Kidding Around: Zoo News Edition

 

365 Films in 365 Days — February 21: Cool Runnings

This series is dedicated to matching memorable movies with the signature day each year upon which I could watch them forever. This year marks another Winter Olympics, and I would be remiss not to take a look at this modern classic. And so, this day's viewing can be none other than:

Cool Runnings (1993, Walt Disney Pictures, Jon Turteltaub)

The Wailing Souls' Love You Want is such a feel-good, positive, excellent way to start this film. A great Reggae tune to put you in the island mood. The song starts us off on a hopeful track, and forms a great counterpoint to the emotional rollercoaster—err, sliding track—the viewer is about to ride. 

The main cast has such an endearing and distinctive set of characters. Derice is the clear leader and straight arrow with a handsome face. His earnestness and drive are easily visible and he doesn't come off as hokey. Sanka is the loveable joker and pressure-release valve on the team. His smile and quick wit play as natural and funny. Yul (named after Yul Brynner) is the strong, abrasive type. His tough-man attitude is a cover for his insecurities and protection against ridicule. Junior is the baby-face of the bunch and quietly the most insightful. His innocence and sweet-nature don't feel contrived. And, of course, Blizter (played by John Candy) brings a veteran comedy actor's timing to a part that interestingly has maybe the fewest joke moments. Candy's own dark side probably fueled the character's own troubled past and gave the performance a believable guilt and gravity.

The opening scenes in Jamaica really amp up the fun factor and get you invested in the mains. The scene where Derice, Yul, and Junior trip and miss the Summer Olympics qualifier for sprinting is a great bit of foreshadowing that stays buried among the early-goings high-notes. The Jamaicans' pursuit of Blizter to be their coach and the subsequent trials getting accustomed to bobsledding on the island are good slapstick. And again, The Wailing Souls' Wild Wild Life injects such cool vibes. Later, the scene where they each scramble to earn petty cash to fund their dawning Winter Olympic hopes plays like a cheeky montage of comedic vignettes.

The film shifts gears when the crew finally makes it to Calgary. Watching them struggle to acclimate to the weather, put together their gear, and draw inspiration from each other and the international atmosphere has an edge of tension to it. The film manages to pull off this delightful air of positivity and good attitude despite the uphill battle that the team continually faces. It's an alluring tension that keeps you bracing for what's coming next after each little character obstacle that comes up, but deep down makes you feel like it will turn out alright anyway.

"I see pride! I see power! I see a badass mother who don't take no crap off of nobody!" This line has always stuck with me. It's a call to self-actualization. It's part of what leads up to the goofy bar-brawl scene, and completely overshadows the played for laughs fisticuffs that follow. In Hollywood, self-actualization in movies often comes down to using your fists. But in real life it more often comes down to taking firm hold of where we stand against the odds.

The best line in the film is delivered with heart by Candy's disgraced coach: "A gold medal is a wonderful thing. But if you're not enough without it, you'll never be enough with it." This can be said about a lot of things in life. Money. Love. Power. Fame. All the things the four Jamaicans were after. All the things you and I might be after. Impermanent things.

Still, the Jamaican bobsled team strives to do their best and even starts to turn heads as they compete. It's charming to see their hard work start to pay off, and even more heartening to see them embrace who they are as competitors rather than cheat who they might become just to win. It's an odd reversal of Blitzer's story, who cheated after he had won to try to stay on top.

In the end, as in the true event that the movie is based on, the Jamaican bobsled team crashes out on their third heat after showing some promise. Though they didn't win, the team crosses the finish line on their feet, earning the respect of the onlookers and the hearts of the viewers who have followed them with interest from the opening moments. It should also be noted that the movie ends with great musical soul thanks to Jimmy Cliff's cover of I Can See Clearly Now.

February 21 — 13 of 365 logged

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In the News: "Christian Nationalism isn't Christ-like"

Seattle Trip '25, Part 2

 

In the News: "Ho ho ho! And ha ha ha!"

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365 Films in 365 Days — October 29: Young Frankenstein

This series is dedicated to matching memorable movies with the signature day each year upon which I could watch them forever. I knew this one would be an October watch, but I was puzzling over which day it should be. With the passing of Teri Garr this week, it suddenly became obvious. And October 29th belongs to:

Young Frankenstein (1974, Gruskoff/Venture Films Crossbow Productions, Inc./20th Century Fox, Mel Brooks)

Mel Brooks is the "Weird Al" Yankovic of film. (Or maybe it's more proper to say "Weird Al" is the Mel Brooks of music.) In much the same way that it might be difficult to nail down which "Weird Al" song is the best, so too can Brooks' fans agonize over which is their fav movie, but I'd wager Young Frankenstein usually tops any respectable list. Allow me to attempt to highlight the reasons why that is for me.

