The mini series Punk Rock Jesus is similar to great punk albums in that it's loud, fast, at times sloppy, and it has some biting observations buried in the text.
The artist Sean Murphy had explained in interviews preceding the release of this series that he had the idea for it a decade ago, and, after much work, the fruit of his labors was published. Most sequential artists have difficulty in tasking themselves both scripting and art since it's apparent that most artists are much more suited with the visuals than that and the dialogue. Sean Murphy is pretty capable of handling both tasks.
The story of Punk Rock Jesus is set in the near future, where a company working with some scientists have taken DNA from the fabled Shroud of Turin and through science they are able to construct a clone embryo and impregnate a virgin girl named Gwen. The pregnancy and subsequent birth are filmed for audiences as the pull for the show has this setup the second coming of Christ. Gwen names her baby Chris, short for Christ.There's an island facility where cameras catch every move. The show is a worldwide hit as viewers tune in as the infant ages, looking for signs of miracles and wonders.
The head of the project, Rick Slate, is the heavy of the story. Manipulating the scenes, Slate orchestrates scenes for his viewers to believe this baby is indeed the second coming of Christ. Slate is also calculating and ruthless in maintaining his programs popular status, essentially keeping Gwen hostage on the island.
The island has a head of security named Thomas to keep the island safe from threats in the form of a radical paramilitary zealous Christian group called the NCA. Thomas hails from Ireland and there are portions of the story which show his violent past, and these parts are actually the best things in the mini series.
Chris grows to a young teenager and after a series of unfortunate events, he begins to immerse himself in science books and punk music, emerging as Punk Rock Jesus denouncing religion and God, and fronting a band called The Flak Jackets who tour worldwide with their angry music.
This mini series is indeed pretty good science fiction in the ideas presented. Some of the things don't work well, like the overall characterization of the NCA, Chris' band, the Flak Jackets, felt like broad sketches rather than actual characters. Those that do are in regards to the cloning human embryos, religion marketed as entertainment to the masses. While the story is ostensibly about Chris as punk rock messiah, it really works better in showcasing Thomas and his back story. There's a great deal of exploration in the long violent fight between the Protestants and Catholics in Ireland which had pulled Thomas in as an adolescent and has him on a personal road for redemption.
Sean Murphy's art is splendid in detail and movement. Foregoing color for his art and keeping it a rough black and white, this choice enhances some scenes to greater effect. Murphy's overall story however is okay, but, not as strong as his art. Some of it works, some of it doesn't. It asks the reader some big questions, goes places in regards to atheism without stepping onto a bully pulpit. I found some of the characters just not as good as Thomas, and this was a detriment to my overall opinion of the book. It's provocative nature is really good as it can spur on some good healthy discussion amongst people, of which I'm sure Sean Murphy was striving for in the first place.
I recommend the book, but, the pull ads on the cover are somewhat a little misleading. It's good, but, it's not THAT good.
Monday, April 29, 2013
30 Minute Exercise
Beginning now I will conduct a 30 minute exercise in which whatever is in my head is going down onto this screen.
Today is a Monday to which I'm sitting at home with the windows open. Lawnmowers are working hard out in a distance as birds chirp loudly to abruptly cover up the sound of grass shavings being showered back onto a manicured surface. It's warm today compared to the weekend where it was rainy and grey. Not to mention chilly. I would imagine London or maybe somewhere in the Pacific Northwest would be apt in location for that kind of weather. At least, I think the stereotypes of said areas have that distinction.
It's nice to know you can wear out your welcome with someone and they don't even have to say it. It's your actions or lack thereof which is a good sign. I've come to the conclusion I cannot make any long term friendships outside of a few hobbies I share with others.
Being nice sucks. People continually take advantage of it, as they are lamenting they are taking advantage of it. I get to hear all about the problems of others. I should charge money or by the hour for this task.
I'm a pretty boring individual. How else to explain the lack of substance when we talk? I only talk what I know which is film, books, music, comics. Some of those subjects I don't know really well at all. I just try and put a confident face on what I do know and hope my ruse isn't discovered.
Had a nice evening Saturday. Dinner and DVD's with a friend. So pedestrian. That date is probably in many a hand book or self help guide or dating tip as the nice, safe, albeit stale method to spend time with someone. I wanted the date to last longer. I would like a lot of things to happen that never do.
I would like commitment and iron clad fidelity from the opposite sex. Not merely the lip service until a better fuck comes along.
