I hate snakes...but I love Snakes on a Plane

Samuel L. Jackson is the man! Not quite stereotyped (okay, maybe a little), he brings bug-eyed intensity to his roles as well as that toughness that allows him to utter lines like: "Do what I say and you'll live" with a straight face. More importantly, the audience believes him. Come on, admit it, if your life depended on just one actor, you would want Sam Jackson, whether he's in a kilt (Formula 51), wielding a purple light saber (Star Wars Episodes 1 - 3), or shooting ice out of his finger tips (The Incredibles).

Snakes on a Plane, Jackson's latest endeavor, has been buzzing all over the Internet since the beginning of the summer. Proper critics (like the one in Lady in the Water, and we know what happened to him) turned their nose up at the first preview, prompting co-star Julianna Marguilies to comment that with S.o.a.P., there is no question what you're getting, you're getting snakes on a plane. The blogosphere was more receptive to the the movie, probably because of Jackson. Producers decided to ask bloggers what they wanted, and more importantly they listened. First and foremost, S.o.a.P. needed to be rated R, not PG-13. This would allow the film to become a vehicle for Jackson, and his rather colorful use of the English language, with no holds barred. The result, a movie worthy of Jackson and the top spot this weekend at the box office.

The plot of the movie is quite simple: a man witnesses the murder of LA's district attorney. Sam Jackson saves him from an assassination attempt and convinces him to fly from Hawaii to LA to testify. On the plane are, you guessed it, hundreds of poisonous snakes. The simplicity of the plot allowed for one of two things: a ridiculous farce of a movie that takes itself seriously or classic camp, a brilliant B-movie for the end of a pretty mediocre summer season. Director David R. Ellis, the child star turned stunt man turned director, decidedly opted for the latter. No other horror movie will make you laugh as much as S.o.a.P. does.

By not taking themselves seriously and going for camp, the S.o.a.P. crew allows the movie to be both bad and good. There are moments of genuine emotion (when the stewardess who turned down early retirement is bitten saving a toddler's life) as well as true terror (when a snake springs out, fangs outs, even though you are expecting it), but mostly this movie is funny. One guys is eaten by a giant constrictor (and you'll cheer for the snake, I promise) and another is bitten while emptying his bladder.

S.o.a.P. reaches its climax when Sam Jackson finds the second co-pilot dead and declares: "Enough is enough! I've had it with these motherf@#$in' snakes on this motherf@#$in' plane." At that point, the theatre erupted into applause, because everyone knew he was going to triumph. I can't wait to see this movie again!

Christina's Homage: Back to Basics

Four years since the release of her last album, Stripped, and eighteen months after entering the studio, Christina Aguilera’s album Back to Basics dropped on Tuesday. Much anticipated, the two-disc cd is bound to satisfy old fans and even garner new ones. An homage to the music that influenced the has influences the pop diva, Back to Basics nicely blends jazz, funk, R & B, and big band rhythm and instrumentation with Aguilera’s typical sex-infused pop sound.

The first disc is the more modern sounding, with a liberal dose of sampling and electronic sounds. It reminds me of the recent Verve Remixed project where classic jazz recording were remixed by some of today’s star DJs. The second disc includes no sampling and nothing electronic, only live instruments with lots of horns and plenty of strings.

The first single released, “Ain’t No Other Man,” proves beyond a doubt that Aguilera has the most powerful pipes on any singer of her generation. She is able to reach deep down, finding a resonance touched with emotion that is a throw back to the music that influenced her. Tracks like the gospel influenced “Makes Me Want to Pray” and orchestral “Welcome” showcase Agulera’s vocal prowess. “Candyman,” which is bound to be released as a single, has the big band, bubble gum sound of “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy,” the World War II standard. “Nasty Naughty Boy” is a sultry sounding tribute to the bygone days of smoky jazz clubs and live performance.

Aguilera makes only one real misstep on Back to Basics, and that is “Thank You” the last track on the first cd which is intended to be a tribute to her fans. With the inclusion of fans saying how much they love their idol, how her singing has changed their lives, how she is the best singer ever, et cetera, et cetera, it comes off as pure ego maniacal schlock. Instead of celebrating her fans, Aguilera is celebrating herself.

All in all, this is a good cd, worth listening to from beginning to end, showcasing Aguilera’s greatest gift, her magnificent voice.

Alan Folsom's The Exile

Alan Folsom’s The Exile is perfect summertime beach reading. Written like a movie script, The Exile is fast-paced, moving from Los Angeles to England to Paris to Switzerland to Russia. Flashy explosions and citywide chases are balanced by intimate moments of intense emotion. Folsom does worldwide conspiracy better than most, as evidenced by previous best sellers Day After Tomorrow and Day of Confession.

