“He Puts Asses in Seats!”

 by Warren Curry

 

Next month there is a film being released called “Never Back Down,” which sounds like an updated version of “The Karate Kid,” except it’s set in the world of mixed martial arts instead of karate. Oscar nominee Djimon Hounsou plays the Mr. Miyagi role, and I’d have to say it’s questionable if this is a good career move for the actor.  If you’ve seen a TV ad for the film, you’ve also probably noticed that it looks a lot like any Jean-Claude Van Damme straight-to-video vehicle (here’s a treat for you Van Damme fans: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aOIJtS4gbaY). Whether or not that’s a bad thing is up to you.  I’m not criticizing, simply observing.  And this leads me to…

(Warning: what you’re about to read has nothing to do with movies.  Proceed with caution)

It’s around 10:30 PST on the night of Saturday February 16, 2008, and I’m lying on my living room couch listening to my iPod.   My wife is already fast asleep in our bedroom (yes, married life is that exciting), and a little over an hour ago I finished watching a decent boxing match between Kelly Pavlik and Jermain Taylor.   It’s at this point that I recall seeing ads for a mixed martial arts event that was to air on Showtime at 10:00.  The ads mainly remain in memory because headlining the telecast is a guy named Kimbo Slice (that’s a picture of him above; a difficult person to forget).  He’s been described as something of a mythic figure — “a street fighting legend” is an exact quote, if memory serves.

Mixed martial arts — or MMA, as it’s more commonly referred to — is a relatively new sport, at least inasmuch as it’s made a dent in American popular culture.  UFC is the dominant MMA organization, and I recall watching their first pay-per-view event with college roommates in the fall of 1993.  We had seen commercials for weeks, showing us clips of combatants being pummeled into oblivion.  To state the obvious, we couldn’t wait to watch.  Predictably, our high expectations weren’t close to fulfilled.  Instead of the mayhem that had been advertised, we were given a bunch of matches where the competitors wrestled each other to the floor before one guy would choke his opponent into submission.  It wasn’t dynamic, exciting or even obviously violent (except when the sumo wrestler got several teeth kicked out by a fat, balding French guy).  That was my first and last real exposure to MMA.

Until this past Saturday night. 

I’ve been a hardcore boxing fan for about 15 years now, and in the past few years I’ve seen MMA grow significantly in popularity.  A major aspect of its marketing campaign has been to position itself squarely against boxing, drawing an indelible line in the sand, because the powers that be (namely UFC president Dana White) apparently believe the world isn’t big enough for two equally popular combat sports.  MMA proponents would have you believe that boxing is for generations long since past, and because boxing is only one facet of MMA, it’s undeniably a lesser sport.  Regardless of what boxing purists (count me among them) think, it’s tough to argue with the numbers.  MMA, as evidenced by its live attendance and pay-per-view figures, is a thriving sport and seems to connect with younger fans to a degree that boxing does not and perhaps never will again. 

I haven’t avoided MMA due to any need to defend the tradition of boxing.  In fact, I’m of the opinion that both can co-exist and each can garner a sizeable audience.  But in my mid-30s, I just don’t feel any sort of inclination to suddenly start following a new sport.  Couple that with the lingering aftertaste of my one MMA experience, and it’s been easy for me to avoid.

But on Saturday, I succumbed to the temptation of watching “street fighting legend” Kimbo Slice.  I mean, just take a look at the guy.  Now think about the chaos he can potentially create while locked in a caged circle with some poor sap.  How exactly could one not tune in?

From what I can deduce (and I’m not exactly going out of my way to do a whole lot of research), Kimbo Slice fights for an MMA organization called Elite XC.  I have no idea if this group is affiliated with UFC, nor does it matter to me, though I bring this up because it’s possible Elite might be similar to UFC’s minor league.  While watching the telecast, I’m immediately struck by how much in common MMA appears to have with pro wrestling.  A horde of fans (mostly male, under 35, from what I can tell) proudly hold signs that read “Kimbo Kick Ass” while music blares from the arena’s PA system any time there’s no action in the ring.  A group of scantily clad women serve as round card girls, but also line up on a catwalk and dance between fights.  I concede that MMA certainly links sport and entertainment much more aggressively than boxing does, and at this moment I’ve never been happier to be a boxing fan.  As if to hammer the connection home, former pro wrestling champion Bill Goldberg serves as the third member of the broadcast team and interviews the winner of each match, immediately following the contest, in the ring.

As I wait for the main event, I sit through a couple of undercard bouts.  In one, a guy takes a knee to his face, drops to the ground and is then blasted by a right cross, prompting the referee to the stop the fight.  In another, an Australian dude is knocked semi-conscious by a punch and falls flat on his back, completely defenseless. But even in this prone state, his opponent wastes no time rushing over and smashing the guy in the face with a follow-up punch.  Wow…boxing has never looked like such a tame, peaceful sport.

