part. Who remembers his cameo in MIB2? And, the million dollar question: What was Michael Jackson’s final film role? Answer: The 2004 Eric Roberts vehicle, Miss Cast Away. Ironically, it was also the last film for Bob Denver and Pat Morita, too. Even more ironically, Jackson played a representative of the Vatican (insert own joke here).
In cinematic terms, Michael Jackson was an amazing musician. In musical terms, he innovatively made film a crucial part of pop music. In life, Michael Jackson resided in Neverland; in death, it may be the films that pop’s Peter Pan left behind that will truly keep him forever young.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Nothing to Lose, Everything to Gein
I’m not a huge fan of slasher films. It’s not that I don’t like seeing people get their faces chopped off by a mute psychopath; it’s just that I never found them scary, funny, or anything but an insult to my intelligence. There are things far scarier to me than a lone lunatic who preys on people. But, then there’s the story of Ed Gein.
Ed Gein is all over the horror genre. For those that don’t know, Gein was a middle-aged Wisconsin man that was discovered in 1957 with the decapitated body of a woman hanging in his shed, gutted and splayed like a side of beef. Authorities conducted a search of his farm that revealed human skulls made into bowls, skulls adorning his bedposts, lampshades made from skin, as well as a vest made from a female torso complete with breasts, with a matching belt made of nipples, and a box of nine vaginas. Additionally, there were blinds, seat covers, shrunken heads, and masks made from women’s faces.
After the inevitable media circus descended on the sleepy town of Plainfield, the first influence Gein had on popular culture was through Robert Bloch, living in Wisconsin at the time, who heard about Gein’s story and would write a little book called Psycho. One of Gein’s identifying characteristics was that his overly-religious mother completely dominated and emasculated him (think Piper Laurie in Carrie). She preached hellfire and damnation and told little Eddie that all women, except her, were evil. She bought a farm on the outside of town specifically so Ed and his brother would not be influenced by the world off the farm. Of course, throw in the violently drunken father, and Ed Gein was given all the ingredients to become the paradigm of horror.
Within five years, Gein lost his father to alcoholism, his brother to a fire (some suggest Ed killed him), and finally his mother died after a series of strokes, leaving Eddie alone with his thoughts. After his mother died, he boarded up the rooms she used most often, preserving them just as she left them (Norman Bates, anyone?). Gein became increasingly fascinated with the dead and soon began exhuming dozens of graves from local graveyards. He would soon turn to killing women that reminded him of his mother, harvesting their parts for his purposes.
Gein’s love of skin can be seen in the exaggerated characters of Leatherface and Buffalo Bill, his unhealthy attachment to his mother in Norman Bates, his zealot, overprotective mother in Carrie, and I’m sure many more films have borrowed elements of his story. Ed was always described as quiet, eccentric, and incapable of hurting anyone. He babysat and felt more at ease with children than adults, never showing any signs of violence. Though he was only convicted of killing two women, his case made Jack the Ripper seem quaint and gave Americans new things to fear. Ed Gein was not evil, which makes the specter of him scariest of all.
Ed Gein is all over the horror genre. For those that don’t know, Gein was a middle-aged Wisconsin man that was discovered in 1957 with the decapitated body of a woman hanging in his shed, gutted and splayed like a side of beef. Authorities conducted a search of his farm that revealed human skulls made into bowls, skulls adorning his bedposts, lampshades made from skin, as well as a vest made from a female torso complete with breasts, with a matching belt made of nipples, and a box of nine vaginas. Additionally, there were blinds, seat covers, shrunken heads, and masks made from women’s faces.
After the inevitable media circus descended on the sleepy town of Plainfield, the first influence Gein had on popular culture was through Robert Bloch, living in Wisconsin at the time, who heard about Gein’s story and would write a little book called Psycho. One of Gein’s identifying characteristics was that his overly-religious mother completely dominated and emasculated him (think Piper Laurie in Carrie). She preached hellfire and damnation and told little Eddie that all women, except her, were evil. She bought a farm on the outside of town specifically so Ed and his brother would not be influenced by the world off the farm. Of course, throw in the violently drunken father, and Ed Gein was given all the ingredients to become the paradigm of horror.
