Image and Word

Within the very first seconds, Hot Fuzz is already a funny movie. The film opens on a long shot of an over-lit hallway, from the end of which an indistinct silhouette strides towards the camera. And strides towards the camera. And strides towards the camera.

When the man finally arrives he flashes a police ID badge at the camera, and announces himself in a stern voice: “Nicholas Angel.”

The moment is telegraphed from the first steps his figure takes down the hall, and the ridiculously long build-up to the self-important declaration accurately sets the tone for the entire movie: dry, clever, somewhat familiar, but with a slight tinge of the absurd.

The movie, by the creators of the excellent zombie spoof Shaun of the Dead, is a take on the American cop-buddy flick, as filtered through a distinctly British sensibility. The plot concerns the aforementioned Nicholas Angel (Shaun alum Simon Pegg), a diligent London police officer who is sent to work in the quaint village of Sandford because his higher-ups feel that his prolific arrests are making the rest of the team look bad. In the new precinct, Angel and his overachieving ways have a hard time assimilating; when a series of “accidental” deaths arouse his suspicion, he has a hard time convincing his new colleagues that anything is amiss.

For the first two-thirds, the movie is comic genius, of the wry-chuckle, rather than the loud-guffaw variety. The film excels at droll visual gags and understated verbal wit, such as the local man’s description of his runaway swan (“about two foot high; long slender neck”) or a recurring visual joke that uses quick-cut, disorienting, action-scene editing to show us Angel completing his arrest report paperwork.

In the last 30 to 40 minutes, however, the movie falters. The filmmakers’ sense of what, precisely, they are spoofing seems to waver; the dramatic reveal of the guilty parties seems to draw on Rosemary’s Baby, while a later scene as an Old West-gunfight flavor. And the dry humor that works so well in witty setpieces and well-turned phrases just doesn’t translate well into car chases and shoot-outs. It is, perhaps, an inherent limitation of the genre chosen to mock, but it nonetheless makes the final scenes a bit of a chore to watch (though the errant swan does make a funny guest appearance near the end).

Perhaps the best way to sum up the movie is to use Angel’s own assessment of Point Break: “It’s certainly a no holds barred, adrenaline-fueled thrill ride, but there’s no way you could perpetrate that amount of carnage and mayhem and not incur a considerable amount of paperwork.”

Dan in Real Life is a thoroughly watchable movie and for this minor miracle the studios should genuflect and praise Steve Carrell. The story itself is clearly not the movie’s main charm. It centers around Dan, the widowed writer of a parenting advice column who is quickly losing control of his relationship with his own three daughters. Then he falls for his brother’s girlfriend and all wacky hell breaks loose.

It is Carrell’s very specific comic style–good-natured yet always perilously close to some sort of explosion; sometimes childish but, at the same time, somehow almost cerebral–that makes the film work despite the trite plotline.

His charms manage to smooth over the bumps and gaps in a sodden, hackneyed script that leans far too heavily on contrived situations and well-worn premises: large gathering of a wacky family, man in love with unavailable woman, exasperated father dealing with teenage daughters. (Though, to be fair, there was one joke about corn that had me giggling furiously.)

When Dan spots his 14-year old daughter holding hands with a boy inside a coffee shop, he bangs desperately on the window of the eatery in an attempt to interrupt their canoodling. It is an old joke–the panic of fathers at seeing their daughters grow up–but Carrell sells it. He also manages to put his own spin on such well-worn classics as accidentally seeing the object of his affections naked, dancing like an awkward white man, and reacting with displeasure to tasting bad food.

It is not worth delving into the additional nuances of the movie, in large part becase there are so few. The script studiously avoids anything like emotional depth or complexity, though the three daughters and their individual conflicts offer plenty of potential fodder. The supporting characters (with the brief exception of Emily Blunt‘s Ruthie “Pigface” Draper, a neighbor with whom Dan goes on a date) are nothing special. Dan in Real Life will not go down in history as Steve Carrell’s seminal cinematic work, but his ability to both transcend and elevate the movie he was given is an impressive testament to his abilities.

Turning 30 is a very reflective time. And, being myself, I used the opportunity to reflect on my own petty quirks and preferences. I am sure I missed plenty of things I love in this compilation, so consider what is assembled here to be a pretty good estimation of the best 30 cultural and media items to cross my path lo these 30 years.

30. Danger Mouse: This droll British cartoon about a secret agent mouse and his cowardly hamster sidekick was the television equivalent of training wheels, preparing young funnybones for future enjoyment of Monty Python.

29. Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me: I have no argument for the impact or profundity of this weekly radio quiz show, but it is like audio-comfort food, and you just can’t argue with macaroni and cheese.

28. The first sentence of One Hundred Years of Solitude: “Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice.”

27. Screenwriter’s Blues, Soul Coughing: This song is aesthectically pleasing, in other words, “fly.”

26. Bird Books, in general: Ever since I was very young I could easily spend a good hour or so paging through these field guides, mentally catalouging the birds I have encountered, admiring the drawings and photographs, attempting my own sketches. Why? No idea. But I just bought a new bird book yesterday so clearly my obsession lives.

