X Men Origins: Wolverine

Ever since Christopher Nolan took up the directorial reigns of the two latest Batman films, superhero movies have taken a turn for the better. Basic, one dimensional superheroes fighting the good fight have been replaced with dark and brooding creatures, with character development as intrinsic as the next action sequence. The change is not necessarily an unwelcome one and has allowed superhero films to break free from their origins of spandex stereotyping to the forefront of mainstream culture. X Men Origins: Wolverine adheres to his now staple formular by focussing on the series most developed character, Gabe Logan (Wolverine), a mutant with extraordinary strength and healing powers, but ironically suffers from the mutations of the three previous X-Men films, where sumptuous graphics are favoured over plot.

The film covers the events leading up to Wolverines discovery by the X-Men group in the first X-Men film. The first sequence is a beautiful, grainy montage of Gabe and his brother, another mutant, fighting through various American wars to the point that Logan soon becomes disillusioned by the injustice of his supposed compatriots. The dramatic tone set by this premise succeeds in creating an evocative atmosphere of tension, aided by a fantastic performance by Liev Schreiber (The Painted Veil/Defiance) playing Logan’s brother. Initial promise is soon eradicated as the film dissolves into mediocrity.

The film is inadequately paced, with viewers lost amid a flurry of set pieces and shiny claws, leaving in its wake a bloody and tattered excuse of a plot. Critical points in Wolverine’s development are highlighted with a certain directorial immaturity, whereby a viewer not read in the comics would be left confused. A glaring example is when Wolverine is given a leather jacket by two kindly old folk who take him in. The stylish apparel is an iconic piece of kit that we associate with Wolverine, but why the instance is given predominance in the scene is anybody’s guess. New characters are introduced for a criminally brief period, which is a shame for they form the most interesting action sequences of the film, despite a gratingly annoying performance from one-trick actor Ryan Reynolds (Van Wilder/Smokin’ Aces) playing razor-sharp, dual-sword wielding Deadpool, whose performance is about as sharp as a butter knife.

Where the film shines is in its CGI, as explosive as it is visceral. The sound goes hand in hand with the effects beautifully and every punch, kick and swipe onscreen is felt with full force. However herein lies the age-old issue of FX dominating over plot, where the budget is blown on graphics in the vain hope of covering major plot holes.

Whether the sight of a grizzled and sweaty Hugh Jackman cavorting through lavish backdrops makes you reach for the nearest cold shower or the gym card, leaving your brain at home will ensure a violent and visually sumptuous treat.

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unfinished features article

Entertainment in British television has for decades been held in high regard, its evolution perfectly matched to the needs and wants of a demanding public. Though in more recent years, the programming has become more languid. Banality has replaced originality, whereby shows regurgitate ideas and where a culture of instant-gratification is becoming more and more apparent.

British humour has been hit the hardest. The subtle sense of satire and self- deprecation that forms the lifeblood of British comedy has been discarded in favour of new shows that gravitate towards repetitive toilet humour for cheap thrills. ‘Little Britain’ is one such example. The first episode showed much promise for its scathing critique of British life that was all too true. The characters lampooned British stereotypes in an exaggerated way, similar to ‘The Fast Show’ that had already seen major success. Though as the series progressed, the façade quickly wore thin. Recurring characters with recurring themes became the norm and the one-dimensional nature of the show quickly became clear. Some years ago this could have spelt the end of a series, but rehashed series still crop up, for example ‘The Catherine Tate Show’

So what implications might this have on the nation other than a steady depreciation of innovation? Recent studies in primary schools show that children’s development of vocabulary is on the decline. The finger can all too often be pointed at modern culture as a scapegoat for these issues, but there is new evidence of televisions influence on children’s behaviour. A recently conducted focus group sheds light on this complex subject:

“Asked about their pupils' viewing habits, teachers, support staff and school leaders said the programmes led to general rudeness in the classroom, with pupils answering back, mimicking, using retorts and catchphrases (mentioned by 88%), and swearing or using inappropriate language (82%) after watching them.” (Guardian online)

In a world where television is a predominant medium in most children’s lives, with more than one seven year old in five having a TV in their bedroom, the study has some validity.

