Riku Writes – Mostly About Films

The Flesh (Oh My!) The Devil (Hiss!) and Garbo's Smoldering Eyes (Sigh!)

2012-01-28T16:05:00.000-08:00

"....she liked to be active, though at times she gave an impression of repose that was at once static and evocative." From Tender is the Night By F. Scott Fitzgerald

I fancy myself as something of a bohemian though without facial hair and affected looks of boredom. I will tap my fingers nervously on a coffee table but don't smoke so it isn't always easy to tell where I'm coming from. I dally in poetry but offset that with a passion for college football.

Things happen all the time and if in a certain mood I pay attention. Now you know.

Today I watched Flesh and the Devil (1926) starring Greta Garbo as a type A vixen and John Gilbert as the dashing looking chap who falls for her. But then so does his best buddy. As did the Count she was married to. You can't resist her. Slip into the film sometime and try. I double dare you.

There is a certain casualness to the film expressed in languid scenes of delightful innocence that resonate from the silent era. There is also an intensity of love, friendship and aroused passions that elevate the film beyond melodrama.

Clarence Brown directed. Score one for him. But before and after he made some extraordinarily ordinary films. Like Idiot's Delight (1939), Wife vs. Secretary (1936) and The Human Comedy (1943). Nice but....

Leo (Gilbert) and Ulrich (Lars Hanson) are the best friends. Very best. Since childhood when they made the proverbial blood brother pact (with real blood!). We meet them in the army where they are up to shenanigans. Their mischief exposed they must shovel manure. Memories are made of this.

Home on furlough they meet the evil seductress herself, Felicitas (Garbo). I don't know about the rest of you lot, but I love that name -- Felicitas! We also meet Lars' kid sister who has a crush on good ole Leo and we are further introduced to Leo's saintly old mom. For those of you keeping score at home that's one sibling and one parent between the two buddies.

Leo and Ulrich are forever hugging and looking each other in the eye and avowing their friendship and I'm sure some folks have cried, "homoeroticsm" but that seems a bit easy and cheap here. Don't you think?

The beautiful Felicitas casts her spell on Leo, who doesn't realize that she's...a married woman!

A duel and an exile in Africa later, Felictas has cast yet another spell, this time on poor Ulrich. They are husband and wife. Husband one is death is shown in scene that is as beautifully shot as anything ever filmed and raises the question of why didn't Brown do this more often?

Leo is taken by surprise by the nuptials of Leo and Felicitas. But she has her hooks in the poor sap and married to his best buddy or not, he wants her back.

Betrayal?

In the middle of the story is a kindly sot of Pastor who moralizes against such sirens and their ways. There's no point in me railing about the presence of such moralizers in films of that era, they were there being obvious and dull as plain oatmeal.

Where Flesh and the Devil goes is not nearly as interesting as how it gets there, which is via Garbo and those eyes that would bring down a pope. The bosom chums are nice and all, but they serve as a set up for the comely wiles of the evil seductress. The late silent era was towards the beginning of films rich with great roles for women and great actresses plying their trades in them. See Garbo, Dietrich, Stanwyck, Crawford, Davis, Shearer, Harlow, Loy and a bunch of other dames who I don't have time to list here. It was a Golden Age for women. (The preceding sentence was, I'm quite sure, not the least bit original, but no less true.) Garbo's performance here is a shining example. Of course its sans words. Her body is shapely enough but on the skinny side. It is her face and most particularly those penetrating eyes that suck one in. Whether a character, a co-star (Gilbert left his wife for her) or some bloke watching 80 plus years on, she's nigh on impossible to resist.

There's a lot of schmaltz to Flesh and the Devil. Hanson is a tad hammy for my tastes and much of the rest of the cast are as animated as the props. But Gilbert has an unmistakeable presence and Garbo possessed one of the greatest screen visages of the 20th century (you wanna say the greatest, go ahead, I won't squawk).

Should you see Flesh and the Devil? If you've read all this I reckon you want to.

Don't ask me why, but I close with this:

Opinions are Like Things Everyone Has

2012-01-27T19:09:00.000-08:00

Today a co-worker loudly blasted a recent film she'd just seen. The movie in question has been nominated for numerous awards and she expressed astonishment that such a piece of crap had garnered so many encomiums.

I'd seen the movie and, though it's not one of my favorites, I thought it a decent work. But I kept my mouth shut. There was no interchange possible. What possible avenue was there for discussion? "Oh I didn't think it was so bad. The soundtrack was nice and the...." The speaker had planted her flag in one position and wasn't inviting a conversation but proclaiming an unwavering opinion.

If one wants to talk about a recently seen movie might I be so bold as to suggest something along these lines: ask if anyone has seen it. If so solicit opinions. Find common ground or explore why you perceive it differently. If you really like the film a lot, that's a good opener. But to tell people, without asking if someone has seen it, that a certain movie stinks puts others in awkward position and doesn't invite a dialogue. Personally, when I hate a film the last thing I want to do is talk about it. It's analogous to when one of my sports teams loses. I like to forget as soon as possible. When they win, I love to relive it.

It's also worth remembering that our opinions, particularly as regards movies, are nothing more than our opinions and shouldn't be taken seriously by anyone, least of all ourselves. People like me put our opinions "out there" via the Internet and some people respect them and use them in choosing something to watch or a director or genre to check out. But people have the option of ignoring our opinions by not clicking on our sites or if they don't like the direction of a post, exiting. We don't walk into rooms and inflict our thoughts on others.

Years ago I made the mistake of engaging a co-worker in a similar situation. She had lambasted a film and asserted that she wanted to "steer people away from it." I thought this bizarre because it was receiving critical praise left and right. Seriously, how many people tell their mates: No, I don't want to see that movie, I don't care how many critics love it and how many awards its won, Ernie at work says it sucks.

Brief Thoughts on Oscar Nomination Day

2012-01-24T21:35:00.000-08:00

"The only writing that was any good was what you made up, what you imagined. That made everything come true." - Ernest Hemingway.

We like to trivialize art to make it manageable. Our minds have trouble with absorbing it all, to process and then to articulate? Beyond us.

But we are of nature that wants meaning and understanding and explanations. So we distill the life out of art and give it little statuettes and have ceremonies to honor. The best.

Yes, the best. Not the winner, but the one the award goes to. Clips, highlights, moments. A little pill. The Xanax. "What is that awful dress she's wearing?" Hey, let's repartee.

Silly of us.

Luminous. With commercials.

When serving yourself becomes self serving.

Best performance by an actress in a supporting role. This was the very best one. This person deserves an award. ("But what is that awful dress she is wearing?")

Oscar nominations were announced this morning. With baited breath the press waited. Announced. The news was spread. Some gasped. Some nodded. Some pondered. Many analyzed. Let the arguments begin. May they continue until THE NIGHT of the ceremony.

-- (Ceremony) --

"In Hollywood Oscar is king." -David Letterman, tongue in cheek.

