The Naked Gun 2 1/2: The Smell of Fear

365 Films

 Entry #8

The Naked Gun 2 ½ The Smell of Fear (1991)

Directed by David Zucker

You might wonder why I have selected the second Naked Gun film for inclusion on my 365 blog as opposed to the first.  In fact, I am wondering the exact same thing myself.  If my memory serves, the introduction I received to the Naked Gun films was through the second installment.  If I am mixing up the chronology here then this entire blog is essentially useless and for that, I apologize.  This film and the entirety of the Naked Gun series symbolize a bygone era of studio comedy.  If you’ll allow me to wax nostalgic for a moment, this was a sub-genre combining elements of screwball, slapstick, satire, silliness, and spoofing.  It was comedy as a perpetual joke machine with no larger purpose or genuine interest in telling a coherent story.  This kind of comedy obviously had it precedents (I hope nobody wants to tar and feather me for mentioning the Marx Brothers and Naked Gun in the same sentence), but something happened to it in the late 90’s/early 00’s.  It’s easy to pinpoint the exact film that made the entire genre collapse in on itself like a dying star (Scary Movie, cough).  Nowadays I can’t think of a more detested type of movie than the “spoof-everything-that-breathes” mutant bastard child of the Zucker-Abrahams-Zucker offspring. Epic Movie, Date Movie, Meet the Spartans, Vampires Suck, ugh, I’m pissing myself off just thinking about these ungodly pieces of shit.  In any event, Naked Gun is the apex of the genre and I am forever grateful to it for introducing me to the likes of Leslie Nielsen, George Kennedy, Robert Goulet, Priscilla Presley, Richard Griffits, and Orenthal the Murderin’ Bus Driver.  If I may also proceed with some dime-store psychoanalysis twenty-one years after the fact, Naked Gun 2 also contains some pretty strong progressive observations on the environment, the military-industrial complex, capitalism, and the American political system in general.  In fact, Naked Gun 2 began my long-running hatred of then Chief of Staff John Sununu.  That guy sucks.  I think it’s safe to say that the Naked Gun 2 ½ made me the man I am today. (Note to future DVD releases of the Naked Gun 2 1/2: please put that pull-quote on your DVD. Thank you.)  Cut to: 15 years later and the Zucker brothers have become 9/11-converted conservatives.  Go watch their coming-out party: “An American Carol”, or if you have eyeballs and a brain, don’t. 

“This is Frank Drebin, Police Squad. Throw down your guns, and come on out with your hands up. Or come on out, then throw down your guns, whichever way you wanna do it. Just remember the two key elements here: one, guns to be thrown down; two, come on out!”

JFK

365 Films

 Entry #7

JFK (1991)

Directed by Oliver Stone

Holy mother of god is this movie fantastic and I have no shame in making such a statement. Nor do I have any problem admitting that movie is perhaps 99.9% bullshit, or that it might as well be the ravings of an ill-informed tea party-truther standing on a street corner.  I simply do not give a shit about any of that. This is one of the most ambitious, massively scaled, and flat out enthralling studio films ever made. I have heard the film referred to as a big budget experimental avant-garde art project and I would not disagree. The arsenal of cinematic tricks that Oliver Stone has at his disposal has never been put to better use (by him or maybe any director attempting something similar). What Stone has done here, with a merciless skill for presentation, is put you in the mindset of a conspiracy theorist. It’s a maddening place full of swirling, contradictory ideas and often-hallucinatory conclusions as the end result.  It’s intoxicating and no matter what you believe, by the end of JFK, Stone has convinced you of something. You might call that propaganda, but since the film pushes no clear solution, I find that to be a dubious charge. I think what Stone is getting at here is a generational disillusionment that kicked in after the most turbulent events of the 1960’s. The kind of disillusionment that produces far-flung, wacked-out theories about 11 dimensional chess moves being operated by all sectors of the government that act as a protective blanket for most rational explanations for real world horrors.  If you read about any man made or natural disaster in the last 30 years, you will also read about a guy who knows “the truth.” JFK documents the beginning of that collective agreement to live in denial.  But it's also about the noble pursuit of truth and justice in the face of incredible bureaucratic obstruction.  Where do you draw the line between obsession and what's really there in front of you?  Much to the contrary of the film's detractors, I believe Stone is asking a question, not making any kind of black and white case.  If this all sounds like a big dose of downer, fear not, for Stone had made an absolutely entertaining movie.  One could argue that beneath all the rage and rants, Stone has actually made a Frank Capra movie.  Watch Costner do his best Jimmy Stewart impression in the closing arguments as the prosecution for the trial.  As a result, the film never tastes like bitter medicine, just look at the parade of amazing character actors popping in and out of the film. Try not to watch the Mr. X monologue without your jaw dropping to the floor.  The amount of visual material with which the film arms itself is head spinning.  This is the kind of film where one sits back and marvels at a group of incredibly talented craftsmen working in harmonious synchronicity, as they produce with effortless grace what can only be described as a masterpiece.  

Terminator 2: Judgment Day

365 Films 

Entry #6

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991)

Directed by James Cameron

The raison d’être, as it were, for my formative cinephile years could be broken down to an oft-quoted prognosis of the inner workings of my mind. “Ethan will only see things with explosions in them.” “You wouldn’t have like it Ethan, there weren’t any explosions in it.” Such small-minded criteria haunted me for years, well into my teens as a matter of fact. It would be dishonest to deny these charges so I will use this as an entry to point to perhaps the most explosion-y of all action movies: Terminator 2. Being that I was only 7 when this came out, I can’t speak with 100% accuracy to the pure cultural phenomenon of the film. It’s safe to argue that this was perhaps my gateway drug to the idea of a “summer movie.” This shit was everywhere and astonishingly enough, incredibly accessible to mature young boys and girls of all ages even though it was a R-rated movie. Why? I have absolutely no idea. I chalk this up to writer/director James Cameron’s astonishingly innate ability to create pure pop culture events out of his cinematic ass. The idea of a new film by James Cameron now fills me with dread for that very reason.  Every film since T2 just irritates me more and more upon initial viewing and subsequent reflection (about which I’m sure he’s heartbroken, sleeping on a pile of money with many beautiful ladies).  There’s no denying that he’s a scarily talented craftsmen, I just feel like the entire success of the second Terminator film is due to the fact that it played incredibly well to a group of people who just wanted to see shit blow up (i.e. me). I watch T2 and I cringe at his awkward, horribly on-the-nose dialogue (something George Lucas is regularly raked over the coals for yet Cameron remains relatively unscathed).  The T2 screenplay is like an automaton trying to approximate human speech. Which, in all fairness, doesn’t really detract too much from the quality of the film. More to the point, it’s his simplistic view of human relationships and human nature that ultimately make the film a hollow experience. With all that being said, shit blows up real good in this movie and that car chase in the beginning is spectacular. The shoot out at sky-net is a terrific set piece. Linda Hamilton busts her ass to make Sarah Connor a compelling human being. And dammit, it is impossible not to be moved by the John and the Terminator’s goodbye scene. Ah fuck it, Cameron; you’ve done it again.  

