It’s never fun to bury a friend, especially one you’ve watched wither away and die right before your eyes. Harder still is the realization that, for many, this onetime companion continues to live on, bigger and brighter than ever. Two decades ago, a perfect little trilogy was formed, a series of science fiction films that took the genre into worlds of unbelievable imagination and action-oriented invention. Spawned from this matinee mannered speculation was a fanbase so devoted, so affected by what creator George Lucas had wrought that they supported each and every facet of its growing legacy. Even horrific examples of capitalization like the Wookie-ccentric Christmas Special held a special place in the hearts of the devoted.

But now it can be said with some certainty - Star Wars is dead. No, not literally. As long as there are novices, unaware of the backstory that began in the year of the Bicentennial, the cash flush franchise will continue to live long and prosper (to borrow a superior series’ sentiment). Yet in my eyes at least, the beloved story of Luke Skywalker, his Dark Lord father Darth Vader, and the rise and fall of the Republic/Empire ceased to exist last week. True, the motion picture monopoly had been on life support ever since the cancer that was the prequels reared their ill-conceived incompetence. And at the moment the horrible Hayden Christiansen became the black man-machine menace, screaming a sophomoric “NO!” over his fate, Wars was, in my view, clutching for breath.

But with the arrival of the kid-friendly flotsam known as The Clone Wars, the last vestiges of the original trilogy have been officially purged from the myth’s creative corpse. It’s not just the grade school age focus of the new animated movie (and eventual TV series), or the poorly rendered cartooning that turns adored characters into cake decoration versions of their former selves. In fact, one could argue that the very reason Clone killed the original Wars was due to an overabundance of ambitions. In an attempt to broaden the concept’s appeal, and pull in even more fans to the fray, Lucas and his Skywalker Ranch regulars have figured out a way to alienate the very individuals who gave him his dollar-driven dynasty in the first place.

We need to get a few things out of the way right up front. I admit that I have been very harsh on Lucas and his Hutt goitered grandstanding ever since he made it perfectly clear that his old fans need not apply to the prequel’s Jar-Jar jive. His love of money and the million ways he can successfully shill his sparse space operatics have given rise to many a rant - and often over-pitched ridiculousness. But as someone who stood in line for nearly seven hours to see the original Star Wars - sans Special Edition tweaks - upon release, and then went on to sit through it seven more times (a personal record for the ‘70s) I believed I earned the right to vent. 

Of course, no one could have anticipated the diabolical double cross that was the updated digital versions of the classic Wars triptych. In retrospect, an artist has every right to tweak his creations to fit his final designs, and Lucas does own everything in that galaxy far, far away. But his early attitude - the original films would NEVER again be seen in their un-doctored state - indicated a despotic delusion and disinterest. Not just with those who supported him through the tough times, but for the very artform he was working in. Say what you want about the Special Editions (good, bad, indifferent, what?) but the flash free version of Episode IV was actually nominated for an Oscar. Imagine the uproar if someone, say Steven Spielberg, took Jaws and added a digital shark. You get the idea.

Yet it was the moment the prequels were announced that the fanbase took sides. Some wondered why it took Lucas so long to realize his original aims (he had announced an eventual series of nine films to fill out the franchise), while others smelled a revisionist rat. Fast forward several years, and the foul stench of The Phantom Menace, Attack of the Clones, and the highly over-praised Revenge of the Sith continues to permeate the Star Wars universe. While the films have their champions, most consider them pale comparisons to the movies that first fired their intense motion picture passions.

So how exactly does The Clone Wars obliterate the last remaining vestiges of the old Wars world? Easy - it treats it like it doesn’t exist. Clone is the first film in the entire Lucas legacy that feels like it was made out of something different. Maybe it’s the technology, or the introduction of random new characters that will NEVER be referenced again in any other Star Wars storyline (that is, until the new ‘Ultra Special Editions’ come out, right?). Perhaps it’s the general dumbing down of everything to fit a Saturday Morning cartoon mentality. It could be the unnecessary nature of the project, considering that Lucas had already commission material like this from animator Genndy Tartakovsky and his Cartoon Network crew.

Whatever it is, Clone Wars plays like someone’s bad interpretation of what Star Wars should be. From the infantile way the new padawan, Ashoka is portrayed (critical comparisons to Hannah Montana are not that far off) to the shocking pseudo hate crime that is Ziro the Hutt, everything here in rendered is regressive, aggressively adolescent tones. Sure, we see some interesting space battles, including a vertical assault that really captures the thrills of old, but when tempered by Jabba’s drag queen Uncle and his equally annoying son (a baby slug lovingly referred to as “Stinky"), the visuals dim and then disappear.

Indeed, the moment Ziro opened his Truman Capote piehole (a voice mandate from Master George himself, so the story goes), I felt my affection for Star Wars finally die. I recognized that I had been a fool for falling for Lucas’ line time and time again. I remembered my dismay at the way he handled the romance between Anakin and Padme. I re-winced at dialogue that sounded like badly written middle school mush notes. As with every other piece of this seemingly infinite creation, I tried to process it and put it into perspective. I could argue for its comic value - if only barely - but as the performance continued, the flamboyance fostered nothing but rage. And then grief.

