FIGHTING is a movie written and directed by Dito Montiel, starring Channing Tatum as a street guy who becomes an underground fighter. Terrence Howard plays a self-described "two-bit hustler" who becomes his ersatz agent.
I didn't see FIGHTING when it came out last year. I wish I had. FIGHTING is one of the best movies I've seen in a long time. It's an effective companion piece to both RED BELT and HARSH TIMES, both of which are movies I deeply love.
I won't get into a lengthy description: you can find that shit online somewhere. What bears mentioning is this movie, at its core, doesn't do anything new. It obeys the exact same plot pattern as millions of low-budget martial arts movies, some good, most mediocre, some bad.
FIGHTING is set apart by execution. It is, in many ways, a brilliant movie. It tells the truth. The characters and their problems are real. Even when it deals with the artifice of contemporary movie-making -- script structure, character arc, the ending, etc. -- it does so in a way that feels organic to the world in which it exists, itself only a few degrees to the left of the real world.
I saw G.I. JOE in the theaters, mostly because I had a ton of G.I. Joe guys when I was a kid, and a certain degree of nostalgia demanded I see this movie when it came out. That, and a desire to see Sienna Miller as The Baroness (she was good, but not perfect).
My point is Channing Tatum is decent in G.I.JOE, and fucking fantastic in FIGHTING. It's obvious that Channing and Dito were not trying to make a martial arts movie. They weren't trying to make an action movie. They set out to do a Scorsese/DeNiro New York street movie, a MIDNIGHT COWBOY with fists. And they succeeded.
There's a wonderful love story at the heart of FIGHTING. The relationship between Shawn and Zulay is sweet. You love them, and what they have. Again, it's real.
I recently watched a Chilean martial arts movie called KILLTRO, which is similar in some ways. Our guy, Zamir (Marko Zaror), is in love with Kim, the daughter of "the Korean," a local tae kwon do teacher who doesn't like Zamir. Everything in KILLTRO is driven by Zamir's pursuit of Kim's heart. Zamir's portrayed as a very, very simple guy... He's almost child-like, which leads to some unintentional comedy via his clumsy attempts to win her over. He's a somewhat dense character, and doesn't have much else on his mind besides his love for Kim, and the occasional need to beat the crap out of bad guys.
I bring up KILLTRO because Shawn (Tatum) is not exactly a rocket scientist, either. But instead of being a man-child, he's just a guy with a very uncomplicated internal life. Though he has no money and sometimes has to sleep in the park, Shawn pursues Zulay anyway, because his heart leaves him no other choice. It's winning in its purity, and it certainly doesn't hurt that Zulay Henao is a talented actress, and flat-out gorgeous. You get why this guy would want to befriend her protective mother and offer to find the money to help pay her rent.
There's also a very cool parallel story between Shawn and his rep, Harvey. They're both losers who have created one last chance for themselves. In the final fight, Harvey uses every last ounce of his remaining juice on the streets to make the deal, in the exact same way Shawn has to use every last ounce he has to try to win this fight. They have nowhere else to go. They have no one else but each other.
This movie reminds me of ROGUE, in the sense that ROGUE is a very by-the-numbers creature feature, just like so many others, and yet rises above by pure execution. It doesn't reinvent the wheel by any stretch of the imagination, and is still just a good fucking movie. FIGHTING does for underground tournament martial arts movies what ROGUE did for survival horror creature features. There's a lesson to be had in there.
The fight scenes in FIGHTING are also very much of interest. Because this movie is so organic, and you're so much on Shawn's side, there's a real danger felt in these sequences. Except for the climactic fight, Shawn (and the audience) doesn't know who he's going to face until his opponent actually shows up, typically a few seconds before the fight actually begins.
In one scene, Harvey makes a deal, and Shawn is brought forward. He looks up, and there's a HUGE tattoo'd guy sitting on some bleachers, staring down at Shawn and the crowd. As soon as the word's given, the guy just stands up, takes off his jacket and starts marching down the bleachers toward Shawn. In a standard movie of this variety, when the combat starts, we would get a lot of fake-ass bullshit to show you how hip and edgy the filmmakers are, with a pounding techno soundtrack and lots of cuts to keep your eye moving. It's as engaging as watching someone play STREETFIGHTER IV. But because FIGHTING plays it real, when that dude comes down the bleachers, the feeling in your gut is... oooooooooh, shit. The mere fact that Shawn doesn't back down from the guy wins him over that much more.
