The right-wing talk radio psychotics and smegma-molds over at Fox News have added another offense to Obama's long laundry list of crimes against rich white America: he hates torture! My god, how will the children be safe with a president who doesn't condone state-sponsored torment of any turban-wearing "radical" who's caught jaywalking in Baghdad? How can good honest Americans go to bed at night with the knowledge that future detainees will be pampered and spoiled with luxuries like clothes and habeas corpus? And what about all the terrorist attacks that our government could have thwarted had they only waterboarded Khalid Sheikh Mohammed 200-300 more times for good measure?
Before getting too deep into the pernicious idiocy of these claims, here's a brief timeline of the events leading up to the Right's most recent collective temper tantrum:
April 16 - Obama releases four "torture memos" drafted by the Justice Department's Office of Legal Counsel back in 2002 and 2005 that provided legal justification for the harsh CIA interrogation techniques used on detainees under the Bush administration. The president states that the CIA officials who carried out the harsh interrogations will not prosecuted.
April 19 - In an interview with ABC's George Stephanopoulos, White House Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel says that Obama believes that the individuals who devised the torture policy itself should not be prosecuted either.
April 21 - After getting a lot of heat from Human Rights organizations, Muslims from around the world, and Senate democrats like Russ Feingold and Dianne Feinstein, Obama says that he is open to prosecution of the individuals who formulated those legal decisions but that it would be up to Congress and the Attorney General to conduct the investigation. Conservative America proceeds to blow up in a vile and embarassing display of bloated outrage.
Conservatives are angry because they think Obama has "given in" to the demands of ultra-radical Left-Wingers with a political vendetta against the Bush administration. Moreover, they claim that the individuals now in danger of prosecution were the very same individuals doing God's work to protect America from terrorism. This disingenuous "no good deed goes unpunished" defense is based on two untenable fallacies:
1. These "harsh interrogation techniques" made the country safer
2. The techniques themselves do not constitute torture
Regarding the first argument, the interrogation techniques have actually had the opposite effect on our safety. For example, say you live in a politically volatile country and your leader has just been ousted by an occupying nation with ostensibly good intentions. Although you might not be crazy about your occupiers, you figure it can't get any worse than the last regime. Then one day, a casual acquaintance or rival who is struggling financially like yourself tells the local authorities that you are a part of a radical terrorist cell so he can receive a modest cash reward for the tip. Suddenly you're taken from your home in the middle of the night and locked away in a prison where you are subjected to unbearable pain and humiliation for information you do not have by the people who are supposed to "liberate" you. When (or I should say "if") you ever make it out, you might start to think those anti-American insurgents have a point. Abu Ghraib, Bagram, and Guantanamo? These are essentially recruitment facilities for future terrorists.
(Oh, and I almost forgot: even when a prisoner has potentially valuable information, torture doesn't produce reliable intelligence anyway so pretty much everybody loses.)
But even if we're to believe Michael Mukasey and Jack Bauer when they list the myriad benefits of "aggressive interrogation tactics" it's important to note just how euphemistic the phrase "aggressive interrogation tactics" really is. This brings us to the second flawed piece of rationale used to justify the crimes of the Bush administration which is that these techniques aren't really torture in the first place. When defending the rough treatment of detainees, torture-proponents downplay the cumulative effect of these techniques by listing only one or two of the tactics at a time. For example, it's debatable whether or not we'd call it torture to put someone's hand in a box containing a daddy long-legs while telling the detainee that the box contains a black widow. But employing the box trick on someone who has been standing for over 100 hours naked in a cold, pitch-black room with guards incessantly threatening death, slapping the person in the face, and throwing them against walls is a different story. Any kind of "interrogation" for 100 hours straight would be torturous, but it's especially inhumane when the ordeal involves sick and ridiculous rituals like these.
