On Monday, Google and Verizon issued a joint proposal on the issue of network neutrality, or net neutrality. In it, the companies map out how they feel on the subject and issue a list of rules they believe should be adopted industry-wide. So what is this all about and why should filmmakers care? Give me a few paragraphs.

Brief Briefing

First, a definition from the extensive Wikipedia article: “At its simplest network neutrality is the principle that all Internet traffic should be treated equally.” You can read the two-page proposal. If the lawyer-speak gets you down, Engadget’s Nilay Patel offers a clear breakdown of every point, while John Bergmayer at Public Knowledge gives some great perspective on the implications of the document. If that’s not enough, you can read the joint post on Google’s and Verizon’s public policy blogs. The two companies also co-authored an op-ed in Tuesday’s Washington Post. Read on…

In preparation for this year’s Tribeca Film Festival, I cozied up with a copy of Tetsuo: The Iron Man, director Shinya Tsukamoto’s 1989 sci-fi mindfuck. The film holds its own as a low budget visual masterpiece, sporting only a handful of dialogue, impressive prosthetics and a phenomenal, pounding soundtrack. With the third film in the series, Tetsuo: The Bullet Man, Tsukamoto keeps the material anything but stale, but his form has suffered gravely over the years. While the film’s concept is solid (man turns into gun) there is far too much time wasted on narrative, an odd complaint to say the least.

In general, I deride films for poor narrative structure (a festival disease, if you ask me), but the thing about the original Tetsuo is that the story is told so vividly through the visuals, that things like character and plot development rightfully fall to the wayside. Fantastic, horrific events just occur in front of you, inexplicably. There was an arc, but it manifested itself in the amount of iron that sprung out of the hero’s body. Read on…

Cop Out confirms that Kevin Smith is a brilliant writer but a mediocre director. There are plenty of belly laughs in this wayward film, but the plot trickles out too slowly with an antagonist that is hardly worth the time. Tracy Morgan’s comic muscle flexes wildly, and Bruce Willis is delightful as the deadbeat straight man, so the laughs abound. When you’re not laughing, however, you’ll probably be looking around the theater wondering why everyone slapped down the price of popcorn in the first place.

Artistically, the film aims for Beverly Hills Cop but falls closer to Dragnet. The real problem is our bad guy, Poh Boy, a Mexican drug lord with a penchant for pricey sports memorobilia. His “tweak”, if you will, is that he speaks like Baby Huey and is named after a sandwich. Otherwise, he’s just a drug dealer like any other: heavily armed and cocksure. I’ll get to our ludicrous heroes in a moment, but I need to stress that this movie could have been saved with a better baddie. The jokes flow like beer at a bachelor party but nothing holds them together. There is no reason not to clip this movie up into a couple of YouTube replays. Read on…

In case your great aunt’s fruitcake wasn’t stale enough this holiday season (as stale as fruitcake jokes, perhaps?), head to the theater where you can get an eyeful of the same-old-same-old in Guy Ritchie’s unbearably boring Sherlock Holmes. The title character, a literary invention of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, is one of the few who is yet to find a modern home on the silver screen as the decade of franchises comes to a close. Having seen Superman, Spiderman, James Bond and the Star Trek crew get a bigscreen reboot in the aughts, the next ten years will be dominated by bottom of the barrel heroes who have had a cultural (read: box office) impact in other generations. So before you line up in 2010 for Clash of the Titans, enter the good inspector Holmes and his devoted sidekick, Dr. Watson.

Though most fans will agree that the cadaverous Basil Rathbone’s portrayal of the master sleuth is the truest, it is difficult to deny that Robert Downey Jr. is more than adequately equipped to carry the torch. He certainly throws the kitchen sink at the role, though there isn’t much for the gifted thesp to work with. Penned by Michael Robert Johnson, Anthony Peckham and Simon Kinberg, this iteration of the Londoner gumshoe has little more than pecks to hang his hat on. Trained with the precision of a Kung Fu master, Holmes’ newfound brutish strenghth may be the result of deductive reasoning, but he is a brute nonetheless. Planting blows where words fail him, this Holmes is more a man of action than any that came before him, which wouldn’t be such a bad thing if his intellect didn’t feel like such an afterthought. Read on…

The following analysis landed in my inbox this morning. Sunrise Tippeconnie, who recently shared his thoughts on Funny People with the candler blog, is a filmmaker and writer in Oklahoma City.

