Stumbling Toward Cinema Since 2006…
- Greatest American Dog
Lie-la-lie! Lie-la-lie-la-lie-la-lie!
Meet Presley. Presley’s one of the two breakout stars of CBS’s Greatest American Dog, this year’s second-most bizarre dog-centric reality series. Greatest American Dog is a fascinatingly strange show, emblematic of CBS’s high reality-tv production values and strong dedication toward constructing dynamic characters. What differs here, of course, from earlier CBS series - Kid Nation, Survivor - is that the characters focused on, more often than not, are dogs. There is some focus on the dog’s owners, but these owners are mostly boring, and I am yet to discern much about them from what I’ve seen so far.
Greatest American Dog is a lot of different reality series in one - it’s a bit Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show: when, in Episode 2, Beth Joy dressed up her disgusting mutt Bella Starlet for the obedience show elimination challenge, the judges scolded her for not allowing them to observe the dog’s body language, grooming. It’s a bit Big Brother, with all dogs and owners living in the same house, and with the Golden Bone Room and a Dog House for whoever is on the shitlist of the Golden Boner. It’s got a touch of the American Idol formula, with a panel of three judges, one of whom, a scary Brit named Victoria, has a bit of a mean streak like Simon Cowell’s and a tendency to demonstrate - at length - the dogs’ trainers’ faults.
All this from R.J. Cutler, the Academy Award nominee and Peabody and Emmy winner better known for fare like The War Room and the amazing, forgotten series American High (cancelled halfway through its Emmy-winning run, I had to follow this indelible document of suburban Chicago teens from Fox to late-night PBS showings). It seems a bit of an odd fit, and it shows in the series’ awkward rhythms and inability to paint its human characters as compellingly as its canine ones (who are suitably treated with terrific reaction shots, lingering closeups, and fun dog-at-play montages).
What the show has yet to do, and what could separate it from the pack of reality noise and put it in the rarefied air of a series like Kid Nation, is come to terms with the complexities of what we expect from dogs. Thus far the series has judged the dogs on obedience and the ability to do simple tricks, but has not acknowledged that these dogs do not care about the fact that they’re on the series, are unaware of the entertainment they provide us. Canine obedience as ideal is simply a cultural construct - so the ability of these dogs to conform to our idea of dogness is the show’s competitive criteria, but will the show ever probe deeper issues of dogness, the nature of canine identity, in the way that Kid Nation’s explorations of politics and role-playing interrogated the question of childhood and adulthood as separate patterns of behavior?
So far, a rundown of the dogtestants, starting with the first two eliminated pooches (I haven’t seen episode 3 yet) and then in ascending order from worst to best:
Ezzie (ELIMINATED) - A Boston terrier owned by aspiring actor Michael, Ezzie actually demonstrated some dogtential, but her owner was simply so irritating that no one could stand for him to be on the show any longer. I was, to be sure, surprised - the first challenge was designed as a demonstration of the dogs’ abilities to perform tricks, and Ezzie wasn’t nearly as awful as the other Bottom-Three dogs, Bella Starlet and Beacon. Ezzie, we hardly knew ye. B-.
Kenji (ELIMINATED) - Behaviorally, this giant schnauzer is a dogtrocity! In the first episode, he attacked one of the littler competitors. And then he did so in the second episode! Kenji’s owner, Elan, is not a very good trainer, using lots of physical manipulation and yelling, and as with Ezzie’s elimination, it appeared as though the judges based their decision as much on Elan’s inability to conform to traditions of dog training as to her dog’s inability to follow her lead. I want this dog to hug me, but I do not want to see it win reality competitions. C.
Okay, now for the remaining contestants, starting with the worst:
Bella Starlet - Woof! This thing is a nightmare, a mutt that combines the worst of an assortment of breeds (Yorkie? Pomeranian? All the heavy-hitters in horrible seem present here…). Bella Starlet is apparently an acting dog, and has been in independent films. Her owner, Beth Joy, is a former Elaine Benes impersonator and aspiring actress. This pair is undoubtably, inextricably New York, but in the most annoying way possible, and I hate hate hate them. I hate the American Girl Place dresses Beth Joy puts on Bella Starlet, I hate the camera’s lingering close-ups on that tattoo on Beth Joy’s calf, and I hate the stupid look on Bella Starlet’s face. When Beth Joy, attacked by the judges for clothing her dog for a grooming demonstration, fought back by announcing that her dog, as a mutt, cannot conform to any standards, and that she should be judged by her face and tail, I became momentarily enraged, dizzy, and I needed water. D- (because no dog deserves an F, ever).
