Modern Gods, a review
Modern Gods is a short film about a thief and a goddess. The Greek goddess Artemis, and other members of her pantheon have come to America seeking to find new followers. Unfortunately they are having a rather rough go of it until Artemis stumbles upon a potential follower in the form of a would be thief fleeing from the law. Or rather, he stumbles upon her.
The film opens with a high energy song that helps to build the action. The filmmaker uses a variety of cuts and angles that lend to the fast paced introduction. As we watch the protagonist robbing a restaurant and subsequently fleeing from the law we get feel his emotions without a single line of dialogue spoken. He pulls his truck over at the side of the road to continue his escape on foot. That is when he runs into Artemis and the real fun begins.
The film continues to impress with excellent use of color, lighting and contrast. The sets and locations are very minimalist. One can only imagine that budget was a major concern. Despite this they use what they have to great effect. I was drawn into the film’s world almost immediately. Modern Gods uses clever editing and camera tricks to make up for their lack of budget. They manage to convincingly convey the power and might of the gods with very few special effects.
As one might expect from an independant short film the quality of the performers is less than stellar. The poor acting from most of the cast took me a few moments to overcome. However the excellent dialogue soon won out over the mediocre talent. The character interaction is stupendous. The jokes are clever, and in the case of Artemis, rather well delivered. Despite being a mere eleven minutes and fifty seven seconds long the characters undergo incredible development. The thief learns from his mistakes and even comes to appreciate Artemis by the conclusion.
Where the writing really shines is the analogue between the gods trying to find new worship in America and the misconceptions of the modern United States as a land of unending opportunity. The gods came to the new world hoping to have everything handed to them but learned quickly that the grass isn’t always greener on the other side. They had to work to earn the respect and adoration they so craved and, what’s more, they had to start at the bottom to do so.
I first encountered many of the themes explored in the film in Neil Gaiman’s novel “American Gods”. While Gaiman’s work was notably darker in tone and feel, much of the concepts were the same. The gods of the old world had been brought to America by the beliefs of the immigrants and as time passed, and the faith of their followers waned, they grew restless and weary. Both this film and Gaiman’s novel dealt with the concept of losing one’s sense of purpose and overcoming it through hard work and perseverance. Albeit they did so in drastically different ways artistically.
Overall, I really enjoyed the way the film’s writer blended a light hearted narrative with an exceptionally poignant message. Even without a background in mythology audiences can relate to the characters and their struggles. It was an excellent short film worthy of my adoration, if not my worship.
Rooting For The Wolf: A Review of Red
Everyone knows the story of Little Red Riding Hood. A little girl is walking through the forest on the way to her grandmother’s house when she is confronted by the sinister Big Bad Wolf who wishes to do her harm. The short film “Red” takes that classic tale and turns it on its head. In this rendition the familiar young girl is walking through woods and is stalked by a dangerous looking wolf. It is soon revealed that the fierce creature is an adorable little boy who just wants to give her a token of his affection. Unfortunately for him all he manages to do is startle her. Frightened, she takes flight and the boy gives chase. When he finally catches her she drops her basket, spilling her treats across the forest floor. Angry, she sends the boy away in shame. Of course, that is when the real danger arrives and our story properly begins.
From the opening scene I was drawn in. The animation is raw and almost unfinished. However, it never seems incomplete. The rough looking art style lends a charm to the story that might have been lost with a more polished approach. The character designs are downright adorable. The color palette is rather limited but used to great effect. They manage to be at once pale and vibrant, an interesting trick to be sure. The movement of the characters is far from fluid. One could argue the film is more of an animatic than a proper animation at points. This never seems like a flaw. The staggered movement enhances the flow of the scenes. It suits the images quite well, lending them a very surreal quality. The visuals are reminiscent of the illustrations in the children’s books my mother used to read to me before I had learned how to do so for myself.
Not a single line of dialogue is uttered throughout the entire piece but it is never needed. Despite the choppy, unfinished animation they manage to speak volumes through the characters expressions alone. The music accompanies the images masterfully. Like the art style it is simple and to the point but it is brilliantly placed. The way it swells with the action and lays low in more subdued scenes helps to express the thoughts and feelings of our mute heroes.
In the end I found the film delightful. I think I smiled the entire time, start to finish. At the end of the film I spoke aloud words of delight even though I was very much alone. It was charming and innocent without coming across as naïve or pretentious. The filmmakers managed to catch me off guard by twisting the familiar just enough to make it interesting without being disrespectful to the source material. Too often, especially with big budget Hollywood films, directors and screenwriters try to put their own spin on classic tales and they wind up with an unintelligible mess. It was refreshing to see a unique take on a timeless story that actually works.
