My five year high school reunion just happened, and I went home in order to attend it. I can specifically recall stating, “Now I never have to see any of you again,” upon graduation, but the timing and everything just happened to be so convenient that not going would have been a greater commitment. This isn't to say I had no reason to go; I hoped to reacquaint with a couple of buddies who had fallen out of touch. They didn't show, however, and the whole experience was deemed wasted time.

The whole thing was, uncannily, a recreation of high school. My friends sat around and played games, content, there was a large table full of cackling girls, and the socialite folk who everyone kind of knew floated around talking to all — basically all of the old cliques reappeared. I doubt this was a carefully calibrated attempt to keep the nerds in their place while the cool kids enjoyed each other's company, instead, no one really cared what the others were up to. Myself included. I felt no burning need to talk to any of these old people who might know who I'm talking about when I say “Mr. Crapsner,” (real name Kapsner). Our shared experience, attending that high school, was not sufficient to create a bond between us.
             
Not to say I'm not a sentimental guy. I can be. I have a tendency to save anything handwritten from people, even people I don't care about having written messages that I disapprove of. Also, movies tickets are piled up to my ears, even the shitty ones. And when my mom mentioned the government program to subsidize replacing old, fuel-inefficient cars with new ones, I was appalled to learn my workhorse of a Crown Vic met the specifications. Now, each and every time I drive it, I'll be thinking negatively about how much life is left in it, and that it's worth more dead. So it clearly was just my high school class that stimulated such apathy.

By contrast, if there had been a reunion of my EMT class (every morning before regular high school my entire senior year), I would have been overjoyed to see where everyone landed five years later, and I knew all of them for less lengthy durations over a lesser period of time. But we learned how to save lives together, and how to do it among sleep deprivation, a massive homework load, and the inane demands of our instructor. In short, we survived something together, and came out better for it. Normal high school, I can barely remember a thing that I learned and the only sense of survival comes from the social community itself, so those people don't mean a thing.

So the quality of the shared experience is what's significant. Two soldiers, from even different military branches at totally different times, both stationed in the same country at wartime shared a common bond. Similarly, two alcoholics in AA, even if they don't know each other's real name, feel a commitment to their fellow. The challenges associated with my EMT class might have given us a greater attachment (not that I'm comparing that class to going to war or being an alcoholic). So then is it the intensity of the occurrence that makes the shared experience matter enough?

Quit obviously, peril helps, as in my previous two examples, but I doubt it's the only factor. Ability of one to relate matters. The alcoholic does not feel the same urge to help the gambling addict, though the latter's life was just as ruined by addiction. Sure, it might seem selfish, to only care about those people whom did something similar enough to yourself, but that's what seems to be behind this issue of shared experience. Certainly, however, relateability isn't the deciding factor, since I certainly can relate to the position of my high school classmates.

It's got to be a combination of those two things: intensity and ability to relate. Wanting to walk up to someone who you really don't know, and strike up a conversation with them, or even more, is driven by some mixture of what both of you did and the similarities of those doings. Really, it just makes sense, and has me realizing that I will not be attending my college class reunion in four more years.

Mark Johnson is an unprofessional writer who drinks too much and smokes too little. Witty, unconventional, cavalier, badass: all terms rarely used by others to describe him. Mark takes nothing half as serious as perhaps it should be taken; to date, this has not gotten him physically harmed, but he worries. Caving to public pressure, he has a personal blog at whynotjustblog.blogspot.com

The voice of the disembodied narrator at the beginning of (500) Days of Summer tells us that although this is a story of boy-meets-girl, he's very clear that the movie you're about to see is not a love story.

He's right, of course. The film chronicles 500 days in the life of Tom, a 20-something greeting card writer played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt who has the unfortunate affliction of believing in "The One." So naturally after he meets the free-spirited and captivating Summer, played by the free-spirited and captivating Zooey Deschanel, and they embark on a sort of relationship, Tom believes he's found her. The One, that is. Meanwhile, it's never quite clear what Summer thinks she's found; when she's not coyly approaching, she's pushing him away … and so the 500 days that Summer dominates Tom's life are marked by a lot of things — promise, beauty, frustration and pain — but love is not one of them.