Over at Ain’t It Cool News, Drew McWeeny - aka Moriarity - has decided to stop writing about Star Wars forever. His decision comes from a combination of things: an issue over embargo dates; his ongoing distrust of Lucas’ intentions; the rabid response to his opinions on messageboards and comment lists; a personal ‘enough is enough’. Yet one imagines that, like me, he’s sick of figuring out ways to defend his fandom, especially in light of what’s going on now. As Clone ramps up for a Fall premiere, and a live action TV series scouts locations in Australia, it’s clear that the old guard aficionados who kept the franchise afloat between bouts of sequel/prequel/trequel-itis are no longer important to Wars‘ world. In that regard, more than any other, it’s time for us to return the favor.

Call it a eulogy or a grand kiss off, but I’m done. Star Wars is dead, at least to me. Somehow, it doesn’t seem all that surprising. Or sad.

—Bill Gibron

Tropic Thunder

Director: Ben Stiller

Cast: Ben Stiller, Jack Black, Robert Downey, Jr., Steve Coogan, Brandon T. Jackson, Jay Baruchel, Danny McBride, Nick Nolte

Paramount Pictures; US: 13 Aug 2008; UK: 19 Sep 2008; 2008

Official Site

We hear it all the time, that comedy cop out meant to assuage the offender of all implied guilt:

“It’s just a joke.”

Be it a race under attack or a particular person getting the crude raspberry, it’s still the same:

“It’s just a joke.”

Sometimes, they easily get away with it. The supposed target takes control of the situation, granting the ersatz-satirist some sage dispensation. In other instances, like in the case of Rajan Zed and his Hindu followers, the insult takes on a life of its own. When Mike Myers’ horrendously awful The Love Guru appeared to belittle Indians and their religious heritage, the aforementioned leader went on a nearly year long mission. Zed called for preview screenings, then a boycott, and after the film’s dismal box office performance, an apology. Of course, he got none of his demands. Instead, all his well meaning whining did was up his profile among grassroots gamesters and fringe political organizations. While he claimed victory for the movie’s miserable receipts, the hollowness of the comedy was a much more solid reason for its failure.

And now it’s happening again, albeit on a much larger and less avoidable stage. With its release today, Ben Stiller’s new scathing industry spoof Tropic Thunder is facing harsh words and possible action from groups such as the Special Olympics and the American Association of People with Disabilities. The reason - a character named Simple Jack and the rampant use of the word ‘retard’. In the film, Stiller’s stunted superstar (action movie icon Tugg Speedman) is shown having attempted to woo Oscar gold by playing a mentally handicapped young man with a bad bowl haircut and a mouth full of fake teeth. Simple Jack was never a real person - just a part he played. The ruse didn’t work, and Speedman became even more of an industry ‘joke’ because of it.

As with any helping of humor, there are two sides to the story. For anyone who’s seen the film, Simple Jack is definitely the brunt of a few jokes. During the sequences where we see snippets of the film within the film, as well as when Speedman is forced to recreate the character for a bunch of drug smugglers, Stiller’s portrayal pushes the boundaries of insult. He stammers and stutters. He says ridiculously goofy things and twists up recognizable clichés meant to suggest sensitivity inside a drooling, unrefined dope. It’s not simpleton as savant so much as an easy laugh milked (perhaps) one too many times.

As if to emphasize the movie’s position, the far more scandalous character of Kirk Lazarus (an Australian arse who had himself surgically altered to look like an African American) gives Speedman some advice. “Never go full retard”, he says. Running down a litany of actors who have used the intellectually challenged and outright impaired for their run at Academy recognition - Tom Hanks in Forrest Gump, Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man, etc. - Lazarus points out that only obviously fake performances garner critical praise. They seem ‘safer’ to the viewer. But in Speedman’s case, he went all the way into total impediment. Alas, the actor faced the same fate as Sean Penn when he went “full retard” in I Am Sam, according to Kirk.

To the aforementioned groups, none of this is remotely funny. They find the inference insensitive and the actuality downright indefensible. They have slowly started drumming up support for a protest, and by today’s opening, it’s obvious that there may be some picket lines in larger urban markets. For them, it’s not a matter of subtleties or free speech. They see one of their frequently marginalized and misunderstood membership turned into a borderline hate crime. In a classic case of PC powered apologizing, they purposely pick a high profile target and set their agenda on stun. No one thinks they will stop the release of the film (especially not them). Instead, this is publicity as chest puffing coattail riding. They get their message out, the movie plays, and everyone waits for the issue to die down until the inevitable DVD release.

It’s hard to say whether or not these groups have a point.  As someone who grew up in the pre-Willowbrook exposé days of America, the word “retard” just doesn’t hold much contemporary weight. It was used frequently by kids trying to circumvent actual socialization and often had a guilt-laden alternative meaning. This critic had a best friend whose sister was severely mentally handicapped. Over the 15 years of our friendship, I never once met her. For families in the ‘60s and ‘70s, institutionalization was the only option outside of hard work and home care, and before Geraldo Rivera’s heartbreaking takedown of the state-sponsored industry, it was easier to warehouse your ‘special child’ than actually try to care for them. So while my pal’s household technically had five members, I only ever saw four.

Later on, in high school, I dated a girl whose brother suffered from severe mental impairment. In his case, their mother and father decided against hospitalization. Instead, they treated him as normally as possible, even inviting him to sit in on our pre-prom photos. While he sometimes ‘embarrassed’ his sister with his uncontrollable behavior, he was never unloved or unwanted. Indeed, the entire family (and myself included) tried to make him feel as integral and important as any other aspect of our lives. Even now, some thirty years after we dated, I wonder about that young man, and hope he’s had a productive and problem-free life. 

