…did anyone happen to notice that Sprint commercial which talked up how fans can go online, select the attributes for their own new hero, and possibly see said hero brought to life in a new online live-action series?
Does no-one at NBC have a clue how that looked to those of us who are rooting for the writers in the WGA strike to get their fair share of the profits for online productions? I understand they’re trying to make it look as though it’s business as usual, and that there’s still new programming online even when the stuff on the network runs dry, but, really, to run that commercial in the wake of “Heroes: Origins” being yanked off the schedule…I mean, that’s just a slap in the face to Tim Kring and the other WGA members on the “Heroes” writing staff.
When I heard that this week’s episode was the fall finale, I was a little relieved. Recent episodes have left me a little irritated with the show and, frankly, I need a break from “Prison Break.” But when I heard that the General intended to utilize a “band and burn” escape plan this week, my interest was definitely piqued.
Michael feels understandably betrayed by Lincoln, but these words were a little harsh: “You used me, Linc. So I guess you and the Company have something in common.”
Ouch.
In last week’s blog, I was wrong when I surmised that Gretchen worked for Whistler. She works for the General, and her second interaction with Whistler at Sona made that quite clear.
Anyway, Gretchen wanted Whistler to kill Michael, and he had a couple of opportunities to take Scofield out, but he was either interrupted or chose not to. It turned out to be his undoing, however, when Michael tried to piggyback on Whistler’s copter ride, forcing the duo back into Sona. (By the way, why couldn’t the helicopter fly off with two people on the rope? Search and rescue helicopters do that all the time. All…the…time.)
Meanwhile, Sofia discovered Whistler’s bachelor pad, and mark my words, this is the beginning of the end for the couple. She obviously felt betrayed when he lied to her about the apartment. Don’t be surprised if the Sofia/Lincoln relationship heats up next year.
The series took an interesting turn right at the end when Michael was kicked out of Sona. T-Bag, Bellick and Mahone will remain in Sona, while Michael is off to some new prison. I’m not sure how they’re going to make that work, but I’ll admit, I’m interested to find out.
After a week that’s brought us an apology from “Heroes” creator Tim Kring for the slow pace and iffy elements of this second season, perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised that Episode 2.9 was one of the best of the season to date. Then again, it also probably spurred more than one wag to suggest that, had the show picked up from this point originally, maybe Season 2 would’ve been a hell of a lot better to begin with. Whatever the case, we were given a decent amount to chew on this week as several blanks were filled in.
Well, obviously, we knew that neither Peter nor Nathan really had truly blown up over New York City, but now we understand a bit more about what happened immediately afterwards. Nathan scored himself a trip to the hospital after getting a considerable amount of flesh burned off, losing his family in the process, thanks to the meddlings of Mama Petrelli…and, of course, we also finally learned conclusively that Mama’s power is that of suggestion, as well as how Nathan ended up recovering from his burns.
Peter, meanwhile, got picked up by Bob (Steven Tobolowsky) and Elle (Kristen Bell), and in the case of the latter, you could argue that that’s a double entendre. Man, Elle was all about the “grrr, baby” tonight, wasn’t she? I’m going on the record, people: when it comes to sexy, Kristen Bell puts Hayden Panetierre to shame. (Screw the obvious pun; that kiss was electric.) As far as the other goings-on during Peter’s confinement, I felt like the relationship between Peter and Adam was built up reasonably over the course of the time they shared as “guests” of The Company, so no complaints there.
With Nikki and D.L., I gotta say, I was surprised to find that that was a pretty decent subplot. Frankly, I’d written D.L. off as dead after the season finale; it was a damned cool way to utilize the uncertainty of his fate and provide both a “yay, D.L.” moment when he saved the young girl from the fire, as well as the inevitable but no less effective “oh, shit” moment by having him meet his death outside the L.A. nightclub.
I have to say, though, that I was perhaps most surprised by how much I enjoyed the Maya and Alejandro sequence at Alejandro’s wedding. Damn, that was dark. If we’d gotten that impressive an introduction for these two from the get-go, maybe we wouldn’t have been mocking them so mercilessly all this time.
Given that today’s Veteran’s Day, it seemed only appropriate to select a documentary which involved the members of our fighting forces. Of course, it also helped that, mere days before, I’d serendipitously received such a selection: “The Ritchie Boys,” directed by Christian Bauer.
Ever since Tom Brokaw put together his tales of “The Greatest Generation,” documentaries interviewing those who fought their way through World War II and lived to tell their stories have been very much on my radar, so I was immediately predisposed to be interested in “The Ritchie Boys” based on its WWII-era cover photo alone. As I read the description on the back of the DVD box, however, I became legitimately fascinated by this story of German Jewish individuals who’d been run out of their homeland, come to the States, and been welcomed into the U.S. Army to assist in the war effort and fight against those who forced them to flee Germany in the first place.
This would’ve been an interesting story even if it had been told strictly via voiceover narration, but several members of the Ritchie Boys – so named because of their training in Camp Ritchie, Maryland – are still alive, well, and more than ready to talk about their experiences. Most had only been in the States for a very short time before finding themselves members of the US Army, but almost all were enthusiastic at the prospect of kicking as much Nazi ass as possible.