I would like a job that didn't always place me on the ominous hot seat every week. Shit happens that can be explained and the explanation is rendered null and void on the account that the superior sees in the archaic terms of black and white.
I would like to visit the following- an ocean, Paris France, Miami Fl, the offices of Marvel and DC comics, comic-con or something equally on the level.
I would like to visit a movie set to feel the pain and lethargy associated with sitting in trailers awaiting for someone to call you on a set. I want to see shots composed and executed. Preferably a tracking shot, That looks incredibly complex and terrifying simultaneously.
I would like to be able to be paid to write. I would like for people to hold to their promises. If you plan on visiting sometime, do so already. Quit telling me how awful your life is and just walk already.
I would like to do something rash like skydive, or knock up a girl who would be the world's shittiest parent.
I want to go vegetarian. I've been avoiding chicken and meat when at all possible. There's so much in the way of processed foods that utterly poisonous to your system.
I would like all firearms to be confiscated and melted. War on guns instead of drugs. I would like to see the dregs of puritanical thought done away with like some awful fad like the mood ring or pet rock. 2nd Amendment was all about a militia not for Jerry Redneck in Fairdealing MO to stockpile weapons great and small for "recreational use"
I would like to see all groups equal regardless of skin color or orientation.
I would like to see smart pills developed. I would like to see big banks broken up and every hedge fund manager or person that made a ton of money put to prison. I would like to see tests given to prospective parents. You have to take a test to drive a car, fish and hunt, vote. Taking a test for parenting is vital.
I would like to have a kid. That may be the best thing a man could ever do. That kid would be smart and nerdy and split time between his parents because I'm pretty sure what poor woman gets pregnant by me will be tired and resign herself to some other shittier existence afterwards.
I'm on the fence about the 20 year reunion. I don't know if I want to go. There weren't a lot of people I knew in my class. I was in underclasses my last two years. My Facebook profile is another thing I'm on the fence about. It vexes me to read something from someone and then a public post which contradicts what they sent me.
ugh! Time's up.
Today is a Monday to which I'm sitting at home with the windows open. Lawnmowers are working hard out in a distance as birds chirp loudly to abruptly cover up the sound of grass shavings being showered back onto a manicured surface. It's warm today compared to the weekend where it was rainy and grey. Not to mention chilly. I would imagine London or maybe somewhere in the Pacific Northwest would be apt in location for that kind of weather. At least, I think the stereotypes of said areas have that distinction.
It's nice to know you can wear out your welcome with someone and they don't even have to say it. It's your actions or lack thereof which is a good sign. I've come to the conclusion I cannot make any long term friendships outside of a few hobbies I share with others.
Being nice sucks. People continually take advantage of it, as they are lamenting they are taking advantage of it. I get to hear all about the problems of others. I should charge money or by the hour for this task.
I'm a pretty boring individual. How else to explain the lack of substance when we talk? I only talk what I know which is film, books, music, comics. Some of those subjects I don't know really well at all. I just try and put a confident face on what I do know and hope my ruse isn't discovered.
Had a nice evening Saturday. Dinner and DVD's with a friend. So pedestrian. That date is probably in many a hand book or self help guide or dating tip as the nice, safe, albeit stale method to spend time with someone. I wanted the date to last longer. I would like a lot of things to happen that never do.
I would like commitment and iron clad fidelity from the opposite sex. Not merely the lip service until a better fuck comes along.
I would like a job that didn't always place me on the ominous hot seat every week. Shit happens that can be explained and the explanation is rendered null and void on the account that the superior sees in the archaic terms of black and white.
I would like to visit the following- an ocean, Paris France, Miami Fl, the offices of Marvel and DC comics, comic-con or something equally on the level.
I would like to visit a movie set to feel the pain and lethargy associated with sitting in trailers awaiting for someone to call you on a set. I want to see shots composed and executed. Preferably a tracking shot, That looks incredibly complex and terrifying simultaneously.
I would like to be able to be paid to write. I would like for people to hold to their promises. If you plan on visiting sometime, do so already. Quit telling me how awful your life is and just walk already.
I would like to do something rash like skydive, or knock up a girl who would be the world's shittiest parent.
I want to go vegetarian. I've been avoiding chicken and meat when at all possible. There's so much in the way of processed foods that utterly poisonous to your system.
I would like all firearms to be confiscated and melted. War on guns instead of drugs. I would like to see the dregs of puritanical thought done away with like some awful fad like the mood ring or pet rock. 2nd Amendment was all about a militia not for Jerry Redneck in Fairdealing MO to stockpile weapons great and small for "recreational use"
I would like to see all groups equal regardless of skin color or orientation.
