Review: Tom Waits’ ‘Bad as Me couldn’t be better
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By Chris Willman
LOS ANGELES (TheWrap.com) - Tom Waits has been called a lot of things, but "rockabilly cat" was probably never among them. That's just one of many guises the veteran eccentric takes on in "Bad as Me," his first all-new release in eight years and a leading album-of-the-year contender.
Just when you think you've got Waits half-figured, the king of grizzled-dom -- and musical gristle -- goes all Eddie Cochran on us in "Get Lost." "Roll down all the windows, turn up Wolfman Jack/Please, please love me tender, ain't nothin' wrong with that," he sings, sounding a little like "Love and Theft"-era Dylan suddenly overtaken by the booming voice and spirit of the Big Bopper.
Little else on "Bad as Me" is quite so unexpected, or certainly not so turn-back-the-clock youthful, given the sense of mortality that runs through other songs. But it does point toward just how much of the album actually rocks, with Waits mostly foregoing the chain-gang-style clanging percussion he favored in his experimental middle period for a traditionally bangin' rhythm section, not to mention some very loud blues guitars.
Waits is really what you'd get if you could somehow combine Dylan, Springsteen, Sammy Cahn, Howlin' Wolf, a Waring blender, an out-of-control assembly line, and -- last, but certainly not least -- Screamin' Jay Hawkins, all of whom come to mind at various points in this brilliant but unassuming assemblage of rank Americana.
Since it's almost Halloween, let's start with the Screamin' Jay influence, which comes to the fore on the hilariously sexy/nasty title track. "You're the same kind of bad as me," Waits literally screams, letting everything in his dirty soul loose, singing not just from the gut, but the lower intestines.
But "Bad as Me" also gives you the Waits who can come up with crooner-friendly ballads like "Downbound Train."
Any torch singer worth his fire would be a fool not to cover this album's "Kiss Me," as good a song as has ever been written about reigniting the flames in a relationship gone passionless. "Kiss me like a stranger once again… I want to believe that our love's a sin," he sings in his least tortured voice, over the sound of standup bass, distant piano, and the subliminal sound of crackling vinyl.
The acoustic-guitar-backed "Last Leaf," could almost be out of the Great American Songbook -- although, with Keith Richards adding a harmony vocal, no one will mistake it for a Bing-and-Frank duet. It takes "September of my years" to new levels: "I'm the last leaf on the tree/The autumn took the rest/But they won't take me."
Richards also plays a fierce guitar on several tracks, including, amusingly, "Satisfied," a blues stomp apparently written as an elderly answer song to the Stones' "Satisfaction." In case there's any doubt about that, Waits actually name-checks "Mr. Jagger and Mr. Richards" in the lyrics, in-between couplets like "Roll my vertebrae out like dice/Let my skull be a home for the mice."
This is his most easily accessible album in decades. But for anyone who misses the more avant-garde Waits, there's the penultimate "Hell Broke Luce," a stunning four-minute encapsulation of the modern soldier's lot, framed as a stream-of-consciousness marching chant with otherworldly percussion and occasional bursts of Metallica-style guitar. Its abrasiveness doesn't quite fit with the rest of the album, but it's tour de force enough to be worth the price of admission.
Then again, it's hard to say the standout isn't "Face to the Highway," a spooky road song Bruce himself will wish he'd written. "Ocean wants a sailor, gun wants a hand, money wants a spender, and the road wants a man," he sings, chillingly describing the siren song of itinerancy and personal betrayal. "I turned my face to the highway, and I turned my back on you."
That's austere stuff, but it's not long before the nervous laughs resume. With "Bad as Me," you get high comedy, high tragedy, and the unlikely conflagration of musicians as great as Richards, the Red Hot Chili Peppers' Flea, Los Lobos' David Hidalgo, Mark Ribot, and Sir Douglas Quintet organist Augie Myers kind of but not quite colliding with one another.
If Dylan ever made an album this good again, it'd be cause for a day of national celebration. But don't let Waits' slightly less celebrated status get in the way of your own "Bad" bash.
