NCC Chronicle – Page 2

12 Angry Men

Published in the North Central Chronicle on Feb. 22, 2008, as part of a series called “Chad Picks Classic Flicks.”

I was about 7 years old when O.J. Simpson was acquitted of murder. I’ve seen the highlights—the slow-speed chase, O.J. struggling with the glove—but I don’t remember the sensational media coverage or the racial debates regarding the verdict. I can only assume the jury felt tremendous pressure to get it right; a guilty verdict would have sent Simpson to death row, while ruling him not guilty would set him free.

The question of guilty versus innocent and right versus wrong has captivated rational minds for centuries. In our justice system, the final judgment of wrongdoers is laid on the conscience and common sense of their peers. But when fallible and differing human beings must unite under one clear, unanimous decision, there is bound to be conflict. And conflict is exactly what happens in Sidney Lumet’s 12 Angry Men (1957).

A young ruffian has been accused of premeditated murder. The judge sends the jury into deliberation of what appears to be an open-and-shut case. The twelve jurors file into a cramped back room to debate the case, but 11 of them have already assumed the defendant’s guilt. The twelfth one, however, is not so sure. He, juror number 8 (Henry Fonda) is the only one who leaves room for reasonable doubt.

So they are forced to endure the stifling heat and convince Juror Number 8 to change his vote. As the tension builds with the humidity, the jurors sweat the details of the case and each man’s faults and prejudices surface. One man sees the defendant as a stereotypical child of the slums and makes his judgments accordingly. Another cares more about making it to a baseball game that night than deciding the fate of a man.

We learn of the case piece by piece through the jury’s deliberation, and slowly we see our own perceptions of the defendant’s alleged crime, and of the jurors themselves, change. Juror Number 8 is meant to be the hero of the film, but he represents more; he is willing to stand up for an unpopular belief amidst heavy and vocal opposition, and his voice of reason and empathy starts to convince other jurors to take change their vote. But I could see a part of myself in each one of the jurors; the reasonable, the indifferent, the stubborn, and the intolerant.

12 Angry Men is similar to Rear Window in that all but about three minutes of the film takes place in one room, creating a heightened sense of claustrophobia for the viewer and for the jurors. In a pressure-filled situation like that, the worst in a person spills out, resulting in ad hominem attacks and irrational behavior. It’s like The Real World, except well-made.

This film should not have worked. Watching twelve men sit in a room and just talk for an hour and a half does not sound very fun, but the actors inhabit their characters and make us believe we’re in that stuffy room with them. We are drawn into solving the murder mystery with the jurors, and we soon start to make our own conclusions, however unsubstantiated or unfair they are.

12 Angry Men succeeds were a good dramatic film should: it entertains us, with colorful characters waging a war of words in a stress-filled environment; and it also makes us think, about the concept of right and wrong and about our own prejudices. With a one-two punch like that, 12 Angry Men deserves no less than top billing on your Netflix queue.

February 22, 2008 Add Comment

War Is Hell

Published in the North Central Chronicle on February 8, 2008.

John Edwards is out of the race. I think he would have made a fine president. His fight against poverty and corruption did not jive well with mainstream media narratives, though they were well-publicized cornerstones of Edwards’ stump speech. But his other equally important message also failed to catch on. After voting to authorize the Iraq War in 2002, Edwards soon reversed his position on the war, and last year created a movement called “Support the Troops. End the War.”

Today, the country’s attention has become fixed on the state of the economy more than the war in Iraq. Of course, as a capitalist nation we like to know how our dollar is doing (for those less interested in current events: it’s not doing so well), but our collective mammonism has diverted our attention away from the war, where men, women, and children are being killed.

Killed. Every single day.

It is hard to fully grasp this concept. Unlike previous American wars, those holding down the home front don’t have to sacrifice anything to keep the war going. During the Civil War, families lost their only income when men served and died on bloody battlefields. During World War II, Americans rationed food and supplies, worked in munitions factories, and were drafted to topple tyranny.

But for this war, there is no draft or call to service by the president, so all we have to do is watch B-roll of chaotic Iraqi marketplaces and argue broad talking points from the comfort and safety of our computer chairs.

That is why, I would argue, the war has not been ended yet. We remain complacent and unaware of what it means to fight a war. I’ve become so desensitized to war images that it seems like no big deal, like it is a video game. I suppose we should ask the family of Spc. Richard Burress, who died two weeks ago from a roadside bomb, if his death was no big deal.

The truth is that war is hell. Soldiers know this, and politicians know how to prevent us from knowing this. They ban images of Americans being killed from appearing in media because, as we found out after the Abu Ghraib scandal, that would cause the public to realize what is actually happening and demand that something be done to stop it.

Regardless of what pundits say, it is possible to support the troops yet not support their mission. President Bush seems to do the opposite. He sends insufficient and ill-equipped troops into a situation even Vice President Cheney knew would become a “quagmire,” then fails to remedy the horrific conditions at Walter Reed hospital and others like it. Yet he said, and kept saying, that we all should support the troops, and implied that anyone who did not was a terrorist-sympathizer. So much for being the “uniter.”

Still, I support the troops. I don’t support their mission, whatever that is (the president has yet to make it clear), but I absolutely, resolutely will support the troops. I don’t have bumper stickers or American flag lapel pins to prove it, but since when did a flimsy piece of plastic indicate one’s amount of patriotism? These men and women volunteer to serve at the high risk of injury, maimedness, or death. They leave their families for weeks, months, even years, to secure and maintain order in a disorderly country while trying to avoid getting a bullet in the brain or shrapnel in the eye. They inspire me – and relieve me from fighting a war we have no business fighting.

I trust you, the (hopefully) well-informed and sensible voter, have been able to see through the malarkey the candidates have been feeding us and decide who will better determine our future in Iraq. I’m living on a prayer that our next president will at least have the gumption, like Edwards did, to support the troops and end the war.

February 7, 2008 1 Comment

Standing Tall: Comparing ‘High Noon’ and ‘On The Waterfront’

Published in the North Central Chronicle on Jan. 25, 2008

“I have here in my hand…” said Senator Joseph McCarthy in February 1950, effectively hoodwinking the country into a hysterical anti-Communism era known as the Red Scare. McCarthy claimed the list identified 200 Communists within the American government, so he and the House Committee on Un-American Activities (HUAC) spearheaded a movement to eradicate Communist spies and sympathizers from the government.

