November 2021 - Ian Thomas Malone

Tuesday

30

November 2021

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COMMENTS

Classic Film: Where the Sidewalk Ends

Written by Ian Thomas Malone, Posted in Blog, Movie Reviews, Pop Culture

With all the world’s attention on police corruption, 1950’s Where the Sidewalk Ends presents an intriguing historical perspective on the issue. Dirty cops are older than recorded time itself. As attempts at criminal justice reform stall in Congress, director Otto Preminger’s work helps explain why this particular issue remains so challenging to resolve.

Mark Dixon (Dana Andrews) is a cop who’s been recently demoted due to his frequent use of violence. Dixon’s father was a criminal, leaving him perpetually feeling caught between two worlds. An illicit craps game leads to the death of a rich Texas gambler. Dixon’s efforts to solve the murder lead him to a confrontation with Ken Paine (Craig Stevens), implicated in the killing by gangster Tommy Scalise (Gary Merrill). Dixon accidentally kills Paine, leaving a complex web for the narrative to unwind.

For all the ways that Dixon is a detestable character, Andrews sells him quite well. Dixon’s scenes with Morgan Taylor (Gene Andrews), Paine’s estranged wife, reveal a softer layer underneath his abusive behavior. Ben Hecht’s script and Cyril Mockridge’s jazz-infused score work in tandem to support the overall excellent performances from the principal cast. The whodunit doesn’t pack a wallop, but Preminger never lets his narrative drag across the 95-minute runtime.

The film’s crowning achievement is the way the narrative slowly condemns the bastardization of the rule of law. Andrews almost does too good a job allowing Dixon to embody the role of the protagonist, a character whose motives are easy to understand. Dixon is too flawed a man to be entrusted with the levers of justice, but the system is ripe with cops cut from the exact same cloth. You can’t have justice when the people in power bend the rules to serve their own sense of right and wrong.

Preminger’s slick noir gem presents a damning indictment of the criminal justice system’s perpetual rot and the kinds of cops who take the law into their own hands. There are no heroes in Where the Sidewalk Ends, but the film is chock full of compelling characters. Few films come across as so endearing in the absence of any specific person to root for, but Andrews and Tierney make the most of their top billing.

You don’t leave the feature with a great sense that the system will improve, but rather an understanding of how things have gotten this bad. While many seventy-year-old crime dramas possess dated narratives that would come across as unrealistic in the modern era, Where the Sidewalk Ends still remains as timely as ever. Dixon is not fit to be a police officer, something his squad knew all too well. As long as people like him remain in power, things will never change.

Tuesday

30

November 2021

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COMMENTS

Tiger King turns itself into the joke with a laughably bad second season

Written by Ian Thomas Malone, Posted in Blog, Movie Reviews, Pop Culture

Necessity is not necessarily a relevant consideration when it comes to entertainment. Tiger King practically took over the world at the start of the pandemic, making a follow-up a foregone conclusion, even if lightning was never going to strike twice. History shows us that the saga of Joe Exotic and Carole Baskin will continue to be recycled long after either has faded from the public consciousness.

Even if we accept that season two was never going to come close to the first, it is pretty astonishing to see what little dregs remain of the thoroughly tapped-out Joe Exotic keg. If the first Tiger King was the story of the Greater Wynnewood Exotic Animal Park and its web of characters, this return trip is mostly centered on the show itself. Shows like Dancing With the Stars often try to extend celebrities’ fifteen minutes of fame. Tiger King adds on an additional unwanted layer, extending its life by covering DWTS’ coverage of its own show, a parasitic relationship forced to become a symbiotic partnership.

There is some novelty value in watching clout-seekers attach themselves to Joe Exotic for the chance to become part of the circus, but five episodes are too tall an order. The vast majority of season two could have been captured in a single follow-up special, extending the show’s life without necessarily running too long on empty. What could’ve been an epilogue instead morphed into a weird defense of itself and the way it presented its subjects.

While key figures such as Exotic and Jeff Lowe filmed additional interviews for season two, key figure Carole Baskin refused, even going as far as suing Netflix to prevent its release. Baskin does appear heavily via news interviews and archival footage, but the show doesn’t really know how to handle her absence. Early episodes hint at sexism in the way that Exotic, a convicted felon, was lionized while Baskin, an animal rights activist, was reviled.

The trouble is that Tiger King wants to acknowledge its own narrative double standards without accepting any responsibility for the way it presented Baskin as the obvious likely suspect for the disappearance of her second husband Don Lewis. The second episode of the season attempts to present a balanced view of Lewis’ shady dealings in Costa Rica, but can’t help returning to the idea that Baskin probably did it. Extended footage of Lewis’ family consulting a psychic to find his body comes across as laughably foolish. No one watching should blame Baskin for wanting no part of season two’s attempts to scrape the barrel for content.