Going back to the release of the "torture memos" and the prospect of prosecution, I think Obama is right to avoid bringing criminal charges against the individual interrogators. These men were following orders. I'm sure many of them are already traumatized enough by their war-time experiences and the last thing they need is for their country to throw them in prison as gratitude for their service. And as easy as it is to direct our ire at the insidious Justice Department lawyers who snaked their way around the Geneva Convention to draft the memos, we shouldn't forget the people at the heart of the clusterfuck, Dick Cheney and Alberto Gonzalez, who requested the reports in the first place. After all, when a person is convicted of murder, the judge doesn't throw the defense attorney in jail and let the killer go free. And if Obama does not create an environment that allows Congress and the Justice Department to conduct a fair and thorough investigation of potential war crimes under the Bush administration, he may quickly lose the precarious sense of faith and trust he's instilled in our fellow free nations.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
It Came From the Stacks of North Campus: Searching For the Ultimate Horror Movie
Any Columbus horror fan will tell you that North Campus Video is the only place to go for movies about slashers, monsters, zombies, and cannibals. Many of the local Blockbusters have gone so far as to eradicate the horror section altogether, peppering the Drama and Action sections with whatever lonely vestiges remain from the erstwhile genre (it's always strange to see a stately snoozer like House of Sand and Fog buttressing a glorious atrocity like House of 1000 Corpses). Lucky for us, North Campus is here to supply the goods to horror aficionados across central Ohio.
But despite the store's fine collection of mainstream, cult, and foreign horror movies, it's always a challenge to find a winning film beyond the universally-appreciated Horror 101 classics (The Exorcist, Night of the Living Dead et al). Critical hivemind sites like Metacritic and Rotten Tomatoes can be helpful when selecting a good documentary or independent film, but since critics are usually woefully off-the-mark when it comes to horror, trial and error is the only way to separate the wheat from the chaff. To make matters even worse, an alarmingly high percentage of horror movies are terrible and only a small number of those are so terrible that they're actually good.
So every time I rent a semi-obscure horror movie from North Campus, bad or good, I'm going to write a quick review of it in hopes of building a solid catalog of the scariest/funniest/weirdest horror movies. We'll start with a French repulser called Frontier(s) that came to me via my friend John Liberatore, a veritable guru of disgusting shit. Sadly the movie was not very good. And your guess is as good as mine in regards to the parentheses.
Director: Xavier Gens
Sub-genre: Torture/Slasher
Pedigree: Selected as one of 8 Films to Die For at Horrorfest 2007 but removed from the slate due to its NC-17 rating.
Synopsis: Four young Parisian robbers exploit the confusion of a political protest gone awry to pull off a heist. They retreat to the countryside to hide out for a night at a secluded hostel run by people who I can only assume are France's equivalent to American white trash (I'm not sure if "French hicks" actually exist, or if the filmmakers just wanted to make sure their film bore as many misguided similarities as possible to Texas Chainsaw Massacre, a movie the vast majority of their intended audience has already seen). The backcountry hostel owners (who are later revealed to be neo-Nazis) attempt to torture, kill, and eat the photogenic urban protagonists with varying degrees of success until, after 108 minutes and 20 gallons of blood and entrails, the film mercifully ends.
The Good: Fans of pure gore won't be disappointed as Frontier(s) is the kind of movie that wears its NC-17 rating as a badge of honor. Also, the opening Parisian riot sequence is an interesting attempt by Gens to address the civil unrest beneath the surface of France's faux-idyllic baguette-noshing culture.
The Bad: Both the concept and the plotting owe way too much to Texas Chainsaw. The only major difference is in setting and let's face it: a European hostel isn't exactly the most original venue for a horror movie these days. Even the gore itself is little more than an extension of Eli Roth's Hostel (the most cringe-worthy scene involves a couple severed Achilles tendons). And as for the director's stabs at social commentary, what arch message is Gens trying to impart? That you can complain all you want about police brutality and urban strife, but count yourself lucky that you don't have to deal with all those farmboy psychos in the countryside? If we're to believe that Gens really aspires to address legitimate socio-political concerns, then the film is practically an endorsement of fascist cops as the lesser of two evils.
Verdict: Even horror fans who judge their movies largely on how many buckets of blood are spilled can probably avoid this one. There's nothing here in terms of gore, narrative, or theme that hasn't already been covered by Hostel, High Tension, The Descent, or Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
D -
But despite the store's fine collection of mainstream, cult, and foreign horror movies, it's always a challenge to find a winning film beyond the universally-appreciated Horror 101 classics (The Exorcist, Night of the Living Dead et al). Critical hivemind sites like Metacritic and Rotten Tomatoes can be helpful when selecting a good documentary or independent film, but since critics are usually woefully off-the-mark when it comes to horror, trial and error is the only way to separate the wheat from the chaff. To make matters even worse, an alarmingly high percentage of horror movies are terrible and only a small number of those are so terrible that they're actually good.
