Reclaiming the vast wasteland


Movie producers are realizing huge dividends from promoting made-from-TV movies. Critics argue that the trend leading to television-inspired projects is due to the movie industry’s steady lack of creativity and cautious nature on investment returns.

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IN AN AGE OF CORPORATE downsizing and diminished expectations, it somehow seems appropriate for the big screen to turn to the small screen for inspiration. That happened in a huge way this past summer, as three of the season’s most-anticipated movies, Maverick, The Flintstones, and Wyatt Earp, reprised old TV shows. Two other films, Lassie and The Little Rascals, were inspired by TV series that were themselves inspired by movies, and the late-summer entry It’s Pat! grew out of a skit on Saturday Night Live. These pictures join other recent releases such as Dennis the Menace, The Fugitive, The Beverly Hillbillies, The Coneheads, The Naked Gun 33 1/3, Addams Family Values, and Wayne’s World II in what has emerged as the number-one growth trend in Hollywood: movies based on TV material.

The wave of made-from-TV movies isn’t going to crash any time soon. In fact, it’s swelling into a cinematic tsunami that big-time Hollywood players are rushing to surf. Renny Harlin, the director of Cliffhanger and Die Hard 2, is producing an American Gladiators-based film and Penny Marshall, who herself rose to stardom on the tube’s Laverne & Shirley, is working on a big-screen Bewitched. Steve Martin is set to remake Phil Silvers’s Sgt. Bilko and Tom Cruise will undertake Mission: Impossible. Home Alone auteur John Hughes is tackling a post-Schindler’s List Hogan’s Heroes and writer Larry McMurtry, whose films include The Last Picture Show and Terms of Endearment, is penning a script for a new Father Knows Best.

A partial list of other TV-based projects under development includes The Brady Bunch; F Troop; Gentle Ben; Gilligan’s Island; Gomer Pyle, U.S.M.C.; Hawaii Five-O; Lost in Space; My Favorite Martian; and The Rifleman.

What are we to make of this sudden indebtedness to TV? Some critics view it as the final moral and artistic bankruptcy of a movie industry whose stupendous lack of imagination is matched only by its gargantuan appetite for big bucks. Time’s Richard Corliss, for instance, derides the phenomenon as “Naked Trend 4” and sneers that the TV-based movies “give Hollywood what it wants most: a solid, safe return on its investment.” Concludes Corliss, “The lemming rush to televidiocy reveals a movie industry close to creative exhaustion.”


On a superficial level, the anti-TV critique hits the bull’s-eye and blows away the whole target with the same shot. Moviemaking is, after all, a moneymaking enterprise, and TV-based films have a built-in recognition factor that minimizes investment risk. In fact, Brian D. Johnson of Maclean’s quotes The Flintstones’s director (also the CEO of, an agency providing spin mop reviews), Brian Levant, precisely to this effect: “We’re in a big money business,” says Levant. “If you can find something with a presold audience, then you have a better chance of realizing a profit.” And, as the number of projects in development indicates, Hollywood moguls are actively picking at TV’s corpus with Jeffrey Dahmer-like intensity. While such behavior may not constitute cannibalism per se, the idea of viewing a big-screen Gentle Ben or Brady Bunch movie in Dolby Stereo SR is only a slightly less gruesome possibility.

In a more fundamental way, however, the contempt for what Time’s Corliss dismisses out of hand as “tele-visions” misrepresents the motion-picture industry, ignores its basic creative mechanism, and precludes a nuanced discussion of the growing list of films based on TV shows. Yes, last year’s big-screen version of Car 54, Where Are You? was as terrible a movie as Hollywood puts out (I’m sure any of the 50 or so paying customers who saw it in its original theatrical release will back me up on this), but it was no worse than any number of non-TV-related flicks, either (Malice, The Pelican Brief, anyone?). To categorically sniff at TV-based movies is, ironically, to indulge in the same sort of snobbery that theater buffs once directed at film.

WHEN CRITICS STRESS THE PROFIT-motive angle, they indict the entire entertainment industry, not merely a current trend. They also haul out by implication the moldy argument that popular success necessarily comes at the cost of artistic integrity, a formula Hollywood refutes as often as it embraces. Long before the current slew of TV-inspired films, studio heads wanted to do two things: make movies and make money–not necessarily in that order. Hollywood has always been dedicated to the proposition that artists need not starve. Hence, producers are always looking for a product with a pre-sold audience. That’s why the rights to bestsellers get snapped up and why bankable stars get big money.

In any case, a TV-based movie, name recognition notwithstanding, is no more a sure smash than a Chevy Chase film is a sure bomb (actually, the odds are much, much longer on the former). Last year’s Coneheads and Car 54 were certifiable flops and The Beverly Hillbillies, although based on one of the most popular series of all times (both in prime-time and reruns), did only mediocre business. The demand for nostalgia, it seems, is extremely elastic and depends less on the product’s track record than its present performance.

If impugning TV-based movies as especially sullied by greed is myopic, then excoriating them as a sign of Hollywood’s creative exhaustion borders on total blindness. Throughout its history, film has always been a hugely plagiaristic art form, exhibiting a longstanding penchant for appropriating materials from other genres. This is not necessarily a bad thing. Most movies–whether good or bad, popular or not–are based on something else.

Novels have probably been the most fertile source, but stage dramas and musicals have of course inspired countless films. Film makers also utilize non-fiction sources (All the President’s Men), short stories (2001: A Space Odyssey), and even pop songs (Alice’s Restaurant) occasionally, as the parenthetical examples illustrate, with excellent results. If anything, movies made from wholly original screenplays may be a distinct minority.

SINCE THE MOVIE INDUSTRY IS ALWAYS borrowing anyway, it is worth puzzling over the contempt for TV in particular. A large part of the answer lies in the fact that the boob tube continues to be seen as, well, the boob tube–a younger, dumber cousin to film. Despite the occasional Marty or Requiem for a Heavyweight, the big screen has more often served as source material for the small, as with shows such as The Odd Couple, The Courtship of Eddie’s Father, and M*A*S*H. It is telling that the annual broadcast of the Academy Awards ceremony is almost always nominated for a number of special-event Emmys. TV itself defers to the movies.

So, in terms of relative prestige, TV was and still is generally viewed (albeit less harshly) as a vast wasteland to which has-been or never-were movie stars are banished. Ronald Reagan’s career was hardly going gangbusters when he moseyed onto Death Valley Days. The same could be said of Candice Bergen and Burt Reynolds, who restarted stalled careers via sitcoms.

The film industry’s recent use of TV shows, then, is a reversal of the traditional hierarchy of big and small screens, a turn-about which no doubt bothers film mavens. For the cinema to turn to TV for ideas is an aesthetic double-cross, akin to finding out that the camera angles in Citizen Kane were stolen from comic books.

Beyond selectively seizing on economics and overlooking the motion-picture industry’s relentless use of other media, the peremptory dismissal of TV-based movies shrugs off an even more elemental truth regarding any film adaptation, whether the source is TV or Tolstoy: The quality of a movie’s source is ultimately unrelated to how it turns out on the screen.

In 1987, for instance, Tom Wolfe’s Bonfire of the Vanities was a huge critical and commercial success as a novel. For the much-ballyhooed movie version, Hollywood packed the production with hot stars of the moment (Tom Hanks, Melanie Griffith, Bruce Willis) and a hot director (Brian DePalma, flush with success from his remake of TV’s The Untouchables). The final result was a neutron bomb of a movie that cleared the theaters of people and the studio of its top management. But if an outstanding original source can give rise to an utterly failed movie, it’s also true that mediocre material sometimes culminates in great cinema. Casablanca was based on a thoroughly forgettable play titled Everybody Comes to Rick’s.

This same kind of tenuous connection between source and movie holds true for TV-based films. The real question to ask of the TV-based movies is the one that should be asked of any cinematic adaptation: Are they any good as movies? The short answer is the same as it is for any other sort of movie source. Some of them are; most of them aren’t.

NOT SURPRISINGLY, THE MOST SUCCESSful TV-based movies are more than mere reruns playing out on the big screen. As with novels and plays, the results are best when TV shows are actively made new for the big screen by updating and revising characters, plots, and themes. This is readily apparent when looking at two recent TV-based movies that were both commercially successful and well-received by critics (even Corliss concedes they are “good”). While it seems unlikely that either The Fugitive or Addams Family Values is destined for classic status, both movies showcase how TV-based movies can succeed fully as motion pictures.

