Sunday, January 28, 2007

beating the crap out

Wazzup dawgs? In the movie Harsh Times, the reference dawg has been so overused that I'd swear in every script-page there are about at least 10 of it. The characters punctuate their every sentence with it. They breathe, eat, and kill with the word. It gets nauseating at times. The lingo is excused with the fact that the film's setting is in the locales of Southern California, which is, often times depicted in television and movies, as the 'dawg' haven. This is where crack is staple as food. This is where you never dismiss kids as cutesy-cutesy or they'll beat up your sorry ass. The film Havoc, written by Stephen Gaghan, and Anne Hathaway's springboard into the 'bold' unknown, also comes into mind when talking about kids gone haywire. The first thing that came to mind having mentioned it, is Bijou Phillips getting sandwiched by sex-starved, crack-snorting Latinos. It was kind of disturbing that if the filmmakers intent was to show that disturbance, they achieved it in that scene. Larry Clark also tackles profusely on the subject with films like Kids, Bully and recently Wassup Rockers. Though I am yet to see Kids and Rockers, they pretty much border on the same subject matter. You will never imagine the kids' penchant for violence until you've seen them beat up, smoke and fuck the way adults do. Good grief.


While Clark's films may never achieve the mainstream Hollywood, a recent film on the subject matter which was just released the other week did. It's called Alpha Dog directed by Nick Cassavetes, and also known as Justin Timberlake's venture into acting. The film is based on a homicide case in SoCal. The unfortunate homeboy Zach is played by Anton Yelchin who looks like Elijah Wood minus five years. You get a scene of Sharon Stone slapping the hell out of his son or Bruce Willis trying to curb his murderer of a son, and it makes you think that these kids' parents are either unsuspecting, pathetic, tolerating or hysterical. It leaves you no room to see the characters as other than what the filmmakers what them to be, too.

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Aside from Alpha Dog, I watched two other period films: The Painted Veil (with my favorite actress Naomi Watts in it), an adaptation of W. Somerset Maugham's novel about 1920s China and the Westerners venture into the Far East, and The Good German, a Steven Soderbergh project, which I think is far too ambitious. I can't even remember the details because the film's story and characters are seemingly lost in Tobey Maguire's humping. I can't think of nothing but Spiderman when I see him, not even traces of Pleasantville, Wonder Boys and The Cider House Rules.

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Roger Federer is a fuckin' tennis god. I'm beginning to think he's drinking some kind of supernatural energy drink. When the two-hour Australian Open Champs (male single division) in Melbourne came to an end, with 7-6; 6-4; 6-4, he just waved at the screaming crowd, walked over to his bench, and smiled profusely at the camera like he's into some presscon and not a tennis game. While on the other side, Fernando Gonzales looked like he's been to a decathlon. He was obviously tired and burned out. Throughout the entire game, he looks like a friggin' gladiator ready to slay a lion. Lesson for him: never throw your racket in the midst of failed attempt to beat the crap out of your opponent. Especially if the racket gets broken. It's a bad omen.



photocourtesy of australianopen.com

2 comments:

pat said...

I've been meaning to watch havoc. Has it been released locally?

awesome blog by the way. Ü

jayclops said...

Havoc was straight-to-video in the States. I also read in some reviews that it was.

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, Choose a f—king big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose a three piece suit on hire purchased in a range of f—king fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the f—k you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing f—king junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f—ked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose a future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Renton, Trainspotting