1000101011101010101. That's the opening pixel of Conan the
Barbarian as it will appear to future audiences. Good ol'-fashioned
film is dying, fast, as cheaper, digital projectors now control almost
every screen in town. If you want to see a roidy Arnold Schwarzenegger
tussle with a pathetically low-tech animatronic vulture screened on
celluloid in Portland, the 2012 Beer and Movie fest is probably your
last chance.
Whether this is a
good or bad thing depends on how much you enjoy seeing the future
Governator grunt simple English phrases while wearing a fur codpiece.
Aaron Mesh, WW's esteemed movie editor, enjoys it very much,
which is presumably why Conan is in BAM. As Mr. Mesh planned the event
with film curator Jacques Boyreau and has a fiduciary interest in its
success, he agreed to stand aside as other WW writers take their best shots at this year's lineup.
Thankfully, the task proved fairly easy.
2001: A Space Odyssey
A summary: Some monkeys figure out how to
kill each other with the leftover parts of other monkeys, and then a
computer kills some people, and then an astronaut kills a computer and
becomes a space baby. Also thereâs a rectangle. It hovers. And itâs made
of LSD. So much for plot, people. In essence, 2001 is Kubrickâs sci-fi vision of the badly curdled romance between an autistic man and a gay computerâLars and the Real Boy meets Battlestar Galacticaâtold
in the reverent tones and incomprehensible language of a Catholic high
Mass, complete with a glowing infant Jesus conceived from the corpse of a
de-sexed old man. You can watch it if you want, and feel less than you
ever did, and somehow be proud of yourself for that. Have fun. MATTHEW
KORFHAGE. 6:30 pm Friday-Thursday, Feb. 3-9.
Conan the Barbarian
Itâs tempting to argue that this turgid 1982 Schwarzenegger vehicleâpenned, believe it or not, by the guy who wrote Apocalypse Nowâdeserves
a post-9/11 reassessment. Thereâs a lot to read into the tale of an
unbelievably muscular white guy who speaks mostly in grunts and travels
through central Asia in pursuit of a murderous religious fanatic. But
not even a forced Taliban metaphor can save the film from its own awful
dullness. The art directionâs nifty, James Earl Jones is James Early
Jonesy, and thereâs a big-ass snake, and those are the only moments of
interest amid two hours of flexing and glaring. Those arenât
lamentations of women you hear, Conanâtheyâre snoring. BEN WATERHOUSE. 9:40 pm Friday-Thursday, Feb. 3-9.
The Untouchables
That The Untouchables is
frequently mentioned in the same breath as Coppola and Scorsese is a
travesty. Sure, the scene where De Niroâs Al Capone plays T-ball with a
dudeâs head is giddily unhinged, but this is otherwise a film devoid of
originality. Celebrated hack director Brian De Palmaâwhose
career-spanning confusion of âhomageâ with ârip-offâ is represented here
by an exceedingly goofy Battleship Potemkin shootout in a train
stationâis completely tone-deaf, drifting between the comic-booky
do-goodery of Kevin Costnerâs Eliot Ness, Sean Connery sleepwalking
through speakeasies, and mismatched action sequences. Never mind The Godfather. The 1991 Christian Slater-Richard Grieco opus Mobsters is The Untouchablesâ closest relative. AP KRYZA. 4:45 pm Friday-Thursday, Feb. 3-9.
Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan
Wait, when did Kirk and McCoy start
fucking? The man-love has always been between Kirk and Spock. But the
doctor? Eww. Bones is (metaphorically, of course) up in Kirkâs ass
throughout this movie, throwing a little bitch fit about everything Jim
does. I guess there needed to be some drama, seeing as there ainât much
in the plot. Khan is all pissyâer, âwrathfulââhunting down Kirk with
some weak excuse about Kirk killing his wife. Grow up, ladies, and stop
fighting over a big, shiny phallus. Itâs unbecoming, like Kirkâs O-face
when he screams, âKhaaaaan!â Is that the face Kirk makes when he gets
ear-fucked with that brain-control worm thing? Stick that in Kirstie
Alleyâs head instead and control her off the ship and back to Cheers. PATRICIA SAUTHOFF. 7:15 pm Friday-Thursday, Feb. 3-9.
Boogie Nights
Thereâs nothing wrong with Boogie Nights in
and of itself. Except itâs the movie that tricked Hollywood into
thinking Mark Wahlberg is a legitimate actor. If Paul Thomas Anderson
hadnât cast him to play Dirk Diggler, Marky Markâs single memorable
cinematic moment wouldâve been fingering Reese Witherspoon on a roller
coaster, and that wouldâve spared us an entire decade-plus of his
permanently furrowed brow ruining everything from The Fighter to the Planet of the Apes
franchise. That makes PTA the Baby Hitler of film: Set a time machine
to 1970 and Iâll smother him in his sleep. Câmon, youâd sacrifice There Will Be Blood to stop Entourage from existing, right? MATTHEW SINGER. 9:25 pm Friday-Thursday, Feb. 3-9.
Raiders of the Lost Ark
Kingdom of the Crystal Skull was
supposed to have tarnished the legacy of a great franchise, but Indiana
Jones was awful from the start. A startlingly dull bit of nostalgia for
the bygone dreck that Steven Spielberg rubbed himself up against as a
lad, Raiders of the Lost Ark has ossified into a totem worshipped
by man-babies who canât say goodbye to childhood; revered by
dunderheads who mistake Harrison Fordâs smug mugâs war against charisma
for something resembling magnetism; and overrated by pretty much the
entire world. Watch it with adult eyeballsâyouâll see what I mean. CHRIS
STAMM. 1:30 and 4 pm Friday-Sunday, Feb. 3-5. 4 pm Monday-Thursday, Feb. 6-9.
GO: Beer and Movie screens at the Academy Theater, 7818 SE Stark St., bambeerandmovie.com.
WWeek 2015
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