After an uneventful fight, it’s the moment I’ve been waiting for — the entrance of Kimbo Slice.  As the crowd’s excitement builds to a fever pitch, Bill Goldberg exhorts, “he puts asses in seats!”, which isn’t amusing simply because a sports announcer enthusiastically bellowed the word “asses,” but also because the countless shots of a packed arena the television audience has seen all night render this among the most unnecessary observations in the history of broadcast journalism. Kimbo squares off against a fat 42-year-old named Tank Abbott, whose most impressive feature is his beard and who sports a record of something like 8 wins and 14 losses.  You needn’t know anything about MMA to realize this guy, who vaguely resembles a plumber, stands no chance.   The fight lasts about 30 seconds, and the action goes like this: Kimbo punches Tank in the face, Tank is on the ground, Tank gets up, tries to tackle Kimbo, Kimbo punches him in the face again, Tank falls down, Kimbo waits for him to get back up, punches him in the side of the head, Tanks falls on his face, the referee stops the fight.

Instead of criticizing this for being an obvious mismatch, the giddy announcers pontificate as if they’d just seen the second coming of the US hockey team beating the Soviet Union in the 1980 Winter Olympics.  Goldberg, of course, is soon in the ring interviewing Kimbo.  As has been the case all night, Goldberg begins his questions strongly, before it becomes clear he really isn’t asking anything.  A typical query falls along the lines of, “You trained hard and faced a difficult opponent tonight.  We all know how much you love the sport….you’re a good man.  Let’s all put our hands together for Kimbo!”  It’s less an interview than a public coronation, which underlines an important difference between the current state of MMA and boxing.  MMA is all about incredibly obvious (tasteful or not) self-promotion and self-glorification, while the boxing media (separate from the general sports media that basically ignores boxing) is often the sport’s biggest critic.  If a similar match-up and result had occurred on HBO Championship Boxing, analyst Larry Merchant, in all his curmudgeonly glory, would have called the fight a farce and questioned the winner why he wasting everyone’s time by being involved in it.  MMA’s complete lack of modesty might be its biggest asset.  Boxing, on the other hand, could be too self-aware for its own good.

In the post-fight “interview,” Kimbo claims that his dream has always been to fight “Tank or Tyson.”  I assume he means Mike Tyson.  This strikes me as being the equivalent of an aspiring actor saying his/her dream is to share a scene with Ted Lange or Gene Hackman.  Goldberg returns to broadcast position, and his inability to complete a coherent thought continues.  He remarks to his broadcast partners about Kimbo’s performance (and I paraphrase), “I know you’ve seen a lot of fights in Japan, but wherever, you know, you have to say, uhhh, well…uhhh…he puts asses in seats!” apparently wanting to make sure the point is not lost on the audience, or his co-broadcasters, by uttering the phrase twice in less than ten minutes.

After a few closing comments, the show ends, I turn off the TV and go back to my iPod (which I now lament listening to during most of the undercard fights, pondering all the inspired Goldberg analysis I missed).  So what did I learn from this experience?  Well, nothing, really. If I needed further proof that MMA isn’t my bag, I got it…but it’s hard to deny that I derived some enjoyment from the event, and not all of it was ironic.  I can’t imagine ever becoming even a casual MMA fan, but I wouldn’t rule out tuning in to see Kimbo Slice in the future.  After all, it’s not every day that a street fighting legend with the power to put asses in seats comes along.

And look for “Never Back Down” in a theater near you on March 14.  But only the box office numbers — and not Bill Goldberg — will tell us if it, like Kimbo Slice, can put asses in seats.   

The Top 5 Reasons to Ignore my Top 10 List

by Warren Curry 

 

It’s 2008 and CinemaSpeak rolls along stronger than ever (I’m purposely ignoring the fact I haven’t contributed to this blog in…ummm…a long time).  To commence with a logical observation, the beginning of a new year means we just ended an old one, right?  And in the movie world, the end of a year means it’s time for critics, reporters, friends, relatives, co-workers, Larry King and anyone else who’s seen ten new movies in the past 12 months to author their own “Best Of” list. 

If you’ve never done this, well, it’s simple.  Just make sure to see 10 movies released in 2008 by December 31, and on January 1, 2009 find a blog, website or bathroom stall to list your ten favorite movies of the year.  You might even discover that friends and acquaintances will think of you as a movie authority after reading your Best Of list.  Heck, maybe you can turn trading Best Of lists with family members into a New Year’s Day event!   After all, do you really want to watch The Rose Bowl halftime show?

I’ve been reviewing movies on the ‘ol Interweb since 2002, but hadn’t compiled a personal Ten Best list since, I think, 2004…that is, until this past year.  Breaking with tradition, the editor of the website I write for, Einsiders.com, asked a few members of the staff to contribute their own Best Of lists rather than just posting one cumulative Top 10.  It’d been a while since I had an outlet to do this, so I, of course, jumped at the opportunity.  We all know that everyone likes lists.