For parents and siblings in similar situations, the word ‘retard’ has to sting. It has to remind them of how society sent them oblique (and sometimes outright direct) messages about their loved one’s proper place. Over the last forty years, organizations such as the Arc of the United States and the National Down Syndrome Congress have made major strides in gaining understanding and acceptance of these often misunderstood individuals. Honestly, only the most arrogant, heartless individual would set out to purposefully mock and ridicule such an innocent target. “This population remains the defenseless butt of jokes all throughout media,” said Special Olympics chairman Timothy Shriver, who has not yet seen the movie. “We think it’s time to end.”

The key phrase in that soundbite (courtesy of ABC News), is that most of the complaints center around an equally misguided mandate. Like Zed before, few who are arguing for the boycott have actually seen Stiller’s performance, heard the previously mentioned dialogue in context, and understand the overall purpose of the subplot. It goes beyond “It’s just a joke.” Granted, the rogue word is used dozens of times, but never in reference to an actual individual. No one calls Speedman a “retard”. No person with actual mental retardation is so readily dismissed. In fact, Tropic Thunder‘s use of the term is rather meta. It’s meant to suggest something bigger - the need for famous celebrities to put on false facades to win respect (and maybe a prize or two). It’s no coincidence that the character who calls out Stiller is the one who’s gone to the greatest extremes to hide behind overly obsessive sham personas.

Which leads to a much bigger point. Robert Downey Jr. offers what many might consider a minstrel show like turn as Lazarus. Remember, this is a Russell Crowe like superstar who had plastic surgery so he could play black. Indulging in every kind of stereotypical slam possible (including several sections of outright race baiting), it could easily be the movie’s most risky creative choice. Add in the exaggerated make-up, and there should be a massive minority backlash.

So why no clamor? The answer arrives in the form of rapper turned actor Alpa Chino (played by Brandon T. Jackson). While guilty of a few racially biased flaws himself, the hip hop impresario takes Lazarus to task every chance he gets. He knocks the character off his thespian high horse, everpresent to provide a rational counterpart to the egomaniac’s “I can do anything” ideals. Besides, Lazarus finally realizes the error of his ways during the last act. His mea culpa is short, sweet, and apparently good enough to avoid the weight of 400 years of onerous oppression.

And it’s not really a matter of free speech. Sadly, everyone considers it an absolute, and while there are Constitutional rights and duties, there is no such thing as a wide open ability to express oneself. We are not dealing with one of the recognized legal limits (yelling “FIRE” in a crowded theater, etc.) however, we are involved in what’s called the elemental quid pro quo. Phrased another way - you do have the right to say whatever you want. However, there is an equal and reciprocal right to be held accountable for said speech. While no one is suggesting that Stiller and company are guilty of a crime, they do have to put up with said protest. But what these organizations have to remember is that such leeway is mutual. They can surely complain, but they can’t call for the outright removal of such ‘hateful’ words and images.

In some ways, there’s an uneasy, mutually beneficial conspiracy at play. Just like Zed did a few months back, tying oneself to a major media event (like the release of a film) drives interest to what are frequently forgotten about organizations. While it’s clear that their intentions are noble, those defending the mentally challenged must secretly recognize the publicity pluses. And Tropic Thunder doesn’t really mind the turmoil. They know that audiences will still turn out, and the added curiosity factor may actually drive a few more into the theater who may not have given the movie a second thought. Both sides will probably be disappointed, however. Simple Jack is a minor element of a film packed with potential provocations. One wonders if Jewish groups will complain about a certain famed Scientologist’s turn as a balding, hirsute financier with a major potty mouth and a bad case of “white boy can’t dance-itis”. 

In the end, “It’s just a joke” may be the best way to truly handle any and all problems caused here. It’s a succinct shorthand that minimizes the many loose ends while proposing a plausible out for both sides. Indeed, Tropic Thunder is so inside, so insanely insular in its laugh out loud shamelessness that, while it will definitely inspire a reinvigoration of the complained about word (as in Downey Jr.’s comment about going “full retard"), many won’t make the connection to actual individuals. Those who do are probably already prone to marginalizing all minorities in the first place.

As in many of these circumstances, the sturm und drang will eventually die down, and in its place will be the same outstanding issues, the same personal and political battles to fight. In the end, “It’s just a joke” seems indicative of the eventual importance the situation suggests. It’s not an excuse so much as a reality. And like all concepts of cleverness, one’s reaction is indicative of who they are and where they stand. Some will get the joke. Others can’t and won’t. And that’s the way it should be.

—Bill Gibron

Tropic Thunder

Director: Ben Stiller

Cast: Ben Stiller, Jack Black, Robert Downey, Jr., Steve Coogan, Brandon T. Jackson, Jay Baruchel, Danny McBride, Nick Nolte

Paramount Pictures; US: 13 Aug 2008; UK: 19 Sep 2008; 2008

Official Site

Pineapple Express

Director: David Gordon Green

Cast: Seth Rogen James Franco Danny McBride Amber Heard Rosie Perez Gary Cole Craig Robinson Kevin Corrigan Bill Hader

Columbia Pictures ; US: 6 Aug 2008; UK: 12 Sep 2008; 2008

Official Site

The Foot Fist Way

Director: Jody Hill

Cast: Danny R. McBride Ben Best Mary Jane Bostic

Paramount Vantage; US: 30 May 2008; 2006

Official Site

That’s it. I’ve had it. I am officially at my character actor capacity. Nothing personal on the man in question, but after a summer where it seems like he shows up in every movie made, I am over Danny McBride - just about. Again, this is not meant to be an individual criticism or a knock against who he is off screen. But in a world where thousands of actors remain unemployed or underemployed, is it really fair to feature this funnyman over and over again?

