I’m going with a continuation of yesterday’s Bloggery, because the death of John Hughes has hit my generation very hard, and on the day after we’re getting more lists and more memories, including one particularly popular eulogy from the filmmaker’s pen pal, which is shedding some light onto Hughes’ reasons for leaving Hollywood.

One thing that I’m finding interesting about the reactions to Hughes’ death is that he’s yet another example of how, as David Poland wrote back in June, “death is the ultimate disinfectant.” Not that many people stopped loving his ’80s teen movies after the man stopped directing, but the world didn’t quite respect him as much after he focused on writing and producing such family fare as Baby’s Day Out, the Beethoven movies and some unnecessary remakes for Disney.

Hughes’ death may not be the huge media story that Michael Jackson’s was, but given his contribution toward the definition of the ’80s, his decline in the ’90s and his association with Macauley Culkin, it’s not a huge stretch for all those “first MJ, now…” comments going around. When you think of ’80s music, you likely think of MJ. Likewise, when you think of ’80s movies, you think of JH. At least we still have the most important ’80s TV icon. But we might want to say our prayers for Bill Cosby…

Check out the further tributes and such from the film blogosphere after the jump:

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My maternal grandmother passed away over the weekend, so I’d like to pay her tribute with a movie list. I’m not sure how big a fan of movies she was, having not grown up very close to her, physically, but Grandma Gloria can be credited with introducing me to movie hopping, at least. One of the few summers I was able to visit her was in 1992, and I mainly recall the year due to the movie we snuck into, Sister Act. And the movie we legally watched before it, Death Becomes Her. I probably would have forgotten both of these lame films in any other circumstance, but the significance of the event has kept the specific time and place of their viewing in my memory probably forever.

Grandma Gloria certainly wasn’t the most free-spirited grandmother to ever live, but a few things, such as the introduction to movie hopping, always made me think she was a bit cooler than other kids’ grandmas. Then there was the fact that she’d been married four times, which my friends found shocking. Grandmas aren’t supposed to go through husbands like that, apparently. Did it make her cool, though? My cousin would refer to her as “Grandma Get-Around,” and supposedly Grandma Gloria took the nickname as a compliment. I guess that made her a little cooler, proudly acknowledging this decidedly un-grandmotherly trait.

A list of coolest grandmothers in movies may not be the greatest way of honoring Grandma Get-Around, but in a way the fact that most of the following characters aren’t really that cool shows me just how hip my grandma really was. While grandfathers are often portrayed as fun and wise and as great storytellers, grandmothers tend to fall to one of two uncool extremes, traditionally grandmotherly or youthfully lewd. The latter category doesn’t necessarily only consist of unlovable characters, and I hope one day there’s a Who’s the Boss movie so that “Mona” can take the top spot on this list. Until then, here are the ten coolest grandmas I could think of. If you know any that are cooler, please let me know by commenting below.
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Are you tired of all the false rumors of celebrity deaths (today it was Rick Astley)? And are you tired of all the jokes that Michael Jackson is really still alive somewhere, hanging out with Tupac, JFK and Elvis? So are we, but we thought we’d take both the obnoxious death hoax trend and the idea that MJ faked it so he could live in peace and out of debt as inspiration for something more worthwhile: a discussion of favorite false deaths in movies.

The device is quite popular, especially in thrillers and horror flicks, and it can be employed as a plot starter or in a twist ending. James Bond has done it, as has Sherlock Holmes. Whether someone fakes his/her own death or is simply mistaken for dead, the actual deed or the ultimate reveal can end up terrific cinema. In fact, it was very difficult for us to narrow our favorites down to ten. It’s a shame we had to leave out memorable scenes from Heathers, Hero and many other movies. Certainly you’ll disagree with some of our exclusions, too, so feel free to name them in the comments section.

Just beware; there may be SPOILERS after the jump:
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Maybe it’s not fair for me to begin the review of a festival film with a lengthy digression on nostalgia and the death of Michael Jackson, but somehow all of these things seem to point in the same direction (and not geographically speaking, despite the connection to Westwood). So please, bear with me:

The Associated Press published an editorial this morning by Ted Anthony, titled “2 lost icons: For Generation X, a really bad day.” In it, he assesses the impact of the near-simultaneous deaths of Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson on the segment of the population who were at their most demographically desirably in the late 80s-early 90s. He attributes the following portentous quote to a 38-year-old HBO employee:

“This,” he said, “is the moment when Generation X realizes they’re grown up.”

