Case #8: Detective Duncan & The Case of The Frustrated Romantic or The D.V. Detective Divides Knocked Up and 27 Dresses
The name’s Duncan. You know, the D. V. Detective. Things have been pretty good… except when a mix up in inventory labels separates me from owning my new cell phone. Who’s running that store? Laurel and Hardy? The Three Stooges? Wall Street bankers? I shouldn’t worry, though. I have a phone that still works – too bad I gotta go home to use it. The wiring in this building has gotten so bad that now when I turn on the light, my air conditioner goes off. What good is it to be cold, in the dark, in late September? It’s pointless to whine about it. I can’t buy the damn phone now anyway. Thanks to my unreliable credit card. Over limit charge? What was I supposed to do, not pay for the plunger? The line at Duane Reade was way too long for me to step off, go home, get the five dollars I forgot to bring seconds after finding my toilet overflowing. I had to get it fixed ASAP. Better move onto the reason why you all came to this site in the first place. How ‘bout I tell you how I got two paychecks from one case? It’s the one I call: The Case of the Frustrated Romantic.
The way she walked into the room, it… didn’t do anything for me. I wasn’t sure how to describe how a woman sprints into an office and expect to be properly ogled. She talked as if she was paying me by the minute. In between her nervous chatter, I happened to pick up her name: Sharon Dexter. Her word count stumbled when I threw out a Devil Wears Prada reference. Sharon wagged her finger at me like an off-duty subway toll booth clerk and said that was the extent of her problem. She needed viable research focusing on the difference between male and female centric romantic comedies for an upcoming lecture. Either she met her 36-hour deadline or her promotion would hang precariously like my patience with the crap that’s been happening to me lately. She offered to pay me for the research along with my usual fee. I would’ve settled for the fee, but I needed the extra dough for that extra over limit fee.
As I was walking home, I wondered what the hell was I going to do. I’m not the most objective person when it comes to chick flicks. How do I report what I think without coming off as if dissing the Sex and the City movie was part of my male rites of passage? I wasn’t sure if it was the constant car honks or the smell from infinite amount of exhaust pipes, but I managed to conjure up two movies I can compare and contrast the male and female psyches. Okay. Alright. The idea came from a half-ripped Grey’s Anatomy poster on some scaffolding. Katherine Heigl’s face nearly survived the onslaught of overzealous street promoters. She starred in two notable romantic comedies. One male centered Knocked Up, the other female centered, 27 Dresses.
I reached my apartment, grabbed a beer from the fridge then spent the night watching people spill their feelings like horror victims spill their guts. Afterwards, I opened my laptop and typed the following:
Ben: Are you shocked people bought that I knocked you up? Allison: More so.
Ben: Are you shocked people bought that I knocked you up? Allison: More so.Male and female centric rom-coms can be summed up like this: In 27 Dresses, Jane (Katherine Heigl) sets out, I mean, pines for her boss, for love. In Knocked Up, Ben (Seth Rogan) finds love because he has no choice. But let’s get under the unisex shirt for a moment. These two flicks have surprising similaries as well as glaring differences.
Since romantic comedies are modern fairy tales for women, Knocked Up is the contemporary wet dream for men. That’s the only way I can explain why a woman who snagged an on-air gig on a celebrity cable channel slept with a slacker like Ben hours later. It almost made Dudley Moore’s romp with Bo Derek in 10 believable. Look, the male fantasy is as old as my pick-up lines. My question is why was Allison not turned off by Ben and his friends before she got drunk? I guess the movie wanted to convince the audience that she was nice and not one of those social climbing, golddigging types who happen to sport a beautiful face. Does that mean she should’ve ignored Ben? No. The talking, the dancing, the drinking, I’ll buy. The sex… not so much. Could it have happened? Yeah. So could skinny dipping at minus ten degrees. However, if women can hang long enough after Allison told Ben that she’s pregnant, they’ll warm up to the flick.
On the other side of wishful thinking, 27 Dresses featured Jane, a woman who didn’t have it in her to say no to the point of spending a lifetime wearing ugly bridesmaid dresses. The one upside to this flick: James Marsden finally gets the girl! He passed “the perfect guy, but not perfect for the main girl” role to Edward Burns. Here’s the number one reason why chick flicks lost favor even among chicks: moviegoers turn into psychics. In fact, if Vegas bet on these plot points, the whole industry would go out of business. Case in point, the movie began showing how Jane caught the wedding dress bug at the tender age of 8. She saved her Aunt’s wedding by helping the aunt make her dress look perfect. Yet, it’s not enough for us to see it, grown-up Jane had to narrate just in case viewers couldn’t get what was going on.
But in closer examination, are these movies really that different? Both films wasted much screen time persuading the paying public how each protagonist had faults. The major contrast was in how those faults were expressed. Knocked Up explored in several ways how clueless Ben was to Allison. Whereas 27 Dresses Whereas 27 Dresses showed how clueless Jane was to herself. That’s the underlying theme, isn’t it? Men are jerks to women and women are jerks to themselves.
Hi, I’m James Marden. Just so you know, your’re not allowed to dump me for someone else.
Hi, I’m James Marden. Just so you know, your’re not allowed to dump me for someone else.Then we’ve got the scenes where its necessary to build evidence to justify how the chosen couples bonded as smoothly as soap slipping down a shower curtain. For Knocked Up, the couple went to doctor’s appointments, shopping at baby stores, Ben inviting Allison to his place to meet his friends then they had more sex. In 27 Dresses, Jane and Kevin registered items in an upscale store, they laugh and act goofy during a montage of Jane wearing each dress at her apartment, they sing and dance after getting drunk in a bar, and they have sex in the back of Jane’s car. The huge zit on the nose difference was when these couples got horizontal. This, again, represented the general attitudes between the worlds of Venus and Mars. For men, sex before bonding (Knocked Up). For women, bonding before sex (27 Dresses).
Another similar, but different instance was how the protagonists licked their wounds after the major bombshell that broke them up for good… until the climax of the third Act. In 27 Dresses, Jane sulked in her apartment as her Bridezilla sister, Tess, berated her after Kevin put Jane’s hobby on blast in the front page of the New York Journal. In Knocked Up, Ben needed his boys to help enjoy lap dances in a strip club after Allison kicked him out of her car, in the middle of the street, when he showed no sympathy for her sister.
Going even deeper, these films weren’t that different, after all. Both Ben and Jane slept with their love interests, both realized they had to change in order to keep their relationships and both women in these films found their “Mr. Wrong” was right for them before the credits rolled. In other words, Knocked Up and 27 Dresses were deceptively traditional. A guy knocked up a girl and through the advice of his father took responsibility for the result of his one night stand. A girl took off her rose colored glasses, grew a spine and got married in her own, tailor made Bridal gown.
Ben: How cute do I look? Allison: Enough to convince people we are actually sharing a meaningful moment
Ben: How cute do I look? Allison: Enough to convince people we are actually sharing a meaningful momentThe real difference was the tone. Knocked Up is the millennium update of the Kevin Smith 90s slacker movies. But even this comparison isn’t quite right. Clerks, Dogma, and Chasing Amy were more experimental. Yes, Judd Apatow and Kevin Smith featured slackers, abrasive language, and Star Wars trivia. But the subjects these writers/directors grappled with were as distant as the coasts in which their characters reside. While Knocked Up had people smoking weed, Clerks had two characters selling weed. As Ben and his friends watched two women kissing, Randell watched hermaphrodite porn while Caitlin unknowingly had sex with a dead guy. But the weird thing is, other than what I just mentioned, Smith’s films can arguably be more palatable to women because of one thing: dialogue. It’s the Cyrano de Bergerac rule of attraction: It doesn’t matter how you look, it’s what you say that gets you laid. Throw in some poignant insights from the most unlikeliest of characters (two drug dealing do gooders come to mind), and women are as drawn as some are to death row inmates.
Getting back to the major point, if movie goers peel back the vulgar veneer, they’d find a tame storyline. Ben did what those Clerks guys couldn’t do, find a good paying job, move out to a nice apartment and start family life. The one night stand was the springboard for Ben to join the rest of normal society.
Was this made for Little Bo Peep or The Wizard of Oz?
Was this made for Little Bo Peep or The Wizard of Oz?27 Dresses tone was as transparent as Sports Illustrated publishing a swimsuit issue. What drives men to desert a movie like this for an extended “bathroom break” is the naked desire of marriage being hammered from the get-go. Knowing this, the film neatly packed this sentiment inside Kevin, Jane’s Mr. Right disguised as Mr. Wrong. His job was to jar Jane out of her delusions like Cher did for Nicolas Cage in Moonstruck. However, Kevin restrained himself to just hurling snarky banter to try and cause sexual tension. Another annoying habit with most female driven stories is having their protagonists feel sorry for themselves. When Jane unleashed how “compatible” her sister Tess was with George (Jane’s boss and crush) during the engagement party, Jane’s best friend, Casey, convinced her to feel bad for finally standing up to the spoiled brat. This was the best scene in the movie and it was ruined. As Jane spoke the words Tess wanted her to say, she let the slide show pictures tell the real story. And in the scene most likely to win the “been there, done that” award was Jane’s tension-filled race to catch up to her one true love before he’s gone forever. Professing that love in front of a bunch of strangers and heighten her embarrassment if Kevin rejected her came in at a close second.
Allison: Check it again. Sister: I did. 5 times. Hey, you’re the one who wanted to be in this flick.
Allison: Check it again. Sister: I did. 5 times. Hey, you’re the one who wanted to be in this flick.The substantive similarities between Knocked Up27 Dresses smother the surface differences like tangy A-1 sauce smothers a brunt piece of steak. They both feature nice, career oriented women who need to loosen up. Yet, it’s the female oriented flick that presented the woman as a push over, go figure. Both movies settled into romantic conventions; they only detoured in tone and points-of-view to get to the same result: starting life with the person they love.
The proofreading and spell checking took only a few minutes then I emailed Sharon.
The next day, the reward for using my brain cells was left on my desk. The woman who sent it was busy fine tuning her lecture. In a way of showing her gratitude, Sharon invited me to see her rattle off my research. I scrambled for an excuse until she mentioned the disproportionate amount of women who will be in attendance. Now that The Case of The Frustrated Romantic is done, I gotta go hop on the subway. It’s not everyday to hear my work and see women’s reactions ripple through the audience.
Thanks for visiting, everybody. Come back next time. Oh, gotta speed this up, I’m gonna be late. I’m Devin V. Duncan, the D.V. Detective, logging off.