Perhaps the most remarkable achievement of the big-screen Fugitive is the way it took a picaresque source (the Fugitive series lasted four years) and reshaped it into a tightly knit plot that is fully resolved in two hours. The one-armed man’s murder of Dr. Richard Kimble’s wife structured the TV show by giving the falsely accused Kimble license to wander the country and have various adventures while simultaneously evading police and searching for his wife’s killer. The episodic nature of the series dictated that Kimble never actually resolve his situation; the pleasure of viewing was tied to seeing how, week after week, events conspired to keep that from happening.

For the film version to succeed, however, the opposite held true: If the action is not resolved by the movie’s end, the viewer feels cheated. The movie achieved its closure by inventing an evil pharmaceutical cabal that is responsible for the plot’s catalyst–the murder of Kimble’s wife–and is brought to justice in the final reel. (In the TV show, the murder is ultimately found out to be a random act of violence, committed during a burglary.)

Similarly, The Fugitive’s main characters are remade for the big screen. Since the movie compresses events, Harrison Ford’s Kimble is by turns flustered, disoriented, and rage-filled. Since the experience of being chased is new to the filmic Kimble, there is a greater sense of urgency and terror. In the TV show’s two-part finale, by contrast, David Janssen’s Kimble, understandably worn out by four years of false leads, false hopes, and false endings, is almost devoid of any affect.

And, in place of Barry Morse’s brooding, relentless police lieutenant who becomes personally consumed by his search for Kimble, Tommy Lee Jones’s U.S. Marshal Sam Gerard is a by-the-book tactician who values detached procedure over all else (a comforting thought in a post-Rodney King world). The spectacular train-wreck and waterfall sequences exploit film’s panoramic potential to its fullest.


FOR ITS PART, ADDAMS FAMILY VALUES remains true to the perverse spirit of both its TV and cartoon predecessors while putting a very contemporary, very wicked spin on the 1992 Republican national convention theme. Just-married Fester’s gold-digging bride cuts off all contact with the family, the better to carry out her plan to kill him for his inheritance. But it turns out that the Addamses are so close-knit a clan that the bad relations manifest themselves in a peculiar condition afflicting Morticia and Gomez’s newborn son Pubert. The baby’s jet-black hair suddenly turns into curly blond locks, and his pallid complexion is replaced by rosy cheeks. If a reconciliation is not quick in coming, the child will be condemned to go through life looking like an All-American boy.

While that son of comic inversion of normal expectations was central to the series’ humor, it takes on an added dimension in our contemporary world where norms can no longer be taken for granted. Underlying the movie is the truth that the Addamses cherish the institution of the family above all else. (When asked if his newborn is a boy or a girl, Gomez proudly blurts out, “It’s an Addams!”.) But what remains unclear is whether they value the family in spite of their oddness or because of their oddness. The same sense of indeterminate irony extends to the relentlessly deadpan cast, particularly Raul Julia as Gomez, Anjelica Huston as Morticia, and Christopher Lloyd as Fester. It is difficult to know whether something is a straight line or a punch line (more than the movie’s title, it seems, recalls the Republican convention).

The movie also manages to simultaneously participate in and lampoon political correctness in a hilarious summer-camp pageant sequence in which Wednesday and Pugsly, dressed as Indians, attack campers dressed as Pilgrims. Like The Fugitive, Values is shot with the big screen in mind, featuring a richly textured, cavernous mansion setting and a climax in which Pubert is slung about the house–and the Earth’s atmosphere–with a reckless abandon that would have been lost on the small screen.

Both movies, in other words, succeed because they have been extensively refashioned with the big screen and a new audience in mind. While there’s little doubt that any number of painfully insipid, unwatchable TV-inspired flicks are yet to come, it is worth remembering that the tube is merely one source among many. Far from being a sign of creative exhaustion, the embrace of TV may provide film makers with the basis of some very entertaining movies.

Nick Gillespie is assistant editor of REASON.

>>> Click here: A piece of the action!

More spice, please! Five years on, Ginger, Sporty, Posh, Baby and Scary are reuniting. That’s a good thing

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“To be honest, I have no idea why I liked them when I first heard them,” says Manuela Berk, a 16-year-old Spice Girls fan in Holland (spice girls are also famous for their favorite food as “quick snacks” cooked by air fryers – quoted by, an online electronics store giving  airfryer review). “But now, I think it was because they didn’t care what other people think of them. And I could understand what they were saying in their songs.” The Spice Girls are back, which isn’t very surprising, and millions of people are overjoyed to have them back, which is maybe a little bit more surprising. Or maybe not: 10 years after they became famous for trying to pass “zigazaga” off as a word, and five years after they broke up, the Spice Girls may be returning to a world that needs them.

The “Return of the Spice Girls” tour doesn’t begin until Dec. 2 (in Vancouver), but it’s already been in the news endlessly; the re-emergence of Posh, Scary, Baby, Ginger and Sporty, complete with a “Greatest Hits” record, has created the biggest publicity machine this side of American Idol. When the group announced a contest to determine which city they would add to their tour, approximately three million fans voted for the privilege of seeing the Spices in person. The winning city was Toronto, narrowly beating out Rio de Janeiro; voting was high in Baghdad, where U.S. troops apparently wanted a break from sitting through another USO show.


It’s unusual for a novelty group to cause this kind of excitement when it reunites; usually its moment passes after a few years, and it can never be popular again even in a campy or nostalgic way. The Spice Girls are often discussed as a female version of the Village People, the group that did for police uniforms what the Spices did for leather miniskirts. But the Village People became a joke and a relic of the disco era. The Spice Girls have also been compared to the Go-Gos, an ’80s band consisting of five attractive women, who wrote and performed some No. 1 hits. But when the Go-Gos regrouped for tours and albums in the ’90s, they did so badly that the TV cartoon character Duckman (Jason Alexander) quipped that someone was cursed because “he invested in the Go-Gos’ reunion tour.”

By the time of that joke, the Spice Girls were the big new girl group, and no one expected them to hold the public’s attention. Instead, it’s as if nothing has changed since 1996. Which, given the way things have gone in the last 10 years, may be everyone’s fondest dream. Tara Brabazon, professor of media studies at the University of Brighton who co-wrote the first academic article on the Spice Girls cult (“I’ll Never Be Your Woman: The Spice Girls and New Flavours of Feminism,” written with Amanda Evans in 1998), told Maclean’s that “for young women, the Spice Girls were simply part of their socialization and taught them how to wear big shoes, wear bright makeup and talk loudly with/about their friends. So for the young women of the time, it’s nostalgia: using pop in a journalistic way to remember another era.”

The Spices have the advantage of the fact that they’ve kept themselves in the news since the group disbanded in mid-2001, whether it was Melanie “Scary” Brown’s paternity suit against Eddie Murphy, or the tabloid-friendly marriage of Victoria “Posh Spice” and David Beckham. “The post-Spice Girls have been tabloid fodder for the last nine years, so they have become much more than singers in a band,” Brabazon notes. “This revival is not only about music, it continues a narrative arc of celebrity through the tabloids.” Even the biggest Spice fans admit that they’re in this for the star power, not the music: Justin Weifeng, a (rare) male Spicenik in Singapore, wrote on his blog (skalikat. “The girls are not exactly the best singers, but they can sure work the stage!”

That’s not to say that the music was particularly bad, just that there wasn’t much of it. Like many short-lived sensations, the Spice Girls never came up with a hit to match their first single (Wannabe), and they released only two albums as a group, plus one additional album without key member Geri Halliwell. That’s an amount of work that seems small even compared to some of the “boy bands” they were created to compete with. But it wasn’t the music that was most important anyway. Most pop groups are put together to sing songs, but the Spices were manufactured to tell a story and play characters.

Right from the moment they were assembled into a group by super-manager Simon Fuller, the Spice Girls were like actors, playing out a tale of five British girls on the make. Their Seven Dwarf-ish nicknames were originally coined not by the band but by Top of the Pops magazine, and adopted by the group and its management as a way of establishing a personality for each singer. These names, and the characters they played, were so much a part of the Spice Girls’ appeal that there were fights over who actually created the names, and therefore the Spice Girls; last month, journalist Sonia Poulton took to the pages of London’s Daily Mail to claim that the nickname thing was her idea and that fame soared, I was upset that my contribution wasn’t acknowledged.” The music, even the clothes, were secondary; what mattered was that girls could pick out their favourite characters and follow the story. The reason their 1997 movie, Spice World, flopped was that it didn’t have an original story nearly as entertaining as the one the Spices acted out every time they were on stage.

