Good heavens, but the Moneyball movie looks like garbage

By Bill


I think this is the first time I've ever embedded a video on this blog. Here's the just-released, two-and-a-half minute trailer for the forthcoming film version of Moneyball, starring Brad Pitt, Jonah Hill, Robin Wright and Philip Seymour Hoffman and written by the excellent Aaron Sorkin:



Go ahead, soak it in. You've read the book, you remember the book, and if you're of a certain age or came to the sabermetricians' party at a certain time, the book probably changed your baseball-watching life. Watch that a couple times and see if that looks like the book to you. Or like a movie that you'd ever want to watch.

I've been...not excited, necessarily, but very interested in this movie for a while now. So when I saw that the trailer was made available yesterday, I was pretty stoked. And then when I watched it and saw that the movie looks like a steaming pile of fabricated crap, I was...a bit disappointed.

Dead Snow, Live Links

It’s a relatively slow Monday on the baseball front. A lot of games were rained out at the end of last week and no one has said anything so blatantly stupid that The Common Man needs to comment on it. Instead, The Common Man takes the lazy way out. After a one-sentence movie review, TCM dumps some links.

Last night, while waiting for The Uncommon Wife to finish with some work so they could finally watch Lost, The Common Man streamed the Norwegian horror-comedy Dead Snow on Netflix. The review: Dead Snow gleefully works out the remaining angst Norwegians feel about their occupation during WWII by pitting Nazi Zombies (or Zombie Nazis) against young people in a secluded cabin in the mountains; fans of gore, snowmobile-related dismembering, and general hilarity will appreciate this celluloid therapy session, as the humor lands consistently despite the subtitles.

As a special bonus, here is what The Common Man tweeted during the film, a new feature of TCM.com he calls Mystery Science Tweeter 3000 (Snark in 140 characters or less):

Should I make a movie about zombies or Nazis? Why not both? Hurray for Dead Snow! The best Nazi Zombie movie Norway has to offer.

Which is more correct Zombie Nazis or Nazi Zombies?

70 years later, the Norwegians are finally fighting the Nazi occupation.

This movie must have been so cathartic for Norwegians.

What did @Ebertchicago think of Dead Snow?

Lesson learned: Never sneak up on a guy when he's hacking the shit out of a platoon of Nazi Zombies (or Zombie Nazis, which do they prefer?)

Good God, how many Zombie Nazis are there in Norway? Can't frickin walk to the bathroom without tripping over one.

Zombie Nazis: All they want is their gold. They're like Zombie Pirates that way. And Leprechauns.

Look, TCM doesn't want to question the logic of a movie that is based on the premise that Zombie Nazis walk among us...

but who hides the zombie gold in a cabin in the Norwegian woods anyway? Why didn't the zombies just keep it? TCM is confused.

Now, on to the linky goodness:

TCM is embarrassed he didn’t know that yesterday was Kirby Puckett’s 50th birthday. Like Friend of the Blog, Bill at The Daily Something, The Common Man’s favorite player of all time is undoubtedly Puckett, despite the unfortunateness that plagued his final years. Bill has a terrific, and fair, retrospective of Kirby’s career up. Shocking question: Has it really been 15 years since Puckett played his final game?

Lar at Wezen-ball has a repost up today from last year’s Pi-Day festivities. It’s fun to see, but not nearly as interesting as his long, engaging, and impressive history of the batting helmet. Not even The Common Man knew that batting helmets were so interesting.

Historian Adrian Burgos Jr. guest-posted on JoePos’s essential blog last week on some context behind Torii Hunter’s idiotic statements last week. Burgos writes that “there is a long history of black Latinos experiencing racism and discrimination in U.S. professional baseball,” and reminds us that Minnie Minoso, Vic Power, Martin Dihigo, and the first Ozzie Virgil endured great injustice in their effort to just play baseball. But the experiences of black Latinos has been largely invisible in the history of baseball’s race relations, largely because their history doesn’t easily fit into the larger narrative of Americans’ struggle for racial equality and we, as a people, are less familiar with it. As Burgos reminds us, “The national pastime has become predominantly a middle-class sport. And that is a discussion from which Latinos ought not to be shut out of.”

