I've seen Bruce Springsteen in concert at least fifteen times. But at this point in my life, I'd rather see Bruce in the USA.
Yes, I prefer a tribute band to the real thing. No, I don't find that weird at all. This isn't the first time I've raved about Matt "Fake Bruce" Ryan and the boys, nor will it be the last. I'm told there are at least a dozen other cover bands based on The Boss, but I've only seen Matt's. There's no reason to try the rest when you've already had the best.
What makes a Bruce in the USA show more enjoyable, and occasionally more memorable, than an actual Springsteen concert is the simple straightforwardness of it all. Bruce Springsteen plays 60,000-seat stadiums, which means a) a decent amount of travel to oft-inconvenient venues, b) poor sightlines, c) pricey tickets with additional parking costs and d) expensive drinks/food.
Basically, you're paying for the experience. That's not to slight Bruce and the E Street Band; they consistently put out new material and perform distinctly different three-hour shows every night of massive worldwide tours. But the coordination and cost involved in attending a Springsteen concert often sucks out some of the fun. The best part of a Bruce Springsteen show is saying afterwards "Holy shit, I just saw Bruce Springsteen."
Compare that to Bruce in the USA, who provide power-packed 150-minute shows for $15 in wonderfully compact clubs and theatres all across the United States. Matt Ryan sweats as much as Springsteen himself, and works just as hard. If he ever learns how to slide across the stage, you won't be able to tell the difference. And I haven't even mentioned Fake Clarence Clemons, Fake Steven van Zandt and a delightful keyboard player who always has time for a few kind words and a fist-bump after every show.
It's never not worth the effort...even if that effort is massive. In early February, Bruce in the USA's Boston show (he usually does two a year) coincided with a record-setting storm that was burying the city in cold white powder. I'd snuck in the night before, praying that the snow would be light. It was not looking good.
The city was essentially a ghost town, but a pocket of devoted fans were tweeting at Matt and begging the band to make the drive from Brooklyn to Boston. Myself included; we made it clear that if Bruce in the USA found their way, they'd play to a captive audience.
After hours of waiting, word eventually trickled out that the show would go on. It still seemed a little dicey -- the government had shut down the roads -- but a pesky state mandate wouldn't stop The World's No. 1 Tribute to Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band from driving into the storm for the sake of rocking.
The subway was shut down and cabs were nonexistent, so my friends and I bundled up for the two-mile walk from Central Square in Cambridge to the Paradise Rock Club. Upon arrival, we were amazed to find over a hundred dedicated Springsteen fans had also made the trek.
And if we looked surprised, well, the shock on Fake Bruce's face when the band took the stage was unmistakable. They probably expected a dozen weirdos; instead, they got ten dozen. And because only the most devoted fans would consider such a journey in the first place, everyone who showed up was beyond ready to rock.
Adding icing to an already delicious cake, Fake Bruce paused before one of the show's first couple songs to credit my friend Matt Kakley, who wrote a wonderful profile of Bruce in the USA several years ago and has been in the band's good graces ever since.
"We want to thank our loyal fans in the Boston area," Fake Bruce bellowed from the stage, "including Matt Kakley. Thanks, Matt."
Kakley was thunderstruck; the band even invited him to the green room for a few beers after the show. And while the two Matts were canoodling in the Paradise's backstage area, Fake Little Steven spent a few minutes chatting with my friends and I about the show and how "nuts" we all were to come out in the middle of a snowstorm.
Enthusiasm goes both ways with Bruce in the USA; if you love them, they'll love you right back.
Bruce in the USA will be at The Hamilton in Washington, DC on Friday, May 10. If you're not there, you better be dead or in jail.
Roy Halladay pitched against the Toronto Blue Jays today. His line: four and a third innings, six strikeouts, eight hits, two runs.
We Phillies fans may want to get used to that.
Something is wrong with the Doc. Meaning, of course, that he's no longer the superhuman ace we grew to love from 2010 on. There are no more perfect games or no-hitters in his future. His Cy Young total will forever hold steady at two.