Review: “Like Crazy” an irritating tale of twits in love
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By Alonso Duralde
LOS ANGELES (TheWrap.com) - In an era when the U.S.-born children of Mexican immigrants are afraid to go to school in some states because of threatened roundups, and American gays and lesbians aren't allowed the option of marriage to provide citizenship for their foreign-born partners, it's hard to muster up much sympathy for a privileged white Brit who's not allowed back into this country after she willfully violates the terms of her student visa.
But that's what "Like Crazy" expects to feel about poor pampered Anna (Felicity Jones), who couldn't bear to return to the U.K. for three short months if it means being away from her l-u-v, furniture designer Jacob (Anton Yelchin). Cry me a river of Cheez Whiz.
Even putting immigration issues aside, Anna and Jacob are generally so short-sighted and shallow that their whirlwind romance is eminently resistible.
Director and co-writer Drake Doremus clearly wants us to be enchanted by the moony eyes they make at each other, but we never get much of a clue as to who these kids are and why they're so enamored. Every time the two of them threaten to have a conversation that's about something other than their passion or their love of high-end Scotch, Doremus takes a page from "Team America: World Police" and goes all "You Need a Montage!" with his romantic leads.
Anna and Jacob meet as college classmates, then spend the summer together when she's supposed to go home. He opens a small factory, while she climbs the ladder at a British fashion magazine, but then she can't come back to the U.S., boo hoo. So Jacob starts dating comely co-worker Samantha (Jennifer Lawrence, Yelchin's co-star in "The Beaver"), but just as things start getting serious, Anna cajoles him into visiting her a few times.
The closer that the couple comes to working out her immigration difficulties and finally cohabiting, the less each seems committed to actually keeping the relationship alive -- Jacob can't quite get over Samantha, while Anna gets something going with yuppie Simon (Charlie Bewley).
So you wind up with a movie that's supposed to make us all heartsick about how these pretty white people with problems just can't make it work. But anyone over the age of 25 or so will recognize that these two ninnies have no idea what relationships are about, what measures one has to take to keep them alive, or how to recognize when, to paraphrase "Annie Hall," you've got a dead shark on your hands.
Anton Yelchin is an amazingly empathetic young actor -- and based on the little I've seen of Felicity Jones, I'll give her the benefit of the doubt -- but these characters have been written to be so annoyingly unaware of consequences or even the future that they're just exasperating.
Much has been made over the improvised dialogue in "Like Crazy," but Doremus and his collaborator Ben York Jones fail to provide an interesting enough framework for their cast while, as mentioned, never letting them discuss anything of substance that might make them feel like something more fleshed-out than a couple in an engagement-ring commercial.
John Guleserian's bright-and-fuzzy cinematography suits the material, even if it's not particularly groundbreaking, and Dustin O'Halloran's score goes leagues further than any other facet of the production when it comes to invoking a sense of melancholy.
"Like Crazy" might have worked better if Doremus had doubled down and made the whole movie a series of wordless montages, since that would have covered up many of the film's flaws while accentuating its strongest assets.
Teens, and the adolescent of mind, will no doubt sigh wistfully over the goings-on here, but it should come with a "Jackass"-style disclaimer: "Don't try this at home. Or abroad."
Review: ‘Zelda’ brings sense of wonder back to Wii
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It has been a brutal year for fans of the Wii. Other publishers have stopped bringing AAA games to Nintendo's low-powered console. The best-reviewed new game on the system, "Xenoblade Chronicles," has inexplicably been withheld from the United States. Nintendo itself seems ready to move on to its forthcoming Wii U.
So "The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword" ($49.99) looks like the last gasp for the once unstoppable Wii. Is it worth dusting off and plugging in your old machine to play it? Absolutely — although it's not quite the masterpiece Nintendo has been promising.
The core elements of the 25-year-old "Zelda" franchise remain. Once again, you are Link, a teenager who's destined for great things. As usual, your friend Zelda disappears and you must run to her rescue. Your journey takes you through a series of fantastic locations — including, most notably, a series of dungeons filled with brain-twisting puzzles.
Still, there are plenty of tweaks to the formula. "Skyward Sword" begins in Skyloft, a tiny town floating high above the clouds. Each character is master of a "loftwing," a bird you can fly to the other rocks floating around Skyloft. While out on a joyride, Zelda is attacked by a tornado and dragged to the land below, where most of the action takes place.
