As much as I respect him, I do not envy Bryan Singer right now. The man has a daunting task ahead of him… in an age where comic book movies are not only plentiful, but for the most part accurate and entertaining translations, Singer has opted to tackle the most well-known superhero ever. Not only must he uphold the character of the Man of Steel as told through the comics, but he must also follow in what has become, to many, the definitive comic book-inspired film legacy.

No sir, I would not want to be Bryan Singer right now, because I do not think I would be able to handle the pressure and still provide the masses with a faithful adaptation.

But just as I know I could not do such a thing, I also know that he can. And will.

For those of you oblivious to my ramblings, let me bring you up to speed: Singer, whose writing/directing credits include The Usual Suspects, X-Men, and X-2: X-Men United, has taken the reigns as director for the latest film in the Superman canon. This comes after a long list of directors, including Tim Burton, Kevin Smith, and McG. It also comes after an even longer list of potential Supermen: Nicolas Cage, Jim Caviezel, Jude Law, Ashton Kutcher, Josh Hartnett, etc., etc., ad infinitum.

But after nearly a decade of tossing, turning, cast and crew changes, rewrites, edits, and a mountain of speculation, the foundation has been set. Bryan Singer is your storyteller, and Brandon Routh is your hero.

First off, kudos to Singer for staying true to his word and casting a complete unknown as Superman. He did the smart thing and went for the most capable person for the job, not the most well known. Thank God he knows the difference. If directors were always to cast the most well known actors for big projects, Ryan O’Neal would’ve been playing Michael Corleone instead of Al Pacino. And that’s a known fact.

Though not knowing what Routh is capable of, if Singer cast him as Supes, then I have complete faith in him. Let’s not forget that Singer is the same guy who thought Hugh Jackman, despite standing 6’ tall, would make a good Wolverine. So needless to say, I trust the man’s judgment.

Moreover, look at Singer’s credentials that I listed just a few paragraphs above. The man is exceptionally talented when it comes to telling a cohesive, thought provoking story on film. Dare I say he’s a master at said skill. He gets what good filmmaking is all about. It’s not about the over-the-top explosion-happy action that Jerry Bruckheimer thrives on and Team America lampoons. It’s about genuine, convincing characters that the audience is able to connect to. Or at the very least believe.

Now I know that back in May, I heavily criticized the character of Superman, claiming that it was hard to connect to. Let me clarify something: Christopher Reeve managed to do something that 99% of the writers at DC Comics couldn’t. He made Superman believable. He brought a certain level of nobility and earnestness to the role that made you want to root for him, even if he was a big blue boy scout. Reeve saw something in the character of Superman (and equally as much in the character of Clark Kent) that had slipped through the cracks over time, and he managed to crystallize that nicely in his role. Which is why to this day, no one has been able to come close to Reeve’s portrayal. Dean Cain and Tom Welling never could and never will reach the level of believability that Reeve brought to the table, which is why Smallville, while surely entertaining, was unable to spawn the new Superman. It’s also why Lois & Clark, with the exception of Teri Hatcher’s cleavage, sucked hard.

Now for the record, I don’t think that Brandon Routh, no matter how talented, will trump Reeve’s performance. No matter how good he is, he will always be second in line on principle. However, he may just be the next best thing. And all things considered, who can complain, right?

Routh has his work cut out for him, and I sure hope he’s up to the task. It’s difficult for an actor to “own” a previously established role. Sure, Pacino will always be Tony Montana. Because it took Pacino to bring Tony to life. But when dealing with comic books, or literature in general, the character already has a life. It has a look, it has a voice, it has an aura. It’s not easy to claim that for yourself. That’s why Hollywood has been through four Batmen (going on five) since the 1960’s. Not a one of them has been able to nail it dead on.

Similarly, it’s also why Tobey Maguire is Spider-Man. He captures Spidey perfectly, just as Reeve captured Supes. It’s highly unlikely anyone will ever nail that.

But it’s not just the actor, it’s the person pulling the strings. Sam Raimi gets what Spider-Man is all about. Tim Burton got what Batman should be about. And if you thing Bryan Singer got what the X-Men are all about, you’d better believe he gets what Superman is all about.

Bryan Singer is an amazing storyteller. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say that he’s a better director than either Richard Donner or Richard Lester. Despite his youth, he is a visionary in the world of film, and his résumé should more than speak for itself. He is able to put ideas on concepts onscreen and have them actually make sense.

I’ll refrain from the obvious off-color remark on how hard that is to do in Hollywood, especially nowadays.

