John Wick 4

 

I'm a huge fan of the ridiculousness of Chad Stahelski's John Wick action film franchise -- of both the implausibility of the marvelous mayhem on the screen and of the huge, enthusiastic fanbase that loves the invincibility and righteousness of the title character, played with inimitable stoicism by Keanu Reeves.

The 4th (final?) chapter of this series, much like the previous installments, is about high-end global assassins trying to put an end to one of their own, Wick. The picture is an eye-popping delight with many extended balletic gunfights against stunningly beautiful international backdrops -- the Arabian desert, New York, Osaka, Paris. The body count is absurdly high, as is the number of ways used to send the assassins to their graves.

The chief villain in this Wick chapter is the Marquis de Gramont, played with icy efficiency by Bill Skarsgård. The marquis, the very model of noble detachment crossed with a hitman's bloodlust, has been named the agent for the ancient organization called The Table, which both outlaws and funds internecine battles between the legion of assassins around the world. Wick is out of favor with The Table for going renegade back in Chapter 1 and the Marquis has marked him for extermination with a $20 million bounty.

Stahelski pulls out all stops and pushes all of the close-quarter fisticuffs, chases and vehicular collisions to the max. The former stuntman and stunt coordinator has an uncanny way of knowing how not to let all of this excess become excessive. Instead, they're exquisite examples of production design and movement. Few set pieces in my memory will outdo Wick 4's early morning showdown in speeding traffic around the Arc de Triomphe or the subsequent battle on the stairs of Sacré Coeur.

This violence is made palatable because everything is draped in comic book irony. The major returning supporting characters -- Wick's longtime cohorts Winston (Ian McShane ) and the King (Laurence Fishburne) who have suffered because of their friendship with Wick -- wink at the audience as they struggle mightily to retain or return to normalcy in their very abnormal worlds.

Other standouts in this episode are Donnie Yen as the formidable blind assassin Caine, and Shamier Anderson as the Tracker, a freelance wetworker trying to get a piece of the Wick bounty action.

The recently departed Lance Reddick also makes a brief return as Charon, the concierge for the New York Continental hotel, where it all began back in 2014.

Cocaine Bear

 

The humans in Elizabeth Banks' sketchy horror/comedy Cocaine Bear are meaty ham sandwiches for the title star, a black bear in the Chattahoochee Forest who ingests discarded cocaine from a failed drug transfer and turns into Jaws of the Woods, chasing its next hit and devouring anyone in the way.

Even though Banks' movie, her directorial debut, is based on actual events, absolutely nothing in it is to be taken seriously. One might wonder how many lines she and her team tooted while cooking this gory goulash.

The cast -- headed by Keri Russell as a mother on the hunt for her truant daughter (Brooklynn Prince) and the girl's schoolmate (Christian Convery) -- seems to be intent on riding this ridiculous adventure with all the gusto they can muster before the clock runs out -- as it does for most of them.

It's not unusual for B-flicks like this to be tonally scattered, littered with implausibility -- it's not Shakespeare, after all -- and this picture is no exception. Only Elizabeth Banks, who as an actress has shown a fine comedic sensibility, knows if the stylistic anachronisms (hairstyles and language) were intended goofiness or the result of budget shortages.

In the end, it doesn't matter. Audiences are likely to follow the lead of the admirably game screen performers, including Ray Liotta in one of his last roles before his death last May, and, like the rampaging CGI bovine, simply go with it.

Brendan Fraser

 

I was taken by Brendan Fraser's acceptance speech last night for the best actor Oscar and was reminded of many interesting parallels between his latest film and the first I recall seeing him in.

His performance in Darren Aronofsky's The Whale is utterly fascinating, aside from Fraser's amazing prosthetic transformation into a morbidly obese gay recluse eaten up with self-loathing, grieving his dead lover and trying to reconnect with the daughter he abandoned years before.

The picture is a study in both self-defeatism and, perhaps, depending on how you read the ending, the spirit triumphing over the flesh.

In 1998, Fraser co-starred with Ian McKellen in Bill Condon's Gods and Monsters, the film based of the last days in the life of James Whale (amazing coincidence but that's not the only one), who directed Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein.

Set in the '50s, Whale, who was gay, develops an attraction to his gardener (Fraser) who soon becomes his helper-companion though Whale promises he has no agenda beyond platonic friendship. Whale talks the young man into posing for him on a number of occasions, despite having lost much of his artistic ability in a stroke.

During one session, after being caught in a rainstorm following a party, the old, infirmed and besotted Whale makes a pass at the gardener, who responds violently. Whale begs the young man to beat him senseless but the gardener doesn't. Rather, he helps Whale to his bed, clearly pitying him more than hating him.

In the morning, the gardener and the maid, who is played by Lynn Redgrave, find Whale's body floating in the pool -- a suicide.

I was reminded of this film while watching The Whale, noting how 25 years later, Fraser, 54, was himself playing a gay character, alone and lonely, trying desperately to make a connection. And he turned it into gold.

That's quite a journey.