So every time I rent a semi-obscure horror movie from North Campus, bad or good, I'm going to write a quick review of it in hopes of building a solid catalog of the scariest/funniest/weirdest horror movies. We'll start with a French repulser called Frontier(s) that came to me via my friend John Liberatore, a veritable guru of disgusting shit. Sadly the movie was not very good. And your guess is as good as mine in regards to the parentheses.
Director: Xavier GensSub-genre: Torture/Slasher
Pedigree: Selected as one of 8 Films to Die For at Horrorfest 2007 but removed from the slate due to its NC-17 rating.
Synopsis: Four young Parisian robbers exploit the confusion of a political protest gone awry to pull off a heist. They retreat to the countryside to hide out for a night at a secluded hostel run by people who I can only assume are France's equivalent to American white trash (I'm not sure if "French hicks" actually exist, or if the filmmakers just wanted to make sure their film bore as many misguided similarities as possible to Texas Chainsaw Massacre, a movie the vast majority of their intended audience has already seen). The backcountry hostel owners (who are later revealed to be neo-Nazis) attempt to torture, kill, and eat the photogenic urban protagonists with varying degrees of success until, after 108 minutes and 20 gallons of blood and entrails, the film mercifully ends.
The Good: Fans of pure gore won't be disappointed as Frontier(s) is the kind of movie that wears its NC-17 rating as a badge of honor. Also, the opening Parisian riot sequence is an interesting attempt by Gens to address the civil unrest beneath the surface of France's faux-idyllic baguette-noshing culture.
The Bad: Both the concept and the plotting owe way too much to Texas Chainsaw. The only major difference is in setting and let's face it: a European hostel isn't exactly the most original venue for a horror movie these days. Even the gore itself is little more than an extension of Eli Roth's Hostel (the most cringe-worthy scene involves a couple severed Achilles tendons). And as for the director's stabs at social commentary, what arch message is Gens trying to impart? That you can complain all you want about police brutality and urban strife, but count yourself lucky that you don't have to deal with all those farmboy psychos in the countryside? If we're to believe that Gens really aspires to address legitimate socio-political concerns, then the film is practically an endorsement of fascist cops as the lesser of two evils.
Verdict: Even horror fans who judge their movies largely on how many buckets of blood are spilled can probably avoid this one. There's nothing here in terms of gore, narrative, or theme that hasn't already been covered by Hostel, High Tension, The Descent, or Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
D -
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Another entry from the FilmSlash Stash: Zack and Miri Make a Porno
If history remembers Kevin Smith’s new movie (note: I wrote this review months ago) Zack and Miri Make a Porno, it probably won’t be as a chronicle of the U.S.’s current financial crisis, although the film’s snowy Pennsylvania setting, which is framed as an economically depressed wasteland where strip malls go to die, does provide a timely and empathetic backdrop for the film’s financially strapped characters. Instead, Zack and Miri’s claim to cinematic immortality is that it’s probably the raunchiest movie ever shown in a multiplex alongside fare like High School Musical 3 and Madagascar 5. Without the support of box office king Seth Rogen, I can’t see how the movie could have squeaked by with an R-rating, with its graphic scenes of thrust and awe that are just a shade bluer than your average late-night Cinemax offering. Taking a love interest to see it is just about tantamount to Travis Bickle’s idea of a first date.
In Smith’s latest foray into the dirty minds of romantics, Rogen and Elizabeth Banks play lifelong friends and roommates who share a rapport that, in movie terms at least, can be immediately recognized as platonic (I can’t image Spencer Tracy’s first lines to Katherine Hepburn in a movie being, “I told you to close the door when you’re taking a shit!” but that is exactly how the audience is introduced to the chummy friendship between Zack and Miri) After a high school reunion that brings their monetary woes into sharp focus, Miri wistfully observes that “These are the type of circumstances that drive people to do pornography,” a prospect that, to Zack, seems less like a death knell than a lofty achievement to work toward. Before long, Zack and Miri are holding auditions, rounding up props, and brainstorming titles for their home-made porno that include “Fuckback Mountain” and “Star Whores.”
