Oh, The "Horror"!

I can sum up my thoughts about Fox's televised remake of "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" in just one word: Why?!

But all of you know that I can rarely stop after one word, so allow me to elaborate. Watching this debacle unfold on the small screen, I felt like Donald Trump during the recent presidential debates: every few minutes, I was compelled to audibly interject with "nope" and/or "wrong." The 1975 movie musical, adapted from the 1973 stage production, is a giddy slice of subversive, counterculture fun. It's by no means high art or perfect filmmaking, but it's so tied to a time and place -- even an entire generation -- that just thinking about a remake is borderline blasphemous, let alone actually carrying it out. I want to find the person responsible for saying this would be a good idea and force them to watch it on an endless loop for all of eternity, giving them plenty of time to think about what they've done.

The biggest problem with the new "Rocky Horror" is its sanitized, candy-coated tone, which fills every frame with entirely too much color and light for the subject matter. The original version had a more stark and muted palate, reinforcing the dark, seedy side of its dubious characters and their pointed social commentary. What made the film seem so scandalous in the '70s, mainly its crossdressing, bisexual aliens, is basically mainstream 40 years later. Even the farcical seduction scenes, which played out in the movie as identically risqué silhouettes, are now awkwardly dragged into well-lit bedrooms and lose all sense of their whimsy -- which just goes to show that television wasn't the right medium for such an undertaking. So where are all the shocking moments that will define this version for the ages? Probably in the inevitable re-remake that will emerge after a few more decades have passed.

At least the creative team had enough sense to realize that the iconic close-up of lips singing during the original's opening credits could never be bested (here, they're relegated to a reprise that plays over the end credits). As a compromise, we get an admittedly clever sequence that acknowledges both the B-movie legacy that "Rocky Horror" gently lampoons and the cult following of the film itself. A pinup-worthy usherette uses the song "Science Fiction Double Feature," with all of its references to the films of that era, to welcome and escort an excited audience into a midnight screening at a vintage theater. Tragically, it's all downhill from there. For starters, that same eager crowd is featured throughout the show, performing the traditional callbacks that are part of the live, audience participation experience. These scenes are disruptive instead of organic, especially since they only act out some of them and skip others. To be fair, the *only* time the callback worked was during "Sweet Transvestite," when the extra time that elapses for the melodramatic pause in the word "antici... pation" allowed the camera to capture the anxious reactions of each character before finally cutting to the audience for their signature exclamation of "Say it!" Otherwise, shoehorning these scenes felt like a desperate appeal to the midnight-moviegoers who made "Rocky Horror" the institution that it is today.

One of my biggest peeves is the way Rocky was dressed, both from an aesthetic and thematic standpoint. He's supposed to be this Herculean specimen of perfect physique and manhood... so they put him in baggy, knee-length gym shorts? I mean, at least they were gold and shiny, but come on! The original movie can run virtually unedited when it airs on TV, but the puritans at Fox have a problem with briefs? Celebrating the human form is central to the story, and though they finally put Rocky in a skimpy wrestling singlet for the climactic floor show song "Rose Tint My World," it's too little too late. Just one of many examples where they strive for a candid, carefree spirit that's never coherently achieved.

Even people who aren't familiar with the show have likely heard of "The Time Warp," a novelty song with accompanying dance moves. In the original film, a variety of misfits of all shapes and sizes perform the scene, and part of its charm is that their movements are close enough but still not perfectly synchronized. This time around, the polished ensemble -- which resembles a too-attractive, too-confident contingent of faux-goth Hot Topic employees -- is ridiculously precise in their choreography. It's like an Old Navy commercial on acid, and not in a fun way. In fact, the entire production seems to be on something, as revised orchestrations and vocal arrangements threaten the familiarity of these beloved songs. You would expect to see a band and possibly backup singers during a live presentation of a musical, but certainly not during a filmed version that's intended to play out as a movie. It's an odd choice to keep them visible if for no other reason than it destroys the illusion and pulls focus from the characters' big moments.

Thankfully, those moments are capably delivered by a cast with above-average singing prowess. As larger-than-life mad scientist Dr. Frank N. Furter, Laverne Cox has the right attitude and energy to step into the shoes (well, heels) of the role, but her wildly inconsistent accent is a huge distraction. No one will ever be as synonymous with Frank as the one and only Tim Curry (whose scant minutes of screen time in the small role of the narrator are still a welcome respite). In her dialogue's woefully misguided homages, Cox sounds like she's trying to mimic Curry, but for reasons unknown, she adds the lascivious affectations of Samantha Jones from "Sex And The City" and even shades of Derek Zoolander's exaggerated emphases. She already makes so much of the role her own that we could have accepted her normal speech patterns. This unfortunate dissonance spoils the rest of the sheer joy and magnetism that Cox exudes; Frank is a juicy part, and her cup runneth over.

The rest of the cast is a far cry from household-name status, but they give their all to the doomed proceedings. As straight-laced couple Brad and Janet, Ryan McCartan and Victoria Justice bring a solid amount of exasperated insecurity and breathy determination respectively. Reeve Carney appeared in another recent stage fiasco (remember all the trouble surrounding "Spider-Man: Turn Off The Dark"?), but at least he has the chops to nail the sinister monotones and falsettos of handyman Riff Raff. Meanwhile, cameos from rocker Adam Lambert as Eddie and Broadway legend Ben Vereen as Dr. Scott do make a brief splash, but it's a noticeable step down from their demonstrated talents.

By the end of this broadcast (two hours has rarely felt so long), I knew there was little if any chance of redemption. Even the commercial breaks were poorly timed and often happened before scenes were finished. While I was pleasantly surprised by the inclusion of "Superheroes," a short epilogue song that was removed from the theatrical cut of the original film but later restored on special edition releases, this TV version overall came down to a disappointing reality: for everything I tried to applaud, there was something else that undermined it. For example, a brilliant aside, "I hope it's not meatloaf again," was added to the script during the dinner table scene -- a great wink at the previous Eddie, played by singer Meat Loaf. On the other hand, one of the indelible images in modern pop culture -- Frank throwing off his cloak to reveal his full corset-and-fishnet regalia -- is sullied here with an anticlimactic, assisted removal of a mask and cape that never comes close to the grand entrance that Frank deserves.

Based on the law of averages, no matter how much lipstick I put on this pig, the resulting effect statistically cancels out the entire production. I went into it with low expectations, and even those weren't met! With a little concentration and a lot of luck, maybe we can time warp ourselves to a place where the original "Rocky Horror" is the only version that exists, reigning supreme for future generations of fans to discover and embrace.

A Gaga By Any Other Name Sings As Sweet

When Lady Gaga announces a new project, you never know what form it will take. On "Joanne" (which takes its title from her late aunt as well as her own middle name), Gaga gives us something that we haven't seen much of during her fascinating career: restraint.

She isn't the dance-party alien who invaded the industry with her 2008 debut "The Fame," or the multifaceted goddess who sought to remake pop music in her image with her 2011 opus "Born This Way," or even the savvy chanteuse who covered jazz standards with the inimitable Tony Bennett on her 2014 throwback "Cheek To Cheek." Gone are the outfits and the gimmicks, not that she ever needed them given her talent. Instead, this new album is a reminder that Gaga is a mere mortal, blessed with powerful gifts that she's ready to share. In a year when female pop stars got deeply personal through their music -- notably Gwen Stefani or Beyoncé examining their identities amid marital strife -- Gaga may be the latest to embrace such a trend, but she keeps it fresh and focused on her many strengths as an artist.

First and foremost, Gaga has always been fearless when it comes to exploring new sounds. By adding the introspective backdrop that influences much of this album, she finds a new ingredient in the secret of her success. Most of the tracks on "Joanne" are only around three minutes each, removing the trappings of indulgent or repetitive production values and prioritizing the impact of the songs. Opener "Diamond Heart" and lead single "Perfect Illusion" are perhaps the most reminiscent of Gaga as we've known her, bending and blending retro rock with digital effects and soaring vocals. "A-Yo" and "John Wayne" are fun, saucy romps into country-music territory that wouldn't have been out of place in the heyday of Shania Twain's crossover.

It isn't a nonstop party, though. The album takes time to breathe and flourish in the spaces between its more raucous moments. Songs like "Million Reasons," "Grigio Girls," and the title track are heartfelt, vulnerable evidence of how Gaga can modulate her powerhouse vocals to wrap comfortably around any style or tempo. Here more than ever, she tells lyrical stories that pay honest tribute to formative life experiences.

Accompanying her on the journey are a host of stellar collaborators who help her push the boundaries of genre even further than her previous work. Fellow musical chameleon Beck served as a producer on "Dancin' In Circles," a sultry ode to... ahem, alone time. Indie crooner Father John Misty co-wrote the folky, thought-provoking "Sinner's Prayer," while Florence Welch -- the voice behind Florence + The Machine -- joins Gaga on the R&B-tinged duet "Hey Girl." It's not the Ryan Gosling meme set to music (though that would be delightful), but rather an earnest call for female empowerment through camaraderie and mutual support.

