Nictate

At Play in the Fields of the Malick

2011-11-08T19:02:00.000-08:00

As someone who was raised Christian and attended parochial schools until my sophomore year of college, I’m always fascinated by how religious themes in films are interpreted by cinephiles, whether they be devout in their own faiths, agnostics or atheists. Personally, I often look for not-necessarily-religious-at-all Big Life Meaning in films, whether the filmmakers intended such interpretations to be made or not.

Back when The Tree of Life came out in the summer of 2011, Alejandro Adams collected pieces of a lively Twitter discussion regarding the faith-based elements of the film and assembled them for easier reading in a blog post (very worth a read).

His opening salvo in the tweet exchange was this: “I don’t know how you can like Tree of Life without embracing its Christianity.” I disagree. Any atheist, agnostic or otherwise religion-adverse non-embracer could, in theory, love the film on its own merits as a Malickian manifesto or as an undeniably ambitious cinematic work. They’d merely need to “forgive” (apropos, no?) the Christianity-based ideas presented within. After all, the GOP has taught us that Christian values can easily be repackaged as “family values” for equal opportunity consumption. I’m sure many non-believers were moved by the film’s dysfunctional family touchstones of distant father, passive mother and love-hate sibling.

During the Twitter exchange, Mike Ryan complained that The Tree of Life is overly simplistic. Indeed it is, but not so in relation to Christianity. The simplicity trap here is that Malick expresses himself in such A,B,C's. He’s virtually spoon-feeding the audience with patriarchal, patronizing pablum.

I admire that Malick wanted to distill enormities down to essential elements. I admire that he was so ambitious in his scope, bascially taking on life, the universe and everything (Hat tip, Douglas Adams). I admire that he took such personal memories and cherished beliefs and managed to strike some universal chords. What I don’t admire is the "how." OK, I don’t admire 80% of the how—the first 20 minutes or so of The Tree of Life took my breath away. I was sure I was seeing one of the best films ever made for that wonderful, although tragically short, window of time.

Adams (Alejandro, not Douglas), a passionate proponent of Malick from way back, eloquently dissected the problem of the “how” in his Look of the Week #7 segment (definitely worth a watch). Here's how Adams breaks it down: Malick tripped himself up by layering expressionism on top of impressionism. As they say in many a church basement, "Bingo!"

The impressionism in The Tree of Life is goddamn amazing. The impressionism was wowing me. In that initial fluttering sweep of masterful editing, I was mainlining gut emotions and narrative details in a rush of human experience. There were just enough landmarks to lead the way, but it was like being umbilically connected to the director’s vision. Thrilling stuff! Then a six-foot long submarine sandwich of Discovery Channel-esque baloney rolled in and smothered the life out of all that impressionistic beauty. Yep, the spoon—sterling silver as it may be with all that precise and laborious digital effects noodling—came out and Papa Malick started dishing the mental mush, even resorting to anthropomorphic dinosaurs that were laughably Spielbergian in their very presence.

Stalling the engine of the startling beauty he’d begun, Malick then launches into a straight-ahead family drama, the likes of which has been told so often it's worn thin. Worthwhile among the generic family tale are some lovely “sense memory” moments and child POV shots. Still, those glimpses of gorgeousness are oddly, counterintuitively, alarming empty of emotion.

By the time Sean Penn is encountering his younger self in the sands of time and a sea of extras is making uplifting footprints across a reunited-in-heaven central casting call beach, I was stifling laughter. That’s not God’s fault, that’s Malick-Playing-God’s fault.

A Useful Life

2011-11-01T11:53:00.000-07:00

Like a love letter arriving just before the last gasp of a romance, the Uruguayan film A Useful Life whisperingly attempts to woo filmgoers distracted by dramatic shifts in how they watch movies. From digital advancements to cloud streaming, there’s no doubt the experience of watching film stock being projected on the silver screen is becoming a rarity. All of which makes the hopelessly romantic spirit of A Useful Life hit home even more bittersweetly.

A stubbornly nostalgic valentine to those who answer the siren call of the cinema, the film is set in a real-life cinematheque in Uruguay. A Useful Life toys with time, creating pleasant confusion as to when the story is meant to have taken place. Its black-and-white imagery and vintage-looking production design recall films of the '60s, while hints of the more modern accoutrements of city life sneak in.

A Useful Life stars established Uruguayan film critic Jorge Jellinek in the role of a devoted cinematheque manager of the same first name. The first half of the film follows Jorge as he goes about his mundane daily routine, from tearing ticket stubs to repairing wobbly theater seats. He’s a 40-something man frozen in time and emotion, somewhat content in the comfort of his routine, but also yearning for a connection outside of his cinema cocoon.

Despite the humble simplicity of the film’s production values and the noticeable stiffness of its less-than-seasoned actors, director/co-writer Federico Veiroj is able to sweetly honor the sweat ethic of the erudite. In one dryly funny scene, Jorge conducts a radio interview that seems to bore even him in its earnest detail. There’s a sly wink in this moment of the “too smart for your own good” dilemma that those in the higher echelons of film discussion have to defend themselves against. (The death of film criticism due to overconsumption of cultural vegetables!)

When news comes to Jorge that the future of the theater he has so meticulously maintained is at risk, he’s triggered into some surprisingly impetuous actions, including a little soft-shoe that smilingly brings to mind silent films of yore. With its more light-hearted last third that manages to percolate some hope amongst the heartbreak, A Useful Life is a delightful reminder that while the particulars of the relationship may morph, a true movie lover’s romance with film is an amaranthine affair.

Poetic parallels: Certified Copy and Margaret

2011-10-11T19:50:00.000-07:00

As poetic as cinema is in itself, it can only be enriched by calling on those who scribe verse as a livelihood. In their 2011 releases, two gifted filmmakers, Abbas Kiarostami and Kenneth Lonergan, have done just that.

In Kiarostami's Certified Copy, a character quotes an Iranian poem in a valiant attempt to win an argument with his beloved. In Margaret, a Victorian era poem (which also inspired the film's title) is recited by a high school teacher while the camera lingers on a distressed girl visibly sinking under the weight of her emotional burden.

The poems within these films share something in common: each references the loss of innocence and the burnishing effect of experience by beautifully evoking the imagery of leaves. The two poems and the two films are all inhabited by a bittersweetness. There is a sense of looking in the rearview mirror at life--a sorrowful undercurrent only comforted by the wisdom wrestled away in trade.

Outside of their lovely incorporation of poems, Kiarostami and Lonergan employ discussions of the arts to explore the meaning of human connections, whether it's the couple in Certified Copy fighting over a sculpture or Margaret's mother and daughter at each other's throats over opera.

As testaments to the power and beauty of the medium of film, Certified Copy and Margaret stubbornly refuse to stop inspiring me. May their poems inspire you:

Spring and Fall
By Gerard Manley Hopkins

To a Young Child

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder  
By and by, nor spare a sigh  
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;  
And yet you will weep and know why.  
Now no matter, child, the name:  
Sorrow's springs are the same.  
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for

My Garden
By Mehdi Akhavan Sales

Its sky is embraced tightly
by wet thick coat of clouds.
The leafless garden
is lonely night and day
in a sad innocent silence.
It has rain for an instrument and wind for voice.
Its garment is nakedness,
or if it needs any other garment
it has been woven from golden threads by the wind.
"Let them grow or not grow, anyone anywhere it wants or does not want"
There is not a gardener or a passer-by.
The garden of the hopeless
is not waiting for a spring.
If there is no warm glow in its eyes,
and if no leaf of smile grows on its lips,
who says the leafless garden is not beautiful?
It is telling the story of the hight up in the sky fruits,
which are now buried in the lowly coffin of the soil.

The leafless garden
Its smile is tear and blood.
Forever trotting on its long haired yellow horse in it is,
the king of seasons, Autumn.

Eschewing comfort in the name of truth and beauty

2011-07-11T19:46:00.000-07:00

An excerpt from Joseph Jon Lanthier's review of the DVD release of Mike Leigh's film NAKED inspired this blog post. Why? Because it perfectly sums up my philosophy towards film criticism as a card-carrying cinephile. (Full disclosure: I have no such card.)

How much do I love this perfectly polished nugget of JJL's? So much so that I think I shall order it needlepointed on a pillow, so that I might bite said pillow in frustration whenever a small-but-stubborn segment of my beloved Twittersphere pushes lively film discussions aside for more personally targeted attempts to douse my irreverent but ever-curious spirit in the name of formalism or territorialism.

I love debating film on an amateur level and don't even mind good-natured accusations of my possible insanity due to my opinions on any given film. It's when people start reprimanding my attitude or personality that my ears begin to release righteous steam. That's why this commentary by JJL feels like a veritable battle cry to me.

Now onto the JJL quote proper, which first came to my attention thanks to Alejandro Adams' Twitter stream.

Here we go:

"The critical impulse is often tethered to a fierce self-destructiveness; at our most useful, we unleash dangerous ideas that are intended, at some level, to be virulently rebutted and scoffed at. Any assessment of the value of these ideas must be structured around their ability to rouse others from torpidity. Criticism, at its most trenchant, stimulates as the at-first-befuddling tug of the hair or the interpretatively panicked blow to the gut. Comfort must be eschewed at all costs..."

What do I have to say about that?

F******k yeah!

Meet SMV and get jolly-well infotained

2011-04-11T00:03:00.000-07:00

Hey people, there's a new film discussion web series you should be watching entitled Look of the Week. It's hosted by Sara Vizcarrondo—Bay Area film critic, trade journal editor and film studies teacher—and she knows her shit. Full disclosure: I've had the pleasure of meeting Sara in person and can attest to her being one of the most charming people on the planet.

She and show director Alejandro Adams have collaborated to create one of the most irresistibly organic, yet intellectually engaging show formats ever to grace the internet's video capabilities.

The weekly show hits on upcoming film releases, VHS oddities and features thoughtful interviews with directors, actors, distributors, scholars and cinephiles (not to mention adorable four-year-olds).

Five episodes are in the can as of this blog post and happily more are on the way. Embedded below is episode #5, which features an interview with the director and star of Hanna. As you'll see in the first 15 minutes, Sara is a natural comedian.

If you like what you see here, you can watch the rest of the episodes at MizViz.net. You can also become a sponsor by donating $10 or more via the Paypal link on her site. (By the way, sponsors get a very nice thank you during the show and a listing on her web page.)

Look of the Week #5 (4.8.11 - 4.14.11) from MizViz on Vimeo.

Beautiful exit: The Ghost Writer

2011-04-10T23:36:00.000-07:00

Nick Duval of The Flick Pick Monster blog kindly invited me and several other cinephiles and film writers to be a part of a post he curated showcasing beloved last scenes of films. For my contribution, I immediately decided on Roman Polanski's The Ghost Writer. I find its ending to be the most gorgeous and gut-wrenching conclusion of a film within recent memory.

Below is my mini-essay. You can read the whole eclectic collection at Nick's blog, featuring entries on a wide range of movies, including 2001: A Space Odyssey and Tokyo Sonata.

Since this is the description of the ending of a thriller, it's a spoiler buffet. I'd recommend only reading it if you've already seen The Ghost Writer, which I highly recommend anyone who loves well-crafted films do. It made my top 10 of 2010 list and I can't say enough good things about it. For now, saying good things about the ending will have to do. Cheers.

Goodbye, illusions: A toast to the ending of The Ghost Writer

To best describe the ending of Roman Polanski’s origami-tidy thriller The Ghost Writer, I need to start at the beginning. Early in the film we meet an author played by a bemused yet earnest Ewan McGregor (named in the credits only as The Ghost). Over a meal, he and his agent discuss a possible new gig. The project? Completing the memoirs of a former British Prime Minister since the previous ghost writer met an untimely end.

“Now, you realize I know nothing about politics?” challenges The Ghost, to which his agent counters: “You voted for him, didn’t you?” This seemingly innocuous, expository exchange gets to the heart of what Polanski’s exploring here: sociopolitical guilt by complicity.

Story similarities to Tony Blair’s checkered days as Bush’s whipping boy are barely veiled, but Polanski desires more than a cathartic, cinematic conviction of the Coalition. He seems to want us to take stock of our own responsibilities as citizens. Is there such a thing as an innocent bystander anymore?

Quickly losing his own bystander status in the film, The Ghost becomes dangerously enmeshed in solving a mystery uncovered during his book research. Making thrilling use of Hitchcockian touches, Polanski threads us through a needle of intrigue leading to the final, fateful stitch: a publisher’s party celebrating the release of the memoirs.

In the midst of the champagne toasting, The Ghost has an epiphany and hides himself away in a side room with the original ghost writer’s manuscript. A fevered discovery is made as he slides a felt-tip marker under the first word of each chapter, forming a sentence that reveals the Prime Minister’s wife, Ruth, played by a terse and terrific Olivia Williams, was a CIA agent during her marriage. Scribbling his damning discovery on a sheet of paper, The Ghost folds the page neatly, writes Ruth’s name on the front and returns to the party.

The next sequence is breathtaking in its jarringly analogue elegance. As Ruth stands onstage giving a tribute to her husband before the gathered crowd, The Ghost hands his note over to a guest on the perimeter of the throng. The guest peers down at the addressee’s name and then hands the note to the person in front of him to move it along to Ruth. Guest by guest, the note drifts across the party like a butterfly alighting on one hand after another, all at a heart-in-the-throat molasses pace. The camera drifts alongside, tracing the paper’s path in close-cropped claustrophobia, almost rubbing elbows with the crowd.

Fluorescent light from above fuzzes the close-quartered edges of the revelers’ fine wool and silk garments and turns half-drunk glasses of alcohol into lustrous swinging lanterns of crimson and amber. This masterfully choreographed assembly-line sequence serves as a strikingly eloquent metaphor for the way complicity touches so many.

As Ruth finishes her speech to warm applause, the missive reaches her hand. Balancing a microphone while unfolding the paper, she smiles tightly. The camera coils below her, dramatically canted, as if preparing to strike. Reading the message, her world-weary face contracts in grey anger. She looks up and spots The Ghost, who raises his glass to her in a sarcastic, wordless toast before slipping away.

As he hurries into the street with the manuscript evidence clutched to his chest, it is twilight. The sky is a trembling, dim blue and the asphalt is wet from London rain, distorting the golden beams from the streetlights. The Ghost shuffles nervously, trying to hail a cab. It skims by him and after a moment’s hesitation in the middle of the lane, he continues across the street and out of frame.

From further down the road, a car approaches, accelerates and barrels out of the same corner of the frame. A muffled impact is heard, then the screech of brakes. People in the street react ever so slowly, as if dumbfounded. Now fluttering into frame from the corner of impact comes a single sheet of manuscript paper, immediately connecting us to the ugly truth that The Ghost has been crushed by the car. Cops and bystanders hurry out of frame to the accident scene, but the camera remains stubbornly fixed. Another manuscript sheet, and then another, spiral into frame until a torrent of pages twist in the wind away from us like a tipped-over tornado. It’s as if we’re seeing the life’s blood draining from the victim’s body in paper form. The sense of futility is smothering. Even if we are brave enough to take action against complicity, is our resistance against the misuse of power ultimately hopeless?

Some found the ending of The Ghost Writer to be an F.U. to the audience: Polanski rubbing his cynicism in our faces. Quite the contrary. There’s a sorrow that leaks through the film like watercolors. The Ghost Writer may have a slick surface, but Polanski’s heart is bleeding underneath in empathetic grief, as the splash of red in the gut of almost every shot seems to represent.

As with the ending of his revered classic, Chinatown, Polanski leaves us on a darkened city street facing the death of a pawn at the hands of the powerful. “Forget it, Jake. It’s Chinatown,” is still Polanski’s sentiment in The Ghost Writer, only now he’s expanded the scope of his frustration as if to say: “Forget it, Jake. The whole world’s Chinatown.”

Enter the Void with me and Chris

2010-10-27T19:08:00.000-07:00

Image hosted by ioncinema.com

Twitter serves all kinds of wonderful purposes in my life; the biggest and best of those is introducing me to amazingly cool people who I would've never crossed paths with otherwise. One of those individuals is Chris. Like me, he's a cinephile who loves a lively film discussion. When he saw my tweeted praise for Gaspar Noé's new film Enter the Void, he raised a 140-character eyebrow and asked me to explain what I saw in the film. What follows is our email exchange on the topic. Spoilers occur. You should also know that Chris saw the long version of the film followed by a Q&A with the director and two leads. I saw the short version.

***

Hi Chris-
Thanks again for initiating a conversation about Enter the Void and being willing to hear my thoughts on it.

I'm glad we can agree on the opening credits being remarkable. By the time those wrapped, my heart was pounding and my feet were tapping. I was ready to go clubbing, which isn't something I'd normally be craving -- not that that's how I judge a film's quality, mind you.

Anyway, onto the discussion. As you pointed out with Noé's Q&A quote, one of his intentions was to recreate the feeling of being high. Not the noblest of intentions, I dare say, and it's certainly been done before (Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas comes to mind), but he did achieve a mind-altering sensation with Enter the Void. So one point for Noé.

Along the same lines, but with a more substantial bent: I recently read that he is interested in cinema as a physical experience. A few months back I read a Tilda Swinton interview in which she said the same thing about her film I Am Love. At that point, the thought seemed downright dumb to me. What, are we doing scratch-and-sniff movies next? Thing is, I did find I Am Love to be a physical experience. The filmmaker really did evoke sense memories with his imagery.

Because of that positive experience, I walked into Enter the Void with an open mind. I was ready to succumb to the experience, even if the storyline, etc. was weak or even silly. My expectations were low, which can be a good thing at the movies. Leaves room for pleasant surprises, which this film definitely was.

I can actually understand where your "irredeemably full of shit" complaint comes from. Taken at a glance, Enter the Void doesn't have much substance outside of the rollercoaster ride of visuals. The dialogue is utilitarian and the acting of the two leads is really weak, especially the guy, Oscar, but I think that was intended. As the director said in one interview about Oscar's character: "The guy's inconsequential. He's not a loser and he's certainly not a winner." I think Noé wanted these characters to feel stunted in their development, as if the childhood trauma lingered and kept them childlike and vulnerable -- bumping around the world in confusion and seeking the impulsive pleasures in life as a child would.

OK, but getting more to the point of what worked. Cinema experience-wise, I was pretty much riveted to my seat. At one point, my legs fell asleep and at another my arms did because I was sitting frozen in fascination. The slipstream editing created a really dreamlike experience as did the "flyover" transitions when we whizzed over the buildings. Even though that flyover stuff got redundant by the end of the film, it helped maintain a swoony, inner ear imbalance that I relished. Even in scenes where it was clear we were flying through a model of Tokyo, the "fakeness" of those visuals was appealing.

Now for the major themes. Noé touches on a range of Big Life Topics in Enter the Void: sex, death, love, power, violence, birth. None of those represent new territory, of course, and he could be accused of oversimplifying it all to the point of dumbing it down, but I appreciated that feeling that I was consuming the essence of those ideas in a really elemental form -- almost like swallowing pills or shooting right into a vein.

And I have to say I loved the ending (after the blurry just-born baby POV footage) when the giant words THE VOID (instead of THE END) fill the screen. That bluntly, Gaspar sends us out of the theater to enter the void of the real world like newborn babies -- where car accidents and orgasms and drug deals and flashing lights surround us -- a world just as overstimulating, confusing and mind-altering as his film.

So I think that's it for my first round. I look forward to your response.
Take care,
Nictate

***

Dear Nic --

Let me just say first that I agree with many of the things you've said about Enter the Void, and that I, too, walked into it with a very open mind. In fact, my enthusiasm and expectations were quite high. One of the things I find myself talking about a lot with other cinephiles is the question of whether directors have a responsibility to their audiences and the characters they create, and if so, what can be justified in terms of what they put us through. Although, as you know, I detest Lars von Trier because I find his ideas generally far too facile to justify the atrocities he piles relentlessly upon his characters and audience, I almost always bring up Noé's Irreversible as an example of extreme abuse that I feel is thoroughly justified by what the director manages to illuminate through the experience.

And apart from all that, Noé's just a goddamned prodigiously talented filmmaker. There are few directors this side of Godard who remind me so thrillingly of the nearly limitless possibility of cinema in the hands of provocateurs willing to tweak its conventions and push its limits as far as they can in order, as Manohla Dargis put it in her initial review of Enter the Void, to show us something we have not seen before. Who better, I thought, to take on such an audacious project? Who else would have even the faintest chance of succeeding?

This is why I felt so let down. There is certainly a lot of brilliance on display in Enter the Void. It is a towering achievement on purely technical grounds. Noé does succeed in showing us things we haven't seen before, and he creates a wealth of truly novel images that have tremendous visceral power, alternately (and often simultaneously) brutalizing and surpassingly beautiful. He does evoke both physical sensation and something fairly close to what it's like to experience drastically altered states. (I love, by the way, the line of inquiry you open about film as physical experience. I recently read a post by the wonderful Jonah Lehrer about the neuroscience of film viewing that cites research suggesting that what happens in our brains as we immerse ourselves in a cinematic experience is very much like what happens when we dream; the parts of our nervous system that govern our senses are hyperactivated while our self-awareness is suppressed, enabling us to "feel" what's happening in startlingly palpable ways. Noé has amply demonstrated his capability in exploiting this sort of reaction in the past; I experienced the mirrored assault scenes in Irreversible so physically that they made me feel quite literally ill.)

But in this instance, all of this technical brilliance has been put into the service of ideas and aims that, to me, seem juvenile at best. The idea of a first-person immersive exploration of a person's consciousness is interesting only insofar as the person himself or herself is interesting. Oscar is about as far from interesting as I can imagine -- as Noé himself says, he's inconsequential, neither a loser nor a winner. I found myself thinking of Bill Cosby's classic bit about drug use in which he responds to someone's claim that drugs heighten one's personality by asking flatly, "Yes, but what if you're an asshole?"

I'll admit that my impression of this aspect of the film was further dimmed by the Q&A that followed the screening I saw, at which not only Noé but also Nathaniel Brown and Paz de la Huerta were present. I found what Noé had to say about the film dispiriting, but at least it was clear that there's a fierce intelligence at work inside his head. Brown and de la Huerta, on the other hand, were as inconsequential and petulant, respectively, as they were onscreen. I might even go so far as to say that Paz de la Huerta is possibly the single most irritating person I have ever encountered. There just isn't any there there in either of their cases, so I found it no wonder that the film itself felt pretty vapid and puerile once the thrill of the stunning visuals began to wear off.

It's not entirely fair to allow such extratextual concerns to color judgment of a film, but I saw the movie before the Q&A and had already reached essentially the same conclusion. I saw the full, 180-minute version -- a very long time to be trapped in the heads of people whose heads don't have so much of interest inside. Yes, the childhood trauma was compelling, at least from a visual and visceral standpoint; I felt the impact of that car crash and its aftermath every time Noé slammed that truck into our faces. And I work with foster kids, so god knows I don't need to be convinced of the horrible trauma inflicted upon children who get ripped away from their families at a young age. But there wasn't much about the way the characters of Oscar or Linda were written or portrayed that got at any of the important, interesting, and worthwhile areas for exploration in people who have been through what they're supposed to have experienced. And I found the film's handling of its existential and philosophical concerns, such as they were, to be similarly dull. Really, Gaspar? After all that build-up, you're going to end on what is by now the most trite and obvious representation known to cinema of the persistence of life?

But even in weighing these concerns, I can't help but feel I'm barking up the wrong tree -- that I'm getting played by Noé, who has been telling everyone who'll listen that he never gave half a shit about any of this stuff to begin with. He wanted to recreate the experience of being high, he tells us. That' s it and that's all. At the Q&A I saw, in response to an audience member's question about the Buddhist overtones of the film, Noé came right out and said they have no meaning -- that all you're seeing is Oscar's increasingly unreliable thoughts as he dies, that he's not reborn, that the only reason for the Buddhist references are that Oscar was reading the Tibetan Book of the Dead when he was shot.

Again, I don't want to let Noé's remarks outside the text of the film itself influence my opinion too much; great films need not be built upon the noblest of intentions, and certainly some great films have resulted from dubious aims. But in this case, what he said at the Q&A and in the interviews I've read subsequently only served to confirm what I already suspected: that all of the stuff of this film -- the horrific trauma of the car crash and the violent loss of Oscar and Linda's parents and the sex and the drugs and the abortion and the references to Buddhism and everything else -- were just trifles, toys, props for Noé to play around with in a film that ultimately turns out to be very much like the psychedelic experience he sought to recreate. At first it's exhilarating, wild, and new; then increasingly tiresome and tedious; and when it's finally over you feel exhausted, relieved, a little dirty, and more than a little empty -- back in the same world in which you started, having seen a few new things but gained precious little real insight into things that truly matter.

