Faith Can Move Mountains... But Dynamite Works Better

Monday, June 17, 2013

Revenge Of The Ghost Of Christopher Reeve

Before getting into today's mischief, some links for you. My partner in crime Norma wrote yesterday about Father's Day at her blog. She can also be found getting interviewed at Leanna Harrow's blog. As well, have a peek at our joint blog for a musical interlude involving the symphony...

Now then, to today, a film review, and I'd better keep my eyes out for any cranky ghosts who once wore a red and blue leotard and cape ensemble...


"What if a child dreamed of becoming something other than what society had intended? What if a child aspired to something greater?"

Man Of Steel brings Superman (aka The Boy Scout) back to the theatres in a new and different way, in a film directed by Zack Snyder (300, Watchmen), and fortunately influenced by producer Christopher Nolan and writer David S. Goyer (both from the Dark Knight trilogy). It's the latest comic book adaptation to hit the big screen, and a return to form for the big blue and red Boy Scout and his place in the DC universe.

Things start out on the dying sci-fi world of Krypton, where we meet Jor-El (Russell Crowe) and his wife Lara (Ayelet Zurer), who have secretly conceived a son, Kal-El. Jor-El is a scientist, and he and the soldier Zod (Michael Shannon) have been struggling in vain to protect the population of their world from the doom yet to come. When Jor-El and Lara send their infant son off the planet (along with a codex preserving the record and heritage of Krypton and their best wishes), Zod intervenes, murdering Jor-El and getting banished to the Phantom Zone, along with his followers.


We meet Kal-El on Earth, now going by by the name Clark Kent (Henry Cavill), as well as the rest of the cast. Jonathan and Martha Kent (Kevin Costner and Diane Lane), his adoptive parents, trying to shield him from a world that can't understand him. Lois Lane (Amy Adams), the ambitious reporter seeking out fragments of stories of a man who can do the impossible. Her editor Perry White (Laurence Fishburne), as gruff as we could expect out of the character. And in time comes the threat from the past, as Zod and his followers reach Earth, determined to recreate Krypton... despite the presence of the locals.

Snyder wouldn't have been my first choice for a director; the portions of Watchmen that I've seen left me rolling my eyes, and I despised 300. Still, he manages reasonably well with this film; I chalk that up to the influence of Christopher Nolan, who transcended the comic book genre when he directed his Batman trilogy. This film has a sombre, introspective feel to its lead character; if you're expecting a big dimpled smile out of the Boy Scout, you might have to go seeking out an earlier film. Nolan and Goyer's story works around with the mythology of the character, taking us in some different directions (and wisely-and finally- does away with the red underwear on the outside look once and for all). Rather than give us another Boy Scout story (how many times can one save a cat from a tree, after all?), this is a sci-fi kind of story, one that leans towards the majestic qualities of the character. All while giving us someone who's rooted in his humanity; the cornerstone relationship in his life is that he has with his adoptive parents, who shape him into the kind of man he becomes.



The costume looks right; instead of spandex, it has a look that lends itself well to the screen, and maintains just enough of the comic book version while looking respectable. This extends to Zod and his followers; their look has a military and martial quality to it, a uniform instead of a costume. And that extends to Krypton itself, in the production values brought through by special effects and set design: the planet looks familiar... and yet not, a contradictory world of both splendour and dark, sinister undertones. The special effects take hold again when we come to Earth, where Clark's abilities can lead him to accomplish feats of strength and speed, to fly; this gets conveyed rather well, actually. The abilities of Kryptonians that take up much of the second half of the movie (along with the accompanying destruction) are on display across the screen, in a way that worked at least for my eyes- though I do find the camera tricks, occasional shaky cams, and editing somewhat bothersome at times, but that's a larger problem in action films these days. And the epic score by Hans Zimmer fits the movie well, heading off in a different direction from the familiar John Williams themes.