Maybe he's concealing (or battling through) a nagging injury. Maybe he's still adjusting to his body's new age-enforced limitations. Or maybe he's just burned out, done as a capable starting pitcher.
I'm voting number two; there are probably persuasive arguments for all three.
We'd hoped to receive a legitimate answer in spring training. How does he look? Was last year's mediocre performance, specifically the horrific final few months, an aberration?
But none were given. Today's start was apparently more of the same: he looked good, not great. He labored at times; his command was off. He touched 91 MPH but mostly sat between 88 and 90.
Afterwards, Halladay and pitching coach Rich Dubee were optimistic. And they should be; hope springs eternal, right? But it's starting to feel more and more like everyone's afraid to accept the inevitable.
It could all come unraveled in a jiffy; Doc's scheduled to start the second game of the 2013 season. His opponents will be the Atlanta Braves: Justin and B.J. Upton, Jason Heyward, Freddie Freeman. There's no Chipper Jones, no Brian McCann, and Dan Uggla is a shell of his former self, but that's a solid lineup.
And if Halladay is still chucking 88 MPH fastballs down the pipe, still pretending like he's one start, one inning, one good pitch away, he's going to get clobbered.
We always thought Roy would go down throwing; we just never envisioned it being so soon.
I'm convinced that Halladay can still be a quality starting pitcher. More than a few top arms have reinvented themselves, starting relying more on deception and control, less on velocity and pure stuff.
But it's time to acknowledge that if his fastball speed stays down a tick, if his cutter isn't cutting, if his control has dissipated, he'll never come close to being "Roy Halladay" again. There are numerous ways this can end; none of them involve 20 wins or an ERA around 2.
At the end of the day, I think the biggest issue is Halladay recognizing what his 35-year-old frame can and can't do. This is the kinda guy who runs stadiums on his day off, the first one at workouts, an inspiration to so many; one of the hardest-working pitchers, if not the hardest, to ever come through Philadelphia.
If anyone is going to refuse to accept his own mortality, it's Roy Halladay.
Yet, here we are. We can see it with our own eyes. And so much is resting on this season: One year left on his contract, the team's last real chance to compete for the playoffs with this ragtag bunch of old-timers. They won't get it done without three aces, and no one fears for the other two.
Forget about Chase Utley's knee and Ryan Howard's ankle, Dom Brown's potential and Delmon Young's racism slash refusal to take a pitch. This season, and any opportunity the Phillies may have to achieve glory, rests on Roy Halladay.
He doesn't have to be a superstar. He doesn't have to take home any special hardware. And we won't burn him in effigy if he comes up short.
If he does, however, his team is cooked, and his time in red pinstripes is over. And the emotion I felt while typing that sentence reminds me why everyone associated with the team has a cautious smile plastered to his or her face.
We don't want to lose Doc, and we certainly don't want to see him break down before our eyes. But it's April in four days, and baseball starts in three. One way or another, we're soon to find out the truth about Roy Halladay.
Yes, they're only three points behind the New York Rangers, currently the number-eight seed in the Eastern Conference.
But they're also only three points ahead of Florida, the worst team (points-wise) in the National Hockey League.
They've played 26 games and won 11. They've scored 72 goals (seventh in the Eastern Conference) and given up 80 (tied for third-worst). They're 4-10 on the road.
Simply put, they're not very good.
And this last week's slate of games was the ultimate kick in the pants. No one expected the Flyers to take down New York, Pittsburgh and Boston, but going 0-3 against your biggest rivals is one more dagger to the heart of a season that keeps on slipping away.
Sean Couturier (two goals, five assists) is regressing after a dynamite debut year. Ilya Bryzgalov is regressing after a dynamite first month of the season (2.20 GAA to 2.80 GAA; .923 SV% to .899 SV%). Only seven Flyers have more than 10 points.
Injuries haven't helped; Ryan Suter, Zach Parise or Shea Weber would've. But the team is the team, and the guys that are on the ice every night deserve the record they're currently saddled with.