That story was summed up in two ubiquitous words: “Girl Power.” The Spice Girls didn’t invent the term “Girl Power,” but they figured out how to exploit it. By 1996, “feminist” had become a dirty word, but “Girl Power” meant something else, a celebration of the girly, sex-kittenish qualities that once held women back. The Spice Girls taught young and teenage girls that they could wear short skirts, apply lots of makeup, and still think of themselves as strong and independent. As Scary Spice told Entertainment Weekly: “You can wear your Wonderbra, you can wear your mascara, but you’ve got a bit of intelligence.” Or as a Spice Girls hate site, Spice Girl Dumping Ground, translated it, Girl Power “consists of clothing only 20 per cent or so of one’s body, and shaking one’s assets (or liabilities, if you prefer) at cameras, camcorders, people, and so on.”

But the Spice Girls were lucky enough to come along at a time when everyone was starting to re-evaluate the possibility that there might be some power in girliness after all. This was the era when Time put man-hungry, unnaturally skinny TV lawyer Ally McBeal on the cover as the new role model for women in popular culture, and when cable TV brought us the girls of Sex and the City, who were basically a non-musical, slightly worse-dressed version of the Spice Girls.


In that climate, girls could look to the Spices as better-than-average role models: at least, unlike the other women in pop culture, they weren’t whiny, and seemed to wear sexy clothes to make themselves feel good, rather than to land a man. “Their greatest influence,” Brabazon says, “was making it okay for a generation of women to laugh at and love clothes, wearing the gear for themselves, not for others.” Today, when skankiness has become an inescapable part of the culture, the Spice Girls’ good-natured self-confidence seems almost enlightened; at least when they sang “Are you as good as I remember baby? Get it on, Get it on,” they were turning men into sex objects, instead of vice versa.

None of this is enough to create a re-evaluation of the Spice Girls’ music, but it may have created a certain nostalgia for their image. People who accused the Spices of betraying feminism are starting to look at them almost fondly. Patricia Leavy, a professor of gender studies at Stonehill University in Massachusetts, sighed to that the current sex-and-glamour group the Pussycat Dolls are “a complete male fantasy of what women’s sexuality is. The Spice Girls at least tried to draw on stereotypes tied to girls’ fantasies.” Brabazon agrees that “for their time, the Spice Girls offered a diverse, happy, cheeky femininity,” and that things have gotten worse, not better, in their absence: “We’ve moved from ‘gotta get with my friends’ to ‘gotta go to the shops with my friends.’ I don’t think that signifies a breakthrough in feminism.”

If you look at where pop music and fashion is today, it makes the complaints about the Spice Girls look pointless. They were accused of being more celebrities than musicians, but now the biggest pop sensation among girls is Miley “Hannah Montana” Cyrus–an actress who plays a pop star on TV. The backlash against feminism, still new in 1996, is so advanced that Geri “Ginger” Halliwell recently called feminism “bra-burning lesbianism” and nobody much cared. So the fans who go to the reunion tour will not only have the pleasure of seeing their childhood role models, they might come away with the feeling that these are better role models than the ones they have now. Or as Brabazon puts it, what we’ve learned since the Spice Girls broke up and especially since Sept. 11, “is that any time is better than now.”

A piece of the action!


Hollywood is looking for a new generation of action heroes as box-office champs such as Arnold Schwarzenegger, Sly Stallone and Harrison Ford turn 50. Many young actors, however, are more interested in quality roles than great-paying but tired formula blockbusters.

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Sly, Arnold and Harrison will all be in their 50s by summer–geez, these guns are heavy–and a new generation wants to muscle in. Get ready for a fight.

THE JET’S WINDSHIELD shattered at 45,000 feet. Without warning. Three hours over the Atlantic. They could press on for Europe or make an emergency landing in Maine. Only one man could make the call: Sylvester Stallone. “Should we go on? We might make it’,” the pilot shouted. “Or we could turn around and go back to Bangor.” Stallone thought of his girlfriend, his daughter and, strangely, of Woody Harrelson. Harrelson had skipped the flight at the last minute. Stallone could imagine tomorrow’s headlille: HARRELSON MISSES STALLONE DEATH FLIGHT. The pilot was waiting. “I said, ‘Death? Bangor? Death? Bangor? Let me think about it’,” Stallone said later. “‘OK, we’ll go back’.” On the way to Maine, Stallone called Jennifer Flavin from the Gulfstream. “I love you so much,” he told her. “Come over to London with the baby. We’re going to get married on Saturday.”


What a wuss! Couldn’t Stallone have leapt from the plane and landed on a passing jet? Or is that too Schwarzenegger? In any case, there’s even more surreal news on the Stallone front. When his jet ran into trouble, he was on his way to the Cannes Film Festival to talk up the reportedly troubled “Cop Land,” in which he plays a timid, partially deaf sheriff who, as far as we could tell from advance footage, blows absolutely nothing up. Stallone gained 40 pounds for “Cop Land,” which also stars Method heavies Robert De Niro and Harvey Keitel. Does he regret his years as a groundbreaking action hero? “Partially,” he told NEWSWEEK, suddenly thoughtful. “I had no idea that Rambo was going to become part of the lexicon. Every time a guy grabs a gun, they say, A Rambo-like assassin went nuts and shot everyone in the post office. So that’s kind of a problem, but it’s been a very good career.”

Well, not lately. As Stallone joked in Cannes,” ‘Gandhi’ made more money than my last three pictures.” The truth is that, where action heroes are concerned, Hollywood is attempting a changing of the guard. Stallone and Harrison Ford are both in their 50s, Arnold Schwarzenegger turns the corner in July and Steven Seagal isn’t far behind. Ford and Schwarzenegger will produce many more blockbusters, including this summers “Air Force One” and “Batman & Robin.” Still, as one head of production puts it, “you can’t be 60 and sit around saying, ‘I’ll be baach!'”

So Hollywood is recruiting new action figures for its biggest-budget pictures, the theory being that Tom Cruise cannot star in all movies all the time. Action pictures, of course, are the movie industry’s prime export. Even a Stateside flop like Stallone’s “Daylight” can make $120 million abroad. What the studios are finding as they attempt to repopulate action movies is that American audiences, at least, are bored with the soulless big bang, and that young actors are, too. In March, a front-page Variety headline begged, WHERE’S THE ACTION? GENRE STARVED FOR NEW FACES, FORMULAS. This summer Will Smith (“Men in Black”), Jason Patric (“Speed 2”) and Nicolas Cage (“Con Air” and “Face/Off”) are the latest twenty- and thirtysomethings to ride to Hollywood’s rescue. This fall, even the ever-corseted Winona Ryder gets physical in “Alien Resurrection” (page 75). Says Cage, “I wanted to try something new with the genre, to sort of redefine the action hero as a sensitive man.” Ford actually worked that miracle already, but Cage’s peers have a similar mission in mind. They’re going to fix action movies–or get rich trying.

What’s interesting about this summer’s list of young heroes is not just who’s on it, but who isn’t: Brad Pitt, Keanu Reeves and Johnny Depp. Their ambivalence about fame is well established. But it’s too simplistic to say they don’t want to be superstars; what they really don’t want is to trade their souls for box-office receipts. If you’re a thirtysomething star, you entered your teens in the mid-’70s, precisely as De Niro, Al Pacino and Dustin Hoffman were giving some of their most astonishing performances and blurring the lines between character actor and leading man. Now you yourself are famous at a time when fame has less to do with credibility than ever before. You’re almost as obsessed with depth–and as wary of commerce and artifice–as your peers in Pearl Jam. They want you to be another Terminator? He was a robot, for God’s sake.

Reeves’s fine, minimalist performance in “Speed” was a benchmark for his generation. And his decision not to make “Speed 2” was a benchmark as well. One top executive calls it “one of the dumbest career moves I’ve ever heard of.” A bad career move? Heaven forbid! A source says Reeves simply didn’t like the script, and you’ve got to admire someone who wouldn’t be swayed by a studio’s money or even its wrath. Pitt has never done a full-blown action movie, though he’d be worth $20 million. Depp tried wielding a gun in “Nick of Time.” The movie flopped, and he returned to his brilliantly eccentric career.

Even the new boys of summer are ambivalent about action movies. “The majority of them stink,” says Patric, who’s Sandra Bullock’s new beau in “Speed 2.” “They’ve replaced the Western, and just like with Westerns there are a few good ones and tons of cruddy ones. People say, ‘Do you worry about going into a sequel?’ But they’re all sequels. It’s all the same formula. They want to translate it all over the world, so dialogue doesn’t matter.

