Digital Dretzka

May 26, 2006

At least once in every reviewer’s career a story is written to convince to readers – and, implicitly, various editors and bosses – that watching and writing about movies for a living is hardly the picnic everyone assumes it to be. Variations on the same theme are written by reporters assigned to beats in the sports, fashion, food and travel departments.

The spiel begins something like this, “I was at a party last night, when someone professing to be a film buff said, ‘You have the best job in the world.’ To which, I replied, ‘Well, I don’t know what you do professionally, but I’ll bet you’ve never been required to waste an afternoon watching ‘The Corpse Grinders’ and ‘I Spit on Your Grave’ (or hundreds of other titles considered to be beneath contempt), let alone have intelligent opinions about them.”

The critic hopes readers will muster sufficient empathy for the unbearable gravity of his job to stop asking such wearisome questions. And, moreover, editors will look kindly on requests to cover such tough-duty assignments as Sundance, Cannes and Toronto film festivals. Again, to be fair, the same whining can be heard from dyspeptic restaurant writers and sports columnists forced to bear witness to the annual folding of the Chicago Cubs and other hapless franchises.

Indeed, no job is considered to be perfect – or, even, pleasant – by those actually doing the work … no matter how loosely one construes the concept. Being handsomely paid to write about movies, however, is as close to “perfect” as most gigs get.

In my time as both an editor and reporter, I’ve not only grown weary of hearing such condescending appeals to the heartstrings of editors and readers, but I’ve also resorted to using them occasionally to bargain for better assignments. Hypocrisy, after all, is one of the most valuable implements in any journalist’s toolbox.

Of all the plum assignments in the profession, Cannes ranks right up there with the Super Bowl, World Series, coronations, papal visits to Tahiti and the Miss Nude Universe pageant. Once upon a time, the Academy Awards and national political conventions were looked upon with the same esteem, but now they’re mostly seen as pains in the ass. I mean, how often can one ask “Who designed your dress?” or “So, do you think you can win in November?” without pondering suicide?

Writers routinely complain about the challenges of covering Cannes, which include jacked-up prices for food and lodging, dogs in restaurants, the scarcity of party invitations, conversion rates and the body odors of critics not from North America. Long gone are the days when a Simon Sylva, Brigitte Bardot or Edy Williams could be counted on to the cut through the stacks of highbrow baloney simply with the flash of a breast ... or two.

Then, there are the movies, not all of which are fit for human consumption.

In 2003, the usually charitable Roger Ebert – who’s covered Cannes as long and with as much enthusiasm as anyone – set a new standard for exasperation in the face of untenable pretentiousness. After squirming through Vincent Gallo’s “The Brown Bunny,” he declared it to be the worst movie in the history of the festival, even while acknowledging upfront that he hadn’t seen all of the entries. In response, the model/musician/actor/director called Ebert a “fat pig” and reportedly put a curse on the critic’s colon.

"I had a colonoscopy once, and they let me watch it on TV,” Ebert shot back. “It was more entertaining than ‘The Brown Bunny.’" (Months later, Ebert would revisit the film, and award Gallo’s editing decisions with a three-star review. Even so, the original exchange of barbs was remembered long after the film and Chloe Sevigny’s infamous BJ were forgotten.)

The Cannes festival, which isn’t open to the public, continues to fascinate for three disparate reasons. For buffs and critics, it serves as a coming-out party for new work by the world’s elite filmmakers; for industry types, it is a marketplace for movies ranging in quality from superb to abysmal; and, for publicists and fanzines, it represents yet another giant photo-op for stars, bimbos and corporate weasels. T’was ever thus.

In the increasingly distant past, journalists were required only to cover the movies, business and politics surrounding the festival, while paparazzi stalked the ingénues and wannabes who were most likely to doff their bikini tops. Now, however, the duties of the reporter and paparazzo have been merged, as if to more adequately serve those publications and TV newsmagazines desperate to profit from the celebrity meat market.

But, what else is new? Bread and circuses have always competed for the attention of international media. Until recently, American news outlets generally hovered above the madness, ignoring the more scandalous photos and playing down the gossip. Ever since the O.J. Simpson trial, when the New York Times began trading scoops with the National Enquirer, the usual standards of media decorum have ceased to exist.

Increased coverage of celebrity behavior by mainstream media outlets eventually begat more frequent opportunities for publicists to expose their lower-caste clients to a growing number of news sources. Before long, newspapers found they were competing not only with the newsmagazines for readers, but also with the tabs, cable networks and Internet sites that didn’t limit their appeal to “family audiences.”

