Adventureland is an anomaly.  From the very start of the film it generates an aura, the same one so grossly discharged from every other immature, weed-and-booze laden teen comedy.  Right away the presentation is vapid; lifeless and barren to the truest sense.  And then something magical happens, and the entire thing twists sharply, exploding into the opposite direction with enough momentum to drive the initially lacking production to its conclusion with all eyes set to the screen.

I knew nothing about Adventureland heading into it, but I assumed everything.  It was played up as a spiritual successor to Superbad during its theatrical run, warranted from the outer edges by their shared director and a cast that would inspire such a film.  In a few ways, this is very much like the aforementioned title, but in most it deviates from the mold sharply.  Oftentimes it capers over copious opportunities for facile, unimaginative escapades in favor of conveying a narrative worth the time of its audience, evoking a glimmer of newfound respect for the folks behind the scenes.

It’d be easy for any youth launched unwarily from their mildly comfortable lives as a student and into the harsh grain of reality to relate with the this movie’s awkward protagonist James, played by Jesse Eisenberg.  His parents, going through rough times, are unable to support his attending graduate school.  As such, he’s forced into a shoddy summer job at an amusement park that appropriately hosts a variety of burlesque individuals with their own quirks.  The massed working male population of the venue have a generic appetition for the overly provocative Lisa P.

But James’ attention is instead turned to the opposite polarity in Em, portrayed by Kristen Stewart, who’s far more reserved and whose mind casts its diving skills toward the deeper portions of the proverbial pool.  Of course she’s troubled, and it’s mostly left out of James‘ hands to sort out, but the progress to the finish is what defines this production.  Though the colorful cast and subtle humor breathe fresh, somewhat generic life into the feature, it’s the gentle, touching romance between these two leads that gives the entire thing meaning.  

Eisenberg definitely plays a likable and relatable frontrunner, but that’s been set on display several times in the past.  What I found most surprising about Adventureland was the acting chops on Kristen Stewart.  Her portrayal of Em is a show stealer, one that takes off at a speed to which the other actors can only try to catch up.  She’s proven here that she has plenty of talent; more than enough to soar beyond poor adaptations of angst-filled teenage vampire novels.  She’s convinced me to keep an eye on her for the future, and I hope she doesn’t disappoint.

This film is deceiving, luring in an audience that might rather watch some stoner comedy than something with any substance.  Exaggerating the trials and triumphs of life to send a message is what storytelling was invented for. That message isn’t made overtly clear over the course of this film’s near two-hour runtime, and it’s best kept that way, because it’s clear to me that the message isn’t specific.  It’s about interpretation, and while I nor my readers will likely never find themselves involved in situations or relationships as complex and oddly contrived as those found in cinema, it’s about how well you relate, and what it is you perceive as the message that Adventureland is trying to send.
 
Originally posted on my personal blog

 It’s late autumn of 1988.  The leaves have taken to the soil for the winter, the weather is cold, but not yet laced with the harsh sting of the coming winter.  A child is born on this day, only a few months after myself.  Her parents name her Katherine, after her grandmother.  I’m three months old when we’re introduced.  Naturally, I remember none of this.  Shortly after this, Katherine and her family move overseas.  Her mother, one of my mom’s best friends from school, who I’ve since come to refer to affectionately as “Roe,” has a new job.  The promise between two friends that their children would grow up together is put on hold, at least for a little while.

It’s a few days after my birthday in the summer of 1992.  I’m four years old, and though the facts are hazy to me, it’s easy enough to imagine myself playing with some toy on the carpet of the living room in that old two-story house.  In truth I very vaguely remember my step-father answering the front door.  It’s Roe, her husband and an energetic little girl called “Katie.”  What transpired that night, I’m not sure, but its consequences are amazing.

It’s the year 2000 and I’ve just begun Junior High.  It’s an intimidating period in my life.  My friends are starting to drift away from one another, each latching onto different and new interests such as sports and girls.  The old habits of action figures, Pokemon cards and Saturday morning cartoons are a thing of the past.  I’m not ready to begin the road to adulthood, and more importantly I’m afraid to let go of friends that are changing.  Katie doesn’t change.  She’s at my house most every single day, doing homework, watching television and occasionally running to the park for some good, old fashioned, juvenile fun. She’s my best friend, and despite being thankful that she’s still with me, I still don’t know how lucky I am, or how lucky I will be in the future.

