"Dog Sees God" as interpreted by MU Theatre

Play: Dog Sees God (2004)

Remember in high school when your senior class voted for all those “most likely to” categories, and at your 10-year reunion when the guy who won “class flirt” came back as Molly the transgendered P.E. teacher? Dog Sees God brings that “all growed up” approach to one of America’s favorite comics, the Peanuts, and pulls the proverbial football out from under its foot. An angst-ridden cast, alcoholic and Rastafarian debauchery and teenage sex — including the gay kind — make this unauthorized parody directed by Bryan M. Vandevender a shocking yet delightful look at the characters we thought we knew.

The brilliance of this play lies in its ability to make the drama we find so contrived and overdone in most popular entertainment, into a relatable, evocative experience that is incredibly timely and raises awareness without preaching. With strong language, and even stronger content, the play gets very heavy very quickly, but should be regarded as an exercise in mind-opening that is beneficial to all audiences mature enough to watch MTV.

The characters of Dog Sees God have more baggage than a trans-continental flight: identity crisis and juvenile detention, drugs and homophobia, they’ve got it all. The first scene is no different as our protagonist, CB (Andrew Rea), chokes out a monologue to his ethereal pen pal. You see, his dog, which shall remain nameless, died, and well, he’s feeling a bit unstable. As the audience listens to Rea reminisce and ramble, it feels like that awkward moment on a bus or a plane where the stranger next to you decides you would make a great counselor, and you’re forced to nod and “hmm” like you know how they’re feeling. Before you know it, Rea’s got you leaning forward in your seat and brought a concerned wrinkle to your brow. You’re hooked.

Thunder rolls characteristically overhead as the scene Canis Exequiae (meaning dog funeral) begins. We get our first glimpse at how the loveable kids from the comics have changed as CB’s Sister approaches him at the grave, lighting a cigarette and looking more like Elvira than the pink princess we remember. The two argue over mutual annoyance of each other and whose “f-ing dog” it was anyway. The scene brings back memories of Donnie and Elizabeth Darko fighting across the dinner table, spitting expletives and resentment.

CB enlists the help of another familiar face at the iconic brick wall, where he is joined by confidant, Van (Ian Matthew Sobule). If the setting doesn’t give away Van’s identity, his red shirt, blue hoodie and admission that he smoked the remains of his beloved blanket should do it. Yes, Van is the token pothead — just part of the reason this scene is titled Nirvana. Sobule offers a comedic performance with just enough droopy eye and dazed bliss to make it convincing, but without going full-on Jeff Spicoli (Fast Times at Ridgemont High) on us.

At school CB’s character is a bit sinister as he doubles over laughing when friend, Matt (Joseph Burch), sexually harasses his sister, and classmate Beethoven (Christopher Carlson). CB joins Matt, shoving and calling the boy “fag.” This is not the CB we once knew who did the right thing to a fault. Though we’re disappointed in CB, Matt’s attack is harsh, including a threat to kill Beethoven for supposedly being gay.

Burch, like Sobule, delivers despite a typically exaggerated role: the villain. With a firmly set brow and rigid shoulders seething aggression, he conveys intimidation through his body more than his voice, making him the perfect bully and our antagonist. His character carries a touch of ironic humor as well since he dropped the childhood nickname (Pig Pen) and acquired a germ phobia.

The next characters we meet are Tricia (Maddie Byrne) and Marcy (Alyssa Cartee) — think Peppermint Patty and Marcie — whose double-trouble partnership hasn’t changed much, except that instead of sleeping through class, they’re now boozing through it. The girls’ attempt at the drunken duo feels a bit over-the-top, but is completely tolerable.

Beethoven’s exposition comes as a response to CB’s relentless search for answers to the afterlife, which he resumes while crashing the pianist’s lunchtime practice session. Exasperated by CB’s self-pity, Beethoven vents his frustration over CB and his pals’ bullying, the reason he spends the hour alone each day. When Rea scoffs at his sensitivity, Carlson delivers a line that causes all the air to leave the room:

“No wonder kids bring guns to school and shoot you f***ers down.”