Something else of note: Shawn is a tough guy, but he's not a master martial artist, special forces guy, what have you. His dad was a wrestling coach, and Shawn wrestled. And... that's it. In FIGHTING, he faces off against guys who are bigger, guys who are better-trained. While they have size, speed, skill and strength, Shawn has a complete disregard for personal safety. He bulldozes into these guys and brings the fight to them.
This seemed very real, as well. I remember when the UFC first started up. There was one match in which this guy with something like a 10th-degree black belt went up against... I think it was Tank Abbott, but don't quote me. Point is, the black belt came out looking to display his skill, and Tank (or whoever) just floored the dude like a truck. It was as surprising as it was educational.
I also once worked a gig as a PA for a company which shot live martial arts events for the internet. I was running cable, and I was ringside. The two fighters came out, and they both had multiple black belts and years of training. But within the first few seconds, the artifice of their training fell away, and they just started brawling, throwing big swings. Despite their training, when it got down to brass tacks, what these guys did was indistinguishable from a bar fight.
My point is, I believed it when Shawn would win... though that also bears mentioning. Shawn doesn't so much win, per se, as he just never quite loses. And if he's not going to lose, then ergo the other guy must lose, if you get my drift.
It reminded me of Rocky. Particularly in the first Rocky movie, and the last, Rocky doesn't win (spoiler). He just doesn't quite lose. He's beaten in points, but the crowd cheers for him. Points or not, they know who the real winner was. Rocky also "wins" in ROCKY III, purely by allowing Clubber Lang to pound on him until he gets tired, and sets himself up for the fall. Again, Rocky spends the majority of the fight just... not losing.
The same deal applies to John McClane. The first DIE HARD pits this drunk New York cop versus a team of well-trained, well-equipped terrorists. McClane wins by not losing. Look at LIVE FREE OR DIE HARD. The villains are better fighters. They're smarter, and have more resources. But take a look at the scene in which McClane fights Maggie Q. She beats the living shit out of him with martial arts. McClane comes back... and tackles her to the ground. Then he runs her over with a car. His tactics are so simple they're almost primitive. The comparison between them on paper makes McClane look ridiculous. The scene's almost played for laughs. But Maggie Q isn't laughing when she eats a car's grille. And who comes out on top at the end of that confrontation?
This seems to be a very American quality.
There's a lesson to be had in all of this. There are times in life when you win. And I think the thing to do between those times is to simply... not lose.
I'm excited about Dito Montiel. I'm going to check out A GUIDE TO RECOGNIZING YOUR SAINTS as soon as possible.
I started film school in the late-'90s. We were still buzzing about the amazing filmmakers who made their bones in that decade: Tarantino, Rodriguez, Fincher, Takeshi, Miike, Woo, etc. Since then, I've been watching to see who would emerge to define the oughts.
I fully realize this is very, VERY subjective, and I may well be overlooking some glaring names, but - after having seen FIGHTING - I think the people we should be looking at are: Dito Montiel, David Ayer, Shane Meadows and Eli Roth. In terms of the latter, I'm of the opinion that HOSTEL II is an as-yet-unrecognized masterpiece. We also may have to add Oren Peli to that list, but I feel like I need to see his next movie, first.
Go see FIGHTING. It's an amazing film.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
The Return of Willy
I worked all day. I'm out to the publishers with a novel, and I got some side work done. I hit the gym, came home and cleaned. I went through my clothes, setting aside a stack for Goodwill. I went to Trader Joe's and got some soup and chicken. I got home, put away the groceries, sat down to work on a script...
...and a big, brown mouse ran from behind my stove to behind my pantry. The same route traditionally taken by mice which have invaded the lair. This happened about two minutes ago.
Imagine my surprise. I thought he (they?) was (were?) dead. Even if he wasn't dead, with all the activity in the lair you'd think he'd keep his head down. But no. This is a brave mouse.
My struggles to de-mousify my lair are well-documented. I set out D-Con. It vanished. Eventually, I didn't see mice anymore. Ergo, Willy ate the poison (hence its disappearance) and died (hence Willy's disappearance). Which brings me to my core question: What the fuck?!