Thanks to this article and others, “Generation X” has been bopping around Google’s Top 100 search terms all day. Which is funny, because I can’t remember the last time I even thought about the concept of Generation X … before earlier this week, when I watched Passenger Side, Matt Bissonnette’s third feature and an entry in the Los Angeles Film Festival’s Narrative Competition. Starring the director’s brother Joel Bissonnette and Adam Scott as two brothers (one a struggling novelist with an aversion to modern technology, the other a personable recovering junkie) who spend a day driving around Southern California looking for the ex-girlfriend who one of them wants to marry, Passenger Side also seems to have that age group’s reconciliation of age and nostalgia for a simpler time on its mind.

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Tragedies often affect films with untimely footage and/or marketing. Usually it’s something like 9/11, a space shuttle disaster or a sniper on the loose that causes Hollywood to show its sensitivity by delaying film releases and pulling trailers from theaters. I can’t recall a situation when the death of an individual influenced an upcoming movie’s ads or content. Last night, though, out of respect to Michael Jackson, the makers of Bruno cut a scene featuring MJ’s sister, LaToya Jackson.

I haven’t seen the film so I can’t say how the scene played out, but it is odd how PC the filmmakers are being considering the intentionally offensive tone and focus of their mockumentary. Does it even have that much connection to MJ to be viewed as being in poor taste? And anyway, won’t most of the audience for this film be over MJ’s death enough in two weeks, when the movie opens in theaters?

Check out what the film blogs are saying about the cut after the jump:

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We feel really bad about spotlighting Michael Jackson in three spots on our “Creepiest Kids’ Movies List” yesterday. If we had known he was going to die of cardiac arrest within hours of that post’s publication, we would have maybe limited his presence to one included film, if any at all.

To make up for the dishonor, we now would like to spotlight the connection he had to cinema through his collaborations with great filmmakers. Due to his talent, success and financial status, he was able to work with a number of important directors, both in movies and in music videos. Some were already prominent when MJ hired them; others were strictly music videomakers who would go on to significant feature filmmaking careers. Some collaborations were also better than others, so we’ve ranked them in order from worst to best.
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This post has been updated to reflect the fact that Michael Jackson, according to all major media outlets, has died.

Earlier today, David Poland wrote a post titled Death is the Ultimate Disinfectant, in which he noted that most of those memorializing Farrah Fawcett (whose death was announced earlier today) have conveniently chosen to forget “more than a decade of bad public behavior and questions about mental health.” One can only imagine what kind of “disinfectant” will be needed in the coming days, now that it has been confirmed that Michael Jackson has indeed died.

Though mainstream media outlets initially reported that the performer (and, arguably, the inspiration for the kind of gawking that the modern gossip monster has risen to accommodate) had gone into cardiac arrest, the LA Times, and virtually everyone else, are now reporting that Michael Jackson has died. MSNBC announced the news by breaking into a report about how, just last week, Jackson was training with Lou Ferrigno.

Last fall, I wrote a piece on Michael Jackson Thrill the World, an event Alamo Drafthouse in Austin that combined a boozy sing-a-long to Jackson’s epic videos with a “Thriller” dance lesson. As, I wrote then, “Watch three or more Michael Jackson videos back-to-back-to-back and, whatever you think of the man or his music, it’s impossible to deny that no pop star has ever really tried to top him in terms of sheer scope. And even when he’s very, very bad, he’s compelling.” On that note, let’s revisit one of his many collaborations with legendary filmmakers after the jump.
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Earlier this week we got our first look at Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland, including character portraits of the Mad Hatter (Johnny Depp), the Red Queen (Helena Bonham Carter), the White Queen (Anne Hathaway) and Tweedledee and Tweedledum (both played by Matt Lucas). And like most people who saw the images, we believe that this version of the Lewis Carroll classic may end up being too creepy for moviegoers in general, let alone for children.

