Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Gran Torino Review, and My Reply

Eastwood's last role disappoints

Scott Viau

Issue date: 1/22/09 Section: Entertainment

When a new Clint Eastwood film comes to theaters, the natural response for most is excitement, which is exactly how one might feel after seeing the great trailer for "Gran Torino." 2008 was not Eastwood's year, though. After lukewarm reviews for his previous movie, "Changeling," one would expect "Torino" to be Eastwood's next grand film, but that would be a gross overstatement.

War veteran Walt Kowalski (Eastwood) has recently lost his wife. Wanting nothing more than to be alone and mourn her, he receives an unwanted surprise when a Hmong family moves into the house next door. He views them with complete disdain and wants nothing to do with them. As they go about their lives he watches and spouts racist comments to himself. When Thao Lor (Bee Vang), son of the next door family, is pressured to join a local gang, he is told to steal Walt's prized possession, his Gran Torino. The initiation doesn't go well, as Walt catches him in the process. Thao's actions only confirm Walt's initial racist feelings about his neighbors. Sue Lor (Ahney Her) feels there is more to Walt than his rough exterior lets on, and sets out to befriend him. Walt's newfound friendships are soon threatened by the neighborhood gang. When this happens Walt decides to make a stand and repent for his years of hate.

Those going into this film expecting a piece of high art by one of America's greatest actors and filmmakers will be in for a sore disappointment. "Torino" is nothing more than "Dirty Harry" meets "Crash," which might sound good, but it's anything but. After speaking almost entirely in racial slurs we're supposed to suddenly feel sympathy for this blatant bigot as he comes to realize that Hmongs aren't as bad as he thought they were. What we get is a schmaltzy piece of unintentionally hilarious rubbish. By the end of the film he still hasn't realized that his foreign neighbors probably don't appreciate racial epithets being hurled at them.

While dialogue consisting of grunts may have worked for Eastwood in previous films, it comes across as ridiculous and takes one out of the film completely. Eastwood, I'm sorry to say, is not at the top of his game. One might picture an actor whose glory days of Hollywood have passed him by taking this part, but not him. Perhaps Eastwood's age is indeed catching up to him, as he should have seen what a poor storyline this film contains. Making a painfully obvious screen debut is Ahney Her. She attempts to play her character as sweet, precocious and likeable, but comes across as annoying and underwhelming. Her's performance screams amateur. Vang is just as bad and is excruciating to watch. Although Eastwood is surely trying to go for realism by casting unknowns he does nothing to correct their performances.

One can imagine the screenwriter sitting in his apartment thinking he's writing a great, thought-provoking film that will change everyone's preconceived notions of race, but it won't. What the viewer will get is two hours of race-related insults, some of which are undoubtedly meant to be funny, but they're thrown around so much that we begin laughing at it, not with. The whole plot is trite and tried. A bit of forgiveness may be in order for the relatively inexperienced writer, but Eastwood should have at least required extensive rewrites.

Eastwood has been reported as saying that "Gran Torino" will be his last film in front of the camera, which is sad on many levels. The most depressing of which is that he leaves us with a whimper instead of a roar. This film will ultimately leave a bitter taste in the viewer's mouth and will go down in history as the film that could have been.

Film Review is Sub-Par

Zak Hammond

Issue Date: 1/29/09 Section: Letters to the Editor

I must honestly say that I never usually feel the responsibility to respond to a newspaper’s film review, but in this instance I think that I have no other choice. Upon reading the Jan 22 review of Gran Torino by Scott Viau, I felt a near-moral conviction to speak out against what was, for all intents and purposes, a shallow and ignorant review of a film that any reasonable viewer will say is, at least, decent. The purpose of this letter is not to argue taste or personal preference, as Viau clearly has in his article, but to try to shed light on the film that he almost certainly didn’t know how to watch.

Three points that must be addressed in his review are his perception of Walt, the tone of the film, and the “moral” of the story. To say that Walt is a racist bigot is only half right. If the film has shown you anything, it shows that his systemic regurgitation of racial epithets is the result of eighty-plus years on life, living in the same neighborhood, fighting in a war overseas, and working as a “lifer” at the Ford plant. Now, Viau might not have any bitter, old grandparents, but for most people living in America, this is a common feature of our extended families: the stiff-necked nature of our progenitors. Note, however, how Walt extends the same verbal disrespect not only to his enemies, but to his best friends as well. Think of the way that he carried on with his Barber or his contractor friend, or even with his new friends Thao and Sue. We don’t have to empathize with Walt all the time. We only need to see the humanity within him. If Viau honestly thinks that Walt honestly hates each of these individuals and for whatever trumped-up reason they simply take this abuse, then he really is lost in the film. It’s called a term of endearment. It’s called understanding that the foul-mouthed codger with a heart of gold doesn’t know any better. Mr. Viau, how do you expect an eighty year-old war veteran to behave? Give Mr. Eastwood a little credit for pulling off the character with realism and brevity. Which brings me to the second point of the film: its tone.

