X-Games 3D: The Movie Review

As the X-Games brought 'extreme' sports to the public, so X-Games 3-D: The Movie brings the X-Games to the public. Unfortunately, the folks that get the most out of this movie are the ones who are already on board. If action is your thing, like say Transformers if the stunts and effects were real and without the bad acting, grab a popcorn and some Buddy Holly-looking 3-D specs because this one's only in theaters for a week.

Let's get one thing straight, X-Games isn't out for any Oscars. It's most popular subjects are on the low end of the household name spectrum. Hell, most of the footage isn't even new. If you watched X-Games 14 last summer, most of the movie is ruined for you. Where this movie shines is the 3-D action. If ever you could feel like you're standing on a halfpipe watching Bob Burnquist skate, this is the movie that brings it to you.

By the way, this is not the blue and red glasses 3-D. Not the Super Bowl commercial 3-D. This is the new digital 3-D that's supposed to get viewers away from their home theaters and into the real theaters. The effect in X-Games is not the same as some of the animated movies out recently. No gimmicks will have you reaching out as if you could actually touch the action. No yo-yos bob tantalizingly out of reach. Like I said, it's just like you're on the deck of the Mega Ramp talking with Danny Way, which is much cooler anyway.

Why check out the movie when you already saw 2008's X-Games? In a word: information. First of all, the camera angles will wow you. Then, you'll take them for granted. Then, you'll realize that you took them for granted when you see just how small people look next to the Mega Ramp at the end. Impressive. The other bit of information is the subjects' backstory. You, the viewer, get to learn about training in foam pits. You get to learn about the athletes. You get to learn about the sports. Problem is, you don't get to learn that much.

The cursory attempt at exposition soon gives way to one of many lackluster attempts to build drama. This is where the movie misses its mark. These are real people. They have real stories. Then, just when they start telling them, we have to get to the action. It's like seeing an outline of Shaun White's accomplishments when what we really want is him spilling the gory details. Just five more minutes per athlete would have brought this movie into the 'compelling human interest' zone. Instead it felt like watching a rerun of the X-Games, but instead of commercials, we got snippets of biography. Not bad, but it left the sour taste of wasted potential. I know they're aiming this thing at the MTV generation, but give the audience a little more credit. On a similar topic, the incessant rotating billboards during the X-Games footage seem to make actual commercials redundant. How many times do we need to see those logos anyway?

Ever see that snowboarding movie First Descent a few years back? This one's similar, but instead of documenting snowboarding or any particular sport, it's documenting the X-Games. I find that unnecessary. Yes, the X-Games are culturally significant, but they've only been around 15 years now. Give them a little more time. Then maybe the movie will feel less like a sales pitch.

In the end, you will like this movie if you are a big fan of action sports, unless you're more about who they are than what they do or you've already seen the X-Games in question (especially if you went live). Not an X-Games fan? This one's not going to bring you to the land of extreme. Always wanted to go to the X-Games, but you live in Azerbaijan? Buy the ticket, watch them ride.

Sung to the Tunes of Lynyrd Skynyrd

Joggers were loping past my car when I awoke on a muggy morning in Murray, KY. I figured if I put in a solid day's drive, I'd be in Austin by bedtime. As I look at Google maps now, it's a 12-hour drive by the quickest route and I was nowhere near the quickest route. Still trying to abide by the no maps, no interstates rule had me going straight south and then straight west. Besides, Tennessee, Alabama, Louisiana... that's where all the good food is. Speaking of food, pork brains and fried bologna were on the menu for breakfast. I went with a meaty cheesy omelet, heavy on the partially melted American cheese squares. It was too early in the morning for pork brains. I wonder how those are prepared... maybe scrambled like eggs..? This is your brain on hash(browns), any questions? You come back now. My morning tradition included getting lost, so I spent about a half hour on that venture before I got on whichever highway said south.

Draplin? Glass? Beauty.