In some ways, it’s hard to fault the show for not wanting to explicitly take a side on Don Lewis’ disappearance. Tiger King is not a court of law, but it’s also not serious investigative journalism either, not when psychics and other grifters take up so much airtime. Joe Exotic got a better shake because he’s the carnival barker desperate for attention while Baskin is less willing to bluntly perform for the cameras.

An even bigger omission than Baskin for much of season two are the animals caught up in the ugly big cat orbit. The show rather self-consciously tries to tie them into the equation at one point, alongside its weirdly sympathetic presentation of Exotic. The idea that people like Lowe and hired hitman Allen Glover have recanted much of their initial testimony isn’t irrelevant, but it’s not a meaty enough narrative to carry the whole season. Increasingly, the efforts to present Joe as a victim feels like an excuse to justify the show’s continued narrative, crocodile tears toward a decidedly bad person.

Reducing Tiger King to a fad does a great disservice to the narrative atrocity that is season two. There is more to this story, somewhere. Just not in these five episodes. The magic that existed in March 2020 might be impossible to replicate, but there’s little excuse for the train wreck Netflix refers to as a follow-up.

Monday

29

November 2021

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COMMENTS

South Park: Post COVID is an imperfect step in the right direction

Written by Ian Thomas Malone, Posted in Blog, Pop Culture, TV Reviews

There’s a certain irony in the accusations of declining quality that have been levied against The Simpsons right around season twelve, which aired more than twenty years ago, as fellow stalwarts of the adult animation genre such as Family Guy, American Dad!, and Bob’s Burgers have all hit that number. Old age is no longer an outlier. With 23 seasons under its belt, South Park has managed to stay culturally relevant in a way that sets it apart from its contemporaries, largely due to the show’s narrative emphasis on current events.

It’s been over two years since South Park released a full season’s worth of material. South Park: Post COVID is the first of 14 planned hour-long features for Paramount+, following the two pandemic-themed specials produced for Comedy Central in 2020 & 2021. One can certainly understand Trey Parker and Matt Stone’s reluctance to try and return to normalcy in a world that is anything but normal. Both Comedy Central specials demonstrated the challenges of operating under the cloud of COVID, neither producing enough humor to carry their elongated runtimes.

Post COVID is set forty years in the future, a world that finally managed to conquer the virus. The time jump provided a much-needed breath of fresh air, giving a glimpse of an America fully reliant on plant-based foods, advanced AI, and far too many streaming services. For a show that’s been desperate to get away from the news of the day, centering its narrative on the murder of the now-adult Kenny McCormick offered the show a chance to ground itself in one of its oldest gags.

While Parker & Stone rarely speak fondly of the increasingly serialized seasons, Post COVID demonstrates some of the sharper takeaways from that era. South Park plays the long game well, possessing a deep bench of endearing characters constructed over the past few decades. The chance to see them all grown up after all this time in fourth grade hit the right balance of touching, sad, and amusing, an accurate reflection of the challenges of crafting comedy against reality’s hellish backdrop.

The hour-long runtime also gave the show a chance to stretch its narrative legs without needing to deliver as many jokes. The characters mostly steer clear of spending the episodes on nostalgia, avoiding their own “member-berries,” while laying down the groundwork for over a dozen subsequent Paramount+ specials. It’s not the South Park we’re used to, but it’s admirable to see Parker & Stone shoot for a higher sense of purpose than mere reactionary comedy. The show’s pacing was quite strong, building up a new status quo that’s quite easy to get behind.

Post COVID’s biggest problem lies with its inability to move on from repetitive humor. The characters frequently openly remark that they’re in the future, a gag that quickly grows old. Another overused bit centers on Jimmy’s comedy career, ostensibly designed to poke fun at overly-PC comedy that starts to serve instead as a sign of the writers’ inability to craft new material. The character-based jokes fair far better.

Parker & Stone have often expressed a desire to move away from the show’s heavy emphasis on ripped-from-the-headlines storytelling toward the broader silliness that encapsulated its early years. Recent seasons haven’t shown much desire to follow through on those intentions, as the past few seasons retained a strong preference for reactionary-based narratives. Perhaps the show doesn’t really want to acknowledge that its contemporary relevance is almost completely owed to its inane ability to respond to modern culture in seemingly real-time. Even if it would rather not, South Park is far-better suited to speak on the state of the world than The Simpsons or Family Guy.

Though far from perfect, Post COVID is a decent start to the Paramount+ era and the strongest effort from the show in a few years. The pandemic isn’t going away any time soon, but South Park demonstrated that the awful state of the world can coexist alongside its broader narrative intentions. It’s not necessarily the show that we all wanted, but there’s still life in that quiet mountain town.

Friday

19

November 2021

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COMMENTS

Classic Film: Point Blank

Written by Ian Thomas Malone, Posted in Blog, Movie Reviews, Pop Culture

There’s an inherent beauty in the way that film offers such an enclosed, finite glimpse into its subject’s lives. Sequels aside, audiences aren’t invited to the happily-ever-after. In most cases, the three-act structure is all you get.

