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January 2008

Oscar Nominations Announced

Winners to be announced on Sunday, February 24th. And the nominees are:

Best Picture
"Atonement"
"Juno"
"Michael Clayton"
"No Country For Old Men"
"There Will Be Blood"

Best Actress
Cate Blanchett, "Elizabeth: The Golden Age"
Julie Christie, "Away from Her"
Marion Cotillard, "La Vie en Rose"
Laura Linney, "The Savages"
Ellen Page, "Juno"

Best Actor
George Clooney, "Michael Clayton"
Daniel Day-Lewis, "There Will Be Blood"
Johnny Depp, "Sweeney Todd"
Tommy Lee Jones, "In the Valley of Elah"
Viggo Mortensen, "Eastern Promises"

Best Supporting Actress
Cate Blanchett, "I'm Not There"
Ruby Dee, "American Gangster"
Saorise Ronan, "Atonement"
Amy Ryan, "Gone Baby Gone"
Tilda Swinton, "Michael Clayton

Best Supporting Actor
Casey Affleck, "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford"
Javier Bardem, "No Country for Old Men"
Philip Seymour Hoffman, "Charlie Wilson's War"
Hal Holbrook, "Into the Wild"
Tom Wilkinson, "Michael Clayton"

Best Director
Paul Thomas Anderson, "There Will Be Blood"
Joel Coen and Ethan Coen, "No Country for Old Men"
Tony Gilroy, "Michael Clayton"
Jason Reitman, "Juno"
Julian Schnabel, "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly"

Best Original Screenplay
Brad Bird, Jan Pinkava, Jim Capobianco, "Ratatouille"
Diablo Cody, "Juno"
Tony Gilroy, "Michael Clayton"
Tamara Jenkins, "The Savages"
Nancy Oliver, "Lars and the Real Girl"

Best Adapted Screenplay
Paul Thomas Anderson, "There Will Be Blood"
Joel Coen and Ethan Coen, "No Country for Old Men"
Christopher Hampton, "Atonement"
Ronald Harwood, "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly"
Sarah Polley, "Away from Her"

Best Foreign Language Film
"Beaufort"
The Counterfeiters"
"Katyn"
"Mongol"
"12"

Best Animated Feature
"Perseopolis"
"Ratatouille"
"Surf's Up"

Best Documentary Feature
"No End in Sight"
"Operation Homecoming: Writing the Wartime Experience"
"Sicko"
"Taxi to the Dark Side"
"War/Dance"

Best Cinematography
Roger Deakins, "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford"
Roger Deakins, "No Country for Old Men"
Robert Elswit, "There Will Be Blood"
Janusz Kaminski, "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly"
Seamus McGarvey, "Atonement"

Best Editing
Jay Cassidy, "Into the Wild"
Roderick Jaynes, "No Country for Old Men"
Christopher Rouse, "The Bourne Ultimatum"
Dylan Tichenor, "There Will Be Blood"
Juliette Welfling, "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly"

Best Art Direction
"American Gangster"
"Atonement"
"The Golden Compass"
"Sweeney Todd"
"There Will Be Blood"

Best Original Score
Marco Beltrami, "3:10 to Yuma"
Michael Giacchino, "Ratatouille"
James Newton Howard, "Michael Clayton"
Alberto Iglesias, "The Kite Runner"
Dario Marianelli, "Atonement"

Best Original Song
"Falling Slowly," from "Once"
"Happy Working Song," from "Enchanted"
"Raise It Up," from "August Rush"
"So Close," from "Enchanted"
"That's How You Know," from "Enchanted"

Best Costume Design
"Across the Universe"
"Atonement"
"Elizabeth: The Golden Age"
"La Vie en Rose"
"Sweeney Todd"

Best Makeup
"La Vie en Rose"
"Norbit"
"Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End"

Best Sound Editing
"The Bourne Ultimatum"
"No Country for Old Men"
"Ratatouille"
"There Will Be Blood"
"Transformers"

Best Sound Mixing
"The Bourne Ultimatum"
"No Country for Old Men"
"Ratatouille"
"3:10 to Yuma"
"Transformers"

Best Visual Effects
"The Golden Compass"
"Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End"
"Transformers"

Best Live-Action Short Film
"At Night"
"Il Supplente (The Substitute)"
"Le Mozart des Pickpockets (The Mozart of Pickpockets)"
"Tanghi Argentini"
"The Tonto Woman"

Best Animated Short Film
"I Met the Walrus"
"Madame Tutli-Putli"
"Meme Les Pigeons Vont au Paradis (Even Pigeons Go to Heaven)"
"My Love (Moya Lyubov)"
"Peter & the Wolf"

Best Documentary Short Subject
"Freeheld"
"La Corona (The Crown)"
"Salim Baba"
"Sari's Mother"

Posted January 22, 2008 Permalink

Eastern Promises

Eastern Promises Naomi Watts - Viggo Mortensen 4.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

If you’ve studied organized crime you know most gangsters are not like the philosophical, middle-aged jolly jokers you’ve seen on “The Sopranos.” Take Frank McErlane, referred to by law enforcement as “the most brutal killer who ever pulled a trigger in Chicago” by the Illinois Crime Survey. McErlane was the first mobster to employ the “one way ride,” use a submachine gun to eradicate his foes, and is said to have enjoyed every one of his 15 kills. He once shot a man on the other side of a bar in the head on a dare, fought off three assailants from his hospital bed with his broken leg suspended in the air, and shot his mistress – and her dogs – after an argument. When McErlane was succumbing to pneumonia, he punched one of his nurses and required the services of three orderlies to hold him down as he drew his last breath. Most gangsters are psychotic, habitual killers who seldom live past forty (McErlane made it to thirty-eight). If you can handle the notion that most gangsters are more like Frank than not and some movies don’t have happy endings, you’ll appreciate David Cronenberg’s raw and realistic “Eastern Promises.”

