I kinda want some buffalo wings.

First off, and just kind of as a silly little note, I can't believe the NFL agreed to this movie. Actual teams and logos are all over this movie, indeed key points to the storyline. Meanwhile, the NFL is notoriously picky about lending out its image and property to anything that isn't entirely family-friendly and in line with their own agenda, which is quite commercial and not concerned with independent cinema. So I guess it's kinda cool to see the No Fun League allow Patton Oswalt to wear a Giants jersey while he cusses up a storm and looks just generally unappealing. But that doesn't matter. Just something I kinda wanted to point out. We're here to discuss is the 2009 picture Big Fan, and its merits, or lack thereof.
I'll say straight away that I don't think this film is particularly genius or groundbreaking or anything like that. It lives in an established indie film format of grey skies, masturbation scenes and humbling dialogue. But I'm not complaining about that. The movies that Big Fan takes after are generally fine films and it is in good company. But - and this is the nicest thing I will say about this movie - it is very easily misunderstood, and generally much better than it actually seems. I know, that's kind of a stupid thing to say, so I'll try to clear it up.
I've found that many viewers of this black dramady find it to be a story about blind fandom, or worse, a movie specifically about the stupidity of sports fans. That view is simply incorrect. Yes, this is a "football movie," if you really want to call it that. Go ahead. But it's gonna look pretty weird on the shelf next to Any Given Sunday and Rudy. No, Big Fan is more of a story about social pressure, and the anxieties that one suffers while asserting an identity within a given culture. Our main character here is Paul, who resents his greedy, secretary-fucking brother and lives with his increasingly discouraged mother. Paul has very little concern for what an American class system expects from him, as he sits at his small time job, literally scripting his AM radio rants about the one culture he likes and has chosen to embrace: New York Giants fandom. He and his best friend are diehards, but, unable to afford tickets, spend the home games in the stadium parking lot, listening on the radio. Yeah, they're pathetic, but that never becomes a problem.
Eventually, shit goes down, and Paul is put in the awkward position where the one society he likes has (violently) handed him an opportunity to turn his back on it. To do so would be a bit of self-assertion he could probably use, but in the life he lives, self-assertion and individuality are downright contrary to his values. He lives in the background of his own life and probably always will. However, he's happy this way, and the film takes 90 minutes of what-the-fuckery for us to finally arrive at this.
There are some very strange moments in Big Fan and I can say that Paul is put in a position that is rare in cinema or storytelling at all. Yes, his predicament has to do with professional sports and celebrity, but I still think this movie is only barely about football. In fact, we never the the sport played at all. Football is an abstraction in Big Fan. It exists on the radio, and as a bunch of logos on Paul's security blanket.
Yes, Patton Oswalt gives a good performance. Everyone does. The direction is good, all that. It's very well cast, and the locations and scenery are perfect. Essentially, Big Fan is an agreeable film. Though unremarkable for the most part, it is also standout for asking an established question of conformity while giving an odd example.

Having a BLAST playing 'Splosion Man

I'm really glad to see such good things come from the current BOOM of indie developers!

...but seriously, folks. I meant that. To me, one of the most exciting aspects about this generation of video games is small-team development, and 'Splosion Man is a perfect example of why an indie resurgence is definitely a good thing. People talk a lot about how, without the oppression of corporate overlords, small development companies are free to take risky, artsy moves in their games. Citing titles like Braid and Flower, critics and consumers are more ready than ever to admit, or even celebrate, the increasingly obvious artistic merit of our video medium. And while 'Splosion Man succeeds in style and personality, particularly with its sense of humor, its true victory lies in that other, more universally acknowledged merit of video games: that of sport, skill and expertise.
In this way, Twisted Pixel's second effort is admittedly one of an old pedigree, but I'd like to resist terms such as throwback or retro. 'Splosion Man is simply a game that knows exactly what it is, and thrives in just that way. Its focus is on FUN, and the real artistry here is the great achievements made in puzzle development and fast-paced, zany gameplay. At times, the action is so fast, yet also rather intricate in execution, that I'm reminded of sort of a thinking man's Sonic the Hedgehog. That may sound strange, but 'Splosion Man is nothing if not unusual. The scrappy developers behind Twisted Pixel are making games for love of the medium, and in 'Splosion Man, they have published an extraordinary title. It is easily worthy of an impulse buy, and with its lenghty and challenging campaign, brings plenty of BANG for the buck. Heh heh.

Admiral Ackbar Jokes

Sir! I was climbing a tree and now my hands are all sticky!
IT'S THE SAP!

Sir! I didn't sleep enough last night and I'm kinda punchy!
TAKE A NAP!

Sir! Who's the superintendent of the Lewiston School District?
IT'S JOY RAPP!

Sir! My crotch is all itchy and painful!
IT'S THE CLAP!

Sir! What's the worst place you've ever spilled hot coffee?
IN MY LAP!

Sir! Where did you get that lovely sweater?
AT THE GAP!