Even though there’s still a great deal of casting that remains, Singer has an uncanny eye for genuine talent, and he’s proven that he’s an ace when it comes to working with ensemble casts. Because ultimately, it’s not just Clark Kent/Superman that makes the movie. There’s Lois Lane, Lex Luthor, Jimmy Olsen, Perry White, Lana Lang, and other popular Metropolites. And if they don’t show up in the first flick, odds are we’ll be seeing the likes of General Zod, Brainiac, and Doomsday down the line. And one of the things that always anchored Superman was the supporting cast of characters. That’s what makes any good comic book. Without the Mary Janes and Alfreds of the comic universe, all we have are one-dimensional characters with no real connection to the outside world; the humanity which they are now a step above.

Why do you think Image Comics collapsed (zing!)?

So, the foundation is in place, and the wheels are in motion. Whether or not this film will trump its predecessors remains to be seen. Still, I remain extremely optimistic that Bryan Singer and Brandon Routh will make us all believe once again that a man can fly…

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

Listen…

Last night may very well have been the single most important event in the history of professional sports. To be truthful, the only other moment I can think of, in recent memory at least, may have been the 1980 U.S. hockey team winning the gold medal in the Olympics. The question uttered that night that has since echoed in the minds of sports fans everywhere, now legendary in the annals of history…

“Do you believe in miracles?”

I’m a Red Sox fan. What do you think?

Last night marked the end of a dark era, and with this kind of momentum, the beginning of a new one. The Sox have been inching closer and closer to the World Series over the past five years, and it was only a matter of time before they succeeded in qualifying for the first time since 1986.

’86… 86 years since their last World Series win. And last night, the 86’d the curse. Plain and simple.

Last night, the longest tale of woe in sports history came to a blissful end when the ultimate underdogs of the baseball world made history once again.

First team to ever come from behind a 3-0 game deficit in the postseason. First team to ever win 8 consecutive games in the postseason. And finally, the first Red Sox line up to win the World Series in four score and six years. That, my friends, deserves commendation, regardless of who you root for.

Yankees fans, sit down. We need to talk. You played well at first, and I would be hard-pressed to ever take away anything from the talent your team possesses. I will never cheer them, but I do appreciate the skill the players exhibit, particularly Derek Jeter. I am not ashamed to admit that. Doesn’t mean he’s on my Christmas list.

And you know, that is how it should be. That is what a true rivalry should be about: equal parts disdain and respect. I may hate the Yankees with a passion, but I will always respect what they have accomplished. To the more arrogant Yanks fans, I would hope you can do the same for the Red Sox. All week long, I’ve been hearing the Cardinals had the Sox number, that the ghost of the Bambino would rise by All Hallows’ Eve. That the Sox would never win, ever.

I now invite you all to collectively pull your foot from your mouth that you may feast upon your own vindictive words.

Listen…

The “curse,” if there ever was one, is over. Admit it. Lose your pride for one minute and just give credit where credit is due, rather than fester in your self-made pool of envy and hatred. Don’t tell us that we don’t deserve this. Don’t tell us that it’ll be another 80-some-odd years before it happens again. Don’t deal with our victory by trying to stir the pot of loathing even more. I already detailed about this time last year how you have no inkling of what pain as a sports fan really is. Please don’t prove in your words and deeds that you are also devoid of dignity and sportsmanship.

I heard one person tell me the Red Sox have now lost their baseball identity. What identity, pray tell, is that? Eternal underdog? The team doomed to come within a hair’s inch of victory just before having it dashed away? Let me ask you something, why would we be proud of that identity? Why would we cherish that identity? Just because you are proud of the fact that Big George packs on the superstar pounds each year by shelling out tons of money for baseball’s luminaries (this is true, don’t you dare deny it) doesn’t mean we have to be proud of the fact that we have had the worst bad luck streak as fans in the history of the sport.

So if we have lost this identity, I am glad. In fact, I’m frickin’ ecstatic.

The lease is up on Ruth’s curse. Deal with it. In fact, for all you know, he may have had a change of heart after befriending Ted Williams in Heaven. Maybe the curse has reversed toward your team now. Just maybe. Maybe you’re doomed to another 86 years before you reach the pinnacle again. Maybe it’s our time to shine.

Then again, maybe not. Who are we to predict the future with such gross arrogance, just for the sake of provoking our rivals? Why must we be so venomous? I have long abandoned those ways, and it’s high time that many on both sides of the coin do the same. Why must we forsake sportsmanship in the name of competition? The answer is now clear: we shouldn’t.

One friend put it perfectly in his away message this morning: “Congratulations to all the true Red Sox fans, you deserve it. To all you bandwagon jumpers… you know who you are.”