There are three major areas to explore: the grassy Faron Woods, the fiery Eldin Volcano and the desolate Lanayru Desert. Each is populated with a healthy variety of native creatures, some helpful, some vicious. There's plenty of sword-swinging combat, but that's not the emphasis — the real challenge is figuring out how to get through the mazelike environments to their central temples.
The "Skyward Sword" temples feature some of the most devious puzzles ever conjured up by the "Zelda" team. The desert area, for example, has switches that send parts of it back in time, to when it was a working factory. Some machines are useful, but after you get zapped by a guard robot you'll wish you'd left the electricity off.
Besides your sword, controlled by swinging the motion-sensing Wii remote, you have a variety of gadgets, including the reliable old grappling hook and slingshot. The most versatile of the new devices is the beetle, a flying drone that can pick up bombs and drop them on enemies.
"Skyward Sword" is filled with "aha!" moments when you suddenly figure out how to use those devices to get past a seemingly insurmountable obstacle. It's an unusually rewarding game mechanic, emphasizing logic and strategy over reflexes, and the devilish puzzles make this "Zelda" chapter well worth your time.
With 60-plus hours of playtime, this is the longest game in the "Zelda" franchise, but not all of it is as rewarding as the dungeon sequences. It takes several hours before Link finally gets to the surface, where almost all the action is. In between dungeons you have to keep returning to Skyloft, home to a bunch of dimwits who send you on tedious fetch quests while you're trying to prevent the apocalypse. There's an awful lot to do in "Skyward Sword," but about one-third of it feels like filler.
The boss battles against the most powerful monsters range, similarly, from boring to spectacular. The bad ones essentially involve slashing at the enemy until he surrenders, but the good ones make imaginative use of the skills Link has learned. One sequence, which involves rescuing a parasite-infested sky whale, is "Zelda" at its most exhilarating.
Such moments go a long way toward reawakening the sense of wonder common to the best Nintendo games of the last quarter-century. And despite some dull stretches, "Skyward Sword" delivers enough of those moments to make it one of the most satisfying chapters in the "Zelda" canon. Three-and-a-half stars out of four.
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Online:
http://zelda.com/skywardsword/
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Follow Lou Kesten on Twitter at http://twitter.com/lkesten
Review: Scorsese’s ‘Hugo’ dazzles in 3-D
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Having been revered as a master for decades and functioning at the top of his game as he approaches 70, Martin Scorsese would seem to have nothing else to prove. So it's thrilling to see him make a bold, creative leap with "Hugo," which is not only an unusual family film from him but also his first movie in 3-D.
Scorsese doesn't just tinker with this new-fangled technology, he embraces it fully. This is the most dazzling use of 3-D yet — more so than the vaunted "Avatar." Scorsese has completely realized the production with a third dimension in mind and maximized it for its immersive qualities, a joy to behold at a time when so many films are shot in 2-D and shoddily converted to 3-D after the fact. All the flawless production values you'd expect from a Scorsese film are in place, with the director reuniting with so many members of the creative team with which he's worked over the years, including editor Thelma Schoonmaker and production designer Dante Ferretti.
It's also awe-inspiring to consider that he has conveyed the importance of film preservation — a cause that's close to his heart — but done so in forward-thinking fashion, in the highest of high-tech ways. It takes a little while for the narrative to find its way in, though; the first half of John Logan's script feels like it meanders a bit as it establishes all its figures and lays out all its puzzle pieces.
Based on the Brian Selznick children's book "The Invention of Hugo Cabret," ''Hugo" takes place at a train station in 1930s Paris, where the title character, a wide-eyed orphan played by Asa Butterfield, secretly lives in the walls and keeps all the clocks running on time. In a lengthy, beautifully fluid opening sequence reminiscent of his famous restaurant-entry tracking shot in "Goodfellas," Scorsese swoops through the hustle and bustle of the crowded station before soaring up and into a clock perched high above the action to reveal the boy's presence. He also pays detailed attention to the various grinding gears and hidden hallways that keep this cavernous place in constant motion.