That, in my view, is a fairly egregious betrayal of the filmmaker's responsibility to his art and his audience -- though I suspect Mr. Noé would be every bit as derisive of that notion as well.

All the best,
KRS

Film review: Animal Kingdom

2010-09-14T23:06:00.000-07:00

As Animal Kingdom opens, the camera glides slowly over an objet d’art featuring a pride of lions. Clearly, no apologies will be made for being on-the-nose in this crime drama debut from Australian writer-director David Michôd. No apologies necessary. Like a powerful stage play, the compelling feat Animal Kingdom achieves is to poetically mine a single rich vein: how a family implodes when the law of the jungle is constricted by the long arm of the law.

Winner of Sundance’s Grand Jury Prize for World Cinema – Dramatic, Animal Kingdom works comfortably within familiar genre territory, but brings something incredibly fresh to the scene of the crime. While the performances are pitch-perfect across the board -- a notable achievement for any first-time director -- what ultimately sets Animal Kingdom apart is its triumph of tone. What Michôd pulls off is an almost tactile mood that hovers ever-present, like emotional humidity. He creates this effect with mundane yet maze-like sets, bouts of claustrophobic camerawork and menacing music and sound design that drip, drip, drip like stubborn faucets of dread.

We quickly meet our protagonist -- the recently orphaned 17-year-old "J" (James Frecheville), who reaches out to his estranged grandmother “Smurf” (Jackie Weaver in a creepily feral performance) when he’s got nowhere else to turn. Through J’s succinct but revealing narration at the outset of the film, it’s quickly established that his relatives are violent criminals now quaking in their boots because the cops are circling closer.

J moves into the family’s main lair, the cramped, wood-paneled home of his high-strung drug dealer uncle, Darren (Luke Ford). Wandering in and out are Darren’s crime-bitten brothers: the comparatively reasonable Barry (Joel Edgerton in an impressively nuanced turn) and the comparatively fragile Craig (Sullivan Stapleton). A third uncle, “Pope,” (the quietly threatening Ben Mendelsohn) has yet to show up, but seems to inject fear at the mere mention of his name.

It’s not long before J is forced to pick up the family torch and participate in unseemly activities. When things come to a head with the police, the heat gets focused on J as one determined detective (an appealingly stoic Guy Pearce) approaches the kid with what amounts to a life-or-death proposition.

While J’s own slack-jawed stoicism may at first seem an odd choice by Michôd, it pays off in spades by the film’s climax. The character’s almost numb mode of existence and molasses-slow delayed reactions underline the languid fog of foreboding, as do Michôd's evocative use of slo-mo and lingering soundscapes. As J absorbs the terrifying shitstorm he’s walked into, so do we—to edge-of-the-seat effect.

The film has its missteps, most notably an underwritten, didactic monologue from the detective about survival of the fittest, yet Animal Kingdom is a breathtakingly assured first feature for Michôd, who spent almost a decade getting it to the screen.

"I've seen it all before," is the most common lament from those who dislike the film, along with howls over its "indulgent" use of slo-mo. Sure, Animal Kingdom doesn’t recode the crime drama, but it raises the bar substantially by juggling everything in its storytelling toolbox with bracingly calculated confidence -- an emboldening reminder that nothing is as thrilling as a story well-told.

The rest of My Top 20 Films of 2009(#6-20)

2010-01-06T00:23:00.001-08:00

6.
Inglourious Basterds

Oh, I've told this story over and over, but the first time I saw Quentin's instant classic, I didn't think much of it. The next day, however, memories of "Chapter 1" were haunting me, taunting me, luring me to see it again on the big screen. I did, and hot damn, the trumpets sounded during round two. The jaw-droppingly good performance of Christopher Waltz aside, Inglourious Basterds offers the kind of satisfying sweep from drama to comedy that few films dare to attempt, much less nail so handily. Comic book gore aside, it's a mature cinematic achievement with much to say about the absurdity of war and the bittersweetness of revenge. Punctuated with long stretches of brilliant conversation depth-charged with cold sweat tension, Inglourious Basterds boasts an auteur in full swagger. Other performance shout-outs: August Diehl as a German soldier who smells a rat in the film’s intricate, pitch-perfect tavern scene and Michael Fassbender as a jaunty film-critic-turned-spy who grins as if he's just eaten Ewan McGregor.

7.
Duplicity

Trust me, this is a terrific film about trust. One big fat caveat: If you don’t buy the chemistry between Julia Roberts and Clive Owen, Duplicity is going to fall flat for you. BUT if you’re picking up what Claire and Ray are throwing down, you’re in for a rollicking ride fueled by delicious cat-and-mouse wit and cascading sparks. As corporate spies who mix business and pleasure, there’s always a question of who's gaming who. The nuts and bolts of the espionage storyline are solidly entertaining in their own right, but the deepest pleasure in the film is between our dueling moles as they warily coexist on a mobius strip of sexy second-guessing. Kudos to writer/director Tony Gilroy for having the moxie to bring old-Hollywood smarts back to the big screen.

8.
Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans

Nicolas Cage used to be my favorite actor. The dude was mad and up for anything. His lanky joy and balls-to-the-wall nuttiness in films like Raising Arizona and Wild at Heart were things of beauty. Then he got lured into the big paycheck/action movie dead zone. Fortunately, a loose remake and Werner Herzog(!) resuscitated the madness in a melancholy yet hilarious cop-on-the-edge drama. In the film's burnished details like a little boy's scrawled ode to his fish, there is an aching nostalgia that rings even truer in a watercolor post-Katrina New Orleans. Loony and lovely.

9.
Julia

Director Erick Zonca gives the kidnapping thriller genre a time-out to think about what it's done with a bristlingly sardonic script (adaptation: Roger Bohbot, Michael Collins; written by: Aude Py, Zonka) showcasing what many rightly heralded as the performance of the year by Tilda Swinton. Tilda is Julia, a boozing broad who is one backseat date away from rock bottom until an ill-advised scheme gets her licking her chops. What could go wrong? Everything, if we’re lucky. And, boy howdy, are we lucky. What this thriller becomes is the darkest of comedies as Tilda is forced to live by her liquor-dimmed wits in fits and starts. There is a coiled energy in her that startles as her red-headed phoenix takes ashes and makes Absolut-spiked lemonade out the whole lousy lot of 'em.

10.
Hunger

It’s amazing to me that this is the first feature film by director Steve McQueen, who co-wrote the script with Enda Walsh, since there is a sure-handedness in the storytelling and visual composition that one would expect from a veteran filmmaker. Focused on the true story of a prisoner strike in Ireland circa 1981, the film is grimly unblinking and jaw-clenchingly visceral. Yet despite all manner of base abuse and self-neglect witnessed here, there are moments of pure transport. The performances are above reproach from end to end, but Michael Fassbender is especially riveting as the leader of the hunger strike, Bobby Sands. With the smallest of gestures, McQueen conveys multitudes. I still recall one of the opening moments when a prison staffer checks under his car for a bomb. No words are spoken. He just gets on hands and knees in his driveway as a part of his morning routine. In under two minutes, we know this man's life. Hunger is punishing at times to watch, but there is a meditative purity at work that mesmerizes -- finally burning the crucible clean.

And now, ladies and germs, the rest of best. Rent them, love them, thank me later.

11.
The Brothers Bloom

“Whimsical” sounds wimpy, but it’s actually a sought-after rarity in my book. Call it cinematic frankincense, if you will. While The Brothers Bloom is ostensibly a con-man caper, its heart is powered more by romantic notions than sleight-of-hand negotiations. With a poem as prologue, writer/director Rian Johnson crafts a charming world of amusing people determined to ditch the status quo world for one of their own clever creation. While Mark Ruffalo and Adrian Brody are appealing as brothers always looking for their next mark (Ruffalo is goddamn hilarious -- especially in his deadpan delivery of the line about Mexico), Rachel Weisz is the heart and soul of this film. It’s her fiery naivete that keeps the pleasurable proceedings grounded. One of the true delights of 2009.

12.
Pontypool

I tend to avoid horror films, but this is my kind of fearfest. When a tiny Canadian town suffers a strange attack tied to language (of all things), the voice of a lone radio show host is there to sort the facts trickling in via strangled phone calls. Shooting almost exclusively in the confines of a dimly lit radio station set, director Bruce McDonald knits tension out of thin air -- with a big assist from the witty grey matter of screenwriter Tony Burgess. Steven McHattie is an absolute scream as the grizzled show host trying to make sense of it all. I command thee to seek this little nugget of joy out. Heck, how can you not love a movie with the tagline "Shut up or die."

13.
The Girlfriend Experience

In a film that feels like a chic experiment, Steven Soderbergh examines how almost every interaction in our lives is a transaction -- only the forms of compensation are in flux. Deliciously julienned editing creates an enticing ebb and flow, making certain moments feel like personal memories. Real-life porn actress Sasha Grey does an admirable job in her first “mainstream” role, yet it turns out that actually having sex is the least compelling thing on anyone's mind in this contemporary cauldron.

14.
The Headless Woman

Lucrecia Martel is a minimalist filmmaker in that she doesn’t spell things out for the audience. So quit yer griping and take it as a compliment! Less is definitely more in her hands, especially in The Headless Woman where the protagonist is as clueless as we are as to what’s just happened. Seemingly in a cloud of amnesia, she wanders through her life with a bemused smile playing on her lips. Some consider this film to be a veiled political commentary on Argentina, but it works like gangbusters as sheer drama. Prepare to get lost in a spellbinding fog, my dears.

15.
A Serious Man

The Coen brothers made this movie. Which means you should see it. I’ve decided that they’re the greatest living storytellers the cinematic world’s got. So there. While their films may look like genre exercises on the surface, with irony flying at you from every angle, you can be sure that there are great insights to be garnered. The Coens are thinkers with a wicked wit that sears. You can cynically call them cynics, but they're merely humanists in wolves' clothing (I suppose wolves should be plural here, but now I'm picturing a retail establishment full of lupine business suits and formalwear). A Serious Man is the Job-esque story of a physics professor in the Midwest of the 1960s who is suddenly beset by all manner of bad luck. The film offers a wry (OK, bitter) exploration of the role religion plays in our lives, as well as math and myth. Grimly hilarious.

16.
The Informant!

Director Steven Soderbergh, screenwriter Scott Z. Burns (adapted from Kurt Eichenwald's book) and actor Matt Damon bring a bizarre true story of corporate greed to life with a 1970s visual vibe and a voiceover that is so goddamn byzantine and hilarious I want to be friends with it. Yes, I want to be friends with a voiceover script. Don’t give me that look.

17.
Summer Hours

I’ve argued at length on Twitter that this film isn’t *about* furniture. When people describe it as such, it sounds dismissive. There is bigger life meaning here in a tale of a scattered family at a crossroads. Writer/director Oliver Assayas weaves a sun-dappled tale that reveals an undeniable truth: The richness of your life depends on what you value.

18.
Up

I’ve been pretty immune to Pixar films' appeal up until now, most notably by loathing the beloved Wall*E. I walked into Up skeptical, but walked out tear-stained. While many celebrate the life-in-flashback montage, I was especially impressed by how the little boy was portrayed. He's the most believable kid I’ve ever seen onscreen. Warm-hearted and visually stunning, Up is an animated masterpiece.

19.
Afterschool

The almost plasticine palenesss of the lead actor’s face adds to the surreal artificiality of this piercing look at how our digital lives create repercussions in the real world. By using claustrophobic framing, writer/director Antonio Campos captures the feeling of insulated emotion that the internet holds up to our noses like a chloroform-soaked rag. Bonus points: For the first time while watching a film, I caught myself craning my neck to try to see what was out of frame. Nifty trick, Campos.

20.
Antichrist

Oh, Lars. You know how to work up a room. The groans elicited from the audience by the torture scenes made me snicker, since there was that sensation of von Trier pulling his infamous puppet strings. Sure, it’s beyond gruesome how the film concludes, but I think Lars earned it. He’s admitted himself that he was working out a lot of personal shit on the screen and he was so overcome by depression during filming, he was too shaky to hold the camera. What I appreciate about Antichrist is that it examines the way guilt can eat away at a person and a relationship -- the way conversation about feelings can become smothering and ineffectual -- the way a marriage is simultaneously the safest place on earth and the most dangerous of all. While I’m a devoted Lars fan, I wonder how this film will stand the test of time. But, in the final analysis, I think his experiment works -- reconfirming my belief that LvT is the most challenging filmmaker out there.

My Top 20 Films of 2009 (OK, only #1 - 5 for now)

2010-01-04T21:50:00.000-08:00

Ya know, I was ambitiously planning to post my Top 20 Films of 2009 list as a delicious whole, but I've now realized that the time it takes to craft these little blurbs o' cinematic love is nothing to sneeze at. Not to mention reading 20 capsules all in one sitting would probably tire even the most devoted blog consumer. Please keep these movies in mind when deciding what to rent, buy or watch on VOD. Because that's mostly what this list is about -- doing my part to pimp films that deserve a bigger audience.

Without further ado, my top five of '09.

1.
35 Shots of Rum

Grace is a rare commodity -- both in real life and on the silver screen -- so there is a certain breathless wonder that kicks in when the elusive elixir is encountered. Writer/director Claire Denis's 35 Shots of Rum snuck up on me. It's molasses-paced, my friends. Mundane even. And its world is small -- humble apartments, cramped bars, compact cars and subway trains. But even in this claustrophobic world of lives lived in boxes, Denis allows her characters to stretch and steep -- letting them creep into our consciousness and earn our empathy. Slowly. Surely. Deeply. Co-written by Jean-Pol Fargeau, 35 Shots of Rum is about our discomfort with transitions, however inevitable, and counts among its pleasures four luminous performances (Alex Descas and Mati Diop as father/daughter roommates with Nicole Dogue and Grégoire Colin as their close friends/neighbors). In its quotidian stillness, this film moves mountains. Or to put it another way: When the sight of a rice cooker breaks your heart, you know you’re in the presence of a masterpiece.

2.
Humpday

The premise of this film was a train wreck in the making -- two straight male friends drunkenly dare each other to make a DIY porn film starring just the two of them. (Do the math.) Now picture that premise as an Adam Sandler vehicle. It would've been god-awful and homophobic, right? *Luckily* there was some kind of wonderful once-in-a-lifetime alchemy at work with the combined talents of writer/director Lynn Shelton and stars Mark Duplass and Joshua Leonard. With almost all of the dialogue improvised, another mumblecore-y train wreck could’ve occurred, but no -- there is not a single false note in this film. The guys play it real and nail it. (So to speak.) With a bit o' residual slacker vibe and a palatable dose of of-the-moment slang, this film captures Aught-y 30-somethings so perfectly, honestly and affectionately that a Humpday DVD should be boxed up in every 21st century time capsule. As a reflection on the vagaries of male friendship (and the politics of marriage), Humpday is refreshingly insightful. As a comedy, Humpday is goddamn funny. As a story that offers human truths in a singular style the way all great films hope to, Humpday is absolutely unmissable.

3.
Two Lovers

When I first saw the trailer for Two Lovers in the theater, I rolled my eyes with annoyance. Egads, it looked like the kind of sickenly slick love triangle tale that Sharon Stone might’ve parted her legs for back in the day. OK, um, I couldn’t have been *more* off the mark. Two Lovers is a magnificently crafted romantic drama -- a darkly glorious chamber piece reflecting on the dueling human drives of nurturance and self-destruction. Director James Gray’s meticulous touch bears heartrending rewards in intimately lit visuals, lived-in dialogue, exquisite musical underlining (from fado to Mancini), as well as terrific, unaffected performances by Joaquin Phoenix, Gwyneth Paltrow and Vinessa Shaw. Co-written by Ric Menello, Two Lovers breathes new life into the modern American drama -- tempering ripening beauty with rueful wisdom.

4.
Revanche

Film noir by way of Austria offers one of the most finely crafted dramas I've ever seen. Writer/director Götz Spielmann, another meticulous filmmaker, introduces us to the rough and ready Alex (the brilliant Johannes Krisch) and his hooker girfriend (played with perfectly modulated melancholy by the gorgeous Irina Potapenko) by way of a steamy shower entanglement. Struggling to get by, the two ache for a better life. Alex has a quick, risky fix in mind, but the less said about the plot the better, because wondering what's next is one of the great pleasures of this film. The slow-burning Alex is edgy and unpredictable as our anti-hero and that's just as it should be, since Spielmann's subtle ways of prolonging the dread of revenge are as riveting as hell (see: the wood-chopping scene). Probably the biggest underdog on my list, but god, does it deserve to been seen and savored.

5.
The Hurt Locker

From, um, right around the 30-second mark, The Hurt Locker will have you locked in its crosshairs. In other words, prepare to be embedded. In the most realistic look at modern warfare yet created for the big screen, director Kathryn Bigelow and writer Mark Boal (who was once embedded with US soldiers in Iraq to research his script) even-handedly showcase the psychological toll of living as a human target, while also examining the sustaining rush of the warrior mentality. By contrasting the point of view of a soldier who is always looking over his shoulder (a naturalistic performance by Brian Geraghty) with that of a bomb-diffusing cowboy who refuses to blink (a star-making turn by Jeremy Renner), The Hurt Locker admirably avoids finger-pointing or war-mongering, yet (in a subtle indictment of a certain presidential administration, IMO) illustrates how bull-headed conviction can misfire. An action film with brains and brawn, The Hurt Locker entertains in concentric shockwaves of action trip-switched with the sweaty anticipation of imminent decimation. As rip-roaring as it is as a film experience, The Hurt Locker actually "supports our troops" in the most powerful, responsible way possible -- by portraying their experiences honestly, even down to the mindf*ck a simple grocery-shopping trip can be for someone used to punching his timecard in a war zone.

Top 101 Films of the Aughts, per me

2009-12-09T18:49:00.000-08:00

I've never done a "best films of the decade" list, much less one that's 100-strong, but thanks to the esteemed A.A. Dowd, I was invited to participate in The 100 Best Films of the Decade project presented by In Review Online. Dowd is the man behind the curtain, tabulating and coordinating. You can see the cool poster he commissioned for the occasion at his blog link above.

The compiled results of all the participants' Top 100 lists will be revealed in February on In Review Online's site, but I've been granted permission to pimp my personal Top 100 list now.

And I say "Top 100," but you'll see I've given you a Nictate blog exclusive -- a 101st film! Mostly because I just remembered it fondly today.

Update: Realized I'd overlooked Reygadas' brilliantly spare Silent Light. Now added at #102 (out of laziness).

Another update: If you only rent one movie because of this list, make it Late Marriage. It's my favorite underdog here.

Without further ado:

The Top 10 - Some bitterness, some beauty

1. Dogville (von Trier)

2. No Country for Old Men (Coens)

3. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (Gondry)

4. Me and You and Everyone We Know (July)

5. Late Marriage (Koshashvili)

6. Ghost World (Zwigoff)

7. O Brother, Where Art Thou? (Coens)

8. Irreversible (Noé)

9. Synecdoche, New York (Kaufman)

10. State and Main (Mamet)

The Rest of the Top 20 - Several flavors of romance, a bit of desert mayhem and a dab o' "beyond gay"

11. Before Sunset (Linklater)

12. The Royal Tenenbaums (Anderson)

13. Lost in Translation (Coppola)

14. Kings & Queen (Desplechin)

15. Gerry (van Sant)

16. Moulin Rouge (Luhrmann)

17. Punch-Drunk Love (Anderson)

18. In the Mood for Love (Wong)

19. Humpday (Shelton)

20. The Hurt Locker (Bigelow)

The Rest of the Top 30 - The tangled webs we weave, plus a wheel o' cheese

21. Revanche (Spielmann)

22. Two Lovers (Gray)

23. Duplicity (Gilroy)

24. Julia (Zonca)

25. 35 Shots of Rum (Denis)

26. Shopgirl (Tucker)

27. The Science of Sleep (Gondry)

28. Old Joy (Reichardt)

29. Talk to Her (Almodóvar)

30. Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy (McKay)

The Rest of the Top 40 - Crimes real and concocted

31. The Man Who Wasn’t There (Coens)

32. Hedwig and the Angry Inch (Mitchell)

33. A Christmas Tale (Desplechin)

34. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (Schnabel)

35. The Headless Woman (Martel)

36. The Brothers Bloom (Johnson)

37. 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days (Mungiu)

38. 2046 (Wong)

39. Margot at the Wedding (Baumbach)

40. 8 Women (Ozon)

The Rest of the Top 50 - Naiveté and integrity

41. Amélie (Jeunet)

42. The 40-Year Old Virgin (Apatow)

43. High Fidelity (Frears)

44. Memento (Nolan)

45. Inglourious Basterds (Tarantino)

46. The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou (Anderson)

47. The Five Obstructions (von Trier)

48. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (Lee)

49. Audition (Miike)

50. Head-On (Akin)

The Rest of the Top 60 - Identity crises... and zombies!

51. The Wrestler (Aronofsky)

52. Sex and Lucía (Medem)

53. Morvern Callar (Ramsay)

54. A Serious Man (Coens)

55. The Informant! (Soderbergh)

56. Pontypool (McDonald)

57. La Moustache (Carrère)

58. Half Nelson (Fleck)

59. The Secrets Lives of Dentists (Rudolph)

60. Up (Docter/Peterson)

The Rest of the Top 70 - Armoires, vampires, Batmobiles, watermelon, iguanas, et al

61. Summer Hours (Assayas)

62. Let the Right One In (Alfredson)

63. Afterschool (Campos)

64. Pan’s Labyrinth (del Toro)

65. The Dark Knight (Nolan)

66. The Wayward Cloud (Tsai)

67. Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans (Herzog)

68. Bring it On (Reed)

69. The House of Sand (Waddington)

70. Wendy and Lucy (Reichardt)

The Rest of the Top 80 - The weight of words

71. Manderlay (von Trier)

72. Happy-Go-Lucky (Leigh)

73. After the Wedding (Bier)

74. The Boss of It All (von Trier)

75. Brick (Johnson)

76. Rocket Science (Blitz)

77. Juno (Reitman)

78. Broken English (Cassavetes)

79. La Vie en Rose (Dahan)

80. The Class (Cantet)

The Rest of the Top 90 - Perception is everything

81. Volver (Almodóvar)

82. The Holy Girl (Martel)

83. The Girlfriend Experience (Soderbergh)

84. Grizzly Man (Herzog)

85. Casino Royale (Campbell)

86. What Time is it There? (Tsai)

87. Marie Antoinette (Coppola)

88. Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter... and Spring (Kim)

89. Bad Santa (Zwigoff)

90. Caché (a.k.a Hidden) (Haneke)

The Rest of the Top 101 - I'll be damned if I can see a theme here

91. Sleeping Dogs Lie (Goldthwait)

92. Three Times (Hou)

93. The Squid and the Whale (Baumbach)

94. Coffee and Cigarettes (Jarmusch)

95. Last Life in the Universe (Ratanaruang)

96. The Constant Gardener (Meirelles)

97. American Splendor (Berman/Pulcini)

98. City of God (Meirelles/Lund)

99. To Be and to Have (Philibert)

100. Japón (Reygadas)

101. The Anniversary Party (Cumming/Jason Leigh)

102. Silent Light (Reygadas)

Poem time

2009-11-30T19:57:00.000-08:00

The Secret
by Denise Levertov

Two girls discover
the secret of life
in a sudden line of
poetry.

I who don't know the secret
wrote the line.
They told me

(through a third person)
they had found it
but not what it was
not even
what line it was.

No doubt
by now, more than a week
later, they have forgotten
the secret,

the line, the name of
the poem. I love them
for finding what
I can't find,

and for loving me
for the line I wrote,
and for forgetting it

so that a thousand times,
till death finds them,
they may discover it again,
in other lines

in other
happenings. And for
wanting to know it,

for assuming there is
such a secret,
yes,
for that
most of all.

Rebuttal Numero Dos - Rest of the Gang

2009-08-08T00:05:00.000-07:00

Since the discussion of Lorna's Silence owned my ass for three days after I posted my "Misogny Ain't Just a River in Belgium" critique, I needed to take a break before fulfilling my promise of replying to all critical comments. But now I'm back and ready to roll.

Since it's hard to respond to individuals via the comment box set-up, I've cut and pasted their messages here and responded one by one. Once again, thanks to all who took the time to share their thoughts.

Commenters notes are in italics. My responses aren't.

SPOILER ALERT, AS USUALLY

Alejandro Adams said...
The first thing I'd say to "MD'A" is that "misogynist" is a noun. You could say, "...the film itself is A misogynist" or "...the film itself is misogynistic," but "...the film itself is misogynist" totally closes my mind to the rest of what you're saying because the phrase doesn't qualify as English. And, plus, it aggravates the hell out of me.

