Charlize Theron is too good for her own movie. Norah Jones is our real American Idol. And how long can L.A.'s best new radio station last?
After seven years of faithful service, my Pioneer PD-F605 25-disc player conked out on me recently. This left me stuck listening to the radio a lot. So this is my way of apologizing for the lack of albums on the below list. But I did find a great new radio station in the process.
Indie 103.1 FM Yes, Clear Channel is behind L.A.'s most entertaining new radio station. Yes, we're sure the limited commercials and no-DJs policy won't last much longer. To hear the Pixies, the Replacements, X, the Clash, Matthew Sweet, Temple of the Dog, and Public Enemy on the radio is to live in an alternate reality — one where the good stuff was the most popular stuff. More than just an unpredictable blast, the station reminds me like nothing in years that the radio can transform a decent CD tune into an intimate, galvanizing moment. How else to explain the likes of Chicks on Speed, Cursive, and Jet blowing me away when the albums rarely moved me? This is not going to last — nothing this much fun ever does. That's what also makes it so fantastic now.
Norah Jones, "Sunrise" (from Feels Like Home, Blue Note Records) For smart people, she represents class. For folks who resist hip-hop and feedback, she is the patron saint of grace and beauty. And for rockers, she's the epitome of conventionality. But her saving grace is her utter lack of attitude. She seems neither coy nor pretentious. She doesn't over-sing. Changing nothing from a successful strategy, this new song sounds like all the ones on the last album, and it's sure to sound like all the ones on the new album, too. If she works hard not to grate like Sting and Sarah McLachlan do, she'll remain precisely the sort of nonthreatening lite-jazz pop I'll desire when the situation demands such aromatic music.
Britney Spears, "Me Against the Music" and "Toxic" (from In the Zone, Jive) She's like Madonna in two important regards. First, that when she finds a perfect single, she embodies it, owns it, ties her persona onto its fleeting brilliance. (This is a fancy way of saying that she makes other people's creative work seem entirely her own.) And, second, when she can't find the perfect single, she strains so hard to make it seem perfect that she's bound to give herself a hernia. Spears isn't the first girl to have more fun as a teenager than as an adult. But her command of pop's universal fun is giving way to bored self-promotion. Madonna's had this problem from time to time as well, but she's smart and you always knew she'd snap back. I won't believe Spears can do it until she does.
House of Sand and Fog (Dreamworks Pictures) Ben Kingsley got overpraised for his showy role in Sexy Beast — it felt like a totally convincing gimmick. That's even more true when you compare his work there to his performance in this new film, a stunning, layered role as an Iranian immigrant whose dedication to finding a better life defines his every move. With Kingsley at his best, director Vadim Perelman simply lays out a definitive portrait of racism in the U.S. of A. While foreigners show initiative and strong work habits, foolish spoiled Americans fumble through their lives, feeling entitled, powerless to respond appropriately in any given situation. That Perelman treats his characters in a more balanced way than I did in that last sentence is a testament to how fair-minded he is. But Jennifer Connelly portrays that rare loser who deserves neither contempt nor pity. Connelly plays her for what she is: a failure who can't keep from tripping over her own two feet. In its own small way, this morality tale has as much to say about race as Do the Right Thing did so long ago.
The Company (Sony Pictures Classics) Robert Altman goes for total immersion — he wants to take a world he knows nothing about and figure it out. So his subject here is not ballerinas or their artistic director per se — it's how art matters to people, it's how art not only creates order but family and sustenance. Graceful and fluid, his film follows Chicago's Joffrey Ballet for a season marked with an unsympathetic-but-fair eye toward the sacrifice and emotion poured into every dance. Just like the titular company, all you can ask is that no individual performance in the movie gets in the way of that sensitive meditation. Corralling everything is Malcolm McDowell — inspired, charismatic, complex. He leads his babies from show to show with a tough love so gripping it'll remind you of the mentor from school you never call anymore. McDowell's almost as good a director as Altman, who at 78 may have made his finest statement about the essence of artistic creation.
The Fog of War (Sony Pictures Classics) Errol Morris, right or wrong, will let his subjects speak for themselves. He's to be commended for not imposing an "angle" on his film's speakers — he lets them be them. To be commended — it just doesn't guarantee great movies every time. Robert McNamara is utterly engaging when he speaks of his time at Ford and his childhood, but that's not what you paid your money to see. That would be the Vietnam discussion, which, ultimately, is murky, unconfident, and inconclusive. If 85 percent of the battle was getting McNamara to talk so candidly, then we can lament the last 15 percent where a civilian who sees war more mathematically and compassionately than the generals around him still can't quite come to terms with it.
Monster (Newmarket Films) I'll do her supporters one better: Charlize Theron's performance is so good I wish she was in a good enough movie to justify it. Writer-director Patty Jenkins works so hard not to make judgments about Aileen Wuornos' sad lost life that she ends up crafting a film with no viewpoint at all. From its Badlands-inspired voiceover to its indie-film antisocial attitudes to its lesbian love-story cool to its documentary objectivity in the murder scenes, this movie bristles with possibilities it never quite engages. Theron is more than a stunt, but she's going for mimicry not revelation. The filmmakers remain pleased with themselves that they were able to make a competent narrative about such seemingly unlikable people. But with that accomplished, why didn't they try saying something?
Whale Rider (Newmarket Films) Myths, fables, fairy tales: Call 'em whatever you want, but they still ain't easy to adapt into films. While cinema has the required effects and budget to bring fanciful imaginations to life, the artform resists the stodginess that mythic sincerity sometimes demands. A Little Princess and The Secret of Roan Inish come to mind, and now Niko Caro's debut joins them in the land of the half-great. While I wonder if this film's simpleminded feminist moral would have felt fresher during the summer, when the movie was quietly beguiling audience after audience, I admit that its last 30 minutes earn its mythic grandeur. The rest will entertain the whole family without challenging them one iota.
Opus(http://www.berkeleybreathed.com/) Before the end of last year, cartoonist Berkeley Breathed brought back his most popular creation. When asked why, he told every interviewer that he hadn't "said" everything he could have with his adorable penguin character. He said doing it every Sunday would be enough to keep him fresh, help stave off burnout. He complained how other major comic-strip icons had become industrialized, how small corporations were now pumping out Garfield, how the funnies had lost their humanity. And so we nodded our heads in agreement and returned to that misbegotten section of our weekend papers, filled with hope. And found a startlingly unfunny Opus wandering from one lame bit to another. But, hey, Breathed was right about one thing: His artwork is a lot better now than it was in Bloom County. If this was a movie, that would be like finding a silver lining in the costume design.
Consumables is a biweekly overview of popular culture.
Consumables is a regular overview of popular culture.
