J...o...h...n...'...s.....J...o...u...r...n...a...l
A R C H I V E S
Thanks
for
visiting.
May 23, 2001
Hangin'
with the MartyMan. . .
.
. . Dana
and I planned a breakaway to South Carolina in order to pay a visit to
Terie and Marty. Terie was part of the housekeeping department at a resort
in Myrtle Beach, an area of the state we'd never seen before. Dana, knowing
her daughter gathers no moss, said, "Don't quit before we can take advantage
of the family discount." When we got there we found out she was intending
to leave the job, but told us she would hold off until after our stay,
so we got in under the wire. The available suite was spacious and very
nice, with access to three pools and an exercise room, but the resort's
location was, by our standards, a most bizarre setting— adjacent
to a 150-store "outlet mall" and a rapidly developing "fantasy" entertainment
park, complete with "Medieval Times" and "Crook & Chase" venues. Nancy
Kerrigan was booked to skate that week in the ice theater production of
"Grease." The whole synthetic thing looked like it had been built and
ringed by sod the previous Thursday. A maze of roads had been paved to
nowhere. Bulldozers and graders sat idle, as if they cost a dime a dozen.
.
. .
Needless to say, we assigned ourselves the task of discovering the "real"
Grand Strand (as the coastal area is called), and we did it, thanks to
Terie's advice. We walked the low-key shoreline of Surfside Beach, filled
our cooler with seafood that had just come off the fishing boats, and
spent time wandering the sculpture gardens of Brookgreen, formerly a rice
plantation. Marty would have preferred we gone to the "Ripley's Believe-It-Or-Not"
attraction, but we still had many good moments together, playing in the
currents of the "Lazy River" pool, building Lincoln Log towns on the floor
of the suite, and my introducing him to "Rat Patrol" on an unfamiliar
cable channel. So, when I found myself dropped in the middle of America's
newest "artificial paradise," at least I had the pleasure of "hangin'
with the MartyMan."
The
man you are looking at. . .
.
. .
Well, it's been about a year since the second of the Mission: Impossible
series came to the big screen and I haven't gone on record with my remarks
after seeing it. Only went once, in contrast to the first one, but this
is clearly a better, more entertaining picture. More style, more class,
lots of suspense, and a dump-truck full of action. Given how poor the
first effort was, if Mr. Cruise keeps on this same curve of improvement,
the third movie might actually approach a level worthy of the M:I legacy.
All he has to do is recapture some of the qualities that made the classic
TV show the finest of its era. Nevertheless, I won't hold my breath.
First
let's point out the primary flaw. The IMF was always a team effort and
in this story the ensemble aspect is, at best, an afterthought. Everything
in the new M:I is about Tom Cruise (or Ethan Hunt, his creation). Attributes
that used to be distributed among several interesting characters are fused
into this one fictional agent. If TC wasn't such a good actor, and director
John Woo wasn't such a superb action choreographer, the sheer invincibility
of the Hunt persona would be laughable. Some credit must be given for
the success in developing the Hunt identity in a manner consistent with
the character's debut. He's back as the reluctant team leader, but quite
a few notches closer to superhero status. This character is so extreme
in his fearlessness as to be nearly psychotic, but Woo is so able in his
image crafting that the display of ultra-prowess becomes a part of the
overall cinematic aura, taking Hunt's martial capabilities well beyond
a Bondian level to something akin to an acrobatic, Hong-Kong-style, combat
performance art. Will this continue in the 3rd installment? If Woo doesn't
come back to take the helm, it is doubtful, but I wouldn't mind. The concept
needs to move past the Hunt fixation to highlight the PLOT. This was the
hallmark of the original series, but that requires outstanding writing
(and considerably less ego than inhabits the superstar in control of the
treasured property).
.