While the film never quite plays Summer as a villain, its sympathies are clearly with her counterpart. It's through the overexposed haze of Tom's memories that we see Summer. After they sleep together for the first time, it's Tom's boisterous joy the film channels with hilarious accuracy. And when an indignant Tom screams, "You are not the only one who has a say in this! I do too and I say we're a couple!" it's him you want to cheer for.

After all, real love is about reciprocity and there's something vaguely heroic about Tom's demands for it. The movie flirts around with the idea that love isn't about meeting cute or heady trips to IKEA or being pulled around by your heartstrings but it ends with the suggestion that guys like Tom shouldn't give up hope in The One … just in this one.

4 out of 5 stars

Movies today are evolving, there is no question about it. Special effects have reached unimagined pinnacles, plots are growing more elaborate, and we demand more of our actors. On top of that, there are a few phenomena that are arising in modern cinema — perhaps the most notable is the celebrity of the character. In movies that display this trait, the plot, the action, the drama, are all there, but that's not why you really go to see the movie. People see Pirates of the Caribbean for Jack Sparrow, they see Dark Knight for The Joker, and now they will be seeing Public Enemies for John Dillinger. Based on factual events, the movie tells the story of this notorious 1930s bank robber, and Johnny Depp's portayal of public enemy number one is memorable, to say the least.

The characters are really what makes this movie what it is, with Depp filling the role of Dillinger and Christian Bale stepping into the shoes of agent Purvis of the Bureau of Intelligence. Both actors do an excellent job, though Depp is going to be the one to steal the spotlight. His Dillinger is a lady killer with a swagger in his step and the world in his pocket. He is always in control of the situation, even when he's speaking to government agents from the wrong side of a barred door. The character is endlessly charismatic, and possesses the devil-may-care attitude Depp often lends to his roles. Even though Dillinger is likable, there is an inscrutable dark side to him — something vaguely sinister — that makes him truly unforgettable.

Bale's Purvis serves as the perfect foil to the chaotic and confident Dillinger, and the conflict between the two is a nice departure from the good vs. evil cliché that is so ubiquitous in film and literature. Dillinger takes what he wants, acts on whims, and is entirely assured of the validity of his own actions, while his counterpart is dutiful but at times plagued by doubt, is far more mindful of his actions, and a measure more callous. Good and bad men can be founds on both sides of the law, making the movie a good canvas for a struggle between order and chaos, though the movie is set up to have you rooting for the bandits.

Even though the characterization is chief appeal in this movie, it doesn't go wanting in other aspects. As is the case in any story based on real life events, the plot is simple (the twists in real life just aren't as dramatic), but the 1930s style is superbly executed. Words simply can't do justice to the classy bars and cosmopolitan cityscapes, in no small part due to the refined simplicity of the era. All I can really say is that Public Enemies really makes you feel like you've stepped back into the earlier part of the last century. They get all the little details right, and it really lends weight and reality to the setting.

Overall, this is a superb film. Between the memorable performances of Depp and Bale and the soul of the 30s permeating the screen, it is a must see. The movie doesn't really aim to send a message, so don't go in expecting anything deep. What you should expect, though, is an engrossing two hours of cat and mouse between cops and robbers, and a few characters that you aren't likely to soon forget.

4.5 out of 5 stars

Harry is asked to deal with dangerous stuff in 'The Half-Blood Prince.'

As I glanced around at the army of pre-teens on hand for the sold-out midnight premiere of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, a strange thought occurred to me: Are these kids old enough for Harry Potter?

After all, since starting off as relatively benign kiddie fare, the Potter series has taken on increasingly weighty themes. While the first two films from director Chris Columbus found a young Harry and his friends on adventures filled with wonder and discovery, ever since Alfonso Curion's beautifully-shot Prisoner of Azkaban and Mike Newell's subtle Goblet of Fire, Harry's world has been marked instead by grief, sacrifice, and sexual tension.

In fact, much of the time Half-Blood Prince feels a few shades lighter than previous installments. Though adolescent sexuality is in full bloom in Prince, it's played far more innocently than Goblet's seething hints. And while Order of the Phoenix forced our heroes underground and into a paranoid distrust of authority, the reassuring presence of Harry's adult mentor is restored in this latest tale.

