Super-Awsome Find of the Week, installment 6

Those who know me know that I am not exactly a fan of Dan Brown nor The DaVinci Code. Those who know me best have heard multiple commentaries from me regarding the book/movie's story and dialogue, and the fact that the main character is the biggest bounceboard character in history. The entire book/movie can pretty much be summed-up as follows:

  Nondescript Uneducated Character: "What's that?"
  Robert Langdon: "Oh, that is the blah blah blah, which means blah blah blah."
  NUC: "And what's that?"
  RL: "Oh, that is the blah blah blah, which means blah blah blah."
  NUC: "Oh no! Someone's trying to kill us!"
  RL: "They're probably trying to kill us because of blah blah blah, which means..."

In fact, the only merit I was able to pull from The DaVinci Code is that it gave me a new curse word to yell—shouted ever so awesomely by Sir Ian—whenever something goes awry.

"LAAANGDOOOOOOON!!"

That being the case, I did find something this week that is along the same lines, but actually is semi-credible. A few years back, an Italian musician/computer scientist took a good look at DaVinci's The Last Supper and noticed that the placement of the hands of the apostles and the bread on the table looked an awful lot like notes. He then imposed a staff atop the picture—and arranged the notes in reverse, as DaVinci did all his writing backwards—and ended up with Renaissance-era sheet music.

the REAL DaVinci Code

Now, I know that a lot of you are probably skeptical. Truthfully, I don't know if I am 100% convinced myself. It is hard, however, to deny that something wasn't going through DaVinci's head when you listen to how well the supposed music harmonizes and flows.

Where Have All The Ideas Gone?, part 1

Ideas are everywhere. They can come from something you see or hear or read. They can come from an experience in your life or a story from someone else's. And some of them are, as a memorable episode of Seinfeld taught us, simply "in the air". With that being the case, why in the world do the powers-that-be in Hollywood ignore the aforementioned sources and insist on rehashing ideas over and over again? Over the next few posts, allow me to explore a few of the ways in which Hollywood is being neither creative, original, creatively original, nor originally creative.

It's not "top of the muffin TO YOU!"

The Sequel
Now, I'm not talking a sequel that was meant to happen from the word go—in fact, when a sequel is planned from the beginning, it is oft-times better than the original (read: The Two Towers or The Empire Strikes Back). Sadly, though, most sequels come to be because the original made a lot of money, and some studio executives had the following conversation:

  Studio Executive 1: "You know, _______ did extraordinarily well at the box office."
  Studio Executive 2: "Then what are we waiting for? Let's greenlight _______ 2!"
The preceding conversation is then usually followed with the subsequent one:
  Studio Executive 1: "_______ 2? But [the main character [or bad guy] died/ there is no more conflict/ the world has been saved]!
  Studio Executive 2: [shrugs shoulders] "...meh."

And so it is that we are subjected to a barrage of horrible sequels, some of which have nothing to do with the original, some of which actually undo/write-off the events of the first film to make room for a second one, and some of which are created literally 20 or 30 years after the fact.

Now, that is not to say that all unplanned sequels are bad. The Dark Knight, Evil Dead 2, and Once Upon a Time in Mexico are all great. It is to say, however, that for every good sequel released, we are given half a dozen Saw iterations.

Saw VI? Really?

  Most grievous offenses—
Live Free or Die Hard, The Matrix Revolutions, Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
  Ones I'm glad they haven't made... yet—
Leon (the Professional) 2: Mathilda's Revenge, Armageddon 2: Armageddon, Groundhog Day 2: Back 2 Punxsutawney

This time, it's personal.

The Prequel
Much like the sequel, the prequel comes from a similar conversation between studio executives:

  Studio Executive 1: "You know, _______ did extraordinarily well at the box office."
  Studio Executive 2: "Then what are we waiting for? Let's greenlight _______ 2!"
  Studio Executive 1: "_______ 2? But [the main character [or bad guy] died/ there is no more conflict/ the world has been saved]!
  Studio Executive 2: [thinks for a moment] "Ok, then. Let's tell the story of what happened before."

And thus the prequel came to be. Now, again, there are exceptions to every rule—The Godfather II is half-prequel and it is incredible. But the risk that is run with prequels is that the story already has an ending point (i.e. the starting of the original film), so anything that happens in the prequel has to line up to the original. In other words, it's like reading the last chapter of a book first: it pretty much renders moot the rest of the story.

As hot as Hugh Jackman is, did we really need this?