Gaga's sense of duty to her listeners and the world at large continues in "Come To Mama," a vintage, horn-driven ballad that questions the future of our society if we keep tearing each other down just for being different. Its poignant and inclusive simplicity echoes her previous equality anthem "Born This Way," reframing its message for the times that we (yes, still) live in. She really drives those points home on "Angel Down," a searing political wake-up call about gun violence that unapologetically asks where our leaders and our individual courage to do the right thing have gone. The song proves to be even more potent as its raw, stripped-down work tape version closes the album, showing that Gaga isn't afraid to conclude with an urgent, realistic plea as opposed to a grandiose, celebratory sendoff.

While they famously don't care for the comparisons, Gaga is just as adept at evolution and reinvention as Madonna, with both making progressive statements accessible through their innovative music. This latest album is a mid-career highlight for Gaga, on par with Madonna's underrated 2003 collection "American Life" given their shared mix of energy and emotion. "Joanne" provides another satisfying pastiche that effortlessly convinces us of Gaga's aptitude for tackling challenges. She'll gladly sing the hell out of anything, as long as we can keep up with her ambition.

Which Is "Witch"?

Oh, "Blair Witch." I really wanted to like you more than I did. In all fairness, any movie that provided a direct continuation of the cinematic breakthrough that was 1999's "The Blair Witch Project" would be subject to almost unbearably high expectations. It's the quintessential tough act to follow: a sequel that's both familiar enough and innovative enough to fit in and stand out at the same time. Plenty of part-twos have done exactly that: "The Godfather Part II," "Aliens," "Terminator 2: Judgment Day," "The Dark Knight." Despite its best efforts, "Blair Witch" just doesn't fit the bill.

It's crucial for any film, especially one that strives for greatness, to know itself and its purpose. Unfortunately, this one becomes too painstakingly self-aware to fully immerse the audience in the thrills and chills that slowly unfold. Much like the intrepid documentarians who went missing in the first film, we know from the outset that this latest crew is doomed -- but in a failure of dramatic irony, we aren't as invested in the how or the why. By struggling in vain to respect its roots without satisfactorily deepening its already murky mythology, the new "Blair Witch" never quite recaptures the unprecedented experience that defined its forerunner and cemented its undeniable impact on filmmaking and pop culture at large. The original stealthily goes bump in the night, while the sequel is blatantly pop goes the weasel.

"Project" was able to function as both a movie and a multimedia sensation. Ahead of its release, the studio capitalized on the burgeoning ubiquity of the Internet to create what was arguably one of the first viral marketing campaigns. Inspired by the found-footage format used in the film, interviews and dossiers were fabricated along with missing-person posters, blurring the lines between fact and fiction as word-of-mouth buzz frantically tried to determine if the case was real. Rampant curiosity translated to record-breaking box office figures; in fact, it's still the highest-grossing independent film of all time when comparing its budget to its earnings. This unexpected success led to a follow-up film the next year, but "Book Of Shadows" suffered from its quick turnaround and standard narrative format. Rather than furthering the established story, it involved characters who watched "Project" and wanted to see where its events allegedly happened. (Fans, just like the new movie, pretend that "Shadows" doesn't exist.)

"Blair Witch," teased for months as a generic horror film called "The Woods" before the surprise revelation of its lineage at San Diego's Comic-Con, picks up years after the fateful events of the original. This gimmick, though an unbelievably well-kept secret, only benefitted the movie promotionally rather than encouraging today's more tech-savvy viewers to research its authenticity. In this era of social media and knee-jerk fact-checking, surely the studio could have come up with something bolder than a name change to herald its release. Alas, we're all too aware from the get-go that what we're about to see is just a movie, and the element of plausible fear goes right out the window. James, the younger brother of missing filmmaker Heather, has spent his life searching for clues about what really happened to her and her crew. An online video surfaces that offers a substantial lead, so James and his friends venture into those infamous woods to see what they can find.

Their discoveries are a mixed bag that pull the film toward nowhere and everywhere. The evolution of personal technology in the 17 years since "Project" means that each of the protagonists are carrying various recording devices, so we see events happen from other angles instead of just what James sees. The result is too polished; the restraint that made "Project" so effective -- feeling like you're really there because you're limited to one camera's point of view -- is missing. By imposing frantic, abrupt editing between perspectives, the suggested novelty of recovered footage evaporates. In my mind, the only way that these multiple cuts would have been acceptable is if some of them caught things that the others didn't, lending an eerie, unreliable air to what's really happening. Most movies, especially those driven by suspense, tend to allegorize technological products as humanity's foolish attempt to outsmart the unknown, but "Blair Witch" barely does anything to deploy clever thematic shocks. While I'm glad (and slightly horrified) to finally know what those pesky wooden stick figures represent, the only instance of digital ingenuity is an unsettling sequence where a character uses the camera to see what's behind her as she is forced to slowly, quietly walk backwards in the dark.

Elsewhere, opportunities to drum up genuine scares are squandered. "Project" adopted a realistic, less-is-more approach to building its tension, but "Blair Witch" goes too big and too obvious too quickly. The original film prided itself on not showing any blood or violence on screen, instead allowing our imaginations to fill in the blanks. Here, we get several images that, though fleeting, could have been depicted more tactfully to sow the seeds of psychological and visceral discomfort over time. Ultimately, this movie works best at its primal, fight-or-flight core, when the cinematography is reduced to just one of the remaining vantage points for a relentlessly claustrophobic finale. It's an adequate delivery, especially after too many disconnects early on, but it still can't shake the persistent deja vu that haunts the rest of the film. We've seen it before and we've seen it done better, but we still want to see if maybe we're wrong about where it's heading. Sadly, the destination isn't worth the many missteps of the journey.

Despite the open ending and unresolved questions, a third (technically fourth) "Blair Witch" movie doesn't seem likely. This one's unexpectedly low box-office tally, especially compared to the merits of its predecessor, should give the studio pause. The public wasn't given anything substantive to latch onto ahead of time, so they didn't show up to participate in the mystery. As with the previous attempts to expand the franchise through books, comics, and video games, nothing will ever be able to match, let alone top, the qualities that epitomize "Project" in the annals of film history. There's a fine line between artistic ambiguity for the sake of the story and commercialized ambiguity for the sake of a guaranteed green light to develop the next chapter. At the rate they're going, maybe the Blair Witch doesn't want her story told after all...

A Tale Of Two Daves

Dave is a pretty common name. In the case of the last two books I read -- both written by authors named Dave -- it's not common that I have such a long history with their interdisciplinary prowess. These latest works by Dave Holmes and Dave Eggers are worthy reflections of their tremendous talents and their spot-on observations about life as we know it.

My familiarity with Holmes goes all the way back to 1998. That was the year when MTV launched its "Wanna Be A VJ" contest to select new, on-air personalities for the network's programming -- which at that point still primarily revolved around music. In my mind, Holmes was a no-brainer for the job; he had the ingrained knowledge and passion for the industry, and he was easygoing and charming with the interview segments. Unfortunately, Holmes took second place, upstaged and outvoted by a ridiculous flash-in-the-pan named Jesse Camp.

Thankfully, Holmes made a good enough impression that he was asked to stick around with MTV, so he was still a regular fixture on my TV screen for a few more years until moving on to other projects. I would see his name pop up from time to time (somehow, I missed it when he came out in 2002), but it wasn't until "Esquire" ran a pointed essay of his in March 2015 that Holmes once again hit my radar and stayed there. In an open letter to musician Kid Rock, he tactfully, hilariously lambasted the star for his nonchalant use of the word "gay" as an insult. Holmes' keen awareness of the cultural shift since both his and Kid's reigns on MTV made him the perfect choice to call out this offensive behavior, and it was this turning point that made me see Holmes as a brilliant writer. I've followed his contributions to "Esquire" and other outlets, both published and filmed, ever since.

Holmes' career-altering tenure at MTV is just one of many twists of fate that he tackles with poignant humor in "Party Of One: A Memoir In 21 Songs." Each chapter borrows its name from a song title that directly or indirectly summarizes that phase in his life, and occasional "interludes" transition between the chapters as lateral moves to flesh out related topics. Admittedly, I have a certain reluctance when approaching the current memoir craze, as many of the people releasing them have yet to pay the dues of a full and distinguished career. However, Holmes' influence made me think twice, and for the better: this memoir positively brims with genuine life experience. For all of his youth (he's only 45 years old), he has stories galore to tell -- and surely there are plenty more that didn't make the cut.

With his uncanny knack for equating music and period-specific references to everyday life as well as the most extraordinary of circumstances, Holmes writes a credible and authentic account of his personal journey. From coming of age and coming out to coming to terms with himself and his passions at a time of cultural realignment, he maintains a vital spirit of enthusiasm and optimism that is both welcome and infectious. He writes conversationally but efficiently, never rambling or self-aggrandizing. In the space of a single page, I would wince at the awkward, formative scenarios that usually happen in public -- who among us hasn't walked into a full-length mirror in a crowded bar? -- before laughing aloud, heartily and knowingly, at his unwavering determination to move forward, chin up. Across these 21 chapters, his witty self-deprecation gives way to admirable self-respect.