The impulse is, I suppose pure. We want to recognize that we love movies. Love them. They are more than a diversion. They are a pure form on art that helps us celebrate and contextualize the mystery of life. Movies can divert, yes. They can also focus us on what is real. REAL. This is worth celebrating. I'm not sure we've figured out quite how.

Oh and Melancholia didn't earn one of the ten (10) nominations for best picture. Oh screw it....

And another thing...

"Men of Paterno's era kept a lot bottled inside, too, often to their detriment. This was a real world, not the smarmy, sepia-toned world proffered by maudlin nostalgia-peddlers like Tom Brokaw." - Tim Keown.

The recently late Joe Paterno was a straight shooter. No nonsense guy. Of another generation. Men were men and then they died. Wouldn't know irony if it slapped 'em in the face. There is a strain of simple thinking there that harkens to another time. The Republicans are trying to bottle and serve it to the American people. Indeed there are many who drink of it in large gulps. America good/taxes bad/bootstrap pulling/screw immigrants/Gay is sin. Turning back the clock to a time that never existed....

I saw F.W Murnau's The Last Laugh (1924) FOR THE FIRST TIME last Saturday. (How do some of us miss films like this for so long?) Starred Emil Jannings, later a character in Inglourious Basterds (2009). It's a brilliant film but dig this: almost 90 years ago, in Germany, the director had to tack on a happy ending. Murnau had the power and the sense to at least tell the audience that this last bit wasn't his idea. Who knew interference with a director's vision's had such deep roots? Probably a lot of you. Not me.

And the award for best film made in Germany 88 years ago with a false ending goes to....

Speaking of Jannings, also watched him in Josef Von Sternberg's last silent, The Last Command (1928). It was one of von Sternberg's final films before teaming with Marlene Dietrich, perhaps the greatest actress/director collaboration of all time. Along with other of his silents, The Last Command has had a recent DVD release (packaged together, no less). If you've not seen it, do yourself a favor and put Last Command (along with Underworld (1927) and The Docks of New York (1928)) high atop your Netflix queue. While benefiting from strong performances, these are real auteur works. Von Sternberg was a master at lighting, framing shots and using physical objects to set the mood of scenes. He almost suffered from his Dietrich obsession in later films, and never did anything of note after her.

The Poem That is Vertigo

2012-01-17T22:09:00.000-08:00

I'm torn between the light and dark
Where others see their targets
Divine symmetry
Should I kiss the viper's fang
Or herald loud
the death of Man
I'm sinking in the quicksand
of my thought
And I ain't got the power anymore

Don't believe in yourself
Don't deceive with belief
Knowledge comes
with death's release

I'm not a prophet
or a stone age man
Just a mortal
with the potential of a superman
I'm living on
I'm tethered to the logic
of Homo Sapien
_ From Quicksand by David Bowie

It just doesn't fit. All those beautiful pieces and they don't go to together. But they don't have to. If you want logic, see an instructional film on car repair. No, no, no. Vertigo (1958) is not about the story. Hitch said so himself. It's the mood.

The look. Look at it. The words are part of the instrumentals, they're not lyrics. I thought. Maybe. That it would work better as a silent movie. But that just meant I was overstating the importance of the words to the story. Or misplacing them. The words are not to be used to construct a linear story, but to accompany the movements and the colors and the backdrops.

Of course, the story had to be set in San Francisco. With dizzying hills and vistas, and the icy blue bay, the pixilated history and the eccentricities galore. A beautiful city. With magnificent woods nearby and twisting roads leading to missions with bell towers. A good place for a fall. One purposeful the second accidental. Should anyone really buy that last fall? Was it meant to be ironic? Or some sort of delayed justice? If the latter the architect of the original crime was still away Scot free. It was rather silly and contrived but then that's taking the fact of it too literally. The last fall, the death was part of the poem that is Vertigo.

The honest, direct warmth of Jimmy Stewart serves as a perfect contrast to the devastating beauty of Kim Novak. He was at the time approximately twice her age. This served to heighten their contrast, to add another bit of the outre to the story, like how quickly they fell in love and how deeply. And as the everyman, Stewart's descent into bizarre obsession, preceded mind you, by a turn in the loony bin, is evermore effective.

Vertigo is not a story in the traditional sense. It is an exploration of misdirection. A dance around the mind. A tender embrace of jagged edges. Vertigo the condition is an ideal film subject. A person facing a malady that strips him of his vocation and sets him up to be a patsy. An exploitation that leads to a comatose state. This poor blighter seems close to the figurative edge even as he avoids the literal ones. He wants to recreate in one person what he had in another. And in getting it he finds the real McCoy and that serves as the ultimate betrayal. She was her all along and that is unforgivable, because it means a code, a trust has been violated. That supersedes all.

You don't need to muck up such a story with the sensible. That's like dissing a beloved song for having split infinitives. This film is Dali meets Bergman as directed by Hitchcock with Mr. America and a blonde beauty in the lead. Wow.

There is not just physical wonders and delights for the eyes but talking points and moods to contemplate. It can't be viewed as a perfect movie because of the holes in the story. But then the holes are irrelevant to its majesty anyway. This is bright reds of Ernie's. The green aura of a woman. Nightmares more fascinating then frightening. People mixed up, toying with others lives and thus their own. It's a trip, man. Really.

Moments....And.....

2012-01-11T19:23:00.000-08:00

She had milky white fingers and fire engine red nail polish. Sitting next to me on the streetcar she turned the pages of her book. Maybe it was just that and perhaps it was the combination of this and her lacy black outfit, but the effect was to remind me of: grandmother's house, rainy late Wednesday afternoon. I, a child. Grandma patting me on the back as I sat in her kitchen. I must have been about eight years old. This is a distant memory.

I came home and watched TV when I should have been sobbing softly. These are the kind of mistakes we make when the poetry of our life gets to far away. There is a tenderness that can ease out of our soul. Warm blankets and fog shrouded green hills will give way to the desert of spiteful desires. Resentments encroach on lonely men stuck on sofas with commercials blaring.

These feelings, these moments, these crystal clear pictures are evoked in certain kinds of films. Bergman has the camera hold on a face. Within the context of the story this shot tells us more than five minutes of dialogue. Chaplin shows us a man walking, startled, running, chased and we are in that moment. No words. Ford gives us a landscape and we know great truths about the story he is telling us.

There are the great unspoken moments in films that we fix on. Our mind holds them. Dwells. We may contemplate or not. But the image remains. Is stored for later use. Movies are like this. Still pictures of incredible truth that are lovingly set within stories. Kubrick told bold stories with daring set pieces that are indelible. Fellini would create incredible sights that defied our imaginations and then wrapped around them and held on. Von Sternberg gave us Dietrich's face cast against light and shadows. Held for what would be too long, were it not shot just right, and she not so beautiful. Forever moments.

Not the fast and easy. Not the loud and strong. Never the mindless whir of dervishes. Only the thoughtful and considered. No false beauty of haute couture. Only the real and the remembered and that which has been felt. Understood or not. Underscored only perhaps.

