The Cinematic Masterpiece That is Cloverfield

Upon first hearing of Cloverfield, I was skeptical. The idea, though vague, seemed like something that could be kinda cool... or really shitty. As the release date for the movie steeped in mystery came closer, I unconsciously became more and more excited waiting for it. The movie had grabbed me ferociously without my knowledge and tossed me into the frenzy that is the hype-machine.

I found myself rooting through theories and prospects concerning the movie from what the monster looks like to why the film was titled "Cloverfield". But yesterday... yesterday the movie was released (I love midnight showings in crisp, clean DLP). It was one of the few films that I have ever anxiously awaited that lived up to my outlandishly high expectations.

The film was a masterpiece. As I am sure most of you know, the events of the film were seen through the eyes of a simple citizen of New York recording the happenings through a video camcorder. A party is interrupted by explosions that rock the city, and without giving away too much plot, hell breaks loose.

I would really hate to accidentally ruin the movie for you, so I will be brief on details. In short, the movie is a credit to the Kaiju genre (if it can be called that). I hope to see the monster celebrated on a scale of Godzilla. In fact... I would thoroughly enjoy to see the Cloverfield monster attempt to take over Japan with the two monster's locked in epic mortal combat for the fate of Japan.

Critics have been talking about how the movie is disrespectful to the memory of 9/11 Scott "Rudy Giuliani" Foundas of LA Weekly described the events in Cloverfield "cheap and opportunistic". Calling Cloverfield cheap and opportunistic in regards to the tragedy of 9/11 is like saying Godzilla is cheap and opportunistic, benefiting off of the sad memory of Hiroshima. The movie is simply unrelated to 9/11 and to draw the parallel, one must think any destruction of New York City cheap and opportunistic. People who over-analyze things piss me off.

The movie is quickly paced, uniquely and magnificently directed (the first person view was the perfect, neigh the ONLY way to show the movie), and acted... adequately. If I had any problems with the movie the mediocre acting would be one. Another would be the lack of character development. I believed that some of the characters could have become likable and endearing with time, but the 90 minute time limit on the movie constricted it shortly. Speaking of the time limit, though it furthered the idea of in-character watching, I just wanted more! Call me selfish, but I would have been ecstatic if the movie went on for another 90 minutes.

That being said... I don't know how well a direct sequel will do. The veil of shadow and uncertainty about the movie and the monster are gone. The freshness of the first person view is fading, and ... I mean... New York is already mangled... Will the monster move to another city or something? I find this conundrum similar to that of Portal. Do we REALLY want a sequel? .

In short... See Cloverfield... now...


I'll wait...




Seen it yet?


~Mike

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The Downward Spiral pt.3

Here is part 3 to my short story The Downward Spiral. If you didn't catch the other parts they are as follows:

Part 1
Part 2

[Henri’s Quarters]

Henri sat in his quarters against a wall on the floor. He left the bridge and had immediately gone to his room. Why bother going anywhere else? He leaned against the wall, a few feet from the door with his head in his hands. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to thrash about the room and tear it apart. There was no point. What could he do that wouldn't be fixed in a few seconds by the plunders of modern technology? What could he do to break the cycle

He rose from the floor with a groan and hovered to the replicator. "Whiskey" was all he said in a gruff voice.

{Synthohol is all that is available aboard Starfleet vessels. Would you like Synthohol whiskey?}, the computer replied, in a response warmer than Henri had received in days. Disgusted by the jovial reply, Russo swung a punch at the machine and heard a crack. He wasn't sure if it was the polymer on the replicator or the bones of his hand. He was numb to sensation of any kind. Without the relief of vacation from consciousness, Henri tripped back to his spot on the wall, in between his bed and the door. Sitting, Henri reached under his bed for a small, metal box.