I would like to see smart pills developed. I would like to see big banks broken up and every hedge fund manager or person that made a ton of money put to prison. I would like to see tests given to prospective parents. You have to take a test to drive a car, fish and hunt, vote. Taking a test for parenting is vital.
I would like to have a kid. That may be the best thing a man could ever do. That kid would be smart and nerdy and split time between his parents because I'm pretty sure what poor woman gets pregnant by me will be tired and resign herself to some other shittier existence afterwards.
I'm on the fence about the 20 year reunion. I don't know if I want to go. There weren't a lot of people I knew in my class. I was in underclasses my last two years. My Facebook profile is another thing I'm on the fence about. It vexes me to read something from someone and then a public post which contradicts what they sent me.
ugh! Time's up.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Bay in CoenLand
Let me preface the following with an admission before we get to the heart of the matter.
I've not been a fan of Michael Bay movies.
Bay's movies have all represented a form of obnoxious entertainment bordering on the incomprehensible that plumbs the barrel of juvenile humor and amps everything from color saturation to action to sound up to eleven. The very illustration of mindless and indulgent entertainment draped in the American flag personifying every negative stereotype of our country imagined played with an absence of wit or thought.
It was initial intrigue that pulled me into the local theater to see Bay's first non robot filled extravaganza in several years, Pain and Gain. There was this summary that Michael Bay was attempting noir via the Coen Brothers which had floated around online. Although being an admirer of the Coen brothers, performing a close impersonation of the brothers film style with the subtlety of whatever obnoxious thing you can think of is pretty intriguing.
Pain and Gain is the absolute bizarre story of Daniel Lugo (Mark Wahlberg) who is struggling to seize his version of the American dream. He has the sculpted physique of an Adonis, yet, none of the ambition to make his financial dreams a reality that matches his desire for physical perfection. He's quick to speak and enthusiastic to get his dreams out in words and pull others into his various schemes. Lugo has a sense of entitlement in regards to making lots of money with all the trappings being fabulously wealthy bring along. Unfortunately he wants it now as opposed to working for it.
A personal trainer who quickly climbs the ranks of Sun Gym, Lugo triples the gym's membership in a matter of weeks. He begins training Victor Kershaw (Tony Shalhoub) who's everything Lugo isn't in the business world. and is no shrinking violet when it comes to describing his wealth. This stirs disdain within Lugo and develops into jealousy. "Why should Kershaw have the American dream when he's a scumbag?" thinks Lugo
Lugo hatches a plan of simple extortion with fellow gym rat Adrian Doorbal (Anthony Mackie) on Kershaw. They quickly realize they're needing a third party to accomplish their goal. The two enlist the reluctant help of Paul Doyle (Dwayne Johnson) who's come to Miami after several years in jail for a fresh start and because there weren't any warrants for him in Florida. Doyle has reformed his criminal ways and become a zealous Christian.
The extortion plot develops into a kidnapping as the trio kidnaps Kershaw and hold him hostage for a month until he signs over all his property and cash to his kidnappers. Circumstances happen though after the plan is executed and the trio realizes that Kershaw will be a liability to their new found wealth and freedom if he's allowed to live.
The last half of this film does indeed play out like a Coen Brothers film in which there is some accidental blood letting and violence as well as absurd black humor. When retired private investigator Ed DuBois (Ed Harris) arrives to investigate the happenings of the first half, the film picks up some steam. The first half has overlapping voice overs to set the tone but it's done too long and after while unnecessary. It slows the story with different asides to the characters. I sensed that Bay was wanting to actually get under these characters skins rather than keep things all surface, but, it comes as a detriment than help.
Performance wise, this film is owned by Dwayne Johnson. His Paul Doyle is at times sympathetic and pathetic simultaneously. Johnson has real fun as the character and lights up the movie when present as it arcs from Jesus loving ex-con to relapsed addict. Mark Wahlberg puts in a performance that had me thinking "Dirk Diggler: Exercise Nut" a lot of the time. This is possible due to the whine that ends each sentence of dialogue. Anthony Mackie puts in a nice performance as Adrian, who wants the type of body Lugo has, and who's rampant steroid use renders him impotent.Ed Harris is great as the P.I. who takes this case with a seriousness the Miami Police didn't at first.