And to the crazy bitch who runs this website, all I can say is: your review perfectly demonstrates the reason that women should not be allowed to write film reviews--or even watch films at all, for that matter. (And now I suppose you'll try to pin the "misogyny" label on this comment...? What sad little people you are. Women, I mean.)

Nictate: OK. That wasn't a critical comment, but to Alejandro I must say "Thanks for cracking me up, dude."

Private Joker said...
I didn't like it either, but it sure isn't misogynist. That just misses the point. For me, it lacks everything that made L'Enfant so incredible (that film's efficiency in storytelling, whereas this one says only a little with a lot of plot) and veers towards everything that made The Son such a piece of shit.

The Dardennes have been all over the map. Brilliant (L'Enfant), Pretty good (La Promesse, Rosetta), awful (The Son), and now mixed & disappointing. It's weird how they keep making almost the same film and to such varying degrees of success or failure.

Nictate: Great to hear your thoughts on the Dardennes other work, Private J. I look forward to finding out where I fall among those who love/hate The Son, Rosetta and The Child.

You state that the film "sure isn't misogynistic." My main complaint with the feedback I've been getting is people stating that the film isn't misogynistic like it's an open and shut case with no room for discussion or interpretation. If Lorna's Silence impacted me in that way, then it *is* a misogynistic film in my *individual* experience. Your opinion is that it's not, mine is that it is.

What I'm saying is I *can't* be wrong in stating a personal opinion about a piece of cinematic art. I can have an *unpopular opinion*. I can have a *conflicting opinion* with everyone else who has seen the film and even the filmmakers themselves. My critique may be called an *ill-informed opinion* for various reasons that I'm happy to hear about. But since I'm an amateur film buff with the very small soap box of this blog, I don't have the journalistic responsibilities of professional critics who might have to filter some of their personal reactions or feel the need to measure the possible firestorm the use of a certain word might set off in their readerships.

And I don't think I've missed the point at all. Because of focusing on this misogyny point, this film suddenly has more meaning and worth in my world -- it has me thinking and discussing fascinating things with smart cinephiles like yourself. Suddenly a film I would've otherwise forgotten an hour after seeing it has become unforgettable for me. Pretty damn amazing.

Victor Morton said...

Nictate: Victor, I'll respond to your comments one by one:

VM: I don't even think you need to have seen, say, THE CHILD, to realize that playing the sex card is silly.

Nictate: Well, I don't even think you need to have seen, say, any other movie ever made, to bring up the topic of gender issues in a film. By referring to my critique as "playing the sex card," you are dismissing my point as some kind of manipulative tactic. While I knew using the word misogyny would rile some people up, I did not chose to use it for those reasons. I chose to use it because it described the film as I saw it. I don't take that word lightly or throw it around scattershot (as another commenter accused). Actually, this is the first time I've ever chosen to refer to a film with that term.

While pointing to the Dardennes other work can inform this discussion (but they've made films about male jerks, too!), there is nothing wrong with me examining this film as an individual entity -- especially since I am discussing the film and not the filmmakers. I know others are quibbling with that point -- saying the two things are inseparable -- but I disagree. I can easily imagine the Dardennes honestly being taken aback at my opinion as alien to their intentions. That doesn't invalidate my individual reaction to the film they have created.

VM: There are plenty of despicable men in *this* movie. In other words, why do we hear so much here about Lorna's despicableness (and thus the film's misogyny), but not about the despicableness of the Mafia guys who *hatch* the plan, who *actually* "kill" Claudy, who *also* plan to kill Lorna, etc., which makes them even more despicable (and thus on the very logic presented here, the film's misandry).

Nictate: Yes, but those men are criminal types who we expect despicable acts from in a drama like this. As characters, they are barely drawn. This is clearly Lorna's story.

**IMPORTANT TO NOTE HERE: Lorna's despicableness as a character and the way she was treated by men in the film served only as the construction zone for my misogyny theory. The main crux of my argument, which I honed in on as I wrote my Rebuttal Numero Uno to MD'A, is that two elements of the film pushed it into misogynistic territory for me -- the hysterical pregnancy that devolves into madness and the element of magical realism in the ending (forest scene). If I'd just seen a film about a shitty woman being treated shabbily by men, I wouldn't have gotten so fired up and used the M word. I could've accepted Lorna's Silence as a character study with a realistic portrayal of what happens when you make dirty deals. It was the added story element of madness and the added storytelling element of magical realism that disturbed me to the point that I had to call foul.**

VM: "I define her fleeting acts of compassion in the film as being consistently reluctant actions motivated by a craving for expediency in meeting her own goals or wanting to relieve her nagging guilt rather than anything truly sincere or heartfelt or humane."

The whole middle part of the movie is just "fleeting"? I'm sorry .... the whole dynamic for about 25-30 minutes is a push-pull between the deal she made and her sorta growing affection for Claudy, which results in her trying to get out from under the worst consequences of that deal. One can scream in all-caps about "WHO TRIES TO REASON WITH THE MAFIA?" but there's a very simple answer ... those already under the influence of the Mafia, for whatever reason. And what else can such a person do?

Nictate: The problem with my original Lorna's Silence post is that I was simultaneously reviewing the film, describing why I loathed Lorna as a character and presenting my misogyny point, so it got confusing for readers as to what was evidence on the misogyny charge and what was random venting. The all-caps Mafia line was definitely random venting and did not need that kind of emphasis. And, as you correctly point out, a character in that situation doesn't have much choice but to try to reason their way out. Apologies for distracting from more important things with that randomness.

My "fleeting" comment was more about little moments like when she stuck extra things in his bag for the hospital.

That mid-section of the film you mention doesn't equate to acts of compassion for me -- a sticking point with most people who have been disagreeing with me on the film. If you see Lorna as compassionate, you're not going to agree with my interpretation. I saw that portion of the film as her stubbornly trying to make things happen in a way that would be the most expedient for her goals, while not leaving blood on her hands. I didn't see her affection grow for Claudy. Detached pity, yes, affection no.

VM: Curious ... what would a non-misogynist movie do with a female protagonist *who already is in this situation*? OK ... she shouldn't have made the deal in the first place, sure (note that this happens before the movie begins, so it obviously isn't the Dardennes' concern). But that's a different matter. What Do You Do *Now*? You can say she should just get out, but to go where ... remember the objective situation of her legal status in Belgium.

Nictate: That is not the Dardennes concern as far as the running time of this film, but they did create the story. In that way it is their concern as storytellers. I don't have a sample storyline for you, but I think a film with this same premise that starts at the same point in the situation could easily be non-misogynistic. My misogyny complaint isn't with that. I mentioned it only to begin to outline why I found Lorna so despicable. Again, a reason my blog post could've used some refining.

VM: Rather, Lorna does exactly what most people do if they have a conscience but are engaged in a structure of sin, even ones of their own making. They try to get out from under some of it and the consequences for others without catastrophe befalling oneself. It's equivalent to Faustian negotiating with the devil (or some plausible devil-figure, like we have here). And it's just vulgar to reduce this realistic portrayal of human reaction to sin, especially one's own, to "ultimately all about what Lorna wants and needs."

I like the points you make here. Very interesting to consider. But I don't find what I've expressed vulgar or reductive in the least. I admit this is a realistic portrayal. There are millions of people like Lorna in the world. It's frightening to absorb that, actually. And I have to give the Dardennes credit for capturing that on film. I suppose where I stand alone is in seeing Lorna as a frightening creature and stunted human being.

Steven Schuldt said...
That you hate, mistrust or dislike a woman --even profoundly so-- does not qualify you as a misogynist.

A misogynist would hate, mistrust or dislike a woman he just met, whom he knows nothing about, simply because she's female.

And yes, Alejandro Adams has it right in that it's a slog for men to argue with women against this sort of scattershot abuse of that term without themselves automatically sounding like defensive, patronizing misogynists.

There needs to be a word that means "mistrust, dislike or hatred for throwaway accusations of 'misogyny'"

Steve, your first line makes me cringe in that it reminded me of a couple of spots in my blog post where I jokingly called myself a misogynist because of my reaction to Lorna as a character. Those jokes were defensive and preemptive and weakened my points, so I regret including those.

I know the M word is abused and overused. I didn't chose it casually or in a throwaway way. My reaction was sincere and I've never used that term to describe a film before.

Thanks for sharing the Ray Carney excerpts.

Guido Stern said...
Re Alejandro: "misogynist" is both noun and adjective, the latter meaning "reflecting or inspired by a hatred of women : a misogynist attitude." Which, indeed, means that misogynist and misogynistic are interchangeable.

Re the debate: I'm on the not-misogynist side, mostly because like Mike mentioned, L'Enfant presents Jeremie Renier's character as an equally stupid/thoughtless character who tries to atone after doing dumb, irrevocable shit, and I wouldn't say the Dardennes are misanthropes because of it.

Thanks, Guido. Mike and Victor raised the same point. It's interesting to point out that the Dardennes portrayed a male jerk, too, but as I explain in my previous rebuttal blog post to MD'A , there are things specific to Lorna's Silence that can't be compared to The Child and these are the points that make up the strongest part of my argument (i.e., hysterical pregnancy devolving into madness + introduction of magical realism).

AT THIS POINT, ALEJANDRO ADAMS AND VICTOR MORTON GOT POETIC AND SHIT. Thanks for the comic relief, guys.

Anonymous said...

Misandry is derived from misanthropy.
Etymology: mis- (as in misanthropy) + andr- + 2-y
Date: circa 1909
: a hatred of men

There is no corollary to misogyny in linguistics; that's why The Second Sex was written and unfortunately mis-interpreted through bad translation, where it remains misunderstood today by English speaking people.

If the Dardennes didn't give Lorna the same level of preparation they gave a man's story in L'Enfant, I'm going to err in favor of Nictate; because the subject is too easy to dismiss on the grounds of it being a realistic portrayal or that she just didn't like the protagonist. The only thing "throw (or thrown) away" here is seeing misogyny rigidly defined as needing to rise to some critical level and banning small turns of it as not something that makes something else suck.

ballywick

Nictate: OK, this wasn't a critical comment, but I wanted to include it here because 1) It was nice to have Ballywick (and, earlier, Ozma) in my corner 2) Ballywick makes a really refreshing point in the line I've put in bold.

Mike said...
Alejandro,
You're a royal bastard for making me think I could correct a successful filmmaker, and mediocre poet.

Victor,
I didn't know the word for hatred of men, so I used misanthrope implying that most men would probably hate humans before they hated only men. This is likely flawed but I simply wasn't going searching for the word "misandry," so thank you for doing the work for me and teaching me something new.

Nictate: I agree, Mike. Thank you to Victor. I wasn't familiar with the term "misandry" until this exchange either.

Alejandro Adams said...
Ballywick, your IQ must exceed mine by a factor of seventyjillions. I can't make out a single thing you've written in any of your comments.

I love that I can come to the comments section of Nictate's blog to get my Ray Carney interview fix. I've been tickled by that all day. Nictate's blog comments pop-up window: the smoke-filled room in which the cinerati convene.

Nictate: A.A.- Once again, thanks for making me laugh. The smoke-filled room line is an instant classic.

Anonymous said...
You do know what you're talking about Nictate, you just felt it like a full body blow. A. O. Scott said Lorna's Silence "was singled out last year for its screenplay, which is very good but which is also perhaps too much in evidence. Every fictional character, of course, is controlled by an external force, but in this case the reversals and surprises in the narrative undermine our crucial sense of Lorna’s autonomy, and of her solitude."

Try L'Enfant and let your camera eye take over; I recall having serial camera orgasms and feeling peaceful w/the story & characters.

Gemko's live tweeting reveals a serious soft spot for this character's story. Everyone's entitled.

I still haven't dug up the NYT story about The Dardennes' preparation for L'Enfant.

b.w.

Nictate: And thanks again, Ballywick, for doing some legwork to see if I had a case. I appreciate the open-mindedness and lack of knee-jerk reaction on your part. And I agree with you about Gemko's serious soft spot for Lorna's story. Also totally agree everyone's entitled.

Which is kinda my whole point in these rebuttals and my original blog post that lit the firestorm. I am entitled to say how a film made me feel, even if that involves using a hot button, often abused adjective.

Rebuttal Numero Uno: MD'A

2009-08-04T22:12:00.000-07:00

Geez Louise.

The response to my Lorna's Silence misogyny rant has been awesome in its fury. My humble blog has never seen the likes of it. My comments section lit up like a Winnemucca one-armed bandit that's been sweatily pumped by a retired bus driver for six hours straight. I've become a mini-lightning rod, which is simultaneously exhilarating and exhausting. But I don't regret sticking my neck out. Even though I didn't like the film, I have to give it credit for getting me worked up enough to examine it in this detail. I love movies and love discussing movies, so I have to thank the Dardennes for pissing me off enough to make this blog conversation happen.

I want to respond to everyone who argued with my point, but it's gonna take some time. In deciding to reply in chronological order, I found that my rebuttal to MD'A's comment took much longer than I anticipated to write up and many more typed characters than a single comment box could contain. So I decided to put it up as a new post (as in this one). I will reply to the other critical comments as soon as I can.

I would like to thank everyone who took the time to read that rather lengthy rant of mine and appreciate the thought and passion they put into their comments.

So now, my reply to MD'A. I've cut and pasted his feedback regarding my previous post from the comments section and replied to each of his points one-by-one below.

Please note: MANY SPOILERS FOLLOW.

MD'A: Well, this is just as off-base as I'd anticipated. It's fine that you didn't like the movie. I think it's terrific, but it's your right to bored, annoyed, and any number of other negative emotions, just as I was mostly bored and annoyed by, say, your beloved Synecdoche, New York.

Nictate: Yes, it is my right to be all those things. It is also my right to identify something as misogynistic if that’s how it impacted me. Outside of the professional critics' realm, reactions to filmed pieces of art are wholly subjective and personal. This blog post represents my personal reaction to this film.

MD'A: However, the vast majority of your argument about the film's misogyny is simply based on the fact that Lorna is an unlikeable character who does reprehensible things. We can have a legitimate debate about just how horrible a person she is, but even if she's worse than freakin' Hitler, that does not in any way constitute misogyny.

Nictate: First off, I automatically deduct points from anyone who drops the H-bomb into an argument. That is second only to name-calling in revealing someone is not confident enough in their argument to stick to the issue at hand.

You criticize my argument in that it’s based on Lorna’s unlikable characteristics and reprehensible behaviors. How else, I must ask, does a storyteller convey a misogynistic/misanthropic attitude without somehow using his or her character’s traits and behaviors? By making a character wear a scarlet letter for the entire running time?

MD'A: In order to make that claim, you'd have to make the case that had this character been a man, he would have been portrayed in a radically different manner. And there's zero basis for that assertion.

Nictate: Radically different? No, not necessarily. Notably different will serve the purpose, if the notable differences are something along the lines of a hysterical pregnancy linked with a descent into madness and the sudden introduction of magical realism.

MD'A: Granted, you haven't seen any of the Dardennes' other films, but had you seen, for example, L'Enfant, you'd know that these filmmakers are perfectly willing to show male protagonists behaving equally badly (and then, like Lorna, attempting to atone).

Nictate: The comparison to a man behaving in similarly negative ways in their other film is interesting, but I feel that the three key elements of Lorna’s story mentioned above make that comparison insufficient. From what I understand, the magical realism element is new to the Dardennes body of work, so the male character in L’Enfant would not have endured this plot device.

Introducing the element of magical realism lifts this story into another realm of interpretation, in my opinion—into the realm of alternate interpretations and possible symbolism. This is vital to my argument in that I feel this character Lorna is “punished” for her bad behavior in a way that echoes negative portrayals of “mad women” throughout history.

The added element of magical realism gives credence to my argument in that it opens the door to extrapolation—an extrapolation in which I can now interpret Lorna as something more than just a down-trodden chick in Belgium, but as a possible symbol of Modern Working Poor Woman or just plain, old Womankind. Now that the possibility of Lorna representing Woman is considered, in theory any hatred/mistrust/dislike witnessed towards her can be interpreted as Misogyny.

MD'A: Basically you just spend umpteen paragraphs listing all the reasons you despised this character—which, again, is a legitimate response so far as simply disliking the film is concerned—and then at the end you conclude that the film itself is misogynist because some of the particular things Lorna does are female-specific, e.g. a man can't experience pseudocyesis. Sorry, but that's just nutty. In fact it's pretty much exactly the same kind of nutty as Andrea Dworkin's belief that all intercourse is rape because it involves the male penetrating the female (whether consensually or not; in her mind it's still an invasion and that's dictated by anatomy).

Nictate: I felt the umpteen paragraphs of dissection were important in illustrating that Lorna is portrayed in a myriad of negative ways from end to end. It becomes like the banging of a drum—finally wearing down into her madness. Time after time, in the most mundane of interactions, she is shown to be an appalling individual.

As for the “nutty” comment—ahem. This smacks of name-calling, as mentioned above, which should lead to more points deducted from your score, but I’ll let it slide this time.

What I will NOT let slide is the comparison of my heated critique of one film to being “pretty much exactly the same kind of nutty” as a fringe element’s gross generalization of human intercourse at large. Nice blog commentary theater, but fuck that baseless charge (though consensually, tenderly).

MD'A: There are differences between men and women; some of those differences (particularly those involving pregnancy and childbirth) create potential dramatic situations that apply solely to women (unless it's Billy Crystal); and the fact that a filmmaker employs such situations in the story of a female character you find despicable does not entail misogyny.

Nictate: Indeed. But when it’s a hysterical pregnancy melting into madness, we start to veer into a different territory. The pregnancy is symbolic to Lorna, which allowed me to make the leap of it being symbolic of something larger in terms of the storytelling, which allowed me to make the leap that Lorna is in herself symbolic of something larger (see Lorna as Woman point above).

MD'A: Nor does Luc Dardenne's statement that he and his brother started out wanting to make a film about a woman, or that they sometimes viewed their protagonist with hatred. In other films they start out wanting to make a film about a man and they sometimes view him with hatred. Nothing about their treatment of Lorna can possibly be enlarged to encompass Woman herself, and that's reflected in this rant, which (as I predicted) makes a strong case for why you think this movie sucks but utterly fails to demonstrate that the film as a whole hates, dislikes or even mistrusts women as a gender.

Nictate: I think it’s VERY important that the Dardennes began work on this film with ONLY the idea that it must be about a woman. They had no other detail in their minds at the start, as Luc described it. Looking through that lens is what informed their story-crafting process. I find that significant. Not damning, of course, but definitely significant.

I heartily disagree with your statement that “Nothing about their treatment of Lorna can possibly be enlarged to encompass Woman herself….” Oh, yes, oh, yes, it absolutely can! Of course, I’ve already made that point above, but there are other storytelling elements that underline this. Lorna dominates almost every frame. The only other female presence in the film occurs in tiny roles. The nurse who wipes the blood off of Lorna’s wounded head represents the lengthiest interaction with another female that Lorna has in the whole film. This is important to note. Even the nurse’s compassion towards Lorna in being willing to serve as a witness is very professional. There is no feminine softness in Lorna’s life. No friends or family she confides in. Sure, that’s not a prerequisite for any film, but it represents an interesting choice by the filmmakers. They’ve surrounded her with men who either mistreat her or do not give her what she wants.

But back to your point that to accurately accuse a film of being misogynistic, I have to demonstrate that it represents a hatred/mistrust/dislike of women as a gender. To me, that means you’re limiting me to using the term only in a relation to a film that operates in a world of strict symbolism or shows a large group of women a negative light. I reject that limitation in that using individuals to represent larger groups of humanity is a long-held dramatic tradition. Maybe you don’t think Lorna is representative of more than just herself. Maybe the Dardennes never dreamt of that. But it’s as clear as day to me and not even a personal phone call from the brothers telling me I’m totally off-base would change my opinion.

MD'A: Oh, and on the ending as somehow punishing her: Would you also say—I don't know if you've seen this film, but hopefully you have—that Terry Gilliam is punishing Sam Lowry at the end of Brazil? The mere fact that a character goes mad does not automatically constitute contempt on the part of the filmmaker(s), and I submit that it only seems that way to you in this instance because your own personal opinion of Lorna is so overpoweringly negative.

Nictate: I have seen Brazil and remember loving it, but it’s been too long for me to remember details (except for Robert De Niro drowning in shit?). I don’t think a character going mad automatically constitutes punishment, but it’s one hell of a good way to punish a character if you’re looking for one. It’s also a lazy escape for a storyteller.

MD'A: That nobody else has interpreted this ending as ‘punishment’ for that ‘crazy bitch’ ought to be giving you pause.

Nictate: It gives me pause like it gave Madame Curie pause that no one else had yet discovered radioactivity.

MD'A: I respect and value your opinion on matters cinematic and other, as you know, but you're out to lunch on this particular issue.

Nictate: Thanks for the respect, MD’A. I return it wholeheartedly. As for lunch, I’ll have the pastrami.

Misogyny is not just a river in Belgium

2009-08-03T18:48:00.000-07:00

Meet Lorna. One of the most contemptible characters ever committed to celluloid.

This blank-faced beauty is the lead character in the latest cinematic offering from the Palme d'Or-winning brothers known as the Dardennes. The film's title is Lorna's Silence.

Before my rant kicks in, I should note that this is the first film in their oeuvre that I've seen. I've been told that that lack of context may play a role in my strong negative reaction to this film -- a reaction so strong and so negative that it caused me to play the misogyny card, my friends and compatriots.

Before I go any further, please be forewarned that this is another film rant on my part and it's bulging with ***SPOILERS***! So be alerted and what not.

I've also excerpted some quotes from The A.V. Club interview with the writers/directors.

And one more duty to perform before frothing at the mouth: Dictionary.com tells me misogyny is the "hatred, dislike, or mistrust of women." That's a pretty good range of emotions encapsulated in one explosion-inducing word. I think most people understand that the definition includes hatred, but some may not realize that the milder forms of "dislike" and "mistrust" qualify.

CUE THE RANT PROPER!

1. WHY LORNA'S SILENCE BORED ME:

For the 40 minutes or so of the film, I had difficulty connecting emotionally with this film's characters due to the performance choices the two lead actors made/were guided to make. I found Arta Dobroshi's turn as Lorna to be damagingly drained of emotion (outside of a few abrupt and exceedingly fleeting outbursts of anger, sadness and joy). Jérémie Renier as Claudy was distractingly weak in the role. Oy.

As far as the action and storyline, I don't think that that many telegraphs have been sent to an audience since the heyday of Western Union. Needless to say, boredom soon kicked in. By the 1 hr., 10 min. mark, I was longing to exit this film to re-watch the amazing Revanche (seek it out!) -- another film-noirish offering released this year that is far superior to Lorna's Silence in every possible way.

2. WHY LORNA'S SILENCE ANNOYED ME:

My boredom soon turned to aggravation when I realized that Lorna was one of the most despicable characters I'd ever been asked to sympathize with in a film. She is at turns amoral, icy, petulant, dumb, irrational, impetuous and greedy. As the capper, she devolves into unmitigated batshit crazy. What a ride!

Before the howls begin, I realize that *most people who have seen this film* are able to find a kindness at the heart of her character. Me? Hell to the no. I define her fleeting acts of compassion in the film as being consistently reluctant actions motivated by a craving for expediency in meeting her own goals or wanting to relieve her nagging guilt rather than anything truly sincere or heartfelt or humane.

3. ALLOW ME TO ELABORATE ON THE AMORAL POINT:

C'mon, guys. This is a woman who enters into a deal with the Russian mafia to falsely marry a junkie who she knows will be killed before the divorce he's been promised as a second payday. She makes this horrifying decision in order to gain citizenship by marriage and to earn relatively quick money, so that she can be with her boyfriend and open her dream snack shop with him. Well, what gal wouldn't be willing to let a drug addict get iced so she can serve speculoos to shopgirls?

Sure, Lorna has a crappy dry cleaners job and was living in a tiny box of a sublet before entering into this deal with the devil, but there are a lot of people with crappy jobs in tiny boxes of apartments who would never dream of colluding in a homicide. That the intended victim is a junkie whose life could easily be lost to drugs anyway should offer no clemency to this woman.

YES, YES. I KNOW! These are the kinds of moral dilemmas that the Dardennes like to explore in their work, along with the perceived value of human life. Great dramatic fodder, no doubt. I JUST WANT TO POINT OUT THAT THIS ACT AUTOMATICALLY QUALIFIES HER AS WORTHY OF DISLIKE, MISTRUST AND, IN MY CASE, HATRED! OK. So now *I'm* the misogynist. Fine. But let's move on.

4. ON THE PETULANT TIP:

Lorna is at her best -- outside of the happy bike chase with the drug bloke that lasts all of 60 seconds -- when she interacts with her boyfriend. Yet even with her man, her moments of pleasure are fleeting. She pouts habitually when he won't give her the right kind of attention at the right moment.

