Rocket Science - Review

What is so difficult about rocket science? It’s merely the combination of complex scientific systems such as aerodynamics, propulsion, control engineering, materials science and electronics. Alright, so the subjects might be a tad over most of our heads, but those problems pale in comparison to the multitude of life questions and quandaries we all deal with on a daily basis, and that’s exactly the point the aptly named Rocket Science makes.

Born from the brain behind the 2002 documentary Spellbound, which followed middle schoolers working toward spelling bee greatness, Rocket Science is film that is obviously close to writer and director Jeffrey Blitz’s heart. Blitz’ fondness for his home-grown story is good and bad as we follow Hal Hefner, a high school student whose disabling stutter isn’t enough to stop him from joining the debate team in hopes of winning the heart of the fast-talking girl who recruited him. Although the genre has changed to indie comedy, the setting and a few themes aren’t that far off from Blitz’s previous documentary work. Spellbound subtly wove themes of isolation and a loss of childhood through its story, and Rocket Science expands on those ideas through Hefner’s first lost love.

But Rocket Science is far from subtle. From Hal’s ironic last name (he’s not the greatest ladies man) to his stutter-plagued debate arguing the importance of abstinence taught in public schools, the themes of losing one’s childhood innocence through the first romantic relationship are painfully obvious. Perhaps no more so than the scene where Hal looks at his love’s bedroom window, pounding down a bottle of brandy like there’s no tomorrow, while his two friends play cowboy and Indians behind him. Despite all the transparent symbolism, there is a lining of honesty and humor. We’ve all been in Hal’s position at one time or another. The difference is that while his childhood is literally behind him, he gets up and throws a cello through the window of his beloved’s home. How many heart-broken lovers have ever wanted to do that? You can all put your hands down.

The straight-played ridiculousness of the film rings true because of how we relate to it. We’ve all wanted to throw that cello, and we cheer for Hal when he does. Much of the honesty and humor credit is due to Reece Thompson’s performance and Blitz’s direction. Hal’s sympathetic trump card is his stutter, which could have been a cinematic disaster. Blitz, however, handles it with the delicacy of first-hand knowledge, knowing when to make it painful, when to make it funny and when to make it meaningful – like when Hal bumbles through the line, “I want to do this for love… or revenge. Love or revenge.”

Unfortunately, that same finesse doesn’t spill into the rest of Blitz’s aesthetics. While the film isn’t a pretentious indie comedy, or “dramity,” it does have a fixation on quirky music, like an a capella version of The Blob’s pulpy theme song and a piano and cello duet of the Violet Femme’s “Raisin in the Sun,” causing Rocket Science to come off stylistically like a poor man’s Wes Anderson film. Even the voice over seems like practice takes from The Royal Tenenbaums. While Anderson wears his French and Italian influences on his sleeve while injecting his own stile, Blitz’s filmmaking feels like a documentary filmmaker lost on a dramatic palette. Yet, Blitz’s inability to define his directorial voice is what keeps Rocket Science from standing out of the indie crowed, but its honesty and humor hold promises of great films from Blitz.

The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters - Review

In recent years documentaries have garnered acclaim while pointing out the shortcomings of governments, targeting questionable practices of corporations, or educating people about the migration habits of European swallows… or is that an African swallow? It doesn’t matter; the point is that all of these are documentaries taking place on a grand scale. But not every conflict has to involve large-scale enemies like this. The simplest conflicts are battles fought between two people, man against man. With this in mind, The King of Kong shows how the most epic of battles can take place between two people, over something as simple as a video game high score.

We’ve all played a game in an arcade and a few of us have even had the fortune to have one of our scores show up on that almighty scoreboard. I’ve probably had the honor of putting my initials on an arcade machine a dozen times, but I never considered how competitive people could be over those scores. I guess it makes sense. My ninth place score in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles knocks whoever was in tenth place off the list, so a little competitive spirit to keep a name on the list is only natural. Now take that one machine and increase the scale to a world-wide list, and the pressure to keep a name on top, and you have a sense of what The King of Kong is about.

The most competitive of these games are the most simplistic: Pac-Man, Centipede, Donkey Kong, you know, the classics. These games have been around the longest may be less complex, but become a test over basic video game skills: pattern recognition, timing, hand-eye coordination, and just a little bit of luck. Basic as it may be, somehow the national record score for Donkey Kong had been unchanged and unchallenged since the ‘80s. When Steve Wiebe found himself unemployed in 2003, he turned to Donkey Kong for comfort and set out to beat the store held by Billy Mitchell, a legend in competitive gaming organizations. What he didn’t count on was more than just a video game score, but also having to face personal vendettas, deal with favoritism, tolerate egos, and even have his personal credibility called on the line, forcing his submitted score to be negated. But if you can beat a score once, you can beat it a second time, right? That’s the battle The King of Kong captures on film, as Wiebe sets out not once, not twice, but three times to gain the high score on Donkey Kong and become a record holder.