It would have been easy for Cronenberg to make the characters act like the fearless and occasionally noble mobsters we’ve come to love in films like “Public Enemy,” “The Godfather,” and “Goodfellas.” “Eastern Promises” is an insider’s look at a seldom discussed subject – the Vor V Zalone, or “Russian Mafia.” The film confirms what folks in Brooklyn already know. The Russian mob don’t play. They don’t sit down with their enemies for anisette and calzones while their Consigliere’s negotiate a peace. They turn their foes into pieces.

The plot centers around Nikolai Luzhin (a menacing Viggo Mortensen) an obedient, tight-lipped soldier who quickly rises through the ranks in one of London’s Russian mobs. Nikolai’s answer to every probing question is, “I am just a driver.” His cut and dried response, a modified version of Sergeant Schultz’s claim of “I know nothing” – is no joke. If Nikolai says he doesn’t know anything, it’s his way of saying he knows everything. He’s an unflinching, silent predator. When Anna, (steadfast Naomi Watts, the film’s conscience), a midwife at London’s Trafalgar Hospital first sees Nikolai, he’s a chauffer for the morally bankrupt Kirill (slimy and cowardly Vincent Cassel), the drunken son of mob boss Semyon, (a reptilian Armin Mueller-Stahl), who runs his illegal operations out of the Trans-Siberian restaurant.

Anna has come to Semyon’s restaurant because Tatiana, a 14-year old patient of hers, died in child birth, and among her possessions were a business card for the restaurant and a diary. Anna tells Semyon about the diary, and he eagerly offers to translate it for her. Taken aback, she says her Uncle Stepan is already translating it. Despite knowing little about the seemingly charming Semyon, Anna can sense he has a personal interest in the diary and is capable of harming Titania’s baby if he doesn’t get it. She’s also leery of the elusive Nikolai, even after he drives her home after her motorcycle breaks down. To placate Semyon and protect the baby, Anna gives Semyon a copy of the diary and keeps the original.

Semyon shows up at the hospital, having easily slipped by security, a fact not lost on Anna. He admits to her that his son Kirill is mentioned numerous times in the diary. If the police ever got hold of it, he says Kirill will be jailed and his business will be ruined. He offers Anna a deal. In exchange for the original diary, he’ll give Anna the address of Tatiana’s parents. When Anna tells Uncle Stepan about the deal, he’s incensed. The real reason Semyon wants the diary he says, is because Tatiana wrote in it that she was raped, and she names her rapist, the man who is also the father of her child. “Don’t be fooled,” Uncle Stepan warns Anna. “You can’t make a deal with these people.”

Nikolai is sent as Semyon’s emissary to collect the diary from Anna, her uncle and mother. When Anna asks for the address, Nikolai replies dryly, “I don’t know nothin’ about any address.” He leaves and she follows him with the relentlessness of a pit bull, intent on getting the information. “Stay away from people like me,” Nikolai warns her. He should have warned Uncle Stepan, who spits in Nikolai’s face, the equivalent of signing his death warrant. (The warrant already was issued by Semyon the moment he found out Uncle Stepan was translating the diary.) Semyon orders Nikolai to “take care of” Uncle Stepan, who promptly disappears. Semyon burns the diary.

But Semyon’s troubles are not over. Earlier, Kirill had ordered Azim (deliciously smarmy Mina E. Mina), who fronts his illegal operations as a barber, to give Soyka, one of Kirill’s rivals, a fatal close shave. When the dead man’s brothers find out, they seek vengeance on Kirill, who’s too awash in booze and underage prostitutes to care. Semyon sponsors Nikolai’s promotion to captain in the mob so he can help protect Kirill…Or has Nikolai been promoted so he can be a stand in target for the vengeful Soyka brothers? With his promotion, Nikolai is given a series of star tattoos that identify him as a high ranking member of Semyon’s gang. He now has the same star tattoos in virtually the same places as Kirill. While Nikolai and Azim are discussing business in a sauna, Azim excuses himself. Azim tells the two Soyka brothers that Kirill is in the sauna (“You will recognize him by the star tattoos on his chest”), and they attack Nikolai, thinking he’s Kirill. A hemoglobin-splattering, anything goes knife fight ensues, with the Sokya brothers taken to the morgue, and a slashed, stomped and beaten Nikolai rushed to Trafalgar Hospital, where he encounters Anna, who wants to know what has happened to her uncle.

Anna: My uncle, the one who spit in your face, do you know where he is?

Nikolai: Scotland. Edinburgh. Four star hotel. I was told to send him to heaven with a bullet in his head. I sent him to Edinburgh to a four star hotel instead. He’s old school. He understands. Exile or death.

Why would Nikolai spare a man he was ordered to kill? Love? That’s too simple and too pat an answer, and it would have cheapened an impeccable film. Nikolai’s motives become clearer when he receives an unexpected visitor.