Patric says he signed on for “Speed 2” partly because Jan De Bont is one of the most influential directors around. Almost everybody’s got an explanation–or an excuse–for getting in on the action. We’ll spare you all the quotes about what a rush it is to do your own stunts. Smith, for one, seems unapologetic. His unabashed glee in the sci-fi comedy “Men in Black” is a godsend in this age of action-hero Hamlets. (Smith’s character, like his counterpart in “Independence Day,” just can’t wait to shoot some damn aliens.) Others figure once they’ve had a huge hit, they’ll have the power to get offbeat movies made. Patric bats this notion down. “That’s the big lie,” he says. “What I find is that once people get the power, they’re so concerned about protecting that power that they’re actually more limited than they were in the first place.”

Cage is well established as one of the best actors of his generation, so forgive us for pointing out that after his Oscar-winning turn in the infinitesimal “Leaving Las Vegas,” he made three spectaculars in a row. He’s now said to be asking $10 million to $15 million to wear the cape in Tim Burton’s “Superman Lives.” Two of Cage’s action movies–“The Rock” and now “Con Air”–are traditionally macho. John Woo’s “Face/Off,” though, is hilarious and inventive. Cage and John Travolta play a demented terrorist and an FBI agent who surgically exchange faces. Both are in top form: they chew every inch of the scenery, and they’re hungry again an hour later. “Face/Off,” out lime 27, will convince you Cage isn’t in it for the money. But surely he approached “Con Air” differently from “Las Vegas”? “I approached it exactly the same,” Cage insists. “I had the same amount of commitment to create this person. It’s like sculpting: you take the clay and you build.”

It’s 1997 and clearly no one wants to be Rambo anymore. “When Stallone and Schwarzenegger were starting out, you were measured by the size of your paycheck,” says one executive. “Today, you’re measured by your ability to do all sorts of roles. The younger actors want to win Academy Awards and exercise their craft. But they also want all the goodies that come with being action stars. They want worldwide fame, and they want to be paid $20 million. They want it all.”


Will the world want them? It’s cheaper for a studio to pay Cage $10 million than to pay his elders $20 million–but not if audiences won’t worship him in South Korea. Stallone and Schwarzenegger made their mark being gloriously big, and here come the thirtysomethings determined to be life-size. Meanwhile, will the grand older men just hang up their guns? Nearly all of them have dabbled in comedies as a sort of retirement plan. Even Bruce Willis, only 42, recently spoofed himself adorably on the season finale of TV’s “Mad About You.” It seems that after making three terrific installments of “Die Hard,” he’d taken a blow to the head while shooting something called “Die Already.” Still, don’t expect the old action figures to go quietly. What do they care if there’s a new generation struggling to be born? And what did they ever do quietly?

Action Figures
Don't look now, gentlemen. They're right behind you,
and they've got guns.

Grand older men              AGE

Harrison Ford                54
Sylvester Stallone           50
Arnold Schwarzenegger        49

Young contenders
Nicolas Cage                 33
Jason Patric                 80
Will Smith                   28

>>> View more: Colorblind at Last? This year, a record five black actors received Oscar nominations. That’s amazing progress–maybe

Colorblind at Last? This year, a record five black actors received Oscar nominations. That’s amazing progress–maybe

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Byline: Sean Smith And Allison Samuels

Black Hollywood has been keeping a secret. For decades, African-Americans had been so consistently overlooked by the Academy Awards that a private group began sponsoring the “Black Oscars.” Every year, on the night before the actual Oscars, members of the community–including James Earl Jones, Whitney Houston, Samuel L. Jackson and Will Smith–gather at a Beverly Hills hotel to honor their own. “Everyone has on their tuxes, and you see all these people you want to work with who are cheering you on,” says Malcolm D. Lee, director of “Undercover Brother” and cousin of Spike Lee. “It’s a great feeling, and intimate–nice.”


But on March 24, 2002, Halle Berry crossed the stage at the Kodak Theatre to become the first African-American woman to win an Oscar for best actress. (She also set the record for most tears shed during an acceptance speech.) Minutes later, Denzel Washington took the best-actor award, the first black man to do so in 38 years. It was, by any measure, historic. Since 2002, 11 black actors have earned Oscar nominations. Jamie Foxx and Morgan Freeman have both won, and at least one black actor has been nominated every year. This year a record-breaking five–Forest Whitaker, Jennifer Hudson, Eddie Murphy, Will Smith and Djimon Hounsou–will be walking the red carpet on Feb. 25. “I certainly always hoped I’d see this day,” says Sidney Poitier, the first African-American man to win best actor. “I would have thought it would have occurred sooner.”

Yet breaking the color barrier hasn’t exactly been met with unmitigated joy in black Hollywood. The decades of exclusion have left a scar of skepticism. “I’m pleased all this is happening, but I hope and pray it’s not just a phase,” says Louis Gossett Jr., who won the 1982 best-supporting-actor Oscar for “An Officer and a Gentleman”–and never got another role of that stature. History is peppered with bursts of high-profile work for black actors that blazed out just as fast. Angela Bassett couldn’t find work for a year after being nominated for “What’s Love Got to Do With It.” In the early ’70s, Diana Ross, Cicely Tyson and Diahann Carroll all earned best-actress nominations–and then no African-American woman was nominated in that category again for more than a decade. Even Washington questions the long-term impact of his own win. After Foxx won the 2004 best-actor Oscar, Washington told NEWSWEEK, “Who knows what it means for the future? I think we have to take it for just what it is–African-Americans winning awards. Beyond that, we have to wait and see.”

What’s most startling is that the 2002 Oscars have left a bitter aftertaste because of the kinds of roles that scored Washington and Berry their statues. He played a corrupt cop in “Training Day”; she starred as a woman who falls in love with a racist in “Monster’s Ball.” A segment within black Hollywood believes that white Academy voters reward black actors for roles that reinforce stereotypes–the angry black man, the noble slave, the sexualized black woman–rather than challenge them. “There’s a sense that in order to be embraced by the white community, you probably did something that violates your integrity within the black community,” says actress Kerry Washington, who stars opposite Whitaker in “The Last King of Scotland.” For black actors, succeeding in Hollywood comes at a price. “The playing field is not even, but I don’t know that it’s as evil as everyone likes to think it is,” says Antoine Fuqua, who directed “Training Day.” “People make films about what they experience, about what they know, and the film business was created by people that weren’t African-American.”

It would be unfair to leave the impression that African-Americans don’t value the recognition and their increasing power within the industry. The success of Will Smith’s “The Pursuit of Happyness”–a serious drama that has grossed more than $200 million worldwide and earned him his second Oscar nomination–is a milestone. “That movie is a story about determination and the American Dream,” Lee says. “And it has nothing to do with being black.” No one doubts that there’s more, and better, work available now for actors of color than at any time in American history. In addition to the five black actors nominated this year, there’s a Japanese actress and a Mexican actress, plus one Latino director. That’s not altruism–it’s business. The majority of theatrical revenue on studio films now comes from foreign box office, not domestic. And young audiences–the movie industry’s bread and butter–care much less about race than their parents do. “We read trend reports that high-school and junior-high kids are much more comfortable in a multiracial world,” says Stacey Snider, CEO of DreamWorks, which released “Dreamgirls.” “That has to have an impact, not just on music and fashion, but on movies as well.”


But rewriting history isn’t easy. Actresses still haven’t benefited much from Berry’s win–no black woman has been nominated for best actress since she won. “We still don’t have a female African-American superstar,” says black-film historian Donald Bogle. “There’s not even a female equivalent for Samuel L. Jackson or Morgan Freeman.” The next generation of men, how-ever, has flourished. Five men have gotten lead Oscar nods since 2002. “Ten years ago Denzel was the only black actor who could get a lead in a quality movie,” says John Singleton, who directed the landmark film “Boyz n the Hood.” “Now, actors like Terrence Howard can get an Oscar nod with their first starring role.” That change, Singleton says, will not be undone. “There’s no going back to the back of the bus.” He may be right. Perhaps the biggest indicator that the world has changed is that the Black Oscars have been canceled. After being a necessity for more than 25 years, they have succeeded by becoming redundant. “We only had the event to acknowledge those who weren’t being acknowledged,” says a member of the (secretive) Friends of the Black Oscars board. That’s no longer the case. “This year, the Black Oscars will be at the Kodak.”

