5 Subject Notebook
Each and every week (or so), I will discuss five topics, most of which will be about entertainment. This is the third column.
THE THREE BODY PROBLEM
The 3 Body Problem is not a show that I thought I’d watch. The showrunners, Benioff & Weiss, have been in witness protection since fumbling the ball on the Game of Thrones finale. It’s been a while since we’ve seen their work, but the wound still feels fresh for some reason. The ending isn’t all their fault. That was a challenging landing to stick for anyone, and doing it without the writer of the show’s source material proved to be impossible. I understood that, but I didn’t like how palpable the burnout was on screen. And yet, when The 3 Body Problem showed up on my Netflix feed, I was sucked in. They are good writers, after all. And here they are, adapting a series of complex novels with big ideas and wild twists and turns, and we know that’s their specialty.
I started watching The 3 Body Problem the night it debuted and missed my bedtime to watch the second episode. I immediately recognized how much I missed this: a good old-fashioned TV binge with cliffhangers and everything. Is it as good as the first few seasons of Game of Thrones? So far, not quite. But it’s a lot better than the Game of Thrones seasons where they didn’t have the source material to work from anymore.
It’s not perfect. But it’s compelling. The murder mystery that drives the story is engaging. The visuals are grandiose in the Game of Thrones tradition. The storytellers have a good handle on what we the viewers are not supposed to understand yet, and how to keep us invested anyway. There are issues. While some of the acting is top-notch, such as Benedict Wong and some returning Game of Thrones actors (which tells us which actors Benioff and Weiss had the best experience with), some of it is a tad goofy (the ridiculously attractive scientists are not always convincing). There’s a stunning scientist (Eiza González) whose life is in danger, who seems overly preoccupied with a man she doesn’t want to date but doesn’t want anyone else to date him either. The stakes can be a bit wonky. The puzzle box plot occasionally calls for some pausing and rewinding in order to process some of the more heady ideas. The threat seems to be that aliens are coming to Earth to conquer us… in 400 years. One would normally assume Chekhov’s aliens would go off in the third act, not four centuries after all these characters are dead. But I’m going to assume the timetable moves up, and I know there’s gotta be at least one killer ending with a breathless smash to credits that I don’t want to miss out on.
HOW TO WATCH DUNE 2
took everyone’s advice, and I saw Dune 2 in an IMAX theater. On the one hand, it’s a completely immersive experience. At times, I felt like I was on a sandworm being jostled around in a violent sandstorm. (The sound system whiplashed through my entire body, with mini sonic booms reverberating through my testicles like pleasureless microgasms.) On the other hand, I was occasionally bored by the labyrinthian politics of Arrakis and the greater fictional galaxy. But this density is a feature, not a bug of Dune movies. They are meant to be seen more than once. First for the spectacle, and subsequent viewings to get a grip on the whole thing. Denis Villeneuve’s Dune is an impressive achievement, particularly with its world-building, trippy ideas, and the overall sense that every grain of sand was personally inspected by the director for the sake of verisimilitude.
I’m impressed this kind of movie is doing so well because, look, kids aren’t running around with Arrakis lunch boxes. Not many people are going as Baron Harkonnen for Halloween. My own son isn’t asking if he can wear a Paul Atreides costume. There isn’t a sandwalk Dune dance craze. At least not recently. (By the way, where was the doomcore version of “Weapon of Choice” for Dune’s end credits?) (For those who don’t know, Fatboy Slim’s “Weapon of Choice” is about Dune — look it up — to which, I assume, Christopher Walken’s casting was a nod.) The movie has been well-received because it’s doing what Hollywood used to be good at: telling a big story with movie stars that gets people talking. So if you didn’t like the movie, this isn’t like Thor: Love and Thunder, where your initial impressions were correct. See it a second time.
THE JONATHAN GLAZER OPEN LETTER
There’s now an open letter signed by over a thousand Jewish people in the industry, protesting director Jonathan Glazer’s speech at the Oscars in which he compared the Holocaust to Israel’s war against Hamas. By the time the letter was forwarded to me, the signatures were closed, but I would have signed it. Let me tell you: Jonathan Glazer was not a sexy beast when he gave that speech. It really got under my skin! (Cinephile jokes). Here’s how I feel about it: I’m a big fan of bravery, but sometimes bravery is just arrogance in disguise. He made an important movie about the Holocaust, which is great. But rather than let the art speak for itself, he decided the world wanted to hear what he—a movie director—had to say about geopolitical politics. He didn’t have the 20-plus hours needed to give everyone the full context, but he didn’t want to let the moment pass him by, so he made a short, grammatically confusing speech. While the knee-jerk glitterati in the auditorium rose to applaud, I was sitting at home trying to parse out what he was trying to say.