Holmes never claims to know everything and/or know better than we do about how to lead our lives, but his candor is capable of opening dialogues within ourselves and among others. "Party Of One" is an entertaining source of inspiration to readers of all ages who are looking for some much-needed guidance about how to stay true to themselves.

Sometimes, though, navigating that truth requires a fictional route. In his new novel "Heroes Of The Frontier," Eggers mines the human condition and strikes literary gold. Clearly not a stranger to this vein, he tends to address it through incredibly diverse settings. I first encountered him during college, when my friend Kim loaned me her copy of his first book, "A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius." Drawn from his own experiences raising his younger brother, "Genius" is not a pretentious title but rather a resonant one, acknowledging and subverting the praises heaped upon people's transparencies and vulnerabilities when it's really just part of who we are and how we have or haven't grown. From there, Eggers dove into subject matter as varied as the Lost Boys of the Sudan ("What Is The What"); the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina ("Zeitoun"); the 2008 economic collapse and recession ("A Hologram For The King"); and the ethical quandaries of technological advances ("The Circle"). Among his many skills as an author, he excels at finding the strength and dignity behind these large-scale issues without ever being maudlin or preachy. Simply put, Eggers is one of this generation's finest chroniclers of how regular people reconcile themselves with an increasingly irregular world.

"Heroes," as we learn from the first page, has nothing to do with bravely exploring the Wild West. Instead, this unique road-trip saga drops us firmly in the present day, joining the story in medias res as protagonist Josie has fled to Alaska with her two children in a rented RV. With the shambles of her business and marriage behind her, geographically if not emotionally, Josie is eager for a second chance. The underlying metaphor of contending with raging wildfires, though never explicitly stated, is both timely and relevant: in a society that feels like it could implode at any moment, how you handle the flames of change is what will define you when you need to rise from the ashes.

As often happens during the stops, starts, and sudden changes of a long drive, characters come and go -- some staying for longer than others, some never actually present but always haunting the proceedings. All the while, how Josie handles the fleeting nature of human contact is a real credit to Eggers' grasp of our intrinsic, embattled need for validation. Josie craves to be embraced by some sign of civilization, and in flinging her well beyond her comfort zone, he is powerfully perceptive about where the roots of social constructs really lie. Crafting vivid, stream-of-consciousness prose from a third-person limited perspective, Eggers slowly and appropriately develops and shades his main character without overwhelming the reader with upfront details. Over the course of the book, we learn the full scope of Josie's backstory and motivation only when we need to. As the pieces of her struggle fall into place, we can reflect on what was already divulged, and we can identify that much more strongly with her existential plight.

Such engagement with the material might seem too lofty, but Eggers succeeds in keeping the tone eloquently breezy and, above all, accessible. Dark humor abounds as Josie's children are forced to accompany her on this voyage of self-discovery. Her interactions with them are almost painfully realistic as she realizes that the same choices lacking from her own past may soon be stripped from them thanks to her. Kids really do say the darnedest things, but here, it's not a cheap gimmick for easy laughs; it's symptomatic of situations that make them grow up too fast despite a parent's best intentions. Eggers takes special care not to find the easy way out, and he avoids wrapping up such grand misadventures in a nice, neat package. The characters' trip may come to an end, but it's safe to say that their destination isn't really a physical place after all.

Despite his cynical but ultimately warranted dissection of the status of the American Dream, Eggers is hardly a pessimist. By capturing these trials and tribulations on the open road, he presents the crumbling of our collective goals as a challenge to start over. Along the way, hope and joy can be rediscovered in freedom and opportunity, but only when we seize that purpose and never let go.

This "Phantom" Should Stay Hidden

Behold, the three most terrifying words ever to strike musical theater! It's not "starring Kim Kardashian." It's "spectacular new production."

Certain musicals become revered classics for their ability to whisk you away to another world with their grandeur and opulence. That's how I felt when I saw "The Phantom Of The Opera," first on Broadway and each subsequent time in Denver. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the "old" production, and it was already quite spectacular, so why even bother making it "new"? Unlike some musicals, this one holds up pretty well, even 30 years after its 1986 premiere. As it stands, the current touring version of "Phantom" is a ghastly imitation of everything that makes the original show such an effective piece of theater. Instead of being whisked away, I was painfully reminded that I was still trapped in my seat.

Since the Phantom haunts an opera house, let's start there. Most (if not all) of the show's singing is incredibly operatic, and in this regard, the actors performed in a generally capable manner. Except for one, not-so-minor thing: their vocalizations needed to make the audience feel something about the characters' journeys. Opera without emotion is just loud, high notes being shrieked at no one in particular. Clearly, one must be able to hit those notes, but it's not just about technical precision. Without this emotive range, the actors ran the risk of being robotic and the show started to drag. Considering it's nearly three hours long, they better keep it moving!

The fast-paced farce of "Notes," typically a favorite song of mine, seemed much slower than its past iterations. Presumably to allow the actors to emphasize their words (and catch their breath), but problems with diction were rampant here as well as throughout the show. Composer Andrew Lloyd Webber is known for his dynamic use of counterpoint, but the song's brilliant effect was ruined by the poorly paced tempo and the muddled voices. I also strongly suspect that Christine, the object of the Phantom's obsession, pre-recorded her demanding solo that closes the titular song. Actress Kaitlyn Davis was unusually blocked at the side of the stage with her back to the audience for the majority of this scene, and when she did face forward for the big final note, her voice cracked quite obviously. All singers have bad nights, but this attempt at subterfuge seemed awkward and forced. Why not just use an understudy instead of jarring anyone with eyes and ears right out of this signature moment?

Even the typically magnificent set pieces left something to be desired. A large, central column rotated between scenes and unfurled in segments, making efficient use of the space. Unlike previous configurations, though, it didn't convincingly portray the splendor or distance of the various locations. More often than not, the stage seemed too sparse for a production of this magnitude. In particular, the rooftop near the end of the first act and the cemetery late in the second act were barely more than glorified props and backdrops.

All of these slights pale in comparison to the flat-out boring treatment of the show's infamous chandelier. It's always been the case that after the auction that opens the musical, the chandelier is uncovered and illuminated, rising majestically during the overture from the stage to its new home above the audience. In this production, it's already positioned above the crowd, and for its instrumental cue, it rises no more than 10 feet. The disappointment continues when its climactic drop at the end of Act One no longer sends the chandelier crashing toward the stage. Instead, it just flickers and shakes and drops those 10 measly feet. Redemption is impossible when an iconic moment in stage history gets reduced to a terrible and ultimately pointless special effect.

The hits (or should I say misses) keep on coming in "Masquerade," the formerly impeccable ensemble number that opens Act Two. Traditionally staged on a grand staircase, this time around finds the players in a gilded, mirrored hallway. It certainly fits the period for turn-of-the-century Paris, but it doesn't fit the scope of an allegedly large-scale production to have everyone placed on the same level. Staggering the action on different steps added unpredictability to an already intricate scene. Most insulting is the Phantom's entrance into this celebration, which is another dreadful anticlimax to say the least. Originally, his sudden appearance right in the middle of the fray is startling, and his chilling descent on the staircase set to each downbeat of the music is perfectly ominous. In this staging -- oh, how I wish I were making this up -- he literally walks in the back door. No unsettling fanfare as he approaches; he just strolls into the room, completely lacking in surprise as well as originality.

Which brings me to the Phantom himself. As discussed earlier, actor Chris Mann is a suitable singer. Regrettably, he brought little depth to the character, playing him utterly devoid of even the remotest sense of menace or foreboding. In the throes of such a hollow portrayal, the Phantom's wounded thirst for power and unrequited desire for Christine fail to elicit any sympathy; rather, he comes across as nothing more than a spoiled brat perpetually on the verge of a tantrum for not getting his way. While the show may be larger than life, it does leave room for subtlety and nuance, but Mann found neither.

The production itself doesn't seem to tolerate any mystery surrounding the Phantom's presence either. While I did appreciate a brief glimpse of him hiding in the shadows during the opening auction, we actually see him strangle the lead stagehand later in the show. The victim's sudden appearance during a ballet used to be shocking and arguably could have been an accident, as the managers desperately claim. And don't even get me started on the digital projections of the Phantom's shadow. It looks much creepier to have the natural distortions of angled light spread across the stage than having blatantly phony swirls of his cape. Worse still, the timing was off for the pyrotechnics that the Phantom uses to taunt the characters, making them less indicative of his possible supernatural abilities and more of an unintended punchline.

But no detail was more offensive to theatrical purists like myself than the Phantom's cloak... which had sparkling lapels. I repeat: The Phantom Of The Opera SPARKLED. I'm on my best behavior during performances of any kind, but I'm pretty sure an audible "What the hell is THAT?" escaped my mouth. Last I checked, this wasn't "Twilight: The Musical." The Phantom is supposed to be a sinister yet elusive figure who's so in touch with darkness that he sings no less than four times about embracing the music of the night. Theater is meant to start conversations, but no one should ever be put in the unenviable position of defending or refuting the merits of giving the Phantom more flair.