The opening act is admittedly slow and apes the long, often quiet establishing shots that the early B&W monster films made as their hallmark. As with most "Weird Al" spoofs, Brooks and Wilder had a similar approach of lampooning the source material without disrespecting it. The same is true here as the scenes start from a more traditional classic horror approach, with orchestral stinger reveals, etc., and gradually lean into zanier and kookier portrayals. It's high praise and high comedy.

Gotta love the university talk and lab demonstration that ends with Wilder's character ("Dr. Frederick Fronkenstein," who goes by a different pronunciation and it is established cares not for his grandfather's work, which he calls, "doo doo") stabbing himself in the thigh with a scalpel in an outburst while dueling words with one of his students on the subject of his forebear. He blithely ignores the wound, crosses his legs, and says, stifling his alarm and pain, "Class—uh … is dismissed." It's both urbane and sophomoric at once, and sets the same dichotomous tone throughout.

Marty Feldman's Igor is definitely in the top 10 movie sidekicks of all time. His "walk this way" introduction is simple, inoffensive comedy at its best (and sparked the famous Aerosmith song). His is the only character who routinely "winks" at the audience in fourth-wall breaking moments. He gives banter as good as he gets. And it's his character that nabs the "Abby Someone", next "Abby Normal" (his words, a dodge for abnormal) brain to further the plot and give us a retread of the original Frankenstein story. 

Hardly outdone by him though is Teri Garr's Inga. Her "roll in ze hay" intro is eternally quotable. She wears her German affectation with such cuteness and in an unpretentious way that neatly fits in with the odd-ball performances. Almost every scene that she's in with the doctor has some double-entendre to it that goes completely over the heads of little ones but always leaves adults tittering, and steals each moment when it occurs.

Dr. Fronkenstein's tantrum after failing to get a reaction from the Monster after electrocuting him is pure comedic gold. He sighs peacefully and talks of accepting failure with quiet dignity and grace. A moment later, he turns back to pound the corpse's chest with his fists: "Son of a bitch! Bastard! I'll get you for this! What did you do to me? What did you do to me?!" Inga tries to intercede, but he continues, "I don't want to live. I do not want to live!" he moans like a child. "Quiet dignity and grace," Igor repeats, deadpanning to the camera with an eye-roll. The doctor moans as the scene fades to black, "Oh … mama…"

One of the richest scenes in the film is when the three of them "play" a game of charades as Dr. Fronkenstein is being strangled by the Monster they've freshly reanimated. "SEDAGIVE?!" lol.

The cast is rounded out by supporting roles of Madeline Kahn's Elizabeth, Cloris Leachman's Frau Blücher, Kenneth Mars's Inspector Kemp, and Peter Boyle's the Monster. Even if the movie had only two others of these plus the main three, you'd still have a classic on your hands. No one tries to upstage anyone else, and everyone still has moments to shine and add to the whole. It's an ensemble outdone by maybe only a few films ever (12 Angry Men among them, which I'll definitely cover later).

It isn't until the latter half of the movie that Boyle's Monster logs some serious screen time. The scene with the little girl is charming and a bit whimsical. The part where she goes soaring through the air off a powerful see-saw motion and lands peacefully tucked in bed is absolute cartoonish hokum, but it works. That's followed by the Monster's scene with Gene Hackman's blind priest Harold, the three failed attempts at hospitality, and the infamous ad-lib at the end: "I was going to make espresso."

Another top-shelf funny scene ensues after the three mains recapture the Monster and lock him up, only for Dr. Fronkenstein to resolve to lock himself inside in a vain attempt to force a bond with his creation, bidding both Igor and Inga not to open the door should anything happen. Needless to say, he almost immediately regrets it and turns tail pleading, "Let me out. Let me out of here. Get me the hell out of here. What's the matter with you people? I was joking! Don't you know a joke when you hear one? HA-HA-HA-HA. Jesus Christ, get me out of here! Open this goddamn door or I'll kick your rotten heads in! Mommy!"

What follows is a trademark turn of character, and indeed in many of Wilder's performances, from apparent coward to reluctant hero. The sheer volume and intensity Wilder rises to when he delivers the penultimate, "MY NAME IS FRANKENSTEIN!" line is startlingly dramatic and played less for a laugh. The movie has a story and the characters still have arcs and it delivers on both fronts without skimping on the laughs and while still remaining faithful to the original material. Rare. And hard to do.

The "Puttin' on the Ritz" number is another pure charmer.