Desperate to clear his name, Semyon sends Kirill to the hospital to dispose of the baby. In the end it’s Kirill who holds everyone fate in his hands.

There are a number of graphic, hold down your chow vendettas carried out in the film. You can sense what’s going to happen in Azim’s barbershop in the very first scene – even of the victim can’t. It’s just a question of whether the hit will go down like the one on Albert Anastasia (potentially disastrous, with the victim surprisingly resilient, jumping out of the barber chair even after being perforated) or if it’ll be a bloody, but efficient Jack-you’re-dead ear to ear shave and a haircut. Mortenson’s Full Monty acrobatics are stunning during his battle in the steam bath, but the manner in which he disposes of the brothers will make you gasp not once, but twice (once for each Sokya). Mortensen’s nudity makes the savagery of the attack all the more shocking. (You’d probably have to be real incensed not to feel the slightest shame about killing an unarmed, nude man). Although it’s most riveting scene in the movie, I didn’t need to see Viggo’s junk bouncing around the screen. (Now that’s really exposing yourself for the sake of the film.) The steam room battle royal is one the most graphic and defining gangster hits on screen, nearly in the same league as Sonny Corleone (James Caan) getting riddled at the toll booth in “The Godfather.”

With a taut, event driven script, Cronenberg doesn’t need a cast of thousands to create a memorable classic. Almost all the main actors give career performances, and even those in supporting roles look and act like part of the well woven fabric of the Russian underworld. Viggo Mortensen, who traveled to some of Russian’s seamier environments to study gangs like the Vor V Zalone, has mastered the steely silence of a mob soldier whose tattoos and actions tell more about him than words ever could. Armin Mueller-Stahl skillfully balances the duplicitous character of Semyon, part erudite gentleman of the arts, part iron-fisted, cruel patriarch who will do anything to protect his family and business. He looks like your kindly Uncle Misha, but acts like Joseph Stalin in full purge mode. Vincent Cassel has perhaps the most difficult role, portraying a spoiled drunk who feels threatened by the growing bond between his father and Nikolai, yet needs Nikolai for companionship and protection. A large part of Kirill is still a scared little boy. He literally cowers at his father’s feet to the point where Nikolai has to speak up for him. Another part of Kirill, the one he wants the world to believe is really him, is a violent, unpredictable bully. Kirill has erected a tough guy persona he thinks no one can see through, although his love for alcohol shows the exact opposite is true. Cassel is at his best when Kirill faces his moment of truth – Cassel is able to turn the irresponsible, hot-headed drunken Kirill into a real person, and the audience is able to relate to and sympathize with the war going on in Kirill between his conscience and his sense of duty.

Polish director Jerzy Skolimowski ably handles the role of gruff Stepan without turning him into a caricature, and anytime Mina E. Mina is on camera he’s so effectively unsavory you’ll feel like taking a shower. (Just don’t go in the sauna with him.) I have my reservations about Anna, the main character. Most people with a brain stem would steer clear of Nikolai after their first encounter, and certainly after he tells her to stay away from him. Yet this 98-pound midwife is so determined to get justice for a slain 14 year-old prostitute that she’s willing to take on London’s Russian mob? I doubt it. Watts does a good job with an implausible character; you almost believe someone as altruistic as Anna really could exist.

Extra Mob Hits: The Bonus Features

The extras include the interview-laden “Secrets and Stories” and “Marked For Life.” In “Secrets and Stories,” director Cronenberg owns up that the original plot for the film focused on the prostitution of young Russian girls in America. When a Ukrainian politician was poisoned, putting the sinister inner workings of the mob in the press, Cronenberg thought it would be more interesting to tell a story about the lesser-known Russian Mafia and make prostitution the back story. He was right. Cronenberg also shares his concern that about Naomi Watts’ character (she was the only actress he felt could play the role), and whether or not the audience would be interested in a film with no love interest. Although there’s some obvious chemistry between Nikolai and Anna (in another lifetime they might have been lovers), Cronenberg wanted to make their characters more like “ships in the night,” rather than burden the storyline’s credibility with a preposterous affair between a moral woman and a heartless hit man. Right again, David.

“Marked For Life” concentrates on Mortensen’s research into the Russian mob and the significance of Russian gang tattoos. The tattoos serve as a criminal’s visual history – Nikolai’s show the prisons he’s been in, his status as a thief, and later in the film, his promotion as an elite captain in Semyon’s family. Real life tattoo artist Olegar Fedoro, who plays the same role in the film, explains that the star tattoos Nikolai receives in the film have the same status as an officer’s epaulettes, and anyone who has the nerve to wear a counterfeit “Vor,” is subject to having that part of their body sliced off. Mortensen relates a less chilling tale involving his tattoos, which we learn are washable. One night after filming, he left the tattoos on and went out to dinner. A Russian couple spotted the markings on his hands and became very nervous when he looked at them. After that, Mortensen washed his tattoos off every night.

Real life experiences are not always tied up in nice neat bows. Unlike most films in the genre, there are a number of unresolved plots that scream “Eastern Promises II.” Until then, remember to pack a knife with you when you go into a steam room, and don’t tell your barber you want a close shave.