Within five years, Gein lost his father to alcoholism, his brother to a fire (some suggest Ed killed him), and finally his mother died after a series of strokes, leaving Eddie alone with his thoughts. After his mother died, he boarded up the rooms she used most often, preserving them just as she left them (Norman Bates, anyone?). Gein became increasingly fascinated with the dead and soon began exhuming dozens of graves from local graveyards. He would soon turn to killing women that reminded him of his mother, harvesting their parts for his purposes.
Gein’s love of skin can be seen in the exaggerated characters of Leatherface and Buffalo Bill, his unhealthy attachment to his mother in Norman Bates, his zealot, overprotective mother in Carrie, and I’m sure many more films have borrowed elements of his story. Ed was always described as quiet, eccentric, and incapable of hurting anyone. He babysat and felt more at ease with children than adults, never showing any signs of violence. Though he was only convicted of killing two women, his case made Jack the Ripper seem quaint and gave Americans new things to fear. Ed Gein was not evil, which makes the specter of him scariest of all.
Friday, June 12, 2009
My Favorite Western: Star Wars
Star Wars is a Western film. There’s no doubt about it. Star Wars relies on many Western movie conventions, including plot and characters that lack complexity and rely more on action and special effects to take center stage. George Lucas purposefully kept these elements simple, for the effect of transporting us all to a galaxy in which an effeminate farm boy controlled the fate of all. While not all Western heroes were as whiny as Luke on the farm, many were just as green when they left with their dreams and a gun…or a Lightsaber.
A key similarity between Star Wars and the Western genre is that they each take place in hostile and unconquered lands. The first time viewers see Luke Skywalker, it almost looks as if he were living in 1878 Nevada. The classic desert landscape, the flat, expansive land and the big sky are all classic icons of the Western genre. You half-expect to see Shane enter the frame on his horse, slumped over in the saddle and on his way to the pearly gates of Tattooine.
And, then there’s Han. Han Solo is like most western heroes—masculine, quick on the draw, an overall man’s man. His introduction in the movie sets him up as if he were a cowboy. It takes place in a saloon-type environment. Chewbacca lacks some of Han’s charm, but makes up for it with brute strength, mechanical ingenuity, and a loyalty that makes him Sundance to Han’s hairy Butch (wow, that sounded dirty!). With his white shirt, black vest, he is the mix of white hat/black hat with a side of ass-kicking.
Since most Western films are boy’s clubs and the chicks are merely eye candy, Princess Leia is obviously the kindly hooker. By the end of the trilogy, she had made out with Luke, Han, Chewbacca, R2, and I’m pretty sure she did coke with Jabba. But, in the first one, she was just a nineteen-year-old, spunky girl with some nice jubblies, much like Jane Russell in The Outlaw. Princess Leia was Carrie Fisher’s second sexiest role, right after her role in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back.
Beyond the characters, Star Wars takes place in a typical science-fiction galaxy, with many different races of intelligent life and a myriad of home planets. This could be similar to the old western settlements, which dotted the Western landscape, bustling with the continuous mixing of races, cultures, and languages. Stormtroopers could just be immigrant labor, realizing the Empire’s Manifest Destiny. Luke Skywalker and the Rebel Alliance are nothing more than the Indians in Lucas’ revisionist Western.
The similarities between the Western genre and Star Wars go far deeper than the few lame examples listed here. I just wanted to point out some ironies to one of the most important franchises in the history of film. The irony to Star Wars’ success is that it doomed us to more Punisher films, attempts at action trilogies starring Matthew McConaghey, and, of course, Jar-Jar Binks.
A key similarity between Star Wars and the Western genre is that they each take place in hostile and unconquered lands. The first time viewers see Luke Skywalker, it almost looks as if he were living in 1878 Nevada. The classic desert landscape, the flat, expansive land and the big sky are all classic icons of the Western genre. You half-expect to see Shane enter the frame on his horse, slumped over in the saddle and on his way to the pearly gates of Tattooine.