The final member of the cast, Van’s Sister (Stephanie Juergens), is introduced to the audience behind bars with a flimsy sign reading: “The doctor is in.” Sporting a jumpsuit and pigtails, she’s as snarky as ever and glad to see CB. Juergens has mastered the feigning-innocence pout, and her thick black eyeliner gives her an edginess that speaks louder than the handcuffs she’s wearing.

The play’s other strong point is its sardonic humor. In a party scene at Marcy’s house the characters simultaneously break out in their own “dances” — a cheeky homage to the source material — bouncing, twisting and waving in place. Later, in the heat of a lover’s quarrel, Beethoven begrudgingly hands over a “mix” he makes for his beau. Carlson, and the audience, can barely keep from laughing at the classically teenage gesture as he turns away to hide his grin. Moments like this make watching the performance live feel like a long shared joke between cast and crowd.

Amidst the commendable acting and colorful script, some very serious topics centered on identity, bullying, and death shroud the play’s lighter notes with a somber warning.

Dog Sees God leaves viewers paralyzed by its sobering message, but simultaneously stirs them to action. A good amount of grief gets served up as the characters battle confusion, fear and loss, but they reflect the troubling reality the youth of this generation faces. Our American cultural climate could not be more appropriate for this story of self-doubt and its important warning. It is as entertaining as it is informative. It is irreverent and essential.

Don’t be a blockhead. See it.

The Social Network is a fan of "purporting the truth"

Again, sorry it's late. This one is more for your ethical pondering than an artistic critique. Warning: major spoilers, i.e. the entire plot.

Film: The Social Network (2010)

[PG-13]

Proceed With Caution: A Review of The Social Network and a journalist’s call for integrity

The Social Network is a film this generation can’t help but be interested in. When you have a society obsessed with exhibitionism on a single global stage, you can only expect that when someone makes a movie about it, people will watch it. In our meta  — a nice way of saying self-absorbed — culture, we jump at the chance to see ourselves on screen, even if the “we” is personified by an inanimate Web site. But just because this film satisfies our egocentric appetite, doesn’t make it good for the soul.

A story of Facebook and its creators, The Social Network is entertaining and pathos-driven hearsay advertised as the truth. Though its script is plenty comedic, scenes are creatively arranged, and lead Jesse Eisenberg’s performance is impressive, the movie’s flaws make the film a bit of a disappointment. They break down like this:

1.     Mark Zuckerberg’s dead-pan personality projected on the film as a whole

2.     Justin Timberlake’s performance

3.     Fact and fiction

As soon as that stallion and the lady with the torch have faded to black, The Social Network wastes no time warming up the audience to the film’s protagonist…er …villain...ous antihero? Zuckerberg, played by Jesse Eisenberg, has a knack for bringing conversation to a halt—one that everyone finds so uncomfortable that they fill the space for him. The effort people make to break the silence feels a bit like ironic foreshadowing. Most of us hardly speak in verbal sound anymore, communication having been reduced to chimes, buzzes, and little red flags via electronics. As we watch Eisenberg’s performance, we see a little bit of the social roly pollies we’ve become, comfortable until someone gets too close and “pokes” us.

The scene opens on Erica, Zuckerberg’s girlfriend (Rooney Mara), looking less than enthralled by Mark’s disjointed conversation. He jumps from statistics to rhetorical questions, sometimes leaving a topic completely for a few exchanges, and then revisiting it without warning. What starts as Mark’s game plan to get into a “final club” at Harvard ends as a dig at Erica’s humble beginnings and the end of their relationship. Within the first scene, we get a pretty distinct impression of Mark, and a hint at the social ineptitude, which he will soon teach the world to embrace.