Preston - Another dog whose owner decided that their dog was a doll to be played with, Preston is a white Pomeranian who comes with a shock of Manic Panic on his head. We’re yet to see much of this dog - he performs well in pre-elimination Golden Bone competitions but is seen little elsewhere on the show. Perhaps here, and with Bella Starlet (and, to be truthful, the next dog), my biases toward larger dogs are visible; yes, I prefer a large dog, someone you can be friends with and play with, and I think this is part of where the series might go as far as exploring the biases and preferences of American dog owners: what does it mean to be an American dog? Is there a sexist bias in this sort of inquiry? Can a poofy white Pomeranian - a canine culturally feminized by its form - ever fulfill the second adjective in the show’s title, or is there a tendency toward larger, traditionally ‘masculine’ dogs in American society? It is unclear. But if this is the case, it will not be with this dog. This dog does not possess the power to captivate the American soul. D+
Beacon - Thus far featureless as a character, all we have to go on so far with Beacon is his poor showing in the first episode’s elimination challenge, and his inability to perform tricks. I have no bias against the miniature schnauzer as a breed, but simply with respect to his demonstrated abilities thus far, I am giving Beacon a C-.
Elvis - Elvis is a Jack Russell Terrier. Despite Eddie, America’s favorite TV dog for a solid decade, the Jack Russell is a mean, spiteful breed, filled with enough bile for you and your loved ones to develop a lifetime’s worth of ulcers. A recent study, linked to in my friend Amanda’s AIM status, indicates the Jack Russell as the third most vicious commonly certified dog breed, following the chihuahua and the dachshund. Elvis has shown the more vicious tendencies of a Jack Russell already, biting superior dogtestant Tillman below the eye, and failing to heel suitably in the obedience challenge. His ineffectual puppet David, who indulged Elvis with a $10,000 ‘Bark Mitzvah,’ should be advised that he, not Elvis, is the owner. C-
Galaxy - Galaxy’s owner J.D. identifies himself as a ‘Dog Entertainer.’ While I have just spent three minute contemplating joyfully the notion of maintaining a living entertaining dogs, I take it to mean that this guy puts on a show with his backflipping, frisbee-catching stunt-dog Galaxy. In which case he is not the dog entertainer. He merely facilitates dog entertainment. Dog Entertainment Facilitator would be a better title for what J.D. does. Galaxy is the dog entertainer. She is the entertaining dog. J.D. is not. J.D. is annoying, cocky, and thinks he will easily walk away with the title. He is receiving what has to be termed the CBS Snake editing - CBS is good at alerting viewers that a contestant, seemingly likable now, will turn into a snake later in the season. I like Galaxy, enough to give her a B+. But J.D. gets a C, which evens them out as a team to a B-. This seems fair.
Leroy - I know nothing - nothing! - about this dog. Nothing! But I like it. Stealth editing tells me to expect good things from this dog later in the season. B.
Andrew - Here’s the small dog that breaks the rule: I have a tremendous admiration for trainer Laurie’s ability to maintain order with her dog Andrew. I would never want to deal with this dog - having once lived with an impossibly matted and seemingly abused Maltese picked up as a runaway, I know that this is not a breed for me, but given the parameters of the species, I am very impressed by the dog’s heeling ability, his attentiveness when instructed by Laurie not to eat his favorite meal, presented during the elimination challenge, and his grooming. B+.
Tillman - Tillman is a bit of a two-trick dog: but what tricks! He can skateboard and he can surf, and moreover, he can be an English Bulldog, which is enough to earn him points in my book. This is an ugly dog, and I want to hug him a lot and have my face licked by his big-ol tongue. He’s friendly, perhaps too much so (he seems shocked when bitten by Elvis in Episode 2, his owner’s consoling behind-the-ear stroke the only thing able to calm him). A gentle soul trapped in a brutish body. The single-greatest moment on this series thus far was watching Tillman nervously eyeing a steak right in front of his face, unable to touch it. He did it admirably. What a trooper. I’m a fan. A-.
Star - Star saved a life. STAR SAVED A LIFE. This is an awesome dog, who can sense when owner Bill’s diabetic wife has a low sugar count. This is a hero dog. Dogs who are heroes are one of my greatest obsessions, and so I’m a definite fan of this dog. Also, it’s clear that Bill and Star love each other, and that Bill and Star are well suited for one another, as when Bill affixed a neatly washed bandanna around Star’s neck for the obedience show. And when Star was attacked by some mysterious object (feral cat? barbed wire? ELVIS?), Bill’s rush to the Emergency Pet Care center was the show’s most gripping emotional moment. I really like this dog. Enough to give her an A. But not enough to beat…
Presley - Let’s be honest. What we look for in a dog is a friend, someone to bounce ideas off of, someone to hug, someone to nurture and love and Presley’s a great friend. He’s so expressive in the way boxers can be - a slight head cock leads to a wealth of emotional readings - that you can’t help but want to shake paws with this guy. Not to mention the fact that he’s obedient, capable, maintains excellent dog-posture, and inspires tears from his nice-guy owner Travis. This dog is a winner. A.