And, then there’s Han. Han Solo is like most western heroes—masculine, quick on the draw, an overall man’s man. His introduction in the movie sets him up as if he were a cowboy. It takes place in a saloon-type environment. Chewbacca lacks some of Han’s charm, but makes up for it with brute strength, mechanical ingenuity, and a loyalty that makes him Sundance to Han’s hairy Butch (wow, that sounded dirty!). With his white shirt, black vest, he is the mix of white hat/black hat with a side of ass-kicking.
Since most Western films are boy’s clubs and the chicks are merely eye candy, Princess Leia is obviously the kindly hooker. By the end of the trilogy, she had made out with Luke, Han, Chewbacca, R2, and I’m pretty sure she did coke with Jabba. But, in the first one, she was just a nineteen-year-old, spunky girl with some nice jubblies, much like Jane Russell in The Outlaw. Princess Leia was Carrie Fisher’s second sexiest role, right after her role in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back.
Beyond the characters, Star Wars takes place in a typical science-fiction galaxy, with many different races of intelligent life and a myriad of home planets. This could be similar to the old western settlements, which dotted the Western landscape, bustling with the continuous mixing of races, cultures, and languages. Stormtroopers could just be immigrant labor, realizing the Empire’s Manifest Destiny. Luke Skywalker and the Rebel Alliance are nothing more than the Indians in Lucas’ revisionist Western.
The similarities between the Western genre and Star Wars go far deeper than the few lame examples listed here. I just wanted to point out some ironies to one of the most important franchises in the history of film. The irony to Star Wars’ success is that it doomed us to more Punisher films, attempts at action trilogies starring Matthew McConaghey, and, of course, Jar-Jar Binks.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Terminator 4, Part 2 (of 2)
Terminator 4: Salivation was everything I expected it to be, and less. I went in blind, only hearing the Christian Bale little-bitch rant online, nothing more. I didn’t know who directed it, didn’t really care. But, I promised a friend I would see it, so…
Walking in the theater, which was crowded with young executive hipsters and comfortably same-sex couples (which you don’t see in the red state of Florida, save for Gay-day at Disney, provided you can push past the fundamentalist Christian protestors to get in), a dude dressed in street clothes and holding a coffee asked me if I needed help. I told him I didn’t, but he expressed how he was there all day, bored, drank too much coffee and needed something to do. I realized then, he worked there.
He asked me what I was seeing, and I told him, with the comment that I never saw the third installment and wondered if it would hurt me. He told me it wouldn’t, and that the franchise is pretty much writing that one off. Why not? It’s all about profitability right? Now, if only we could talk George Lucas into writing off The Phantom Menace.
My only real disappointment with Terminator 4 was once I saw who directed it. McG is probably one of the cheesiest POS directors making films today. I can barely watch his films, let alone admit that I have. Lucky the Kabuki Theater made the screening an experience, because nothing else could have. The movie really felt like a post-apocalyptic Charlie’s Angels for a while there. And, Helena Bonham Carter? Why? I remember when she was the cute, Merchant-Ivory girl, now I wonder if she knows how to say “no” to anything. I mean, Tim Burton, right?
T4 itself had all the bells and whistles of a watered down, dressed up Terminator movie. You forget how much Arnold made the first two and how noticeable his absence is in the latter ones (or, are they?). The action was okay, with McG actually toning down the cheese factor, save for the lame, unexplained backstory on the new terminator, and a couple other clichés—the playing of Alice and Chains “Rooster” on a car radio for no reason, and the Guns n Roses song from the first Terminator, ironically played on a 1987 boombox by John Conner himself.
McG seems to not really care about acting, and left Bale to the Jack Bauer, intense whisper school of acting. But, seeing the movie in Skynet’s future central headquarters, in an amazing theater which pays more credence to the experience than the gate, I have to say it all worked.
