JULY 10, 2011
THIS WEEK.
- ON SCREEN - 13 ASSASSINS movie review.
- ON SCREEN - NETFLIX STREAMING - PAWN STARS review
- ON STAGE - SCT WILLIE AWARDS ANNOUNCED
- ON LIFE - TYLERTOWN A Novella in Process.
ON SCREEN
In Theaters Now.
**** (4 of 5)
Sedic International, RPC, Asahi Broadcasting Corporation
Directed by Takashi Miike
Written by Kaneo Ikegami (based on a screenplay by), Daisuke Tengan (screenplay)
Principles: Koji Yakusho, Goro Inagaki, Mikijiro Hira, Hiroki Matsukata.
141 min
Rated R for sequences of bloody violence, some disturbing images and brief nudity.
Anyone's list of the best samurai movies always begins with Akira Kurosawa's Seven Saumari. It was the well spring for all that would follow and will always remain at the top of the list. In 13 Assassins, director Takashi Miike bows low to the icon Kurasawa with a similar story arc, but noticeable departs from it to show a war which has less artful flourish and more mud, blood, subjective gore and true street fighting than Kurosawa could have ever been allowed in the fifties.
The story is a simple "good" samurai against "bad" samurai. Lord Naritsugu Matsudaira (Goro Inagaki) is the reptilianly evil samurai Lord, who's sadistic cruelty knows no bounds. In a performance which is subtle and shaded in nuance Inagaki hisses across the screen in pure white robes. In one scene, he calmly shoots arrows into the entire family of a retainer whom he believes has dishonored him. It is more an act of target practice than discipline. He kills, maims and is unstoppable as he moves closer to an alliance with his brother the Shogun himself. And we learn early on that there is no middle ground and this film will take no prisoners.
Director Takashi Miike (Audition, Ichi the Killer) has set this film in the period of Japan's history when the samurai have done their job so well that there are no more wars to fight. Western influences have taken hold and the samurai's days are numbered. And in this time of universal peace most samurai have been reduced to spending their days waiting for the gambling and drinking to begin at night. The pawnbroker who trades money for the swords holds more power than do the samurai themselves.
Enter the "good" samurai Shinzaemon Shimada as played deftly by Koji Yakusho in a performance that echos every samurai played by The Great One Toshiro Mifune. He is calm, reasoning and reticent to take on Lord Matsdaira. He is one of the few samurai who has seen war close up and knows that once started it cannot stop until all are dead. His performance is deftly understated as the film opens and we are left to wonder if he will lead the fight at all. Then the height of Matsdaira's cruelty is revealed in a sequence with a maimed peasant girl. It is a sequence which is so masterfully played out in its building intensity that it will leave no other recourse for the viewer and Shimada. Lord Matsdaira must die and die badly.
It is here that the gathering of the 13 Assassins begins and though it may remind you of the Seven Saumari, it quickly departs from the earlier masterpiece with the sure and certain promise that these samurai will not survive the fight and are not supposed to. Their job is to die for the "mission" which is ultimate death of Matsdaira. This is the Eastern take on war that it is more honorable to die in the fight and achieve the goal than to live in defeat. Something the Americans learned all too well during the jungle fighting of World War II when they came up against the samurai's grandchildren. And as each of the Assassins are chosen, each one vows to the same promise - to die and die well for the "mission".
Along the journey to the ultimate fight Miike crafts with precise details the world these samurai inhabit. This will not be a straight fight one against the other. This will be an all out war which will use every element at hand including explosives and the very environment around them. In one telling moment, Shimada's second in command Kuranaga (Hiroki Matsukata) tells the inexperienced Assassins that "in battle there is no samurai code and no fairness" and in this Miike sets the tone and pace for the entire second half of the film.
This band of Assassins must traverse wild countryside to reach their battleground and face their own fears along the way. These are not Kurosawa's unflappable samurai, but real human men who react with fright when the leaches attack them or they come upon huge bugs in the forest. And it is deep in the forest that we are introduced to the 13th Assassin in a comic performance which will remind everyone of Toshiro Mifune in Seven Saumari and is the center of humanity. He will fight but would rather go back and make love to his woman and it is in him that we find true human redemption.
The ultimate fight comes quickly and this is no open ground man against man fight. This is a claustrophobic battle in alleyways and behind expertly constructed barricade after barricade. The 13 Assassins have done their work well to set up the small village for the fight against what appears to be hundreds upon hundreds of Matsudaira's forces. Just when his samurai seem to be winning the 13 Assasins pull yet another trick out of the bag.