Edward Scissorhands

365 Films

 Entry #5

Edward Scissorhands (1990)

Directed by Tim Burton

Unfortunately, these days one has to adopt an apologist stance when discussing the works of Tim Burton. 2012 was particularly rough on him when Dark Shadows and Frankenweenie were unfairly maligned by the fickle tastes of popular consensus. And that’s failing to mention the fact that his previous film was Alice in Wonderland. Enough said. This wasn’t always the case though, for throughout the late 80’s and into the 90’s he was the goth golden boy. And for my money, there aren’t many other films I can think of that demonstrate his wide array of talents as much as Edward Scissorhands. You’ll have to forgive me because my memory is failing me at the moment. I can’t remember if this was the first Burton I saw in theaters or if it was Batman. Nor can I remember if I had seen the immortal Pee Wee’s Big Adventure of Beetlejuice prior to this. Point being, this entry is of dubious origins, however, Edward Scissorhands is so good it doesn’t matter if I can’t come up with an interesting story behind it.  Scissorhands is perhaps Burton’s most successful modern day fairy tale in that it showcases an astonishing array of iconic moments that are steeped in genuine emotion. It’s a very rare thing for a film to achieve such a combination but Scissorhands makes it look effortless. As an introduction to the world of Burton, it is invaluable.  It’s also important to remember that this was a major career stepping-stone for the relatively new filmmaker. Up to this point his resume only included the previously mentioned films (and yes, yes the shorts and all those years he spent as a Disney animator. What am I, his biographer?) What those titles indicated was someone closer in spirit to a cinematic prankster than a genuine storyteller.  In the case of Batman, he was a spirited protector and tour guide of the public’s collective imagination. It was with Edward Scissorhands that all the pieces came together with the utmost eloquence. The production design, Danny Elfman’s score, the oddball comedic bits, and the immaculate performances under Burton’s visionary direction tell a story that is simply put: beautiful. 

The Witches

365 Films

Entry #4

The Witches (1990)

Directed by Nicholas Roeg

This entry might be on the tricky side considering I can’t even remember the last time I watched The Witches. The reason I’m including it in this blog compilation is because it marks two firsts for my blossoming cinephilia and me. The first being that it marks one of the earliest occasions of being aware that a book had been adapted to film. Not only was I aware that this title existed as a book, but that it was a book written by Roald Dahl (who was my Woodstock at the time). Secondly, as far as I can remember, my initial contact with The Witches came through home video. To this date, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the film in its entirety in a theater.  That’s a shame.  Massive VHS consumption was a large part of my movie watching diet. I can vividly remember the weekly trips we made to the video store as holding as much promise as recess in School. Somebody much smarter and much more thoughtful than I will have to write the definitive account of how VHS/Laserdisc/DVD ushered in all of these newfangled viewing habits we’re always obsessing over and how significantly it changed film. Come to think of it, I’m sure that piece has been written, probably thousands of times over too.  Whew. In any event, The Witches is remarkably frightening and purposefully off-putting for a children’s film.  The Jim Henson creature design certainly doesn’t skimp on the nasty. The fact that they let the guy who made Walkabout direct a mainstream family film certainly suggests a bygone era of courage in studio filmmaking. The Witches may not have defibrillated my nerve endings the way Willy Wonka did (more on that later). But it is certainly a worthy addition to the Roald Dahl film adaptation pantheon.

Update: I happened to catch the Witches on television a couple weekends ago and let me assure you, the grotesqueries in this film know no bounds.  It is every bit as horrifying as I remember, and aside from an unnecessary sub-plot involving the hot naked affairs of Rowan Atkinson with the hotel staff, it remains a satisfying experience.  Aside from the creature effects, Anjelica Huston is the MVP of the whole enterprise.  The emphatic visual choices also carry a lot of the weight in brining Dahl’s world to the screen, made all the more remarkable by a seemingly limited budget. 

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

365 Films

Entry #3

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (1990)

Directed by Steve Barron

Ah yes, my beloved turtles. In thinking about the best angle from which to approach this particular entry, I came up with a very simple observation: the teenage mutant ninja turtles owned all of my mental real estate for several years. If I wasn’t watching the animated series, I was watching the movies. If I wasn’t playing the video games, I was playing with the laundry bin full of action figures in my possession.  Yet, with all that immersion into Turtle paraphernalia, I don’t have the slightest idea what initiated my obsession. It must have been the cartoon, which premiered in 1987, and maybe the fact that they were green? (another one of my favorite colors). I remember an incredibly brief flirtation with karate around that time in my life (I think we’re talking about a lesson and a half, maybe less). And of course, like most children and adults, I gobbled up pizza without batting an eye. In that regard, The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles could not have been MORE up my alley. I remember an incredibly fervent sense of excitement the day before the release of TMNT: The Movie. I was aware of what this movie was, I was aware of what I would mentally acquire by seeing it, and I was super pumped for it. Which, in hindsight, is interesting because it speaks more to the marketing power of the TMNT brand than the actual quality of the film. An adult at the time would have to confirm this for me but something tells me that if you were a boy between the ages of 6 and 12 around 1990, you couldn’t get away from the TMNT marketing bonanza being shoved down your throat. Anyway, what does this have to do with the movie? I guess it’s a rather round about way of saying that I remember the hype more than the movie. Or rather, I’m not sure if my fondness for the film stems from its quality or the excitement that surrounded it.  I remember responding to Raphael and his bad attitude constantly getting him into physical and emotional trouble (I had a bit of a temper problem myself, plus he had the red head band so he was instantly my favorite). I’m glad the movie introduced me to Elias Koteas at such a young age, one of those actors who brighten up any movie in which he appears. And the movie delivers exactly what it promises: wisecracking mutant turtles karate chopping a gang of masked, pajama-wearing runaway youth. What more could a six-year-old ask for? 

Gremlins 2: The New Batch

365 Films

Entry #2

Gremlins 2: The New Batch (1990)

Directed by Joe Dante

I consider this phase in my cinematic upbringing to be the Looney Tunes period. Gremlins 2 and Who Framed Roger Rabbit both revel in the anarchic spirit of that wonderful animated enterprise. Gremlins 2: The New Batch is basically a live action series of Looney Tunes shorts wrapped around a barely-there wisp of a plot. That’s not meant to be a put-down, in fact, one of Gremlins 2’s most successful feats is the coup it stages at the palace of mainstream commercial cinema. The movie is so devoid of purpose and so full of mindless self-indulgence that it could really stand in as a “fuck you” to almost any sequel ever made. What sets Gremlins 2 apart is that it is deliriously funny. Again, it probably goes without saying, that none of this made any sense to me at the time of my initial viewing. I missed maybe 80% of the jokes, I didn’t get the satire at work (particularly the take down of Donald Trump’s New York), and in all honesty, I only went to see it because the lobby display had a cardboard animatronic gremlin popping in an out of a desk. That shit was cool. So while my abilities to absorb and understand the cultural critique were limited, the sense of fun the movie possesses was undeniably contagious. The movie breaks the fourth wall at the drop of a hat, and instead of feeling distanced; you feel like you are in on the joke. Perhaps that is because the movie itself can’t believe it’s getting away with half of the shit it does. I have to be totally honest here and admit my preference for Gremlins 2 as opposed to the original. I’m pretty sure I had seen Gremlins before seeing the sequel but my memory could be mixed up about that. It’s not that Gremlins is entirely inferior to its follow-up, but it’s certainly a lot grimmer and with a shockingly high body count for a movie of its type. All of these attributes could describe the far more impressive film. But for me being the age that I was and my then state of mind (Looney Tunes), I guess I wasn’t in the mood for mean and nasty.  And this was my cinematic introduction to New York City (more on that later), I’m sure that didn’t hurt. 

Who Framed Roger Rabbit?

