In this piece I will write about the presence of stereotypes in current television shows whose target demographic is late teens/those in their early 20’s. The larger statement about American popular culture I will be making is that America loves stereotypes. Stereotypes sell, and that is why shows that profit from including stereotypes continue to saturate our television screens. I will also explore the history of TV stereotypes, and how older shows relate to current shows.
My primary source will be the show “Glee”, which made its début last year. “Glee” is a show about a high school Glee club, and the struggle the students involved in the club have faced, many of them ranging from teenage pregnancy to bullying. “Glee” will be my primary source because it’s a recent and an extremely successful show. Also because “Glee” incorporates just about every stereotype known to man: the geek, the football player, the cheerleader, the physically disabled, and more. It also includes a multitude of racial and weight-based stereotypes. It has been a highly controversial show.
Other examples of shows, new and old, include but are not limited to: Saved by the Bell, Gossip Girl, Greek, The Office, Ugly Betty, and Family Matters.
Stereotyping in television shows has been going on for years, but it has continued to be a driving force in American television shows, which is why the piece is relevant to popular culture today. Networks are continuing to profit from these series, which is what my examples will support.
I am the right person to write this piece because I watch (most of, but not all of) these television shows and I am within the targeted demographic.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Pauline Kael knew movies, at the very least (rewrite)
American film critic Pauline Kael expected a lot from the cinema. By the end of her 23-year tenure at the New Yorker, she was exhausted by all of the negative reviews she had given actors like Barbra Streisand—actors she believed had potential they weren’t displaying on screen. Movies that others loved, classic films like “It’s A Wonderful Life” and “The Sound of Music”, she slammed. She called Alain Resnais’s “Hiroshima Mon Amour” an advertisement selling peace, and admitted the audience, people who were “bowled over by it,” felt otherwise. In that same review she made it clear that she thought all American films were forms of advertisement selling some way of life.
In Will Brantley’s book, Conversations with Pauline Kael, Kael said she enjoyed writing reviews of bad movies that were universally praised and drew in globs of money. She wanted to tell people they were being scammed.
Any critic wants his or her voice to be heard, but Kael always thought about her audience. And that’s the cardinal role of all critics.
In Conversations, Kael claimed studios were satisfied with “utter conventionality” in movies because they were terrified of anything that didn’t satisfy the networks. But Kael wasn’t afraid of dissatisfying anyone. She didn’t view movies the way the mass audience did, which was reflected in her criticism of popular movies like “The Sound of Music,” which was in her opinion, “the sugar-coated lie people seem to want to eat.”
Kael admitted in Francis Davis’s book Afterglow that she enjoyed reading very few critics. One of those few was Andrew Sarris because he had genuine reactions to movies, and many critics don’t, in her opinion. She introduced ideas most people didn’t think to consider, because many of them weren’t accepted by the public at large. But the conversational tone she used in her reviews reflected her desire to write in a language the public could, and did, understand.
Film critic Sheila Benson, best known for her tenure at the Los Angeles Times from 1981-91, once heard someone say, “Pauline Kael has the shortest chute from her brain to her mouth of anyone I’ve ever heard speak.”
But Kael’s style, that conversational tone she infused in her writing that made it accessible to the average American, was criticized by many of her peers, including film critic Renata Adler.
In “House Critic,” Adler condemns Kael for her straightforwardness, and her “vain, overbearing, foolish, hysterical” voice that developed out of strong opinions of what Adler believes are unimportant subject matters. She complains about Kael’s quirks and tactics that have such dominance throughout her writing only to emphasize a unique style that is the very reason she altered 20th century criticism for the better.
In 1979, Kael took a leave of absence in reviewing to work with Warren Beatty in Hollywood as an executive consultant for Paramount Pictures, where she remained for only five months. Although her stay was short-lived, Kael had first-hand experience in film production and preparation. She experienced film on both ends of the spectrum. Kael made bold claims in her criticism, but she was never ignorant. If she hated a popular film, well, she had the authority to back those bold claims. And contrary to what Adler so brazenly declares in "House Critic", she certainly did know about movies.
In Will Brantley’s book, Conversations with Pauline Kael, Kael said she enjoyed writing reviews of bad movies that were universally praised and drew in globs of money. She wanted to tell people they were being scammed.