It is here that some of the weakness of the film plays out. In quick scenes, the wigs his samurai are wearing look like wigs and skullcaps and jumps out on the big screen. And he telegraphs some deaths from a mile off so that it is no surprise when it happens. Two of the Assassins share dialogue with their backs to a shoji screen, what do you think will happen?
These minor weaknesses aside, it is in these same battle scenes that Miike's craftsmanship shines through. In one scene, simply the way the swords are lined up waiting for one of the Assassins to grab them one after the other is thrilling in its execution. This man knows how to place a camera and craft a scene for maximum intensity.
And as each warrior falls, sometimes in bunches, Miike paints a repellant picture of total inglorious, unappetizing, horrific war which is the best and truest statement against war in a generation. That war is the ugliest of man's endevours and must not be entered into unless you are willing to lose everything in the battle. No victors, no heroes in the end - just survivors who must pick up the pieces and go home to make love and peace.
13 Assassins is a film which must stand alone in the samurai canon as a singular anti samurai film. Its violence is both necessary and strengthens the true theme that we should not go to war unless we accept its totality and unbelievable destruction.
- Ed Thorpe. COMMENTS OR QUESTIONS?
ON SCREEN - TV - NETFLIX
NETFLIX INSTANT STREAMING
PAWN STARS Seasons 1-3
*** (3 of 5)
History Channel - A& E Television
Season 1 (14 episodes)
Season 2 (32 episodes)
Season 3 (42 episodes)
Pawn Shop. The very term conjurors up images in black and white of seedy little shops on the wrong side of town with greasy little men behind cages dispensing cash for stolen merch in the middle of the night. The only part of that which seems true is the middle of the night scenario.
In the History Channel/A&E reality series PAWN STARS, we go into the shop and the lives of Richard, Rick and Corey Harrison, owners and operators of the "world famous" GOLD AND SILVER PAWN SHOP, an upscale and well appointed 24 hour shop right on the Las Vegas strip. Through their doors comes everyday people selling everything imaginable, some common, some historic and all with a story. And according to owner Rick Harrison, "You never know what will come through the doors. And everything has a price."
On Netflix Instant Streaming all three seasons of this breakout hit are available for instant viewing and I defy anyone to watch just one episode without wanting more. Each episode takes you further into the business and lives of the Harrison's and their daffy shop assistant Chumlee. Opened in the late 80s by Richard (the Old Man) and his son Rick Harrison it has become a fixture on the Las Vegas strip as a place to get serious cash in a hurry. The pawn side of the business operates as pawn shops always have. Bring in your diamond rings, Rolex watch or anything of value and they will give you a loan on it based upon the value they will sell it for if you don't pay back the loan. The interest rate is 10% per month plus a fee. Come in every month and pay the interest and the loan can go on forever. Don't pay back the money and after 120 days they keep the merch, no questions asked and no ding on your credit report. In this series, we see little or nothing of this side of the business because people don't want to be on camera pawning their stuff. This is unfortunate because that is probably the spicier side of their business. In a recent interview, owner Rick Harrison hawking his new book License to Pawn, explains that they are very popular with pimps pawning their jewelry for bail money. Now that would make some kind of reality series!
What we do see is every kind of person come in with every kind of item and everyone thinks their stuff is worth a pile of cash. What we do learn is the reality of buying and selling anything. A thing is only worth what a willing seller will sell it to a willing buyer for. Bottom line: your stuff is usually not worth what you think it is. This is not Antiques Roadshow, this is real dollars and cents marketplace economics. At Gold and Silver Pawn, it's a buyers market. From behind the counter they dispense the bad news to sellers in a fair but blunt manner. Its a take it or leave world and they have the cash to back it up dispensing 100 dollar bills once the deal is done.