Another offender is the relentless influx of reality shows. Big Brother has devolved in taste from an original concept that cleverly fought off allegations of sensationalism by adding a psychological ‘info-tainment’ slant. The shows development has seen increasingly bizarre contestants being pitted against increasingly bizarre and tasteless tasks. Can entertainment truly be gleaned from watching the pained expression of a housemate munching a devastatingly strong chilli? Have we come so far in our development that stress and suffering are our favourite viewing pleasures? As far as mainstream television goes, exploitation seems at the heart of its output. ‘Britains’ got talent, the latest repeat of the ‘Popworld’ talent show formula, has taken this to new heights. The now world renowned Susan Boyle has been shot into the limelight by a twisted logic. Much drama is made from her story of caring for her mother and having little social life. Her appearance, though not directly mentioned, is made out to be of such stark contrast to her voice that it would seem that no-one had ever heard of a conventionally unattractive person being able to sing. Though she is of obvious talent, the subsequent media furore surrounding her shift into the spotlight, including her preening into a more beautiful creature, demonstrates a stark contrast to the earlier days of television and a perfect example of exploitation intended to monopolise.

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hot potato

'It's a crazy crazy world'

Whether you spent your playground days skipping rope, swapping cards, or slamming Pogs, one thing is certain: crazes affected us all. When the novelty of scraped knees brought on by heavy sessions of tig wore thin, we turned instead to the latest must-have toy. All of a sudden, the playground was united for a brief moment where social status was swept aside and the summer air hummed with the whirring of yo-yos and fevered discussion. Conformity had never felt so sweet.
That time has long since passed. The games, a distant memory confined to the forgotten realms of car boot sales and dark attic climbs. We take a look back at some classic schoolyard gems.

The Yo-yo dates back to 500bc, in Ancient Greece. Made from disks of turtle skin, the toy was a far cry from the refined and modern ‘Pro-yo’, but was of such significance that it was once offered to the Gods when a child reached adolescence! The design was revamped throughout history from wood, to plastic and to the modern metal hybrid. The Yo-yo was as fun as it was challenging with a trick list that continues to grow as it evolves. Here are a few classic tricks, why not take them for a spin?

Stalling

Curl the yo-yo up in your hand with the palm facing upwards
Bend your forearm towards your chest
Throw back your arm away from your chest, unfurling the yo-yo
With a little practice, the yo-yo should rotate but remain at the bottom of the string
This is a stall

Praise Factor *

Walk The Dog

First stall the yo-yo as before
Whilst stalling, lightly place the yo-yo on the ground
The yo-yo should run away in the direction of the stall
Snap your wrist back to reel it in
Bark preferred command for effect

Praise Factor ***

Around The World

Clear any obstruction directly in front and behind you
Thrust your arm upwards from your waist, palm down
Release the yo-yo when your arm reaches eye-level
Continue to whirl the arm around in a windmill arc
Upon returning to eye-level, reel in the yo-yo to much applause

Praise Factor ****

Pogs were another classic craze that satiated our need for all things colourful while still allowing us to vent our violent tendencies. There was nothing quite like the immense pleasure of seeing the tear-stricken face of your now ex best-friend as you cast down your final ‘Slammer’ on his stack, retrieving the upturned Pogs you had desired for so long. Everything about Pogs conjures up nostalgia, the scraping echo of victory on school tarmac, the crowds that would gather, handing over a hard earned (or stolen) 20p piece for one shiny packet and the excitement at the uncertainty of the contents within. This was one of the first instances of swapping in the schoolyard, which bred as much jealousy as it did joy.