Sir! I've got this little useless piece of paper!
IT'S A SCRAP!

Sir! Who's your favorite band from the early 80's?
SPINAL TAP!

Pentagram plays Satyricon, I get bruises

There is no qualifier for what shows I do or do not write about on the dusty virtual pages of World Breaker. Maybe I should write about concerts I attend more often. Given the relative frequency of my showgoing, there would be a lot more posts. Anyway, I'm getting off track.
Last night I squeezed into the beyond-sold-out Satyricon to see the legendary Pentagram play music. Nachtmystium, Danava and Witch Mountain also played. Another act, Jim Beam and the Chasers, played a more exclusive show. In my stomach.
It was with some apprehension that I even went to this show. Though I had been looking forward to it for some time, I must admit that I was intimidated by the teeming mass of familiar faces crammed into the hundred-degree show space. I was also unsure of Pentagram's ability to shred. These dudes are pushing 60, and have had a long and tumultuous history of lineup changes, breakups, and whatever physically taxing debauchery being a member of Pentagram would entail.
Soon, however, this anxiety and pessimism was washed away in a brisk rain of whiskey. After missing Danava and enjoying the better-than-expected black melody of Nachtmystium, I was standing in one of the more densely populated show floors I've seen. Pentagram's set was long, loud, and simply put, kind of amazing. Whatever lineup they have these days is more than capable, and retain an energy and enthusiasm matched equally by the gruesome mosh pit they inspired. This was a pit of unbridled reception: hundreds of rabid fans thrashing around not because Pentagram's music necessarily calls for such activity, but because everyone was simply so effing stoked to see this band.
Figuring I'd rather be bruised and entertained than smushed and stationary, I spent the entirety of their extended set fighting off the mutual glee of my brothers and sisters of metal. Pentagram played the classics, they played some new stuff, but the pace and accomplishment of their songs did not relent. After a fake finish and two encores, everyone was ready to call it a night. Limping out of Satyricon's makeshift sweat lodge, the feeling was mutual that we were all lucky to engage in the unholy revelry of a really good metal show. Though I am now injured and creaky, I was truly blessed to be a part of Pentagram's stinky sacrament. Hail.

Party Down - Thank God that's over

Writing about TV. Oh well.
Anyway, when I first got into this new show on Starz, I thought it was a pleasant, if kinda derivative "sociological" sort of comedy. The kind of stuff that floats around in a post-Curb-Your-Enthusiasm comedic landscape. You know, the shaky camera, the awkward conversations. The grimace-inducing situations.
Despite the notion of having seen this stuff before, I was happy to see this great cast in a pretty well-written comedy series. The State's Ken Marino is at his best here as the pitifully ambitious Ron Donald, "team leader" of the Party Down catering crew the show is centered around. Said crew is equally strong, playing ne'er-do-well artists "doomed" to a life of the service industry. This damning notion of failure is basically Party Down's thesis. It's the classic slacker story retold with a great cast and a flexible premise. Sounds pretty samey, right? Keep watching.
As the 10-episode season unfolds and finally wraps, Party Down reveals that it does, in fact, have a distinct flavor of its own. While it was at once easy to compare this show to The Office or Reno 911!, consecutive episodes show a certain flair that is oddly unique. Thing is, it happened so gradually, that I didn't even notice until the 9th episode. Party Down had become its own show, with a brand of bitterness approaching Alexander Payne levels of saddiness. Perhaps it was only after a certain level of character development, which is handled quite well (including a workplace romance vein), that I empathized enough with these miserable characters for the cringe-comedy to take its desired effect. In any case, the loyal viewer is rewarded with an excellent last few episodes that make the beginning of the season better on subsequent re-watchings.
This scrappy cast and crew ended up with a perfectly successful first season, already warranting the greenlighting of least a second one. And while I thoroughly enjoyed Party Down in all its cynicism and gloom, in a way I'm relieved to just be done with it for now. Cause it can be pretty brutal. Of course I'm looking forward to season two, but having this one over with is kinda like ditching some of your less wholesome friends. As if to say, "yeah, I was in a bad scene for a while. I got out of it, though. It's cool now."
For a taste of what I'm talking about, here is a scene from episode 9, where Ron Donald caters his own high school reunion. If you do plan on watching this series, be warned that this is a pretty spoilerific scene. Enjoy.

TENNIS! For the NES. That is good Tennis!

It's been a long time. Video games have come a long way. You're a better player than you were twenty years ago. Ancient Age games seem disappointingly simple these days. So. You plunk in a dusty sports title, expecting only a slight upgrade from some Pong formula. Surely, this game, TENNIS, will be barely discernible from the myriad generic sports games from a generation before. Blip. Bloop. Atari gameplay, NES graphics. Instead, this NES launch title is amazingly deep, funnily accurate and surprisingly engaging. Not to mention challenging. Get a bro and play some doubles against the merciless computer bros. Have 12 cans of Coors while you do so. That is good Tennis.

I May or May not post in the month of May

I didn't.