5. ON THE IRRATIONAL/IMPETUOUS/DUMB TIP:

Sure, Lorna tries doggedly to save the junkie by trumping up spousal abuse charges in order to gain a divorce. She even tries to reason with the mafia via her cabbie contact, Fabio, to stop the junkie's murder. BUT WHO TRIES TO REASON WITH THE MAFIA? SOON-TO-BE DEAD PEOPLE. AND CHARACTERS IN FILMS THAT NEED DRAMATIC CONFLICT, SURE. I'm just saying that it made me lose even more interest in her as an anti-heroine when she continued to act without considering any consequences.

Moving on, once again. After trying to bully the gentle junkie into hurting her, she even inflicts injuries on herself (irrational, impetuous, dumb) to create evidence to get the divorce. I know some will argue that these desperate acts are born out of a sense of caring for the junkie whose life she wants to save -- but it's ultimately all about what Lorna wants and needs. She wants the junkie alive, because she doesn't want to be an accomplice in his death. And, sure, she offers to help him stay clean after they get the divorce, but there is a franticness in her offer. The chick wants what she wants -- why won't this drug-addled idiot give it to her?!

The scene that could most easily be pointed to as representing Lorna's walls coming down is when she locks herself in the apartment with the junkie and strips naked in order to distract him from a drug buy by having sex with him. Surely this shows her at her most vulnerable and humane? I agree, it shows vulnerability -- yet still at play is the impetuosity, the irrationality (a one-night stand is supposed to cure a junkie?), stupidity (unprotected sex with someone who shoots heroin?). And there is no affection shown her on her part. It's a desperate animal act -- manic and misplaced.

Sure, when the junkie is killed, Lorna buys him a nice shirt for the funeral and tries to return his money to his mother. Again, this felt like a way to excise her guilt for being a jerk to him while he was alive, not to honor his memory or the junkie's mother. Oh, sure, her heart had softened towards him postcoitally, but that's a small comfort given the big picture.

And guess who snatches the one-thousand Euros she originally refused from Fabio for her extra "work" in getting the junkie clean? Our little Lorna. She then uses that money to get a loan on the snack shop space. Yes, folks, she enters this expensive arrangement before the second fake marriage vows have been spoken and before the divorce that will give her her final payday (now serving: more irrationality, impetuousity and stupidity). The woman's got no head for business, I tell ya!

6. YAY! WE'VE FINALLY REACHED CRAZY!

After signing the lease, Lorna becomes overcome by the belief that she is pregnant with the junkie's child. She considers an abortion, then flees the doctor's office before her exam can be conducted, but only after clutching the doc in a bizarre clench resembling a hug and bursting into gasping tears.

She later tries to put money in an account for her baby under the junkie's last name, but the teller says she can't open an account until the baby is born. She argues the point angrily until she finally agrees the money can wait in her account until her water breaks. So hard to reason with this woman!

She tells Fabio she's pregnant, then she asks her future fake husband if he'd be willing to deal with a baby. When the future husband says no and Fabio becomes impatient, she backs down. Oh, dear. So now Fabio no longer trusts her (would you?) and decides to have one of his henchmen introduce her to her maker. I have to admit, at this point in the film, I was kinda looking forward to having her character "silenced" because she had become like a festering boil in my movie world. Now *that's* misogyny for ya, but the Dardennes drove me there!

Lorna realizes she's about to get iced, tears well and she makes an excuse that she needs to pee in order to get out of the car. For the first time in the film, I'm able to relate to her -- I needed to urinate, too.

On the way out of the car, she tries to grab her purse. The henchman knows better and snags it back. She talks to herself and her imaginary fetus as she relieves herself, cleverly (for once!) grabbing a rock from the ferns at her feet. She then knocks the driver out with the rock with remarkable precision and runs like the wind, leaving escape-enhancing devices like his car, his car keys and her purse behind. Mkay. I should give her a break here, right? She's freaking out about her impending doom -- not thinking clearly. A girl can make mistakes ad nauseum throughout a two-hour running time. Fine. Whatever. I just want this misery over.

So she's running. Running through the woods to get away. I've read in two different spots now that this portion of the film can be interpreted as either being inside Lorna's fantasy or a bit of magical realism. Again, whatever. She finds a safehouse in the woods and builds a fire for herself and her ghost baby. A fire that -- if not in magical realism world -- would not only send out smoke that would help her pursuers track her, but would probably fill the room with carbon monoxide and suffocate her.

But back to crazy. During her desperate escape and firewood gathering, she speaks to her imaginary unborn baby with the royal "we." She tells the child she will protect it, since she let its father down. Again, this struck me as motivated by guilt for the blood on her hands -- to relieve her own discomfort.

7. THE FALLOUT

When I left the theater, I was angry for all the reasons I mention above. About 30 minutes later, I realized that there was more to my ire than mere quibbles with a disappointing melodrama. I was angry because while Lorna endured misogynistic treatment from certain male characters in the film, ultimately the film qualifies as misogynistic in itself. Most pointedly in the "end" she meets. After all, isn't making her character crazy-go-nuts the best punishment for such an amoral, icy, petulant, irrational, impetuous, dumb, greedy woman who won't play by the rules? Way better than just popping a cap in her ass or letting her escape by her suddenly located wits. Now she can stew in her own nutty juices, inhaling punitive smoke as she lies prostrate, pitiful, with her junkie baby dream, in those wacky red jeans. It's kind of a long-held tradition in misogyny, isn't it? The psycho bitch who gets what she deserves? Yeah, just super.

Now here's the rub -- I seem to be the only one who has had this reaction to this film. I am surprised by that fact since the details described above seem wholly damning to me. I assume others found her character sympathetic, compassionate, relatable -- a victim of circumstances. Maybe even Madonna-esque (the Biblical one, not Guy's ex). Egads.

OK, so now to face more possible fury for using the "M" word here. Let's ask the natural series of questions:

If Lorna was Loren and the story played out in the exact same way (um, minus the pregnancy), wouldn't he just be an unappealing character vs. an example of misogyny? To a point, yes, but there are vital details to Lorna's tale that makes the "M" word fitting. The particulars of Lorna's story -- the marriages of convenience, the intimidation factor by the tough guys she makes her partners, the faked domestic violence, the hysterical pregnancy and thoughts of abortion, even the "mercy sex" with the junkie -- these are all dramatic themes heightened by the protaganist being a woman, of course. But it's more than having a uterus that's at play here. These themes go to the heart of feminine wiles, power and vulnerabilities.

A quote from Luc Dardenne in reply to The A.V. Club's question of what inspired this film:

"It began, I think, with the desire to film a woman. We didn’t really know who, where, how, but it was the idea of a woman."

Luc again:

"Because we thought we needed to watch this woman, to observe, and not to mimic her movements with the camera, as we did in Rosetta. That requires a little bit of distance, and a more fixed position, to observe this mysterious woman, who has a skull with many compartments: She tells the truth to one, not to another. She takes part in many tableaux to arrive at this ending. So we watch her, sometimes with compassion, sometimes with hatred, sometimes with comprehension. We watch her. And we are always asking ourselves who she is."

Sometimes with hatred? I would say *mostly* with hatred, beloved Belgian dudes -- even if it is subtle, shuffling at the edges, disguised by a lingering camera lens of intermittent compassion/comprehension. At least that's the gut reaction it drew out of me. And I don't need Gloria Allred standing by my side to know my reaction has merit. I stand by my side.

PLEASE KNOW THIS: I'M NOT ACCUSING THE DARDENNES OF BEING MISOGYNISTS EITHER AS INDIVIUALS OR ARTISTS. And I freely admit that a film can contain misogyny and not be misogynistic in itself, BUT I do find this film of theirs to be very much misogynistic in the brutal way they've chosen to portray their character as storytellers. Once again, I know the brothers trade in brutal tales. Point taken.

Ultimately, the only comfort I can find in my opinion is that this film will serve to illuminate the ugliness it reveals and by illuminating it, may inspire something to curtail it. Let's hope so, because it's just a goddamn boring film otherwise. Insert smiley face emoticon here!

My long-awaited (500) Days of Summer rant

2009-07-24T19:09:00.000-07:00

This is the best part, isn't it?

I mean, looking at this still from (500) Days of Summer, you would imagine that this is just the best of, well, everything... right?

How could it not be? An attractive couple dewy with youth, expectant smiles flickering at their lips. A pulsing city serving as the glistening backdrop for their crumbly, sweet slice of Cupid's pie. Warms the cockles, don't it? Sho'nuff.

All the potential in the world -- right here in these two beating hearts.

All the potential in the world. Or so you'd hope.

And "all the potential in the world" is *exactly* why I *hate* this movie.

I hate this movie, because I care about this movie.

I think it deserved better. Better writing, better direction, better cinematography and (sorry, JGL fanatics) a better male lead performance.

I hate this movie because the scenes that *do* work flutter up full of hope and loveliness, then are quickly wrestled to the ground and waterboarded with a saccharin swill of god-awful clichés.

I hate this movie because while watching it, I kept having the sensation of "I feel like I'm watching a *movie*" -- meaning I felt like I was merely observing a synthetic experience calibrated to entertain me based on some focus group-tested sit-com recyclables.

So what? That's fair of you ask. And then you might point out that there are tons of crappy rom-coms clogging multiplexes constantly. Why pick on this one?

But. BUT. (500) Days of Summer cannot be dismissed as a crappy rom-com. Oh, if it were only that easy. It cannot be dismissed as a crappy rom-com because of its handful of terrific moments. Terrific moments that hint at a film that had... All. The. Potential. In. The. World. Potential that it let go to voicemail.

Which is why I hate this movie.

This may be a good time to point out that hate isn't the opposite of love -- indifference is the opposite of love.

I could've seen a crappy rom-com and been indifferent to it, but to see a crappy rom-com with flashes of brilliance brings out the hate in me. Like being in an abusive relationship with a guy who buys his lady really swell apology jewelry.

A lot of cinephiles (especially the fellas) seem blown away by what many of them are referring to as the "cutting" truths in (500) Days of Summer. They are able to celebrate those truths separately from the rest of the turgid pap. But for me, it is those cutting truths that hold an accusing knife up to the throat of the rest of the film, beseeching it, red-faced, "How could you?!"

"How could you?!" is what I should've shouted out at the post-screening Q & A I attended during the Los Angeles Film Festival, since that's how I felt when the lights came up. The sad truth? Hearing the writers, director and two leads elaborate on the film's production only made me lose more respect for their efforts.

For instance, one of the writers explained that the split-screen party scene -- arguably the most powerful segment of the film -- was only written in *after* the studio suits demanded more doubt in the outcome of the tale.

OK. So who cares what inspired the idea as long as it was a good one? *I* care because it illuminates the fact that one of the few winning moments in the movie occured as a matter of chance. A lucky break. Sure, that happens a lot in creative endeavors, but it holds an accusing mirror up to the three-quarters of the film that represent an all-you-can-eat buffet of boilerplate bullshit. The writers' best work was *forced* out of them, in a sense. It wasn't organically born out of an original vision.

The writer went on to say that the julienned timeline of the 500 days (which I found distracting and distancing) was never meant to be a gimmick, yet a few breaths later he revealed that he and his writing partner originally didn't think anyone would want to watch their movie if the timeline wasn't sliced and diced. So it *was* a gimmick, sir. And that's *exactly* what it feels like. And if it wasn't in place, the flaws in the film would be harder to ignore.

My beef is becoming clearer: Mediocrity and manipulation meet cute.

Then comes the uninspired direction. Another Q & A revelation shines a fog light on this criticism. The director pointed out that since Zooey has two beautiful swimming pools on her face, they themed her clothing and environs in blue to match her limpid eyes. "Blue was the only primary color in the film," he announced proudly. Wow, um. So I'm not looking for Wong Kar-Wai palettes, but c'mon! You matched the actress's eyes? This was your aesthetic vision, dude? What. The. Hell.

Now you may fairly accuse me of getting too granular in my hatred at this point. Fine. Most romantic comedies don't bother with aesthetic visions. Blue is a wonderful color. Blue never did no one no harm. Honey child, it ain't the blue. What bothers me is what that statement reveals about the lack of imagination that went into making this film. The lack of imagination that takes up the overwhelming percentage of its running time. The lack of imagination that so many will embrace and cherish.

All of which makes me a heartless douchebag, right?

But at least I'm a heartless douchebag with enough romance in my heart to believe that we deserve better as filmgoers. And I'm digging my heels in and holding out for it.

Holding out for what exactly, you ask?

All. The. Potential. In. The. World.

On Love

2009-05-04T22:22:00.000-07:00

There are few contemporary novels I've read that have stayed with me. They mostly disappoint with a lack of substance or artistic style or both. But one of my favorite books in the world is On Love by Alain de Botton. Its dissection of modern love is exhaustive, but wryly entertaining and wholly enlightening. While it's basically a love story about a relationship with a woman named Chloe, there are many fascinating tangents the author takes along the way—including diagrams and figures to illustrate his points.

The painful truths it presents rang all too true when I read it for the first time. I recognized a few too many things as echoing my own love life. I've revisited it recently and it delights just as much as before. And remains just as challenging in the things it forces you to consider about yourself and how you look at love.

An excerpt to whet your appetite:

"There is the old joke made by the Marx who laughed about not deigning to belong to a club that would accept someone like him as a member—a truth as appropriate in love as it is in club membership. We laugh at the Marxist position because of its absurd contradiction:

How is it possible that I should both wish to join a club and yet lose that wish as soon as it comes true?

How was it that I might have wished Chloe to love me, but be irritated by her when she did so?

Perhaps the origins of a certain kind of love lie in an impulse to escape ourselves and our weaknesses by an amorous alliance with the beautiful or the powerful—God, the club, Her/Him. But if the beloved loves us back [if God answers our prayer, if membership is extended], we are forced to return to ourselves and are hence reminded of the things that had driven us into love in the first place. Perhaps it was not love we wanted at all; perhaps it was simply someone in whom to believe, but how can we continue to believe in the beloved now that they believe in us?"

READ IT. LIKE NOW. SERIOUSLY.

For the love of Lars reprise

2009-04-30T15:29:00.000-07:00

In honor of his birthday, I'm reposting something I originally wrote about Lars von Trier back in January, 2008.

It was while onstage in a comedy improv show that I decided to learn more about Ibsen. (You didn't see that comin', did ya?)

Based on an audience suggestion, my improv mates and I were supposed to imitate his playwriting style in a scene. I had no idea how to do it, but faked it and got a mild laugh from the audience. A lot of improv is just faking it, so no big deal. But, post-show, I felt it was my responsibility to find out more about the celebrated Norwegian. So I went online to the lazy-assed researcher's choice: Wikipedia. Luckily the entry on Ibsen was thoughtfully presented.

As I read through it, the similarities between Ibsen's work and that of my favorite filmmaker, Lars von Trier, fell into sharp relief:

"[Ibsen's] plays were considered scandalous to many of his era, when Victorian values of family life and propriety largely held sway in Europe and any challenge to them was considered immoral and outrageous. Ibsen's work examined the realities that lay behind many facades, possessing a revelatory nature that was disquieting to many contemporaries."

Aha! As Von Trier did in his eviscerating masterpiece Dogville and its less magnificent, but no less moving, sister film Manderlay.

"Ibsen largely founded the modern stage by introducing a critical eye and free inquiry into the conditions of life and issues of morality. Victorian-era plays were expected to be moral dramas with noble protagonists pitted against darker forces; every drama was expected to result in a morally appropriate conclusion, meaning that goodness was to bring happiness, and immorality pain. Ibsen challenged this notion and the beliefs of his times and shattered the illusions of his audiences."

Hmmm. Brings to mind Von Trier's Breaking the Waves and Dancer in the Dark—two dramas so emotionally devastating, I don't think I could handle a second viewing of either.

Having stumbled upon this Ibsen/Von Trier similarity, I Google'd the two blokes' names to find out if anyone else had made this comparison. Humorously enough, good olde Von Trier included a tongue-in-cheek Ibsen joke in his recent office comedy The Boss of It All. In a very funny scene, one of his characters "outs" Ibsen as being an idiot. Reading that brought a grin to my mug. It was like Lars and I had shared a little inside joke.

Yes, despite the somberness of most of the films mentioned above, Von Trier does have a wicked sense of humor. It revealed itself a bit in the documentary The Five Obstructions (a great film exercise any creative person should see). But now his twisted sense of play has unfurled itself in all its snide glory with the subdued, but brilliant office farce The Boss of It All.

This quietly clever comedy is set in the dimly lit halls and conference rooms of a Danish software corporation that has a fictional president at its helm. The real president, a man named Ravn, has created a "fake president" in a foreign country. Upon this ghost executive Ravn is able to blame all manner of unpopular business decisions. A habeas corpus situation occurs and Ravn must scramble to produce a "live" faux leader. So he hires an actor to impersonate "the boss of it all." Lucky for us, the actor he handpicks decides to take this role—as he would any role—very, very seriously.

The slow simmer of the story asks for some patience, but the plot of it all pays off swimmingly in the climatic meeting showdown. The dialogue is superb throughout. I'd say Von Trier's finest skill is his ability to dissect and reflect human behavior with uncanny—and, OK, usually unflattering—precision. The acting is terrific throughout the ensemble cast, but especially in the faking-stoicism-to-perfection performance of Jens Albinus as the hired thespian in question.

Upping the ante, Von Trier creates interludes in the action with bitterly self-mocking bits of narration. He also does a kind of jump cut hiccup trick in certain scenes—stuttering from one take of a moment to another—while the dialogue continues seamlessly. This editing sleight of hand creates a kinetic feeling of imbalance and subtly mimics the redundant patterns of office life.

You know, I've tried to talk friends into seeing Von Trier's films and it's an uphill battle. I suppose it's because his films seem like so much work to watch. I remember years back convincing a Taco Tuesday movie night crew to see Breaking of the Waves when it was first released. They loathed it on exit. One of my friends actually gave me the finger as the credits rolled. BUT a day or two later, they were all gushing about it. See? See?!

So for those of you who've been leery of Lars, perhaps The Boss of It All will be a nice way to dip your toe into his genius oeuvre. To paraphrase the female lawyer character in the aforementioned comedy, the words in dogma films are sometimes hard to hear, but that doesn't make them any less important.

You restless soul, you're gonna find it.

2009-04-20T20:20:00.000-07:00

Whenever this Daniel Johnston song comes up on a mix CD I've made, I end up playing it over and over. Sparklehorse and The Flaming Lips do a gorgeous arrangement of it, of course, but Daniel's simple, sweet lyrics are the beautiful heart of it. If I'm remembering right, he wrote this for his best friend when the friend fell in love with Daniel's ex-girlfriend. So this song is Daniel giving them his blessing.

GO

So you think you've found the one

And she knows just how you feel

And you say that she's for real and she's fun

Well, that's all well and good

That's just the way it should be

To understand and be understood is to be free

So I think that you should go

Go on ahead

Take her in your arms and be wed

Go go go go you restless soul, you're going to find it

Go go go go you restless soul, you're going to find it

Yes, life's a bowl of cherries

You can have as many as you can carry

And someone once said that life is like a cow

But I don't know how that applies

But anyhow here we are all on this planet

Taking everything for granted

But I think you've caught on to something

Don't let go

Go go go go you restless soul, you're going to find it

Go go go go you restless soul, you're going to find it

Oh, yes you did, you found it

Oh, yes you did, you found it

Oh, yes you did, you found it.

(Lyrics via RejectedUnknown.com)

Art imitating assholes?

2009-04-13T23:07:00.000-07:00

This line from an LA Weekly film review jumped out at me:

"Still, a case history in the guise of a dumbbell comedy, Observe and Report is not without a certain sociological vérité. Ronnie the Mall Cop is as iconic an expression of irate proletarian populism and brainless role-playing as Rush the Limbaugh or Joe the Plumber—identify or ignore at your peril." - J. Hoberman

Tell me a story, Pedro.

2009-04-10T22:11:00.000-07:00

I'm very curious about the new Almodovar film noir, BROKEN EMBRACE. For the sheet scene alone. The film looks absolutely gorgeous.

Best practices: Business cards

2009-04-09T17:44:00.000-07:00

"It doesn't fit in a Rolodex, because it doesn't *belong* in a Rolodex." Bitch.

Exactly.

2009-04-08T09:58:00.000-07:00

"The role of the critic is to help people see what is in the work, what is in it that shouldn’t be, what is not in it that could be. He is a good critic if he helps people understand more about the work than they could see for themselves; he is a great critic, if by his understanding and feeling for the work, by his passion, he can excite people so that they want to experience more of the art that is there, waiting to be seized. The art of the critic is to transmit his knowledge of and enthusiasm for art to others."
-Pauline Kael

Found via A.A. Dowd

Ex Box 360

2009-03-26T22:08:00.000-07:00

The best gift I ever got from a boyfriend was a shoebox.

A shoebox covered in a collage of cool magazine ad tear-outs of couples (in lieu of wrapping paper).

I have no recollection of the gift originally presented inside the box, but I love that goddamn clipping-covered shoe box and will treasure it always. Partly because it took a lot for him to show affection and partly because it was a handmade, one-of-a-kind thing. I'm sure he didn't see it that way. And he would probably be shocked that I saved the thing. But it reminds me that he felt the love. And that's a good thing.

It seems only fitting that since then I've repurposed the shoebox to store mementos from past relationships (or near-relationships), like a real keepsake box. Well, a keepsake box that used to hold some dude's sneakers.

I skew sentimental about certain stuff, so have saved notes and cards and a few ticket stubs and the like. In the past, when I've been in a dry spell of singleness, I've pulled the box out to remind myself that I am loveable. But mostly I keep it because having those little relationship artifacts helps me remember the people *I've* loved.

I recently decided to brush off the box and look inside again after a long period of neglect. I was surprised at some of the stuff I found in there.

A few of the souvenirs:

- A "Should I marry _______" list.
I remember at the time I wrote this list, I was terribly confused if I was with the right guy or not. We'd been dating a couple of years, and were even engaged for six months, but I'd told him I needed time to think. Funny thing is, I wrote the list out in a laundromat, which seems tacky and careless in retrospect, but, hey, it's when I had the time, OK? So get off my case. (Why does hardly anyone say, "Get off my case" anymore?) Rereading the list made me chuckle. Not because it was frivolous or anything, because it wasn't, but now I see *so* clearly it was the wrong place for me to be (the relationship, not the laundromat—although I really hate laundromats).

- A card from my first boyfriend after our first "wet kiss."
OK, I won't even mention what age I was when this went down, because I was an embarassingly late bloomer due to my incredible shyness. I was petrified of dating and guys, although I really wanted to have a boyfriend. This first boyfriend of mine had been really patient with me as I learned the ropes of dating, including stomaching my insensitive hints that I might not be that attracted to him. Anyway, his patience won the day and he was so thrilled that he'd melted my ice cap, he sent a note of celebration via snail mail (somehow very fitting, actually).

- A short story co-written over email
When I was first crushing on a certain coworker back in the day, I somehow came up with the scheme that we'd write a short story together over email, kinda exquisite corpse-style. We took turns writing one paragraph at a time and did a little ping-pong exchange like this until the story took form. I have to say, there was something strangely erotic about the back and forth of it. And I believe it a major reason we eventually became a pair. After we finished the tale, we performed it together in a live reading to a handpicked group of coworkers on Valentine's Day inside of our VP's empty office. I think the French call that "romantique," but I'm too lazy to Google it to confirm.

- Emails of apology
When the internet was relatively young, I "met" a hilarious lad via our online journals (now often referred to by the terribly unattractive term "blog"). While he and I lived in different countries (yes, I said countries), we somehow decided to give things a go romantically. Unfortunately, the road blocks seemed to be endless and one big misunderstanding left me with an unused plane ticket and a broken heart. We smoothed things over as friends and remain friends still, but when I revisted our emails during this ex box archeological dig, I was incredibly touched. I had forgotten small details and how sweetly he apologized and expressed his affection. I have to say, I got a little misty-eyed.

- A photo in an airport
I'm going to start to sound like a blog ho, but I met this particular feller via our online journals as well. And since he was another long-distance dude (at least within state lines this time), it seems fitting that one of the only mementos I have from our relationship is a crumpled photo of us in an airport. We look totally ecstatic. I think it was "day two" of being in the same place at the same time. I remember my sister took the photo and she thought I was crazy to be dating so far from home. The Southwest terminal was full of our nervous, infatuated energy. Apropos that it was mostly past baggage that got in the way of that connecting flight.