My questions about who thought any of these changes would make the show "new" and/or "spectacular" will continue to linger. To be blunt, I may never see this musical again, just so I can preserve its former glory in my mind. I didn't even get to the part where Christine non-verbally considers jumping off the roof at the end of the first act -- of course, because her death would have fixed everything and NOT sent the Phantom into a blinding, apocalyptic rage. Or the finale, where I couldn't fathom why the mob now reaches his lair in time to witness what used to be a clever, solitary disappearance. This disruption of illusion is an apt metaphor for the revisions that plague the entire production: stage magic only works when it's stealthy and seamless.

In all fairness, perhaps these changes -- which did nothing to add to or improve the show -- can be boiled down to simple budgetary decisions? I honestly don't see how that's possible. "Phantom" is still a top-grossing attraction, a testament to its staying power among audiences. People who attended this tour for the first time likely didn't notice that anything was wrong, but returning guests couldn't have missed it. All I can say is that if this version had been my first experience with "The Phantom Of The Opera," then I wouldn't have left the venue with any respect for the legacy of this influential musical.

Britney Returns In All Of Her "Glory"

Even as a fan, I was skeptical at first. Britney Spears was releasing her first album since 2013 -- undoubtedly pushed back thanks to her dazzling, wildly successful Vegas residency show "Piece Of Me" -- and she was calling it... "Glory"? It's certainly an odd choice for a pop album title. (My first thought: is she going gospel?) But after pressing play only once, and again with each subsequent listen, the name is more than fitting. This ambitious collection of songs revels in the many sides of Spears at a creative peak. Not since her 2003 career-best "In The Zone" has her music been this eclectic and experimental.

"Glory" has moments on nearly every track where my jaw practically dropped at the maturity and confidence of the production values, almost forgetting that it was a mainstream Spears effort. The rich, electronic auras of opener "Invitation" and "Just Luv Me" lend an ambient, ethereal flow to a performer better known for high-energy danceability. The silky prowess of lead single "Make Me" shows Spears as an artist who embraces her sensuality as a sensible adult woman, rather than her former days as a teenage marketing gimmick. The brazenly frothy hooks of "Private Show" and the flirty disco variations of "Do You Wanna Come Over?" are familiar territory that quickly become uncharted with clever vocal arrangements and instrumental twists.

Elsewhere, globe-trotting textures abound; reggae vibes ("Slumber Party"), Middle Eastern flair ("Better"), and Latin infusions ("Change Your Mind") are daring yet solid maneuvers that give her sonic palate a much-needed boost in diversity. Even closing track "Coupure Electrique" (roughly translated, "Blackout") is a haunting, Goldfrapp-esque indulgence...sung entirely in French, no less! Yes, this is still the same album. Spears has clearly one-upped and outdone herself. The sky's the limit now for what she could possibly try next. I've been saying for years that she should take a cue from Madonna's 1995 set "Something To Remember" and put out a whole album of ballads. Unlike her earlier work, the slower, more contemplative songs here fall short, as evidenced by the icy paranoia of "Just Like Me" and the desperate longing of "Man On The Moon." However, this brief lapse represents an opportunity for Spears to take back the wheel and steer toward the rest of those strengths in the future.

Meanwhile, runner-up favorite "Clumsy" glides through a full spectrum of tunes in a few short minutes. A deceptively simple, wickedly catchy hand-clap beat suddenly gives way to a hypnotic chanting chorus underscored with syncopated sizzle, all set in motion by a playful exclamation of (what else?) "oops." By far, though, the most impressive song is "What You Need," a brassy, fiery throwback that nods heartily to the burlesque sirens of yesteryear. Spears delivers a gutsy and glamorous big-band ditty that, miraculously, doesn't feel out of place amid the many other varied styles on display.

Just the strategically placed F-bombs alone during two pivotal tracks would have been enough to deepen my appreciation of her legacy in the industry. Nine albums in, Spears has finally joined the club of pop stars (like Pink, Christina Aguilera, Rihanna, and Beyoncé before her) who respect that their fans have grown up right along with them. These artists are comfortable enough to speak (or sing) their minds without fear of reprisal or censorship for their honest language.

Spears is indisputably a pop-culture icon to listeners from my generation, but her relevance to the current crop of millennial consumers is under fire. With "Glory," she has taken time to sincerely craft an album that awakens her potential to reach a new, wider audience. By periodically igniting her own sense of innovation, she can easily defeat the apathy of expectations -- with the power to not only challenge herself but also surprise even her most loyal followers.

Girl Power Rules The Big Screen

Insecure men, beware! Women took charge and wore the pants at the multiplex this summer. Two major comedies featured primarily female casts, and they showed us that there's nothing left to prove when it comes to ladies leading the way.

The reboot of "Ghostbusters," despite what all those immature online haters would have you believe, walks the fine line between nostalgia and reinvention but emerges unscathed. The new movie knows that the 1984 original is by no means broken, so they weren't trying to fix it. Instead, it's a new story with new characters that just happens to incorporate the now-famous ghost-hunting tools without feeling like a lifeless retread. The four leads (Leslie Jones, Melissa McCarthy, Kate McKinnon, and Kristen Wiig) are all perfectly cast, bringing both charisma and depth to these new personalities. This revamped team isn't just female versions of their male counterparts; both the script and the actresses are wise to avoid coasting. By giving them unique qualities and mannerisms, they become well-rounded people and ultimately heroes. In an unexpectedly hilarious supporting turn, Chris Hemsworth threatens to steal the show as the well-meaning but dim-witted receptionist, allowing the movie to make some spirited jabs at onscreen objectification.

Thankfully, the film doesn't ignore its roots, gleefully acknowledging the original entry with plentiful cameos and references to appease those reluctant fans. That said, this is still a different "Ghostbusters" for a different time. A lot has changed in the 30-plus years since the first movie was released, both in filmmaking and in the world at large. This installment's broader humor and reliance on digital effects are clearly compensating for the need to appeal to a much wider audience. I maintain that even having another male-dominated cast would have been met with the same amounts of skepticism, pressure, and expectations. Those involved with the original film couldn't possibly have known right away that it would earn a place in the pop-culture pantheon or become so integral to a whole generation of moviegoers. This time around, the sentimental value places that bar a lot higher, but a genuine reverence for that value is what sets this loving remake apart from the parade of uninspired deja vu that's been plaguing theaters lately.

"Absolutely Fabulous" also has a legacy to preserve, with its own inception going back to its first TV episodes in 1992. Across five seasons and several interim specials, the misadventures of Edina (Jennifer Saunders) and Patsy (Joanna Lumley) have become iconic across multiple demographics. We can all agree that while they're hardly role models, it's refreshing to see two individuals of any gender be so unabashedly human, flaws and all. That's what has kept them relatable and relevant for so long, and the big-screen treatment is very kind to their endearing antics. Saunders and Lumley are as game as ever to revisit this world; their physical embodiment of Edina and Patsy's exasperated quirks and tics, right down to how they walk and carry themselves, is still spot-on and true to their characters. Some of the best punchlines in the film, just like the series, are completely nonverbal and delivered with a perfectly pithy look, gesture, or stance.

Even more impressive is how many others they persuaded to play along after all this time. As a testament to its staying power, the entire cast is on board for the latest outing, including a majority of the recurring guest stars and a veritable who's-who of celebrity cameos. The movie is beautifully shot across many exotic locations (it could easily double as a postcard or tourism brochure for southern France), and there are numerous homages to classic farces like "Some Like It Hot." There's even a chance that the outrageous fashions on and around our ersatz heroines could walk the awards season runway with nominations for costume design. Since the film was written and directed by women and features an entire core cast of women, it may be time to come up with a Bechdel-type test that identifies behind-the-scenes participation in addition to the existing criteria for onscreen representation. It's a brave new world for filmmaking... if the industry can swallow its pride and grow up.

Ironically, "Ghostbusters" had to push forward in spite of the fans, while "Absolutely Fabulous" is an obvious love letter that wouldn't exist without its fans. Yet they're both adaptations of previously existing material, which demonstrates the double-edged sword of fandom in show business. Since both films seem to be launch pads for new franchises, their success shouldn't have to be classified as women playing a men's game. These women -- and in turn, these movies -- are rewriting the rules of the game so that anyone can play, and everyone's invited to the fun. No party-poopers allowed!

Still "Looking" For A Proper Ending

Fans of the two-season run of HBO's acclaimed gay dramedy "Looking" were understandably crushed when it was cancelled in March 2015. The series was an all-too-rare, slice-of-life project that was never as melodramatic as "Queer As Folk" but also never snarky and self-aware enough to be labeled a male variation of network companion "Girls." Instead, the show blazed its own refreshingly honest trail through the frustrations of normalcy -- now that it's "okay" to be gay, what does that look like in everyday life? This unprecedented malaise may have hit too close to home for viewers who came of age (and/or came out) with groundbreaking yet campy fantasias like "Will & Grace."