Unlike Aaron Gleeman, The Common Man is bullish on both the signings of Denard Span (5 years, $16 million + $9 million option) and Nick Blackburn (4 years, $14 million + $8 million option). Span’s contract figures to be a terrific deal for the Twins, and even may end up being a highly tradable commodity if the team comes up with some additional impact outfielders down the line (five years is a long time). Blackburn’s deal is a little less team-friendly, as he is averaging just slightly more money than Span and pitchers have a higher collapse rate than hitters. Still, Blackburn has been incredibly consistent over the last two years, and even at $6-8 million he’ll be below market for an average pitcher. Barring a ridiculous collapse, Blackburn figures to earn his money. Again, if the Twins continue to develop mid-rotation starters, and Blackburn holds his value, this is an entirely dealable player and contract when the team is looking to upgrade elsewhere. And anything the team can do to demonstrate to Joe Mauer that it's looking to compete for the long term, and encourage him to sign up, is good in TCM's book.

And finally, The Common Man considers himself a huge baseball and Twins fan, and will eventually need to go in for a bit of knee surgery at some point in the future. All of which is why TCM is so disappointed he didn’t think of this first. To think, while he was under, the doctors could help TCM contribute to Joe Nathan’s recovery and success. Kudos to John McDonald of Very Well Then for thinking of the team first. (h/t to Howard Sinker)

Upcoming Plans, Lessons Learned, and a One-Sentence Movie Review

The Boy is still sick, work is busy, and tonight The Common Man and his son wing their way southward to Arizona. TCM will take in as many baseball games as he possibly can within four days without feeling like a horrible parent. He'll send pictures and be a busy blogger. In the meantime, enjoy these lessons TCM gleaned from watching the ridiculous and snark-inducing 2012 last night with The Uncommon Wife:

1) Sure 6 billion people will die in the global catastrophe; but if one little girl learns to not wet the bed, it'll all be worth it.

2) Don't worry. If they survive, white people can always go back and recolonize Africa...because it worked so well the first time.

3) Never sit with your back to a neutrino.

4) Always believe people who sound crazy. The crazier their predictions, the more absolutely correct they're bound to be.

5) Airplanes are freely available for the commandeering, and a surplus of pilots will make escaping the destruction of the world easy.

6) Children are our future...however, they will also almost get us killed every 15 minutes.

7) The most secret and secure of government bases are the easiest to get smuggled into.

8) John Cusack is impossible to kill. When the chips are down, stand near John Cusack and bathe in his invulnerable deus ex machina-inducing charm bubble of protection.

9) At all times and in all places, when in doubt, panic. CALIFORNIA IS GOING DOWN!!!!

The Common Man's review in one sentence: If you need to laugh at the expense of a movie (just as The Common Man did last night), want to know what happened to Lloyd Dobler and what he would do in the Apocalypse, or want to see Woody Harrelson squander the goodwill he earned in Zombieland, this utterly idiotic, tactless, and overproduced fetishization of the destruction of humanity is the film for you (note: TCM had a blast).

Random Thoughts

Many many thoughts are running through The Common Man's mind tonight. Here are some of them:

The Rose Bowl was terrible. Having married into a Penn State family, The Common Man was looking forward to PSU proving itself against the class of the Pac-10. But Paterno's boys were clearly outclassed by 'SC. It was torturous for a while there.

Fortunately, at 5 CST, the MLB Network went live for the first time.


The programming was up and down. The Hot Stove Live show was largely unwatchable, perhaps because nothing is really going on in the game right now, except for a segment in which the in-studio analyists break down how to steal home. As an example, they use Jackie Robinson's straight steal from the 1955 World Series. While it's unclear from the footage whether Jackie was safe or out, it's very clear that Yogi Berra (the catcher) interfered with he batter's opportunity to swing by coming forward to catch the pitch before it got to the plate. Therefore, Robinson should have been awarded home anyway.

The second program on the network, the original footage and play-by-play of Don Larson's Perfect Game in the 1956 World Series, was much better. The interviews with Larson and Berra were fairly interesting (though Berra seems to have developed a strange verbal tic where he anticipates what a speaker is going to say, and then mumbles it with them), but the game itself was wonderful. Mel Allen and Vin Scully did the announcing, Mickey Mantle hit a homerun, and the whole game was sponsored solely by Gillette (the original commercials were included). Things The Common Man learned include: Roy Campanella was an absolute truck of a man; Gillette blades come in three sizes for light, normal, and heavy duty shaves and faces; Gillette's spokesanimal in 1956, for some reason, was a parrot; Larson was aided significantly by late-afternoon shadows at the park that obscured his breaking ball and by the crowd sitting in the deep CF bleachers, since the black hitters' backdrop had been removed to squeeze in more fans; Birdie Tebbetts and Johnny Logan also use Gillette products, and Duke Snider is going to teach his son to only use Gillette; the game did indeed move a lot quicker in 1956, as both pitchers worked fast and batters tended to stay in the box between pitches (Jackie Robinson was booed when he stepped out because he had something in his eye); standard atire for a baseball fan in 1956 was a suit and tie, and probably a cigarette or twelve; while supplies last, The Common Man can get a free baseball encyclopedia at a store near him when he buys a pack of Gillette razors for only $1.