As I narrowed down the field of movies I’d seen in 2007 to my favorite ten, I started to question my qualifications to do this.  While I was able to see (and review) a bundle of 2007 releases, there are so many other movies I didn’t see.  As you may have guessed, I don’t make my living as a film critic.  I have a regular old day job, a wife and other responsibilities/interests (like playing cheap blackjack in seedy Las Vegas “locals” casinos), which prevent me from catching five new releases every week.  Additionally, I don’t partake in many big studio movies…a few here and there — and that’s a very literal estimate.

Despite my misgivings, I carried on and cobbled together my Best Of list.  In fact, you, lucky reader, can view this list (and others) with just one click of your mouse on the following link: http://einsiders.com/features/columns/show_article.php?article=370.  So have fun perusing the titles; perhaps you’ll find a good recommendation or two. 

But back to my point — I’ll be the first to call my Top 10 inconsequential for the reasons stated above.  I’ll be even more specific and list five 2007 movies I didn’t see, which any self-respecting film critic should have seen before being allowed to pen a Top 10.  So here’s one more list (arranged alphabetically) to toss on the pile… 

American Gangster: Believe you me, I had every intention of seeing this movie when it opened.  Its release happened to coincide with the beginning of the AFI Film Festival, which kept me busy for two weekends, and when the fest ended, I was bombarded with too many other screenings to make this a priority.  I had a chance to see a pre-release screening, but regrettably opted for the dismal “Margot at the Wedding.”  Looks like I’ll be Netflixing “American Gangster” (it’s getting a 2-disc AND limited 3-disc release). 

Charlie Wilson’s War: Blame the Las Vegas Review Journal.  When I was visiting my parents over the holidays, I planned to take my mother to see this one afternoon.  We checked the paper, agreed on a start time and arrived at the theater 15 minutes before it was supposed to begin.  My attempt to purchase tickets was met with the unfortunate realization that the Review Journal’s movie listings were incorrect.  It was playing at the theater we chose, but not at the time it was supposed to start.  Instead of returning a few hours later, I consulted Moviefone for other theaters playing the film, but none of the times were convenient.  So we drove to another theater and instead saw the very obvious, but also fairly well-executed, “The Great Debaters.”  After the movie, my mom said, “I’m glad we saw this instead of Charlie Wilson.”  And if mom’s happy, then I’m happy.  I doubt I’ll see “Charlie Wilson’s War” in the theater, so Netflix it is. 

I’m Not There:  I guess I’m just not that interested in Bob Dylan, because it’s strange I’d skip Todd Haynes’ follow up to his fantastic “Far From Heaven.”  I don’t dislike Dylan’s music; I just haven’t heard much of it (even though in high school a few friends and I used to love poking fun at “Lay Lady Lay”).  Perhaps Haynes’ use of multiple actors to portray Dylan at various stages of his life is a successful experiment, but it sounds like a ploy that portends a pretentious, overly “arty” movie.  I’m mildly curious about this film, but will I ever see it?  Maybe if I stumble across it on cable. 

Michael Clayton: If you were to sing this movie’s praises to me, I wouldn’t be skeptical in the least.  I’m sure it’s a fine film.  In fact, I’ll go ahead and agree with your assessment as long as you promise I never have to watch it.  Two of the past three years, George Clooney has starred in critically acclaimed films (”Syriana” is the other one) that look about as fun to watch as knocking back a jar of fish oil in one gulp.  Maybe the movie is more palatable than I presume, but the incredibly “serious” advertising just leaves me cold.  And I’ve always been ambivalent about Clooney; he’s an actor who just can’t seem to check his celebrity arrogance at the door when he steps on screen.  I consider him more of a presence than a talent. This Just In:  Warner Bros. is re-releasing “Michael Clayton” in theaters nationwide on January 25!!!  Thank you, Warner Bros., for giving me another chance to miss it!

P2: To subvert the premise of this piece somewhat, “P2″ makes this list, not because I didn’t see it, but because I did.  The last time I spent money on a movie I knew going in would be utter junk was when I parted ways with a ten dollar bill to see “Paparazzi.”  “P2″ has a few satisfyingly ridiculous moments, decent enough gore and star Rachel Nichols isn’t hard on the eyes.  Overall, however, it’s terrible enough that I wished I could escape through a trapdoor in the theater, directly into my car, so no one would spot me walking out of this movie.  Wasn’t Wes Bentley a budding star at one time?  His post “American Beauty” career makes Thora Birch’s look like a smashing success by comparison.  I wasn’t forced to see this movie — I wanted to.  “American Gangster” was even playing in the same theater, but the allure of “P2″ was irresistible.  Do you need any more reasons why my Top 10 can’t be taken seriously?