The merchandise is always interesting, but this series is really about the more fascinating exploration of human nature. In that the Harrisons and their goofy sidekick Chumlee are the real show. Richard (the Old Man) is a gruff no-nonsense patriarch who lives behind his desk playing solitaire on his computer, cussing at everyone within earshot, but who has a love of old toys and often times will be seen in the closing credits playing with an item he just purchased. The center of the action revolves around Rick Harrison the co-owner and star of Pawn Stars. Its Rick who runs the operation and does most of the deals. He's learned a whole lot about a whole lot of stuff and can spot a fake, most of the time, from a mile away. He knows what a thing is worth, but if he doesn't he seems to have an endless Rolodex file of experts to call in, which are equally interesting to watch. He is a bear of a man with a sidelong glance that can kill, but who seems to find everything and everybody interesting, except his equally gruff son Corey. Corey (Big Hoss) Harrison is the least interesting and sometimes abrasive member of the clan who always seems to be trying to prove something to someone. Brooding and easily hurt he skulks around after a stinging remark from his Dad Rick or Grandpa "Old Man" and most times you wished he'd just lighten up. Chumlee on the other hand, the fool shop assistant is always good for a laugh at his own expense. In this quartet, its Chumlee who always lightens the moment with a foolish remark or action. You wonder during the first and second season of the show, why anyone would ever keep Chumlee around for long, but by season three it becomes apparent that he is there to keep these guys from killing one another. Just when the tension rises from a deal gone bad or a bad play there's Chumlee to say something or do something which focuses all their rage right onto him. He is the lighting rod for their testosterone fuel anger and he takes their abuse with a good natured grin and almost never seems affected by it in the least. And it's these four men and their world that make the series worth watching. You wouldn't want to work next to them, but they all make for really good tv.
The show is structured so that we see three or four deals per 21 minute episode. A couple of small 'take it or leave' 'this is what I'll give ya for it' negotiations and one big deal item that they wait to reveal at the end of the show. The big deal is usually a big ticket item that they've purchased and then had restored by one of their many experts. Then revealing the now pristine item rolled out with fanfare right before the credits roll. A car that was a basket case purchased for a low ball price now becomes a sweet ride that Chumlee insists on driving back to the shop and is always refused. Or, it could be an antique firearm that they fire at the end of the show, which they always let Chumlee do. Better for it to blow up in his hands than theirs. It is in these negotiations that we really see the art of the deal and after a few episodes you'll get the hang of it and find yourself anticipating where the final selling price will land. On more than one occasion a seller has come in with an item to sell, not knowing its true value and the Harrisons will reveal that the item is worth much, much more than they could have anticipated. They will offer them a fair price on the item when they just have easily could have cheated the seller and sold the item for a big profit. This side of their ethical nature is both enlightening and refreshing and the seller usually never fails to want more than the fair offer, which also shows human nature at its most basic. During one outstanding deal, a woman enters the shop with a spider brooch she inherited from her mother. Rick asks how much she wants for it and her reply is a couple of hundred dollars. Its then that Rick reveals that this is actually a Faberge brooch and worth thousands of dollars. He makes a fair offer based upon what he can sell it for and make a profit and yet, this lady wants more trying to up the offer. She went from a few hundred to a few thousand in a nanosecond. Such is the stuff of human nature in the raw.
The production values on this show are fairly straightforward and by season three become predictable and boring. The same camera angles, showing the same stuff repeated cookie cutter fashion over and over. Certainly, there are only so many ways to shoot a show like this in the conventional manner, but in season four, now that its a hit with viewers maybe they can mix it up a bit. Most of the action takes place during daylight hours, but its a 24 hour shop, don't they do any deals after dark?
And what about the Harrisons themselves? This is a male dominated show, aren't there any women in their lives? What happens when they go home? Or, do we really want to know that? And why don't they have one female employee who lasts past the first season? And what about that guard Antoine by the door who's always either texting on his cell phone or eating something? They never seem to bark at him, at least on camera. And since this series is likely to go on for at least two more seasons, and has a big fan base, the producers can afford to take some chances now and break out of their current mold which is becoming stale and predictable.
This is a watchable series and by the end of the second season you'll probably come fairly close to guessing what they will offer on any one deal and what Chumlee will say next. And in its success could be planted the seeds of its own eventual failure as the show could simply become a droning repeat of itself which could fade over time. The Harrisons are a gold mine of human foibles which the producers need to dig into just a bit deeper in future episodes. And is Chumlee really an idiot savant when it comes to basketball shoes and video games? Time will tell.
- Ed Thorpe. COMMENTS OR QUESTIONS?
ON STAGE
Stockton Civic Theater
2010-2011 Willie Awards Nominations Announced.
The nominations for 2010-2011 SCT season Willie Awards have been announced. Awarded each year since 1953 they are a way to honor the performers, producers and technicians behind the productions at Stockton Civic Theater in Stockton, CA.