If anyone out there truly loves movies, DEMAND theaters like the Sundance Cinemas in your town. If the movie industry is going to continue churning out cookie-cutter, CG-laden super-action movies, at least we could have unique and comfortable theaters to ease the mediocrity. Maybe if theaters improve, we can prevent cinema from becoming the Wal-Mart of art.
Walking in the theater, which was crowded with young executive hipsters and comfortably same-sex couples (which you don’t see in the red state of Florida, save for Gay-day at Disney, provided you can push past the fundamentalist Christian protestors to get in), a dude dressed in street clothes and holding a coffee asked me if I needed help. I told him I didn’t, but he expressed how he was there all day, bored, drank too much coffee and needed something to do. I realized then, he worked there.
He asked me what I was seeing, and I told him, with the comment that I never saw the third installment and wondered if it would hurt me. He told me it wouldn’t, and that the franchise is pretty much writing that one off. Why not? It’s all about profitability right? Now, if only we could talk George Lucas into writing off The Phantom Menace.
My only real disappointment with Terminator 4 was once I saw who directed it. McG is probably one of the cheesiest POS directors making films today. I can barely watch his films, let alone admit that I have. Lucky the Kabuki Theater made the screening an experience, because nothing else could have. The movie really felt like a post-apocalyptic Charlie’s Angels for a while there. And, Helena Bonham Carter? Why? I remember when she was the cute, Merchant-Ivory girl, now I wonder if she knows how to say “no” to anything. I mean, Tim Burton, right?
T4 itself had all the bells and whistles of a watered down, dressed up Terminator movie. You forget how much Arnold made the first two and how noticeable his absence is in the latter ones (or, are they?). The action was okay, with McG actually toning down the cheese factor, save for the lame, unexplained backstory on the new terminator, and a couple other clichés—the playing of Alice and Chains “Rooster” on a car radio for no reason, and the Guns n Roses song from the first Terminator, ironically played on a 1987 boombox by John Conner himself.
McG seems to not really care about acting, and left Bale to the Jack Bauer, intense whisper school of acting. But, seeing the movie in Skynet’s future central headquarters, in an amazing theater which pays more credence to the experience than the gate, I have to say it all worked.
If anyone out there truly loves movies, DEMAND theaters like the Sundance Cinemas in your town. If the movie industry is going to continue churning out cookie-cutter, CG-laden super-action movies, at least we could have unique and comfortable theaters to ease the mediocrity. Maybe if theaters improve, we can prevent cinema from becoming the Wal-Mart of art.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Terminator 4, Part 1 (of 2)
Watching He’s Just Not that Into You at 37,000 feet makes me glad I have a vomit bag in front of me. I’m writing this week’s blog on the airplane back to Orlando from San Francisco. I’ve been lucky enough to almost completely ignore a myriad of plane movies along the way, from the Paul Blart opus, to the aforementioned chick-flick crap-trap, to its equally-offensive sister film, Bride Wars.
I say “almost completely ignore,” because I woke up occasionally to see a scene or two out of context and without sound. Amazingly, they still all sucked. Seriously, how did Jennifer Connelly, Scar Jo, Jen An, the “Unhappily Ever After” kid and the Mac douchebag end up in a movie together? Wait, did I just see the lesser half of Bennifer? Why is this movie on planes?!
Okay, I apologize for the severe digression, which may be one part jet lag, one part turbulence, and several parts shitty movie exposure, which is sort of like radiation exposure, except you don’t die as quick. But, this blog is not really to complain about everything in the world that bothers me (though isn’t that what blogs are for?). This blog is to explain the unique cinematic experience I had on my trip.
After enjoying an idyllic vacation with my girlfriend in the San Francisco Bay area, on our last night we met up with some friends at Sundance Cinemas Kabuki Theater in Japantown. Our objective—see the latest Terminator movie. However, I had no idea that I would be forever spoiled for all the other movie theaters in the country by the Kabuki’s uptown charm.