Naturally, when it was announced that a follow-up movie would address some of the lingering questions that were left unresolved in the show's last episode, no one was sure what direction this next chapter would take. Until history was made just a few months later, when the Supreme Court declared gay marriage legal in all 50 states. A series like "Looking" that had resigned itself and its characters to embattled contentment with the status quo would surely have something to say. On that front, the new installment delivers. Aesthetically speaking, the movie follows in the thematic footsteps of Richard Linklater's superlative "Before" trilogy as well as "Looking" director/co-writer Andrew Haigh's own captivating film "Weekend." Over the course of a few days -- a scant but engrossing 84 minutes of screen time -- we are given intimate access to a series of hilarious, heartfelt, and sometimes harrowing conversations about what love, sex, commitment, and the future really mean in modern culture, in a way that men (gay or straight) are rarely shown discussing with such plausible candor and eloquence.

It's hard to weigh this "Looking" finale as a stand-alone film; admittedly, uninitiated viewers can easily pick up on the dynamics and relationships of all the characters. However, so much happened both offscreen and in the original episodes that the movie -- an extension of those events and their aftermath one year later -- may as well be considered a condensed third season. The movie offers a simple plot with minimal obstacles: main character Patrick (Jonathan Groff) returns to San Francisco for the wedding of his friend Agustin (Frankie Alvarez). Along the way, Patrick is also reunited with friends Dom (Murray Bartlett, finally replacing his oddly attractive mustache with a handsome full beard) and Doris (the endearingly acerbic and criminally overlooked Lauren Weedman).

All of the actors carry over the same level of natural charm and appeal, but with the exception of Groff, they're given surprisingly little to do. Instead, the film functions as a character study revolving around Patrick's search for closure about why he really left and what it would take to bring him back. This disproportionate focus neglects the strengths of the ensemble as well as the individual performers, barely advancing their stories from where we left them at the end of the series. Even the people who represent the loose ends of Patrick's past -- his former boss Kevin (Russell Tovey) and his ex Richie (Raul Castillo) -- simply exist to serve his arc of self-discovery. To call this a more fitting finale than what was previously aired is difficult at best, since the movie concludes just as ambiguously as the show did... and with each character at more or less the same crossroads. As enjoyable as it was to return to these personalities, did I miss something? Besides a few provocative talking points about current events, was it really necessary to revisit the series? Or was this just a well-meaning attempt for HBO to reconcile their guilt over the untimely cancellation?

Intriguingly, the opening and closing shots of the film are of San Francisco itself, reinforcing a notion of setting as character. By bookending "Looking" with these complementary images, perhaps Haigh is acknowledging in his own way that the more things change, the more they stay the same. This final episode/closing chapter/last hurrah may not have contributed as much as expected to its own characters or story, but its broader stance on gay life and love -- in the media and in society at large -- is something worth remembering.

King Is The Queen In Average "Beautiful"

One Broadway trend that won't see a curtain call any time soon is shows that are based on true stories. Truth may be stranger than fiction, but on stage -- from "Jersey Boys" and "Motown" to "Million Dollar Quartet" and beyond -- they each tend to play out in the same formulaic way. Whether a biographical musical takes a singular discography or a jukebox approach that incorporates other songs from the same period, they all share the same damning trait. The shows are treated as little more than bland vehicles to carry these signature tunes together from point A to point B, and those vehicles don't always get the maintenance they need to really deliver.

Despite my optimistic expectations, "Beautiful: The Carole King Musical" is in dire need of a tune-up. The production does have a few memorable aspects that live up to its title, notably lead actress Sarah Bockel, who evokes just enough of King's vocal style to pass muster but still makes the sound and the role her own. At the same time, the script has the warmth, wisdom, and wit to be less cloying and obvious than most true-life tales, which keeps the needlessly cluttered story moving. Unfortunately, for a project that names itself after King's work, it takes a frustratingly long time to let her -- and the show as a whole -- find a true voice.

At first, the musical does serve as an effective personal biography, showcasing King's humble Brooklyn beginnings and the cultural context of her arrival on the scene. A spectacular medley of early-'60s hits welcomes her to the Times Square record label where she sells her first song and continues to collaborate over the years. More than anything else, the show reinforces the sheer amount of dues that King has paid in the biz. By seeing her write and arrange countless hits for others (starting at only 16 years old!) and later contend with a rocky marriage -- all before she even gets around to her 1971 Grammy-winning breakthrough album "Tapestry" -- we can appreciate a long-lasting career that was built on her pure talent and charisma rather than empty notoriety.

Throughout the show, the inclusion of songs that King wrote for others, like "Some Kind Of Wonderful" and "The Locomotion," feels like a sensible reflection of her identity and legacy. The pointed juxtaposition between the professional triumph and the personal despair behind a chipper ditty like "One Fine Day" was particularly inspired. Meanwhile, the remainder of the musical stakes its legitimacy on shamelessly bankable nostalgia. By taking too many detours into the lives and creative output of King's friends and rival composers, Cynthia Weil and Barry Mann, the show tries too hard to be too many things to too many people.

Though timelessly popular Weil & Mann singles like "On Broadway" and "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling" are important to the industry both then and now and are certainly worth mentioning in the dialogue, they don't exactly require full performances in what's supposed to be King's story. "Beautiful" commits its biggest offense by waiting until halfway through the second act to really start emphasizing what should have been at the forefront all along: the bigger-picture influence and confidence of her musical prowess. By that point, even King is already saying "It's too late, baby."

My primary concern with this musical is that too many inferior elements conspire to pull focus from the heart and soul of the production: Carole herself. "Beautiful" would be anything but without the evolution of her work and the embrace of her life as a "natural woman."

Declare Your Own "Independence"

When you try to set up a friend on a date, and you're not sure how well they're going to get along with the other person, we've all used that classic line: "But they have a good personality!" When it comes to movies, the best I can say about the well-meaning but ultimately misguided "Independence Day: Resurgence" is that it does have some personality. If you're a fan of the first film from 1996, there's still enjoyment to be found, but the overall effect of this entry won't hold up nearly as well in the big picture. Here are some attributes, both good and bad, to consider before agreeing to a date with "Resurgence."

It's reasonably intelligent. The plot, as simplistic as it is, delves deeper into the mythology of the aliens and what they're really up to in the universe (naturally, setting up a potential new franchise for 20th Century Fox along the way). At the same time, it was nice to see a sci-fi adventure movie at least attempt to respect the laws of physics, especially with regard to the gravity of a much larger alien ship and the wider-scale havoc that it would surely wreak.

It's kind of funny. Without the megawatt charisma of Will Smith (whose character died in the time between these stories), "Resurgence" leans heavily on the considerable charms of survivors David and Julius Levinson (Jeff Goldblum and Judd Hirsch), who bring their quirky family dynamic to the proceedings. Along with the return of Brent Spiner's Dr. Okun, who wakes up from a coma after his alien encounter in the original movie, it's their awkward but endearing neuroses that keep the movie from taking itself too seriously.

It has decent values. The film's emphasis on family and sacrifice is incredibly noble, so it becomes easier to suspend your disbelief at some of the wilder moments. "Resurgence" also earns major points for its elevation of Okun from a one-note kook in the first film to a more developed supporting role. The movie's inclusively nonchalant treatment of his sexuality, as well as the racial diversity of the cast, is truly unique for such a big-budget project. Hopefully, it's a sign of things to come. There's even a female president who gets to exercise power and make tough decisions instead of being used as a bland figurehead to look "hip." Pretty progressive stuff, Hollywood! Now give us more of that, please... and less of whatever the hell those "Fast & The Furious" movies think they're accomplishing.

However...

It's surprisingly dull. For a movie that runs just about two hours, it sure feels longer. The nimble pace and spirit that made its predecessor so successful is largely absent here, which is a big surprise given that director and co-writer Roland Emmerich had the same duties for the sequel. Even worse is that other than Goldblum, Hirsch, and Spiner, the remaining survivors (including previous lead Bill Pullman as ex-President Whitmore) are given very little to do in service of a whole new cast of arguably unnecessary characters. These needless additions are worst personified by Liam Hemsworth (who basically plays the same version of himself in every movie). Why did he get top billing over Goldblum and the rest of the actors? Presumably to draw in the younger crowds, but I digress.

It's uninspired. Hemsworth's character regularly pulls both focus and dialogue away from the person who should have been the sequel's focal point: Jessie Usher, who plays the son of Smith's character. Their roles should have been reversed to make Usher the star; then Smith's heroic legacy would have carried over more directly, in a way that memorializing places with his name doesn't quite capture. Above all, it just would've been more appropriate to the tone of the story to see a black actor (like Smith before him) as the hero who leads others into the fray. And don't even get me started on the presence of and epic battle with the queen alien. It felt so derivative of another big Fox property -- James Cameron's 1986 sequel "Aliens" -- that I kept waiting for the deus ex machina to arrive in a bright yellow power loader. Instead, there's a bright yellow school bus involved (don't ask...)

It tries too hard. Sequels tend to go for a bigger-is-better approach to filmmaking to keep their audiences invested, but this one backfires. The original "Independence Day" was a true blockbuster of the modern era that joined riveting, unprecedented destruction with genuinely heartfelt triumph. This combination has since been repeated but never quite replicated in the new wave of disaster titillation that followed, including Emmerich's own titles "The Day After Tomorrow" in 2004 and "2012" in 2009, not to mention anything in Michael Bay's filmography. Meanwhile, the Oscar-winning visual effects from the first movie are put into overdrive and overkill this time around. The result is unfortunate, especially where the aliens themselves are concerned. Their increased presence in this chapter of the story means there are more of them to be brought to life beyond just their ships, but the original's use of blended animatronics will always be more effective than the rushed, sloppy CGI work on display here. Finally, the protracted climax of the film just piled on the action to the point of me wanting to tune out. In one unintentionally brilliant moment, the stop sign from the aforementioned school bus breaks off and flies toward the screen. That sign should have been read more carefully by Emmerich and company, perfectly summing up my thoughts on the excessive, overindulgent finale.