Casting is key for the film. Michael Shannon is one of those actors who keeps getting good parts in film and television, and excelling at what he does. I first noticed him in World Trade Center, and recently he's been getting acclaim for his role as a hitman in a film called The Iceman. His take on Zod is interesting; this is the same character Terrence Stamp once played, but the two actors approach the character in different ways. Shannon plays Zod as a villain by circumstances; his zeal to protect his people drives him over the line. Shannon is one of those actors who reminds me of Gene Hackman, utterly compelling to watch no matter what the role. We get what drives him, even if it drives him to do the unthinkable.



Laurence Fishburne has a good take as the grouchy boss at the Daily Planet. The character must by nature be something of a curmudgeon, but a fiercely principled one. Fishburne, who's perhaps best known for leading a slightly dazed Keanu Reeves down a proverbial rabbit hole in three Matrix films, conveys both of these qualities in the character. The character and the Planet itself are somewhat sidelined this time out though; I might have liked to see Fishburne cast instead in Christopher Meloni's place, as that actor gets a lot to do.

Then there's the matter of the two sets of parents for the hero. Russell Crowe and Ayelet Zurer are sympathetic as the first set, trying to save their child from the destruction of a world that should have known better. Crowe conveys the nobility of the character, while Zurer (Angels and Demons) draws on the empathy of the audience as a mother knowing what is to come.



It's the Kents who spoke more to me as characters. In the comics, Jonathan and Martha do more than anyone to shape the kind of man their son becomes; it's because of them that he's an inherently decent man. Costner is a good father who worries about his son, cautioning him to conceal what he's capable of doing, warning him that people will fear him if they know what he is. Diane Lane is a bit less of a presence, but both characters have that central decency to them, the essential elements of integrity that shape their son. And they actually come across feeling like farmers... not like a Hollywoodized form of farmers.

Amy Adams gives us something of an extrovert as Lois Lane. The film slowly builds a connection between she and Clark, enough to give us a sense of where they might go, but not quite what we'd expect. She's tough, ambitious, and driven, but in an odd way, not as developed as she could be. We shall see in the inevitable sequel where that goes.



It's the lead that is a core to the film. Henry Cavill has come a long way from his first film appearance, playing Albert in The Count of Monte Cristo. He's done a good deal of film and television work since, most recently in Immortals (which I avoided due to an aversion to the brain damaged mumbling Mickey Rourke). He certainly looks the part of Superman (abs and all), and he plays the character as alienated, brooding, and with depth. This is a man who feels out of place in the world, who has spent years as a nomad, hiding in the shadows, doing a quick save here and there and then fading back into the woodwork. He is most certainly not the smiling Golly Miss Lane version we would have expected from the late Christopher Reeve, but he doesn't have to be. Instead of the Boy Scout, we get someone who's more interesting, and who carries himself with confidence.  



This is a very different take on Superman, a story that shifts around some of the core mythology, moves back and forth in time- this does have a way of arresting momentum, though, when a flashback shows itself. There are times in the second half- particularly in terms of hand held camera shots, something that I've never liked- that the audience might feel a sense of dizziness. That's what you get for essentially a long-running battle in a film. Man of Steel is bleak at times, lacking the lightness or fun of earlier adaptations, but centering itself in the majestic qualities of the character, and the basic humanity of a man who's not quite human. It succeeds, because it makes us want to see more.


Saturday, June 15, 2013

You Call That A Foreign Secretary?