And this is coming from one of the purest, most loyal Yankees fans I know. His entire family is from New York, he goes to as many of the Yanks’ postseason games as he can each year (and that’s a hike, considering he goes to Villanova), he was even at Game 7 last week when the Sox topped the Yanks to advance. That is dedication. And even then, he was offering words of congratulations to us enthused Sox fans. That is respect. It is OK to have both. It won’t kill you. It won’t make you less of a fan or less of a person. In fact, it will up your stock in both departments. You should give it a try; it’s very refreshing.

Listen…

Let me tell you a story. I knew a man in my youth who was perhaps the biggest Red Sox fan you could ever hope to meet. We used to go on church trips to Yankee stadium, and it would seem he was the only one wearing his Boston hat. He wore it proudly. Bravely. Unashamedly. I remember one year, the Yanks won after some little kids ran out in the field in the bottom of the ninth. This caused a freeze on the game, despite Boston’s would-be game-winning fly ball out. He was infuriated, and rightfully so. The Yanks came from behind and won, all because of the actions of a few very obnoxious fans.

The next week, we had our annual church tag sale. Danny came across a tall Yankees glass. The irritation still fresh in his memory, he bought it, took it in the kitchen in back, tossed it into an empty trashcan, and shattered it with a broomstick. He left it on a paper plate under a paper towel with a note to my father to look underneath.

My father is an interesting creature. He appreciates baseball for what it is, and while he follows the Yankees and the Red Sox, he does not lean toward either team. In an age of such fierce emotions, he comes across as a bipartisan enigma, though at this time in the story, he was poking fun at Danny over the loss. Needless to say, he got a laugh when he pulled up the towel and saw the shattered remnants of that drinking glass.

Danny truly bled everything Bosox. He passed away eight years ago last month of a sudden heart attack. He was buried with a Red Sox hat by his head. All I can think of his how much he would’ve loved to see this moment, and how much I wish he were here to share it with us all. Of course, where he is now, he can celebrate this momentous occasion with Ted Williams himself, so I think he may be one up on us all.

Listen…

I know another friend who turned 17 in the wee hours of October 21st, the day the Sox won game seven over the Yanks in the ALCS. He was born in 1987, and had never even seen the 1986 Sox-Mets Series. He had only heard the legends. For him, this is a treat of immeasurable magnitude. Sunday night, he is going out for Halloween dressed as Johnny Damon. His friend is taking a cue from Team America and painting his face brown and applying fake facial hair so he can be Manny Ramirez. For them, this is a dream come true.

It is a dream come true for all of the faithful. You have to be raised in New England to understand what this means. Generations have gone by without seeing this. My late grandfather was a mere four years old the last time this happened. There are two generations in my house who have never seen it.

This is a time to rejoice. This is a time to celebrate. This is a time to soak up the victory that has for so very long eluded the faithful. It finally happened, and no naysayer will ever be able to take this away from us.

The Boston Red Sox are the 2004 World Series Champions. The best team in baseball today. This is Red October. And it feels oh-so wonderful.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow… I know I will.

Hey, can ya blame him?

Why is the whole world up in arms about this Ashlee Simpson/SNL “fiasco?” Why do we care? Why do we give one tenth of one shit why this untalented, mantis-like starlet fucked up?

Quite frankly, this situation isn’t even deserving of the mocking title of “Ashlee-Gate.” Since when was Ashlee Simpson a big enough celebrity to deserve her own “gate?” I wouldn’t even give her a “coup,” for crying out loud.

A brief aside: for those of you who saw that clip… what was up with that “dance?” Dear God… I thought Britney Spears was the least talented poptart out there, but Ashlee is about to make me eat my words. Or toss my cookies. Haven’t figured that out yet.

Back on topic… Why do we mere mortals zero in on these stupid little celebrity moments so much? When did our lives become so empty that we had to live through the actions of some dim-witted shit-for-brains? Ashlee’s song screw up, Janet Jackson’s breast, Björk’s weird-ass swan dress, Jennifer Lopez’s “barely there” (God, I hate that phrase) dress at the Oscars…

People… who… gives… a… fuck?

Seriously, I’m not a pessimistic or hateful person by any means, but the more these people do stupid shit, the more I want to bomb Hollywood.

Except when they’re filming comic book movies. Or anything with Keira Knightley.

And the reason I opt to bomb celebrities instead of the people who obsess about celebrities is because the former is a far smaller, more concentrated population than the latter. My hope in doing so would be that the elimination of said celebrities would allow these would-be stalkers to wake up and smell the oxygen for once. Read a book, go for a walk, it’s Autumn for Chrissakes! Enjoy the foliage. Do something other than reading US Weekly in between airings of Entertainment Tonight and The Simple Life.