In the end, what makes "Resurgence" worth your time and saves it from irreversibly sliding into utter failure is its post-9/11 political subtext. The War of 1996 -- as the events of the first movie are called in that universe -- was instrumental in uniting the world by putting an end to our own conflicts. For the record, it would probably take longer than 20 years to rebuild that level of widespread devastation and fully integrate helpful alien technology into key areas of our infrastructure (mainly architecture, transportation, and defense). But a powerful and invaluable sentiment remains: especially in these divisive times of overwhelming unrest, standing together amid global struggles can still encourage humanity to aim for its peaceful best.

Hit The Road With Crowe And Friends

When the director of your all-time favorite movie -- who also won an Academy Award for its screenplay -- announces his first television project, you sit up and pay attention. For me, that director is Cameron Crowe, that movie is "Almost Famous," and that series is "Roadies." Showtime made the first episode available online two weeks early, presumably to build up some buzz before it formally premiered on the network Sunday night. I typically wait until a few episodes have aired before I chime in with my thoughts on a new show, but after watching the pilot several times already, I feel comfortable extolling its virtues to possible fans a little prematurely... and also issuing constructive criticism both to Showtime and to Crowe himself.

"Roadies" follows the backstage crew of a fictional rock band, and each episode will reportedly take place in a new city on their tour. By shining a light on the people whose efforts usually go unsung, the series is setting itself up to be a crash course in music appreciation from the other side of the stage. The passion of these dedicated workers makes the live connection between artist and audience possible, and the use of original music as well as featured "song of the day" tracks during the crew's sound check create a tangible atmosphere of excitement and discovery. I mentally squealed with delight when a scene used only a few instrumental notes of Landon Pigg's magnificently swoon-worthy 2007 ballad "Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop," so I genuinely hope that the series can become a vessel for viewers to find their own kindred songs.

Crowe, undoubtedly influenced by his own travels as a young music reporter, created the show, and he serves as executive producer alongside fellow TV impresarios J.J. Abrams ("Felicity" and "Alias") and Winnie Holzman ("My So-Called Life"). He also wrote and directed the premiere, which is evident in the easy-going appeal and charm of its characters and their dialogue. The cast is at the top of their game; leads Luke Wilson (tour manager Bill), Carla Gugino (production manager Shelli), and Imogen Poots (stagehand Kelly Ann) are pure Crowe naturals. Even guest star Ron White, known for his country-fried snark as a stand-up comedian, gives a memorably heartfelt turn thanks to the quality of the material. They all tackle Crowe's broader moments as well as his nuance with grace and investment, and I'm fully confident that they'll serve as effective ringleaders of this behind-the-scenes circus. Just in its first outing, they've already seen fireworks both figurative and very literal -- not to mention the lead singer's badly-behaved son, fake accents, gunshots, a skateboard chase, a vaguely clairvoyant security guard, and a stalker who gets up close and VERY personal with the lead singer's microphone. All allegedly inspired by actual events... and all before the band even starts to perform!

These antics, while certainly amusing enough to have long-term repercussions, are where "Roadies" could start to hit a few roadblocks if it's not careful. Having a series on cable does allow for a certain amount of creative freedom, but there are a few forced moments that don't really ring true to the rest of Crowe's output. Not one but two awkward sex scenes mark the pilot, and while they're supposed to be awkward in terms of the story and the people involved, they shouldn't be so uncomfortable in the way that they're shown. At the same time, there's a cynical edge that many of the characters are fighting off thanks to corporate intrusion from the record label in their artistic way of life. While this antiheroic tone is common on other, darker shows, it's a weary trend that threatens Crowe's hard-earned optimism. It's almost as if Showtime gave him a quota of subversive benchmarks just to be eligible for their network!

Most troubling is the centralized tension between Shelli and Bill. They're a former couple who now work together respectfully and have a winning professional dynamic, but we can already see the faintest of personal sparks reigniting. Which is problematic, of course, now that Shelli is married. (Is it rude to yawn?) Yes, people are flawed, but wouldn't it be almost radical in its own right to have characters who are good people who are good at their jobs and don't fall into those cliched traps, letting external curveballs do all the work instead? Crowe can successfully resist the urge to be "just another Showtime show" by standing up for his work through his creations. Let them do the walking and talking in a way that feels more authentic to his style, rather than bowing to network pressure. People will keep showing up to watch if they hear Crowe's voice in the words and actions instead of his voice filtered and distilled by "the man."

Overall, the show is a very promising baby that shouldn't be thrown out with the jeopardized bathwater. "Roadies" is smart enough not to shamelessly recycle elements from "Famous," but it carries over much of the same spirit, humanity, and vitality that made its forerunner such a relatable and picturesque love letter to the industry. Holzman, a gifted writer herself, is slated to pen the second episode, with Crowe once again directing. In fact, I would wager that the more episodes he and his inner circle write and/or direct themselves, the more the network will trust his vision beyond just one season. Kelly Ann's arc in this first episode -- and I would imagine the same of each character's journey over time -- reflects the message as well as the potential growth and impact of the series. How do people handle it when their dreams don't match their reality, and what are we supposed to do with those individual goals when they're linked so intrinsically to our career path and the experiences of others? In other words, what does it really take to succeed at something we love, beyond just blind ambition and the best of intentions, when fear and doubt start to creep in?

In true Crowe fashion, a clever, meta-level flourish in the episode's closing minutes finds Kelly Ann making an educated guess and ironically doing the very thing of which she's always questioned the honesty and legitimacy. How well Crowe and company avoid glib answers and explore these interwoven possibilities will determine the longevity and ultimate resonance of the show. If Kelly Ann can be deeply moved enough to take a chance on something that she holds so dear, then Crowe and the rest of his "Roadies" are definitely worth the risk.

"Neon Demon" Lights Up The Art Of Cinema

In the vicious cycle of envy and vanity, which came first? Are people vain because others envy them, or are people envious because of vanity's perceived benefits? This is a question, along with many others, raised by the colorful and controversial thriller "The Neon Demon." The film gives new meaning to keeping up appearances, diabolically satirizing the byproducts of modeling (most pointedly, body image) with razor-like precision. It's a story that's been told many times before -- a young woman, Jessie, moves to L.A. to follow her dreams and discovers their true cost -- but it's never been told quite like this. Fueled by lurid psychology and hauntingly poetic imagery, "The Neon Demon" is a beautiful movie about the ugliness of human nature.

The film's numerous artistic merits place its director, Nicolas Winding Refn, on par with other modern auteurs like Darren Aronofsky, Brian De Palma, and David Lynch. Refn paints "Demon" with a sumptuous visual palette that you literally can't look away from, even during the opening and closing credits. The uses of light and color are exquisite, ranging from near-blinding saturation in scenes where all eyes are on Jessie, to ethereal disorientation in scenes where your own eyes struggle to process the muted frames. These techniques illustrate the moods of the film and the desires of its characters above and beyond other cinematic endeavors in recent memory. In addition, the movie's sublime, immersive soundtrack was provided by composer Cliff Martinez (who contributed an equally stellar score for Refn's 2011 hit "Drive"). The images and the music are effectively paired as the heartbeat and pulse of the story, seamlessly thrusting forward all of its nonverbal tension. Not since Air's compositions for 2000's "The Virgin Suicides" has a contemporary film score felt so vivid and essential. I wouldn't be surprised if the movie garners several technical nominations when award season rolls around, particularly in the art direction, cinematography, and sound categories.

Despite all of its gorgeous trappings, "Demon" would be an empty exercise without key players to carry out its destiny. At only 18 years old, lead actress Elle Fanning is wise enough beyond her years to capture Jessie's tragic allure and aloof naïveté but still remain sympathetic. Her formidable ability to communicate so much range and depth with glances and facial expressions, especially during the photo shoots, is almost intimidating. After roles in 2011's "Super 8" and 2014's "Maleficent," Fanning's first foray into a more mature and demanding role is breathtakingly honest and vulnerable work to rival any other actress in-the-making. Casting a bigger name in the role would have defeated the purpose of the character: witnessing the birth of an ingenue and beholding her ascent.

The other actresses, Bella Heathcote and Abbey Lee, bring an icy edge to their parts as established models who are threatened by Jessie's instant success. Their competitive streak suggests the "dangerous blonde" motif of which film noir was so fond, but they take it to the next level with intentional self-awareness. There are no bimbo models to be found here; instead, these shrewd, calculating femme fatales are in control and will stop at nothing to stay that way. Meanwhile, the cast's secret weapon is Jena Malone, who plays makeup artist Ruby with a calm, confident presence that belies her task to deliver some of the movie's biggest surprises. Her chillingly downplayed scenes in front of mirrors, as she slowly touches up her assorted tones and shades, are a twisted version of donning armor in the battle against her own insecurities and the judgments of the world at large.