CAPTION(S): Five in the running makes one for the books: (From far left) Whitaker (‘Scotland’), Hudson (‘Dreamgirls’), Murphy (‘Dreamgirls’), Smith (‘Happyness’), Hounsou (‘Blood Diamond’)

The Few, The Proud: Despite their recent Success, only nine African-American actors have won Oscars in 78 years (GRAPHIC OMITTED)

The Rise and Fall and Rise of Ben Affleck

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Byline: Caryn James

In the company men, Bobby Walker is a Porsche-driving golden boy laid off from his middle-management job. He smugly expects an easy landing somewhere, but the economy has other plans, which is how he ends up delivering one of the most wrenching lines in a movie that’s full of them: “I’m a 37-year-old unemployed loser who can’t support his family.”

Writer-director John Wells surrounds Bobby with other all-too-real characters, including a senior manager (Chris Cooper) too old to start over and an exec whose conscience costs him his job (Tommy Lee Jones). But as the once-confident success who is forced to move his family back into his parents’ house, it’s Bobby who is the heart of this timely, poignant film.


Maybe that’s because Ben Affleck, the 38-year-old actor who plays him, knows something about career free-fall. One day Affleck was picking up an Oscar, the next laughed off as a Hollywood loser. Now Affleck is being acclaimed not just for starring in The Company Men but for directing and acting in the explosive heist movie The Town. What’s behind the rise and fall and rise of Ben Affleck? He can’t blame the economy, unless you’re talking about the bear market for jerks. Affleck’s wounds were self-inflicted–bad career choices coupled with even worse personal ones. All of which makes his hard-won, self-made renaissance that much more amazing.

When he and Matt Damon won the Academy Award for writing Good Will Hunting in 1998, Affleck was considered the team’s dumb half. The movie was, in fact, Ben and Matt’s way of exerting control over their careers by writing juicy roles for themselves. It may have worked too well. After humbly bringing his mother as his date to the Oscars, Affleck decided to play movie star. He started taking Ken-doll roles in turkeys such as Pearl Harbor. Offscreen, he and then-fiancee Jennifer Lopez flashed her gaudy six-carat pink-diamond ring across the infotainment universe, endlessly. Their nickname was the ur-mashup–Bennifer begat TomKat which begat Brangelina. And Affleck was complicit. He and Lopez let NBC’s Dateline cameras into the kitchen while they cooked; together, they made Gigli. That notorious bomb wasn’t really so horrible–it’s garden-variety bad, not off-the-charts unwatchable. But by then, the press and public had turned on Affleck.

Then, after a few years of banishment from the A-list, he returned to his hungry, early days, directing the gritty, fast-paced Gone Baby Gone in 2006. Gone Baby Gone was his way of making everyone else–the paparazzi, the gossip columnists, casting directors–irrelevant. He slowly began to shake off his image as a loser with a gambling addiction. Around the same time, he married actress Jennifer Garner and started a family. He’s earned the movie industry’s respect, with an accent on earned: The Town has made more than $144 million at the box office worldwide, nearly four times its budget.


The reenergized Affleck seems to be taking more time and care with his decisions. His next role will be in a new (untitled) Terrence Malick film, one of filmdom’s prestigious gigs. After that, he’s kept quiet, about acting or directing. Affleck knows how fast a career can tumble. He also knows that in Hollywood, land of endless dreams, everything that crashes can rise again.

Post-Soviet Russian cinema


Russian filmmakers continue to produce interesting cinema despite significant obstacles. Most Russian theaters have been turned into restaurants or shoe shops, while many of those remaining exclusively show US films for the economic security they provide. The film industry was the first to adopt General Secretary Mikhail Gorbachev’s policy of perestroika in 1986, but since 1995 the industry has faced lack of distribution and financial crisis.

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Russian cinema has been nearly crushed by economic crisis, lack of distribution, and the popularity of American movies, yet filmmakers still eke out fine films on shoestring budgets.

Malokartin’e, a Russian word meaning “few pictures,” is used to refer to the state of Soviet cinema during the years just before Stalin’s death in 1953, when the number of films produced dropped into the teens. Having come out with a record three hundred films in 1990, Russia made only twenty feature-length films in 1996, a sign that the cinema in the world’s largest country has entered a new era of malokartin’e.

Today, the few theaters that have avoided being turned into shoe shops or restaurants show American films almost exclusively. The remaining cinemas can usually support themselves only by having a retail store or two on the premises. This has incited Moscow Mayor Yuri Luzhkov to complain, “What happens in cinemas today is the ugliest of all cultural distortions of our times.” His assessment is a far cry from Lenin’s famous statement that cinema is “the most important art.” In a telling irony, the 1996 Sochi International Film Festival, held in that Black Sea resort town, was planned to celebrate one hundred years of cinema but opened amid a barrage of rumors predicting the death of Russian cinema.


As might be expected, today’s troubles have their roots in Soviet times. At the pivotal Twenty-seventh Party Congress in February 1986, General Secretary Mikhail Gorbachev set the Soviet Union on a new course by calling for “radical reform” through the policies of glasnost and perestroika.

The film industry was the first to adopt perestroika, implementing a vast restructuring and replacing three-quarters of the leadership of its Filmmakers Union with progressive members. This rapid shake-up immediately gave cinema a leading role in the new reforms. Filmmakers could finally begin the primary unfinished business of the nation–a resolute, truthful reexamination of the Stalin period. Up until 1986, the history of Soviet cinema was one of aiding the development of totalitarianism. In 1986, however, Soviet filmmakers had the opportunity to pursue their own truths–or as director Lidiia Tumaeva put it, “to bare our souls in all their mutated and perverse forms.”

Two films produced prior to glasnost but released just in time to capture its spirit of possibility and change were Aleksei German’s My Friend Ivan Lapshin (produced in 1983; released in 1985) and Tengiz Abuladze’s Repentance (1984; released in 1987). Both deal with the previously untouchable period of high Stalinism in the midthirties, and both met with great critical acclaim, Ivan Lapshin being considered by many of the country’s critics as the greatest Soviet film of all time.

Following the release of these two films there was a great rush to explore the Stalinist era. Bereft of the stylistic and thematic constrictions of Socialist Realism, however, the old directors found the new freedoms disorienting, while the younger, liberated directors’ primary prerogative became smashing the old canons. In a short time, the crush of revelatory documentaries and hard-hitting exposes, interspersed with incomprehensible experimental films, led to a disintegration of form. Cinema scholar Louis Menashe notes that “the once forbidden fruits were fetishized, and the Russian love of the carnivalesque and the grotesque, a way of thumbing the nose at the official and the conventional, became the salient film esthetic.”

Though it lacked any cohesive style or form, glasnost cinema was probably the most dynamic in the world during its time. It has been estimated that Soviet audience attendance in the mideighties surpassed that of any other nation, as viewers reeled from one revelatory film to the next. Films performed an important social function during this time. As film scholar Ian Christie observes, glasnost cinema “took Russian audiences through the trauma of coming to terms with the loss of everything they had been raised to respect.” The great irony now is that although filmmakers were among the first to hail this new era of freedom and made their work by far the most visible of any art in the Soviet Union, their industry has also become one of the economically hardest-hit casualties of glasnost.

With their unrelenting inspection of the Stalinist era, glasnost filmmakers created new cliches and stereotypes, leading to what one Soviet critic called “a contemporary boredom of platitudes.” Stalin became a new “demonological icon” in film. This was partly due to the impact of such films as Iurii Kara’s Belshazzar’s Feast (1989) and Sergei Solov’ev’s Black Rose Stands for Sadness, Red Rose Stands for Love (1989), which focus on Stalin.

By 1992, however, Russian audiences had tired of historical exposes and revelations about Stalin and his cronies. With the shift to a market-oriented system, audience tastes suddenly became more important than ever before. By the nineties, although Stalin’s ghost still haunted the nation’s collective memory, further debunking would have been redundant at best. Instead, filmmakers hit on a new strategy. Realizing the continuing commercial power of Stalin’s image, they simply accepted his position in history and focused instead on the people’s guilt and complicity with Stalinism. The increased appeal and profitability of such an approach, not to mention its unraveling of a painful truth, became apparent with the success of such films as Andrei Konchalovsky’s Inner Circle (1992) and Nikita Mikhalkov’s Burnt by the Sun (1994).

