Time: ELO Went There Before You

by JP

There are two types of people in this world: 1) Those who have an opinion about Electric Light Orchestra and 2) Those who have never heard of them. But even people in the latter category have heard them--their songs are all over the place--they just don't know it, since ELO never quite reached the same level of iconic status as, say, the Cars. For those not in the know, ELO helmsman Jeff Lynne is one of the great movers and shakers of late-20th century rock...if not for the entire ELO catalogue, then surely for his later incarnation as producer of (among others) Tom Petty, assorted solo Beatles and Dave Edmunds. Oh, and he's also "that bearded bushy-haired guy with the hat" in the Traveling Wilburys.

Originally released in 1981, Time is a concept album that tells the story of a man transported from his own time into the 21st century. After becoming disillusioned with the conveniences the future has to offer (including a robot female companion), he unsuccessfully attempts to escape. He is eventually returned to the year 1981 with the awareness that he must work to prevent this version of a cold, unfeeling future from becoming a reality.

The songs on Time are mind-bogglingly hook-laden, as if the album was the result of a class assignment to cram the maximum amount of catchy melodies, strings, synthesizers and inhumanly high falsettos into the grooves of an album. From the frenetic gallop of "Twilight" to the dramatic melancholy of "The Way Life's Meant to Be" and "Rain is Falling," the songs of Time effortlessly melt into your consciousness upon the first listening--and immediately feel like you've heard them for years. In at least one case, you have; "Hold On Tight" is a TV commercial workhorse, most recently for Honda.

In spite of Time's earnest combination of shrewd commercial songcraft and geeky sci-fi cliches (or more likely because of it), the album comes off as incredibly dated and fresh at the same time. The abundance of synthesized robot voices and sound effects predicts the Flaming Lips' Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots as well as the fashionable, unabashed bombast of the Arcade Fire and the Killers.

Time is best taken in at night, preferably while driving alone (the better to belt along with). Pop it in, crank it up, take out your inner geek-boy, and party like it's 1981.

Dead or alive, you're coming with me.

by MK

Instead of creating an ode to all '80s action flicks, it seems more appropriate to discuss one prime example of this genre, a film I just recently had the pleasure of watching again: Robocop.

Amidst the Die Hards and Lethal Weapons, Robocop is an oft-forgotten action movie due to its lack of big-name talent and slightly narrower sci-fi categorization. However, this film has numerous recognizable faces and stands the test of time with innovative directing and succinct storytelling.

There are the fairly common 80s film stamps of authenticity on this classic piece of celluloid: archetypal characters, unbelievable cop scenarios and extraordinarily violent sequences of blood and explosions. Yet, when you put all of these things together in a consistent manner, you get a complete style that is as engrossing as it is entertaining. Most elements are over dramatic, but most of the performances are top-notch and take this tale of revenge to another level.

Kurtwood Smith--known to most of us as Red Forman from FOX's That '70s Show--is powerfully intense as Clarence Boddicker, one of the most despicable villains in recent memory. Miguel Ferrer and Ronnie Cox (members of the "I've seen that guy in 100 movies" club) both have memorable performances as warring executive sharks at the corrupt weapons manufacturing firm OCP. And even with fairly forgettable performances by Peter Weller and Nancy Allen as Robocop and his hard-nosed partner, respectively, the film still holds its own amongst the very best of its own genre.

If you're looking for a fun, truly R-rated action film with solid cinematography and special effects (with its fine share of exploding buildings), then pick up the DVD or tune into Universal HD during the month of January to catch an underrated 103 minutes of 80s glory. He's part man, part machine and all cop--and completely ahead of his time.

Going Postal (in a good way)

by MK
Reading Charles Bukowski's work can have a few common effects on people. Many will feel that he is misogynistic, crude and harsh. Fair enough. Other's will feel that he "tells it like it is." Undeniable. Both of these feelings are equally valid. However, there is poetry in this tortured man's words. And this putrid elegance is most evident in one of his earliest works, Post Office.

Many of Bukowski's novels are either partially autobiographical or completely detached from his own life. This particular piece is the former, and it shows in each chapter's personal tone. Yet, the phrasing and rhythm of the text is so incredibly solid--it can make anyone feel as though they're walking in the protagonist's USPS-issued boots.

At first glance, the story might sound dry or boring. A man trudges through a seemingly meaningless existence as a United States Post Office employee. However, just as Thoreau was able to make the flora and fauna of his woodland cottage in Walden profound, so does Bukowski make the underbelly of Los Angeles' blue-collar existence a microcosm for the dark side of all human existence. There is little way to make the power of this short novel sound anything less than a cliche, but powerful it is--without any apologies.