Which is not to say that Prince is a light film. All that "innocent" sexuality is shown to have some serious emotional consequences. And while Professor Dumbledore may be back at Harry's side, what he asks of Harry resonates with danger. And when we finally reach the two-and-a-half hour film's climax, we're treated to a brief but terrifying adventure and what may be the most pivotal — and poignant — moment in Harry's battle so far.

It's rare that any film series, especially one aimed at children, offers us characters that actually grow and mature. It's even rarer to find one with the courage to examine the cost of that maturity.

4.5 out of 5 stars

First person shooters are one of the popular genres in video games today, accessible to veteran gamers and casual players alike. However, with the overwhelming presence of games like Halo and Call of Duty, it can be difficult for less mainstream shooters to break into the market. They need to add either a very special element of gameplay, or offer a distinctive and unique style. Call of Juarez: Bound in Blood takes the latter route by delving further into one of the most underdeveloped themes in video games today: the western. It doesn't deviate too radically from the form of most shooters, but it doesn't have to, because all of the little differences really add up to make it unique. Players will need to adapt to weapons with six-shot “clips,” get used to using a repeater rifle instead of the standard machine gun, and — in loving memory of the first Call of Juarez — do a little bit of platforming. When they all come together, they make an exciting and unique game that should not be missed by any fan of shooters or westerns.

The first Call of Juarez followed the tradition of the American western, with a heavy emphasis on exploration and the majesty of the western landscape. This prequel, though, is spaghetti through and through. It's a little more linear, but there is no shortage of action, and the stealth elements that alienated so many people from its parent game are done and gone. Instead of the dualistic mix of stealth and action levels, Bound in Blood offers you a chance at every level to play as one of two brothers, both highly adept at combat in their own special ways. Ray is a returning favorite from the first game, and he is well suited to a run-and-gun style of play. He can wield a pistol in each hand and is armed with a pouch full of highly gratifying dynamite. Furthermore, he reloads faster and is a bit more durable than his brother. Thomas, on the other hand, is a more versatile character, with many options at his disposal ranging for his formidable skills with a rifle, a bandolier of knives that never miss, and a bow at later stages of the game. He moves quicker than Ray, but is also a little more fragile, so players favoring Thomas will need to be more careful. Whichever choice you make, though, the other brother will back you up in any gunfight, and if you find yourself dissatisfied with your choice, you aren't stuck with it, because you get to make it anew at the beginning of each level.

The gameplay itself is, in a word, solid. Other than older weaponry, it isn't a whole lot different from conventional shooters. That being said, any western nut such as myself will be giddy at the chance to wade into combat armed with classic single action revolvers. The tactical elements of the game aren't quite what they could be, with enemy AI being fairly straightforward. You rarely have to worry about them actually attempting to flank or outmaneuver you, so most fights are simply determined by how fast and accurate your aim is. The fights are still fun, though, and backed up by a handful of little tricks, such as concentration mode: a special trick of gunplay that is different depending on which brother you're controlling. One of the most fun elements of the game, though, and perhaps the most western, is dueling. Periodically, you will find yourself facing down prominent enemies in classic standoffs where the winner is the man with the fastest draw. The fast-draw is something unique to westerns, and Bound in Blood is the first game to have a system for it that can match the one found in the classic Red Dead Revolver.

The multiplayer mode in Bound in Blood leaves a little bit to be desired. It's fun, but it could have been much better. With 13 different non-customizable classes and no weapons or power-ups on the map, the whole thing is very cookie-cutter, and it seems like sacrifices of quality were made in an effort to be more similar to other class-based multiplayer shooters. For now, though, it remains the only option for multiplayer western games, and it will have to do. There is something that must be said on the single player mode, though. This is a game that prominently features two brothers with different styles of play that are nearly always acting alongside one another. There is absolutely zero reason for this game to not have included a mode of cooperative play. It would have been so ideal for co-op that the omission of such a mode almost seems like a taunt from the makers.

