With its flash and power chord panache, rock and roll has always been ripe for cinematic exploration. From the fictional stories based in the medium to the concert films that find emotional epiphanies in the strangest of song couplets, music makes for memorable movies. There is just something universally unreal about someone—or group of someones—who can transform mere words and arranged notes into an anthem, a ballad, or the soundtrack of your life. Even more amazing are the backstories involved. Some of these people are barely passable as human. Instead, they are a surreal combination of person and performance, their onstage act meshed with this doubts and disconnects of their everyday existence to form that most mighty of myths: the rock god.
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Perhaps no single sequence in a movie maximizes the strength of the human spirit better than an escape. It’s almost always a question of resolve, of making peace with who we are while pushing our otherwise untapped talents to their very, very limits. It’s about recognizing that, beyond the basics, we all have the mantle to survive, we just don’t know it until the time comes to truly test it. Of course, there are the other ends of the escape spectrum where the wicked and evil try to avoid paying for their crimes through violence and mayhem. For them, it’s not a question of extremes. It’s an attempt to avoid responsibility by any means necessary.
At first, it seemed like a fluke. No actor from “overseas” was going to displace the American thesp as the leading cinematic staple in films. After all, we had Bogart and Cagney, Nicholson and Newman. But slowly, over time, the English have retaken their colonial territory, if only in the Cineplex sense. It began back when a certain Sir Lawrence introduced the Bard and his bad boy, Hamlet, to unsuspecting ‘40s audiences. Throughout the rest of the century, the UK produced one amazing male actor after another (though the ladies found their fortunes earlier—more on that next time). By the time the ‘80s rolled around, there was even a bit of a backlash among American performers, arguing that, every year it seemed, another English newcomer was walking away with the praise (and prizes).
Over the many months leading up to this week’s release of Baz Luhrmann’s hotly-anticipated literary adaptation of The Great Gatsby, much has been made about the anticipated accommodations, additions, and outright alterations to F. Scott Fitzgerald’s classic story. Has Mr. Luhrmann’s obsession with modernization gone awry, or is he aptly adjusting an 88-year-old book (and a 39-year-old film) for the very different expectations of today’s audiences? We won’t know for sure until Friday, but here’s why at least one writer thinks he’s the perfect man for the job.
A few weeks back, we found ourselves lamenting the apparent fact that 2013 was starting out with a whimper, not a box office/blockbuster bang. We even speculated that, unless something came along to salvage said season, the annual cinematic dumping ground of January through April would be one of the worst ever. Let’s just say that we were wrong. Wrong. 100% WRONG. In that piece, we speculated on the titles we thought had the potential to come along and possibly, maybe save the Spring, and again, we were off base. Sure, we mentioned some of the movies below, but for the most part, we talked about things—Oz the Great and Powerful, The Incredible Burt Wonderstone, Olympus Has Fallen, The Host—that either ended up being good (the first film listed) or glorified crap. Even more interestingly, we hit a few of April’s offerings right on the head.