Any dude who didn't get worked up for the Clint Eastwood marathon on AMC yesterday needs to get his manliness examined by a qualified physiscian. The Common Man Tivoed The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly; A Fistful of Dollars; and Kelly's Heroes. With Clint's new movie, Gran Torino, coming out next week, the network has apparently been tasked with reminding the general public of how awesome and manly Eastwood is, and how much they love him. And while you all revel in the glorious masculinity of teh Eastwood (is Eastwood the manliest of stars?), take a minute and contemplate the greatness of Eli Wallach (who, believe it or not, is still alive and kicking at 93), who created two iconic Latino characters (Calvera of The Magnificent Seven and Tuco of The Good...). Wallach's Tuco is a nuanced and moving performance, and he gives it far more depth than most Hispanic roles not written exclusively for Edward James Olmos. He has to be the most lovable Mexican villian in film history.



The Common Man hopes you had an excellent New Year's Eve and that your 2009 is excellent. So far this year, The Common Man has watched his college football team get demolished, his wife get laryngitis, his son fall and smack his face on a toy tractor, and his dog poop on the floor (because he refuses to stay outside longer than 30 seconds in the snow and cold). Also, he got peed on by The Boy (yes, again) and ran out of ice cream. 2009, baby. It's fannnnn-tastic!

Everything Old Is New Again

The Common Man is enjoying quality time with The Boy and The Uncommon Wife tonight. After all the excitement of the holidays, he's really happy to be sitting down to watch A Bug's Life as a family, followed by The Black Dahlia with the Mrs. Then it's the big countdown, champagne, a big kiss, and a brand new year.

The Common Man wishes you and yours a very happy New Year. He can't wait for another year with you all, even though it's only been six months thusfar. As it's a quiet night, The Common Man will be posting tomorrow, and forever thereafter. He hopes you join him in the conversation. In the meantime, enjoy the fireworks.

D*#k Flick: Jeremiah Johnson

It's been awhile since The Common Man has watched a real man's movie. As The Common Man once opined, "Guys need more movies just for them. Movies they don't have to share. Movies their wives and girlfriends will be embarrassed to admit seeing." The Common Man also should have noted that said movies should actually be decent and fun to watch, since reviewing The Condemned almost turned The Common Man off from the enterprise entirely. He almost bagged it all and lit out for the territories, leaving his DirecTV behind. But, then, Battlestar Galactica and Lost are starting back up this January, so The Common Man thought better of it.

If he'd done it though, it probably would have gone something like Jeremiah Johnson, the 1972 Frontier drama starring super-duper-mega-star Robert Redford. Several weeks ago, The Deacon (The Common Man's private brewmaster, Godfather to The Boy, and paragon of manliness) recommended the film to The Common Man as a moving portrayal of the manly virtues. The film begins with a disillusioned Johnson (Redford), leaving civilization behind to live as a trapper in the Rocky Mountains. After abandoning the American war effort in Mexico (it's telling the film is released at the end of the Vietnam War), Johnson believes he has no further use for human contact, and that a solitary life in the wild will help him find peace.

Yet, like so many young men who enter a larger world, Johnson is ill-equipped for the dangers he finds. His gun is inadequate and so are his survival skills. Eventually, Johnson is so desperate, he's reduced to trying to scoop trout from a freezing stream with his hands. Fortunately, he comes across salvation in finding the frozen body of a mountain man and his very big gun, and Bear Claw (Will Geer), a Yoda-like guru who takes Johnson in and teaches him how to trap, hunt, and avoid trouble.

Yet, even in his desire to be alone, Johnson cannot avoid the temptations of human contact and the call of civilization. (spoiler alert) He stops at a cabin to help a family destroyed by an Indian attack, and the grief-stricken mother sends her one remaining sun off with him. Later, while exchanging gifts with a tribe of Flathead, Johnson inadvertantly ends up with a wife. Together, they find a small place in the mountains and being a husband and father finally make Johnson happy.

However, while called away helping settlers through the mountain passes, his home is attacked by Crow, who massacre his wife and boy. Driven by grief and madness, Johnson avenges their deaths on the offending Crows, who then send warriors to kill him. Hunted, Johnson lives on his wits and his anger, and becomes the antithesis of what he was seeking. Rather than living peacefully, he becomes the embodiment of war and death, a boogie man both feared and respected. And aside from this fundamental shift in him, Johnson ends the film where he began, totally and utterly alone. End Spoiler.