One more issue I’d like to touch on: the way CBS’s website for Greatest American Dog, and specifically the images on the site, construct certain ideas about America that don’t necessarily play out on the show: specifically, all the dogtestants and owners are posed in an idyllic Southern California suburban landscape, as if to comment that this is the natural environment of dog-lovers, when in fact most of the owners appear from their biographies to be urban dwellers. As someone who recognizes that high-density urban neighborhoods are among the leading Important Dog Areas in America, I am dramatically opposed to this dogscriminating portrait of America’s love affair for all things canine.
- Starting Out in the Evening
This man appears nude. Come and get it, ladies.
I just watched this. It’s not very good, but Frank Langella is. If I were the director, I would murder the sound guy, because this is some of the worst sound recording I’ve ever seen in a major motion picture. Just the murkiest damn dialogue, and all sorts of horrible live effects - did no one on set decide to pick up some room tone?
And then I noticed that it’s rated PG-13, despite having a solid three seconds of Frank Langella’s dick.
Can someone possibly explain this one to me? Not that I’m a big fan of the MPAA and its puritanical qualification system, but is old man dick less dicky than young man dick, because I’ve never seen dick in a PG-13 movie before.
- The Dark Knight and Fandom
Vroom Vroom, I’mma superhero!
I like The Dark Knight. It’s a fun action movie, with some interesting nods toward Bush-era anti-terrorist policy, a pair of great performances from Aaron Eckhart and Heath Ledger, lots of cool gadgets, some cool action. Yeah, it’s got troubling elements: Batman’s silly growly voice, the inability to determine what’s going on in the action sequences (this was a problem with Batman Begins too), some typical superhero fascism (though the film draws enough from the last 20 years of comics to know not to treat this sort of thing as uncomplicated). Basically, it’s everything I look for in a Batman movie: fun escapism.
But don’t tell that to the fanboys - they’re going batshit(!) over this movie! They voted it the #1 film of all time on IMDb (the people’s AFI list) and they’re attacking mob-style any blog or reviewer who DARES to pronounce that the film is not a masterpiece (it isn’t) and that it has troubling implications (it does) and some murky, almost incomprehensible action (yes).
The level of vitriol over these posts is ridiculous - people calling for the head of Keith Uhlich, accusing him of willful contrarianism and over-intellectual ‘nitpicking’ (it’s called close textual analysis, and it’s the bread-and-butter of film criticism, rather than nodding your head at monologues discussing the film’s ‘themes,’ Johnny Fanboy), claiming that Stephanie Zacharek (who is, to be sure, a critic I often disagree with) doesn’t like movies.
So why the ANGER, fanboys? What do you have riding on this film?
Here’s my thought: much like how I get infuriated when I read an asinine IMDb review of a great movie, fanboys are invested in making sure that people understand them and their obsession: it’s not simply a review of a movie. The fan community wants the reviewer to communicate that yes, their obsession is worthwhile, that there is a deep, important meaning to their stories about men in tights fighting bad people, which is why the phrases “modern mythology” and “like the gods of the Greek pantheon” get tossed around so much. The rehabilitation of comics’ image sees critics like Uhlich and Zacharek - who have very open-minded but rigorous understandings of how movies convey meaning, intentionally or not - as elitist anti-comics enemies. They simultaneously clamor for the critics to not take the films so seriously - don’t review Batman like it’s Bergman, even if the Critical Mass is saying Batman is like Bergman, and so that sort of silliness needs to be dispelled - and to take it very, very seriously - repeating thematic phrases like ‘Manicheanism’ as though these mantras will convince critics that, oh, yes, indeed, the film is a masterpiece - it interrogates Manicheanism! (I’d actually claim that the film rebukes dualistic notions of mankind, but that’s just one man’s opinion). They want critics to take the film seriously, but not to take it seriously enough to call it on its failures.
Related phenomenon: when did Watchmen become ‘the most acclaimed graphic novel of all time’, as seen in the trailer for it before The Dark Knight? Did we forget Maus (a Pulitzer winner!), Jimmy Corrigan, and David Boring when anointing the film to the top of the heap, or is it simply because it’s a comic about superheros that legitimately produces a complex discussion of superheroism? Inquiring minds would like to know.
