10A - The Michigan Daily - Monday, September 18, 2006
Courtesy of Paramount
Maybe it would have been better with tongue.
Missed 'Kiss'
By Christopher Lechner
Daily Arts Writer
®FIN LMRV1E1 i AN
As Generation X turns the corner
into adulthood, the midlife crisis
has begun to come a few decades
prematurely.
Men once
faced it at 50, The Last Kiss
hut Michael At the Showcase
(Zach Braff, and Quality 16
"Scrubs") Paramount
and his three
best friends Izzy (Michael Weston,
"The Dukes of Hazzard"), Chris
(Casey Affleck, Ocean's Twelve)
and Kenny (Eric Christian Olsen,
"Beerfest") are beginning to feel
the effects of middle age. A remake
of a recent Italian film of the same
name ("Lultimo bacio"), "The Last
Kiss" follows the intertwining lives
of the almost-adults and the melo-
drama of their relationships.
It's a simple film about com-
plex relationships. Michael and his
girlfriend Jenna (Jacinda Barrett,
"Poseidon") lead a mundane yet
seemingly happy mundane exis-
tence. However perfect their life
and relationship may seem, Izzy is
unhappy with the ordinariness of
it. He sums it up best in voiceover
when he explains: "When I was 12
I closed my eyes and pictured what
it would be like to be 30 and this is
exactly what I imagined."
Though they aren't married (and
Michael refuses to even discuss the
subject), Jenna is pregnant. Then at a
wedding Michael meets beautiful co-
ed Kim (Rachel Bilson, "The O.C:'),
and they gently flirt. Amid a back-
ground of other failing or failed rela-
tionships among Michael's friends,
Michael goes through a rousing bit of
predictable infidelity and dishonesty.
Jenna leaves him, and only then does
he realize how much he really does
loves her.
It sounds formulaic, but "Kiss"
does have a scattering of interesting
scenes. Much of the credit for this
goes to the screenplay penned by one
of Hollywood's latest flames, Oscar
winner Paul Haggis, fresh off writing
and directing last year's best picture
winner "Crash:'
But, billed as a date movie, the
film doesn't quite work, at least
partly due to its ubiquitous mel-
ancholy. "Kiss" is unique in this,
and though that might hurt its box-
office numbers, it keeps it clear
of cliches and analogous plots.
Exploring a society where divorce
is becoming the norm, the film
falls prey to the same symptoms
as its characters - it meanders
around without really going any-
where.
Michael and his friends make bad
choices, but we aren't privy as to
why, and they're consequently dif-
ficult to relate to and even harder to
like. As Michael tries to win back his
girlfriend, you can't help but hope
that she doesn't give him a second
chance.
From the plot of the movie to
Braff's performance as a lost, pre-
maturely middle-aged man, the
comparisons to "Garden State" are
inevitable, although that movie was
infused with a richer passion from
Braff as the writer, director and
star. But both "Kiss" and "State"
have a great soundtrack, compiled
in both cases by Braff (who won a
Grammy for his compilation of the
"Garden State" soundtrack). It's
the only thing that stands out in a
movie that's otherwise very easy to
forget.
Betty and Ludacris, finally together as fate intended.
BOOTY RECALL
CAN SELF-RESPECTING WOMEN DANCE TO LUDACRIS?
By Kimberly Chou
Associate Arts Editor
Don't lie. You've been there.
If you've ever been a first-year female stu-
dent at this esteemed University of Michigan,
"dancing" in the
hazy, unsure com- POP NOTEBOOK
mon quarters of
Phi Psi or some other God-forsaken frater-
nity house during Welcome Week, this one's
for you. Yeah, you've toasted your half-empty
cup of Natty Light at an invisible friend while
grinding your miniskirt-clad backside against
some warm-bodied stranger, the latter action
perhaps an effort to follow the soundsystem's
instructions to a) "bend over to the front, touch
your toes / back dat ass up and down and get
low!" or b) some variation thereof.
And you absolutely loved it.
The dancing, if you can call it that, prevalent
at bars, clubs and campus house parties these
days is unbelievably freeing. It's the only legal,
close-contact American activity that can be
performed in public where the two (or more)
participants don't even have to be face-to-face.
This ass-to-crotch dance phenomenon that's
been evolving for the past few years - espe-
cially with popular music's movement toward
hip hop, away from the teeth-gnashing, saccha-
rine rock-lite of the '90s - is at once intensely
personal and distant. You can't look shame
in the face if you can't see the face of the one
you're with. Ever wonder why some prostitutes
have a no-kiss policy and prefer to take it from
behind?
This is either a major fall backward for femi-
nism or a remarkable new assertion of identity.