The most infamous consequence of the Red Scare was the blacklisting of workers in the entertainment industry. Ten Hollywood screenwriters and producers refused to admit to HUAC that they were Communists or Communist sympathizers and in doing so were barred indefinitely from working in Hollywood. These “Hollywood Ten,” plus one hundred more working professionals, struggled to find work for many years following their blacklisting.

Loyalties within the industry became fiercely divided, and soon writers and directors directly affected by the blacklist voiced their opinions through their films. The two most notable films that resulted from the blacklisting gave sharply contrasting, yet oddly similar views of the ordeal. These films were High Noon (1952) and On the Waterfront (1954).

Fred Zinnemann’s tense Western High Noon tells the tale of Sheriff Will Kane (Gary Cooper) defending his Kansas town from vindictive criminals hell-bent on killing Kane. It’s a simple task, complicated by the fact that his new wife Amy (Grace Kelly) is a pacifist Quaker trying to talk him out of it. Plus, the deputies who were once loyal to him choose not to fight with him out of fear and cowardice.

Kane tries to rally support from the townsfolk, who cower in the shadows and resent his presence. Amy then threatens to leave him because of her pacifist principles (so much for “‘til death do us part.”) Ultimately Kane decides to take on the bandits alone, despite his wife’s wishes and despite knowing that if he left, the bandits would probably leave as well.

High Noon is the classic American Western. But unlike the traditional Westerns of the time, it takes place in almost real-time, heightening the tension for the viewer as we watch Kane desperately try to defend his town and his pride. Like Rear Window, not much action happens until the final act, when the boiler-pot full of despair and helplessness finally explodes. More importantly, it is an allegory of the fight against blacklisting, which I will discuss shortly

In Elia Kazan’s On the Waterfront, Terry Malloy (Marlon Brando) is an ex-prizefighter-turned-longshoreman who works for a gang that controls the New York City waterfronts. Terry inadvertently helps the gang kill a police informer, who happened to be his best friend, and his conscience starts to take a toll.

Terry is indicted by the police but refuses to testify against the gang, fearing deadly retribution. His friend’s sister Edie (Eva Marie Saint) and a local priest try to convince him to work against the mob, but it’s not until Terry’s brother Charley, a mobster who is ordered to kill Terry to stop him from testifying, is killed when Terry decides to become an informer. Terry eventually testifies against the mob, breaking the waterfront code of not ratting out one’s friends and earning the scorn of his fellow dock workers.

On the Waterfront won eight Academy Awards including Best Picture and Best Actor for Marlon Brando. His performance is widely regarded as one of the best in history (you might recognize his “I coulda been a contender” speech), while the film itself placed eighth on the American Film Institute’s all-time list.

Another key reason for the film’s greatness is its symbolism: a train whistle blows as Terry “blows the whistle” on the death of his friend; Terry carries a hook on his shoulder after he is beaten up by the mob to signify a Christ-like suffering. The allegorical nature of this film elevates it from a by-the-numbers melodrama to a thoughtful masterpiece.

These films can stand alone as two classic and important American films, but they, as well as a few other films at the time, share a unique purpose in their making. Carl Foreman, the writer of High Noon, was a former Communist who was called before HUAC to identify other Communists in Hollywood. Foreman refused and was blacklisted, so he went into exile in Britain, recognizing a lack of motivation among his colleagues in Hollywood to combat the spread of McCarthyism and to speak up for their blacklisted friends.

With this in mind, the subtext of High Noon becomes clearer: the townsfolk (people in Hollywood) are afraid to support Kane (the blacklisted) when the criminals (McCarthy and HUAC) come to town. You’ll have to watch the film to see what happens, but rest assured, Foreman felt that he would survive the national nightmare, and did: he co-wrote the Academy Award-winning The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957) with a fellow blacklisted screenwriter.

On the Waterfront tells the same story through a different lens. Director Elia Kazan and writer Budd Schulberg both named names at the HUAC hearings – like Terry did in the film –and their peers condemned them for it. By portraying Terry as the hero when he testifies against the villains in the film, Kazan and Schulberg justify their own real-life actions.

Since these films tell essentially the exact same story, which view is more justified? Both have a strong central character defying the persuasive masses to do what they think is right. Is the man who exposes injustice justified in his revelation, even if it means betraying his friends? Or are the masses, who refuse to help their leader because they don’t agree with him, more justified? It’s the job of the viewer to decide.

Fifty years later, these films are no less relevant today than they were back then. If anything, these films defend the right of art to give voice to a momentarily unpopular opinion that would have otherwise been ignored. They also demonstrate the power film has to launch new ideas into the public consciousness, ready or not. New and unpopular ideas abound in our culture, regardless of how many people vilify them (I’m talking to you, Bill O’Reilly), and it’s important for filmmakers to capture these ideas for humanity’s and history’s sake.

February 1, 2008 3 Comments

Introverts: A Misunderstood Bunch

Published in North Central Chronicle on January 18, 2008.

In a world where talk is cheap and time is money, life for an introvert can often become disorienting and exhausting.

In a society dominated by extroverts, who gear more towards conversation and activity, introverts become marginalized for our perceived lack of social skills. The truth is that introverts hardly lack social skills. We simply get our energy from being alone rather than from being with other people. That trait is too often confused with shyness, but in fact we may just want to be left alone.

Extroverts have a difficult time discovering this distinction. Because of their shorter conversational attention spans and inability to be alone for extended periods of time, they do not, or simply cannot, understand their introverted friends. They ask an introvert to dinner and do not understand why they would rather stay home alone and read than socialize. Or perhaps they balk at an introvert’s request to leave a party after only a short time, not knowing that the introvert cannot take much more mindless chatter.

We introverts fight battles constantly. We fight with leagues of extroverts for airtime to voice our carefully-crafted thoughts. We fight for time alone everyday to recharge and recollect. We fight the stereotypes branded on us, wishing for nothing more than understanding. We also feel like picking a fight when we’re asked, “Are you all right?” for the hundredth time, when all we want to do is remain deep in thought.