Cameron Makes Unexpected Change In Cabinet After Resignation of William Hague
London (Reuters) The political scene in the United Kingdom was shaken up this weekend by the resignation of First Secretary of State, the Right Honourable William Hague. The Oxford graduate who has represented Richmond (Yorks) since first being elected in a byelection in 1989 has cited health concerns as the reason for stepping down from his cabinet post and his seat in Parliament.
Prime Minister Cameron praised the outgoing Foreign Secretary for his tireless work on behalf of Her Majesty and the people of the United Kingdom, in remarks after the resignation, and promised that the new Foreign Secretary would be named shortly. The last few months have been difficult for Cameron’s government, with unrest over austerity measures, tensions with Argentina, and the ongoing crisis in Syria occupying the government. In addition, there has been much displeasure and malaise throughout Great Britain over the depressing new novel by J.K. Rowling. Speculation began over the ideal candidate to be elevated from within cabinet to the prestigious post. Baroness Warsi, the Senior Minister of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs, might have seemed to be an ideal choice, given her experience in the post, though she herself has had a number of diplomatic slipups throughout her career in politics.
Journalists gathered at Ten Downing yesterday morning to hear the Prime Minister’s statement on the matter. Cameron emerged from the front door to a waiting crowd and a podium, and began. “I would like to thank the members of the cabinet for their keen interest in the post of Foreign Secretary and their continued support,” he declared. “I have decided, however, that the Foreign Secretary must be someone new, someone outside of the government, and I have made that choice.”
Cameron took a moment to look at the crowd. “My choice is a sterling example of public service and critical negotiating skills, a brilliant and stabilizing force for good. In fact, he has been as of late negotiating with J.K. Rowling to have her write something that’s not as bleak and depressing as The Casual Vacancy was. I mean, seriously, have you read that novel? It makes Angela’s Ashes look entirely joyful by comparison.”



Cameron was reminded by an aide that he was getting off track. “Ah, yes. The new Foreign Secretary will be running in a byelection in Richmond as quickly as we can arrange it, and I am confident that the people in that constituency will vote for him in record numbers. He has a long record of diplomacy in crisis situations, a bright mind of science, an eloquent voice, grace under pressure, and a calm and steadying demeanour. These are the very qualities we need these days in a Foreign Secretary particularly with the challenges we face as a nation in the world. Without further ado, I’ll have him come out and introduce himself to you.”
The door opened, and the new Foreign Secretary stepped out. There was a collective gasp from the reporters, all of whom recognized him. He was shorter than one might have expected in a politician, perhaps three feet tall. He had wild, dishevelled red hair, bulging eyes that seemed to be nervously looking about, and a drawbridge mouth. And instead of flesh and blood, he was made up mostly of felt. This was indeed a very familiar Muppet who took to the podium, speaking in a high pitched, anxious voice.
Beaker proclaimed, “Meep! Meep mee mee mee meep!”

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

A Day In The Life Of A Cabbie

Before getting to today's mischief, a bit of business to see to. I did a guest blog over at Annette Gendler's blog on blog commenting. She's spending the month on a blog challenge, posting each day, and asked if I'd stop in and talk about it. So head on over there, see if I was a bull in a china shop, and let us know what you think!

And the following blog comes from a suggestion by Cindy, whose blog Just North Of Wiarton and South Of The Checkerboard is one that I've been following for awhile. She lives on the Bruce Peninsula with her husband and four Australian Shepherd dogs (plus a pack of puppies at the moment, who are beyond cute). As her husband's a cabbie, she gave me the idea to play around with taxis as a theme. This is the result. She might end up regretting it!



1:15 PM. Having breakfast. Another afternoon shift today. Ten hours of drunken frat boys, impatient businessmen, and the occasional really weird nutcase.


2:59 PM. In the front door at the offices, just in time. As always. Ask the dispatch staff for any customers, and they've got one downtown. Heading off to pick up my passenger.


3:25 PM. I know this guy, don't I? I swear, I've seen him before. But where?



3:27 PM. The guy starts talking. Asks if I know a good spot to get some munchies. Oh, now I know where I've seen this guy. He's that dolt who keeps running for the Marijuana Party in every election and never wins.


3:29 PM. Gently remind the passenger that this is a non-smoking cab, and ask him to toss the joint out the window. He asks if I have any idea how long it takes him to grow that, but reluctantly tosses it out anyway.


3:35 PM. Have dropped off passenger. No tip. Cheap, cheap, cheap.

Other passenger gets in, sniffs at the fading smell of weed, and I insist it wasn't mine.