Case #7: Detective Duncan & The Case of the Compassionate Sibling or The D.V. Detective Deduces Speed Racer
The name’s Duncan. The D. V. Detective’s ready for… anything that will make cell ring again. Know why there’s a sucker born every minute? ‘Cause people like me buy cheap ass phones and believe they’re supposed to work. I have to go back to where I bought this piece of crap. It turns out that I lost the game of “Three Card Monte: The Cell Phone Edition” and picked up a discontinued model. The new phones are supposed to be in later today. Fortunately, my old cell died after Megan gave me the money. Sorry. I get disoriented when technology sucks worse than the junk it’s replacing. Now back to the point, the reason why I can afford to waste more money on a new, new phone came in the curveous shape of an Anime nut… or was it her brother? Whatever, here’s the job I called: The Case of the Compassionate Sibling.
I was at a nearby bodega, arguing at a cashier. The way the kid counted money made me wish he had played hooky from his job instead of school. I was about to snatch my money back when a sweet scented arm gave the dunce a crisp five dollar bill. Her smile quieted my protest to the point where my wallet could’ve been lifted without my notice, which was why I checked my pockets. I didn’t want to leave, but a potential client was due to arrive at any moment. Minutes later, I reached the corner of my block and had that funny feeling of being followed. I turned around and feeling got weirder. The suspicious stalker turned out to be the red haired beauty who rescued me from my temper. She wandered from building to building like she was about to catch her man in the act. The sleuth in me wanted to help her out. I did more than that, I helped her find who she was looking for – me.
As we walked up the stairs to my office, she explained why she needed my services. Megan Simmons and I had something in common, we’re both suckers. She was the kind of sister brothers always wish for, but never believe exists like no interest charges on credit cards. Her compassion said yes before her common sense had time to ask why. Did I mention her brother’s name was Marc? Anyway, Megan soon discovered she had stepped into something she couldn’t wipe off with a paper towel. Marc’s devotion for the 60s Anime Speed Racer drove him to set up a panel at the New York Anime Con. The subject centered on analyzing how the movie measured up to the animated classic. All was well until Marc caught the swine flu after attending a pool party he attended and his buddies days before they were supposed to do the panel. Megan actually fell for this? To be fair, his excuse got better after mentioning two investors stopped by and saw the potential in sponsoring this panel would be, not to mention justifying pouring brand new moola into Marc’s brand new Anime magazine… in a dying economy. As long as Megan was cool with not letting my economy sputter like my cell connection I was cool with her letting Marc be a dumb businessman. My role was to make Marc’s presentation make sense to Megan, so she could sound credible to ravenous Speed Racer fans.
When I went home, I started reliving my childhood and watched a few Speed Racer episodes. I let the memories swirl like the food in my stew then watched the live action version. After that I went to bed; the upstairs neighbors had their “family meeting” again. I’m still amazed my ceiling hadn’t caved in yet. My growling stomach signaled my need to wake the hell up and fix whatever passed for breakfast these days. I then went in living room, sat in my recliner and did what I was supposed to do the night before – I started typing the following:
God. How did Batman and Robin deal wih these camera angles without getting dizzy?
God. How did Batman and Robin deal wih these camera angles without getting dizzy?What do The Flintstones and Underdog have in common? They’re cartoon characters that suffered from the failure of their live action movies. Whether it’s the actors or the outlandish sets, the real world is horrible at transferring the magic locked inside the two dimensions of Saturday morning TV. So what made producer Joel Silver and writers/directors Andy and Larry Wachowski think they could lift the cartoon curse by releasing Speed Racer to the big screen? When I first saw the trailer, it was as though the filmmakers stuck the beloved Anime through the live action vortex like an arm stuck inside a Pringles container. It pissed me off. Instead of treating Tatsuo Yoshida’s property seriously, it punked out and joined Tron, Dick Tracy, and Batman and Robin in the trash bins of missed opportunities.
And then I saw the movie. Keep in mind, I expected to pile up reasons and examples to illustrate why this flick sucked. The best way to reform the haters into admirers is stating Speed Racer retained the spirit of the original 60s anime, depending if you consider Paul Hernandez’ US reboot original. The core of the show’s appeal was the excitement and lightheartedness with a hint of menacing danger, capturing kids’ imagination and their impulsive wishes to see the next episode. One of the major complaints about the film was its video game style. Yet, watching the anime, the long, wordless scenes of Speed zooming up steep mountains and veering onto rocky terrain were as normal as expecting spam email. It stimulated the feeling of being behind the drvier’s seat, years before video games were invented.
What’s worse? Being stuck on an island for 5 years or being railroaded and forcing to let my family to think I’m dead? Hmm…
What’s worse? Being stuck on an island for 5 years or being railroaded and forcing to let my family to think I’m dead? Hmm…The characters fit their personalities from their original source extremely well. It was as if the 80s A-Ha video “Take On Me” was applied. There wasn’t an actor that was mis… well, there was one glaring error: Sparky. Was the casting director crunched for time? Or did the production team thought avid fans wouldn’t care that a 30-ish actor was playing a teen-aged character? Again, judging from the 60s US reboot, Kick Gurry’s British accent was as misplaced as the office keys I try to find every morning. Other than that, the casting was great. Christina Ricci’s Trixie may have been more sultry than fans remembered, it didn’t subtract her spunky, yet caring personality. There was no one who could’ve captured the physicality of an ex-wrestling champ, the passion of a race car engineer and the cautiousness of a father than John Goodman. Susan Sarandon played the selfless, understanding Mom Racer perfectly. Matthew Fox filled Rex and Racer X’s shoes persuasively and Emile Hirsh balanced Speed’s exhilaration of driving and the angst of saving the profession the way Anime fans would’ve expected. The added touches were the troublemaking duo Spritle (Paulie Litt) and Chim Chim (Willie, the monkey) and the authoritative, yet fair-minded Inspector Detector (Benno Furmann); they rounded off the cast nicely.
What I admired most about the flick was it resisted “the darker the tone, the better the film” expectation currently seeping into the culture like crude oil seeping in the ocean. What worked for The Dark Knight won’t work for Speed Racer. While the anime included the ugly side of racing, it never effected Speed’s optimism and determination to help others. The main characters, even Pops tendency to show his bluster, weren’t wasted by dwelling on their angst or stewing in their dark anger. So why should the movie detour down that path and abandon its natural tone like an insecure teenager? Can you imagine Speed saying “everybody’s doing it” in reaction to using dirty tactics to win a race? Or how ‘bout Speed taking out the people who want to take him out? Times and circumstances change those who are uncertain, which is not Speed’s character.
Oooh! Let’s get that driver who said I look like Spanky from The Little Rascals!
Oooh! Let’s get that driver who said I look like Spanky from The Little Rascals!If this movie were in a race, it would trail behind The Fast and The Furious and surge ahead of Cars. Speed Racer adopted Fast and The Furious in its trendy style, acrobatics and quick cutting. Saying the special effects went a bit overboard is like wearing a three-piece suit in one hundred degree heat. The Willy Wonka set design flashed more colors than a disco ball. I expected to hear “Stayin’ Alive” during the psychedelic tunnel inside the mountains. I understand why it was done. The fantastical, hyper universe was the best way for pre-teens to experience getting high without damaging their motor skills. It was also the best way to keep the more cartoonish elements from appearing out of place in a live action world. It’s a concept much too complex for Cars. The Pixar animation hung out on the slow lane in regards to effects and subject matter. It tipped its feet, or its front tire, into the dirty water and addressed how far an opponent would go to win the Piston Cup. Speed Racer went deeper into the matter, to the point where the eldest brother, Rex, abandoned his home and his family to take down a racing cartel that wanted him dead. Also, Cars main purpose in stranding Lightning McQueen in the forgotten town of Radiator Springs was to change him from a selfish car into a selfless one. His surroundings changed his character. Speed Racer focused on Speed being the catalyst to change a crooked industry into a fairer one. His character changed his surroundings.
Although the film’s plot twisted as tightly as a hair-pin turn around a treacherous cliff, those twists were too dense. It tried too hard to prove this adaptation was worthy enough to be a movie. Other than that, the plot didn’t betray the nature of the anime, most of the time. It all boiled down to Racer X and Inspector Detector recruiting Speed to help a fellow racer, Taejo Togolchan (Rain), escape evil threats set-up by E. P. Arnold Royalton (Roger Allan), owner of the Royalton Industries. Speed’s help came after Royalton enticed Speed to join his growing roster of race car drivers. In short, Royalton was the Don Corleone of the racing world. No race was decided, no car was created without his approval. Remembering what racing truly meant for Speed and his father, Speed rejected Royalton’s offer. Form that moment on, Royalton vowed to ruin his life like a student with a low SAT score. These two plots were enough to fill two hours of high octane adventure. But like strong scented air fresher the plot overcompensated; it left me confused in some places where it should’ve been.
Royalton: Great. I’m stuck wondering whether I’m surrounded by Mario Bros.’ family or Ozzie & Harriet in technicolor.
Royalton: Great. I’m stuck wondering whether I’m surrounded by Mario Bros.’ family or Ozzie & Harriet in technicolor.The brotherly relationship between Speed and Rex was the best part of the film. Seeing them interact before and after Rex left the family reinforced the length Rex was willing to go through to protect his family. What I didn’t like was how the film handled the reason why Rex left. Assuming the US reboot was similar to the Japanese original story line, Rex ran away after Pops forbade him to continue racing when he crashed. He wanted to prove to Pops that he would become an undisputed champion. In the film, Rex walking out the door as Pops threatened him to never come back. This was an attempt to create extra drama between the fractured relationship between father and son and heightened the emotional loss between the two brothers. That’s bullshit. Rex running away and Speed losing touch with a beloved brother had enough drama to play out on its own. Another bullshit detail the movie added was Rex “dying” in an accident during the perilous, cross-country Casa Cristo race. The trifecta of bullshit capped off with Rex, not Racer X, tagged with a scarlet “C” on the side of his car for being a dirty cheater. It was done to squeeze out more emotional turmoil for Speed, showing he had picked fights with classmates who had taunted him about his brother. Those artificial adjustments added nothing to the plot or heightened any emotional stakes between the main characters.
Other elements I wasn’t too happy with started during the flashback scene when Mom Racer stated her husband made cars instead of the film showing Pops making last minute touches to the Mach 5. This permeated further when the engineering team working with Inspector Detector adjusted the bad-assed components the Mach 5 was renowned for, not Pops. How can Pops be seen as an innovative car maker if the movie doesn’t show it? However, I did love the action scene where Racer X, Speed and Pops fought off the mysterious ninjas and each time I heard the familiar sound effect of the Mach 5 springing in the air, the child in me rejoiced. That was a nice touch. And yeah, Trixie’s helicopter looked cool, too.
Trixie: See. Girls can handle cool rides, too.
Trixie: See. Girls can handle cool rides, too.So, Megan, if seeing colors flying across the screen doesn’t annoy you or the nagging urge to smile, laugh or (gasp) feel happy doesn’t irritate you then buy this film… and the 60s anime series. Don’t worry, there’s ample amount of movies that are serious enough to make you feel depressed.