If this keeps up, and I suspect it will, heads are gonna roll. Maybe Peter Laviolette's, maybe Paul Holmgren's,
most likely Bryzgalov's (via amnesty buyout) and the unrestricted free agents
(Simon Gagne, Ruslan Fedotenko). With James van Riemsdyk busting out in Toronto (14 goals in 26 games), the organization will most likely show some patience with its remaining bushel of young talent.
But that won't help this floundering bunch in the spring of 2013.
"It seemed like we packed it in," Scott Hartnell said after yesterday's shutout loss. Nobody's disagreeing.
The season isn't over; the standings are still very much in flux. Maybe they'll cobble together some wins versus lesser foes and sneak into the playoffs.
But the road to the Stanley Cup will go through Pittsburgh, Boston, Los Angeles and Chicago, and the Flyers are miles behind those squads in both talent and execution. I can't imagine a scenario where they get hot late and mirror what the Kings accomplished last year, or what the Flyers themselves achieved in 2010. And beyond that, there's not much else to root for.
There are 22 games left in the 2012-2013 season, 22 more opportunities to right the ship and at least avoid a repeat of the 2006-2007 disaster. At this point, that might be the best they can do.
If you're into movies, and a group of industry types telling you which ones are the "best," you must love the Academy Awards.
And how can you not? To paraphrase Scott Aukerman, the stars will be out! And they'll dress nice and be all rich, while you're at home, squatting in filth, covered in dirty rags and saving your much-needed pennies. But at least you'll (presumably) have wine, while they have to drink from carefully hidden flasks.
The Oscars are never as enjoyable as the Golden Globes (which already barely qualify as "fun") but they're more prestigious and give Hollywood bigwigs one more opportunity to rub all over each other and brag about how wonderful the previous year in filmmaking was. Which we all dutifully watch, like common lemmings.
The main purpose of this event, however, is to provide good fodder for pre-show blog posts and online banter. This whole week, I emailed back and forth with Andrew Johnson of tezini.com, movie buff and Internet-based film critic. He's a Midnight in Paris fan, but I still respect his opinion. Which, believe me, takes a lot of effort on my end.
So head over to Tezini and check out our witty palaver, which includes a bevy of (as he put it) "hopes, musings and predictions." Do I mention Rush Hour 2? Of course I do!
And if you're really, really, really curious as to what I think about this upcoming batch of Oscars (besides that they kinda stink), here are my official predictions (only the good categories, of course). You can take them to the bank!*
I've written about them before, in the salad days of February 2012. Back in high school, when the drummer was in a different band, I used to beg to hear "Werewolves of London" by Warren Zevon at all of their shows. They'd also cover a lot of Vengaboys..."a lot" meaning "the two hits we all know." Those were good times.
But this band is a little older, a little wiser, a little more serious. No more '90s pop; now it's all about recreating the beeps and boops that once emerged from an 8-bit console. Once upon a time they'd play "Those Who Fight Further" from Final Fantasy VII, but just one video game track apparently wasn't enough. Only a full album would do.
You may know Mega Man from such television programs as this:
But he's more than just a super fighting robot from a children's cartoon show. He's a virtual android-type boy who came to life on the Nintendo Entertainment System (or Famicon, if you're a stickler for details), birthed from the minds of a handful of Japanese designers at Capcom, with his own 4,000-word Wikipedia page.
And his series comes equipped with some of the finest music ever recorded for a video game. If you're a man between the ages of 24 and 35 who owned an NES, you probably know Wood Man's theme:
And now Close to Good has put a whole bunch of them to digital vinyl. Not to start sounding like a Time-Life commercial, but these are 22 of the most lovingly recreated tracks you'll ever hear. I was initially going to praise them for putting the songs in chronological order from a gameplay perspective, but if you're going to take the time to record an album of video game music you better be ready to go all the way.
They're far from the first ones to play video game music with rock band instruments, but they're the only ones that I know in real life. Look at the pure joy on these faces as they play the theme from the Gemini Man stage. I'm all for the creative outlet of writing, recording and producing your own original music, but there should also be time for the little things in life. Like a Dr. Wily medley.