Angela Bassett

 

In a world where there is no shortage of outrage, I think folks might check the anger about Angela Bassett not winning the Oscar for best supporting actress Sunday night.

Bassett, who is among the most prominent (and bankable) Hollywood A-listers around, won the Golden Globe earlier this year for her role as Queen Ramonda in Black Panther: Wakanda Forever. I don't think that was a charity win. I think she earned it -- in the eyes of the Hollywood Foreign Press. She was competing with Jamie Lee Curtis and Kerry Condon, among others, in that category, too. But Bassett won and was as gracious and regal as she always is.

She did not win the Oscar -- inarguably the more prestigious honor -- but she was not scuttled by the loss. Her career and standing are still intact this morning. She will undoubtedly go on to be a well-paid actress, producer and director. She's married to Courtney B. Vance, who himself is Hollywood royalty. They will be fine.

Yes. Hollywood is rife with racism and sexism but it is soooooooo much better than it was even 20 years ago and I'm confident POC's and women will only continue to grow in power and influence to shape the industry.

Everything Everywhere ... was an important win for Asian-Americans and writer / director Sarah Polley's win for Women Talking's searingly uncompromising screenplay was affirmation, at least to me, that those voices are valued and needed.

I would point out, re Angela Bassett, that the folks at BET routinely nominate her for her performances (10 times so far) and she has yet to win the star. Say what you will about the BET awards, they are touted as credible markers of personal achievement and distinction among African Americans. I have no idea why Bassett hasn't won but I don't remember anyone exploding about those losses.

I understand disappointment, especially when fueled by distrust, but folks need to chill, for real.

Halal International

 

Quite often, I get the urge to go shopping at the Halal International market on Broad River Road. It's usually around the time I notice I'm running low on olives. They stock a spectacular selection of olives! Pitted and unpitted, stuffed, marinated and minced for salads.

All of the items in the market appear to be authentic comestibles of the Middle East, most imported from the Arab world, others packaged here in the states.

Dessert biscuits, canned meats, herbal teas, honey, mango nectar, beans and beans and beans, pita and herbs and spices and seeds and nuts and raisins and figs and dates. So much stuff. They also carry clothing items and totems and beaded jewelry and children's toys.

I mostly leave with food, but that's not the only thing I get at Halal. "Halal" means something, like food, is OK for observant Muslims. I've seen mostly brown and Black folks there, most speaking Arabic.

I enjoy hearing voices in languages I don't understand but whose inflections make the messages clear -- "Wait a minute, papa! Don't be so impatient!" or "Is this the freshest chicken you have?" Rather than making me feel alien or isolated, threatened or insecure, I feel comforted with the reminder that the world is so much bigger than my tiny piece of it.

I go to Halal to stay open to the world and to find common ground. Like those spaces where olives grow.

More on Chris Rock

 

A couple more thoughts about Chris Rock's performance in Selective Outrage, streamed lived on Saturday:

As most people who care already know, Rock ended the show with a righteously indignant counter-punch to Will Smith's legendary Oscar slap. Rock punctuated his own outrage at being tagged by a much bigger guy during a global broadcast by saying the worst thing about that pitiful scene was it broke one of Black mothers' cardinal rules -- "Don't fight in front of white people."

I am confident I was not the only viewer who nodded with deep understanding at that mic drop. "Yes," I thought. "That's right." I don't know the origins of that rule but it most likely relates to racial uplift and the belief that open divisiveness weakens everyone.

Ironically, Rock has made millions picking fights with other, mostly faceless, Black folks -- those who ruin things for others. Druggies and pole dancers. Wasters and whiners. His profligate use of the n-word -- in both bold and nuanced renderings -- might be read as contradictory to the unity rule.

But, Rock is who he is. He is, justifiably, proud of his accomplishments. Aside from his highly successful stage and acting career, he's shepherded many successful, race-positive ventures as a producer. He is still a Hollywood A-lister. And, except for the endless profanity in his bits and on his recordings, and the absence of a past of sexual predation, one might compare him to Bill Cosby.

Rock also appears to be traumatized. His material in Selective Outrage is not as smooth and richly crafted, resonant, as it has been in the past. (He has written some brilliant stuff.) And that night, as he repeatedly cast his eyes to upper reaches of the auditorium, he seemed to be particularly attentive to someone in the royal box. Spike Lee?

He strutted and crowed about his money and fame, the distance between his mother's home of Georgetown, South Carolina, and Paris, where his oldest daughter is attending culinary school.

It appeared Selective Outrage was his moment to show he was not the "bitch" Smith thought to make him that night a year ago.

For the most part, he succeeded.

Chris Rock: Selective Outrage

 

Chris Rock's Netflix special Selective Outrage (originally streamed live Saturday) showcases the comedian's familiar brand of edgy, profanity-laced observational humor that has made him a highly valued entertainer and a very wealthy man.

What has changed since his last standup special in 2018 is the Oscar moment from last year, when actor Will Smith slapped him after Rock delivered a line about Jada Pinkett Smith's close-cropped hair. Yes, Rock riffs on the incident, labeling Smith's attack as an example of "selective outrage." It's a fair and pointed moment of release in a Rock performance that lands more often than it misses.