Viau has referred to the film as a “schmaltzy piece of unintentionally hilarious rubbish,” which by this point in my reply should quickly be rejected. If my analysis of Walt has shown anything, it is that he cannot be taken seriously. We are meant to laugh at him and his constant barrage of racial slurs, because they are so absurd. Mr. Viau, surely you have seen the episode of South Park where they say the “s” word over one hundred fifty times? Didn’t you find it a little ridiculous? That was the point. The words, over time, lose their bite. It’s okay for us to laugh when Walt makes yet another slur, and it’s okay for us to cry when tragedy strikes the Lor family. That’s the point. Gran Torino is a film that has little to do with racism and far more to do with learning how to live as a man, both in the beginning of life and at the end. It is not “‘Dirty Harry’ meets ‘Crash,’” but a film closer in message to Million Dollar Baby.

Walt is a character toward the end of his life who has nothing left to live for, and who is constantly forced by his own family to face the inevitability of death. Anybody in his position would rightly feel bitter to those who are not faced with such an insurmountable existential crisis. As Father Janovich says to Walt, he certainly seems to know more about death than he does life. The central question for Walt, and the film itself, is “How does one live?” The relationship between Walt and Thao explores this human crisis. Thao learns how to be a man, and Walt learns how to be a better man, even in the twilight of his life. I suppose it’s easier, and takes less effort, to extract the “message” that Mr. Viau found in this film. But if the mass critical claim and audience approval proves anything, it’s that the rest of America found something a little more similar to what I’m arguing here.

Since Viau has certainly illustrated his short-sighted view of the film, it is almost pointless, except for a certain desire of masochism, to read the rest of his unprofessional review about the performances, writing, and directing. However, I feel that I must at least address Viau’s claim that Eastwood failed as a director to not only coach his admittedly amateur actors, but also to not demand “extensive rewrites.” To say this is incredibly presumptuous. Viau should have a little faith in Mr. Eastwood, who has been in the film business for over fifty years, and is a Hollywood icon. Needless to say, I would trust Mr. Eastwood’s handle on his own film over Mr. Viau’s any day of the week. I’m not saying that we have to accept what he gives us like dogma, but I do think we should try to “think outside the box.” Mr. Viau, if you don’t like something in a film, perhaps you should consider if it’s your own lack of understanding, rather than the filmmaker’s. Perhaps this simply isn’t Viau’s type of film. Mr. Eastwood, who has always notoriously resented the order of filmgoers obsessed with political correctness, might agree. If that is the case, I suppose there is nothing more to say.

I don’t expect Viau to suddenly agree with me, and I’m sure that he will stick his own opinions. I can respect that. However, in the future I at least ask The North Wind to ensure that their film reviews are written with an open mind and some degree of mental fortitude, as opposed to the type of opinion piece I would expect to read in a high school newspaper. A knowledge of film criticism would also be helpful.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

What a Difference Four Years Makes

Four years ago, on November 2, I was furiously checking exit polls in the Journ room, waiting to get out of school. I rushed to the Roscommon County Democratic Party headquarters, ready to help finish the night with a landslide for Kerry. I stayed up until midnight, hoping to hear the news. I was even going to play "Morning Has Broken" once it was called for Kerry.

I woke up the next morning to hear he carried Michigan, but conceded. I was morose, and skipped school. I went to Family Video to rent Dawn of the Dead, and then went to Lee's Kitchen and ate lunch by myself.

Two days ago, on November 4, I was furiously checking exit polls at work at USC. At 3pm, the first polls closed and I got some raw numbers. By 6:30, when I left for class, I knew Obama would win. I called Mum and played "Morning Has Broken," four years later. Class went from 7 to 9:30, and in that brief time McCain conceded, Obama declared victory, and Virginia went blue. After class, we broke open some Sam Adams and Asti (in class), and welcomed the victory.

The next morning, I woke up with a cold, but drove up to Van Nuys, and walked on the set of The Office, and listened to Lee Eisenberg. After, I had breakfast with my whole class at Norm's, where our prof gave us advice on breaking in to writing.

What a difference four years makes. Where I might be four years from now on election night is unfathomable and frightening.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

I and Thou, as Represented by a Chihuahua and 8 Cheeseburgers


What is the dog's relationship to the cheeseburgers? We must assume, of course, that the dog has intellectual faculties to a human being. Which it does not. So this means nothing. Except that I'm tired and need to vent.

So what is the relationship? His eyes are closed and his ears are pulled back. Does he feel the cheeseburgers? Feeling is an experience, which means the dog would then be in an I-It relationship.