Malle follows Moreau through the rain in Paris. That face. That luscious black and white. We want to be with her. Just as we want to walk the streets of San Francisco to find Hitchcock's Novak in deep red. The silence of beauty. Allen gives us Hemingway's tears as his own character gives her unwanted freedom. We understand him, ache for her, feel the time and place.

The undefinability of love. The fleeting permanence that is film. The contradictions that make life confounding and oh so wonderful. We need never leave it.

Let the music of your musings, mingle with the desire, the longing for life's beauty. The rare moments of clarity that are are just this side of insanity and back again. Watch a movie. Take a picture. Don't rush off. It is all still here.

An Incredible First: Film Blogger Changes Top Ten List! Has New Number One Film For 2011

2012-01-08T19:16:00.000-08:00

Earlier today on Twitter I confessed that as a wee lad my family went to see the Harlem Globetrotters play and I rooted for the other team. I was unclear on the concept.
Today I have not youthfulness to excuse a more recent embarrassment: I've gone and changed my top ten films list for 2011 published only a few days ago. It is, as Groucho Marx would say, the most unheard of thing I ever heard of.

I've not only never done such a thing in over 20 years of making top ten movie lists, I have almost never looked back years later and realized that with the passage of time I've come to admire a lower ranked film more than the number one film I'd picked. This is actually odd considering how our tastes change over the years. Something that moved us deeply ten, even five years ago may not seem so all fired great today. By the same token that film we merely liked may suddenly take on new meaning to us. Yes, people change over time. But a few days?

I have no explanation. I watched Melancholia for the second time and not only thought it magnificent and better than anything else released the past year, but quickly consider it among my favorites of all time. I wrote about it yesterday. Total passage of time between first and second viewings was 48 hours.

So Melancholia has leapfrogged The Artist, Midnight in Paris and Of Gods and Men, the latter two I've seen twice. I'd like to let the makers of those three films know that the luster of their fine films has not diminished because they are sliding down a notch.

Initially I was going to keep secret my change of heart. But then the whole business is rather silly anyway. Top ten lists stand as personal statements of an individuals taste. Their primary benefit is to alert readers to movies that they may not have seen or been hesitant about. When I see a respected reviewers list I look for commonalities and ideas about what I might like to see.

I do not feel that I am violating the public trust by going back and changing my top ten list. Especially since I am offering this confession. First, I've been open about it and second I'm, for the most part, pretty darn consistent about such things. I knew you'd understand.

Come to Me My Melancholy Planet

2012-01-07T20:06:00.000-08:00

Last night I turned on the TV to watch some of a college football bowl game but instead got an endless series of commercials. I tried again later and this time there was a sideline reporter talking to a representative of the bowl's corporate sponsor who was blathering on about giving back to the community. He was being self serving and spouting pure pablum. I thought then how wonderful it would be if a another planet were to spin out of its orbit and crush the Earth.

I later watched Melancholia for the second time and thought that if people could get together and make this film, which ends with the destruction of the planet, maybe Earth has a chance. I thought also of the sisters, Justine (Kirsten Dunst) and Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg) so utterly wonderful in their damage. Two characters so vivid and alive and rich in complexities. Totally compelling.

Justine suffers from severe bouts of melancholia, which happens to be the name of the planet that will destroy Earth. It is a gripping all consuming, luxurious melancholia that renders her variously immobile or prone to rash acts -- like seducing a stranger on her wedding night. Funny that.

There are so many great films with characters who are obsessive, addicted, compulsive, or just plain bats. Simply: people are more interesting that way. Look at those sane folks who are leaders of the United States. The ones who say the right things and spout nonsense about how their greed is for the greater good or how their corporations are "giving back" or who evoke God to justify their decisions as if they were a personal servant of the almighty. These sane people who hate in the name of love and make war in the name of peace and rape and pillage our natural resources and our working poor. They are the death of us all. Their clean and healthy minds are a sickness on humanity. As characters in stories they symbolize evil, as well they should.

But we are drawn to the likes of Scottie in Vertigo (1958), Brandon in Shame, Dan in Half Nelson (2006), Juliette in I Loved You So Long (2008), Travis in Taxi Driver (1976), Elisabeth in Persona (1966) Don in The Lost Weekend (1945). Damaged, scarred people who by their broad actions and extreme behavior illuminate what is it to be a living being on a planet that as a whole encompasses more madness than the mind can cope. How wise they seem, as they reflect or own doubts and confusion. We stare in wonder as they act out in ways we dare not or dare not admit we have. They show us how are faults are what make us human. Just as commercials and corporate sponsors dehumanize.

Melancholia the movie is a masterpiece from a director, Lars Von Trier, who himself seems a damaged soul. It is an Earth bound 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) in its daring, beauty and probe of humanity. Von Trier uses classic art, great music and rapturous cinematography, not to mention brilliant acting, to paint a landscape of human behavior, some of which is in the face of the apocalypse.

The first eight minutes of the film defy description and perhaps understanding. But they are beautiful. The film is great without it. With it Melancholia is transcendent.

Dunst has taken a giant leap from her days as Spiderman's girlfriend and turned in a performance for the ages. She is shocking, repellent, wise and accepting. Gainsbourg is barely a notch below. The first half of the film is named for Justine and it is set on her wedding day. Many movies before have created madcap, sprawling weddings with events going awry. But none with a bride whose mental state is so fragile. No, broken.

The second half of the film is named for Claire. She is the caretaker sister who looks after her broken sibling much to the chagrin of her husband (Kiefer Sutherland). But as the end times approach the two sisters find their roles reversing. Magic. And how great is it to have the destruction of the planet sans faux TV news reports, panicked hordes or crumbling Earthly landmarks. Just a few people. That's all you need anyway. And they are ensconced in an Eden like estate.

This film is exhilarating. The subject matter seems impossible to view a second time but the mastery of the story telling demands it. I saw it twice in three days and immediately pre ordered the DVD. I hope the world has not been destroyed either by a wayward planet or corporate sponsors, until that DVD arrives.

Better Late Than Never, My Top Ten Films From 2011

2012-01-05T10:45:00.000-08:00

The year 2011 in films was like what Spencer Tracy said of Katharine Hepburn in Pat and Mike (1952): "Not much meat on her, but what's there is 'cherce'." If you were looking for quantity it was a bad year, but there was plenty of quality. I present my personal top ten with four movies worthy of the top spot. Indeed the competition is so strong at the top that an outstanding film like The Tree of Life was back in the 8th spot. After that it thins out considerably. I barely squeezed in two more to round out the top ten and felt nothing was truly worthy of my usual honorable mention category. If there's a film on this list you haven't seen, suffice it to say I recommend it highly.

1. Melancholia
2. Of Gods and Men
3. The Artist
4. Midnight in Paris
5. Shame
6. Hugo
7. Le Havre
8. The Tree of Life
9. Beginners
10. Young Adult

Best Actress in a Leading Role: Kirsten Dunst (Melancholia). Runners Up: Charlize Theron (Young Adult) and Saoirse Ronan (Hanna)

Best Actor in a Leading Role: Jean Dujardin (The Artist). Runners Up: Michael Fassbender (Shame) and Lambert Wilson (Of Gods and Men).