Jeremiah Johnson is one of the manliest of films because of the hero's growth into manhood, and because he accepts the responsibilities of being a man. Though he doesn't initially want a wife or son, he refuses to abandon or sell them, taking care of them and building a life together. While not romantic in a traditional sense, his decision to allow them into his life eventually fills his heart with love and he's able to fulfill both key male roles, of husband and father, admirably. And when that love and identity is stripped from him, Johnson metes out retribution for the deaths of his family and others. Yet he maintains a strict morality about his justice, only hunting those hunt him. And despite his suffering, Johnson does not complain. Instead he says almost nothing, silently accepting his lot and preparing for his vengeance. He is not proud of what he has become, but nor does he turn from it. Plus, Redford wears a manly blonde beard.

Aside from these manly attributes, Jeremiah Johnson shines with brilliant performances, particularly by Redford and Geer. And the direction by Sydney Pollack is excellent. It is often a beautiful film, and often horrifying. Pollack appropriately captures both the majesty of the frontier, and the loneliness of it, and does not clutter the film with unnecessary sound effects. Instead, the film stands as empty as the wilderness, and on the strength of its story and acting.

The Common Man was duly impressed by this film, a largely overshadowed piece of the Redford and Western canons. It is profoundly sad, but oddly enjoyable. Depressing but impressive. It is cerebral and challenges its audience to continue to root for the protagonist, even when his blood lust is clearly up. And as a d*#k flick, it has most assuredly earned its two balls.

Better Late Than...No Country For Old Men in Fiction and Film

It has dawned on The Common Man in recent weeks that this blog has morphed far more into a political site than he ever intended, particularly since the election really heated up in the fall. The Common Man's politics are important to him, and he refuses to apologize for that, but after rereading some of his earliest posts, he misses the playfulness of his earlier posts. His cynicism has crept in, and he misses being able to wax nostalgically about culture and life. He also notices that this shift in tone has corresponded to a decrease in posting. Part of that has to do with work heating up, and not being able to find enough hours in the day, but some of that is undoubtedly because blogging sometimes requires The Common Man to get angry, and he doesn't like to be angry. So, this week, even though it would be fun to make all kinds of shoe-throwing jokes about how the Twins or Vikings should snap up a certain right-handed journalist in Iraq, The Common Man is going to strive to focus on not-politics. Maybe he can be more upbeat.


Sometimes, the world is a profoundly dangerous and disturbing place (so far, so good. Very upbeat.), and people do not always comprehend the dangerous paths they are on, even as they move closer and closer to their own deaths. Regardless, you are responsible for those choices, and they ultimately will lead to a reckoning if you show even a moment of weakness or vulnerability. Only through strength can you survive what life throws your way.

That's the primary message The Common Man got from reading No Country for Old Men (2005), the excellent, haunting, and violent novel by Cormac McCarthy, and watching the movie adaptation by the Coen brothers. McCarthy's novel is set along the border of Texas and Mexico, and focuses on the struggles of regular people trying to adapt to a new world with a new set of rules, a world that has been fundamentally altered. The drug trade has begun to wreak havoc on the American southwest, and these men and women, who were part of the old world, have not yet adjusted to this new paradigm.

There is danger in their ignorance. When welder and Vietnam veteran Llewellen Moss stumbles upon a bloodbath in the desert and $2.3 million in drug money, he sees an easy payday. But when his conscience gets the better of him, and he returns to the scene, he becomes the target of a massive manhunt. Chased by an embodiment of death itself, a remorseless, creative, emotionless, and seemingly invincible killbot, Moss makes his way across Texas, trying to outrun his decisions. But, as he tells a hitchiker he picked up along the road, “You dont start over. That’s what it’s about. Ever step you take is forever. You cant make it go away. None of it…. You think when you wake up in the mornin yesterday dont count. But yesterday is all that does count. What else is there? Your life is made out of the days it’s made out of. Nothin else. You might think you could run away and change your name and I dont know what all. Start over. And then one mornin you wake up and look at the ceilin and guess who’s layin there?" (227).

[Spoiler alert] The conclusion of Moss' story is at the same time tragic and inevitable, his unnatural death the natural conclusion of his decisions. His fight against his fate is both heroic and manly, very Cooper-esque, and his stoicism hides his growing desperation and dread of the end that is hunting him.

[End spoiler] The book is both meloncholy and colorful, very readable but also profound. The Common Man appreciates the grimness of its conclusion, and how vividly it draws its characters. McCarthy's novel expands a specific time period into a microcosm of human history, showing the inevitable march of "progress" and its consequences for the people caught up in it. The novel is well worth your time, especially if you're willing to read through grisly murders to get to an ending that is at the same time unresolved and extremely satisfying in its vagueness.