The Man-E-Faces of He-Man and the Masters of the Universe
When I a small boy, four or five years of age, I wanted nothing more than to be He-Man. I sat in front of that television sit eagerly awaiting The Masters of the Universe every day. When I got a bit older He-Man was no longer in production but it had gone into syndication on a variety of channels. I continued to watch faithfully, even watch the sub-par She-Ra spin off in the hopes that He-Man would make one of his infrequent appearances on his sister’s show. When I was eleven or twelve the 80s had ended and He-Man went away with them.
You can imagine my delight when He-Man and The Masters of the Universe was recently uploaded to Netflix. I was a bit hesitant at first. I have watched a few shows from my childhood recently. Nostalgia has a way of distorting the truth and I would have been much better leaving those beloved shows in my memory. Despite several recent nostalgic flops I couldn’t resist watching my childhood hero once again. Much to my surprise… He-Man was amazing.
When the first episode began I immediately remembered the plot. Skeletor was trying to take over Eternia, as he is wont to do. His plan involved taking control of the creatively named Cosmic Comet to attack Castle Greyskull and steal its power. While my memories of the episode’s events held true they were lacking a vital element. Master of the Universe is insane. The characters are eccentric, the dialogue is witty, the plots are reasonably complex, and the humor is far more mature than my child’s brain was ready to comprehend. The entire series has a wondrous charm to it that I did not remember and certainly did not expect.
I remembered well that Skeletor was amusing. Even as a child the way he scolded his minions was hysterical. However, I somehow never noticed how great the rest of the cast was. Prince Adam and his “fearless friend” Cringer the cowardly tiger bicker like an old gay couple. Orko, the bumbling sorcerer who’s role is clearly to entertain the toddlers, is beyond annoying. However, he serves as the butt of some hilariously cruel jokes delivered by the principle cast, usually the sharp witted Cringer.
Another thing that escaped my memories was how many stories broke the formula of “Skeletor launches a half-baked plan to conquer Eternia only to be foiled again by He-Man.” Not only have Skeletors minions been given many episodes without their master present, a large portion of the series features unique characters that were never given the honor of being released as an action figure. These characters were often the most interesting as they were born from the creativity of the writers and not some marketing executive trying to sell a toy. After noticed I had reached my tenth episode in a row without my beloved Skeletor I grew curious and looked up how many times he actually appeared in the series. Of the 130 episodes Skeletor was only featured in a paltry 71. He barely made it over the halfway point.
Watching this show as an adult has been a unique experience. Every time I sit down in my comfy chair and fire up my Netflix account for a visit to Eternia I am surprised. It is interesting to compare the memories of my youth to the reality of today. Finally after so many failures, yes I mean you Kids in the Hall, it is nice to find a show that actually exceeds my recollection. Every time he holds aloft his magic sword and says those wonderful words, “By The Power of Grayskull”, I feel like that little boy again and it is one of the best feelings in the world.
The 9th Gate Review, 12 years later
This movie review is long over due. I saw this filth back in the late nineties. The advertisements made it look wonderful. It featured Frank Langella and Johnny Depp in a movie about The Devil. What could go wrong? Apparently everything! The film drags for what seems like hours as the future Jack Sparrow tries to piece together some intricate puzzle. The characters are weak and the plot is anything but interesting. Then when it is finally and mercifully over the ending makes little to no sense! Worse still the female lead strips down and rides Johnny like a 1 cent pony outside of a supermarket. I can only imagine that the film’s producers realized what a uninteresting pile they had on their hands. So instead of trying to fix the problem they tossed in some breasts and rolled the credits.
Though normally a gigantic fan of Langella and Depp, I must warn any and all to stay as far away from this film as humanly possible. Over a decade later and I still wants that two hours of my life back.
Final Grade: F
Bygone Age of Film
This Can Never Happen Again… To Us
I took a trip to The Holocaust Memorial Center in Farmington Hills, Michigan with my friends Andrew and Claire. The original plan was the simply wander the museum on our own. However, when I discovered they offered a guided I decided that would be far more valuable than going on my own. Had I not taken the tour I can guarantee I would be writing a far different essay.
The tour began with an explanation of a massive monument in the front lobby. It was an enormous wall with the names of many countries, each occompanied by a numeric figure. In some cases these figures were very large. As I suspected the numbers represented the number of people killed in each nation by the Nazis and their collaberators. What I had not expected was that the number only represented the number of Jewish lives taken by the Nazis.
