I wasn’t familiar with Jason Segel prior to seeing Forgetting Sarah Marshall, but I gotta hand it to the guy, he comes out of this flick sitting pretty. Not only does he star as the lead character (the guy trying to forget the titular Sarah), he also wrote the extremely funny screenplay. And I’ve gotta say that I admire what that screenplay manages to do. Sure, the movie has its fair share of laughs, but it also has the courage to let itself breathe a little. During lulls in the comedy, we get to know the characters and that, in turn, propels later laughs. It seems like that’d be an obvious thing to do, but when was the last time you realized you liked the hero in a modern comedy? Here, not only can you say that, but you also cozy up to the supporting characters enough that you feel you understand their motivations and they come off as fairly well-rounded individuals. That strikes me as a rare thing in this day and age — hell, I don’t think we get that dynamic in a lot of our dramas, much less our comedies.
I don’t want to oversell Forgetting Sarah Marshall — the truth is some of the comic set pieces do misfire, and I would have chopped out ten or fifteen minutes. Ultimately, however, the flick has a lot in common with its hapless protagonist. Yeah, it’s lumpy and misshapen, but you just can’t help rooting for it.
For some reason, I remembered Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five as being more impactful, as having a few more socko emotional wallops. As it is, it’s really just a series of disjointed anecdotes devolving into an inconclusive ending. Which is not surprising really since, in his introduction, Vonnegut pretty much tells us that what will follow is really just a series of disjointed anecdotes devolving into an inconclusive ending. Given that, I’m not sure why I had different expectations. Perhaps, in the twenty or so odd years since I first read the novel, I had attached more mystique than any re-read could bear. Hard to say.
The above paragraph sounds like the opening to a bad review, doesn’t it? Sorry about that. “Slaughterhouse” is still an undeniably great book. Since it’s so rambling in its presentation (which it is designed to be, I must point out), the devil is in the details. Remember all those disjointed anecdotes I mentioned? Well, they’re all fascinating, at turns funny and sad. Despite the fact that I expected to have my heart strings tugged more than I did, I was fully engaged during all of this (decidedly quick) read. I went through a Vonnegut phase in my teens and early twenties and, looking back now, I can say that the phase was warranted. I wish I could say the same about some of the other dalliances from that period of my life.
Today the last of Walt Disney’s great “Nine Old Men” shuffled off this mortal coil. Ollie Johnston joined the studio in the 1930s and worked on every single animated feature from 1937’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs on up through The Fox and the Hound in 1981. With his fellow animators (and most especially his long-time partner in crime Frank Thomas), Johnston helped invent character animation as we know it today. Think about this for a moment: Johnston and company did work which most of the world’s population have seen at one time or another. The golden age of Disney animation is enormous in its cultural impact, and Ollie was right there in the thick of it.
Ollie’s other contribution to the field — co-authoring a book called Disney Animation: the Illusion of Life — is, in some ways, more significant than the scenes he did in all of those classic films. “Illusion” has, in the 25 or so years since its publication, gone on to become the defacto bible for animators young and old alike. I own a copy myself and, despite the fact I’ve read it several times, I always get something new out of it each time I pick it up. It truly is a landmark piece of work.
Animation lost a giant today. Ollie Johnston was 95.
Wordpress finally added an integrated gallery so I figured I’d celebrate by throwing up some current pictures of the twins, Kenny and Luke. You can click on the thumbnails for larger versions, and each picture can be commented on individually. Pretty nifty.
I picked up American Gods after enjoying the film adaptation of one of Neil Gaiman’s other books, Stardust. Given my affection for Mr. Gaiman’s work, I wish I could say that “Gods” was everything I’d hoped it would be, but the novel’s grand climax was neither grand nor particularly climactic. For most of the story, we are led to believe there will be a war between the Gods, a Ragnarok-style showdown deep in America’s heartland. It would be irresponsible of me to tell you exactly how that plays out, but let’s just say it’s not nearly as pyrotechnic as one might have hoped. Still, I loved the fact that many of the book’s main characters were gods from numerous different pantheons — not people who think they’re gods, mind you, but actual gods. Gaiman clearly knows his mythology and, for anyone with an interest in myth and fable, the bulk of American Gods is tremendous fun. Although, if I may, let me level a minor reproach at the author: Occasionally Gaiman alludes to something from literature or mythology which he does not explain. I got most of these references, but many others I did not. Whether I got them or not, I found myself thinking ‘C’mon, Neil, you’re showing off’.
Don’t misconstrue my problems with the ending to be a condemnation of the book — on balance, I’d give American Gods a (somewhat) enthusiastic thumbs-up. There’s a lot of imagination to be found here and it’s worth the trip despite the potholes.
Update:
I also own Fragile Things, Neil Gaiman’s latest collection of short stories. “Things” contains a novella called “The Monarch of the Glen”, which is a sequel of sorts to American Gods. The story takes place two years after “Gods” and finds its protagonist in Scotland, about to be cast in a modern — and very dangerous — recreation of the Beowulf legend. “Glen” doesn’t quite work and it rather mysteriously repeats a couple of the primary motifs from American Gods. Why both stories feature a child murderer who offs himself is a little baffling to me. Still, it was kind of fun to read this fifty pager right on the heels of finishing the novel. I wish more authors would occasionally revisit the characters from their major works.
What do you get when you combine rock n’ roll, Motown, lush cinematic flourishes, truly eccentric producing and arranging, and then you push a 40s-era screen siren out in front? You get Nicole Atkins’ Neptune City. The past few times I’ve been in my Barnes and Noble, they were blasting this record over the P.A. and I found it enormously distracting — distracting in an ‘I gotta find out what the heck this is’ kind of way. Finally, I could resist no longer so I made my way into their (grotesquely overpriced) media section and asked the astigmatic gentleman behind the counter what it was we were listening to. Information in hand, I promptly went home and used the balance of an iTunes gift certificate to snag this baby up.
I’m not going to say that Neptune City works the whole way through, but wow, big props for being one of the most offbeat and enjoyable things I’ve heard all year.
Okay, this will be my last posting on Conan for a while, I promise.
Following close on the heels of reading the two comic collections I posted about a little while back, I decided to check out Conan: The Phenomenon, a hardcover book which covers the history of the character (as well as the character’s creator Robert E. Howard). “Phenomenon” is by Paul M. Sammon, the author of Future Noir: The Making of Blade Runner. Oddly enough, I had some of the same problems with the new book as I did the old — initially the writing was a little clunky, but then it settled into a nice groove and I began to enjoy myself. In fact, I learned quite a bit about both Howard and about Conan’s sordid history as a property. I recommend “Phenomenon” unreservedly — to anyone who’s a rabid fan of a certain Hyborian Age barbarian. Not surprisingly, Sammon’s book isn’t going to win anyone new to the cause. If you’re not already familiar with Conan, Sammon’s book will just leave you scratching your head. On the other hand, if you dig on Conan, are curious about Howard, or just love looking at pretty pictures of brawny guys with axes then Conan: The Phenomenon just might be your cup of, um, ale.
Recent Comments