If, however, you're short on time and would rather watch the Cliff's Notes, you won't find a much more faithful adaptation of a book than Joel and Ethan Coen's celebrated film version. Dialogue is often lifted directly from McCarthy's novel, which is important given the importance McCarthy places on the way things are said, the short, measured lines his characters say underscores the culture they live in and their nature. Understanding they could not improve on the dialogue, the Coens largely left it alone. And scenes are recreated lovingly and painstakenly from the novel. While the Coens hide most of the violence behind props, it is still brazen and brutal. And the gore becomes less important than the reactions of those perpetrating the violence.

The acting is excellent. Javier Bardem, of course, received a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for his role as the central antagonist, the philosophical and terrible killer tracking Moss. He is mesmerizing when he is onscreen, capable of making even an innocent grin feel venomous. Tommy Lee Jones simmers throughout the novel, struggling to control his frustration and his bewilderment at the changing world around him and his inability to stop its momentum. As he says at the start of the film, "I don’t want to push my chips forward and go out and meet somethin’ that I don’t understand. A man would have to put his soul at hazard. He’d have to say 'okay, I’ll be part of this world.'" And when he realizes his ineffectiveness, he is driven out from that world, broken. Josh Brolin is also solid in the film, but his words are mostly irrelevant (in the film, anyway), as he serves mostly as the means to move the plot forward and reveal to the other characters (including his wife, played with remarkable vulnerability by Kelly Macdonald) how royally their lives have been fucked up by his choices.

The Common Man realizes how late he is getting to this film. It is, after all, almot a year since it won the Oscar, and more than a year since its release. But a recent conversation sparked The Common Man into reading the novel, giving him a better understanding of McCarthy's vision, and that of the Coens. Everyone dies, they want you to understand, and that death is ordained by the choices you make, even a heart attack at 84 can be traced back to a burger you ate at 37. As the killer tells Moss' wife, “Every moment in your life is a turning and every one a choosing. Somewhere you made a choice. All followed to this. The accounting is scrupulous. The shape is drawn. No line can be erased….A person’s path through the world seldom changes and even more seldom will it change abruptly. And the shape of your path was visible from the beginning” (259).

And so the ultimate message of the film is that everyone is responsible for the decisions they make. It is the ultimate end to the argument for personal responsibility. But even so, it acknowledges that some things are beyond the control of the individual, and all that ultimately matters is the decisions that you make when dealing with those circumstances. Which is true from both a religious and non-religious standpoint. The only things that matter are what you do, even if they don't change anything all that much. The Common Man thinks Hemingway would approve of that message, and is going to go reread the last ten pages of For Whom the Bell Tolls now to confirm that.

Great Moments in Terrible Filmmaking: The Covenant

The latest installment in The Common Man's Great Moments in Terrible Filmmaking asks the question: What would happen if douchebags could do magic? The answer, it turns out is not very interesting. They'd continue to be douchebags, going to parties, macking on girls, and generally being obnoxious. It's just that they'd do magic to be even more unbearable, by doing trick pool shots, or making a girl's car start for her, or using their abilities to make their car levitate so that the cops won't arrest them for underage drinking.

The plot centers around four kids at an elite New England prep school, the Sons of Ipswich, who are secretly descended from Salem witches and have to power to totes do magic, like, whenever they want as long as they keep it a secret. They rule over their school with a benevolent iron fist, loved by all the womens and both hated and revered by the mens. And OMG, they totally are in trouble when it looks like one of them is using their power for evil, rather than for douchebaggery.



It's important to note that this movie didn't have to be terrible. Shows like Buffy and Charmed have been able to at least make magic seem hot, if not awesome (as if you'd turn down the chance to make some magic with Alyson Hannigan, Rose McGowan, or Alyssa Milano). But the characters are so unbelievable shallow that it's impossible to root for them to do anything but die horribly in the most embarrassing and humbling way possible.

Sadly, there's not nearly enough of that, as the movie devolves into an obvious whodunnit, with a big supernatural showdown at the end that is largely fought with big, clear balls of energy. Not real exciting.

Worse, the soundtrack is abrasive and uniform; it's all hard rock, "we're like a badass Nickleback" crap, and the film's almost uniformly black. Even though the dialogue is hilariously stilted and heavy on the exposition, and the acting is hammy, the look and the sound of the film simply get in the way of enjoying how horrible it is. Instead, you're holding your ears and wondering why one of the Sons of Ipswich doesn't use his magic to turn down the background levels.