Any critic wants his or her voice to be heard, but Kael always thought about her audience. And that’s the cardinal role of all critics.
In Conversations, Kael claimed studios were satisfied with “utter conventionality” in movies because they were terrified of anything that didn’t satisfy the networks. But Kael wasn’t afraid of dissatisfying anyone. She didn’t view movies the way the mass audience did, which was reflected in her criticism of popular movies like “The Sound of Music,” which was in her opinion, “the sugar-coated lie people seem to want to eat.”
Kael admitted in Francis Davis’s book Afterglow that she enjoyed reading very few critics. One of those few was Andrew Sarris because he had genuine reactions to movies, and many critics don’t, in her opinion. She introduced ideas most people didn’t think to consider, because many of them weren’t accepted by the public at large. But the conversational tone she used in her reviews reflected her desire to write in a language the public could, and did, understand.
Film critic Sheila Benson, best known for her tenure at the Los Angeles Times from 1981-91, once heard someone say, “Pauline Kael has the shortest chute from her brain to her mouth of anyone I’ve ever heard speak.”
But Kael’s style, that conversational tone she infused in her writing that made it accessible to the average American, was criticized by many of her peers, including film critic Renata Adler.
In “House Critic,” Adler condemns Kael for her straightforwardness, and her “vain, overbearing, foolish, hysterical” voice that developed out of strong opinions of what Adler believes are unimportant subject matters. She complains about Kael’s quirks and tactics that have such dominance throughout her writing only to emphasize a unique style that is the very reason she altered 20th century criticism for the better.
In 1979, Kael took a leave of absence in reviewing to work with Warren Beatty in Hollywood as an executive consultant for Paramount Pictures, where she remained for only five months. Although her stay was short-lived, Kael had first-hand experience in film production and preparation. She experienced film on both ends of the spectrum. Kael made bold claims in her criticism, but she was never ignorant. If she hated a popular film, well, she had the authority to back those bold claims. And contrary to what Adler so brazenly declares in "House Critic", she certainly did know about movies.
Monday, February 15, 2010
So what she hated The Sound of Music
(Audience: New York Times)
Pauline Kael expected a lot from the cinema. Movies that others loved, epic films like “It’s A Wonderful Life” and “Hiroshima Mon Amour”, she slammed. By the end of her career, she was exhausted by all the negative reviews she had given actors like Barbra Streisand, actors she believed had potential they weren’t displaying on screen.
Kael had a style unmatched by any of her peers at the time. She didn’t view movies the way the mass audience did, which was reflected in her criticism of popular movies like “The Sound of Music.” But film was her passion, it was what she loved, and, contrary to what Renata Adler declares in “House Critic,” film was what she cared about. She dedicated twenty-three years of her life to film criticism at the New Yorker.
Kael was criticized for talking about everything but the movie in her reviews. Adler believes Kael was never satisfied, that she used rhetorical questions to show off what she knew, and that her vocabulary really only consisted of nine words, most of which were some derivative of her favorite slang terms. Adler especially despised Kael’s use of the “we”, “you”, “they”, “ought”. In formal analysis one is taught to leave the “I” and “we” out of it, there is a time and place for opinion, and it’s not in a formal essay. Kael indeed put a large chunk of personality into her reviews and broke all the rules.
The conversation of personality in criticism would be a heated one between Oscar Wilde and Adler. Adler denounces Kael’s tendency to use “you” when she refers to her personal opinion. No critic has the grounds to say what the audience should feel, or what they do feel, which Kael is guilty of. But what she created was beyond criticism; it was a form of art. In “The Critic as Artist,” Wilde says all criticism itself is an art, and with art, personality is inevitable.
Wilde was concerned with the realness and trueness of criticism, and believed the personal element made it richer, more satisfying and more convincing. And since what Kael created was in fact art, she hasn’t done anything wrong. Her work has served its purpose as a work of art, which is to provide pleasure to and stir an emotional reaction within the audience. Kael took a light-hearted movie like the “Sound of Music”, called it “the sugar-coated lie people seem to want to eat,” and unveiled a unique interpretation. The role of the critic is to discover a richer (or maybe just thought-provoking, in this case) meaning behind a work of art.