For me, Rock's strongest material has always been when he turned his incisive gaze at attitudes and behaviors within the Black community -- his riff on the difference between n***ers and Black people from the "Bring the Pain" show is classic.

Family intrigues, sexual politics and male / female relations are common go-to material for Rock, but he's most potent when pulling the rug out from under his audience -- as he does with his remarks about "wokeness" and victimhood.

His material about abortions was incendiary and no doubt designed to push the reflexive pro-choicers into a space anti-abortioners think their opponents already live. I don't know if the experiment was successful but it led into some nice material about his relationship with his daughters.

Chris Rock is almost 60. He's an award-winning actor and producer, who doesn't lack for work. Some set his estimated net worth at $60 million. His brand won't be hurt by the unevenness of Selective Outrage and his venting about The Slap was probably as cathartic for his fans as it was for the man himself.

Creed III

 

Freshman director Michael B. Jordan displays in Creed III a cinematic eye much like that of his friend and mentor Ryan Coogler (Fruitvale Station,  Black Panther and Creed) -- deftly mixing intense, propulsive action with stirring montages; gritty, brutalizing pugilism and resonant moments of tenderness.

Creed III is the latest chapter in the tale of the rise of boxing champion Adonis Johnson Creed, son of Rocky's nemesis-turned-friend Apollo Creed (played by Carl Weathers). Adonis is managed in earlier installments by Rocky himself (Sylvester Stallone) and trained by Duke (Wood Harris), the son of Rocky's former trainer. All told, this boxing saga stretches back nearly 50 years.

Jordan's debut is impressive, clearly the work of one who has studied the craft and reflected on what the stories mean -- ulitmately. At its core, Creed III is not just about estranged childhood friends Jordan's Creed and a masterful Jonathan Majors as recently paroled Damian Anderson, who meet in the ring to settle old scores. It asks the question "why are there scores to settle in the first place?"

But don't mistake; Creed III is not a meditation on pacifism taped up and dressed in nylon shorts. It's about that nearly universal struggle in all of us when we try to decide whether we should flee or fight. We always want it to be our choice because then we can fully and rightfully own the outcome.

Denver Chinook

The hippie newspaper the Denver (Colorado) Chinook, which published from 1969 to 1972, sold classifieds for a dime-a-word and attracted an assortment of merchants of bliss (chemically induced and otherwise).

Liberation News Service

 

In its heyday, the early '70s, the Liberation News Service provided subjective, primary reporting to as many as 800 subscribers, which included collegiate and underground papers and individuals. 

They were, as the name suggests, an anti-establishment, radical left-wing organization that covered public events from a progressive point of view. 

This LNS article about indictments following a deadly shooting at a peace protest in Berkeley ran in the Denver Chinook. It contains a curious comment from the then-infamous Alameda County Sheriff Frank Madigan. It's not clear this far removed from these events what the "sickest operations of government" Madigan is referring to.

The LNS -- which some described as the Associated Press for the underground -- were arguing what Madigan and his officers dd to trespassing do-gooders, with the full authorization of then-Gov. Ronald Reagan, was itself pretty sick.

The Liberation News Service, which was launched in D.C. in 1967, ceased operations in 1981.

The Man Behind the Curtain

"The man behind the curtain" trope was introduced into popular culture in 1939 with the release of The Wizard of Oz, which despite its legendary appeal among Boomers as a television chestnut was a modest big-screen event.

As you recall, Toto finally earns his Kibbles when he drew back the green drape to reveal Frank Morgan's Wizard pulling the levers that animated Oz's fiery, floating head. The image would be replicated countless times over the decades.

I think it is a highly useful metaphor for deceit and manipulation, even if the film's narrative trashes its own internal fantasy "logic."

How had the Wizard been able to fool all of the witches with their floating bubbles and crystal balls? Was it because he was a man and they were mere women?

How had he been able to get all of the tuneful Emeralds to do his bidding, despite being a giant "humbug," to use Scarecrow's word. Charm? Hardly. Maybe they were enablers in the Wizard's elaborate game of power and self-enrichment.

Sounds like MAGA nation.

Knowing Your Triggers XIV

 

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention tell us that when it comes to death by firearm, Black folks are more likely to die from being shot by others, while they are much less likely to die from shooting themselves than Native Americans and white folks.

The CDC says these numbers increased between 2019 and 2020, with death by homicide rising most significantly among African Americans (from 19 per 100,000 to 27), and suicide most dramatically among American Indians (from 8 per 100,000 to 11). The homicide and suicide rates for whites held steady at 2 per 100,000 and 10 per 100,000, respectively.

I have no idea why destruction explodes among Black folks and seems to implode among Indians and whites. Maybe all of these actions are attempts to set right something that's wrong. 

Maybe in the case of Blacks, what's wrong is the community and the people in it. And maybe Native Americans and whites more often feel they are what's wrong, and the fix, if that's what we are to call it, is found in checking out. 

I don't know, but it's pretty clear to me that neither solution sets anything right.  They actually just compound the pain.