  Most grievous offenses—
Star Wars: The New Trilogy (all of them), Tremors 4: The Legend Begins, The Scorpion King, Cube Zero
  Ones I'm glad they haven't made... yet—
Casablanca: The Early Years, Harry Potter: Dumbledor's Story, Fight Club: I Am Jack's Childhood

This summer, see how it all began.

Coming up Tuesday: What happens when old movies need a new spin?

Sundance Stories, part 3

And so it is—after ten long and busy days, the 2010 Sundance Film Festival (known as SundanceFilmFestivalTwentyTen to the hipster film crowd) has drawn to a close. As with every year, I am glad I had the opportunity to do it and am glad I could meet some cool people. However, also as with every year, I am glad it is over. (And for any naysayers who think that being a driver during a busy film festival is a walk in the park, I have only this to say: try it.)

Mark "Man of 1000 faces" Ruffalo

Despite what my previous posts—being full of stories and Photoshopped celebrity pictures—may lead you to believe, there are actually films going on at Sundance; and every year, I get the opportunity to see a few. This year, there were many-a good film at Sundance. To Catch a Dollar is an excellent documentary about a man who gives microloans to impoverished communities. Restrepo is a hard-hitting look at the oft-forgotten war in Afghanistan. And Happythankyoumoreplease is well deserving of its Audience Award.

Tory "Mythbusters used to be cool, but now it pretty much sucks" Belleci

Though the aforementioned films were good, there was one film at SundanceFilmFestivalTwentyTen that took the cake: Tucker and Dale vs. Evil.

The premise is simple: imagine that all the events of a slasher movie are one big misunderstanding. For example, perhaps the reason the man comes running around the corner waving a chainsaw is not because he was trying to kill someone, but because he was sawing a log, hit a beehive, and was simply running away. Or how about when the hillbillies stalk through the woods, shouting out, "We have your friend!"? What if it turns out one of their friends got a concussion and the hillbillies were nursing her back to health?

They're nice guys. Really.

Starring two funny-yet-relatively-unknown guys—Alan Tudyk (Wash in Firefly/Serenity, Pastor Veal in Arrested Development, Steve the Pirate in Dodgeball) and Tyler Labine (a whole bunch of minor roles in television and movies)—Tucker and Dale vs. Evil combines the situational humor of Shaun of the Dead with the over-the-top slapstick/gore of Evil Dead. Hopefully it will get distribution (if it hasn't already) so the joy can be shared with others. I mean, how can you not smile at the line, "Dale! Some kid just ran by and threw himself headlong into my woodchipper!"?

We have had a doozy of a day...

Super-Awsome Find of the Week, installment 5

My apologies to those who have seen this before, but if you haven't, be warned: it is awesome.

Super-awesome, even.

Sundance Stories, part 2

My sincerest apologies to everyone who was expecting a post last Thursday. As happens, Sundance has been quite hectic and I haven't had a chance to tell some stories. Sadly, I shall probably miss this Thursday's as well—and for that, let me give you a preemptive "sorry". In the interim, allow me to share with you more (fake) pictures of my interactions with (real) famous people.

Robert "I love the smell of napalm in the morning" Duvall

Bill "You may be on B-Squad, but you're the B-Squad leader" Murray

Joel "Falling Down was pretty durn awesome" Schumacher

Super-Awsome Find of the Week, installment 4

As I haven't had much time to find something cool on the World Wide Series-of-Tubes, this week's find comes in the form of something I saw yesterday while looking to the west. I took the following picture:

Now, granted, that doesn't look like much... until you look at the next picture.

That's right: I have photographic proof that Falkor the Luck Dragon exists.

Rrrraaaaarrrhhhhhh!!!

Sundance Stories, part 1

For the past three years—Thursday starts year four—I have spent the latter portion of each January at the Sundance Film Festival. More specifically, I have spent the latter portion of each January driving filmmakers and celebrities to venues around the Sundance Film Festival. Is it a fun experience? Yup. Is it hard work? Surprisingly yes. Is it one step away from wearing a suit and being referred to as "James" or "Jeeves"? Pretty much.

Yeah, it's kindof like that.