And on that note, I’ll sign off hoping you enjoyed this list.  If not, feel free to make a Top 10 list of reasons you didn’t and leave them in the comments.

Optimus Prime is the new Parker Posey

By Warren Curry

After neglecting CinemaSpeak for too long, I have returned with a new entry. Please, please, hold the applause. Now I’m not deluded enough, obviously, to think anyone is actually holding their breath in anticipation of my new blogs, but I’m sure maintaining a consistent blogging work ethic must be good for…something. Besides, Dan and Memo have been threatening bodily harm and, trust me, you don’t want to get on their bad sides. No sir…

The 2007 Los Angeles Film Festival has come and gone. I’ve attended the event every year since 2002 and, wow, has it grown over that time. The festival has now called Westwood Village home for two years, and it’s a great location that would be even better if the area’s old, one-screen theaters were renovated. Of course, I love watching movies on these enormous screens, but stadium seating is pretty much a must for me these days. The cramped seats at theaters like the Majestic Crest and Landmark Regent actually caused me pretty severe back pain towards the festival’s end. In fact, the discomfort was bad enough that I decided to skip the festival’s final day in hopes I wouldn’t wake up at 5:00 AM the following morning in excruciating pain (it worked).

Whereas festivals were once seen as an event that celebrated the art of film, most of the world’s bigger fests are also proudly championing the commerce of movies. Studios understand that high profile festivals are fantastic places to launch their new releases, therefore small movies are increasingly pushed aside so companies with marketing/advertising budgets big enough to produce 30 indie flicks can drum up much needed media coverage for their property. Can you sense the sarcasm?

Never was this more evident than the World Premiere of Michael Bay’s (a name synonymous with artistic integrity) “Transformers” at LAFF 2007. Predictably, this was the buzz event of the festival. I’m skeptical as to whether or not using LAFF as its launching pad is helping the movie make any more box office $, but it certainly garnered the festival a lot of press, and that’s a good thing. Sure, I’d like to hope this doesn’t become the norm, but, to a large degree, it already is, so I’ll save my energy.

In the movie capital of the world, where film and business go together like peanut butter and jelly, I appreciate that the city’s two biggest festivals, LAFF and AFI, allow attendees the opportunity to sample films that are way under the commercial radar. At its best, there’s something undeniably pure about the festival experience. You can see the work of filmmakers whose chief concern, believe it or not, is artistic expression. I’m not sure where Bay’s movie about an ’80’s cartoon fits in here. Believe me, I’m not trying to knock “Transformers…” ok, maybe I am a little bit…but aren’t there about, oh, 10,000 other non-studios movies that could use the exposure LAFF could provide significantly more than what might turn out to be the highest grossing movie of 2007? Keep in mind this festival is organized by a group called Film Independent. Now there’s some irony good enough to eat.

Unfortunately, the worst movies I typically see at the festival are programmed in the Narrative Competition, and this year held true to form. In my article on Einsiders.com, I called director Jess Manafort’s “The Beautiful Ordinary” one of the most pointless movies I’ve seen in ages. I’ll stand 100% behind that comment. Is it a generational thing, or are teenagers really this asinine these days? Imagine if “Dazed and Confused” was stripped of every ounce of wit and charm and repopulated with characters based on the most annoying kids in your high school — in a nutshell, that’s “The Beautiful Ordinary.” I was at a screening stacked with cast, crew, friends, etc., so the response was positive, but I feel extremely sorry for any acquisitions executive who mistakenly believes this film will go over the same way with a regular audience.

The Lisa Kudrow starring “Kabluey” was much less insulting, but mediocre at best. It’s a slight, silly dramedy…to call it lightweight would be giving it too much credit. The film’s writer/director Scott Pendergrast stars as a lost 30-something who moves in with his sister-in-law (Kudrow) when she learns the government is extending her husband’s stay in Iraq. He’s supposed to take care of her kids so she can return to work, but it turns out to be a task too difficult for the man to handle. So he takes a job with an Internet company passing out fliers while dressed as their big blue mascot. At times I honestly wondered if Pendergrast had conceived this film entirely around the blue mascot suit. Did he find it in a thrift store somewhere and think to himself, “I have to make a movie about this suit! It’s dramic (please note that I just coined a new term) gold…”? It’s not often you see a director try to milk so much humor out of repetitive sight gags that aren’t so funny to begin with, but at least he committed fully to the joke.

And now that you think I’m completely skewering the festival, let me mention that I caught a few great flicks there. The high school debate team documentary, “Resolved,” was my favorite film of the fest, and I can’t imagine a scenario where this movie doesn’t acquire distribution. I also saw a couple of great foreign titles — “Fireworks Wednesday” from Iran is an absolutely riveting drama and the French film “Blame it on Fidel,” which I just learned is being released in the US this summer, while not nearly as intense, is also superbly made and just as intriguing. These discoveries are the main reason that I so enjoy attending film fests, even if sitting through 15-20 movies in a little over a week becomes a tougher challenge every year.

