Its About Time?

I am all for celebrities coming out of the closet. I am also against celebrities being outed by a third party (ala the hateful and vicious Perez Hilton). As someone who was out to most of his friends for a long time, but didn't come out to his immediate family until much later in life, I understand completely. And of course, my immediate family members all basically said "Yeah? And the sky is blue."

Still, it's not an easy thing to do. And I will admit, there are some elderly (75+) and very conservative Catholic* family members to whom I have not, and probably will not, come out. They are happy with the status quo; they don't have Internet access and - quite frankly - its none of their business. They all probably know, anyway, but would rather live in blissful ignorance than admit one of their own was 'one of them.' And honestly, that's fine with me.

Still, it makes me happy when a celebrity finally comes out. One more public voice added to the ranks means one more person whom people admire is gay. And that's never a bad thing. Such is the case with this interview (via) with "Will and Grace" co-star Sean Hayes, in which he finally admits that he is, in fact, gay. My response? "Yeah? And the sky is blue."

Many years ago, while appearing in NJ premiere production of Terrance McNally's Love! Valour! Compassion!, I met and befriended a young actor (now an Out and Proud bartender in San Francisco) who was still pretending to be straight. Most of the cast was openly gay and we all knew that this particular young man was gay, but we said nothing, because it wasn't our place to do so. Several months later, while appearing in a production of Uncle Vanya with the same young man, he came to me and admitted that he was, in fact, gay. My response? "Yeah? And the sky is blue." And his response was "Why is no one surprised?!" Because we all already knew, dear boy. Everyone did. But you had to find that out for yourself.

It's like the end of The Wizard of Oz (could I make a gayer reference?). "You had to find that out for yourself," Glinda tells Dorothy when she finally realizes "There's no place like home." Duh!

Okay - here's the thing; Coming out is a very personal and difficult experience which varies from person to person. Some of us have very positive experiences. Some of us don't. The point is, one should never be afraid to admit the truth, no matter how other people take it. If they don't like it, that's their problem, not yours. Personally, I wish I had come out to my family long before I did. But what's done is done. I guess what I'm saying is that those who love you, love you for who, not what you are.

So please come out, closeted celebrities (Damn! I just sank to Perez Hilton's level). Intelligent fans will still love you and your work. Stupid fans who no longer love you, never really loved you in the first place.

And please come out, closeted non-celebrities. Don't you know there is strength in numbers? The people who love you probably already know, and if they no longer love you after you come out, then they probably never did in the first place.

By the way, my friend Michael does the best Cher I've ever heard.

More, anon.
Prospero

*Again - I am not saying the Pope is evil - just poking fun at the Catholic Church's antiquated views on the real world.

Oscar, Schmoscar

Hey AMPAS - Young Frankenstein is NOT a Horror movie. Its a COMEDY. Granted (as my friend Jonathan pointed out), it wouldn't exist if it weren't for the genre, but still. Don't get me wrong, it's a brilliant movie - certainly one of Brooks' best and on my personal Top 10, but it is NOT a horror movie. And neither is Frank Oz's film of the musical Little Shop of Horrors. That's what we call a Musical Comedy. NOT a Horror movie. No wonder real film buffs have come to hate the Oscars and the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. They don't even know how to distinguish a Horror movie from a Comedy. Granted, there are Horror movies that are also Comedies: Dead Alive; Evil Dead II; Basket Case; Drag Me to Hell... But they are Horror movies first, and Comedies second. And was it me, or was Taylor Lautner actually prettier than Kristen Stuart (of course, it doesn't take much to be prettier than Kristen Stuart - ouch!)?

With a scheduled hour left in the broadcast (and Lord only knows how long it will actually drag on), I gave up on the Oscars, made my lunch for tomorrow and came in to write. Steve Martin stopped being truly funny at least 10 years ago and Alec Baldwin looks like he'd rather be anywhere else but the Kodak Theatre, tonight. I must admit to laughing when Steve slapped Alec in the Paranormal Activity parody, which seemed much more like another John Hughes tribute to Planes, Trains and Automobiles.

And was it me, or did Molly Ringwald look absolutely terrified during the tribute to the late John Hughes? And is it the dress, or does Miley Cyrus always have bad posture?

Having Neil Patrick Harris open the show was a cheap attempt to capitalize on his current popularity, though his signing on for The Smurfs Movie may very well damage that popularity beyond repair (unless of course, The Smurfs Movie is a brilliant parody, which I hope and pray it is).

Mo'Nique won. Surprise! (Though I must admit her emotional speech was one of the night's best.) And it looks like the overrated, over-blown Avatar may only win technical awards, which warms my heart to know end.