4:45 PM. Passenger climbs into the back and tells me he's being followed, asks if I can do anything about it. Oddly, he looks kind of like Cary Grant. Even though Cary Grant died years ago.*


5:55 PM. Stop for a bite to eat, and stretch my legs.

Ten hours sitting on my butt each day isn't doing my butt any favours.


7:20 PM. Chatting with passenger on way to train station. Asks if I've ever driven anyone famous. Well, aside from Cary Grant's ghost? I did bring Ted Kennedy back to his hotel once after an evening at the bar... let me tell you, that guy could drink anyone under the table. He smelled like a brewery.


7:30 PM. Dropping off latest passenger. Will stay for a bit at the train station to see if anyone needs a ride.

I think I can still detect the smell of weed in here.


7:35 PM. That didn't take long. A man and woman show up out of the station, luggage in tow, asking for a lift to the Hilton. 


7:37 PM. On our way downtown. Hey, um... they're starting to get, well... kind of frisky back there.


7:40 PM. Not sure how long I should let this go on before I should put a stop to it. They're groping each other. A lot.



7:43 PM. Quietly asking the couple to behave themselves. I remind them that it's a bit distracting for the driver, and there are laws about seatbelts, after all.

They both look quite put out.

7:55 PM. Have arrived at hotel. Helping the passengers with their luggage. They're more interested in playing grab ass with each other. The doorman gives me a look. I roll my eyes.

At least they're good tippers.


8:10 PM. Cranky looking nun gets into the cab. Sniffs the air and tells me it'll be fifty Hail Marys for smoking weed. Sister, first of all, I'm not Catholic, and second, it wasn't my weed.


8:17 PM. Dropping off Sister Mary Frances at St. Bartholomew's Of The Perpetual Torment Church. She's been lecturing me nonstop about the perils of smoking noxious substances and the effect on the mind. Sister, like I said, it wasn't my weed. I don't do that!

She doesn't even tip me. Mutters something about my using her fare to go off to my drug dealer for extra weed. I find myself feeling sorry for anyone who has to live with Sister Mary Frances.


11:15 PM. Busy handling the evening bar crowd. Three drunken sports fans pile into the cab ranting about how their team lost tonight.


11:25 PM. Loud chatter from the back seat interrupted by the sound of retching. Glancing back just in time to see one of the drunkards throwing up what looks to be a combination of natchos, cheesesteak sandwiches, and hot sauce. Well, I was going to have to have the cab cleaned out anyway...


11:35 PM. Dropping the three drunkards off. One of them pays the bill. Considering the cleaning that's going to have to be done, it's a lot steeper than just the taxi fare. The drunkard doesn't seem to mind. Meanwhile, one of his friends is throwing up in the flowerbed in front of the building, while the other one is howling at the moon. 

That is why I haven't had a drop to drink in twenty years.


12:05 AM. Back at the dispatch offices to check out early. Larry down in Maintenance has a look at the back seat of the cab. Tells me he can't recall the last time he saw projectile vomiting like this. He says he'll have to give the thing a total scrubdown.

I ask him to make sure he gets rid of the smell of weed, and deny, once again, that it was mine. 


*Please tell me you're not all a bunch of heathens and at least one of you got that!

Monday, June 10, 2013

A Day In The Life Of A Cat



7:10 AM. Awakened before I would prefer. Alarm clock going off. The staff is stirring.

Why did I come up here last night again? I would have been much more comfortable somewhere that didn't include alarm clocks.


7:25 AM. The staff is going about her morning routine. I'll never get back to sleep now. I might as well go downstairs and await breakfast. Which I expect should consist of something better than field rations.


7:30 AM. A look outside. It's pouring out there. A real tempest. Looks like an all day kind of rain too.

I detest rain.

A good day to stay in and do nothing at all...


7:40 AM. Oh, hello, staff. Have you had a look outside? It's the sort of day you expect Noah's Ark to drift pass. I see you're dressed for that place you call "work." Does that mean I'm all by my lonesome all day? You really need to figure out a way to work from home.

