My Best Come-Hither Stare

If James is the cyber pimp of TLA Video, then you can think of me as a freelance prostitute who goes way back with him and won't join his stable, but maintains a friendly relationship, and we pass each other clients from time to time. In fact the metaphor works almost disturbingly well as a stereotype; I'm over-educated, bored, a bad fit for the workaday grind, and like to spend my time as I please, thank you very much. So here I am, ready willing and able to serve as the loose cannon of the TLA blog, unbeholden as I am to its corporate masters.

Which isn't to say that I'm here to stir up shit unnecessarily; even the most classless call girl knows better than to bite the hand that feeds. But as an outsider, my plan is to indulge you in the reviews of the movies that I enjoy, which may or may not tie into the larger revenue goals of TLA. Hey, they've got nine hard-typing worker bees in the column on the right, there - they can afford one dilettante with an agenda of their own.

What kind of movies are those? Well sure, we all loved the Dark Knight, but I tend to find myself wandering into the more oddball nooks and crannies. 70s exploitation classics, beaten-path-adjacent indies, the kinds of movies that no one likes to admit to seeing and even less like to admit to enjoying. Movies that we watch for hedonism rather than to appear cool. Some are stupid raunch and some will blow your mind. Many feature explosions.

–Tovarich

And before you ask: Yes, my name really is Tovarich. Yes, like really really. Yes, I know it's a word in Russian. Yes, I know what it means. No, I don't speak Russian. Yes, there is a story behind it. No, I won't tell you.

The TV Set

(2006, 87 min) Let me be upfront by saying that, though I am and remain a straight man, David Duchovny can do no wrong in my eyes. (Alright, he can do almost no wrong.) I have no particular interest in staring at his ass in the Red Shoe Diaries, but so long as the man is speaking, I’m listening.

I say this upfront because last night I watched The TV Set, and- though I felt like for some reason I shouldn’t- I really enjoyed it. And I think it wasn’t just because David was the lead. Admittedly, the humor was perhaps more lacking than it could have been, and the satire predictable, it nevertheless provided a surprisingly realistic and entertaining portrayal of why most television is an abomination. It also demonstrates what a colossal success it is when a show is actually half-decent- not because creating moving, honest media is difficult, although it is- but because the production process itself is seemingly hell-bent on mediocrity.

Knowing what I do about the film industry from the inside (I’m not just talking about TLA), I can safely say that it is amazing that films get made at all. Every step of the process is fraught with danger- unnatural dangers created by an unnatural, fear-driven industry. The same is true of television, only more-so: the industry that supports the production process is driven by fear, which drives the recycled shit sandwiches that we have all come to know and love. Sitting behind all of this is a public that glorifies escape, exonerates lazy artistry, and shies away from psychological confrontation. We get shit sandwich because it’s what the majority of us put on the menu. Don’t want it? Stop buying.

At this point you may be thinking, “thanks for all this, asshole, but I was kind of hoping for a film review, not a half-assed rant about the film and TV industry.” Well, consider it a “meta-review.” Because the film itself is an endearing, yet also half-assed rant about the film and TV industry.

If, on the other hand, you want David Duchovny to dial up the bitter and sarcastic dialogue, and throw a whole lot of gratuitous sex into the bargain, just take a pass and get Californication Season One. While watching The TV Set, I even found myself wondering if his character in this movie proved something of an inspiration for his character in the Showtime series, much as Sorkin’s The American President helped create the more polished West Wing. (“Mr. President? Since when did you become the Chief of Staff?”) But my guess is no: we may have a case of Duchovny just being Duchovny.

Thankfully, many of us like him that way.

--James Curcio.

Ghost Town

(2008, 102 min) While screenwriter David Koepp has built a solid reputation as a reliable hitmaker (Jurassic Park, Spider-Man), he has built an equally solid reputation as a director who consistently fails to live up to his ideas (The Trigger Effect, Secret Window). Even while demonstrating a rarely-seen lighter side in Ghost Town, this film winds up as weak-kneed and cliched as any other middle-of-the-road romantic comedy.

At least he had the good sense to cast three fascinating leads, even if they don't belong all in the same movie. Greg Kinnear plays the straight man, or straight ghost at least, wandering the Earth in a sort of high-concept purgatory. After a near-death experience, the insufferably antisocial dentist played by Ricky Gervais finds (much to his chagrin) that he can see these ghosts, all of whom seem to want something. Kinnear wants him to stop the pending marriage of his ex-wife (Téa Leoni), leading to the usual romantic comedy complications, of course.