Often our reluctance to socialize leads extroverts to believe that we introverts are arrogant, detached, or self-absorbed. This misconception is probably due to an introvert’s disdain for small talk. Our days are filled with thinking—we like to figure out exactly what we’ll say before saying it—so the concept of small talk seems obligatory and a waste of time. But even more than small talk, introverts hate repeating themselves. Calvin Coolidge once said, “If you don’t say anything, you won’t be called on to repeat it.” I wonder if Coolidge would have even survived in today’s political atmosphere.

But we introverts must trudge on. In the article “Caring for Your Introvert” by Jonathan Rauch, the author writes, “Many actors, I’ve read, are introverts, and many introverts, when socializing, feel like actors.” We learn to put on a happy, sociable face when it’s called for, if only to keep the inquisitive extroverts off our backs. Indeed, before I enter a social circus, I have to mentally ready myself for an unknown amount of hyper-interaction. I tell myself, “This is a party. You can have fun and talk with people.” I try not to be a recluse, but sometimes my social battery runs out and irritation quickly sets in.

Perhaps one day, extroverts will understand the hell they put us introverts through. Perhaps one day, breaks in conversation will not seem awkward, and small talk will not be required to maintain proper etiquette. Perhaps one day, extroverts will discover the joy of seclusion, and the value of stillness. Perhaps. Until that day, you extroverts should be more mindful of your quieter, less convivial peers. Do not ask them why they’re so quiet, or why they want to be left alone, because the reason is probably you.

February 1, 2008 48 Comments

Best Films of 2007

Note: See an updated version of this list.

1) The Lives of Others
This German film won Best Foreign Language Film at the Oscars last year, and boy, did it deserve it. Set in East Berlin during the Cold War, involving a member of the German secret police who spies on a dissident writer and soon finds his loyalties in a tug-of-war. It’s an intimate and compelling story, worthy of every penny when you rent it.

2) Once
If I could watch only one movie before I die, it would be Once. The concept is simple: a guy and girl meet and make music. What transpires is an uplifting, unconventional journey through life and love that never succumbs to cliché. The songs tell the story much more than the dialogue, and seeing the story unfold is truly a delight.

3) Waitress
The most pleasant surprise of the year. Keri Russell deserves an Oscar nod for her role as a pregnant, pie-making, emotionally-abused waitress who falls in love with her gynecologist. I instantly fell in love with Russell’s character and her supporting cast. Waitress is the sweetest and most filling story of 2007.

4) Zodiac
Despite its long running time, this film had me completely mesmerized. Scene after scene the intrigue builds as we watch detectives, reporters, and a cartoonist try to discover the identity of the Zodiac killer. It’s an old school whodunit story with great performances and a unique style, akin to other thrillers like Collateral and All the President’s Men.

5) Michael Clayton
It’s Erin Brockovich meets The Bourne Identity. George Clooney plays a fixer at a high-end law firm that has trouble fixing the latest case of malfeasance. It’s a tight, modest thriller that flew under the radar but deserves many awards. Clooney gives his best-ever performance, and the ending is the best of the year.

6) No Country for Old Men
Everything about this film is so good. The acting, cinematography, and writing crank this modernized western to eleven, keeping the tension building as a deadly cat-and-mouse game plays out in ways never seen before. The film is as violent as it is contemplative. Javier Bardem plays the best villain I’ve seen in a long time.

7) Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street
Johnny Depp commands the screen as a vengeful barber in 19^th century London, slitting throats and hitting high notes in this gruesome, gothic musical. The costumes and sets are beautiful, but the singing shines, especially from Depp, whose haunting melodies are backed up by a lush orchestra. I saw many musicals this year; this one rules them all.

8) Ratatouille
Pixar is so good that they could make a film about a homicidal drug dealer and still make it family-friendly. Of course Pixar’s animation is superior to its competitors, but this film transcends being simply an “animated movie” and thrives on the merits of its story alone. The voice work is top-notch, especially from Peter O’Toole who voices a food critic.

9) Juno
This year’s Little Miss Sunshine. After the first 20 minutes, Juno stops being insufferably twee and hip and settles into form, becoming hilarious and charming. The titular character, played by Ellen Page, is refreshingly frank yet oddly lovable, becoming the bedrock of a film filled with strong supporting characters.

10) 3:10 to Yuma
Westerns are back! Christian Bale and Russell Crowe maneuver an epic back-and-forth between Bale’s browbeaten farmer and Crowe’s swashbuckling outlaw he’s paid to bring to jail. Themes of loyalty, justice, and right-versus-wrong weave through this ruggedly gorgeous western. If you don’t usually like westerns, check this one out.

February 1, 2008 1 Comment

Some Like It Hot

Published in the North Central Chronicle on November 2, 2007, as part of a series called “Chad Picks Classic Flicks.”

After tackling a few different genres—film noir, thriller, crime drama—all of which can take a heavy toll on your senses, I thought it best to visit a genre much older than the film medium and more eternal than the line at the bookstore: comedy.

There are many things that make me laugh. Some are obvious: Hans Moleman from The Simpsons getting hit in the groin with a football, Ron Burgundy repeatedly insisting that he wants to “be on” Veronica Corningstone, and G.O.B. doing his chicken dance on Arrested Development.

But other things that make me laugh are more subtle: Nigel Tufnel showing off his amp that goes to eleven in This Is Spinal Tap; Lloyd Christmas saying “follow me” to Harry Dunne in Dumb & Dumber; Dwight Schrute admitting to loving Count Chocula in The Office. Those not-so-obvious ways of making people laugh are certainly more difficult to create, and that’s why good comedy can be very hard to find.

Luckily, the American Film Institute has found it for us. They made a list of 100 American comedies worth their rental price, and my choice for classic comedy just happens to be number one on that list. That film is Billy Wilder’s Some Like It Hot (1959).

In Depression era Chicago, two struggling musicians, Joe (Tony Curtis) and Jerry (Jack Lemmon), witness the infamous St. Valentine’s Day Massacre between two rival gangs. When the gangster in charge spots Joe and Jerry, they flee in a hurry and try to arrange to leave the city to escape their pursuers. The problem is that the only available gig is with an all-female big band.

