Two years removed from what can be called as the single greatest, most manliest, movie experience in cinema history, we have had to endure two new Twilight movies and not one, not two, but three Nicholas Sparks film adaptations. This ends in August. Not one to rest of his laurels, Sylvester Stallone gets the band back together for round two of the 1980′s taking back what is rightfully theirs.

The Expendables 2 is much like The Expendables; except with added Jean-Claude Van Damme and Chuck Norris. And while the latter has been a bit of a downer with his insistence the film be toned down to PG-13, we are still expecting the highly explosive macho bravado we saw in the first. So until August 17th rolls around, we will toast our large steins of beer to Stallone and crew once again- re-running our special Expendables article below from2010.

Until it is time for men to be men again, go watch the trailer above, crush beer cans on your head, go hunting, go to Vegas (or if you can’t, go play some online PartyPoker instead), eat a giant steak, and prepare yourself. It’s time to reload.

The following originally ran in 2010:

The Expendables: The Greatest Movie Ever Made

The title of this article is both a factual and erroneous statement. Movie scholars will immediately come to the conclusion that Sylvester Stallone’s ode to the explosive 80s is indeed a few levels below Citizen Kane. Nonetheless, given the current cultural landscape we find our Hollywood in, The Expendables is indeed, the “greatest movie ever made.” Give me a few paragraphs and I am fairly convinced that I can at least get you to meet me halfway.

The cast is superb, to say the very least- an almost complete list of hugely muscled action heroes of past and present headlined by Sly, Jason Statham and Jet Li blow things up alongside Terry Crews, Randy Couture, Steve Austin and Dolph Lundgren while Mickey Rourke and Bruce Willis provide contextual backdrops to why these men exist. There is of course, a superbly cheesy cameo from Arnold Schwarzenegger to boot. The cast alone is enough reason why every man should indulge in this piece of celluloid history. With more testosterone on show than all the Wrestlemanias combined, Stallone’s ham fisted directing and sometimes terrible writing places these mercenary men in the middle of every 80s action flick plotline weaving together South American generals, exotic islands, Princesses, Eric Roberts, drugs, and lots and lots of explosions. Think of it as the very best amalgamation of the following movies: Rambo, Delta Force (all of them), Commando, Bloodsport, Die Hard, Deathwish, Raw Deal and of course, the predecessor of them all, The Dirty Dozen.

It has been some time since Stallone last delved into the psyche of a brutish man (Rocky), and in The Expendables, amongst the ruin and rubble left behind by the countless objects and human body parts exploding, it is Mickey Rourke who provides a brief moment of analysis- and thankfully, it is only momentary (he even briefly, sheds a tear). The rest of the film is about punching the audience in the face as hard as humanly possible. It is a beautiful sight.

So here comes my argument then, on why The Expendables is the “Greatest Movie Ever Made”, a bullish one, but one with (hopeful) sincerity nonetheless.

We find ourselves in the era of the politically correct safe bet. Capitulated by countless franchise sequels, recognized adaptations of popular novellas, graphic novels and humanizing animations of household pets and toys. We are in the era where boy wizards and effete vampires are the best way a movie studio makes money and in a sense, The Expendables is a safe bet on its own. Stallone collected the biggest names he could find for the project (Jean Claude Van Damme apparently, turned down a role in the movie and we are not sure whether Steven Seagal is still alive and whether or not Chuck Norris is now too much of an internet demigod to do movies) in order for it to have maximum impact with press and media.

Yet the movie’s biggest difference in comparison to Box Office go-getters is its breaking of cinematic social norms, and with it, the political correctness a movie abides by in order to elicit an overwhelming acceptable response. We have in recent years seen organizations speak critically of popular films. Sasha Baron Cohen’s Bruno received a great deal of negativity from GLAAD for its negative stereotypical portrayals of the Gay and Lesbian community and countless lawsuits from people duped during the filming (although in reality, it should have just been criticized for being a crappy movie). We’ve seen films like Passion of the Christ, United 93, Fahrenheit 9/11 cause uproar- and in today’s touchy political climate, it is with good reason. So comes The Expendables, devoid of any political correctness, the movie rampages through 100+ minutes with the subtlety of a hurricane, highlighted by a scene where Steve Austin (perhaps, almost hilariously parallel to that of his real life) punches a woman in the face (met with audible gasps in the cinema), exotic South American locales (vaguely named Vilema) complete with tyrannical General despot and goofy Caucasian mastermind, and of course, having Jet Li’s persona in the film named, I kid you not, Yin Yang. But it is this bravado that makes it great- uncaring of backlash and accepted norms, instead, grabbing the bullhorn and proclaiming loudly, what I’m sure a lot of us feel.