The tiresome act of proofreading and spell checking almost put me back to sleep, almost. It was only after I sent the email that I went back counting sheep.
The next day, I mean, later that day, was in the middle of locking my office door to get some midday grub when my old cell phone rang. I could barely hear Megan. Her pleasant tone was almost drowned by people who had mistaken the New York Anime Con with a Hannah Montana concert in Madison Square Garden. As she thanked me for not making her sound foolish something came over me. I anticipated my turn to speak, not to remind her to send the rest of my fee, which she did, I wanted, needed to bring up the courage to ask her… and that’s when the phone died.
Before I return to the store, I need to thank you all for coming back. The Case of the Compassionate Sibling is closed. Hope you’ll return next time. Hope I don’t commit aggravated assault. Salespeople can’t help being stupid. I’m Devin V. Duncan, the D.V. Detective, logging off.
Case #6: Detective Duncan & The Case of The Unfulfilled Wish or The D.V. Detective Dances to Thriller
The name’s Duncan. Your not-so-friendly neighborhood D. V. Detective, calming down from being pissed off at modern technology. Yeah, I know, I know. Which is it this time? See, despite all my other faults, I can read minds. Or at least the minds that are bored enough to read my rambling. Now back to the 21st century junk, I mean, the eighth wonder of the world better known as my damn iPod Touch. It conked out worse than one of my sturdy 20th century Walkman. I only had the thing for five months. I was watching one of the King of Pop’s legendary videos “Beat It,” when the “smart” device took the song to heart and stopped working. But that’s not sucks most. What sucks most about modern technology is the modern price it takes to fix it. The cost makes me want to wait for the next generation junk with more bells and whistles that may probably last twice as long. Thank God I wasn’t stupid enough to believe I didn’t need to make back up copies. It comes in handy, particularly whenever I need one in my hand to put in my DVD player. It certainly came in handy for a case I dubbed: The Case of the Unfulfilled Wish.
I was in the middle of choosing which CD was the best out-of-business bargain Virgin Megastore could bare when I saw a caramel coated beauty frantically combing through two DVD bins like she was unearthing a historical artifact. Monique Pinkney soon after slumped her curvaceous figure, hoping to not let her delectable almond shaped eyes fill with tears. I couldn’t help but butt into her business and see if I could help. Her sob story began like any other. Her nephew’s frequent visits to her apartment were as routine as watching a mystery unravel five minutes before the end of a TV episode. The 11-year-old barely needed to step into the place for her to instantly know what he wanted. Her aged Thriller videotape was set to play like always… until last week. The reliable tape popped in the middle of its fourth viewing that day. Monique reassured her distraught nephew, knowing she was a mere mouse click away from finally buying the Thriller DVD… until none was found, anywhere. Her best bet was buying a hand me down on Ebay for about a thousand dollars. She couldn’t understand how a legendary music video could be out of print, but the Jonas Brothers can release a concert movie in 3D. Monique was too distraught to put her gushing emotions into where it counts. She wanted to take action, but didn’t know what action to take. She settled on what I offered: to write a persuasive proposal she could present to a high powered music executive. Unfortunately, it was her boyfriend. I had to write words that could persuade the most anal pencil pusher to do anything that’ll justify his inflated salary. Monique needed me to ensure this improbability result in the DVD release the greatest music video of all time.
When I got home, I tried my best to ignore the latest round of stomping and yelling above the plaster I hoped would stay on my ceiling. Then I popped in my Thriller DVD. Now, before classifying this as a WTF moment, let me rephrase. I popped in my burned, homemade Thriller DVD I copied from the original VHS tape I had originally bought over twenty years ago. That nagging refrain, “backup, backup, backup” ain’t just for saving computer files. It’s applies to preserving anything of value. Even though I should’ve told Monique this earlier, accusing a client of falling into the female technophobe stereotype was not healthy for my anorexic bank account. After re-watching the video and the “making of” documentary, I opened my laptop and jolted down the following:
You know, wearing a Jeri Curl in this scene may not have been a good idea.-
You know, wearing a Jeri Curl in this scene may not have been a good idea.At first glance, a person might read this and wonder why is a detective trained to sniff out movie plot points and character flaws wasting his time picking apart a twenty-five-year-old music video? For starters, Thriller isn’t just a music video; it’s technically a film short. A thirteen minute film short that revolutionized and legitimized the young art of music video. While many were content with their makeshift visual promos on MTV, Michael Jackson thought it would be a good thing to test the boundaries and not just lip sync his way to superstardom. Even his two earlier videos, “Billie Jean” and “Beat It,” used strong visual and story concepts that enhanced the lyrics fans would only hear on the radio. Yet, I’m not surprised Mike went all out for Thriller. The song itself was out there. Getting a song to hit number one on the Billboard chart is hard enough. Try doing that with lyrics best suited for a Little Shop of Horrors soundtrack. There was no way a conventional four minute music video could contain the magnitude of creepy metaphors or the baritone creepiness of Vincent Price.
But first, like all films what Thriller needed was a director. One who could mix Horror, Comedy and Music as good as a juggler who could balance three dates in one evening without getting caught. The filmmaker who fit the bill turned An American Werewolf in London and Animal House into classics. Mike asked John Landis to venture into the unknown: direct a film tame enough to bypass all parental advisories. With the help of master mask maker, Rick Baker; master choreographer, Michael Peters; a masterful update of The Night of the Living Dead, and… of course, Michael Jackson, Landis crafted the music video that personified Generation X. It was a little strange, a little goofy, extremely savvy and incredibly imaginative. Think I’m wrong? What other example can claim greatness on the back of its lackluster acting? Let’s face it, Mike and Ola Ray weren’t on the Oscar fast track, especially Ola. Other than her follow-up guest starring role in an episode of “Cheers,” her Thriller appearance will have to remain her pinnacle role as a thespian. But make no mistake. Every woman in 1983 would’ve gladly pushed her out of the way to be Michael’s on-screen girlfriend anytime, anyplace, anywhere.
What was genius about the film was how it stuck to the skeleton of the song’s premise. The lyrics illustrated a scenario about a guy reassuring his frightened girlfriend from a horror movie they were watching. The video took that premise and made it larger than life, what a film is supposed to do. It was done twofold. Michael tried and failed to calm Ola down inside the movie theatre and when he “tapped” her out of her nightmare after they were at his place, at least I assume that was the place she ran into.
Another great element was the layer upon layer of surprises. When the film started, we assumed it was a period piece. A time where letter jackets, poddle skirts, and the seriousness of “pinning” a girl made us remember why (“Happy Days”) Richie Cunningham barely got to sing “I Found My Thrill on Blueberry Hill” in front of his father. We even overlooked the cheesiness of the predictable out-of-gas plot and Ola screaming for her life while watching Michael’s werewolf transformation, rather than running. Looking back, it wasn’t the plot that was important. In fact, it was done because of its cheesiness. A loving throwback to the 1950s Monster flicks, which served as the video’s first surprise. Just as Werewolf Mike set to sink his foot-long fingertips into his latest victim, screaming moviegoers, minus a giddy Michael, fill the screen. The video wasn’t a period piece after all. It was set in the (then) modern times.
“I found my thrill, on Blueberry Hill…”
“I found my thrill, on Blueberry Hill…” The real video began the moment Ola walked out of the movie theatre. Now, I’d bet top dollar that when Michael teased Ola all the way down the street was the scene women wanted to be Ola. It was the ultimate fan service, Mary Sue moment. Only the hottest singer in the nation could get away with having women think singing, smiling and skipping along hand-in-hand were more than enough to satisfy them on a date. It was a perfect prelude to surprise number two. As they skipped through the graveyard, they left a few undead people behind. Either those zombies were light sleepers or those lovebirds were too careless to quiet their footsteps. Either way, their shoes must’ve had a helluva connection to the underworld. That being said, the plausible police could point to another violation that featured Mike and Ola taking in the 360-degree scenic view of zombies slooowly coming at them and not hauling ass right then and there. Okay, I, a stickler for logic in movies, have to let this illogical moment slide simply to enjoy the benefits of surprise number three. I don’t know which was more 80s, practicing to get every step of the Thriller dance or practicing to get every key of “Axel-F’s Theme” from Beverly Hills Cop on a Casio keyboard? Watching Michael suddenly turn into a zombie and leading them all into that dance was one of the coolest moments in music video history. Those crisp, precise, intricate steps surpassed anything attempted on “Soul Train.” There wasn’t anyone, myself included, who didn’t attempt to memorize every step as if passing onto next grade depended on it.
Michael: Remember, if no one steps on my toes, I’ll give everyone a huge discount on my new jacket.
Michael: Remember, if no one steps on my toes, I’ll give everyone a huge discount on my new jacket.Ola’s hope of escaping those zombies was as hopeless as Clarice hoped Hannibal would suddenly turn into a vegetarian. All that dancing, marching and popping must’ve made their hunger even worse. Not even the run-down, abandoned house Ola hid into quelled their centuries old appetites. Her zombified boyfriend led the assimilation brigade, eager to show her all the benefits the undead lifestyle. With one touch of the shoulder… surprise number four flashed in front of our eyes. When Mike pleasantly asked, “What’s the Problem?” We were as puzzled as Ola was. What was more puzzling was how “Dallas” had swipe the “it’s all a dream” concept years later and expected their viewers to not feel stupid for seeing the entire season slip down drain faster than the soap suds in Bobby Ewing’s shower. Maybe what “Dallas” failed to deliver was that question mark essential to any cliffhanger. You know, Thriller surprise number five. When Michael offered to take Ola home, he turned to the camera, revealing his yellow, Werewolf eyes. Coupled with Vincent Price’s sinister laughter, the joke was definitely on us. Were Mike’s transformations real? Were they fake? Was Ola still in danger? Did anybody care after the credits rolled? I guess no one will ever know.
Zombie on Michael’s shoulder: Now, Mike. That discount on that jacket better be worth it.
Zombie on Michael’s shoulder: Now, Mike. That discount on that jacket better be worth it.Thriller rippled numerous chain reactions throughout pop culture. So much so, other recording artists were forced to scramble for better music video ideas. Ideas that could move video cassettes off store shelves. Video cassettes? Store shelves? Enter surprise number six. MTV couldn’t maintain the enormous demand. So, what happens when demand is high in a capitalistic society? Sell millions of VHS tapes and make butt loads of money! Thriller was not only the first video fans were able to buy, it was the first video fans wanted to buy. They literally bought the privilege of re-playing the tape as many times as they wanted and were treated to an equally entertaining “The Making of Thriller” documentary. The combination of behind-the-scenes footage, rare Jackson videos and the “coming out” solo performance Mike did during the Motown 25th Anniversary special, made it the perfect keepsake.
