Inessentials

Spoiler free discussion of Inglorious Basterds, District 9, and The Band’s Visit

Subtitles have a function. They translate languages we don’t understand into languages we do understand so we can better appreciate a film. Quentin Tarantino in his masterpiece Inglorious Basterds played with dialogue and subtitles in fun ways, leaving some words untranslated (“Wunderbar.”), others unsubtitled (“merci” was sometimes translated, sometimes not), and generally piqued Americans for not knowing languages other than English. As one can expect from Tarantino, he is in complete control of every aspect of the film, including (one assumes) these little touches. How language is spoken and what is subtitled plays an important role in the themes of the film, but also serve (in at least one instance) as an important plot device. (There is a second, important use of language but I’ll not discuss it to keep this post spoiler-free.)

The care that Tarantino takes and the intelligence he presumes in his audience are in sharp contrast to the insulting use of subtitles in two recent films: District 9 and The Band’s Visit. In District 9, all the human characters speak English. But when presented with Nigerian or black South African characters who are speaking in English, we are given subtitles. None are given for the white characters. The assumption is that an English-speaking audience is not capable of understanding (an admittedly strongly accented) English. It’s a little bit insulting, compounded by an implicit racism in a film that is trying to satirize racist politics.

But it’s not as irritating as the subtitling for the excellent film The Band’s Visit, which takes off from an actual stranding of an Egyptian (and Muslim) military band in a small Israeli (and Jewish) town. The story plays on the awkward, funny, and moving ways in which these people encounter each other and the cultural and linguistic barriers that exist between them. Three languages are spoken, including English, but all three are subtitled! English is the common language between these Egyptians and Israelis, and key points turn on what language is being spoken, since it determines who in the scene is being addressed and why. But since all three languages are subtitled, including English, the force of this is blunted. It takes additional work to note which language is being subtitled (English or the native language) in order to appreciate what is happening in the scene. Ironically, by attempting to make it easier on the audience to understand what the characters were saying, the American distributors made it harder to appreciate what the film was saying.

It was another insult to English-speaking viewers that not only many of us not understand another language (as Tarantino playfully chides) but we are not even expected to understand our own language when it is being spoken.

1. Glee
2. Lost

You heard it here first: Dan Brown is a comedic genius. It is just that simple.

His latest novel, the eagerly awaited sequel to the brilliant social commentaries Angels and Demons and The Da Vinci Code, arrived in stores on Tuesday and sold one million copies on the first day. The Lost Symbol continues Brown’s attempt to stage a public spectacle grander than any designed by Cristo and more ridiculous than any attempted by Andy Kaufman. Brown has managed to pass his literary satire and social commentary off without anyone noticing that he is mocking the very people consuming his books.

His comedy rests on two simple premises: (1) the seamless interweaving of fact and lie in such a way as to dissolve the barrier between fiction and non-fiction; (2) a gorgeous reimagining of literature into prose so awful only a fool could love it, knowing all the while that Americans will devour it and critics hate it. What seems like populism is really a skewering of public literacy.

Some critics of Brown have focused on his apparent ignorance of very basic, widely available information. His dates are wrong, his locations are misplaced, his histories are fanciful. But this misses Brown’s underlying motivation: to thumb his nose at the very care that scholars take in making sure they get things right before they publish anything. If this was ever in doubt, the opening page of The Last Symbol should put that to rest. How else can we explain the bold “FACT:” that is followed by a series of decreasingly plausible claims. Only a satirist as brilliant as Brown would think that by screaming the world “fact” at the reader would he be able to compel submission. Like being interviewed by a cable news talking head, you will feel foolish and humiliated for daring to have briefly considered disagreeing. I sleep well at night knowing that when I finally page through the rest of this glorious novel, I can be treated to a carnival ride of truths and untruths so expertly constructed that I’ll emerge as if from a whirly-gig, spun about, holding back my gag reflex, but desperate for the next thrill.

Some people have taken pleasure in pointing out Brown’s sub-literate prose. This too is part of Brown’s genius. What seems like the obtuse, incompetent ramblings of a high school dropout are really devastating statements on the nature of popular literature in the United States of America. People don’t like to feel stupid when they read books. They like to know that the author is at least as stupid and crazy as them. Dan Brown knows this, and presents a book that fulfills the desire to feel superior by being let in on the secret, held by hoi polloi, and the desire to feel superior by knowing that the secret is no secret at all, held by the literate. Like the great vocal skill it takes to sing just barely off-key, language this dreadful could only be the mark of a brilliant author breaking down sentences to the point where they make no literal sense but still manage to convey information, without conveying any nuance whatsoever. This flat-footedness is Brown’s greatest achievement. The hero Robert Langdon’s droll pronouncements that everyone who knows anything about subject X knows Y reinforces Brown’s goal of speaking down to his audience in a way that the popular mind thinks all scholars must do.

Exposing America’s anti-intelletualism by staging a massive performance art piece posing as a mystery novel is easily the greatest moment in comedy of the newly born twenty-first century. It will be a great century indeed if we have minds like Brown leading us.

September is the launch of the yearly television cycle, the start of the Oscar-baiting films, and the chance to release books and music in time for the holidays. Here’s a quick summary of what I am most looking forward to this fall.

