Wow. I haven't gotten more enjoyment from a website in months. Check this out.
I'll be posting the obligatory New York post later. I need some time to mull it over.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Friday, March 6, 2009
"Your turn. What do you see?"
I was very young. Too young to be reading this material. But something about that yellow cover with a blood-red stain attracted my naive eye towards it. Flipping through pages produced emotions that run the gamut from horror to sheer joy. Of course, I had read a wide variety of comics at the time--with most of my education coming from the stereotypical heroes: Batman, Spider-Man, Superman, the X-Men. The only one from that group that comes close to being entirely human is, the Dark Knight himself. He was my first real journey into the depths of literature--and watching him grow amongst death and chaos helped a small, fragile mind like mine develop enough to think for itself.
And then, there was Watchmen.
These characters were like no one I had ever heard of. A sociopath who does not let killing stop his pursuit of justice. A rapist asshole who understands the joke--and who was rumored to have shot John F. Kennedy. A human-being who has reached the peak of performance, but still keeps his college-professor demeanor. The man who hung up his suit to lead a better life, and got nowhere. A god among men--who cannot connect with any of them.
So, after almost ten years of waiting for an on-screen adaptation, Zack Snyder has bestowed upon us his view of Alan Moore's cherished baby.
I loved it the first time. I enjoyed myself the second time. And yet there was a twinge of disappointment in the back of my brain. I tried to force myself to forgive Snyder for taking his creative liberties with the ending, but I feel like I've been let down. A book as deep as Watchmen has constantly been called "un-filmable," and I now have to agree. Jackie Earl Haley (Rorschach) Jeffrey Dean Morgan (Comedian) and Patrick Wilson (Nite Owl II) all turn in fantastic performances. It is now impossible to read any of Rorschach's lines from the novel without hearing Haley's haunting, noir narration.
But, looking back and removing my rose-colored glasses, I feel so... underwhelmed. At first, I was fine with Snyder changing the ending, but now--I resent it. It misses the point. The ending is supposed to unite the entire planet under one common goal, but now they pin the whole mess on Dr. Manhattan--who is fine to take the blame. The scenes of Laurie and Jon walking through the rubble and bodies and blood--which takes TWELVE full splash-pages in the novel--is over in barely thirty seconds. If Ozymandias was supposed to feel the guilt of his actions, why aren't they shown?
The subtle details and characters were all there, but they felt empty. I was eager to see how Snyder would pull off Hollis Mason's murder--and he wasn't. In a book that involves so much human suffering--why did Snyder remove the suffering?
Snyder is fantastic at taking a piece of literature, skimming across the top, and producing a polished--if not perfect--work of art. So, while I didn't enjoy 300 as much as everyone else did, I applauded him for his general loyalty to the original material. The movie opens with a fantastically nostalgic montage of the alternate world that Watchmen is set in--which is, in particular, one of my absolute favorite scenes. But then, I was forced to acquiesce to Snyder's choices and fight back my own grievances.
I let it slide that Hollis Mason is in approximately two minutes of the movie. I overlooked that Silk Spectre I may have had the worst makeup in superhero history. I tried to understand why Malin Ackerman decided to over-act to the point of nausea.
Maybe it's because I feel so attached to the source. After the thrill of seeing the legendary characters on-screen for the first time had died down--I was left feeling empty. Perhaps my expectations were too high. Watchmen has always been one of my favorite books to loan out because I love seeing somebody's reaction as they read the same story that affected me ten years ago--and most everybody's reaction to the movie was just the same. But I felt like something was missing from the entirety of the film, and I don't think Snyder could do anything about it.
I knew from the beginning that the movie would never replace the novel. It's just impossible. But it feels as if Snyder stayed just faithful enough to get the point across--a point he casually throws in towards the ending. Of course, we were granted the gift of seeing Rorschach, Nite Owl, and Comedian played completely perfectly--and that is something that will always make the movie re-watchable--but the rest of the cast is played either too shallow or too over dramatic.
I want to love this movie. I really do. But can't you forgive me for not being blown away like I was by the novel? If you've already seen the movie, try to look with an objective eye at what you watched. It took me a while to see, and I'm not entirely sure if I appreciate my new point of view. But I can't change it now, can I?
All of my feelings for this novel can't be expressed in just one short blog post--so if you'd like to know everything that ran through my mind, then we can chat about it.
And then, there was Watchmen.
These characters were like no one I had ever heard of. A sociopath who does not let killing stop his pursuit of justice. A rapist asshole who understands the joke--and who was rumored to have shot John F. Kennedy. A human-being who has reached the peak of performance, but still keeps his college-professor demeanor. The man who hung up his suit to lead a better life, and got nowhere. A god among men--who cannot connect with any of them.