In response to the promotional pics, a number of people (and blogs) began discussions of disturbing and scarring kids’ movies. So, to join in the fun we’ve compiled a list of our own picks for creepiest flicks made for children. It took a lot for us to be freaked out by a film when we were young (most horror movies didn’t phase us), but each of these titles gives us nightmares still.
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As Fantastic Fest gains in prominence as a must-attend spot on the festival calendar, the special events organized by Tim League and friends are becoming as notorious as the wide-ranging selection of international genre and exploitation films on the official lineup. From shooting lessons to field trips to far-flung barbeque joints, to multiple karaoke parties and totally unofficial after-after parties in the hotel suites of celebrity attendees, the only criticism of the festival that keeps coming up is that there’s actually too much fun to be had, too much to do.

But this is not necessarily a Fantastic Fest-specific problem; with the Alamo Drafthouse chain itself, League has created a year-round home for Too Much Fun for not just cinema nerds, but anyone who likes to wash their pop culture down with copious amounts of beer. This became evident yesterday afternoon when, after a screening of the paraplegic serial killer film Late Bloomer (about which more, later), I snuck out of the Alamo South Lamar to head across town to the Alamo Ritz for Michael Jackson Thrill the World, a sing-a-long, dance-off and drinking contest set to the music video masterpieces of the King of Pop.

But contrary to appearances, the point of the evening, according to host Henri Mazza, was not to have fun. “I don’t care if you have a good time,” he said. “The most important thing tonight is that you learn how to do “Thriller.”

The Alamo is getting together a contingent to try to break the record for the “largest group synchronized “Thriller” Dance,” and they’re also hoping to attach “upwards of 2,000″ “Thriller”-dancing zombies to the back of next month’s Day of the Dead parade. After letting the crowd warm up with a one-minute dance contest (which the young lady above lost in spite of her sartorial dedication to the endeavor) and by singing and dancing along to videos like “Bad” and “Rock With You,” the Alamo brought out a dance teacher to train the wannabe zombies for their future engagements.

Watch three or more Michael Jackson videos back-to-back-to-back and, whatever you think of the man or his music, it’s impossible to deny that no pop star has ever really tried to top him in terms of sheer scope. And even when he’s very, very bad, he’s compelling. The several minutes of narrative exposition tacked on to beginning and end of “Remember the Time” are ridiculous, but audaciously so: it’s no “Thriller,” but that Jackson thought that this –– an epic set in ancient Egypt in which he plays a mysterious shape-shifter who makes out with Iman under the nose of her husband Eddie Murphy and slave Magic Johnson –– was a good idea is, in a way, thrilling.

Though it took the crowd a while to get into it, by the time MJ was yelling about meeting a love interest “in the park, after dark,” a good portion were on their feet, laughing and singing along. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the majesty of the choreographed dance. Maybe it was that, in hindsight, all of the pretentions within the Jackson canon––from traditional heterosexuality to the dominatrix-outfitted teenager trying to prove he’s tough in the Martin Scorsese-directed “Bad”––make us feel like we’re privy to an inside joke. Regardless, like so much else at Fantastic Fest, Thrill the World felt like an illegal amount of fun.

See more pics at our Flickr page.

The above clip, a mashup for scenes from The Bandwagon and Daddy Long Legs set to Michael Jackson’s “Smooth Criminal,” is just the latest in a long line of mashups, through which Fred Astaire magically dances from the 1930s, 40s and 50s into the 80s, 90s and beyond. There’s “Fred Astaire’s Billy Jean“, “Fred Astaire Hip Hop,” “Fred Astaire Brings SexyBack,” “Fred Astaire Is Bringing SexyBack,” and surely more I’ve yet to come across.

Although each clip has its nice moments of intertexual collage (I especially like the way the same footage from Royal Wedding is recycled to different ends: in “Billy Jean,” set to the line, “The kid is not my son,” it’s a contemplation of paternity; in “Brings SexyBack,” it’s a placeholder for seduction) “Smooth Criminal” really draws attention to this way this method of mashup makes the entirety of filmed dance history seem less like a timeline than a series of arrows pointing back to the same point. For all of their ability to tap into and inspire the zeitgeist of their respective heydays, dancers like Michael Jackson and Justin Timberlake resemble Astaire more than anything else in their contemporary cultures. For whatever reason, the iconography of the solo male dancer is always looking back, as if there’s nothing new do with the male body set to music that Fred Astaire hadn’t thought of.

