Monday, January 19, 2015
Tim Burton has needed to break away from himself for some time now - or so many a think piece or whining fan would have you believe. The director has long been an easy example of a certain type of auteurism: his films are recognizably his even when they're adapted from someone else's work. Burton has a trademark look, a trademark sound, a recycling troupe of actors, and repeatedly embraced themes. Though his work has long inspired a type of cult fandom, it seems that lately we may have become exhausted by the kooky mayhem he brings to the screen. The last decade or so has found Burton suffering from a type of Hot Topic overexposure; his films have become, too-often, studio projects with over-inflated budgets and automatic t-shirt tie-ins. Along with that, many would tell you, they seem to have become even more about artifice, and you shouldn't have to look very far to find a one-time Burton fan quietly complaining about the director's descent into self-parody.
After this super-saturation, then, we've been in need of a palate cleanser - and Burton has been too. Big Eyes feels like the director slamming down hard on the reset button, if nothing else. It's his attempt at a relatively straightforward biopic. All the makeup, expressionist mise en scene, and surrealism has been scrubbed away in favor of period costuming, straightforward lighting, and sincere performances. The Burtonesque can be found in only two places in Big Eyes: its loving approach to kitsch and Christoph Waltz's over-the-top mugging as the dumbly villainous Walter Keane. Maybe this is the way things need to be. Maybe this is the break that proves he can do something else. Maybe whatever comes next will allow us to appreciate the Burtonesque again. We can hope for all of these things, because at the end of the day there's one only one major complaint to be made against Big Eyes: it's flat. It's too typical. It plays out like every other biopic you've ever seen. And as such? It just doesn't feel like a product of its director.
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
Those familiar with my year-end music listing process know that alongside the big list of goodies I typically throw down a list of pure pop. Typically, I do this in the spirit of confessing and excising what many might refer to as "guilty pleasures." To be fair, though, I don't really believe in guilty pleasures and there are far too many songs I couldn't quite justify upvoting to the main list, but which certainly have their poppy, earwormy merits. So, consider this the brightly colored bonus content. This is the dance party annex.
For your judgmental, head-shaking, eye-rolling listening pleasure, I present you with these oh-too-sweet tracks (collected in one easily consumable YouTube playlist). I don't care you think I shouldn't like them, part of me definitely does...