Kael revealed underlying messages that most people didn’t think to consider. In “The Critic as Artist,” Wilde says, “the function of literature is to create, from the rough material of actual existence, a new world that will be more marvelous, more enduring, and more true than the world that common eyes look upon.” And that’s what she did. Kael brought films to life in a new light, and into a world common eyes didn’t see. It was a radically different world from her peers, but she gave us rare insight to last a lifetime.
Pauline Kael expected a lot from the cinema. Movies that others loved, epic films like “It’s A Wonderful Life” and “Hiroshima Mon Amour”, she slammed. By the end of her career, she was exhausted by all the negative reviews she had given actors like Barbra Streisand, actors she believed had potential they weren’t displaying on screen.
Kael had a style unmatched by any of her peers at the time. She didn’t view movies the way the mass audience did, which was reflected in her criticism of popular movies like “The Sound of Music.” But film was her passion, it was what she loved, and, contrary to what Renata Adler declares in “House Critic,” film was what she cared about. She dedicated twenty-three years of her life to film criticism at the New Yorker.
Kael was criticized for talking about everything but the movie in her reviews. Adler believes Kael was never satisfied, that she used rhetorical questions to show off what she knew, and that her vocabulary really only consisted of nine words, most of which were some derivative of her favorite slang terms. Adler especially despised Kael’s use of the “we”, “you”, “they”, “ought”. In formal analysis one is taught to leave the “I” and “we” out of it, there is a time and place for opinion, and it’s not in a formal essay. Kael indeed put a large chunk of personality into her reviews and broke all the rules.
The conversation of personality in criticism would be a heated one between Oscar Wilde and Adler. Adler denounces Kael’s tendency to use “you” when she refers to her personal opinion. No critic has the grounds to say what the audience should feel, or what they do feel, which Kael is guilty of. But what she created was beyond criticism; it was a form of art. In “The Critic as Artist,” Wilde says all criticism itself is an art, and with art, personality is inevitable.
Wilde was concerned with the realness and trueness of criticism, and believed the personal element made it richer, more satisfying and more convincing. And since what Kael created was in fact art, she hasn’t done anything wrong. Her work has served its purpose as a work of art, which is to provide pleasure to and stir an emotional reaction within the audience. Kael took a light-hearted movie like the “Sound of Music”, called it “the sugar-coated lie people seem to want to eat,” and unveiled a unique interpretation. The role of the critic is to discover a richer (or maybe just thought-provoking, in this case) meaning behind a work of art.
Kael revealed underlying messages that most people didn’t think to consider. In “The Critic as Artist,” Wilde says, “the function of literature is to create, from the rough material of actual existence, a new world that will be more marvelous, more enduring, and more true than the world that common eyes look upon.” And that’s what she did. Kael brought films to life in a new light, and into a world common eyes didn’t see. It was a radically different world from her peers, but she gave us rare insight to last a lifetime.
Monday, February 1, 2010
K College English Department shows its vulnerable side
Audience: The Index
Dr. Gail Griffin, Professor of English at Kalamazoo College, confessed to nearly 80 K students, “tonight we make ourselves vulnerable,” speaking on behalf of the Kalamazoo College English Department. Faculty members gathered in the Olmsted Room at 7 p.m. on January 27 to read short excerpts from personal works of poetry, non-fiction and fiction, and to “generate some light” during a dispiriting winter quarter, according to Griffin.
All department faculty members were present, with the exception of Amy Smith, Associate Professor of English, who is currently on sabbatical. The department welcomed two new members this year, Amy Rodgers, postdoctoral teaching fellow, and Beth Marzoni, both visiting instructors.
Griffin opened the event with a few words about the evening and introduced the first speaker, Dr. Andy Mozina, chair of the department, who read an excerpt from his fictional piece, “My Non-Sexual Affair.” Mozina drew laughs from the student crowd with a description of his non-sexual love affair with a woman named Linda, which he comes to realize is just a special friendship.
Marin Heinritz, Glenn Deutsch, Amelia Katanski, Babli Sinha, Bruce Mills and Amy Rodgers read excerpts from current works of non-fiction. Sinha's conference paper analyzing the role of Indian women in modern media and technology stood out among the other readings that were, in contrast to hers, very representative of her colleagues' personalities and experiences.