. . So,
what else did I notice? They haven't gotten off the kick of having to
distort the beloved M:I legacy, centering the story, in an almost matter-of-fact
way, on a rogue IMF veteran, as if this is a common occurrence in the
era after the defection of Jim Phelps. Interestingly, the rogue agent
narrates the "apartment scene" before the proverbial break-in caper, setting
up a duel of plots that focuses the fine line between the IMF mentality
and the criminal mind. Kinda cool, until the whole thing degenerates into
the sort of gun battle the old-series writers rigorously avoided. Hunt's
plans generally undergo a predictable metamorphosis into chaos, allowing
him to fall back on his standard plan B— become a one-man army. Why
not? TC must figure the cliché will work for him, just as it did
with Arnold, who borrowed it from Bronson, who borrowed it from Eastwood,
who borrowed it from... Well, you get my point.
.
. . I
suppose I should say something about the romance. In the old days, if
a member of the IMF was featured in a romantic subplot, we might refer
to it as their "saga" (perhaps the most famous being "The Barney Saga").
Ethan Hunt gets his saga the second time out, although rumor has it that
his love scenes were cut out of the first motion picture, maybe because
they didn't work. If you remember, the storylines in the first Mission:
Impossible movie were so tangled and patched together that every effort
must have been made to salvage an intelligible script. M:I-2 seems to
view the romance as part and parcel of the total story, and it's important
to note that John Woo is known for how he weaves a love story into a stunt-packed
action vehicle, a reputation he built in Hong Kong. I've read reviewers
that state the romance wasn't believable, and I accept that it's a subjective
matter, but I thought the chemistry worked reasonably well. The fact is,
if the love story doesn't click for you, the overall narrative is hopelessly
hollow.
.
. . This
flick introduces a new and simple, yet believable, solution to the old
awkwardness of voice disguise. Now anyone can be a Rollin Hand with the
nifty larynx-tape micro-digitizer (probably invented by Grant Collier).
We're sure to see this again in M:I-3. Another new tradition is the cable-drop
scene, fully enhanced with expensive computer graphic effects, and I remember
four mask peel-offs— two predictable, two nice surprises. As expected,
this old M:I tradition lives on, and we wouldn't have it any other way.
.
. . One
of the great features of the classic show was the extraordinary effort
to create maximum believability in the tricks and gadgets. Some of the
innovations that came out of the Desilu machine shop foreshadowed technical
advances that would come in the '80s. An over-reliance on computer graphics
hindered the revival series (1988) in this regard. The potential to allow
the M:I franchise to become just another example of digital effects entertainment
is huge. Credit goes to Woo for minimizing CG in M:I-2. The temptation
to go digital must be enormous in a big-budget action picture about "impossible"
feats. The choice of Woo as a director is reassuring, in that he is known
for orchestrating "in-camera" shots. According to Millimeter, a
publication devoted to motion picture and television production that I
regularly scan to keep abreast of the changing technology, Woo says that
only two scenes required significant CG work— the helicopter cable-drop
and the parachute roof leap, both parts of the big 2nd-reel break-in that
goes awry. Woo tells Millimeter, "Whenever possible, I want to
do the real thing. Most of the action in this movie was stunt-based, shot
live. Very little cable work, no blue screens, except for one scene, and
all the motorcycle and car chases, fights, and explosions are real." Add
to that the "nerve-wracking" aspect of Cruise performing almost all his
own stunts, and you have the makings of a philosophy in keeping with the
realism of the original M:I. The only problem is this— the series
rarely relied on car chases, explosions and firefights to generate excitement
or to hold the viewer's interest. When I go to a Mission: Impossible
movie I don't want to see The A-Team, but, unfortunately, I keep
getting it. Sad to say, when a movie makes this much money at the box
office, there won't be too many formula changes in the next sequel.
May
23, 2000
One year ago . . .
.
. . Rockwell's
famous Triple Self-Portrait (1960) has always made me want to do a serious
self-portrait myself. When did I first see it? That depends on when Uncle
Art first brought the magazines out to the Old House on County Line Road.
I remember it was quite a chunk of material— several years worth.