Rounding out the cast are stars like Christina Hendricks (from AMC's critically acclaimed series "Mad Men") and the one and only Keanu Reeves, but their screen time is limited to a small handful of scenes that still manage to pack a wallop. Hendricks only appears in one extended sequence as an agent at Jessie's modeling agency, and while it would have been nice to see her do more, she adequately provides a brief voice of reason. This agent may be a corporate woman who prioritizes the business, but at least outwardly, she still has values and hasn't lost her way like the others. At the same time, less of Reeves would have been welcome. His motel owner character is thoroughly despicable and involved in some truly unfortunate scenarios, performed convincingly enough to make you forget his typically laughable "whoa..." demeanor. 

These two people are joined by others who glide in and out of the scenery with little fanfare -- a well-meaning suitor, an unyielding photographer, a pretentious designer. It's not lazy or shallow writing; they all act as placeholders who are deliberately treated as disposable on Jessie's misguided path to stardom. Their minimal involvement also establishes a predominantly female perspective among the main characters, which is authenticated by the participation of Refn's co-writers Mary Laws and Polly Stenham. "Demon" could pass the infamous Bechdel test; its women don't talk about men as much as other depictions of models have done. Rather, they understand the elusive power that they hold and consider it their currency. By dissecting that sway in their industry and in society, the film offers some profound insights about the undue pressures that are forced on women. I stop short of calling the movie feminist empowerment, but it's certainly a provocative cautionary tale that feels especially timely in the wake of unrelentingly vacuous "celebrities" on social media.

The disturbing final act, though undeniably hard to watch, resonates beyond just mere shock value. Audiences will undoubtedly find it divisive (about a dozen people walked out of the screening I attended), but it's a barometer for how much they really "get" what the filmmakers are trying to accomplish. Sure, the closing scenes could have easily been depicted with a little more restraint, but it just furthers the study in contrasts that the film was presenting all along (albeit more graphically). It's only then that "Demon" begins to approach the gratuitous and the grotesque, even dipping a toe into them, but the movie never fully submerges into exploitation because it's grounded in its message. 

There is no actual demon to speak of, neon or otherwise, except for the one that humanity has made. Our collective fixation on beauty and perfection -- our obsession with them and elevation of them -- is a doomed pursuit, most clearly evidenced by the erotically-charged centerpiece of the film. As Jessie prepares to walk the runway as the final model (the highest honor) in her very first fashion show, she is confronted by a vision and a deep awareness of her potential. All she has to do is surrender to the false idolatry of self above others. In that defining moment, who among us would truly be able to resist such primal temptation? We have all been that demon, and new monsters are created every day when we allow ourselves to focus on the trivial, the material, and the external.

A title like "The Neon Demon" sums up the film perfectly: a brilliantly brutal metaphor about the corruptive and consumptive nature of fame, as well as the desperate lengths that people are willing to go for even the most fleeting taste. Icarus lost his wings by flying too close to the sun, and the same can be said about young angels who stand too close to the spotlight.

Garbage Reaches New Heights On "Birds"

Garbage has always been somewhat of an anomaly in the music industry, so it's only fitting that their new album is called "Strange Little Birds." Lifted from a lyric in their latest collection, this title serves as both imagery and metaphor. Here is a band that has always owned their otherness and hopes that you'll join them by doing the same.

When they first broke onto the scene 21 years ago -- time flies when you're making good music! -- Garbage defined themselves with a smart, sultry, female-led perspective that alternative music at the time was lacking. Well... that perspective was around, but its poster girl was less of a genuine rocker and more of an off-her-rocker joke (*cough, Courtney Love, cough cough*). Shirley Manson, Garbage's frontwoman, operates stealthily under the radar by exuding confidence without arrogance and sex appeal without compromised integrity. Any breaks the band took over their many years together were always issues with creativity and scheduling, versus the in-fighting and scandal that plagued other successful rock acts of the day.

Two decades into their career with no signs of stopping, this background clearly informs the risks and rewards that Garbage earns with "Birds." It's only their sixth album, but it's one that feels right in line with the atmosphere of their previous works: glossy yet brooding, catchy yet incisive. "Birds" delivers on all fronts, managing to feel both very grand (half the tracks approach or surpass the 5-minute mark) and very intimate, with Manson's voice and lyrics as cutting as ever. A sinister piano prelude prefaces the album on opening track "Sometimes," a deceptively minimal song whose skittish electronic backing is simpler and less noticeable than many of the band's arrangements, while the words sneak up on you in pure Garbage fashion. That reminder continues with the polished kick of "Empty," a lead radio single that has the most in common with earlier Garbage hits, but it still strikes a unique chord of its own thanks to Manson's resonant vocals during the chorus. Over the course of her career and notably on this album, it's a rare singer indeed who can alternate between her higher and lower registers and between menacing whispers and powerful declarations -- even within the same track -- and still hold you captive in her thrall.

Elsewhere, homages to the band's earlier sounds are plentiful but original. "Blackout" is a gritty throwback to the darker crunch of their 1995 self-titled debut and its 1998 follow-up "Version 2.0," while "Magnetized" triumphantly reclaims the poppier infusions found on 2001's "Beautiful Garbage" and 2005's "Bleed Like Me." Even with all of this time-hopping, Garbage has never relied on recording studio magic -- they sound exactly the same, if not better, when playing live! Their nostalgic meditations here are just as welcome now as they were the first time around.

That's not to say this album is derivative by any means. "If I Lost You" is a lo-fi exploration of desire and insecurity that borders on the surreal with its layered vocals and trippy digital hiccups. "Night Drive Loneliness" is exactly what its title suggests -- evoking haunting feelings of disappointment in others and oneself with a descending piano motif -- and it's among the highlights of the album's already solid tracklist. Manson is desperate to "understand why we kill the things we love" on "Even Though Our Love Is Doomed," one of the closest things Garbage has ever given us to a more traditional, against-all-odds love song... albeit with their signature downbeat snark. That track's shivery orchestrations effectively build to a more amplified finale. If you're looking for a statement of purpose, for the album or for Garbage itself, look no further than "So We Can Stay Alive." Every moment of the song feels awake and alert -- embracing the band's past and future -- with heavy fire from the drums and guitars coupled with Manson's urgent, insistent lyrics, unquestionably proving their deep alternative roots.

Penultimate track "Teaching Little Fingers To Play" is an unexpectedly tender dissection of childhood dreams versus adulthood's harsh realities, which makes perfect sense in the band's big picture. As Manson laments and comes to terms with the fact that "there's no one around to fix me now," you can't help but think of the youthful demands from a certain track on their very first album... called (what else?) "Fix Me Now." While it may or may not be a deliberate callback showing their growth and maturity in the years since then, as artists and as people, now I have to wonder how many other details on this album are meant to connect the stages of their career. At face value, it's an impressive effort from a reliable band. But when you look a little closer, it's obvious that Manson and Garbage have been "Strange Little Birds" all along, working their way toward this revelatory moment in music. Suddenly, strange isn't such a bad thing after all.

Marvel Vs. Marvel At The Movie Theater

Marvel has a civil war on its hands. The battle facing their own movie franchises is as complicated in the boardrooms of Hollywood as it is in the storied pages of their comics. Barely a decade ago, Paramount had the film rights to Iron Man, Thor, and Captain America; Universal had The Hulk; Sony had Spider-Man; and Fox had the X-Men, the Fantastic Four, and Daredevil. Today, Fox is the only stubborn holdout, relinquishing Daredevil to Netflix in serialized form but refusing to bow down like the rest to Marvel Studios (a.k.a. Disney) in the almighty arena of the movie theater. Never has this been more obvious than the mere weeks between the releases of Marvel's "Captain America: Civil War" and Fox's "X-Men: Apocalypse." Both movies are aiming for box-office gold with top-notch production values, solid acting, and storylines with catastrophic stakes. However, as they set out to prove themselves worthy of their studios' ongoing investment, their separate personalities start to meld into a collective worldview.

"Civil War," like its 2014 predecessor "The Winter Soldier," doubles as a crowd-pleasing superhero blockbuster and an insightful political thriller. Directly connected to the other Marvel films by picking up in the aftermath of the Avengers' previous world-saving efforts, "Civil War" asks us to consider the tangible cost of heroism -- in diplomacy, dollars, and even dead bodies. It pushes the characters to realistic breaking points and back again as they try and fail to reconcile a grim reality. Both sides of the argument are right, but they aren't built to handle that kind of ambiguity, especially in Captain America's patriotic, black-and-white mentality. As always, the character banter is impeccable, with an earned hint of resentment to prove that these heroes are still human behind their tireless, thankless deeds.