Despite the blunt puerility of their porn title ideas, the scenes where the characters prepare for or perform sexual acts on camera are in fact a breeding ground for the film’s funniest moments, as Smith celebrates the same exuberant do-it-yourself spirit seen in last year’s excellent Be Kind Rewind, particularly during a “Star Whores” costume montage that is as hilariously nerdy as it is salacious. It’s unfortunate then that Smith continues to lose his edge as both a writer of characters and a purveyor of jokes that reach beyond the realm of hand-jobs and Han Solo for inspiration. For example, Craig Robinson is wasted in a role that’s memorable only because the actor dead-pans his way through lines that sound as if they were written for a “token black guy” in a Michael Bay movie (perhaps Robinson attempted to bring some irony to a character that offered little more than painfully simplistic racial humor).
Even worse is Robinson’s wife, a role that works under the conceit that shrill black women screaming at their husbands are an inherently hilarious stereotype worth wasting a ten minute stretch of terrible jokes on. And despite the indomitable charms and effortless chemistry effused by Seth Rogen and Elizabeth Banks, Zack and Miri’s relationship arc rings predictable and stale, as Smith once again fails to approach the romantic elements of his films with the same vibrancy and originality he brings to his sex jokes. The most striking revelation here is actually Jason Mewes who effectively shatters the “Jay” identity he cultivated in earlier Smith flicks to play a reserved amateur porn-star whose mid-coital musings elicit the movie's biggest laughs.
The film loses much of its steam near the 90-minute mark when the principals abandon their pornographic endeavors due to the inevitable awkwardness that ensues when Zack and Miri finally share their big moment on camera. At this point, the movie hits a deeply saccharine note that is both incongruous to the flighty tone of the rest of the film and unjustified by Smith’s simplistic treatment of his lead characters. Although the director raises some interesting questions about the strange brew formed when sex and friendship are mixed, he rushes Zack and Miri through a third act plot-line involving faux betrayals and misunderstandings that would be better suited for shallow romantic comedy archetypes, not the real, relatable characters his protagonists potentially could have become at the mercy of a smarter script.
Nevertheless, it’s hard not to root for Rogen and Banks, who elevate the material with their winsome comic personas. And while Zack and Miri isn’t quite deep enough to warrant the gravitas Smith forces upon his characters, the film showcases the talents of not only trusted performers like Rogen and Banks, but also old Kevin Smith mainstays like Mewes and Jeff Anderson. And besides, what better antidote is there to a case of wintry economic blues than a hearty dose of good clean porn?
C+
In Smith’s latest foray into the dirty minds of romantics, Rogen and Elizabeth Banks play lifelong friends and roommates who share a rapport that, in movie terms at least, can be immediately recognized as platonic (I can’t image Spencer Tracy’s first lines to Katherine Hepburn in a movie being, “I told you to close the door when you’re taking a shit!” but that is exactly how the audience is introduced to the chummy friendship between Zack and Miri) After a high school reunion that brings their monetary woes into sharp focus, Miri wistfully observes that “These are the type of circumstances that drive people to do pornography,” a prospect that, to Zack, seems less like a death knell than a lofty achievement to work toward. Before long, Zack and Miri are holding auditions, rounding up props, and brainstorming titles for their home-made porno that include “Fuckback Mountain” and “Star Whores.”
Despite the blunt puerility of their porn title ideas, the scenes where the characters prepare for or perform sexual acts on camera are in fact a breeding ground for the film’s funniest moments, as Smith celebrates the same exuberant do-it-yourself spirit seen in last year’s excellent Be Kind Rewind, particularly during a “Star Whores” costume montage that is as hilariously nerdy as it is salacious. It’s unfortunate then that Smith continues to lose his edge as both a writer of characters and a purveyor of jokes that reach beyond the realm of hand-jobs and Han Solo for inspiration. For example, Craig Robinson is wasted in a role that’s memorable only because the actor dead-pans his way through lines that sound as if they were written for a “token black guy” in a Michael Bay movie (perhaps Robinson attempted to bring some irony to a character that offered little more than painfully simplistic racial humor).
