The Pop Spectacular That Almost Was

Death returned Michael Jackson’s humanity, and in a curious, tentative way so too does “Michael Jackson’s This Is It,” a rushed and ragged monument to the man, his work and the commercial interests of those he left behind. At once a greatest-hits compendium and a suggestive glance at what might have been, the movie — which had its premiere Tuesday and opened Wednesday on a staggering 18,000 screens worldwide — has been so nakedly designed to serve so many different agendas that it seemed unlikely anything would be left for Mr. Jackson’s fans beyond the sheer spectacle of such colossal posthumous exploitation.

Yet something remains here, though it’s hard to know whether it’s the ghost or our love, perhaps both. Whatever the case, the on-scree results are weird and watchable, by turns frustrating and entertaining, and predictably a little morbid. Directed by Kenny Ortega, the movie has been stitched together from more than 100 hours of taped rehearsals for the 50- concert comeback tour that he and Mr. Jackson were creating together when the singer died in June after a drug overdose. Mr. Ortega, working with four editors (Don Brochu, Brandon Key, Tim Patterson and Kevin Stitt), has punched the material into classic behindthe- scenes documentary shape, complete with teary testimonials from the show’s demonstrably wowed dancers, the occasional impromptu moment and plenty of canned sentiment.

The movie opens, after a bit of scrolling text, on a worshipful note, with a number of the concert dancers weeping and excitedly talking into the camera about the gig and their love for (the still living) Mr. Jackson. It’s an easy way into the material, but it’s also smart, partly because these tears help prime the audience’s pump. The testimonials add to the overall deification that comes with any larger-than-life star production. But more important, they instantly invest some authentic feeling into a project (product) that has seemed devoid of soul from the minute it was announced. With their wet cheeks and halting words, these visibly moved young men and women are the sobbing, yearning embodiment of fan love.

It doesn’t take long to remember why Mr. Jackson inspired that love. First, though, you have to wade through a somewhat baffling montage featuring Lady Diana, Mother Teresa and President Obama, among others, a preposterous lineup that serves as something of a warm-up act for Mr. Jackson himself, who initially appears among an excited throng to announce the concert that never was. Happily, the moviemakers come down to earth or as much as might be expected with Mr. Jackson onboard for the subsequent rehearsals, which are regularly interspersed, or more rightly padded, with interview snippets featuring musicians, singers, choreographers and costume designers. Mr. Jackson’s family members are conspicuous by their absence, his brothers, father and mother invoked in name only.

The rehearsals draw heavily from Mr. Jackson’s older hits, notably from the 1982 album “Thriller,” beginning with “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’ ” and moving through “Human Nature,” “Thriller,” “Beat It” and “Billie Jean.” Some of these are accompanied by elaborate minimovies, some shot with special effects, including 3-D. The wittiest — a black-and-white Hollywood homage set to “Smooth Criminal” and probably inspired by the “Girl Hunt” ballet in the 1953 Vincente Minnelli musical “The Band Wagon” — features Mr. Jackson wearing a white pinstripe suit and interacting with Rita Hayworth (she tosses him her black glove from “Gilda”) and Humphrey Bogart (who, looking up from a kiss, throws him a scowl). As amusing as this number is, it pales alongside those moments when Mr. Jackson drops the pyrotechnics and just appears onstage alone.

Though shot in high definition, the visuals are generally soft, almost smudged, without the sharp edges you expect with HD. The softening effect most obviously benefits Mr. Jackson, who’s rarely seen in close-up and instead usually appears head to toe, energetically dancing, strutting, marching, moonwalking and sometimes understandably panting across the stage. This distanced vantage robs the curious of a chance to scrutinize that famous face, to unkindly survey the damage, but it also gives you the space to admire his liquid moves as he slips and slides and glides.

That’s especially important because Mr. Jackson, who after all is in the midst of complex rehearsals he’s helping coordinate, doesn’t often let loose vocally because he’s conserving his voice (as he sometimes mentions) or can no longer roam around the higher registers.

