Hello nonexistent readers! In the sidebar, you’ll find a link to some episodes of a web-series I helped produce. Alternatively, you can just click here!
Changes at the Theatre
With Mr. von Von dead, we’ve finally been allowed to bring our digital cameras into the theatre. We made some stuff. Here’s a teaser.
RIP Mr. Frederick von Von
I (barely) regret to inform you of the passing of Mr. Frederick von Von. In a drunken rage, Mr. von Von shattered his theatre’s digital projectors with a tire iron and reinstalled an old 35 mm projector to watch his favorite film of all time, Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
It’d been years since the man had threaded a film and negligently bypassed several safety protocols, including calibrating the projector’s temperature sensor. When the film overheated, Mr. von Von was–foolishly, I might add–standing under coils of old film stock. When we found his charred corpse, his ankles were tied together by a tangled mess of singed 35. The man didn’t stand a chance.
So, after some legal debate with an estranged ex-Mrs. von Von’s lawyers, I unfortunately have full control over Burnt Celluloid.
For one reason or another, I can’t let this site fall to the wayside. Burnt Celluloid will still be producing (though not strictly limited to) written reviews of your favorite films, only without all that “wit” Mr. von Von claimed to have.
Frankly, I’m glad the man is dead.
Stay tuned.
DJC
A Most Disappointing Film
Honestly, I’m a bit of a softie. If there’s an effective emotional scene in a movie, chances are I’m going to cry. Remember that scene in Man of Steel (of all movies) when Clark’s dad dies? Oh yeah, I was a blubbering mess.
What can I say? I’m just a gentle, benevolent man. But when I screen a film with a title like “A Most Violent Year”–a film supposedly portraying 1981 New York, the most crime-ridden year in the state’s history–I expect to see some carnage. Give me some explosions. Give me dismemberment. I want some bullet-pierced bodies. Please, give me something worth cringing over!
But A Most Violent Year does not uphold its titular promise. Honestly (God forgive me for saying this), this film would’ve been much better if it were co-directed by Michael Bay and Quentin Tarantino. I’m thinking the detonations & incoherence of Bay and blood-spray & cameos of Tarantino (Samuel L. would’ve KILLED in this).
The two leads, Oscar Isaac and Jessica Chastain, are wonderful. Sure, maybe they were a little uninspired, but that’s exactly how I’m feeling right now too.
Leary Award:
The Ignorant Expectation of Virtue
If you know anything about me, you know that there isn’t even a shred of room to care less about what other people think of me. And don’t pretend you feel the same way; I see your status updates, your tweets, your Instagram posts – they all say the exact same thing: VALIDATE ME.
Well, reader, I will not hit “Like.” I refuse to retweet you. There will be no double-tapping for your sunbathing, bikini-bottom clad body. Post a picture of your dinner on any social media outlet – I dare you. You’ll be unfollowed so fast you won’t even know you had me as a friend in the first place.
For example, go to Alejandro González Iñárritu’s Facebook page and search his friend list for my name. After the recent release of his Oscar-winning Micheal Keaton biopic, Birdman, I promise you’ll never find it there again. How could one remain friends with someone constantly seeking validation like that? You think you’re the only who can do it all in one take, Alejandro? I did it in 1992 and I can do it again:
Alongside Edward Norton playing Edward Norton, Zach Galifianakis playing Zach Galifianakis and Emma Stone playing Amy Winehouse, Michael Keaton plays a washed-up, post-Batman Michael Keaton in Iñárritu’s Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) which really is just a well-rehearsed play that Iñárritu illegally snuck backstage and shot and is calling a movie despite every critic that matters (including myself, of course) calling it blatant plagiarism of all the hard work every aforementioned actor has put in over the years, especially Norton, who really should’ve been the focal point of this movie in the first place because DAMN does he look good, even in the scenes right next to Emma Stone who, now that I’m thinking about it, is the most sick & twisted character in this entire movie for (SPOILER ALERT:) smiling and praising God after looking at her father’s splattered body on the curb 10 stories below.
I’ll be waiting patiently for your retort, Mr. Iñárritu.
Leary Award:
What was that movie?
I’ve been sitting at my typewriter for hours trying to write this week’s review and for the life of me cannot remember what film it was for! Maybe it was The Imitation Game? Inherent Vice? No, I could never forget Joaquin with those ‘burns!
My memory has never failed me like this before. Really, this is so unlike me and I can’t help but feel embarrassed! Typically I’m an elephant.
Perhaps tomorrow I’ll remember…
Leary Award:
Whiplash
If you’re going to try and become a rockstar, allow me to offer a word of advice: don’t.
Seriously, why would anyone want to be “one of the greats”? Do you know how much work it took Katy Perry to get a gig lip syncing for 70,000 people at the Super Bowl? Not a whole lot, I’m willing to bet – but you’re not Katy Perry. Your best shot at stardom is developing and maintaining a drug habit that allows to you to tap into your most creative headspace. But there’s no turning back after that, unless you want to end up like Trent Reznor after he got sober (spoiler alert: you don’t).
If you still want to take the chance at fame and glory though, put that needle down and check out Damien Chazelle’s Whiplash, a feature-length how-to video that record label executives use for developing their next hit sensations.
While attending Shaffer Conservatory, arguably the best music school in the world, jazz drummer Andrew Neiman (Miles Teller) is on his path to becoming “one of the greats.” Neiman climbs to first chair of the school’s most elite jazz ensemble led by Terence Fletcher (Juno’s Dad), the misunderstood antagonist who is only capable of communicating through screamed homophobic slurs. Unaware their goals are one-in-the-same, the two constantly battle for power in a struggle to unleash Neiman’s full potential. Along the way, wills are tested and hearts are broken (I would’ve never crushed you like that, Nicole!) until Neiman channels his inner Animal for an impromptu solo at the end where literally none of the sound from the drum set is synced with the images on the screen.
It’s a scary world outside of the practice space you have set up in your mom’s garage. But really, if that guy from Def Leppard can do it, you can too.
Leary Award:
Burnt Celluloid 