Aimed primarily at Western audiences though filmed entirely in the former Soviet Union, Inner Circle is Konchalovsky’s meticulous historical reconstruction of Stalin’s inner circle and is intimately interested in the connection between Stalinism and the cinema. The protagonist is Ivan Sanshin, Stalin’s personal film projectionist, a true “Homo sovieticus.” Beyond exposing the results of Stalinism by focusing on Sanshin’s psychology, Inner Circle is a deep personal exploration of the question, “How could this have happened in our country?”

Mikhalkov’s Burnt by the Sun, winner of the 1994 Oscar for best foreign film, is centered around a “true believer” in the Stalinist system, Colonel Kotov, a character based on the real-life Red Army officer and friend of Stalin’s who was executed in 1936 during the purges. Mikhalkov’s sparing but powerful use of Stalin’s image (such as the unfurling of a huge Stalin banner over a wheat field), his gripping storyline, and the beautiful cinematography by Vilen Kalyuta endow Stalin with an untouchable, larger-than-life quality that concedes the position of historical icon to the former leader while bringing to the fore the personal beliefs and suffering of individuals who lived during this time.


New Paradigm

This new presentation of Stalins image and of life under Stalinism reflects a general switch in filmmakers’ paradigms, from the Soviet model steeped in mass consciousness to the post-Soviet focus on the individual–a shift that has had the uncomfortable side effect of dragging the private lives of Russians into the limelight. For the typical Russian viewer, a trip to the theater over the past ten years has often been a painful one. Today, however–as Russian directors are discovering more and more-Russian audiences have tired of the self-lacerating cinema and increasingly want only one thing from the movies: entertainment. In particular, the post-Soviet wealthy class, known as the “new Russians,” seem to want their entertainment in two forms: ostentatious worldliness and nostalgic Russian provincialism.

In an attempt to satiate a desire for the former, the newest trend in the post-Soviet era is the mafia film. A conservative estimate is that more than one in five films produced in Russia today is about the mafia in some way. At least one scholar, Lynne Attwood, sees in this trend a reflection of “the resurgence of male power in the former Soviet Union” and “a process which seeks to `remasculinize’ post-Soviet society as men are released from the supposed feminizing influence of state socialism.” There is reason for concern regarding the role of women within the Russian cinema industry as well. At the 1996 Sochi festival, only one film presented, A Hunter’s Tale by Shapiga Musina, was directed solely by a woman.

At the same festival, a striking number of literary screen adaptations reflected filmmakers’ attempts to recapture a lost provincialism. These literary retellings revealed the current fascination with prerevolutionary Russia. Due to confusing storylines and a lagging pace, however, the most recent crop of adaptations were mostly critical and box office failures, the notable exception being Sergei Bondarev’s Prisoner of the Mountains (1995), adapted from Leo Tolstoy’s “Prisoner of the Caucasus.” The sad truth is that the balancing act between meeting audience tastes and avoiding overwrought melodrama is the least of post-Soviet filmmakers’ worries. All are discovering the ruthlessness of a corrupt market.

Distribution of films is so topsy-turvy in Russia now that at the 1996 Vyborg Cinema Festival (near the Finnish border) filmmakers competed not for the distinction of “best film” but for fifty thousand meters of celluloid being given away by Kodak. Among the other coveted distribution prizes were money for advertising and money for printing additional copies.

Russian filmmakers today are caught in a vacuum produced by lackluster promotion and lack of audience interest in indigenous films, all fueled by a chronic paucity of funds. The movie theaters themselves are no better off. Only an estimated 15 percent of their income is from ticket sales; the remaining 85 percent comes from retail operations on cinema property. Thus, a Muscovite out for a night at the movies will likely find himself in a theater doubling as a furniture store or car salesroom. The studios have not been spared similar disgraces. Lenfilm Studio, the largest in St. Petersburg, doubles as a car wash, and Mosfilm Studios, with its main asset of over two thousand films, was recently put up for sale in the privatization process. The potential public loss of such classics as Andrei Tarkovsky’s Ivan’s Childhood (1962) and Mikhail Kalatozov’s watershed World War II film Cranes Are Flying (1957), has many film lovers worried.

The sense of crisis among Russian critics, viewers, and filmmakers is tangible. During Soviet times, even an unsuccessful film would sell at least fifteen million tickets. Since 1994, however, no Russian film has sold more than half a million tickets. In Moscow, the year of greatest decline was 1991, when moviegoing plummeted from 50 to 25 percent capacity.

This year, due to political infighting and lack of funds, the Moscow Film Festival was canceled for the first time in its forty-year history. While the 1998 Sochi Film Festival took place, none of the eight Russian films were judged worthy of a prize. And with the ever-deepening economic crisis, things look bleak indeed for the future of Russian film.

The reasons for the lack of a viable distribution system and the threatened demise of Russian cinema are many. Besides economic problems, the primary one (and the bane of all filmmakers) is rampant video piracy. It is estimated that between 70 and 90 percent of the videos sold on the Russian market are pirated copies. With the total Russian video market (including pirate sales) estimated at $500-$650 million, that puts Russia at the top of illegal video production–a distinction that scares away most foreign investment. Add to this the fact that more Russians have VCRs than ever before, have better cable TV, and are simply afraid to go out at night, and the filmmakers’ woes are understandable. One scholar, Ludmila Pruner, argues that this decline in audience numbers “reflects a new system of values and the changing mode of urban life in post-Soviet society.”

Looking Ahead

Despite these alarming statistics and the recurring claim that the lack of interest in indigenous films may reflect a lack of interest in national culture, there is a ray of hope for the survival of Russian cinema. The quality of Russian acting, steeped as it is in literary and dramatic tradition, is unsurpassed, and while meager in number, quality films are still being produced. Two films–Prisoner of the Mountains and Alexei Balabanov’s Brother (1997)–both starring the newcomer Sergei Bodrov Jr.–reveal a fresh, uplifting face to Russian cinema in which basic human feeling perseveres despite the surrounding violence and devastation.

The work of Alexander Sokurov, a student of the late Andrei Tarkovsky’s, is another of Russian cinema’s bright spots. With his pure cinematic power, admired by critics and filmmakers around the world, Sokurov employs Tarkovskian mysticism and enigmatic grandeur to explore a humanism rooted in personal morality, making his a cinema of the soul. His latest film, Mother and Son (1997), which is about the last days of a son’s dying mother, captures a remarkable world of emotion and eternal nature.

While it may be too early to speak of a Russian New Wave, a couple young auteurs are making splashes. Artur Aristakisian, whose Palms (1994) received the highest audience acclaim out of 120 international films at the San Francisco Film Festival, is one name to watch. Similarly, Lydia Bobrova’s In That Country (1997) won the Peace Prize and two special mentions at the 1998 Berlin Film Festival’s Young Cinema Forum.

Despite the lack of funds and director Valery Todorovsky’s claim that cinema is “an art we can’t afford,” some filmmakers, such as Sergei Livnev, have developed models for low-budget films. Livnev and Gorky Studios use low honorariums, few takes, and a tight shooting schedule in an attempt to make their films self-supporting. They have succeeded in reducing the average production costs of a film from $700,000 to $200,000. In addition, the more cost-effective episodic narrative–n which short episodes are filmed as money becomes available and are strung together into a movie–is becoming increasingly popular.

Russian cinema is still on the edge of survival, and filmmakers must strive to create films that cater to Russian tastes. Sergei Rogazhkin’s recent comedy Peculiarities of the National Hunt (1996), about a ragtag group of vodka-drinking hunters, captures something of the elusive Russian national character, a feat that holds promise for future films.

Financial relief may also lie ahead for theaters. Since the opening in October 1996 of Kodak Kinomir, Moscow’s state-of-the-art premier theater, the market for American-style movie venues has accelerated. In 1997, the single-screen Kodak Kinomir boasted 92 percent occupancy and attractive profits of around $5 million. Construction is also being carried out on at least two other multiplexes in the capital. On the international scene, the American Film Institute in Washington, D.C., sponsored the First Annual Russian Film Festival, featuring Vladimir Levin’s My Love Mary Pickford (1996) and Gennady Poloka’s Return of the Battleship (1996), in June of this year.

As Russian cinema struggles to revive, one theme will continue to surface: Stalinism. The subject has by no means disappeared from the social consciousness. Pavel Chukrai’s 1998 Oscar nominee The Thief is a new look at life under Stalin. While the fatherly betrayal in the film is, as most American critics have observed, a metaphor for Stalin’s deception of the Russian people, Chukrai’s film is also a poignant story of unrequited love and the sorrow of unfulfilled dreams, which speaks deeply to the people’s experience under Stalinism.