Deutsch read a piece about his vulgar father, Melvin, “wanting to be a red neck but being from Brooklyn,” as narrated by a 14 year-old Deutsch in 1969. Katanski spoke about her uncle’s life, which she connected to the four noble truths of Buddhism, and Heinritz read an excerpt from the coming-of-age memoir about her defeat of cancer at 17, highlighting her mother’s character with great expression.
Diane Seuss, the College’s writer-in-residence, read from her next collection, a response to an article in the New Yorker about William Burroughs called “I Dreamed I Met William Burroughs.” Seuss’s response, “It Wasn’t a Dream I Knew William Burroughs,” was a graphic and humorous illustration of porn and heroine, tuna fish sandwich cravings during pregnancy, and “condescending assholes” which served to expose her counter belief that Burroughs, an addict, was a poor influence on everyone including her boyfriend. She read a second piece called “Birthday Confessions”, written as a series of confessions to a priest, which drew chronic laughter from the audience.
Rodgers, a Shakespeare and film expert, comes to the College passionate to teach drama. She is currently working on a play about Robert Frost’s son Carol, who committed suicide in 1940. Marzoni’s work focuses on contemporary poetry and creative writing. Her poem, “Rothko’s Room”, was inspired by an exhibition by artist Mark Rothko at the Tate Modern Art Museum in London.
Griffin has been at work on a novel about the murder-suicide that occurred on campus ten years ago. She read from the last chapter which illustrates the aftermath of the deaths of students Maggie Wardle and Neenef Odah. Griffin’s desire to tell the story of their deaths extends beyond her novel; every October, Griffin joins Wardle’s family and K students in Stetson Chapel to reflect as a community.
Mills ended the event with a reading from a book of essays about his son Jacob’s autism, “An Archaeology of Yearning,” in which he explains his conflicting desires and the ability to fill gaps through language.
It’s not often K College professors have the opportunity to read personal works of literature for a group of 80 students to hear. This event served as a reminder that students aren’t the only ones who have a vulnerable side for others to see.
Dr. Gail Griffin, Professor of English at Kalamazoo College, confessed to nearly 80 K students, “tonight we make ourselves vulnerable,” speaking on behalf of the Kalamazoo College English Department. Faculty members gathered in the Olmsted Room at 7 p.m. on January 27 to read short excerpts from personal works of poetry, non-fiction and fiction, and to “generate some light” during a dispiriting winter quarter, according to Griffin.
All department faculty members were present, with the exception of Amy Smith, Associate Professor of English, who is currently on sabbatical. The department welcomed two new members this year, Amy Rodgers, postdoctoral teaching fellow, and Beth Marzoni, both visiting instructors.
Griffin opened the event with a few words about the evening and introduced the first speaker, Dr. Andy Mozina, chair of the department, who read an excerpt from his fictional piece, “My Non-Sexual Affair.” Mozina drew laughs from the student crowd with a description of his non-sexual love affair with a woman named Linda, which he comes to realize is just a special friendship.
Marin Heinritz, Glenn Deutsch, Amelia Katanski, Babli Sinha, Bruce Mills and Amy Rodgers read excerpts from current works of non-fiction. Sinha's conference paper analyzing the role of Indian women in modern media and technology stood out among the other readings that were, in contrast to hers, very representative of her colleagues' personalities and experiences.
Deutsch read a piece about his vulgar father, Melvin, “wanting to be a red neck but being from Brooklyn,” as narrated by a 14 year-old Deutsch in 1969. Katanski spoke about her uncle’s life, which she connected to the four noble truths of Buddhism, and Heinritz read an excerpt from the coming-of-age memoir about her defeat of cancer at 17, highlighting her mother’s character with great expression.
Diane Seuss, the College’s writer-in-residence, read from her next collection, a response to an article in the New Yorker about William Burroughs called “I Dreamed I Met William Burroughs.” Seuss’s response, “It Wasn’t a Dream I Knew William Burroughs,” was a graphic and humorous illustration of porn and heroine, tuna fish sandwich cravings during pregnancy, and “condescending assholes” which served to expose her counter belief that Burroughs, an addict, was a poor influence on everyone including her boyfriend. She read a second piece called “Birthday Confessions”, written as a series of confessions to a priest, which drew chronic laughter from the audience.