I first became aware of Danny’s jarhead joking in last year’s lamentably awful Heartbreak Kid remake. There, he was the bone brained brother of Michelle Monaghan’s Amanda. It was also here where I was initiated into the McBride “type” - not quite hillbilly, not actually intelligent, just a beefy buffoon with a bad haircut and a head full of Red State resentment. It was a persona he would carry on to his next supporting part, as a homeless pal of the title character in the disappointing Drillbit Taylor.

As Don, a casual criminal with a definite psychotic streak, McBride more than made up for the scripts underwhelming attributes. Even better, his scenes were short and sweet, never overstaying their welcome or announcing their arrival. In fact, it’s safe to say that, at this point, I was willing to tolerate this beery bumpkin in carefully controlled creative bursts. Use him right, and his appearance would only add to the onscreen mayhem. But use him wrong and, well…

Oddly enough, all careful consideration was thrown for a loop when I finally saw The Foot Fist Way. Made back in 2006, this starring vehicle for the Georgia-based actor found McBride playing a pompous, self-important Tae Kwon Do instructor who tries to corral his action hero idol into a personal appearance at his failing martial arts school. So real in its mock doc execution and brave in its outright arrogance that it was scary, this film found a way to take McBride’s inherent ill-advised machismo and make it multifaceted. Even better, it signaled that he could stretch beyond the white trash troublemakers he seemed to excel at.

Thanks to Will Ferrell and Adam McKay, Foot Fist finally got a wide distribution, and with such a profile, McBride has become almost omnipresent. This month alone he turns up in two of the Summer’s most highly anticipated releases. In Pineapple Express, he’s the urban idiot dope peddler Red, attempting to address all of his problems both personal and criminal with a smile and smatter of misinformed rap lingo. Even with his limited time onscreen, he rivals James Franco for best overall performance in this clever action/stoner amalgamation. Then, in Tropic Thunder, he is Cody, the special effects artist who has a bad case of hero worship for those he works with, and an even shakier grasp of pyrotechnic professionalism.

In both instances, McBride is very good. While relying on a similar skill set - one that trades on his flabby physicality while adding a satisfying and unwashed stupidity - he manages to make each lummox likeable and different. In each film, he creates such a compelling presence that you can’t wait for his next anticipated manifestation. Red, in particular, provides some last act heroics that help sell Pineapple‘s switch over into ‘80s styled stunt spectacle. Indeed, it’s safe to say that in each instance mentioned, MrBride adds to the movies he’s in. He’s the true definition of a supporting (or in the case of Foot Fist, starring) presence.

So why am I so fed up? Why am I praising this man only to argue for his future limited use? The answer is not as simple as it seems. Maybe it’s because he’s so good at what he does. It could be his purposeful pigeonholing into the aforementioned personality types. Perhaps it’s because, like all Hollywood decisions, his casting comes off as being as much about laziness and lack of vision as it is talent. Watching him work, one can literally hear the suits saying to themselves “that McBride sure makes a great blue collar cretin. Instead of that Cable Guy, let’s get him”.

This is obviously meant in jest, and stands as a gross overgeneralization of why McBride is seemingly everywhere at once. But never underestimate Tinsel Town’s track record of tendencies. In the last two years alone, balding boob Rob Corddry has been in 11 films - 11! - and always playing the same insecure schlub with either an anger management issue or an advanced case of marital emasculation. Similarly, David Koechner has racked up 16 such turns. Usually employing a stereotypical drawl to accent his Southern Comfort crackerdom, he’s another of these supposedly bankable morons. One can just see a casting director, looking over head shots and sighing “Oh HELL!, Just get me Koechner (or perhaps Corddry)”.

Again, this is not meant to take away from these otherwise talented men. But since movies are no longer based in artistry, but instead rely on a baffling business model which hopes to guarantee successful before a single frame is shot or screened, past performance - including the all important box office receipts - rule most decisions. In Corddry’s case, he’s got Old School, Blades of Glory, and the nauseating I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry pushing his paydays. Koechner gets the aid of the Apatow touch, supposedly helping Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy, The 40 Year Old Virgin, and Talladega Nights earn its considerable keep. They can fail together as well. Both were in the bafflingly unfunny Get Smart update.

Naturally, these men were ancillary to such success, but studios sometimes fail to see the forest for the financial windfall. McBride may just be the latest example of such a schema. Or perhaps it’s all about ability. After all, no one is questioning his (or anyone else’s) worthiness. But what those in charge fail to recognize is that familiarity, while maybe not breeding actual contempt, creates reservations in the audience’s mind. When we see a certain face standing next to our above the marquee A-lister, the sense of déjà vu is overwhelming, and since most are hired merely to create such easy awareness, constant repetition leads to more and more pre-knowledge. Soon, we are guessing the beats that will color their performance and wondering why they were brought on in the first place.

And since I like McBride (for now), I don’t want to see him stifled. I don’t want him standing in the backdrop, mangled mullet substituting for actual characterization. There seems to be so much more that he can offer a project (again I am reminded of his work in Pineapple Express) that he doesn’t deserve such stereotyping. By proclaiming my tolerance topped off, perhaps others will join in. Call it a boycott or a non-focus group lesson, but Hollywood needs to learn that not every facet of a successful film will, individually, work the same magic. Danny McBride’s borderline overexposure won’t only prove this out, but it threatens to destroy a career just starting to spark. And even though I’ve had my fill, he clearly deserves better. 