This next surprise didn’t occur in the video. It happened years later. It’s the kind of surprise that distinguishes hits from classics. It all hinges on a simple four-letter word: Time. After twenty-five years, after Betamax, after the beeper, after the boombox fell by the wayside, the Thriller dance lives on. Don’t believe me? Rent 13 Going on 30 and check out Jennifer Garner lead a group of partygoers. How ‘bout something more recent. The Zac Efron movie 17 Again showed that being like Mike didn’t mean buying expensive sneakers. It meant buying expensive pleather jackets inspired by the one Michael Jackson wore in Thrillier. Hell, watch the 90s Backstreet Boys video where they tailored “Everybody (Backstreet’s Back)” on the Thriller dance. But its greatest tribute is a YouTube video featuring several hundred Filipino prison inmates re-enacting Michael and Ola’s parts before, during and after the dance.
Ola: Fess up, ladies. You wish you are me right now, aren’t you?
Ola: Fess up, ladies. You wish you are me right now, aren’t you?With all that has been mentioned, the most disturbing surprise is still coming from the music industry’s incredibly moronic negligence in not converting the Thriller VHS onto DVD. What the hell are they thinking? Instead of merging every recording label in sight and suing every eight-year-old for illegal downloads, the “geniuses” could’ve gone a different direction and, I don’t know, respect those who shell out their dough as needlessly as those who buy water packaged inside plastic bottles. I would’ve given a lot of slack, maybe broke down and admitted it made sense for people to wait until the DVD release coincided with the 25th anniversary of the “Thriller” album. The anniversary came and went. No Thriller DVD. Wouldn’t it have been cool to hear Michael’s, John Landis’ or even Ola Ray’s audio commentary? Watch special documentaries detailing the video’s overwhelming impact throughout the years? Gape at the rare deleted scenes and bloopers? No. It requires an industry that actually gives a damn about its product. Makes you think iTunes’ current stranglehold on music distribution ain’t much of a cowinkidink. But a better way to tell how a business model is heading into the crapper is how it mimics Fine Art galleries to turn a hefty profit. What’s more ghoulish? Waiting for artists with lengthy catalogues to kick off or salivating after grieving fans bumrush every music outlet that’s not tied down? Yet, due to recent events, its our best chance at motivating an old, crusty industry to dust off its lazy ass and finally provide the Thriller DVD to the public. A DVD that should’ve been a no-brainer to release years ago.
We’re outta here…until we’re released on DVD.
We’re outta here…until we’re released on DVD.
While re-reading my work, I noticed a few of the harsh tones I sprinkled throughout my report, the same report Monique planned to show her music industry boyfriend. Hey, she paid for my take on the situation. It’ll be her call if she wanted to sugarcoat it. That would have to be on her. I don’t do revisions. After proofreading and spell-checking the thing, I emailed her my uncut, raw version.
Since Monique paid the entire fee upfront, I assumed the case and all chatter about it was over. Her phone call a day later proved what people say about assuming anything. She gave me the heads up on her boyfriend’s reaction to the colorfully opinionated proposal I pinned… on keyboard. The words “thrilled” and “impressed” never made it to my ears, nor had I expected them to. What I did hear was fairly surprising. The report gave the suit evidence he needed to develop some sort of presentation to Sony, or whomever owns the video at this point, to release the greatest music video of all time on DVD. Although it might not make a difference, at least someone thought it was worth a try.
Monique also thanked me for letting an extra burned DVD of Thriller slip through the mail. I figured spreading joy to an unsuspecting eleven-year-old in July didn’t violate any trademark issues with Santa. Hey, what can I say? Couldn’t help it. Kids are our future and what would that future be without each of them owning a Thriller DVD?
Now, the case of the Unfulfilled Wish is over. Thanks for hangin’ out. Hope you’ll return to read my next case. Til then, I’m Devin V. Duncan, the D.V. Detective, logging off.
Case #5: Detective Duncan & The Case of The Misguided Target or The D.V. Detective Divulge on Pineapple Express
The name’s Duncan. The D. V. Detective who has gotten fed up with a clunky website no one visits anymore. I don’t blame them. Even I didn’t want to be reminded of owning a site that still uses frames. The web hosting service still charged me at 2006 rates in an era where social media costs nothing. So, recently, I did what any victim should to an abuser, I kicked that web hosting service to the curb and joined Facebook. Joining was the easy part, understanding how the damn thing worked was another story. The mantra: “Make sure my profile doesn’t mistake me for a child molester” kept beating in my head like a R. Kelly song. Yeah, I said it! It took me weeks to become confident enough to display my page as if I knew the difference between racking up page hits and adding friends. Right now, I got more hits than friends, barely. Only an I.T. major would equate a person clicking a button as a “friend.” Whatever the hell, I just hope it generates more business. Speaking of which, I gotta add my latest case into my database. It’s what I dubbed: The Case of the Misguided Target.
It started a week after I took down my dilapidated website. Anita Rojas called my cell, when it was working. She wanted me to refer her to other gumshoes who investigate movie plots. She was under the impression that my missing site meant I closed up shop, gave up, applied as a bag check at Wal-Mart… you get the picture. I asked her if this call was serious or was it my competitors’ way of announcing they’re open for business. She mentioned it was due to my lack of web presence. I assured her that the moment she stepped into my office, my business is as reliable as a bouncer’s eye on a guest list.
Anita did just that. She came to my office and calmly sat before me. She unraveled her reasons why she needed my assistance. She was up for a well sought after promotion in her ad agency. During a recent general meeting, one of her co-workers put her on the spot and suggested that Anita take on a failing account. Due to the nature of the meeting, and Anita’s highly competitive spirit, she accepted the challenge. It was after the meeting where she caught wind of how the colleague played her for taking on an account that was as dead as the VCR market. What flatlined the project had something to do with capturing the appeal to those who love movies like Pineapple Express. Oh, did I mention her co-worker was also up for the same promotion? Office politics. Evil spawned by the boredom trapped inside of a cubicle. Obviously, seeking help from her other colleagues was like letting the wolf guide Red Riding Hood through the forest. She needed solid research to help her make sense of a movie genre most people in her company ignored as much as couch potatoes avoid commercials.
That night, after watching Pineapple Express, I was set to write my report when the doorbell rang. A long legged neighbor asked to help her install her new 46-inch HDTV. Why me? Why was I lucky enough to be the only guy on my floor who had nothing to do on a Friday night? Well, I couldn’t leave the beautiful young lady in the lurch, could I? If that wasn’t the best chance to flex my technological muscles, then I don’t know what is. Anyway, when I returned to my digs, I went straight… Well, I stopped for a few moments to make sure what had just happened actually did happen. Then I went straight to the laptop, stared at the 13-inch screen and typed the following:
Dale: You see that? Saul: Those shadows in the bushes? Dale: No. That plotline about meeting my girl’s parents. It almost runied the movie.
Dale: You see that? Saul: Those shadows in the bushes? Dale: No. That plotline about meeting my girl’s parents. It almost runied the movie.Can a stoner movie be more than just a stoner movie? I’m sure that question has been asked since Cheech and Chong blazed their smoke filled trail more than 30 years ago. Pineapple Express is one of the latest attempts to clear moviegoers’ perceptions. What is that perception? A bunch of 20-something slackers, living in their dorm rooms or their parents’ basements with a bong in one hand and a remote control in another. Their meaning of ambition is to see which jokes have the lowest I.Q. Among all those stoner movies, Pineapple Express is definitely not one of them. Case in point, this stoner, Dale Denton (Seth Rogan) wore a suit… of all kinds in order to transform respectable office managers and doctors into defendants by serving them subpoenas. He did this eight hours a day, five days a week. But that’s not what impressed me the most. What shocked me was I couldn’t use “swiss cheese,” “tattered jeans” or “moth eaten shirts” to describe the movie’s plot. What also made the flick turn from good to damn good was how it bait-and-switched genres like retail merchandise.
The trailers, the color trailers, advertised the standard stoner flick to get the desired demographic in the theatres. Yet, the black and white Columbia logo and the old fashioned cars and outfits that introduced the movie had its audience wondering how much drugs did they need to convince themselves they were watching the right flick. Strange as it was, the scene established underlying focus of illegal marijuana. Not just using it or selling it, but the illegality of it. Why? The same reason city mobsters sold alcohol and country bumpkins brewed jugs filled of moonshine. It’s to gain unregulated and untaxed bathtub full of money. And how an innocent customer of said products could stumble in a brutal drug war.
Red: Look, guys. I’m sorry I snitched. I’ll make it up to you in the 3rd act. I promise!
Red: Look, guys. I’m sorry I snitched. I’ll make it up to you in the 3rd act. I promise!But first, the flick had to give what the audience came for. There was a breezy, light touch in the way Dale was introduced. From disguise to disguise, he created a way to merge his juvenile sense of humor to counteract the drudgery of his line of work. In between his obligation to inflict inconvenience and fury like a traffic cop and the IRS, he drove around, laid back in his convertible, enjoying an activity that could’ve landed him in the same side of the law he was hired to put others. Add scenes where he visited Angie (Amber Heard), his high school girlfriend and a quick stop to his pot dealer, Saul Silver (James Franco), the quintessential stoner movie was off and running at the speed of a late night trip to the corner store.
And then… the contact high evaporated. Why did Dale turn around at the precise moment two cops sprayed a man’s blood almost as vividly as Hans executed Takagi in Die Hard? Weren’t we ready to see if Dale could mess up his borderline jail bait romance by fighting Angie’s male, age appropriate and compatible high school buddy? No? Thankfully, neither was this movie. The unexpected twist avoided the most stale confrontation done in modern cinema. The moment a certain black and white vehicle appeared behind Dale’s car, I groaned in that familiar way I always do when I’m forced to sit in the middle airplane seat. However, the movie gods finally had the sense to let the cop car roll past any delusions of mining comedy gold that was as bare as the job market.
What that ruthless execution did was heighten our ability to laugh at Dale, while cringing as he became the most annoying car alarm on the block. Suddenly, the passive, process server slipped into a scenario no amount of pot, not even the rarest of brands (Pineapple Express) could conjure up. In other words, this was where the real movie began.
Matheson: I can’t believe I’m a bad guy with a personality. Red: I can’t believe I can’t die. Budlofsky: I can’t believe the leat amount of lines.
