THE SYNDROME

I found this great video through Joe Gordon-Levitt's site. It's an animated wall painting by the artist BLU and it is crazy. I love it. He posted it on Vimeo and YouTube back in May.


MUTO a wall-painted animation by BLU from blu on Vimeo.

Every now and then a trailer will come along that demonstrates exactly how all trailers should be done. Of course, the job is almost too easy if the film is already amazing. I would venture to guess that Zack Snyder's Watchmen, based on one of the most complex graphic novels of all time, is one such film.

This trailer, not unlike the trailer for 300, another Snyder jump-off, sticks out in my mind because it is emotional, visually supreme, artfully cut and it doesn't give away huge spoilers.

That means it's awesome. It has also excellently exploited Smashing Pumpkins track, "The Beginning is the End is the Beginning." I think we have a hit on our hands. Take a look at 135 seconds of absolute sci fi perfection:

I felt so guilty about blogging a NYT bestselling romance novel that I had to immediately post about the main event for this week.

The Dark Knight is going to be great. Even if it doesn't fully live up to the hype, it will feature the last completed screen performance of the late Heath Ledger.

Everyone is praising Ledger's turn as The Joker; of course, bad-mouthing wouldn't be easy given the circumstances. Nevertheless, we all know what the actor was capable of, coming off of a nuanced "tour de force" performance in Brokeback Mountain and a critically acclaimed bit in I'm Not There.

I'm also looking forward to seeing Bale reprise his role and waiting for Maggie Gyllenhaal to beat Katie Holmes' passionless Rachel Dawes into my far retreating memory. Bale and Gyllenhaal, both highly accomplished actors, have been over-shadowed by the press surrounding Ledger thus far.

Yes, on the eve of what could be this summer's biggest, boldest and most bitter-sweet box-office smash -- The Dark Knight -- I am blogging about bat-like boys, not bat-men.

I had almost forgotten about Twilight (a huge feat considering the mass hysteria surrounding the film and the books -- hysteria that somehow warrants MTV dubbing the second day of the work week "Twilight Tuesday"), but then Dave over at thebadandugly.com had to go and include it in his film coverage, here, directly following Entertainment Weekly's vamp-tastic cover story on newsstands everywhere.

Frak it. Where EW goes, I follow.

I caved; I'm now on chapter 15 of Stephenie Meyer's first book in the teen vamp saga responsible for putting boobs on the chests of many a lovelorn thirteen year-old. (I mean ... I didn't learn how to construct a solid block of sexual fantasy in prose form until I was about 29 ... and now I'm 23! These Twilighters are learning the craft at an early age and Meyer has thrown vampires into the mix. Parents, be warned: gone are the days of Britney. Expect some pretty kinky Angelina Jolie shenanigans from your little Junos in the future. Hello, vial of my boyfriend's blood!)

Here's the deal: the writing style is good but only for the first 3 chapters, the concept is decent despite the fact that I've seen it before (just substitute aliens for vampires and throw in Katherine Heigl and you'll see what I mean), the narrative itself eventually ends up in hell. At around chapter 8 things start to get repetitive and somewhat cringe-worthy.

Robert Pattinson is right when he describes the story as being "obsessive" in nature; what is at first an intriguing insight into the mind of a realistic, unique female character eventually devolves into a melodramatic, drawn out romance-fest complete with perpetual caressing of cheeks, declarations of ceaseless love, chronic heart-thumping, hot, lusty gazing, butterflies-in-stomachs, sickly sweet descriptions of Edward Cullen's dazzling eyes (Bella actually tells him, "You dazzle me." ... Um ... okay.), more heart-thumping, a discussion about whether sex is possible for blood-drinkers (during which Ed explains, "I may not be human but I am a man.") and, in general, a lot more smoldering eye-action, skin caressing and pointless attempts to shun a budding relationship that go a little something like this: "You should be afraid of me because I can totally kill you but come here, I want to cradle you against my rock-hard abs for all time." (Not Meyer's words, but close.)

Like I said before, this reminds me of the PG-13 rated fan fiction I used to write when I was 29. From the looks of it, the movie adaptation is going to kick the book's ass. I haven't finished reading yet but I can already tell that I won't be buying books 2, 3 or 4. The films might be worth a shot, but we won't know until Dec. 12. In the meantime, I'm going to be looking for my own personal Edward Cullen. I like a white boy with a substance abuse problem.

I saw The Incredible Hulk (follow up to Marvel's brainy 2003 first try) on opening night last month and, walking out of the theater, all I could think was, 'how could the people who brought us Spider-man 2, arguably the best comic book movie ever made (alongside Iron Man) produce such an underwhelming, clunky sequel for a franchise they hoped to revive?' (My thoughts are just that eloquent.)

I thought Ang Lee's version of the Big Green Angry was better. But there's no point fighting over the actors: Bana versus Norton or Connelly versus (lovely but oh-so flimsy) Liv Tyler. The real issue is, as always, the writing, namely, how the Hulk narratives deal with the monster lurking inside physicist Bruce Banner or rather (at least in the film adaptations) how they don't.

The Hulk conundrum takes inspiration from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, which was a story that commented on humanity's infinite, hidden capacity for evil. In essence, both tales ask: if even the most righteous human heart contains Pandora's box, what would happen if we unlocked it?

So, why doesn't the Hulk work again? The problem is more evident in the second film than in the first: we simply don't believe that the Hulk and Bruce Banner are the same person. Of course, this is part of the terror inherent to Bruce's condition; it transforms him radically into a supposed polar opposite -- a hideous, raging monster. In truth, however, Banner's radical physical metamorphosis is not the most terrifying aspect of his problem.

The more horrific and tragic concept at the heart of the Hulk is that this monster has been lying dormant, suppressed inside Banner all along. The scientist doesn't turn into the Hulk, he is the Hulk and always has been. A flash of anger merely rapes Banner of socialized restraint, revealing a pre-existing ugly truth.

In 2003, the fact that Eric Bana's pre-accident Bruce was snarling and moody helped hint at this idea; The gamma radiation in essence exploits an existing tragic flaw and unleashes its terrible, destructive power. In 2008, Norton's Bruce is a gentle, earnest man who treats his anger whimsically. If it weren't for a pack of baddies pantomiming kicks and punches, in addition to a watch that beeps inanely as it measures his rising heart rate, an audience member would have no legitimate reason to suspect that Bruce is actually becoming angry.

Given a man so mild, it's hard to accept that the Hulk is at all related -- and he has to be for the awe and upset to kick in. Once you reach the point where the Hulk becomes an alien stand-in, a mere temporary placeholder for a more believable being, you begin to take him for what he really is: a big green piece of CGI that likes to smash shit. That's fun and all but ... once the credits roll, I just don't care.