All in all, I had an enjoyable time at LAFF 2007, despite the back pain and a few weak movies (the less said about “Wizard of Gore,” the better). There’s always a lot of energy and good vibes in the air at this festival, and Westwood’s generally a nicer place when the UCLA students (at least most of them) are gone for the summer.

And in the spirit of independence, I’ll look forward to the Red Carpet World Premiere of “Live Free or Die Hard Again” at next year’s festival. I just can’t get enough of the pompous Mac guy.

Thinking Out Loud

By Warren Curry

Nothing screams cop-out quite like a “random thoughts” article, does it? Well, here’s my foray into that shallow (well, not in all cases; maybe just this one) form of writing geared specifically toward you, the short-attention span generation. With any luck something substantive will emerge and, yes, dear CinemaSpeak readers (i.e. Memo’s friends) prepare yourself for “Thinking Out Loud,” which won’t be limited to just the topic of movies, to be a semi-regular column. Other semi-regular columns I have in mind are “Netflix Diary” and an as-of-yet unnamed blog that will deliver capsule reviews of movies that are, or will soon be, playing at a theater near you.

To give you something of a preview of the latter, let me jump right into it…blindfolded…with both arms tied behind my back:

* Did you know Canadian actress Sarah Polley (”The Sweet Hereafter,” “Go,” “Dawn of the Dead”) is also a filmmaker? She has a few shorts under her belt, and her feature debut, “Away From Her,” is slated for release tomorrow (May 4) in New York and Los Angeles. It’s the first film I’ve seen this year that already has a spot reserved on my 2007 Top 10 list, but it promises to be a tough sell considering:

1.) The film is about a couple in their 60s whose marriage is tested due to the wife (played by the still stunning Julie Christie) suffering from Alzheimer’s disease;

2.) Its biggest name actor (that would be Polley) never steps in front of the camera;

3.) Its pacing could best be described as deliberate (but determined!).

Yet anyone who loves rich entertainment that relishes the depth of emotional content, even if that means the occasional slow going, will embrace this film. Here’s to hoping the almost criminally talented Polley will be able to strike a nice balance in her career between directing and acting.

* Another worthwhile new release, also written and directed by an actress, is the late Adrienne Shelly’s “Waitress.” Though it’s not as emotionally satisfying/complex as “Away From Her,” “Waitress” is an enjoyable, accessible movie that only the most cynical could really dislike. I don’t know how this film won’t be overshadowed by the story of the bizarre, horrific murder of its director last fall, but “Waitress” clearly doesn’t need one’s sympathy to be appreciated. You can read my full review HERE. For information about special Mother’s Day screenings of the film visit: www.MOVIEwithMOM.com.

* Note to ESPN: Those people who annually attend the NFL draft wearing their favorite team’s jerseys aren’t just diehard football fans — they’re also complete idiots. Stop encouraging them.

* Inspired by Memo’s most recent blog, I finally got around to seeing “Grindhouse” last weekend. Mr. Salazar and I disagree (at least somewhat) about this one. My reaction fell in line with my previous opinions of the directors: I couldn’t stand Robert Rodriguez’s “Planet Terror” and loved every word of silly chatter and frame of ass-kicking action in Quentin Tarantino’s “Death Proof.” I won’t claim to be an expert on ’70s Grindhouse cinema, but I don’t think either of these films could be mistaken for the genuine article. Rodriguez is so obviously a child of ’80s action flicks that his “slumming” screams Hollywood poser, right down to the movie’s last digitally manipulated scratch. All that blood, violence and action, and yet it’s still so insufferably boring. But if his trailer for “Machete” is ever turned into a feature (which, I believe, is the plan), count me in! Yes, “Death Proof” is filled with talk, talk and even more talk, but the flapping gums didn’t bother me. In fact, listening to QT’s collection of ladies chat away about whatever (and often times “whatever” would be the perfect description of their conversations) entertained me infinitely more than any moment in “Planet Terror.” And the action is better than anything QT’s ever done, completely blowing “Kill Bill” out of the water, probably because it’s not as elaborate. But is “Death Proof” really a Grindhouse movie? Despite the inanity of his dialogue (and I don’t actually mean that as a slight), Tarantino is simply too good a filmmaker to make easy to discard schlock. “Death Proof” is a simple tale of revenge, but translated through the eye of a filmmaker schooled in the serious American cinema of the ’70s (who also, annoyingly, loves to reference his past work). At the same time, it doesn’t feel as if QT is taking this material nearly as seriously as he did in “Kill Bill,” and the movie’s all the better for it. Rosario Dawson and friends turning Kurt Russell into a human punching bag is one of this year’s movie highlights.