When Mark returns to his dorm, he blogs about his breakup, and takes on the role of narrator. This is the point where the man, the myth, the monotone, Zuckerberg, becomes a little unbearable. As he walks the audience through what we assume is the simplified version of the creation of FaceMash, the hot-or-not web app that Mark creates with Harvard girls’ pictures, it feels more like being read to from a computer manual. And yes, I can see why they did it — they probably thought it would be a clever way to convey Mark’s lack of personality — but my God, you don’t have to read more than three pages of the dictionary to understand it’s full of words and definitions. The same rule applies.

After FaceMash crashes the Harvard server with its popularity, Mark is recruited to work on a Harvard-exclusive social networking website for the Winklevoss brothers, a couple of well-to-do — but who isn’t at Harvard? — crew team kids, you just know are destined to run a multi-national corporation bent on exploiting third world countries and calling it capitalism. Mark accepts the offer, enlists the help of best friend Eduardo Saverin (Andrew Garfield), and begins working on a primitive Facebook (Thefacebook) under the guise of working for the Winklevosses. Eduardo is the cautious type and easily manipulated by Mark despite the final club bid he’s been toting around in his pocket. This is one of the first signs of Zuckerberg’s jealousy of Saverin and the fragility of their friendship.

At this point, Eduardo starts narrating the film in the form of a deposition for his lawsuit against Mark. We don’t know what has split the two up, but we learn that Mark’s impatience with potential investors and his fascination with Sean Parker (Justin Timberlake), that kid who started Napster, is creating a wedge in the friend — and partner — ship. With the introduction of Timberlake’s character comes the film’s second issue.

Now, as a journalist concerned for the integrity of my work, I feel it only necessary to admit that I was once a JT fangirl, but I am proud to say I’ve been off the stuff since he went solo, and feel confident I can offer an objective critique. Timberlake as Sean Parker was about as convincing as he was in Model Behavior (2000), his Disney Channel film debut. Maybe it’s his style, but JT’s over-expressive mannerisms and forced intonations make me feel like I’m watching a soap opera or a talking mime. Every facet of his performance seemed exaggerated. To be fair, he’s got a bit of a hurdle to jump in breaking the boy band link, but until he can surpass Miley Cyrus in acting ability, he should stick to music and the occasional SNL cameo.

Eduardo is even less impressed than I, calling Parker “paranoid” and “delusional,” while Mark is practically salivating at his sage words of wisdom: be cool, come to California. Parker is depicted in the following scenes as scheming and parasitic. By showing Zuckerberg the allure of the life of the young and the rich, Parker is able to weasel his way into the Facebook family and subtly phase out Eduardo, who is working on a summer internship while the Web site flourishes in the Silicon Valley, its new headquarters.

When Facebook, as it has come to be called, goes public and starts making its way onto other college campuses and continents, the Winklevosses realize they’ve been had, and waste no time bringing in their lawyers — what, you didn’t have your lawyer programmed on your speed dial in college? Here’s where “all these college kids suing each other,” comes into play, as author Ben Mezrich puts it.

After the summer success, Eduardo returns to school while Mark and Sean stay in California. Sean has been arranging meetings with investors, and as more money comes into the company, more shares must be created. Eduardo gets a call from Mark to come out and celebrate the one-millionth member, but walks into an “ambush.” Upon entering the new Facebook office, Eduardo learns his stock in the company has been reduced from 34 to less than one percent, while all other parties, including Sean, have remained the same. Sean makes it very clear that there was a plan in motion to remove Eduardo when he says, “you’re not part of Facebook.” Eduardo leaves the office seething and shouts that he’s going to sue. And thus, we understand the depositions, which have been guiding the bulk of the story.

This scene is important to understanding the third and most important problem with this film: the question of what is and isn’t true.