Rodgers, a Shakespeare and film expert, comes to the College passionate to teach drama. She is currently working on a play about Robert Frost’s son Carol, who committed suicide in 1940. Marzoni’s work focuses on contemporary poetry and creative writing. Her poem, “Rothko’s Room”, was inspired by an exhibition by artist Mark Rothko at the Tate Modern Art Museum in London.
Griffin has been at work on a novel about the murder-suicide that occurred on campus ten years ago. She read from the last chapter which illustrates the aftermath of the deaths of students Maggie Wardle and Neenef Odah. Griffin’s desire to tell the story of their deaths extends beyond her novel; every October, Griffin joins Wardle’s family and K students in Stetson Chapel to reflect as a community.
Mills ended the event with a reading from a book of essays about his son Jacob’s autism, “An Archaeology of Yearning,” in which he explains his conflicting desires and the ability to fill gaps through language.
It’s not often K College professors have the opportunity to read personal works of literature for a group of 80 students to hear. This event served as a reminder that students aren’t the only ones who have a vulnerable side for others to see.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Glam isn't dead--where are you Lady Gaga?
This review is intended for people 18 years and older.
Curt Wild, bathed in glitter, stripped of his shirt, liquid running down his hairless chest, touches himself on stage, liberates his body from his tight leather pants, and Brian Slade falls in love. Wild sends Slade’s world spinning. The glam rockers didn’t just create their music, they lived it.
Velvet Goldmine, Director Todd Haynes's on-screen tribute to the death of glam rock, is loosely based on the experiences and personalities of musicians David Bowie and Iggy Pop, with Citizen Kane undertones and Oscar Wilde references. Glam rock lasted less than half a decade of music history, bridging the collapse of the Bob Dylan engrossed hippies and the revolution of punk.
The film opens in the childhood of Oscar Wilde. Before leaping a century ahead to a music-crazed London, the movie shows an eight-year-old Wilde announcing his aspirations: “I want to be a pop idol.” He never said this, but Bowie did.
The final concert of Brian Slade’s Maxwell Demon alter ego (a parallel to Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust persona) is where the story begins. Slade (a long-haired hippie turned glamorous Jonathan Rhys Meyers) fakes his onstage death, and journalist Arthur Stuart (a convincing Christian Bale) travels back to his glam-obsessed youth to piece together the events that led to his “death”.
The central focus of the film is the relationship between bisexual rockers Slade and Wild. Together they give birth to glam and live in their own world during a time of sexual experimentation, where homosexuality is not only accepted but embraced. This is something Haynes, who is openly gay, can appreciate.
Velvet Goldmine is a visually complex film, driven by an ornate costume design, and colors that scream for attention. “A slut in fancy clothes” may be the best description of Mr. Meyers. His painted-blue body embraces the floor like a worm. His glitter eye makeup, sequenced glitter belly shirts, tight leather pants, green alligator coats and platform boots are enough to send any teen, including Bale, into delirium. It’s a beautiful movie. Although the script and the acting are often exaggerated to the extreme, Haynes’s film is nevertheless an accurate depiction of the glam lifestyle and the ritzy dream of musicians like Brian Slade and Curt Wild. This film can sum up glam rock in costume alone.
Much of the acting is overshadowed by the flashy musical numbers and glitter-infested wardrobes. Toni Collette, who plays Mandy Slade, is the only actor to reach her full potential, and saves the script from being a complete failure. She arrives on screen as Slade’s objection of affection. Ten years later, as Stuart uncovers the mystery of Brian Slade demise, he tracks her down and finds her in a bar doing a one-woman act (a parallel to Citizen Kane) swinging between an artificial British accent and her natural American accent—a testimony to what she’s suffered. While glam essentially ruined rockers like Wild and Slade, Ms. Collette’s convincing performance shows the real damage that was done.
Velvet Goldmine is a piece of eye candy that never loses its flavor, but the music is half the equation. The film is about glam rock, and the music reflects this style. Although Bowie withheld the rights to his songs, similarities exist, and music supervisor Randall Poster collaborated with a group of musicians (including Radiohead’s Thom Yorke) who experienced glam to make the music true to the time. The visuals make it difficult to pay attention to the vocals, but Mr. Meyers and Mr. McGregor aren’t half bad—distractions avoided.