It was a battle newspapers couldn’t possibly win, even after climbing on board the Internet bandwagon. Those readers who craved gossip, fashion and scandal could find it faster in a far more entertaining format on sites that occasionally strayed across the lines separating PG-, PG-13- and R-rated material. Thus empowered, celebrities and their corporate sponsors gave the media all it could it handle, with every pop-cultural trend, charity bash, reality show and awards ceremony dutifully accorded its 15 minutes of glory.

Thus, the various controversies swirling around the “The Da Vinci Code” were allowed to overshadow everything else happening during the first three days of Cannes. After agreeing to host the U.S. premiere of “M:I-3,” the Tribeca festival became the personal playground for a hyperactive Tom Cruise.
Sundance has been so corrupted by the international party crowd – and, of course, the paparazzi who attend its every craving -- even Robert Redford was prompted to question the motives of those who make the annual trek up the mountain. Toronto puts lots of movies on display, but its significance to Hollywood studios and distributors now lies primarily in the proximity of so many reporters willing to scribble down anything a celebrity says in the five minutes of interview time normally accorded them by publicists. While fans and critics are allowed to feast on the quality and diversity of the films on display, others now find Toronto to be one giant roundtable session, interrupted occasionally by screenings of Hollywood’s holiday fare.

From my vantage point, several thousands of miles away from the French Riviera, the only sound emerging from Cannes is a loud, “boooooo….,” or so we’ve been led to believe. The attention of all 4,000 of the assembled journalists not only was on the stars’ obligatory parade down the red carpet, as is typical, but also on the consensus opinion of the assembled critics as to both its commercial and artistic prospects.

In years past, reviews of such decidedly populist fare as “The Da Vinci Code” would have been left to second-string critics back home, while the A-team surveyed films in competition. That worked pretty well, except on the rare occasions when that person would throw in a clunker, as was the case when the Los Angeles Times’ Kevin Thomas gave “Godzilla” and “Pearl Harbor” their only unqualified rave reviews (and, not so incidentally, pull quotes from a non-junket whore).

Today, of course, editors are so desperate for pop-culture appeal they’ll consider doing things that would have been considered insane only three or four years ago. The L.A. Times put Kenneth Turan’s tepid review of “The Da Vinci Code” on Page 1 of Section 1, alongside a piece on the negative response it received. Better, the paper should have reserved the space for an investigative piece on how easy it’s become for studio publicists to persuade editors that their movies are more worthy of prominent coverage than indies, documentaries and foreign flicks that invariably are more favorably reviewed by their critics.

What could the editors have thought when their readers ignored the critics’ slams and went to see the movie, anyway? Or, conversely, when audiences decided that mostly positive reviews weren’t sufficient reason to attend “M:I-3.” (It scored 66 vs. 46 for “Da Vinci” on the Metacritic scale).

The media also fixated on another high-profile American film, ““Marie Antoinette,” if only because the name Coppola was attached to it … in this case, Sophia. The stories emanating from the screenings concerned themselves more with the differences in accents between American and Gallic boo-birds, than the movie itself. The festival served as the French premiere of the lavish period drama, while American audiences will have to wait until October to add their Bronx cheers (or curse the French, once again, for their anti-American sentiments).

This left hardly any room for stories about more diverse fare in competition. If it weren’t for Brad Pitt deciding to stay in Africa to be with a very pregnant Angelina Jolie, Alejandro González Iñárritu’s “Babel” would have barely made a dent in press coverage. This, despite speculation it is a front-runner for Palme d’Or. If it weren’t being promoted by a former vice president of the United States, no documentary about global warming would find the same traction among the media as did “An Inconvenient Truth.”

The entertainment press also reported criticism of President Bush by Iñárritu and "Shortbus" director John Cameron Mitchell, whose film includes a rendition of the National Anthem during a gay-sex scene. As far as I can tell, that’s all that’s been going on at Cannes.

If all that’s required of their reporters is to report the obvious – and, of course, most film-festival favorites never find distribution here -- why do newspaper editors, especially, continue to expend so much manpower and money to cover an event of so little consequence to their readership? Even the New York Times and Los Angeles Times, whose presence is warranted by their demographics, could be accused of piling-on by assigning too many reporters to cover too little news.

As it is, almost every reporter at Cannes ends up covering the same events, with exactly the same quotes and observations as everyone else, no matter the size of the publication. Criticism and discovery have become far less important to their employers than copycat coverage of the celebrity du jour.

It helps explain the unsavory trend toward replacing seasoned movie critics at important newspapers with personnel not schooled in the cinema. (Note to editors: “young” is not synonymous with “hip” and truly “hip” reporters rarely last very long in the fuddy-duddy world of mainstream journalism.)