The beauty of this man versus man competition comes from the two different types of people competing. Billy Mitchell is a “winner” personality. He’s very proud of his accomplishments, including his hot-sauce business and his Donkey Kong score. After listing his accomplishments he flat out tells the camera that with all of his blessings he’d hate to see the guy on the other side of the karmic coin. Wiebe certainly seems to be that person. Unemployed at the beginning of his Donkey Kong journey, Steve’s family talks about previous endeavors that were less successful for Wiebe, including a key state-level baseball game he couldn’t play in due to an injury, and an unsuccessful attempt at a musical career. The competitor breaks into tears more than once during his quest. The depiction of each person feels very honest, with both strengths and weaknesses being exposed and a conflict coming merely from their personalities, rather than an editor’s hand.

Despite an at-times-unflattering portrayal of these players (who sometimes appear to be the types who are far too old to still live in their mother’s basements), it’s hard not to get caught up in the competitive spirit, even over something as simple as Donkey Kong. By the end you can’t help rooting for Wiebe to get that top score. Not because he deserves it more than Mitchell (although Mitchell refuses to actually play throughout the documentary), but because he’s worked so hard for it and because the documentary makes it clear how much he wants it. Wiebe is the kind of hero we expect from fictional stories – a virtual Rocky who has been beaten down but keeps coming back for more – but alive and in the flesh.

The King of Kong is an incredibly compelling documentary that doesn’t rely on controversial subject material or fancy editing and storytelling to win over an audience. It’s a nice reminder that you don’t need flash and dazzle to win an audience and a video game score can be just as captivating as any other conflict out there. Take an evening off from governmental debate, explosive car chases, and high drama and enjoy The King of Kong, a thoroughly enjoyable documentary.

El Cantante - Review

If JLo’s career went catatonic after Gigli, then after El Cantante I think it’s probably safe to go ahead and pull the plug on it. There’s no coming out of this coma. El Cantante is the worst movie I’ve seen since the last Jennifer Lopez teams up with her man movie, and if someone manages to make a worse film this year that’ll be quite an accomplishment.

The movie pretends to be the story of famed Salsa singer Hector Lavoe, as told from the perspective of his longtime wife Puchi. Even though putting spouses together in movies almost always results in cinematic disaster, El Cantante does it anyway by casting real life husband and wife Marc Anthony and Jennifer Lopez as Hector and Puchi. I say the movie pretends to be told from the perspective of Puchi, because it only seems to stick to this premise when convenient. The movie pauses frequently to let Lopez as Puchi, in some sort of bizarre, mock interview introduce each scene. This gives Lopez a chance to showcase her complete lack of acting talent. The movie’s awful mock interviews with her play out like someone’s final exam in acting class, and JLo looks like she’s practicing to play the character in front of a mirror. Lopez actually seems to become a worse actress with each picture, and her work in El Cantante represents a new low. But the really annoying thing about all the screen time she’s given to smoke and stare at the camera is that it’s all for nothing since once the scene she’s introducing starts rolling the camera follows Hector everywhere, with or without Puchi. There’s no real attempt to tell the story from her perspective, because that sort of complexity is light-years beyond this script’s grasp.

If there were a bright spot in the film, it might have been Marc Anthony as Hector Lavoe. He certainly looks convincing, drugging and whoring, and shrugging his way through the picture. Unfortunately El Cantante never lets us get to know his character. The movie skips through his life with no real rhyme or reason. It’s like watching the Hector Lavoe story on fast forward, were the remote control being held by a blindfolded mental patient who randomly switches to slow motion based upon a random bubbling sensation in his bowels. There’s no point to any of it, and the movie skips through Hector’s life without letting us know who he is or why he’s important.

The film can’t even properly present his music, the man never sings an entire song and if there was any sort of process to coming up with his sound it’s ignored. Lavoe simply shows up in New York and goes to work singing. Well we presume he’s singing. We don’t see much of it really, though people keep talking about how great he is and soon for no particular reason and with almost no effort on his part, he’s instantly elevated to the status of Latin god.

The same is true of his relationship with Puchi, who just sort of shows up, and then they’re together. We don’t know why they’re together, there’s no attempt to figure out why Puchi sticks with him, or even to figure out what they have in common besides a mutual affection for heavy drugs. Though maybe it’s for the best. If JLo can’t handle the meager morsels El Cantante’s lousy script gives her, I shudder to think what she might have done to good material. The musician biopic craze dies right here; bury it to the left of Jennifer Lopez’s once significant career.