Television

Glee, Wednesdays

Glee is the story of a band of high school outcasts joining together to make a name for themselves by doing the very thing that made them outcasts. When Fox showed the pilot last fall after the finale to American Idol, it was a risky bet to build moment for a show that wouldn’t get aired for another three months. It may have paid off as an estimated 25 million people have now seen the pilot, and the second episode attracted a healthy 7 million watchers, many in the all-important 18-49 demo. This may be one of the few critically adored shows of the last few years to find a broad audience. Even if it doesn’t, Fox is hoping all the promotional tie-ins (cast albums, for instance) will keep this financially lucrative. But why should you watch it? Combining the rigid social hierarchies of high school and the accompanying desires to both fit in and stand out for the right reasons gives you all the drama and comedy you need to make a successful musical. The pilot was one of the strongest in years, deftly reimagining stock characters (the pot-smoking gym teacher, the closeted drama nerd, the bitchy cheerleader) and zipping along at a pleasing pace (helped along by a wonderful vocal score).

Film

The Informant!, Friday, September 18

Steven Soderbergh reunites with Matt Damon in a retelling of a whistle-blower who worked at ADM. But rather than play up the most Grishamesque aspects of the piece, Soderbergh goes for a comic character study of a person who becomes enraptured with his James Bond self-importance. Soderbergh has long achieved a quality I’ve admired in a director, which is the ability to work both inside and outside the studio system. He can make stylish diversions like the Ocean’s Eleven films or gritty indie dramas. Based on Kurt Eichenwald’s book, and with a pudgy, mustachioed Damon, I’m hoping for a really strong comedy with just a hint of social commentary.

Music

Monsters of Folk, Tuesday, September 22

Monsters of Folk is M. Ward, Conor Oberst (Bright Eyes), Yim Yames (My Morning Jacket), and Mike Mogis. The “get a bunch of folks together to do fun music” has worked well for Beck’s Record Club and it sounds promising here. Traces of Drive-By Truckers and The Jayhawks should shape the sound of this indie-roots supergroup.

Web Video

The Guild

The only regular web video series I’ve found worth staying up on, The Guild is the show that launched writer/producer/star Felicia Day to the pinnacle of nerd stardom (and Twitter). The show centers on online companions who try interacting offline, with very mixed results. You’ll get more of the jokes if you have some familiarity with World of Warcraft and lonelygirl15. If you prefer your television on television, wait until September 29 when seasons one and two are released on DVD.

This morning’s promo for American Public Media’s “Marketplace”:

An economic boom can be a good thing, until it isn’t.

Spoilers for The Proposal (but nothing you couldn’t figure out from the trailer)

The problem with romantic comedies today is that they are neither romantic nor comedic.

That’s the attention grabber, the obvious joke, the easy jab. But it’s not quite true.

Of course there are truly unromantic films with no chemistry between the leads that pass as romantic comedies. And of course there are truly unfunny films with stale jokes and unwatchable delivery. After all, Jessica Alba and Dane Cook still find work.

But let me suggest that the single largest problem with the genre of Hollywood romantic comedy is not lack of charisma (Clive Owen, George Clooney, Paul Rudd, and apparently Bradley Cooper; Julia Roberts, Amy Adams, and, given the opportunity, Anna Faris). It’s not that the romantic comedy has been supplanted by the man-as-boy comedy (the Judd Apatow and Adam McKay/Will Ferrell films) or the bromance (I Love You, Man, The Hangover), although that has taken its toll. The biggest problem with the romantic comedy is that it has become mired in a genre convention that it surely doesn’t need: the humorless resolution.

Watching the passable exercise that is The Proposal earlier this summer, I was struck by how few jokes arrived in the final 45 minutes of the film. The first 45 minutes gave us Sandra Bullock (who I find immensely cold and irritating, so her role as a cold and irritating boss was welcome) and Ryan Reynolds (carving out a nice niche for himself with above-expectation rom-coms) getting engaged so she doesn’t get deported. (Don’t worry, she’s Canadian! = Not a terrorist!) Predictably, they have to sell this to Reynolds’ family, who had higher hopes for him. Hilarity (or a passable, low-fat alternative) ensues. With sexy results.

I’m not giving much away to say they end up falling in love (but how will they ever admit it to each other … and themselves?). What was surprising was that the film managed to have a light tone, some funny even though predictable bits, and a not terrible laugh-to-sigh ratio. So why did I leave the film with a sour taste in my mouth? There was absolutely nothing funny about the last 30 minutes, in which we are supposed to be carried along by nothing more than our desire to see these two can’t-admit-it-but-they’re-love-birds make it. We don’t care. We are given no reason to care. But even if we were, why do the jokes have to stop? Where is it written that the comedy has to stop when the romance starts? William Powell and Myrna Loy as Nick and Nora Charles didn’t need to stop the jokes when they moved to the bedroom. That’s where the best stuff happens. Cary Grant, Carole Lombard … name your favorite classic Hollywood comedian who could play a romantic lead and every one of their successes was built upon their continuing the jokes even after they realize they’re in love. When Cary Grant is convincing His Girl Friday that she is still in love with him and not her fiance, the film is just beginning, not ending.

Romantic comedies have too fine a pedigree for us to allow these current incarnations to continue telling us that romance begins when the joking stops. Romantic comedies work when there is romancing through comedy, not romance usurping comedy.