So give the album a download; it's free! As it should be; I imagine Capcom has many lawyers on retainer and very deep pockets. And if you want to really impress me, video game-oriented rock bands, give this one a shot next:
It is February of 2013, and the Philadelphia Phillies are underdogs.
It's odd, and possibly annoying, to call a team with a $154-million payroll an "underdog." That term is usually reserved for squads like last year's Oakland Athletics or Baltimore Orioles, scrappers who come from out of nowhere to overthrow divisional behemoths.
But there's no denying that the Washington Nationals and Atlanta Braves are -- on paper and, most likely, on the field -- miles ahead of the Phillies.
Washington added Dan Haren and Rafael Soriano to a team that won 98 games in 2012. Bryce Harper is on the cusp of super-duper-stardom; Mike Morse was wisely shipped out at the near-peak of his value; Ian Desmond (a potential MVP candidate before an oblique injury) and Danny Espinosa (17 homers, 20 steals, 25 years old) should only get better. Short of Gio Gonzalez being hauled away in handcuffs or Stephen Strasburg's arm exploding again, nothing's keeping these guys out of the playoffs.
Atlanta subtracted Martin Prado, Michael Bourn and Tommy Hanson but brought in the Super Upton Bros., certainly the most potential-laden adds of the offseason. Even a rough year from the two of them should result in 60 homers and 50 steals. That plus a full season of Kris Medlen, the continued emergence of Jason Heyward and even slightly better performances from Brian McCann and Dan Uggla (.698 OPS and .732 OPS, respectively, both the lowest of their careers) should lead to 90-plus wins.
And then there's Philadelphia. The big offseason additions were Michael Young (ugh), Delmon Young (barf) and Mike Adams (got no rib). All told, those three guys cost less than just one B.J. Upton. They also might be less valuable.
This is a team of ifs. If the three aces stay healthy. If Chase Utley and Ryan Howard can hold up for 145 productive games. If the two Youngs overcome being very old/very fat and provide not only stability but value. If Adams, Jonathan Papelbon and a gaggle of talented young arms stabilize a very shaky bullpen.
That's a lot of question marks. Leaps and bounds more than Washington and Atlanta, which is why everyone with a working brain has the Phillies third (at best) in the National League East.
But maybe we're all a bit too pessimistic. Last year was, for all intents and purposes, a disaster. Two starting outfielders with All-Star credentials, sold at midseason for spare parts. Two injured infielders, former superstars, neither of whom remotely approached 100% health. The beloved ace, Opening Day starter for the last three years, finally showed signs of mortality.
And they still won 81 games.
Meanwhile, the St. Louis Cardinals reached the play-in game with 88 wins. Might that be enough again this year? If this team stays upright, might they come somewhere close to that "magic" number? Not likely, but not impossible.
Realistically, any team that signs Yuniesky Betancourt has no chance of competing for a World Series. And zero experts would rank the Phillies among baseball's top-10 teams for the coming season.
But there's still talent in Philadelphia. Old, creaky, injury-prone, overpaid talent. And 2013 is probably the last chance for this franchise to squeeze any juicy bits from them. Maybe it'll all come together one more time. Spring is, after all, the best time of the year for cautious optimism.
From the man who brought you a piano
teacher with masochistic fetishes and a town full of troubled German
children comes a movie about an elderly married couple
suffering through crippling disease and inevitable death in a Paris
apartment. Sounds about right.
Amour is about love. Not Hollywood-style love, the kind that comes equipped with a traditional
happy ending. Michael Haneke doesn't deal in such trifling matters.
His films don't wrap themselves up in neat little packages.
He
provokes audiences and asks probing questions. He offers up a film
named "love" and drenches it in the slow stench of death.
It's what makes him so damn special.
Amour is a
lengthy, sometimes painfully drawn-out, depiction of an old woman's
demise and the husband who watches it all from her bedside.
We
see Anne (Emmanuelle Riva) wither away, a debilitating journey from
initial diagnosis to a gibbering, zombified state. For either
self-centered (he doesn't know how to live without her) or
sympathetic (he's fulfilling her wishes to die at home) reasons, her
husband Georges (Jean-Louis Trintignant) devotes his life to her care
and comfort.