—Bill Gibron

He was Black Moses, creator of some stellar Hot Buttered Soul. He gave Shaft his Oscar winning authority, and broke down color barriers in the highly conservative - and Caucasian - film composer’s club. He was a member of the famous Stax Records team, ushering in hits as writer, producer, arranger, and artist. He earned an Academy Award, three Grammys, and a well deserved place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (Class of 2002). And now, sadly, at age 65, legitimate legend Isaac Hayes is gone, found dead in his home by his fourth wife, Adjowa. It’s a depressing end for a man who overcame so many obstacles and inspired so much devotion, even among those who didn’t understand his own personal philosophy.

He was born Issac Lee Hayes Jr. in Covington, Tennessee. After his parents’ death, he was raised by his grandparents, and the young boy spent his early years picking cotton. After dropping out of high school, he headed to Memphis. There, his self-taught skills on the piano and organ earned him a slot in the famous Stax factory backing band. Soon, he was stepping from behind the mic to write such classic songs as “Hold On, I’m Coming” and “Soul Man” (along with partner David Porter). At age 25, he released his first album, the mostly improvised Presenting Isaac Hayes. It was not well received. But it would be his fantastic follow-up, Hot Buttered Soul, that would finally announce his rising star.

With its combination of long form covers (Hayes was notorious for turning tracks like “Walk On By” and “By the Time I Get to Phoenix” into extended jams and spoken word epics) and stunning originals, it helped a lagging label that had just lost Otis Redding to a plane crash. It reestablished its prominence in the process. Hayes would parlay that success into a pair of 1969 hits - The Issac Hayes Movement and To Be Continued. Again, he explored the classic catalog of Burt Bacharach and Hal David for a take on “The Look of Love” and “I Just Don’t Know What to Do With Myself”. But it would be the opportunity to score a seemingly unimportant blaxploitation film that would change Hayes, and the face of Hollywood, forever.

1971’s Shaft remains significant for many important reasons. First, it was one of the first mostly minority films to take the groundwork laid by Melvin Van Pebbles with his indie masterpiece Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasssss Song and turn it into a mainstream mandate. Second, it established the viability of the genre to those outside the urban setting - especially among the critical counterculture. Finally, it gave a soundtrack voice to the growing influence of R&B and soul. Hayes’ now classic wah-wah peddle tinged theme, containing lyrics that today are just as outrageous in their considered cool, became an instant smash. It earned the then 29 year old a much coveted gold statue, the first ever awarded to an African American outside of the AMPAS acting category.

This is monumental for reasons that reach beyond Hayes’ own career. It opened the door for musicians of color, paving the way for Stevie Wonder’s win in 1984, Prince’s score prize the same year, Lionel Richie’s award the year after, and perhaps most remarkably, the Three 6 Mafia’s stunning upset in 2005 (Hayes actually appeared in Hustle and Flow). His reward was not without controversy, though. When Hayes agreed to appear at the 1972 Wattstax concert, MGM refused to allow his performance of “Shaft” to be included in the resulting documentary. Claiming outright ownership of the theme, as well as the soundtrack song “Soulville”, it was an issue that wouldn’t be resolved until the film’s 2004 DVD release.

It was just the beginning of troubles for the talented troubadour. By 1974, Stax was in ruins, and Hayes sued his studio for several million dollars. Unable to pay, they agreed on a settlement which saw the formation of HBS Records. While he continued to release albums - Chocolate Chip, Disco Connection, Juicy Fruit - he was no longer a guaranteed chart topper. In 1976, he filed for bankruptcy, claiming nearly $6 million in debt. He lost most of his publishing royalties in the process. It was indeed darker times for the performer. While his albums maintained good critical buzz, the changing face of the industry - and music itself - meant more than a few years in entertainment exile.

He supplemented his music by well received turns as an actor. He got his start in another exploitation classic, Truck Turner (where he starred and also wrote the score) and had a recurring role on the Jim Garner hit TV series The Rockford Files. He got another major break from fan John Carpenter, who traded on Hayes gold chain and bald headed badass-ness to feature him as The Duke in the post-apocalyptic classic Escape from New York. Throughout the ‘80s he took minor roles here and there, working on making a comeback as a musician. Virgin signed him in 1995, and his subsequent albums Branded and Raw and Refined reintroduced him to a whole new fanbase.

So did his accidental casting in Comedy Central’s anarchic South Park. After debuting in 1997, Trey Parker and Matt Stone’s crude cartoon cavalcade became an almost instant classic, with Hayes’ Chef the show’s voice of recognizable reason (and the occasional sex-based song). Over the course of 10 seasons and one sensational film, Park provided a wonderful outlet for the aging icon. It made him instantly cool among the younger crowd, while confirming that he still had the authority and command that made him a talent and trendsetter decades before.

All seemed fine with the Park partnership until Parker and Stone decided to take on Scientology. As they had with Christianity, Judaism, and Catholicism before, the show scalded L. Ron’s revisionist faith in an episode which also tweaked Tom Cruise and John Travolta. Hayes had joined the ersatz religion in 1995, and did not appreciate the series satirizing his beliefs. He argued that his newfound conviction had helped reestablish and center his success, and unless Parker and Stone abandoned the idea, he would be forced to leave. He did just that in 2006, and the split remained acrimonious up and until his death.