Posted January 8, 2008 Permalink

Blackmore's Night - Paris Moon

Blackmore's Night Paris Moon 3.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

It seems like eons ago that Ritchie Blackmore earned his reputation as one rock’s more petulant and short-tempered guitar gods. One of the founding members of Deep Purple, it was Blackmore who decided that singer Rod Evans and bassist Nick Simper should be exorcised as the group shifted from progressive to hard rock. Evans, one of the most polished frontmen you’ll ever hear (it’s his voice on Purple’s biggest hit, “Hush,” as well as “River Deep, Mountain High,” Lalena,” and “Kentucky Woman”), was getting too much ink and Blackmore simply hated the snippy Simper and his overactive bass. So while Evans and Simper were finishing recording the group’s third album, Blackmore was rehearsing with a new singer, Ian Gillian, and a new bassist, Roger Glover. To this day, keyboardist Jon Lord says he regrets the callous way Evans and Simper were dismissed. Deep Purple sloughed their way through three more tepid albums with Gillian and Glover before hitting reaching the top of the heavy metal ladder with “Machine Head.” Ritchie soon discovered he should have been more careful about what he wished for when Deep Purple’s second go round at fame found him at loggerheads with Gillian for control of the group.

After the tension filled album “Who Do We Think We Are?” it was Gillian and Glover’s turn to be sacked. Mad Ritchie and the Purp’s solicited and tested half of England, including Spooky Tooth’s gravel-throated frontman Mike Harrison, who politely declined (for a second time). The group took a huge gamble by selecting novice singer David Coverdale and Trapeze bassist Glenn Hughes as the centerpieces for Deep Purple Mark III. Somewhere between the new recruit’s first and second platters with Deep Purple, Blackmore began to lose his Machiavellian hold on the group. Coverdale and Hughes were R &B fans, a style that Blackmore was woefully poor at playing, (witness his axe butchery on “Hold On” from “Stormbringer.”). Frustrated with the band’s new direction, Blackmore continued to threaten, glare and smash guitars. His destruction of his Stratocaster at the California Jam concert was captured on film in 1974, putting Blackmore’s guitar abuse in the same league as Jimi Hendrix torching his guitar at the Monterey Pop Festival. Now the odd man out, it was Blackmore who decided to exit Purple before he was asked to leave. Founding Rainbow, Blackmore toiled with some success, despite hiring midget screech machine Ronnie James Dio as one of his singers. After more than a dozen Rainbow albums, a blood-pressure popping reunion with Gillian and Glover back in Deep Purple, Blackmore had an epiphany, courtesy of his new girlfriend. Why not drop the electric guitar, pick up a mandolin and play medieval music? It made perfect sense…Well, to him at least.

“Paris Moon” is Blackmore’s Night’s newest DVD, with over two hours of medieval music and shenanigans, and while this band of knaves and scallywags will never match the grandeur of the Evans version of Deep Purple or the funky power of the Coverdale/Hughes axis, it’s obvious that Blackmore has carved out an esoteric niche he’s happy with.

The group’s name is a take off on the unholy alliance between Blackmore and Candice Night, a stunning former model from Long Island, who looks like a young Britt Ekland or a pre-cocaine huffing Stevie Nicks (minus the nanny goat vocals, thank you). It’s not necessarily a good rule of thumb to name a group after its participants – had I done that with one group I was in we would have been called Jefferson’s Lipchitz. But in this case, “Blackmore’s Night” also serves as a descriptive title for the group’s sound, a peculiar combination of renaissance, folk, blues and rock. Like the dour Blackmore and the optimistic Night, the group’s music is sometimes dark and sometimes light.

Night is one of the most stunning lead singers in music, which shouldn’t hurt sales of the DVD. Her considerable physical attributes aside, Night commands the stage. She’s a theatrical ham, using her hands like a Medieval Vishnu to help frame the music while flirting with the camera and the audience with her expressive eyes. She’s also graced with a smooth, crystal clear voice that sounds a great deal like Annie Haslam, the lead singer for Renaissance. And if that wasn’t enough, she’s capable of tooting a number of Renaissance era woodwind instruments. She’s no Chris Wood, but gives the music an authentic centuries old colouring. One instrument sounds dangerously close to a bagpipe, which is never good, but did I mention that Candice Night is a knockout?

Filmed at The Olympia in Paris and directed by Perry Joseph, the DVD is expertly shot, and yes, the camera dwells on Night. But there are pinpoint shots that bounce between Night at the mike and Blackmore’s hands, angles of bassist “Sir Robert of Normandie” (former member Robert Curiano) during his solo and behind the back “you are there” shots of drummer “Squire Malcolm of Lumley” (Malcolm Dick, smart move on the name change). The packaging of the DVD and its accompanying CD are worth mentioning too – both discs are encased in an ornate box resembling a dog eared ancient text, and the colorful booklet has lyrics to the Blackmore/Night penned songs done up in fancy Medieval calligraphy.

As for the music, fans will be over the moon. There are 20 songs on the DVD, 9 of which appear on the CD along with 2 new bonus tracks. Those of us who’ve never heard Sir Blackmore’s “new’” venture (he’s now been at this for 10 years) will be disappointed Ritchie doesn’t strap on his Stratocaster until the fifteenth song (“Ariel”), but up until then, the slightly loopy Renaissance faire is surprisingly enjoyable. And did I mention Candice Night is the Helen of Troy of the Middle Ages? Yes, I’m sure I did. The music itself can be likened to English folk roots groups like Renaissance, Fairport Convention, Pentangle and Curved Air. For the cinematically inclined, a better point of reference would be Monty Python’s “Holy Grail.” If you remember the wandering minstrel singing about Brave Sir Robin, you’ve got the gist of how this ancient style of music sometimes hits the ears (“Brave Sir Robin ran away, bravely ran away, away. When danger reared its ugly head, he bravely turned his tail and fled. Yes, brave Sir Robin turned about, and gallantly he chickened out.”) There are lots of lords, knights, knaves, wenches and a whole lotta moonlight in this unique blend of music that will transport you back to a time when men were men and wore tights and funny hats.