Best Actress in a Supporting Role: Shailene Wooley (The Descendants).

Best Actor in a Supporting Role: Corey Stoll (Midnight in Paris).

I have previously written about many of these movies and their titles are here linked to those posts. Of Gods and Men, The Artist and Hugo, Midnight in Paris, Shame, Le Havre,
The Tree of Life, Beginners, and Young Adult.

You Can't Go Home Again And All the Liquor in the World Won't Change That

2012-01-01T20:25:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was so much better. Remember how wonderful it was? We all were in perfect health. The food was delicious. The conversation veritably sparkled. The weather was ideal. By comparison, today sucks. We are older. We have headaches. The food is overcooked. No one has anything interesting to say. The weather is awful. How I long for that Golden Age that never existed. That idealized time that so flourishes in my imagination. As Paul McCartney sang: "yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away, now it looks as though they're here to stay, oh I believe in yesterday."

We try to go back to old haunts. See old friends. Recreate old times. But there's a gas station where the old ball field was. Our former flame has put on a lot of weight. And the old days don't exist. Except in our memories where they have a golden hue. At best their memories can be recreated by a familiar song.

I understood what Charlize Theron's character, Mavis was trying to do in Young Adult, the new film from director Jason Reitman and writer Diablo Cody. In returning to her small hometown and trying to re-hook up with her old boyfriend, Mavis was taking a very recognizable action. I also got what she was doing by drinking all that booze. That's understandable when you are being reckless and when you are stepping out of your comfort zone and stepping all over someone else's. It's all understandable when you are an alcoholic. You drink copiously and think not at all or in all manner of directions that have no connection to reality. You can't listen to the logic of other voices over the din of your addiction. That addiction that tells you very loudly to follow your heart, even if it may lead you off a cliff.

Today suffers from reality. Yesterday's only flaw is that its in the past. You don't need to have a snootful to tell you that you can get it back. But by God get loaded and you'll think the old days are right at your fingertips and damn anyone who gets in your way.

Mavis was a stuck up prom queen in high school who cared not a whit for anyone significantly below her social status -- which was most everyone. She cared deeply and passionately for herself (classic addict behavior) and her beau, Buddy (Patrick Wilson). Guys like Matt (Patton Oswalt) who had the locker next to hers were irrelevant. He was, in her words at the time, "a theater fag." In fact he famously got severely beaten in high school by a group of jocks who thought he was gay. He would have been a martyr to gay rights except he was straight. Rotten luck. So he was just another victim of testosterone fueled thugs. Oh yes, and crippled for life.

So Mavis comes back to town, 37 years old, a career on the rocks, one failed marriage to her name. She aims to get Buddy back. To recreate the perfection that in her mind was the teen years. Never mind that he is, by all accounts, happily married and only recently a father. Mavis will win him back.

As she plots and connives to win Buddy she befriends the grown up Matt. They are on odd couple indeed. Their relationship becomes complicated and central to the story. Matt sees that her quest has no chance and is at best ill advised. But he can hardly resist hanging out with Mavis. Matt may be a loser stuck in his hometown playing with gadgets, but he's had a lot of time to ruminate and has used it wisely, having figured out a lot about life.

Young Adult is a movie with the very best of intentions. An original story that combines humor with the awkward and painful. It's also one of those modern films that suffers from selling itself short, settling for a few jabs when a roundhouse right would have been okay. It's too short. I suspect there is a better movie that could have been constructed from the pieces on the cutting room floor. I'm sure audiences would have sat through another ten or 15 minutes that were in service of telling a fuller story.

That said, Young Adult is an admirable film. Theron and Oswalt give terrific performances. Cody is a top notch screenwriter as Juno (2007) established and Reitman is a serviceable director who one only fears will pander to mainstream sensibilities rather than challenge them as he did with the facile Up in the Air (2009).

What Young Adult clearly does is tell the story of how you most certainly cannot go home again (plus you know you're going about it the wrong way if you've got loving parents there and you find yourself avoiding them completely). But it is also a story about alcoholism and what happens to a person on the road to hitting their bottom. It is not a pretty story, but in the case of Young Adult, it's a pretty good one to watch.

For Shame! The Story of a Sex Obsessed Man

2011-12-27T21:14:00.000-08:00

I got on the bus late yesterday afternoon and found a seat across from a very beautiful young woman. I started to steal a second glance but it felt wrong. I knew immediately that my reluctance stemmed from having just seen Shame, the new film about a sex addict named Brandon (Michael Fassbender).

Watching pathological behavior is a sure cure, if temporal, for indulging at all. A viewing of The Lost Weekend (1945) would keep a normal person off the sauce for a bit. Director Steve McQueen --

let me just interject here that I think it terribly wrong for this gent to be using the exact full name of the late great actor who only left this world 30 years ago. Talk about too soon. I know its his given name, but how about at least going with Steven or Stevie

-- casts such a long unflinching eye of a sex obsessed man, that the viewer will long to spend a chaste evening in the company of aged aunts.

There is a relentlessness to Brandon in the sating of his copious sexual desires that would be admirable in someone selflessly serving humankind. But as his are strictly carnal pursuits, the story is imbued with the sadness of watching the addicted. There are short term lovers, assignations with call girls, work time jaunts to the john for quick wanks and internet porn aplenty. Anyone with a merely active libido will feel comparatively impotent. But any admiration will soon turn to revulsion.

To make the story a bit more than a character study, we are introduced to Brandon's sister, Sissy (Carey Mulligan) who comes to stay with big brother in his New York city bachelor pad. She's no day at the beach either. Her problems are different in nature but in keeping with the sex theme, Sissy climbs into the sack with big bro's married boss.

Sissy needs big brother, for a place to crash, if nothing else. He is a sorry excuse for an older sibling. Not only does he fail to nurture, but he inflicts rages on the poor girl. Her ultimate action will come as no surprise. Of course Brandon can hardly be expected to help his baby sister when he can do so little for himself. He can do sex but love is beyond him. Brandon's one attempt at a normal relationship ends badly, despite the fact that Marianne (Nicole Beharie) falls for him. Any woman would. Brandon is suave and handsome. A real ladies man -- if he could just curb his appetites.

Shame is effective for a number of reasons. Principally among them is Fassbender's performance. He's so effective because he doesn't preen and act like some handsome would be stars, but embodies characters ala Sean Penn. You believe Fassbender because he is not mimicking behavior but doing it. Shame also works because McQueen's direction is a driven and persistent as his film's main character. He never backs off from the story. It benefits from being beautifully shot. It is never pretty, but always interesting to look at. Manhattan at night has looked better on film, but as a back drop for this story it looks just right indeed. The score is appropriate too. It veritably fills the mood of the story; particularly when McQueen uses the Goldberg Variations.

The problem with a film like Shame is where to go with it. The aforementioned Lost Weekend and The Gambler (1974) starring James Caan made very different choices about how to deal with their obsessives. The wrong choice is always a happily-ever-after ending. There is no such thing for the addict, who at best gets a daily reprieve. But one can show the lifetime healing process set in motion. Alternatively we can have the main character spiral totally out of control. Bleak but realistic. Finally we can see that the pattern continues. Life goes on, no telling what will happen next. The functioning addict in constant motion.