There are several possibilities which could account for the fact that I just saw a mouse:
a) Willy ate the poison I'd set out for him and died. It's a new mouse, whose name isn't Willy.
b) It's Willy. He ate the poison, and recovered.
c) It's Willy. He ate the poison and died, and I just saw his ghost.
If it's the last choice... shit. I should set up a camera and see what's going on while I'm asleep, a la PARANORMAL ACTIVITY. But instead of dragging me out of bed, it's gonna be a lot of mouse turds and vanished food.
Dammit, if that's the case, Micah has no complaints. He got off easy by comparison.
...and a big, brown mouse ran from behind my stove to behind my pantry. The same route traditionally taken by mice which have invaded the lair. This happened about two minutes ago.
Imagine my surprise. I thought he (they?) was (were?) dead. Even if he wasn't dead, with all the activity in the lair you'd think he'd keep his head down. But no. This is a brave mouse.
My struggles to de-mousify my lair are well-documented. I set out D-Con. It vanished. Eventually, I didn't see mice anymore. Ergo, Willy ate the poison (hence its disappearance) and died (hence Willy's disappearance). Which brings me to my core question: What the fuck?!
There are several possibilities which could account for the fact that I just saw a mouse:
a) Willy ate the poison I'd set out for him and died. It's a new mouse, whose name isn't Willy.
b) It's Willy. He ate the poison, and recovered.
c) It's Willy. He ate the poison and died, and I just saw his ghost.
If it's the last choice... shit. I should set up a camera and see what's going on while I'm asleep, a la PARANORMAL ACTIVITY. But instead of dragging me out of bed, it's gonna be a lot of mouse turds and vanished food.
Dammit, if that's the case, Micah has no complaints. He got off easy by comparison.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
I Own a Ton of Crap
I think whenever you do something that changes the basic paradigm of your life -- like, say, leave your job of seven years to start a business -- you should do two things:
a) Reconnect with the things that you consider your core.
b) Take stock of everything else.
To the end of (a), I've reached back to '80s metal and punk. Megadeth, Suicidal Tendencies, AC/DC, Metallica, Motorhead, Minor Threat, DK... Since hanging this shingle, I've been non-stop spinning shit that I've been listening to for so long it's sunken into my DNA.
When was the last time you listened to "Peace Sells... But Who's Buying?" Damn, if that isn't one of the best songs ever written.
With (b), I've been going through my stuff in what little time I have between setting up this company, doing the work of a manager/producer, and rolling the gigs that keep the lights on in the meanwhile.
There was a point of time in my life when I had just a ton of stuff. I owned a lot. I had a house, and it was full of stuff. I had three dinette sets in the basement. I had mountains of books and games. Furniture, electronics, pots and pans. Just a massive pile of... stuff.
In 2001 I decided I was moving to LA. I began the long process of getting rid of everything I owned. I had a yard sale. It was loathsome, but led to me eventually writing FRANKENSTEIN'S MONSTER, again proving that no experience is without value.
I donated stuff. I gave away stuff. I sold stuff. I threw out stuff. But I always had more stuff. Luckily, as I was getting ready to leave, Chicago got hit with a huge storm and my basement flooded. The water was halfway up the stairs leading down to it. Ordinarily, this would have been a disaster. But it forced me to just throw out everything that had been in the basement, instead of spending a month going through it all and deciding what to do with every little thing. Out it went, in massive piles of trash. The garbage men were pissed. I had to go to the alderman and get a license to dump all the crap.
I loaded up my van and headed west. The van was full of more stuff. I had to jettison a bunch of it when the van bit the dust 300 miles south of Chicago. But I still ending up in LA with a bunch of stuff. I gave some of it away. I still had stuff.
I bounced from one apartment to the next, looking for a place to live that didn't include insane people. At every turn, I lost more of the stuff that I was lugging around.
By the time I landed at the lair, I had .0001 percent of the stuff I'd started with in Chicago, way back in '01. I tried to strip myself down even further.
But in the past week, I've been delving into my stuff, shaking up the paradigm, looking to lighten my load... and I'm STILL faced with a ton of crap I didn't even know I had. Bedspreads. Paper reams. Alarm clocks. A dozen binders. A mini-fridge. Ties I've never worn. Shit, I found a set of three crescent wrenches still in the plastic. Who knew what was lurking in the back of my closet?
