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...