Matheson: I can’t believe I’m a bad guy with a personality. Red: I can’t believe I can’t die. Budlofsky: I can’t believe the leat amount of lines.Scared shitless, Dale sped back to Saul’s place. It was reminiscent of Pulp Fiction when Vinny’s frantic dash to the drug dealer who sold him the stash that caused Mia’s overdose. Once Dale and Saul realized Dale’s rare purchase could be easily tracked, they immediately go into hiding. Good move. If they had stayed they’d be dead, gunned down by two of Ted’s (Gary Cole) enforcers, Matheson (Craig Robinson) and Budlofsky (Kevin Corrigan). Who’s Ted? Head of one of the prominent marijuana operations and who happened to be part of the LAPD. It was he and his partner in crime, Carol (Rosie Perez) who unloaded their ammunition on an Asian guy, the same cops Dale witnessed. To cover up this incriminating evidence they needed to add two more on their homicidal body count. First, they had to figure out where they were. Enter the middleman called Red (Danny McBride). Unfortunately for him, his title meant more than passing illegal drugs from one source to another. His role was to snitch in exchange for his life. Soon after, fights and car chases dominated the screen. Although those scenes maintained a high level of danger, they were sprinkled some comedy to highlight the newest action buddy team to fight against… umm… to fight against… everybody who wanted them dead.
While survival can start friendships, it can also strain them. Dale and Saul’s nasty argument did what all of those seasoned, professional killers had failed to do. The argument had split the daring duo. The predictable plot point was so predictable, even the flick played up how ridiculous it was. As Saul sobbed away his loss, Dale shed tears (via phone) to Angie, admitting how much of a jerk he was… until she said the word “marriage,” a word men carry crucifixes in their pockets to escape its evil. Too bad Saul didn’t hear Matheson and Budlofsky utter that cursed word when they kidnapped him.
Dale came to his senses too late and made a desperate attempt to rescue Saul, with Red’s help. Yes, despite getting shot at close range, twice, he decided living was the better choice. He joined Dale in his half-baked plan to save someone he thought of only as his drug dealer. Once they reached Ted’s remote manufacturing complex, Red fled, leaving Dale to complete his suicide mission alone. But Dale soon discovered his Rambo imitation failed as miserably as a cell phone battery during phone sex.
Dale’s inevitable surrender led him to the person he barged in to save. After he and Saul rekindled their bromance they planned for their escape. What happened next was what you’d expect in a tricky climatic scene that included a gun battle between Ted’s gang and the rival Asian gang, who were amped up on avenging the death of the man Ted and Carol killed waaaaay back in the first act.
Red: Trust Me. holding these guns will definitely convince people we’re not slackers.
Red: Trust Me. holding these guns will definitely convince people we’re not slackers.The complexity of Dale and Saul’s escape was so huge it needed outside reinforcement. It needed Red to man up and he did by ramming his car through the complex and into Matheson. Then he got shot again. This time Carol made sure he stayed dead. After all the countless rounds of bullets, stunt doubles and extras, it came down to two WWE style cage matches between Ted and Dale, and Carol and Saul. However, they didn’t expect the brother of the slain Asian man to blow up the facility. Not surprisingly, Dale and Saul survived and watched… Red crawl out to safety? Is he another one of Superman’s long, lost relatives or does he have six more lives to go? At the end, the modern day Three Musketeers or The Three Stooges rode off to the sunrise, with Saul’s grandma as their chauffeur.
What I liked the most about this flick was how it integrated scenes from iconic films while keeping its identity. When Saul climbed into the vent shaft like John McClane then later dove out of the way as the fire traveled up from the basement, were classic Die Hard references. These and the Pulp Fiction comparison I mentioned earlier weren’t done to spoof those movies; they were morphed into the reality Pineapple Express presented. Another small detail I enjoyed was when Saul prepared to “get in character” and switched to play rap music to solidify his rep as a “legit” drug dealer. It illustrated how movies and television shows stereotypically reinforce a dangerous, immoral vibe by portraying the notion that each and every rap record ever done in the last 30 years was synonymous with crime. I also appreciated how the bad guys, particularly Matheson and Budlofsky, weren’t cardboard cut-outs of countless hit men. They actually had character traits most audiences could relate to. The only gripe I had was not delving more into the Asian gang. The rivalry may have been explained a lot better, or at least turned the camera on the slain guy’s brother. And last and most appreciated was the absence of an elaborate explanation from any of the bad guys, and the absence of Dale and Saul’s great revelation of how they’d spontaneously pull out a brilliant plan of their ass at the last minute. The plot came down to this: Ted wanted to control his turf; the Asian gang wanted revenge; Dale and Saul wanted to stay alive. That’s it. No ultimate battle between good and evil. They were all evil in the eyes of the law. Dale and Saul’s asses would’ve been hauled to jail along with everyone else.
Dale: I better not find a picture of this floating around on the internet.
The main thing to remember about Pineapple Express is it has appeal outside of its primary demographic. Being a pothead need not be required. It crosses genres as seamlessly as Scotch and soda slides down an alcoholic’s throat. And the way its story was just as addicting.
After the necessary proofreading and spell checking, my incredibly detailed report was sent to Anita with a single click.
A few days later, and two days after she sent the remainder of my fee, I decided, what the hell and splurged some of my hard earned cabbage to eat some cabbage, in the form of lettuce, with drenched with French dressing. When I stuck a forkful in my mouth, an outburst almost choked the flavor out of my salad. I turned and saw four women sitting a few tables away; they were in the middle of a toast. Among them was Anita, sporting a smile wider than I had thought she could ever make. Once she spotted me, she gave me the thumbs up and a nod of a woman who nabbed a promotion.
Yet another satisfied customer. The case of the Misguided Target is closed. Thanks for reading, y’all. Stop by and check me out next time. I’m Devin V. Duncan, the D.V. Detective, logging off.
Case #4: Detective Duncan & The Case of The Historic Analogy or The D.V. Detective Dissects Blazing Saddles
*WARNING: Right-wingers, this is a Pro-Obama post. If you don’t want to relive the “nightmare” that was the 2008 Election, please do not read this episode. Remember, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.*
The name’s Duncan. The D. V. Detective. Business had been… Hold on, I’ve got to answer my cell.…
“Detective Duncan. Need someone to chase down the right plot/ Or find the right movie to go to or not/ Before you spend dough on a flick you’d regret/ Spend it on me. I take cash, card or check…/ Hello…?”
Great. Another dial tone. Let me start again. Business has been steady. I recently opened the first savings account of my adult life. I… uhhhh… hold on.
“Detective Duncan. Need someone to… What…? Look, man. For the last time, I’m a Detective, not a Dominatrix.”
Jeez. Okay, business is not that great. Although the cases I do get are enough not to work a second job. This particular one was peculiar to say the least. I called this one: The Case of the Historic Anaolgy.
A few abrupt knocks at the door had sent my imagination into overdrive. “Who will she be this time?” “Will she have a nice rack or a nice romp or both?” Now, that would’ve been nice, indeed. After I told the person to come in, my jaw dropped. She was… under-age, around sixteen years old. So, not only I couldn’t ogle, I couldn’t fantasize either. What good was working for a client if I couldn’t think about her …. Dammit! I couldn’t think about that either. I was about to kick the jail bait to the curb, until she waved the kind of paper that kept me stay off the unemployment line. Her name was Paulina Stanton. She just happened to be one of those models, a teenaged, under-aged model. By law, she had to be tutored or she couldn’t earn the salary many couldn’t pull at twice her age. To keep strutting half-naked down fashion runaways, she needed to complete an essay her tutor instructed her to write. It was due in 48 hours and she was as clueless as a news anchor without a teleprompter. Paulina had to write about an analogy between a movie and the 2008 presidential election. In other words, she wanted me to write it for her. I know I should’ve been wrestling with the moral dilemma of depriving her of the responsibility for her own education rather than wondering whether it was safe to look into her not-so innocent eyes. The desire of not appearing on a mug shot won out and I managed to make a compromise with her. I’d write my report, but she had to change some of the words around. I highly doubted her tutor would think my use of metaphors had suddenly crept into Paulina’s vast array of talents.
When I got home, I rummaged through my entire movie collection. Nothing. I went online and scrolled through hundreds of pictures of DVD movie covers. There wasn’t a thing that remotely mimicked the strangeness of last year’s election. Mr. Smith Goes To Washington was the “Ozzie and Harriet” of political movies. Bullworth was close, but still off. Chris Rock’s Head of State, Reese Witherspoon’s Election, and Kevin Costner’s Swing Vote should have been the most natural picks, but I needed one movie that combined all of those issues. Even Eddie Murphy’s The Distinguished Gentleman couldn’t capture the right tone. The more political titles appeared, the more their relevance vanished like a person’s chances of getting promoted.
It was almost daybreak and I still couldn’t find a credible movie that could fit the proper analogy. I kept thinking, “How can any film compare to electing the first African American President?” I was too wild, too crazy, too politically incorrect. It would be like comparing a tired old Western to… Blazing Saddles. My eyes lit up as if I grabbed the last PS3 in the entire city. The flick contained the unpredictability, the volatility, the tone and the balls to match the honesty of how people’s expectations of what a person’s race determined their place in life. As the sunlight peeked through the window blinds, skipping my trip to the office was as obvious as yellow snow. I dedicated the entire day to unravel my historic analogy of the 2008 election and Blazing Saddles, after I got some shut eye. Five hours later, I watched the DVD then opened up my laptop and wrote the following:
Black President? I’m barely makin’ it as a Black Sheriff.
Black President? I’m barely makin’ it as a Black Sheriff.In 1974, Mel Brooks never thought his satirical masterpiece would parallel real life 36 years later in the form of a presidential election. The opening scene displayed life as it was in the pioneering Wild West. The grossly underpaid and mistreated black and chinese workers did the grunt work, while the whites oversaw things. This was the order of life, much like how the 2008 presidential election despite the sprinkle of diversity among the Democratic candidates. One thing to keep in mind about predictability, it never predicts when it’ll be knocked on its ass. The overseers acted as if they were thrown off their horses when the black laborers crooned the Cole Porter standard “I Get A Kick Out Of You.” Their shock was reminiscent of the nation’s reaction the night Barack Obama won the Iowa caucus. This hilarious scene also reflected the confusion and accusations of Obama not acting “black enough.” The overseers couldn’t fathom the chance of hearing the smooth, melodic Pop standard coming out of black voices. The song was chosen by fellow railroad worker named Bart (Cleavon Little), a guy who had the talent to challenge the status quo in a way few people could understand.
Bart: Need to figure out their gameplan. Obama might find it helpful
The railroad system was the government’s ticket for expansion, power and wealth. That plan was threatened when Attorney General Hadley, I mean, Hedley Lamarr (Harvey Korman) learned that the quaint, peaceful town of Rock Ridge stood in the path of progress. What’s the solution? Scare the citizens out of their homes as much as Republicans scare people from voting in their best interests. Lamarr and his trusted hired goon, Taggart (Slim Pickens. I swear, that’s actually was his name), represent the two main factions of the current Republican Party. Lamarr is the “Georgetown Cocktail Party” intellectual, whereas Taggart is the “Shoot ‘em first, ask questions later,” good ol’ cowboy neo-conservative. Together, these characters embody the McCain campaign like short bosses embody their Napoleon complex.