Hugo is fascinated by machinery, a hobby he shared with his late father, played in flashbacks by Jude Law. The one item that still connects him with his beloved dad is a shiny metallic automaton the two were fixing together. As it turns out, this machine may also connect him with the mean old man who works at the train station toy shop, played with gruffness and grace — and a secret — by Ben Kingsley.
The boy gets some help in solving this mystery from the toy store owner's inquisitive goddaughter, Isabelle (Chloe Grace Moretz, who radiates vitality and does an impressive British accent). The two spend a lot of time snooping around, dreaming and trying to escape the clutches of the dastardly police inspector. He's played by Sacha Baron Cohen, who injects great comic relief but whose presence also feels a bit off.
Eventually, though, as "Hugo" morphs from a children's adventure into a (slightly repetitive and overlong) lesson in classic silent cinema, it finds its footing. Perhaps that's because it is a topic about which Scorsese himself is so passionate. You don't have to know who Georges Melies was or even be familiar with his famous 1902 sci-fi short "A Trip to the Moon," even though it provides a crucial plot point. You may recognize Harold Lloyd perilously dangling from the hands of a clock off the top of a building, but you don't have to know that he does so in a scene from 1923's "Safety Last!"
Such moments are germane to the movie's abundant love of the power of film; being a hardcore cinephile (like Scorsese) might add a layer of enjoyment, but it certainly isn't a prerequisite for walking in the door. A sense of wonder, however, is.
"Hugo," a Paramount Pictures release, is rated PG for mild thematic material, some action/peril and smoking. Running time: 127 minutes. Three stars out of four.
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Motion Picture Association of America rating definitions:
G — General audiences. All ages admitted.
PG — Parental guidance suggested. Some material may not be suitable for children.
PG-13 — Special parental guidance strongly suggested for children under 13. Some material may be inappropriate for young children.
R — Restricted. Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian.
NC-17 — No one under 17 admitted.
Review: Williams gives it her all as ‘Marilyn’
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The breathy voice, the girlish cadence, the flirty demeanor, even the slightest facial gestures — Michelle Williams gets many of the details right and gives a thoroughly committed performance as Marilyn Monroe in "My Week With Marilyn."
But as good as Williams is — as good as she always is — and as devoted as she clearly was to embodying this woman fully, you never truly forget that you're watching an extended impression of the pop culture icon. A lot of that has to do with the fact that this is indeed a legend she's playing, and it's difficult to take mythology and turn it into something tangible and true. But the script from Adrian Hodges, based on memoirs by Colin Clark, doesn't offer Williams much substance or subtlety with which to work.
The Monroe she's given functions in only two gears: Either she's the dazzling, charismatic sex symbol of lore, or she's stoned, insecure and in constant need of coddling. Surely there was more complexity to this woman who continues to fascinate us nearly four decades after her untimely death, but you won't find it here.
That kind of reductive approach unfortunately prevails throughout from director Simon Curtis, a British television veteran making his feature filmmaking debut. Laurence Olivier comes off as cartoonishly arrogant and vain, despite being played by Kenneth Branagh, an actor of great depth (who happens to share Olivier's affinity for Shakespeare). The Method acting technique that Monroe applied is a repeated target of jokes, as if it were some sort of flimsy, fringy philosophy (and Zoe Wanamaker, as acting coach Paula Strasberg, comes off as a caricature of a yenta).
One of the least developed characters of all is the one who is central to this story and serves as our conduit. He's Colin Clark himself (Eddie Redmayne), a young, star-struck and personality-free assistant on "The Prince and the Showgirl," which Monroe was shooting in England in 1956. Colin comes from money but wants to prove himself by working his way up from the bottom in the film world.
Monroe, by contrast, is the most famous person on the planet at this point. But despite her celebrity and new marriage to Arthur Miller (Dougray Scott), she desperately wants to be taken seriously. Even though this picture is a light romantic comedy, it gives her a chance to work with Olivier as both her director and co-star. She is, of course, paralyzed with fear. Olivier's wife, Vivien Leigh (played with grace and candor by Julia Ormond) tries to encourage her. Another of Monroe's co-stars, the far more seasoned and distinguished Dame Sybil Thorndike (Judi Dench), reaches out to her with patience and kindness.