This brings us to the second argument, and that of the long gone aura of male machismo. The 1980s were a golden time for a being a man in Hollywood- an era where the biggest movies were as polite as a brick to the head- and so it is only fitting that one of the biggest bricks of that generation is bringing it back today. It is just not socially acceptable in today’s world to punch a girl in the face, and let’s be honest and say that Michael Cera (and all the characters he will ever play), will never do such thing. I am convinced however, that this desire to bring back the manly man is not an isolated occurrence.

We have seen a resurgence of such- albeit in the form of successful advertising- in both the Old Spice Man and the Dos Equis Man. Embracing all that is man, they are all a far cry from the hyper-sensitive, androgynous flavouring that has become the norm in music, television and film; an understandable by-product of a changing society moving away from so-called archaic ideas. The Expendables however, is like one long Dos Equis/Old Spice ad spliced together with Mad Men scenes where Don Draper is boozing and womanizing with great aplomb soundtracked by Thin Lizzy’s fitting anthem “The Boys Are Back in Town”. With guns of course.

The female counterparts in the film? Well, they rest somewhere between unapologetic eye-candy, the strong but still needs the help of a man woman (portrayed by Brazilian actress Giselle Itié), and the damsel in distress (Buffy’s Charisma Carpenter whose defining scene comes after she’s been beaten by a man and watches as Statham’s character single-handedly disposes of these brutes with violent disposition). But that is the point isn’t it?

It is the summation of all these things that make The Expendables so great. It is a cinematic homage to an era seemingly forgotten, crafted with as much brute force as a cinema will hold, all against the grain of what is now deemed right and wrong. For that bravery, there surely must be some medal awarded to someone. It is time for men to be men again. And in all its glorious machismo, Stallone reminds us that it is not okay for a man to weep openly, to wear make up or constricting pants, to not be able to chop down a tree or break the face of an evil despot’s henchmen, to be a wimpy girly man or Adam Lambert. But most of all, The Expendables believes that perhaps the manliest thing you could ever do (besides watching this movie instead of Eat, Pray, Love), is to someday fly a plane while drinking a beer and smoking a cigar.

BE A MAN!

The Comedy Club Melbourne was a perfectly intimate venue for the occasion. Even those of us in the ‘nosebleed’ section could make out the finer details of the now seventy-two year old performer. 774 ABC radio host Richard Stubbs played the role of interviewer for the first half of the evening. When Stubbs first stepped onto the stage to introduce Cleese I worried that he would try and take over the show but instead he played his part wonderfully, staying with, what was clearly a well thought out and carefully considered script. Stubbs prompted Cleese occasionally and brought the adventure back on track from time to time but mostly he just stayed quiet and let Cleese do what he does best, storytelling through jokes and anecdotes.

It was difficult to believe that for a little over two hours of my life I was in the same room as an individual whom I had seen on television so many countless times. Here he was, all six feet five inches of him: a physical being, living breathing and generous with his time. I always find myself wondering what is going on inside the mind of someone like Cleese before they appear on stage. Is he nervous, perhaps feeling run down, or wishing the whole thing to be over with? Once on stage, what is the sensation like? Knowing that every single set of eyes staring down has forked out a rather large sum of money, made the journey to be at your show, and are now all waiting expectantly for you to do something amazing?

Each member of the crowd would likely have watched everything that Cleese had ever produced and for us he is a familiar face, with a myriad of lines that we quote to one another and characters that we can attribute to someone we know. For us we feel we know Cleese but for Cleese we are really nothing but strangers. The audience has expended much energy in appreciation of Cleese and this did not go unnoticed by him. Though strangers to him his attitude was affable. He spoke as he might have had the venue been a quiet room of family and friends.

Cleese’s show cannot be critiqued as any other comedy or stand up act might be. As the title states An Evening with John Cleese is just that. Supported by a projection of photographs and clips, Cleese shows us the adventure that is his career. There is no wild performance or outlandish observations of the world at large. Cleese offers his audience a poignant insight into himself, his personal history and his journey to fame and fortune; a journey that he unashamedly attributes largely to luck. Cleese takes us from his quiet childhood in Somerset, to his experiences at Cambridge University with the Footlights drama club, being plucked from obscurity by David Frost, meeting and working with the Monty Python crew and his experiences writing Fawlty Towers and A Fish Called Wanda.