There are fun bits done by Rebel Wilson, Rob Corddry, and Ken Jeong for mostly comedic effect. As for Michael Bay... well this was still obnoxious at times, but, the volume was turned down to 9 than the usually set 11. Bay's showmanship is on full display, yet, there are points where he reeled himself in. The problem I have with his films are there is talent on screen. He can shoot an action sequence with relish and he has a decent skill set that could make him accomplished. More often than not, he just tosses subtlety aside and just goes completely gonzo. Rather than make a good homage to the Coen Brothers noir genre, Bay turns in something more closer to late Tony Scott. This isn't a bad thing per se. It isn't a "Michael Bay movie".
I've not been a fan of Michael Bay movies.
Bay's movies have all represented a form of obnoxious entertainment bordering on the incomprehensible that plumbs the barrel of juvenile humor and amps everything from color saturation to action to sound up to eleven. The very illustration of mindless and indulgent entertainment draped in the American flag personifying every negative stereotype of our country imagined played with an absence of wit or thought.
It was initial intrigue that pulled me into the local theater to see Bay's first non robot filled extravaganza in several years, Pain and Gain. There was this summary that Michael Bay was attempting noir via the Coen Brothers which had floated around online. Although being an admirer of the Coen brothers, performing a close impersonation of the brothers film style with the subtlety of whatever obnoxious thing you can think of is pretty intriguing.
Pain and Gain is the absolute bizarre story of Daniel Lugo (Mark Wahlberg) who is struggling to seize his version of the American dream. He has the sculpted physique of an Adonis, yet, none of the ambition to make his financial dreams a reality that matches his desire for physical perfection. He's quick to speak and enthusiastic to get his dreams out in words and pull others into his various schemes. Lugo has a sense of entitlement in regards to making lots of money with all the trappings being fabulously wealthy bring along. Unfortunately he wants it now as opposed to working for it.
A personal trainer who quickly climbs the ranks of Sun Gym, Lugo triples the gym's membership in a matter of weeks. He begins training Victor Kershaw (Tony Shalhoub) who's everything Lugo isn't in the business world. and is no shrinking violet when it comes to describing his wealth. This stirs disdain within Lugo and develops into jealousy. "Why should Kershaw have the American dream when he's a scumbag?" thinks Lugo
Lugo hatches a plan of simple extortion with fellow gym rat Adrian Doorbal (Anthony Mackie) on Kershaw. They quickly realize they're needing a third party to accomplish their goal. The two enlist the reluctant help of Paul Doyle (Dwayne Johnson) who's come to Miami after several years in jail for a fresh start and because there weren't any warrants for him in Florida. Doyle has reformed his criminal ways and become a zealous Christian.
The extortion plot develops into a kidnapping as the trio kidnaps Kershaw and hold him hostage for a month until he signs over all his property and cash to his kidnappers. Circumstances happen though after the plan is executed and the trio realizes that Kershaw will be a liability to their new found wealth and freedom if he's allowed to live.
The last half of this film does indeed play out like a Coen Brothers film in which there is some accidental blood letting and violence as well as absurd black humor. When retired private investigator Ed DuBois (Ed Harris) arrives to investigate the happenings of the first half, the film picks up some steam. The first half has overlapping voice overs to set the tone but it's done too long and after while unnecessary. It slows the story with different asides to the characters. I sensed that Bay was wanting to actually get under these characters skins rather than keep things all surface, but, it comes as a detriment than help.
Performance wise, this film is owned by Dwayne Johnson. His Paul Doyle is at times sympathetic and pathetic simultaneously. Johnson has real fun as the character and lights up the movie when present as it arcs from Jesus loving ex-con to relapsed addict. Mark Wahlberg puts in a performance that had me thinking "Dirk Diggler: Exercise Nut" a lot of the time. This is possible due to the whine that ends each sentence of dialogue. Anthony Mackie puts in a nice performance as Adrian, who wants the type of body Lugo has, and who's rampant steroid use renders him impotent.Ed Harris is great as the P.I. who takes this case with a seriousness the Miami Police didn't at first.
There are fun bits done by Rebel Wilson, Rob Corddry, and Ken Jeong for mostly comedic effect. As for Michael Bay... well this was still obnoxious at times, but, the volume was turned down to 9 than the usually set 11. Bay's showmanship is on full display, yet, there are points where he reeled himself in. The problem I have with his films are there is talent on screen. He can shoot an action sequence with relish and he has a decent skill set that could make him accomplished. More often than not, he just tosses subtlety aside and just goes completely gonzo. Rather than make a good homage to the Coen Brothers noir genre, Bay turns in something more closer to late Tony Scott. This isn't a bad thing per se. It isn't a "Michael Bay movie".