Celebrities are not that important. Most of them are not even that talented. Therefore, there’s no reason we should go apeshit if they fuck up. We all fuck up. It’s part of life. Only difference is most of us aren’t on camera when it happens. Ultimately, the more we buzz about their strange behavior and shortcomings, the more ammunition we’re supplying them to straight-out suck ass.

And I, for one, will not allow that to happen. So, in summation, I have this to say about Ashlee-Gate:

Don’t care, don’t care, and, um… don’t care.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

Those who have been fishing in these Landshark-infested waters for some time are probably well aware of the fact that I am very quick to shoot someone down in a fiery blaze due to their rampant idiocy. It probably should come as no surprise then when I say that I do not dish out compliments on intelligence freely. Truthfully, I am always hard-pressed to call anyone a genius. But I think I can say freely and without reservation…

Trey Parker and Matt Stone are fuckin’ geniuses.

If you need to be convinced of my proclamation, I urge you to drop whoever or whatever you are doing right now and go see Team America: World Police. Now. No, I mean it. Go now. No, I’m really not doing this for effect. I want you to see this movie. You will be a better person for it.

You still haven’t gotten off your ass to see it, have you? OK, let me spell it out for you… if you do not immediately close this window and go view this fine piece of cinematic wonder, I will personally give Beelzebub your home address so that he may sodomize you with his flaming pitchfork.

I knew that would work. Damn good movie, wasn’t it? Now you can see what I mean by geniuses.

The thing about Trey and Matt is this: they don’t give a shit who they offend. Everyone is a target, everyone is fair game, no one is safe. It doesn’t matter what walk of life you come from, if you put your stupidity out there, they will malign your not-so-good name.

For those of you who didn’t take my advice, let me lay down the skinny while Lucifer cornholes you.

Team America is the ultimate wake-up call to everyone. Like I said, everyone gets it. The uptight, right wing conservatives are portrayed as gung-ho, gun toting, overly patriotic, “shoot first, fuck the questions” war birds who blow up terrorists and pretty much everything else in a 50-mile radius (including historic landmarks and wonders of the world) while proudly proclaiming that they are protecting the freedom of the world. Meanwhile, free-spirited, left wing liberals are portrayed as whiny, pissy, anti-corporate, self-righteous actors who think that their opinions determine how everyone else should think. Y’know, ‘cause as Hollywood actors, they’re just that enlightened.

And y’know something? It’s just what the country needs right now. We are so caught up in this election, and emotions are running so high (believe me, I know… ‘cause I’m one of the people who’s caught up in it), we need to decompress, look at ourselves, and realize how wonderfully insipid we can be at times. The film serves as a means for us to laugh at others and ourselves while offering up gut-busting violence, graphic sex, and language so coarse it could be used as sandpaper.

All with puppets.

That’s part of what makes Team America so great. The fact that everything that’s going down involves demented little marionettes, much in the same way South Park involves rabid little construction paper cutout kids. Parker and Stone have managed to breathe life into these inanimate objects and make us believe that they really are legitimate characters. And for the record, the puppet performances in Team America are easily ten times as entertaining as 90% of the rot that makes it to the silver screen nowadays.

And as always, Parker and Stone make sure to insert their twisted musical talents, including great songs like “America, Fuck Yeah!,” “Everyone Has AIDS,” “Ronery” (Kim Jong Il’s song), and “Freedom Isn’t Free” (apparently it costs a buck-o-five).

Let me lay it on the line for you: Team America is easily one of the two best films I've seen this year (the other happens to involve a guy web-slinging around New York). And I can say that with a straight face, a clear conscience, and a split in my sides. And to anyone who thinks this film is too extreme, please grow the fuck up. They're puppets. It's meant to be farcical. The nation really needs to ease off the serious button for just two minutes. Actually, make it 106 minutes. Because that's roughly how long the film is.

Y’know, at night, I can rest easily knowing that as long as there is rampant, insipid stupidity in this nation, no matter how aggravating it may be to me, Trey Parker and Matt Stone will always have a job to do.

Putting the stupid in their place.

Coming soon, a commentary on why Bryan Singer will make us believe once again that a man can fly.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

I have a beef. Of course, when I start Landsharking, I normally have some sort of a beef. So I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. And neither should you.

I love movies. So much of my commentary focuses on the media in our world that it pretty much goes without saying. One of my first real memories was going to see The Black Cauldron in the theater with my parents. Since then, I’ve amassed a pretty sizeable collection of flicks.

And if you’ve been reading this baby for a reasonable period of time, you should know that I have a fond respect for originality in all forms of art and entertainment. There’s just something beautiful about an original idea that takes shape and develops into a full-fledged medium. I truly love that process.

