Pre-Review Preview

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Pre-Review Preview
by Erik Jay

Going on two months ago I accepted The American Partisan's gracious offer to contribute on a regular basis to their fabulous webmag -- is "zine" still current? how about "weblication" or "magasite"? I'm using "webmag" right now and would appreciate your help in generating acceptance for my neato neologism. And, um, where was I? Oh, yeah.

So, after accepting the offer, I spent my first few weeks here getting a feel for things, laying down a few ground rules for myself, and mostly introducing my often overwrought, muscularly cerebral, syllable-slinging shoot-'em-up writing style -- which I try to do gradually, as a full-on unprepared-for dose of Erik Jay prose has been known to knock the wind out of unassuming readers. I feel like I'm pretty well intro'd by this point, so I am ready to tackle the silver screen for you folks, at least once or twice a month.

Well, almost ready, anyway.

But, not to fear, it will only take me through the penultimate paragraph of this particular column to get from "almost ready" to "ready" -- and the final paragraphs will actually have a viewing (sometimes meaning a "non-viewing") recommendation for you. But first...

First you should have a little more information concerning how I approach movie reviews; why my opinion should matter to you; how I came to know this and that and the other thing about cinema, art direction, writing, acting, and all that jazz; and how you can benefit from all of it. For the bottom line, as quite clearly enunciated to me by TAP's top guns, is providing service to you, the readers: honest news, straight-talking editorials, and useful information (that's where I come in).

I was born... oh, no, not THAT much background! Relax, it's a brief bio, okay? But it is important, I think, that you know that I was born into an artistic, scholarly, educated family -- but a family which got to that plateau within one generation of hitting the U.S. shores. My father's folks, a peasant-stock electrician and his wife, landed from Sweden in 1916 and produced six offspring in the next decade-and-a-half; by 1950, every one of them had graduated from a four-year college. My father attended a few good ones (including Duke) while traversing the course list from law to engineering, finally entering the Army as a Signal Corps captain with a degree in electrical engineering from the University of Wisconsin. From this side of the gene pool, then, I inherited grit, determination, some high-tech prowess, and a taste for flat breads.

My mother is an amazing amalgam of artistic abilities, and grew up in a Scandinavian household whose innate seriousness and dyspepsia was leavened by a 100-proof shot of Irish blood: I remember Gramma and Grampa Brown (especially Gramps) as twinkly-eyed jesters who knew how to have a good time. They nurtured well my mother's artistic gifts, and she left college with a degree in art and a great portfolio. She spent about 30 years teaching art to high-schoolers, most of it in upscale and listing-to-port Palo Alto, amassing an astonishing array of original paintings, sculptures, stained glass, and jewelry (the last a real specialty). From this side, then, came my arty-crafty abilities, my sense of humor, and my naturally caffeinated work ethic.

My childhood was cacophonous, multicolored, challenging, busy; full of books and records (hi-fi, of course), dictionaries and encyclopediae; a constant adventure of print and prose, piano and guitar, insights and ideas. I thank God for my parents and the world full of wonder to which they introduced me. They gave me the start I needed.

Okay, so I reach adulthood, do my obligatory screwing up, and finally establish some sort of reasonable linkage between my chronological and emotional ages. And I am blessed to be able to make my way in the world trading on my God-given talents for writing, composing and performing music, designing, publishing, and telling people what to think and do. ("Telling people what to think and do" is the honest way to describe "consulting" work, which I do lots of.)

I have studied films, not just "seen" them. I revel in real classics (Citizen Kane and Shane are two all-time faves) and disdain poseurs and impostors (oh, how about Quentin Tarantino on the auteur side and, say, any model-turned-actress-since-1975 on the thespian side). Yet I allow for empty-headed entertainment, too, as in any Star Wars flick or some of the better action films (Jackie Chan and John Woo come to mind); not every viewing experience has to be cathartic or artsy-smartsy-to-the-max. As I wrote (elsewhere) recently, it's all about "balance" in life, and I will worked diligently to offer you balanced views, previews, and reviews, and I won't denigrate anyone else's opinions to prop up my own. Sound fair?

So, in a few hundred words, I've laid my life out, on paper and computer screen, to convince you, I guess, that you should weigh my words with a certain gravity and respect. But, convinced or not, I am here to give you my take on the cultural offerings around us -- books, movies, records, videos, TV, plays, magazines, computer games, net diversions, and so on -- and to offer occasional practical advice for What To Do This Weekend.

One thing I cannot do is see EVERY movie that's being released; I'll be honest, I only go a few times a year myself. That viewing schedule will doubtless get busier, but I will be forthright right now and admit that I will probably only write one standard "film review" per month, since I do have other beats to cover. However, that does not mean I won't pass on to you advice or comments about more than one film at a time -- it just means that I will be rendering quick-pick opinions based on the insights and input of other reviewers whom I admire and with whom I share a core set of beliefs. This would include, for example, folks like John Simon and James Bowman, and mags like Reason, Liberty and National Review -- trustworthy, intelligent, balanced. But I will ALWAYS be quite clear with you whose opinion is whose, and what I actually SAW, versus what I may have read about, seen clips of, or read reviews concerning.

Truth be told, this is how it works even in the Journalistic Big Leagues, but not every reviewer is honest enough to report that his opinion was begged, borrowed, or stolen from Roger Ebert or Gene Shalit -- or the publicity department at Columbia or Warners, for that matter. On the other hand, I'll always tell you EXACTLY what led me to say what about whom. You dig?

So now you know how to read my movie reviews -- and to get this ball rolling even faster, I'll have one for you in the next week or two. But seeing as how this is the penultimate (next-to-last) paragraph, in which I promised some practical quick-pick movie advice, I'll clue you in as to the "industry buzz" out here in L.A. (the original la-la-land): Shaft! -- the remake starring Samuel L. Jackson and rapper Busta Rhymes -- is a flea-bitten dog of a movie that fails even to achieve the level of the "blaxploitation" flicks on which it was modeled. Sixty million bucks doesn't guarantee you (a) a comprehensible plot, (b) any supporting talent (Busta is a bust), or (c) any Oscar attention. It does guarantee (a) lots of exploding cars and weaponry, (b) a well-produced if anencephalic soundtrack, and (c) tons of pre-release hoopla and hullabaloo. Unless you're a Samuel L. Jackson junkie, or a stockholder of the production company and distributor, you can afford to miss Shaft! -- unless you want the title of the flick to also be the verb indicating what the producers did to you to get your dough.

Hey, thanks for sticking with me through all 1300-odd words. And this time it only took about 1200 of 'em to get to the point: drop Shaft! down the shaft! Oh, I suppose there were some other useful points along the way, and at least now you're prepared for whatever I am likely to proclaim vis-à-vis the current offerings in the local theater. Stay ready! And until next time, remember: God has richly blessed us, so let's go out there and do some good.

(Editor and Publisher's Note: We liked Shaft!)