Among the concert highlights are the aforementioned “Ariel,” in which Blackmore kicks up the energy of this renaissance hoedown by dusting off his Strat. Watching Blackmore play acoustic guitars and mandolins is like tying Sonny Liston’s left arm behind his back and asking him to take down Mount Rushmore. It can be done, but why ask an assassin to hold back his best weapon? “Ariel” has the strongest rock influence of any of the tunes, and Blackmore plays it with menacing relish. He breaks the cardinal guitar solo rule (playing for over five minutes), but he’s still one of the few axe grinders who can make a lengthy guitar passage sound interesting. Bravo, Sir Richard.

Blackmore and Night have a five album cache of songs to pick from, and judging from their fans reactions, apparently they chose a lot of crowd pleasers. “Under A Velvet Moon,” is a stomping, beer stein raising sing-a-long, and “Renaissance Faire,” is a filmy ode to Fairport Convention’s carefree, fa-la-la brand of English folk that’ll put some joy in your codpiece. Setting a mystical tone, Night plays a medieval woodwind device that sounds like a snake charmer’s flute (is there anything she can’t do?). “Home Again,” a renaissance cousin to Mary Hopkin’s “Those Were The Days,” gets a thorough workout. Keyboard player Bard David of Larchmont contributes an operatic verse of “Drink, Drink,” Night delights in adding in a verse of “Knapsack” (falder-ee, falder-a) and Blackmore stirs in “Hava Nagila” and pops in a pleasing piece of nostalgia by plucking out the chicken picking part from Deep Purple’s “Made In Japan” version of “Strange Kind of Woman.” It’s a mad hatter’s mix of snippets and styles, but no matter where the group ventures musically, Night always brings them back home again. She even coaxes Blackmore and Sir John to do a brief jig.

The group boldly takes on four covers and does a “faire” job with two of them. The first, “Soldier of Fortune,” is from “Stormbringer,” the last album Blackmore recorded with Deep Purple before his first departure from the band. Originally a power ballad sung with great emotion and depth by David Coverdale (long before he became a parody of himself in Whitesnake), Blackmore’s Night renders “Soldier Of Fortune” as a tranquilized acoustic puff piece. Night is a great singer (and I like her hairdo better than David’s), but without Coverdale’s convincing emotional investment, this comes across as Medieval mush. They joust with Joan Baez’s “Diamonds and Rust,” and not even Night’s anguished expressions can save this overblown lump of coal. The band is more at home venturing down Ralph McTell’s “Streets of London,” a folker closer to their wandering minstrel style. The background wenches, Lady Madeline and Lady Nancy (former members Madeline and Nancy Posner, who I gather are twins as well), contribute soaring vocals that frame Night’s finishing school diction. Night smartly mentions to the Parisian crowd that McTell had originally titled the song “Streets of Paris,” and changes the last line in honor of the city. (Nice move playing to the crowd, Candice.) As their first encore, the group charges headlong into Joan Osborne’s “St. Teresa.” It’s a bit of a stretch for everyone but Night, who regulates the excessive amount of air needed to pull off the vocal quite easily. Blackmore re-enters carrying his Stratocaster and plays with more abandon than before, detouring to play a passage from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Throw in a heavy Uriah Heep influence and you’ve got a dragon coaster musical ride that delivers its share of thrills.

It turns out that Donovan wasn’t the only hurdy gurdy man – Blackmore cranks one up for “The Clock Ticks On,” creating a sonic scenario where the Middle East meets middle earth. Night dips into her stash of medieval horns, playing something that bears a disheartening resemblance to a bagpipe, then surprise! She’s joined on stage by Thomas Roth and Albert Dannemann of Die Geyers, who squeeze and coerce a few shrill squawks from the real thing. The only time a bagpipe sound has ever worked for me was when Big Country incorporated it – unobtrusively – into their sound, and they used an E-bow, not the Highlander’s version of a vacuum cleaner bag. (I forget if I’ve mentioned this before, the bag o’ air worked for AC/DC in one song – “It’s A Long Way To The Top,” but they were smart enough not to ever attempt an oral peace treaty with a bagpipe again.)

The band saves one of their new tunes, “The Village Lanterne” for their second encore. The lanterne is focused squarely on Night at the start of the song, which borrows the atmospheric gloom of “Streets of London.” (Sorry, Mr. McTell, but all musicians “borrow” from one another without notice. You probably don’t want discuss a plagiarism suit with a guy who bashed his Strat against an amp and a mike with no regard for his own safety, anyway.) “Lanterne” is an uplifting ballad, and the camera work capturing Night and Blackmore is worthy of an award (or at least a pint of mead). Night’s major lung busting hits its peak with three high notes no ex-model should be able to make. Don’t hate her ‘cause she’s pretty -- you’ll come away with a great deal of respect for Ms. Night after she lights up this lanterne.