I always feel a character's fate must be consistent with what the story has depicted and the tone of that story to that point. Here is where Shame is subject to debate. Upon reflection I was satisfied with the ending. Others I'm sure will have wanted something more. Or less. I'll not spoil it for anyone who's not seen Shame. I was pleased with the film as a whole. But Shame is a difficult, if not an impossible movie to love. It is more to be admired. Anyone with personal experience or knowledge of addictions will be reviled by while oddly understanding Brandon. The whole concept of too much is never enough is at once disturbing and familiar. Shame relates the story of one man's addiction and does so with power and conviction. And there's no shame in that.

Lest We Forget...The Other Holiday Celebrated at this Time of Year

2011-12-23T21:23:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas and/or Happy Holidays, Some Yuletide Thoughts

2011-12-22T18:50:00.000-08:00

One Christmas when I was a mere lad of 22 years I wished an acquaintance a Merry Christmas. I was unaware of the fact that the recipient of my seasonal greetings was Jewish. He (figuratively, of course) bit my head off. A few thoughts: 1) I was likely the latest in a long line of ignoramuses who's bestowed a Merry Christmas on him and he'd reached his limit. 2) He over-reacted. 3) Is it so horrible to have someone offer you good cheer for a holiday you don't celebrate? No.

That story now having been related, I must further add that this is the only time in my life anyone has snapped back at the proffering of a Merry Christmas. I have since been careful to go with the sanitary Happy Holidays when there is any question as to whether the other person celebrates Christmas.

American society has done a good job of recognizing that not everyone in this land makes merry on December 25. Allowances are now made for those of other faiths. True, some have gone overboard such as in calling a Christmas tree a Holiday tree. Come on, the only holiday the indoor tree with the trimmings can be for is Christmas.

Christmas still reigns supreme as the holiday of the year in terms of shopping, decor, ubiquitous music, TV specials, adverts and the like. Yet there are still those chuckleheads at the ever hilarious Fox News that whine incessantly about a War on Christmas. Their primary complaint, of course, being the the re-branding of so many things that are Christmas, like trees and parades, with the word Holiday. At worst the whole deal is a tad silly, but a war? Would that all wars were so benign.

I have loved Christmas from the time I was a small child, through my teen years, young adulthood and now as I approach geezerhood. It is a life long infatuation that has had next to nothing to do with what some call "the true meaning of Christmas" i.e. the supposed birth of the savior. Christmas is wrapped up (no pun intended) in a lot more than Christian beliefs. There is of course the fact that the time of year to celebrate the birth of Jesus was appropriated from the pagan solstice festival. But Christmas has come to have a lot of goodness associated with it that no amount of commercialization can destroy. (And by the way, the first complaints about the over commercialization of Christmas date back well over 100 years.)

There is a spirit of Christmas that doubtless has its origins in Christianity but is largely non denominational. Two of the better examples are Dickens' A Christmas Carol and the classic holiday film, It's a Wonderful Life (1946). Two stories that are timeless, not to mention beautifully told. A Christmas Carol has been made into a whole slew of feature films, several of which are quite good, one of which stars Jim Carrey. It is also been part of TV plots since the birth of the medium.

In both stories visitations from the dead are required to set a man straight. George Bailey of IAWL doesn't realize how wonderful a life he has and how positive an impact he's made on so many lives. The angel Clarence shows him the light and thus earns his wings. In ACC, visitations by four ghosts (I'm including Jacob Marley) show the, let us say, Scroogelike Ebenezeer Scrooge, that holding tightly to all his monetary gains, especially at the expense of other, while ignoring the plight of the less fortunate, is a morally bankrupt way to live and die. You might say this is the original clarion call of the 99%.

There are hints to the birth of the holy redeemer in both tales, but these are essentially secular stories. Their messages are of loving one another, appreciating who we are and what we have, taking good and proper care of these lives and friends and family that we are so lucky to enjoy.

Christmas, many of us lament, comes but once a year. So too Groundhog Day and Presidents Day Weekend, but no one gets all weepy about their quick departures. Christmas gives us color (the trees and their lights alone) carols, and presents. Yes it is better to give than to receive but that doesn't mean a wrapped box with your name on it is anything to sneeze at.

I conclude with the following wishes to you all: Merry Christmas, Joyeux Noel, Hyvaa Joulua, Feliz Navidad, Frohe Weihnachten Buon Natalie, Lacus non leo and of course...Happy Holidays!

Tis the Season to See Movies, Hugo and The Artist are Cases in Point

2011-12-19T10:36:00.000-08:00

“I also remembered Buddy Willard saying in a sinister, knowing way that after I
had children I would feel differently, I wouldn't want to write poems any more. So I began to think maybe it was true that when you were married and had children it was like being brainwashed, and afterward you went about numb as a slave in some private, totalitarian state.” - From the Bell Jar by Sylvia Path.

Hemingway said that you start with one true statement. And that was it. Long time readers of this blog, which nowadays would appear to be myself and Gladys Kupinchenck of Akron, Ohio (Hiya Gladys, how's tricks?), are no doubt aware that my writings have been few and far between of late. Annoyingly, I often take up space discussing the paucity of my postings.

I am so sorry.

Now is the time when Hollywood releases it's prestige films. The Oscar buzz movies. The hoi polloi are packing theaters to escape both the cold and families that are congregating in and about their living rooms. Despite my cynical tone, as a film afficiando I revel in this movie season as part of the joy of the holiday season. Seasons greetings.

There are actual good movies on the big screen and the weather is condusive to a brisk walk to the cinema and the cozy shelter of the movie house and its flickering images.

Saw a corker the other day. The Artist. It is a silent film and a love letter to another era and a beautiful one at that. Martin Scorsese's Hugo is also an ode to film history. Saw that one recently too. Great (and even very good) art often comes from love. As much, even, as it does from suffering. Maybe more, hell I don't know. Suffice to say that art is borne of our deepest, richest feelings. And great art is elevated if it comes from a true expression of those feelings.

You'd be hard pressed to find someone who loves films as much as Scorsese. He has a reverence for the old and has spear headed efforts to restore and protect movies of yore. Hugo concerns a young lad's discovery of the pioneering French director Georges Méliès portrayed here by Ben Kingsley. The setting is early 1930s Paris, principally at the Gare Montparnasse. Hugo is a gorgeous movie to look at, never mind the story. I suppose I should have seen it in 3D and may yet do so. In regular ole D it's quite the looker. But I was principally taken in by the story, particularly after the title character (Asa Butterfield) and his equally precocious female companion Isabelle (Chloe Grace Moretz) happen upon a film historian who gives them a brief film study course that I wish had gone on for hours. It features scenes from some of Melies' actual films as well as from other very early film movies. So cool.