But that doesn’t stop the dynamic duo. They simply disguise themselves as females and raise their voices up an octave, effectively transforming from Joe and Jerry to Josephine and Daphne. They’re convincing enough to fool everyone in the band and are soon bound for Florida, safe from their chasers.

The “girls” quickly become popular among their female companions. They meet the ukulele player and vocalist Sugar Kane (Marilyn Monroe) and immediately beginning fighting for her attention, all the while struggling to maintain their feminine guise. This proves difficult as Jerry soon falls for Sugar and is tempted to blow his cover and run off with her, but he eventually accepts Sugar’s sultry demeanor as something he can never embrace—as a woman, at least.

Meanwhile, as the band arrives at a Florida resort, Josephine and Daphne discover that the gangsters they tried to evade had tracked them down. Soon they are running for their lives, all the while trying to sustain their alter-egos and survive unscathed.

Admittedly, this film doesn’t sound anything like a comedy, much less a good one. But, frankly, it’s hilarious. The Academy Award-nominated screenplay overflows with wickedly clever one-liners and double entendres. Jack Lemmon especially has a razor-sharp delivery. When Daphne and Josephine are first welcomed into the band, another girl asks if they are the new girls. “Brand new,” he says.

In addition to the superb dialogue, the actors maneuver through riotous sight gags and sticky situations. At one point, Jack Lemmon, who is enormously gifted at physical humor, is dressed in drag and an “uplifting” brassiere doing the tango with an eccentric millionaire. Any other actor would have overacted the moment, but Lemmon provides the perfect expression that becomes an uproarious moment.

Topping off at 2 hours, Some Like It Hot feels like a period drama that just happens to feature hilarious cross-dressing musicians jumping from one farcical scene to the next. But this film is unlike its comedy counterparts of today’s cinema. There are no penis jokes, no foul-mouthed perverts, no bikini-clad bimbos; just well-crafted, smart, knee-slapping comedy.

Billy Wilder, the director and co-screenwriter, was most well-known for his dramatic films like Double Indemnity (1944) and Sunset Boulevard (1950), which is why there is just as much plot as there is humor; a rarity in modern comedies. This characteristic is what sets Some Like It Hot apart from other comedies and why it topped AFI’s list.

If you’re looking for laughs that aren’t aimed at those who have been lobotomized, check out Some Like It Hot. Even if it’s not the funniest movie you’ve ever seen, it’s probably smarter than your favorite comedy. I realize that laughs don’t always coincide with intelligence (example: Epic Movie), but at least Some Like It Hot won’t cause your IQ to drop.

February 1, 2008 1 Comment

Where Are Our American Heroes?

Published in the North Central Chronicle on October 26, 2007.

The Declaration of Independence. The Emancipation Proclamation. The Wright brothers. The fall of the Berlin Wall. These are great pieces of our nation’s history. They represent the importance of American freedom, ingenuity, and strength.

Slavery. The treatment of Native Americans. The atomic bomb. Vietnam. Watergate. These are shameful chapters of American history that we continually try to forget.

And now, in our post-9/11 world, the shame seems to keep piling up. Abu Ghraib, Blackwater, Alberto Gonzales, a weak Congress and an absurd president—none of these things seem worth fighting for.

Now, flashback 40 years. Our parents had the unique opportunity to live through the most turbulent and revolutionary times in our country’s recent history. They saw an America on the brink of disaster fight through great injustices, assassinations, radical racism, and an unwinnable war. But they also lived to see one of our country’s greatest political figures: John F. Kennedy.

JFK met many obstacles; some he overcame, some got the best of him. But regardless of his politics or his personal life, JFK led. Arguably, one of the most consequential and defining choice he ever made was to lead this country into the Final Frontier and get a man on the Moon.

It’s hard to put into context now, but at the time this idea was Earth-shattering (pun intended). NASA had already been conducting space missions for a few years, but the Moon was still a long way off. After the Russians launched Sputnik, the first satellite to orbit the Earth, and effectively pulled ahead of the United States in the “Space Race,” President Kennedy had to convince the country to get to the Moon. And after a string of humiliating moral defeats, America was ready for a victory.

Eight years and billions of dollars later, we made it. A human walked on the Moon. Just think about that for a second. It’s incredible. Anyone over 40 will tell you exactly what it was like to witness Neil Armstrong step foot on the face of an uncharted, untamed celestial force of nature. Even Walter Cronkite, the most stoic and professional news anchor ever, could not contain his astonishment and joy at such an incredible feat.

But the greatest thing about the Apollo 11 moon landing was not that America was the country to do it, it was that America shared that epic achievement with the whole world. It wasn’t an American that landed on the moon; it was a human being. Like Armstrong famously said: ‘That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

Mankind did it together, with America leading the way. That was the sentiment that the whole world shared.

Now, decades later, instead of banding together with our fellow man and setting the example for peace and freedom, we’ve alienated most of the world with our unilateral policies, our government has failed time after time to be honest with us, and we’ve abandoned all the moral authority we earned in the past. So who can we look to now? Who among us can take us back in the right direction?

We cannot rely on another event like the moon landing to inspire the world to co-exist peacefully. Life is too precious to be left in apathetic hands. But if another 9/11 comes along, when the world joins together, if only for a moment, we’ve got to seize that moment to do some good. We’ve got to raise the bar high, like we did with the Marshall Plan after World War II and the Civil Rights Act of 1964.

We’re nearing another fork in the road as we approach the 2008 election and turn the page on a tumultuous and unstable episode of history. The biggest issue I’m judging the candidates on is their sensibility and devotion to the restoration of true American dignity and leadership. So far, I’ve yet to be impressed by any candidate. Again, who will lead us into the abyss that lay before us?

Where are the George Washingtons, the Lewis & Clarks, and the Rosa Parkses of this generation? Is there no one to help clean up cities destroyed by hurricanes, to stop genocide, to eliminate hunger? I’m searching for someone or something to believe in, someone that unites rather than divides and actively pursues truth instead of obscures it. Does such a person exist?