If your an emo teenager, you will enjoy this movie. If you are anyone else, sadly, it's not even worth your time. There are far better bad movies to watch that won't offend your senses, and The Common Man will be back soon so you don't have to sift through the crap to find the treasures.

Great Moments in Terrible Filmmaking: Lifeforce

The Common Man typically knows when a course action he is on is doomed to failure. He gets a feeling in the pit of his stomach, knowing that he's turned left when he should have turned right, opened his mouth when he should have shut up, or held 'em instead of, um, feld 'em. Like most men, The Common Man is content to continue along, knowing he's headed for disaster, but generally appreciative of his time on the path. He rarely admits his mistake, and hardly ever asks for help (unless there's bleeding involved, somehow).

The Common Man suspects that this trait is endemic to men; that once they get started on a project, they just can't stop themselves until it's royally screwed up. And so, The Common Man wants to honor that stubborn aspect of manhood and manliness by looking at the most visible, and The Common Man's most favorite, medium in which they occur: film. On occasion, then, The Common Man will be profiling a project that went bad, that perhaps had some promise at one point but must have jumped the rails pretty damn quickly.


If flying off course and not hitting the brakes is a manly trait, then Tobe Hooper must be a hell of a man. Hooper, for those unfamiliar with the name (and that probably should be most of you) is credited with reinventing the horror genre in the 1970s, creating the slasher flick with the 1974 classic Texas Chainsaw Massacre. He also managed to direct the quintessential ghost movie, Poltergeist before totally imploding.

And so, this man, a creative force behind two of the greatest horror films of the bygone age, an inaugural inductee of the International Horror and Sci-Fi Film Festival Hall of Fame, decided to direct Lifeforce, a minor Sci-Fi/Horror film about vampires from outer space. How in God's name did this happen, that a movie whose synopsis should cause you convulse with laughter (according to DirecTV, "A space commander and a Scotland Yard inspector search for a naked space vampire loose in London."), was made by a once respectable filmmaker?

The answer is unclear. Online bios suggest that Hooper was lured away from MGM by a rival production company that ultimately failed. But the time between the release of Poltergeist and Lifeforce (3 years), and one cryptic bio on IMDB that claims "some differences...were resolved by Spielberg himself taking over Hooper's directing duties," suggest that perhaps Hooper was just difficult to deal with.

Anyway, this movie should have seemed like a bad idea from the getgo. Based on a Colin Wilson novel, Space Vampires, Hooper's movie plays the entire scenario straight when some winking was probably appropriate. In the near future, a joint U.S. and British expedition to Haley's Comet find a large spaceship hidden by the coma. Inside, they find the dried husks of bat-like humanoids and three perfectly preserved human beings, including the naked girl mentioned above, asleep in glass casings. Doing the only sensible thing, the crew returns to Earth with their new friends under glass, but along the way everyone dies (except the captain, who uses the escape pod, smart fellow). When the shuttle reaches Earth, the three begin a reign of terror, sucking the lifeforce (hence the title) out of anyone they can, their souls jumping from body to body.

It is all part of a nefarious plan to suck the Earth, or at least London, dry. Along the way, the film teaches that a) these are the vampires of legend and they've been here before, b) you should never trust a naked woman you meet in outer space, c) souls have the ability to blow up large London buildings, and d) Patrick Stewart (seriously slumming here) is so much of a man that even men must be restrained from kissing him.



The end of the film is so confusing that it's impossible to say with any certainty what has resolved the conflict. And it's never explained why the vampires, who allegedly have destroyed worlds in their travels throughout the galaxy, left Earth on their previous visits. Also, most of the special effects, including the blue, flying "lifeforce"s that fly around the screen and back up to the vampires' ship, are lifted directly from Poltergeist.

As much as The Common Man loves terrible movies, he was endlessly amused by this poorly thought-out, overly serious, excruciatingly acted film. If you like bad movies, this is an excellent place to start. Sadly, The Common Man watched this film on Chiller, a channel exclusive to DirecTV, so no nudity made its way past the long, blurry arm of the censors. But the prospect of a naked space vampire played by the enchanting Mathilda May

is more than worth the price of admission or rental. The Common Man just asks you not to giggle the next time you watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre, since Tobe Hooper has the decency not to laugh at you while you stubbornly try to drive home at 20 MPH with an unsecured mattress on your roof.