- Emails from a missed connection
OK, I can kinda, sorta reveal the *real* reason I was dusting off the box. I know, I know, you saw this coming, but there was once another potential paramour who I'd met via our online writing. (Take-away: Do your English homework, kids!) He recently reappeared in my inbox (pleasant surprise, I must say), so I wanted to revisit our notes of several years ago to retrace the steps. To read my younger self writing to his younger self was really entertaining and eye-opening. I had to cringe a few times at my cloyingly chipper tone, but I also grinned a few times at an occasional witty turn of phrase or three.

So what have we learned from all this? Mostly that while as cute and loveable as that former me could be, I'm very glad I'm the older, wiser me now. And it's nice to have a shoebox that will always remind me of that.

A Father's Wisdom

2009-02-20T19:13:00.000-08:00

My Twitter pal Weselec posted a lovely note to his young daughter on his blog and he's kindly allowed me to repost it here. Do enjoy.

To My Dear Younger Daughter

I’m not an old man, but I have lived my day. And experience has taught me a number of things. But today the lesson I am here to pass on is a simple one.

Relax. Be lazy. Do what you love, and take the time to do it well, but do it only when you find joy in it. Do what you must, and take the time to do it well, but do it only when it serves the cause.

Remember that your wellness, mental as well as physical, is what will enable you to continue providing for your world, your community, your loved ones, and your self, your whole life long.

Do not turn away from responsibility, but recognize when responsibility can wait. The time you spend on simply not spending time will enrich your life in ways you won’t understand until it has all run out. I learned this lesson the hard way, a long time ago.

That is why I cannot get you more juice.

Love, Dad

Facebook gets poked

2009-02-07T14:19:00.000-08:00

For ad geeks and those who love them

2009-02-04T15:35:00.000-08:00

Not-famous-yet art director Thad Papadakis wears his heart on his sleeve for Adweek's Eleftheria Parpis.

Super Bowl spot sarcasm

2009-02-03T16:10:00.000-08:00

This buddy of mine, not-famous-yet art director Thad Papadakis, shared this link to a funny breakdown of the subtext of selected Super Bowl commercials. Check it out.

My 7 Things

2009-01-29T20:41:00.000-08:00

1. I used to sincerely, honestly, totally, devotedly want to marry Pee-wee Herman. No, for real. And I was in college at the time. And, you know, if he'd have me now, I probably still would tie the knot with the nut. I admit, when I rewatch Pee-wee's Big Adventure now and am reminded of how effeminate he is with his shrunken suit, girly squeal and make-up, I realize it should be of no surprise to me that one of my ex-boyfriends later came out of the closet and that another love interest turned out to be bi. My friend Amber once gave me a talking Pee-Wee Herman doll for Christmas. I still have it in the box. It is one of my most treasured possessions (next to my talking Scary Spice doll).

2. Did I mention one of my ex-boyfriends later came out of the closet? About 10 years after we had broken up. I was somewhat shocked and somewhat not when I heard the news secondhand. Moments later, I was almost euphoric. Partly because I was happy for him to have made a breakthrough that huge, partly because it gave me closure that he officially couldn't be "the one that got away" and mostly because it explained why at certain points in our relationship things had gotten so dark and painful. And now being able to say I have a gay ex makes me feel like I have some kind of street cred, yaknow? Word.

3. The worse thing I ever did was to not speak up when a wrongdoing was being committed. It happened in 5th grade and involved an Oreo cookie and a girl from Pakistan who wore her thick braid greased up with coconut oil and the same pale green jacket to school every day. She got teased a lot for being different. I got teased a lot, too. I was often called a "goody two shoes" by the tough girls in school. Then one day they let me hang with them and I was breathlessly thrilled. Then it turned ugly. One of them took an Oreo from her lunch bag and had us follow her into the girls' restroom. There, she dipped the cookie in the toilet water gingerly.

I still have a clear image of it all in my mind. The sloppily painted wooden stall doors. The filtered sunlight coming through the frosted window. Her stringy blonde hair and evil chuckle as she did the dipping deed. I giggled, too, in a choking-with-fear kind of way and followed her as she wandered back into the classroom and gave the soggy cookie to the girl with the braid. Braid girl looked wide-eyed at the tough girl, probably as amazed to be acknowledged by the likes of her as I'd been.

I swear she knew something was awry. Why would the cookie be soggy to the touch when no milk was around? There was a long moment of silence. A moment when I could've said, "Stop!" But I was cowardly and complicit. When she bowed her head and took a bite out of that cookie, it was almost as if she knew she was submitting to a hazing rite. My stomach sank six floors. Not because of what she'd put in her mouth, but because of what hadn't come out of mine.

4. In fourth grade, I had a massive crush on a boy named Richard. My, he was tan, tall, dark and handsome with chiseled features eerily reminiscent of Randolph Mantooth in "Emergency!" He did not return the affection, as I was pale, skinny and bespectacled. In fact, not only did he not return my affection, he was really pissed off I was over the moon about him.

One day I noticed him checking out a book from the school library about the showdown at OK Corral. Once it was back on the shelf, I grabbed it. Even at that young age, I figured if I could get into a guy's head and submerse myself in the stuff he liked, he'd end up liking me. It was a failed theory that I insisted on clinging to well into my 30s. But, back to the book. By chance, Richard had walked his friend over to show him the book moments after I'd grabbed it. The dirty look he shot me could've knocked Wyatt Earp on his keyster. Another awful time he threw a dodgeball between my feet as I ran on the playground, leaving me with asphalt-ground knees while the Xena Warrior Princess of the school rescued me. There was some poetic justice. In college days, he seemed to get a temporary hankering for me. I enjoyed the flirtation, but it was too late. My knees' scrapes had healed, but my heart's had not.

5. Which brings me to my first run-in with the opposite sex. Around age six, I used to play with a little boy in the neighborhood named Stevie. We'd squeeze in side by side in his metal car that we'd propel with our scrambling feet, Flintstones' style. One day little Stevie decided to take a bite out me, sinking his little fangs into my tiny bicep. I shrieked in pain and burst into waterworks. That night I told my dad the sad story. "Well, bite him back!" was his advice. "But I don't want to taste skin!" I squealed. It was then my dad advised me to bite the kid through his shirt--thus inflicting pain while avoiding flesh. It was sage advice, which I took to heart. Oh, yes. I brought the hurt to Stevie. And his Garanimals shirt. And that was just one of the many times my dad came through for me with some Solomon-worthy counsel during my young life.

6. My most prolific dating year ever was Y2K. Yay, millenium! In a period of four months, I kissed five guys—cutie pies all of them. And I do mean just kissed. Well, except for one. Or two. That time period allowed me to double my lifetime average of liplock partners and I'm sure I'll never see the likes of that streak again. But I look back on it ever so fondly. Oh, yes. I do.

7. I believe in God. (Wouldn't you after a year like Y2K?) But I don't know what to do about it most of the time. Except to pray. And try to be a good person.

Whoa. Six of those seven things were about men. Well, if you consider the big guy upstairs to be a guy.

OK. See ya. I'm off to have some Oreos in the can.

My Top 10 Films of 2008

2008-12-31T16:32:00.000-08:00

I've read grumblings here and there online about 2008 sucking at the cinema. I have to disagree. Last year I don't think I even bothered to write a Top 10 list, since I couldn't scrape together that many films I was really enthusiastic about. But 2008, she was no slouch. Without further ado:

1. Synecdoche, New York
This one comes with a disclaimer: Watching it is work. Someone on Twitter (I can't recall who) posted an "overheard" quip he or she got from another movie-goer while walking out of Synecdoche, New York. The overheard person said the film was like watching a Bjork video, but Bjork videos are thankfully only three minutes long. This film nears the three-hour mark and, I have to admit I did lapse into moments of fatigue while watching it. It's a hell of a lot to absorb. So many intricate layers and echoes of meaning. So Kaufman, so "meta." But moments after I'd heave a sigh of exhaustion, my breath would be taken away by the most surprising and profound use of an image or sound or thought.

Synecdoche is about the big stuff. Meaning of life stuff. Stuff people grapple with their whole lives and may never resolve. But this film tackles the topics with such grace, imagination and intelligence, I am sure it will become a revered film classic. The sheer scale of its ambition and the beauty of its magnificent realization makes it hard to believe it's Charlie Kaufman's directorial debut. Just one more reason it's a miracle of movie.

2. A Christmas Tale
I'm a huge fan of Arnaud Desplechin's Kings and Queen, but this film about a fractured French family coming together under one roof for Christmas was even more satisfying. Once again, this is a movie about meaning of life stuff. Making exquisite use of an amazing ensemble cast (Catherine Deneuve and Mathieu Amalric, for starters), Desplechin and co-screenwriter Emmanuel Bourdieu lay out a wickedly witty and warm-hearted buffet of love, fear, revenge, lust, trust, manipulation, forgiveness and hope. I've heard it described as a novel on film and it is in the best way possible.

3. 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days
While Synecdoche, New York and A Christmas Tale are ambitious in scope and eloquent in storytelling, 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days is quietly harrowing with the sparest of productions. This story of an illegal abortion in 1980s Romania is a slow-burn that haunts with its unblinking grimness.

4. Happy-Go-Lucky
While some hardcore Mike Leigh fans seem disappointed by this offering, I was dazzled. Much buzz has been building over Sally Hawkin's performance, which is completely deserved, but the supporting cast is terrific, too. In one of those it's-the-notes-you-don't-play-that-matter turns is Alexis Zegerman as the roomie with a heart of gold. Remarkable. And Eddie Marsan as a driving teacher with a chip on his steering wheel is startlingly good. The film starts out feeling manic and slight, but it builds in poignancy scene by scene until it bowls you over with its stubbornly happy heart. I think Sean described the film's theme/power best: It's "optimism as a rebellious act."

5. The Wrestler
I've been a Mickey Rourke fan since Diner, with equal parts admiration for his vulnerable bad boy vibe/looks and acting skills, but Darren Aronofsky pulled off a Taratino/Travolta-level resurrection with Rourke. There's a broken-down beauty here that leaves a lingering sting, not unlike a folding chair to the head. Sure, the story is predictable in a Rocky sort of way, but, as my friend BeeDazzle said, this is an amazing character study with risky and raw performances by Rourke and Marisa Tomei. And it feels like a uniquely American film to the point where I felt Rourke's character, Randy the Ram, was almost a personification of America—a once celebrated hero that became bruised from its mistakes while bloodying others within its reach. One more note on this one: perfect closing shot.

6. Burn After Reading
Almost nothing is left unskewered here—from bureaucracy to rhinoplasty. The morality tale being told: When a me-first mentality runs rampant in a society, things go to hell in a hand-basket. And how. It seems the Dubya years and the pointedly pegged "mental recession" of our population served as rich inspiration for the Coen brothers. Yes, avarice and vanity are fair and funny game in Joel and Ethan's masterful sights. And while those targets may not send crowds into titters, at least there's something for moviegoers' minds to marinate on as they exit the cineplex. Yep, the good news here is that everyone who sees this film is gonna take one in the gray matter—whether they like it or not.

7. The Dark Knight
Just so you know, I'm not the type to seek out super-hero fare at the cineplex. So it means something when I say I really liked The Dark Knight. I really, really, really did like it. My, oh my, it was a glossy good time at the movies with a bright brain behind it all and terrific performances throughout. Much hype has been made of Heath's turn as the Joker, with good reason. He was a riveting presence and stole every scene. He also provided my two favorite moments in the whole shebang: 1) The Joker bobbing away from the hospital in his nurse's uniform (brilliant costume call), looking back at his path of destruction while fussily fiddling with his detonator; and 2) the Joker gleefully swerving down a city street at twilight with his head jammed out of a police car window like some kind of blissed-out hound of hell. Gorgeous.

8. Vicky Cristina Barcelona
Woody Allen gave straight men of the world the treat of a lifetime with Scarlett and Penelope's kiss, but he also gave his fans a funny valentine poking fun at Europe's seductive power over starry-eyed American tourists. I have to admit, my favorite part of the film was seeing the brittle and bitchy Vicky (Rebecca Hall) get her comeuppance. The film is fluffy to be sure, but the pulchritude of Bardem, Cruz and Johansson was a wonder to behold. Plus, when I walked out of the theater, I'd felt like I'd been on vacation in Spain. That's not nada.

9. Frozen River
Frozen River is a tersely told drama about a woman living in the bottom half of those "Two America's" John Edwards used to always talk about. With a dead-end job at a discount store, a gambling addict for a husband, two young dependents and a drafty mobile home, Ray is barely holding on. Suddenly crime seems like the only viable option. Writer/director Courtney Hunt clearly took her time in crafting a script that's lean and true and speaks volumes about poverty and desperation with stoic honesty, but Melissa Leo's heartbreaking, lived-in performance is what makes this film unmissable.

10. American Son
(Note: This film hasn't been officially released.)
American Son is a beautifully made film told and shot with a naturalistic grace that is all too rare on the big screen. Director Neil Abramson did a Q&A after the screening I saw at the Los Angeles Film Festival, along with cast members, and there was an air of gentle wisdom about him that came across in his work on-screen. Mr. Mariah Carey, Nick Cannon, gives an irresistible performance as a young Marine named Mike who is about to be shipped off to Iraq from his rundown town. The equally charming Melonie Diaz (Raising Victor Vargas) hits just the right notes of sweetness and sadness in the role of Mike's new love. Screenwriter Eric Schmid deserves accolades, as well, for keeping what could've played like a movie-of-the-week feeling very unaffected yet very emotional. Cinematographer Kris Kachikis brought another layer of frank freshness to the story. Keep an eye out for this one's release.

Lonely Director’s Club Sandwich

2008-12-02T21:33:00.000-08:00

All day long I’ve looked forward to reblogging my answers to Lonely Sandwich’s director challenge, originally posted by bullshit.

And now my moment is here. As it is difficult to choose one favorite film from some of these directors, I made myself imagine the infamous desert island scenario where I could only take one DVD from each auteur’s oeuvre to watch from here to eternity. What scene would I not be able to live without revisiting? What lines do I want to hear again and again over the crashing of the surf and the seagulls' squawking calls?

Here is the set-up:

"It’s not strange to disagree about movies that are wildly different, and there are surely a few random movies that are very polarizing. What I find most interesting is which movie people consider the best movie from a particular director, as it is usually very telling and polarizing in a different way, so to this point I will propose a new personality test where you reblog your favorite movie from each of these directors:"

And here are my answers:

1. Joel Coen: The Hudsucker Proxy
First viewing: Sorely disappointed. Second viewing: Begrudging appreciation. Third viewing: OMFG, how did I not realize this was a comedy masterpiece?! "You know, for kids!"

2. Wes Anderson: The Royal Tennenbaums
I heartily heart all of Wes Anderson's films. If I could live in any director's made-up world, it would be his. But this film grows more sublime with every viewing. It's got all of WA's preciously wrought art direction along with a true, sweet heart. And the soundtrack, good grief.

3. Hal Ashby: Harold and Maude
One of the finest celebrations of oddity on celluloid.

4. Kevin Smith: Clerks
The kid had moxie.

5. Quentin Tarantino: Pulp Fiction
This is one of those movies that broke an ice shelf loose in my cinematic world.

6. Stanley Kubrick: Dr. Strangelove
Breathtakingly smart and mercilessly funny.

7. P.T. Anderson: Punch-Drunk Love
A beautiful tone poem of anxiety.

8. Errol Morris: The Thin Blue Line
Single-handedly changed my mind about the death penalty.

Hells to the yeah

2008-11-02T21:17:00.000-08:00

"America should take a chance and make Barack Obama the next leader of the free world."

From the mouth of The Economist to God's ear. Yeah, that God. Because God is so a Democrat.

Here's the full The Economist article endorsing Obama.

Cover image found online via Max Gladwell.

The world is watching

2008-10-31T18:47:00.000-07:00

"We owe it to the world to vote Obama. It's a gift, an apology and a promise in one gesture."

I posted that message on Twitter a few weeks back and got some great feedback, but this note from Jonathan was the most remarkable response of all.

What he had to say brought a tear to my eye, so I wanted to share it here:

Hi,
I'm a South African, and I've just gotten back from a trip to San Francisco, and I'm busy writing it up, which reminded me of this tweet that you made.

That was one of the most awesome things I've read in a long time - not just perfectly worded, but a lovely sentiment to boot. I just wanted to let you know that the rest of the world is watching, and holding thumbs, and cheering you on, and that we know and appreciate that you don't all fit the stupid-irrational-and-close-minded stereotype that America has been saddled with.

Anyway, just wanted to say that. One more week!

Cheers,
Jonathan

Moment of truth

2008-10-03T18:20:00.000-07:00

I concur with those who thought Joe Biden getting choked up during the VP debate was the highlight of the night. Here's a link with a transcript excerpt and video clip.

So why was that such a moment of truth? Because Biden was clearly overcome with unrehearsed emotion and spoke so compassionately about his family, his history and what the American people long for, throwing into sharp relief the alarming fact that the smiling, winking Sarah Palin brand is a heckuva dangerous, buzz-word-driven work of fiction that would only further the damage that the Dubya thugs have done.

Americans have had eight years of folksy talkin' that dropped its G's as easily as it dropped its lies. The Bush brand was built on W's Texan-ish drawl and sixth-grade level vocabulary (e.g., "hard work" and "bad people"). That kind of talk helped disguise one of the most sinister agendas of any White House, leading our nation into a war as costly in dollar signs as it's been in human life and global stability. Yes, we've had our fill with just one cowboy shootin' from the hip. The last thing we need following in his footsteps is a self-anointed maverick with seven houses and his six-packin' helicopter huntress masquerading as everyday folks. We're onto ya, GOP, and, gosh darn it, the act's just not cute anymore.

Even McCain's "Straight Talk Express" has derailed in depots as lowbrow as The View, where he sat on a couch with Whoopi and Joy, pointing an oily finger at Obama over the lipstick on a pig analogy. More like lipstick on a red herring from a campaign desperate to disassociate itself from the fact that McCain voted with lame duck Bush 90% of the time.

What a relief that post-debate polls showed that undecided voters weren't swallowed up by "Sarah being Sarah" in their living rooms. People are now seeing past the hockey mom moxie and realizing that this woman with her ill-informed worldview and right-wing beliefs would turn America into an international joke.

I have to admit, when Biden was announced as Obama's running mate, I felt lukewarm to the idea. Personally, I would've liked to see a Obama/Clinton ticket, but realize that too many people hate her for that match-up to win. But the more I hear from Biden, the more impressed I am. He's smart, seasoned and sincere. Once again, Obama proves his instincts are true.

In the final anaylsis of the VP debate performances, despite some word fumbling early on, I think Biden did an admirable job representing himself, Obama and the Democrats' platform against Palin's flash card flashdancing and false eyelashes.

That said, I also appreciated my friend Matt's critique of Biden in the one and only VP debate of '08. Matt, I think you're on to something with this "You can't have it both ways" refrain. The Obama/Biden staff should take a note from you:

"Did Biden not miss a huge opportunity to put the dagger in last night? I know they're saying he 'won' and I understand that he has to guard against being condescending and 'insider' and all that, but I don't mean mock her. I mean, call THEM out on what THEY would call 'flip flopping.' Since these exercises aren't debates at all but topic starters for canned speeches, why can't he turn to the camera and say:

"Are the people, like the Governor here, who do nothing but talk about smaller government, deregulation and the power of free markets REALLY going to police a runaway and reckless Wall Street? You can't do one thing all your life and now, when it's opportunistic, say another. You can't have it both ways. Are the same candidates who lead chants of 'Drill Baby Drill' today really going to take the climate crisis seriously and harness the power of renewable energy sources for the future? You can't have it both ways. Is the party that won't put timetables on withdrawal from Iraq and says we'll have bases there 'for a hundred years' now saying that a victory and end to the war is just around the corner? You can't have it both ways.

"Is the party that prides itself on conservatism—that is, holding onto the way things are—making 'Change' THEIR campaign slogan? You can't have it both ways. These guys will say anything to get and stay elected. Yesterday's 'Compassionate Conservative' or 'Mission Accomplished' is today's 'Country First' and 'pair of Mavericks.'

"The American people are in a tough spot and they need strong, wise and focused leadership to galvanize them to get out of our current situation. They're buying bread, they're buying gas and they're buying homes. What they're not buying is a Republican platform in 2008 of peace abroad, regulation at home and clean energy for all. I'm not buying it and the American people aren't buying it either." -MG

My favorite Cohen

2008-10-01T21:53:00.000-07:00

Part of the reason "Alexandra Leaving" is my favorite Leonard Cohen song is because of the way I was first introduced to it: Under the spreading leaves of oak trees on an autumn night in Topanga Canyon while Michelle Shocked and another woman held hands and sang it to each other with only acoustic accompaniment. That breathtaking moment was part of an amazing Cohen tribute concert hosted by Inara George.

While a web-savvy friend once said it's lame to post lyrics online, I disagree. If I hadn't posted the lyrics to Rosie Thomas's "Wedding Day" years back, I never would've met the wonderfully warm and witty Dave of Denver who Google'd the song and stumbled upon my blog.

Another reason it's my favorite Cohen song is that it reminds me of a couple of ex-boyfriends who tended to self-sabotage when it came to love. It's what the marketers call "relateable."

Don't let the fact that it was written in the '90s dissuade you. The pain in his wizened poet's wisdom is pure and potent.

"Alexandra Leaving"
by Leonard Cohen

Suddenly the night has grown colder.
Some deity preparing to depart.
Alexandra hoisted on his shoulder,
they slip between the sentries of your heart.

Upheld by the simplicities of pleasure,
they gain the light, they formlessly entwine;
and radiant beyond your widest measure
they fall among the voices and the wine.

lt's not a trick, your senses all deceiving,
a fitful dream the morning will exhaust---
Say goodbye to Alexandra leaving,
Then say goodbye to Alexandra lost.

Even though she sleeps upon your satin.
Even though she wakes you with a kiss.
Do not say the moment was imagined,
Do not stoop to strategies like this.

As someone long prepared for this to happen,
Go firmly to the window. Drink it in.
Exquisite music, Alexandra laughing.
Your first commitments tangible again.

You who had the honor of her evening,
And by that honor had your own restored---
Say goodbye to Alexandra leaving.
Alexandra leaving with her lord.

As someone long prepared for the occasion;
In full command of every plan you wrecked---
Do not choose a coward's explanation
that hides behind the cause and the effect,

You who were bewildered by a meaning,
whose code was broken, crucifix uncrossed---
Say goodbye to Alexandra leaving.
Then say goodbye to Alexandra lost.

Lyrics found on Leonard Cohen Files.

Synecdoche trailer

2008-09-30T21:42:00.000-07:00

Whoa. Wow. Yeah. Gotta go.

Found via lonelysandwich

Straight Talk, For Reals

2008-09-28T14:23:00.000-07:00

A thoughtful dad watched the first presidential debate with his eight-year-old son, stopping the DVR along the way to talk things through and get his child's reactions.

Here are some priceless quotes from the experience:

"Why is McCain so mad?"

"Why is he so old like Grammy?"

"Daddy, when McCain smiles like that (i.e., the smirk), I think he is really mad at Obama."

"I don't like it when he acts like that."

"Why isn't he looking at Obama? Barack looks at him. I think he is trying to be mean."

"When McCain talks it bores me and when Obama talks it excites me."

From: TalkingPointsMemo (Thanks for link, Ben.)

The Sarah Silverman Schlep for Obama

2008-09-25T22:24:00.001-07:00

The Great Schlep from The Great Schlep on Vimeo.

Burn After Reading

2008-09-22T19:36:00.000-07:00

Full disclosure: I would be hard-pressed to dislike anything The Coen Brothers create, so despite mixed reviews for their latest offering, Burn After Reading, I walked into the theater pretty damn sure anyone who didn't like the movie just didn't "get it." Funnily enough, I walked out of the theater thinking the same thing.

To be sure, the trailer for this film is misleading, selling the story as a slapstick yukfest, which it ain't. To quote Brad Pitt's character, "Appearances can be deceptive." No, this is a finely calculated, wickedly wry satire with intermittent land-mine laughs triggered by the earnestness of each and every self-deluded player.

And, good grief, the players are perfection. Even those dismissing the film have good things to say about Brad Pitt as the delightful dunderhead who thinks he's found a goldmine in a mysterious computer disc lost in a locker room. Malkovich goes from milquetoast-to-madman in four high-balls flat. Clooney is goofily sublime as a sex addict (loved his running joke...about running). And Swinton is satisfyingly shrewy as a two-timing doctor. The supporting cast is solid gold, too, but Frances McDormand is operating on a quivering plane of pathos all her own. As the deliciously named Linda Litzke, she takes being an open book to a whole new library of self-immolation.

So what's to "get" here? A subtle yet searing indictment of egomania and its fall-out, specifically in regards to the good olde U.S. of A.—from its sacred halls of secrecy to its shameful bedroom shenanigans (note the witty wink in the bedding above).