I did hold out some hope, perhaps naively, that we may get a glimpse of a goose step or a re-enactment of a silly walk but after the fist half of the show Cleese announced that we would take a short break and that he would lie down as after all he is seventy-two. I put to rest any idea that he may jump around on stage and work himself up into a Basil Fawlty rage. If audiences are anticipating a dramatic high-energy performance they will be disappointed. Cleese is seated for the first half of the show and then the second half of the show Cleese continues his narrative on foot without Stubbs. The show is still very funny, filled with wonderful reflections and observations of the comedy world that we have come to idolise. Cleese describes his fascination with and love of Black Comedy and what he has learned about making people laugh.

Anyone who has appreciated Cleese in anyone of his many reincarnations will appreciate and enjoy this show. Cleese is sharp, his timing and expression are still spot on and I would recommend taking the opportunity to see this wonderful insight into the world of comedy.

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An Evening with John Cleese
@ The Princess Theatre, Melbourne until March 27, 2012

Maybe The Artist, a silent black and white movie, is one of those ideas that is just too good to die? Warwick Thornton hinted at it a few years ago in his remarkable Samson and Delilah. The surprising part about that film was not that there was little dialogue but that the absence of dialogue was so unimportant. Life was there in all its complexity. Anger, first love, family ties, injustice and happiness.

Could The Artist repeat what Samson and Delilah had (ever so quietly) achieved?

The Artist is the story of the decline of a silent movie star, George Valentin (Jean Dujardin), and the rise of a new breed of star, Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo), in the talkies. It’s also a love story, of sorts, between the two.

There is much to like about both Valentin and Miller. Valentin fills the screen with old fashioned charm – handsome, smiling and somehow manly. Miller is a very physical actress – every part of her acts. When she makes the front page of Variety for the first time, we see her delight in the way she walks, delight almost bursting from her limbs. We recognize that special and rare feeling of everything being well in the world.

The Artist does not make enough use of its stars though. There is zingy rapport between the pair. We want to see them together.  In one scene they meet on a stairwell. Valentin has just been fired by the studio and Miller has been taken on as a new star.  Miller is on her way up the stairs and Valentin is on his way down.  In case we don’t get the metaphor, the director pans out to show Valentin standing mid three tiers of stairs, distracted and alone, after Miller continues on her way up. Sledgehammer anyone? Sure, the use of the metaphor might be in keeping with the 1920s style of movie making but what would have been wrong with a little more subtlety and creativity?

One of the best scenes is where the director gets creative. He introduces sound.  And sound has never been so beautiful. We hear a glass hit the dresser, a stool as it is knocked over and then the wind as it brushes over long grasses. Simple yet the surprise had me sitting up in my seat. It was still early in the movie – was this the point where things would shift up a gear? Maybe this explains why The Artist is winning awards and five star reviews? But, no. Things just settle back into a rut.

I wonder why people love this movie. Perhaps the charm of the film is its simplicity. The story line is straightforward, the stars likeable. We know where we are going and we know what we will feel like when we get there. The styling is consistent throughout. The opening credits are the black and white cards of old movies, the score is the old score we remember from old movies on wet Saturday afternoons.  The simplicity and styling never lets up.

But simplicity is a tricky thing. It takes great skill to make simplicity anything other than plain, (or just plain awful).  Perhaps the masters of simplicity are the Australian Aboriginal artists who first pick up a paint brush in their seventies and paint a masterpiece pattern of dots, all the same color, on a canvas. Simple, you say. Until you try it. You discover that the meaningless jangle of pretty dots has a pattern and that there is vast range of color hiding. Maybe the magic of great simplicity is that it that it subdues great complexity, breaking it into bite sized morsels that slide deliciously down.

The Artist just hints at complexity, particularly in the way that it deals with Valentin’s pride. It’s not a theme that we modern audiences are used to dealing with and it would be exciting to really explore it. But The Artist doesn’t. Instead it contents itself with simplicity (the simple kind) and delivering a re-hash of what has so often been done before.

THE ARTIST
Directed by: Michel Hazanavicius
Written by: Michel Hazanavicius
Cast: Jean Dujardin, Bérénice Bejo, Uggie
Released by: La Petite Reine / Warner Bros. / The Weinstein Company / Entertainment Film
Website: http://weinsteinco.com/sites/the-artist/

Rating: ★★★☆☆ 

It shouldn’t have been this way. TWDY have long since been regarded as heavyweights of the post-rock genre with one superb debut record, Young Mountain, and a worthy self titled follow up. What made those records so good was the scope and emotional depth that was harvested from atmospheric and morose guitars that were spliced with ambience and distortion.