While there are many sides to the story (for their part, Parker and Stone stand by their decision), what’s clear is that, once outside the limelight again, Hayes’ fortunes failed. In 2006, he suffered a stroke, though many inside his camp denied it initially. This past April, his appearance on Adam Corolla’s radio show suggested that he was losing some of his faculties. He found it hard to answer questions and blamed his blankness on aphasia, a disorder driven by his diminished capacity. Some four months later, he was discovered motionless alongside his treadmill. He was pronounced dead upon arriving at Baptist Memorial Hospital in Memphis.

As with any loss, the tragedy tends to temper the particulars of the past. Eulogy wipes out the bad while amplifying the already known good. In the case of Isaac Hayes, we need both sides of the story. For everything he did right in his benchmark career, he made mistakes that added even more mystery to his outsized enigma. He could be suave and smooth. He could also be cold and very calculated. Combined together, they explain how Hayes could break down the color barriers of Hollywood. They also clarify his late in life conversions and out of character choices. The good thing is that Isaac Hayes will always be remembered as the prophet of soul. The bad thing is that the very things that made him an indisputable icon will probably be lost to legend - and maybe that’s where they belong.

—Bill Gibron

The Dark Knight

Director: Christopher Nolan

Cast: Christian Bale, Heath Ledger, Eric Roberts, Michael Caine, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Aaron Eckhart, Gary Oldman, Morgan Freeman

Warner Brothers; US: 18 Jul 2008; UK: 21 Jul 2008; 2008

Official Site

It only took 10 days. Less than two weeks. It remains a stunning accomplishment. It took Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest 16 days to get there. It took the overly hyped third Star Wars prequel Revenge of the Sith 17. Even Spider-Man 3 had to wait 19 days to pull in such scratch. But the superhero phenomenon which is The Dark Knight crossed over the $300 million mark this weekend, cementing the film’s place as 2008’s biggest cinematic story. No one could have predicted such a response, especially for a 150 minute drama that’s more serious than spectacle. Add to that the messageboard concerns over the film’s dark quality and downbeat ending, and the suggestion is that something significant is happening here that just doesn’t occur with your standard popcorn flair.

One thing is clear - Hollywood hacks who think material must be dumbed down and homogenized for audience consumption are probably rethinking said position (and looking for work, hopefully). The Dark Knight is indeed a savvy, smart thriller, built more out of a model similar to the crime epics of Coppola, Mann, and Scorsese than the cut and paste product of your typical comic book adaptation. Co-writer/director Christopher Nolan took some major risks with the material, keeping the danger palpable and the characters complex. As a result, there was a real possibility that this film would not click with crowds. And with the already sizeable returns for other superhero movies this summer (Iron Man and Hancock making the most monetary noise), there was a real risk of something akin to also-ran status

But $300 million big ones speak for themselves, and Knight shows no signs of letting up. It is still a watercolor work, something everyone it talking about in reverent, must-see terms. Granted, the Oscar buzz for the late Heath Ledger may be a bit premature (a nomination is not out of the question, but let’s not hand the statue over to his family just yet), but it is clear that this will be a movie remembered come awards season. But the biggest question, as always, is this - what does this level of success mean for everyone involved? What does earning such a vast sum so quickly signify for the studio? The comic book company? The individuals in front of and behind the camera? For that, we’ll need to do a little above the bottom line analysis. Only then can we see if there’s anything other than triumph for all involved. Let’s begin with:

The Studio - Warner Brothers
After the debacle known as Speed Racer (the audience’s fault, not the film), Warners really needed this sort of monumental result. It helps make that major misstep in marketing seem like nothing more than a business model blip on a high return radar. The studio has been lucky like that as of recent - backing Will Smith’s Christmas hit I Am Legend while taking a drubbing for failures like The Invasion and 10,000 BC. Of course, the real challenge will come when the subject of a third installment is breached. Does the studio rely on Nolan to continue his winning ways, or will they balk and pull a Schumacher out of thin air. Either way, their upcoming releases (The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Watchmen) seem to suggest more pluses than movie minuses.

The Source - DC Comics
With Marvel making all the news during Summer’s inaugural months - both good (Iron Man) and not so (The Incredible Hulk) - the comic rival really needed something like this to settle the score. With such underperforming efforts as Constantine and Superman Returns, it was clear that Nolan and his take on the Caped Crusader would make or break the company’s cinematic fortunes. Now, with $300 million and counting, DC has a real reason to smile - and the accolades just keep coming. Last week, the long awaited teaser trailer for Watchmen finally hit the ‘Net, and along with the highly praised Comic-con panel, hinted that 2009 might be equally successful for the catalog - both critically and commercially.

The Writers - Christopher & Jonathan Nolan
If there is any justice in the business of show - and there usually isn’t - Chris and his brother John will become the script doctors du jour of a failing Tinsel Town talent pool. Let’s face it, if Akiva Goldsman can claim an Oscar (and the literary omniscience that seems to accompany it) for his work within the genre, the Nolans should have a rec room full of accolades. The one consistent thing about the product they present is how smart, substantive, and cocksure it really is. When characters speak, they do so in assertions that seem perfect for the situation they are facing. Even better, the dialogue resonates in ways that come back to complement the conservation’s true intent. If Chris decides to drop directing for a while - that is, until the right project comes along - he and Jonathan could clean up in the screenplay polishing department. 