I’m looking for the heroes, the pioneers, the events that will capture the heart of our nation and inspire true patriotism. Not patriotism limited to American flag lapel pins and bumper sticker slogans, but patriotism that is shown through action and truth rather than empty words and partisan bickering. It may be a lofty goal, but this is America, the Land of Opportunity; let’s take the opportunity set before us to become great again.

February 1, 2008 Add Comment

Taxi Driver

Originally published in the North Central Chronicle on October 19, 2007, as part of a series called “Chad Picks Classic Flicks.”

In this edition of “Chad Picks Classic Flicks,” I’m skipping over the 1960s in favor of tackling the wide array of great movies in the 1970s. I will return to the decade of sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll eventually, but for now, we’re traveling to a time when VHS and Betamax were waging a format war, when Johnny Carson was “King of Late Night”, and when the Internet was something only engineers cared about. So grab your bellbottoms, throw on your favorite ABBA album, and prepare to get funky—film style.

Beginning with the release of Bonnie and Clyde in 1967, and ending with the release of One for the Heart in 1982, American film was largely defined by low-budget, realist, sometimes exploitative films made by young, independent filmmakers. This era is dubbed “New Hollywood” because it threw away the standards of the old studio system and completely changed the way movies were made and marketed.

New Hollywood films were groundbreaking in their technique and style, but most notably for the themes they addressed. Anti-establishment and disaffected youth were common subjects. Sexual angst and heightened realism were pervasive. There are many noteworthy New Hollywood films that share these traits, but none stand out as much as Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver (1976).

Set in post-Vietnam Era New York City, Taxi Driver follows lonely insomniac taxi driver Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro) through his isolated and desperate life driving through the dirty streets and fantasizing about laying waste to lowlifes and criminals. He spots Betsy (Cybill Shepherd), a blonde overwrought campaign aide to a presidential hopeful, and successfully woos her into a date.

But Bickle, who apparently has not been on too many dates, brings Betsy to a sleazy porno film, and she quickly leaves in disgust. Travis feels rejected and confused, and so begins his slow descent into delusion and despair.

The deep-seated anger Travis has suppressed begins to emerge as he becomes more withdrawn from the world he loathes so much. He buys a few handguns and, in a very famous scene, talks to himself as he flashes his gun in front of a mirror: “You talkin’ to me? Well I’m the only one here,” he says. He becomes the only person in his life, and soon his deluded mind takes over, creating a whole new Travis; a ruthless and desperate assassin.

Travis then unexpectedly meets a 12-year-old prostitute (played by a very young Jodie Foster), and takes it upon himself to save her from her pimp and from a life on the streets. The problem is that she doesn’t necessarily want to be saved, and Bickle’s problem is that he can’t accept that. He has a mission in his mind, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t go for glory trying to save the girl and win Betsy back.

If you haven’t gathered it already, Taxi Driver deals with a seriously disturbed character. He’s a racist, homophobic, confrontational hermit and has illusions of grandeur. He tries to become a hero but doesn’t realize that he’s doing everything wrong in the process.

Yet equally as mesmerizing as the film’s central character is its style. The unorthodox cinematography brings out the grittiness and nuances of the streets, and the dialogue flows well while maintaining depth and insight. The taut supporting cast offers a hearty taste of authenticity with a dash of humanity, which serves as a stunning contrast to the perceived inhumanity in Bickle.

Taxi Driver was the film that pushed both Martin Scorsese and Robert De Niro into the limelight. It won the top prize at the Cannes Film Festival and a slew of Academy Award nominations, including Best Actor, Best Director, and Best Picture. It’s my favorite Scorsese film, not only for the reasons explained, but for the film’s residual effects. It made me think long after it ended, and I give major props to films that can do that.

This weekend, consider escaping the autumn chills by watching Taxi Driver in the caged swelter of your dorm room. It’s not the greatest date movie, however, so don’t cuddle up with your significant other expecting a romantic segue into a make out session; it’s a brutally honest film that delves deep into a mad mind. If that’s not your cup of tea, just skip right to the make out session.

February 1, 2008 Add Comment

Rear Window

Published in the North Central Chronicle on October 5, 2007, as part of a series called “Chad Picks Classic Flicks.”

Today we’re going to visit the 1950s, a time when television shows delivered the least objectionable content, when the president of the United States was roundly respected, and when rock stars needed only to shake their pelvises to cause massive public outrage. Indeed, in this time of traditionalism emerged a film that dared to talk in taboos and confront the peeping tom in all of us. This film is Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window (1954).

James Stewart, the “Everyman” of American cinema, plays L.B. Jeffries, a maverick freelance photojournalist who becomes bedridden after being on the receiving end of a racetrack collision. His cast-bound life is boring, and so far as he can tell, so are the lives of the neighbors with which he shares an apartment complex. Curiosity gets the best of Jeffries, as he begins to discreetly examine the personal lives of his fellow tenants with the zoom lens on his camera.

Jeffries’ peeping seems innocuous at first, but when he begins to suspect a murder has taken place in an apartment across the yard, his innocent spy games turn into a full-fledged investigation. He enlists his longtime girlfriend, high-class fashion designer Lisa Fremont (Grace Kelly) and his nurse Stella to help him solve his homespun whodunit, but all take umbrage with Jeffries’ perceived voyeurism.

Their indignations only last for so long. Soon both women are immersed in the mystery and they too become peeping toms, powerless to their desire to make other people’s business their own. From there it doesn’t take long for the team’s sleuthing to lead to danger. Their suspicions soon become known to the suspected killer, and the race is on for Jeffries to solve the murder or become a part of it.

A subtle, yet defining quality of Rear Window is how the potential of Jeffries and Fremont’s relationship is seen through the relationships of Jeffries’ neighbors. There is the frustrated bachelor musician; a possible outcome for Jeffries if he fails to tie the knot with Lisa. There is a sociable yet single dancer who has to fight off frequent marriage proposals; a possibility for Lisa if she leaves Jeffries. Then there is the boring, domesticated married couple; a possibility for both of them. Jeffries takes these possible futures, pairs it with his fear of commitment, and makes it difficult for Lisa to convince him to settle down for good.