Absent any intelligent discussion of the films and artists displaying their wares at Cannes, the festival is no more noteworthy that those in Seattle, Las Vegas and Palm Springs, all of which trot out their own fair share of stars. It’s the movies that made Cannes important – OK, the movies and those forbidden boob shots – and they should cast a larger shadow than the purveyors of hype. Otherwise, soon, the party will be over for everyone. – G.D.

Posted by Gary Dretzka at 02:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

April 17, 2006

Whew, that was close! Here. I was thinking of flying to Bahrain or Iceland yesterday to get a head start on forming my own opinion on the mysteries revealed in “The Da Vinci Code” -- as recommended by director Ron Howard -- but no one at LAX seemed interested in accepting my maxed-out credit cards. I had even gone to the my local used-book store to get a copy of Dan Brown’s novel, which, I was assured, could be read before the flight attendants came around with the hot towels.

Blessedly, upon powering up my laptop Wednesday morning, I was greeted by the news that I hadn’t missed much. In fact, the boys and girls at Cannes seemed to suggest, it would be quite all right for me to wait for the DVD edition. Even better, I wouldn’t even have to waste 50 cents Friday morning to read the reviews in the newspaper.

All the evidence I needed could be found on the Internet, gratis, and within seconds of the completion of the end credits. According to a headline on My Yahoo!, “Laughable ‘Code’ Kicks Off Cannes,” and, on My AOL, “Da Vinci Code Secret Is Out: Most Critics Hate It.” Another rang, “ 'Da Vinci Code' Seen As Cursory and Rushed.”

Laughable? I hadn’t seen that one coming. Echoes of “Howard the Duck,” perhaps?

The media-fueled hype parade rolled on throughout the day, only in reverse. In the meantime, I found something more important than, “Albinos Condemn 'Da Vinci' Assassin,” on which to focus. Instead, I was free to mourn the tragic deaths of the Man Who Was Clarabell and the McCartney marriage. Truly, a day that will live in infamy.

Later, I decided to peruse Rotten Tomatoes and Metacritic. By 8:30 p.m., a consensus had already been established on both sites: phooey.

Only Lou Lumenick, of the New York Post, gave “The Da Vinci Code” an unqualified rave. I’m only guessing here, but it smelled of a plot on the part of his editors to ensure the deployment of the nutty headlines: “YOU'LL LOUVRE IT!” “INTRICATE THRILLER ENOUGH TO MAKE MONA LISA SMILE.”

Lou couldn’t resist joining the pun parade, topping his commentary with, “Ron Howard's splendid ‘The Da Vinci Code’ is the Holy Grail of summer blockbusters: a crackling, fast-moving thriller that's every bit as brainy and irresistible as Dan Brown's controversial bestseller.” A few paragraphs later, however, the critic stumbled over his own wry wit by commenting, “The exciting pursuit of nothing less than the Holy Grail -- whatever that may be -- takes Langdon and Sophie across France, England and Scotland.”

“Whatever that may be,” indeed.

I doubt that the publicists at Sony will pull Lou’s second reference to the Holy Grail for the full-page ads in Friday’s papers. By this time tomorrow, though, kudus from more grammatically consistent sources – including the ever-reliable lapdogs in the junket press – probably will be plentiful.

For those of us who make our entertainment choices based solely on the headlines over pun-filled reviews, the next big rush of excitement comes in waiting for the weekend box-office estimates. That way, on Monday morning, bomb or boffo, we can always say, “I told you so.” Factor in the international day-and-date box-office, as was done with “M:I-3,” and it’s suddenly possible to be right and wrong simultaneously.

Newspaper editors, whose minds should be on more important matters, will insist on something a bit more precise. Depending on which way things go, or are spun, Monday’s headlines likely will read, either, “Hollywood breaths sigh of relief” or “Slump: the sequel.” If it really tanks, look for the New York Times to declare the end of show business as we know it.

It’s easy to understand why Sony elected to open “The Da Vinci Code” in theaters around the globe within hours of opening night at Cannes. One, it was a way to short-circuit pirates, and, two, critics carry a lot less weight in markets outside North America and western Europe, thumbs up or thumbs down. Even without strong legs, a high-profile picture can do a lot of damage in an extended weekend.

The question remains, however, why would Sony risk bombing – and not having seen the movie, I can’t pass critical judgment on it – on such a brightly lit public stage? Did the studio see its product as critic- and blog-proof, based on book sales and the bleating of publicity-hungry priests? Were focus groups unanimous in their enthusiasm for the finished project? Was Cannes too big an ego trip to resist?