365 Films

Entry #1

Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988)

Directed by Robert Zemeckis

We kick off my “knock-off” 365 blog with the granddaddy of them all, Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to imply that WFRR is the granddaddy of all cinema, just my perspective of it. This was the first film I remember seeing in theaters that actually registered with me on an image to eyeball producing pleasurable neurological connections level. This was also the film during which the infamous “skittle vomit” incident occurred. I feel that I can best sum up that story with a simple math equation: (Large bag of skittles+full dinner+2 Chocolate Milkshakes=Rainbow colored vomit all over the floor of the ladies room). I can’t quite remember what compelled me to want to see WFRR, I have a vague notion of liking the name Roger when I was four-years-old. It’s possible that an animated talking rabbit that dressed in red over-alls (one of my favorite colors) just really tickled my fancy. I don’t remember being aware of the fact that this was the first time that two titans of animation: Bugs Bunny and Mickey Mouse, had dropped their corporate entanglements and appeared on screen together. Nor do I remember being aware of the fact that basically every major character from the history of animation has at least a cameo in the film.  I especially don’t remember being aware of the fact that the film itself is a groundbreaking work in the history of cinema, seamlessly melding state of the art animation with live-action filmmaking. I think it was the rabbit in red-overalls that really did it for me. That being said, WFRR is an irreverent, eye-popping, whacked-out, screwball take on the Los Angeles noir genre. To my eyes at the time, I just liked watching that damn rabbit bumble around and fuck things up only to miraculously save the day at the end.  It’s been a while since I’ve re-visited WFRR. I remember my most recent viewing of it to be a little dis-heartening in that certain moments came off unnecessarily lecherous and creepy. So as to not end the first entry on a downer note, I will say that I look forward to introducing future generations to the exciting, pervy fun of Who Framed Roger Rabbit.  And to scare the living shit out of them with the concept of “dip.” 

A New Blog From A Stolen Idea.

Hello again,

       I know I've asked to go on many adventures with me here at anti-fanboy industries.  I hope you'll agree to join me for one more.  This time the adventure you seek will not be fraught with quoted song lyrics or frothing anticipation over a new Star Wars movie (again).  This time I wish to take you on a journey through 365 films that have defined the very man whose words you are reading at this very moment as we speak.  That's right, each day, you'll get a new blog entry of monumental importance about a movie I watched this one time.  There are some you might agree with, some you might disagree with, or the most likely option: you won't even have read the entry at all.  So sit back, read for a few minutes (seriously, each entry is just a paragraph long. what could you possibly have better to do), and then dive into the list of your own 365 films.

In closing, gentle reader, I'd like to thank you.`What's that?' you say? Me thanking you? No, it's not a misprint, for you see, I enjoyed writing this blog as much as you enjoyed reading it. The End.

I'll see you after the movie.

Vanilla Sky/Njósnavélin (The Nothing Song) (Untitled #4)

Cameron Crowe’s 2001 sci-fi-remake-romantic-psychological-Tom Cruise-phantasmagoric-drama was an incredibly divisive release in the waning days of that year. Okay, I added phantasmagoric for effect, and while I’m not entirely certain what genre that is; I know it’s definitely NOT Vanilla Sky. There were a handful of notable critics who found the heady mixture of pop-obsessed science fiction and vain white man redeems himself allegory to a be a complete disaster. Others, including myself, found it to be an ambitious, yet flawed, but ultimately moving work of one director purposefully impregnating another’s vision with his own directorial DNA. It’s a film where homage gives way to assimilation, and eventually domination. It might be a remake of a Spanish-language film, but Cameron Crowe is the only filmmaker who could have made this particular film.   

Upon exiting the theater that cold December day, (it might not have been cold, but this was back when weather used to match up with it’s seasonal alignment on a somewhat more consistent basis), the first thought that popped into my head was: “I think I liked nearly every single song on that soundtrack.” My brother Nate commented that he in fact “owned nearly every single song on that soundtrack.” The fact that music played such an integral part of the film should have come to no surprise. As this was the same director who gave us the In Your Eyes/Say Anything boom box moment, the Tiny Dancer/Almost Famous bus sing-a-long, and most certainly influenced my life long love of Pearl Jam with the inclusion of two of their tracks on the Singles soundtrack. A soundtrack, I should add, I bought when it came out when I had little to no interest in seeing the actual movie. I felt something different about Vanilla Sky, perhaps because it was a more modern collection of bands, and I was at the perfect age to discover that kind of music. Here is just an idea of the bands I eventually became enamored with because of Mr. Crowe’s track selection skills. Red House Painters, Mark Kozelek, Sun Kil Moon, Sigur Ros, Jonsi, Beth Orton, Chemical Brothers, Looper, Josh Rouse. Not to mention the acts I was previously acquainted with such as Bob Dylan, R.E.M., Radiohead, and Jeff Buckley. Spiritualized’s title track from their landmark album, “Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space” was also used in the film, although not included in the soundtrack. In all fairness, Nate had previously introduced me to Spiritualized that fall with the use of a track in one of his student projects.

There was one band and one track that particularly stood out for me. Sadly, it was also not included on the actual soundtrack. It is the last piece of music used in the film (aside from the Paul McCartney end credits original), and it’s there to score the incredibly powerful ending. During the film’s release, it was only available as a live bootleg and it wouldn’t be until November of the next year, 2002, that it would gain a proper release. It is the song of many names. It is Sigur Ros’ Njósnavélin, aka, The Nothing Song, aka Untitled Track Number Four.

This song and sequence immediately grabbed my attention as soon as it began. One reason for this might be that the preceding 10-15 minutes are nothing but wall-to-wall necessary exposition. And in these moments, we are meant to challenge nearly every single piece of information we had been given by the film up to this point. Then again, maybe we aren’t. If the explanation were the end of the film, it would rob the story of the shot of adrenaline it had acquired wherein David Aames’ life starts to fall to absolute shit and chaos.  After this barrage of information, something interesting happens when Aames gets to the top floor of the literally sky-scraping building located in the middle of Manhattan. It gets quiet. Now, that’s not to say that the dialogue becomes non-existent and the film becomes nothing more than a selection of free-association abstract images. The dialogue that remains becomes a little sparser and a little more oblique. The lasting auditory effect we are left with is the music of Sigur Ros. What I love about how this particular piece is used, is that it is all at once: frightening, soothing, loud, quiet, distant, uncomfortably close, strange, and then ultimately as natural to the soundscape of the scene as the wind. With Jonsi’s otherworldly vocals, the wail of the lead guitar as it is played with a bow, and the steady pounding of the percussion, the song comes to reflect the ultimate fate of the world of David Aames. It’s important to make that distinction because this final scene is not just about the obliteration of one man, but of his entire world. Given that one of the titles of the track is Nothing Song, it makes sense that the scene attempts to capture both the creation and destruction of a way of life.   