With his legs outstretched, he slid the box in between them. The box could end this void of feeling in his pitiable life. The box could erase his apathy. Russo left the box where it was and resumed his stance, head in hands, against the wall. The pathetic lieutenant could make nothing different in life. His childhood made no mark on the world. His career in Starfleet made no one's planet a better place to be. He was in charge of power distribution of a star ship, a task that he could have automated months ago. He was a worthless cog that could be taken out of the machine with no consequence to the rest of the rushing locomotive of the crew. So why shouldn't he. Why shouldn't he take himself out of the gears of the locomotive?

Henri slapped the lid off of the box and reached for the glinting savior inside. The box could perpetuate the status quo, but without the worthless cog. Efficiency at work. Evolution in a sense. Natural Selection at its finest. The self-removal of the weak. What else could Darwin have asked for?

Henri held the Carbon-fiber Conservator to his chin and sighed. Why shouldn't he? There would be a short investigation, an open-and-shut case. No harm to anyone, just the automation of banal duties and a story to tell the new recruits; The Ops officer that went off the deep end. Even if he was remembered as a crazy and a basket-case, is being remembered as a perverted crack-pot any worse than not being remembered at all? The cold metal of the messiah at his chin was warming. His decision was made and it was time for decisive action.

Henri tensed his hand to pull the trigger, but nothing happened. Brain waves sent the message to the nerves. Nerves told the muscles to move. Tendons tightened and ligaments constricted. The broken bones of Henri's fingers slackened the muscles and nothing happened. Nothing. Just as every other moment in Henri's pathetic life, nothing happened.

Henri dropped the ancient hand gun from his limp hand to the floor beside him and replaced his head in his hands. As he sat in the dark corner, Henri Russo wept.

And that's all folks. I plan on writing some other fiction sometime soon. And for those who celebrate it, Happy Christmas.

~Mike

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The Return of the Coen Brothers

The latest piece of cinematic art from the Coen Brothers (Fargo, The Big Lebowski) is an absolute gem. No Country For Old Men stars big names such as Tommy Lee Jones and Woody Harelson, but the stunning performances came from lesser known actors Josh Brolin (as the quick-thinking Llewelyn Moss) and Javier Bardrm (A quirky and esoteric South American assassin).

In the beginning of the film the plot is believable and rather straight-forward. As the film progresses, so many ridiculous happenings convolute the plot into something strange yet still endearing. Brolin's character finds some money that is presumably part of some illicit deal. The enforcer for the less-than-legal organization takes up the cause of chasing Brolin in an attempt to get the case back.

Another perplexing, but captivating facet of the movie is the minimalistic and peculiar nature with which the movie is directed. There is little dialog and when it is there it is... unique. No one ever really mentions anything about the motivation of the assassin, only that he means to kill Llewelyn. No one mentions where the money came from, only that it is there.

These omissions from the plot are more than just plot-holes because they allow the viewer to decide what they want to happen or what they hope will happen (and I can almost guarantee the viewer rooting for SOME character). The characters are so alluring due to the fantastic writing of the Coen Brothers and all of the aberrations that make them so unique.

The assassin, for example, carries around what appears to be an air tank with some attachment. Without spoiling anything, he uses the device for multiple purposes from punching in locks to killing people. I mean.... WHAT? An AIRTANK?

No Country For Old Men is cinematic gold. This film will gladly be added to the ranks of favourite films along with the Coen Brother's other masterpieces such as Fargo and The Big Lebowski.

~Mike

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A Cop-Out!

I have a couple writing assignments due soon so without further adieu...... a guest review! Emily Senerth writes about Jimmy Eat World's newest album Chase This Light!

I heard the Jimmy Eat World album ‘Chase This Light’ for the first time about a week ago. In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll admit that my previous experience with this band is limited to the radio play of their single ‘The Middle’ in 2001, despite ‘Chase This Light’ being their sixth album. I think someone tried to introduce me to their mid-90s stuff when they hit the mainstream, but I’d be lying if I said I was paying attention.