Meanwhile, the introductions of Black Panther as well as Spider-Man (Marvel's victory lap around Sony) establish promising future stories but threaten to overcrowd the present one. "Civil War" could have easily been 20 to 30 minutes shorter and still landed all of its plot points. Thankfully, the action sequences are gripping and raw enough to keep things moving. The absence of Steadicam takes us, admittedly off-kilter, right into the fight, and the visual effects aren't distractingly computerized. Oddly, though, the film climaxes twice, like an insecure lover trying to woo and impress impatient summer moviegoers. We get a big clash within the Avengers, then what feels like an eternity later, we get close-quarters combat between Captain America, Iron Man, and Cap's ultimate frenemy Bucky. The first fight is purely physical -- a frantic orgy of action for the masses -- but it's the second fight that packs a more intimate and psychological punch, baring the movie's mind and soul.

The weight of the soul in "X-Men: Apocalypse" is more heavily burdened and tested. The film does offer welcome moments of levity; once again, as with his scene-stealing turn in 2014's "Days Of Future Past," the snarky Quicksilver saves the day in a clever, effects-laden sequence that breaks the tension beautifully. Elsewhere, the movie's not afraid to get dark. I mean, REALLY dark -- nightmarish visions, children in danger, character deaths, and entire cities being laid to waste -- but that authenticity, set against the cultural growing pains of the 1980s, rings truer to the saga's complexities. I may be overly critical, having grown up reading the "X-Men" comics and watching the '90s animated series. But seeing a gargantuan story arc like "Apocalypse" squeezed into a single movie (when it took numerous issues/episodes of the source material) just seems wasteful. Even when minor liberties are taken with the canon and which characters appear when, it risks the continuity of any subsequent storytelling in the same universe. It would be a win-win for the producers to be more faithful to the origins and also trust open-minded audiences, fans and casual viewers alike, to follow their lead.

"Apocalypse" misses another opportunity to lead by being the latest in an increasingly weary trend of super-ensembles that are bursting at the seams. The film does manage to provide great service to existing characters by filling in some of their gaps, especially with Jean Grey, whose younger presence here is far more satisfying than her appearances as an adult in the first three installments. (If you're a fan of the franchise mythology, you'll really appreciate what she accomplishes and anticipate her next move.) Unfortunately, the movie ends up neglecting many of the characters that help this new entry exist in the first place. Apocalypse is treated more like an inciting incident than an overarching villain, while the youthful versions of commanding figures like Storm and Angel get just enough exposition to be recognized when they show up to fight. Olivia Munn, who plays henchwoman Psylocke, has remarked that she turned down the role of Vanessa in the recent smash "Deadpool" because she didn't want to be reduced to "the girlfriend." Yes, Psylocke is intimidating and even trades blows, but this version of her character -- potentially significant down the line depending on which direction the next films will take -- appears out of thin air and barely has any dialogue. At least Vanessa got some screen time and traded witty, on-par barbs with Deadpool!

Overall, you can't entirely blame director Bryan Singer for trying, since he did helm the franchise's strongest entries with "Past" and 2003's "X2: X-Men United." Despite all of the movie's quibbles, Singer possesses a latent power of his own for masterful details. He embraces the meta influence of the films when several students are shown leaving "Return Of The Jedi" at the mall. Their cheeky opinions on its place in that series form a sly, thinly veiled ranking of the previous X-Movies in this series. Singer also employs the opposite end of the spectrum, reclaiming a controversial scene involving Auschwitz with magnificent emotion and elegant action. "Apocalypse" cements him as the go-to director for framing the very real atrocities that birthed these fictional beings.

Here's where things get interesting; the tone and scale of each film cause them to diverge, but the shared message of the films makes them converge again. "Civil War" is more character-focused and straightforward in its parallels to current events, while "Apocalypse" is more content to allegorize a spiritual and societal construct like the end of the world and populate it with fantasy characters and scenarios. Yet at the same time, these movies find more in common when it comes to illustrating the foundations of Marvel's social philosophy. Where they see eye-to-eye is what happens to people -- whether or not they're members of the same team, whether or not they have special abilities -- when they don't work together for the greater good. These cornerstones of belief and humanity make both movies uniquely Marvel, regardless of who produced them. It also reminds us that DC's late-start task of rivaling their scope and interconnection is exponentially more daunting.

At the end of the day, Marvel needs to protect their creative integrity and do something that's been eight years in the making, back to when the first "Iron Man" movie laid the groundwork for their franchise as we know it. They're certainly not hurting for the cash! I'm no legal expert, but shouldn't it be as simple as paying Fox whatever it costs to bring the rights to their prodigal characters under the same production umbrella? Only then can the Marvel Cinematic Universe and its extended properties truly be unified in the way that these stories deserve to be told on the big screen.

"The Catch" Gets Caught Off-Guard

In the increasingly crowded television landscape, few things are more frustrating than a promising series that doesn't quite live up to its potential. Take "The Catch," the latest offering from ABC uber-producer Shonda Rhimes, who is also responsible for such breakout hits as "Scandal" and "How To Get Away With Murder." Coming from that pedigree alone, expectations for the show were already high. Add the verified star power of leads Mireille Enos ("The Killing") and Peter Krause ("Six Feet Under"), and the show coulda/shoulda/woulda knocked it right out of the park. So where did it go wrong? True, "The Catch" beat the odds and got renewed for a second season, but the series needs to patch up a few weak spots if they plan to stay on the air.

Don't get me wrong -- I enjoy the show enough as it is, but the thought that it could be better is always replaying in the back of my mind, even during its stronger aspects. "The Catch" began with a tantalizing premise: private investigator Alice finds out that her fiancée Christopher (a.k.a. Ben) has been conning her before he disappears with her life savings. Between her firm's regular cases, Alice reluctantly works with the FBI to track him down. Looks good on paper, right? Interestingly enough, the show underwent some redevelopment between the pilot being picked up and the series being produced, notably in some plot mechanics and character functions as well as casting. After creative differences with the network, presumably over the tone and direction of future episodes, creator Jennifer Schuur was replaced with showrunner Allan Heinberg. The current version of "The Catch" seems to represent a concept that wasn't originally planned, which is important to keep in mind for my later critiques.

But first, how about some good news? The highly capable cast is easy to watch and a welcome addition to the already diverse ShondaLand family. The dialogue is breezy and never takes itself too seriously given the subject matter, which could have easily tanked a lesser show that didn't know how to strike that balance. Enos and Krause have a dynamic onscreen chemistry as their relationship is revealed through flashbacks, and they smolder with a passion reminiscent of robber George Clooney and federal marshal Jennifer Lopez in the underrated 1998 chase film "Out Of Sight." The series also plays up its caper heritage with a spry score and split-screen cinematography that geometrically refracts the transitions between scenes -- perhaps a clever acknowledgment of the characters' (and the show's) dual natures.

This duality is where "The Catch" starts to struggle. It's common knowledge and a practical dramatic device that some good guys are bad and some bad guys are good. For a show about chasing criminals, "The Catch" is too black-and-white for its own good. As appealing as all of the supporting actors are, their characters need some serious help. Alice runs the PI firm with her best friend and business partner Val, and their colleagues Sophie and Danny help with cases. Though it's nice to see the women in charge, we barely know anything about the latter three's personalities or their lives outside of work. As a result, we end up getting more background about the villains than the heroes. Ben's partners-in-crime have more to do in the plot and their interactions are more multifaceted, making them worthier foils than the bland, reactionary contagonists deserve.

I keep wondering if these shortcomings are byproducts of altering the show's original incarnation? I wouldn't be surprised if "The Catch" was first envisioned with an edgier, antiheroic focus, but the network brass likely insisted on fleshing out the Alice-Ben romance to center stage in order to match the soapy inclinations of Rhimes' Thursday night lineup. In doing so, the show has alienated genuine opportunities to set itself apart. It doesn't need to overstuff its characters and subplots the way that "Grey's Anatomy" does, but it could use just a touch more of the wicked satire from "Scandal" and the moral ambiguity found in "Murder." Either way, it's clearly problematic when you find yourself rooting for the con artists simply because they're more believable and better equipped to carry the series.

Meanwhile, the biggest issue facing "The Catch" is whether or not it has the legs to keep the story moving and the viewers tuning in. Several key conflicts and questions were resolved too quickly in the first few episodes, let alone over the rest of the season. It took all the fun out of figuring out who's really up to what when we knew almost from the get-go that Ben was forced to con Alice and his feelings for her are real. The show could have scored a much bigger and more satisfying payoff by keeping the characters (and the audience) guessing about the relationship and how it plays into their present situations. It also came as no big shock that taking down the syndicate Ben works for would be the endgame of one of his cohorts all along in order for that person to take over. I was almost desperate for a ridiculous plot twist -- like Alice is really working for Ben's team, or the FBI agent is the mysterious benefactor that the syndicate keeps alluding to -- just to prove that the writers weren't settling for safe and ordinary. Viewers will only make a true, long-term commitment to this kind of show if they can't see all of the turns in the road ahead.

Unless the series plans to do shorter, cable-length seasons for the rest of its run, "The Catch" has written itself into its very own catch-22. On its current trajectory, it can't possibly continue for much longer. Knowing broadcast network politics, the show won't start adopting a grittier tone now for fear of losing the viewers it has, but it'll also have a hard time attracting new viewers with such lazy, transparent storytelling. Shows involving heists and capers require a certain level of cat-and-mouse intrigue to maintain their mystery and suspense. As it stands, "The Catch" is too mousy, and it needs to start roaring.