The scene when Elizabeth, Frederick's fiancee, arrives and briefly interacts with Igor and Inga is full of great little interactions. It's fun to watch the others' faces when the speaker is delivering their lines. Acting is truly as much reacting as it is anything else.

The scene where Elizabeth and Frederick are in her bedchamber is delightful. She neatly exerts her dominance in their relationship all while tempting him, but gives him none of what he wants, and as he leaves—on his knees—all he can do is mumble through tight lips the words she bids him good night with.

Not long after, she and the Monster consummate their wicked little union after he abducts her. She's all for it, however, and when they consider going for round 7 in their off-screen sexcapades, she admonishes him with, "Seven or eight quick ones and then you're off to the boys to boast and brag! You better keep your mouth shut! [swooning] Oh, I think I'm in love!" Such a woman.

The movie nears its end when Dr. Frankenstein elects to have a mutual operation done on him and the Monster to share portions of their brains with each other so that the Monster can be more balanced. The operation is successful as an angry mob breaks in, but we the viewers are left to consider whether a comatose Frederick will be left that way or not. The Monster, too, having recovered his faculties, delivers an impassioned plea to spare them both as the town mob led by Inspector Kemp—and his ever hilarious mechanical arm—agree to cease their lynching siege and leave the two in peace.

In a pair of codas, we learn that the Monster and Elizabeth got married and have recently gotten back from a party thrown by her dad in his honor. Her entrance to the room, complete with "bride of Frankenstein" hairdo, is sizzlingly funny.

In the other, we find that Frederick seems fine and is now married to Inga. She starts to hum the haunting violin music that Frau Blücher had used earlier in the film to put the Monster in a trance. To this, Frederick seems himself a bit bewitched. It's only when they're finally in bed that she adds in regard to what he gave to the Monster, "But whatever did you get from him?", to which his monstrous libido is unleashed on her and she sings a refrain from, "Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life," echoing what Elizabeth had done earlier when the Monster took her as his own.

So, you know, basically sex carries the day. And laughter. Sex is pretty funny, after all. Sex and laughter: the medicine of life.

October 29 — 9 of 365 logged

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In the News: Sometimes I hate the idea of "manliness."

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365 Films in 365 Days — August 7: Monty Python and the Holy Grail

This series is dedicated to matching memorable movies with the signature day each year upon which I could watch them forever. Despite the fact that this next movie came out in the spring, it had a largely summer run and was likely dipping at the box office around this time of summer that year, and my kids and I have been on a kick of rewatching it since first introducing them to it earlier this summer, the seventh of August now belongs to:

Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975, Python Pictures/EMI Films, Terry Gilliam and Terry Jones)

This movie begins as it ends: unexpectedly and confusingly. Summed up, it would seem a disappointing outing for the Pythons if this were all, but I think it hints at the greatly acerbic and "disappointed" view they generally held of "Western culture and mythology" writ large and the sort of Christian mores that often go along with it in the late 20th century. It's post-modern and thus irreverent, but actually manages to be so without insulting or denigrating its audience and fans, the vast majority of which are Christian. And the most recognized part of the Christian canon, outside of Christ, is that of King Arthur and his noble knights.

I had the great joy of reviving the coconut-horse-hooves gag during this year's summer church camp theater performances that I helped write and act in. It's effective foley and was purely for the adults in the room, as I'm sure the kids understood the nature of the gag but nothing at all of where it came from. This is somewhat to Holy Grail's detriment, I suppose, given that many of the comedic gags that this and other Python performances have spawned may be well known today, but their original whereabouts don't often point back to this film. At least, probably not until you're a teenager or in high school.

Fortunately, my world history teacher in high school used the scene of the anarcho-syndicalists jawing with "their king" about the virtues and pitfalls of differing governments as a lesson reinforcer, and it has stuck with me ever since. The action in Holy Grail is very cartoony, and rightly so, but its content and context are largely adult in nature. (In light of this, I'm pleasantly surprised my kids like it as much as they do before either one of them reaches double digits.)

The "bring out your dead" scene preceding this is probably pretty accurate when plague swept through in Europe. The boys darkly poke fun when an old man who is not quite dead (a gag that returns several times later) is carried out and protests only to be clubbed over the head and laid atop the heap.

The Black Knight fight(s) are the most sophomoric parts in the film, but they always demand watching. The choreography, while not sexy, does a good job of illustrating the average man's ease at fighting in full armor. The violence and blood is over-the-top and yields some of the most memorable lines from the film: "Tis but a scratch!" and "It's just a flesh wound!" and "I'll bite your legs off!" all delivered by John Cleese.