The era of glam rock as a musical phenomenon may be long gone, but glam isn’t dead. Haynes just brought glam to the cinema, but it’s racing back into the covers of Rolling Stone and Vogue, MTV and beyond. It’s Lady Gaga in concert. Glam was about the message behind the music as much as it was about physical appearances: that anyone can invent himself, and such contrivance has liberated generations of outcasts. That you could dress up and become whomever you want is what Haynes succeeds in translating into film.
Curt Wild, bathed in glitter, stripped of his shirt, liquid running down his hairless chest, touches himself on stage, liberates his body from his tight leather pants, and Brian Slade falls in love. Wild sends Slade’s world spinning. The glam rockers didn’t just create their music, they lived it.
Velvet Goldmine, Director Todd Haynes's on-screen tribute to the death of glam rock, is loosely based on the experiences and personalities of musicians David Bowie and Iggy Pop, with Citizen Kane undertones and Oscar Wilde references. Glam rock lasted less than half a decade of music history, bridging the collapse of the Bob Dylan engrossed hippies and the revolution of punk.
The film opens in the childhood of Oscar Wilde. Before leaping a century ahead to a music-crazed London, the movie shows an eight-year-old Wilde announcing his aspirations: “I want to be a pop idol.” He never said this, but Bowie did.
The final concert of Brian Slade’s Maxwell Demon alter ego (a parallel to Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust persona) is where the story begins. Slade (a long-haired hippie turned glamorous Jonathan Rhys Meyers) fakes his onstage death, and journalist Arthur Stuart (a convincing Christian Bale) travels back to his glam-obsessed youth to piece together the events that led to his “death”.
The central focus of the film is the relationship between bisexual rockers Slade and Wild. Together they give birth to glam and live in their own world during a time of sexual experimentation, where homosexuality is not only accepted but embraced. This is something Haynes, who is openly gay, can appreciate.
Velvet Goldmine is a visually complex film, driven by an ornate costume design, and colors that scream for attention. “A slut in fancy clothes” may be the best description of Mr. Meyers. His painted-blue body embraces the floor like a worm. His glitter eye makeup, sequenced glitter belly shirts, tight leather pants, green alligator coats and platform boots are enough to send any teen, including Bale, into delirium. It’s a beautiful movie. Although the script and the acting are often exaggerated to the extreme, Haynes’s film is nevertheless an accurate depiction of the glam lifestyle and the ritzy dream of musicians like Brian Slade and Curt Wild. This film can sum up glam rock in costume alone.
Much of the acting is overshadowed by the flashy musical numbers and glitter-infested wardrobes. Toni Collette, who plays Mandy Slade, is the only actor to reach her full potential, and saves the script from being a complete failure. She arrives on screen as Slade’s objection of affection. Ten years later, as Stuart uncovers the mystery of Brian Slade demise, he tracks her down and finds her in a bar doing a one-woman act (a parallel to Citizen Kane) swinging between an artificial British accent and her natural American accent—a testimony to what she’s suffered. While glam essentially ruined rockers like Wild and Slade, Ms. Collette’s convincing performance shows the real damage that was done.
Velvet Goldmine is a piece of eye candy that never loses its flavor, but the music is half the equation. The film is about glam rock, and the music reflects this style. Although Bowie withheld the rights to his songs, similarities exist, and music supervisor Randall Poster collaborated with a group of musicians (including Radiohead’s Thom Yorke) who experienced glam to make the music true to the time. The visuals make it difficult to pay attention to the vocals, but Mr. Meyers and Mr. McGregor aren’t half bad—distractions avoided.
The era of glam rock as a musical phenomenon may be long gone, but glam isn’t dead. Haynes just brought glam to the cinema, but it’s racing back into the covers of Rolling Stone and Vogue, MTV and beyond. It’s Lady Gaga in concert. Glam was about the message behind the music as much as it was about physical appearances: that anyone can invent himself, and such contrivance has liberated generations of outcasts. That you could dress up and become whomever you want is what Haynes succeeds in translating into film.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
NYTimes Defense: The Book of Eli
I'll be defending a review of The Book of Eli, which you can find here.