Speaking of beauty, the sheer density of barbecue restaurants in Tennessee was enough to bring a tear to my eye and a rumble to my stomach. Then, I was in Alabama before lunchtime (you could spit across Tennessee from north to south). That would have to do. I've heard they serve their barbecue with a mayo-based barbecue sauce in 'Bama, but my sandwich had no such thing. It did have that southern hospitality, though. I walked up to what turned out to be a drive-through only joint. The lady convinced me to order and eat my meal on a picnic table out back. Who was I to argue? Oh yeah, if you don't like your cole slaw on the pork sandwich, ask for it on the side or without. Standard practice is to pile it on like so much lettuce and tomatoes. Try it, you just might like it. That was Muscle Shoals and I've heard they have the swampers who have been known to pick a song or two. Whatever that means, I didn't stick around to find out.

Not long after I entered Alabama, I was out the other side of the small corner. That's when the rain began. Because of my southeast then back southwest trajectory, I had to drive through the worst of it twice. At one point, it was so bad that I considered calling someone to see if I was in a post-hurricane, severe thunderstorm type of thing. When it finally ended, I was in Mississippi. That's a fun one to type (as is Tennessee, to be sure). There I stumbled upon the Natchez Trace National Parkway. Think of a national park all lined up on a road and you're part way there. No commercial vehicles allowed. No restaurants, no gas, no lodging. You must exit, then find your way to those. No billboards. Speed limit 50 mph. The only thing they didn't do was pull me along on a string. You must chill now. Everything will be fine. Problem was it started pouring rain again making things slightly less dude. I only stopped once (besides the visitors' center). That was at a cypress swamp. I stepped out of my car and landed in a shoe-top puddle. Neff softshells weren't made for this. A 20-minute walk had my fingertips pruning up. The signs said there could be alligators. I'd like to see one, just not from the inside of her mouth.

Later, gator.

Roadways like the Natchez Trace National Parkway are the sorts of paths we should all travel on more often. Unfortunately, the only other one I know of is the Blue Ridge Parkway, connecting Shenandoah National Park in Virginia to the Great Smoky Mountains in North Carolina. Less than 1000 miles of such roads. Mountain roads will have to satisfy. Too soon it was over and Louisiana was before me. I made it as far as Shreveport that night. The Reno of the South, I called it. I'd have taken some money at the poker tables had it not been so late. Hotels were booked up in here. Luckily, I found a cheapo in the next town back east and crashed out at 2am after the longest haul of the voyage. All I needed was a bed, which is good because it didn't have much more. Tomorrow would surely see me to Texas, to hang out with my sister while the weekend still offered its free time.

They Seriously SAY That!?

After hanging out with Fred for a couple days, I spent a couple days hanging out with his dad, my uncle Willy. The old dude just had a gnarly accident involving the quickest route down from a rooftop. It was good to see him getting better and good to help him out with some stuff that most of us take for granted. You know, like moving. He couldn't quite drive yet, so helped him run some errands. In exchange he regaled me with his political views. It was a lot of fun hanging out with Willy again, it had been too long. That's why I was on this trip anyway, to catch up.

Next on the anti-agenda was the trip from southern Michigan to Austin, TX. Objective: no maps, no interstates. That lasted until Indianapolis (not that long). Getting around that metropolis without the big roads would be like eating spaghetti without slurping: no fun at all. I was warned about Indiana. They said it was nothing but flat cornfields. They were wrong. They forgot about the soybean fields. Lots of flat, lots of fields. But what's that I see in the distance? Is it a "Welcome to Kentucky" sign? Is my luck about to change?

The Ohio River separates Indiana and Kentucky.
This bridge separates me from that river.

The landscape didn't change much south of the Ohio River. Maybe an extra wrinkle of hills. I'll tell you what did change, barbecue entered the picture. I remember the dinner well. Just after I crested a hill I saw what appeared to be a brush fire. Upon realizing it was smoke belching from a BBQ pit, my car swung right into the parking lot as if controlled by unseen forces. After parking, I realized that the car I almost swiped on my hasty entrance was a sheriff. BBQ saved me a speeding ticket, but nearly cost me my car. No matter. I was inside and ordering before the copper could check his rearview. When in west Kentucky, the meat of choice is mutton. Sheep, that is. Old sheep. Not lamb. One mutton dinner, please. With the sauce and smoke flavor, it's a little hard to get to the essence of mutton, but I'll try. First off, it was served shredded, much like pulled pork. The texture was chewier than pork, but the flavor was similar. Maybe somewhere between pork and beef. My first BBQ of the trip. A good meal. I paid for dinner and then it happened. The man at the register, "You come back, now." I chuckled a little, out loud. "I'll try." I had no idea they actually said that shit down there. I though that phrase and all of its conjugations existed solely on Beverly Hillbillies. Boy, was I wrong. That phrase stuck around 'til at least Louisiana, maybe Texas.