Another thing I love about Rear Window is that it doesn’t necessarily show us what we want to see when we want to see it. Even as clues are revealed and Jeffries tries to rally support of his theory, it doesn’t seem like much is happening. We don’t see any bodies, there are no death threats, and our amateur sleuth hero might just be out of his mind. But this apparent inactivity is one of the film’s greatest triumphs. It’s like boiler pot: the steam builds ever so slowly until the tension becomes so overwhelming and it finally explodes.

Hitchcock was infamous for loving to use his films to make his audiences squirm. Mind you, not how Saw makes you squirm with disembowelments and decapitations, but rather with mind games and psychological trickery. He made the characters with which we identified and related consistently do the wrong thing, effectively tricking us into thinking or believing something we never imagined a decent person could think.

There are many other Hitchcock films I would recommend: Psycho, Notorious, and The Birds are all worthy of mention. But Rear Window is one of my all-time favorite films because remains wholly effective throughout despite having no soundtrack or significant action. It is as delightful as it is disturbing, as maniacal as it is moving. There are many films that intrigue, scare, and make you think, but none as brilliantly and successfully as Rear Window.

February 1, 2008 Add Comment

McCarty Follows Uncommon Path

Published in the North Central Chronicle on September 28, 2007.

How does one lead an uncommon life? History shows that the greatest leaders are those who rise to the challenge of leading an uncommon life, a life unafraid of what comes next. Esther McCarty is one of those people.

Esther McCarty (’09) was born in Baguio City, Philippines. Her parents founded schools in the Philippines and in nearby Burma to teach music and Bible knowledge hand-in-hand with their humanitarian services. Esther attended an international school while learning Tagalog, the Filipino language. It didn’t take her too long to assimilate.

“I thought of myself as a Filipino.”

The McCarty family lived in the city but traveled extensively to rural areas to conduct medical missions in the north. The Filipino culture was moderately westernized, though facilities like showers had yet to develop beyond their indigenous design.

Esther was fond of living in the city, but she found true solace and beauty elsewhere. Esther vividly remembers a class trip into the Cordilliera Mountains to visit rice terraces that had long ago been hand-carved into the mountains for farming purposes.

“I find peace when I’m in the mountains,” she says. “They are so exquisite and majestic.”

The McCarty family returned to the United States for two years after Esther’s brother Jon was in a near-fatal motorbike accident. After his recovery, Esther’s father informed her that the family would be moving to Thailand. The move shocked her at first, but after living in Thailand for four years, Esther knew she had found her home.

“Thailand was more oriental, exotic, and mysterious than the Philippines. I feel that those years in Thailand were the most formative for me. I now feel more Thai than anything else.”

It was a twist of fate that brought Esther to North Central. She recalls getting a “crazy 80s-style promotional video from North Central College” from her dad during senior year of high school. The video itself didn’t win her over, though it was altogether humorous; it was the financial aid package that sealed the deal. Esther hadn’t as much as visited campus when she decided to come to North Central.

Like many first-year students, Esther got heavily involved in campus activities. During her first year alone, she was on the Hall Council for the New Student Complex, the finance committee in the student government, the Chronicle staff, and the tennis team. On top of that, she worked three jobs at once: in the Admissions office, at the Corner Bakery, and at Bangkok Village, where she still works today.

“I wanted to try everything,” she says.

But, like many first-year students, she burned out quickly. She quit two of her three jobs and her life eventually settled down. She is now an RA in Townhomes and a board member of the Uncommon Life Movement and Breakaway, student organizations that organize service trips nationwide.

Esther projects a strong spirit that is not concerned with what comes next, only with how she can help. She is never without a smile and a nice thing to say, and it is evident that Esther has found her stride in service.

“God created me to serve. I feel most happy when I’m helping people, and know people are my passion.”

An uncommon life, indeed.

February 1, 2008 Add Comment

Murdoch Expands His Mega Media Empire

Published in the North Central Chronicle on September 14, 2007.

First published in 1889, the Wall Street Journal has won countless Pulitzer Prizes and worldwide acclaim for its quality reporting and editorials. It also was the first news outlet to report Enron’s financial disaster, as well as the Sept. 11 attacks. So what lies ahead for such a highly regarded and successful newspaper?

Rupert Murdoch buys it.

That’s right. The same man who owns American Idol, Fox News Channel and MySpace now owns one of the most prestigious names in U.S. news – possibly the world. The average citizen, however, may see nothing wrong with this. After all, we live in a capitalist society. Aren’t businesses allowed to grow?

In fact, the buyout of the Wall Street Journal illustrates the very thing that’s wrong with our capitalist society and our democracy. We’re much more interested in making a buck than preserving our sacred constitutional rights. But hey, if one man can afford to own dozens of newspapers, cable channels, magazines, a film studio and two publishing companies, what’s the sense in stopping him from buying more? Why even fight it?

What most people fail to grasp is that when media businesses merge, a voice in the media is lost. Pretty soon, when most mainstream media outlets are owned by just a few corporations as they are now, there are few remaining independent, credible voices left. This is when our basic right to information starts to diminish.

We all have a right to truth from the media. James Madison, Founding Father and architect of the U.S. Constitution, said that “a popular government without popular information or the means of acquiring it is but a prologue to a farce, or a tragedy, or perhaps both.”

Essentially, we need a free press. In order for this country to survive this crazy thing we call politics, we need to know what’s going on. Fox News and CNN, the two highest rated and well-known cable news outlets, can’t tell you whole truths because their bosses depend on an uninformed public that is not willing to step up and force change.

But here is the truth: The only thing stopping this country from becoming an even greater nation is the people itself. We are apathetic, unaware and unwilling to force our media and our country to serve the basic rights of its citizens, rather than the greed of its stockholders.

Democracy and capitalism can work well together – so long as they keep each other in check. Our democracy may be the most bragged about democracy in the world, but that doesn’t make it the best. Right now, our capitalism is beating the hell out of our democracy. And Murdoch’s latest move is just kicking democracy while it’s down.

The Wall Street Journal buyout should be a wake up call to all Americans who love their country. We can’t see the truth about the Iraq War, global warming, the 2008 Presidential election or concentrated ownership in the media if the media moguls are consistently pulling the wool over our eyes. Do yourself a favor and open your eyes and see for yourself.