The Artist begs the question: why have there been virtually no silent films made for the past 80 years? One has to assume that it is all about the mighty dollar which in the movie world tends to pander. Charlie Chaplin stubbornly continued to make silent features years after every once else went sound. He understood that films are primarily a visual medium and that a lot of dialogue can get in the way of the story. To a far lesser extent, great directors like John Ford tried to minimize dialogue and emphasized sceneary while Bergman focused on faces. Neither one needed a lot of yakking to tell a good story.

The Artist is not done tongue and cheek and it is not a gimmicky movie. It is the story of a silent film star whose career and life start to unravel as silents give way to talking pictures. There are plenty of laughs and much pathos and the most charming cinematic mutt since Asta. There is also a spectacular performance by lead actor Jean JuDardin. He, like his co-star Berenice Bejo, are stars of the French cinema. Director Michael Hazanavicius and much of the crew are also French, but most of the cast are Americans and the movie was filmed in the states.

If The Artist manages to be a commercial success we may see a few more silent films. This would be dandy provided they came from the spirit of story telling and not capitalizing on a fad. Hey, you never know, sometimes the studios bust out a really good film, and often they hit cinemas in December. Tis the season.

Life is What Happens When You're Busy Making Other Plans So Plan Accordingly

2011-11-28T17:07:00.000-08:00

"Sensitive. That killed me. That guy Morrow was about as sensitive as a goddamn toilet seat." - From Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger.

"The story was writing itself and I was having a hard time keeping up with it." From A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway.

On the bus ride home from the gym there was a young couple speaking an East European language. They were in love and didn't care who knew it. The notion of a time and place for everything had no meaning to them. Ditto the woman towards the back of the bus who was chattering away on her cell phone. Loudly. I couldn't tell whether it was more or less annoying that she wasn't speaking English (Arabic, I think) and decided it was a push. There was an obese woman on the bus taking up two seats. She was fanning herself vigorously despite the fact that it was chilly outside. There were a lot of college students on the bus with suitcases. They were returning from four days back home. Finals are coming up for them.

It had been to crowded for me at the gym. But I got in my workout so who's to complain? On the treadmill next to me was a very, tall slender blonde woman who must have been about 20 years old. She had strong, gorgeous legs and a tight, fairly small ass. I pegged her for a volleyball player. Later I passed by her and saw that she was wearing a tee shirt that said UC Davis Volleyball. Called it! My oldest was a volleyball player, so I spent a lot of time at tournaments and know my female volleyball players.

At home I worked. I miss scratching things out with a pen on a legal pad. Now it's straight to the computer. There's a kinestetic aspect to it that's missing. Get a little bit of that feeling if I'm typing furiously.

Thought some more about the movie I watched the previous night. I'd started to write about it. Guess I'd better finish. Here it is:

Life is full of pain and suffering and misery and for all of us it ends in death. This is a rule absent of any exceptions. It is from this understanding that art springs.

Artists, whether writers, filmmakers or painters, try vainly to make sense of the human experience. Those efforts to create sense often create beauty. Or understanding is never complete -- progress not perfection -- but it brings comfort to feel closer to truth.

Ingmar Bergman's To Joy (1950) is about the death of a spouse. We meet a man at the beginning of the film who is a violinist in a Swedish orchestra, evidently one of some renown. He is summoned home where he is informed of the tragic death of his wife in an accident that has also badly injured one of his twin children.

Most of the rest of the film is a flashback telling the story of the man and wife and how they met and married and loved and hated and separated and re-united and loved some more. It is a rather thick slice of a life. A rich one that most anyone can identify with. Chock full of all that life has to offer. The pain, the joy, the growth, the richness of experiences deeply felt.

Then we are back to the grieving man and the utter desolation of a premature death. But the story does not end as a melodramatic tragedy. I'd rather encourage you to see the film for yourself then reveal the ending. Suffice to say it offers, if not exactly hope, a sense of the spirit that life must go on and despite the worst happening can be appreciated, must be appreciated. Our time on Earth is to be savored, however and whenever and to as great a degree as possible.

Beethoven's Ode to Joy is a way to express and to understand this.

Bergman's To Joy is another.

Odds and Ends Again? Already? But Ultimately With a Focus on Two Terrific Films: Le Havre and Ivan's Childhood

2011-11-14T19:55:00.000-08:00

I overheard a conversation in which one person described being at a party where turducken was served (that's chicken and duck cooked within a turkey). She said it was "sort of a f*ck you to vegetarians." Yeah, I can see that. We've got it coming for sure. We walk around not eating meat all the time. The nerve.

I've come across people who do not own TVs. Bully for them. If you can get by watching movies on your computer and don't give a fig about sports it's doable. But what I find interesting is how many of them watch TV shows, entire seasons of them, on their computers either via Hulu, Netflix instant, the show websites or rented DVDs. So let me get this straight, you're proud of not having a TV but you watch the shows that originate by and for that media.

I was on the bus the other day and I was like hearing college students who were like over using like this one word. They were all like saying like all the time and they were like really getting on my nerves. I was all like please stop, like saying like every other word. If I'd liked actually like said something they'd be all like, whatever.

Hey did you just google me and come across my blog and decide to have a read? There's no mystery about me. Some people you google and there's virtually nothing. But idiots like me with a blog in which we pour out our heart and soul (and the minutia of our day-to-day existence) we're easy to catch up on. Hey, why not shoot me an email? What, we went to high school together? College? We did a stretch in the slammer at the same time? Maybe were in the same mental institution. Maybe we were co-workers. Or your a former students or teacher or lover or hater or rival or doppelganger or dentist or deviant or dog catcher or neighbor or teller.

I watched two terrific movies this past weekend: Ivan's Childhood (1962) a Russian film from director Andrei Tarkovsky and Finnish director Aki Kaurasmaki's latest, Le Havre. Ivan's Childhood is like a rich hearty meal that leaves you sated but somehow wanting more. Le Havre is simpler fare but no less appetizing or satisfying. There is a sensibility to Kaurasmaki's films that I can relate to as a fellow Finn. Yet he has a broad appeal. Kaurasmaki is an internationally recognized director and in fact this latest work is set and spoken in French. There is a decided lack of flamboyance in both his story telling and his characters. Actually that is understating it. In a typical Kaurasmaki film the characters are as emotional as oil paintings, which is remarkable in light of the trying and sometimes tragic circumstances that constantly befall them. The trials also lead to humor that is of the deadest deadpan you can conjure. To turn a phrase: you chuckle, you frown, it becomes a part of you. It also has the feeling of reality. Not real. Just the feeling of it. Some things that are too real are like rifling through the trash. Kuarasmaki's films are like the best yard sales ever. Le Havre is his most hopeful film. For him it is a veritable romp through the tulips. The first of a projected Harbor Trilogy, it concerns a wise and earnest elderly shoe shiner married to a devoted and stoic wife. He stumbles upon an African illegal trying to make it to London. Our hero aids and abets the refugee with the help of other locals (and his dog). Meanwhile his wife enters the hospital with a seemingly fatal illness. Yes, Le Havre deals with issues of immigration but it is more than that by half. For at the real heart of the film is the heart of people desperate to do their bit in the service of good. They are not heroes, just heroic.