Of course, the inclusions of two Comedies in tonight's "Tribute to Horror Movies" wasn't what I found most offensive about it. Rather it was the exclusion of even one frame from what is the single scariest movie ever movie ever made: Robert Wise's amazingly effective 1963 film, The Haunting. Wise was smart enough to know that what we conjure in our own imaginations is far more frightening than anything a special effects guy can come up with. If you've never seen this absolutely terrifying film (featuring a truly amazing performance by Julie Harris), you're missing out. I dare you to watch it alone with all the lights off.

Minimal special effects, loads of atmosphere and skilled performances from a cast at the top of their game make the original version of The Haunting a truly scary picture. And if you're smart, you'll avoid Jan DeBont's ridiculous 1999 remake at all costs.

Oh wait - I have updates... Jeff Bridges just won Best Actor? Sandra Bullock won Best Actress? No! Really? Shocking! Excuse for me for not caring about things everyone already knew were going to happen. Give me streakers, bon mots and political activism over predictable and boring every time.

More, anon.
Prospero

Mini Review: "Where the Wild Things Are"

As a child, I adored Maurice Sendak's book "Where the Wild Things Are." It told the story of Max, a young boy banished to his room for misbehaving, who imagines himself the king of a land inhabited by monstrous creatures. His first edict: "Let the wild rumpus start!" It was a weird and wonderful flight of fantasy, punctuated by Sendak's imaginative illustrations.

Over the years, there have been several attempts to translate the book into a film, including a failed attempt by the animators at Disney, who only managed to produce some line-drawing test footage before the project was shut down for any number of reasons.

Finally, director Spike Jones (Being John Malkovitch; Adaptation) made a live-action version in 2008, only to have the film delayed because the studio (Warner Bros.) felt the Wild Things themselves weren't expressive enough -- the beasts were played by actors in suits and the Suits were unhappy with the results. After a year or so of tinkering and CGI-enhanced faces for the Wild Things, the movie was released last fall to mixed reviews.

Last night, I finally got to see it On Demand and am sad to report that I found it less than thrilling. The screenplay by Jones and Dave Eggers, expands Sendak's book in a rather unappealing way, turning the disobedient Max into an obnoxious brat and adding subtext to the Wild Things' history that bears little resemblance to the source material (though Sendak, who serves as one of the film's producers, along with Tom Hanks, has said the film serves the book well). Young Max Story plays Max as a petulant and impulsive kid who deserves a smack on the bum for his bad behavior, while Katherine Keener as his mom and Mark Ruffalo as her boyfriend are given little, if anything, to do. The vocal performances by James Gandofini, the always amazing Katherine O'Hara and "Six Feet Under" star Lauren Ambrose as the Wild Things are fine, I suppose, but since their characters lack any real exposition, sussing out why they are so angry with one another is an almost impossible task. I actually spent more time trying to figure out whose voice was whose, rather than paying attention to the rather obtuse storyline.

I will give props to Jones' creative team, who manage to bring Sendak's illustrations to life with remarkable attention to detail; the film's creatures are honest and reliable interpretations of the book's drawings. Some of the movie's visuals are actually quite extraordinary, particularly the model of the perfect world the monster Carrol imagines for himself and his friend and the globe-like fort Max directs the creatures to build. Sadly, adults who warmly remember the book are likely to be confused by the expanded story, while children who are unfamiliar with the source material will probably be frightened by the film's dark tone.

In the end, Where the Wild Things Are isn't exactly a bad movie. But it isn't really a very good one, either. *1/2 (One and a Half Stars Out of Four).

I know there are folks out there who loved this movie, but personally, I think Jones has done much better work in his previous films.

More, anon.
Prospero

In Praise of the Modern Movie Musical

Back when Uncle P was writing movie reviews professionally for the LGBT entertainment site PhillyOut.com, one of the first reviews I wrote was for the 2001 film version of John Cameron Mitchell's Hedwig and the Angry Inch. I loved the movie and its amazing performances. And in particular, I loved the animation-infused version of the show's best song, "The Origin of Love"

That's the amazing Miriam Shor (late of "Damages" and "Swingtown") as Hedwig's bandanna-headed back-up singer, Yitzhak.

Of course, turning stage musicals into movies is far from new - one need only go back to the first true American musical Oklahoma for proof of that. But the movie musical seemed to have all but died after Randall Kleiser's 1978 adaptation of Grease. Oh, there were plenty of attempts at musicals after Grease, including Milos Forman's version of Hair; the late Gene Kelly's (sadly) last film Xanadu; Robert Altman's under-appreciated Popeye; the godawful Village People disco musical Can't Stop the Music; a far too-stagey version of The Pirates of Penzance (the movie that made Uncle P fall in lust with Kevin Kline); an abysmal adaptation of A Chorus Line and the Christian Bale kiddie musical Newsies. None of them did very well (though Xanadu would later fare much better in its tongue-in-cheek Broadway adaptation a few years ago).

That number would show up again in Adam Sandler's bizarre and misguided attempt at "serious" acting, Punch-Drunk Love.