So, after almost ten years of waiting for an on-screen adaptation, Zack Snyder has bestowed upon us his view of Alan Moore's cherished baby.
I loved it the first time. I enjoyed myself the second time. And yet there was a twinge of disappointment in the back of my brain. I tried to force myself to forgive Snyder for taking his creative liberties with the ending, but I feel like I've been let down. A book as deep as Watchmen has constantly been called "un-filmable," and I now have to agree. Jackie Earl Haley (Rorschach) Jeffrey Dean Morgan (Comedian) and Patrick Wilson (Nite Owl II) all turn in fantastic performances. It is now impossible to read any of Rorschach's lines from the novel without hearing Haley's haunting, noir narration.
But, looking back and removing my rose-colored glasses, I feel so... underwhelmed. At first, I was fine with Snyder changing the ending, but now--I resent it. It misses the point. The ending is supposed to unite the entire planet under one common goal, but now they pin the whole mess on Dr. Manhattan--who is fine to take the blame. The scenes of Laurie and Jon walking through the rubble and bodies and blood--which takes TWELVE full splash-pages in the novel--is over in barely thirty seconds. If Ozymandias was supposed to feel the guilt of his actions, why aren't they shown?
The subtle details and characters were all there, but they felt empty. I was eager to see how Snyder would pull off Hollis Mason's murder--and he wasn't. In a book that involves so much human suffering--why did Snyder remove the suffering?
Snyder is fantastic at taking a piece of literature, skimming across the top, and producing a polished--if not perfect--work of art. So, while I didn't enjoy 300 as much as everyone else did, I applauded him for his general loyalty to the original material. The movie opens with a fantastically nostalgic montage of the alternate world that Watchmen is set in--which is, in particular, one of my absolute favorite scenes. But then, I was forced to acquiesce to Snyder's choices and fight back my own grievances.
I let it slide that Hollis Mason is in approximately two minutes of the movie. I overlooked that Silk Spectre I may have had the worst makeup in superhero history. I tried to understand why Malin Ackerman decided to over-act to the point of nausea.
Maybe it's because I feel so attached to the source. After the thrill of seeing the legendary characters on-screen for the first time had died down--I was left feeling empty. Perhaps my expectations were too high. Watchmen has always been one of my favorite books to loan out because I love seeing somebody's reaction as they read the same story that affected me ten years ago--and most everybody's reaction to the movie was just the same. But I felt like something was missing from the entirety of the film, and I don't think Snyder could do anything about it.
I knew from the beginning that the movie would never replace the novel. It's just impossible. But it feels as if Snyder stayed just faithful enough to get the point across--a point he casually throws in towards the ending. Of course, we were granted the gift of seeing Rorschach, Nite Owl, and Comedian played completely perfectly--and that is something that will always make the movie re-watchable--but the rest of the cast is played either too shallow or too over dramatic.
I want to love this movie. I really do. But can't you forgive me for not being blown away like I was by the novel? If you've already seen the movie, try to look with an objective eye at what you watched. It took me a while to see, and I'm not entirely sure if I appreciate my new point of view. But I can't change it now, can I?
All of my feelings for this novel can't be expressed in just one short blog post--so if you'd like to know everything that ran through my mind, then we can chat about it.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Darkness On the Edge of Town
I'll be turning 18 on April 3rd, 2009. Bruce Springsteen will be at the Dodge Theatre that night. The Bruce Springsteen. The Bruce that taught me about high school and love and hope and helped me through more lonely nights than possibly any other person.
I'll be missing that show.
It would have been so perfect.
It would have been so perfect.
Ironically, I'll be performing in Hamilton's dinner-theatre performance that. Theatre has taught me so much as well--but no one comes close to The Boss when it comes to high school.
I like to think that I'll be there in spirit--but I won't. Mine will be out on the stage.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The Wrestler
So, apparently, if you play a homo or a retard--you win an Oscar.
No offense, but come on. Mickey Rourke had the best performance of the year in The Wrestler, and he's back on the rise from his recent rock bottom. I'll admit that Sean Penn had a great performance, but Rourke got screwed. He played a character that wasn't an Oscar-winning stereotype, and that should have counted for something.
Oh, and The Wrestler should have one Best Picture over Slumdog too. I'm so sick of people slobbering over Slumdog Millionaire. Yay--it's an average movie from the Middle East that just happens to have amazing cinematography, but there's no way it's better than The Wrestler, Milk, or Frost / Nixon. Hell, the kids in Slumdog all out-acted their adult counterparts.
And a big "Bravo!" to Heath Ledger and his family--who definitely had the best acceptance speech of the night. Kate Winslett was great, too.