After Taggart and his murderous marauder did their 19th Century version of a 527 attack ad, the Rock Ridge residents pleaded with the Governor William Le Petomane (Mel Brooks) to send a new sheriff. Lamarr found his inner- Cheney and convinced the Governor’s inner-Bush to send Bart, knowing that sending a black sheriff would scare white settlers as easy as using fake ID’s in a liquor store. The same can be said of the McCain campaign, who found its inner-Rove to scare people out of thinking that a black man could ever lead America.
Hedley: Could you please stop clinging to your gun?
Hedley: Could you please stop clinging to your gun?The second Bart rode into town, the hostility, the cynicism and the racial epithets were rolled out people’s tongues faster than an SUV runs out of gas. It’s hard to distinguished which reaction was worse, the nasty treatment against Bart from Rock Ridge residents or the embittered, sardonic speeches and chants against Obama from the Republican National Convention.
One thing was clear, Bart needed a partner – fast. A deputy who not only knew the town, but also had the experience to assist him in handling whatever trouble that could roll into town. But let’s face it, he needed someone who could vouch for the concept of having Bart as the town’s sheriff. That deputy turned out to be a down and out gunslinger named Jim, aka The Waco Kid (Gene Wilder). Only problem was Jim drank as much as Joe Biden made gaffes. However, Obama considered that a small price to reassure Independents, moderate Republicans and disgruntled Clinton supporters due to their perception of Obama’s “inexperience.”
Soon after, Karl Rove, I mean, Taggart increased his terrorizing tactics, which include siccing his indestructible thug, Mongo, to go after Bart. When that failed, he and Lamarr hurled the next bomb in the shape of the German bombshell performer, Lili Von Shtupp (Madeline Kahn). That plan backfired as badly as Joe Lieberman betraying the Democrats. This strategy also mirrored John McCain’s bone headed decision of choosing Sarah Palin as his running mate. Both she and Lili were merely the eye candy who easily excited their faithful despite their questionable grasp of the English language.
Bart: Are you sure this isn’t the Republican National Convention?
Bart: Are you sure this isn’t the Republican National Convention?As Lamarr and Taggart saw their reliable attacks fail like John McCain’s cheap stunt, I mean, campaign suspension after the Wall Street meltdown, their only solution was to wage total destruction of Rock Ridge. Facing the worst challenge of their lives, the townspeople finally put their trust in their new sheriff. Their fears began to dissipate under the cool, steady and competent nature Bart showed them under extreme pressure. Does that resemble anyone in real life? A recent presidential candidate, perhaps? A candidate that calmed the fears of voters who were freaked out after the stock market collapsed? A candidate that watched his opponent flip around like Daffy Duck? Bart’s solution brought the Rock Ridge people and the Black and Chinese railroad workers together and built a decoy of the town to trick Taggart and his posse of criminals before sunrise. Bringing different cultures, races, and philosophies together to solve insurmountable problems were the cornerstone ideals of Barack Obama’s two-year campaign.
In the final act, Sheriff Bart led the townspeople to fight for their way of life and encouraged the railroad workers to fight for a new station in life, much like Obama led a massive amount of volunteers and internet donors to fight for their participation to bring back the American dream. The brazen act to save Rock Ridge escalated into a melee so uncontrollable it seeped into other Hollywood sets, the studio commissary, even through a movie theatre. No one could escape that free-for-all just as last year’s election spread throughout the nation’s collective consciousness. From watching the hotly contested primaries, presidential debates, cable news, reading right and left wing blogs and websites, and creating home made political music videos and parodies on YouTube. The American electorate shed its apathy and became engaged in politics. The movie ended with Bart and the Waco Kid leaving Rock Ridge after Bart killed Lamarr as swiftly as Obama killed McCain’s chances of ever becoming President.
Blog Author: No other words needed.
Blog Author: No other words needed.The most indelible element that connects Blazing Saddles and the 2008 Election is the main catalysts: Sheriff Bart and Barack Obama. Their actions and decisions propelled the way situations transpired around them. Bart may as well have been Obama’s brother from another mother. The way they handled obstacles and relied on their cunning wit, intelligence and their pleasant, affable personalities.
I finished the report with the usual proofreading and added a special note in the email reminding Paulina of changing a few words here and there to turn my report into her essay. I just hope for Paulina’s sake, her tutor wasn’t a McCain supporter.
The next day turned into evening with no sign of Paulina. No messages. No emails. No voicemails. I was as nervous as a robber holding a gun without bullets. As I picked up the phone to try calling her again, she finally walked in. She apologized for not meeting me earlier. She couldn’t get way from an all-day shoot for one of those lipstick commercials on the other side of town. Paulina approached my desk and… Wait a sec….
“Detective Duncan. Need someone to go and… Why would I need a detective when I already told you I am one?”
From now on: Voicemail. Anyway, Paulina approached my desk and handed me the rest of the fee. She told me she had enjoyed reading my report and paraphrased as she promised. Then she thanked me and left. Well, how ‘bout that? A client actually read and enjoyed what she paid for. Now, if this behavior could spread to the clients that are over the age of consent…
The case of the Historic Analogy is done. Thanks for bearing with me. Catch y’all next time. This is Devin V. Duncan, the D.V. Detective, logging off.
Case #3: Detective Duncan & The Case of The Improbable Task or The D.V. Detective Delves into Wall-E
The name’s Duncan. You know, the D. V. Detective. I just bought something I accused others of having just so they could look important, which helps elevates one’s status, which helps elevates one’s chances of getting dates. So far, the only thing this cell phone has gotten me is annoyed. What the hell am I supposed to do with rollover minutes? And I have to spend extra hours to practice texting so that my thumbs can reach the hard to reach buttons, and what’s up with that lingo? It has gotten to the point where I’m sporting the same confusion most of my clients suffers each time I open my mouth. One client immediately comes to mind. I called this: The Case of the Improbable Task.
I could tell the way Kate McConnell’s eyes grabbed on to mine that I was her last hope. As a small hint of her exotic smelling perfume wandered into my nostrils, she made her case. She needed a movie to get her kid. Not just any kid, her daughter was the kind of ten-year-old prodigy who’s either on her way to revolutionize an industry sector or waste away in a rubber room. Kate needed a flick to be intellectually stimulating, yet entertaining enough to keep Kate awake. After rattling the standard Harry Potter, and Disney picks, Kate cocked her head as if she could tell how much I hoped that third button would pop off her blouse. Not only was Kate expecting me to recommend a flick hours before picking up her kid from prep school, I was expected to do it in a way that preserve her daughter’s geek cred. Despite my skepticism, Kate’s hypnotic violet eyes and her check for ten G’s gave me enough incentive to believe in miracles.
There was no time to watch Kate leave, I couldn’t even leave the office. I had three hours to find a movie that was as improbable as crossing 42nd street at… any time of the day. I opened the laptop and started looking for inspiration. Just then, the answer rushed inside my mind like a familiar TV theme song. What was the top kids movie from last season? The movie many had thought should’ve contended for Best Picture? The movie that made rundown, rusty trackers look good? No, not Cars. I downloaded Pixar’s best production to date, Wall-E. Afterwards, as the credits rolled, I typed the following:
Wall-E: Are you sure dinosaurs were called humans? Cockroach: Look, it’s been so long, all species look alike to me.
Wall-E: Are you sure dinosaurs were called humans? Cockroach: Look, it’s been so long, all species look alike to me. Space may be the final frontier, but at some point you’ve got to go home. If that’s the best way to sum up this film, you need to find your humanity. Only Pixar could turn a grim future into a heartwarming redemption of the human spirit. That’s the ingredient lost or considered an afterthought in most adult movies. Yet, Wall-E was as much of a kiddie movie as a wino makes his living out of a paper bag. In a film culture that barrels through movie plots faster than a bullet, it’s refreshing how Wall-E just shut up, slowed down and allowed people to absorb sights and sounds they had paid to experience.
From the start, my perception of futuristic tales shattered by the sounds of a melodic past. My gloomy tinted glasses refocused once the camera crashed into what seemed like a metal asteroid field, a farewell gift the human race had given the robots to clean up. However, that had to wait. A planet full of trash had to be picked up first. Besides, moviegoers had to see where the music was coming from… a robot. One robot. The only robot still functioning on the entire planet. It ran for so long, it made the Energizer Bunny die of embarrassment. This small, diligent machine was named Wall-E (voiced by famed Star Wars sound designer Ben Burtt). He also had time to adapt beyond its programming. How much time? About 700 years. Despite the bleak landscape, Wall-E’s curious nature grew with every interaction with each item he had collected. While roaming through the dissolute terrain, the electronic pop-up ads felt as ancient as the Egyptian Pyramids. They also compacted the plot as neatly as Wall-E compacted the garbage. The ads serenely transformed the desperate need for people to flee Earth (due to their own neglect and excesses) into a five-year, once-in-a-lifetime pleasure trip on a luxury space cruiser. As Wall-E worked alongside the worst act of human nature (destruction of a planet), he came home each night and yearned for what was best in human nature (love). For him, it was personified the classic musical Hello, Dolly.
I’ve seen this thing for hundreds of years and I still can’t figure it out.
I’ve seen this thing for hundreds of years and I still can’t figure it out.Wall-E’s lonely existence changed when a gynormous spaceship landed on right on top of him. The spaceship’s arrival was as awe inspiring as 2001: A Space Odyssey, Close Encounter of The Third Kind, and the first time the Imperial Star Destroyer made its appearance in the original Star Wars. His dream came true when he set his mechanical eyes on a beautiful robot named EVE (Elissa Knight). She was a probe sent to discover any organic life signs on Earth. Wall-E and EVE’s interaction followed the classic pattern of screwball romantic comedy. Wall-E was the unconventionally likeable, charming and persistent. EVE was aloof, attractive, rich (in this case, much more advanced) and only focused on her work. She was as unattainable to Wall-E as six-pack abs is for Santa. EVE literally blasted perceived treats faster than a person’s hope of ever getting money back from a friend. Her heavy-handed over reactions didn’t scare… okay, it scared him, but it didn’t stop him. She eventually let her guard down and let Wall-E usher her through his world. Her gentle giggles were as delightful as his hopeful wonder. Two things grabbed EVE’s attention: the screen showing people dancing and singing, and a plant kept inside a boot. After analyzing it, she reacted as if she was kissed by her favorite Soap star. She grabbed the plant and shut down, leaving Wall-E as puzzled as any guy who had witnessed his dream girl go nuts.
No matter how much he cared for her and protected her from the elements, EVE didn’t respond. It was as if Wall-E got played for a sucker. She got what she wanted now she was treating him like the stuff he was supposed to clean up. In fact, she waited for her ship to blast her back into space, intended to never see Wall-E again. But like any lovesick fool, he wouldn’t let go. He clung on to her spaceship harder than a child’s wish for snow to keep him home from school. The shuttle headed for the AXIOM, the starliner that shipped out of Earth’s orbit 700 years ago.