Having said that, it should be duly noted (and quite obvious) that I have a deep-seated loathing for unoriginality. Especially in the form of plagiarism.

Now let’s not get plagiarism confused with inspiration. There is a difference. When George Lucas borrows the opening title sequence to every Star Wars movie from a sci-fi serial he used to watch as a kid, that’s inspiration. When Paul Auster makes references to William Wilson in The New York Trilogy, that’s an homage to Edgar Allen Poe’s character of the same name. And when Bruce Campbell is given the magic words “klaatu, barada, nikto” in Army Of Darkness, that’s a sly reference to the words used to control Gort in The Day The Earth Stood Still.

That, my friends, is a kindly tip of the hat to one’s predecessors. Nothing more.

However, plagiarism, outright copying a film’s core premise is, to me, an inexcusable crime.

A crime that Dreamworks SKG has violated for the last time, in my eyes.

Why, you ask? OK, here are four films released by Dreamworks in the last six years. All film descriptions are courtesy of the Internet Movie Database.

Deep Impact. Original Release Date: May 8, 1998. Unless a comet can be destroyed before colliding with Earth, only those allowed into shelters will survive. Which people will survive?

Saving Private Ryan. Original Release Date: July 24, 1998. Based on a World War II drama. US soldiers try to save their comrade, paratrooper Private Ryan, who's stationed behind enemy lines.

Antz. Original Release Date: October 2, 1998. A rather neurotic ant tries to break from his totalitarian society while trying to win the affection of the princess he loves.

Shark Tale. Original Release Date: October 1, 2004. The sea underworld is shaken up when the son of the shark mob boss is found dead and a young fish named Oscar is found at the scene...

Now, compare the above to the following four films, all released by different production companies…

Armageddon. Original Release Date: July 1, 1998 (released by Touchstone Pictures). When an asteroid the size of Texas is headed for Earth the world's best deep core drilling team is sent to nuke the rock from the inside.

The Thin Red Line. Original Release Date: December 25, 1998 (released by Twentieth Century Fox). Director Terrence Malick's adaptation of James Jones' autobiographical 1962 novel, focusing on the conflict at Guadalcanal during the second World War.

A Bug’s Life. Original Release Date: November 25, 1998 (released by Walt Disney Pictures). A misfit ant, looking for warriors to save his colony from grasshoppers, recruits a group of bugs that turn out to be an inept circus troupe.

Finding Nemo. Original Release Date: May 30, 2004 (released by Walt Disney/Pixar). A father-son underwater adventure featuring Nemo, a boy clownfish, stolen from his coral reef home. His timid father must then search the ocean to find him.

Now, just stop and think for a second. Here we have four films by Dreamworks: a disaster movie, a war epic, a CGI kids’ film about bugs, and a CGI kids’ film about fish.

The remaining four films are: a disaster movie, a war epic, a CGI kids’ film about bugs, and a CGI kids’ film about fish.

Notice a pattern, here?

Before you jump to conclusions, yes, I am accusing Dreamworks SKG of stealing general ideas and pillaging them into their own creations. You’ll notice that in all the cases except for the Nemo/Shark situation, Dreamworks has trumped the competition by releasing their film as much as six months earlier. And even with the 18-month hiatus between Nemo and Shark, Nemo was such a huge hit that the memory still lingers fresh in the minds of most children.

I could excuse Saving Private Ryan, as war epics are plentiful. Besides, Ryan was a much better film than Line, and with Spielberg at the helm, you’d be hard-pressed to question his standard genius.

Well, except for A.I. We’d like to forget that. Forever.

But then we have two disaster movies. Well, even that may be a coincidence. Hell, Universal and Fox released Dante’s Peak and Volcano respectively within months of each other. Competition is hot amongst production companies, and disaster films are typically strong box office draws.

But now you have two kids movies that, in the general premise and atmosphere, are practically identical. This really pisses me off.

What pisses me off more than how blatantly Dreamworks has ripped off Disney and Pixar in this instance is the fact that these two films pretty much confirm the nasty truth that everyone in Hollywood is in it for the money. Why? Because these films are guaranteed to be modest to huge hits and they will draw kids in by the droves.

And what really irks me is the fact that this company was founded by three very prolific, creative guys in entertainment. Spielberg, Jeffrey Katzenberg, and David Geffen. You would think that with those founding fathers, the firm would have more innovative material coming out of the woodwork.

But no. What we get is just some very generic rehash. And that may really be the saddest part of all of this.

Creative juices wasted on someone else’s pre-existing ideas.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.