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Letter From The Editor Opinion

Smock Gets in Your Eyes

The week that was …

I don’t know about you, but I find that I notice the passing of time mostly by my mundane weekly rituals. As in, hey, it’s Tuesday: Gotta write a column. Wednesday: Time to prep for the morning staff meeting. Thursday: Go on the radio with Drake. Saturday: Buy pet food, hit the grocery store. Sunday: Ooh, Ray Donovan is on. Aaannd, it’s Tuesday again.

My life is much richer than those weekly markers might indicate, but the repetitive events are what remind me that time goes by in a flash, that weeks pile up into years pretty quickly.

On Monday, I drove over to the central library to appear on Willie Bearden’s Dialogue show for the library channel. It’s a simple format: You sit for an hour and get interviewed about your life and career and whatever else comes up. It was an interesting exercise, and it evoked some stories, memories, and experiences I hadn’t thought about for a while.

Willie’s final question was, “How do you want to be remembered?” To which my first thought was: That’s not a question you ask a young person. Yikes. Like the commercials say: Life comes at you fast.

Likewise, I imagine the weeks are going by pretty quickly for the Memphis City Council — now down to 10 members — who are going to have to figure out how to compromise at some point to get a full quorum and get the city’s business done. The drama will no doubt resume this week. In a guest column in The Commercial Appeal, Councilman Worth Morgan called the situation, “an embarrassingly intractable instance of failed governance,” which is on the money, if a bit wordy. So fix it, y’all.

Other events of note this week: LeBron James and the Lakers came to town and stomped the home team. The Gannett Company is again making noises about staff cuts at its newspapers (which isn’t even news, anymore). Jackson Baker and Michael Donahue sang karaoke together at the Flyer holiday party. And iconic local chef and all-around good guy, Gary Williams, died unexpectedly. R.I.P.

Nationally, the silly debate about “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” continued to rage. The song came on the speakers when I was in Fresh Market on Saturday. Customers began throwing arugula on the floor in protest and a small fire was ignited in the deli section. As customers stomped out in protest, the staff was attempting to put out the blaze with bottles of San Pellegrino. Sad!

None of that is true. Nobody listens to background music about sexual harassment. Or consensual flirting. Or whatever the hell you choose to think that song is about.

One guy who had a very bad week was President Trump, who has gone from denying he even knew Porny, er, Stormy Daniels, to admitting he paid her (and another former paramour) to keep quiet about their illicit affair(s). According to Trump, it was all okay because it was paid with personal funds and was a “private matter.” Good luck with that argument, Mr. Trump. Or should I say, “Individual 1.” Trump’s ALL CAPS tweeting percentage has been on the rise, as more and more of his former associates become besties with Robert Mueller.

I continue to read that a sitting president can’t be indicted. I don’t know how legit that legal opinion is or whether it will be tested at some point. But there’s a real problem with that thinking: If a president can’t be indicted, then what’s to prevent any future candidate from breaking all kinds of laws to get himself elected, knowing that once he’s in office, he’s immune from prosecution? That would seem to encourage and reward law-breaking.
And does that mean the president really can shoot someone in the middle of Fifth Avenue? That can’t be what the Founding Fathers had in mind. But then again, the Founding Fathers probably never anticipated a Congressional majority that would be complicit in such a matter.

In other news, my New Year’s resolution is to quit smocking, and I am going to insist that Flyer staffers now call me “Individual 1.”

Categories
Beyond the Arc Sports

James and Lakers Blow Out Grizzlies, 111-88

The piercing, pubescent squeals that were prevalent during the Kobe Bryant days weren’t there Saturday night, but the horde of Memphis area Laker fans still got what they came to see, as the LeBron James-led version of the Lakers dominated the not-so-home team 111-88. After struggling to find their rhythm early in the season, LeBron’s Lakers have since found their stride and unfortunately the Grizzlies were caught up in the middle of them flexing their new-found muscle.

Down by as many as 29 points, the Grizzlies, who were playing on the second night of a back-to-back, and their third game in four nights, had no answer for what looked like LeBron and company playing NBA 2k on rookie difficulty. Everything fell early for the Lakers, and what didn’t fall found a way to end up back in someone wearing purple’s hands. The Lakers ran away with the rebound total 57-36, as Tyson Chandler and Javale McGee combined for 24.

