Blankman (1994, Mike Binder)

Blankman is surprisingly good. Even after showcasing its initial strengths, then taking a second act tumble, the movie picks itself up for a strong finish. Given the subject—a neurodivergent-coded man becomes a superhero—there are plenty of poorly-aged, ableist jokes. But the jokes made at hero Damon Wayans’s expense always say more about the teller, with Wayans usually having a good rejoinder. It’s often David Alan Grier, as Wayans’s older brother, who’s making the jokes, and Grier being a boob is one of Blankman’s standards.

But Grier’s a likable boob; he’s just rarely the most likable character in a scene. Definitely not with Wayans or Robin Givens. Givens is the love interest in a riff on the old-fashioned superhero movie love triangle: Grier’s the third wheel since Givens doesn’t know Wayans exists when not running around in his tights. The third act rushes through all the reveals (or skips them entirely) because it’s campy enough by that time it doesn’t need much reality.

The movie opens with Grier and Wayans as kids watching the Adam West “Batman” show, with already different Wayans (Wayans’s sons play the kid versions) stringing together all the metal in the house to improve the TV reception. Blankman’s got a lot going on with its superhero concepts. The movie’s an homage to “Batman,” complete with the spinning transitions and fight scene onomatopoeia, but it can’t do anything with the actual property. They even downplay Wayans’s gadgets, made with recycled junk, being “Blank” this or “Blank” that. They say it, but never with a wink to the “Bat” naming scheme.

Then there’s Wayans’s motivation. He’s inspired by personal loss, but he’s not a dark and brooding hero. There’s literally a place in the Blankman for that lousy Dark Knight monologue, but the movie heads happily—and successfully—into camp instead. He inspires the citizenry with his heroics and catches the eye of news anchor Givens. Grier works at the same station but in the basement on the tabloid TV show for Jason Alexander. Besides the unfortunate bald cap, Alexander’s quite funny as a loathsome producer. Unfortunately, some of it doesn’t age well, as Alexander’s in a wheelchair, primarily for sight gags.

Grier’s much more likable than Alexander.

Until Wayans decides to become a caped crusader, most of Grier’s time is spent flirting with Givens. Again, part of the joke is he’s laying it on so heavy he’s icky, but it’s still a lot sometimes. Once Givens gets to laugh at him, however, it all evens out.

The secret to Blankman’s success is Givens.

So the movie’s got the “Batman” camp thing going on, the recycled junk wonderful toys, a neurodivergent hero, but then there’s Givens. Blankman—both in the script, from Wayans and J.F. Lawton, and in Binder’s direction—plays Givens as Lois Lane… from Superman: The Movie. Only giving her more to do (there are also some Superman nods in dialogue from other characters). It’s an excellent showcase for Givens, who’s fantastic.

The other essential performance is Jon Polito, as the cartoonishly evil (and capable) mobster. He’s funny, absurd, and dangerous. And the film seems to know how well he does with the material, giving him campier and campier bits as things progress, with Polito knocking all of them out of the park.

Wayans and Grier are both good, to be sure. Wayans is something of a slow burn, not really getting to do much until his superhero arc has started. And Grier’s got to flex like he’s the protagonist in the first before sharing the back seat with Polito. The late second-act stumbles are mostly about how the film tries to get itself rearranged in time for the finale.

There are some missed opportunities—they had a perfect post-credits tag and didn’t do it—and some of the jokes, problematic and not, land soft, but Blankman’s an excellent superhero comedy. With a little more money (the special effects range in quality) and an impossible “Batman: The TV Show” license, it could’ve been a singular homage.

Instead, it’s still one heck of a success. Stellar performances from Givens and Polito, strong turns from Wayans and Grier, an empathetic, nimble script, and more than adequate direction from Binder. He’s not an action director, but Blankman doesn’t have the budget for it, and he gets the timing, both the performances and the comedy.

Really nice photography from Newton Thomas Sigel too.

Blankman. He’s not the hero we deserve, but he’s the one we need right now.

Birdland (1994) #1

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Birdland Volume Two is a comic for all the people who thought Gilbert Hernandez couldn’t do an entire issue of people screwing and still have it land with some kind of deeper impact. The last series ended winking at profundity, and the mood cares into this issue. Beto opens the comic the dawn of time, zooming in to Earth, where a couple dinosaurs are getting it on, and you find out what a T-Rex with a dong looks like.