Mr. Ortega has described the material in “This Is It” the title is shared by the concert and the accompanying CD as “honest, raw, unguarded, right up until the day he died.” Well, as honest as a carefully packaged, multiplatform pseudo-event like this one can be, anyway. Truthfully, it is hard to imagine a supernova like Mr. Jackson, in particular one who grew up so publicly and at times pathetically, sharing anything honest, much less raw, on camera, either because he won’t or he can’t. In the end, all you can expect from such manufactured lives — and perhaps all that we’re really due — are glimmers of the figure left amid the fractured and distorting funhouse mirrors. Every so often, with a shy smile, a few soft words, a direction to the musicians, a thank-you, Mr. Jackson offers you such a glimmer.

Opened on Wednesday nationwide.

Directed by Kenny Ortega; concert production created by Michael Jackson and Mr. Ortega; directors of photography, Tim Patterson and Sandrine Orabona; edited by Don Brochu, Brandon Key, Mr. Patterson and Kevin Stitt; music by Michael Bearden; choreography by Mr. Jackson and Travis Payne; production designer, Michael Cotten; produced by Randy Phillips, Mr. Ortega and Paul Gongaware; released by Columbia Pictures. Running time: 1 hour 51 minutes

By MANOHLA DARGIS
Published: October 29, 2009 – New York Times

Complete with the right alternative:

“It's so boring here. Nothing ever happens in ________ place.”

The Pop Spectacular That Almost Was

Death returned Michael Jackson’s humanity, and in a curious, tentative way so too does “Michael Jackson’s This Is It,” a rushed and ragged monument to the man, his work and the commercial interests of those he left behind. At once a greatest-hits compendium and a suggestive glance at what might have been, the movie — which had its premiere Tuesday and opened Wednesday on a staggering 18,000 screens worldwide — has been so nakedly designed to serve so many different agendas that it seemed unlikely anything would be left for Mr. Jackson’s fans beyond the sheer spectacle of such colossal posthumous exploitation.

Yet something remains here, though it’s hard to know whether it’s the ghost or our love, perhaps both. Whatever the case, the on-scree results are weird and watchable, by turns frustrating and entertaining, and predictably a little morbid. Directed by Kenny Ortega, the movie has been stitched together from more than 100 hours of taped rehearsals for the 50- concert comeback tour that he and Mr. Jackson were creating together when the singer died in June after a drug overdose. Mr. Ortega, working with four editors (Don Brochu, Brandon Key, Tim Patterson and Kevin Stitt), has punched the material into classic behindthe- scenes documentary shape, complete with teary testimonials from the show’s demonstrably wowed dancers, the occasional impromptu moment and plenty of canned sentiment.

The movie opens, after a bit of scrolling text, on a worshipful note, with a number of the concert dancers weeping and excitedly talking into the camera about the gig and their love for (the still living) Mr. Jackson. It’s an easy way into the material, but it’s also smart, partly because these tears help prime the audience’s pump. The testimonials add to the overall deification that comes with any larger-than-life star production. But more important, they instantly invest some authentic feeling into a project (product) that has seemed devoid of soul from the minute it was announced. With their wet cheeks and halting words, these visibly moved young men and women are the sobbing, yearning embodiment of fan love.

It doesn’t take long to remember why Mr. Jackson inspired that love. First, though, you have to wade through a somewhat baffling montage featuring Lady Diana, Mother Teresa and President Obama, among others, a preposterous lineup that serves as something of a warm-up act for Mr. Jackson himself, who initially appears among an excited throng to announce the concert that never was. Happily, the moviemakers come down to earth or as much as might be expected with Mr. Jackson onboard for the subsequent rehearsals, which are regularly interspersed, or more rightly padded, with interview snippets featuring musicians, singers, choreographers and costume designers. Mr. Jackson’s family members are conspicuous by their absence, his brothers, father and mother invoked in name only.