Then, as it happens in most of Haneke's films, a
brief moment changes everything. But the same questions asked
beforehand still apply: Was this all a labor of love? What is love?
Can two dramatically different approaches, or even a hundred, be
undertaken in the name of such a feeling?
Some of Haneke's
previous films – Cache and Funny Games in particular
– are almost overwhelmingly detached. Funny Games asks us to
look on as two men torture a family; Cache is all about being
a voyeur, gaining a glimpse into someone's private life.
Amour
shares some of those themes: the disease that takes Anne's life is
torturous, and we're privy to every slip in her condition. And the
view we receive of Anne's death is about as private as it gets.
But
it's not a film about detachment. We're not meant to become unfeeling
and sterile as Anne slips away. On the contrary; we begin to forget
what Anne was like before death overtook her, when she was a smiling,
seemingly happy woman. We're immersed in the crawl towards
nothingness. And much like Georges, we wonder what is best for this
shell that used to hold a human being, one he cared for
deeply.
Eventually, Georges makes a decision. And while it may
be shocking, it doesn't feel constructed, or set up to send us a
message. It's presented starkly, but with much room interpretation.
We're allowed surface-level access to these two characters, and then
given a chance to dissect what lies beneath.
Amour
feels different than Haneke's previous work. Maybe
he's softening with old age. Or maybe he's chosen a less blunt method
to portray a theme that cannot be pinned down in any objective way.
Love is love. You know it when you feel it, and you express it in
whatever way suits you best.
Editor's note: Going forward, my movie reviews will also be featured on Tezini.com. They write about the cinema more than I do, so head over and take a look at what Andrew and the gang have seen lately.
Do I have an opinion on who should be the next head coach of the Philadelphia Eagles? Well, I am a living, breathing Philly sports fan...
I like Gus Bradley's defense in Seattle. By far the leader in points allowed (28 less than San Francisco) and fourth in yards allowed (behind only Pittsburgh, Denver and the 49ers), the Seahawks looked like a top-5 team throughout the second half of the 2012 season. Much of that was thanks to their defense. Seattle's Week 16 thrashing of the aforementioned 49ers, in particular, was one of the more striking games of the year.
But everything I've read indicates that the Eagles prefer an offensive-minded coach at the top position and a defensive coordinator who runs his own side of the ball, mirroring the Andy Reid-Jim Johnson dynamic of years past. Bradley is also Reuben Frank's top choice, but we've seen many times over that the hot assistant doesn't always make the best coach.
I like Mike McCoy's offense in Denver. Sure, he's lucked into Peyton Manning, but what really impresses me is how flexible he was with Tim Tebow last year. They didn't put up flashy numbers; in fact, most of the time they could barely move the ball. But this is the same Tim Tebow who couldn't beat out the abhorrent Mark Sanchez in New York. My takeaway is that McCoy played to his quarterback's strengths, putting a simplified system in place that worked well enough to keep them afloat.
Reid, in contrast, is the kind of coach who molds quarterbacks to his system. Donovan McNabb and Michael Vick, for better or worse, were shaped into pocket passers. This is probably a smarter plan when it comes to sustained success, but as the Vick experiment showed, it can also blow up in your face.
Of course, McCoy isn't some radical who's changing the game. He just recognized some glaring limitations and found a way to (mostly) overcome them. One of the things that felled Reid was his hubris, his insistence in jamming square pegs into round holes. A head coach with some flexibility and self-awareness; that's intriguing.
I like Brian Kelly's...well, I don't really like Brian Kelly. It seems ballsy to hire a head coach with zero NFL experience, even if Jason Kelce likes him. I also don't follow college football very closely, so I'm not sure how relevant my opinion might be.
In fact, I'm sure it's worthless across the board. Most of them are. Everyone loves to freak out over a head coaching search, and to a certain extent that's understandable. It's a lot of fun to go over the pros and cons of these guys and argue about how suitable (or unsuitable) they might be for such a lofty position.