Thanks, Beto.

Nearby, a couple of cave people get it on, then they become another set of people—straight to the modern age, Beto doesn’t keep with it and go through all three ages–and then another set of people and another set of people and so on. There are scenes in the psychiatrist’s office and a different doctor using the magic necklace from the last series. Fritz’s horny hypnotizer or whatever.

The new psychiatrist might be a Palomar or Luba, like, she looks familiar. But all of Beto’s beefcakes and cheesecakes look the same, just with different hairstyles and bra sizes, so keeping track of the many participants would be time-consuming and not really worth the effort. Because the story’s got nothing to do with them. Beto goes an entirely different route—taking a healthy jaunt through what appears to be a tie-in to the finale of the previous series—and ends up on a simple, visually evocative (but not at all pornographic) epilogue.

Thanks to the route, the ending’s more than fine; it’s nice. It helps the art’s phenomenal on the two or three panels. It’s like Beto wanted to show he could still deliver concisely after spending an issue of bombastic pornography. He’s even figured out how to make it ambitious, having one sequence where everyone morphs into their partner mid-coitus, and the visuals on the transformations are excellent.

Bang Bang has a future story, which means sex, spacesuits, and rocket ships. The whole thing plays like a musical montage, and only Beto knows the exact music. It seems like there’d be a lot of chanting, actually. He tries to make it audial with one of his art devices. It’s actually kind of interesting.

Like, if the first volume had been done the same way, it wouldn’t have needed three issues or so many non-sex scenes.

The first volume was a curiosity. This (twenty-eight years and counting) single issue volume is closer to being worth a look for, pardon the expression, art wanks.

Take Care of Your Scarf, Tatjana (1994, Aki Kaurismäki)

I spent much of Take Care of Your Scarf, Tatjana waiting for the character, played by Kati Outinen, to forget her scarf because I thought the title was Don’t Forget Your Scarf, Tatjana. I knew the film only ran sixty-two minutes and so assumed there’d be some scarf-forgetting. Oops. Is there scarf-forgetting? No spoilers. But it definitely focused my attention on Outinen’s scarf and potential forgetfulness, which isn’t really her character at all.

Tatjana is a road movie, with Outinen and her friend Kirsi Tykkyläinen traveling the Finnish landscape, teamed up with locals Matti Pellonpää and Mato Valtonen. Outinen is Estonian, Tykkyläinen is Russian; Outinen speaks a little Finnish, Tykkyläinen none, so they take what they can get with traveling companions. While the film opens on Outinen and Tykkyläinen—and the scarf—the action immediately moves to Valtonen.

Valtonen is a seamster, existing on stolen puffs from his mother’s cigars and an endless supply of coffee. When he runs out of coffee, he promptly locks his mom (Irma Junnilainen) in the closet so he can steal from her purse—Valtonen, the actor, is forty-ish in Scarf; it’s unclear if his character is supposed to be much older or younger, but he’s clearly a grown ass man stealing from his mother’s purse, not to mention locking her in a closet. He’s expecting a package of coffee (or thinks his mom’s getting one), but instead unwraps a twelve-volt coffee maker. And, as one does, decides to try it out in his car on a test drive.

See, Valtonen’s car is in fellow child grown over Pellonpää’s shop. Once they get the bill settled and Pellonpää dons his rocker leather jacket, they hit the road. They have a fairly nondescript test drive, with Valtonen guzzling coffee and Pellonpää drinking bottle after bottle of vodka—until they meet Outinen and Tykkyläinen. The women need a ride to the harbor to catch a boat and it’s not like the men have anything better to do.

So begins their quietly devastating journey, where the men never quite understand the women—both Valtonen and Pellonpää seem fundamentally incapable of expressing themselves in a way anyone else can understand; they aren’t even friends with each other, just fellow stalled travelers—and the women soften to their absurd, slightly tragic ferrymen.

Tatjana’s got its fair share of absurdities starting out—at no point does it seem like mom Junnilainen is in any actual danger in her closet prison—so when the road trip takes multiple full days, it never seems unlikely. Director Kaurismäki doesn’t have time in an hour to wait for the audience to catch up, either you’re keeping pace or you’re left behind, and the quartet finds themselves in these mundane but exquisitely peculiar situations together.

