5 things on my mind: RIP John Amos, the Cardinals on HBO, ‘3:10 to Yuma’ on Netflix, and the best fish to eat
Did we really need a Joker sequel?
No one chases lightning in a bottle more often than Hollywood. Sequels can be as worthwhile as a vacation that you didn’t think was necessary but turned out to be fun--or it can resemble cold Chinese food left outside in the St. Louis humidity.
Movie studios are unfortunately in love with them forever, churning out stretched stories on the backs of mountains of cash or actors/directors who can’t turn down millions to create another tale inside a box that was already closed. Since Star Wars became a rock in multiple generations, studios take the biggest swing at the plate. But sometimes, it’s far from a gas for viewers.
The reviews for Joker: Folie a Deux are mostly in, even if Warner Brothers didn’t screen it for St. Louis critics. It’s like they knew something we didn’t or wanted to hide it; the Midwest town unfortunately had their light switch turned off by the studio. Nonetheless, a second of Joker comes roaring into theaters this weekend, and bringing reviews that stand far apart from the first Oscar-winning, billion-dollar-grossing movie.
The warnings around the first film mostly centered around the brutal violence and subject matter that could have an effect on consumers, but the whispers surrounding its musical-infused sequel all resemble a shrug of the shoulders. Even worse, hints of boredom. Todd Phillips broke new ground for his genre with the 2019 original, pulling an incredible performance from Joaquin Phoenix and dancing to the Oscars and into a mansion of money and newfound versatile fame. But critics I can trust complain that this one runs only to stand still, giving fans of the comic character and even musical fans little to chew on. All the hype of adding Lady Gaga can’t hide the fact that the story for part 2 was always thin.
While my complete judgement will be held until I see it this weekend, Joker: Folie a Deux screams of another highly successful movie that didn’t really have a sequel in its arsenal, but was born anyway. As in, why was this film made outside of making a boatload of money, which it mostly likely will on opening weekend at least? Sometimes, one and done isn’t a bad idea.
In other news, the St. Louis Cardinals are officially without a television home for next season.
Diamond Sports, aka the owner of Bally Sports, has stated in court documents that it’ll retain only one team for their network next year, and that’s the Atlanta Braves. While St. Louis’ current predicament makes them as attractive as a cracked toilet bowl, this is most likely a decision that stands above ratings and records. It does put the team, and eleven other ones, in search of a new television home for broadcasts. While Amazon Prime and Apple TV Plus will make their own push for the coverage, I have a crazy idea: Max, at least for a portion of the games.
Will it happen? Not in a million years, but it would be so entertaining to undertake with a team in transition. Think of it as the movie Major League in reality. Jim Edmonds would go awful to slightly less awful because he could take his bro talk to another level. He’d talk about Skin-a-Max in detail, the first time he watched Nightcap, and probably lose his job. Chip Caray would uncoil a little and show some of his freakiness, and there would be a whole game of Sopranos comparisons.
The best thing would be commentators and guests being able to drop F-bombs like no other, including a special postgame wrap that would make Quentin Tarantino blush.
“How much are we paying this fucking guy to be unable to hit the cutoff man?”
“You can close the fucking book on Mikolas, thank god!”
Every rebuild needs something extra to make it worthwhile. The profanity booth would be open twice a game for fans to come in and just turn it loose. Fun would be had, lawsuits would be presented, and fines would be paid quietly. Still, it would be pure entertainment. What would the kids watch? A muted television with the radio feed. They should be outside playing ball, anyway.
The real takeaway from this is that the reason payroll is going down is due to the unstable TV future. Cut and dry, plain and simple. The Cards could move more cash to the minor leagues and still post a high MLB payroll, especially with their gross profits from the past two years. DeWitt III said the revenue goes into the team, so the lack of a fixture in TV rights is a solid reason to pull back on the reins. Spending more on player development and training facilities pales in comparison to television contracts. The Cardinals must have known this was coming, but the fans (and most of the baseball world) did not.
Netflix would be a long shot contender for Cards broadcasts, but they’re well known for acquiring older and more recent older movies for their streaming service. After binging A Midnight Run until a message was about to pop up that read, “why are you still watching this,” the latest rock solid movie to hit their menu is James Mangold’s remake of 3:10 to Yuma, starring Russell Crowe and Christian Bale.
Like sequels, remakes can be useless or just a complete bore, but this one flies high thanks to the director making it his own and the stars turning in great performances. It’s a surefire Western that gets the gravy, meat and potatoes of the genre right instead of trying to be showy or change everything up. Crowe plays the captured outlaw being escorted by Bale’s rancher to a train station, with the former’s fellow gunslingers on their trail and the latter’s son tagging along. Peter Fonda and Ben Foster give compelling performances, and the tension rises throughout as the two leads play mind games with each other.
While Crowe’s killer is a bad man, one wonders if there’s a cap to his madness, something that can make him go easy instead of killing more people. Bale’s farmer has a limp from a war injury and has watched his self-confidence drain from a lack of ability to provide for his family. The action never gets too far away from the plot, but it doesn’t overwhelm the proceedings either. The thrill is seeing a pair of movie stars share the screen together, playing unorthodox roles.
It would be unorthodox to tell your doctor that your fish-based diet revolves mostly around the consumption of Swedish Fish, but it would be good for a laugh. I am in love with the candy, one that does pack sugar but doesn’t seem to hammer the stomach afterwards like Drago. Skittles and Mike n’ Ike are so damn sweet, it’s like asking your colon to wrestle the Kool-Aid Man. Chocolate is good, but easy to destroy a few pounds under the notion that it’s been called brain food before and it has some protein.
Swedish Fish are perfect, no matter what size you get. There’s the giant zip lock pack that I can take out single handedly in one evening, and the smaller one that almost does the trick. Find me a candy that doesn’t wear you out quickly like, and I’m yours. Swedish Fish are like the Cam Janssen of candy. I don’t know who needed to hear that, but it’s out there.
Last but not least, rest easy, John Amos. If you watched Coming to America, it was easy to marvel at his dad, the owner of a McDonald’s spin-off restaurant whose daughter basically held Eddie Murphy in the palm of her hand. The scene where Amos has to answer the door at least ten times gets funnier and funnier, culminating in a trip on the stairs that makes me laugh just thinking about it. Amos made a supporting role in a comedy full of heart; he was so dedicated to that character, I thought that overzealous manager lived out there somewhere.
Amos was also well known for Good Times and a slew of 80s-90s films such as Die Hard 2 (giving Bruce Willis a hard time) and Lock Up (giving Sylvester Stallone a hard time). He was good no matter what he popped up in, a trait he shared with fellow actors who recently passed away, Kris Kristofferson and John Ashton.
If you have an actor you were fond of as a kid and were born around 1982, find and protect those people. Thanks for reading.