But we don't know a damn thing. We see 1% of what's happening on the field, and zero of what's happening off it. That doesn't mean you have to nod your head and go with the flow; for example, the Cleveland Browns going from Chip Kelly to Carolina's offensive coordinator (19th in points scored) should make all of us point our fingers and laugh. I just hate to see fans puff themselves up and act like experts. Judge the eventual decision and its aftermath accordingly, but don't act like you knew better all along.
Speaking of the decision itself: Jeffrey Lurie has implied that he's looking for an innovator as his next coach, which explains the numerous interviews with coordinators and college coaches, along with the (seeming) lack of interest in Jon Gruden and the other veteran retreats.
And that makes sense to me. There's a lot of talent (I hope) still on this roster, but most of it is in desperate need of reorganization and reshaping. Name coaches can come with a lot of baggage, and there'd be a sort of "win now" mentality attached to such a hire; you're not paying a well-known guy millions upon millions of dollars to assist in a massive rebuild. Even though Philly fans are (understandably) hungry to win again, that kind of mindset would not be beneficial for this organization.
In retrospect, it seems obvious that the Eagles have been employing a "throw a bunch of good-sounding shit at the wall and see what sticks" strategy over the last few years. But winning a championship isn't about having the finest looking roster in September, or making the most headlines in the offseason. Honestly, what works best is probably the Andy Reid plan of the early years: Put a solid team on the field, aim to make the playoffs every year and hope a bunch of the late-season bounces go your way.
Unfortunately, the bounces never really went the Eagles' way. And Reid's eventual big moves, designed to put the team over the top, were ultimately misguided (Vick, Terrell Owens) and too little, too late. A desire to get back to basics -- to fundamentals and a fresh outlook and a disciplined, well-run football team -- sounds like exactly what the Philadelphia Eagles need.
So who's the best man for that job? Hell if I know; Bradley and McCoy both probably deserve somebody's top spot. In the end, all we can do is hope the people who are paid to know choose wisely.
A time-honored tradition here at King Myno's Court is my list of the year's top 10 movies. Keep in mind that this is a list of my favorites, not the best. I find all of these films to be spectacular, but not on any sort of objective scale. I'm no film critic, just a boy who likes the cinema. Enjoy.
(Editor's note: I have not yet seen Amour, Zero Dark Thirty or Beasts of the Southern Wild. I suspect all three would have a very good chance of making this list. Apologies to these films and their filmmakers, although the first two have not yet been released in my area and I do live in a large East Coast city so it's really their fault.)
Argo - I was kinda hoping this wouldn't make my list (and I suspect it wouldn't, had I seen one of the movies listed above) but it was undeniably a crowd-pleasing thriller that turned an amazing story into an enjoyable studio film. I can't say I loved the first hour, with all the Hollywood-themed "jokes" and ho-hum team organizing (Ben Affleck, Alan Arkin and John Goodman, great as they are, are no Ocean's Eleven) but the last hour was taut and nerve-racking. Maybe it's not fully accurate, maybe Affleck was kinda shitty to the Canadians; neither taints the fact that he's matured into an impressive filmmaker.
The Avengers - Although the Avengersbacklash has finally begun ("it wasn't that good, guys"), let's be honest: It's revisionist criticism at its best. Everyone loved it...until they realized how all-encompassing that love turned out to be. I'm still onboard; this and the next film on my list were by far the most enjoyable experiences I had in a movie theater this year. With a great cast that was used perfectly (Robert Downey Jr. takes the lead, Chris Evans and Mark Ruffalo spar with him a little, Chris Hemsworth hits things with a hammer) and a well-proportioned mix of action, special effects, emotion and levity, Avengers deserved every dollar of its $1.5 billion worldwide gross and every word of praise shouted its way.