Even worse is Robinson’s wife, a role that works under the conceit that shrill black women screaming at their husbands are an inherently hilarious stereotype worth wasting a ten minute stretch of terrible jokes on. And despite the indomitable charms and effortless chemistry effused by Seth Rogen and Elizabeth Banks, Zack and Miri’s relationship arc rings predictable and stale, as Smith once again fails to approach the romantic elements of his films with the same vibrancy and originality he brings to his sex jokes. The most striking revelation here is actually Jason Mewes who effectively shatters the “Jay” identity he cultivated in earlier Smith flicks to play a reserved amateur porn-star whose mid-coital musings elicit the movie's biggest laughs.
The film loses much of its steam near the 90-minute mark when the principals abandon their pornographic endeavors due to the inevitable awkwardness that ensues when Zack and Miri finally share their big moment on camera. At this point, the movie hits a deeply saccharine note that is both incongruous to the flighty tone of the rest of the film and unjustified by Smith’s simplistic treatment of his lead characters. Although the director raises some interesting questions about the strange brew formed when sex and friendship are mixed, he rushes Zack and Miri through a third act plot-line involving faux betrayals and misunderstandings that would be better suited for shallow romantic comedy archetypes, not the real, relatable characters his protagonists potentially could have become at the mercy of a smarter script.
Nevertheless, it’s hard not to root for Rogen and Banks, who elevate the material with their winsome comic personas. And while Zack and Miri isn’t quite deep enough to warrant the gravitas Smith forces upon his characters, the film showcases the talents of not only trusted performers like Rogen and Banks, but also old Kevin Smith mainstays like Mewes and Jeff Anderson. And besides, what better antidote is there to a case of wintry economic blues than a hearty dose of good clean porn?
C+
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Film Review: Gomorrah
Most mob movies can't help but glamorize the gangster condition. Even films that tend to highlight the more grotesque elements of life in the mob (the decapitated horse from Godfather immediately comes to mind) make it difficult for the viewer to resist the alluring sense of danger and excitement embodied by stories of organized crime. Heck, even the gritty and disturbing Brazilian crime epic City of God indulged in exhilarating worldbeat-infused action sequences that made sprinting through the slums of Rio with a handgun look like every kid's dream (Slumdog Millionaire suffered from similar excesses that threatened to undercut that film's attempts at social commentary). Although these films are almost always cautionary tales espousing "crime doesn't pay" messages, gangster movies generally keep the viewer at a safe distance from the carnage by emphasizing style over realism.
Now don't me wrong: movies like The Godfather, GoodFellas, and City of God aren't required to be realistic. They more than make up for a lack of naturalism in ways that have been well-documented elsewhere. But it's refreshing and even startling to see a film like Gomorrah approach a potentionally sensational subject (the Naples-based Camorra, one of the world's most deadly crime organizations) with stark realism and a pointed lack of romance. Through the use of digetic music, understated hand-held camerawork and naturalistic dialogue, director Matteo Garrone does more than merely immerse the viewer into a world of fake tans, tacky euro-thug couture, and horrific bloodshed. His primary concern, true to Robert Saviano's groundbreaking book of the same name, is to expose the personal and global ramifications of the Camorra's relentless evisceration of poor communities in Naples. As a result, the crime syndicate comes off as a monstrous and chaotic network of destruction that feeds on anything and everyone it can, including its own members. Like television's The Wire, Gomorrah documents organized crime's easy infestation into poverty-stricken corners of the world effectively forsaken by more legitimate agents of change.
A-
Now don't me wrong: movies like The Godfather, GoodFellas, and City of God aren't required to be realistic. They more than make up for a lack of naturalism in ways that have been well-documented elsewhere. But it's refreshing and even startling to see a film like Gomorrah approach a potentionally sensational subject (the Naples-based Camorra, one of the world's most deadly crime organizations) with stark realism and a pointed lack of romance. Through the use of digetic music, understated hand-held camerawork and naturalistic dialogue, director Matteo Garrone does more than merely immerse the viewer into a world of fake tans, tacky euro-thug couture, and horrific bloodshed. His primary concern, true to Robert Saviano's groundbreaking book of the same name, is to expose the personal and global ramifications of the Camorra's relentless evisceration of poor communities in Naples. As a result, the crime syndicate comes off as a monstrous and chaotic network of destruction that feeds on anything and everyone it can, including its own members. Like television's The Wire, Gomorrah documents organized crime's easy infestation into poverty-stricken corners of the world effectively forsaken by more legitimate agents of change.
A-
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