It all wraps up beautifully, with Kaurismäki getting to amp up the absurd in such a way to make it all the more grounded.

Gorgeous, deep, lush black and white photography from Timo Salminen. Great direction (and editing) from Kaurismäki. The acting from the four leads is good. Tykkyläinen has the showiest part—and it’s still not very showy—and is a lot of fun.

Tatjana’s a great use of an hour.

Takin’ Over the Asylum (1994) s01e06 – Let It Be

The last episode takes place over at most a week, but it feels like much longer. There’s this “show don’t tell” backfire where Ken Stott has hit bottom and he’s laying about in a destroyed apartment, on a bender, and then we find out it’s like three hours after the last scene. And we’ve missed the most important character development he could’ve had in the skipped time.

Everything gets a resolution this episode, which is again very impressive plotting from Donna Franceschild. Thanks to her and director David Blair, “Takin’ Over the Asylum” has a lot of impact in its six hours. Though… I guess it might play different if you’re watching it weekly and not binging over a few days.

Anyway.

While Stott’s got his home with grandma Elizabeth Spriggs moving back to Lithuania (to die, like short long-term plan, which is actually the grimmest “Asylum” gets and it’s real grim), his work with boss Roy Hanlon (who’s got some amazing monologues this episode), the radio show drama with David Tennant at Radio Scotland (they’re waiting to hear back on the response to their pilot), and then Katy Murphy being near catatonic after the events of the previous episode… the show still finds time to give Ruth McCabe a full arc, for episode and show.

Jon Morrison is back as McCabe’s husband, checking in on her at the residential apartments or whatever the euphemism (bed and breakfast, I think), when she finds out she’s got her placement in the nice place. Now, originally the show said that placement would take months, though… in some ways, McCabe’s arc this episode is so entirely disconnected from the rest of it maybe its got a different present action. Certainly feels like it.

It’s also great. McCabe and Morrison get this fantastic spotlight as they try to make sense of their lives after the various tragedies. It balances out Murphy not being too active in her own arc with Stott.

When the episode—and show—ends the Stott arc, the McCabe and Morrison one has done some heavy lifting through juxtaposition, if not directly saying things relevant to Stott and Murphy’s not dissimilar situation, then making a lot of implications about it. I just thought of another one, in fact.

It’s deft writing from Franceschild, well-directed by Blair, but a little too clean. “Asylum” could’ve ended stronger. Though… it’s hard to say what impact the original recording of Let It Be would’ve had. The show does adequate cover versions but they’re always clearly cover versions.

The narrative balance would’ve still been off.

“Asylum”’s actors could’ve used another episode—Tennant especially, he’s been a great, but glorified sidekick since episode two—and it certainly seems like Franceschild and Blair could’ve delivered it, but there might just be too much sadness to it at episode seven.

“Takin’ Over the Asylum”’s an exceptional show. It’s ambitious, it’s assured, great writing from Franceschild, great performances from Stott, McCabe, Tennant, Murphy—Hanlon. Wonderful, wonderful Hanlon. It also puts your heart into a meat grinder and turns and turns and turns.

It’s a guilty relief when it’s over.

Takin’ Over the Asylum (1994) s01e05 – Rainy Night in Georgia

I guess it’s Katy Murphy’s spotlight episode now? The question mark because Murphy’s entirely in support of Ken Stott throughout the episode, so even though she’s in it more and we finally find out her backstory, she’s just the love interest. Especially when Stott’s drinking problems come up—he makes a full disclosure about it to her; to be fair, the drinking at work seemed so casually accepted I thought it was just Scotland in 1994.

But, no, it’s actually a big problem. Especially now Stott and David Tennant seem on the verge of getting a gig at Radio Scotland. It’s really interesting to see how “Asylum” presents Stott’s anxiety over meeting with producer Arabella Weir, as he’s ostensibly the only well-adjusted lead character. Lots of good acting from Stott. Lots. Even if it comes at the expense of other actors, like Tennant and Murphy. Murphy so, so much.

There’s a whole kittens in the wild needing protection and tween boys starting fires subplot, which has tragic consequences but also very human ones, leaving Stott—not Murphy—to realize more about the reality of the hospital and how it actually functions.