My first impressions of these songs after an initial run-though are as follows: This album is fairly consistent with my preconceptions of what the band would sound like. Every track is guitar-driven, with a pulsing guitar chord beating just beneath the vocals and establishing the energy of the instrumentals. Despite being perhaps the most distinctive musical element, the guitar sounds [though probably isn’t] fairly simple, but somehow is not boring. Another thing I noticed almost immediately is that, despite the band’s possible intentions, no track distinguishes itself as a single. I was pleased to observe the absence of any contrived melodic ‘hooks.’ On the other hand, the musical landscape of ‘Chase This Light’ is cohesive almost to the point of being monotonous. This is not a CD that I would seek out in a playlist of 100+ songs, however, there isn’t a song I would skip over either.

After going though the album again, I began to hear the lyrics a bit more. They are generally optimistic little snippets of life as a young, middle class, introspective suburbanite. I will refrain from using the word ‘emo’ because that label is totally played out at this point, though I’m sure some would characterize ‘Chase This Light’ that way. Overall, I wasn’t a fan of their word choice as it tended to be trite and occasionally nonsensical. Fortunately, it’s not hard to let the vocals fade into the larger sound of each track.

I found it difficult to review individual tracks because- as I mentioned before- they are by and large very similar, all being consistent with the Jimmy Eat World aesthetic. The songs best distinguish themselves when listened to side-by-side. In a close comparison, nuances in the composition are recognizable, but do not interfere with the overall continuity of the album. This is not, in my opinion, a CD of disjointed Top-40 singles produced by Pharell Williams for some token alt rock band like Fall Out Boy. Rather, it’s a purposefully unpolished, occasionally soulful collection of riffs on the band’s established talents and distinctive sound. If you like Jimmy Eat World, you will enjoy this album. In fact, the more I listened to ‘Chase This Light,’ the more I enjoyed it.

That being said, here are my highlights and lowlights:

Highlights - Big Casino [First track starts the album off on a high note, sets the tone for the rest of the listening 'journey'], Feeling Lucky [a relief after the dragging Gotta Be Somebody's Blues], Here It Goes [I enjoyed the harmonizing of the vocals here], Firefight [my personal favorite, good balance between the dissonant vocals and guitar, steps outside the 'I'm a teenager with big dreams' trope and exhibits a little more imagination, demands attention]

Lowlights - Carry You [Slows the overall tempo, somewhat maudlin, not my favorite song], Gotta Be Somebody's Blues [they're trying for eerie and searching, but miss the mark by overshooting], Chase This Light [as the title track, I had some expectations for this song that were not realized by the actual piece, it was one of the cornier tracks on the album]

Finally, not a matter of opinion is that ‘Chase This Light’- like any music worth listening to- should be listened to at top volume; preferably while driving fast, walking through a crowd, or doing some soul-sucking chore like emptying the dishwasher. It might get you a noise complaint from the neighbors, but it will be worth it.

If you enjoy this album, I would recommend Angels and Airwaves, Shiny Toy Guns, and Mates of State.

The Downward Spiral pt.2

I recently posted the first part of a 3 part story entitled The Downward Spiral. If you didn't catch part one, you can get it here.

[Bridge]

Henri walked onto the pristine bridge 5 minutes late for his shift in a drunken haze. Not a word of reprimand or welcome met his ears. He sauntered to the empty ops station and sat in the cold, industrial seat with a grimace. ~So too is life~ he thought to himself ~Cold and unwelcoming. ~ Henri let out a pitiable laugh and began his belated duties. ~Why the hell am I an Ops officer? I always knew I was good at that philosophy crap. ~ Russo looked around the bridge at all of the blank faces. The entire bridge crew was absorbed by their work except for Russo.

The muted gray tones of the bridge cast an ashen hue on Henri’s face as he surveyed the sterile room. The high ceiling of the room made it even more impersonal. If the bridge was a person, it would be without a pulse. Officers stood at the wall-mounted computer consoles and did their duty unflinchingly and unwaveringly. They were the kind of people who could be counted on in a crisis situation. They would keep the shit from hitting the fan. Henri wasn’t one of those officers.

He tapped at the console in a detached nature. He didn't care about his work, he didn't care what might happen if he neglected his duties, he didn't care about the crew, he didn't care about himself. To Henri, Life just didn't seem to be worth all that much.