But for some reason, Monroe also seeks comfort in Colin, of all people — according to him, at least. This is, after all, his story. She keeps drawing him closer, which becomes easier when Miller returns to the United States, even as all her various hangers-on view him as a threat and try to push him away.
Prior to the development of this relationship, though, "My Week With Marilyn" offers an amusing (though not exactly novel) peek at the stir Monroe's presence caused in the rural area surrounding Pinewood Studios west of London. The actual filmmaking process, especially with the involvement of such esteemed figures, is always fascinating to watch. Or at least it should be. Like the depiction of Monroe herself, the film as a whole rings hollow with a kind of airy, unsatisfying emptiness.
"My Week With Marilyn," a Weinstein Co. release, is rated R for language. Running time: 101 minutes. Two stars out of four.
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Motion Picture Association of America rating definitions:
G — General audiences. All ages admitted.
PG — Parental guidance suggested. Some material may not be suitable for children.
PG-13 — Special parental guidance strongly suggested for children under 13. Some material may be inappropriate for young children.
R — Restricted. Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian.
NC-17 — No one under 17 admitted.
Review: Seriously, who doesn’t like the Muppets?
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Writer J.K. Rowling and actress Sienna Miller gave a London courtroom a vivid picture on Thursday of the anxiety, anger and fear produced by living in the glare of Britain's tabloid media, describing how press intrusion made them feel like prisoners in their own homes.
Review: An ode to silents, the mute ‘Artist’ sings
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NEW YORK (AP) — The best validation for the nostalgia of "The Artist" is the film, itself.
A silent movie in tribute to silent movies, "The Artist" puts its money where its mouth is, so to speak. Or not to, rather.
Michel Hazanavicius' black-and-white, near-wordless film is a loving, irresistibly charming ode to a long-ago movie era that not only summons the dormant conventions of silent moviemaking, but makes them dance again.
The film opens with old-style titles and the first bursts of Ludovic Bource's spirited, nimble score, which (as in most silents) plays a starring role throughout. The camera pulls back on a man being electrocuted by captors.
"I won't talk," he says — or so reads a title card. "I won't say a word."
It's the first of many puns, but it's also Hazanavicius' promise, too. To make a silent film nowadays, he's suggesting, is to subject oneself to torment. But the French filmmaker's boldness has already been much rewarded: The film was feted at the Cannes Film Festival, snapped up by Harvey Weinstein and is now considered a favorite horse in the Oscar race.
The opening scene is merely a fiction within "The Artist." The man is silent film star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) — a kind of Douglas Fairbanks, swashbuckling matinee idol — and this is the premiere of his latest hit: "A Russian Affair." The year is 1927, and the packed auditorium greets the movie with a standing ovation and raucous cheers that we can only infer.
The grinning, mustachioed Valentin glides across the stage in a tuxedo, basking in the adulation. A born entertainer, he casually and eagerly keeps the audience in his thrall, pantomiming tricks with his faithful sidekick, on screen and off, his Jack Russell terrier.
The dog (Uggie) deserves credit here. Obviously raised on "The Awful Truth" and "The Thin Man," he puts shame to the digital Snowy of the upcoming "The Adventures of Tintin."
But the good times are soon to end: The Talkies are coming. When sound movies arrive, Valentin finds himself squeezed out of the business that so recently championed him. (The particular reason for Valentin's inadaptability is revealed later.)
Kinograph Studios head Al Zimmer (John Goodman, robbed of his booming voice but not of his character-filled face) is quickly transitioning to talkies and a new bevy of stars. Among them is Peppy Miller (Berenice Bejo), an upstart whose rise Valentin aided.
Valentin's fall is greased not just by irrelevancy but by the stock market crash and ego, (he self-finances an extravagant, belated silent film). Nearly destitute, he has little left besides his dog and his loyal chauffer (James Cromwell).
Miller, always quietly enamored with Valentin, ascends to stardom. Her "Beauty Spot," released on the same day as Valentin's "Tears of Love," draws lines around the block. That their paths will finally align is of little surprise in Hazanavicius' smart if predictable script.
Naturally, the image is the supreme element in a silent film (and a talkie, too, but that's another story). But "The Artist" is disappointing staid visually. Though it's remarkably true in style and production (design by Laurence Bennett), it doesn't bear the visual flare that perhaps it should.
