Tuesday, June 02, 2009 - Posts
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The 2007 documentary The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters chronicles the surprisingly stirring struggles of Washington algebra teacher and Donkey Kong wizard Steve Wiebe to a) beat the high score of reigning Kong champ Billy Mitchell and then b) convince the close-knit, sallow-skinned cadre of gaming eccentrics that officiates high scores to recognize his feat. (Mitchell sycophants through and through, they are a tough bunch to convince.)
Wiebe, who honed his Donkey Kong skills in his garage after he was laid off from a job at Boeing, smiles wistfully, speaks softly, and never loses his temper or resolve. He's an indefatigable loser-hero and a noble forebear, in this regard, of down-and-out metal striver Lips Kudlow, from this year's Anvil! The Story of Anvil. Billy Mitchell, with tight black jeans, Lorenzo Lamas hair, and a curvy, well-tanned wife, is all too happy to play the villain. He is the cocky ruler of a very small kingdom, deeply lovable in his own way—if the movie hadn't come out six years after the British Office debuted, I'd swear Ricky Gervais had studied Mitchell's tie-flattening, lip-biting, eye-darting tics and outsized self-regard when he was coming up with David Brent.
A fictionalized version of The King of Kong has been reported as in the works, but fans of the original documentary—and fans of underdogs in general—need not wait for a fresh Wiebe fix. He is currently at the annual gaming-industry conference E3, attempting to break Mitchell's reigning score (1,050,200 points) in front of a live audience. A Web site is carrying the video feed. Wiebe's first attempt, earlier today, topped out at 923,400 points (rats!), but as of this writing, he's set to give it another try. Tune in, and as his score mounts, don't be surprised if you find yourself caught up in the dorky, high-stakes drama, screaming at your computer with every leapt barrel.
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It is now being widely reported that Sasha Baron Cohen's aerial assault on Eminem at Sunday's MTV Movie Awards was staged. This seemed obvious from the outset—no matter how well Eminem's post-addiction 12-stepping is going, it beggars belief that he could react to a prank of this nature with such Zen-like restraint. God knows, men have been pummeled by rappers' bodyguards for lesser offenses than a nationally televised tea-bagging.
And so we are left to contemplate an icky publicity stunt, designed to drum up business for Eminem's new album, Baron Cohen's forthcoming Bruno movie, and MTV itself. As the cable network, with palpable desperation, sought to replicate its past awards show succès de scandales—Howard Stern's Fartman flight from the rafters; Eminem's showdown with Triumph, the Insult Comic Dog—viewers were treated to the spectacle of two talented and presumably self-respecting artists publicly humiliating themselves in a witless shock-comedy sweat-act, complete with schwanz jokes that would have bombed at Grossinger's 60 years ago.
That Eminem and Baron-Cohen, who have both demonstrated comedic genius in the past, didn't recognize the banality of this gag (as Paris Hilton evidently did) speaks to the lengths to which celebrities will go in pursuit of viral-video success, which, these days, is the best promotion, the real fame. Forget the rapper and the comedian and all of the glittering A-listers on hand—the elephants in the room Sunday night were the dancing baby, the "Charlie bit me!" kid, and the Chocolate Rain dude. Of course, the way things are going, at next year's awards there will be actual elephants in the room, moving their bowels on Andy Samberg's head. LOL!
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The 3-D revival appears to be a success. With $68 million in receipts over its first weekend, Pixar's Up may become the highest-grossing 3-D film of all time. Only 11 3-D movies have ever pulled in more than $50 million over their entire runs-and five of them have come out since last fall.
The 3-D boom interests me for two reasons: First, because I've been a fan of the medium since I was a little kid; and second, because of a prediction I made in April that may soon turn out to be deeply embarrassing. In an article entitled "The Problem With 3-D: It hurts your eyes. Always has, always will," I declared that the 3-D bubble would soon burst because problems with stereo cinema technology had not been fixed. "Eventually, inevitably, perhaps unconsciously," I wrote, the eye strain 3-D movies cause will "creep off the screen and into our minds."