All I know is that few, if any, critics actually enjoy investing two or three hours of their time watching a turkey, and several more writing about it. But, when pressed, there’s nothing a mainstream critic relishes more than destroying an outrageously over-marketed picture with their razor-sharp prose. After all, given the speed of the Internet, those bon mots now can be admired, within seconds, around the globe.

A tease on the AOL News front page described the run-up to Cannes as, “The Perfect PR Storm.” The Reuters piece that it linked to speculated that several events came together simultaneously and independent of Sony’s hype machine. They included the furor raised by prelates, zealots and albino-rights activists, as well as a vastly expensive timed-release marketing campaign that limited exposure to stars other than Tom Hanks. Last night’s stroll along the red carpet was expected to provide the icing on the cake.

Apparently, someone forgot to share the dessert with the party-poopers gathered at the critics’ screening. – G.D.

Posted by Gary Dretzka at 10:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

April 8, 2006

John Waters often credits the Catholic Church’s now-defunct Legion of Decency with steering him toward the sorts of movies that would shape his cinematic oeuvre. If, as a lad of 12, Baltimore’s favorite son hadn’t taken Francis Cardinal Spellman’s loud condemnation of “Baby Doll” as an invitation to calculate the wages of sin, who knows if he would have gone on to create such similarly corruptive works as “Mondo Trasho,” “Multiple Maniacs” and “Pink Flamingos.”

For Roman Catholics who came of age after the Bicentennial, the Legion of Decency has as much relevancy as meatless Fridays. For their parents and grandparents, however, it will be forever linked to the annual recitation of a pledge to refrain from selling their souls to the Great Satan in Hollywood.

Here’s how it went:

“I condemn all indecent and immoral motion pictures, and those which glorify crime or criminals. I promise to do all that I can to strengthen public opinion against the production of indecent and immoral films, and to unite with all who protest against them. I acknowledge my obligation to form a right conscience about pictures that are dangerous to my moral life. I pledge myself to remain away from them. I promise, further, to stay away altogether from places of amusement which show them as a matter of policy.”

This was the church’s addendum to the Hollywood Production Code, which was implemented at approximately at the same time, and for precisely the same reasons. Three decades before MPAA president Jack Valenti introduced the ratings code to America’s parents and lawmakers, the Legion of Decency instituted a ratings system that went so far as to condemn films it considered especially heinous. In the case of Elia Kazan and Tennessee Williams’ “Baby Doll,” which actually passed the Production Code Administration’s litmus test, a mere condemnation wouldn’t suffice.

Neither, one assumes, would the organization have forgiven the creators of “The Da Vinci Code,” a best-selling book and potential hit movie that had the temerity to use one of Christianity’s basic tenets as the foundation for a thriller. Absent the Legion of Decency, however, the theological Taliban in Rome have launched a campaign to discredit something that most people recognized as fiction from the get-go.

It harkened me back to 1956, when Cardinal Spellman took the pulpit of St. Patrick’s Cathedral to condemn “Baby Doll” as “evil in concept" and likely to "exert an immoral and corrupting influence on those who see it." He even went so far as to suggest that watching the movie might, in fact, qualify as a sin, which, of course, made it all the more appealing to all those little John Waters within earshot.

Last week, Warner Home Video released “Baby Doll” as both a stand-alone DVD and part of its six-disc “The Tennessee Williams Collection.” Even though it was released theatrically before the introduction of the MPAA ratings, WHV sent it out “R.” That distinction also stretches credulity, considering “Baby Doll” is no rougher than 99 percent of all films currently assigned a PG-13. In fact, it’s something of a hoot.

The United States Conference of Catholic Bishops’ Office for Film and Broadcasting, which supplanted the Legion of Decency, has done away with the “C” and “A-IV” ratings, in favor of “L.” It signifies that a film is intended for a “limited adult audience … (and pertains to) films whose problematic content many adults would find troubling.” A condo in hell no longer comes with a flaunting of the organization’s recommendation.

Today, the only folks who might find “Baby Doll” troubling are those offended by hearing “wop” repeated by the film’s peckerwood protagonists. It’s also possible that some rednecks and white supremacists might object to several hilarious scenes in which the “colored” help makes fun of the cuckolded husband (Karl Malden) of a 19-year-old virgin wife (Carroll Baker).

The “wop” in question, a Sicilian businessman who owns the Mississippi town’s other cotton gin, is played with great flair by a very young and handsome Eli Wallach. After his oily Silva Vaccaro discovers the deep, dark secret in the marriage of Archie Lee and Baby Doll Meighan, he uses it to drive his nemesis insane.