It had been 10 minutes since he had arrived, late, but Henri turned to face the man sitting in the captain's chair and asked robotically, "I am not feeling well sir. May I please visit sickbay."

The nameless Lieutenant Commander nodded unemphatically and returned his gaze back to the view screen, on which stars whizzed by in the empty blackness of space.

Henri rose from his chair surveyed the dead silence of the bridge. Not a word of sympathy or goodbye met his ears. He sauntered to the empty turbolift and entered the bland, confined cylinder with a grimace. ~So too is life...~

part 3 next monday. It is a bit longer than this one. I hope you like how it all comes out.

~Mike

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The End of the Television As We Know It

NBC, Newscorp, FOX, Bravo, Scifi, FX, and more have recently created a website with which they stream their hit (and otherwise) shows for free to viewers across the world. The site is called Hulu, and it might just be the first step in the destruction of television.

Hulu streams hundreds of episodes from many of the most popular series on television with limited commercial interruptions (less than on TV) and no service charge. The medium quality videos are played on a smooth, ergonomic interface with decent sound quality.

The system is not without flaws however. Though the comment system seems like a nice addition to the experience of watching Heroes and The Office, I can see it becoming extremely out of hand. There is a reason that there are no user comments on television....

I foresee many hateful people and trolls posting asinine comments and spoilers simply for the sake of angering others. Without constant moderation on all of the thousands of videos posted on the site, the system for leaving comments will be littered with inane hate-speech and show-ruining garbage.

With some hard work and commitment, all of the networks that have posted videos on the site could see a markable increase in web 2.0 profit (if this whole writer strike things EVER gets fixed...). When the site comes out of closed beta I will write another check up on the so-far-quality service.

~Mike

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The Downward Spiral pt.1

The Downward Spiral

By Mike DeMarco

[Henri's Quarters]

Lieutenant Henri Russo sat on the edge of his bed apprehensively. Being transferred to the new ship had been wreaking havoc on his ability to sleep. After another night of exhausted tossing and turning, Henri had awoken, sweat-soaked and with an aching head. He grasped his forehead as he experienced another pulsing shot of pain. The lieutenant surveyed his derelict quarters with disdain. The gloomy room was trashed despite being issued only days before. Clothes lay strewn across the floor, broken replicator dishes lay in piles, the chair that normally stood at the table was toppled, and next to his nightstand, a mundane picture frame lay shattered.

The picture inside was of a decorated soldier in his mid 30's with a child on his shoulder. The unfamiliar room had become a wasteland in Henri's state of neglect. He contemplated visiting sickbay for a headache treatment, but then thought of another remedy. He rose from his bed slowly and groaned as the nagging sting in his head got worse. The young military officer slipped on his uniform and stalked into the hall in search of his self-prescribed medicine.

[Mowgli's Pub]

Henri staggered into the gloomy bar and stopped as he crossed the threshold. A few unfamiliar, gaunt faces stared back at him shortly, before returning to their previous business. The smoke filled bar reeked of industrial cleaner, vomit, and burned out cigars. From the walls hung posters of defunct sports stars and celebrities; all long dead. "At least they were great once." Russo thought to himself as he observed their familiar faces. While Russo approached the bar, the stout alien barkeep made himself visible. Henri sat at the stool closest to the exotic bartender and raised his hand to speak.

"Hello again. You seem to like drinking alone." The bartender said as he dug into his pockets, "If you are going come back here every night, then it would seem to me that introductions are in order. The name's Mowgli." He added with a voice like fish oil. After rummaging through his pockets for a few seconds more he withdrew what looked like an old-time key. "I got something you might like better than this other crap." He said, waving the key in front of Henri and leering, as if the lieutenant should know what was to come.

Turning to a locked cabinet, Mowgli unlocked its redwood door and drew a small glass bottle from within. Henri noticed the greenish color of the liquid inside as the bartender placed it in front of him. "No, actually I wanted-" He was cut off by the bartender in a harsh whisper
"No, this is what you want. I just colored it to allay suspicions."