Stott’s also got home and work issues—grandmother Elizabeth Spriggs is serious about moving to Lithuania and she really wants Stott to pay for it, which leads to more of an emphasis on work—including getting in a feud with alpha salesman Neil McKinven. As usual, Roy Hanlon’s amazing as Stott’s boss. There’s a whole shenanigan sequence with McKiven, Stott, and Hanlon, which seems like screwball—with director David Blair keeping it from going too far—but only Hanlon is at home in the mixed genres. He’s so good.

But it’s not entirely Stott-centered (with Murphy and Tennant his sidekicks), there’s also the ongoing tragedy of Ruth McCabe’s living situation. She’s still literally hiding from the social worker so she doesn’t get dumped at a gross halfway house. While definitely effective, the humor isn’t quite gallows enough. Writer Donna Franceschild never quite figures it out, even when the arc seemingly resolves here.

As usual, it’s an excellent hour of television. The way Murphy’s still a mystery for Stott to unravel versus the guest lead is unfortunate, albeit narratively driven.

The cliffhanger’s probably the show’s bleakest to date, which is saying something.

Takin’ Over the Asylum (1994) s01e04 – Fool on the Hill

With the radio station seemingly on steady ground for the first time the whole show, “Takin’ Over the Asylum” gets going on some more subplots. This episode gives Angus Macfadyen a spotlight, the station’s de facto engineer who’s about to get released and needs help from someone on the outside to get a job. Luckily, Ken Stott’s willing to give him a good reference, though things at the window company are getting iffy for Stott after boss Roy Hanlon finds out about him volunteering at a mental hospital to run their radio station.

Volunteering isn’t something a salesman should do, Hanlon says. Because salesmen are quite obviously terrible human beings.

But Stott’s also got a lot of other things going on. He takes Katy Murphy on something like a proper date, grandmother Elizabeth Spriggs announces she’s returning to Lithuania to live out her last days and Stott needs to pay for it, and then the small matter of David Tennant getting he and Stott an audition at Radio Scotland.

There’s this great clash of dreams with Stott and Tennant, with Stott getting so close to such an old dream while Tennant’s getting so close so fast. Their success—or nearness to success—comes as Macfadyen clashes with new doctor Kika Markham over his future potential and with hospital administrator Sandra Voe, who refuses to let Macfadyen do technical work in the radio station. And then there’s Ruth McCabe, who’s having to hide from nurse Angela Bruce and the social worker because she’s about to get kicked of the hospital and into a “bed and breakfast” group home because her husband doesn’t want to take her back.

Macfadyen’s got an exceptional arc this episode, with a lot to do at various times, and some excellent support from Murphy. Donna Franceschild’s script once again finds this wonderful way of connecting the characters and subplots, which leads to these profound moments of character development. Really good performance from Macfadyen here; he’s been the most supporting of the radio station “staff” (though maybe it just took until episode four for his spotlight) and he does a fine job scaling up to lead here.

Despite not mentioning him much just because of the nature of the episode structure, Tennant does a great job on his arc too. “Asylum” has its protagonist, Stott, but when Tennant’s on screen you forget he’s not the star. And then Franceschild and director David Blair figure how to spotlight an additional “temporary” lead with Macfadyen. It’s really well-done. This episode’s probably the series’s most impressive so far, if not just the best overall.

Takin’ Over the Asylum (1994) s01e03 – You Always Hurt the One You Love

Was there a doctor appearance last episode? I can’t remember. This episode has the first doctor-involved subplot, this time doctor David Robb, who can’t see a reason to keep Ruth McCabe in the hospital anymore since all she needs is medication to keep her OCD in check and her husband, Jon Morrison (incorrectly credited as Jim Morrison, which almost seems intentional since a Doors poster is prominent in radio station shots), is willing to take her back if she’ll just take that medicine.

Of course, McCabe doesn’t want to take the medicine. She’s been flourishing at the radio station and felt good about herself. David Tennant is basically McCabe’s sidekick for this arc, with her figuring into his arc about saving the radio station. But we also get to hear about McCabe’s backstory, which involves a whole bunch of tragedy and a whole bunch of psychological abuse from Morrison. Except—and the show’s amazing about how it acknowledges this facet without any sort of judgment–Morrison’s kind of dumb. Like. He’s a dumb lug and even though he’s a dick, he’s not unsympathetic. Writer Donna Franceschild does a phenomenal job weaving the subplots through one another, with Tennant’s subplot informing McCabe’s not just throughout but also in their resolutions. It’s deftly done.