25. Heroes: It has only been one season, but even if it goes wildly downhill come the fall, Heroes will have been the brilliant meteor shower that you got up at 3 a.m. to go watch with your Dad when you were eight and remember forever as the one of the most amazing and entrancing things you’ve ever seen.

24. From Here to Eternity: This movie is more than the classic embrace-in-the-crashing-surf scene. Try not to tear up when Pvt. Prewitt (Montgomery Clift) plays a bugle salute to the fallen Maggio (Frank Sinatra) or not to hold your breath through the tempestuous first meeting between Karen Holmes (Deborah Kerr) and Sgt. Warden (Burt Lancaster, embodying the term ‘barrel-chested’).

23. The State: Among many other reasons, for bringing us monkey research. No wait. “Research is such a restrictive term. I feel I’ve opened up a whole new arena of experimentation which I call ‘Monkey Torture.’”

22. No matter how many times I see it, I will flip to the channel showing A Few Good Men, just to hear this: “Son, we live in a world that has walls. And those walls have to be guarded by men with guns. Who’s gonna do it? You? You, Lt. Weinberg? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for Santiago and you curse the Marines. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that Santiago’s death, while tragic, probably saved lives. And my existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives…You don’t want the truth. Because deep down, in places you don’t talk about at parties, you want me on that wall, you need me on that wall.”

21. Network, specifically the dialogue: The script of this movie is clearly the work of someone who simply loves the sound, the meaning, the rhythm and cadence or words.

20. Crazy, as sung by either Patsy Cline or Willie Nelson: Plaintive heartbreak at its most elegant. This song is spare, simple, and nearly perfect.

19. It Happened One Night: Once upon a time in Hollywood the double entendre was a finely-honed craft. Here, Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert elevate it to a sly and sexy art.

18. Spongmonkeys: They have a pepper bar.

17. Cracker: If the crime-drama gods told me that, for the rest of my life, I could have one episode of Cracker, or the entire catalogue of all three Law and Order franchises the choice would be clear. The subtlety and the complex characters (and the British accents?) make even a little bit of Cracker infinitely more filling than an entire season of any American production in the genre.

16. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe: I am still looking for the magic closet that will turn me into a mythical queen. In the meantime I will have to settle for regular re-readings of this first and best of the Narnia books.

15. Leaves of Grass: Just because.

14. Northern Exposure: If Northern Exposure were a new show today, would I like it or would I find it too full of self-conscious quirk? No matter, the talking trees, errant satellites, and especially the bohemian local DJ/armchair philosopher were irresistible to me in high school. And with that unique variety of nostalgia that high school obsessions can induce, I love it to this day.

13. This line of the American President: “My name is Andrew Shepherd and I AM the president.” Hey, I dig righteous indignation, especially as written by Aaron Sorkin (see also #22).

12. Ten: The 80s are in right now; grunge must be making a comeback soon. I am dusting off my flannels and army boots at this very moment.

11. The Green Sky Trilogy: In later years, I have come to find the books’ veiled politics a bit wearisome, yet the exquisitely sketched alternate world where the denizens glide from tree branch to tree branch on silken wings has never failed to captivate me.

10. Automatic for the People: It’s 1995. I’m feeling angsty. Lying on my bed in the dark, listening to Michael Stipe croon, “I will try not to breathe, this decision is mine…”

9. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock- “Let us go then, you and I…”

8. 10 Things I Hate About You: Unlike many other teen movies in which an outsider protagonist finds love and suddenly starts acting and dressing like his or her more mainstream classmates, in this high school-based adaptation of the Taming of the Shrew the character of Kat (Julia Stiles) gets her man, but never loses her fierce sense of non-conformity. Score one for the outcasts.

7. New Partner, by Palace Music: Just ask my college roomates if I ever get sick of this song.

6. Clue: The movie that taught us that the chief duty of butlers is to butle, and that “Monkeys’ brains, though popular in Cantonese cuisine, are not often to be found in Washington D.C.”

5. Colin Firth’s performances in Pride and Prejudice, Bridget Jones’ Diary, Love Actually, Girl With a Pearl Earring, and What a Girl Wants: No other actor in movies today is undone by love quite so well as Colin Firth. He plays it steely and distant and yet always clearly telegraphs the affection (whether paternal or romantic) that simmers beneath his icy surfaces. And when, in most of these films, he finally submits to his passion it is with a headlong rush that is all the more satisfying because of his previous sternness.

4. The Princess Bride: Yes, Fred Savage, the story on which this movie is base is indeed a kissing book. An awesome, awesome kissing book.

3. Sonnet #18: I probably shouldn’t even try to bother elaborating on why this most famous of Shakepeare sonnets is, you know, good.