I could gush about the theater, how we had access to a bar a few steps from the theater door, how we had tables in between every two seats in which to put our drinks and food, how you can reserve your reclining, overstuffed seat ahead of time, how our seats were in the first row of the balcony looking directly at the screen, how I’ll never be able to enjoy a movie again without these amenities… I was so comfortable that I almost forgot we were there to see a movie.
At the Kabuki, instead of normal movie trailers, the lights went down and the screen emblazoned with the original trailer for 1984’s classic, The Terminator. I reminded my girlfriend of the Time article I read that claimed James Cameron wanted to use OJ Simpson as the terminator, but thought “people wouldn’t have believed a nice guy like OJ playing the part of a ruthless killer.” It’s good to laugh.
The next trailer was for T2: Judgment Day, reminding me of when Guns ‘n’ Roses were relevant and Eddie Furlong still had a future. Expecting the trailer to the third Terminator debacle, instead we were given the trailer for the 1970 classic, Hercules in New York! Mr. Olympia at his best, in his own voice! I was entertained, and the movie hadn’t even begun. Domo arigato, Kabuki!
I say “almost completely ignore,” because I woke up occasionally to see a scene or two out of context and without sound. Amazingly, they still all sucked. Seriously, how did Jennifer Connelly, Scar Jo, Jen An, the “Unhappily Ever After” kid and the Mac douchebag end up in a movie together? Wait, did I just see the lesser half of Bennifer? Why is this movie on planes?!
Okay, I apologize for the severe digression, which may be one part jet lag, one part turbulence, and several parts shitty movie exposure, which is sort of like radiation exposure, except you don’t die as quick. But, this blog is not really to complain about everything in the world that bothers me (though isn’t that what blogs are for?). This blog is to explain the unique cinematic experience I had on my trip.
After enjoying an idyllic vacation with my girlfriend in the San Francisco Bay area, on our last night we met up with some friends at Sundance Cinemas Kabuki Theater in Japantown. Our objective—see the latest Terminator movie. However, I had no idea that I would be forever spoiled for all the other movie theaters in the country by the Kabuki’s uptown charm.
I could gush about the theater, how we had access to a bar a few steps from the theater door, how we had tables in between every two seats in which to put our drinks and food, how you can reserve your reclining, overstuffed seat ahead of time, how our seats were in the first row of the balcony looking directly at the screen, how I’ll never be able to enjoy a movie again without these amenities… I was so comfortable that I almost forgot we were there to see a movie.
At the Kabuki, instead of normal movie trailers, the lights went down and the screen emblazoned with the original trailer for 1984’s classic, The Terminator. I reminded my girlfriend of the Time article I read that claimed James Cameron wanted to use OJ Simpson as the terminator, but thought “people wouldn’t have believed a nice guy like OJ playing the part of a ruthless killer.” It’s good to laugh.
The next trailer was for T2: Judgment Day, reminding me of when Guns ‘n’ Roses were relevant and Eddie Furlong still had a future. Expecting the trailer to the third Terminator debacle, instead we were given the trailer for the 1970 classic, Hercules in New York! Mr. Olympia at his best, in his own voice! I was entertained, and the movie hadn’t even begun. Domo arigato, Kabuki!
Friday, May 22, 2009
Everyone’s Got a Blog These Days, and This One is Mine
My friend, Jim, at Movie Brain Rot (dot-com), and I have a long filmic history. The Orlando scene is incestuous, everybody running into everybody after a while, and one day Jim and I crossed paths at the house of Before You Submit’s mastermind, Brian Quain. We all talked/gushed/argued movies, TV, pop culture, and were lucky enough to work on all sorts of movie-oriented projects. We had some hits and misses, and I had a few foul balls that might have hit little kids in the crowd, but it was always fun.