Henri gave the alien dealer behind the bar a quizzical look to which he replied smugly, "Don't believe me?" He smiled and drew a glass from above the bar. Pouring some of the murky green concoction into the glass, the bartender slyly pushed it to Russo. The hesitant Lieutenant took the glass tentatively and put it to his lips. Throwing his head back, he drained the small portion in the glass and seized forward, accidentally dropping the glass onto the bar. The glass bounced precariously and was snatched up by Mowgli's surprisingly deft hands. "You like it?" he said, with a toothy grin, sure of himself and his product.

Henri opened his mouth but no words came out. He coughed once and nodded, regaining his vocal faculties. "I think I'll take some more" he said, unsure of himself or his choice. His head throbbed in pain again. After the wave of discomfort subsided he looked into the smiling alien's eyes and nodded, silently asking for more of the liquid. Mowgli filled the same glass, this time with more of the volatile liquid before turning to replace to bottle in the locker. Henri stopped him and uttered the disjointed sentence "Naw... you... leave it..." pointing at the bar. The Bartender's smile got larger as he thought of the profit he would reap.

**later***

Henri sprung awake to a loud knocking on the bar. He looked around in a daze to see the sly figure of the barkeep staring over him, cleaning a glass with a rag. The lieutenant rubbed his eyes and pulled his head off of the countertop. His attempt to speak was fruitless "Wha... I... how long?" The foreigner laughed and said "Only a few minutes, though I'm not sure how much of the drinking you remember." He laid the glass down and drew a small bottle that once held colored Romulan ale. "You drank the whole bottle."

"You gotta be kidding me!" Henri said, gaining a little lucidity as he sat upright in his seat with a concerned stare. "I couldn't have... I'm on duty in-" The bartender cut him off again.

"-In 2 hours. Don't worry about it. You were only conked out for 3 and a half hours." He laughed, "I wouldn't let you miss your shift. You're one of my best customers! Without your bar bill, surely I would go out of business!" Mowgli laughed again, this time drawing the stares of the few blank faces left in the bar. "Speaking of payments...." He said, hissing as he uttered the last word almost as if it pained him to mention it. "You're going to have to pay for that stuff... no matter if you remember drinking it or not." another smile crept to his face.

Henri looked at the bartender in a sort of dazed glance. "Ok... I'll pay... Just send the bill to my room...." He rose from his seat and stumbled, grabbing onto the barstool for support. The sudden movement sent a jolt of pain through Henri's head. Tentatively, he put his weight on his feet and released the barstool. As he recovered his footing his head began to twinge slowly again.

Looking at his new 'friend', he said "Do you have some for the road?" After uttering the last word, Henri coughed violently, aggravating the headache. Immediately, the arrogant alien drew another small bottle from under the bar. He placed it on the bar top and looked at Henri gravely. "You'll have to pay for this too, you know?" Henri nodded slightly and made an unintelligible noise of acceptance towards the smooth talking alien. Mowgli slid the bottle towards Henri, who grasped at it ungracefully and walked backwards away from the bar slowly. "Just send the bill-" the lieutenant said, before being cut off for the third time that night. Mowgli smiled and said mockingly,"-to your room. Already done lieutenant. Drive safe."

[Henri's Quarters]

Dropping his uniform onto his littered floor, Henri sat heavily on his bed. He opened the drawer on his bedside table and attempted to stash the incognito Romulan ale. The bottle slid from Henri's hand and crashed to the floor, spilling the contents. Staring at the mess he had made at the foot of his bedside table, he noticed something glint on the ground. He focused his full, yet hazy, conciseness on it and frowned. Grasping the damaged, ale-soaked, photograph from beneath the shattered glass and wood, he realized what it was. Henri held the picture to his chest as he shifted his weight to lie down. Prostrate in the quiet, dark room alone, he began to sob quietly over the picture of the decorated soldier, his deceased father.

To be continued next Monday. I hope you ladies and gents enjoyed part 1. If you have any questions or comments.... leave a comment!

~Mike

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