The docent explained in detail what happened to the Jews in the various concentration camps. He specifically mentioned The Paradise Ghetto and the blunders of the Red Cross. However during this discussion little attention was paid to anyone else who suffered in the holocaust. He gave a brief mention to the gypsies and the disabled but no one else.
The tour moved on into a large room covered in many murals. Much time was spent explaining the various aspects of life as a Jew, including many elements of Jewish faith. We spent what I would imagine was near a half hour listening to the history of the Jewish people in Europe. While I do understand the relevance I was quite put off by the guide’s tone. It seemed as though he was trying to convince his audience why the Jews did not deserve what happened to them rather than presenting the history leading up to the holocaust. This defensive tone would continue throughout the rest of the tour.
After nearly an hour learning about the history of the Jewish people we arrived in a small hallway lined with cases containing various Nazi paraphenalia. There our guide gave us a brief overview of Hitler’s rise to power and then hurried us along.
Around the corner we came to what our guide referred to as “The Abyss”. A dark, narrow chamber where disturbing images from the holocaust were projected onto the walls. He warned us that anyone who was faint of heart or weak of stomach should hurry through to the other side and try not to gaze upon the morbid scenes. I can only imagine that he assumed we were all possessed of weak constitutions because he hurried the entire tour along, not allowing us to stop and gaze at the forewarned imagery.
The tour was now reaching its conclusion and we were brought before a large television monitor. There we were instructed to watch a film that was, according to our guide, meant to warn us that such horrors could happen again. The video played for about five minutes. In that time the narrator spoke of being vigilant and not allowing evil to go unnoticed. Urging us to report attrocities when we see them. This message carried little weight as the video presentation failed to mention the genocide in Rwanda, Cambodia, or Sudan. When discussing racial tollerance the video showed only white and black people. No other ethnicity was depicted. However, a confusing number of images from University of Michigan sporting events were featured quite prominently.
Knowing that the Memorial Center was owned and operated by Jews I was not surprised that the museum, especially the tour, would have a strong Jewish bias. What I was not expecting is that everyone else who suffered through the holocaust would be largely ignored. The message they were trying so hard to get across was that we must be on guard. We mustn’t allows such horrors to happen again. But all I could I could hear was “we cannot allow it to happen again… to us.”
The Electric Leash
When I was a child I couldn’t conceive of knowing who was on the telephone before I answered it. When the phone rang you simply answered it or you did not. These days nearly every phone is equipped with the modern marvel of caller identification. You can instantly determine if the person waiting on the other end of the line was a loved one or a dreaded telemarketer. This new piece of technology has given us the ability to screen our calls more effectively and has effectively abolished the prank call.
Though caller identification first appeared in my home it wasn’t long before it spread to my pants pocket as well. I don’t associate with a single person that doesn’t own their very own cell phone. Even my grandmother, once frightened by the prospect of programming her VCR, has taken to texting me on a regular basis. The cell phone enriched our lives in many ways even before the advent of the smart phone and its near infinite applications. The feeling of security I have knowing I have immediate access to a 911 operator wherever I may be is reason enough to continue carrying it with me.
The cell phone keeps us connected to one another in ways we couldn’t have dreamed of just a few short decades ago. Since I have owned one I have not only started communicating with my close friends more often, I have become closer with many others. Thanks to my cell phone’s unlimited texting plan and lack of long distance charges I can chat with my friend David again. He moved to Indiana a number of years ago and we had almost completely lost touch. Now we talk nearly every day.
There is no denying the many benefits cell phones have brought to our society as a whole. However, those boons did not come without a price. A few months ago my phone rang. It was my cousin calling. I was tired from a long day at work and I was enjoying a movie before bed. When I didn’t answer she called again almost immediately. She called me many times that night but I never answered. After the third failed attempt to reach me she decided to leave a nasty message in my voice mail box. For the sake of decency I will refrain from quoting her. Because she knew that I, like all cell phone users, had caller identification she assumed that I was avoiding her and took offense.
In the days before cell phones and caller identification if somebody didn’t answer the phone you just called back later. Now not answering your phone is taken as a personal affront. While my cousin’s reaction was the most drastic example of this phenomenon I have experienced it is not the only one. I have had multiple friends leave messages informing me how wounded they felt that I didn’t answer the phone for them.
I enjoy the having access to my friends and family sitting in my pocket. It is reassuring to know that I call anyone I want from anywhere I am. The paradox is that as free as it makes me feel it also makes me feel trapped. I am now obligated to talk to whoever should call me regardless of what I am doing at the time or else risk damaging their fragile ego. The truth be told I would never give up my wondrous device, but I can’t help but miss the carefree days before it fell into my pocket.