Adding to the deflation of the evening and the stench of freshly purchased Lakers jerseys was the barrage of three-pointers made by the visitors — namely from Kyle Kuzma, Josh Hart, and Kentavious Caldwell-Pope, who had four each. James also almost messed around and got a triple-double with 20 points, eight rebounds, and nine assists. On a positive note for the Grizzlies, Wayne Selden had a productive game, scoring 17 points in his nearly 21 minutes after returning from an injury that had sidelined him the past few games.

Selden downplayed his individual performance and spoke about the team’s lack of effort, instead: “The stuff we didn’t do tonight is stuff we’re capable of,” said Selden. “Boxing out, getting to shooters, and stuff like that; we just didn’t do it tonight like we should have been.”

Every team has games during the season where they flat-out lay an egg, and this game in front of a pro-Lakers crowd was amongst the most rotten eggs possible. There is always a feeling of resentment when the opposing team’s fans come in droves, and the Grizzlies’ performance didn’t offer much in the way of defense for the home team. The line at the Wing Guru inside FedExForum seemed even longer than usual, with fans that tapped out on the game, figuring an order of Honey Suicide wings would be better than the slow death they were seeing on the court.

But like all things, the game finally came to an end. In typical and expected fashion, the LeBron/Laker fans left in bunches — prematurely — as their king made his final exit from the court with about three minutes to go. James missed his last game in Memphis, due to rest, but in this one his devoted following was given plenty to be as obnoxiously giddy about as possible.

Okay, Grizzlies, you guys took the night off on this one, but enough of this. You have a bounce-back season to finish. Here’s to more effort, fewer tired legs, more rebounds and fewer reasons to give fans who come to see the road team something to cheer about.

Categories
Film Features Film/TV

Trainwreck vs. Ant-Man

Last weekend’s box office race involved two seeming opposites: Marvel’s Ant-Man and Trainwreck, the collaboration between comedy titans Amy Schumer and Judd Apatow. But after a Sunday double feature of the two films, I was struck by their similarities and what they say about the current risk-averse environment in Hollywood.

Ant-Man stars Paul Rudd as Scott Lang, a former electrical engineer whom we first meet as he is being released from San Quentin, where he was doing time for a Robin-Hood robbery of his corrupt former employer. His wife Maggie (Judy Greer) has divorced him and is living with their daughter, Cassie (Abby Ryder Fortson) and her new boyfriend, Paxton (Bobby Cannavale). Scott tries to go straight, but after he’s fired from his job at Baskin-Robbins, in one of the more creative product placement sequences in recent memory, he takes his friend Luis (Michael Peña) up on his idea to break into a Victorian mansion and clean out a mysterious basement vault.

But, as the comic book fates would have it, the mansion is the home of one Dr. Hank Pym (Michael Douglas), an old-school superscientist who discovered a way to reduce the space between atoms and thus shrink himself down to the size of an insect. For years, he and his wife operated in secret as a superteam of Ant-Man and the Wasp. After a desperate mission for S.H.I.E.L.D. to stop World War III, she disappeared into subatomic space, and he took off his supersuit and vowed to keep the world-changing and potentially dangerous technology under wraps.

Under Pym’s tutelage, Scott sets out to stop the scientist’s former protegee Darren Cross (Corey Stoll) from selling his own version of the shrinking technology to the evil forces of Hydra by stealing a high-tech Iron Man-type suit called the Yellowjacket.

Ant-Man is not as good as this year’s other Marvel offering, Avengers: Age Of Ultron, but it scores points for originality. Written by Attack the Block‘s Joe Cornish and Scott Pilgrim vs. the World‘s Edgar Wright, who was originally slated to direct, the film tries — and mostly succeeds — to combine an Ocean‘s Eleven-style heist flick with a superhero story in the same tonal range as Tim Burton’s 1989 Batman. It’s burdened with the traditional origin-story baggage, but the sequence where Scott discovers the powers of the Ant-Man supersuit by shrinking himself in the bathtub and fleeing running water, hostile insects, and a vacuum cleaner is another triumph for special effects wizards Industrial Light & Magic. Rudd, a veteran of many Apatow comedies, including Knocked Up, is exactly the right guy to sell the mix of comedy and superheroics, and some sparks fly with furtive love interest Evangeline Lilly as Pym’s double agent daughter Hope van Dyne. For the sections of its 117-minute running time when it’s focusing on its core plot, Ant-Man is a good time at the movies.