The few times yon jolly faire bogs down in the heather is when Night leaves the stage and the band plucks, plinks and pounds their way through an instrumental. “Durch Den Wald Zun Bachaus” is as daunting to listen to as it is to pronounce. Bassist Sir Robert (who looks a little like Brave Sir Robin) tries his hand at soloing. With the help of Squire Malcolm, (who does an effective imitation of Ginger Baker rattling out the beat to “Traintime”), and a runaway classical music piano solo from Bard David, Sir Robert explores more musical passages than King Arthur’s castle has bricks. There are a few bars of the French national anthem, some classical brushstrokes, and a brief excursion into Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir.” Outside of Jack Bruce, Andy Fraser, Chris Squire and Rick Grech, there are few bassists worth focusing ye olde lantern on, and although Sir Robert is game, his fingers aren’t. David of Larchmont (Larchmont, New York? Maybe. He was educated at SUNY in Purchase) is obviously an accomplished keyboard player, but do we really need to listen to his imitation of a silent movie soundtrack? (Creatively entitled “Keyboard Solo.”) There are a number of incongruent influences pieced together, much in the way Garth Hudson’s “Genetic Fever” served as his spotlight in The Band’s act (and it didn’t work for him either). The rest of the group takes a break and you should too – it’s definitely head to ye olde lavatory tyme when Bard David’s self indulgence feels as if it’s been going on for a fortnight. Blackmore’s extended instrumental spotlight is “Minstrel Hall,” in which he eloquently flicks at a Spanish guitar. Ritchie closes his eyes and gets lost in his own playing – he should have focused a bit more because “Minstrel Hall” meanders more than Sir Belvedere searching for the Grail. And if Ritchie had his eyes open, he would have noticed a man dressed in a rabbit outfit walk across the stage in front of him. No explanation is given for Bugs Bunny’s presence, but you can bet Mr. Warmth would have caved in Bugs’ skull with ye olde acoustic if he’d had his wits about him.

Zounds! There Be Extras

“Paris Moon” abounds with extras – including a documentary featuring an interview with Blackmore and Night, as well as a photo gallery. Blackmore speaks! And he does so without slogging Rod Evans or Ian Gillian. Blackmore takes an articulate stab at explaining the band’s wide array of styles, and Night explains the “Blackmore-izing machine” – the guitarist’s intuitive ability to take a song and make it sound completely different.

Ye will be doing ye-self a solid to expand thine horizons gazing at “Paris Moon.” So dance merrily to thine closest entertainment faire, pick this up and gaze upon yon talented Night.

Posted January 8, 2008 Permalink

Secrets of Egypt's Lost Queen

Secrets of Egypt's Lost Queen 4 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Okay, admit it. You don’t know who Queen Hatshepsut is either. No, she’s not the latest girl from the ‘hood with a rap record. Hatshepsut’s ‘hood was in Egypt 3,000 years ago. She ruled for twenty years, and was one of the first women in recorded history to lead a nation. Yet almost immediately after her death, her face and name were obliterated from every wall, obelisk and tower she’d built.

“Secrets Of Egypt’s Lost Queen” is a fascinating episode of CGI, a cold case spanning 30 centuries. Zahi Hawass, Secretary General of Egypt’s Supreme Council of Antiquities, leads the search to find Egypt’s forgotten ruler. With the help of intrepid archaeologists scaling 100 foot ladders and wading through bat guano, and a team of researchers tracking down and x-raying dozens of crumbling mummies in the Cairo Museum, Hawass finds his legendary Queen. Or does he? If you’ve been keeping up with the news on CNN, then you know the final winner of the Hatshepsut sarcophagus sweepstakes is in dispute. After all this time I suppose we can wait a few months for the official stamp of approval from the scientific community. But in the meantime, thanks to the Discovery Channel’s “Secrets of Egypt’s Lost Queen” you and your family can enjoy a fast-paced mystery. Your kids will dig on the opportunity to check out all the dead bodies, and before you can say “Abra cadaver,” they’ll have learned something!

The path of shifting sands leading to Hatshepsut’s identity takes a number of detours. A French team of archeologists discovers evidence that Hatshepsut’s face and history have been hacked away from of the walls of the temples in The Valley of Kings, the sacred burial place for Egypt’s royalty. A team of Spanish archeologists finds artwork in equally defiled condition etched into the walls by Senemut, the queen’s engineer. The hieroglyphics indicate Senemut and Hatshepsut were more than employer and employee. (Mess with the help and you may soon find yourself needing help.) Could the scandalous love affair between a ruling member of the Thutmose family and a commoner be the reason Hatsheput was erased from history? As the teams of archeologists and researchers dig deeper, trying to piece together the Queen’s life and death, Hawass continues his search for her mummy.

Four mummies are chosen as possible candidates, but only one can wear the crown of Queen Hatshepsut. (You can almost hear Yul Brynner saying “Where is your Thut-Moses now?”) The first mummy, labeled “Unknown Mummy A,” is further identified as “the screaming mummy,” and one glance will tell you why. She died in mid-shriek after the top of her skull was cleaved away. Hawass and his crew secretly hope this wretched soul is not Hatshepsut. If it is, it only adds credence to the emerging juicy theory that the Queen was bumped off by her jealous stepson, Thutmose III.