Today, of course, worse things happen every night on television, and no one uses racial slurs to drive their point home. Baby Doll’s then-scandalous attire – an opaque white slip – wouldn’t pass the muster of the flesh-bot fashionistas on “The OC.”

Nonetheless, any collaboration between Williams and Kazan is worthy of attention, even as period camp. Kazan’s adaptation of Williams’ “A Streetcar Named Desire,” also included in the box set, avoided condemnation from the Legion of Decency only after four minutes of since-restored footage was excised.

A half-century later, the dictates of the Legion of Decency seem prehistoric. In its time, though, they influenced the ticket-buying habits of millions of parishioners. Even if a questionable title won the stamp of approval from the Production Code Administration – and, in a few cases, Oscar nominations – the church could lobby officials of cities with large Catholic populations, many of which had their own review boards.

Fearing financial retribution, the major studios routinely agreed to make the recommended trims and kept close watch on the extracurricular activities of its contract stars. In other cases, studios would push back release dates, hoping for a change in the cultural climate.

The practice continues today, under different auspices. Because mall owners prohibit NC-17 films from being exhibited in theaters attached to their properties -- and advertising can be refused by newspapers and television outlets -- producers of borderline titles are forced to decide between self-censorship and limited distribution.

The Legion of Decency’s demise, in the early ’70s, went unlamented by Catholics who didn’t believe they should be sentenced to an eternity in hell simply for watching “The Last Picture Show” or “Last Tango in Paris.” The watchdogs at the Conference of Catholic Bishops (http://www.usccb.org/movies/movieall.shtml) are far less censorious, and, in fact, tend to offer cogent opinions on movies and DVDs, TV shows and theatrical productions, with concise explanations of perceived problems.

Coincidentally, perhaps, last week’s mail also brought a review copy of the Criterion Collection edition of Luis Bunuel’s “Viridiana.” Released here in 1962, it had the distinction of being condemned not only by the Legion of Decency and Vatican, but also banned from distribution in the director’s Spanish homeland.

Bunuel, whose attacks on the Catholic Church were the stuff of legend, had been living in self-imposed exile for years when he was asked by Francisco Franco to return to Spain to direct a film. That film was “Viridiana,” and, no, the generalissimo couldn’t take the joke. Even though it would win the Palme d’Or at the 1962 Cannes Film Festival, the “blasphemous” drama wouldn’t be shown in Spain until two years after the dictator’s death, in 1975.

In it, a novice nun (Silvia Pinal) is asked by her rich and devious uncle (Fernando Rey) to return home before she takes her vows and attend to a family tragedy. While there, Don Jaime tests Viridiana’s virtue and religious beliefs in increasingly outrageous ways. Even after he commits suicide, Viridiana finds it impossible to avoid the tests of faith he laid in her path. The last straw was Bunuel’s famous staging of a tableau vivant of “The Last Supper,” with beggars and physically impaired vagrants posing as Jesus Christ and his disciples.

This isn’t to imply that the Vatican’s only reaction to controversial movies is strictly negative. After Mel Gibson famously solicited the approval of Pope John Paul for “The Passion of the Christ,” Vatican apparatchiks stumbled over themselves trying to persuade reporters that this increasingly brittle and wizened holy man not only sat through the 2-hour-plus dram, but had also managed to declare, “It is as it was.”

The film would become a huge success, of course, with Christians of all stripes beating a path to the local megaplex. Today, the review available on the Conference of Catholic Bishops’ website recommends the film only to adult audiences, and cites as many pros as cons in its critique. Its critics certainly didn’t take “It is as it was” – no matter who said it first – as the final words on the subject.

Also available there is the “Vatican Top 45 List,” which was compiled in 1995 to celebrate the 100th anniversary of the cinematic art. The list of "great films" is divided into three categories: Religion, Values, Art. And, compared to some I’ve seen, it ain’t bad.

Now, in the run-up to the release of “The Da Vinci Code,” important members of the Vatican inner-circle are speaking out against Ron Howard’s adaptation of Dan Brown’s blockbuster novel – repeat, novel -- of the same title. It remains unclear if any of them had actually read the book, or seen a pirated disc of the movies, before calling for the heads of their authors. It’s likely that Roman Catholics purchased at least a few dozen of the 40 million books in circulation, and a mass migration from the church has yet to materialize.

Even so, Reuters reported on Sunday that Cardinal Francis Arinze, once considered a leading candidate for the top job at the Vatican, urged Christians to respond to the book and film with legal action, because “both offend Christ and the Church he founded.” The comments apparently were made in a documentary called "The Da Vinci Code: A Masterful Deception."

This came 10 days after another Vatican-based cardinal called for a boycott of the film.