Almost nothing is left unskewered here—from bureaucracy to rhinoplasty. The morality tale being told: When a me-first mentality runs rampant in a society, things go to hell in a hand-basket. And how. It seems the Dubya years and the pointedly pegged "mental recession" of our population served as rich inspiration for the brothers. The fact that Wall Street is unraveling from greed run amok while this film spools in theaters makes Ethan and Joel's pattern of prescience all the more impressive—and, ultimately, sobering.

Yes, avarice and vanity are fair and funny game in the Coen Brothers' masterful sights. And while those targets may not send crowds into titters, at least there's something for moviegoers' minds to marinate on as they exit the cineplex. Yep, the good news here is that everyone who sees this film is gonna take one in the gray matter—whether they like it or not.

Hope up 76 points in self-poll

2008-09-10T20:19:00.000-07:00

I had a few crappy things in a row happen this afternoon: a $55 parking ticket, an hour-long conference call with a pissy client, plus I read this disheartening article about how GOP activists are scheming all kinds of way to block Democrats from voting in swing states on technicalities, like having a home in foreclosure: "Lose your house, lose your vote." Kinda makes all of the McCain/Palin campaign's small town talk sound hollow, don't it? (Seriously, click the link and read what they're up to. It will freak your shit out.)

So, at this point, my head was spinning and I was feeling really hopeless about the future of this country (compounded by a preceding series of "I like her! She gets things done!" Palin praise pronouncements from people who should know better).

In this foul mood, I walked to the posh gym next door to get a protein shake for dinner.

But then something really good happened. The guy behind the counter was telling a customer he was voting for Obama even though he was Republican. The customer was a big old white guy with a sour face and self-satisfied air, like a walking GOP stereotype. He was arguing with the counter guy, trying to change his mind.

Counter guy: Hey, I'm basically Republican in every way, but there were no weapons of mass destruction.

Corpulent guy: That's not true.

Counter guy: (shaking his head) Yes, it is.

Corpulent guy: (heavy sigh as he turns to leave) I've got to talk to you more about this later.

Counter guy: (shakes his head with a frown, as in "Nope, won't change my mind.")

A self-admitted Republican looking at the facts logically and making an informed decision to vote outside his party, because he saw a better choice? Hot damn.

After an afternoon of feeling like the baseball instead of the bat, it made my day to see signs of intelligent life in the old U.S. of A. Thank you, Counter Guy. Even though my protein shake was runny, you are my hero of the week.

Frozen River

2008-08-19T19:42:00.000-07:00

Frozen River is a tersely told drama about a woman living in the bottom half of those "Two America's" John Edwards used to always talk about. With a dead-end job at a discount store, a gambling addict for a husband, two young dependents and a drafty mobile home, Ray is barely holding on. Suddenly crime seems like the only viable option.

Melissa Leo is exquisitely brittle in the lead role. I can't remember the last time an actress's performance felt so lived-in.

Big ups to writer/director Courtney Hunt, too, who clearly took her time in crafting a script that's lean and true and speaks volumes about poverty and desperation without saying a word. She shot a short film a few years back with the two lead actresses (Leo and Misty Upham) in a variation of what was to become the "duffle bag scene," then and she and her husband scrambled to raise the funding themselves to make the feature. Shot in just 24 days on a shoestring, the indie gem ended up winning the Grand Jury Prize at Sundance.

A friend and I were lucky enough to see a screening offering a Q & A with the two lead actresses and got some behind-the-scenes details, like the fact that the director asked Leo to watch John Wayne movies to prepare for her role. The stoic cowboy research paid off, big time, and, if merit is Hollywood's guide, Leo might end up taking home some shiny mantel jockeys come awards time.

A special shout-out to costume designer Martina Melendez, too. Dingy fleecewear and whitewashed jeans? Nailed it.

Glib commentary aside, Hunt and her team deserve great praise for showing a slice of life too often ignored on the big-screen and in the world at large. A huge swath of the world's population is made up of the working poor. Their stories deserve to be told and their struggles deserve to be acknowledged.

The Dark Knight

2008-08-12T20:03:00.000-07:00

Oh, hello. Just so you know, I'm not the type to seek out super-hero fare at the cineplex. So it means something when I say I really liked "The Dark Knight." I really, really did like it.

My only complaint was the 2 hr. 40 min. running time. If they would've dumped the whole ass-numbingly elaborate cell phone sonar fancy pants effects segment, the film would've been off the charts good. Luckily, Batman's messiah-like exit strategy provided such a hand-on-your-heart inspirational ending, I forgave the sonar boondoggle.

My, oh my, it was a glossy good time at the movies with a bright brain behind it all and terrific performances throughout.

Much hype has been made of Heath's turn as the Joker, with good reason. He was a riveting presence and stole every scene.

He also provided my two favorite moments in the whole shebang: 1) The Joker bobbing away from the hospital in his nurse's uniform (brilliant costume call), looking back at his path of destruction while fussily fiddling with his detonator; and 2) the Joker gleefully swerving down a city street at twilight with his head jammed out of a police car window like some kind of blissed-out hound of hell. Gorgeous.

Heath as Joker also delivers my favorite line in the film:

"Y'see, madness, as you know, is like gravity. All it takes is a little...push."

"The catastrophe of my personality"

2008-07-28T18:38:00.000-07:00

Not only does Mad Men showcase some of the finest television writing ever to air, it quotes utterly beautiful poetry:

"Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.

The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.

It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again."

- Excerpt from Frank O'Hara's poem Mayakovsky.

And, for good measure, another O'Hara poem not featured on the show, but just as succulent:

Animals

"Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth

It's no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners

The whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn't need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

I wouldn't want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days."

Simply mad about it

2008-07-21T18:50:00.000-07:00

"The idea of advertising is you will become successful, whether it's smoking a cigarette, having a cocktail, wearing the right suit, going to the right restaurant, voting for the right political candidate.
You will achieve happiness."
— Jon Hamm, a.k.a., Don Draper

Oh, no, they didn't

2008-07-15T17:45:00.000-07:00

I'm only an occasional reader of The New Yorker and rarely find their trademark cartoons funny anymore. Especially unfunny to me, though, is the hotly discussed "Obamas in the Oval Office" cover. Seeing it made me want to order a subscription of the magazine just so I could turn around and immediately cancel it. I was that angry.

While some call the image offensive, I find it journalistically irresponsible and conceptually flawed.

Typically, satirical illustrations lampoon the subject's behavior or situation—say, a drawing of Dubya as Pinocchio with Cheney and Rove pulling the puppet strings. In this case, the illustrator has ventured into the murky land of exaggerating the opposition's conjured-up criticisms of the subject, so the target of the ridiculous claims ends up getting tarred and feathered twice. A lose-lose situation.

Those deriding the illustration tend to cite the fact that it may confuse Obama opposers or on-the-fencers who won't get the joke. But, in actuality, those Obama opposers or on-the-fencers (more specifically, anyone who promotes or buys into the slanderous B.S. portrayed in the artwork) are the butt of the joke in the first place. It's holding up a mirror to them saying, "Look how ridiculous your fears appear when represented in a full-color line drawing." But the people meant to see their own reflection in that mirror of mockery don't read that magazine, so the lesson stays unlearned.

Someone in the media called this perfect poster propaganda for the right-wing. Sounds a little melodramatic, but on some level I agree. It's a neatly done "My Worst Fears About Obama" visual checklist that could burn a little "See, I told you so" image in a paranoid voter's mind.

It's scary but true that something this seemingly insignificant could change an election. Just remember the infamous shot of Dukakis wearing a helmet in a military tank. Or Howard Dean's fatal howl. My mom didn't vote for Gore because she feared "what a tree-hugger would do in the White House." It only took a colloquial hyphenate to decide her vote: Tree-hugger. And, the election before that, another: Flip-flopper. Now she knows a neo-con Bush is capable of far worse than any tree-hugger or flip-flopper, but much, much too late.

This is one of the most important elections in world history (yeah, I said "world") and for a national publication, no matter how boutique (outside of MAD magazine maybe), to use their cover to treat the one Presidential candidate offering some hope as the fall guy to fuel a PR stunt and misfired joke—compelling articles in his favor on the inside aside—is simply reckless.

American Son

2008-06-28T14:10:00.000-07:00

I sheepishly admit that I rarely take advantage of the Los Angeles Film Festival. Mostly because I get overwhelmed by the plethora of choices without knowing what's wheat or chaff and end up just throwing my hands up. But this year I was determined to make an appearance. So I hopped around the LAFF site, reading synopses at random, and found two solid selections—a documentary about troubled kids at a last-chance UK boarding school called Hold Me Tight, Let Me Go and the upcoming indie release, American Son, which I chose after seeing it on Mike D'Angelo's 2008 top ten list—a cinematic superdelegate vote if there ever was one.

Hold Me Tight, Let Me Go
Unfortunately, I kept comparing Hold Me Tight, Let Me Go to the much more satisfying 2003 student/teacher documentary To Be and To Have. That comparison aside, Hold Me Tight, Let Me Go is a terrific and touching inside look at how emotionally traumatized kids find hope in the care of amazing teachers. Guaranteed to induce cringing and cheering.

American Son
American Son is a beautifully made film told and shot with a naturalistic grace that is all to rare on the big screen. Director Neil Abramson did a Q&A after the screening, along with cast members, and there was an air of gentle wisdom about him that came across in his work on-screen.

Mr. Mariah Carey, Nick Cannon, gives an irresistible performance as a young Marine named Mike who is about to be shipped off to Iraq from his rundown town. The equally charming Melonie Diaz (Raising Victor Vargas) hits just the right notes of sweetness and sadness in the role of Mike's new love.

Screenwriter Eric Schmid deserves accolades, as well, for keeping what could've played like a movie-of-the-week feeling very unaffected yet very emotional. Cinematographer Kris Kachikis brought another layer of honesty to the story with an easy grace of his own. I keep recalling one breathtaking shot where Mike and his friend are competing in a junkyard shooting range as the glare of the Bakersfield sun flares behind their lanky silhouettes. The film's original music by Tim Boland and Sam Retzer offered its own unobtrusively perfect punctuation to the tale.

During the Q&A, I raised my hand too late to get my compliment in, but what I wanted to express to Abramson and his actors was my appreciation for their success in making good storytelling seem so elegantly effortless. Bravo.

When a quiet, one-word line—"Pressure."—brings the house down, you know you've got something magic going on.

Sex and the...really? Did I just go see it?

2008-06-17T20:58:00.000-07:00

OK, OK. After all my ranting and raving about how I would absolutely never, ever, ever see the Sex and the City movie on the big-screen, I feel I must come clean. I did, indeed, attend a public showing of the film for a fee of $12. I sat in the back row of a packed stadium-seating cineplex theater on the weekend after it opened. I laughed, I teared up, I got annoyed, but, overall, I enjoyed it.

To borrow a description from some review I read, it's basically a valentine to fans of the show. It didn't bring anything new to the table, but it was a sweet cinematic treat for the most part. I actually got choked up during one small moment between Carrie and Miranda on New Year's Eve.

The girls looked good. They must've all been doing Pilates around the clock for the past four years. Also, they acted their ages, which was a relief—a little more subdued and reflective, although they do get in a few shrill, girlish shrieks. Ouch. Let me just say now, no man should ever have to involuntarily see this film. It will be ever more painful than any "waiting outside the department store dressing room while my girlfriend/wife tries stuff on and asks for my opinion over and over."

As many others have noted, the movie's success is rooted in the same thing that made the show such a success—the celebration of true, abiding friendship.

So, now that I've sung the praises of the film I beat up before seeing it, I would like to share some whines, as well.

Spoiler alert!

My big beefs with the film:

- Children are weird accessories. Charlotte's kid is practically mute. Brady gets stuck at another table during one restaurant scene with his mom's back to him.

- The running joke of the dog humping the pillow. WTF?

- The Carrie-in-her-closet fashion show with the game show cards. Super duper DUMB.

- Some sloppy writing, like Carrie telling Samantha, "You just compared your relationship to chemo." Uh, no. She just compared being there for someone whose chemo has become all-consuming to being there for someone whose career has become all-consuming.

- The Jennifer Hudson storyline. Huh? I didn't buy JH's character for a minute. Too saccharine sweet and tacked-on. Her main purpose seemed to be to provide a reason Carrie wouldn't get her Mr. Big love letter e-mails. Which he probably had his assistant transcribe.

- The duct tape on Carrie's cell phone. Supposed to be endearing, but actually seemed affected and DUMB.

- The heavy-handed designer name-dropping and product placement. It was distracting, because it felt very "promotional consideration paid by."

- The girls' shocked reaction to Samantha's "huge" weight gain of 15 lbs. Creepy, especially having heard that SJP won't let the word "fat" be used in her home, because she feels it's cruel. And the awful moment where Samantha is cleaning out her pudding bowl like a desperate puppy before the annoyed airline attendant snatches it away from her. It was just a cartoonish way to address emotional eating.

- The lame close call of Big deciding go through with the ceremony right before Carrie pummels him with her wedding flowers in the street. Probably supposed to make us ache at how close they were to actually tying the knot. Felt wimpy and forced. Like a Three's Company misunderstanding.

- Charlotte's crisis plot point: Pooping her pants with Poughkeepsie pudding. Mkay.

So, after all those complaints, you might wonder what else there was to like. But with a 2.5 hour-ish running time, there was plenty of good stuff, too. Funny stuff. Cute stuff. It's great so many women are loving this movie and using it as an excuse to celebrate their own female friendships. Good for them.

And good for those four feisty actresses and the talented Michael Patrick King. They've given us a lot to love over the years.

After the Wedding

2008-06-05T21:11:00.000-07:00

I found the Danish film After the Wedding to be emotionally riveting and visually appealing. And not just because of its brooding star, Mads Mikkelsen, who is so handsome it almost hurts. The film wasn't perfect by any means, but it masterfully stoked the tension with the smallest glances and gestures. While the director, Susanne Bier, who co-wrote the film with Anders Thomas Jensen, really pushed her luck with distracting close-ups to create a hamhanded sense of foreshadowing (dead plants and taxidermy, anyone?), the finely wrought performances (especially Mikkelson as Jacob and Rolf Lassgard as Jorgen), believable dialogue and lovely settings—whether the saffron shades of India or cool blues and cold stone of Denmark—were truly satisfying. I also appreciated that the story's secrets were fairly quickly revealed, getting down to the true drama of human beings being pulled as tightly as harp strings in the moments of fallout.

The Drape Returns July 27

2008-05-29T22:12:00.000-07:00

I'll drink to that.

Mad Men
Season 2
Sunday, July 27
10PM

Mad Men
Season 1 on DVD
July 1

Sex and the...really? Did that have to happen?

2008-05-21T23:08:00.000-07:00

I've always been a big fan of Sex and the City. I own every season on DVD and have watched each disc ad nauseum. Loved the characters, loved the locations, loved the clothes, loved the bad puns, loved the bad dates, loved the producers, directors, writers and actors—be they regulars or guests. But here's the thing. Six seasons was enough. In fact, they were pushing it a little with numero seis. Around then, the girls were starting to get a little long in the tooth to be humping Manhattan.

While the last season was tied up a little too picture perfectly, it was a satisfying end to the reign of four fillies in the big city. When I heard talk of a movie shortly after the show wrapped, I thought, "Uh-oh. Please, don't. Leave well enough alone." And they did. For awhile.

I recently read a quote from Kim Cattrall where she explained why she famously resisted the movie talk four years ago. At the time, she thought people would hear about a big-screen version and ask, "Them again? Already?" Which pretty much sums up my feelings about this film present day. Minus the "already."

The fawning press hype has not helped. Towering billboards. A dedicated Entertainment Weekly issue. A lavishly produced Vogue spread with size 0 SJP worshipped as fashion icon of all friggin' time and enrobed in all manner of fantastic couture whipped concoctions. Blah, blah, blah, blah.

I guess it's just a sign that people need something fluffy and fabulous to latch onto right around now. Something to remind them of a less topsy-turvy world when it was OK to drink pink things to excess and throw down hundreds of dead presidents for a spiked heel with a skinny strap.

I don't blame the hoi polloi for that. But I also don't want to queue up to worship at the Manolo'd forty-something feet (and evidently fifty-something for Cattrall—gotta give the lady props) of Sam, Miranda, Carrie and Charlotte at the cinema. It just feels wrong.

And watching the video clip from the film (above)—the only scene I've seen except for a clip in the commercial where coloring with crayons served as an awkward euphemism for sex—I have to say: Ouch. Yuck. Ew. (And not just because I skeeve out when people talk with their mouths full of food.)

It feels forced. A painful caricature. A Carrie-cature! You know Ms. Bradshaw (or should I call her Mrs. Big?) would be proud of that one.

Girls, forgive me, but I want to remember you as you were.

Art appreciation

2008-05-21T00:06:00.001-07:00

Quote of the week, excerpted from an e-mail my mom sent me:

"Can you look on the computer and see if you can find out if the artist D______ W_______ is dead or alive? I have several prints of his I'd like to paint in class, so I was sort of hoping he had been dead for 100 years."

Things We Lost in the Fire

2008-05-18T16:28:00.000-07:00

A word of warning to the screenwriter of Things We Lost in the Fire: It's ill-advised to make Lifetime movies the butt of a joke in a film that should've only ever run on that cable station.

I only paid $3.99 to see this high-production value pile of cliché as an iTunes rental, so I don't have too much to complain about, but it's a wonder to me that scripts this weak get produced with such big names attached.

The theme line of the movie is "Always find the good." So let me try. OK, OK. Benecio Del Toro is always fun to watch. That hang-dog handsomeness of his gets me every time. But even he couldn't make me sit through the full run time of a wincingly hackneyed story of a veritable earth angel saving a hopeless (or is he?!) junkie. And, maybe, just maybe, he'll teach her a little something along the way? *Sniff*

Halle Berry did a OK job, too, but it's hard to believe that this is the same chick who gave that knife-to-the-skin performance in Monster's Ball. And I'm so tired of David Duchovny's anhedonic acting style. I knew his character died early in the film, so was hoping that would help make the story more palatable. But darn it if constant flashbacks didn't give him more screen time to smugly drone on and on and on.

Hey. That gives me an idea. David Drone-chovny. I like.

The feel of the wheel

2008-05-15T21:02:00.001-07:00

Bathing John Malkovich

2008-04-17T19:45:00.001-07:00

Muy Loco

2008-04-11T21:38:00.000-07:00

So it seems that in Venezuela, a slew of complaints came in that 11 a.m. was an inappropriate time slot for The Simpsons repeats to run. Evidently callers felt the show's content was bad for all the little boys and girls likely to be watching TV in the morning.

So what did the network pop into the slot to better fortify tiny tots? Baywatch, bitch.

Slo-mo boobs beat a donut-eating boob. Little Lisa would have a fit. Aye carumba!

Wright's not all wrong

2008-03-21T18:59:00.000-07:00

It's been a popular pastime of late to be appalled by surfacing statements made by Obama's minister, Reverend Wright, but I agree with some of the “incendiary” stuff he’s saying.

America IS run by rich, white men.

America HAS run roughshod over the world, dropping bombs under false pretenses and getting in bed with tyrants when it's convenient for us.

America CONTINUES to run away from dealing with the racism that bubbles beneath its "polite society" surface.

And there's no denying that the United States' relationship with Israel IS a major reason the U.S. has been targeted by Al-Qaeda. Bin Laden has stated that fact clearly.

OK, the Reverend does get a little crazy with the HIV conspiracy talk, etc., but it is troubling to me that critics are painting everything he says with the same "anti-American" brush of condemnation. The man makes some good points. The man is operating on a lot of righteous anger. And isn't being critical of America a sign of a citizen who truly cares about his nation?

James A. Baldwin thought so:

"I love America more than any other country in this world, and, exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually."

Of course, there is no matching the eloquent reflections on the topic made by Obama in his now famous "race speech," so I'll let that link do the rest of the talking.

Funny how that works

2008-03-14T21:55:00.000-07:00

Who said cheesecake and wit are mutually exclusive? Hooray to Vanity Fair for dedicating a magazine cover to cheekiness of a different kind, along with an article showcasing today's power comediennes.

Food court musical

2008-03-10T19:05:00.000-07:00

Back in college cafeteria days, while looking out over the rows and rows of long tables filled with masticating students leaning over plastic trays, I used to fantasize that everyone would simultaneously erupt into song and start dancing on tabletops, like they do in musicals.

Luckily, the clever "scene causing" group Improv Everywhere has made that fantasy of mine come true.

Fierce

2008-03-06T18:30:00.000-08:00

Congratulations, Christian. Season four was season snore, but you made it work with your avant-garde pixie dust.

Is she woman enough?

2008-02-26T18:46:00.000-08:00

The whole Obama vs. Hillary thing has been fascinating. I know if my Republican mom is planning to vote for Obama, something big is afoot.

I like Obama. I think he's super keen. But I think Hillary would make a better president. Obama would make a brilliant VP. Hillary would run the office, Obama would raise the spirits.

I gave Hillary my vote in the primaries and got a little thrill doing it. It felt damn good.

A fellow Hillary-voting friend of mine shared Robin Morgan's opinion piece with me recently. Let's just say it got me riled, in a good way.

Robin finds some ugly inequities:

- "When a sexist idiot screamed 'Iron my shirt!' at Hillary Rodham Clinton, it was considered amusing; if a racist idiot shouted 'Shine my shoes!' at Barack Obama, it would've inspired hours of airtime and pages of newsprint analyzing our national dishonor."

- "Carl Bernstein's disgust at Hillary's 'thick ankles.' Nixon-trickster Roger Stone's new Hillary-hating 527 group, 'Citizens United Not Timid' (check the capital letters). John McCain answering 'How do we beat the bitch?' with 'Excellent question!' Would he have dared reply similarly to 'How do we beat the black bastard?'"

- "The women's movement and Media Matters wrung an apology from MSNBC's Chris Matthews for relentless misogynistic comments. But what about NBC's Tim Russert's continual sexist asides and his all-white-male panels pontificating on race and gender? Or CNN's Tony Harris chuckling at 'the chromosome thing' while interviewing a woman from The White House Project? And that's not even mentioning Fox News."

She issues some pointed "goodbyes":

"Goodbye to a campaign where he has to pass as white (which whites—especially wealthy ones—adore), while she has to pass as male (which both men and women demanded of her, and then found unforgivable). If she were black or he were female we wouldn't be having such problems, and I for one would be in heaven."

"Goodbye to an era when parts of the populace feel so disaffected by politics that a comparative lack of knowledge, experience, and skill is actually seen as attractive..."

"Goodbye to the so-called spontaneous 'Obama Girl' flaunting her bikini-clad ass online—then confessing Oh yeah it wasn't her idea after all, some guys got her to do it and dictated the clothes, which she said 'made me feel like a dork.'"

And she gives an inspiring message to us estrogen-fueled types:

"We are the proud successors of women who, though it took more than 50 years, won us the vote."

"Hillary said she found her own voice in New Hampshire. There's not a woman alive who, if she's honest, doesn't recognize what she means."

"Me, I'm voting for Hillary not because she's a woman—but because I am."

Oscar gloating

2008-02-24T21:05:00.000-08:00

I would like to thank the Academy for having impeccable taste in rewarding on the basis of sheer merit this year. I would also like to thank the Academy for making me look damn brilliant with my best ever prediction results, naming Best Picture, Director, Actor, Actress, Supporting Actor, Supporting Actress and Best Original Screenplay correctly, as this previous post shows.

Of course, I would've liked to see The Diving Bell and the Butterfly be honored, too. But Cannes took care of that.

The best part of all those predictions coming true is that I chose them all based on my gut reaction and true admiration for each film or party involved (except for Daniel Day-Lewis, but after seeing There Will Be Blood, which I hadn't when I made my predictions, I do agree he deserved the statuette).

I only got to see parts of the awards broadcast, but I clapped with joy (and lust) for Javier, got fahklempt about Diablo Cody's charming insecurity, sadly missed Marion Cotillard's speech because of a work call(!), but got up and did a touchdown dance for the Coen Brothers' Best Director Oscar. Booya, to ya. I feel like the belle of the non-existent Vanity Fair party!

Unconditional is good

2008-02-19T22:35:00.000-08:00

My good friend, L-girl, informed her almost-seven-year-old son, K-boy, that she, he and me we're about to have one of our traditional Sunday outings (e.g., go eat Mexican food/then feed the ducks in the park/then go get ice cream). His response was priceless:

"I love Nictate! I wouldn't change a single thing about her."