Once Aames makes his leap, this is when I feel the film becomes its most eloquently expressive self, and it does this entirely free of dialogue. After some potentially (too) cutesy exchanges between David and Sofia, and a meta-audience-as-spectator-and-character-in-the-film-line from Noah Taylor, the dialogue is finished. Nothing Song takes over and David takes the plunge.  There are many ways to look at this and perhaps the most obvious is that the seed planted in the beginning of the film about David’s fear of heights had to be addressed eventually. Another is that taking a leap of faith was a common science fiction trope at the time, if you’ll recall the many sequences of people jumping in the original Matrix (a film without which, Vanilla Sky probably would never have been made). The interpretation that makes the most sense to me is that this is a suicide.  It is a suicide because he’s killing the life he has now and the world he’s always known. At the same time, he’s most certainly taking something with him. He is told he will wake up 150 years later in an all too real world with little more than the clothes on his back (or not, depending on what kind of future it is). His fate is yet to be determined and nothing will be in his control.  The song ultimately succeeds in this sequence because it conveys a tone that is at once hopeful and fatalistic. By selecting a song with such depth of emotion, Crowe seems to imply that within this death, there will be a life. Within the mad rush to the ground, there will be an epiphany. And finally that within the fabulous life of David Aames, a life over-flowing with consumption and excess, all it amounts to is nothing more than a series of fleeting memories.  Memories filled with life, but memories nonetheless. As past, present, future, family, pop-culture, friends, lovers, glances, shrugs, hugs, kisses, experiences, regrets, and the rest of the over-whelming nature of existence collide on impact, David truly opens his eye for the first time in his life.  The Nothing Song embraces the acceptance that we may never understand the ingredients that make up a life.  Imagine you are watching a home movie of yourself as a baby. Clearly, the events on screen transpired exactly as filmed. You were most certainly present during the filmed activities. Yet, it’s almost as if you’re looking at someone else’s life. You are watching someone else’s story.  What happened to the experiences and sensations you had to have felt? Will they all come rushing back to us the moment before it all ends?  The music of Sigur Ros and the films of Cameron Crowe do not pretend to come anywhere close to answering this question.  By presenting this moment with a flush of images, song lyrics written in an indecipherable made-up language, and a melody flushed with eloquent eeriness, they simply ask: when the time comes, what will you see? What do you want to see? 

Bottle Rocket/2000 Man

In honor of the release of the newest film by Wes Anderson, Moonrise Kingdom, fish and the whale presents a series of entries detailing a sequence from all six of Anderson’s previously released features. Each scene displays Anderson’s impeccable taste for using popular music and images in the most harmonious of unions. This is the Wonderful World of Wes.

I’m a little rusty on my screenwriting terms (so sue me, or remark upon how blatantly ignorant I am in the comments section), but I believe the scene from Bottle Rocket I have chosen would be the climax of the story. Dignan (Owen Wilson) is trapped at the site of one of the most mind-bogglingly inept robberies in the history of the universe. His brother Anthony (Luke Wilson), lookout man Bob Mapplethorpe (Robert Musgrave), safecracker Kumar (Kumar Pallana), and Apple-Jack (Jim Ponds, I’m not entirely sure what his job is), are fleeing from a cold-storage facility after the alarm has been tripped. Anthony and Dignan argue over who is going to return to the scene of the crime to rescue Apple-Jack, who has been felled by a heart attack (and he is the sole possessor of keys to their getaway van). The music playing over this section is part of Mark Mothersbaugh’s original score for the film. The tribal drums and the metronomic maracas, suggest perhaps an initiation ritual for Dignan. This is the ultimate test, the trial by fire for his 75 year plan; he could flee the scene of the crime or sacrifice himself for the well being of his fellow criminals. Dignan pleads with Anthony to let him go resorting to one of the most endearing declarations of leadership and power: “WHO is in charge here?” Claiming authority with a question is just one of Dignan’s incomparable achievements. This conversation leads to the most important dialogue spoken in the entire movie. Anthony tells him that he knows what will happen to him if he goes back to get Apple-Jack, Dignan replies, “No, I don’t. They’ll never catch me man, cause I’m fuckin’ innocent.”

The score quietly fades out and the camera pushes into Dignan’s face ever-so-slightly.  We watch Dignan’s eyes as they race through all manner of daring escapes he can make to avoid capture. It could also be read that they are illuminating his entire life for him up to this point as he prepares to make a decision that will no doubt radically alter it forever. Either way, the smile that begins to creep into Dignan’s face and the gentle acoustic strumming the opens the Rolling Stones’ 2000 Man, suggest that Dignan is not only living the dream, but about to play it out in real life. Decision made. It’s also important to note the sound design in this sequence; Anderson wisely leaves in the natural droning wind of the location. I have no idea whether this was live sound or taken from a library but let’s just assume the former for sake of argument, plus, it doesn’t really matter one way or the other. The sound of the drab storage facility wind is the boring life Dignan’s so absolutely petrified of.  That life is attempting to over-power the wistful tempo of the Rolling Stones. That life is attempting to shut off the movie that’s constantly playing in Dignan’s head.

The song completely takes over the soundtrack once Dignan takes off for the plant (save for some footsteps and yelling by the cops) and we are now in Dignan land.  It is here where Anderson cuts away from the robbery and reveals the twist of the story. The character of Mr. Henry (James Caan) reveals himself to be a small-time con-man who has cleaned out the house of Bob Mapplethorpe. He used Dignan as a surrogate son and protégé to get close to the rich friend. Over the shots of Caan organizing the moving van filled with Bob’s shit, Jagger sings about his name being a number and growing funny flowers on the window sill.  The chorus of the song is revealed as “Don’t you know, I’m a 2000 man. And my kids, they just don’t understand me at all.”  If you’ll indulge me to read WAY too much into this, I believe this is the final connection and, in effect, the severing of the chord between Dignan and Mr. Henry.   As the sequence of shots reveals, Mr. Henry is last seen in a low angle close-up, billowing cigar smoke from his mouth.  He has finally morphed into the imposing gangster figure we’ve been waiting for throughout the film. At the same time, he is left utterly and completely alone. His kind of thievery and Dignan’s brand are as different from each other as night and day. Take the very next cut of Dignan helping the ailing Apple-Jack to the van. His selflessness and humility stand in sharp contrast to Mr. Henry “I-got-mine-so-fuck-you” selfishness.  As much as Mr. Henry tried to mold Dignan into his apprentice, we now see that his failure is absolute and total.

Dignan’s sacrifice wouldn’t be complete without him actually having to sacrifice something. His valiant act of bravery aside, Dignan is still Dignan, and he locks himself out of the van. The music changes rhythm here completely. The cops corner Dignan, and we think this is the end. Then, as if spurred on by the faster tempo of the second part of the song, Dignan takes off back into the storage facility.  It is here, according to this writer, that the scene becomes iconic.  Wilson, in his banana-yellow jumpsuit armed with a gun, running away from the cops with exhilarating comic desperation. Nobody else can pull this off quite like Wes Anderson. It is here that the song begins to repeat the same set of lyrics over and over again, “Oh daddy, proud of your planet. Oh mummy, proud of your sun.” Note once again, the re-occurrence of the parent-child relationship reflected in the lyrics.  The only variance is in the following lyrics, which appear in the song when Dignan heads for the location of his eventual last stand: a giant fish freezer filled with ice. “Like it did when you were young. Or do you come down crashin. Seeing all the things you'd done. All was a big put on.” Dignan must now face the objective reality of his situation. Everything is about to come crashing down. He gets stuck in the freezer; the cops corner him, ignore his surrender, and begin to violently sub-due him. And even though he is getting repeatedly punched in the stomach, Dignan is still trying to talk his way out of it.