* Can we now call Season 3 of “The Office,” maybe not a disaster, but a genuine disappointment? The jokes are weaker, the old characters are growing tired (does Ryan still serve a purpose?), the new ones have yet to be developed in an interesting way (that would be Karen), and if even my wife doesn’t find the Pam/Jim thing cute anymore, then you really have problems. Every week I tune in, hoping for the episode that will right this season’s ship, but it has yet to air. At least the Michael/Toby dynamic still makes me laugh.

* The demise of “The Office” has elevated “Entourage” to the much revered status of “Warren’s favorite television series.” But I’m starting to worry about this young season, too. The writers seem somewhat unsure about Ari’s direction, and I don’t like what they’re doing with the relationship between Vince and his new agent, Amanda, which feels entirely forced. Given that “The Office” and “Entourage” are the only weekly episodic television series I watch — aside from “Best Week Ever” (a truly guilty pleasure) and “Real Time with Bill Maher” — it might be time to enlist backups. I had sort of high expectations for MTV’s “Human Giant,” but the only episode I’ve caught missed as often as it hit.

* “Napoleon Dynamite” has to be the most controversial movie Ken Loach never directed.

You Were Duped

By Warren Curry

If you’re like me, then last fall you were eagerly anticipating the December release of “Rocky Balboa.” If you’re like the rest of the sane world, then the mere thought of the film caused you to react with an uncomfortable mix of nervous laughter and hushed horror. When the movie hit American screens last December 20, it was largely met with positive reviews from critics, many who admitted that “Rocky Balboa” was perhaps the film they were least looking forward to viewing during the busy holiday season. Surprising, huh? No, not really.

Though it’s just a theory, with little evidence to support it, I’m convinced most “Rocky Balboa” proponents are not genuine fans of the film. My feeling is that the majority of these people really only appreciate the spirit and effort Sylvester Stallone put into making the franchise come full circle. It’s a bold claim, and maybe not an entirely valid one (I’m like Dr. Phil that way), so let me attempt to dig myself out of this hole.

Starting with “Rocky III” (my personal favorite chapter in the series), Stallone made the decision to turn the story of the scrappy, underdog boxer into a cartoon. Rocky stopped being the everyman and vaulted into the stratosphere of superhero. He saved the world from a badass bully with a mohawk (Clubber Lang), a cheating, steroid injecting Russian gargantuan (Ivan Drago), a crooked promoter (George Washington Duke) and a young pugilist corrupted by fame and greed (Tommy “Machine” Gunn). But when “Rocky V” hit theaters, the general public, much like Tommy Gunn, turned their back on Rocky. The film grossed a disappointing $40 million at the box office, a staggering decline from the previous two installments, which each raked in well over $100 million.

In many ways, the ’80s weren’t kind to Rocky Balboa, the character. Sure, he triumphed at the end of every movie, but his ego became appallingly bloated. The money, the popularity, it all went straight to his head, and the result was a character you rooted for only because his adversaries were so much more dislikeable. (I can’t be the only person who hoped Apollo’s punch landed first in the freeze frame punctuated sparring session at the end of “Rocky III.”) Face it, this was another obscenely self-absorbed athlete in dire need of his comeuppance.

Who received the comeuppance, it turned out, was Stallone. The 1990s brought about a relatively seismic shift in pop culture, and it wasn’t long before many of us were laughing at the excesses we so revered the previous decade. By the latter half of the ’90s, Stallone was viewed as a humorous relic from a distant time, much like the way we all snickered at bell bottoms in 1985. Gone were the days of Rocky and Rambo, now it was “Judge Dredd” and “Daylight.” After winning some critical accolades for his “serious” performance in the kind of, sort of, but not really all that good “Cop Land,” the aging actor was relegated to roles in a string of inconsequential movies (”Driven,” “Avenging Angelo,” “Shade”).

Stallone obviously saw his window of opportunity closing. He was an actor who couldn’t escape his past, so instead of trying to run from it, he embraced it. If he was always going to be thought of as Rocky or Rambo, then why not give the people what they want (”John Rambo” — notice a theme? — is currently in production)? Stallone claimed he wasn’t happy with the way “Rocky V” turned out (I wonder why?) and wanted a better conclusion to the series. If that was his one goal, then “Rocky Balboa” is a success.

My feeling is that goal was also the only demand of critics and the public. Set expectations low enough and just about anything (except “Basic Instinct II”) will exceed them. When I saw the film, I remember thinking it was a nice try, but that it lacked too much in the way of storytelling skill to truly work. As someone who wanted to like the movie, I was almost sad that I wouldn’t be able to defend it against the critical beating I was sure it would receive. But then the strong reviews came pouring in, and soon people who had openly poked fun at me for my interest in the film were proudly supporting it. I anticipated being on one side of the “Rocky Balboa” argument, but found myself completely in the other corner.