I was instantly charmed by the innocent sentiment and my day had been made. But as the week went on, his statement kept echoing in my head. Of course, what he'd said was adorable and flattering, but why did it keep tapping my shoulder for attention? Then I realized why. Because it was totally unconditional, uncensored, unselfish, and, thus, totally unfamiliar in the topsy-turvy, metropolitan adult world I've been rattling around in of late.

After that insight, I started to reflect on how much of life is full of judgment and criticism—even in mundane moments, like the stranger who honks impatiently when he thinks you're taking too long to turn right. Or in the old familiarity-breeds-contempt scenario, when a grumpy mate growls about you doing that little thing he or she hates. Schools, governments and corporations further serve to identify and eliminate our flaws in the name of the greater good.

Sure, you can tune the incremental nit-picking out, but it wears on a soul over time, like tiny little tears on a seam. And that's not even counting our inner critics, who seem to be assigned to us for lifelong gigs by the time we're old enough to know what "no" means.

This morning, before hitting the snooze button for the third time, I heard something on NPR that caught my ear. A sound bite from the venerable, late Mr. Rogers, played in honor of the 40th anniversary of the first nationwide broadcast of his beloved kids' show. The video above includes the sound bite NPR played. Funny how nicely it aligns with the refreshing open-heartedness of an almost-seven-year-old's take on friendship.

In this official goodbye to fans, Mr. Rogers says: "I like you just the way you are."

What a gigantic gift given in eight little words.

May we all get to be liked like that.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

2008-02-10T14:10:00.000-08:00

Well, well, well. I've gone and surprised myself.

I postponed seeing the critically lauded film The Diving Bell and the Butterfly for week upon week, dreading spending two hours watching a tragic story told with claustrophobic camera work. A couple of people reassured me that it was uplifting and inspiring. Uh-huh, sure. You're telling me that seeing the world through the one working eye of a real-life French fashion editor bon vivant, Jean-Dominique Bauby, who was suddenly paralyzed in his prime is going to raise my spirits. But then I heard the terrific Mathieu Amalric (star of the excellent French drama Kings and Queen—rent it!) was in the lead role and I reconsidered. Mon dieu, I'm glad I did. Because, mon dieu, this film is emotionally ravaging and visually ravishing.

I walked into the theater prepared to face whatever rabbit hole of tortured emotion and onanistic artistry director Julian Schnabel saw fit to drag me down. What I got instead was a wonderland worthy of Alice.

Let's put it this way. The Diving Bell and The Butterfly is threatening to knock No Country for Old Men into the number two spot of my still to be scribed Top Ten Films of 2007 list. I think it'll have to be a tie. Both films are masterpieces. Both stayed on my mind for days. Both made me feel compelled to read the books that inspired them. But The Diving Bell and the Butterfly offers one thing No Country for Old Men couldn't (and, to be fair, shouldn't): Hope.

It is rare to encounter such fully realized perfection in a film. Every element is crafted with beauty and truth, even in the story's darkest moments.

Everyone who touched this film was blessed by Midas himself—from its visionary director, Schanbel, to its gifted writer, Ron Hargrove, its elegant editor, Juliette Welfling, and its gossamer cinematographer, Janusz Kaminski.

The performers were all pitch perfect, too, in roles that required a delicate touch—the soulful Mathieu Amalric as the irresistible Jean-Dominique, the vulnerable Emmanuelle Seigner as his long-suffering love, the sweetly wry Marie-Josée Croze as a patience-of-the-saints speech therapist and Max von Sydow as the heartbreaking patriach.

What the cast and crew has created here is one of the most gorgeous and galvanizing films ever made. Period.

Evidently, Johnny Depp was first attached to play Bauby and was the one who insisted Schnabel direct. While I'm glad Johnny ran off to play a pirate instead (his celebrity would've been too heavy a burden for this delicate film to bear), his choice of Schnabel was inspired.

So thank you, Johnny. Thank you, Julian. Thank you, Mathieu. But, most of all, thank you, Jean-Do. You were a reluctant hero literally trapped in a man's body, but your spirit still soars.

Valentine's Day gift idea

2008-02-02T20:40:00.000-08:00

If you're wondering how to show your main squeeze how much you care on Valentine's Day, why not take a page from Sarah Silverman's book of love? This video was her birthday present to her boyfriend, Jimmy Kimmel. (Thanks for the link, homie.)

Oscar thoughts

2008-01-22T21:49:00.000-08:00

A wee bit o' commentary on this year's Oscar nominations.

BEST PICTURE

Atonement - Even my most romantically minded friends have shrugged this off as a watered-down The English Patient. I won't be seeing it. I loved The English Patient, but would have no patience for a dilution of it. Not too mention my issues with Kiera's pretty, but distracting, pout.

Juno - WTF? Don't get me wrong, I dug Juno in a big way and will definitely be putting it on my 2007 top ten list, but "Best Picture"? Go figure. Like the film itself, this nomination is a pleasant surprise.

Michael Clayton - Solid picture, to be sure. One of those glossy, smart numbers where the Hollywood machine is humming at its well-oiled-machine best. But not a hall of famer, by any means.

No Country for Old Men - Hells yeah! Just hand the Coens' the statuette now, please.

There Will Be Blood - I haven't seen it yet, but will shortly. PTA is a master. DDL is a master. But I can't imagine this film having the lingering visceral impact of No Country for Old Men. Sorry.

BEST ACTRESS

Cate Blanchett - I'm sure she was great, but been there, done that.

Julie Christie - I'm sure she was great. Did you know she dated Warren Beatty? True story.

Marion Cotillard - OMG. Just give her the statuette now. "Transforming herself for the role" doesn't begin to describe it. She tore my heart out as Edith Piaf.

Laura Linney - She was absolutely great in The Savages, and I had to overcome a pesky Laura Linney issue to admit that. But she's gotta wait her turn for Oscar gold.

Ellen Page - She was decidedly great, but deadpan wryness isn't the toughest thing to pull off—let's be honest.

BEST ACTOR

George Clooney - He was good, but that's what he gets paid for, right?

Daniel Day-Lewis - Just give it to him. He's been gone long enough to play the comeback card and everyone is raving about this performance.

Johnny Depp - Johnny's great, but I doubt a singing cannibal part will earn him a golden boy.

Viggo Mortensen - Viggo who? Nah, just kidding. But he's in Linney's boat. He needs to pay a couple more dues.

Tommy Lee Jones - I didn't see In the Valley of Elah, but I think he deserved to get a "Best Supporting Actor" nod for No Country for Old Men. So did Josh Brolin, for that matter.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS

Cate Blanchett, Ruby Dee, Saoirse Ronan, Amy Ryan and Tilda Swinton.

Of this crew, I only saw Tilda's performance. She was terrific in Michael Clayton, especially in one small moment where she lays her clothes out on her bed to prepare for a big day at work. Her fragility in that scene was breathtaking and heartbreaking. So I vote Swinton.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR

Casey Affleck - Didn't see it, but Casey's good.

Javier Bardem - Just give him the statuette, please. The gas station scene alone earned him this.

Hal Holbrook - A sentimental swing vote might give it up for Hal.

Philip Seymour Hoffman - Didn't see this performance, but he was terrific in The Savages. Still, PSH needs to let someone else have a turn at the thank you podium.

Tom Wilkinson - He played crazy real good, but not Oscar good.

BEST DIRECTOR

Paul Thomas Anderson - No doubt he should come in second.

Joel Coen and Ethan Coen - Hells yeah! The other dudes shouldn't bother getting tuxes.

Julian Schnabel - Too artsy outsider-y to take home this prize, but good for him getting nominated.

Tony Gilroy - Solid job, Tone, but competency don't equal transcendency.

Jason Reitman - A promising fresh eye and smart, funny storyteller. You go, boy. But since you are a boy, resume-wise, gotta wait your turn.

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY

Diablo Cody for Juno - If Diablo don't get it for Juno, I don't know what up. Brilliant + box office is tough to beat.

Nancy Oliver for Lars and the Real Girl - Mixed reviews, baby.

Tony Gilroy for Michael Clayton - Again, solid. Just not remarkable.

Brad Bird, Jan Pinkava, Jim Capobianco for Ratatouille - It got a 98 on Metacritic, but still, it's about an animated rat. This is when that "It's an honor just to be nominated" line comes to mind.

Tamara Jenkins for The Savages - If Diablo don't get it, Tamara should. What a lovely, insightful film she scribed (and directed). Bravo.

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY

Paul Thomas Anderson for There Will Be Blood - Something tells me PTA might take this one as a consolation prize.

Christopher Hampton for Atonement - Eh. War-torn love story. He probably wrote it in his sleep.

Ronald Harwood for The Diving Bell and the Butterfly - This seems like it would've been a challenge, but again, too outsider to win.

Sarah Polley - I'm sure she did a fine job. Good on her.

Joel Coen and Ethan Coen for No Country for Old Men - I'm midway through the book, so can say the Coens' didn't have too much work to do here. Three words: amazing source material.

Kiwis are Irie

2008-01-21T21:51:00.001-08:00

While the humor and song stylings of HBO's Flight of the Conchords range from hilarious to ho-hum in season one, overall it's hard to resist the deadpan charm of Bret and Jemaine. I admit, I'm developing quite a crush on the lambchop-sideburned Clement.

I've just caught up on the show on DVD and episodes like "Sally," "Drive By" and "Girlfriends" get more and more delightfully nuanced with each repeated viewing. It's clear everyone involved in this show is lavishing it with TLC and I thank HBO for that.

Above is a clip of my favorite song parody from season one. A lovely French 101 pop ditty with a 1960s groove. Genius.

Telling songs in the shuffle of life

2008-01-11T23:39:00.000-08:00

Now you can read your iPod contents like mystics read tea leaves.

Here's how:
1. Put your iPod on "shuffle."
2. For each question below, press the "next" button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THE CORRESPONDING SONG TITLE DOWN IN THE EXACT ORDER OF APPEARANCE, NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS.
4. Bear in mind that absolutely nothing evil will befall you if you choose to ignore this survey.

I've included my iPod's "answers" to the questions (along with some commentary in parenthesis) below. Let me know what your answers were, if you wanna.

HOW WOULD YOU DESCRIBE YOURSELF?

"Deep in a Dream” Chet Baker

WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?

"Broken Arrows” Jose Gonzalez

HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?

"Lazy” David Byrne (very apropos)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?

"A Little Trip” Vinyl Kings (I hope it’s to Paris)

WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?

"Lonely As Can Be” The Concretes (not really, luckily)

WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?

"What Child Is This?” Vince Guaraldi Trio (probably true)

WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?

"Here We Go Again" Vinyl Kings (hahaha)

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?

"Linus and Lucy" Vince Guaraldi Trio (Charlie’s more compelling food for thought)

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?

"Here Comes Everybody” Autolux

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?

"When You Play the Violin” The Gothic Archies (Huh. I have no musical ability.)

WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?

"Turn On/Off” Inara George

WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?

"Ghost Mountain” The Unicorns (whoa, eerie)

WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST??

"High and Dry" Radiohead

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR?

"Catch My Disease" Ben Lee (too perfect for a germphobe like me!)

WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?

"Love Can Strike Twice” Flotilla (what does this foretell?)

WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?

"Wait for Me” Sean Lennon (something nice about that)

What's the frequency, concrete?

2008-01-09T20:31:00.000-08:00

A fitting way to sum up the Concrete Frequency concert I saw last night at Disney Hall would be to paraphrase what one blonde-locked singer/songwriter said on-stage during her between-song patter: Just when you're about to give up on Los Angeles, it has a way of showing you something beautiful.

I'd never been inside Disney Hall before, so that in itself was a treat. A spectacular silver sculpture on the outside, the venue's interior is warm with cherry-toned wood everywhere. Some have complained the acoustics are too good, amplifying every cough and candy wrapper, but when the music is soaring, no complaints can be heard.

The line-up featured 14 artists—most of whom I wasn't familiar with, but probably should be. I'll just give a shout-out to my favorites below. Each was asked to perform two songs inspired by city life, acoustic-style. All the performers were clearly humbled and honored to be playing in such a hallowed hall, which made the show even more moving.

Biirdie
What a great discovery! I dug Biirdie's sound so much, I bought their CD in the lobby on the way out. Their "LA is Mars" was the perfect opener for the night. Great vocals, great melodies, great band. One to watch, as they say.

Zooey Deschanel
Well, hello! Zooey has been a favorite actress of mine since I first saw her in All the Real Girls, but I think her best performance so far has been as a guest star in Weeds. Hilarious and adorable. One day, I hope to write a movie for her. I can't really explain why, since I've never written a movie before. But I digress. The whole actress-who-wants-to-sing thing has been done to a crisp, but Zooey delivers. Let's just put it this way. When she performed, it was just her voice and her guitarist's strumming filling the grand arches of Disney Hall and those rafters were ringing with her clear bell tones. Really, really remarkable. I hope I get to see her perform in her own show one day. I've heard she's got an album coming out. Hooray!

Inara George
Inara is a love. I've only met her in passing thanks to mutual friends, but everyone who knows Inara loves Inara. She's got an angelic voice and incredible range, plus is just darn cute. She performed two lovely songs with revered Brian Wilson collaborator, Van Dyke Parks, including one from her upcoming album. Hooray!

Sondre Lerche
I have Sondre's first album, but kinda lost track of him after that (except for his instant classic "(I Wanna) Call it Love"). Based on his entertaining stage persona and energized song stylings, I'd like to see his full show sometime. Speaking of full, it's pretty clear Sondre's full of himself. But the boy has good reason to be.

Kyp Malone
Kyp Malone of TV on the Radio closed the show and was a show-stopper to be sure. His hilarious mumbled musings on city life and bombastic vocals gave a nice yin, yang and a bang to wrap up a wonderful night. I'd like to see more of the Kypster, too.

For the love of Lars

2008-01-07T18:58:00.000-08:00

It was while on-stage in a comedy improv show that I decided to learn more about Ibsen. (You didn't see that comin', did ya?)

Based on an audience suggestion, my improv mates and I were supposed to imitate his playwriting style in a scene. I had no idea how to do it, but faked it and got a mild laugh from the audience. A lot of improv is just faking it, so no big deal. But, post-show, I felt it was my responsibility to find out more about the celebrated Norwegian. So I went online to the lazy-assed researcher's choice, Wikipedia. Luckily the entry on Ibsen was thoughtfully presented.

As I read through it, the similarities between Ibsen's work and that of my favorite filmmaker, Lars von Trier, fell into sharp relief:

"[Ibsen's] plays were considered scandalous to many of his era, when Victorian values of family life and propriety largely held sway in Europe and any challenge to them was considered immoral and outrageous. Ibsen's work examined the realities that lay behind many facades, possessing a revelatory nature that was disquieting to many contemporaries."

Aha! As von Trier did in his eviscerating masterpiece Dogville and its less magnificent, but no less moving, sister film Manderlay.

"Ibsen largely founded the modern stage by introducing a critical eye and free inquiry into the conditions of life and issues of morality. Victorian-era plays were expected to be moral dramas with noble protagonists pitted against darker forces; every drama was expected to result in a morally appropriate conclusion, meaning that goodness was to bring happiness, and immorality pain. Ibsen challenged this notion and the beliefs of his times and shattered the illusions of his audiences."

Hmmm. Brings to mind von Trier's Breaking the Waves and Dancer in the Dark—two dramas so emotionally devastating, I don't think I could handle a second viewing of either.

Having stumbled upon this Ibsen/von Trier similarity, I Google'd the two blokes' names to find out if anyone else had made this comparison. Humorously enough, good olde von Trier included a tongue-in-cheek Ibsen joke in his recent office comedy The Boss of It All. In a very funny scene, one of his characters "outs" Ibsen as being an idiot. Reading that brought a grin to my mug. It was like Lars and I had shared a little inside joke.

Yes, despite the somberness of most of the films mentioned above, von Trier does have a wicked sense of humor. It revealed itself a bit in the documentary The Five Obstructions (a great film exercise any creative person should see). But now his twisted sense of play has unfurled itself in all its snide glory with the subdued, but brilliant office farce The Boss of It All.

This quietly clever comedy is set in the dimly lit halls and conference rooms of a Danish software corporation that has a fictional president at its helm. The real president, a man named Ravn, has created a "fake president" in a foreign country. Upon this ghost executive Ravn is able to blame all manner of unpopular business decisions. A habeas corpus situation occurs and Ravn must scramble to produce a "live" faux leader. So he hires an actor to impersonate "the boss of it all." Lucky for us, the actor he handpicks decides to take this role—as he would any role—very, very seriously.

The slow simmer of the story asks for some patience, but the plot of it all pays off swimmingly in the climatic meeting showdown. The dialogue is superb throughout. I'd say von Trier's finest skill is his ability to dissect and reflect human behavior with uncanny—and, OK, usually unflattering—precision. The acting is terrific throughout the ensemble cast, but especially in the faking-stoicism-to-perfection performance of Jens Albinus as the hired thespian in question.

Upping the ante, von Trier creates interludes in the action with bitterly self-mocking bits of narration. He also does a kind of jump cut hiccup trick in certain scenes—stuttering from one take of a moment to another—while the dialogue continues seamlessly. This editing sleight of hand creates a kinetic feeling of imbalance and subtly mimics the redundant patterns of office life.

You know, I've tried to talk friends into seeing von Trier's films and it's an uphill battle. I suppose it's because his films seem like so much work to watch. I remember years back convincing a Taco Tuesday movie night crew to see Breaking of the Waves when it was first released. They loathed it on exit. One of my friends actually gave me the finger as the credits rolled. BUT a day or two later, they were all gushing about it. See? See?!

So for those of you who've been leery of Lars, perhaps The Boss of It All will be a nice way to dip your toe into his genius oeuvre. To paraphrase the lady lawyer character in the aforementioned comedy, the words in dogma films are sometimes hard to hear, but that doesn't make them any less important.

More Lemon in '08

2008-01-04T20:34:00.000-08:00

I've finally landed on my New Year's Resolution for 2008.

To be more like Liz Lemon, the sassy, somewhat self-sufficient leading lady of the critically acclaimed sitcom 30 Rock.

For those who have been living under a rock, Liz is the hilarious, yet harried, heart of the funniest show on TV. She's played by the delightful and talented Tina Fey. To paraphrase Entertainment Weekly, Liz Lemon is the Mary Richards of the now.

So, in 2008, I hereby swear to be more like Liz Lemon. In every day and every way.

Witty. Spirited. Kinda free. Kinda now. LEMON!

Walk Hard to Juno

2008-01-03T13:29:00.000-08:00

Despite my good intentions, I only made it to the cineplex twice during my holiday break. What follows is my take on the two films I witnessed.

Walk Hard
Silly good fun is to be had in this parody of the cliche-prone music bio-pic genre (more specifically, the overly praised Walk the Line). Walk Hard was brought to you by the suddenly prolific Apatow crew. I'm guessing the remarkable success of Knocked Up has given Judd green light privileges ad infinitum—or at least until his predictable future downslide into drugs, dildos and despair.

John C. Reilly is pleasing, as always. He plays a kind of musically gifted Gomer Pyle who struggles with childhood misery before a rise to fame, followed shortly by a decline into drugs, dildos and despair. Jenna Fischer does a very nice job de-Pamming herself in the June Carter Cash-ish role. Nice to see so many Groundlings and SNL cast members getting screen time, too.

The humor is Zucker Brothers-esque (think Airplane, although it doesn't soar to those heights). The music is polished and pleasing. The performances are very charming. In summary, if you want to see a movie that will require little else aside from toe-tapping and knee-slapping, Walk Hard is for you.

Juno
While I had sworn on a stack of IUDs that I wouldn't see Juno until it hit DVD due to its exhaustive over-marketing, I ended up buying a ticket for it on a whim.* I'm really glad I did.

Juno wasn't the joke-a-minute quirkfest I'd expected from the trailer that ran ad nauseum. The film actually has a very sweet heart to it. Diablo Cody, the former stripper who penned the script, should be a proud movie mama. Based on the smart, fresh humor her dialogue** exhibited, I bet she'd be a lot of fun to hang out with—potential lap dances aside. Juno offers an appealing lo-fi soundtrack and animated title sequence, too.

While the lead actress, Ellen Paige, is getting a lot of well-deserved praise for her turn as the knocked-up teen with deadpan (labor and) delivery, I was also impressed with adoptive mother Jennifer Garner. She walked the line between annoying up-tightness and motherhood-melting sweetness very nicely.

*On a whim = Being too buzzed to leave the theater complex after two post-Walk Hard glasses of champagne quaffed in the company of the famed Skinny Arbuckle.

**I've heard a few people complain about the self-conscious cleverness of the Juno script. Yes, it is heavy-handed in the quirk department. No, there is no real teen (or adult, for that matter) who talks with that kind of crazy-high batting average of smart/funny/pop culture-reference-packed pronouncements. Yes, the scenes where Jason Bateman's character bonds over music and horror films with Juno are self-congratulatory overkill. Yet...yet. Unlike the quip-spewing Gilmore Girls, who I could never bear, I wish the girl named Juno was real. Some of the stuff she said is like the stuff I think, but don't say because it's way too eccentric. The dialogue will annoy many, decidedly (mostly dudes who won't have the patience for it). But I think it's worth suspending a little disbelief to enjoy the ear candy.

Tell me what signs you see

2007-12-23T23:40:00.001-08:00

While cruising YouTube for laughs with my one-year-old nephew, I came across this Sesame Street gem. Dare to try to resist the charms of smooth as silk Chris Brown and squeaky Elmo singing about neighborhood signs. Brought to you by the letters R and B.

Warm yourself by the Friendly Fire

2007-12-21T16:34:00.000-08:00

I've just discovered last year's Friendly Fire album by Sean Lennon. It first entered my consciousness when a coworker was playing it over his computer speakers. "What is that?" I had to know. You've probably guessed by now that it was Sean.

I wasn't too thrilled with Sean's first album. His voice was too squeaky and wobbly for me. But this time around, he sounds safely post-pubescent in the vocal category. And he's obviously matured in his sound, as well. He's older, wiser and audibly relaxed.

It's just a lovely pop album from start to finish. Mellow, sweet, soft and pretty. The lyrics are trite at times, but the undeniable charm here is in the soothing vibe that will wrap around you like a fuzzy cashmere blanket on a misty winter day. Ahhh.

Pop culture ranting (a.k.a. "My Three Cents")

2007-12-19T19:52:00.000-08:00

Cent #1: Check out the January 2007 cover of Marie Claire magazine. Somehow, Christina Aguilera even manages to make pregnancy look g-damn filthy. "Wanna watch my water break, big boy?" Good grief on a pogo stick.

Cent #2: I was looking forward to seeing Juno when I first saw the trailer on TV a month or so ago. It seemed to promise a witty and irreverent film repast. Right up my alley, as it were. But evidently Fox Searchlight Pictures is really putting all its fertilized eggs in one basket with this baby, since it feels like the airwaves are all Juno ads, all the time. Even though the commercial cuts mix it up with different lines in different spots, it's nothing less than a full frontal bombardment of self-conscious cleverness.

I swear, last night I must've clocked my 100th encounter with the TV ad. I'm beginning to actively hate Juno and all it represents. I feel like I've been pummeled black and blue by quirky—and I can usually go eight rounds with eccentric and walk out of the ring a champ.

How annoyed am I? Let's just say "this year's Napolean Dynamite" box office take will be $11.50 short of what it could've been. I'm gonna go make myself a g-damn quesa-dillah instead.

Cent #3: What is UP with SJP's raccoon-esque eye make-up in the new commercial for her "Covet" perfume? She looks like a veteran carney who has stayed too long at the fair crossed with a Bellevue escapee. Her painfully forced flirting in the back of the cop car is cringe-worthy. And this girl could out-flirt a Parisian prostitute in her SATC prime. Ingenue? More like Inge-old. Honey, I'm 42, so I can say this with hard-earned authority. Act your age, not your Manolo Blahnik size.

So that's my three cents. And I feel better for having tossed them into your fountain.

You make think I sound bitter, but I bet David Spade would find me highly employable.

Inside out, boy, you turn me...

2007-12-12T19:59:00.000-08:00

A woman never forgets the day she first sees her rectum. Oh, sure, it's not the type of thing she'll reminisce about fondly with her mother on the sun porch over lemonade and ginger cookies. But, still, it is a memorable moment.

Today was my day to give a fine "how do you do" to my poop chute and I have to say it was pretty in pink versus the dark and craggy caverns I've always imagined my digestive system to be comprised of.

A symptom had made me worry something might be amiss in the great down under, but the doc assured me that all's well that ends well as he and I admired the sig camera's display of my undercarriage on a discreetly sized TV screen by the exam table. I'm relieved the deed is done and so glad I did it for peace of mind. Now I just wish I'd ask him to burn me a DVD of my posterior performance.