Django Unchained - It's more Kill Bill than Inglorious Basterds, but we can't expect a picture-perfect masterpiece every time, can we? While I would've loved to see this be Idris Elba's big break, the four leads in Django (Jamie Foxx, Christoph Waltz, Leonardo DiCaprio and Samuel L. Jackson) proved to be pretty much perfect. Foxx successfully bounces back from that Philly-based crime movie with Gerard Butler and shows that he has much more to offer than a spot-on Ray Charles impression. Waltz is Waltz, Leo is Leo, and Jackson's late-arriving, scenery-chewing stereotype pretty much steals the show. Tarantino probably should've chopped about 20 minutes off the runtime, but such a feeling might not be universal; my entire theater seemed invested in every second.
Holy Motors - I've already written 700 words on this crazy masterpiece of a movie, so let's just watch Denis Lavant and his street band play the accordion:
Killer Joe - Good lord, Matthew McConaughey. If I had an Oscar vote, you would get it. There's been a lot written about Mr. McConaughey's "resurgence" already, but let me add to the pile and say that it is so nice to see him using that natural hunkiness for evil rather than good. Being smooth and handsome should get you the girl; everyone alive knows that already. But when it's part of a murderer's repertoire, or if it helps fulfill some dark, nasty desire, well, that's the kinda movie I want to see. And Killer Joe is dark, and nasty, and laugh-out-loud funny. The more timid of you will cringe, or even gag, but William Friedkin's tale of a hitman and the teenage lady he loves wins the 2012 award for "most joyful gasps elicited."
Lincoln - A movie about Abraham Lincoln, possibly our most beloved President, directed by Steven Spielberg and starring Daniel Day-Lewis? "Where do I sign up?" asked mostly everyone after hearing all that information. But what we received wasn't so much a biopic as it was a look at Lincoln as a careful, calculating negotiator. It's a movie about political compromise and a man's legacy; not so much about doing what's "right" as about doing what needs to be done, about finishing what you've started. Throw in cameos by everycharacteractor in Hollywood, not to mention Tommy Lee Jones spouting ye olde insults in a wig, and you've got a smart, relatively accurate historical drama that feels like a play transposed on screen. In a good way.
Looper - Very few directors could put Joseph Gordon-Levitt in Bruce Willis makeup and have that be maybe the tenth most-disorienting aspect of their movie. But Rian Johnson is no ordinary director; Brick is one of the most ambitious feature film debuts in recent history, everyone loves the "Fly" episode of Breaking Bad, and The Brothers Bloom was great...until it collapsed under its own considerable weight in the second hour. Regardless, everything Johnson has made so far has been creative and unique, with Looper being no exception. A science-fiction movie with an original story that deftly handles time travel, this one got the nerds all riled up (and $166 million in worldwide grosses hopefully means more of the same). It's another Johnson film with a blistering opening and a cooler finale, but when you go from 0 to 100 at his kinda speed, you're allowed to drop back to 60 at closing time.
Moonrise Kingdom - Not sure why this is the most beloved Wes Anderson movie since The Royal Tenenbaums (did you people even see Fantastic Mr. Fox?!) but it's good to see one of them move beyond his built-in audience and entrance a few other folks. I was a little afraid that Wes would end up a more competent Kevin Smith. There are a few times when Bruce Willis seems woefully out of place, but Edward Norton fits the dynamic like a glove. And adorable kids! Anderson certainly has a talent for uncovering child stars. Other than that, you know (and love, or hate) the drill. Jason Schwartzman, Bill Murray, eclectic (yet perfect) song choices, stilted dialogue, lots of dry humor. He certainly has a type.
The Queen of Versailles/Undefeated - I couldn't decide which of these two was the finest documentary I saw in 2012, so I'm calling it a tie. They couldn't be more different; Versailles is the tale of a very rich family who saw their timeshare empire suffer during the economic collapse of 2008 and now struggle to live in a world where only some things, not every single thing, can be bought. Undefeated is another "a year in the life" story that follows Bill Courtney, then a high school football coach in Memphis, and his attempts to turn around the Manassas Tigers and the lives of his economically and emotionally fragile players. One is "kick em while they're down," the other is "watch them as they grow," but both feature people struggling in a world they're overly accustomed to. The family in Versailles forgets what it's like to operate in society; some of the kids in Undefeated feel like they don't deserve to belong in one.