I hope fans of the film can at least admit it’s absurd. Of course, Rocky III-V were fantastically more absurd, but that was the point of those movies. They were connected to reality by only the loosest thread and made no bones about that fact. “Rocky Balboa” attempts to be the same kind of gritty, feel-good entertainment as the original “Rocky,” but still exists in a fantasy world. Aside from some guy on the Internet named Warren Curry’s sharp review (click here to read), I’m not sure if any other critic pointed out how preposterous a key story beat in this film is.

The climactic “exhibition” fight between Rocky, who’s coming out of a long retirement, and the film’s ostensible villain, current heavyweight champion Mason “The Line” Dixon (played by former light heavyweight champ Antonio Tarver), is set up by Dixon’s management team so their fighter can obtain the public’s much needed respect. Whaaaat??? This would be the equivalent of Floyd Mayweather’s manager deciding that a match against Sugar Ray Leonard would be a way to earn his fighter credibility. In reality, Mayweather would be mercilessly ridiculed and rightfully torn to shreds by the boxing media if this happened. Since you’re probably not a boxing fan, and are currently asking yourself “Floyd Who?,” here’s another sports analogy.

Let’s imagine, like Dan Tester does, the Chicago Bears won the most recent Super Bowl. They’re regarded as one of the weaker Super Bowl champs in NFL history, and after ESPN airs the result of a video game, which shows the 2006 Bears going down to defeat against the 1985 Bears, Chicago coach Lovie Smith calls an emergency team meeting. He informs his players that the only way to gain the respect of football fans is to face the ‘85 team in a game of two-hand touch. Never mind that Walter Payton is dead and Refrigerator Perry could succumb to a heart attack walking off the team bus. No, if Brian Urlacher and crew wish to be considered a gutty football squad, they have to put an end to the Super Bowl Shuffle. I’m sure a better writer could work in a “Footloose” reference here.

Getting back to “Rocky Balboa,” let’s consider the fight itself. Any professional referee interested in keeping his job would stop the bout when Rocky gets knocked down in the first round. And how about the judges’ literally impossible scorecards? Before you say, “it’s just a movie!” can you imagine if a football film depicted scene after scene of two teams scoring touchdowns, only to reveal the game’s final score is 7-3? I find it impossible to believe anyone would excuse such inattention to detail. Being a big boxing fan, it’s possible I’m overly defensive, but it seems Stallone always finds a way to make a mockery of the sport. Toss in a few cheaply vulnerable moments when Rocky pines for the late Adrian, an especially despicable Paulie (Burt Young), a strangely uncomfortable scene where Rock is dissed by some young troublemakers in a bar, a surrogate son character who is sloppily abandoned halfway through the film, and I maintain that you have to give this movie EVERY benefit of the doubt to be a fan.

If you didn’t see this film in the theater, you may or may not be interested to know it was released on DVD this week. It’s supposed to have some solid bonus features and an alternate ending (if you’ve seen the DVD, feel free to share this ending in the comments section). As you might have guessed, I won’t be adding “Rocky Balboa” to my collection. To bring this blog to a rushed, unnatural conclusion, let me say, in summation, it’s not that I feel you’re wrong for being a “Rocky Balboa” fan. It’s simply that I don’t believe you.

The “Sickness”

By Warren Curry

I went to a screening of “Black Snake Moan” last week, the new film from “Hustle and Flow” director Craig Brewer. A friend was supposed to join me, but he fell ill at the last second and opted to skip it (presumably he’s not suffering from the same “sickness” that afflicts Christina Ricci’s character in “BSM,” although there’s no guarantee he’s not currently chained to a radiator in some strange man’s house). After the film, I was tempted to call his sudden illness the kindest stroke of luck he’ll receive this year, until I remembered that, largely due to an infatuation with Ms. Ricci, this friend will still end up seeing “Black Snake Moan.” Upon further review, I don’t know anyone unluckier than poor Ryan.

Instead of trying to find a replacement to attend the screening with me, which would’ve been my wife had she not been working (and may have lead to a divorce), I decided to go it alone. I arrived at Hollywood’s Arclight Theaters 20 minutes before show time and quickly discovered that a local dance/R&B/Hip-Hop radio station was hosting the screening. I took a seat in one of the two roped off rows reserved for press and stared directly in front of me at a large speaker, placed in front of the movie screen, that was blaring some song I’d never heard. With the theater only about half full, a young man from the radio station grabbed a microphone and attempted to rile the crowd up with the promise of t-shirts, posters and other swag to whoever could be the most raucous audience members. Some of the crowd responded to the challenge, and soon t-shirts were flying through the air into the awaiting arms of various people who love free stuff (don’t we all?). The pre-movie festivities reached its apex when the host broke into an impromptu dance to the delight of…uhhhhh…someone.