Presentation of the awards will be on Sunday July 32, 2011 at Stockton Civic Theater. For a full list of nominations and information about purchasing tickets to the event visit Stockton Civic Theater Website.
ON LIFE
A Novella in Process
CHAPTER ONE
The Aerobatics of Jim and Maggie.
The plane was sleek, compact and aerobatic as hell. From its cramped one-man cockpit Jim Dregal could circle around and drop low over the fields of tomatoes, lettuce and asparagus keeping an altitude low enough to drop his chemicals yet just high enough to barely ruffle the young plants. In the central valley of California and especially in these Delta Island fields wind and ground temperature were both his friend and enemy on these early spring days. If he took off ten minutes too early or five minutes too late, by the end of his run over any particular field he could find that the air had become unstable and his calculations thrown way off. As the temperature rises dramatically towards the end of spring the once dense air of early spring now became wildly unpredictable. The islands themselves at ground level are a good fifty feet below sea level, so its like flying in and out of a bowl; the temperature and wind much different above the bowl as right down in it. And Jim Dregal had to always be right down in it. He prided himself on his ability to get his product right on the crops without damaging one single new shoot in the process. Something that had damn near cost him his life and his plane many more times than he ever cared to think about. What counted to him most was what he was doing at every given moment. Yesterday was filed and locked away and tomorrow didn't even register; what counted is where his butt was in this single moment in time. And in this single moment in time, he had just taken off from his landing field just five miles northeast of King Island in the California Delta outside Stockton. It was 7:02am, the wind was running 2 mph from the south, which means that the temperatures would rise quicker than usual and he'd have lesser dense air for his plane to bite into by the end of his crop run. And the air above 'the bowl' would be far less dense than in 'the bowl' as it always rose faster a few feet above. His mind would run endless calculations as he criss crossed the field constantly compensating for rapid changes in temperature, wind, weight. He'd dusted this fields every year for ten years now so, he knew just about everything there was to know about it. On the eastern edge was Honker Cut, a small river which was about 200 feet bank to bank. In less than a hundred feet beyond the western bank he'd have to start his run, dropping down 30 feet in a few seconds as he opened the stream of chemicals which billowed out on each side of his aircraft. A few seconds after that he'd spot the trailer park on the western side of the island and then prepare to cut the chemical stream and throttle up as he'd pull up skimming over the tops of all the trailers as he quickly banked a tight left turn to set up for his next pass on the field. This drop-pass-rise-bank-and-drop-down again routine had become automatic and part of his muscle memory. He didn't have to think about his next move, he simply responded to the calculations running in his head and compensate as needed. Its said that you'll make a mistake the first and hundredth time you do any routine task. Out of fear or boredom you'll slip up and before you know it the variability of catastrophe comes into play. On this particular morning a number of evil demons of fate had conspired against him and he was blissfully unaware of all of them until it was too late.
He always arrived at his airfield at 5:30am precisely, but the evening before he run into-grabbed-rescued Maggie Jenkins on her way home from work in Lodi, just seven miles to the north of his airfield. Jim had known Maggie for five years now and though single she always seemed to be in one relationship or other and not free to take Jim up on his constant offer of a night out with him. Maggie is a compact redhead who favored tight fitting blouses which accentuated her ample breasts and plunged at just the right place. She is self assured and saunters with a spring in her gait constantly moving forward with her arms swinging at her side and her long red curls flowing gently in her wake. She was as delightful coming toward you as she was going away and to Jim, she was always going away. Yet, on this particular spring afternoon the demons of fate had even conspired against her, which they hardly ever did. She was traveling south on Lower Sacramento Road, a two lane stretch of blacktop between Lodi and Stockton. She'd taken the road back and forth everyday of her working life commuting between her home in Stockton and her job in Lodi. Even on the worst fog bound winter mornings she'd always traversed the 12 mile distance without incident, except today. Just as she had come around a wide bend in the road she saw a large, old, decrepit flat bed farm truck approaching from the south. The high wooden sides extended above the bed and barely contained the two tons of farm junk loaded inside. State and local laws demanded that loads like this be tied down securely and covered on all exposed sides. The driver and loader knew this, but it was late in the afternoon, they had tickets for an event and they only needed to drop the truck off just a few miles up the road and they'd tie it off and cover it in the morning before they took it to the dump. Who could have known that just as they were about to pass by a sleek red Mustang in the oncoming lane their left rear wheel would hit a huge chuckhole in the asphalt which would jostle their load just enough to send one foot chuck of farm debris up and over the side of their truck and smack into the hood and windshield of the departing Mustang. Maggie had no time to think or react as she saw the flying piece bounce off her hood and then bounce again off her windshield. The piece then flew off into the unknown as her windshield crackled in all directions, turning her clear forward vision into an immediate fog of cracked, but intact glass. In a flinching instinctual reflex she veered the Mustang right and just as chance would have it, avoided the deep irrigation ditch to her right pulling the car to a screeching stop right in front of the Fly-In cafe at Jim's airfield. In a single fluid motion, Maggie put the car in park, turned off the ignition and leapt out on shaking legs to survey the damage, "Damnit the fuck out!", she blurted out as her legs give way, the adrenaline surging through her body. She swayed for a moment on unsteady pins and just when she was about to fall over she felt two strong and tanned arms encircle her frame lifting her up. "OK Maggie girl. I got ya.", Jim whispered in her ear as he guided her into the cafe and to a booth in the back.