I can't have too little. Everything I own feels like a burden.
I have dozens and dozens and dozens of books. I'm going to keep the core titles - per (a) above - and give the rest to the library. The rest of the shit is going up on ebay and craigslist. If I don't use something at least once within a year, it's gone.
George Carlin was right: at a certain point, you stop owning your stuff, and your stuff starts owning you. I refuse to spend one second on my stuff. I'd rather spend the time on work and ideas. Very few things are of real value to me, and then for specific reasons. My motorcycle, because it gets me around town. My laptop, because it lets me work. My cell phone, which lets me communicate. My Xbox 360, because it spins music, movies and games, etc... My dream house would have very little in it.
I've left my job behind. Now it's time to leave my stuff behind.
a) Reconnect with the things that you consider your core.
b) Take stock of everything else.
To the end of (a), I've reached back to '80s metal and punk. Megadeth, Suicidal Tendencies, AC/DC, Metallica, Motorhead, Minor Threat, DK... Since hanging this shingle, I've been non-stop spinning shit that I've been listening to for so long it's sunken into my DNA.
When was the last time you listened to "Peace Sells... But Who's Buying?" Damn, if that isn't one of the best songs ever written.
With (b), I've been going through my stuff in what little time I have between setting up this company, doing the work of a manager/producer, and rolling the gigs that keep the lights on in the meanwhile.
There was a point of time in my life when I had just a ton of stuff. I owned a lot. I had a house, and it was full of stuff. I had three dinette sets in the basement. I had mountains of books and games. Furniture, electronics, pots and pans. Just a massive pile of... stuff.
In 2001 I decided I was moving to LA. I began the long process of getting rid of everything I owned. I had a yard sale. It was loathsome, but led to me eventually writing FRANKENSTEIN'S MONSTER, again proving that no experience is without value.
I donated stuff. I gave away stuff. I sold stuff. I threw out stuff. But I always had more stuff. Luckily, as I was getting ready to leave, Chicago got hit with a huge storm and my basement flooded. The water was halfway up the stairs leading down to it. Ordinarily, this would have been a disaster. But it forced me to just throw out everything that had been in the basement, instead of spending a month going through it all and deciding what to do with every little thing. Out it went, in massive piles of trash. The garbage men were pissed. I had to go to the alderman and get a license to dump all the crap.
I loaded up my van and headed west. The van was full of more stuff. I had to jettison a bunch of it when the van bit the dust 300 miles south of Chicago. But I still ending up in LA with a bunch of stuff. I gave some of it away. I still had stuff.
I bounced from one apartment to the next, looking for a place to live that didn't include insane people. At every turn, I lost more of the stuff that I was lugging around.
By the time I landed at the lair, I had .0001 percent of the stuff I'd started with in Chicago, way back in '01. I tried to strip myself down even further.
But in the past week, I've been delving into my stuff, shaking up the paradigm, looking to lighten my load... and I'm STILL faced with a ton of crap I didn't even know I had. Bedspreads. Paper reams. Alarm clocks. A dozen binders. A mini-fridge. Ties I've never worn. Shit, I found a set of three crescent wrenches still in the plastic. Who knew what was lurking in the back of my closet?
I can't have too little. Everything I own feels like a burden.
I have dozens and dozens and dozens of books. I'm going to keep the core titles - per (a) above - and give the rest to the library. The rest of the shit is going up on ebay and craigslist. If I don't use something at least once within a year, it's gone.
George Carlin was right: at a certain point, you stop owning your stuff, and your stuff starts owning you. I refuse to spend one second on my stuff. I'd rather spend the time on work and ideas. Very few things are of real value to me, and then for specific reasons. My motorcycle, because it gets me around town. My laptop, because it lets me work. My cell phone, which lets me communicate. My Xbox 360, because it spins music, movies and games, etc... My dream house would have very little in it.
I've left my job behind. Now it's time to leave my stuff behind.
Friday, October 16, 2009
I Have Left My Job to Start a New Company
After seven years with AEI, I have left my position as senior vice president of development to hang my own shingle.
I owe them the deepest gratitude for taking a chance on me, am parting under the most amicable of circumstances, and will continue to work with them on projects in the future.
I was also given the opportunity to work with a group of amazing and talented writers, from whom I learned more than can be measured.
The new venture, Samurai MK, is a management/production company which will sell books, scripts and graphic novels, and produce film, television and internet projects.