When all is said and done, though, Call of Juarez: Bound in Blood, is a very good game with a few flaws that can be easily forgiven. The multiplayer seems like more of an afterthought, but the single player is outstanding. The levels, while a little straightforward, are fun, action-packed, and well-rendered. On top of that, they're backed up by a good story and excellent voice acting, and with two brothers to choose from in the game, there is no shortage of replay value. Call of Juarez: Bound in Blood comes together very well in the end, and, for now, it is the definitive western on any console or PC.

4 out of 5 stars

How should we remember this man?

Michael Jackson died. The worst part about this, for me, is that one of my all-time favorite internet jokes no longer even makes sense (it starts out, "Michael Jackson died" and relies on the singer still being alive to be funny). The second worse part is definitely that I have to put up with hearing about how great Michael Jackson was from people/news outlets that totally ignore all of the negative aspects of his life. I'm all for respect for the dead, but shouldn't our lives be treated as a whole and not have big chunks of it ignored?

For example, of the six newspaper front pages I saw the day after he died, all but one of them had black Michael Jackson in the picture. The one that didn't had a picture of a fan with a blow-up doll of white Michael Jackson (USA Today). This very transformation is something which is utterly ignored. Really, when describing the man's life in a couple sentence summary, wouldn't the total change of his skin color warrant a quick reference? Sure, it's embarrassing to the guy, but it radically altered his life. That and the lupus, which supposedly aggravated the skin color change while remaining in total remission.

The other great embarrassment is the child abuse allegations. Now here, we've got some pretty convincing evidence, assuming you believe what children say. I've heard a number of points to defend his innocence from people, including "If he was guilty, they would have found him guilty," to which you can debunk with "OJ." Some people try to claim that the allegations are fabricated by a bunch of people looking to jump on a gravy train. Not only is that pretty disrespectful to the victims, why do people pick Michael Jackson? There are rich celebrities out there who look a whole lot like child molesters who this collective of gold diggers doesn't seem to be targeting. And there was evidence of him spending the night with young children and, sorry, but the, "He didn't know it was wrong," really doesn't fly.

I admit, Michael Jackson was a darn fine musician and one of the first blacks with some serious crossover appeal to white audiences. So, in a way, Michael Jackson helped bring white people pop music as we know it today. I'm not going to thank him for his gracious gift of Brittney Spears, nor Rihanna. Though I will continue to listen to "Thriller," "Beat It," and The Jackson Five with a smile on my face while my voice breaks trying to hit the high notes. And really, I'm going to miss the possibility of a Jackson Five reunion tour.

Mark Johnson is an unprofessional writer who drinks too much and smokes too little. Witty, unconventional, cavalier, badass: all terms rarely used by others to describe him. Mark takes nothing half as serious as perhaps it should be taken; to date, this has not gotten him physically harmed, but he worries. Caving to public pressure, he has a personal blog at whynotjustblog.blogspot.com

We know post-irony when we sees it.

I think things that are hideous and bad are cool. For instance, on Jimmy Fallon the other night, there was a "tastefully-painted upright piano." This piano was mostly pink, with patches of flame decal, a painting of a sunset, and a heart with wings — it was downright awful. Yet this piano was the coolest piano I'd ever seen. I was fully aware it was ugly and ridiculous and that is exactly why I liked it. I have no need for a piano; I don't play and don't think I'll ever pick it back up after burning out of private lessons in the 6th grade, so I can't see myself ever wanting to buy one. But that piano was so over-the-top that I desired it, exclusively for its purposefully poor esthetic qualities.

This phemenon has been called post-irony by someplace I can't remember, but the term always stuck in my mind. A quick UrbanDictionary search revealed the definition I always thought it was, plus the word "penis" twice. "Post-irony" is the sarcastic liking of something that you are aware is uncool. Irony, really, kind of fits that same definition, but post-irony is usually defined by sincerity, whereas with standard irony everyone is aware of your sarcasm.

This makes it all but impossible to determine when someone is being ridiculous and when they are pretending to be ridiculous. To us uncool people, post-irony is the greatest thing ever. Nerdy glasses and T-shirts with stupid slogans on them like, "I can only please one person a day. Today is not your day," are what I wore in high school as a result I was considered somewhat of a loser. Now, however, I can wear the exact same outfit and be cool and disinterested in a post-ironic way because now I am totally aware of how stupid that crap is.