They sat in that booth for the better part of a half hour. First over coffee, then a piece of pie, then ample shots from a bottle the cook kept in back; Maggie found herself regaining her composure as she lost herself in her old friend's eyes. Jim explained that he'd had a few minor repairs to do on his plane and was finishing them up when just as he crossed the parking lot to the cafe, he saw her car get hit by the flying crap and watched her carom into the parking lot. When she wobbled from the car he was at the right place, at the right time and could not have been happier.
After the initial shock had worn off and the nips of booze started to take affect, Maggie rose from the booth and excused herself to go fix up a bit. In the barely serviceable washroom in back she stared into the cracked mirror over the basin and began the ritual of dolling herself up. The scarf she favored to tie her flowing red curls in a loose pony tail had slipped a bit and she began there. Moving downward she checked every part of her face adjusting and patching as she went along ending up with a fresh coat of lipstick in just the right color. As she stood in front of the mirror and looked herself over she thought how nice Jim was looking these days and reached into her purse for the last piece in her female assault arsenal. Pulling out the small spray bottle she held it just six inches from her well rounded cleavage and gave just the barest hint of a spritz. Not enough to know it was there, but just enough to sense its presence. Maggie was not cheap and neither was her perfume. And now with her composure fully regained she pranced out of the washroom and slid into the booth right next to Jim, hugging his arm briefly as the full frontal effect of her work hit him.
Jim was completely overwhelmed once again with Maggie. For the rest of the hour they sipped coffee and booze together as Maggie pushed the pie around on her plate. Jim estimated the cost and time of the repairs needed to her car as Maggie stared into his eyes and pulled him into hers. She was now more interested in Jim than her bashed-up car and hung on his every word. She felt herself shift slightly closer to him and then in a lull she started running her index finger over the top of his hand and asked if he would not mind taking her home - her car was in no shape to drive. She even offered to fix him dinner for his trouble, but by this time they both knew that dinner would not be the main event of the evening. And so, with her arm circling his flight suited waist and his leather flying jacket over her shoulders held in place by his arm around her they made their way slowly across the parking lot and into his waiting pickup truck.
Dinner would be pickings from Maggie's refrigerator and serve as a simple intermission break from a marathon sexual night for both of them. This passionate fire between them seemed to have been smoldering for a long time and now ignited into an inferno. Each of them responding in synch with the other. No movement was wasted, no part unexplored as they drove deeper into a nether world suspended in time and reality. Her perfume combining with the raw smell of her sexuality drove Jim to intoxicating heights of performance and stamina. His musky scent of leather, airplane fuel and unadorned sweat pushed her beyond orgasmic boundaries which she did not even imagine existed. Sometime around 2am, they both tumbled into a cooing rhythmic ball of spent passion-fire as they floated along in gauzy afterglow.
Jim had an internal clock which always went off precisely at 4:45am. It had been his routine to be up at this hour every day, but today he wished he could reset it. All he wanted to do was hold Maggie next to him and feel her warm breath brush across the matted hairs on his chest, but time and temperature, wind currents and the rising sun would not wait. He slowly disengaged himself from her warm and soft body with deep reluctance, pulled on what of his clothing he could find, scribbled a quick note about being back to see her later, threw on his leather coat and as quietly as possible guided out her front door and climbed into his truck. And as he started the engine, adjusted the mirrors and prepared to turn out her short driveway the scent of her perfume on his leather coat wafted gently up and brought the widest smile he'd ever know beaming across his face.