The witch trial is the second great scene in the film. It neatly lampoons the oft-ridiculed nature of witch hunts and the illogic of those who perpetuate such sham judgments on minority or outcast peoples, but it's also just darn funny without being obnoxious. The faces and words in this scene all serve the funny from an absurdist standpoint, but they also help to move the plot along and give Arthur his first real compatriot in Sir Bedevere. John Cleese's, "I got better," after saying the witch turned him into a newt lives long in the memory.

The "Camelot" song is one of the funniest parts of the whole thing. The careless dance moves that send things flying left and right. The lyrics, which you have to read to understand, mine some decent depths in terms of rhyming "-able" for laughs. The hapless chained prisoner in the dungeon clapping his hands to the beat. It's all madcap silliness and again serves the plot by keeping the characters on the move when they deem it too silly also. The movie kind of peaks here other than the Trojan Rabbit scene and Sir Lancelot's attack on Swamp Castle until about the time you meet Tim the Enchanter.

The Knights Who Say "Ni!" bit is one of those instances where you find it funnier in your head afterward than when you're watching it. It's not a scene that really grabs you necessarily, at first, but the callback later on really helps to pay them off and is unique in that this is the first supporting character to make a return appearance. It effectively pokes fun at the secret, forbidden word, Rumpelstiltskin-type stuff embedded in so much of fantasy lore.

The knights' misadventure with Tim and the Rabbit of Caerbannog is another peak moment. You can tell that a lot of the acting in the movie was probably just the Python mates screwing around and trying to make the others break while filming. I find the whole holy hand grenade instructions and counting bit of this scene quite effectively funny even upon repeat viewings. This again demonstrates the Pythons' sardonic sense when it comes to "the church" and its seeming ridiculous or even unnecessary procedures on the right and wrong way of doing things.

Nice absurdist breaking of the fourth wall when the animator dies of a heart attack to save the knights from the legendary black beast, a scene all done in animation.

The bridge of death sequence is the last peak moment of the movie, but it's well worth it. The strange old man returns, like the Knights Who Until Recently Said "Ni!" previously, and he asks three questions: What is your name? What is your quest? and What's your favorite color? But not always these three. Two of the knights fail this seeming easy task after Sir Lancelot gets across. King Arthur gets the old man instead when he turns the tables in a callback to the swallows and coconuts scene from the beginning, to which the old man doesn't have the answer and perishes. Dumb, but funny.

The only other repeating gag we get is at the end when now only Arthur and Bedevere reach the Castle Arrgh and find it again in the possession of French forces. Their taunts of Arthur and company follow rather typical lines such as: "I unclog my nose in your direction, sons of a window dresser! So, you think you could outclever us French folk with your silly knees bent running about advancing behavior. I wave my private parts at your aunties, you cheesy lot of secondhand electric donkey-bottom biters!" This feels more like stream-of-consciousness ad-libbing rather than script writing, but, either way, it's funny stuff.

And, as mentioned, the movie ends abruptly with something like two minutes of black screen with "carny music" playing behind it. King Arthur never finds the grail but is instead arrested on suspicion of murder, given an earlier scene where a historian relating details on the Arthur legend to the audience is unceremoniously killed by a mounted knight. Perfectly in keeping with all else that's happened thus far, eh?

August 7 — 8 of 365 logged

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The Good Word: "Joshua 1:9"

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365 Films Across 365 Days — February 2: Groundhog Day

This series is dedicated to matching memorable movies with the signature day each year upon which I could watch them forever. If any movie must be watched on the titular day that it proclaims, it must be…

Groundhog Day (1993, Columbia Pictures, Harold Ramis)

The movie starts with polka music and a beautiful sky. Telling? We'll see.…

"Four, Nan. Four." Love that opening weather forecast scene. Phil (Bill Murray) comes off precisely as he should. Charismatic but smarmy. Witty but abrasive. Funny but crass. I'm not sure that it's actually acting in the sense of inhabiting another personality, but Bill Murray is easily one of the most natural and talented comedic actors EVER. (The number 4, "almost from prehistoric times, was employed to signify what was solid, what could be touched and felt. Its relationship to the cross [four points] made it an outstanding symbol of wholeness and universality, a symbol which drew all to itself." Kinda like Phil's journey in the film. Plus, in Japanese, it's the number of death!)

There may be no song in all of movie history more synonymous with the scene it features in than does Sonny & Cher's, "I Got You, Babe" in Groundhog Day. And so it begins!

"Am I right? Or am I right? Or am I right? Right?!" I have used that line before in real life conversations.