Perhaps, though, this is so much more than four #2 extra value meals squished into his paws. Just as humans can have relationships with trees throughout their lives (Giving Tree, anyone?) perhaps the dog is in an I-Thou relationship. He is sharing a moment with the cheeseburgers. He is growing.

And when the burgers are cold and stale, and flies and small ants from the kitchen start to forage for food, perhaps the dog will take away from the experience. Perhaps he will have learned something

Or perhaps his owner will give him a bath, which he most certainly does not like.

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Universal Constant

Whenever you are in an unfamiliar place, and you don't know what to do...

And it's dark...

Turn on your local PBS station.


Chances are it's on, or it's being used for the yearly fundraising effort by that station.

It's a wonderful feeling.

Some things never change.

Friday, August 29, 2008

New Semester, New... something-something

I feel old.

Worrying about my credit score and the election. Constantly reevaluating the past. I guess my subconscious is trying to abstract something significant from it.

Hasn't my subconscious read Henri Bergson? It's a fruitless endeavor.

Lots of editing and writing. Trying to wrap everything up.

This reads like porno spam.

I am buzzing.

Monday, July 14, 2008

Today I Saw a Girl Cry


So I'm on my way to work on Monday, back to answering telephones and writing ideas and planning my future. I'm on Jefferson, about to cross Figueroa, when I see a girl driving a white Volvo behind me. She can't be more than my age. And she's crying. Her eyes are red, her lips are red, matching the color of her hair. And she's either speaking into a handsfree phone or she's repeating something over and over to herself. It's a sad sight. I continue on to work. She follows behind me until I turn onto Hope St.

What would make somebody cry like that on a Monday morning?

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

They Don't Make Them Like They Used To


You don't really hear songs these days that just make you feel good. More than likely, if I hear a current song I think, wow, that would be really good in a movie trailer or at the end of an episode of LOST or Grey's Anatomy. What happened to songs that are just great on their own merit?

For instance:

My Maria by B.W. Stevenson

Photograph by Ringo Starr

Kodachrome by Paul Simon

Teach Your Children Well by Crosby, Stills, and Nash


Seriously, take a listen to them. I'm sure they've been used in TV or movies, but that's not the point. These songs speak to a part of us that doesn't get much flexing. Start exercising. 

You can go to pandora.com and put in any one of these artists or song titles, and get tracks back that are similar.

Monday, June 16, 2008

The Old Man

I've been back East for the past five days, and got to see lots of friends and family. I also saw my dad, which was a visit more out of necessity than desire. If I didn't visit, I wouldn't hear the end of it.

We caught breakfast with him in his hometown, at the old restaurant he and I used to visit. When I saw him, he was dumpier and older than I remembered. But in an amusing way. His neckflap had grown, his glasses appeared smaller on his head, his voice became more gravelly, and he was wearing a biker vest.

In some ways, he resembled Bill Adama. Not a spitting image by any means, but if there was an expanded lineage of the Adama family, he would be Bill's cousin, the one who runs a small fabrication company overseas.

The Happening, Part Two

9:25 p.m. Mount Pleasant, MI.

The sun has just dipped below the horizon. Two friends, Z and J, are walking back to their car. There is a light wind blowing through the trees.

"I think it's supposed to rain this weekend," says Z.

"Yeah, it's been doing that a lot lately," says J.

"It's nice, though. I don't get rain that often."

"Are you kidding? I'd love sun every day."

"I think it's supposed to rain this weekend."

"You already said that," says J.

"I think it's supposed to rain..."

"Z?"

"...supposed to rain..."

"You're freaking me out."

"...rain..."

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Z shakes his head.

"I was just thinking about The Happening again. G-ddamn that was a horrible movie."

Monday, June 9, 2008

Only in America...


...can you make fourteen bucks an hour selling underwear.

Movin' on up...

Today, I was a Bluetool


So WWDC happened today, and it was the single-most anticipated event for me this month. I had three liveblogs open, and the Apple Store page ready should the vaunted iPhone 3G be on sale today.

I'm sitting here, practically foaming at the mouth from all the goodies El Jobso was showing, when I am torn away from my desk to compile binders for a confidential meeting SC was holding this afternoon.

For nearly two hours, shuffling around, grabbing pages, binding, trying not to get papercuts, all the while the second coming of the JesusPhone was happening. I had a plan to have my wife run across The Grove to the Apple Store should it come, but disconnected from all sources of information, I was left with one option.

While sorting pages and having a minor freak-out, I used my Jawbone to call my wife and have her check for me. Now, this doesn't seem like that big a deal, except I was completely hands-free, talking to the air, while handling time-sensitive documents that could cost the University millions. All for a freakin piece of plastic.

Still, it's probably the most gorgeous phone I've seen. July 11 can not come quickly enough.

Friday, June 6, 2008

On Maestro


Sent in my laptop to the Apple Store to get repaired. My genius was really good about helping me out. Jason Sklar was there also, getting his machine fixed. He wore really odd glasses.