The rehearsals draw heavily from Mr. Jackson’s older hits, notably from the 1982 album “Thriller,” beginning with “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’ ” and moving through “Human Nature,” “Thriller,” “Beat It” and “Billie Jean.” Some of these are accompanied by elaborate minimovies, some shot with special effects, including 3-D. The wittiest — a black-and-white Hollywood homage set to “Smooth Criminal” and probably inspired by the “Girl Hunt” ballet in the 1953 Vincente Minnelli musical “The Band Wagon” — features Mr. Jackson wearing a white pinstripe suit and interacting with Rita Hayworth (she tosses him her black glove from “Gilda”) and Humphrey Bogart (who, looking up from a kiss, throws him a scowl). As amusing as this number is, it pales alongside those moments when Mr. Jackson drops the pyrotechnics and just appears onstage alone.

Though shot in high definition, the visuals are generally soft, almost smudged, without the sharp edges you expect with HD. The softening effect most obviously benefits Mr. Jackson, who’s rarely seen in close-up and instead usually appears head to toe, energetically dancing, strutting, marching, moonwalking and sometimes understandably panting across the stage. This distanced vantage robs the curious of a chance to scrutinize that famous face, to unkindly survey the damage, but it also gives you the space to admire his liquid moves as he slips and slides and glides.

That’s especially important because Mr. Jackson, who after all is in the midst of complex rehearsals he’s helping coordinate, doesn’t often let loose vocally because he’s conserving his voice (as he sometimes mentions) or can no longer roam around the higher registers.

Mr. Ortega has described the material in “This Is It” the title is shared by the concert and the accompanying CD as “honest, raw, unguarded, right up until the day he died.” Well, as honest as a carefully packaged, multiplatform pseudo-event like this one can be, anyway. Truthfully, it is hard to imagine a supernova like Mr. Jackson, in particular one who grew up so publicly and at times pathetically, sharing anything honest, much less raw, on camera, either because he won’t or he can’t. In the end, all you can expect from such manufactured lives — and perhaps all that we’re really due — are glimmers of the figure left amid the fractured and distorting funhouse mirrors. Every so often, with a shy smile, a few soft words, a direction to the musicians, a thank-you, Mr. Jackson offers you such a glimmer.

Opened on Wednesday nationwide.

Directed by Kenny Ortega; concert production created by Michael Jackson and Mr. Ortega; directors of photography, Tim Patterson and Sandrine Orabona; edited by Don Brochu, Brandon Key, Mr. Patterson and Kevin Stitt; music by Michael Bearden; choreography by Mr. Jackson and Travis Payne; production designer, Michael Cotten; produced by Randy Phillips, Mr. Ortega and Paul Gongaware; released by Columbia Pictures. Running time: 1 hour 51 minutes

By MANOHLA DARGIS
Published: October 29, 2009 – New York Times

Complete with the right alternative:

“Where _________ the truck?

Jogos de azar

Com um pouco de exagero, costumo dizer que todo jogo é de azar. Falo assim referindo-me ao futebol que, ao contrário da roleta ou da loteria, implica tática e estratégia, sem falar no principal, que é o talento e a habilidade dos jogadores. Apesar disso, não consegue eliminar o azar, isto é, o acaso.

E já que falamos em acaso, vale lembrar que, em francês, “acaso” escreve-se “hasard”, como no célebre verso de Mallarmé, que diz: “um lance de dados jamais eliminará o acaso”. Ele está, no fundo, referindo-se ao lazer do poema que, em que pese a mestria e lucidez do poeta, está ainda assim sujeito ao azar, ou seja, ao acaso.

Se no poema é assim, imagina numa partida de futebol, que envolve 22 jogadores se movendo num campo de amplas dimensões, Se é verdade que eles jogam conforme esquemas de marcação e ataque, seguindo a orientação do técnico, deve-se no entanto, levar em conta que cada jogador tem sua percepção da jogada e decide deslocar-se nesta ou naquela direção, ou manter-se parado, certo de que a bola chegará a seus pés. Nada disso se pode prever, daí resultando um alto índice de probabilidades, ou seja, de ocorrências imprevisíveis e que, portanto, escapam ao controle.

Tomemos, como exemplo, um lance que quase sempre implica perigo de gol: o tiro de canto, Não é à toa que, quando se cria essa situação, os jogadores da defesa se afligem em anular as possibilidades que têm os adversários de fazerem o gol.