For Trainwreck, Amy Schumer’s vehicle for transforming basic cable stardom into a feature film career, she surrounded herself with some very heavy hitters. First and foremost is Apatow, the producer, director, and writer with his fingers in everything from The 40-Year-Old Virgin to Girls. The pair execute Schumer’s first feature-length screenplay with verve. Schumer stars as Amy, a New York magazine journalist who is basically a fleshed-out version of her public persona. In a sharp inversion of the usual romantic comedy formula, she is a quick-witted, commitment-phobic hookup artist dating a hunky man-bimbo named Steven (John Cena), who just wants to get married, settle down, and raise a basketball team’s worth of sons in a house in the country. Soon after her chronic infidelity torpedoes her relationship, she is assigned to write about a prominent sports doctor named Aaron (Bill Hader), who counts LeBron James among his patients. The two hit it off, and she soon violates her “never sleep over” rule with him.

If this were a traditional Rom-Com, and Amy’s character were male and played by, say, Tim Meadows (who is one of the dozens of comedic talents who have cameos), I would be calling him a ladies man. Schumer is practically daring people to expose the double standard by calling her a slut. Her effortless performance proves beyond the shadow of a doubt that she has chops to carry a feature film. Apatow is savvy enough to give her a long leash, giving her scenes time to breathe, selecting some choice improvs, and letting barrages of comic exchanges live in two-shots. Hadler finds himself in the unfamiliar role of the straight man to Schumer’s cutup, but he acquits himself well in what is essentially the Meg Ryan role from When Harry Met Sally. Practically everyone in the film’s supporting hoard of comics and sports figures also gives a good turn. Tilda Swinton is stiletto sharp as Dianna, Amy’s conscience-free magazine editor boss. Dave Attell is consistently funny as a homeless man who acts as Amy’s Greek chorus. Daniel Radcliffe and Marisa Tomei slay as the leads in a black-and-white art film called The Dogwalker that the film’s characters keep trying to watch. Matthew Broderick, Marv Albert, and tennis superstar Chris Evert share a funny scene. But the biggest surprise is LeBron James, who shines with confidence and humor every time he’s on the screen. For the sections of its 124-minute running time that it focuses on Amy’s romantic foibles, Trainwreck is a good time at the movies.

But that’s the rub for both Ant-Man and Trainwreck. They both spend way too much time straying from what an M.B.A. would call their “core competencies.” In the case of Ant-Man, the distractions are twofold. First is the now-predictable, awkward shoehorning of scenes intended to connect the film to the larger cinematic universe. As his first test, Pym assigns Scott to steal a technological bauble from a S.H.I.E.L.D warehouse, prompting a superclash between Ant-Man and fellow Marvel C-lister Falcon (Anthony Mackie). The allegedly vital piece of equipment is never mentioned again.

Second is the turgid subplot involving Scott’s efforts to reconnect with his daughter Cassie, and her would-be stepfather Paxton’s attempts to put him back in jail. When Scott is having trouble using Pym’s ant-control technology, Hope tells him to concentrate on how much he wants to reunite with his daughter. The moment rings completely false in context: If you’re trying to talk to ants, shouldn’t you be concentrating on ants? The intention seems to be to make Scott a more sympathetic character, but Rudd’s quick-quipping charisma makes that unnecessary. Why spend the time on flimsy sentiment when we can be playing to Ant-Man’s strengths?