The last shot of the sequence is Dignan, handcuffed and led by the police out of the facility into a police car. The first thing that struck me about this final shot is how similar it looks (I guess it’s the other way around) like the shot in Rushmore of Max being led away by the police after Blume reports him for cutting the brakes on his car. The scene in Rushmore is an explosion of adolescent rage. The look on Max’s face as he’s pushed through the halls of his new high school and the pounding drums of The Who’s A Quick One While He’s Away convey this. In Bottle Rocket, the song reverts back to its original tempo and Jagger repeats the chorus. The look on Dignan’s face suggests an exhilarating defiance. He has finally achieved his dream of being a career criminal. We may not understand him at all, but we’ll follow Dignan wherever he goes. Why? Because he’s fuckin’ innocent.

Smoke/Innocent When You Dream

I still can’t quite explain why the movie “Smoke” has stuck with me all these years. Perhaps it was the circumstances in which I first viewed the film, a sick day home from school, (at least, I think it was a sick day). I was lucky to have incredibly lenient parents when it came to movies I was allowed to see. The advantage is such that you are made aware of things that, simply, aren’t on your radar. Two other examples of sick day movies that spring to mind are What’s Eating Gilbert Grape and Don’t Look Back, two films, for which, I still hold a great deal of admiration. The lesson here is quite simple: accrue lots of sick days kids, that way your parents will let you watch a bunch of cool shit.

Miramax released Smoke in 1995, written by Paul Auster and directed by Wayne Wang. Interestingly enough, the possessive credit at the start of the movie reads: A Film By Wayne Wang and Paul Auster. It is definitely the product of two distinct personalities. Smoke was one of those Miramax Multiplex Art House movies that proliferated in the mid-90’s. I just coined that term so don’t bother looking it up, and if isn’t legit yet, try to spread it around. I’m referring to films made in the wake of Good Will Hunting and Pulp Fiction, the kinds of films Miramax hung their banner on for so many years. They were independent films, but they weren’t what you’d call provocative “art-house” movies. They had no intentions of rubbing your face in shit. At the same time, they weren’t glossed up the wazoo like big studio productions. There was a strong amount of integrity to these movies. They were singular visions, yet accessible at the same time. Smoke Signals, Chasing Amy, Brassed Off, Cop Land, and Rounders are the prime examples of how I was first introduced to “independent cinema.” A term, which seems fairly meaningless now, considering every single one of those, was actually released by the Walt Disney Company. I guess such distinctions escaped me at the time. I also remember yearning to one day have that Miramax logo in front of a film I had contributed to in some way. I thought that was the mountaintop and the rainbow behind it, the official sign that you’d made it.

I’ll give you all a minute to laugh at my inane naiveté. Yes, I had (and still have) a very dim grasp of the movie industry but I wasn’t even 14 yet, so lay off. Before this turns into a Miramax love-fest, I should explain that the reason for all this is to say; these movies introduced me to the idea that not everything had to have shoot-outs or ten explosions every five minutes to be worthy of my time. It could just be a movie about people…talking.

Talking, and all of its inherent glories, is precisely what Smoke has on its mind. The pleasures one takes from a conversation, the shared experiences, and that intangible connection are all created by the act of conversing. They are created and released into the atmosphere, only to disperse and evaporate instantly. It can be seen, heard and tasted, but the moment one tries to touch it, it’s gone. This all sounds a lot like…okay, I think I’ve laid it on pretty thick here.

The movie is the opposite of this, I should say, It’s light, witty, and quick on it’s feet. The story revolves around Auggie Wren (Harvey Keitel) who runs a cigar store on the corner of 16th Street and Prospect Park West in Brooklyn. The store is frequented by Paul Benjamin, (William Hurt) a writer struggling with the still-fresh random shooting death of his wife. Paul and Auggie have a long-standing friendship. As the film transpires, certain events occur to take Auggie and Paul out of their comfort zone, as they are each confronted by lost children. I suppose it is a bit disingenuous to describe the plot in a beat-by-beat action. Besides, I’m supposed to be talking about music, right? The film has more of a hangout vibe as it is, situations occur and characters react, but it is all within the realm of naturalistic forward momentum. That’s not to say there aren’t certain contrivances, moments where you can feel the writer struggling to pull everything together into some sort of cohesive “what does it all mean” statement, but those are few and far between. As it is, the film likes to sit back and observe these characters and more importantly, hear them talk.

This takes us to the final two sequences in the film. One is a lengthy monologue delivered by Auggie to Paul in a diner somewhere in Brooklyn. Paul has informed Auggie that the New York Times has asked him for a Christmas story to be published on Christmas day. Paul claims to not know any stories, so in exchange for lunch, Auggie agrees to share one with him. He claims that every word of is true. The second scene is played out during the film’s credits. It is a black and white, slow motion visual interpretation of Auggie’s story. The shot that connects the two sequences is a type- writer banging out the words: “Auggie Wren’s Christmas Story.” We hear the story, but we also see it re-constructed by Paul Benjamin for his piece in the times. (Note: Further wormhole inducing information, Auggie Wren’s Christmas Story was actually published in the New York Times on Christmas Day by Paul Auster). In the end, we are left with one story, but many different ways of telling it.

Over the black and white recreation of the story, the filmmakers used the song, “Innocent When You Dream” by Tom Waits. It was this exact scene; I remember it perfectly, when the film seared itself into my mind. From first viewing, this felt like the perfect ending to me. It doesn’t serve any story purpose, it doesn’t tie-up any of the still dangling threads we’ve just spent ninety minutes with, yet it ends on such grace that none of it matters anymore. I think a lot of that warmth has to do with the Waits song. There’s a lot of comfort to its accordion, merry-go-round melody and stumbling piano twinkles, and Waits’ voice is the perfect weapon to undercut any sneaky sentiment. What we have is, in effect, a time less song, one that very strongly indicates a yearning for the past, but in it’s lack of specificity in regards to catering to the popular music trends in which it was created, can be about a feeling we’ll always have. It’s the musical equivalent of smoke. Throw in the fact that Waits uses several of his own vocal tracks to make it sound like a drunken sing-a-long at a bar full of broken down losers and you have that ephemeral spirit of the film wrapped up in a perfect marriage of audio and visuals. As the song plays, the images are definitely the most stylized we’ve seen yet. Yet they never come across as flashy or meant to induce a music video by any stretch of the imagination. Neither do they ever plead with us to feel a certain way about the characters (this is, after all, a story of a man who steals a camera from an old blind woman). The images take their time, allowing the song to intermingle with the silent footage in ways that both compliment and enhance one another. The song gives this final sequence an almost fable-like quality. We quickly understand that it doesn’t really matter if it happened this way to the exact letter. What’s important is that Auggie gave Paul the story as a gift and now that story has taken on an identity of its own. The song is a punch-drunk, bleary-eyed howl of anguish. The visuals are more contemplative but we can see in Auggie’s fumbling attempt at making a connection with another human being that they are after the same thing. It is in that dichotomy, I believe, that the film achieves its true moment of grace. We can make a lot of noise about it, or we can sit down and share a meal with each other in silence. Either way, whatever it is we’re looking for and eventually find, will be gone by the time we realize it. That is why we keep looking, writing, smoking, talking, and dreaming.

 PS: Here is Auggie Wren's Christmas Story by Paul Auster, it's definitely worth a read.

Okay! That's been just about one moment...

Apologies for my absence. I'm sure in the ensuing years since we last spoke you have been forced to wander the barren wasteland known as the internet, in search of anything remotely resembling mental sustenance. I say to you now that your long and arduous search is over.

I have returned!