It’s not entirely surprising, I don’t suppose, that the majority of these gentlemen are jovial and in good spirits when speaking of their pasts, probably because there were some good times; certainly, it’s evident that there was tremendous camaraderie amongst them. We see this in particular with the duo of Guy Stern and Fred Howard, who left the war as friends and are the only two who are paired together during the course of the film; we see them as they reunite and ride together to tour their old barracks, and the easy back-and-forth between them will illicit a smile in most. For instance, on the drive to the barracks, Guy muses that you can see that the Blue Ridge Mountains will be appearing on the horizon soon, which inspires Fred to burst into laughter and reply, “You are so full of shit!” They trade memories back and forth throughout the film, including how they discovered that German soldiers were deathly afraid of being captured by the Russians, so they managed to get their hands on a Russian soldier’s uniform and would interrogate prisons as if they were Russians. (They even found a portrait of Josef Stalin, to which they added a facsimile of his signature, adding, “With love.”) Be sure, however, to stay tuned for the closing credits, over which they discuss a tale they invented about how they’d captured Adolf Hitler’s latrine officer.
Though we’re treated to several amusing stories from the various surviving Ritchie Boys, the sad reality of war is never far away. We hear how one of the members of the regiment was shot dead by a sentry after answering the password correctly but doing so in his German accent; also, in a moment of governmental stupidity, it’s revealed that the U.S. Army’s dog tags listed the soldiers’ religious persuasion, which proves a bit dodgy if you’re a former German turned American soldier who’s of the Jewish persuasion.
“The Ritchie Boys” is a side of the war that’s never really been explored before. Even if you’ve seen “The War” and think, okay, Ken Burns has said all that needs to be said, you’d still be wise to check out this flick before making a final decision on the matter.
You might think it’s a little ironic that I should spend the previous Doc of the Day entry talking about how my non-gayness leaves me personally indifferent to Canada’s tolerance of homosexuality, only to follow up with a rave for director Malcolm Ingram’s “Small Town Gay Bar,” a documentary which explores the difficulties that the homosexual community in small-town Mississippi have in finding a place to hang out and be themselves. It’s doubly unlikely when you factor in that the DVD opens with a commercial for “Dante’s Cove,” about which I once wrote that it “actually looked mildly interesting, given its reference to “sexy and supernatural residents,” but even that description couldn’t keep me watching after one male lead mounted another from behind in the kitchen.”
So can we solely chalk my appreciation of the film up to the fact that it’s been executive-produced by my brother from another mother, Mr. Kevin Smith?
Absolutely not. The credit goes totally to Ingram on this project…well, okay, and probably to editors Graeme Ball and Scott Mosier, too. But as a gay man himself, it’s a reasonable assumption that the heart of the film belongs to Ingram.
And there’s a lot of heart in “Small Town Gay Bar.” Although the film begins by playing up the wild and crazy fun which one generally associates with gay bars (techno music, drag shows, etcetera), the primary focus is to show how such establishments are downright crucial to the mental health of the small town gay community, as they provide gays with a rare opportunity to let their hair down and be themselves, rather than “have to deal with terrified heterosexuals.” It’s not a sensationalized look at the gay lifestyle; if anything, Ingram goes out of his way to spotlight the gay relationships…rather than, say, what goes on under the sheets.
At right around the 20-minute mark, however, the cheery, upbeat tone of the documentary grows dark and harsh, as the subject of Scotty Weaver is broached.
Weaver, an 18-year-old gay boy who lived in Bay Minette, Mississippi, was tied to a chair in his trailer, where, over the course of several hours, was beaten, strangled, stabbed, mutilated, and partially decapitated, with his body dumped in the woods and set on fire. If the preceding several minutes of “Small Town Gay Bar” haven’t served to remind you that gay people are still just people, then it’s hard to imagine anyone getting past the description of this event without saying, “Geez, even if you’re not a fan of homosexuality, no-one deserves that kind of treatment.” And, yet, some would argue that they do…like, say, Rev. Fred Phelps, who describes his website GodHatesFags.com as “a serious, profound theological statement.”
Yes, seriously. Though I wish I was kidding.
Once we leave Rev. Phelps’ rantings behind, we also learn a bit about the American Family Association, who aren’t quite as harsh, but they still perform disconcerting maneuvers like writing down the license plate numbers of every car in the parking lot of one of the bars, then reading the list over the radio the next morning. Fortunately, however, things soon return to a more thoughtful place; we get a history of the gay bar in Mississippi, find out about a place called the Crossroads Estates (and get a laugh at the fact that the former owner looks vaguely like Eric Clapton), and then grow sentimental as both Crossroads and the other key bar in the film, Rumors, each get new owners.
“Small Town Gay Bar” is a thoughtful look at the lifestyle of the gay community beyond the big cities, and although it only focuses on a couple of locations, it still serves as a reminder that it’s like this all over the country, not just in Mississippi. It’s sad that there are so many individuals out there who can’t just let gay folks live their own lives, especially since this film only serves to emphasize the fact that, all things being equal, they’d just as soon hang out with each other, anyway! (And given such fine upstanding heterosexuals as Rev. Fred Phelps, who can blame them?)
In closing, here’s Kevin Smith’s intro to the film. That’s Malcolm Ingram standing beside him. These two are great buds, but please note Ingram’s uncomfortable expression throughout most of this; it’s, like, “Okay, Kevin, I’ve made this really nice, thoughtful film, so how ’bout you tone down the jism talk, huh?”