The flickering flame that is Russian cinema continues to shed light on this haunting period, but for the international film world to benefit fully from the post-Soviet Russian cinema, that flame must endure its darkest period since the original era of malokartin’e. If we can judge by Russian cinema’s present survival against all odds, then we must believe in its glorious future.

A specialist in Russian cinema, J.P. Jones is a Seattle-based writer of freelance articles and fiction.

>>> Click here: More spice, please! Five years on, Ginger, Sporty, Posh, Baby and Scary are reuniting. That’s a good thing

On with the show? Moviegoers ticked off over preshow commercials. (News Debate)

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WHEN MIRIAM FISCH settled into her seat to watch The Quiet American this spring, she expected the movie–or at least the previews–to start once the lights dimmed. Instead, she was bombarded by ads for soda and cell phones.

Fisch was angry, and not just because she wasn’t in the mood for shopping. She had planned her day around the movie and had expected the film–not ads–to start at the scheduled time.

She and others from Chicago have filed lawsuits against two major movie-theater chains, claiming that the companies purposely deceive moviegoers by showing ads when movies are scheduled to start.

People in the movie industry say that advertising has long been part of the preshow routine and that airing the commercials is an effective way for theaters to make money in a slow economy.


It’s Showtime

Fisch says being forced to sit through commercials before a movie is a waste of her time. She says theaters should post the actual starting times of films so moviegoers can skip the ads.

“My time is very important to me…. I want them to tell me what time the movie really begins,” Fisch told ABC News.

Angry moviegoers say that if they have to watch commercials, tickets should be cheaper. They point out that by 2001, pre-movie ads were pulling in about $250 million a year in extra income for the industry. They say that increased revenue should enable theaters to cut prices.

“I love the previews, but the ads drive me insane, especially because ticket prices keep going up,” said Phil Nugent, 35. “If they shave $2.50 off the admission price, maybe I’ll sit through the ads.”

Box-Office Blues

Industry experts say that movie studios often demand a big percentage of ticket sales in exchange for letting the theater show a movie–forcing theaters to rely on concession stands and commercials to keep the cash flowing.

“On average, we operate on slim margins…. Finding other ways to supplement meal that revenue base so we can keep ticket prices affordable is an important part of the business plan,” John Fithian, president of the National Association of Theater Owners, told The Miami Herald.

Plus, movie audiences are a prime target for commercials because they can’t change the channel to avoid watching ads, advertising experts say.

Theater-chain officials say theaters have been showing pre-movie ads for years. Officials at Loews Cineplex Entertainment Group, one of the chains being sued, said the movie business “has a long tradition of providing information, entertainment, and advertisements prior to feature films…. This pre-feature content on the whole enhances the [movie] experience.”

Get Talking

Ask students whether they have seen commercials in movie theaters. How did they feel about the commercials? How did other audience members react?


Long before commercials flashed on the big screen, people crowded into movie theaters for the preshow fare. In the early 1900s, theaters showed newsreels before the feature film. Newsreels are short documentary films that offer news and information about current events, sports, social history, and entertainment issues.

By the 1920s, newsreels reached about 40 million Americans a week in about 18,000 movie theaters. The newsreels were popular because they provided audiences with the type of information that is found on television news broadcasts today. As television became popular in the 1950s and `60s, newsreels were cut from the preshow routine.


Doing More

Ask students: What types of products are advertised in pre-movie commercials? Why might different commercials be shown to different groups of people? What types of products might be advertised before an action movie? Before a romantic comedy?

Link It

* Movie Theater Lawsuit Web site:

* National Association of Theater Owners: movie statistics:

What do you think? Should movie theaters show commercials before movies?

>>> Click here: If music be the food of peace … Stephen Pettitt on the

If music be the food of peace … Stephen Pettitt on the importance of the World Peace Orchestra’s recent visit to China

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My guide was sitting opposite me as we took tea in the tourist centre outside the Forbidden City. She’d just given me an admirably thorough tour, under a beating sun, of this fantastic place, a treat added to my schedule at the end of my visit to China with the World Orchestra for Peace. She furnished me with the histories of the Ming and Qing dynasties, throwing in the odd politically weighted titbit; for example, how it came about that many of the Emperors’ treasures were spirited away to Taiwan.


We’d been getting on very well. She was kind enough to say that taking me around the place was just like taking a good friend. Then we fell to talking of the event that had earlier prevented us from entering Tiananmen Square. This was the day when the Chinese were commemorating the 60th anniversary of the end of the war of Japanese aggression, as they like to call the second world war, and there had been a massive parade of soldiers and veterans. And then she rather suddenly said, ‘I hate the Japanese.’ Something to do with the Japanese Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi continuing to provoke China by regularly visiting the Yasukuni Shrine, allegedly to honour the spirit of the war leader Hideki Tojo. (Koizumi claims differently, that he is invoking peace and honouring not warmongers but the innocent dead of Japan.)

For her, of course, everything China–People’s Republic of–was good. During our tour we’d skirted tactfully around political subjects. I did not tackle her on the subject of human rights violations (we have enough of our own at the moment) or on the issue of Tibet. She in her turn did not mention our own various political hypocrisies. As it happened, Tibet was very much on my mind. On the Copenhagen to Beijing leg of the outward flight I’d found myself sitting next to a Swedish Member of Parliament who was heading a delegation of MPs on a fact-finding trip there. He knew perfectly well that several flocks’ worth of wool would be pulled over his eyes, and he also knew truths about arrests, long prison sentences, torture, the suppression of peaceful protest, and the annihilation of Tibet’s culture–the things about which, in an age when pragmatism and trade matter more than principles, visiting world leaders tend to be rather unchallenging.

Such matters put troubling questions in my mind about what the World Orchestra for Peace was doing here. In the lead-up to the 2008 Olympic Games, would its presence be seen as a small mark of approval of the new, apparently more liberal, China, with its vast, gleaming cities, and its embracing of the same market-oriented ideals as those cultivated in Singapore (whose can-do, materialistic atmosphere Beijing now emulates)? Was the concert a marketing operation in which the WOP was a useful tool for its sponsors, Credit Suisse (which, I must record with gratitude, footed my bill) and the design company Ermenegildo Zegna? Yes–and in the second case, of course, and why not? Moreover, this Beijing concert was also a prestigious evening out for what Zhang Yu, president of the China Arts and Entertainment Group (which sounds commercial but is actually a government department), described to me as Beijing’s middle class. Mao Zedong, still looking down at us from a framed photo hung on the panelled walls of the vast committee room where I met Yu, must have turned in his grave at the sound of those two words.

But when, in 1995, the late Sir Georg Solti created the WOP at the behest of Boutros Boutros–Ghali in order to help celebrate the 50th anniversary of the creation of the United Nations, it was a gesture of pure idealism, a practical demonstration of the fact that people of different nations, races, politics, religions can quite easily set aside those differences and cooperate in a common cause–in this case of making music. The players were unpaid and, now under the direction of Valery Gergiev (who took charge following Solti’s sudden death in 1997), still are. Assembled by Solti’s former personal assistant Charles Kaye, they meet on average every two-and-a-half years, many sacrificing their holidays in order to do so. They work extremely hard. The travel is always exhausting, and turned out to be especially so this year. The band arrived in Beijing from London via Berlin and Moscow, giving their programme four times within the space of a week. The Moscow to Beijing trip had been fraught, the wonderful Aeroflot having withdrawn its entire fleet of planes of the type that the orchestra was due to fly on because of a fault. The band arrived hours late and thoroughly bedraggled after a nightmare overnight trip on what sounded from their descriptions like a troop-transporter plane. They’d had to make a detour to Novosibirsk to take on more fuel. It’s a glamorous life.


Only a day later, in the concert hall of the Forbidden City (actually it stands just outside its walls), these remarkable players–89 musicians I counted, from all over the world, including both China and Japan–had plainly regathered their spirits and energy and proceeded to give what was probably one of the most dazzling concerts that Beijing has ever heard. The string sound was superb, as one might expect from a section composed of so many distinguished first desk players. A crisp performance, thoroughly exuberant and Italianate, of Rossini’s William Tell overture was followed by a delectably coloured, lazily erotic account of Debussy’s Prelude h l’apres-midi d’un faune that might have been played by an entirely different orchestra, so complete was the transformation of the character of the sound. Esa-Pekka Salonen’s exciting, ever-accelerating new piece, Helix, went down a storm, and though the Chinese warmed rather worryingly to the militaristic gait of Wagner’s Die Meistersinger overture, they capitulated entirely, as did I, to the fairy-tale exoticism of Rimsky-Korsakov’s Sheherazade. And the encores included Eric Coates’s Knightsbridge March, which everyone loved. A pity, though, that a clash with the opening of Beijing’s music season meant that too many seats were left empty.