The real letter I’d like to sign is one that would politely ask that celebrities interrogate whether they really know as much about the subject matter as they profess. Many of them are just extroverted, confident people who enjoy hearing themselves speak, which makes them captivating, but not necessarily the smartest. Look. I love my fellow artists, and many of them are bright people, but hardly any of them are experts in Middle Eastern politics. Certainly not Mark Ruffalo. His real expertise is pretending to be people he isn’t. Billie Eilish? She was homeschooled, but I doubt the Six-Day War was part of the curriculum. A few weeks ago, I was talking to a Hollywood director who was passionate about Gaza, but when I asked him if he could point to Israel on a map, he didn’t know where to start. I mean, I know where it is. So I think you should know that kind of thing if you’re going to lecture me. Okay, the point, ultimately, is this: Ja Rule might not have all the answers.
MY JOURNEY INTO ANIME - DEATH NOTE
I’ve been a movie/comics/TV/video game fan forever, but I know almost nothing about anime, which is a criminal deficiency as far as I’m concerned. Up until now, the only thing I’ve known about anime was Akira. Not the movie Akira (which I never saw), but the manga Akira, which seemed to go on forever and never get to the point, which made me question the whole genre.
Anime has become even more popular in Western culture, and I’ve known for a while that I was missing out, so I looked up the best TV series and cross-referenced that with the best anime to start with, and I came across Death Note.
Death Note - for those who don’t know - is about a brilliant high school student who comes across a special journal that allows him to kill anyone whose name he writes into the pages. It’s a great hook for a series, and no wonder it’s been adapted into live-action movies a few times (even if those movies did not succeed). In Death Note, the high school kid (his name is Light) uses the notebook to become a serial killer of bad guys. He’s tracked by a cerebral detective (his name is L). Fairly early on, L figures out that Light is the killer. It’s a bizarre cat-and-mouse game where Light knows that L’s the killer, and L knows that Light knows that he’s the killer, but L needs proof and Light knows he needs proof, so they become friends and they work on catching the killer together, even though they both know who the killer really is. The first batch of episodes is a mind-bending, oddly kinky story that is totally metal and a complete blast.
However, as I’ve reached episode 22 of a 37-episode show (and that’s short for anime), the plot has been stretched past its breaking point. My enthusiasm is starting to dim. One of the idiosyncrasies I’ve had enough of is the L character loves to eat dessert and talks with his mouth full most of the time, and that’s hard on my ears (I have an aversion to chewing noises). Moreover, the rules of the Death Note become increasingly complex, until there are about 60 rules to keep track of, so what was once an elegant premise has become more and more convoluted. The show has become a multiple hour version of the poison scene from the Princess Bride, with two opposing geniuses battling wits ad nauseam: “You know that I know that I know that you know….”
Still, Death Note has been a great gateway drug into anime, and I’ve suddenly been devouring lots of other anime shows like Tic Tacs, so watch this space for more developments.
PHIL COLLINS IS GOING TO DIE
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. I’m not wishing for Phil Collins to die. If I were in charge, it might never happen. But if you’ve seen any photos lately, you can see he is closer to the end than the beginning. When he passes, it’s not going to hit hard immediately like David Bowie or Prince. But for people who grew up listening to FM radio in the 80s, it will sneak up on you. There was a legitimate period where he was cool. He had an album called “No Jacket Required” which is damn sexy. Sometimes we don’t need jackets, you know?
Phil Collins doesn’t strike an imposing figure. He isn’t enigmatic like Peter Gabriel. He isn’t cerebral like Sting. He isn’t a dick like the lead singer of Oasis. He also isn’t tortured or morose or notably intense, like most rock stars. But what he can do is deliver a real love song, the kind of love song that an underdog can relate to. The top 40 is chock full of songs about empowerment, hooking up in the club, anger at the opposite gender, financial power and how that makes a person irresistible, sometimes all those things at once — but there is a dearth of songs about how intense love feels, and how overwhelming it can be, and how it can bring you to your knees. That’s a Phil Collins specialty.
Do yourself a favor. Go to the back of a dive bar, play some pool with a disgruntled bowling alley waitress while “One More Night” plays on the Jukebox. Or get in your car, drive down a lonely highway, and listen to “Against All Odds” and think about the one that got away. Images will pop into your head like you’re in a Rocky sequel having an extended flashback. Personally, I melt when I hear his cover of “Groovy Kind of Love.” It brings me back to junior high, sitting in the back of a diesel-fueled car, listening to my parents argue, and my heart breaks again. Just brace yourself. Phil Collins will die, and it’s gonna hit you harder than you think.