Maybe that was the dawn of my desire to be an illustrator. By '63 and
the deaths of President Kennedy and Pope John XXIII, I considered myself
an artist. So I guess you could say that, like thousands of talented Americans,
N.R. was imbedded in my earliest sense of what it was to be an artistic
person. My creative roots were fertilized by his masterful visualizations.
Early on I focused on his depictions. Later I was more impressed by the
technique when I learned how difficult it is to paint. Now I realize that
his work can be approached on numerous levels: creative, technical, compositional,
cultural, psychological, historical, and maybe more, just like any significant
artist— and he is, in my mind, one of the most significant artists
of the 20th Century. You could make the case that he and Andrew Wyeth
are the two greatest American painters since 1920, but I'm not sure that
means anything. If somebody wants to rate Georgia or Jasper or Jackson
higher, so what? Norman is still a giant with me!
May 16, 1999
Two years ago . . .
.
. . Dale
Matthews Sensei came from Louisville yesterday afternoon to teach Aikido
and was very good. I wish he was my regular instructor (I would make faster
progress). My work schedule has prevented the kind of regular training
that would produce steady progress. He did a good job getting "behind
the technique," explaining the integrity of body position, and the
principle of changing posture. I especially appreciated his discussion
of maintaining control in the face of aggression, how to dispense with
the combat promptly, preserving balance and the ability to walk away.
Much to contemplate and practice...
May 24, 1996
Five years ago . . .
.
. . Reflections
on the Mission: Impossible movie— Why did they have to turn
Jim Phelps into a bloodthirsty killer? Why were they so desperate for
a plot twist that they had to trash one of the great mythic characters
of TV lore? They blew it. They didn't understand that Jim's unfailing
rectitude and incorruptibility was the backbone of the concept. What abject
sacrilege! It was as if they remade The Fugitive and Richard Kimble
really did kill his wife, or if Captain Kirk turned out to be a double
agent for the Romulan Empire, or why not develop a script where James
West schemes to assassinate President Grant? Why would Paramount flush
the equity of its legendary concept down the commode? The beauty of M:I
was that you always knew who the good guys and the bad guys were, but
it was the plot and cinematic suspense that were the stars of the show.
One more cheap Hollywood dagger thrust into the heart of the icon of the
Authority Figure, and this time they went after the Ultimate Authority
Figure— the man who could think of a way to do anything to anybody
and get away with it, and was constrained only by his deep dedication
to the triumph of good over evil. The greatest fictional "patriot-at-large"
had to be struck down. Why?
May
25, 1995
Six years ago . . .
.
. . Since
the last time I wrote, Jeff quit his job at Wal-Mart and went to work
at Jerome's practice in Campbellsville, and Jay quit his job at Bluegrass
to start his own diesel service...
.
. . After
years of speculation and fantasizing, I find out they are shooting a big-budget
theatrical feature based on Mission: Impossible. With Tom Cruise?!
Oh well, at this point I'll give it the benefit of the doubt...
May 12, 1994
Seven years ago . . .
.
. . I've
been realizing that this is the 20th anniversary of my trip to Europe.
I wish that I had taken this book and made entries. It, along with the
Summit University experience and my move to Danville, seem to be the most
powerful transitions in my adult life. There are many unresolved pockets
of energy connected with that experience abroad, and I really need to
work through them. I guess I should try to dig out some of the old fragments
and see if I can piece the timetable together, two decades later. It hit
home to me when Nixon died last month. I guess I will always vividly remember
that morning in Amsterdam when I hung out the window of that hostel to
listen to his resignation speech being piped out into the street. Nixon
really did have a presence in my life's events that kept popping up, as
it did for all my generation. Watergate was always so strange for me,
personally, since I missed so much of it, being out of the country during
most of 1974.
A brilliant young girl named Irene
Built a teleportation machine.
She crawled in the doorway
And stepped out in Norway,
But never again was she seen.
.
. . —
j a d
T O P