Once Wall-E boarded the ship, security-bots took EVE away. Wall-E shifted into hero mode to free her. Along the way, he witnessed the ultimate “before and after” testimonials in reverse. When the global President and B&L CEO Shelby Forthright (Fred Willard) hawked the five-year vacation to paradise, the people in the ad were fit, active and directly engaged one another. On the 700-year anniversary of the cruise, people were morbidly obese, zooming around in their hover chairs and talking at their screens like zombies. There was no need to walk or even look at anyone face-to-face. Why should they? The robots catered to their every need. Until Wall-E. While scrambling to find EVE, his accidental interactions with John (John Ratzenberger) and Mary (Kathy Najimy) disrupted their hypnotic state and freed them from their virtual prisons.
Meanwhile, EVE was sent to report to the captain (Jeff Garlin). She informed him of her findings that would initiate Operation Recolonize. The plan was so forgotten, the captain had to rely on Auto, the ship’s auto pilot, to show him how to read and turn the pages of the owner’s manual. However, the captain’s history lesson turned out to be as worthless as a 401k account. The plant EVE stored inside her was gone. She couldn’t understand how it disappeared. Without it, she couldn’t complete her directive. When she was taken to diagnostics to be repaired, Wall-E found the downside to being the hero. His overzealous rescue singled him and EVE out as rogue robots.
EVE: If I wanted a savior I would’ve beeped for R2-D2.
EVE: If I wanted a savior I would’ve beeped for R2-D2.Once they had escaped, they caught one security-bot throwing the plant away in an escape pod. Before EVE could stop him, Wall-E entered to get the plant, but trapped himself in a pod that was set to explode. What they, and apparently everyone else on the ship, didn’t know was that Auto and the security-bots were running on a top-secret directive. The President and B&L CEO Forthright had sent an override order A-113 to cancel Operation Recolonize. It had become too toxic for people to return to Earth. But the order was sent 700 years ago. Unlike Wall-E, these robots couldn’t operate beyond their programming and carried out the order as if Forthright was still alive.
After Wall-E saved himself and the plant, EVE’s joy wasn’t just based on her directive, she was beginning to fall for him. Despite Wall-E, EVE and the captain’s determination, Auto’s A-113 order was like giving Popeye his spinach. Auto’s mutiny against the captain wasn’t like Hal 9000’s actions in 2001: A Space Odyssey. Hal’s gain for power was as greedy as NY’s MTA imposing fare hikes. Whereas, Auto was just following orders. As the captain learned more about his ancestral home, he felt compelled to do something useful like, steering the AXIOM back to Earth. Auto had other ideas, which include electrocuting Wall-E, locking the captain in his quarters and alerting all bots to stop EVE and Wall-E, treating them as enemy combatants.
During all this, EVE’s feelings for Wall-E deepened. The image of her sleek robot arm caressing his metal head was more touching than many live action chick flicks. Like any new rebel who finally found a cause, the captain planned his attack to take back control of the ship. While this struggle went on inside the bridge, EVE flew Wall-E to the place where the plant could initiate the course back to Earth. This simple task had a tremendous cost. Wall-E’s body was crushed beyond repair.
EVE: No robot, I mean, no robot is allowed to scare Wall-E except me!
EVE: No robot, I mean, no robot is allowed to scare Wall-E except me!Once the AXIOM landed on Earth, EVE flew to where Wall-E called home and frantically rebuilt him. The second his emotionless eyes stared at her, she desperately tried to remind him of what he loved most. However, she realized his new motherboard lacked all the memories he had accumulated. All of the curiosity, the yearning, the charm and the wonder was wiped away. The feeling of shock and emptiness were as uncomfortable as suffering through a power outage on a summer night. Fearing she had lost Wall-E forever, she “kisses” him, creating the same spark it had during their carefree dance in space. Just like an amnesia patient, the spark brought his memory back, proving that love was stronger than his programming.
What was remarkable about this film was how realistic it was compared to Pixar’s other work. It paralleled with the world of Serenity. The Joss Whedon ‘verse was set more than 500 years in the future and all the resources from “The Earth that Was” had been used up. The people were forced to leave the planet. Another similar aspect between the two movies was how an entire society lived under a global corporation. Wall-E had Buy and Large – B&L; Serenity had the Blue Sun Corporation. What differed greatly between the two was the tone. Wall-E still offered a chance for human kind to redeem itself. In Serenity, Earth was a grim afterthought. Humans braved life on planets they had colonized and terraformed (creating atmospheric conditions much similar to Earth’s). Also Blue Sun was more sinister with their covert operations, including kidnapping children and programming them to become assassins for the state.
In addition, all the robots in Wall-E sound like robots, not humans. However, Wall-E turned out to be the most human out of all the characters. What puzzled me was the different responses filmgoers had for Wall-E and Jar-Jar Binks from the Star Wars Prequels. They’re both reactionary characters, both suffer the brunt of their actions. Their comedy is based on timing and luck, but people loved Wall-E and still hate Jar-Jar. Why? Jar-Jar was introduced within a long revered film franchise. His bumbling benevolence was as welcomed as an ex-con dating a cop’s daughter. With Wall-E, he and his setting were new, which gave the robot a chance to develop his character. Also, his movements weren’t as awkward and his sounds were short and expressive like another iconic robot, R2-D2. Also, Jar-Jar’s style of comedy wasn’t what Star Wars fans expected or wanted after nearly two decades. There were light moments in the original trilogy, but the tone of the characters, even the droids, remained serious. Wall-E also benefited from his character design. His short, compact body and large expressive eyes were more adorable to the audience than Jar-Jar’s tall, large body and small eyes.
Everyone’s making a fuss over Wall-E and EVE. I’m the one who saved their metal butts.
Everyone’s making a fuss over Wall-E and EVE. I’m the one who saved their metal butts.Although Wall-E is more optimistic than most dystopia films, it a cautionary message set in a depressingly distant future. Yet, it still allows enough time for moviegoers to absorb the contrast of scale. EVE’s ship vs. Wall-E. The cockroach vs. the large skyscraper sized piles of garbage. The faint echo from the electronic ads popping up for a civilization long gone. These images don’t need dialogue, or editorializing, or filters. People are invited to observe the environment on their own terms, like pressing their noses on windows, taking in everything around them.
I knew I went overboard with the report, but the film had that much depth, and I had a lot to comment about. After proofreading and spell checking, I finally emailed it within 30 minutes of the deadline.
Sunset had come and gone and while I waited for my take out order to arrive at my apartment, my cell rang. Kate’s relieved voice couldn’t wait to thank me for the comprehensive report she and her daughter read. Wall-E was the first movie they enjoyed watching together. Kate also informed me that she had already mailed the remainder of my fee. She then wished me good night. It would’ve been had my roast beef with fries arrived much earlier and much warmer.
Anywho, the case of the improbable task is done. Thanks for checking in, everybody. See you next time. This is Devin V. Duncan, the D.V. Detective, logging off.
Case #2: Detective Duncan & The Case of The Baffling Trivia Question or The D.V. Detective Dives into Airplane! and Airport 1975
The name’s Duncan. Detective Duncan. The D. V. Detective. I hope that’s enough names for you. Anyway, a lot has changed since my first case. I stopped hiding from my landlord. I stopped answering in Spanish whenever the bill collectors called. I stopped using dial-up and upgraded to Broadband. Wow, that thing is fast! One thing that hasn’t stopped though, the feeling of a gambler watching his three-of-a-kind crumble under the weight of a royal flush. Lady Luck is loyal to no one and I’m carefully waiting for the day I catch her cheating.
The blast of cold water knocked me to the realization that I’m not alone. The smooth, petite hand clutching the empty glass was responsible for the reality check. If I hadn’t have trailed my eyes up from that hand to those pouting ruby lips, I would have said things kids under the age of seventeen aren’t permitted to hear without a parent. There’s reason why water is still dripping down my face: I zoned out long before Irene Carlton had stopped talking. Well, I know this much, The Case of the Baffling Trivia Question was about just that. One little trivia question motivated her to drive her sparkling new Lexus down to this sleazy part of town. That and her competitive nature. So much so I expected her to bet me if her car hadn’t changed owners during her visit here. She had bet her boyfriend and lost based on this question: “Which movie, other than Zero Hour, gave inspiration to the spoof classic Airplane!?” Irene’s answer was Airport 1975. Her boyfriend said Airport. They kept arguing until their mutual friend ruled in her boyfriend’s favor. The prospect of her having to wash his Bentley by hand for an entire week was as dreadful as sitting in between two people with bad breath. When Irene gave exhausted detail on how the car shampoo’s harsh chemicals would ruin her perfectly hydrated skin, the “no vacancy” sign flashed inside my brain. Hence, my dripping wet suit.
Later than night, my tired body sunk onto the recliner. I wondered when the delivery boy would get into the habit of finding my address. During the wait, I reached toward the coffee table and got my laptop and got down to business. I selected the bookmark for the movie rental site and… wait. I should’ve mentioned this earlier. Not only had I gained Broadband, I had gained another landlord. This time, the rent was for my privilege to eat, sleep and watch anything in a place where no potential clients would find any reason to turn around and walk out. Which was what I had to do. Walk out and get the Airport DVD collection my landlord borrowed and I was stupid enough to lend it to her.
When I returned, a teenager almost bumped into me in the hallway. He was as confused as an out-of-towner’s first ride on the subway. I turned to yell until I caught a whiff of what he was carrying. I called the delivery boy over and pointed at my apartment number and exchanged money for food. I gave him an extra dollar and suggested for him to save up for Lasik Eye Surgery. After gulping down my dinner like a model’s overnight binge, I got my mind ready for the triple feature. Five hours later, I flipped open my laptop, cracked my knuckles and started typing the following:
Dr. Rumack: God, please tell me I’m going to live. God, please tell me I’m going to live.
Dr. Rumack: God, please tell me I’m going to live. God, please tell me I’m going to live.The greatness found in Airplane! was the way parodied its source material. It transformed mundane scenes as much as removing braces transforms social lives. Naturally, the main inspiration was sparked by Zero Hour! However, directors Jim Abrahams, David Zucker and Jerry Zucker offered another story line up for comedic slaughter. After watching the two movies in question, Airport and Airport 1975, the additional inspiration clearly came from Airport 1975.