I should say, I'm writing this return post right now, which isn't to say I'll necessarily STICK TO IT this time. But let's roll the dice and see what happens. I had an idea for a blog a couple years back for some kind of examination of how music not specifically written for a film works in conjunction with the images. I believe there is a technical term for when a pop song is used on a soundtrack but it has escaped me at the moment. For one reason or another I never got around to starting this blog. Perhaps because there are ten-thousand other blogs with the exact same purpose being started, written, and subsequently abandoned as we speak. How do I offer to stand out in this immensely packed field? I don't. I'm just going to write about things that interest me and maybe some of you will come along.

Getting back to the point. Each post will examine a particular scene from a film, (I might do the occasional TV show every now and then but those will be few and far between) and I will try to offer my unique insight into the why of it all. Why was this scene chosen? Why does it work (or doesn't)? That's only two but I'm sure more will come up as I dive into this.

So sit back and get ready for some hopefully not copyrighted youtube clips and half-assed pseudo analysis of some of my favorite Songs and Images from the Movies.

PS: I'm not totally 100% crazy about this lay-out. If anybody has any ideas or contributions, feel free to share.

Welcome Back!!! Oh wait...

Whoa Doctor, by gar it's been a while. I feel like celebrating...etc. etc. etc.

Okay, I'm done.

I decided to start this puppy back up again, give her a brand new sheen and maybe a fine winter coat.

I was thinking the other after walking out of a particularly excellent new film, that I really wish I had some kind of venue in which to discuss my plentiful feelings of admiration towards said film and some of my frustrations with what I perceive to be "confused" responses to it by other people.

Long story short, I want to write about movies again. I miss it, I love doing it and from this day I vow to you to write about one movie per day for as long as I can. I feel like I can avoid the whole "julie and julia" knock off by first acknowledging that this is a completely unoriginal idea (see Kevin Murphy's book for a far more outlandish and entertaining take on the subject) and I don't really think I have anything to add, I just want to write. So there you have it, nothing new here, maybe even nothing coherent and legible. But it is something, and isn't that in the end the real truth? The answer is no.

There you have it, a movie a day, just my thoughts and musings. We'll start tomorrow...

Coming Soon...

Where the Wild Things Are

Adieu

Bill Moyers

Nate sent me a link to a Bob Herbert editorial today that just about sums it up...

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/05/03/opinion/03herbert.html?hp

I watched this, this morning. It was from last night's Bill Moyer's Journal.

The whole thing makes you want to throw you hands up in defeat.

I once asked a reporter back from Vietnam, "Who's telling the truth over there?" "Everyone, he said. "Everyone sees what's happening through the lens of their own experience." That's how people see Jeremiah Wright. In my conversation with him on this broadcast a week ago and in his dramatic public appearances since, he revealed himself to be far more complex than the sound bites that propelled him onto the public stage. Over 2000 of you have written me about him, and your opinions vary widely. Some sting: "Jeremiah Wright is nothing more than a race-hustling, American hating radical," one viewer wrote. A "nut case," said another. Others were far more were sympathetic to him.

Many of you have asked for some rational explanation for Wright's transition from reasonable conversation to shocking anger at the National Press Club. A psychologist might pull back some of the layers and see this complicated man more clearly, but I'm not a psychologist. Many black preachers I've known — scholarly, smart, and gentle in person — uncorked fire and brimstone in the pulpit. Of course I've known many white preachers like that, too.

But where I grew up in the south, before the civil rights movement, the pulpit was a safe place for black men to express anger for which they would have been punished anywhere else; a safe place for the fierce thunder of dignity denied, justice delayed. I think I would have been angry if my ancestors had been transported thousands of miles in the hellish hole of a slave ship, then sold at auction, humiliated, whipped, and lynched. Or if my great-great grandfather had been but three-fifths of a person in a constitution that proclaimed, "We the people." Or if my own parents had been subjected to the racial vitriol of Jim Crow, Strom Thurmond, Bull Connor, and Jesse Helms. Even so, the anger of black preachers I've known and heard about and reported on was, for them, very personal and cathartic.

That's not how Jeremiah Wright came across in those sound bites or in his defiant performances this week. What white America is hearing in his most inflammatory words is an attack on the America they cherish and that many of their sons have died for in battle ? forgetting that black Americans have fought and bled beside them, and that Wright himself has a record of honored service in the Navy. Hardly anyone took the "chickens come home to roost" remark to convey the message that intervention in the political battles of other nations is sure to bring retaliation in some form, which is not to justify the particular savagery of 9/11 but to understand that actions have consequences. My friend Bernard Weisberger, the historian, says, yes, people are understandably seething with indignation over Wright's absurd charge that the United States deliberately brought an HIV epidemic into being. But it is a fact, he says, that within living memory the U.S. Public Health Service conducted a study that deliberately deceived black men with syphilis into believing that they were being treated, while actually letting them die for the sake of a scientific test. Does this excuse Wright's anger? His exaggerations or distortions? You'll have to decide or yourself. At least it helps me to understand the why of them.

But in this multimedia age the pulpit isn't only available on Sunday mornings. There's round the clock media — the beast whose hunger is never satisfied, especially for the fast food with emotional content. So the preacher starts with rational discussion and after much prodding throws more and more gasoline on the fire that will eventually consume everything it touches. He had help — people who for their own reasons set out to conflate the man in the pulpit who wasn't running for president with the man in the pew who was.

Behold the double standard: John McCain sought out the endorsement of John Hagee, the war-mongering Catholic-bashing Texas preacher who said the people of New Orleans got what they deserved for their sins. But no one suggests McCain shares Hagee's delusions, or thinks AIDS is God's punishment for homosexuality. Pat Robertson called for the assassination of a foreign head of state and asked God to remove Supreme Court justices, yet he remains a force in the Republican religious right. After 9/11 Jerry Falwell said the attack was God's judgment on America for having been driven out of our schools and the public square, but when McCain goes after the endorsement of the preacher he once condemned as an agent of intolerance, the press gives him a pass.

Jon Stewart recently played a tape from the Nixon White House in which Billy Graham talks in the oval office about how he has friends who are Jewish, but he knows in his heart that they are undermining America. This is crazy; this is wrong -- white preachers are given leeway in politics that others aren't.

Which means it is all about race, isn't it? Wright's offensive opinions and inflammatory appearances are judged differently. He doesn't fire a shot in anger, put a noose around anyone's neck, call for insurrection, or plant a bomb in a church with children in Sunday school. What he does is to speak his mind in a language and style that unsettle some people, and says some things so outlandish and ill-advised that he finally leaves Obama no choice but to end their friendship. We are often exposed us to the corroding acid of the politics of personal destruction, but I've never seen anything like this ? this wrenching break between pastor and parishioner before our very eyes. Both men no doubt will carry the grief to their graves. All the rest of us should hang our heads in shame for letting it come to this in America, where the gluttony of the non-stop media grinder consumes us all and prevents an honest conversation on race. It is the price we are paying for failing to heed the great historian Jacob Burckhardt, who said "beware the terrible simplifiers".

So Get On Up There and Give Us A Speech!

With the 2008 Academy Awards officially less then one week away, I figured it was high time I throw my hat into the ring of non sensical and utterly un-important Oscar predictions. Because as everybody knows, the stakes are high and many if not all must get their two cents in before those names are read off of those envelopes on that oh-so special night.

Who Will Win?

Who Should Win?

Who wasn't even nominated?!?!?!

Which contemptuous piece of self-congratulatory hooplah will offend us the most?