Similarly, Ken Stott’s got a lot to do with the saving the station arc—though mostly crapping on it because he’s being a pessimist because he just got to this place two episodes ago and it didn’t seem to occur to the people who brought him in—those unseen people—they might need to keep the equipment running. Sandra Voe is back to rain on Stott’s parade—no money from the hospital and also don’t get too close to those damaged patients. Particularly Katy Murphy, who Stott continues to gently court, often making predictable and unpredictable mistakes.

We find out Stott’s sweet on Murphy for sure when grandma Elizabeth Spriggs presses him on why doesn’t he have a wife yet and why doesn’t she have three great-grandchildren like her friends. Spriggs is a weird character; she ought to be some kind of comic relief but instead she’s just tragic and depressing.

Meanwhile at work, Stott’s now in the elite salesman of the month club, which pisses off work adversary Neil McKinven, who’s now out to get Stott for not being a real salesman. We also miss out on Stott’s speech accepting the award. It does seem like that scene should have been in there, if only to give Stott some awkward time at the podium with obnoxious boss Roy Hanlon.

It’s a somewhat circular episode—the radio station plot is always in pseudo-motion only to get back to where it started from—but the great character development keeps it all moving forward.

Takin’ Over the Asylum (1994) s01e02 – Fly Like an Eagle

This episode seemingly takes place soon after the first one—Ken Stott is giving David Tennant DJ lessons—but apparently in the meantime Stott’s had a chance to look at the station’s accounting since he took over. There’s a subplot about hospital money person Sandra Voe wanting to see Stott’s books for running the radio station and it really seems like he’s only been there two or three times and he brought his own records. When we do get around to seeing the book props, they’re entirely filled out—it’s a plot point getting them filled out but not their content. It’s strange TV show logic in a show seemingly dedicated to not doing such narrative efficiencies.

For example, Stott gentle but still awkward courtship of Katy Murphy. He’s trying to get her interested in the radio station but she’s seemingly not at all.

Meanwhile, Tennant’s got a subplot about his dad—James Grant—ready to take him out of the hospital but only if Tennant gets a job and moves to Perth (Scotland, presumably). And he doesn’t want to hear about Tennant’s wild dreams of becoming a radio DJ, which it turns out would suit the hospital just fine too. See, according to Voe, the hospital never intended for the patients to get interested in the radio station, but other outside volunteers. Don’t trust the patients, she tells Stott.

So it’s hard for Voe not to be a villain this episode. Even when Stott gets a workplace nemesis too. The biggest plots are Tennant and his dad and Stott and work. Everything else is just in-between, but very nicely balanced. Again, Donna Franceschild’s script, David Blair’s direction—excellent work. Stott’s so broke he can’t even pay for the TV license, which majorly pisses off grandma Elizabeth Spriggs, and he’s got to figure out how to sell some windows fast. Because he’s already lied to boss Roy Hanlon, which super-salesman Neil McKinven has noticed and now McKinven has got Stott in his crosshairs.

Luckily, Stott’s got a subplot with guest star Liz Smith as an annoying old lady who he just can’t shake and it’s all going to work out fine. Or at least fine enough to get us to another episode in the end.

Most of the plot lines come together at the end for a bit of a Tennant showcase and gets the series through its first act.

Stott’s still good, Tennant’s still charming—the episode’s a little shaky figuring out how to incorporate Stott’s home and work with the hospital, but it’s finding its footing and has figured out how to get Ruth McCabe on the radio team permanent. The subtle character development is outstanding; the show’s able to get to big dramatic moments without them ever seeming too much. Something about Blair’s direction tempers it all perfectly.

“Takin’ Over the Asylum” is working out to be a rather good show.

Takin’ Over the Asylum (1994) s01e01 – Hey Jude

From the opening, it’s hard to tell if “Takin’ Over the Asylum” is going to be a comedy or not. Window salesman Ken Stott is rushing out of a customer’s house for some reason, running away from a potential sale apparently—I’m not sure you need to have seen Glengarry Glen Ross or Tin Men to really grok the sales culture but they sure helped me with it—because he’s late for his radio show. Stott’s got an oldies show he’s been doing for eight years and it turns out it’s his last show because he’s a volunteer and Ashley Jensen’s staff and she wants her own show and people might actually listen to hers. It’s a quick cameo from Jensen as the hip mid-nineties alternative fan versus classic rock means the fifties too guy Stott.