The writer of this review is the co-chief film critic for the New York Times since 2004, Manohla Dargis. She was the chief film critic for the Los Angeles Times and the LA Weekly.
She begins with a description of the film’s setting and a detailed account of Denzel Washington’s character. From the start the reader develops a mental image of the dead environment and the main character.
She provides context for the first time: this is the directors’ first film since 2001. She analyzes the film’s cinematography, explaining why certain parts are effective, and in great detail. Her use of examples legitimizes her opinion.
She describes visual aspects of the film. She shows her knowledge of the film’s technology; it was shot in high definition digital. She provides context again; she compares and contrasts the film with other movie genres and other directors.
The plot description arrives five paragraphs in and by this time the reader has enough context to appreciate her description.
The “but” appears when she transitions into acting. She explains where and why the movie went wrong. It’s appropriate in this paragraph because she believes it’s the script’s clichés and the timing of the characters’ arrivals, as well as the unrealistic costume design and polished faces.
She ends the review on a high note, with an overall light and playful mood. The movie succeeds because the plot is engaging, and the bits of humor are certainly appropriate.
The writer of this review is the co-chief film critic for the New York Times since 2004, Manohla Dargis. She was the chief film critic for the Los Angeles Times and the LA Weekly.
She begins with a description of the film’s setting and a detailed account of Denzel Washington’s character. From the start the reader develops a mental image of the dead environment and the main character.
She provides context for the first time: this is the directors’ first film since 2001. She analyzes the film’s cinematography, explaining why certain parts are effective, and in great detail. Her use of examples legitimizes her opinion.
She describes visual aspects of the film. She shows her knowledge of the film’s technology; it was shot in high definition digital. She provides context again; she compares and contrasts the film with other movie genres and other directors.
The plot description arrives five paragraphs in and by this time the reader has enough context to appreciate her description.
The “but” appears when she transitions into acting. She explains where and why the movie went wrong. It’s appropriate in this paragraph because she believes it’s the script’s clichés and the timing of the characters’ arrivals, as well as the unrealistic costume design and polished faces.
She ends the review on a high note, with an overall light and playful mood. The movie succeeds because the plot is engaging, and the bits of humor are certainly appropriate.
No complaints about your methods, Mr. Holmes (rewrite)
Sorry Sherlock fans, you won’t find the tweeds here.
Director Guy Ritchie wanted to introduce a Sherlock Holmes that has never been seen before—and that’s exactly what he did. Ritchie presents a slightly more graphic and fast-paced rendition of the detective’s story, but he captures the spirit of Sherlock Holmes with a touch of spice, even without the deerstalker hat and magnifying glass.
Traditionalists may argue the essence of Holmes, played by Robert Downey Jr., is lost in Ritchie’s script with Mr. Downey’s hyper-twitchy performance and eccentric persona. There’s no question Ritchie bulked up the physicality of the original script and explored the characters in depth, but the dangerous scenarios and superhuman traits bestowed upon the actors give the film its edge and energy.
Mark Strong plays Lord Blackwood who, despite his execution at the start of the film, rises from his grave to resume his killing spree and carry on his evil plan to propel an ancient secret society to the head of the universe. Holmes and Watson, played by Jude Law, are out to stop him before he takes over the world. The film sets the stage for a sequel that is sure to star Holmes’s archenemy and criminal mastermind, Professor Moriarity.
Rachel McAdams plays Irene Adler, a cold-blooded criminal and seductress who takes on Sherlock Holmes—and isn’t afraid to leave him bared naked in handcuffs. Beauty and brains, too.
Mr. Law plays Holmes’s pipe-smoking sidekick, but he’s far from Holmes’s inferior. Mr. Downey may be the leading man, but the film wouldn’t be quite as captivating without Mr. Law’s polished and professional edge to harmonize Holmes’s maniacal behavior. He read all the novels, and did his part in liberating a new flavor of Watson that Ritchie aspired to uncover as well.
According to Ritchie, there was so much unexplored in regard to the spirit of the characters and the plot. Ritchie’s script combined with the acting on screen created characters true to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s but brought them into modern cinema, where they were meant to arrive sooner or later.