After all, considering it took years for women
to break away from the hegemonic molds of
Stepford wife, sex kitten, Pretty Young Thing,
etc., why would we want to want to put our-
selves, literally, in such vulnerable positions in
a social setting?
NOW, Ms. Magazine and Gloria Steinem
be damned. The only statement made by the
lack of a bra is the suggestion that maybe, if
luck will have it, there'll be an accidental nip
slip. The new feminine mystique is the young
woman's confidence in her ability to rap the
occasional Ludacris verse - screeching about
dirty South girls giving dirty South head is less
offensive today - and dancing suggestively
because she wants to.
And that makes all the difference.
Women think it's culturally permissible
to act in ways once deemed, to put it mildly,
whorish because ina sense it's allowed. We've
built ourselves up to the point that, although
we're still making 25 percent less than men
in the workplace, we can be alpha dog in
the bedroom. We've taken pejoratives like
"bitch" and "ho" and turned them into terms
of empowerment.
Popular music today is like a competition
to see who can be the most crass, and the pre-
dominant reason why artists like the otherwise
forgettable Petey Pablo stay on the charts is
because the public allows them to. The listen-
ing audience hasn't just become more open
to profanity and explicitly sexual lyrics, it's
become seemingly immune to the genuine
offensiveness of casual propositions like "Do
you want it in your pussy? / Do you want it in
your ass?" ("Freek-a-leek,' Petey Pablo). And
increasingly, singers like Kelis - and she
comes up again and again in this argument -
have made it perfectly acceptable to relish ina
woman's ability to please aman. Is a song less
demeaning since it's a woman championing
her prowess at an act that Luda was demanding
months ago?
It's certainly easier to look at all of this apart
from the dance floor, away from the tequila
shots and drunk, chattering girlfriends. Getting
all up on someone can be a fucking great time.
Like really, really great, I-just-met-this-guy-at-
the-bar-and-its-amazing-the-way-he-grabs-at-
me-when-we-dance fun. But next time you're
aping T.I., not quite sure to whom you're pos-
ing the query about "saying no" and "panties so
wet' check yourself. It's a surprisingly deject-
ing revelation.
A
'Grid' and
bear it:
Rock off
By Blake Goble
Daily Arts Writer
4
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Let's get one thing out of the way first: "Grid-
iron Gang" is not a movie.
Not even close. It's is an amalgamation of
about 15 different sports mov-
ies, lazily and sporadically
meshed together, desperate Gridiron
to get some of that sweet fall- Gang
football-excitement money. At the Shewcase
No convention is too tired on and QualIty 16
the gridiron. .d ulibi1
Remember this plot? A Columbia
hard-ass coach (Dwayne "The
Rock" Johnson) has the duty of coaching a bunch
of rag-tag, undisciplined teens how to become
"winners" by coming together as one tough foot-
ball team.
It might seem like there's more to be said about
what goes on in this film, but that's really all
there is. This is the same underdog sports genre
piece the public has seen over and over and over.
The formula for films like this (specifically,
oversimplified glory sport movies about over-
coming adversity) is so worn out, it's amazing
that studios can still carelessly and devotionally
reuse the same devices. "Gridiron Gang" brings
nothing new to the field.
Let's look at its playbook: The kids are con-
victed gang-influenced misfits, with shades of
"The Longest Yard" and "Coach Carter." The
gritty look and feel is of hardcore gaming, remi-
niscent of "Friday Night Lights" and "Any Given
Sunday." Plus, the players unite against difficult
circumstances, much like "Varsity Blues."
There's even dancing and hand-holding akin to
Denzel Washington's Titans. But unlike the Mus-
tangs, Washington's players reminded you that
young actors can perform believably. Pouting and
bird-chesting seem to suffice here.
Most worthy of blame here is the vacuous, board
room-influenced producer who spearheaded this.
Neal H. Moritz ("S.W.A.T." "2 Fast 2 Furious")
should consider a name change for his prodution
company, the ill-titled "Original Film."
The Rock could be great-he has the surpris-
,
Coutesy o Columba
I wonder if we'll win the big game.
ing skills of a larger than life actor. Yet, for all
his charisma, humor and previous football expe-
rience, here Johnson is relegated to PG-13 appro-
priate swearing and speechifying ("You were
losers before. But now, you're winners!") He tries
very hard. But how can you not laugh when he
puts on a uniform and asks one of his players to
pummel him?
The conventions of the prototypical athletic
drama are meant to be enjoyable. Benchmarks
such as "Rocky," "Breaking Away" and even
"The Mighty Ducks" are all somewhat stirring,
and every athlete can relate to their moments of
glory. "Gridiron Gang" is just another hit to the
head.
For a little more money, you might as well hit
up Big House football for some real surprises and
excitement.
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