Similarly, Trainwreck gets bogged down in a superfluous subplot involving Amy’s sister Kim (Brie Larson) and their father Gordon (Colin Quinn). It starts promisingly enough in the very first scene of the movie when Gordon explains to young Kim and Amy why he and their mother are getting a divorce (“Do you love your doll? How would you like it if you could only play with that one doll for the rest of your life?”). But then, we flash forward to the present day, and Gordon has been admitted to an assisted living facility, which becomes a source of friction between the sisters. Quinn is woefully miscast as a disabled old man, especially when he’s sitting next to veteran actor and actual old man Norman Lloyd. The subplot is seemingly there only for cheap sentiment, and it drags on and on, adding an unacceptable amount of running time to what should be a fleetly paced comedy. As we left the theater, my wife overheard a woman asking her friend how the film was. “I like it okay,” she said. “I thought it was never going to end, though.”

When Ant-Man is kicking pint-sized ass and Amy Schumer is schticking it up, their respective movies crackle with life. Hollywood is filled with smart people, and I can’t believe that an editor didn’t point out that the films could be improved by excising their phony sentimental scenes. So why didn’t these films achieve greatness? I submit it is another symptom of the studio’s increasingly crippling risk aversion. All films must be all things to all audiences to hit the so-called “four quadrants” of old and young, male and female, so raunchy comedies get extraneous schmaltz and lightweight comic book movies get weighed down with irrelevant family drama. Both Ant-Man and Trainwreck end up like rock albums with lackluster songwriting filled with killer guitar solos. They’re entertaining enough but haunted by the greatness that could have been.

Ant-Man
Now showing
Multiple locations

Trainwreck
Now showing
Multiple locations

Categories
Film/TV TV Features

TV Review: Louie

“TV was (and to a lesser extent still is) fractal, with each individual episode standing in for the show as a totality. To tinker with the basic concept — like letting two battling lovers marry and have a child in the fourth season — is to destroy the delicate balance that keeps viewers tuning in.” — Ty Burr, Gods Like Us: On Movie Stardom and Modern Fame

“I said, ‘I won’t show you anything. You have to just wait until I’m finished with the shows.’ That was a very reckless thing to do, and [FX] could have said no, but if they had I would have just gone back to the road. But they said yes, so here I am.” — Louis C.K., interview with FilmSchoolRejects.com, June 28, 2010

FX’s Louie, which wraps its fourth season Monday night, stubbornly reinvents television every week. Like his creator, writer-director-editor-star Louis C.K., the Louie in Louie is a comedian and father of two girls. He’s eloquent onstage, but that telltale hand on the wall of the Comedy Cellar hints at other insecurities. At times, his failure to communicate grows so profound that he forsakes Newhart- or drops the Letterman-style stammering and falls mute. He spends a chunk of every episode sitting or standing silently and awaiting judgment; half of this season has explored Louie’s relationship with a Hungarian woman (Eszter Balint) who barely speaks English.

The hilarious Louis C.K.

Louie is a sad sack who trudges about his day like your uncle Marv. No belt can rescue his droopy jeans; no Beefy-T or XXL-sweater can hide his gut. He half-shuffles, half-lumbers into his scenes like a drunk or a grizzly bear that just got off the Tilt-A-Whirl. His gait is as expressive as Chaplin’s waddle, Tati’s tiptoe, or Keaton’s pit-bull charge.

In Louie‘s universe, things get weird fast. A tickle fight with an astronaut’s beautiful daughter winds up in the emergency room. A hurricane named after a Southern debutante kills LeBron James and demolishes Brooklyn in seconds. In flashbacks (or are they daydreams?) Louie’s black ex-wife suddenly turns white. His recalcitrant daughter suddenly cries out, “Why is there even an America?” A fat girl suddenly says “fuck” on network TV.

But things frequently slow to a crawl, too; the sense of time passing both quickly and slowly is reminiscent of those moments after an automobile accident. C.K.’s proclivity for long takes and shallow lenses prolong awkward moments, difficult conversations, and solipsistic reveries that explode in his face. In “So Did the Fat Lady” — one of the most extraordinary reckonings with female body-image issues I’ve ever seen — an awesome, overweight woman (Sarah Baker) takes Louie to task for his refusal to really see her. The camera circles them repeatedly but it won’t look away from her or from him when Louie tries to escape. That episode is the strongest example of Louie‘s bracingly surreal approach to storytelling, where the terrifying unpredictability of the next thing seen or the next thing said is the only constant.

I’ve never seen anything like it.

Louie
FX
Season 4 Finale, Monday, June 16th, 9 p.m.