This theory does give short shrift to Gene Kelly, who had a distinct style and presence that was not chiefly Astairean, but for whatever reason, the evidence suggests he’s been less influential on pop stars of the future. Maybe it’s because, compared to someone like Timberlake, he was built like a boxer, and with the exception of Singin’ in the Rain, his characters were often (gasp!) working class, or at least certainly not the blinged-out party crashers that Astaire tended to play, which make his images so compatible with lines like “VIP, drinks on me,” never mind lyrics that equate seduction to some kind of surreptitious crime. Does Gene Kelly have an analgous modern pop star? And if so, where’s that mashup?

“So I remember we– I had like two or three days or something and I rehearsed and choreographed and dressed my brothers. I choreographed them with the piece and picked the songs, picked the medley. And not only that. You have to work out all the camera angles and, oh, I direct and edit everything I do. Every shot you see, is my shot.” -Michael Jackson, on his preparation for an ’80s Jackson 5 performance. (Ebony Magazine, December, 2007).

Who doesn’t remember the worldwide shock and dismay when Michael Jackson announced his retirement from music in 1990, at the age of 32? But the real shocker was what came next. Mr. Jackson’s stellar career as a film director, now nearly 20 years on, seemed pure folly at the time. What magic could such a musical being possibly work with images? Surely, a performer who spoke so eloquently with his voice and feet would, with a movie camera, be all thumbs…?

We were spectacularly wrong.
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Harmony Korine’s Mister Lonely, about a Michael Jackson impersonator (Diego Luna) who falls for a Marilyn Monroe impersonator (Samantha Morton) and follows her to a commune full of celebrity impersonators based out of a Scottish castle, would make an incredible double-feature paired with Build a Ship, Sail to Sadness. Both films deal with people who have fled to the Highlands in denial of real-world mundaneity and in exploration of an escapist fiction. Korine’s long-awaited comeback feature may be a bit more on the nose about the desperate things we do in the name of absolving our lonely fates, but like Build a Ship, it rides the line between pure shtick and genuine emotion to a degree of success that, when it works, can be truly thrilling. Both are patchworky and imperfect, but both are among my favorite films I’ve seen this year.

Korine has always been a filmmaker who plugs story in the gaps around visual one-liners, and while Mister Lonely is a more traditional shot-reverse shot narrative than anything he has done before, from the opening shot the director confirms that, in some sense, he’s up to his old tricks. Luna’s Michael Jackson, decked out in familiar sunglasses, black armband, and standard issue surgical face mask, rides through the streets of Paris on a kiddie motorcycle with a toy monkey tied to the rear. Shot in slow motion, set to Bobby Vinton’s rendition of the title song, this opening scene is both punchline and four-dimensional painting. Lonely is wall-to-wall full of comparable sequences which, though maybe only a step or two away or above the kinds of cultural regurgitations that litter YouTube––Marilyn Monroe, her hair in curlers, comes to Michael Jackson’s room and seduces him by feeding him a strawberry; Abe Lincoln, lit only by strobe light, recites the Gettysburg Address whilst spinning a basketball on his finger––together add up to surprisingly poignant portrait of the willful abandonment of reality in favor of pop cultural oblivion.

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Rock musicals about rock stars are almost as tiring as independent films about independent filmmakers. They’re too self-involved and too self-satisfying, and they typically have nothing for an objective viewer to grab hold of. But at least with rock musicals, if the audience can dig the music, they can maybe dig the movie, too. This has been the case, for me at least, with such films as Velvet Goldmine and Hedwig and the Angry Inch, neither of which I would have been so into were it not for their excellent glam rock soundtracks. And now the same goes for Rainbow Around the Sun, a neat little low-budget musical fantasy, which interestingly enough also has a touch of glam in its songs, about a very cliché band leader and his very cliché drinking problem and his very cliché story of heartbreak.

Here, more than the songs, though, it’s the musical numbers, many of which work on their own as great music videos, that really kept me interested. That tired tale of the troubled, tortured artist/poet/rock star is merely a thin thread for Rainbow Around the Sun, which was adapted from an autobiographical album of the same name by Matthew Alvin Brown, who also stars in the film as singer-guitarist-drunk Zachary Blasto. The plot is like an afterthought, concocted only to connect the album tracks and their “videos”, and though the songs seem like they’re supposed to comment on the story, it’s really apparent that it came about the other way around, that the story is in fact meant only to put the songs into a context. I’d probably have enjoyed it as much, if not more, though, without the loose narrative and its underdeveloped scenes. The film could still have been what it actually is anyway: a cinematic concept album.

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