Mr. Downey and Mr. Law compliment each other perfectly, despite gossip column buzz of a homoerotic subtext. Holmes exposes his jealousy at Watson’s soon-to-be engagement with Mary Morstan (Kelly Reilly), and Watson can’t seem to resist the temptation to fight the bad guys with his best friend. Their impassioned, affectionate relationship and quick-witted dialogue is one of the film’s main sources of entertainment.
Ms. Adams, with her elegant pink gown and luscious red lips, adds a refreshing splash of color to an otherwise bleak and gray setting. It took a lot to become Holmes’s main squeeze, including a few crushed bones while in her corsets, said the actress in an interview with the Chicago Sun-Times. Eight-time Academy Award nominee for best costume design Jenny Beavan admits in an interview with Vanity Fair that she took liberties and pushed the colors, especially with Irene Adler. But Mr. Law’s crisp tailoring and Holmes’s vintage attire suit the actors well, and the costumes are certainly within the time period.
Ritchie had his first taste of the sleuth’s stories in boarding school by the time he was six years old, when he listened to the narrations in his dorm room. He’s come a long way since then, and he’s not done with Holmes yet.
LINKS:
Jenny Beavan on costume design.
Chicago Sun-Times interview with Rachel McAdams
Guy Ritchie on Sherlock Holmes
Director Guy Ritchie wanted to introduce a Sherlock Holmes that has never been seen before—and that’s exactly what he did. Ritchie presents a slightly more graphic and fast-paced rendition of the detective’s story, but he captures the spirit of Sherlock Holmes with a touch of spice, even without the deerstalker hat and magnifying glass.
Traditionalists may argue the essence of Holmes, played by Robert Downey Jr., is lost in Ritchie’s script with Mr. Downey’s hyper-twitchy performance and eccentric persona. There’s no question Ritchie bulked up the physicality of the original script and explored the characters in depth, but the dangerous scenarios and superhuman traits bestowed upon the actors give the film its edge and energy.
Mark Strong plays Lord Blackwood who, despite his execution at the start of the film, rises from his grave to resume his killing spree and carry on his evil plan to propel an ancient secret society to the head of the universe. Holmes and Watson, played by Jude Law, are out to stop him before he takes over the world. The film sets the stage for a sequel that is sure to star Holmes’s archenemy and criminal mastermind, Professor Moriarity.
Rachel McAdams plays Irene Adler, a cold-blooded criminal and seductress who takes on Sherlock Holmes—and isn’t afraid to leave him bared naked in handcuffs. Beauty and brains, too.
Mr. Law plays Holmes’s pipe-smoking sidekick, but he’s far from Holmes’s inferior. Mr. Downey may be the leading man, but the film wouldn’t be quite as captivating without Mr. Law’s polished and professional edge to harmonize Holmes’s maniacal behavior. He read all the novels, and did his part in liberating a new flavor of Watson that Ritchie aspired to uncover as well.
According to Ritchie, there was so much unexplored in regard to the spirit of the characters and the plot. Ritchie’s script combined with the acting on screen created characters true to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s but brought them into modern cinema, where they were meant to arrive sooner or later.
Mr. Downey and Mr. Law compliment each other perfectly, despite gossip column buzz of a homoerotic subtext. Holmes exposes his jealousy at Watson’s soon-to-be engagement with Mary Morstan (Kelly Reilly), and Watson can’t seem to resist the temptation to fight the bad guys with his best friend. Their impassioned, affectionate relationship and quick-witted dialogue is one of the film’s main sources of entertainment.
Ms. Adams, with her elegant pink gown and luscious red lips, adds a refreshing splash of color to an otherwise bleak and gray setting. It took a lot to become Holmes’s main squeeze, including a few crushed bones while in her corsets, said the actress in an interview with the Chicago Sun-Times. Eight-time Academy Award nominee for best costume design Jenny Beavan admits in an interview with Vanity Fair that she took liberties and pushed the colors, especially with Irene Adler. But Mr. Law’s crisp tailoring and Holmes’s vintage attire suit the actors well, and the costumes are certainly within the time period.
Ritchie had his first taste of the sleuth’s stories in boarding school by the time he was six years old, when he listened to the narrations in his dorm room. He’s come a long way since then, and he’s not done with Holmes yet.
LINKS:
Jenny Beavan on costume design.
Chicago Sun-Times interview with Rachel McAdams
Guy Ritchie on Sherlock Holmes
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