The radio station people cleared out and more viewers filed into the theater, gradually filling it to capacity. The reserved rows were relatively empty, so eventually non-press people sat amongst us, including a man next to me who appeared to have been dragged there by his girlfriend (or maybe it was is his wife, though they looked a little young to be married). It would turn out, judging by his restless body language and the fact he checked his watch approximately 20 times in the movie’s final half hour, this guy might have been the only person in attendance who liked “Black Snake Moan” less than me. Maybe.

I’m sure you’ve seen an ad or two (or 50) for the movie. Ricci plays a poor Southern nymphomaniac whose promiscuity reaches new heights when her boyfriend (played by Justin Timberlake of Color Me Badd fame) leaves for Army duty. Ricci prowls her hometown’s dirt roads clad alluringly in Daisy Dukes (but skimpier) and tiny t-shirts that reveal an alarmingly malnourished stomach. She’s there for any man’s taking until one of Justin CMB’s friends smacks her around after she observes that his manhood is not even half the size of a local African-American drug dealer/pimp who frequently scratches her itch. Say what you will about Brewer, but he manages to fulfill three racial stereotypes in one character! How’s that for economy? But back to the story…Ricci is left bruised, bloodied and unconscious on the side of the road.

Lazarus (played by Samuel L Jackson of “Loaded Weapon 1″ fame), a farmer whose wife recently left him to be with, of all people, his brother, finds Ricci, nurses her back to health, and chains the young lady (at this time she’s covered in only one of those tiny t-shirts and panties) to a radiator in order to cure the “sickness.” Lazarus learns about the “sickness” when the aforementioned well-endowed, drug-dealing pimp provides a clinical diagnosis of Ricci’s condition in the corner of a pool hall. Late in the movie, we find out the root of the “sickness,” which, if you’ve seen even one other movie featuring this sort of masochistic character, you can probably deduce before finishing this paragraph. Oh yeah, Lazarus is also a blues guitarist who’s reluctant to play these days…but if he can cure Ricci of the “sickness” then anything might be possible. Perhaps even every existing copy of “The Man” can be destroyed.

In “Hustle and Flow,” Brewer taught us that it was hard out here for a pimp, a valuable lesson I won’t soon forget. I owe a great deal to Brewer since I had weighed the pros and cons of an entry-level position in the field just prior to seeing the film. In “Black Snake Moan,” he teaches us something even more important. He instructs us how to cure the “sickness.” Our previous Brewer hero was a dickhead low rent pimp turned dickhead rap star, and this time it’s a farmer who receives critical medical information from a drug dealer/pimp/pool hall therapist, which leads him to hold a mostly naked girl hostage, shackled to his radiator. Is it too late to start a “Free Gary Heidnick!” campaign? The answer is yes; he was executed in 1999. Where were you then, Craig Brewer?

Beyond everything mentioned above, the movie’s biggest failing has to be how interminable it is. “Black Snake Moan” is probably the most painful experience I’ve had in a movie theater in the past year. Sure, I’ve seen worse films, but they at least had the courtesy to be shorter. “BSM” runs nearly two hours, but feels twice that length. The only backhanded compliment I can pay the film is that while it’s never interesting, it’s not really boring, either. In fact, boredom would’ve been preferred, as it may have allowed me to drift off to sleep for a bit. But nope, the movie was just engaging enough to keep me awake, which is another reason I resent it. I know, I know, “why didn’t you leave?” Well, my most glaring bad habit is that I never walk out of movies…unless it’s an extreme circumstance. Like when I feel a sudden twinge of the “sickness.”

It’s been brought to my attention that Richard Roeper and his guest critic, “Jersey Girl” auteur Kevin Smith, raved about “BSM” on their television show. I understand Smith’s position. It’s definitely not every day he gets a nationally televised forum to talk about a movie bad enough to make his own look good by comparison, but I wonder where Roeper is coming from. I searched out a few online reviews, and much to my surprise, the film’s early Tomatometer rating is high. One critic called the film “entertaining.” I feel the exact opposite, but it isn’t an opinion you can really argue. Another critic claimed that “BSM” answers all the naysayers who bashed “Hustle and Flow’s” misogyny. Let’s see, this movie is about a weak-willed, hedonistic young woman headed down a road to self-destruction until an older man imprisons her in his home thus saving her from herself. Yup, leave it to Craig “Gloria Steinem” Brewer to keep pushing women’s rights forward.

It’s not my place to tell you how to spend your time and money, so go ahead, be like Ryan and see “BSM” if you’d like. While you’re at it, stay for “Music and Lyrics” or “The Number 23″ afterwards, then go home and have your own personal “Grey’s Anatomy” marathon while you eat a hot dog and drink warm Bud Light. You’ll be the anti-Warren. And given that I, on the other hand, will be sitting in front of my computer, watching the “Norbit” trailer for the 800th time, that may not be a bad thing.

“RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!”

It never gets old, I tell ‘ya. It never gets old.