Wreck-It Ralph - As always, thanks be to Pixar for making it socially acceptable again to revere animated films. Too bad their 2012 release went unseen by me; I suspect I would've preferred the one featuring M. Bison over it anyway. Ralph was certainly made with video game fans in mind, but it's not limited to fans of Sonic and Pac-Man (if there are any people who'd self-identify as Pac-Man fans). It looks incredible (as do most animated movies post-2002) and it provides enough character depth to tuck your heart strings at the right times. If you've ever said "I bet Sarah Silverman could do the voice of a precocious animated youngster in a movie and imbue her lovable character with some serious emotion," well, you're right.
It stinks: It's on a buttload of top 10 lists but I just couldn't get into The Master. Joaquin Phoenix and Philip Seymour Hoffman both deserve numerous nominations (and hopefully a few statues) but I felt the movie kept you at arm's length and put itself up on a smart and sophisticated pedestal. No thanks. Prometheus was an uncompromising disaster of a train wreck. I only kinda liked The Dark Knight Rises, and I bet a whole burrito on Battleship being not terrible. And lost. Whenever you're ready to collect, Sultan of Swole, let me know. A Cimino always pays his debts.
Everyone knows it. Some even want him out this instant.
But when the day comes and Jeffrey Lurie makes it official, I'll miss him.
Not because he's being unjustly canned: The Eagles are 42-35-1 since 2008, with a points differential that's been consistently plummeting (127 in 2008, 62 in 2010, -122 so far in 2012). Two seasons in a row they've put together a talented roster on paper, only to see it fall apart on the field.
Assistant coaches have been unjustly hired, and then awkwardly fired. Entire drafts turned out to be total disasters. Big free-agent signings like Jevon Kearse and Nnamdi Asomugha tanked. And, oh yeah, Michael Vick.
But good coaches are hard to find, as Bill Barnwell noted quite recently, and Andy Reid is (or was) a good coach. The man is 130-91-2 in Philadelphia, record-breaking numbers that may never be topped in this itchy-trigger-finger era of lightning-quick coach turnover.
Yes, it hasn't been quite the same since his army of disciples -- John Harbaugh, Jim Johnson, even Brad Childress -- were lost to other jobs or illness. And yes, one of the main reasons things got so bad is the futility of almost all of Reid's replacements for the departed players and coaches.
But that doesn't mean Reid's five NFC Championship Games and one Super Bowl appearance go away. He doesn't have to abdicate his wins because his team officially fell apart in his 14th season as head coach.
Reid was a proud man who probably took on too much responsibility, and he ultimately paid for his mistakes. Maybe his strong suit isn't having final say on personnel; maybe he lost the ability to properly analyze and critique his staff along the way.
Apart from this season, however, disasters were few and far between. The team did sneak into the playoffs three of the last five seasons. It wasn't all doom and gloom; it never felt like we were watching the Cleveland Browns or the Oakland Raiders.
And I think people will recognize that as time goes on. Much like Donovan McNabb is slowly working his way back into everyone's good graces -- being remembered for his successful career as a whole instead of a few high-profile failures -- I expect Reid will eventually attain something close to mythic status.
A new coach will come in and, inevitably, he'll screw up. Maybe it won't be as egregious as making Tony Hunt the fullback, J.R. Reed the punt returner or three wispy ghosts the 2011 linebacker trio, but it'll probably be something close. And folks will call WIP to bitch and moan, wondering where the glory days of the 2000s have gone.
Maybe they won't pine for Reid specifically, not right away. But ask a fan of the Buffalo Bills, or the aforementioned Browns, or even the Dallas Cowboys or Chicago Bears, and they'll tell you what it's like to deal with an oft-moronic string of incompetent head coaches. It's a very difficult job, and there's a reason you hang onto the great ones.
Reid will never be Buddy Ryan, who never won anything either but was beloved for it anyway. But he set the bar high and turned his franchise into one of the league's best, bringing Philadelphia nine playoff appearances when most cities would kill for one.
The best coach in team history is about to depart for greener pastures. Even if we don't applaud on his way out, let's try and remember what he did to make football in Philadelphia special again.
