Saturday, March 24, 2007
The name's Doubtfire, dear
Robin Williams can make you laugh, he can make you cry, and he can even make you think. "Mrs. Doubtfire" is his best performance to date and also the funniest film of the 90s. Daniel Hillard (Williams) is a father of three who is very much a kid himself. After throwing a birthday party for his 12 year-old son who is failing in school, his angered and upper-class wife Miranda (Sally Field) files for divorce. Their yelling scene in the kitchen is one of the great dramatic moments in the movie. The courts decide to award full custody to Miranda for three months until Daniel can prove he is a suitable parent. This won't do for Daniel has to see his children more then once a week. He decides to go to his gay brother, a makeup artist, and transform himself into a 65 year-old woman and pose as a nanny Miranda needs to look over the kids. Not only will he be able to hang with them, but he also will be getting $300 a week. The disguise works and the rest is movie magic. "Mrs. Doubtfire" is 125 mins. yet feels too short. I wanted more when it ended. Williams has such talent here. His voices are hilarious and Mrs. Doubtfire is a scream. Sally Field also does a very good job as Miranda Hillard, who seems upset that just because she's an organized woman people detest it. People, that is, except Pierce Bronsan, her new boyfriend Daniel is mad jelous of. Field's anger scene in the finale in a restaurant is True Sally Field. Great film, the best of the comedy genre in the 90s.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Crashing and mending
Chopped up and linked together like a chain, Crash tells the story of people from wildly disparate walks of life as they collide and intersect with one another. Each life is in some way personally affected, changed, damaged, or victimized by racism. They’re also all in some way guilty of racism themselves. A racist cop molests a black couple, only later to risk his life to save a black woman; an honest cop protects a black man from discrimination only to later discriminate against someone himself. There are no easy answers in Crash and though sometimes the characters rise above their baser fears and intolerance, no one leaves the film unscathed.
From the opening scene, where Don Cheadle offers his philosophies on life and violence in LA, I knew that I was in for a good ride. As a rule, my mind races ahead, successfully anticipating what is going to happen next, but with "Crash," I was often way off. Nevertheless, each storyline was believable in the context of the whole. At one point, I felt that my own belief system, especially with respect to racial and ethnic prejudices, was being challenged, and I was not always pleasantly surprised by what I found inside of myself. By the end, however, I wasn't feeling so bad, realizing that no one character was free from prejudice (except perhaps the child) and that no one incident could be fully understood in isolation; fortunately, we are left with the understanding that redemption is within everyone's reach, depending, I suppose, on what fate has in store on any given day or at any given moment. Even though it would be easier to see this as a movie about issues revolving around the color of our skin or the country we are born in, I found it to be more about being human and dealing with the countless misunderstandings, whether we realize it or not, that we take part in each day, and that, despite our weaknesses, we are capable of amazing acts of courage, and, despite our goodness, we are capable of much evil, any of which transcends color, country of origin, religious belief, or economic status.
From the opening scene, where Don Cheadle offers his philosophies on life and violence in LA, I knew that I was in for a good ride. As a rule, my mind races ahead, successfully anticipating what is going to happen next, but with "Crash," I was often way off. Nevertheless, each storyline was believable in the context of the whole. At one point, I felt that my own belief system, especially with respect to racial and ethnic prejudices, was being challenged, and I was not always pleasantly surprised by what I found inside of myself. By the end, however, I wasn't feeling so bad, realizing that no one character was free from prejudice (except perhaps the child) and that no one incident could be fully understood in isolation; fortunately, we are left with the understanding that redemption is within everyone's reach, depending, I suppose, on what fate has in store on any given day or at any given moment. Even though it would be easier to see this as a movie about issues revolving around the color of our skin or the country we are born in, I found it to be more about being human and dealing with the countless misunderstandings, whether we realize it or not, that we take part in each day, and that, despite our weaknesses, we are capable of amazing acts of courage, and, despite our goodness, we are capable of much evil, any of which transcends color, country of origin, religious belief, or economic status.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
The damned thing works!
Little did anyone know at the time how large of an impact those four words would have. In 1921, a 14-year-old boy working in a potato field in Idaho had a vision of sending pictures in waves over the air, like sound waves for radio. His epiphany inspired him to invent the first electronic television,a feat that most engineers of the time thought was impossible.
"Philo Farnsworth was a terribly optimistic, creative man who believed he could accomplish anything," says producer David Dugan. "Farnsworth's genius burned so bright that by age thirty, he had nearly spent himself. When the trajectory of his ambition collided with the plans of a corporation with deep pockets, the result for the lone inventor was tragic."