But there is a line. There is still stuff that isn't cool, even in a post-ironic way. For instance, there was a brief period of time in France last year where bulky, plaid jackets were the hip clothes. And we are all aware of America's post-ironic love affair with trucker hats. But Alaskan ice road truckers, despite wearing those hats and jackets, were never cool. There's a juxtaposition between a skinny, handsome kid and the trucker hat that isn't there for a hemorrhoidal truck driver.

This juxtaposition is the core of post-irony. In the modern pop music genre, I've had some limited success being cool by mocking interest in Hanna Montana. This involves mostly throwing the horns, head-banging, and use of the phrase "shreads the guitar" along with other heavy-metal clichés. By contrast, The Jonas Brothers have yielded little post-ironic success through mock liking. My only conclusion is that it is simply inconceivable for anyone to like Hanna Montana who is not a 12-year-old girl, whereas the Jonas Brothers were nominated for a Grammy.

Post-irony is complicated but ultimately boils down to this: anything is cool. Actually, the fact that I don't play the piano makes me desire that tastefully-painted upright piano even more.

Mark Johnson is an unprofessional writer who drinks too much and smokes too little. Witty, unconventional, cavalier, badass: all terms rarely used by others to describe him. Mark takes nothing half as serious as perhaps it should be taken; to date, this has not gotten him physically harmed, but he worries. His personal blog is available at whynotjustblog.blogspot.com

It's been a long time since I was sitting in front of the television on a Saturday morning watching the Transformers cartoon show, so I can't claim that I recall the series with shining clarity, but I remember it well enough to know what made it great. There were the colorful robots transforming into vehicles, humans and machines working in tandem, and a clear cut struggle of good vs. evil. Transformers: Rise of the Fallen included all of these concepts, and a plethora of others. You can witness brightly colored and well-animated robots in action; the sight of marines mobilizing along with the Autobots in their struggle against the Decepticons is a formidable one, and Optimus Prime, when he isn't tearing off an evil alien's face, has quite the saintly demeanor. On top of all that, you can see Shia LaBeouf struggle with a wacky and highly inaccurate portrayal of college life, view a pair of hick robots make painful wisecracks, and there is gratuitous sexual innuendo to boot. In short, this movie just has too much going on. It makes an attempt to appeal to every conceivable audience, and the result is a Frankenstein's monster of movie genres that tries to be bigger than it really is.

Revenge of the Fallen is a what would otherwise be a solid teenager action movie that is plagued by errors, the chief among them being its lack of direction. It attempts to simultaneously be an action flick, a comedy, and a drama. While any two of these elements may often be found in the third, Revenge of the Fallen attempts to focus on all three. I don't care how good of a director you are, you simply aren't going to pull off a heart-touching moment that speaks to the truth of humanity in the same film that features and aged stealth bomber robot that needs to walk with the aid of a mechanical cane. The movie would like to be taken seriously, but half of the characters seem to be there for comic relief. I don't believe I have ever experienced so much bathos in a 3 hour period.

Which bring me to another point. The movie is unnecessarily long. There is too much happening, so much, in fact, that even with the impressive span of the film, much is left unaddressed. Very little time is spent on the main attraction of the film: the robots themselves. Instead, the film relies more on direct exposition than to tell their hackneyed backstory. This leaves the Autobots and Decepticons as poor, half-charactized husks that have little to no individuality, and in many cases lack names as well. It's very hard to care about the robot dying in agony when you don't even know what to call him. Without the appropriate characterization or explanation, many of the inclusions in the movie simply seem like random fluff, such as a quartet of Decepticons that could fuse together into a demolition-specialized monstrosity. I am assured by friends that this creature was a major part of one of the series, but it is left without history, name, or explanation in the film.