Yes, you'd think that with all this fantasy floating about, that it would be used for more than setting up a series of misunderstandings and betrayals that ultimately lead to some sort of offbeat fuzzy ending. With those expectations now dashed, however, Ghost Town at least reveals itself to be an amiable timewaster. It's always a pleasure to see Leoni let loose in a screwball role, displaying talents that have been on the back burner since the days of Flirting with Disaster and "The Naked Truth." And it's oddly rewarding to see Gervais start out in his sardonic "Extras" mode and wind up believably warm and cuddly. The two together, of course, are severely lacking in chemistry, and Kinnear's usual ironic detachment isn't helped by his physical detachment to the other characters. Finally, while I won't spoil Kristen Wiig's part, which seems to have been lifted out of a whole other universe, I will plead for her to leave the stagnant SNL and become a big-screen star like she deserves.

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

By Way of Introduction…

Technically, my role at TLA is web designer. I’ve taken the liberty of adding “cyber pimp” to my job title, so as to give myself slightly greater leeway in terms of the tasks I can throw myself at. The way I see it, they hired me as an idea man, even if they didn’t know it yet.
So, before I get to reviewing movies for all of you, I’d like to pass one of these gems your way. It’s a new marketing incentive, and you are hearing it here first.
I want to push TLA to be the first movie distribution company to launch an ape into space. Now forget for a moment that there is no connection between film and strapping a primate to the end of a Titan missile. (Did I say strapping? Placing. Gently placing.) Also forget that it would be an incredibly expensive venture- I imagine the net cost per pound of monkey launching could be in the millions.
All of these things taken to mind, I recognize that this might be a hard sell in marketing. But American business is about taking bold steps, and more importantly, it’s about getting there first... even if it turns out there was no sensible or even sane reason that we should have taken the journey in the first place.
Just you wait. We’ll be the first to launch a monkey into space. And despite Blockbuster’s attempts to get into the space game, well. Clearly, they are outmatched. And clearly, I’m on the straight-arrow path to some lofty executive position with this idea. But until then, you’ll get movie reviews from me.
See you then.
- James Curcio.

Lessons from "Mad Men," or It Has Come to My Attention That There Is Entirely Not Enough Booze In This Office

My colleague, Mike, just brought a few ads to my office that he'd like for me to proofread. They're still sitting there on my desk. Now, if he had taken a lesson from "Mad Men", he would know exactly how to get what he wants. Mike would invite me into his office and offer me a drink, preferably scotch on the rocks. His secretary would assure our privacy while we shoot the shit about baseball (even though he's a Mets fan) and our mouths contemplate the nuances of the brown liquor. Firing up a stogie, we are relaxed with our defenses down, when he casually mentions some ads that he's working on, and would I mind taking a look? Why of course not, in fact, it would be a privilege to see a master at work. Checking the colors on "Bangkok Love Story," everything looks good, down to the typeface on the quotes and the correct British spelling on the overseas ads. Oh, what's this? An extra space between the punctuation and the end of the sentence... better take a closer look at that. Stubbing out my cigar, I say that I'll save the rest of this for our next meeting, and that it's always a pleasure to work with him. And could he maybe check out my blog when he gets a chance? Sure.

But there is no booze in this office. No smoking, either... you now must leave your office for a butt, which feels like a chore, and ensures that no work gets done on the smoking deck.

It has also come to my attention that we have no offices either. Just cubicles.

And no secretaries either. I guess in the big picture, the loss of office sexism is a good thing, but in the narrow, old-boys-club picture, you can certainly see why none of the privileged men wanted it to change.

Instead, I will have to keep watching "Mad Men", one of the few shows about the workplace that doesn't feel like work. Hard to believe that escapism can come from stressful jobs and societal expectations, but then, that may be what the elite think when they watch Clerks or High Fidelity. Season One was the best show of 2007, and season two is only getting better.

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

What's your favorite movie?

Roger Ebert posed this question on his blog, and for once I have an answer. I've found it very helpful in life to have stock answers for commonly asked questions. How are you? Fine. What's up with the Phillies this year? Inconsistent hitting. Why'd you become a vegetarian? I'm a finicky eater. And when someone finds out I work for a video company, people perk up and either ask "What's good right now?" or "What's your favorite movie?" Nothing is worse than watching someone hem and haw at a fairly easy question, so I have a stock answer that also usually leads to a pretty animated discussion. (Never answer Citizen Kane, Lawrence of Arabia or Gone with the Wind as the conversation will come to a crashing halt.)

The greatest movie ever made is Rear Window. Two deep characters that are impossible to not fall in love with, the sassy comic relief of Thelma Ritter, and a self-reflexive deconstruction of filmmaking and voyeurism in the film's perfect construction. Whenever this film appears on TV, I end up dropping everything and sitting down and watching it all the way through, and I can't say that about any other movie. It never gets old.