"Christians must not just sit back and say it is enough for us to forgive and to forget," Arinze was reported as saying in Mario Biasetti’s film. "Sometimes it is our duty to do something practical. So it is not I who will tell all Christians what to do but some known legal means, which can be taken in order to get the other person to respect the rights of others. …

"Those who blaspheme Christ and get away with it are exploiting the Christian readiness to forgive and to love even those who insult us. There are some other religions, which, if you insult their founder, they will not be just talking … they will make it painfully clear to you."

Whoa, Nelly … those sound like fightin’ words to me.

Reuters wasn’t able to ask the bishop if, by this, he meant Catholics should take to the streets, as did Muslims incensed over cartoons published in the western press of the Prophet Mohammad. Neither was he asked how he felt about Malaysia’s decision, first, to ban “The Passion of the Christ,” but, later, restrict its viewing to Christians; or about the banning of “Ben-Hur,” in China, 40 years ago, for containing "propaganda of superstitious beliefs, namely Christianity"; or the banning of “The Message” in several Middle Eastern countries because religious leaders didn't cotton to the idea of having the Prophet Mohammed's story told in a motion picture.

In the case of “The Message,” which, contrary to rumor, didn’t use actors to portray Mohammed or his wives and children, Americans distributors panicked after a group of Hunafi Muslims – African-American converts to Islam -- stormed the Washington headquarters of B’nai Brith, taking several dozen people hostage. One of the group’s demands was the banning of “The Message,” which, its members incorrectly assumed, was financed by Hollywood, which, as everyone knows, is controlled by Jews. It finally was released in DVD last year, with no Blockbusters being lost to arson, as theater owners were led to fear in 1976.

At the time, Moustapha Akkad, the Syrian Muslim who directed and produced “The Message,” faced serious threats against his life. He managed to live long enough to be killed in the terrorist bombing, last year, of a hotel in Amman, Jordan.

Is this sort of action Cardinal Arinze might endorse, if legal measures fail … as they must, at least in America? Let’s give him the benefit of a doubt and say, probably not.

The fact is, American Catholics have accepted the fact that their faith is under constant assault by forces outside and within the church, be they novelists or pedophile priests. Mystery and mysticism are as much a part of the Catholic experience as were the Latin Mass and meatless Fridays, until someone in Rome woke up one morning and changed his mind about their value in the pursuit of godliness. The current pontiff even has voiced his willingness to consider, at least, the benefits of condoms in the fight against AIDS.

By comparison, a fantasy about an albino hitmen is in the employ of Opus Dei is small potatoes. It’s not as if the distant seed of Jesus and Mary Magdalene’s clandestine marriage was planning on announcing his engagement to one of the Hilton sisters any time soon.

How could the church have existed for nearly 2,000 years without a healthy dollop of mystery and intrigue? For starters, there’s the virgin birth, which has been questioned by every Catholic schoolchild with a half brain for two millennia. You either buy into it, or you don’t, and the vast majority of sheep born into the flock clearly have suspended their disbelief long enough for a foundation of faith to be constructed underneath it. One might also ask what are all those gargoyles are doing on the walls of the great cathedrals of Europe, or why the bones of saints and martyrs are put on display for the benefit of worshippers and tourists. And, how is it that miracles are demanded of those dearly departed men and women whose deeds on Earth qualify them for beatification and sainthood?

The Gospels read like murder mysteries – call it Christian noir -- in that they’re populated by all manner of good guys and bad guys, victims and perpetrators … why not a sexy and sexy dame, like Mary Magdalene? Forget the “Mona Lisa,” if word were to leak out that Jesus Christ had invested a couple of his “missing years” into the pursuit of marriage, it would mean that the 2,000-year-old tradition of priestly celibacy was nothing more than an unnecessary conceit.

“The Da Vinci Code” and the book that inspired it, "The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail," have repeatedly been debunked as faux history, as recently as last week, in a “60 Minutes” segment. No one has been able to deny either book’s worthiness as mass-market entertainment, however. When it comes to killing time on airplanes or on the beach, “The Da Vinci Code” is pretty tough to beat.

Even so, Catholics are entitled to defend their faith and explain its mysteries and history in any way they so choose, as long as their pronouncements don’t drag the faithful into another pointless Crusade. Far short of any worse-case scenario, though, savvy priests and bishops already are preparing sermons and discussion groups to counter what is depicted in Ron Howard’s movie.

There’s also a website (http://www.jesusdecoded.com) devoted to the church’s side of the discussion. It arrives a bit late in the game, perhaps, but its existence acknowledges, at least, that condemning someone for going to see a movie is likely to prove counterproductive in the 21st Century.