So Stott’s out. But the radio station manager does tell him about another potential gig, resurrecting the radio station at a local mental hospital. At this point it no longer seems like the show can be a comedy because the title’s so direct it’d be weird to subvert it. Contraction not withstanding.

Before Stott gets to the hospital—St. Jude’s, hence the episode title—we also meet his disappointed Lithuanian grandmother Elizabeth Spriggs. She lives with Stott. Oh. They’re Scottish. It’s not really super important to know right off because once David Tennant shows up, he’s flamboyantly Scottish. Tennant’s a patient at the hospital and quickly becomes Stott’s sidekick, whether Stott wants one or not.

The show’s got an interesting way of handling the radio station at the hospital—we don’t get a big tour, we don’t get to meet Stott’s boss, instead, he just goes to the radio station and starts getting to work. He meets nurse Angela Bruce, who’s around but in the background. No doctors lurking about either. It’s mostly just Stott and the patients (though also jerk tough guy Kenneth Bryans is around for roughing up unruly patients). This episode focuses on Mary MacLeod, who’s speaking something language she’s made up so no one even knows her name for sure.

Outside Tennant, MacLeod becomes Stott’s first real listener. His radio show goes up against some pretty popular television programs the patients prefer watching, so it takes a whole scheme to get people interested in the radio station. As it unfolds, we meet some more of the regular cast, Angus Macfadyen and Ruth McCabe. McCabe’s got OCD and cleans everything, including the disaster zone station, Macfadyen’s a tech genius who can help with the busted old radio equipment.

We also briefly meet a fetching lady patient, Katy Murphy, who Stott notes until her behavior starts throwing him off. And then his boss at the window company—Roy Hanlon—who plays it outrageous, almost absurdist humor without a laugh track and it’s mesmerizingly good.

The finale goes for a sharp stab to the heart; the show’s off to an excellent start. Stott’s great, Tennant’s charming; excellent writing from Donna Franceschild and good direction from David Blair.

Frasier (1993) s02e11 – Seat of Power

Steven Levitan wrote this episode. Levitan’s one of the few sitcom people whose names I recognize. I didn’t realize he’d done “Frasier.” Turns out this is his first of four episodes. Recognizing the writer (though not remembering he hadn’t contributed a script to credit level before Seat), I paid the writing a lot of attention. Even when there are distractions like trying to identify the celebrity caller (it’s Macaulay Culkin, it’d be concerning if anyone could recognize him in 1994 when it aired) and then a somewhat funny Roz (Peri Gilpin) scene. It’s Gilpin’s only scene in the episode; it’s memorable enough, I guess.

And it does bury the proverbial lede. It’s going to be a Kelsey Grammer and David Hyde Pierce episode and it’s going to involve Hyde Pierce confronting his childhood bully. I’m not sure if the Crane boys going to public school was always canon (it almost seems like it wouldn’t be), but it’s definitely what the episode goes with. The episode’s theme—Levitan gives it a theme—is about the Crane boys trying to feel more manly even if they are snobs with European cars. After John Mahoney heckles Grammer for not being able to fix his own toilet, Grammer and Hyde Pierce give it the Crane Brothers go.

So we get this hilarious scene of Grammer and Hyde Pierce trying to do home repairs—including the first look at the apartment’s gigantic master bathroom (because they need pacing room)—but it’s just a bit on the way to the main event. The plumber turns out to be John C. McGinley, who bullied Hyde Pierce in elementary school.

Hyde Pierce goes through a very physical, very funny meltdown while Grammer tries to contain him. Hijinks and complications and hilarity ensue. It’s a great episode. Nice developments for Grammer, Mahoney, and Jane Leeves throughout. Hyde Pierce gets a bunch of spotlight moments, which the rest of the cast shares. They’re really good together (it’s an apartment-based episode so everyone’s around).

James Burrows’s direction is good. It’s always good. Sometimes you can just tell it’s one of his episodes though, based on the pacing of the actors.

It’s another good exemplar episode.