Instead, "The Artist" is propelled by its performances, particularly Dujardin's. He has an exquisite elegance, and builds a whole movie with only his gestures. It's impossible to imagine "The Artist" without him, the wellspring of its charm.
But it doesn't take a masterpiece to remind us of the power of silent films. It most succeeds in this mission, an altogether welcome whisper of "Don't forget."
The most moving shots in "The Artist" are of audiences in the grip of a movie, whether silent or not. Hazanavicius captures moviegoers collectively on their edge of their seats, reacting in worry or laughter. It's this romance for the movies — and the melancholy wistfulness for the silent era — that makes "The Artist" affecting, urging us to remember the simple, captivating beauty of moving images in a theater.
"The Artist," a Weinstein Company release, is rated PG-13 for a disturbing image and a crude gesture. Running time: 100 minutes. Three stars out of four.
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Motion Picture Association of America rating definitions:
G — General audiences. All ages admitted.
PG — Parental guidance suggested. Some material may not be suitable for children.
PG-13 — Special parental guidance strongly suggested for children under 13. Some material may be inappropriate for young children.
R — Restricted. Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian.
NC-17 — No one under 17 admitted.
FCC chief seeks added review of AT&T/T-Mobile deal
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(Reuters) - AT&T Inc was dealt a blow on Tuesday as the top U.S. communications regulator sought to have its planned $39 billion purchase of T-Mobile USA sent to an administrative law judge for review.
Federal Communications Commission Chairman Julius Genachowski sent a draft order to his fellow commissioners, citing FCC staff findings that the deal would significantly diminish competition and lead to massive job losses.
"The record clearly shows that -- in no uncertain terms -- this merger would result in a massive loss of U.S. jobs and investment," a senior FCC official said.
The agency also concluded that the merger would not result in significantly more buildout of next generation 4G wireless service than would occur absent the transaction.
AT&T argues the deal will accelerate its expansion of high-speed wireless service to nearly all Americans.
The U.S. Justice Department went to court in August to oppose AT&T's purchase of T-Mobile from Deutsche Telekom AG on antitrust grounds. A trial in that case is due to begin on February 13.
Any administrative hearing at the FCC, which is charged with evaluating the public interest merits of the deal, would begin after the antitrust trial, an FCC official said.
AT&T called the FCC action "disappointing."
"It is yet another example of a government agency acting to prevent billions in new investment and the creation of many thousands of new jobs at a time when the U.S. economy desperately needs both," Larry Solomon, a senior vice president of corporate communications, said in an emailed statement.
He added that AT&T was reviewing all its options.
ADDING LENGTH TO REVIEW
Mizuho analyst Michael Nelson said the move adds another hurdle to AT&T's prospects for closing the deal. "It's like the FCC is piling on to the DOJ's blocking of the deal," he said.
Analysts at Stifel Nicolaus added that "such an extended FCC review could put added pressure on T-Mobile to seek to exit the merger."
AT&T had hoped to close the deal by the first quarter of 2012.
Genachowski's order still requires approval by a majority of commissioners but an administrative hearing seems likely unless the antitrust case results in a permanent injunction against the transaction, making the FCC hearing irrelevant.
Genachowski is expected to get the support of his two fellow Democrats on the panel. The agency was left with only one Republican after Meredith Attwell Baker's departure in May.
Acquiring T-Mobile would vault No. 2 ranked AT&T into the leading position in the U.S. wireless market. The current industry leader is Verizon Wireless, a venture of Verizon Communications Inc and Vodafone Group Plc.
Sprint Nextel Corp, the No. 3 U.S. carrier, and a regional competitor, C Spire, have also filed a lawsuit to stop AT&T's purchase of T-Mobile, the No. 4 U.S. operator.
The 2002 proposed merger of EchoStar and DirecTV was the last time the FCC sought an administrative hearing on a merger deal. In that case, the companies ultimately scrapped their deal.
Genachowski circulated a separate order on Tuesday to allow with conditions AT&T's proposed $1.9 billion purchase of spectrum from Qualcomm Inc, an FCC official said. The agency had no comment on any details of those conditions.