Due to the nature of shuttling people around (i.e. meeting a variety of people and it usually taking a fairly long car ride to wherever we are going), I often get to meet some cool people and have some really neat conversations. Like the time when I met Nathan Fillion at the airport. I was holding a sign that read "N. Fillion", and when I saw him approach, I went to meet him. "Hi," he said. "I'm N. Fillion." (For those who know who Nathan Fillion is, you know that a joke like that is exactly his kind of thing.) We then talked about a variety of things, and the whole time it took everything I had not to completely geek out on him. Sadly, I didn't have my camera with me (nor have I ever had one there), so any evidence you see of me with famous people is completely (and probably poorly) Photoshopped by me.

Men of Greatness

If I am lucky enough, something during our time together will escalate and I'll have a story to tell afterward. Like the time I was driving Matthew Lillard, for example. When I first met Matt, I thought he was pretty cool, as the first question he had for me was if we could go to the Red Iguana on our way up to Park City. The more we talked, however, the more I realized that he was kind of a... well, let's say jerk. He asked me about my (at the time) fiance, and when I told him our story, he instantly berated me, telling me I was "too young" and that I was being "pressured by [my] family and [my] religion" to get married. He also told me that I should wait years before marrying my wife, because that's how long it takes to get to know someone. Thinking on my feet, I then attempted to turn the conversation around. It went something like this:
  Adam – "Wait, how long did you know your wife until you got engaged."
  Matt – "Six weeks."
  A – "Six weeks!? And you're saying I'm getting married too quickly?"
  M – "No, see, the difference is, I was in my thirties when I got married. You're in your early twenties. When I was your age, I didn't know my [bum] from a hole in the ground."
Now, I don’t get offended easily, and I'm not going to go so far as to say that this comment did it. I did, however, realize how big of a logical fallacy he was touting—just because he didn't know his [bum] from a hole in the ground at my age certainly doesn't mean that I didn't.

Not pictured: my [bum]

When mine and Matt's time drew to a close, I picked him and his wife up from their hotel in Park City. They told me that their plane was flying out of "the smaller airport". Naturally, I assumed this to be the Salt Lake Municipal Airport. So, after helping them and their stuff into my car, I headed down I-80 towards Salt Lake. A half hour later, as I was merging from I-80 W to I-15 N, Mrs. Lillard suddenly piped up. "Wait. You're going to the Heber Airport, right?" A look of shock fell over my face as I explained to her that we were nowhere near Heber nor its airport. After a quick phone call to his agent, Matt informed me of the dilemma: the Heber Airport was over an hour's drive away, and the plane had to leave in 40 minutes, or they wouldn't be able to take off until the next day.

Men of Greatness

Realizing the severity of the situation (and not wanting to have to deal with a handful of pissed-off-Hollywood-types), I spun the car around and headed back up the canyon. With it being right at the peak of rush hour, navigation was not easy. Matt kept asking me if we were going to make it, as the plane couldn't take off after a certain hour, because there was no tower at the airport. Each time he would ask me, I would look at the speedometer, then the clock, then the GPS, and then reply, "I certainly hope so."

I was making fairly good time when I merged onto Highway 40 towards Heber. Those who know the road know that there is a decent stretch that is relatively straight and flat. It was during this stretch that I pushed my little Passat as fast as it could go. As we crested a hill, I saw the absolute worst thing I could see in the situation: a police officer, sitting in his car, with his radar gun pointed in my direction. I instantly looked at the speedometer, which read "135 MPH".

Star Wars jokes, anyone?

At that moment, the world slowed. A million thoughts rushed through my head, not the least of which was how incredibly busted I was. As I passed the cop, he and I made eye contact for a solid three or four seconds. After passing him, I came a conclusion that, in retrospect, I realize took a look of chutzpah: "If he wants to pull me over, he'll have to catch up with me first." The world sped up again and I continued my race towards Heber. I kept a constant eye on my rear-view mirror, expecting the dreaded red and blue lights to show up at any moment.

But they didn't. I kept speeding towards Heber and was not interrupted by any sort of law enforcement official. That being the case, I made it to Heber with about seven minutes to spare, and the Lillards made their flight.

I don't think I'll ever know why that cop chose not to pull me over. Perhaps he was too lazy to catch up with me. Perhaps he saw Shaggy in my back seat and was a fan. Perhaps he saw the Sundance sticker on the side of my car and assumed I had a connection with Robert Redford himself, and he didn't want to inconvenience the man. Whatever the case is, due to my driving and that cop not pulling me over, I made it from the 13th South I-15 exit to the Heber Airport in 33 minutes. Flat.

Men of Greatness

And so, as was mentioned before, Thursday marks the beginning of my fourth year at Sundance. What stories will I walk away with this year? Only time—and my next few entries—shall tell.