It may be time to start hedging my bets. I still think the future is dim for live-action 3-D movies, and I don't believe Jeffrey Katzenberg's claim that everything will soon be produced in stereo. But I now believe the revival could find lasting success ... in children's movies. Here are three possible reasons why:
1. Kids are too young to remember Jaws 3-D.
One of the problems facing the marketers of 3-D cinema is the medium's sketchy past. The last wave of 3-D films in the early 1980s comprised a run of dreadful horror and sci-fi flicks, from Friday the 13th, Part III to Metalstorm. Hollywood has been aggressive in targeting youngsters this go-round, perhaps because kids are an audience that hasn't been tainted by 3-D's unsavory past. At least seven more animated 3-D children's movies are scheduled for release this year.
2. The 3-D effects are better in animated films.
It takes a lot figuring to get the cinematography right in a live-action 3-D film. For one thing, you have to decide how far apart to place the two cameras during shooting. (In general, the further apart they are, the more intense the illusion of depth, and the more eyestrain for viewers.) But the makers of an animated film have full control of the frame, since every pixel is generated by a computer. It may be easier to correct for imperfections in the stereo effect in computer-generated imagery—and that would in turn lead to a cleaner, more comfortable experience for viewers.
3. Kids may be less susceptible to eyestrain.
No one knows exactly why 3-D movies cause headaches, fatigue, and nausea, but the most intuitive theory has to do with what's called the convergence-accommodation disparity. In short: In order to see the 3-D special effect, you have to point your eyes at the screen while you focus them at a depth somewhere in front of the screen.
If that unnatural state of affairs does cause eyestrain, it may be that adults are more susceptible than children. The ability to change the focus of your eyes gradually deteriorates over the course of your life. It's altogether possible that these age-related changes would affect how we experience convergence-accommodation disparity. Kids might find 3-D easier on the eyes. (They might also be less put off by donning a pair of novelty glasses every time they go to the movies.)
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Punching in as the host of The Tonight Show—rocking out the first song on his new album, as it were—guitar hero Conan O'Brien did Cheap Trick's "Surrender." Punching out an aggressive mission statement, he blazoned his intent to thrill. The dek of Lynn Hirschberg's Times piece, linked above, restated the question dogging him since he accepted the gig: "Can Conan O'Brien's Brand of Late-Late-Night, Smart-Guy, Outsider Humor Work on ‘The Tonight Show'?" He replied—forcefully, gracefully, wonderfully weirdly—by outrunning the dogs. The cold open roared, "Yes!" And also, "If it can't, fug 'em; I'll do it my way." It was kinda like a formal dedication.
In the earlier half-hour, in the canned interviews promoting the new Tonight on the 11 p.m. local news, Conan had looked old and terribly drawn. The lighting and makeup people hadn't done right by him, nor had the California sun, under which an Irishman such as he, skin as white as lace curtains, ought to be using SPF 3,000. But in this epic remote, he was merely as handsomely gaunt as Dean Wareham (his old schoolmate and exact contemporary) and elsewise all youth and health and vitality. The concept was that this diligent Harvard boy, checking off the mundane business of the day—brushing the teeth and all that—comes to an item reading "move to L.A." The camera lavishes a glance out of a 30 Rock office onto the Chrysler Building, and Conan gives an "Oh, God," as if shocked by the dreariness of abandoning the sexiest icon of the world's greatest city. He thus kisses farewell to sentiment in two beats. Then, a young man in a hurry, he says goodbye to all that and bolts for the door.
The rest you must see for yourself. Look at the purpose in Conan's cross-country stride, the fine line of his back, the slim suit a Reservoir Dog would die for, the flow of his Eero Saarinen hair as he cruises. In the opening sequence of the new Late Night, Jimmy Fallon goes running every show, but it feels as if he's anxious and rushing, as if he'll get fired if he's tardy for work one more time. Conan is swift with confidence.
The setup for the pay-off is gorgeous. Even as your heart swells at seeing the sights of all America—or, at least, of those parts of America hosting the network affiliates Conan has been working to woo—it starts sinking with the worry that the trip will conclude with the host sprinting straight onto his new stage. That would be cheesy. That would spoil the whole thing. The tension is palpable, and then you get that forlorn shot of the forgotten keys and a sweet release.
Conan's hot cold open says this is action, this is a national institution, this is physical comedy as sophisticated as Harold Lloyd's or Jacques Tati's, this is absurdity as deft as John Ashbery's or Spike Jonze's. He wants mom and dad rolling with laughter on the couch, and he wants to go the distance.
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