Katie Couric is gonna bust a button when she hears.

Them thar Hills

2007-12-10T16:41:00.000-08:00

Have you seen MTV's The Hills? It's a confusing experience to watch a reality show like this, because the editing and production values are so silky, the storylines feel so scripted and the music so cleverly punctuates the action. It's as if a Gen Y drama along the lines of The O.C. hooked up for a tawdry night with Real World. (Actually, I wouldn't be surprised if that was the executive producer's actual pitch line.)

I resisted being pulled in by the show's glossy undertow until recently, but now I'm actually enjoying spoofs of it (click embedded video above, produced by Judd Apatow), as well as reading hilarious blog recaps over at JustinBobby.com and catching up on old episodes online at MTV.com.

There is something simultaneously irritating and entertaining about The Hills. The people are so pretty, pampered and purposeless, I want to tie them to a Pilates machine and toss them into the Malibu surf. Yet their superficial stupor is strangely soothing. Listening to their inane conversations is like slipping into a spa bath with FrouFrou on the stereo and honeysuckle-scented Diptyque candles burning all about.

It's so L.A. to say it, but I do have a personal connection to the show. My friend K-girl's band The By and By had a song featured on this episode of The Hills. If you click that last link, you'll get a good feeling for the strange spell the show casts and get to hear my friend's song "Undertow" in the scene transition at the end of the clip. And after viewing the clip, I gotta say: Could Trumpette-lookalike Whitney be any more fake? And doesn't Lauren look like a 21st century Marcia Brady? I know, riiiight?

Cute kid alert

2007-12-07T10:48:00.000-08:00

My friend L-girl just shared a funny story about her precocious little six-year-old, K-boy. Here’s how L-girl tells the tale:

My son was scratching his bottom and I told him to go wash his hands. He said, "Why?" and I said, "Because I think they smell like poop, or is that just my imagination?"

And he turned from washing his hands, incredulously looking me in the eyes, he asked, "You can smell your imagination?!"

Someone, please, make it work again.

2007-12-06T12:56:00.000-08:00

I've been a rabid Project Runway fan since Season 2 (the hands-down best season, in my opinion, thanks to the Santino/Nick/Andrae triumvirate), but Season 4 is a real snore. I'm trying to figure out if the format is just getting time-worn (less clever challenges, repetitive critiques from the judges) or if this season's designers are just not "good TV."

Luckily, I just discovered Santino Rice's hilarious Elle show recap blog and have new hope that entertainment is still to be found in the series (especially comforting since the brilliant FourFour has gone into semi-retirement when it comes to his spot-on ProjRun recaps).

Some thoughts on episode 3:

- Grimacing Steven has to go! His Tim Gunn impressions are ludicrously bad.
- Victorya is a raving bitch on wheels. More like, Dicktorya.
- No surprise that guest judge Donna Karan liked Sweet P’s dress since it screamed DKNY.
- Michael Kors is really dropping the ball when it comes to his formerly funny, catty descriptors. "Mother of the bride" needs to be put back on the rack, oh signature-T-shirt-under-a-suit-jacket man.
- How can any season's designers hope to top the singularly witty and delightfully dramatic Santino, who has rechristened this season aptly: "Project Rami."

No Country for Margot in Real Life

2007-11-26T18:49:00.001-08:00

As I had had the keen foresight to take Thanksgiving week off from work, I was able to visit the cinema thrice within a seven-day time span. Ahh, what bliss it was. As a sidenote, the Arclight Cinema in Hollywood is quickly becoming my favorite place in Los Angeles. Not just because of the posh movie-viewing standard it provides, but because I've seen three great movies there in a row. A winning streak like that can earn a gal's affection real quick like.

While I'm dishing up the countrified slang, might as well dive into my first review. The Coen Brothers' No Country for Old Men is as brutally violent and darkly funny as all get out. While my favorite line in the film is one-word long ("Alright," exquisitely delivered by Josh Brolin after some tossing and turning in his darkened trailer bedroom), the dialogue is peppered with cult-status quotables like Tommy Lee Jones' dry as dust "If it ain't, it'll do till the mess gets here." My absolute favorite scene is the coin toss in the gas station, where Javier Bardem menancingly tests the tensile strength of implied threat with pitch black humor.

Best supporting actor awards should be immediately dispatched to Brolin, Jones and Bardem. "Supporting" only because they share in the film's success so equally. Talk about a (cowboy) hat trick. Bravo, boys!

My only beef with the film was the casting in the secondary roles (although the bit parts were terrifically performed). The truth in acting was lacking when it came to Brolin's character's wife and mother-in-law (esp. in a real clunker of a taxi scene obviously meant to be comic relief). Woody Harrelson was distracting and the usually spot-on Stephen Root was strangely self-conscious and awkward. While those stumbles dimmed the film's luster for me slightly, nothing could make this instant classic any less instant classic-ier.

Now onto cinematic delight numero dos. Margot at the Wedding is a neurotic jumble, which is to say I loved it. Which is also to say, I wouldn't recommend it to most homo sapiens.

If you like talky movies, say "hey." If you enjoy emotionally eviscerating film experiences, say "ho." Since I do find enjoyment in both of the above, I was digging Noah Baumbach's new offering. Much less accessible and winning than Baumbach's wonderfully written and acted The Squid and the Whale, Margot at the Wedding is no less wonderfully written and acted. Both films share a lack of narrative structure that weakens the whole, but Baumbach knows from modern-day angst and finely noted foibles.

Nicole Kidman is a verbally evil delight as a sister with a chip on her cashmere-sweatered shoulder. Jennifer Jason Leigh is beautifully bemused as the black sheep in the family fold. Speaking of Black, Jack ain't bad as the groom to be. And the terrific supporting cast keeps pace with the needling sisters admirably. A special shout-out is deserved by the young boy playing Nicole's son in the film. Zane Pais plays a difficult role with admirable delicacy. The sisters of Margot at the Wedding lingered on my mind for days after seeing the film. I almost missed them, like I would a newly made friend who lived far away.

Truly one of the most lovely and loving facets of the film was the cinematography by Harris Savides. Desaturated hues of bottle green, rosy russet, worn-in blue and bleached-out beige gorgeously capture the faded feeling of old Super 8 home movies, adding to the sense of nostalgia and regret. Even Wong Kar-Wai would weep at the sight of it.

Now onto more crowd-pleasing fare: Dan in Real Life. As big a fan of Steve Carell as I am, I didn't think I would like this one. It gave off whiffs of saccharin schmaltz and the reviews were mostly dismissive. WRONG! It was sheer romantic comedy delight and I don't use that phrase casually. Sure, there were some sit-com-y short-cuts and undeniable cute-osity, but overall it was warm, witty and wonderful. Carell and Binoche ground the film so beautifully. You'd expect that from a silver screen veteran like her, but Steve holds his ground and more. I laughed out loud and sniffled out loud. *Sigh* I'm a lucky film goer, I am, I am.

Coming back home to Califone

2007-11-16T20:05:00.000-08:00

You know how you fall in love with an album on your first listen, then lose interest in a month or two and wonder what the big deal was anyway, then, later, you run into it by accident in your iTunes library and go, "Oh, my god. It's even more gorgeous than I remember." Yeah, exactly. Califone's Roots & Crowns album is just like that.

Maybe she'll address their body image issues next

2007-11-13T10:31:00.000-08:00

From the "Some Jokes Write Themselves" file (emphasis added):

Paris Hilton Tries to Help Drunk Elephants
Nov. 13, 2007, 10:15 AM EST

The Associated Press

GAUHATI, India -- Paris Hilton is being praised by conservationists for highlighting the problem of binge-drinking elephants in northeastern India.

Activists said a celebrity endorsement such as Hilton's was sure to raise awareness of the plight of the pachyderms that get drunk on farmers' homemade rice beer and then go on a rampage.

"The elephants get drunk all the time. It is becoming really dangerous. We need to stop making alcohol available to them," the 26-year-old socialite said in a report posted on World Entertainment News Network's Web site. Her comments were picked up by other Web sites and newspapers around the globe.

Last month, six wild elephants that broke into a farm in the state of Meghalaya were electrocuted after drinking the potent brew and then uprooting an electricity pole.

"There would have been more casualties if the villagers hadn't chased them away. And four elephants died in a similar way three years ago. It is just so sad," Hilton was quoted as saying in Tokyo last week. She was in Tokyo to judge a beauty contest.

Her publicist couldn't immediately be reached for comment Tuesday.

Hilton promised to improve her bad-girl image after she completed a jail term in June for violating probation in an alcohol-related reckless driving case.

She announced plans to do charity work in Rwanda, but the trip was postponed until next year.

Sangeeta Goswami, head of animal rights group People for Animals, told The Associated Press: "I am indeed happy Hilton has taken note of recent incidents of wild elephants in northeast India going berserk after drinking homemade rice beer and getting killed."

"As part of her global elephant campaign, Hilton should, in fact, think of visiting this region literally infested with elephants," Goswami said.

Another conservationist said elephant alcohol abuse was just a symptom of the real problem.

From MSN.com

Michael Clayton

2007-11-12T18:59:00.000-08:00

The latest George Clooney vehicle, Michael Clayton, is a high-gloss corporate thriller that demonstrates what a well-oiled machine a big studio picture can be. It's a satisfying ride with impeccable production values and bracing performances, especially by Tom Wilkinson (his eerie voiceover at the outset of the film is shiver-inducing) and Tilda Swinton (seeing her trembling corporate powerhouse of a woman neatly laying out her pantyhose before a big meeting telegraphs so much about her character so elegantly). Still, there's not much here that elevates the genre or lingers on the mind post-credits roll.

Clooney admirably keeps his charm in check as a jaded "fixer" who cleans up nasty legal spills for a top law firm, but he's almost too reserved to care about. A moving scene with his son as they drive away from a family get-together is more a credit to the solid writing than his acting. (Sometimes his strangely heavy-handed black eyeliner is more riveting than his facial expressions in close-ups. Maybe the makeup artist just wanted to buy a little more time with the Cloonster.) Another scene deserving a shout-out for writing is a moment between Clooney's character and his boss at the latter's mansion. Boxer-like dexterity in that dialogue. And Clooney is wearing one sweeeet chocolate brown jacket while delivering the lines.

My biggest beef with the film was the choice to use a flashback storytelling device. It seems to serve no expository purpose, but handily knocks the knees right out from under the climactic chase at the end of the film. WTF? May it please the jury, the prosecution rests.

Kawaii translation

2007-11-09T17:54:00.000-08:00

Read in Japan Up!, a free magazine about Japanese Cuisine and Trends, while I was waiting for my take-out ramen. (Clearly, my mother, boyfriend, husband or roommate was not at home cooking for me at that point.) This excerpt is from an article about Japanese tapas restaurants (a.k.a. Izakaya restaurants):

"Don't forget than an Izakaya could be another home for you. If your mother, girlfriend, wife or roommate is not at home cooking for you, you can spend your own dinnertime at an Izakaya. Instead of lonely buying hamburgers and French fries at a drive thru, enjoy your favorite healthy dishes from the Izakaya menu, which have variety of dishes to choose from. If you sit down at a counter, a chef or waitress could be your chatting partner. Izakaya restaurants are not just there when you have gatherings or celebrations, it's also there during tough and lonesome times."

Cool joint

2007-11-07T20:13:00.000-08:00

Relish the delicate and exquisite artistry of Wool and Water's paper dolls. Oo la la.

Aye chihuahua

2007-11-02T15:38:00.000-07:00

The intern at work caught me off-guard when handing me my new cubicle name tag today. So what was my reply to her?

“Neato Frito.”

I actually just said “Neato Frito” to an impressionable college student.

My street cred is toast.

Analogy of Love

2007-11-01T14:12:00.000-07:00

Two of the funniest members of The Groundlings, Brian Palermo and Mitch Silpa, portray the awkwardness of accidentally saying the L word over mahi mahi.

Still mad about Mad Men

2007-10-23T19:06:00.000-07:00

I've been raving about comedies lately, but the best drama on TV is AMC's Mad Men. Gorgeous photography, art direction and costuming, incredible writing, flawless casting and impeccable acting. Not to mention the time capsule appeal of a show set in 1960 corporate America.

Alas, the season finale has aired and the new shows won't come on until Summer 2008. In the meantime, catch up on iTunes or OnDemand or you'll be in the dark come next Emmy time when this show sweeps.

Listen to Sarah

2007-10-18T15:21:00.000-07:00

Rewatching the first season of The Sarah Silverman Program on DVD has reminded me of how genius the show is. And not just because it showcases the singularly sick and twisted talents of my favorite comedian, Sarah Silverman. This series takes the stained and dusty Persian rug of sitcom formulas and shakes it over the balcony railing within an inch of its loomed life.

Adding to the joy, the casting and acting are simply aces and all the cleverly written A and B story lines are peppered with throwaway genius. Yes, the new golden age of comedy is shining oh so brightly. And hooray that chicks like Silverman and Fey are leading the way.

Round 'em up

2007-10-17T16:12:00.001-07:00

Actor/writer Jeremy Rowley is a very funny guy, as you'll see if you watch this interview where he plays a Canadian border patrol officer.

Konsumer Korner

2007-10-12T10:39:00.000-07:00

Today's featured item is found in the dairy aisle of most Whole Foods market locations: Wallaby's Organic Yogurt made in the "down under" style (a.k.a. on the Australia tip, yo). While designer yogurts promising optimized digestion or a more intangible kind of inner peace have quickly populated the refrigerated retail shelves, few are worthy of special distinction.

Since my personal trainer wants me eating a little protein every couple of hours, I have been on a yogurt binge—ravenously sampling new brands and flavors to acquire the ultimate yogurt experience.

Lately, it's been two main contenders: Wallaby's Organic Lowfat Banana Vanilla Yogurt (pictured above) and Liberte's Lowfat Six Grains Yogurt in Pear. Both are sublimely mild and silky smooth. But while Liberte has the texture perk of whole grains like barley mixed in, Wallaby's wins on sheer comfort food points.

If you frequent a Whole Foods, do yourself a flavor favor and pick up one or both of these beneficial bovine offerings.

Until next time on Konsumer Korner, save room for seconds!

The Neurotic Pickup Artist

2007-10-08T18:35:00.000-07:00

This hilarious McSweeney's piece by Frank Ferri called "The Neurotic Pickup Artist" is a hoot. A sneak peak:

"Are your legs tired? Because you've been running through my mind all day. Just remember to stay plenty hydrated. We are in a bar, and drinking alcohol—though it may seem counterintuitive—can lead to dehydration. After all, it's a diuretic. So if you were running all day and now you're drinking martinis, you could be in danger without even realizing it. Are you having headaches? Is your urine dark? Where are you going?"

Gee. It's darling, but limited.

2007-10-08T10:47:00.000-07:00

While some reviews have nit-picked The Darjeeling Limited as a weak effort on the Crowned Prince of Quirky's part, I'm a true blue Wes Anderson fan and will forgive him of almost any indulgence. The first few frames into the film, I was already savoring his signature art direction niceties. While the story is decidedly undercooked, the flavors it evokes are delectably piquant.

India is the setting for most of the film and it provides environments both succulent and stark to frame the fumbling story of a synthetic spiritual journey taken by three semi-estranged brothers—the bandaged Owen Wilson, mustachioed Jason Schwartzman and pec-baring Adrien Brody (not so at home in the comedy genre, but I give him credit for being game).

Anderson and cowriters Roman Coppola and Schwartzman fleshed out the script as they traveled India themselves and the loosey-goosey preparation process is evident in the scattershot plot. Still, the camaraderie of the trio, the disarming goofiness of the dialogue, the cultural visual masala of India and the terrific supporting cast (especially Amara Karan as the sly, but wide-eyed "stewardess") scheme to make The Darjeeling Limited an irresistible monogrammed hippie trip.

Thank heaven for little boys

2007-10-02T19:06:00.000-07:00

You haven't really lived until you've had an innocent 14-month-old waddle up to give you a kiss on the cheek when all you did to earn that sweeter-than-sweet show of affection was to say "beep, beep" every time he pushed a button on his toy. Sometimes the world does make sense.

Paris in the (that's) hot seat

2007-10-01T15:42:00.000-07:00

David Letterman deserves some kind of civic award for keeping America's drunk-driving corporate princess on pins and needles during this comedy-of-torture interview.

In Praise of July

2007-09-28T16:49:00.000-07:00

I recently read a terrific, inspiring Miranda July interview in the October/November issue of Bust magazine. Whenever I get a glimpse of Miranda's world view via a piece like that or read an insightful short story from her new collection, No One Belongs Here More Than You, or rewatch her beautiful feature film debut, Me and You and Everyone We Know, I'm left wishing that I could have her as a life coach. Or art teacher. Or friend.

There's just something about how she synthesizes the world that is preternaturally insightful and heart-swelling.

Like filmmaker Wes Anderson, July takes precious little details and makes them soar with greater meaning. She's an incredibly intelligent, real-life Amelie who makes art that makes sense.

I know I've linked her short story, "The Shared Patio", before, but it's one of her best and worth your click.

Here's an excerpt showcasing some of her quirky genius:

" I asked Vincent more questions, and his answers became longer and longer until they hit a kind of cruising altitude and I didn't have to ask, he just orated. It was unexpected, like suddenly finding oneself at work on a weekend. What was I doing here? Where was my Roman Holiday? My American in Paris? This was just more of the same, an American in America. I had not labored all week for this. At moments he would pause and squint up at the sky and I would think that he was constructing the perfect question for me, a fantastic question that I would have to rise to the challenge of, drawing from everything I knew about myself and mythology and this black Earth. But he was pausing only to emphasize what he was saying about how the cover design was not actually his fault, and then he finally did ask me something; he asked, Did I think it was his fault, you know, based on everything he had just told me? I looked at the sky, just to see what it felt like. I pretended that I was pausing before telling him about the secret feeling of joy that I hide in my chest, waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to notice that I rise each morning seemingly with nothing to live for, but I do rise, and it is only because of this secret joy, God's love, in my chest. I looked down from the sky and into his eyes and I said, It wasn't your fault. I excused him for the cover and for everything else. For not yet being a New Man. We fell into silence then; he did not ask me any more questions. I was still happy to sit there beside him, but that is only because I have very, very low expectations of most people, and he had now become Most People."

30 Rock, yes, rocks

2007-09-24T20:36:00.000-07:00

I was one of the millions upon millions of people who didn't watch this year's Emmy's Awards. I find it highly suspicious that I didn't even know they were on, and I live in Los Angeles. Something seems awry with the media placement on that bad boy. Hello—street banners, anyone?

Anyhow. The reason I'm bringing it up is that I couldn't agree more with the Emmy Committee or whoever it is that votes on these things. 30 Rock is totally, completely, absolutely the most outstanding comedy series on TV.

I didn't know that as a fact until recently, while watching season one on DVD. Holy crap, is it a whipsmart funny oasis in a simmering crockpot of sitcom mediocrity. Sure, we are in the midst of a new golden age of comedy with shows like Curb Your Enthusiasm, Weeds and Entourage (some might include The Office—OK, I'll allow it, although it's veering into cloying Ross/Rachel marshlands, and, oh how we miss you Arrested Development), but only one of those other terrific shows is on network TV like 30 Rock is (with the inherent creative roadblocks that involves) and none of those shows can quite match 30 Rock in delivering guaranteed, intelligent laughs per minute or in conveying such underlying tenderness towards its characters (an oft-missing ingredient in comedy—I'm talking to you, The Comeback).

I now offically crown Tina Fey as one of my comedy heroines. To pull off a successful chemistry experiment of this magnitude is a once-in-a-lifetime achievement. She is a triple-threat stunner, with her dead-on delivery, brainy good looks and bulletproof producer chops. Alec Baldwin is absolutely delicious in every word and deed. And the rest of the cast delivers right on down the line.

While almost every episode is guaranteed to pack a Hawaiian punch of wry humor about human foibles, my personal favorite of season one is entitled "The Break-Up," starring Dean Winters as the delightfully self-deluded Dennis, Liz Lemon's menace of a boyfriend. Dude, that guy deserves his own series. Hysterical.

A special shout-out to co-writers of "The Break-Up" episode, Dave Finkel and Brett Baer. It is among my favorite TV comedy episodes of all time. I've watched it over and over and still find genius within its symphonic precision. Romantic relations, race relations, international relations (Condi Rice! OMG). It's got it all.

Comedy is back, America, and Fey & Co. should be proud as a peacock.

Free speech devalued more than US dollar?

2007-09-21T15:16:00.000-07:00

Quote from an AOL news story on MoveOn.org's latest controversy:

"The Senate on Thursday passed a resolution denouncing a MoveOn.org ad that appeared in The New York Times on Sept. 10 and challenged the credibility of Gen. David Petraeus, the top U.S. commander in Iraq."

Now I'm the first to admit that MoveOn.org has done some dumb-ass things in the name of democracy, but this ad is not one of them. Criticizing a public figure for what is commonly understood to be an "I'm your huckleberry" move on Petraeus's part is a matter of free speech. This is in no way a criticism of the US military or those serving their duties with integrity. In fact, it is in their defense. They deserve better. They deserve the true "conditions on the ground" to be documented and addressed without smoke and mirrors.

This ad is all about calling out an administration that feels great comfort in turning heroes into puppets to serve ugly agendas. Case in point: Colin Powell and his glass vial. Which is how this whole monstronsity of a world crisis got started. Ahem.

Sometime the truth hurts, but that's part of what it means to be truly free.

Timberlame, Timberfake, Timber!

2007-09-18T19:26:00.000-07:00

The witty pop culture wizard FourFour is bringing bitchy back as he gives Justin Timberlame the dressing down I've always felt the pop nerd's deserved.

FourFour's best beat down:
"The dichotomy of his pipsqueak Lothario and castrated pussy personas that made FutureSex/LoveSounds such a chore to get through is only amplified in his live show. I don't buy either act. They're so flashy and broad and cartoonishly dudeish, it's as though he was raised by '80s-movie frat boys."

FourFour's also posted a "great moments in douchebag-ness" reel here.

Rock of Love

2007-09-17T18:53:00.001-07:00

You know those chocolate cherry bon-bons they carry at most drugstores in the good ole US of A? They're cheap, tacky, nasty, but somehow undeniably irresistible?

I've found the reality TV equivalent of those syrupy maraschino delights: VH1's Rock of Love. Good gawd, I'm loathe to admit it, I admit, but this is one of the most gosh darn brilliant train wrecks of lip gloss and silicon valleys and overuse of the bitch word on record.

The premise: the lead singer of the '80s hair metal band Poison, Bret Michaels, is longing to find a true lady love. So all these gals occupy a nondescript mansion for a few weeks and attempt to "rock his world" for the ultimate backstage pass. Like all the dating en masse shows, it's disgusting with its multiple hookups and catty competition—yet I can't look away.

Since I don't know anyone else who is watching, I've been left to gasp and gag on my own. Now Bret Baby's down to two girls: a Cameron Diaz-esque smarty pants, Jes, and a stripper with a heart of gold (and a freshly inked "Bret" tattoo on the nape of her neck), Heather. I think Jes just wants to be on TV, but Heather is head over spiked heels for the do-ragged rocker.

Some might scoff at Bret choosing a stripper to take home the big prize, but it was just such an exotic dancer who broke his heart back in the day—becoming the inspiration for the megahit "Every Rose Has Its Thorn." 'Nuff said.

The thought of which inspires some heartfelt lyrics in me, as well:

"Some say the pole is mightier than the guitar,
But those folks would be wrong by far.
They both take the stage with big hair and leather,
She wears a string of G,
He strums the chord of the same letter.
Yeah, when a stripper and rocker fall in love,
It's sheer heaven, until he bites the head off a dove."

DVD Duds

2007-09-13T18:53:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I just feel like watching a romantic comedy that doesn't ask too much of me. Sadly, these two films asked so little of me, I couldn't even sit through them in their entirety.

The Devil Wears Prada
While my Anne Hathaway issue kept me leery, the script is what really ripped the seams out of this one. More like, The Devil Writes Predictably. People rave about Meryl Streep's performance, but I wanted her to have even more bite.

Trust the Man
The first few lines of dialogue (David Duchovny talking to his kid about poop) clued me in that this movie was a stinkeroo. The script's indulgent screenwriter-y ain't-we-oh-so-witty attitude offended my ears post haste. Then my Julianne Moore issue arose again (I thought I'd cured it when she turned in such a great performance in Far From Heaven, but had a relapse with this film). Not cut out for comedy, this red-headed veteran of the silver screen. Awkward, awkward. When her character started dryly dictating an adult film's action at her onanistic husband's request, I lept for the remote. Ughhhhh. Not even appearances by two sentimental favorites of mine, Garry Shandling and James Le Gros, could save this one.