Unknown B, called “the serene mummy,” is also from the same period Queen H ruled. The third mummy, “the strong one,” has many of the physical features resembling Hatshepsut’s family, including an aquiline nose (or in this case an aquiline bone where her nose had been). The fourth mummy, on display in the Cairo Museum since its discovery in 1916 by Howard Carter, has been tagged “the Nanny.” When Carter discovered it, he assumed the Queen’s body had long been moved to another location by priests who were afraid it would be vandalized, leaving the family’s nanny behind as bait. Hawass is convinced “the Nanny” may in fact be the queen herself, and she’s been hiding in plain sight for nearly a century.

As the mummies are x-rayed and DNA samples are taken for comparison to Queen H’s known relatives (specifically her great grandmother, who creepily retains her flowing hair), the mystery of Hatshepsut’s life begins to take shape. Her father, Thutmose I, groomed his daughter to be a politician, most likely anticipating she’d have to assist her brother and husband, Thutmose II, who was sickly and suffered from the effects of advancing heart disease. His prophecy proved correct -- Thutmose II barely made it to thirty. Hatshepsut took possession of the throne, first as a regent, then taking the bold step of declaring herself a pharaoh. She even went as far as wearing men’s robes and a fake beard in order to solidify her position. By all accounts, Egypt prospered during her tenure as she (and he) who must be obeyed. So why the historical hiccup? Her stepson, Thutmose III, who would later become “Egypt’s Napoleon,” was waiting impatiently in the wings, embarrassed and angry that he had to be subservient to a woman. Did Thutmose III murder his stepmother, assume the throne and try to destroy every trace of her accomplishments? Throughout most of the documentary, the most plausible theory seems to be that Thutmose III was jealous of mummy dearest.

Hawass and his team establish a criteria for identifying which mummy is the queen. Among the factors considered is the condition of the mummy itself. Was it embalmed in with care, in a manner indicating it was a member of the royal family? Was it positioned with its right arm crossed over the chest, another sign of royalty? After x-raying the brittle bodies of Thutmose I-III, the team discovers another factor for consideration -- the members of the royal family suffered from a skin disease that left their epidermis ruddy or pockmarked. Based on the established criteria, two of the four mummies are sent packing. The tie breaker comes down to what can best be described as “organs in a box.” Hawass remembers that a box containing Queen H’s liver is also part of the Museum’s inventory. (You’d need a 16-wheeler to house my liver.) When it’s x-rayed, the team also discovers a broken tooth inside the box. Match the broken tooth to the missing tooth in one of the mummies and you may have a winner.

Once a winner is declared, Hawass sets out to determine how and why Queen H’s name was buried with her corpse. It turns out Queenie had a number of afflictions that might have done her in before her stepson could wrap her up to go. Among her more obvious ailments are diabetes, a malignant tumor on her spine, osteoporosis, arthritis, and rotten teeth. The only question is who won the race, Thutmose III and his all consuming jealousy, or Hatshepsut and her catalogue of afflictions. The answer is worth the 3.000 year wait.

So pick up “Secrets of Egypt’s Lost Queen” and see what’s dune…Your inner queen will be amused.

Posted January 8, 2008 Permalink

Super Comet (keep a very large sailboat handy)

Super Comet After The Impact 2.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

You’ll take away at least one important fact from the Discovery Channel’s “Super Comet: After The Impact”… When the big one hits, head for the nearest ocean. When the super comet strikes the earth, it’s gonna be hotter than hell in the summertime near ground zero, but it’ll be colder than George Bush’s heart nearly every place else, and brother, that’s mighty cold. So if you trek toward the ocean you just might survive, because large bodies of water will retain more heat.

Think of “Super Comet” as first you fry -- then you die -- for dummies. It tells a super story in an economical 80 minutes, but crashes because of its saddled with low budget special effects and actors who are more wooden than an Ethan Allen showroom. There are plenty of professors on board (who look bored) from prestigious universities -- experts in the weather, radiation, and disaster management. There are so many talking heads stating the obvious about a subject they really can’t predict they wind up sounding like B movie actors from a 50s sci-fi drive in movie:

Professor Wolf Dumbrowski (Louie’s brother?): “There’ll be no way out.”

Professor Jay Melosh: “Anything that’s unprotected is going to die within minutes of its first impact.”

More insights from Professor Dumbrowski: “The entire social order will be restructured. Those who can adapt and survive will make it to the top.”

Because the corresponding dramatization is limited, the viewer ultimately doubts the validity of the “professors” assembled in a control room to Lord over the disaster. Are they really experts in their so called fields or more bad actors? Dr. Robert Weiss (pronounced “vice” and whose as dramatic as a field of fouled Edelweiss), struggles to contain his glee as he explains that if a comet struck the earth, liquefying Mexico, it would cause tsunamis that would envelope New York and Europe. Dr. Vivi Vidja, a scientist from Sweden, sounds too much like Mrs. O’Wiggins from “The Carol Burnett Show” to be anything but unintentional comic relief. The most heinous casting error (with the exception of a pre-teen girl and a few dogs -- more on that soon), is Dr. Alan Harris, a German scientist with a distinct British accent. Doc Harris’ credibility takes a serious detour because he reacts to the camera as if it’s attempting to steal his soul. To make matters worse, hyper Harris has a very twitchy left eye, likely a by-product of his frayed nerves. When he states things he wants the viewer to believe, his left eye blinks like a forgetful senior citizen’s turn signal that’s been on for the last six miles. Yes, I’m really telling you the truth…wink, wink, wink, wink.