February 1, 2008 Add Comment

The ‘Rite’ Of The Male Gaze

Published in the North Central Chronicle on September 28, 2007.

Imagine: John Q. Student is sitting on a bench outside the Science Center with his friend Billy. John spots a voluptuous, scantily-clad young woman walking their way and takes a long look at her behind his sunglasses. He says to Billy: “Dude, check out that chick’s…personality.”

You mean you’ve never heard that before? Well, replace “personality” with a part of the female anatomy and you’ve got what is commonly referred to as the “male gaze.”

The male gaze, according to Dr. Jonathan Schroeder, “signifies a psychological relationship of power, in which the gazer is superior to the object of the gaze.”

It’s about having “the power” to look a woman up and down, see what we want to see, and then move on. Century upon century of male superiority has made this act commonplace and even encouraged. It’s considered a badge of honor within the Brotherhood of Man. But that doesn’t make it right. In fact, it’s something that needs to be changed.

Perpetual use of the male gaze degrades women to mere objects of a man’s desire – pieces of meat, essentially. When we as males check a girl out, be it mindfully or not, we’re saying to the woman: “You are only worth what I’m looking at right now.” That’s quite a message to be sending to a fellow human being.

The male gaze has in a way become a rite of passage into modern manhood. In order to impress our buddies, we have to talk about how hot a girl is or how nice her breasts are. Ladies, odds are you’ve never heard this talk before, but it’s very real. It can happen as soon as you pass a group of rambunctious guys, or as soon as you leave the room at a party, or even right before your eyes. Think Glenn Gulia in The Wedding Singer: “that’s Grade-A top-choice meat.”

The fact that the male gaze has been accepted as normal male behavior disturbs me greatly. Take a typical beer commercial for example: A man is caught checking out a good-looking woman by his girlfriend, but he just shrugs it off. His girlfriend is then forced to surrender to the notion that it’s “just a guy thing.” He will continue to size women up, and she will continue to feel powerless and undesirable. How painful.

A big reason why men utilize the Gaze is because we know women like being desired. The depth of the desire isn’t important so long as it’s desire. That could be a gross generalization, but I know for a fact that many women eat up the attention. Trust me; that attention is fleeting. Your self-esteem cannot survive on lustful looks you absorb from the guy across the room. Do you really want all the good things about you ignored simply because they’re hidden from view?

You are worth more than the looks you receive. Put your self-worth somewhere else, somewhere worthwhile. Guys are admittedly very easy to bait, but I’m challenging you to give us something more than a mini-skirt to value about you. There’s a part in every one of you that deserves to be shared with the world; I dare you to show us that part. Be a mystery that we men have to solve. Flaunt your gifts, not your G-string.

I issued a challenge the women, so I will issue one to my fellow men as well: It’s time to clean up our act. No matter how we try to justify it, the male gaze is just not cool. Just imagine seeing another guy check out your sister, or your mom. That’s no different from what you just did with that girl sitting next to you in class. The women we’re ogling are sisters and mothers as well, so let’s treat them as such. They deserve nothing less.

September 21, 2007 Add Comment

The Third Man

Originally published in the NCC Chronicle on September 21, 2007, as part of the “Chad Picks Classic Flicks” series.

With the parade of loathsome summer threequels having turned the corner, and with Oscar season nearing full bloom, I can finally take refuge in some good cinema. But with my schoolboy-like excitement for new good movies also comes my deeper love of classic films.

There in fact lies a goldmine of cinematic brilliance in the dark film noir thrillers of the 1940s, and in the theatrical realist pictures of the ‘50s, and in the New Hollywood counter-culture movies of the ‘70s. And since I perceive a disgustingly low appreciation of older movies among my peers, we will discover a select few of these films together in a new series called “Chad Picks Classic Flicks.”

The films I chose for this series share many distinctions. They are impressive in their technical achievements, they resonate emotionally with the audience, they were relevant to the culture in which they were conceived, and they are superb representations of a certain genre or style. They are also great works of art, and deserve much more publicity than Titanic ever got.

I’ll start with the 1940s. It would be easy and frankly quite boring to discuss Casablanca or Citizen Kane, simply because they’re among the most analyzed films in history (though you should definitely still see them). Instead, I’ll illuminate Carol Reed’s The Third Man, a 1949 murder-mystery thriller starring Joseph Cotten and Orson Welles, both of Citizen Kane fame.

The Third Man is classified as a film noir, which is French for “black film.” Film noirs typically drop stoic, hard-boiled characters into somber settings, usually involving high crime and intrigue. They employ heavy use of shadows and darkness to make the scenery more mysterious and generally more depressing. The Third Man embodies and perfects all of these characteristics.

The story begins with novelette writer Holly Martins (Cotten) arriving in post-World War II Vienna to accept a job offer from his friend Harry Lime (Welles). Martins learns that Lime died in a car accident, but when he presses for details from those closest to Lime, they all give conflicting testimonies. Martins sets out to tie up the loose ends of the story, but ends up getting tangled in a web of deceit, dirty deals, and death.

There’s not much more I can tell you about the plot without spoiling it, but I can tell you that I loved everything about this film: its twisty tale and theatrical qualities, its deep, dark shadows and stunning cinematography, and its top-notch actors and solid screenplay. I also loved the soundtrack, which was no more than an eerie zither motif throughout the entire film (just Google search “zither”).

But what is arguably the most important characteristic of The Third Man is its black-and-white cinematography. Modern filmgoers have grown accustomed to seeing films in color, so disliking an old film simply because it’s in black-and-white is understandable, if not ignorant. But when one claims black-and-whites are slow or hard to watch or, God forbid, boring, I actually take offense.

It’s not an accident that large majority of critically-acclaimed films were filmed in black-and-white. Using shadows instead of colors to create a mood is much more difficult than it seems, but that’s why films like The Third Man and other important film noirs like Double Indemnity (1944), The Maltese Falcon (1941), and Notorious (1946) are so highly regarded; they master the art of shadow brilliantly.