2. Nature, by Ralph Waldo Emerson: I am indeed a transparent eyeball.

1. Pride and Prejudice: The mini-series, the movie, and, above all, the book. “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on the subject forever.” Sigh.

I never watched Sex and the City until recently, when I discovered that WGN (the Superstation) airs episodes before my 11:30/Midnight double-dose of Scrubs.

At the peak of the show’s popularity, however, I worked in a corporate office, where cross-cube chat among my female coworkers frequently revolved around which of the characters they most identified with. The ultimate aim of the conversations was questionable, however, because the participants nearly unniversally agreed on their answer; everyone, it seemed, was precisely like Carrie Bradshaw.

I suppose it shouldn’t be surprising that a show that garnered such critical and popular acclaim should have as its central character a woman with whom anyone can identify. In fact, now that WGN is allowing me to look closely at the figure of Carrie, it seems to me that the program’s creators have taken painstaking care to make sure that nothing about her could rub viewers the wrong way.

Visually, Sarah Jessica Parker is striking (in a vaguely equine way), but not classically beautiful. What makes her undeniably compelling are her intangible qualities of confidence and elegance. When the average woman looks in the mirror, she cannot convince herself that she looks like Catherine Zeta-Jones. She may, however, be able to believe that she possesses a style or charisma or…something…that sets her apart from the crowd.

Carrie’s personality is a blank slate; she has few distinguishing character traits and none of any distinction. She enjoys sex but longs for love, she is a good friend but occasionally self-absorbed. Her vices are few and mild: smoking and a slight shoe-focused shopping addiction.

The actual personalities are reserved for the members of her posse: promiscuous Samantha, idealistic Charlotte, cynical Miranda. The three are essentially pigeonholed into these descriptors, but they are at least defined by something, rather than the vague nothingness in which Carrie exists. Their bold character traits make them infinitely more intriguing than the show’s bland protagonist. Samantha’s bold sexuality may incite harsh disapproval from some viewers. Miranda’s cynicism makes one wonder about the personal history that led her to such disillusionment with humanity.

Of course, to give all four main characters such strong personalities would have been to risk alienating viewers who found Charlotte too naive or Miranda too cold. Carrie’s blandness, perhaps, is a necessary evil, but the widespread embrace of her mediocrity need not be.

Comedy Central this weekend screened a pair of movies whose celebration of the outcast and carefully orchestrated quirkiness make them relatives of a sort. The Royal Tenenbaums and Napoleon Dynamite do share a certain aesthetic and similar subject matter. Wes Anderson and Jared Hess have both made finely detailed examinations of the lives of tortured misfits. And both films display a meticulous aesthetic: each shot is a painstakingly created composition of character, costume, and setting.

But beneath the carefully observed surfaces are two entirely different cinematic experiences. Where Anderson evinces an actual affection for his characters, Hess is cold–even cruel–to his creations. Anderson is the enthusiastic child, scripting dramatic scenarios that he will later act out with his stuffed animals and action figures; Hess is the boy who zealously skewers live butterflies then watches, studiously, as they wriggle on the pin.

The (radically oversimplified) reason we–or at least I–enjoy the quirky geek movie, is that we can identify with the central characters. Perhaps, like Luke Wilson’s Richie Tenenbaum, we know the pain of hopeless love. Or maybe, like Napoleon, we simply don’t fit in. The satisfaction in seeing our angst-filled couterparts paraded across the screen is the confirmation that despite being unloved, unattractive, unpopular, we may still be seen and understood by someone out there. Even if we don’t see our dreams of a happy ending played out on the screen (Richie, after all, does not attain the object of his desire), the very presence of misfits like ourselves is validation in itself.

The transformation, however cannot occur, if the character in question is, like Napoleon, so thoroughly unlikable as to engender contempt rather than identification. He is not simply socially inept; he is humorless, crass, self-aggrandizing, and perpetually indignant. And he never gets his proper redemption. Though some reviewers have interpreted his climactic dance performance as an compelling transfiguration, a triumph of self-confidence over reality, I could only see a moment in which the movie finally makes completely explicit its invitation to gawk at the spastic efforts of the hopeless geek, to see Napoleon not as a person, but as a side show.

The members of the Tenenbaum clan, on the other hand, are certainly caricatures of a sort, but their stories are full of humanity. Ben Stiller’s Type A widower Chas is overbearing and unforgiving, but the flip side of these traits is his fierce protectiveness of his two young sons. Estranged father Royal (Gene Hackman) manipulates his way back into his family’s life only when he is rendered homeless, but is quickly frustrated by his self-made alienation from his own sons and daughters.

The Royal Tenenbaums is, ultimately, an examination of what happens when people must reconcile the promise that childhood once held with the less-than-satisfying realities of adulthood. The film uses its quirky characters and highly stylized settings to create a slightly fantastical atmosphere that suits its themes. In Napoleon Dynamite, however, the carefully planned details are more like the machinations of an exceptionally well-crafted prank–so slick and clever that you almost forget to feel sorry for the butt of the joke.