Soon the New Day Breaks the Dawn
More often than not, as I lay in bed attempting to lull my mind into slumber, I slowly switch off different switches in my brain. There are far too many images and scenarios that play themselves out in my minds eye. It's usually my brain decompressing from the day at work, replaying snippets of dialogue, scenes of monotony, weird things that usually signify a life pretty much at ease and content. Often times, these things feel like a weighted down back pack I'm carrying. It affects the way I walk, because it saps the strength of my limbs and makes me weary.
Invariably the replays of the day dissolve into wishful thinking which sometimes awakens me due to the running commentary in my head regarding decisions in my life and how they should have been different. I should have taken this job there, moved some other state, learn to say no. Those cliched responses we all exercise in moments of solitude.
The past several nights though, have been different as through the fog and cacophony of deconstruction slowly emerges a figure. The figure lays in a large bed completely content with their station in life and blissful that they lived that day to the fullest. The opposite of me. I reach my hand out towards that bed, that person. The scene pulls closer as I drift in through the ether and towards this destination. The person rolls over onto their side as I approach and beckons me with their smile. A blinding white light shines behind the person as I inch closer and some dissonant strings swell in the background while I approach. The person has a bemused look to them as if they're somewhat amused at my appearance. The backpack usually grows more in size, until it looks doubled in size nearly engulfing me as I move forward.
I get onto the bed and I realize it's a woman's face. It's her face. She's here in my dream not designed by some hopelessly romantic synapse firing. Her voice questions what took so long, and then shakes her head as she sees the weight on my back.
"You really shouldn't bring that with you if you're coming here. It's unsightly and looks too heavy for words". She says with some sympathy mixed with disappointment.
I reply to her that yeah, I didn't mean for that to happen but it does happen. A part of my DNA or some other grossly juvenile statement to hopefully come across as young and hip rather that aged and desperate. I've probably had this conversation before, but, it's usually with myself as most women I've known have never really took an interest in any boring, mundane, obviously back crushing neurosis or problems I'm carrying. Or maybe they did at first, but, eventually we grow tired of repeat offenders or bored of the same old same old.
ANYWAYS, she pulls out some sword from behind her and with two swipes, cuts the harness of the backpack sending it plummeting into nothing.
I feel free rubbing my neck and stretching before she requests my presence at her side.
I slide in the bed next to her, finding some unspoken solace by her side.
Invariably the replays of the day dissolve into wishful thinking which sometimes awakens me due to the running commentary in my head regarding decisions in my life and how they should have been different. I should have taken this job there, moved some other state, learn to say no. Those cliched responses we all exercise in moments of solitude.
The past several nights though, have been different as through the fog and cacophony of deconstruction slowly emerges a figure. The figure lays in a large bed completely content with their station in life and blissful that they lived that day to the fullest. The opposite of me. I reach my hand out towards that bed, that person. The scene pulls closer as I drift in through the ether and towards this destination. The person rolls over onto their side as I approach and beckons me with their smile. A blinding white light shines behind the person as I inch closer and some dissonant strings swell in the background while I approach. The person has a bemused look to them as if they're somewhat amused at my appearance. The backpack usually grows more in size, until it looks doubled in size nearly engulfing me as I move forward.
I get onto the bed and I realize it's a woman's face. It's her face. She's here in my dream not designed by some hopelessly romantic synapse firing. Her voice questions what took so long, and then shakes her head as she sees the weight on my back.
"You really shouldn't bring that with you if you're coming here. It's unsightly and looks too heavy for words". She says with some sympathy mixed with disappointment.
I reply to her that yeah, I didn't mean for that to happen but it does happen. A part of my DNA or some other grossly juvenile statement to hopefully come across as young and hip rather that aged and desperate. I've probably had this conversation before, but, it's usually with myself as most women I've known have never really took an interest in any boring, mundane, obviously back crushing neurosis or problems I'm carrying. Or maybe they did at first, but, eventually we grow tired of repeat offenders or bored of the same old same old.
ANYWAYS, she pulls out some sword from behind her and with two swipes, cuts the harness of the backpack sending it plummeting into nothing.
I feel free rubbing my neck and stretching before she requests my presence at her side.
I slide in the bed next to her, finding some unspoken solace by her side.
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