I’ve now told you about one great film I love, however brief the telling was. It’s now your job to seek out more great films yourself. The American Film Institute has compiled many “Greatest” lists of films (The Third Man ranked #57 out of 100 on their original list) where you can find many important and entertaining films to watch on the weekends, unless you’re seeing the latest crap-tastic Michael “Explosions, Sex, and Plot Holes” Bay disaster. If that’s so, may God have mercy on you.

September 21, 2007 Add Comment

Falwell falls

I’ll admit that I didn’t know much about Jerry Falwell before he died. I grew up in a Christian home and attended a non-denominational church, but I never tried to pretend I knew much about “the Church” or its leaders. Now that I’m a college student, I guess I have to start caring. But caring about a person like Jerry Falwell is quite a feat, even for a believer like me.

My biggest beef against Falwell is that he really wasn’t a Christian at all. He was a hatemonger, a hypocrite, and a terrible representation of Christ, among other things. He accused feminists, liberals, homosexuals, labor unions, and those infected with AIDS of causing the September 11^th attacks instead of ministering to them as a man of God should. He gives other Christians a horrible name. In fact, the only thing he really gives the world is another reason to steer clear of church altogether, and I wouldn’t blame you if that’s exactly what you did.

A man like Falwell should not be involved with politics, because that’s the last thing Jesus would do, but of course he just had to create the “Moral Majority” to provide a safe haven for churchgoers to point their fingers at the rest of the world without even thinking of pointing it at themselves. The organization disbanded in the 80s, but the inspiration lives on through the Republican Party and current day hatemongers—I mean televangelists, like Pat Robertson and Bill Donahue.

I wish I could speak for all Christians when I say that these men do not represent Biblical teaching, but sadly, there are still many out there who insist on using the Bible as a weapon of hate rather than a tool of compassion, which is its true purpose. We live in a country where religion is thought of as a set of rules and is required if you want to get into heaven. But the truth is that religion is man-made—hence, flawed. It’s run by humans who are just as corruptible and insidious as the next guy. If you put all of your stocks into something that is going to fall away, don’t be surprised when you’re left with nothing in the end. And that’s exactly what Falwell gave us: nothing. Nothing except spiritual terrorism in the name of Christ.

To non-believers: Jesus is not a religion. Jesus, to me, represents a lifestyle that demands humility, forgiveness to all (all meaning everyone, including those who Falwell so adamantly opposed), and a charitable heart. Don’t dress up for church or put your hands up during worship just to impress God. He sees through that bullshit quite easily. Instead, talk to someone you don’t know. Make amends with your enemy, then treat him or her to Starbucks. Clean up a mess without being asked, especially if it’s not yours to clean. Make sure your tipsy friend gets home safe. Jesus befriended the lowest of lows in his time; the lepers, the prostitutes, the tax collectors. Jerry Falwell condemns them. So much for being Christ-like.

To my fellow Christians: stop pretending to be righteous. If there is one thing that non-believers, and fellow Christians, see easiest it’s hypocrisy. Wearing a crucifix around your neck while you judge homosexuals sends a strange message to those around you. If you actually have read the Bible, you would remember that “if anyone considers himself religious and yet does not keep a tight rein on his tongue, he deceives himself and his religion worthless” (James 1:26). Don’t deceive yourself, and don’t make God worthless. In other words, shut up and do something. Be relevant to the lesser of this world. Do anything else and you’d just be kidding yourself.

May 21, 2007 Add Comment

Switchfoot’s ‘Oh! Gravity’ brings us back to earth

Originally published in the North Central Chronicle on January 26, 2007.

Switchfoot has been in the biz for upwards of a decade, so one would hope that they would evolve for the better during that time. Thankfully, this ensemble can still make good rock music. That, however, doesn’t make the band invulnerable to the destined “sophomore slump.” Switchfoot’s sophomore album, 1999’s New Way to Be Human, did not succumb to its destiny and, in fact, pushed the San Diego rock outfit’s blend of pop, rock—and a spoonful of intellectual bravado—past the boundaries it should have conformed to and towards an honest rock band that always has something worthwhile to say.

The band still has something worthwhile to say; Oh! Gravity is no exception and proves this point with both fists. With tracks like “Faust, Midas, and Myself” and “American Dream”, lyricist and frontman Jon Foreman speaks (but doesn’t preach) about the negatives of greedy consumerism and cries for personal revival for the broken souls that we are.

He proclaims: “I want to wake up kicking and screaming/I want to live like I know what I’m leaving/I want a heart that I know is beating.” This is a familiar theme that echoes throughout Switchfoot’s extended repertoire, but Foreman always manages to say it differently each time—probably because we need to keep hearing it.

Each band member lets loose on their respective instruments, freeing themselves from the dungeon they enchained themselves to with the over-produced Nothing Is Sound. They successfully avoid a “U2 complex” by not being more epic than they really are. The sporadic piano splashes and instrumentalized vocal parts show a matured independence and creativity that was missing from Sound.

From the twangy “Dirty Second Hands” to the driving rock anthem “Burn Out Bright”, lyrics and music are juxtaposed perfectly and transition very well. Many music greats are referenced: The Clash, The Police, The Beatles, and even Johnny Cash. They create many different sounds, not with a synthesizer or GarageBand counterpart, but with their own guitars and surrounding environment. The standout track, besides the title track single, is the toe-tapping “Amateur Lovers”, which uses throbbing strings, classic punk progressions, and sitar that harkens back to The Beatles’ Revolver.

Every band with creative integrity wants to surprise their listeners with their creative choices, and Switchfoot manages to jolt me at every turn. No bridge or chorus is left complacent—no lyric a filler. They thought about their music; they didn’t just play it.

Oh! Gravity is a therapist helping us get over last year’s Nothing Is Sound, patting us on the head and telling us that everything is okay. Musically and lyrically, this album soars above its closest predecessor but still fails to harness the power of their best record: 2004’s multi-platinum The Beautiful Letdown. Still, it takes the best of Sound and Letdown, creating a brainchild that out-plays and out-wits its current rock equivalents.

This album inspires action, elevates the rock music it was elevated by, provokes thought, and resolves the dissonance that plagued our brains. Oh! Gravity, thanks for bringing us back to earth.

January 26, 2007 Add Comment