Sentem-se ao sabor do acaso, da imprevisibilidade. O time adversário desloca para a área do que sofre o tiro de canto seus jogadores mais altos e, por isso mesmo, treinados para cabecear para dentro do gol. Isto reduz o grau de imprevisibilidade por aumentar as possibilidades do time atacante de aproveitar em seu favor o tiro de canto e fazer o gol.

Nessa mesma medida, crescem, para a defesa, as dificuldades de evitar o pior. Mas nada disso consegue eliminar o acaso, uma vez que o batedor do escanteio, por mais exímio que seja, não pode com precisão absoluta lançar a bola na cabeça de determinado jogador.

Não quero dizer com isso que o resultado das partidas de futebol seja apenas fruto do acaso, mas a verdade é que, sem um pouco de sorte, neste campo, como em outros, não se vai muito longe; jogadores, técnicos e torcedores sabem disso, tanto que todos querem se livrar do chamado “pé frio”,

Como não pretendo passar por supersticioso, evito aderir abertamente a essa tese, mas quando vejo, durante uma partida, meu time perder “gols feitos”, nasce-me o desagradável temor de que aquele não é um bom dia para nós e de que a derrota é certa.

(GULLAR, Ferreira. Jogos de azar..In:: Folha de S. Paulo. 24/06/2007. Adaptado.)

No final do terceiro parágrafo, portanto estabelece com os demais argumentos do parágrafo uma relação de:

The Pop Spectacular That Almost Was

Death returned Michael Jackson’s humanity, and in a curious, tentative way so too does “Michael Jackson’s This Is It,” a rushed and ragged monument to the man, his work and the commercial interests of those he left behind. At once a greatest-hits compendium and a suggestive glance at what might have been, the movie — which had its premiere Tuesday and opened Wednesday on a staggering 18,000 screens worldwide — has been so nakedly designed to serve so many different agendas that it seemed unlikely anything would be left for Mr. Jackson’s fans beyond the sheer spectacle of such colossal posthumous exploitation.

Yet something remains here, though it’s hard to know whether it’s the ghost or our love, perhaps both. Whatever the case, the on-scree results are weird and watchable, by turns frustrating and entertaining, and predictably a little morbid. Directed by Kenny Ortega, the movie has been stitched together from more than 100 hours of taped rehearsals for the 50- concert comeback tour that he and Mr. Jackson were creating together when the singer died in June after a drug overdose. Mr. Ortega, working with four editors (Don Brochu, Brandon Key, Tim Patterson and Kevin Stitt), has punched the material into classic behindthe- scenes documentary shape, complete with teary testimonials from the show’s demonstrably wowed dancers, the occasional impromptu moment and plenty of canned sentiment.

The movie opens, after a bit of scrolling text, on a worshipful note, with a number of the concert dancers weeping and excitedly talking into the camera about the gig and their love for (the still living) Mr. Jackson. It’s an easy way into the material, but it’s also smart, partly because these tears help prime the audience’s pump. The testimonials add to the overall deification that comes with any larger-than-life star production. But more important, they instantly invest some authentic feeling into a project (product) that has seemed devoid of soul from the minute it was announced. With their wet cheeks and halting words, these visibly moved young men and women are the sobbing, yearning embodiment of fan love.

It doesn’t take long to remember why Mr. Jackson inspired that love. First, though, you have to wade through a somewhat baffling montage featuring Lady Diana, Mother Teresa and President Obama, among others, a preposterous lineup that serves as something of a warm-up act for Mr. Jackson himself, who initially appears among an excited throng to announce the concert that never was. Happily, the moviemakers come down to earth or as much as might be expected with Mr. Jackson onboard for the subsequent rehearsals, which are regularly interspersed, or more rightly padded, with interview snippets featuring musicians, singers, choreographers and costume designers. Mr. Jackson’s family members are conspicuous by their absence, his brothers, father and mother invoked in name only.