Stupid Man Tricks

The Common Man just finished watching Will Smith in The Pursuit of Happyness with The Uncommon Wife, a nice end to a very fun day. The film follows Chris Gardner, an unsuccessful medical equipment salesman who unexpectedly lands an unpaid internship at Dean Witter after his wife leaves him and his young son. The film is a classic bootstraps story, like Ragged Dick put on film, made more compelling and credible because it's based on a true story.

Because Smith's character works tirelessly alone, against incredible odds, to build up his new career, all in an effort to be a responsible father to his boy, this is a terribly manly, and moving movie. That said, it does not, at this point, qualify as a d^#k flick, because of a distinct lack of explosions/action. So, obviously, there's something deficient in The Common Man's system. After all, when this:



qualifies as a D*#k Flick, and The Pursuit of Happyness doesn't, it may be time to revise the formula.

Better Late Than...

Look, The Common Man knows that he's a little late with this review. Heck, the movie opened a week ago. But between having to arrange childcare for The Boy, finding a time that both The Common Man and The Uncommon Wife could go, and not wanting to deal with obnoxious crowds, The Common Man feels like he did a pretty good job of getting out to the theater in a timely fashion. And it's a good thing, because The Common Man was totally geeked up when he finally got there.

Yet, The Uncommon Wife leaned in to get close to The Common Man as they entered the darkened theater. Very innocently, she mused that a co-worker had said that he didn't like The Dark Knight. Very sweetly, almost non-chalant. The Common Man's bulged wide, but he can understand that point of view, he supposes. The movie is incredibly dark and violent, after all. And perhaps most importantly, it isn't at all what moviegoers have come to expect from a superhero flick. Director Christopher Nolan constantly keeps his audience guessing with fake-outs and curveballs and red herrings. And while The Common Man may be willing to accept the fact that not everyone will like the new Batman movie (though the jury's still out on that), there is no denying that this is an excellent movie and that anyone who says otherwise is itching for a fight.

The film is impeccably cast. Christian Bale, Morgan Freeman, Gary Oldman, and Michael Caine return, of course, from the first movie and are all very good. Maggie Gyllanhall does fine. And of course Heath Ledger shines (or slinks), more on him later though. And Aaron Eckardt is terrific as the pivot point around which the movie turns. Sure, the film stars and features Batman and The Joker, but Eckardt's Harvey Dent is the soul of the film.


More than anything, it is about him. The secondary casting choices are also excellent, however. Bit parts went to big time actors. William Fichner plays a pissed off bank manager. Michael Jai White is a mob boss, as is Eric Roberts. Anthony Michael Hall is a reporter. "That guy" actor Ron Dean plays a prominent role. And gravel voiced Keith Szarabajka (who Angel fans will recognize) seethes. It's like good actors were pounding on Nolan's door, begging to be part of this film.

The tone of the film is just so dark. Like the first film, there's not much to laugh at here. It's a punishing grind of murder and explosions. It's like a two-and-a-half hour root canal for your mind, as Bale, Eckhardt, Caine, Ledger, and Nolan play with your notions of heroism, bravery, and decency. And the conclusions that they come to about those things, and about the nature of humanity and our Dewmocracy will bend your brain.

Yet, it's gripping in a way that the first film was not. A large part of that is due to Heath Ledger's scintilating performance. His Joker oozes slime, hate, and bile. When he's on screen it's impossible not to feel greasy, but even harder to turn away. He's the worst kind of villain, one who hates himself but doesn't want to change. So in order to feel better about himself, he has to bring everyone else to his level. He's the antithesis of manliness.

The Common Man can certainly see how someone could buy into the hype surrounding Ledger's untimely death and it's connection to the movie and overrate his performance accordingly. However, that doesn't change the fact that Ledger has given one of the most memorable performances in modern movie history. His Joker, while not definitive, is iconic and will leave a mark in the minds of all those who see it.

If you haven't already, you should see this movie, as The Common Man believes it is destined to become a cultural touchstone. When critics and scholars and filmmakers look back on the current era of filmmaking, the era of blockbuster superhero/comic book action movies, they will have to talk about this film and its legacy on the superhero genre. And if you don't like it (though you really should), at least appreciate it for what it is: the most cerebral and intense film of its kind thusfar.

Cranky

The Common Man is proud to introduce a new feature today, which was inspired by DirecTV's generous offer to provide The Common Man and the Uncommon Wife with Showtime and Starz free of charge for three months and by The Common Man's refusal to go to bed at a decent hour, dammit. <
For years, men have had to suffer through films like How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days and The Lake House, dragged to the local theatre or the drama aisle by well-meaning girlfriends and wives who just have to watch The Notebook or The Prince of Tides or Sweet Home Alabama. Then, sadly, men are forced to suffer through two hours of Ryan Gosling or Matthew McConaughey or some other McDreamy churn through some plot that any intelligent person already knows the ending to.