How to Win at Pogs

Select an amount of pogs to bet (about twelve in a stack)
Place the pogs in a stack, face down
Pick your best Slammer
Line up your shot at the stack
Hurl the Pog down to the left or right of the stack
Any Pog upturned is yours to keep

Whether you loved them or hated them, the Tamagotchi swept the nation in a craze that was to sharply transform the playground into a more desolate landscape. Pioneering care over conflict, the Tamagotchi was a small, egg-shaped mini-computer that housed a virtual pet. Three main buttons provided the owner the option to feed, play games and clean up their pets mess. Without due care and attention, the virtual pet could die, taking its last ‘beep’, as it were. A sense of competition arose from who was the best carer, while jeers were directed at the owner whose pet struggled to survive in its own pixelated excrement. Like most pets, the craze soon died after children became glued to their Tamagotchis, losing all social skills and in some cases, emitting small ‘blips’.

Pokemon cards were to ignite our immature desire for all things Japanese, as television screens became awash with Japanese cartoons (Anime). Pokemon was a show so skilfully targeted at children it was almost criminal. New-age themes and an attractive animation style previously alien to many British children ensured that any merchandise would be lapped up. The game play was akin to a watered-down version of Dungeons and Dragons. Players take it in turns to choose a command on their card in the hope of beating the opposing player. The all too bemusing truth however, was that few British children actually bothered to understand the game mechanics. Instead, the cards were collected either for self-preservation (“Gotta catch em all!”) or simply because they were nice and shiny!

Which Craze is Best?

Ross Bennett, Design student at Camberwell:

“Pogs were my first love! There was this whole community vibe behind it that really brought people together. I never quite knew how to play though, I just digged the crazy designs!

Mitesh Mistry, Graphic Design student at Chelsea:
“The Yo-yo started it all! The styles were diverse, from your standard wooden model to a fully pimped out ‘Pro-Yo’ complete with flashing lights! The number of tricks to master was challenging but it was one of those ‘easy to learn, hard to master’ toys. How good was I? Well… I had a Pro-Yo…”

Rosie Pearmain, Advertising student at LCC:

“For me it was micro scooters, they were a bit like skateboards but easier and not quite as cool. Also the sight of 40 year old city workers wobbling about on them still brings back many a happy memory.”

Yet crazes live on in different cultures. Japan for example, spawns new crazes every week from toys to fashion and food. This has launched the culture far beyond the schoolyard and into the mainstream. While many last only days, the art of ‘Dekochari’ has lasted around 30 years and is still practiced. ‘Dekochari’ means to decorate a bicycle, though the process is a little more than a lick of paint. In response to another craze ‘Dekotora’ which involved flamboyant modifications to real trucks, the youths of Japan took it upon themselves to recreate the style, on a modest budget. The result can be seen from a mile off – plywood boxes that shimmer with chrome-plating, a vast array of flashing lights and in some cases, even a cup holder. Horns are typically louder than your average and in some cases riders attach their Hi-Fi units. ‘Pimp My Ride’ has got nothing on this.

‘Tektonic’ is a French dance craze that began in early 2000 originating around the Paris club Metropolis. Mainly danced to techno, the style borrows heavily from hip-hop, rave and breakdancing to create a unique range of moves. The craze shares common themes with Nu-Rave, another UK craze that has seen widespread success. Dancers generally wear tight-fitting jeans and neon coloured trainers. The style is typically energetic and as much a display of stamina as showmanship. The sporadic hand-waving is derived from the glowstick-waving heydays of the rave scene. Though the style is influenced by other forms of dance, it is steadily growing in popularity in several countries, including the U.K. and Belgium.

Whatever you're doing, stop and dance

I can't believe it took me this long to hear this tune. Absolute bangers and mashup.
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Finding time to capture the Friedmans...

I remember asking my mother when i was about 15, when Capturing the Friedmans was out on video if we could rent it out. The subject matter, disturbingly at the time, attracted me. Whether I sought to broaden my young, pretentious horizons as a result of reading too much Stephen King or not, I was refused and we rented some anodyne piece that I don't remember.

Looking back, I owe her my thanks. I don't think I would have been prepared for the ensuing tears I experienced viewing it today. Back then Kleenex mansize were unheard of, and I was a big boy, getting only bigger.