All in all, it was a very good Oscar night--even though Curious Case of Benjamin Button shouldn't have been nominated for Best Picture. Especially because The Dark Knight was a thousand times better.
No offense, but come on. Mickey Rourke had the best performance of the year in The Wrestler, and he's back on the rise from his recent rock bottom. I'll admit that Sean Penn had a great performance, but Rourke got screwed. He played a character that wasn't an Oscar-winning stereotype, and that should have counted for something.
Oh, and The Wrestler should have one Best Picture over Slumdog too. I'm so sick of people slobbering over Slumdog Millionaire. Yay--it's an average movie from the Middle East that just happens to have amazing cinematography, but there's no way it's better than The Wrestler, Milk, or Frost / Nixon. Hell, the kids in Slumdog all out-acted their adult counterparts.
And a big "Bravo!" to Heath Ledger and his family--who definitely had the best acceptance speech of the night. Kate Winslett was great, too.
All in all, it was a very good Oscar night--even though Curious Case of Benjamin Button shouldn't have been nominated for Best Picture. Especially because The Dark Knight was a thousand times better.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
With a Little Help From My Friends
I have this strange feeling sometimes. Like I'm supposed to write a specific song. Usually, the song produces itself through normal methods--such as brainstorming or just flat-out inspiration. But, for the longest time, I've felt like there was a song in me that I could never get to come out.
In fourth grade, I had a close friend named Bobby Fisher. He was an unbelievable kid. He drew and painted like no one I'd ever seen. Granted--we were only nine years old, but I looked up to him as a best friend and confidant. We were practically polar opposites when it came to art. He could visualize and then create anything he wanted--and I was always the aural counterpart. We had a lot of great memories; my mom and his were even friends in college.
On a cold day in April, Bobby didn't come to school. At recess, we saw smoke rising from his neighborhood. At our baseball game that night, he wasn't there.
I returned home after a night of fun to a news report. An emotionless news anchor delivered the words like a stone--sinking deep into my heart.
Robert Fisher, Bobby's father, had waited until his family had fallen asleep. He then collected his hunting knife, lighter fluid, and camping supplies. He piled the supplies into his truck, lit the house on fire and then drove away--but not before waking each member of the household just long enough to slit their throats.
Bobby was awake when his own father killed him.
After reading a friend's entry on losing someone close, I felt that she and I had a lot of the same common feelings. So, I have to give her credit for this song. It doesn't have a title yet--she hasn't gotten back to me--but I'd like to think of this as Bobby's song.
© Casey Reed, 2009
A big thank you to Lauren for finally dragging this song out of me.
In fourth grade, I had a close friend named Bobby Fisher. He was an unbelievable kid. He drew and painted like no one I'd ever seen. Granted--we were only nine years old, but I looked up to him as a best friend and confidant. We were practically polar opposites when it came to art. He could visualize and then create anything he wanted--and I was always the aural counterpart. We had a lot of great memories; my mom and his were even friends in college.
On a cold day in April, Bobby didn't come to school. At recess, we saw smoke rising from his neighborhood. At our baseball game that night, he wasn't there.
I returned home after a night of fun to a news report. An emotionless news anchor delivered the words like a stone--sinking deep into my heart.
Robert Fisher, Bobby's father, had waited until his family had fallen asleep. He then collected his hunting knife, lighter fluid, and camping supplies. He piled the supplies into his truck, lit the house on fire and then drove away--but not before waking each member of the household just long enough to slit their throats.
Bobby was awake when his own father killed him.
After reading a friend's entry on losing someone close, I felt that she and I had a lot of the same common feelings. So, I have to give her credit for this song. It doesn't have a title yet--she hasn't gotten back to me--but I'd like to think of this as Bobby's song.
Untitled
As the train rattled past the quiet house
Muffled by a heavy sigh
I read the letters that he wrote that night
Signed his name one last time
The walk by the River, the mass that night
Moon reflecting in his eyes
Watched my brother break down
Slipping back through endless life
[Chorus]
He would have been the one to end it all
Caught me right before the fall
We all knew where he was going
Just didn't know where he had gone
Clouds in your heart drew words of love
Silence choked the air
Rolling boulders to the top of Hell
Just to have them roll back down
[Chorus]
[Bridge]
Didn't deserve it, didn't even know
Still has the music buried in the snow
Didn't deserve it, didn't even know
Buried that music deep in my soul
We haven't seen or heard from him
Since he traveled on
Watched the smoke rise up again
Write another sad song and move on
Write another sad song and move on
[Chorus]
He would have been the one to end it all
Caught me right before the fall
We all knew where he was going
Just didn't know where he had gone
© Casey Reed, 2009
A big thank you to Lauren for finally dragging this song out of me.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Blue In Green
Picked up the 50th Anniversary Edition of Kind of Blue. The packaging is amazing, so I thought I would share.