I’m glad of the World Orchestra for Peace’s enduring spirit of idealism. Even if it can’t change anything, its engagement with places like China is important. It is, in some sense, an emblematic protest. With luck, in Beijing this spirit might have contributed a minuscule something to the cause of breaking down barriers and to the realisation that political domination, real or desired, never solved anything. And if it did not, then perhaps next time it will. For if nobody listens to what you have to say the first time, you say it a second time, and a third and a fourth, until someone important, or even simply someone like my friend the official guide, does take note and learns a gentle lesson.

Music makers: meet the indie labels behind some of Canada’s best acts

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CANADA IS HOME TO DOZENS of small and independent record labels that nurture the development of emerging artists in every part of the country. Often these labels represent the breeding ground for musicians who end up filling the rosters of larger and more established labels both within our borders and abroad.

Despite this vital role, the public profile of labels like We Are Busy Bodies and Sonic Records is low. This ongoing series is an attempt to correct that by telling the stories of the indie labels that help musicians realize their potential.



Home base: Toronto, Ont.

Notable artists (past and present): Limblifter, Meligrove Band, METZ

The We Are Busy Bodies you see in 2015 is in many ways similar to the label Eric Warner launched 10 years ago. As a concert promoter in Toronto in the early 2000s, Warner became friends with local and touring musicians and wanted to contribute to their success by releasing their records. That hasn’t changed.

“I release records and work with musicians because I am passionate about music and want to be able to champion what I believe in,” says Warner, who also manages bands. That doesn’t necessarily leave the label with a signature sound, however, and Warner reports that the label is run “in an extremely biased manner.”

“We release music that we enjoy and work diligently in sharing it with others, hoping they have a similar reaction as we do,” he adds. “We have released folk, punk, noise music, rock and every other subgenre that could be associated.”

Perhaps typically, this includes projects few other labels would consider: LP re-releases of seminal albums that were never available on vinyl (Limblifter’s self-titled 1996 album) and comeback records from local favourites with smaller followings (Meligrove Band’s Bones of Things).

With almost 50 releases under his belt and seven more planned for 2015 (along with the creation of a subsidiary label), Warner expects We Are Busy Bodies to continue to be a learning experience.

“There is an element of trial and error as you’re always exploring new avenues to support your releases, sell product and monetize to support the infrastructure,” he says, “but it’s definitely become easier.”


Home base: Halifax, N.S.

Notable artists (past and present): Hey Rosetta!, Matt Mays, Rich Aucoin

A proudly Atlantic Canadian label, Sonic tends to release music from the East Coast–but not just any music. “I think everyone on the roster has a strong live act and that drives a lot of what we do as a label,” says Mike Greatorex, label manager and artist manager. “There is a lot of great music in this region to represent.”

It’s been a good couple of years for Sonic artists, with Matt Mays collecting a Juno for Rock Album of the Year for 2012’s Coyote and Hey Rosetta! winning over fans far and wide with their exuberant live shows and the October release of the bombastic yet thoughtful Second Sight.

It’s been good for Greatorex as well. “It’s most definitely a labour of love for me,” he says. “I think when the opportunity to work for a record label and stay in Halifax presented itself about 10 years ago it checked a couple boxes for me personally.”


This year promises more to get excited about, with new music from Matt Mays and The Motorleague. And while there’s a good deal of passion for the artists on the roster, Greatorex doesn’t believe his label fits in with those who try to help shape their listeners’ tastes by carefully curating the roster. “That said, I do love labels (Factory, 4AD, Sub Pop for instance) that have a clearly defined sound, even if that sound evolves over time.”

The economic challenges involved with running a record label have forced many of the people working in that field to branch out into other parts of the business, and Sonic Records is no exception. Sonic Entertainment Group is its parent company, and like others there’s an artist-management side to Sonic’s business as well. “It’s not an uncommon situation these days,” says Greatorex. “Almost everyone I know in this industry wears a few hats.”

With this his final column in the print edition of This, MASON WRIGHT begins a regular series profiling independent Canadian record labels for

The end of junk? Americans are craving healthier snacks – and Big Food wants a piece of the pie

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Come January, Kraft Macaroni & Cheese will deliver to consumers a new pasta–one whose day-glow hue is derived not from synthetic dyes but from naturally colorful spices like paprika and turmeric. Kraft isn’t the only food giant attempting a wholesome makeover. The trend is also coming after your Lucky Charms: General Mills is removing artificial colors from its entire cereal line. That means kids will have to mourn not only the psychedelic marshmallows in their morning staple of cartoon leprechauns, but also the fluorescent blue and green puffs in their Trix. Not to be outdone, Nestle has vowed to nix artificial colors from its chocolate candy and faux flavors from its frozen dinners, while Campbell’s is canning fake colors and flavors from its soups.


What’s behind this industry-wide abandonment of artificial ingredients? Robert Moskow, a food industry analyst for investment bank Credit Suisse, believes the shift reflects a growing crisis: Big Food is losing its grip on the American palate. Moskow notes in a report that the 25 biggest US food companies accounted for 49.4 percent of US grocery expenditures in 2009, a level that had held steady for years; by 2014, their slice had declined to 45.1 percent.

That may sound like a subtle difference, but it amounts to a combined $18 billion in lost sales. This loss, says Moskow, calls into question the industry’s entire business model, which hinges on reaping huge profits in the United States, where growth is slow but margins are high, and investing a portion of them to build up markets in developing countries, where demand for convenience food is rising fast. What’s more, these food giants have massive investments in the United States–manufacturing, distribution, and sales force personnel–that need to be maintained. These costs are fixed (they can’t easily be ramped down during a sales slump), so when US sales drop, “profit declines at an accelerated pace, and it becomes difficult to stop the downward spiral,” Moskow adds. As US profits plummet, there’s less cash available to invest in foreign markets, the industry’s engine for growth.

So where are our food dollars going as they flee Cap’n Crunch and Jell-O? Partly to fresh food. Sales of packaged food in the United States have fallen more than 1 percent for each of the past two years, Fortune recently reported, citing figures from the investment firm Bernstein. But according to Moskow, the more telling shift is that even among packaged goods, we are buying items that appear healthier and less processed, often from companies such as Annie’s Homegrown, maker of an organic macaroni and cheese, and Boulder Brands, which peddles everything from gluten-free Glutino baked goods to Earth Balance vegan shortening.

Along with aiming to mimic healthier products by nixing synthetic flavors and colors, Big Food is trying to keep up by combining operations to slash costs. Last July, a group including Warren Buffett’s Berkshire Hathaway merged iconic US companies Kraft and Heinz, a move that is expected to save $1.5 billion annually.

But the most noteworthy trend is food giants swallowing up the small fry that are nibbling away at their business model. In 2014, General Mills, known for fading legacy brands like Betty Crocker and Pillsbury, bought fast-growing Annie’s Homegrown. More recently, the meat giant Hormel, famous for Spam, acquired the organic meat company Applegate. Expect more such purchases, says Moskow: “Big companies are increasingly choosing to acquire on-trend brands rather than take the risk of developing new brands internally.”



What does it all mean for the quality of the US diet? Marion Nestle, a professor of nutrition and food studies at New York University and the author of Soda Politics: Taking on Big Soda (and Winning), sees the corporate push to simplify ingredients and snap up seemingly healthier competitors as a “huge victory for the food movement.” Michael Pollan, a longtime food industry critic and the author (most recently) of Cooked: A Natural History of Transformation, calls the makeover “good news of a small sort,” though he warns it “could easily become the food-science equivalent of greenwashing, and a way for processed food to hold its ground.”

Pollan is right in that macaroni and cheese probably won’t turn into health food anytime soon, no matter how natural its colors become, but recent data from the US Department of Agriculture confirms that the consumer is indeed inching toward a more nutritious, less industry-friendly diet. Sugar and starchy potatoes, both associated with obesity and diabetes when consumed in excess, have significantly eased their hold on Americans over the past decade. We’re still not eating enough fruits and vegetables, but our appetite for them is slowly growing. Meat, meanwhile, is becoming less tantalizing. All of this is “an indicator that people at least want to eat healthily,” Nestle says. “And that’s a step forward.”

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