Give the writers high fives for coming up with the idea of turning the end of the world into an hour long mini-series. They probably took a look at the footage of hyper Harris and Mrs. O’Wiggins and realized they couldn’t just film a scientific forum without offering some nominal special effects and a few back stories as a distraction. So the end of the world is seen through eyes of four separate groups of survivors: The first pair, Dr Noah Boyle, a boy toy scientist, and his brainiac Asian-American associate, are at an observatory in Hawaii when the comet hits. Naturally, they fall in love as they make the arduous trek across the scorched and useless Hawaii terrain toward the sea. The second “set” of survivors is made up of the determined Fernando, who leaves California to be with his family in Mexico when he hears the comet is about to strike (he’ll meet his traveling companions shortly). Unbeknownst to him, his hometown is situated at ground zero. In Paris, the Vaton family, a husband, wife and daughter, leave their home for a shelter, convinced their inconvenience will only be temporary. In Cameroon, members of a pygmy tribe are oblivious that they’re about to experience the bone-chilling joys of snow and famine.

The viewer gets to follow each of the group’s efforts to reach their respective new bohemias. The Vatons leave the shelter because they’re compelled to – their daughter’s dog bolts, followed by their daughter. Personally, if a comet had just struck Earth, the ground was two hundred degrees, I was sandwiched in the corner of a damp, funky cellar and my four-legged manure machine just ran off, I’d retrieve my daughter and it’s bye bye Lassie, or in this case, Mademoiselle Lassie. The Vatons manage to procure an environmentally friendly car; an educated choice given the comet’s trail has shorted out the electrical systems of the other autos with computers chips. Daddy V. decides to investigate a building, telling his daughter to stay in the car and keep an eye on her slumbering mom. Before you can say, “Quel imbecile!” the girl follows daddy inside. Vandals make off with the car with mom still catching zzz’s in the back seat. Will the Vaton’s have a tearful family reunion? Well, first Monsieur Vaton and his dark cloud of a daughter must trek across hundreds of miles of what used to be pleasant farm land and now resembles the Edmonton Ice Festival. Along the way, daughter Vaton makes a fortuitous life-saving discovery, and Daddy V. shows some true pioneer grit. Rife with clichés, the Vaton’s story is still the best of the lot, because Daddy V. and Mademoiselle V. can at least act a little bit. When the storyline focuses on Dr. Boyle and his assistant, not only does their budding relationship strain credibility, the circumstances of their rescue are more fantastic than Paris Hilton winning an Oscar. I’ll give you a hint: a character thought to be a continent away reappears, and despite his resemblance to Oliver Hardy (any man would have a real problem navigating Hawaii’s rocky, devastated terrain, let alone someone on the Twinkie diet), this guy has not only survived unscathed, but seems to have had access to a shower and regular wardrobe changes. It’s his rescue plan that’ll make you snack your forehead harder than Moe ever hit Larry or Curly, and although you’ll have no problem figuring out the lovebird’s fate, it’s like any train wreck – ya gotta look.

As for Fernando, well, he was a fool to go home in the first place, an even bigger fool for not retreating back over the border, (especially when he sees everyone else evacuating faster than A.J. Foyt leaving his pit crew), and he’s an absolute idiota for stopping at an abandoned Army base. Hey, botarate, if the Army has deserted the area, what does that tell you? When the skies go bright orange, Fernando makes his only smart move, diving into an underground shelter. He makes another mistake freeing and befriending a trio of dogs. I’m no fan of the hairy slobbering sect (and that includes dogs too); freeing the pooches would have sufficed for me, but this poor hombre needs companionship. Fernando feeds them and uses them for sled dogs in his attempt to get home. Dehydrated, famished, he finally face dances in the crusty sand. When he wakes up – guess what? Man’s best friends have taken off on him. (That’s the reason why I was a cat owner.) Just how screwed is Fernando? He had to find a new pair of shoes because the first pair melted, he has no water, and he hasn’t quite figured out that the 125-foot crater that lies ahead once contained his hometown. Adios, Fernando. As for the plight of the pygmies in Cameroon, it’s a matter of let’s get inside this cave, wait it out and put some clothes on.

In the end, the four vignettes may represent four very different groups of people in perilous situations, but they all have a common bond – hope. Even as we leave wrong-way Fernando, there’s a miniscule possibility he won’t heat up hotter than a McDonald’s French fry in the 120 degree heat and he might yet find his family.

The plots involving our quartet of stalwart heroes may be as stale as the Vaton’s fromage, but some of the cut rate special effects are effectively blunt. Seeing New York City bathed in radioactive ash is nothing new to me – I worked in the rotten apple for seven years and breathed in enough noxious fumes to make my lungs look blacker than a Jolly Roger. But the humongous tidal wave and big freeze that hits the Big Apple are well represented, as is the burning meteor shower and subsequent Ice Age that envelopes France.

Although the subject matter is daunting, you don’t need a Ph. D. to understand what’s going on. In fact, the younger you are, the more you might enjoy “Super Comet: After the Impact.” If you’re a complete dumbrowski like me, you’ll appreciate Dr. Boyle’s assistant more than anything else. (If I’m going to be turned into a grease spot by the sun at least let me go out smiling.) “Super Comet” doesn’t leave much of an impact, but you’re bound to learn a few a few tricks (don’t run out into the streets during the flaming meteor storm, keep a very large sailboat handy) that could keep you from winding up like Fernando when the big one hits.

Posted January 8, 2008 Permalink