Whether you've watched the film or not, I'd appreciate if you'd read my brief critique on the nature of the film as docudrama.

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“Capturing the Friedmans” is perhaps the most emotionally exhausting docudrama I have ever seen. It concerns the portrayal of a family torn apart by charges (mainly testimonials) of child molestation, resulting in complete chaos and the dissolution of family values. The film explores a postmodern concept of ambiguity in a Reagan-era setting, shrouded in homophobia and a media open to speedy indictment. The ensuing frenzy is a tumultuous, often tortuous piece of documentary filmmaking that I at once admire and question.

The film succeeds outright in constructing a complex story of a family with deeply intrinsic problems. Much of the content is derived from home video, of which Arthur Friedman, the family father and his sons were great fans. The extensive amount of home footage eradicates the need for actors, thus giving the documentary a uniquely human, raw? view. This footage is interspersed with numerous interviews from policemen, abused students, the family themselves and investigators among many other contributors. The selection of footage and transitions used piece together the film adeptly, creating a seamless viewing experience that retains interest throughout. One particular early shot of David Friedman, a son uninvolved in the charges made, deconstructs to the viewer what much of the latter part of the film will entail. He is shot close-up, sat outside on some steps, casually dressed, the laidback setting contrasted by the uneasy way in which he answers the director’s questions. His body language suggests discomfort as he hides from the camera when questioned about his father. The simple setting is complemented by the only sound perceived being the rustling of wind around him. He is at once alone and afraid, almost a boy again, setting the scene for the ensuing content of people in a small, insular town being forced to engage with material and research that not only causes discomfort, but confusion. This central theme is focussed around the questions that arise concerning whether or not much of the evidence against the father and brother has any real validity.

The music, composed by Phillip Glass matches succinctly the images presented. For example, there are several sequences and transitions that feature the camera tracking along a road displaying perfect lawns reflective of notions of the American dream while simultaneously, a piano plays a foreboding tune accentuated by the non-diegetic sounds of children playing and police sirens that swerve in and out of the music. As the family begins to break apart, an investigator suggests that the family is completely dysfunctional. When they should be grouping together to form a defence, they are shown, again through home video footage to be arguing intensely. The shot then cuts to an accelerated image of the town clock winding furiously on as trains and cars speed by. The resultant effect is a powerful one, that although time and life move inexorably on, the family’s personal growth is significantly lacking.

The story itself concerns Arthur Friedman, who is charged with acquisition of child pornography and the subsequent charges of molestation as members of the computer club he ran began to report his apparent deeds. I must admit that from what I saw I believed Arthur to be guilty of the charges. For up until that point the sheer nature of the crimes and the length at which the former students would attest to their validity subconsciously persuaded me that it was true. As it became apparent that there was in fact no physical evidence of sodomy or sexual contact I was forced to question myself for being so easily led. This for me, was a powerful statement on the danger of relying on testimonials as hard evidence.

Where the documentary fails is in coming to a solid conclusion concerning the events and the reasons which led to them. As Chris Mooney of the Committee for Sceptical Inquiry (CSI) writes:

“For skeptics, Jarecki's Capturing the Friedmans, in which the director ignored his duty as a responsible documentarian to actually seek the truth --and was championed for this refusal by the media--should be very troubling.” (Mooney)

The argument for art over truth is at times, startlingly evident. In one memorable scene the mother recalls a distinct lack of sexual intimacy between her husband and herself. What could be interpreted as being a significant factor in the couple’s burgeoning polarity is instead subjected to a sequence from home video of the couple’s earlier, happier times, illustrated by their dancing while “You’re the one, who’s stolen my heart” plays. The scene is almost comical, abandoning any deep sense of meaning that could have in fact illustrated a most heart-wrenching key scene.

Despite the visceral emotion and sympathy the documentary successfully generates, as a viewer i was left with something of an intellectual and emotional void in my response to this film. Well constructed, yet ambiguous and surreal, Jarecki’s film feel incomplete. The truth remains hidden: the Friedmans only partially and inelegantly captured.