Now, I want some breakfast. See to it.


7:45 AM. The staff has given me field rations. Again!

I must fix a disapproving glare at her. It's the least of what she deserves.



7:50 AM. After much reluctance, I eat a bit of the kibbles, and leave the kitchen with an air of disdain.


8:05 AM. Staff heading out front door. Bring back something tasty for me, staff. And you might want to take an umbrella. Or a boat.


8:50 AM. Hearing distant barking through the rain. Sounds like that annoying mutt down the road. Oh, sure, it would figure that he'd be out in the rain. He's an idiot, after all.


9:10 AM. Feeling sleepy. Might take a nap.


11:25 AM. Waking up. Nice long nap. Made up for how rudely my slumber was interrupted by that alarm clock this morning. Feeling peckish.


11:26 AM. Oh, right. All that's in my bowl are field rations.

Reluctantly eating a few more.


12:10 PM. Sitting watching the news. The weather forecasts call for yet more rain, followed by rain, thunderstorms, and more rain. Chance of hail. Oh, lovely. Well, at least I'm not out in it.


12:35 PM. Feeling like scratching awhile at the scratching post.


12:36 PM. My scratches have unleashed residual scents of catnip in the scratching post. I am therefore obliged to go absolutely crazy for at least twenty minutes. I can't help it... catnip does this to all of us...


1:15 PM. Ah, coming down from catnip insanity time. Thoroughly worn out. Will take nap.


3:10 PM. Waking up. It's still raining out there? And lightning too?


3:15 PM. Sitting on front windowsill, staring out at the rain. Spotting movement in front yard. It's that infested rodent, the squirrel. He sees me. He's coming up onto the outside windowsill, right across the glass from me...

I must pace back and forth, growling in fury. It's to be expected.


3:17 PM. The squirrel is laughing at me, teasing me about the fact that I can't get out.

Yes, well, think of this, you insufferable little twit. You see, I'm inside, where it's nice and warm. On the other hand, you're out there, getting drenched by rain. Therefore, to borrow an appropriate phrase...

Nyah, nyah, nyah, nyah!!!


3:20 PM. The squirrel goes away, looking decidedly annoyed. And soaked to the bone.


4:35 PM. I could be wrong, but the rain might be letting up. Here I was expecting to see ground hogs building their own arks.


5:25 PM. Where is that staff of mine? I'm bored out of my mind, and expecting something that will make up for this morning's field rations.

If she's not back by six, I'm shredding a cashmere sweater.


5:55 PM. The staff walks in through the front door, looking decidedly the worst for wear. It's about time, staff. I was just thinking of which sweater I wanted to shred. I have no idea why you went out in that... it's the kind of weather you can catch your death of cold from. And I doubt I want to be playing nursemaid while you're in bed for a week with a fever.


6:25 PM. The staff is back downstairs, getting dinner ready. I spend time rubbing my head against her legs and purring while she's at the counter. It's a good way to get what I want.


6:35 PM. Staff sets down a bowl of milk, followed by a plate of meat strips. Is this... it is! It's sirloin steak!

Staff, I completely take back any impulse I might have felt about shredding sweaters.



6:45 PM. Finished eating dinner. Purring with contentment. Unlike a dog, I am entirely capable of taking my time eating. The steak tastes delicious. Not sure why the staff feels the need to add steak sauce to hers, but to each their own.


7:35 PM. Staff finished with dinner. We sit down to watch a movie. For some reason, she picks The Day After Tomorrow. Staff, did you not see enough rain today? Oh well... to each their own. And besides, when Dennis Quaid smiles, he reminds me of a cat, so he's acceptable.


10:55 PM. Staff getting ready to head upstairs for the night. I'll stay down here for the night. Tomorrow's another work day for you, and I don't like that alarm clock one bit. Any device that interrupts a perfectly good dream about chasing mice is an infernal device indeed.