The rehearsals draw heavily from Mr. Jackson’s older hits, notably from the 1982 album “Thriller,” beginning with “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’ ” and moving through “Human Nature,” “Thriller,” “Beat It” and “Billie Jean.” Some of these are accompanied by elaborate minimovies, some shot with special effects, including 3-D. The wittiest — a black-and-white Hollywood homage set to “Smooth Criminal” and probably inspired by the “Girl Hunt” ballet in the 1953 Vincente Minnelli musical “The Band Wagon” — features Mr. Jackson wearing a white pinstripe suit and interacting with Rita Hayworth (she tosses him her black glove from “Gilda”) and Humphrey Bogart (who, looking up from a kiss, throws him a scowl). As amusing as this number is, it pales alongside those moments when Mr. Jackson drops the pyrotechnics and just appears onstage alone.

Though shot in high definition, the visuals are generally soft, almost smudged, without the sharp edges you expect with HD. The softening effect most obviously benefits Mr. Jackson, who’s rarely seen in close-up and instead usually appears head to toe, energetically dancing, strutting, marching, moonwalking and sometimes understandably panting across the stage. This distanced vantage robs the curious of a chance to scrutinize that famous face, to unkindly survey the damage, but it also gives you the space to admire his liquid moves as he slips and slides and glides.

That’s especially important because Mr. Jackson, who after all is in the midst of complex rehearsals he’s helping coordinate, doesn’t often let loose vocally because he’s conserving his voice (as he sometimes mentions) or can no longer roam around the higher registers.

Mr. Ortega has described the material in “This Is It” the title is shared by the concert and the accompanying CD as “honest, raw, unguarded, right up until the day he died.” Well, as honest as a carefully packaged, multiplatform pseudo-event like this one can be, anyway. Truthfully, it is hard to imagine a supernova like Mr. Jackson, in particular one who grew up so publicly and at times pathetically, sharing anything honest, much less raw, on camera, either because he won’t or he can’t. In the end, all you can expect from such manufactured lives — and perhaps all that we’re really due — are glimmers of the figure left amid the fractured and distorting funhouse mirrors. Every so often, with a shy smile, a few soft words, a direction to the musicians, a thank-you, Mr. Jackson offers you such a glimmer.

Opened on Wednesday nationwide.

Directed by Kenny Ortega; concert production created by Michael Jackson and Mr. Ortega; directors of photography, Tim Patterson and Sandrine Orabona; edited by Don Brochu, Brandon Key, Mr. Patterson and Kevin Stitt; music by Michael Bearden; choreography by Mr. Jackson and Travis Payne; production designer, Michael Cotten; produced by Randy Phillips, Mr. Ortega and Paul Gongaware; released by Columbia Pictures. Running time: 1 hour 51 minutes

By MANOHLA DARGIS
Published: October 29, 2009 – New York Times

Complete with the right choice:

“I think I'll buy these boots. ______ really well.”

The Pop Spectacular That Almost Was

Death returned Michael Jackson’s humanity, and in a curious, tentative way so too does “Michael Jackson’s This Is It,” a rushed and ragged monument to the man, his work and the commercial interests of those he left behind. At once a greatest-hits compendium and a suggestive glance at what might have been, the movie — which had its premiere Tuesday and opened Wednesday on a staggering 18,000 screens worldwide — has been so nakedly designed to serve so many different agendas that it seemed unlikely anything would be left for Mr. Jackson’s fans beyond the sheer spectacle of such colossal posthumous exploitation.

Yet something remains here, though it’s hard to know whether it’s the ghost or our love, perhaps both. Whatever the case, the on-scree results are weird and watchable, by turns frustrating and entertaining, and predictably a little morbid. Directed by Kenny Ortega, the movie has been stitched together from more than 100 hours of taped rehearsals for the 50- concert comeback tour that he and Mr. Jackson were creating together when the singer died in June after a drug overdose. Mr. Ortega, working with four editors (Don Brochu, Brandon Key, Tim Patterson and Kevin Stitt), has punched the material into classic behindthe- scenes documentary shape, complete with teary testimonials from the show’s demonstrably wowed dancers, the occasional impromptu moment and plenty of canned sentiment.