Kentucky = Nuclear!
(I had a picture of a cornfield, but I lost it. Just use your imagination)

That night would prove to be one of the more interesting nights on the road. I stopped in Murray, KY. Home of Murray State University. I know this because I could see it from the highway. The parking lot of the stadium was empty, save some heavy machinery that looked like it was 'garaged' there. Seemed like a good place to car camp. Then I decided to snoop around. The stadium was remarkably open. Lots of unlocked doors. I walked right into the stands and was about to drop my sleeping bag on the 50-yard-line. Then I turned my head and saw a young couple in a makeout session in the stands with me. The woman was more startled than I was. Inadvertent cockblockery completed, it was back to the car for some parking lot Z's.

Now, I should mention that I was sharing the hatch of my Subaru wagon with an ever-growing pile of junk. I acquired books from almost every stop along the way. Some gifts found their way back there. And my aunt Mia would not let me leave without this four-foot-tall Yucca tree. Seriously. They run a greenhouse and propagate the things off of cuttings. It was the smallest one they had. She wanted me to take the eight-footer that would have left no room for me to drive. Long story short, I was cuddled up next to a pointy tree for the rest of my car camping. I like to think it provided extra oxygen to enhance my slumber. The fact that I was reduced to a slightly extended fetal position probably negated that.

School Days Gone

It's been a while, so let's recap. Here's some scenery from the trip to Madison:

Bascom Hall: home of administration, some classrooms and Abe Lincoln

I'd like to see daily beer consumption figures for the Memorial Union Terrace. Tonight, the Madison Area Music Awards were going on. Once again, I was snubbed.

State Street at dusk

Madison is a great place to party, even in the summertime. If you show up during the school year though, it's on a whole different level. I've never seen anything like it. There's a reason why it won all those party school awards. Oh and it's home to top-tier academics, too. How do they balance? Tyrol Basin and Cascade Mountain were my home ski resorts while I lived there. I'm surprised I didn't end up a park rat with those mini hills as my options. Testament to my choice of powder over rails, I guess.

After a brief stop in Milwaukee to visit some friends and get molested by the world's most active Australian shepherd I was off to Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Google maps told me that Cedar River was the same place as Cedarville, so I had a bit of premature elation. Cedar River is on the western side of the peninsula near Escanaba, while Cedarville is 200 miles east near the Mackinac Bridge.

Hard to miss this one...

When I did finally show up and my cousin, Fred, ferried me to Marquette Island, we participated in the dictionary definition of relaxation. His girlfriend (whose family provided the cabin), was nursing horseback riding wounds and wasn't so lucky. After getting bucked hard during a competition (she ended up going through something she was supposed to go over), she didn't get along with her pain medication and was either nauseated, sore or just generally uncomfortable for most of the trip. Mostly she just hung out in bed. Fred and I weren't much more active; alternately hanging out around the outdoor fireplace, the dock or the porch. One hike to the opposite side of the island was the extent of our physical activity. We picked up some firewood and some beers. That's about all.

The hostess and the cousin

The palace

The view of the mainland from the dock

The creepiest bathroom ever. Besides the other one that was decorated with nothing but frogs.

I now resolve to own some sort of property on an island. The seclusion was about as peaceful as possible. Maybe an isolated mountain home would fit the bill. Just replace the boat noise with snowmobiles.

After the U.P. I was in for the longest drive between friends on the trip. All the way to Austin, Texas. A drive I hoped to make without maps and without cruising interstates. Be sure to check back for that one. The southland is not to be taken lightly. Ya'll come back now.