The Director - Christopher Nolan
If he didn’t already have carte blanche from the film’s critical reaction, the man behind the Bat’s recent success can surely write his own ticket anywhere in Hollywood now. While there have been hints that he will go back to his inventive indie roots (more Memento than Insomnia, one supposes), it’s clear that Nolan can claim any commercial project he wants. Even better, he’s proven that, within the right framework, audiences will sit through even the most serious, complex entertainment. If he chooses carefully, he can cement his status as one of his generation’s guiding cinematic lights. And of course, there’s always the third installment in the Caped Crusader’s saga to fall back on should he fail. Given his amazing track record so for, that doesn’t seem very likely.

The Actors
Christian Bale
Bale has already proved the impact of a multimillion dollar opening weekend - he was accused of assaulting his mother and sister before the British premiere of The Dark Knight, and even the tabloids have taken his side. Of course, the personal scandal may be nothing more than old school family dissention fueled by sudden financial success, but this is one actor who really doesn’t need the money to make his mark. He’s already keen to revisit the Bruce Wayne saga again (as long as Nolan is behind the lens), and he’s signed on to play another heroic icon - John Connor, the man behind the human rebellion against the machines in the new Terminator film(s). His resume from the past few years is so impressive, that it’s hard to imagine he ever struggled. Hopefully, his success as the Caped Crusader only broadens his potential performance horizons.

Aaron Eckhart
Eckhart has been an indie idol for so long that it’s hard to remember when he was the one getting the push for mainstream leading man status. Remember his turn in the disaster flop The Core? Of his solid work in Erin Brockovich? Returning to smaller projects surely helped his acting cred, but he still needed a breakout part to produce a kind of casting clarity he will surely have now. His amazing working as Harvey “Two Face” Dent delivers that knockout blow. On equal par with the work done by costars Bale and Ledger, Eckhart elevates his spurned and scarred District Attorney into something akin to a Shakespearean tragedy. His arc is so fully formed, and his transformation within it so authentic and real, that when he goes on his last act spree, we sigh at the inevitability of it all - and marvel at how this underrated performer pulls it off. 

Heath Ledger
The saddest element of Ledger’s untimely death isn’t the fact that he’s not around now to enjoy the universal praise his eerie work as the Joker is receiving. Nor is it the fact that he won’t be around for the inevitable big money payday once the next installment comes calling. No, what’s most disturbing about Ledger’s passing is that, with this undeniably diabolic characterization, we realize just how much talent we as film fans will be missing out on. No one could have predicted that the sweet, vulnerable man from Brokeback Mountain or The Brothers Grimm had this much menace in him. Even better, his work as the clown prince of chaos leaves a lasting legacy that, in essence, could have tainted the actor forever. If one has to go out - and there is never a rhyme or reason for doing so by your own hand - this unbelievable blaze of glory surely brings things to a clean, karmic conclusion.

The Franchise
This is perhaps the hardest question for the entire post-modern Batman movie. For those who’ve not seen the film, this SPOILER will probably be an unwelcomed bit of advance information, so perhaps you should simply skip this paragraph. Otherwise - having taken the advice of newly appointed Commission Gordon, the Caped Crusader has decided to accept the blame for the many deaths caused by Dent. Instead of a hero, he will become a renegade - or even worse, the stuff of social nightmares. By becoming the bad guy (indirectly, that is), the entire mythos takes a tantalizing turn. Nolan has said that he spent all his creative wealth making this version of the comic book hero, and may not have an answer as to where it goes from here. Between potential villains and likely storylines, there is a lot of uncertainty present, that’s for sure. But where there’s a will - and a big pile of cash - there’s a way. And as they proved this time around, as long as there is true talent involved, anything is possible.

—Bill Gibron

It’s time to get out the black wreaths and the ceremonial armbands, especially if, like this critic, you grew up on a steady diet of Roger Ebert, Gene Siskel, and their exemplary movie review program Sneak Previews/At The Movies. With the duel announcements this week that Richard Roeper (the replacement for the late Chicago Tribune icon) was leaving the show, and that Roger Ebert was done with his participation, Disney finally felled the giant they’d been gunning for since cancer caused the Sun Times scribe to walk away from his on-air participation. It’s no secret that the House of Mouse wanted the series gone - or at the very least, significantly cut back, reconfigured for a new demographic, and bolstered by a bigger piece of the potential pie (Ebert maintains the symbolic “Thumbs”, At the Movies greatest inadvertent asset). Now they’ve got their wish, much to the dismay and detriment of the serious filmgoer fanbase.

While the pro/con summarization of cinema clearly goes against the intellectual approach to film (movies are much more than a recommendation or rejection), the format created by the legendary Midwest columnists would come to symbolize the video age vitality of the medium. With more and more access to movies - thanks in part to technological advances like cable and VCRs - there needed to be a standard bearer for the post-modern motion picture storm. Enter Gene and Roger, two seasoned salts who braved the bad weather of offering opinions on what many saw as a no win, highly personal proposition. After all, just like music and humor, entertainment evaluation can never be communal or completely universal. Still, they tried, and in the interim, they created consensus, addressed issues threatening the artform (colorization, rampant and gratuitous violence) and even stepped in it now and again.

With Siskel’s passing in 1999, many felt the show would simply fade away and die. Ebert tired diligently to maintain the profile, and after a series of guest hosts and high profile ‘auditions’, he settled on Mr. Roeper. To many outside of Chi-town, he was an odd choice. While the native was born in the city of big shoulders, his columns (and eventual reviews) were of regional interest, mostly. When he was tagged to replace Siskel in 2000, he met with some initial resistance. Some saw him as too mainstream, preaching the studio press kit while his partner kept the criticism ‘real’. Over the years, Roeper has gained the respect of both the industry and the audience. When Ebert himself took ill in 2002, the relative newbie grabbed the reigns of the again shaken showcase and continued to foster its importance.