Certainly, there are offensive actions, comments and even observations riddled throughout Bukowski's crude story, but it has an honesty that lacks any glorification. The perspective is that of the saddest of sad and lonely men, and you can guess where that viewpoint may often lead. In the end, however, the novel delivers a sobering dose of reality--bordering on non-fiction--and remains a wonderful short read for anyone that's sick of polished and primped print. This one is raw, and it tastes pretty damn good. So, if you missed this one the first time around (in 1971), then pick it up and be prepared for one of the most visceral reads you've had in a while.

why you don't need to see The Wild One

by JP



What’re you rebelling against, Johnny?
Whadya got?

I consider Marlon Brando one of the greatest actors of all time, but I have not seen more than a handful of his films in their entirety. What I have seen are the interviews, documentaries and television specials devoted to the man. And without fail, these retrospectives always trot out The Scenes – those iconic bits of dialogue that have been plucked so repeatedly from the original films that they’ve come to stand for The Movie Itself, the way a shark gets reduced to a set of preserved jaws hanging in the window of some beach gift shop.

The Wild One is one such creature. You don’t need to have seen it to understand its impact – in terms of pop culture, this movie spreads more seeds than an inside-out condom (the name of Brando’s gang? The Black Rebels Motorcycle Club. The name of the BRMC’s rival gang? The Beetles). And don’t forget; this is the movie where Brando single-handedly created a fresh template for actors and masculinity as a whole! With a minimum of clumsy, hard-boiled dialogue, Brando gave life to the Late-20th Century Complicated Man…the man who could just as easily beat the living bejesus out of you as sit and stew over how you hurt his feelings.

This you know, yet you can still actually see the film. And then it slowly dawns on you…this movie is not good. Actually, it’s just another early-1950s low-budget exploitation flick, cashing in on the mild hysteria whipped up by exaggerated news stories about biker gangs invading small towns – in particular, the 1947 non-sacking of Hollister, California, over the Fourth of July weekend.

Brando plays Johnny, leader of the aforementioned BRMC. After a brief, teasing voice-over by Johnny attempting to explain “how the whole mess happened,” the gang roars into frame – menacingly wobbling on their motorcycles in front of a projection screen of moving hillsides. After an abortive attempt to crash a “legitimate” motorcycle race, the gang rolls into Wrightsville, a quaint studio backlot of a town full of curious old biddies who initially roll out the red carpet for the bikers. Innocent carousing leads to flirtation between Johnny and Kathie, the pristine young counter-girl at the local café. Johnny’s ambiguous courtship of Kathie rouses the restrained ire of Kathie’s father, who happens to be the local sheriff – which in this town means he’s merely an empty uniform controlled by the local bigwigs (when Johnny and the sheriff lock horns, you half-expect Brando to launch into Col. Kurtz’s “You’re an errand boy sent by grocery clerks to collect a bill” speech from Apocalypse Now).

The real threat to Johnny’s control over the situation arrives in the form of Lee Marvin as Chino, former sidekick to Johnny and current leader of the Beetles. A fist-fight between the two gang leaders lands Chino in jail, and nightfall transforms the tension between the citizens and the increasingly inebriated bikers into an honest-to-goodness 1950s fracas. Telephone lines are cut. Beauty parlors are overrun. Old folk are jostled. Of course, none of this is actually Johnny’s fault – he’s too busy giving Kathie her first motorcycle ride. And since he is a Complicated Man, he alternates between playing tongue hockey and berating the girl for being such a “square.” They return just in time for Johnny to be beaten up by the lynch mob which the town has turned into, then blamed for the accidental death of a local old fart. All is eventually sorted out, the bikers are issued a stern ultimatum, and Johnny finally gives the girl a smile before riding away forever.

I don’t mean to imply that The Wild One does not have its merits. Brando and Marvin definitely stand out as “guys to watch.” Fans of kitsch will derive much mirth from the occasionally broad acting and unintentionally hilarious dialogue – always a hazard when the need to convey heavy-handed social messages is conveyed by actors spouting some forty-something screenwriter’s notion of contemporary youth slang.

The passage of time and the blooming of Marlon Brando’s career have transformed The Wild One into a classic. And in a not-too-distant future, the torch will be passed to its cinematic heir, Point Break.

I eagerly await that day.