But my favorite movie is Jerry Lewis' The Ladies Man, a revelation that inevitably leads to discussion of Jerry and not the actual film. He carries a lot of cultural baggage, so I have to beg people to please, simply watch his movies. Interestingly, his essential book The Total Filmmaker outlines many tenets of comedy directing, culled from lectures he gave when teaching a film school course. While he was giving those lectures, he was directing One More Time, the nearly unwatchable sequel to Salt & Pepper, and seemingly ignoring every single lesson from his course.

But earlier in the '60s, Lewis was taking his inspiration from Frank Tashlin and producing some of the most innovative, insane and even breathtaking comedies since the silent era. The Ladies Man in particular had the innovation of "video assist," a hookup to the camera that provided a live feed that would become commonplace in just a few short years. It also boasted a massive indoor set that, in the photo above, looks like a dollhouse built to human scale complete with a functioning elevator. This set allows Lewis to set up beautiful physical comedy throughout the house unencumbered by the usual laws space and physics.

Interesting that, for me, two of the most cinematic films ever made take place almost entirely on two single sets. It's the opposite of the massive vistas that are always rewarded come Oscar time. Speaking of Oscars, despite co-hosting the ceremonies several times, Jerry Lewis has never been honored. How about throwing an award his way, perhaps the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award for his tireless commitment to the MDA?

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

Tropic Thunder

(2008, 110 min) While Friedberg and Seltzer are off making yet another shallow Hollywood movie, Ben Stiller steps up to the plate and reminds us all just how funny a good parody can be. Equal parts Hearts of Darkness and Rambo, with the plot of The Three Amigos thrown in for cohesion, Tropic Thunder demonstrates remarkable maturity by Stiller, especially in his enthusiasm to let the spotlight shine on his terrific costars.

That's not to say that, as meatheaded action star Tugg Speedman, Stiller doesn't give it his all. He's remarkably ripped, and Tugg is ready to create his masterpiece: An epic Vietnam movie that will leave men cheering and women weeping. His last movie, Simple Jack, was an epic failure despite his immersive performance. As multiple-award-winning Australian actor Kirk Lazarus (Robert Downey, Jr.) points out, "You went full-on retarded," and you have to only be kinda retarded like Forrest Gump to win Oscars.

Lazarus would know about great acting. He's so far into his character that he's sporting full-on blackface and won't stop talking like Shaft even when the camera is off. The joke of an American playing an Australian playing an African American is perfect enough, but the great Downey, Jr. not only pulls it off on a comic level but also an artistic level. No wonder he gets the most screen time.

The third amigo actor is Fats Portnoy (Jack Black), popular among kids but attempting his adult breakthrough despite his crippling heroin habit. Thrust into the jungle for their epic, things go so badly that they end up battling druglords and don't realize that it's not part of the script. Black has a grand time as heroin addict facing a mountainous raw supply, with typical comic demons in tow.

Remarkably, Stiller also finds plenty of time for Matthew McConaughey to satirize Jerry Maguire, playing Speedman's protective agent (complete with a kinetic Simple Jack standee in his office). Last but not least, the great (yes I said "great") Tom Cruise one-upping his performance in Magnolia as a vile, balding, fat studio head who at one point tells one of the druglords to "take a giant step back and FUCK your FACE!!!" Hollywood has plenty of room for creative vulgarity, and Cruise delivers.

No scattershot comedy is perfect, however, and there are weaknesses: Steve Coogan seems lost as the snivelling director, and Brandon T. Jackson wastes space as the moral compass, seemingly an apologia for the intentionally offensive blackface (and his closeted gay subplot doesn't ring true either). But there's so much good stuff (I didn't even get to Nick Nolte as the hypocritical inspiration for the movie, or Danny McBride as the too-eager munitions expert, or the legitimately frightening druglord played by 11-year-old Brandon Soo Hoo) that you will probably laugh harder than at any other movie this year. And seriously, look for Downey, Jr. at the Oscars this year... for real.

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

Then She Found Me

(2007, 100 min) Helen Hunt's feature directorial debut comes dressed in distinctively indie trappings. The cinematography is intentionally drab and action, at least in the beginning, tends to happen off-screen. It is in these opening moments that play out somewhat theatrically that the film finds its strength. But once all of the setup info is established, the film begins to slip into shapelessness and, worse, sentimentality.