Qualcomm offered its unused spectrum after its FLO TV business, a mobile television service, failed to take off.
(Reporting by Jasmin Melvin in Washington D.C.; Editing by Tim Dobbyn)
Review: Jackson’s Cirque soundtrack needs context
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Michael Jackson, "Immortal," (Epic)
"The Immortal World Tour" is a new Cirque du Soleil extravaganza that pays tribute to the life of the late King of Pop through his rich catalog of hits. Word has it that the show, which will tour the country beginning in December, is a must-see production.
Listening to the show's soundtrack will leave you with a "must-see" feeling about the show as well, mainly because you'll feel like you've got to see the show to put much of the re-imagined versions of Jackson's hits in context.
Without the imagery and plotline of the show, much of the album seems disjointed. Some songs are oddly chopped up, others are spliced together without much finesse, and there are a myriad of sound effects, from bullets firing to glass shattering to the whistle of a train to basketballs bouncing, that just sound like noise.
There are a few exceptions. "Dancing Machine" is paired with an electro-groove that gives it a nice updated feel (until it is bogged down by the weird insertion of "Blame it on the Boogie" and lots of slamming sound effects); "I'll Be There" sounds gorgeous with just Jackson's voice and a piano; and the a cappella confrontation scene from the "Bad" video fits perfectly into a brief interlude of "State of Shock."
But just as you're jamming to that, the song switches to "Beat It," leaving you with a sense of confusion.
Onstage, it probably all makes sense beautifully — well, let's hope. But without that visual picture, the listening experience is a disappointment.
CHECK THIS TRACK OUT: The additional of a choir, as well as the foreboding boots marching, makes Jackson's anthem for the oppressed, "They Don't Care About Us," even more powerful.
Review: “Another Happy Day,” another weepy wedding movie
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By Leah Rozen
LOS ANGELES (TheWrap.com) - Weddings are the new funerals.
If a movie wants to really stir the pot, showing family members and friends weeping and wailing as they hash over old grievances and inflict new ones, it seems there's no better setting than a wedding and the days leading up to it.
Consider such recent films as "Rachel's Wedding," "Bridesmaids" and "Melancholia" (which opens in theaters November 11 but is currently available via video-on-demand). The latest entry in the weddings as warfare category is "Another Happy Day" -- the title is obviously sardonic -- in which the bride herself has little more than a walk-on role.
The main player in this often appealing but occasionally strident drama is Lynn (Ellen Barkin), the beleaguered mother of the groom. Her eldest son, Dylan (Michael Nardelli), is getting married and it's all Lynn can do to keep it together as she spends the wedding weekend back in the suffocating embrace of her dysfunctional family at the stately, waterside home of her parents (Ellen Burstyn and George Kennedy).
Also there is her adult daughter, Alice (Kate Bosworth), who clearly has had a breakdown somewhere along the way and remains in a fragile state, and her whip-smart but troubled teenage son, Eliot (Ezra Miller), who is just back from his fourth stay in rehab, which obviously didn't take. Adding to Lynn's emotional turmoil is the presence of her clueless ex-husband (Thomas Haden Church) and his spiteful new wife (Demi Moore).
Altmanesque in its sprawl and sympathetic attitude toward even its most flawed characters, "Happy Day" marks a mostly promising debut for director-writer Sam Levinson, who is the son of director Barry Levinson. (Robert Altman himself took on the comic possibilities surrounding nuptials in 1978's "A Wedding," a lesser effort in his canon.)
The movie belongs to Barkin, who gives a poignant, take-no-prisoners performance. Her Lynn as a woman who, like a character out of Beckett, feels that she can't go on but knows that she must go on. As it becomes ever more evident that not all hurts can be mended or broken bridges repaired, Lynn's face crumples and the air goes out of her, like a balloon deflating. Then, slowly, she draws herself up again and manages a sad smile because, really, what else can she do?
Of the rest of the ensemble cast, Miller ("City Island"), who looks like a young Bob Dylan, is affecting as the teenage son desperate to numb his own emotional pain by any means necessary. Church is amusing as the ex-husband at a loss about how to fix things, and Moore has a couple of funny scenes late in the film when her uptight character finally unsheathes her claws.