Ivan's Childhood is one of those coming of age stories. You know, the kind where you come of age during WWII and your lost innocence transforms into blood lust born of a desire to seek revenge to those who....Anyway. This was my introduction to Tarkovsky and suffice to say I'm hooked. With IC he tells a non linear story wrapped in dreams and not so much the fog of war as the mists. For such a brutal, sad tale it is beautifully told. The cinematography, in glorious black and white, is sumptuous. This is a film in which Bergman meets Antonioni and Kurosawa drops by. There is nothing beautiful about war, but there can be and is in this kind of exquisite film.

Yes, It's Time Again for Odds & Ends

2011-11-02T21:39:00.000-07:00

Can I get everyone's attention, please?
Thank you. I'd like to get us together on a few things. Please, no more saying "these ones" or "those ones." You sound like a little kid when you say either of those. A simple "these" or "those" will suffice. Also, and this is important, the word is anyway. There is no s at the end of it. When you put the s at the end you sound like a middle school kid. A poorly educated one at that.
Thanks....

I'm trying to sort out what it is about those people in the early 20's who are so totally self absorbed. You know who I mean? People who share their opinions on everything and are never hesitate about stating their preferences and sharing stories of their "experiences." Their favorite topic is themselves and they almost never shut up. I believe that they suffer from terrible insecurity. Their at the tail end of their college days or done completely. They have become aware of who they are and how they fit into the world. They have just started venturing out into said world to forge a career. They are scared shitless at this prospect. They thus find security by wrapping themselves within the cocoon of their own egos. By always talking they never have to face the horrible silence. They don't have to look squarely into the face of destiny if there's mouths are going non stop. So us older folks are stuck listening to them prattle on endlessly. The only relationship we can have with them is as a sounding board. Maybe if they had to work in a coal mine for a few years they'd come back humble and quiet....

Hey that whack job Ann KKKoulter said that "our blacks are so much better than their blacks" referring to conservative African Americans by the possessive pronoun. She is often excused by those who assert that she says these things for shock value and to sell books. What, so that makes it okay? Of course her comment, indeed her very being, exemplifies the growing chasm between the left and right in this country. She's the type of blowhard who makes political divisions solidified. The whole mentality has changed from two groups with different views of how to improve conditions for everyone to us versus them. They bad we good. Fox News has contributed mightily to the notion that "the other side" is bad and our side is good. Compromise is seen as weakness, not a staple of politics. Good luck getting anything done, America....

I'm going to cop to the fact that sometimes after a long hard day of work I will flop on the sofa and turn on the idiot box. Fortunately 30 Rock re-runs are all over cable these days and likely will remain so for eons to come. 30 Rock is one of those extremely rare sitcoms that actually makes you LOL. (Aren't you sick of the way people will use LOL for things that barely make them twitter, let alone laugh out loud? Me too.) The shows "work" because of the unbeatable combination of a great cast and great writing. The humor is timely, wise and non stop. A disturbing trend afflicted sitcoms starting in the 1980s. I speak of the dramatic storyline ala will they get married? Will they break up? Will he quit his job and become a trappist monk? That sort of diversion is fine as long as laughs remain the priority but not when there are long periods of out and out drama. You never saw Jackie Gleason, Carl Reiner or Bob Newhart bog down a show with a lot of tension. You don't see it in 30 Rock either. The show will be producing new episodes again in January. Can't wait....

So much negativity in this edition of Odds & Ends, let's end with something really pretty....

Busy Me is Back, Perhaps Regularly and Here Writes About Work,Time Travel, Hitchcock's Harry, Burton's Wood and Whale's Monster

2011-10-30T22:17:00.000-07:00

I leave the house at 7:00 and walk five minutes to the casual carpool pick up spot. Typically my wait is under a minute before getting into a total stranger's car and riding across the bridge into San Francisco. Then I cram myself onto a bus which is invariably packed with first and second generation Chinese, most either school age or elderly (the bus passes through Chinatown). By 8:00 I'm at the school and 30 minutes later my first class has begun.

I love my job. The students are bright, happy people from all over the world who for various reasons are trying to improve their English. My students and I form a mutual admiration society. Being from other countries they are not used to teachers who are so demonstrative, funny and outwardly enthusiastic. Being from a public school background, I am not used to students who are so polite, cooperative and appreciative.

My co-workers are mostly as eccentric as I am. Their sensibilities match mine. We share insights and yuks. During my lunch break I stroll down to the Bay. With favorable winds its about a 90 second walk. The school is located a half a block from San Francisco's famous Fisherman's Wharf.

The day flies by. At 5:20 (three hours earlier on Friday) I am finished and, unless I get a ride from a co-worker. Make the hour long commute home. Upon entering our humble abode I usually have an about an hour's worth of work to prepare for the next day.

After households chores and begging my wife to make dinner, there is only about two hours left before exhaustion takes hold and my head hits the pillow.

I am quite happy. The work is wonderful and it is a great feeling to be of use to the world. The money is enough to fend off starvation but nothing upon which to build a fortune. My current riches come in the form of a family I love, good health and a rewarding profession.

Of course nothing comes without a price. I'm only making it to the gym twice a week and have little time to indulge my passions for film and writing and especially when the twain meet on this very blog.

I've recently thought it would be good for the soul if I should start to find time. Yes, readers far and wide have enjoyed my prolonged absences from blogging but I have to think of myself sometime.

Speaking of time...I recently read Jack Finney's Time and Again about a bloke who goes back in time to 1882. Time travel is a staple of fiction both in literature and film. I'm a sucker for it. I have many fantasies about traveling back and seeing what "it was really like" in days of yore. There's any number of periods and venues I'd like to see, I have a particular desire to go back to the late 1930's. Mind, I'd not want to live there as some bloggers I've read do. All that cigarette smoke everywhere all the time? No thankee. And I couldn't stand to see my Black, Asian, Hispanic and Gay brothers and sisters in true states of oppression for so long.

One problem I had with Finney's book and many other fictional renderings of time travel is the notion that one must be careful not to alter the future by your actions in the past. Poppycock. If you go back in time you are back in the original time and whatever you do will have already effected the present. For all we know it was a time traveler who screwed the pooch and allowed John Wilkes Booth to kill Lincoln.

I believe that also helps address the Grandfather paradox. This is the assertion that you can't go back in time and kill your grandpa because then you'd never be born. Exactly. That doesn't mean you cannot travel back, it just means if you do gramps is safe. For one thing, who would go back and time and want to kill their granddad? And you couldn't if you tried. Logic, people, logic.

Time and Again is what some call "a good read." To me this is code that its light, quick reading that doesn't really nourish your intellect. I'm atoning now be reading Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment.

I've managed to squeeze in a movie or two every weekend, although the days of mid week movie viewing are in hold. Last weekend I again enjoyed Hitchcock's The Trouble With Harry (1955). It's labeled a dark comedy but I think it really to be about relationship. Sure there is the artist and the young recently widowed woman (John Forsythe and Shirley MacLaine) but I really enjoy watching the old tug boat captain and the spinster (Edmund Gywnne and Mildred Natwick). I also enjoy the shopkeeper, Wiggy (Mildred Dunnock). It's the people and their doings together, both with ulterior motive and out in the open, that give the story its charm. TTWH also is one of the prettiest films ever made, a veritable feature length ad for visiting New England in autumn.