Folsom has a knack for including little details about his characters that makes them come alive. They are real people, and like people you meet in real life, you learn about these characters over time, not in a single descriptive paragraph like so many hacks. Each of the characters is a complicated individual, with a mixed bag of good and bad impulses, acting on all of them.

John Barron is the youngest and newest member of the elite 5-2 Squad, LA’s best investigative team that for a century has brought down some of the worst criminals in the city’s history. On Barron’s first day, he witnesses how the squad really works, and is appalled by the assassination of a prisoner in custody. In the midst of that investigation, another more deadly murderer, Raymond Thorne, comes into the custody of the 5-2 Squad. The trail of bodies he leaves behind after he escapes leads to another attempted assassination. At the end of the day, the 5-2 Squad is no more, and John Barron is a hunted man.

With his sister Rebecca in tow, Barron changes their names and moves to England to escape LAPD reprisals. Just as a new life is beginning for John and Rebecca, as the nightmares dissipate and the fear subsides, the once dead Raymond Thorne enters their lives again and the body count resumes. By virtue of his tenacity and intuitive detective skills, Barron is the only person who can stop Thorne, if he can keep from being killed himself.

The Stolen Child

In the world of The Stolen Child, the magical is mundane and the mundane magical. Keith Donohue's first novel is a triumph of narrative, whose characters seek to understand themselves and their place in the world. Both narrators are once and future faerie children—hobgoblins or changelings—stolen from their families, their place in human society assumed by another while they are left join the tribe of lost children, suspended in time until they can steal another child and make the change to become human again.

Henry Day is stolen and baptized into the world of the faeries as Aniday, his former life hidden from him by the older hobgoblins, who even refuse to tell him his true name. After a century of living as a wild child in the wilderness, the changeling who takes his place is haunted by his secret, fearing that his true identity will, at any moment, be discovered. An unknown talent for the piano begins to manifest itself in the new Henry Day while Aniday feeds his need to read and write. Both are haunted by a past they cannot remember and a future they cannot see.

Donohues' lyrical story telling brings to life the dark world of fairy tales, a world which is slowly being consumed by encroaching suburbs, growing technology, and modern consciousness. This haunting and poignant fable plumbs the depth of friendship and family, love and loss. The Stolen Child challenges us to embrace the future and forget the past, to finally learn what it means to belong.

Shakespeare on the Common

The Commonwealth Shakespeare Company, Boston's summertime Shakespeare troupe, is performing Taming of the Shrew this summer. Commonwealth Shakespeare's past productions have included award-winning interpretations of Henry V and MacBeth among others, but this year's performance falls flat, proving to be as disapointing as decaf in the morning.

The schlock began even before Shakespeare's dialogue when a woman hangs out an upstairs window crying, "Anthony, Anthony" like the old Prince pasta commercials. Cute, but a harbinger of worse things to come. Originally set in Italy (before unification in the nineteenth century), director Steven Maler chooses a depression era Italian enclave of the North End in Boston as the setting. This leads the cast to change every mention of Padua to "Bostonia," a cheap joke that simply becomes more grating with each use. Shakespeare's characters are turned into boardwalk charicatures of Tony Danza-inspired Italian-Americans, slurring their words with the occasional "Eh oh, oh eh."

All of this is tolerable, until the worst begins at the end of the third act. According to Shakespeare, on Katarina's wedding day, Petruchio shows his true colors, arriving dressed as the aristocratic beggar he is. He is marrying Kate for her dowry, not for love. In Maler's version, Petruchio's costume is that of a Mardi Gras reveller, complete with stuffed cod piece. It was lewd and sophomoric, toliet humor at its very worst. Besides that, a Mardi gras jester is out of place in both Padua and Boston. It simply makes no sense.

At the opening of the fourth act, when Kate and Petruchio arrive in Verona (according to Shakespeare), Maler sets the scene on Revere Beach. At that point, I joined my friends who to leave. It was simply too much. Taming of the Shrew, like many of Shakespeare's masterpieces, is perfectly suited for a modern adaptation. Cole Porter's Broadway version, Kiss Me, Kate, is the best example, but there are others, including the teen movie 10 Things I Hate About You. All it takes is a cohesive vision. This production not only lacks such vision, it feels like direction by committee where everyone's cute or funny odea is incorporated into the final product.

Too bad. Maybe we will be luckier next summer.