Hunt's Hollywood-seasoned cast makes a valiant attempt to play down the caricatures that they've earned their livings playing up. Matthew Broderick's self-centered manchild lacks the smirking and mugging that he generally lends to similar characters. Colin Firth removes approximately one layer of restraint and adds one layer each of jealousy and rage to his Mark Darcy character from the Bridget Jones series. Bette Midler, while the most expressive character in the film, dulls her brass ever so slightly. Finally, Hunt shows up as the life-scarred, beaten-down type that she's made a career out of playing since As Good As It Gets but removes any semblance of pluck or humor. All of these acting tweaks and character modifications are designed to distinguish the film from the typical sunny romantic comedy that is so fearful of becoming. But, in reality, only two elements successfully separate it. One, at its core, the story centers more around Hunt's desire for a baby and, two, it is not remotely funny. In fact, there may be only one moment in the entire film which will cause viewers to even crack a smile.

Hunt is clearly attempting to put together a precious character study and is all restraint and no risk, but this creates a stifled atmosphere in which none of the characters are developed as well as they ought to be which leaves this film only a mood piece. A mood piece is certainly no crime against cinema, but when the mood that permeates is self-pity then viewers will certainly be excused if they want to turn away.

Even more jarring than the lack of full character development is the atrocious musical supervision. The score often resembles the background music of a self-help video and the song choices (Iron and Wine during a sex scene!) are more than a little cliché. These bad choices betray Hunt's noble attempt to keep the film sparse and render it simply maudlin.

The film is not completely unredeemable. It simply lacks any spark or commitment to its vision, but single women in their late 30s experiencing an identity crisis will most likely enjoy it.

– Daniel Reed

© TLA Entertainment Group

Sour Grapes: Appreciating Larry David's essential bridge between "Seinfeld" and "Curb"

(1998, 91 min) Barely released by Warner Brothers in 1998, it's easy to forget that Larry David wrote and directed his lone feature film between his two popular and wildly overrated TV series, "Seinfeld" and "Curb Your Enthusiasm". Yet while tackling many of the same petty gripes about humanity, the expanded format of the feature film allowed him to fully realize his vision for the first (and perhaps only) time.

Larry David's first stroke of genius was to replace Jerry Seinfeld in what is clearly a Seinfeldian role. This has been done before, most successfully by Roberto Benigni replacing the late Peter Sellers in Son of the Pink Panther (Ted Wass is a close second in Curse of the Pink Panther, substituting ace comic timing for Benigni's manic energy). Seinfeld, who didn't win a single acting Emmy, was wisely passed over in favor of Steven Weber, one of very few actors with the chops to fill the big screen... and he had a Saturn Award to prove it. Clearly, Larry David was watching the massive ratings of "Wings" every Thursday night, and knew that it was Weber, and not the "Seinfeld" coattails, that were driving the Nielsens. Pair him with the comic stylings of Craig Bierko, and even a subpar script would have been elevated; but Larry David was aiming much higher.

In Sour Grapes, he tackles nothing less than the greed of ugly Americans, and comparisons to Von Stroheim's bloated silent epic are no doubt intentional. In place of tragedy, however, David sees comedy, in the form of hilarious shouting matches and zippy one-liners like "I don't know. Roberta's out of town. I'll probably just go home and blow myself." Sick of "Seinfeld"'s everyday observational comedy, David places his characters in the unlikely fantasy world of Las Vegas, fighting over a slot machine jackpot – the unlikely events allowing the audience plenty of distance from the characters, allowing laughter to flow forth unabated by emotional connection.

Apparently, these aspirations were too much for the average moviegoer, and David has not directed a feature since. Relegated to the HBO ghetto, where a tiny audience is enough to generate "hit" status, he has continued to churn out uninspired "Curb Your Enthusiasm" episodes. Here's to wishing he decides to challenge himself, and us, again on the big screen.

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

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Dungeon Girl

(2008, 81 min) Ulli Lommel's Dungeon Girl isn't so much a horror film (and definitely not a torture porn) as an exploration of the relationship between captor and captive. Well not so much that as a half-baked student film from one of the worst directors of all time. It's almost as if instead of a script, Lommel puts together three half-developed ideas and then edits them together with all the glee of a sophomore film major playing with After Effects for the first time while tripping balls. Even when it comes to nudity, usually Lommel's saving grace in the other stinking piles of garbage he's hurled at the world, he falls short giving viewers hoping for skin more male nudity than female with one recurring shot of Wendi Jean Linn's buttocks and another recurring image of an anonymous woman tied up on a cross wearing rags which are sliced to reveal her naked breasts and, pehaps, a glimpse at her bush. Linn is certainly an absolutely stunning creature and the exploitative pretense is almost a work of art on its own, but Dungeon Girl fails on almost every conceivable level.

– Rick Stanko

© TLA Entertainment Group