Only time will tell, but until that day. I give you my list of oscar predictions and rants about why my taste is completely superior to that of the academy.

Editor's Note:
I am not an oscar prognosticator, usually my predictions are wrong. I think sure things are long shots and surprises usually pop up in categories that I think are solid locks. I also usually disagree violently with the majority of the decisions for awards so a lot of this is being written out of spite.

Just wanted to be up front with that...

Here we go, just starting from the top on down:

BEST PICTURE:
ATONEMENT
JUNO
MICHAEL CLAYTON
NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN
THERE WILL BE BLOOD

Who Will Win:
No Country for Old Men

Who Should Win:
No Country for Old Men

Should have been nominated:
Zodiac, Sweeney Todd, Into the Wild, Ratatouille, The Assassination of Jesses James by the Coward Robert Ford, The Diving Bell and the Butterly, Once, 4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days. and the list goes on and on and on...

I'm probably jinxing myself by predicting this because No Country will be the first time I movie I genuinely loved and actually thought was the best picture of the year is in fact the best picture of the year. It seems to have a lot of momentum behind it, and the only real threats I see it having are Juno and Atonement. Everyone knows what will happen if Juno wins (there shouldn't even be an award show due to the simple fact that its nominated). I think No Country will pull it off.

BEST ACTOR:
George Clooney
Daniel Day Lewis
Johnny Depp
Tommy Lee Jones
Viggo Mortensen

Who Will Win:
Daniel Day Lews

Who Should Win:
Johnny Depp

Should have been nominated
Emile Hirsch, Phillip Seymour Hoffman (for either the Savages or Before the Devil Knows You're Dead), Casey Affleck for either Gone Baby Gone or Assassination (the movie really is about him and Pitt is the supporting performance see Training Day for another backwards example of this, Mathieu Almaric, Tommy Lee Jones for No Country (again movie is really about him), Chris Cooper, Frank Langella, Christian Bale. I don't know how you would fit all these guys in here though

Okay, I know that Daniel Day Lewis completely owns this years award and nothing will stop that. And by a certain logic he deserves it, no other piece of acting was as compulsively watchable and out and out earth shattering as his take on Daniel Plainview. That being said, if I were on the academy, I would cast my vote for Mr. Depp. Technical skill aside and all that objective stuff, I was more impressed with Mr. Depp's performance in terms of its difficulties and how he not only surmounted them but improved upon them. He had a tougher job and he created a more memorable portrait taking the idea of a singing actor to bold new places.

BEST ACTRESS
CATE BLANCHETT
JULIE CHRISTIE
MARION COTILLARD
LAURA LINNEY
ELLEN PAGE

Who Will Win
Julie Christie

Who Should Win
Julie Christie

Should have been Nominated:
Nicole Kidman, Helena Bonham Carter (although some might argue she was more of a supporting player), Wei Tang, Amber Tamblyn (Stephanie Daley), Jiseon Kim (In Between Days), Carice Van Houten (Black Book), Anamaria Marinca (4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days)

This also appears to be somewhat of a lock. My heart is torn (to use Ebert's coinage) between Christie and Linney. I want Linney to win not only because she is amazing in the Savages but to make up for the travesty that was the 2000 academy awards when she lost to that faux-empowering ego fueled piece of blather known as Erin Brockovich. Then again Christie is the most devastating and deservedly will win the award. I must admit, I still have not seen La Vie en Rose so maybe I am completely wrong about all of this, except for Erin Brockovich sucking of course.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS
Cate Blanchett
Rube Dee
Saoirse Ronan
Amy Ryan
Tilda Swinton

Who Will Win
Ruby Dee

Who Should Win
Amy Ryan

Should have been nominated
Jennifer Jason Leigh, Catherine Keener, Laura Vasiliu (4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days)

This is a tough one, not only because all of the nominees are deserving in their own way, but also because of the inability to predict the winner based on the swarming tides around three nominees. First it was Amy Ryan winning and everything and anything in her path. Then Blanchett wins the Golden Globe, then Ruby Dee wins the sag and now its just a big clusterfuck. Personally, I'd be happy if one of those three wins the award, maybe also Tilda Swinton because she gave a masterful performance.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR
Casey Affleck
Javier Bardem
Philip Seymour Hoffman
Hal Holbrook
Tom Wilkinson

Who Will Win:
Javier Bardem

Who Should Win:
Tough call but Javier Bardem

Should have been nominated
Either Mark Ruffalo or Robert Downey Jr. for Zodiac, Adrien Brody (The Darjeeling Limited), Ethan Hawke (Before the Devil Knows You're Dead), Ed Sanders (Sweeny Todd)

Like the supporting category, all of these nominees are quite deserving. I am torn between Javier Bardem who captivated the crap out of me and Hal Holbrook who sneaks up on you and breaks your heart. Javier's gonna win it no doubt, but again I wouldn't be against any of these nominees winning. This is a surprisingly strong year for Supporting work. Good job academy! Keep up the good work!

BEST DIRECTOR
Paul Thomas Anderson
The Coen Brothers
Tony Gilroy
Jason Reitman
Julian Schnabel

Who Will Win:
The Coen Brothers

Who Should Win:
The Coen Brothers

Should have been nominated:
David Fincher, Tim Burton, Tamara Jenkins, Sarah Polley, Sean Penn, Brad Bird, Andrew Dominik, Vincent Paronnaud and Marjane Satrapi, Christian Mungiu, Sydney Lumet

Not much to say about this one, get rid of Gilroy (even though his movie is really really good), definitely get rid of Reitman (god he sucks) Other than that, it's a strong field and I just want to see what the Coen Brothers say in their acceptance speech. That and they deserve it for directing the shit out of that movie.

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY (this is a heartbreaker)
Juno
Lars and the Real Girl
Michael Clayton
Ratatouille
The Savages

Who Will Win:
Juno

Who Should Win:
The Savages/Ratatouille

Should have been nominated
The Darjeeling Limited, Margot at the Wedding, Eastern Promises, Before the Devil Knows You're Dead.

This one just sucks, one of the most irritating screenplays ever published is going to take away some much earned attention from The Savages just because its "indie" enough to be "hip" The academy has always had a tin ear for writing (see 2005 Crash over the Squid and the Whale are you fucking joking me) But this is taking their poisonous streak too far, the good people of Hollywood can do something about this before its too late, please vote with your hearts and your minds. Anything but Juno.

Best Adapted Screenplay
Atonement
Away From Her
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
No Country for Old Men
There Will Be Blood

Who Will Win
No Country for Old Men

Who Should Win
No Country for Old Men

I just wish the Coen Brothers had written an original script this year, but in lieu of that they definitely wrote the best adapted script of this year. Although the accomplishments of Away from Her and Diving Bell should not be overlooked. Not much else to say about this one, I think its the Coens this year.

So there you have it, all the big awards parceled down to one mealy blog entry. I could go on and on about Best Cinematography and Best Live Action Short film, but does anybody want to read that? I don't want to read it or write it. Let me just say that it's not a matter of these awards being more important (although they definitely get more press). It's that all of the awards are equally unimportant, and I just decided to highlight these particular high profile names because therein lay the potential for the most amount of words to be spewed.

In conclusion, a great movie has the potential to take its rightful place alongside such masterpieces as:
Crash
Million Dollar Baby
The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King
Chicago
A Beautiful Mind
Gladiator

and don't forget...Braveheat!!!!!

And other half-rate movies, most of which were not even worth the 3 cent dvd's upon which they were eventually stamped. And some of them even down right blew.