Tunnel Blanket is an underwhelming release from post rock heavyweights, This Will Destroy You.

The problem with Tunnel Blanket is that the balance between guitar and ambience, instrument and distortion has been lost. The songs on Tunnel Blanket are completely drowned out by distortion and feedback so that each track bleeds into the next and nothing stands out. Do you remember those special  moments when you’re listening to a record and suddenly something happens that makes you snap to attention and listen closer? It might be a crunching riff or a sweet melody or powerful lyric. Those moments are rare things and hard to describe but you know always know it when it happens.  Sadly you will not find any of those moments on Tunnel Blanket as each track is smothered by a constant droning that offers no relief. It’s almost impossible to pick a stand out track, such is the numbing monotony. “Black Dunes” is probably the best track that manages to break away from the droning and actually engage the listener but it’s far from a strong field.
What’s even more frustrating is that if you listen closely on some tracks you can almost hear the guitars and drums that show great promise but just as they threaten to break through the cloud of droning noise, a fresh storm of feedback is unleashed to bury the music lurking beneath the surface.

Such was my disappointment with Tunnel Blanket that I actually went back listened to Young Mountain and the self-titled just to make sure that This Will Destroy You was actually a good band and that I hadn’t been deluding myself. Thankfully Young Mountain remains a stellar record from start to finish while in hindsight their self-titled is also a strong record but contains more of the ambience that would ruin Tunnel Blanket.

No doubt hardcore fans will latch on to Tunnel Blanket and glorify it as an esoteric masterpiece but don’t be fooled. Unless you’re a trend seeking hipster that needs “underground” tunes to show off to your un-hip pals in order to validate your own existence, then this record isn’t for you. If you’re new to the post-rock genre and want to dip your toes in the water then Tunnel Blanket definitely isn’t for you, instead turn your attention to Young Mountain; you will find it infinitely more rewarding.

Only time will tell what Tunnel Blanket signifies for the future direction of This Will Destroy You. They’re far too talented a group of musicians to produce another record of interminable and dull music, yet if they continue to pursue such a droning, monotonous sound they will quickly lose all relevance and we’ll be left to ask what could have been.

Rating: ★☆☆☆☆ 

The pleas have been heard. Prayers have been answered. Forlorn and desperate dreams have become reality. The gods of rock have smiled upon us.

El Paso’s At the Drive In and Sweden’s Refused, two of the most influential rock bands of the last fifteen years, have

More than ten years in the making: At the Drive In have announced a reunion tour. Can they live up to the hype?

announced their respective reformations. On the same day. In the early days of a new year. On the same day that the legendary Thierry Henry made his triumphant comeback for Arsenal and singlehandedly shot the Gunners through to the next round of the FA Cup. The symmetry is almost too perfect for words. You could almost say it was fate.

Two bands that have done more to shape modern rock than most but were cut down in their primes by internal bickering.

Take a look at the footage of At The Drive In’s final shows and witness a band on its last nerve; watch the documentary Refused Are Fucking Dead as the band embarks on a North American tour to support the album that should have catapulted them to stardom but instead causes Refused to slowly self destruct. As is the way with the trailblazers, they burned too bright too quickly and were consumed by the flames before they could reap the rewards of the labours.

Swedish punk legends Refused will be headlining Coachella 2012

In the years since their break ups, the aura and acclaim of Refused and At the Drive In has grown exponentially while newer acts have emerged to follow in their footsteps. The impact that The Shape of Punk to Come and Relationship of Command have had on the hardcore and post-hardcore scenes is indelible and now both records will be given the opportunity to shine that was denied them a decade ago.

Cynics will claim that this is just a shameless cash grab but this will mean so much more to so many people. There are countless more ATDI and Refused fans than there were ten years ago. These reunion tours, regardless of how long they last, will allow fans to be a part of something greater. This is more than just a couple of crusty, washed up old musos getting the band back together for a few laughs and extra coin. These are two iconic bands out to reclaim what is theirs. The real question is whether At The Drive In and Refused can live up to the almost mythical status that has been attached to their live shows in their decade long hiatus. Will it be everything the fans could have possibly hoped for or will it leave a sour taste in the mouth? Only time will tell. For now all we can do is give thanks for the bounty we are about to receive.

Read more about the impact of At the Drive In on modern rock here: You Need to Read This Because Your Taste in Music is Probably Shit.