Now I'm on my first computer, a Powermac G4 MDD. It'll be tough going for the next 7-10 business days. I probably won't get my machine back until after I get back from MI.

I must be on my man-period


Didn't take long from June 1 for all those happy, light feelings to go away. After a few days of bad sleep, a bad review of my screenplay, the GPU fan on my laptop crashing, running short on money, watching friends have fun because they can afford it, and preparing to travel East to hardly have a vacation, I am officially tired, sad, and cranky.

If I could, I would retreat into my head right now and not come out until I got some fucking good news.

I need my computer to be fixed, to earn some more money to take care of debts, to have some confidence in my writing again, and to lose weight so that I have more energy and not feel like such a fat-ass around the people I want to hang out with.

If I can actually get accepted and afford to go to Prague in January, it will really whip myself into gear.

Sunday, June 1, 2008

I do what I want


I think I'm actually doing what I want to in life right now. I've got my wife, our apartment, our pets, our money. I've got amazing, talented friends. I get paid to fix computers, and I write in all the time between.

This is what I want to do. Enjoy it while it lasts, I suppose.

Saturday, May 31, 2008

Night Moves


Another part of the nineties that I miss: Windows 95/98. I know, I'm a tech nerd, but these remind me of the frontier days of computing. When people like me and M would build websites by hand, and copy floppies back and forth with patches for drivers. Back when 300MHz was screaming fast, and 4GB of disk space was more than you could ever fill.


On a completely unrelated note, do you know what's better than watching Jerry Springer late night on TV? Watching the latino version. It's called José Luis: Sin Censura, and it's on channel 23 Saturday nights at 9. Right now they're advertising a DVD set called Muy Caliente para Télevision. I have no idea what they're saying, but I like all the bitchfights and sound effects. They fight like pussies, though. I'm pretty sure it's fake.

Shut the Fuck Up, Harold Ickes


You snake in the grass.

Friday, May 30, 2008

Emo User's Guide


How to generate user name; label photograph, poem, short film, or song; describe mood, feelings, or thoughts; come up with saying for either the high school yearbook or tattoo:

1. Come up with positive adjective, i.e. beautiful; gorgeous; breathtaking; graceful; magnificent

2. Come up with negative, destructive noun, i.e. destruction; desolation; extermination; eradication; obliteration

3. Put them together: gorgeous desolation; beautiful obliteration; breathtaking destruction; et. al.

Because irony makes you more insightful.

Actually...


I'm not racist, but some things at my place of work go beyond mere coincidence. Whenever I get a call about difficulty with software that we've never heard of, or assistance compiling, or basically programming UNIX, it's always an indian person. And because of our shitty phones, I can never get their usernames right. They always have the same types of names too, stuff like ndbepta (a made up example.) You know how hard it is to figure out what those letters are?

The one thing that always gets me is that when these people call in, there are two things I can always count on in the start of the call. Either, they will ignore me and not provide their username, they will interrupt me in the beginning of my introductory spiel, or they will explain their situation with "Actually..."

"Actually, I'm looking for help compiling in g++. I believe that the header files are out of date after the latest upgrade to Solaris 10 and I would like that to be fixed."

Sonofabitch.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Lunch Ramblings


- You know what would be fun? To master a Christopher Walken impression. That guy can read the phone book and people will laugh.

- I'm sick of movies like 21 Grams, and Crash. You know. The ones where there are multiple characters with intertwining stories that are united by a tragedy of some sort. Fuck that. It's a boring formula, yet I keep checking imdb and seeing more films adopting this route. You know what that tells me? That you can't sustain a couple of characters for the length of a feature. Just go and write television. That's what you want to do, anyway.

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

That's Enough, John Williams

Johnny,

You've been a role model, an inspiration, since I was 10. I've even got a signed picture of you chilling in a frame at home. 

But it's time to retire the scoring sheets. You haven't made a truly memorable soundtrack since 1999. Yes, I'm giving you the benefit of counting Episode I. Truthfully, though, your last best work was on Saving Private Ryan.

I can't list all the reasons, but here are a few:

1) Your Harry Potter theme sounds quite similar to your Hook theme. Listen closer.
1a) The Quidditch chase scene has PRACTICALLY the same score as the smelting factory in Episode II. Don't believe me? Watch them again.
2) AI, Minority Report, Catch Me if You Can, The Terminal, War of the Worlds... all forgettable.
3) Yeah, Munich was good, but for the first time, I thought to myself "Wow, that sounds like Bear McCreary." You've reminded me of another composer now, and not the other way around. No bueno.
4) Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, which should have had themes and motifs as rousing as the other THREE, did not. What happened? Not even one?

I don't want to see you keep deflating like this. Don't turn into my grandma who eventually lost her mind. Quit while you're ahead.