And now, it is no more - at least, not in the way we remember it. In some ways, it’s unbelievably sad the way this all happened. A few months back, there was a dispute over whether the show could actually use the infamous hand gesture. Ebert, who maintained the rights to most of the format with Siskel’s widow Marlene, felt slighted by Disney’s lowball figure to re-up their interest, and so the pair prevented At the Movies from giving the thumb. Then, this year, with the improving critic returning to his 41 year long print gig, it looked like the non-renewal writing was on the wall. Roeper’s “retirement” from the show is further illustration that, aside from certain financial considerations, Uncle Walt’s ‘yes’ men were no longer interested in keeping the series alive. Both men issued press releases, taking the high road in what was, for both, an understandably painful professional chapter.

The mangy Magic Kingdom proposes to have the last laugh, however. Just yesterday 22 July, the studio announced a “new” version of At the Movies featuring E!’s Ben Lyons and Turner Classic Movies’ Ben Mankiewicz. While they hope the fresh faces will bring in a “younger, hipper” audience, the 26 and 41 years olds, respectively, have little else to offer. Both are considered seasoned professionals, and yet they lack the background, and more importantly, the perceived authority of Roger and Gene. Remember, Sneak Previews was a PBS program specific to the Chicago area before hitting syndication. And both critics were well into their time stint as print critics. Lyons is just a few years into his current career path, while Mankiewicz can rely on his illustrious heritage (related to Frank, Herman, and Joseph L.) to buy him some early respect.

One wonders how the reduced viewership who made the show a must-watch requirement before hitting the Cineplex feel about both moves. Ten or fifteen years ago, yours truly would have been devastated. Even though he frequently had to fish about to discover what elusive cable station was syndicating the show (and when), Siskel and Ebert were an essential aesthetic guide. Sure, they could be incredibly wrong (Gene adored Saturday Night Fever, while ‘Uncle’ Roger continues to hate on the brilliant Blue Velvet), but more times than not, they tempered their judgment with insights that smacked of that critical rarity - perspective and insight. Rare was their’s a declarative or assertive opinion. They always provided analysis with their sometimes snap judgments. Siskel championed polished and professional scripts, while Ebert longed for directors capable of commandeering the various nuances of cinema.

Yet as with all film journalism, the duo appear destined to be boiled down to a rather superfluous set of symbols. As with numerical ratings or alphabetical/iconographic scores, the thumbs were a concession, a way of giving the casual filmgoer a shorthand commercial calibration. If Siskel and Ebert gave a movie “two thumbs up”, it was probably very good. If they declared the opposite, you could easily write it off your list. When they differed, and they did so frequently, an inferred sort of interactivity was necessitated. You had to match up your own idealized view of what movies meant with the men on the screen, and then indirectly gauge accordingly. Many remember the memorable arguments the pair would participate in, each knowing their particular view made the most sense. Over time, bias and age would play a part, but for many, it was all about those up/down digits.

With Internet illiteracy slowly corroding the world of legitimate publishing (and the accompanying professionalism of actual writers), it’s sad to realize that the ‘yes/no’ dynamic has become At the Movies‘ lasting legacy. As stated before, no website which offers reviews does so without such shortcuts. Rotten Tomatoes has the whole “fresh/rotten” routine, while others provide stars, popcorn kernels, or film reels as a means of giving you the gist of the scribe’s ideas. Turning 600 to 1000 words into a series of cartoon clapboards may feed the masses, but it’s also a lazy man’s means of understanding cinema - and if there was one thing Siskel and Ebert (and eventually Roeper) were not, it’s indolent. They took their job seriously, even when it looked like VHS (and then DVD) would reduce all cinema to a series of direct to tape travesties.

Business models are entitled to treat inventory in the most effective way possible, capitalizing on its worth while making sure it doesn’t depreciate enough to warrant a sell-off. In the case of Disney and At the Movies, they clearly believed in two indisputable facts - Ebert was the show and Ebert wasn’t coming back. For all his syndicated steadiness, Roeper never felt irreplaceable. He was a place holder - albeit a damn fine one - for some ethereal pairing that could never occur. No one could replace the show’s curmudgeonly conscious (which Siskel clearly was), and Ebert’s importance to the mediums he helped maintain meant that his continued departure invalidated the show’s worth. No offense to anyone involved, but the At the Movies of 2008 - excellent guest hosts and repeat reviewers or not - was not the series of 1978, or 88, or 98.

Naturally, none of that matters now. Both Ebert and Roeper have vowed to soldier on, and with new on air outlets opening up all the time (HD NET, Reelz cable channel) there are soft places for both to land. And Mickey has his revamp, which while already starting to stink, at least seems evocative of the show’s spirit. Whatever happens, film criticism has lost one of its most important links to mainstream meaningfulness. Thanks to the talents and tireless efforts of Gene Siskel, Roger Ebert, and Richard Roeper, an otherwise out of touch audience had a reliable source of EPK-less, non-Infotainment Tonight-lite movie information to draw on. Call it the continued tabloiding of TV, or the web’s final revenge on the Fourth Estate, but the absence of At the Movies will definitely be felt. Even in the most inclusive environment, there needs to be a leader. Here’s hoping this is one champion that’s down, but not out. 

—Bill Gibron