BLUE vinyl! Amazing! It's almost opaque--but you can see right through it!
The packaging is a hardshell sleeve type with embossed "50s" along the outside
BLUE vinyl! Amazing! It's almost opaque--but you can see right through it!
The packaging is a hardshell sleeve type with embossed "50s" along the outside
The commemorative book has two identical posters--one I plan to frame and the other to keep with the rest of the memoribilia. The book contains pictures and essays about the album equalling out to almost 10,000 words!
Inside the gate-fold sleeve are the two CDs, one DVD, and the LP is in its normal spot in the front half of the sleeve. The track listings are next to each CD, and pianist Bill Evan's essay for the album is printed on the inside fold.
Inside this packet, there are five 8x10 photos, a copy of the handwritten essay by Bill Evans, and a reproduction of the original 1959 liner notes and book--which were both included with the original.
All of the contents
Inside the gate-fold sleeve are the two CDs, one DVD, and the LP is in its normal spot in the front half of the sleeve. The track listings are next to each CD, and pianist Bill Evan's essay for the album is printed on the inside fold.
Inside this packet, there are five 8x10 photos, a copy of the handwritten essay by Bill Evans, and a reproduction of the original 1959 liner notes and book--which were both included with the original.
All of the contentsObviously, I'm sort of having a miniature music-nerd freak out. Who else would photograph themselves opening a record?
You know how some people put their arms in front of their kids when the child is riding in the front seat?
I did that with this album.
You know how some people put their arms in front of their kids when the child is riding in the front seat?
I did that with this album.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
The Way Young Lovers Do
I've noticed something not too recently--mostly about my own relationships and dorky crushes.
Most of the girls I've been attracted to, either for a brief moment or a long period of time, have all been very faithful to some higher power. This pattern stretches all the way back to my Freshmen year, but I'm just now seeing it.
I've never been particularly religious, which has been a struggle for me since around 7th grade. I did go to church as a kid--but I never acknowledged those nights as actual spiritual events. The Christian activities we would go through were always just minor inconveniences in the path toward playing around with my friends. These experiences have obviously spilled over into my high school years--but my lack of faith has affected me more than I'll let myself believe.
Is it wrong of me to not want to go to church? My sister is afraid that I'll go to Hell--but even that doesn't convince me to try to change my ways. In all honesty, I don't think I can change my ways. Flipping through channels with preacher after preacher just totally disgusts me--but I can never pinpoint the reason why that is.
But I think I'm starting to realize my reasoning.
During the time of night when most people are praying--I'm listening. When most people are praising--I'm writing. When most people are worshiping--I'm too busy thinking.
I've now learned that I have a negative view towards religion because I've replaced these normal religious activities with my own sense of introspection and thought. I'm not one of these "God Hates Fags" people and I don't protest outside churches, but I feel that my own way of worship is better for myself--so I don't plan on changing anytime soon.
So now I'm trying to fill that spiritual void in myself, with ever-degrading results. Fortunately, this leads me to listen to more music--which brings me to new heights during every listen.
Most of the girls I've been attracted to, either for a brief moment or a long period of time, have all been very faithful to some higher power. This pattern stretches all the way back to my Freshmen year, but I'm just now seeing it.
I've never been particularly religious, which has been a struggle for me since around 7th grade. I did go to church as a kid--but I never acknowledged those nights as actual spiritual events. The Christian activities we would go through were always just minor inconveniences in the path toward playing around with my friends. These experiences have obviously spilled over into my high school years--but my lack of faith has affected me more than I'll let myself believe.
Is it wrong of me to not want to go to church? My sister is afraid that I'll go to Hell--but even that doesn't convince me to try to change my ways. In all honesty, I don't think I can change my ways. Flipping through channels with preacher after preacher just totally disgusts me--but I can never pinpoint the reason why that is.
But I think I'm starting to realize my reasoning.
During the time of night when most people are praying--I'm listening. When most people are praising--I'm writing. When most people are worshiping--I'm too busy thinking.
I've now learned that I have a negative view towards religion because I've replaced these normal religious activities with my own sense of introspection and thought. I'm not one of these "God Hates Fags" people and I don't protest outside churches, but I feel that my own way of worship is better for myself--so I don't plan on changing anytime soon.
So now I'm trying to fill that spiritual void in myself, with ever-degrading results. Fortunately, this leads me to listen to more music--which brings me to new heights during every listen.
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