The film is based on The Accidental Billionaires, an “incredible true story of the accidental creation of Facebook,” says the book’s Facebook page. Sounds legitimate, until the author, Ben Mezrich, openly admits that his sources include court documents and one, count ‘em, one Facebook founder. Eduardo Saverin. Any self-respecting journalist will tell you that a one-sided story can hardly be called the truth, especially when that side has been scorned. Though it makes for an entertaining narrative with all the elements we Americans love — sex, money, alcohol, back-stabbing and pretty people to act it all out — there is, presently, no agreed-upon truth. Zuckerberg denied Mezrich’s requests for interviews, but that’s not an excuse for calling the work nonfiction.

As a piece of entertainment, The Social Network is the bubblegum that beer pong-playing, MTV-watching, and, of course, Facebook-creeping young adults everywhere love to chew. It’s got the best of all the teen movie subgenres — minus the mythical creatures, masked murderers and dance competitions. What it lacks, however, is a concern for the ethics of documentary film. Speaking as a reporter, I cannot bring myself to commend a work that so blatantly and shamelessly imitates investigative storytelling for the sake of two hours of amusement. Neither should you.

Not Your Average Wed.

Hey, everyone out there in Internet-land! This is the first film review. It's old and outdated, but it was an indie film, so chances are you didn't see it anyway.

Film: Humpday (2009) 

[R]

Humpday falls flat

Functioning more aptly as a nickname for Wednesday than as an indie-comedy, Humpday leaves viewers asking the same question they did at the end of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince: Is that it? The answer: Sadly, yes.

Painted as a comedy almost completely reliant on the absurdity of its content, Humpday is the story of college friends Ben (Mark Duplass) and Andrew (Joshua Leonard) reunited by the crossing of paths when the free-loving — and loading — Andrew, with no resources but plenty of time to travel, unexpectedly shows up at Ben’s door. Their acquaintance seems to pick up right where it left off when they parted ways after college, except for one small fly in the ointment: Ben’s married now and got “the ball and chain”, as Andrew puts it, to keep him grounded.

Determined to prove that marriage plus job plus house in his name does not equal stuck, Ben jumps into Andrew’s world of sex, drugs, and porn competitions. In a moment of less than sound judgment, the two conceive the idea and agree to make a non-gay man-on-man “art” film that will redraw the boundaries of pornography.

Reminiscent of, but not nearly as evocative as, Zach Braff’s predicament in The Last Kiss, Duplass’ character is faced with the strain he chooses to place on his marriage because of his desire to make this film even he doesn’t fully understand. Humpday flounders here with writer-director Lynn Shelton’s character, Anna, whose attempt at feeling betrayed comes off more like apathy: she devotes a whopping ten hours of consideration before submitting to Ben’s “other side” and playing along with his cinematic endeavor.

Though at no point do the “gloves come off”—proverbial or otherwise—shirts, pants and the all-important, yet hopelessly awkward, socks do, and what comes next is exactly what viewers wanted to see least: nothing. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think anyone was hoping for overt penetration, but even a fade out to post-coital reactions would have been more satisfying. Though the boys scratch the surface of potentially interesting conversation with talk of what makes art meaningful, when Ben resolves that he, “really fucked up with Anna” and should go, viewers are left wondering at the almost frantic way Andrew packs his things as if on the run — but from what? Dissatisfaction with love, life, or both? — but then plays back the “testimonial” they made pre-filming and laughs.

In short, Humpday fell short. Duplass and Leonard offer audiences a treat with flawlessly crafted dialogue, which captures all the nuances of candid speech from the use of the f-word as a verb, adjective, and an expletive, to the rapid changes in cadence akin to friendly disclosures. What’s more, Duplass reminds audiences of a Vince Vaughn type —a style this Chicagoan can respect — and in the wake of Zac Galifinakis’ success in The Hangover, Leonard’s look and unpredictability are entertaining to unfold. What is frustrating is that we never get much further than that, the interesting exteriors — a problem which sums up the movie as a whole.