It wasn't until Aussie auteur Baz Luhrmann made Moulin Rouge in 2001 that the movie musical once again regained its place on the big screen. Combining existing and original songs with a plot as creaky as an old boot (Boy Meets Girl/Boy Loses Girl/Boy Gets Girl/Boy Loses Girl Again to TB), Moulin Rouge was a sensation and proved that the movie musical was indeed a still valid art form:

Of course, Bollywood has been producing similar musicals forever:

Still, thanks to Luhrman's triumphant film, American audiences were able to experience the joy of Rob Marshall's version of Chicago, the first musical to win the Oscar for Best Picture since Cabaret...

...and Adam Shankman's highly entertaining film version of the stage musical based on John Waters' Hairspray:

Though of course, the less said about the downright boring film version of The Phantom of the Opera; Tim Burton's completely humorless version of Sweeney Todd; Susan Stoman's stagey version of The Producers; Julie Taymor's decidedly odd Beatles' musical Across the Universe and Marshall's most recent failure, Nine, the better.

Lately, the trend has been toward turning movies into stage musicals, as seen with the Broadway versions of Beauty and the Beast; The Lion King; The Producers; Mary Poppins; Young Frankenstein; Chitty, Chitty Bang-Bang and Uncle P's favorite Evil Dead: The Musical.

There's plenty of room for more musical movies, as far as I'm concerned. And there's been some chatter of film versions of Kiss of the Spider-Woman (as far as I am concerned, the best Kander and Ebb musical, ever); Batboy; Avenue Q; Spring Awakening and Wicked, but I'll believe 'em when I see 'em. Until then, I'll continue to hold out hope that the movie musical isn't dead and that this very American art form hasn't seen its last incarnation. Of course, having started my theatrical career in musical theatre, I may be a bit biased. Keep singing, Hollywood. Gay boys, theatre geeks, teenaged girls and "Glee" fans need you to keep providing us with hope, glamor, music and romance. Is that really too much to ask?

More, anon.
Prospero

Review: "The Crazies"

In George A. Romero's 1973 original The Crazies, his follow up to Night of the Living Dead, Judy and David are a young couple caught up in a military cover-up when a man-made virus is unleashed on a small Pennsylvania town which drives its victims insane before killing them. In Breck Eisner's 2010 remake, Judy is a doctor and her husband David is the Sheriff in a small Iowa town that has been infected by a man-made virus which drives its victims insane before killing them. That's basically where the similarities end.

Ogden Marsh is small farming town, dependent on the local water supply to irrigate the corn fields which the town in the black. It's 1200 or so residents all know each other and everyone turns out for the opening day game of the local high school baseball team, including the town's reformed drunk, wearing a blank expression and toting a shotgun as he deliberately walks onto the field in the middle of the game. And thus begins the town's rather quick descent into chaos as more and more of its citizens become infected and start killing one another.

Sheriff David Dutton (Timothy Olyphant) and his deputy Russell know something's really wrong when the phones and Internet are suddenly useless (not to mention the fact that the M.E. tries to cut David's head open with a bone saw in the back room of the local funeral home). David tries to convince his wife Judy (Radha Mitchell) to leave for her sister's, but she refuses, knowing the town will need its doctor to help them through this crisis. But before she can, the military descends on the town and starts rounding people up at the high school, separating those with fevers from those without, and separating the pregnant Judy from David, who is shipped off to nearby truck stop and presumably, evacuation. Determined to save his wife, David returns to town where they, along with Russell and Judy's assistant Becca (Danielle Panabaker), try to get out without being killed by the infected or shot by the military.

The screenplay by Scott Kosar (The Amityville Horror) and Ray Wright (Pulse) dispenses with the talky dialog of Romero's original and director Breck Eisner keeps the pace moving along briskly while providing plenty of tension and just the right amount of shocks without going into overkill. Olyphant (The Broken Hearts Club; Live Free or Die Hard) is fine here, displaying enough swagger to be convincing as a sheriff (a role he is about to take on on FX's new series "Justified"), while retaining the right amount of sensitivity for a devoted husband and father. Mitchell (Pitch Black; Silent Hill) continues to prove more than capable as a genre actress. The rest of the cast are all fine and by dispensing with the fervent anti-military themes of the original (made at the height of the Vietnam War), Eisner manages to evoke both nightmarish chaos and quiet, dark-ride tension quite effectively. The military are still the real bad guys here, but this film is more about surviving the unthinkable, than placing blame for it.

As with any good horror movie, you have take The Crazies at face value and accept it for exactly what it is: a fun, exciting and (while often improbable) believable ride. **1/2 (Two and a Half Stars Out of Four). The Crazies is rated 'R' for violence, gore and language.