“Reporters have asked whether even a best-selling novel can seriously damage a Church of one billion believers,” comments Monsignor Francis J. Maniscalco, a priest in the Diocese of Rockville Centre, N.Y. “No, in the long run, it can not …but that is not the point. The pastoral concern of the Church is for each and every person.

“If only one person were to come away with a distorted impression of Jesus Christ or His Church, our concern is for that person as if he or she were the whole world.”

Forgetting for a few seconds how this same quote might resonate with the victims of abuse at the hands of perverted clergy, especially considering the ensuing cover-ups and hushed settlements, it might behoove the Vatican to avoid that particular argument. Better to treat the movie as yet another fleeting pop-cultural craze, and resist the temptation to provide Sony with any more free publicity.

Unless the secrets buried in the Vatican vault are revealed in a pay-per-view television special – or the Blessed Descendant becomes a contestant on “American Idol” – this, too, will pass … two weeks after the release of “The Da Vinci Code: Special Collector’s Edition.” Forty years down the road, perhaps, copies of the DVD will sit side-by-side with copies of “Baby Doll” and “Viridiana” as artifacts of a period in history when films were blacklisted along with artists and their imaginations. -- G.D.

Posted by Gary Dretzka at 03:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Look up “Nisei” in the IMDB database and only four titles pop up. Surprisingly, perhaps, the first was made in 1951, when World War II movies were being turned out like so many Fords in Dearborn. The most recent, “Only the Brave,” is struggling for distribution.

“Go for Broke!” told the story of the 442nd Regimental Combat Team. The highly decorated unit was formed in 1943, with the permission of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and would join the 100th Infantry Battalion in northern Africa. Both were comprised entirely of Japanese-American soldiers, many of whom had been on maneuvers with the Hawaiian Territorial Guard on that day in December that would forever live in infamy.

After the attack on Pearl Harbor, second-generation Americans were treated by their elected representatives as if they were under the direct command of Emperor Hirohito. The 5,000 Japanese-Americans who already were serving in the armed forces were stripped of any official duties, while 120,000 civilian Nisei were forced to give up their homes and businesses and move into internment camps.

The 1,400 men summarily discharged from the Hawaiian Territorial Guard would form the nucleus of the 100th Infantry Battalion. The 442nd would be made up Nisei from Hawaii and the internment camps on the mainland. As part of the long slog to victory, these units would see intense action in northern Africa, Italy and southern France.
For those us who weren’t taught the heroics of the 100th/442nd in high school, it’s important to remember that Americans of German and Italian descent were neither uprooted nor prevented from serving their country. Indeed, it wasn’t until NBC aired “Farewell to Manzanar,” in 1976, that many Americans of all ages knew the internment camps even existed.

But, then, the same could be said about the exploits of the Navajos who enlisted in the Marine Corps so that the intricacies of their native language could be exploited in the island-to-island push to VJ Day. Neither were many American students taught to appreciate the efforts of the Tuskegee Airmen, the racism faced by black servicemen after President Harry integrated the armed forces, or the great sacrifices made in the Civil War by the black soldiers of the 54th Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry.

If it weren’t for such movies as “Go for Broke!,” “Windtalkers,” “Glory,” “The Tuskegee Airman,” “Men of Honor” and “Only the Brave” many Americans would continue to belief that our wars were fought solely by whites of various European ancestries and religions. Several decades worth of textbook publishers routinely ignored the contributions of minority Americans, as well as anti-fascist partisans and German and Japanese resistance groups. More credit was given the Sicilian Mafia – and their American brethren -- for the liberation of Europe than the Nisei and code-talkers of the Choctaw, Comanche and Sioux nations.

(Perhaps, if President Bill Clinton had learned how many American pilots were rescued by Serbian fighters in World War II, he wouldn’t have been so enthusiastic about decimating Serbia’s infrastructure in the latest Balkan war. To make his belated point about genocide, Clinton ignored intelligence pointing to the presence of Al Qaeda in Bosnia and Albanian mobsters in Kosovo. But, that’s another movie.)

Not having seen “Go for Broke!,” which, then and now, was promoted as if it were more about Van Johnson than Nisei soldiers, I won’t presume to compare it to “Only the Brave.” Both movies explain the background that led to the forming of the 100th/442nd -- the former less emphatically than the latter -- and each dramatically describes the hellish battle to rescue 275 men of the Texas 36th Division, which had been trapped for more than a week in France’s Vosges Mountains.