It's my intention to keep the business model fluid as I move forward to quickly adapt to the changing landscape in all areas of media and entertainment. But I'll never waver from the core philosophies of honesty, hard work and making sure every project the company takes on is, in some way, awesome.
To everyone who's already contacted me, sincere thanks for your kind words. It's my intention to earn the generosity and support I've gotten thus far.
I'll also continue writing screenplays and novels, as to do otherwise would jeopardize my sanity, and maintain my representation by my friends at Zero Gravity Management.
And now... in the immortal words of Hudson in ALIENS: "Let's rock."
Cheers,
Mike Kuciak
Samurai MK
mike.samuraimk@gmail.com
I owe them the deepest gratitude for taking a chance on me, am parting under the most amicable of circumstances, and will continue to work with them on projects in the future.
I was also given the opportunity to work with a group of amazing and talented writers, from whom I learned more than can be measured.
The new venture, Samurai MK, is a management/production company which will sell books, scripts and graphic novels, and produce film, television and internet projects.
It's my intention to keep the business model fluid as I move forward to quickly adapt to the changing landscape in all areas of media and entertainment. But I'll never waver from the core philosophies of honesty, hard work and making sure every project the company takes on is, in some way, awesome.
To everyone who's already contacted me, sincere thanks for your kind words. It's my intention to earn the generosity and support I've gotten thus far.
I'll also continue writing screenplays and novels, as to do otherwise would jeopardize my sanity, and maintain my representation by my friends at Zero Gravity Management.
And now... in the immortal words of Hudson in ALIENS: "Let's rock."
Cheers,
Mike Kuciak
Samurai MK
mike.samuraimk@gmail.com
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Monday, October 5, 2009
A Rather Thorough Cleaning
Every once in a while, I get a bug up my ass to clean the lair. I'm not an atrocious slob - there aren't any flies involved, for instance - but I'm a single guy who's rarely home, so it's not like my place sees the business end of a feather duster on a regular.
But the times I'd cleaned before have been, again, the single guy version. This past weekend, I decided to really lean into it, get for reals, yo. I'm talking about scrubbing every inch of the bathroom, getting under the sink, wiping down the cabinets, taking down the blinds, attacking the stove until it looks new, everything.
And, after two days, I'm only about a third done.
I made a couple of interesting discoveries along the way:
a) No spiders. I'd prepared myself to run across Shelob somewhere in the lair's nooks and crannies. But I didn't find anything... no big 'uns, no spindlies, nothing. Seeing as I used to get black widows, I can't say I'm disappointed to hit a goose egg in the arachnid department.
b) Willie's hide-out. When I had a mouse (mice?), I often saw him (them?) when he dashed from behind my pantry to behind my stove. Now I know why. While attacking the oven, I opened the broiler for the first time since I'd moved in. Let's just say... if I could sell mouse turds for a buck a piece, I'd be at the Harley-Davidson dealership right now.
Not to get all California for a second, but in a sense, I feel as if I were scrubbing away old karma. By removing the layer of mung to which I'd grown accustomed, it's like I've moved into a new apartment. It's all preparation for the next step.
But the times I'd cleaned before have been, again, the single guy version. This past weekend, I decided to really lean into it, get for reals, yo. I'm talking about scrubbing every inch of the bathroom, getting under the sink, wiping down the cabinets, taking down the blinds, attacking the stove until it looks new, everything.
And, after two days, I'm only about a third done.
I made a couple of interesting discoveries along the way:
a) No spiders. I'd prepared myself to run across Shelob somewhere in the lair's nooks and crannies. But I didn't find anything... no big 'uns, no spindlies, nothing. Seeing as I used to get black widows, I can't say I'm disappointed to hit a goose egg in the arachnid department.
b) Willie's hide-out. When I had a mouse (mice?), I often saw him (them?) when he dashed from behind my pantry to behind my stove. Now I know why. While attacking the oven, I opened the broiler for the first time since I'd moved in. Let's just say... if I could sell mouse turds for a buck a piece, I'd be at the Harley-Davidson dealership right now.
Not to get all California for a second, but in a sense, I feel as if I were scrubbing away old karma. By removing the layer of mung to which I'd grown accustomed, it's like I've moved into a new apartment. It's all preparation for the next step.
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