- Kon Podcast at The House Next Door
Hey guys,
Ever wanted to hear the sound of my voice? No? Well, that’s too bad because now you can match my nasal honk to my overwritten reviews, courtesy of my friends at The House Next Door. I was recently invited to take part in a podcast on the subject of Japanese filmmaker Satoshi Kon, and I had a great deal of fun talking about Kon’s work and reception in the west. Thankfully, the transcript, which you can choose to read instead, leaves out all my ‘um’s ‘uh’s and (…)s.
- Stinkfest 2008
My girlfriend Alex and I went to Stinkfest, which is like an enlightened street fair. You New Yorkers know that street fairs - with their tired assortment of artisanal handcrafts, reggae CDs, fresh-fruit smoothies, and overcooked gyros - are not really that big of a deal, but this one was. Sponsored by purveyors of all things fromage Stinky Bklyn and some likeminded eateries and shops (Smith + Vine, JakeWalk), the fair offered a glancing blow of The Good Life to anyone who knew where to look for it, and the food - oh the food! - was magnificent:
- Something I Hate: Guy Fieri
I like cooking, and I like eating, but this dude might be ruining the whole notion of food simply by inserting himself into it. Is there anything less appetizing than Spiky McRazorburn up there serving up acely retarded interpretations of bro-sine (chicken wings, pad thai, burgers) on his blissfully stupid Guy’s Big Bite? How about image after image of Bleachblonde McChinpubes getting pieces of meat stuck in his goatee as he chows down on grotesque horror-show extreme diner fare on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives? Say what you will about Rachael Ray, Sandra Lee, Tyler Florence, or Paula Deen (whom I’ve begrudgingly grown to admire - her singlehanded mission to kill American eaters, as chronicled here, is among the most creative acts of attempted murder in human history) - none make me angrier than Guy Fieri, Season 2 Winner of The Next Food Network Star and the only one of that show’s winners to really make any impact on network programming.
But if we’re gonna convict this dude of assholism, let’s set up the counts:
1) This is an actual restaurant owned by Fieri:
2) This quote, from Anthony Bourdain, which blows my mind with its incisive no-bullshit understanding of the marketing concerns that underlines Food Network’s decision to devote 12 hours of its programming a week to this guy:
Watching that very public and very painful process of “figuring out” has provided some pretty hilariously embarrassing viewing over the past year of declining audience share for Food Net (Down 36,000 total day ratings and 15% for its weekend bloc according to the Times). There’s last year’s Great Hope, Guy Fieri, who reminds me of the “Poochie” character in the classic Simpson’s episode where it is decided that Itchy and Scratchy need a “hip, in-your-face, pro-active” new sidekick to bring in a younger demographic. Poochie (and seemingly Guy) is created by committee and an assemblage of compiled stats from focus groups: “Twenty percent more rasta” “needs more surfer.”
The sad thing is that pure saturation, as well as item #3, seem to indicate that Fieri is taking with audiences.
3) Fieri, who champions locally-owned restaurants on his television series, nonetheless shills for the sort of category-killing casual-dining chains that have made the locally owned diner a rarity in most American communities:
- Addendum: The Happening
There is a scene where the protagonists walk through an empty model home marveling at the plastic environs in the year’s most heavy-handed commentary on the wastefulness and artificiality of suburban planning.
Outside the home a sign reads, in very prominent italics: “You deserve this.” Meaning that we deserve mass extinction at the hands of suicide-provoking neurotoxins.
Shyamalan is a total fucking sociopath. Let this be understood.
- Power Pop
It’s good to know Sweden’s holding the fort on this for the time being. This is the catchiest thing ever:
- The Happening
At no point in the film do any of these actors wear any other expression.
Major spoilers inevitable. Do not read if you plan to see this movie:
I am hopelessly devoted to M. Night Shyamalan.
I have seen all of his films since The Sixth Sense in their opening weekends. I will continue seeing all of his films in their opening weekends. M. Night Shyamalan is a singular visionary, a unique voice in American filmmaking, and with The Happening, following Lady in the Water, he is the creator of two of the most batshit, laughably puerile works of high-budget outsider art I could ever hope to see. Somewhere along the line, probably during or immediately following the production of The Village, Shyamalan simply cracked - bowing under the pressure of being prematurely dubbed his generation’s Spielberg, no longer able to hamfistedly join his blandly generic and ruthlessly conservative spiritualism to self-conscious genre play and O. Henry twists. He is no longer making films for human beings; his work is self-contained, hermetic, defiantly ‘wrong’ and with a pissant’s smarminess. His ensuing films are unlike any others being made in America these days. They play entirely within internal logics baffling to his putative audience. The aesthetic decisions which comprise them - acting, dialogue, editing - are at odds with nearly every popular tradition of the last 70 years.