John Boorman’s iconic 1967 thriller Point Blank deploys a non-linear structure, showcasing its lead’s death in the opening scene. Walker (Lee Marvin) is betrayed pulling a heist on Alcatraz Island by his partner Reese (John Vernon) and wife Lynne (Sharon Acker), left to bleed out in the prison only four years removed from its active operations. The narrative is anchored by Walker’s pursuit of his share of the job, putting him at odds with Reese’s shadier associates.

On the surface, the film largely plays out like a revenge thriller, but vengeance isn’t the primary focus for either Boorman or Marvin. Instead, their focus lies pretty solely with the deconstruction of Walker’s psyche. Walker moves with determination back and forth between San Francisco and Los Angeles, but the layers quickly unravel behind the broken man.

Marvin, who played a key role in adapting the film from the Richard Stark’s 1962 novel The Hunter, delivers a deceptively subtle performance, keeping his cards close to his chest. For a man with one of Hollywood’s most distinct voices, Walker doesn’t speak all that often. Instead, Boorman utilizes Johnny Mandel’s chilling score to supply much of the perpetually heightened dramatic tension.

What’s particularly remarkable about Boorman’s work is the way that he essentially introduces a fourth act into the equation that lingers in the audience’s mind long after the credits roll. The non-linear structure doesn’t just toss the traditional notion of narrative out the window, it practically laughs at the idea that one would want to put the pieces of the puzzle back together. Beyond that, Point Blank stresses the unimportance of doing so.

One could spend hours deliberating over whether Walker truly died in the opening act, but film isn’t really about those kinds of answers. A conventional thriller within the genre might care more about definitive conclusions, satisfied with its role as mere entertainment. Such is the realm where Point Blank separates itself from its peers.

Walker wanted his work to mean something. Boorman and Marvin operated with the very same intentions, a thoroughly tantalizing production. Featuring stunning cinematography that highlights an anxious 60s LA, Point Blank is the kind of film that’s hard to get out of your head. Walker isn’t particularly likable, but his frantic grasps at purpose are far more meaningful than your typical revenge fare. A definitive entry in the genre.

Tuesday

16

November 2021

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COMMENTS

DOC NYC: Come Back Anytime

Written by Ian Thomas Malone, Posted in Blog, Movie Reviews, Pop Culture

Courtesy of DOC NYC

Even before the pandemic upended the entire world, the digital age transformed the very nature of what it means to be a community. For all the ways the internet had brought people together, especially the marginalized, it’s hard to understate the value of a friendly face in one’s own neighborhood. The documentary Come Back Anytime centers its narrative on the sheer power of a simple bowl of ramen to bring people together.

Masamoto Ueda is a self-taught chef who’s operated a small ramen shop, Bizentei, in Japan for more than forty years. While culinary trends change rapidly over the years, Masamoto, affectionately called Master by his regulars, has kept his recipe steady over the decades, a style that reminds his customers of traditional Tokyo street ramen. After only a few minutes, it’s easy to see the appeal of Bizentei, where customers can eat at the counter barely a foot away from where Masamoto prepared their meal, a gentle old man with a warm spirit.

Director John Daschbach does a fabulous job communicating taste through his visual medium. Ueda and his customers expertly break down what sets Bizentei’s menu from other ramen shops. It’s pretty impossible not to look at the food without getting hungry, but you also learn a great deal about the art of fine ramen.

Of course, there’s more to the story than just stellar soup. Ueda has fostered a community over his decades running Bizentei, a place where regulars not only come to eat, but to laugh and share in each other’s company. Over the course of the film, customers share the ways that Ueda has helped them along the way, often inviting them for foraging trips to the mountains, or simply offering a place for them to cry when times are tough.

Daschbach crafts a compelling case for the nature of legacy. Ueda has never been concerned with building a ramen empire or even handing over the reins once he gets too old for the work. Instead, he’s pretty purely fixed on the moment, providing for his family and his community. It’s pretty refreshing to see a director present his material for what it is, a beloved restaurant that someday won’t be there anymore. The world won’t end when Ueda retires, but Daschbach eloquently communicates the impact he’s made on his little slice of the word. Nothing lasts forever.

The film does stretch itself a bit thin to achieve a feature-length runtime. Daschbach does not need 82 minutes to make his points, increasingly relying on scenes outside Bizentei in the third act with diminishing results. Ueda is a fascinating subject who’s open and generous in his interviews, providing a well-rounded sense of the man by the time the credits roll.

As the pandemic has fractured our own sense of community, Come Back Anytime is a strong testament to the power of simple connection. Food culture often finds itself caught up in the latest fad, or the most photographic presentations. There’s a reason people can eat at a place like Bizentei multiple times a week for twenty years. A true master can let his craft speak for itself.