Lincoln, Blinkin, and Nod Off

By Kleinz 57

“Do you think we choose to be born?” a solemn, contemplative Daniel Day-Lewis inquires as his rawboned frame looms over the imaginations of two strapping whippersnappers, anxiously awaiting approval on a wartime communique. “Or are we fitted to the times we’re born into?” For a fleeting poignant moment in Steven Spielberg’s Lincoln, we give pause and marvel at the mythic qualities of such a towering historical figure. We also understand what the fuck these people are actually trying to say. John Williams’ piano leitmotif suddenly swells to a majestic horn spumes and the camera slowly moves in on our titular legend, a specific calculated bit of direction that Spielberg repeats for nigh fourscore more instances.

Day-Lewis bestows upon his enraptured audience a measured diction, a striking physiognomy in a performance made all the more tragic by a rightful bore of a screenplay. Renowned scribe Tony Kushner perplexes the masses with ventilations and repartees that vault and canter between aphorism and incoherent ramble that I have half a heart to give him a righteous piece of my mind over. Such a torrential flow was duly intended to be in service of a much greater and bolder depiction of the final stages of this Civil American Contention. Mr. Kushner elects to draw our gaze upon the backdoor dealins and fiery aspersions of withering and wigged white politicians, rather than afford such effort toward foul pleasures of savage behemoths of men splayed out and dilapidated under the forceful ire of an Alabaman conscript’s infernal brand. T’would be nothing more than a great bean pile of a lie to claim this depiction was efficacious in garnering my attention. I solemnly stand by that.

No doubt, few must truly assimilate the capacious Catch-22 President Lincoln stands against: Is it more to national benefit to seek passage of the Thirteenth Amendment? Or must we trudge onward, together, toward drafting an unconditional surrender of the Confederate legion? One can’t help to bemoan such a wretched waste of Ms. Sally Field and the spritely stalk of a young thespian, Mr. Joseph Gordon-Levitt. I reckon the exuberant bribery and lobbying of Messrs. Tim Blake Nelson, John Hawkes and the ever delightful James Spader provided a globule of dramatic color, but I might admit it was too little too late. When coupled with flashes of photographic inspiration, sublimely incarnating sepia-toned likenesses that persist in our collective memories, much less the devastating notion that Mr. Spielberg labored on this project for nigh over ten years, one wonders what brand of enlivened allegiance our well-intentioned creator draws his snuff from. Mayhaps only the very snakes of Eden and our own meeker angels of intimation might bely a solitary kernel of truth to the matter. Mayhaps.

Your Superficial Fall 2012 Preview (Pt. III)

By Kleinz 57

(Part I)

(Part II)

November 2

Wreck-It Ralph

This was a long time coming, right? Pixar’s already sapped dry the anthropomorphic animals pool, so the digital world was the next obvious step. I can only hope securing the rights to Mario, Street Fighter, and Pac-Man characters was an indispensable addition to video game existentialism.

Flight

By my count, Zemeckis hasn’t made a good movie since he stopped casting real people in them. Perhaps Flight is a return to that, although the fewer chances ‘Zel gets to hold a piece, the slimmer our chances become.

The Man With the Iron Fists 

A whole lot could go wrong with a director’s debut. Especially if it’s a kung-fu blaxploitation mashup about a guy who welds metals gloves onto his hands. And especially if said director has no prior experience and is also a member of the Wu-Tang Clan.

Still don’t care.

November 9

Skyfall

Forget Quantum of Whateverthefuck. Bond is back, baby. More importantly, established directors are back, baby, what with MGM dumping boatloads into its only two bankable properties. To hell with the presidential election. November is the launch of a campaign to get Christopher Nolan on board one of these sumbitches. BWOOOOOND.

November 16

Lincoln 

Despite The Master’s obvious Oscar bait potential, Spielberg could drop a homemade stinky Snickers bar on a reel of celluloid, slap Tom Hanks’ name on it, and the Academy would still have a month-long joygasm. He’s pinch-hitting Daniel Day-Lewis for the role of Honest Abe here. No word yet on how this thing smells. (You’re welcome for the thirty-second poster trailer, by the way.)

November 21

Life of Pi

Best part of this? The five-year old two rows ahead of me who giggled “Life of Pee.”

Red Dawn

I get this is just a movie, but North Korea? Really? In what universe? Oh right. The one where insane NRA nutjobs are already popping half-masters at the thought of a Red Dawn remake. If you listen closely, you can hear the muffled cackles of Charlton Heston’s corpse.

Rise of the Guardians 

Sorry, videogames AND figments of children’s imaginations. I really want Guardians to do well, if not for my Santa Claus fetish than for the sake of Dreamworks Animation. This costs as much as that James Bond movie. That’s a deal breaker!