So no matter what happens, movies will continue to evolve and remain hopelessly dated at the same time. People will carve out their own niches, trends will be ignored, and demographics will not allow themselves to be exploited. The heart and power of filmmaking and movie-watching lies not in the useless trinkets one can accumulate, but in the quest to seek out the movies that never even had a chance.

Jack, I Swear...

I don't really have much to write about as a cohesive whole.
So, I'd rather make a bunch of little observations and notes.

-I'm a little more than halfway through Mark Oliver Everett's (E of EELS) memoir: Things The Grandchildren Should Know and before I jinx myself and the book I will say its a harrowing read comparable to Didion's Year of Magical Thinking. I don't really know what I was expecting but this has already far surpassed it. I will write more about this later except to warn you, read with a box of kleenex and maybe a good friend or loved one nearby.

-If there is a planet Radiohead, I would like to live on it. Rolling Stone recently called them the band of the future, I would like to think we've been saving their music in a time capsule so that future generations will know what it was like to be alive at the end of the 20th century and the beginning of the 21st. Also, their new album In Rainbows has officially reached the heights of masterpiece. (It just took a few listens) and try not to get chills after listening to videotape.

-The Heath Ledger story is an incredibly sad one. I don't really know what else to say, I had planned on writing a long tribute to him analyzing his performance in Brokeback Mountain. I decided it wasn't necessary and more words would only add to the clutter of noise surrounding his death. I just finished re-watching Brokeback Mountain and I will say, it's an absolutely beautiful performance. Daniel Day Lewis was completely right at the SAG awards, that last scene is like a punch to the gut. It's a tragedy when anyone dies, so I don't mean to prescribe more worth to Mr. Ledger's death than anyone else's But since he was in the public eye and we saw his contributions to the world, it's hard not to stop and think about what he was capable of and what we will now never see. At least we have Brokeback Mountain, and not to harp on this but this is the performance that completely turned me around on him, it's just breathtaking.

-I've decided that I hate award shows. I guess I'm just tired of seeing people with their heads lodged up their own asses in real life, I don't need to see it on television. Especially when it just boils down to 2 hours of advertisements and ten minutes of awards, I think I have better things to do with my time. Plus when we live in a country (here comes Mr. Self Righteous) where more people watch american idol than vote in a national election, I think we need to re-think our priorities. Also after watching Brokeback Mountain and thinking about how that piece of shit Crash won best picture (it was also up against good night and good luck, capote, and munich...dear lord). It's hard not to just want to actively boycott the damn things. Then I think about maybe I'm taking all of this a bit too seriously and like I said there are more important things to worry about, then I think about how JUNO might win best original screenplay.

And I'm right back where I started.

Good night.

To Fix or Ruin

It's Late. I'm tired. I'm about to delve into E's memoirs.

This is all I got.

Kevin Devine speaking for me once again (on almost everything)

You wrestle yourself to the ground
you springboard and kick yourself in the mouth
cause all of that drama, that embarrassed charade
couldn't stop you or settle you down

so you got back with your black hole
and you don't care who's out there or who knows
cause you're spent and you're sad
cause you've bronzed it, it's your badge
and you've fixed it to all your clothes

every t-shirt and overcoat
so it's with you through hot or cold
but i would tear it from the cloth
yeah, i would tear it from the cloth
grow up and knock it off

cause there's a world awake outside
with injustice and music and july, july
with history's arc,
with your family,
with art.
but it don't mean nothing
not to you, not tonight

you can't see past the length of your nose
the biggest problems, well you're sure they're your own
that girl you cut loose
those two friends that cursed you
and all that powder that you can't leave alone

and you say, you know, you know, you know
but i know that you don't, you don't, you don't
cause if you did, you'd really try
if you did, you'd really try to let all that die

so marry yourself to your work
and crowd your confusion with words
then round out your life with some records you like
while you bury your love in the dirt

cause it's endless, the ditch you can dig
you're stubborn, and you're prideful, and you're all over it
so i suggest you make sense of the time you've got left
so you don't end up back where you've been

and you say you won't, you won't, you won't
and i hope that you don't, you don't, you don't
but if you mean it, then stand up and fight
but if you mean it, then stand up and fight
cause i mean, it's only your life

i mean it's only your life
to fix or ruin
to figure what to do with
it's only your life
to fix or ruin
cause no one else is going to do it
cause it's only your life

...And SCENE!

Here is something that happened to me.

Roughly translated into screenplay format.

Enjoy.

EXT. RALPH'S ON WILSHIRE-EVENING
A young man walks out of a Ralph's supermarket carrying a Marie Callender's Frozen Sweet and Sour Chicken and a plastic bottled Dr. Pepper. He turns the corner and heads to the Rite-Aid parking lot across the street where he is currently illegally parked.

He wears a collared shirt and corduroy pants.

It is relatively late for dinner, he is tired, hungry, and eager to get home.

As he rounds the corner, AN OLDER MAN approaches him. He is well dressed, carrying a BEBE shopping bag. He is laughing at the YOUNG MAN, he begins rubbing his chin.

OLDER MAN: Hey, you got the look man.

The Young Man walks by hoping this is the last of their conversation.

OLDER MAN (cont'd): Look at you. You slick.

YOUNG MAN: Thanks.

OLDER MAN: Hey, you got the look, all you need is a suit. You small time though now right? Small time.

The YOUNG MAN doesn't really understand what the guy is saying so he keeps walking in the hope that he will eventually lose interest and walk the other way.

OLDER MAN (cont'd): Yo, you small time but check this out.

He indicates to the BEBE bag.

OLDER MAN (cont'd): You see this bag, this is a 3,000 dollar Burberry Handbag. Do you understand how much this is worth? How much you can make? Yo, if you want to come with me, we could do this.

The young man begins to catch on, very slowly.

YOUNG MAN: No, that's okay, I'm not interested.

OLDER MAN: Nah, man you don't understand. They got these clubs in Beverly Hills, underground clubs, beneath the ground clubs. Nobody knows about them, I can get you in, just come with me.

YOUNG MAN: No really, that's okay I need to get...

They stop at the Young Man's car.

OLDER MAN: Look, you got the look and you small time now. But all we have to do is get you a suit, you could be making 5,000 dollars a day. How much you make now? I bet it ain't that.

YOUNG MAN: I'm sorry, but really I just want to...

OLDER MAN: All we gotta do is, I get you a suit. We go in together, I take the salesperson, I distract them. You head to the back, you can grab at least 3 or 4 handbags at a time. You slip out, there you go, there's the money right there.

Bam.

YOUNG MAN: I'm really not interested in that.

OLDER MAN: I see, I see, you still small time. You into the low risk thing, that's cool.

The YOUNG MAN notices the OLDER MAN pointing at his frozen dinner and soda. Then it hits him.

YOUNG MAN: Oh no, I didn't steal this. I paid for this.

OLDER MAN: You mean you didn't...

YOUNG MAN: No, I just paid for this like a minute ago. I had the receipt but I threw it out.

Silence.

YOUNG MAN: I just...I don't like plastic bags.

Silence.

YOUNG MAN: They're bad for the environment.

OLDER MAN: Oh.

YOUNG MAN: Sorry.

OLDER MAN: Okay well. Alright.

YOUNG MAN: Sorry about that.

The Older Man slinks away into the shadows. The Young Man gets into his car and drives out of the Rite-Aid parking lot, back to his apartment.

THE END