Phil is such the epitome of the cynical, jaded American man (or woman). He benefits from the life he leads, but despises everything and everyone about it. And the odyssey he is set to endure is a hopeful if not painful lesson in how one like him can regain their humanity and make peace with themself, God, and the world. There probably isn't a comedy with more truth and life lessons in it than this one.

And if you think a comedy like this isn't actually funny, I've seen this movie more than a half-dozen times at this point, and within the first 15 minutes I've already laughed out loud twice. But, honestly, it isn't a "yuck-yuck" comedy. Much of the humor is found in the simple interactions and natural situations that arise. You can't find it everywhere. It's gold.

Groundhog Day, from a production standpoint, is also probably one of the most genius films ever put to screen. The reuse of locations and scenes/takes must have been purely calculation and it works without ever becoming tired.

I love how the crowd chants "Phil! Phil! Phil!" when Punxsutawney is pulled from the hatch. It's the cosmos calling Murray's character.

Phil gets desperate upon the third day. "I'm reliving the same day over and over," he says. That applies to so many of us. Not literally. Metaphorically. Like so much truth. It's a biblical level of truth that the movie hits on here. And all should see it.

Love Harold Ramis's cameo as the doctor that suggests a psychiatrist. (Fellow Ghostbusters alums.) Apparently, Murray and Ramis really fought over things during the making of this film. It's too bad for them personally. But it made for a great product.

The "Mrs. Lancaster kiss" scene through the "cafe donut and dessert eating" scene is the beginning of his chaotic evil period. Phil goes through several alignment changes over the course.

Estimates online say Phil relives Groundhog Day 12,395 times! I'm gonna take a guess here and claim that he's lived the day over at least 50 times when he attempts the robbery: probably >20 times once he has the idea, and >50 times to have the theft practiced down to the level he demonstrates in the movie.

The "sweet Vermouth on the rocks with a twist" scene through the "I studied 19th century French poetry" scene is his neutral evil or even chaotic neutral period. He is improving, but only for himself and what he wants. Namely Rita.

The snowball fight scene after Phil's first slap from Rita is a laugh riot. "Are any of you up for adoption?"

The slow motion drop of the 6:00 AM is such an image.

By the time Phil resolves to kidnap and die with Punxsutawney, he has become a sort of insane true neutral. I reckon he dies at least a few dozen different ways.

And by the time he has convinced Rita that something is going on with him and she stays with him past midnight, he has become neutral good.

When he does all he can to prevent the old man from dying, Phil hits lawful good.

The romantic and dramatic parts of the film are just as fun to watch as the comedic ones. The whole piano party sequence and bachelor bidding is the climax, and it plays out with warmth and good humor. The movie ends with a sense of purpose and renewed spirit. The only time it gets corny at all is at the very end, when Phil and Rita seemingly decide to live in Punxsutawney. However, it really feels less corny and more earned when you consider how cynical a view that is and how vain a notion it is—the film's corniness—to hold on to. I recommend to let it go and enjoy the movie all the way through the "Weatherman" song during the credits!

A taken as a whole, this movie still has a very telling message for the modern mind.

February 2 — 4 of 365 logged

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In the News: "Sanity + Hilarity" (notice the sanity comes first!)

Distilled Sanity

Random Thought of the Day: Being on time is not the pinnacle of professionalism.

How is it said? "If you want to be professional, be on time."

In my experience, consistency and honesty is more important and professional than simply obeying the clock. Buses, planes, and trains ought to be on time; people ought to be given the time they need when circumstances demand it.

To be on time is to be professional. Right? Sure, it's simple and elegant. It's measurable. Were you on time? Yes/No. Thus, are you professional? Yes/No. But being on time isn't about professionalism at all. Being on time is about who can arrive at an agreed upon destination with the fewest obstacles to navigate. It's really almost a point of discrimination. And it's entirely about control. If you have kids, or a spouse, or a clunker of a car, or a longer route, or even the barest hint of conflicting agendas, you might be a redneck … er, I mean, you might not be professional material. What else is keeping you from being on time? Get with the program, or get another job!

And whoever has the fewest obstacles to navigate generally sets the rules. Get the picture? Being on time will always be easier for some, and infinitely harder for the rest of us. Do I fall into that category? I don't have a problem with arriving on time. I do have a problem, though, with those who consistently arrive on time but also consistently deliver a lower quality of work than that "level of professionalism" would otherwise seem to dictate. And work should always be about quality, not quantity.

If you're more interested in doing more rather than doing better, by all means, strictly obey the clock. That certainly isn't the pinnacle for me. (Not even sure if it would be in the top 3!)

In the News: "Why Stuff Cost So Much?!?"