It’s 2003.  Katie and I have just finished our eighth grade year, and we’re enjoying our last summer before the transition to High School.  We’re both scared, but the previous three years have given us confidence.  We have new friends, new interests and we have each other.  Katie asks me if I ever think about girls, and if there’s anyone I like.  There’s giggling, blushing and frivolity in the conversation.  

It’s later that same summer when her life is rocked by divorce.  It’s not unexpected, but still damaging to a happy, carefree soul with such a complete family life as hers.  She’s depressed, sad, and troubled.  I’ve been through divorce twice by this point, so I do my best to console her, keep her company.  Her mother thanks me for the help and for being such a good friend.  At the present, I suspect that this is when I had started to fall in love.  Perhaps not, but I suspect.

It’s not far into our ninth grade year when Katie takes a bad fall during P.E., striking her head hard on pavement.  She’s rushed to the hospital where she’s placed in the ICU and remains unconscious for nearly two weeks.  I’d like to paint the picture that I was at her bed side unless she came to, but that wouldn’t be accurate.  I tried to be there when I could, but even when I wasn’t I was a mess, sinking into a cold and quiet depression.  I ignore my friends and I stop talking to people.  When she comes to, I’m notified immediately by her parents and am subsequently excused from school.  My principal drives me to the hospital.  Both our faces light up when we see one another.  I’m sure at this point.  I want her in my life as more than a friend, but I’m afraid.  What if she doesn’t feel the same way?  What if we break up, and our perfect friendship is destroyed?  

It’s March 2004 and a sorry little excuse for a student dance is on the immediate horizon.  As per usual, I don’t plan to go.  It’s just not my thing.  A classmate asks me if there’s someone I’d actually like to go with.  Having lived with feelings beyond that of platonic love for my best friend straining against my ribcage, yearning to be free and in the open for far too long, I teasingly say yes with no intention of saying anything further.  The bastard quickly guesses who that person is.  Looking back, I suppose much of the student body assumed Katie and I were together already with how much time we spent with one another in and outside of school.  At the time, however, I was shocked that my classmate could so quickly guess who it was that I wanted to take to the dance.

Friends can’t be trusted with secrets.  It’s all over the school soon enough, and I feel as if my freshman year of high school is about to end in disaster.  As naive as I was then, I wasn’t stupid.  Katie is either going catch wind, or already has.  I panic when she’s not on the bus after school that day, and when she doesn’t show up to do homework together or watch our weekly television show, my anxiety grows.  I don’t want to go to school the next day.  I don’t want to see the hurt look in her eyes when she tells me we can’t be friends anymore.

Katie catches me in the hallway on the way to the fourth period class we have together.  It’s the crowded area next to the cafeteria, and both of us are leaning against the wall to keep out of the way.  She seems flustered.  At first neither one of us speaks, and then I apologize.  Her cheeks go pink and she smiles, quickly asking me if there was something I wanted to ask her.  I don’t say anything.  I’m too nervous.  

“Do you wanna ask me to the dance?”

I honestly can’t remember if I said yes, or if I nodded.  Either way, it was lame.  Her smile got bigger, and her cheeks went red.  “So then ask me.”  I did, and she said yes.  We held hands the rest of the way to our class.  Neither of us actually went to the dance.  I guess it was our own less direct way of admitting that we were interested in becoming more than just best friends.  

It’s now October 12, 2009 and there’s a cute blonde sleeping on the bed behind me.  When she wakes up, I’ll kiss her and ask her if she slept well.  Under the bed is a lockbox to which only I have the key, and within the lockbox is an $8,000 ring that I bought almost six months ago at almost my entire yearly income as a college student.  Since I bought it, I’ve felt again like that pubescent boy, afraid of rejection and consequences.  What if she says no?  What if we break up, and our perfect relationship is destroyed?