More, anon.
Prospero

Little Miss Pet Peeve

I recently got into a little online spat with an old friend from high school over this issue and I'm sure tonight's post isn't going to help matters, but this post on Towleroad today got me all worked up about the subject again. And that subject? Child Beauty Pageants and the early sexualization and exploitation of children.

Personally, I have no problem with a young lady aged 16, 17 or older entering and competing in beauty pageants. I still think such pageants are chauvinistic and sexist relics of what should be our past, but by that age most young women know what they're getting into and can be held responsible for their own actions.

My real problem is with the mothers of children 10 and under, who enter them into similar events; living vicariously through their children, trying to make amends for their own lost youths or even their own lack of self-esteem. Get over yourself, already. So, you weren't the Prom Queen. Big deal. 99% of us weren't, either.

A 5, 6 or even 10 year-old does what Mommy tells her, because Mommy says so. If Mommy says "wear this dress, put on this makeup and put in these false veneers to cover your naturally toothless grin," the youngster does it, because she wants to make Mommy happy. Have you ever seen the 'reality' shows "Little Miss Perfect" or "Toddlers & Tiaras?" You and I both know that every one of those kids would rather be out playing with their friends, than prancing in front of a bunch of strangers in overtly sexual costumes, wigs and makeup. When they complain they don't like it, or they're tired and cranky after hours of being forced to practice their strutting, Mommy admonishes them and tells them how bad they are for not doing what Mommy wants them to do. Disgusting.

The sexualization of children is something which angers and sickens your Uncle P to no end. Children shouldn't worry about being the prettiest, or the best dancer/singer/baton-twirler in their age group. They shouldn't have to wear provocative clothing, wigs, false eyelashes and fake smiles. Children should be outside in the fresh air, running around and carrying-on and being children, not spending their time looking like an extra from Showgirls.

When I complained about this issue on Facebook, my friend quickly admonished me: "My daughter grew up in the pageant system and she is a well-adjusted adult." Well, good for her. She's one of the lucky ones - if, in fact, that is true. I can't imagine having this kind of world-view as a child and growing up to be a "well-adjusted" adult. When children are rewarded for being beautiful rather than for being intelligent, sensitive and truly talented, we reinforce the message that Madison Avenue and the Fashion Industry have been selling for years: "Beauty is the only thing to value." Is it any wonder that young women suffer from anorexia, bulimia and other eating disorders? And its not only girls that are being subjected to this objectification. Plenty of young boys are entered in such pageants every year. There are even infant and toddler categories! Revolting!

And I won't even get into the issue of pedophiles and the fuel such images must feed the fires of their diseased passions.

If you can stomach them (I couldn't get through more than a few seconds of each clip), watch these clips and tell me I'm wrong:

Honestly, were I to meet Michael, the plastic-faced 'coach' featured on "Little Miss Perfect," I would punch him in his surgically-enhanced nose and tell the bitch to burn in hell. How sad and scary is it that a grown man (whether he's gay - which he obviously is - or straight), should make a career out of exploiting children? A 6 year-old should NOT be learning how to "sell it." The whole thing makes me sick and angry.

And I know I may have ranted about this topic before, but nothing makes my blood boil more than the exploitation of children, no matter what the context. Okay, I'm done. Sorry about the rant, but as I am sure you can tell, this is a subject that enrages me to no end.

Tomorrow night, I'm seeing The Crazies with Matty and I'll feel a whole lot better after the exploitation of adults in what is essentially an anti-military zombie movie. Zombies have such a soothing effect on me... The fictional ones - not the brain-washed child-zombies in the clips above.

Okay. Really. Rant over. I promise. My review of The Crazies, next post.

More, anon.
Prospero

A Late Night Quickie

My good buddy Sean at Just a Jeep Guy, posted this about the 2010 Oscar Broadcast. Essentially, the potential winners have been asked to save their "Thank Yous' until after they have accepted their awards.

Seriously?

For me, the Oscars are really about moments, rather than the entire show. How else would see amazing moments like this, this or this.

Of course, seeing gorgeous Javier Bardem kissing ass doesn't hurt (Oh! Did I really just write that? I've been reading too many Stephen Rader posts....).

Still, almost half the fun of watching the Oscars is seeing celebs make fools of themselves as they try to express their thanks for an award which in all honestly cannot be given abjectively. Really, how does one decide which artistic endeavor is better than another? Is what I've created as an artist better than or worse than what you've created? Is your art less valuable or have more to say than mine? Yes, we all know bad art; acting; design, etc., when we see it. But how does anyone really know whose artistic expression is better than someone else's?

Do you like it? Then it is good. Do I hate it? Then it is bad. Can we agree to disagree? I certainly hope so. How boring would life be if we all agreed on what was bad and/or good?

Still - how boring would the Oscars be without moments like this? Or better yet, these:

Oh, David Niven, how we miss your class!

More, anon.
Prospero