Frankly, The Common Man feels slightly ignored by the movie industry these days. Sure, men are typically attracted to the action movies with their big explosions, sexy dames, and choreographed fights. But, let's face it, the vast majority of these movies star Matt Damon, Orlando Bloom, or some other eye-candy to bring in the lady-type viewers. Even the new Batman movie (which The Common Man is going to see tomorrow, so don't give anything away please) is appealing to both genders. Christian Bale? Aaron Eckhardt? The Uncommon Wife can't wait to get to the theater.

No, guys need more movies just for them. Movies they don't have to share. Movies their wives and girlfriends will be embarrassed to admit seeing. And so, it is with great pleasure that The Common Man announces a new genre, the D*#k Flick. Movies for guys. Every so often, The Common Man will pop up to review a D*#k Flick, letting you know exactly what was so wonderful or terrible about it from the man's perspective. And now, to the impetus of today's column, the 2006 release, Crank.

Crank is either the single most self-aware action movie of all time or an hour-and-a-half tutorial on taking uppers. Jason Statham stars as Chev Chelios, an assassin for hire who's about to hang up his silencer for good in order to be with his girlfriend Eve (Amy Smart). As you might expect, Chelios's bosses are less than amused at his decision and poison him with a chemical that is slowing his body down. To stay alive, Chelios must keep his adrenaline levels extremely high. To this end, he steals cars, drives through shopping malls, shoots at cops and criminals alike, has (very) public sex, takes cocaine, drinks an obscene amount of caffeine, terrorizes a hospital in an attempt to get a shot of epinephrine, and swears a lot (dropping an m-effer is known to tick your adrenaline levels up by 1-2%, apparently). Also, he remembers to stop and buy flowers for his girl. See, he's a sweet hitman on a rampage who kills anyone in his path.



Anyway, the film is essentially a live-action "Grand Theft Auto," to the point where the first scene is shot in first-person and the opening credits look like '80s video game graphics. Chelios careens through Los Angeles on a mission to kill the gangsters who have killed him with almost no resistance from law enforcement and no consequences. The film is an adrenaline-filled power-trip of male fantasies. That said, it never stops winking at the audience.

Frankly, the film is better than Statham deserves. Since bursting onto the Hollywood scene in the terrific 2000 film Snatch, Statham has made a career of starring in high-concept, high-action, low-brow, and low-effort action movies. He's the British, 21st century Sylvester Stallone. Seriously, his filmography is wall-to-wall adrenaline-pumping action movies, The One, The Transporter (1, 2, and, coming soon, 3), Cellular, Revolver, In the Name of the King, War, The Bank Job, and the upcoming releases Death Race (blatantly and shamefully reimagining the cult-classic Death Race 2000, which, of course, starred Sly Stallone) and Crank 2. Any lazy director looking around for an intimidating British anti-hero in the last 8 years has called Statham first, and he's been happy to oblige. His one moderate success was as part of an ensemble cast in the mediocre Mini-Cooper commercial, The Italian Job.

And it's not like this is a good movie. It's definitely not. But it revels in the fact that it's a bad movie. First time writers and directors Mark Neveldine and Brian Taylor never let the film break character, cranking the action up to 11 (this one goes to 11) and refusing to back off as they hit and exceed all the typical extravagances of action movies. Explosions? Yes, so many things explode in this movie. Chase scenes? Definitely, through a crowded mall. And while receiving oral sex. Gratuitous sex? Absolutely. The aforementioned chase scene, and an absurd scene in which Statham and Smart are having sex up against a newspaper box, surrounded by cheering Chinese onlookers (some of whom are schoolgirls). All that and more. Blood and violence? Um, yes. Yes, there is. Severed hands, shots to the head, etc., etc.

As such, what could have been a mind-numbing experience turns into campy, hilarious fun. The film doesn't take itself at all seriously, and that's a good thing. The film gets serious points for its self-mockery and ridiculousness. It loses points for making me at all care what happens to Jason Statham.

So, in all, The Common Man would give this film 1 ball (2 being the highest you can go without being some kind of genetic freak). While an excellent movie for guys, it was not necessarily a good movie in general. It seemed more a glorification of the kind of violence that inhabits video games like Grand Theft Auto than a knowing condemnation of it. No one learns anything, least of all the audience, except that violence is awesome. If it could have bridged the gap to become satire, it would have gotten at least half a ball more. So now, excuse The Common Man. Not that he's influenced by popular culture or anything, but he's going to go snort an eight-ball and rob a bank.