I love her with everything in me.  Her guidance and support has been at my side since I was very young, and I’m convinced that she’s made me the man I am today.  Maybe, just maybe I’ve had some influence in the incredible woman she’s become.  

What I need from you, Giant Bomb, is some support.  Some encouragement.  I don’t know if I can make her the happiest woman in the world, but she can most certainly make me the happiest man.

  
    

Any geek that can declare themselves as such with even the slightest hint of pride has likely seen the film Spaceballs at least a half dozen times.   If you haven't, see it immediately and stop reading.   If you're reading this knowing that you haven't yet achieved that particular goal, the you've read too far, and I'm honestly ashamed to have you on my blog.   Please, go away.

Yesterday I took the time out of my incredibly busy schedule for a quick viewing of Spaceballs, which has been considered something of a geek classic since at least ten years before it was even conceived as a production.   It's a parody of everything sci-fi, and really, if we can't make fun of what we enjoy, then what the hell can we make fun of?   We're too fucking stubborn to subject ourselves to anything blatantly awful, so without humoring our own entertainment mediums, we lose the right to profess any sort of joviality.

Yesterday's viewing of the film brought me to a startling revelation, one that I wish I never had to admit:   Spaceballs isn't funny anymore.   That's right, I said it.   It's finally happened.   Like any honest citizen trying to make a living, I blame the society we live in for this travesty.   I mean really, when the only sort of "funny" movie being released in theaters are stoner comedies and those utilizing excessive profanity for congregational amusement, how many people out there are still actually going to find the subtle, irony-infused, light-hearted humor of a film like Spaceballs legitimately entertaining?   Our collective "sense" of comicality has been altered over the last couple of decades, and though I'm most certainly as guilty as the rest of you are, I definitely don't find it to be a change for the better.

Let me apologize as I close this out.   Mel Brooks, you were a genius of comedy, and though your writing may no longer evoke the laughter it once did, it still remains incalculably appreciated by myself and any self-respecting geek out there.   Rick Moranis, your performance as Dark Helmet has captured the hearts of thousands.   Without you and your ever-faithful companion Colonel Sanders, we never would have understood the dangers of pushing light speed technology past its limits.   Your efforts have likely saved an entire generation of space explorers.

To John Candy, David Pullman and Daphne Zuniga:   The three of you taught us what it means to be the heroes of science fiction.   Your efforts to prevent all of the fresh air from being stolen from the Planet Druidia are legendary in popular culture, and personally, I wouldn't have it any other way.   To Michael Winslow.   I'm not sure that anyone understand the beeps, creeps or the sweeps anymore today than we did back then, but we do know one thing.   Something is, in fact, wrong with the radar sir.

Last, but most definitely not least, to Major Phillip Asshole and his crew aboard Spaceball One.   You and your family faithfully surround our every action.   They're the overpaid boss at work.   They're the fat, obnoxious bitch at the grocery store that seems to think the world should bow to their every whim simply because they're a fat, obnoxious bitch.   They're the jock in high school that made fun of us for having zero athletic talent, ultimately transforming our personal self-loathing into the hobby and culture that we all now participate in.   Your legacy will forever live on. 

 Originally posted at my blog: http://www.deviosity.net 

Thanks to some connections with my local newspaper, I was invited to a pre-release press screening of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince yesterday evening, and I've got to say that it was really a blast.  The closest I've ever come to something like this before was getting my copy of Final Fantasy XII a few days early back in 2006.  Maybe my personal perception of the movie's quality was effected by my excitement, but I really don't think so.  In my opinion, Order of the Phoenix was a disaster relative to its four predecessors, but this latest movie is (in my opinion) the best of the series by far.

I'm not going to spoil anything here for the people that haven't read the books, but for those that have, let's just say that it follows pretty closely to the source material.  There are, of course, some necessary liberties taken, but to be honest I think that only the first movie comes closer to matching up with its acclaimed novel.  The performances by practically the entire cast are phenomenal (as they should be after this many movies), especially leading up to, during, and following a particularly emotional event.

If you're a Harry Potter fan, I can strongly recommend seeing this thing as soon as possible.