The spoof handled the “B” story (the gravely ill girl needing a life saving transplant) in the same humorous style the movie handled Zero Hour. The tremendous care in setting up scenes, camera angles and most of the dialogue forced viewers to wonder if they were watching the right movie. The scene where pilot Clarence Oveur (Peter Graves) answered the white courtesy phone and the doctor notifying him of the girl’s condition was set up to resemble the way it was done in Airport 1975, only the doctor in the parody wasn’t a pompous ass. In fact, the exposition took a backseat with what was added: the woman heard on the red phone, the rows and rows of jars behind the doctor, the heart literally bouncing across the screen and tying the Mayo Clinic pun with a deli reference gave this scene new life. Similarly, when the sick girl enjoyed being sung to also had an interesting twist. In Airport 1975, the girl owned the guitar and the nun sang to her.
Between you and me, my guitar is much better than the one the stewardess played for that other sick girl.
Between you and me, my guitar is much better than the one the stewardess played for that other sick girl.In the spoof, the stewardess (sorry, these films were made decades before political correctness ruined common sense) borrowed the guitar from the nun. As the scene became more exaggerated and slapstick, the more hilarious it became. What also mirrored the choices based upon Zero Hour! and Airport 1975 was the casting. The parody chose Kareem Aboul-Jabbar to fill the co-pilot role done by a sports figure in Zero Hour! Elroy “Crazy Legs” Hirsch. The same logic was done by selecting a famous pop singer Maureen McCovern to play a nun like Helen Reddy did in Airport 1975.
Additional similarities include: both movies began their opening credits with a plane soaring in the sky accompanied with ominous music, both movies had a pilot named Murdoch, and both movies shared the style and color of airplane logos. Another thing they shared was the feel of the 1970s. Polyester leisure suits, Disco, 70s lingo and TV personalities were as unavoidable as a man having to pick up the check on the first date. Airport 1975 had a future California Highway Patrolman, Erik Estrada (C.H.I.P.s) and a crotchety, but likable landlord, Norman Fell (Three’s Company). Airplane! showcased a handsome doctor who married a waitress, Robert Hays (Angie); a ship captain’s daughter, Jill Whelan (The Love Boat); WJN news writer’s wife, Joyce Bulifant (Mary Tyler Moore) and a cameo from Kid Dy-No-Mite himself, Jimmy “J.J.” Walker (Good Times).
Mother: Will people remember me more in this film or as Murray’s wife on Mary Tyler Moore?
In contrast, watching Airport was like cringing at a person who’s wearing an outfit much too young for him. The clothes. The movie score. The hair dos. Dean Martin? Unless he was hosting one of his celebrity roasts, the ex-Rat Packer watched the 70s through a rear view window. Also, the pacing of the film dragged. It had an old fashioned style of storytelling compared to its airplane disaster sequel five years later. The focus of the film felt as if it was split in half. The first half drew out the airport general manager’s personal life like a temp worker trying to get overtime. When the plane finally took off so did the plot. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not judging this movie on its quality. Airport is a much superior film than its sequel. However, the comparison to Airplane! is as offbase as a runner caught between third and home. Maybe your boyfriend was referring to parody’s sequel, Airplane II: The Sequel. This accurately shared the story line of a distraught man (Sonny Bono) carrying a bomb with Airport. Only difference was in the second spoof, it took place in a space shuttle. Unfortunately, this story line suffered due to the producers’ desperate attempts to recycle the gags and jokes Abrahams and the Zucker brothers accomplished in the original parody.
I’m dancing and sweating so hard. The least this writer could do is mention this scene in the review.
To restate, or better yet simplify, my research for your trivia question, Irene, is you were right and your boyfriend was wrong.
After proofreading and re-checking the facts and references, I emailed my report to Irene. After that, I went into the bedroom and reunited my head with my pillow.
The next day I expected a jovial Irene to glide into my office, gush how great a detective I was, and plant those moist, delectable lips on my cheek while leaving a check on my desk. But, once again, reality was more unpredictable than FOX’s primetime schedule. A sour-looking butler invited himself in and made his way to a chair as if a booby trap would spring on him at the last minute. He stated that Irene sent him to give me the rest of the fee she had owed me. I enjoyed seeing his distasteful smirk as he slid the envelope in my direction. I asked why she couldn’t thank me in person. The butler soured even more and murmured that making this errand was her part of the bet. A delicious smirk slid upon my face. The smug jackass before me was serving his week-long sentence as Irene’s errand boy. My only regret was not insisting I get in on that bet. If he could find my office, he would’ve had no problem delivering dinner to my apartment.
Oh, well. That ends the case of the baffling trivia question. Thanks for hearing me out. Catch you guys next time. This is Devin V. Duncan, the D.V. Detective, logging off.
Case #1: Detective Duncan & The Case of the Miscellaneous Gift or Devin V. Duncan Deconstructs Superman Returns
The name’s Duncan. Devin V. Duncan. I’m a private detective. I believed I could solve cases “Law and Order” and “CSI” couldn’t handle. For two agonizing years I gave out business cards, placed ads in the paper, even built my own website. Nothing. This tree remained silent in the concrete forest, until two days ago. I finally found my genre.
I pondered whether it was too late to jump into the Real Estate market when fate stepped in. Actually, it sauntered in. Her five-foot nine-inch voluptuous frame convinced me it was a good thing I had forgotten to lock the door. She had taken a seat before I could’ve offer it, which also took away my ringside view of her perfect legs. Damn.
Her name was Alicia Anders. She wasted no time using her honey-coated voice to state the reason why she had sought me out; she needed the perfect DVD. In her elite, rarified world, reputation is everything. Alicia was known for being an ideal gift giver. She wanted to make sure Superman Returns was worth preserving her reputation. In her world, buying merchandise with ninety-nine cents at the end of a price code is as worthless as… well, coming here. She needed to find a person no one in her social circle would ever share the same air, a loser desperate enough to finish a meaningless job by the following morning. In other words, she needed a down and out detective. Alicia didn’t say those exact words, but her eyes conveyed the meaning just the same.
If this were the case of the missing lunatic, I would have called the asylum because I’ve definitely found a genuine nutcase: Me. I actually considered taking the case. Alicia must have noticed my attempt to hold on to my self-respect while she reached into her purse and let a bunch of hundred dollar bills dangle between her dainty, well-manicured fingers. Enough money for me to say “yes” and start working on what I called: The Case of the Miscellaneous Gift.
The moment Alicia left I flipped open my laptop and searched for an online movie rental site. When I found Superman Returns I clicked the download button. The progression bar crawled slower than a drunk finding his way into a taxi. After several hours cursing myself for neglecting to upgrade my internet connection, the downloading finally ended. The overnight showing of Superman Returns had begun.
Throughout the night, the scenes blurred past my tired eyes like overhead highway signs whizzing past a grossly overworked trucker. The evidence mounted like a child’s Christmas list. My desire to make up three months rent choked my desire to sleep and wrote the following:
There’s no place like home… now that I’m sure that Krypton really is gone.
Superman Returns was supposedly set five years after the events which took place in Superman II. The most ethical, moral being on the planet decided those five years were better spent making sure his home planet of Krypton was actually destroyed. When Superman came back, he found he wasn’t as irreplaceable as he thought. The Earth still turned on its axis, governments still held their elections and Lois Lane still held onto her ace reporter job at the Daily Planet. Even though names of days and months stay the same it’s the years that make them different. Lois had upgraded her life by adding a Pulitzer Prize, a fiancé named Richard White (Perry White’s nephew) and their son, Jason White.
Lex: Ooooh. I can make land out of this.
She wasn’t the only one who had taken advantage of The Man of Steel’s sabbatical. The criminal master in his own mind, Lex Luthor, concocted his homemade recipe to grow land. It consisted of swiping a few Kryptonian crystals straight from his enemy’s place of residence, The Fortress of Solitude, embedding each crystal with chunks of the green substance deadly to only his said enemy, then dumping them into the Atlantic Ocean. Wa-la – instant expensive real estate. The only drawback was for the people residing on the Eastern seaboard. They wouldn’t live to see it. They would be stuck at the bottom of the ocean.
The good part of the flick rested on the young shoulders of Brandon Routh. I expected his presence would’ve been as irritating as checking a bag at the airport. Instead, I was pleasantly surprised. Although he still has an extremely large cape to fill, Brandon has the potential to grow out of his Christopher Reeve-like performance.
Has Lois gotten into trouble yet?
Has Lois gotten into trouble yet?The bad parts rested on plot that had more holes than a bum’s wardrobe. This film followed the failed General Zod run for Supreme Ruler of the Universe. However, which version did Superman Returns follow? The “official” Richard Lester version of Superman II made it perfectly clear that the Big Boy Scout vowed never to go AWOL again. But in the “originally intended” Richard Donner version, everything, including Zod and his comrades’ tyrannical tirades, were null and void after Superman did his second “do-over” trick and turned the Earth backwards again. This also erased any doubt of a personal issue surrounding Lois’ son. No matter how many times the coin was tossed, the outcome remained the same: There was no need for Superman to leave Earth.Without this major plot device the flick would’ve collapsed like a failed marriage proposal, which should have transpired between Lois and Richard White. Don’t get me wrong, Richie was actually a nice guy. However, James Marsden needed to find a role where his character was allowed to get the girl, not to just keep her company until the last fifteen minutes of the movie.
As for Kate Bosworth’s portrayal of the plucky reporter, it was as appealing as watching a ten-second Boxing match. I’ll go so far as to suggest if she and Parker Posey, who was miscast as Lex’s latest vixen, switched roles, the film would’ve had a fighting chance. Speaking of Lex, (and, unfortunately, Kevin Spacey’s uneven performance) his evil plan had cost him the title “the greatest criminal mind of our time” to The Joker.
Clark: I can’t believe how much Richard looks like Cyclops, and that prince guy in “Enchanted.”
The special effects did what they were made to do, eagerly showing their worth like an employee on his first day. Several of these spectacular scenes begged for the audience’s attention so much it slowed the pace of the movie. It had gotten to the point where checking my watch for the correct time was more important than watching people get tossed around.
What really stuck out the most was the missed opportunity for Superman Returns to demonstrate how Superman’s unwavering virtue never went of style. The movie gave in to cynical, contemporary attitudes and tried hard to peel off the corny label by having him do some morally questionable actions like spying on Lois, drinking and possibly being a deadbeat dad. The filmmakers should have let him wear his Boy Scout badge proudly, proving that Superman brings hope and optimism no matter how dark and uncertain times become.
My recommendation to you, Alicia: Choose another DVD. Consider purchasing the original Superman movie, which starred Christopher Reeve.
Once I finished my report, checked for spelling errors and fumbled around for the business card Alicia left on the desk, I emailed my file to her. My fingers ached, my eyes weighed fifty pounds, but I felt good. I felt even better when I fell asleep.
The next morning Alicia returned with a smile, indicating my investigation was a success. The case of the Miscellaneous Gift was closed. You might hear from me again. I’m sure there are more clueless socialites searching for the perfect DVD. Until then, this is Devin V. Duncan, the D. V. Detective, logging off.