The movie opens, after a bit of scrolling text, on a worshipful note, with a number of the concert dancers weeping and excitedly talking into the camera about the gig and their love for (the still living) Mr. Jackson. It’s an easy way into the material, but it’s also smart, partly because these tears help prime the audience’s pump. The testimonials add to the overall deification that comes with any larger-than-life star production. But more important, they instantly invest some authentic feeling into a project (product) that has seemed devoid of soul from the minute it was announced. With their wet cheeks and halting words, these visibly moved young men and women are the sobbing, yearning embodiment of fan love.

It doesn’t take long to remember why Mr. Jackson inspired that love. First, though, you have to wade through a somewhat baffling montage featuring Lady Diana, Mother Teresa and President Obama, among others, a preposterous lineup that serves as something of a warm-up act for Mr. Jackson himself, who initially appears among an excited throng to announce the concert that never was. Happily, the moviemakers come down to earth or as much as might be expected with Mr. Jackson onboard for the subsequent rehearsals, which are regularly interspersed, or more rightly padded, with interview snippets featuring musicians, singers, choreographers and costume designers. Mr. Jackson’s family members are conspicuous by their absence, his brothers, father and mother invoked in name only.

The rehearsals draw heavily from Mr. Jackson’s older hits, notably from the 1982 album “Thriller,” beginning with “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’ ” and moving through “Human Nature,” “Thriller,” “Beat It” and “Billie Jean.” Some of these are accompanied by elaborate minimovies, some shot with special effects, including 3-D. The wittiest — a black-and-white Hollywood homage set to “Smooth Criminal” and probably inspired by the “Girl Hunt” ballet in the 1953 Vincente Minnelli musical “The Band Wagon” — features Mr. Jackson wearing a white pinstripe suit and interacting with Rita Hayworth (she tosses him her black glove from “Gilda”) and Humphrey Bogart (who, looking up from a kiss, throws him a scowl). As amusing as this number is, it pales alongside those moments when Mr. Jackson drops the pyrotechnics and just appears onstage alone.

Though shot in high definition, the visuals are generally soft, almost smudged, without the sharp edges you expect with HD. The softening effect most obviously benefits Mr. Jackson, who’s rarely seen in close-up and instead usually appears head to toe, energetically dancing, strutting, marching, moonwalking and sometimes understandably panting across the stage. This distanced vantage robs the curious of a chance to scrutinize that famous face, to unkindly survey the damage, but it also gives you the space to admire his liquid moves as he slips and slides and glides.

That’s especially important because Mr. Jackson, who after all is in the midst of complex rehearsals he’s helping coordinate, doesn’t often let loose vocally because he’s conserving his voice (as he sometimes mentions) or can no longer roam around the higher registers.

Mr. Ortega has described the material in “This Is It” the title is shared by the concert and the accompanying CD as “honest, raw, unguarded, right up until the day he died.” Well, as honest as a carefully packaged, multiplatform pseudo-event like this one can be, anyway. Truthfully, it is hard to imagine a supernova like Mr. Jackson, in particular one who grew up so publicly and at times pathetically, sharing anything honest, much less raw, on camera, either because he won’t or he can’t. In the end, all you can expect from such manufactured lives — and perhaps all that we’re really due — are glimmers of the figure left amid the fractured and distorting funhouse mirrors. Every so often, with a shy smile, a few soft words, a direction to the musicians, a thank-you, Mr. Jackson offers you such a glimmer.

Opened on Wednesday nationwide.

Directed by Kenny Ortega; concert production created by Michael Jackson and Mr. Ortega; directors of photography, Tim Patterson and Sandrine Orabona; edited by Don Brochu, Brandon Key, Mr. Patterson and Kevin Stitt; music by Michael Bearden; choreography by Mr. Jackson and Travis Payne; production designer, Michael Cotten; produced by Randy Phillips, Mr. Ortega and Paul Gongaware; released by Columbia Pictures. Running time: 1 hour 51 minutes

By MANOHLA DARGIS
Published: October 29, 2009 – New York Times

Kenny Ortega, who is ________________ of the film, describes the material as “honest, raw unguarded, right up until the day he died.”