Despite the eclectic hodgepodge of colors and styles that abound in Revenge of the Fallen, the action sequences are truly terrific and serve as its one saving grace. The robots are gorgeously animated, and even as I cringed at other aspects of the film, I offered a delighted cheer of approval at Optimus Prime's righteous fury and brutality as he entered combat with the Decepticons, and in the final stretch of the film, all forces converge at a single point for a battle of proportions befitting a multistory anthropomorphic machine. Sadly, I cannot even recommend seeing this movie for the action sequences, because even though they are quite good, they are few and far between.

Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen is no timeless piece of craftsmanship, and even though it's pretty bad when all is said and done, it does serve to entertain. In seeking to please all audiences, it only serves to alienate them, and it's pulling in so many directions that it's practically falling apart at the seams. It is redeemed from absolute failure by top notch animation and stellar battles, but these are only enough to push it up into the category of “well below average.” I wouldn't advise spending money to see this movie, but when it comes out on DVD, you might want to get someone else to rent it.

2 out of 5 stars

Optimus says sequels are the right of all sentient beings.

Unlike almost everyone I've spoken to about it, I thought 2007's Transformers was a bunch of crap. Not only was it devoid of character and emotion but the action scenes were hard to follow and the robots themselves seemed to lack the personality they had on the much-loved 80s cartoon show. Also, it had Optimus Prime literally sneaking around a house. Literally.

Of course, that didn't stop Transformers from taking in over $700 million at the box office. And so this week, to the surprise of no one, Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, rolled into theaters. What may be of some surprise is the fact that I kinda sorta liked it.

Don't get me wrong — Revenge of the Fallen is dumb to the n^th degree. Everything about the film is either overblown, ludicrous, stupid, sophomoric or all of the above. None of the flaws of the original have been corrected — the characters are still childish caricatures, there's still too much comic relief, all attempts at genuine emotion still fall flat, the action sequences are still hard to follow, the plot still feels like the work of a 4th grader, and the movie still seems to think it can get by on the strength of gigantic explosions, CGI robots and shots of Megan Fox.

But for the two and half hours my brain shut down to let me take in the experience, I was entertained. Certainly not as entertained as the theater full of clap-happy teenagers I saw it with … but entertained enough to actually leave the screening thinking a third Transformers might not be such a bad idea.

3.5 out of 5 stars

Don't worry: This guy was not at Can You Rock at Champp's.

When we last wrote about Can You Rock, Indy's premiere live-band karaoke event, we imbibed enough liquid courage to get up there and (attempt) to belt out one of our signature songs. But as we are currently retired from karaoke (as we often are) and arrived late (as we often do) we were not able to sing when we checked out the current incarnation at Champp's this last Sunday.

Good thing we weren't. After all, karaoke is probably not the best way to describe Can You Rock. Not only does the live band add immediacy and life to the canned version but the performers Can You Rock attracts are light-years ahead of those you'll find at the Mineshaft or the Free Spirt Lounge. As a result, Can You Rock feels a lot like a local American Idol — at least, what we think a local American Idol would feel like, since we're too snooty to watch a show that popular.

Speaking of popular, we're happy to report the Champp's version of Can You Rock doesn't seem to be as crowded as its Moon Dog counterpart. Despite the show's awesome open-air setting on Champp's patio, we were easily able to obtain a table with a clear view of the stage. What's more, the sparse crowd meant that drinks were easily procured from the bar without having to elbow one's way between a 40-something Carmelite and the 20-year-old he's trying to pick up. All that adds up to a great, laid-back environment for hanging with your friends and taking in some music.

As for the music, we were impressed. While we can't comment on the first round, the championship round featured an amazonian Barbie's throaty rendition of Madonna's "Holiday" and a cute-as-pie brunette's touching take on "I Will Always Love You" … plus an eclectic hipster housewife's disco boogie and a wire-haired wildman's Joe Cocker-esque rocker. (The hipster housewife deservedly won.)

Our only complaint — aside from the fact that the MC seemed to be trying to channel Wayne Brady — is that the winner didn't get to deliver a victory song to send the crowd home with a tune instead of a verbal plug for the next show.

Still, we plan to be on hand for that next show as often as possible before the July 19th finale. As far as Sunday night activities in Indy goes, Can You Rock at Champp's, well, rocks.

4.5 out of 5 stars

For more info, check out canyourock.com.