When Jim asked me if I wanted to write a blog for his site, I had to review my qualifications to do such a thing as pontificate about the cinematic arts: “professional writer, quasi-professional/mostly-amateur filmmaker, film festival programming experience, and double English/Humanities B.A. degree with a concentration in film” (anyone hiring?). The concentration in film was a dozen classes relating to film, ie. Literature and Film, Screenwriting, Writing Film Reviews…
But, this is the internet. I’ve written blogs religiously since 2003, after joining some website for “writers” that rewarded (robot-voice) “consumer-generated content receiving maximum hits from end-users.” It became a fucked-up community of people trying to grab headlines, with writing that weren’t even grammatically nor typogriphically corrct. Moviebrainrot.com is a better place for my particular, hopefully grammatically and tupographically correct, brand of ranting. And, being a movie site, I’ll stop gibbering about me, and start yammering about me and my recent relationship with the movies.
I stopped going to the movies on May 19, 1999. Movie geeks probably know the importance of this date without any additional elaboration, but it was to be the last time I went to the movies. I was done. I was Jar-Jarred.
I avoided the theaters for the next four years, but never stopped watching movies voraciously at home, witnessing the final transition from tracking-sensitive VHS pan-and-scan versions of The Karate Kid to DVD widescreen director’s commentary versions of The Karate Kid. Where have you gone, Ralph “Di” Macchio?
Trying to get laid one time in 2003, I went with a girl to see the John Cusack/Ray Liotta opus, Identity, breaking my silent boycott of movie theaters. I never blamed the movie for blowing my chances that night, but has a Pruitt Taylor Vance movie ever helped anyone get laid?
I somewhat reluctantly started to go out to the movies again, though never again with the enthusiasm I had when I was a kid. No more E.T. experiences. No longer moved, save for the intellectual and/or artistic appreciation. The stories are plots, and the people on the screen, actors. So cynical. So subjectively young.
But, that is not to say that intellectual, artistic, and cultural contributions made in film are any less real. The power of cinema is undeniable; anyone that knows me understands my stance: cinema is the most relevant art form today. What that means, I guess, is really up to you. Keep reading and I’ll try to explain it in words.
When Jim asked me if I wanted to write a blog for his site, I had to review my qualifications to do such a thing as pontificate about the cinematic arts: “professional writer, quasi-professional/mostly-amateur filmmaker, film festival programming experience, and double English/Humanities B.A. degree with a concentration in film” (anyone hiring?). The concentration in film was a dozen classes relating to film, ie. Literature and Film, Screenwriting, Writing Film Reviews…
But, this is the internet. I’ve written blogs religiously since 2003, after joining some website for “writers” that rewarded (robot-voice) “consumer-generated content receiving maximum hits from end-users.” It became a fucked-up community of people trying to grab headlines, with writing that weren’t even grammatically nor typogriphically corrct. Moviebrainrot.com is a better place for my particular, hopefully grammatically and tupographically correct, brand of ranting. And, being a movie site, I’ll stop gibbering about me, and start yammering about me and my recent relationship with the movies.
I stopped going to the movies on May 19, 1999. Movie geeks probably know the importance of this date without any additional elaboration, but it was to be the last time I went to the movies. I was done. I was Jar-Jarred.
I avoided the theaters for the next four years, but never stopped watching movies voraciously at home, witnessing the final transition from tracking-sensitive VHS pan-and-scan versions of The Karate Kid to DVD widescreen director’s commentary versions of The Karate Kid. Where have you gone, Ralph “Di” Macchio?
Trying to get laid one time in 2003, I went with a girl to see the John Cusack/Ray Liotta opus, Identity, breaking my silent boycott of movie theaters. I never blamed the movie for blowing my chances that night, but has a Pruitt Taylor Vance movie ever helped anyone get laid?
I somewhat reluctantly started to go out to the movies again, though never again with the enthusiasm I had when I was a kid. No more E.T. experiences. No longer moved, save for the intellectual and/or artistic appreciation. The stories are plots, and the people on the screen, actors. So cynical. So subjectively young.
But, that is not to say that intellectual, artistic, and cultural contributions made in film are any less real. The power of cinema is undeniable; anyone that knows me understands my stance: cinema is the most relevant art form today. What that means, I guess, is really up to you. Keep reading and I’ll try to explain it in words.
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