Indeed, Lane Nishikawa’s debut project more closely resembles a traditional Hollywood profile in courage than any similar World War II re-creation in decades. Nishikawa’s take is informed by the testimony of survivors, and, as such, rightly focuses on their unique story. This is a movie about the Nisei … not Texas, not Van Johnson, not Audie Murphy,

Made on a budget reported to be in the neighborhood of $1 million, and shot in the wilds of Pasadena and Hollywood, Nishikawa’s only real conceit involves cutaways to the families back home in the camps and memories of life before internment.

The Nisei soldiers are played by, among others, Jason Scott Lee, Mark Dacascos, Yuji Okumoto, Greg Watanabe and Ken Narasaki, with Jeff Fahey and Guy Ecker representing the “Lost Battalion.” Nishikawa also stars as the platoon leader haunted by the death of his father (Pat Morita, in one of his final roles) and the hardships faced by the wives and girlfriends left behind (Tamlyn Tomita, Emily Liu).

Apparently, “Only the Brave” has yet to find a distributor, so it’s making the rounds of festivals and Asian-American institutions. A special screening is scheduled for Sunday, May 7, at 2 p.m., at the Directors Guild of America, 7920 Sunset Blvd. For ticket information, call 213-680-4462, ext. 68.

It was funded in part by grants from the California Civil Liberties Public Education Program and donations from families of veterans who served in the 100/442. -- G.D.

Posted by Gary Dretzka at 12:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

May 3, 2006

Like almost everyone else in Los Angeles, I’ve become so distraught by recent revelations in the Pellicano-gate scandal (there, I’ve said it) that I’ve had a hard time concentrating on the business at hand. By comparison, navigating around Monday’s immigration boycott was a walk down the Yellow Brick Road.

I still find it difficult to believe that any show-business executive – let alone, a former agent – would hire a Philip Marlowe wanna-be to spy on his enemies. These are honorable men, who are engaged in a high-stakes game in which integrity and fair play are taken for granted. And, if Ron Meyer visited the besmirched P.I. in prison … well, what would Jesus have done? Charity has to begin somewhere … it might as well be in the executive offices overlooking an amusement park.

Surely, the New York Times and Vanity Fair have something better to obsess over than a case of business-as-usual in Hollywood? If even half of the leaked rumors it’s repeated, concerning such outstanding corporate citizens as Michael Ovitz, Brad Grey, Chris Rock, mogul Ron Burkle, director John McTiernan and attorneys Bert Fields and Terry Christensen (generally referred to as “feared” or “aggressive,” not “reptilian” or “ruthless,” as some would have it) were accurate, the Hollywood honor code would demand they be tarred, feathered and run out of town on a rail. Not only wouldn’t they be able to eat lunch in this town ever again, but they also wouldn’t be allowed to operate a Hummer or Mercedes anywhere west of the 405.

Who would risk such ostracism?

OK, you got caught me there … the answer to that question, of course, is “everyone in the 312, 213 and 818 area codes.” Remember, in the business of show -- as in college sports -- if you’re not cheating, you’re not trying. And, anyway, chewing the fat with hard-boiled guys like Pellicano is way cooler than staying home and watching DVDs of movies that have yet to be released. Too bad, if a few estranged wives and girlfriends, jealous business partners, uppity actors and nosy reporters don’t get the joke.

If the lawyers one retains aren’t fearsome and aggressive, what the hell good would they be? Everyone has a niece or nephew in law school that could walk the case through court for the price of a Mini-Cooper. Why waste the big bucks? Better to cop a plea, than risk a trial that might conflict with Cannes or Christmas on Maui.

And, that’s the part of this manufactured scandal the editors and journalistic assault teams of the New York Times and Vanity Fair don’t understand. Until the half-buried body of a divorce lawyer or plaintiff is discovered alongside the road to Palm Springs – those of dead homeless people don’t count – no one in those aforementioned area codes is going to give a good crap about eavesdropping and wiretapping. Reporting that this contretemps is “gripping” the town doesn’t make it so. A few homes in Malibu and Bel-Aire might be feeling tremors, but none north or east of Burbank and south of the 10.

Who knows when any one of us might need the services of an aggressive litigator? If they’re all in prison, where’s our justice gonna come from?

It all makes for a titillating read over bagels and macchiato on a slow morning at Starbuck’s. L’affaire Pellicano pales, however, by comparison to losing the services of a maid or gardener for a full day, just so they can march down Wilshire Avenue … instead of taking the bus, like normal servants do.

No, the full extent of the horror won’t be known until someone at HBO commissions a made-for-cable movie to explain it to us, just as it did in “Barbarians at the Gate” and “The Late Shift.” Right now, I’m seeing Dennis Franz as the wiseguy P.I. … G.D.

Posted by Gary Dretzka at 12:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)