In 1924, Farnsworth's father died. In order to support the family, Philo took a job delivering radios for a furniture store in Salt Lake City. Impatient to realize his plans for electronic television, within a year he had convinced two California businessmen, George Everson and Les Gorrell, to invest their life savings, a total of $6,000, so he could build a prototype. Soon after, Phil set up a lab in Los Angeles and started work on a camera tube that could turn an image into a stream of electrons, and a television tube that could turn the same stream of electrons into a picture.
Finally, after another 18 months, Philo's creation produced an image the size of a postage stamp. When news of his achievement broke, Hollywood flocked to meet the 22-year-old inventor who might challenge cinema. But his investors were still nervous: to take the fragile prototype to the next stage would require a lot of money. Perhaps Farnsworth's idea could be sold, and inventor and investors alike could get a modest profit out of the deal.
At that time, RCA president David Sarnoff was determined to control emerging television technology as tightly as he did existing radio technology. In the spring of 1930, Sarnoff sent Vladimir Zworkin to the West coast to investigate the maverick inventor who held more than a dozen television patents--and the potential to ruin RCA's plans. Zworkin, a Russian emigré, was also working to develop electronic television.
After his visit to Farnsworth's lab, Zworkin sent a 700-word telegram back East, describing Farnsworth's disssector tube in detail. When he returned, a copy of Farnsworth's camera awaited him.
Over the next few years Sarnoff and Farnsworth would battle in the laboratory and in the courts. In 1939, Farnsworth's hopes were raised when the courts in the patent dispute sided with him. For the first time in its history, RCA would have to pay royalties to an outside inventor. With only seven years until the patents expired, Farnsworth worked to capitalize on his invention. But, just as sales were set to take off, the government declared a blackout for commercial television as part of the World War II defense effort.
Farnsworth had pursued his dream of electronic television for most of his life. When he realized that his patents would not outlast the war, he was despondent. "I think my father was very much of a racehorse," says Farnworth's son, Skee. "He saw obstacles and he cleared them."
"Philo Farnsworth was a terribly optimistic, creative man who believed he could accomplish anything," says producer David Dugan. "Farnsworth's genius burned so bright that by age thirty, he had nearly spent himself. When the trajectory of his ambition collided with the plans of a corporation with deep pockets, the result for the lone inventor was tragic."
In 1924, Farnsworth's father died. In order to support the family, Philo took a job delivering radios for a furniture store in Salt Lake City. Impatient to realize his plans for electronic television, within a year he had convinced two California businessmen, George Everson and Les Gorrell, to invest their life savings, a total of $6,000, so he could build a prototype. Soon after, Phil set up a lab in Los Angeles and started work on a camera tube that could turn an image into a stream of electrons, and a television tube that could turn the same stream of electrons into a picture.
Finally, after another 18 months, Philo's creation produced an image the size of a postage stamp. When news of his achievement broke, Hollywood flocked to meet the 22-year-old inventor who might challenge cinema. But his investors were still nervous: to take the fragile prototype to the next stage would require a lot of money. Perhaps Farnsworth's idea could be sold, and inventor and investors alike could get a modest profit out of the deal.
At that time, RCA president David Sarnoff was determined to control emerging television technology as tightly as he did existing radio technology. In the spring of 1930, Sarnoff sent Vladimir Zworkin to the West coast to investigate the maverick inventor who held more than a dozen television patents--and the potential to ruin RCA's plans. Zworkin, a Russian emigré, was also working to develop electronic television.
After his visit to Farnsworth's lab, Zworkin sent a 700-word telegram back East, describing Farnsworth's disssector tube in detail. When he returned, a copy of Farnsworth's camera awaited him.
Over the next few years Sarnoff and Farnsworth would battle in the laboratory and in the courts. In 1939, Farnsworth's hopes were raised when the courts in the patent dispute sided with him. For the first time in its history, RCA would have to pay royalties to an outside inventor. With only seven years until the patents expired, Farnsworth worked to capitalize on his invention. But, just as sales were set to take off, the government declared a blackout for commercial television as part of the World War II defense effort.
Farnsworth had pursued his dream of electronic television for most of his life. When he realized that his patents would not outlast the war, he was despondent. "I think my father was very much of a racehorse," says Farnworth's son, Skee. "He saw obstacles and he cleared them."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)