For me to respond to Basterds, I must first note my reaction of Death Proof, which over time feels more and more like it provides the most revelation about Tarantino and his relationship with the “cinema.” Death Proof describes a world where those that don’t fully comprehend the rules of “cinema” are eliminated (the women in the first half talk about high school movies, are surrounded by cinema clichés, but cannot make it to see the end of the film, while those with knowledge of film’s history and making survive through to “the end.” While Quentin the bartender, perhaps a more “true” image of Tarantino, is balanced out with a stumbling cinematic fake of a doppelgänger in Stunt Man Mike, a character that perhaps doesn’t know the trade of filmmaking quite so well as his stunt women targets (and perhaps also fakes his film credits list in hopes of trapping his next victims, a deadly misstep of cinematic naivety in a rule-enforced genre). So, as Death Proof provides cinematic knowledge as survival, Basterds shows another side of the coin, the results of survival through cinema’s naivety: the “Propaganda Film”. Read on…

There are many kinds of war films. Those that celebrate the heroism of men and women who rise to the occasion and those that examine the absurd event that is conflict; those that glorify the gory action on the ground and those that question the human event in its bloodiest hour. The Hurt Locker manages, quite impressively, to check off all of the above and then some. It is a heart-stopping thriller set amidst the modern quagmire that is Baghdad that never lingers long enough to feel preachy yet manages to suspend you in moments of extreme tension for what seems like eternity. In other words, it’s a bad ass good time.

Director Kathryn Bigelow, probably most well known for the 1991 surf action film Point Break, decided to stem the intellectual deconstruction of the war in Iraq that has hampered most recent attempts to bring the conflict to the big screen. Instead, she has no bones about making a first rate action thriller. The opening scene alone, in which a radio controlled robot breaks just before it can detonate an IED, is worth the price of popcorn. If you can’t handle it straight away, leave the theater.

In need of a new Bomb Tech on their team, Sergeant JT Sanborn and Specialist Owen Eldridge find themselves under the command of Staff Sergeant William James. James is a reckless cowboy who rarely lets the others in on his half-cocked plans as they traverse Iraq in search of bombs. The relationship that the three form is complicated to say the least. In Sanborn we find a rationalist who offers us a moral grounding. Eldridge is more complex, a man-child thrown into the war probably trying to prove his strength.

But the most interesting character is certainly Sergeant James, played with boyish bravado by Jeremy Renner. Acting as if he is an army of one, James always seems to come out in one piece no matter how stupid his plans seem to be. As soon as we feel we know him and understand his motivation, he goes and does something even crazier. Not quite a patriot nor a mercenary, his character slowly unravels and we begin to see an incredibly strong deconstruction of modern masculinity. I don’t want to get into the details because it is the little things in this movie that become shocking to you as it progresses.

Ms. Bigelow has done what many of Hollywood’s biggest guns have failed to do: make an interesting film about Iraq that people will actually watch. Steering clear of political statements, she has crafted a solid character study amidst the most important international issue our nation is embroiled in. It’s the Iraq movie we have been waiting for, but we hardly notice that fact as we wipe the sweat from our brow and stand up from the edge of our seat.

As my twitter followers may know, I dragged my bones to the IMAX at 2 am last Wednesday to check out Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. It has taken me longer than usual to sit down and review the film mainly because the airwaves are clouded by so much of the same everywhere. In an effort to speed things along and get the candler blog back on track, I have decided to simply offer up my opinion on the film in short bullet points. Is this a cop out? Yes. Will you forgive me? I hope!

Is Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen a good film?

In short, no. However, it is not the worst film ever. I would say it beats out X-Men Origins: Wolverine for overall watchability. The plot is almost non-existent and clunky at it’s most coherent points. Though the film may have generated an incredible amount of box office receipts, it does not stand out as a great action film to say the least. There are too many characters and the camera is always moving in a manner that makes it impossible to focus on anything. But don’t worry, there is a choice soundtrack to ground your auditory senses at least. Read on…

Tony Scott films tend to be violent, profane, and intellectually apropos. The limey director’s latest, The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3, hits all of those points on target, though unfortunately, just so. The actioner doesn’t thrill quite as well as his Deja Vu, nor does it smack of a weekend-long peyote trip like his brilliant (yeah, I said brilliant) Domino. Still, for a New York action film, Pelham delivers the goods for most of its run time. To see an NYC action film that really stinks up a portrayal of Manahttan gunplay, check out Richard Donner’s 16 Blocks.

The only relation this remake has to Joseph Sargent’s 1974 thriller of the same name is a title, so let’s not bark up that tree of comparitive cinema. Mr. Scott is a big boy, we can judge his film without the prism of history. The story follows Walter Garber, an MTA muckity muck sentenced to working a dispatch mic after a scandal involving Japanese kickbacks. Played by Denzel Washington, Mr. Garber happens to be on the recieving end of a phone call from a terrorist who goes by the name of Ryder, played by John Travolta. Having hijacked a single car of a 6 train and cut off transit along that track, Ryder demands $10 million and the ability to stay on the line with Garber. So there you have it, the makings of a tight little thriller. Except, not really. Read on…