Last night I watched Ed Wood (1994). It is not only my favorite collaboration of director Tim Burton and actor Johnny Depp, but my favorite film of each as an individual. Martin Landau is a scene stealer in his Oscar winning performance as Bela Lugosi, but Depp is perfect as the totally sincere, totally weird and totally wretched director. A lovable loser of the highest order. Indeed the whole cast is wonderful, including Bill Murray. I've been quite disappointed with Burton's work since Ed Wood. He seems too enamored of his own style and it gets in the way of his own story telling. Depp is a terrific actor who takes too many easy star roles. His continual reprising of the Jack Sparrow character has helped his humongous bank account but I believe has depleted his standing as a serious actor. Then there was that silly looking movie he did with Angelia Jolie. The previews screamed "bombs away" and the reviews confirmed it. Wood was a true demonstration of his subtlety and charm as an actor. The role of the real life worst ever director had to be a big challenge and his ability to play it straight and still be so funny is exceptional.

I've also been re-watching some of Finnish director Aki Kaurasmaki's films and they get better with repeat viewings. I've been promising myself that I'd dedicate an entire post or two to my fellow Finn, so will say no more for now. Perhaps after I see his next film, Le Havre, which comes to our town in a fortnight.

Lastly I've recently re-watched one of my all time favorite films, The Bride of Frankenstein (1935) a rare case of a sequel out doing the predecessor. It is a miracle that director James Whale fit so much into a 70 minute film. The Monster (Boris Karloff), the Doctors, Frankenstein (Colin Clive) and Pretorius (Ernest Thesiger) and the bride herself (Elsa Lanchester) along with the many screams of Una O'Connor. It is all campy fun but so superbly done and with such a lot of story in it. B of F is also an example of the economical style of directing so prevalent in the 1930's. Full rich stories were often told in well under 90 minutes.

Of course the B of F serves as a wonderful lead in to tomorrow, Halloween, a night that Dr. Pretorius might say is for "Gods and Monsters!"

The World is Not in Black and White, Examples From Serpico to Politics

2011-10-08T23:17:00.000-07:00

Single-minded determination is a great virtue that can have terrible consequences. Illustrations abound. In the film Serpico (1973), the title character is relentless and unwavering in his determination to root out corrupt cops in the NYPD. Al Pacino gives the real life character heaping portions of passion, piled on to his rigid belief in the sanctity of honesty. This earns him a bullet in the head but also a gold badge and the knowledge that his efforts have helped clean up the police force.

There is a wonderful purity to Serpico the character, a man who wouldn't accept a nickel from a crook. But within there is a complex soul. Taking his war against crooked cops into his personal life he drives away the woman who loves him. Just as he as at war with evil, he at war with himself, unable to compartmentalize a life overrun by his lofty ambitions. Here is someone on the path to spend an entire career as cop who embraces ballet, opera and fine wines, while eschewing the rough and tumble bonhomie of fellow cops who want nothing more complex from their personal lives than football strategy. Oh and they want their payoffs too.

Sidney Lumet was the director who brought Serpico's story to the screen. Peter Maas wrote the book upon which the film was based and the screenplay was penned by Waldo Salt with an assist from Norman Wexler. Of course Pacino interpreted the character but Lumet re-recreated Serpico's world and stories, bringing to life the underbelly of New York police and their work in circa 1970.

Serpico the character, as with his real life embodiment, is unscrupulously honest. About as much as a human, inherently a flawed being, can be. This kind of devotion to an ideal is admirable, not to mention rare. Think how much trouble you can get into by only playing by the rules and speaking the truth at all times. It can be a quick ticket out of many jobs, certainly the death knell to a political career, and hazardous in forming personal relationships. The last thing people want to hear is what you really, honestly think of them.

But Serpico was doing battle in a cesspool of police corruption. Here was a person who did not deal in subtlety in the best of circumstance. The man could not and would not bend. His efforts led to investigations and a tidying up of the NYPD.

Certain forms of unblinking thinking can lead to trouble that does not have a silver lining. We see it today in our national discourse where discussion points have hardened into battle lines. Anything one side says or does is wrong (because, remember, we're all divided into sides: red/blue, right/left, democratic/republican, and even if we eschew such labels they're assigned to us anyway) and what our side is quite naturally correct. Opinions are abundant, though seldom backed by either facts or reasoned thinking. These opinions are used like sledge hammers to bludgeon the other side. Nuance is dead.

Zealotry has always found a home in religious dogma and we all know that countless millions throughout the ages have suffered immeasurably as a result. Unshakable beliefs are the devil's workshop.

A few mornings ago I rode into San Francisco with a driver who had one of those all news AM radio stations on. There was a report from New York about the Occupy Wall Street movement. The reporter said that many of those involved, and here's a shocker, "are ordinary people."

I was stunned. You mean these people are not all extraordinary? They are not -- every last one -- special or irregular, or aberrant, or exotic or singular or outre or bizarre? Not all resemble three toed sloths or have magnifying glasses embedded in their foreheads or walk upside down on stilts or speak in tongues or have donuts for middle fingers?

Imagine.

All you ever heard about the Tea Party Movement is how they are ordinary, salt-of-the-earth Americans. This would presuppose that Americans are bigoted simpletons who are easily taken in by their corporate overlords. Not hardly.

But people who protest against corporate abuse are naturally assumed to be some amalgamation of crack pot commie, fascist latte drinkers who want to finish the work of Al Qaeda and bring down America. Conservative commentator Ann KKKoulter likened the Occupy Wall Street movement to the events leading to theFrench and Russian Revolutions and to the rise of Nazi Germany. How she left off the Spanish Inquisition is beyond me.

This is So Frickin' Cool

2011-10-04T13:30:00.000-07:00

Not only could he write and drink, but the man could read a poem to beat the band.

Forget his Doctor's Trial, I'm Going to Remember the King of Pop This Way

2011-09-29T21:18:00.000-07:00

Where Have I Been? Where am I Going? What Have I Been Watching? You Ask, I Tell (It's the New Policy)

2011-09-25T19:17:00.000-07:00

“Frank, we don’t amount to much. I don’t know we go to the trouble of having opinions, Henry says. “It puts off the empty moment. That’s what I think.” - From The Sportswriter by Richard Ford.

Where have I been and what have I been doing and why haven't I kept up this blog? Working, for one thing and starting tomorrow I'm teaching an extra class so time is going to become even more precious. (I teach English as a second language at a school in San Francisco. My students are mostly between ages 18-30. They represent countries from all over the world and are in the U.S. for anywhere from a couple of weeks to a year. Also they are, virtually without exception, absolutely delightful people. The same can be said of my co-workers.)

I've also been kept busy by a long term writing project (guess) that is now done. This leaves me in the uncomfortable position of trying to market the damn thing so others may enjoy the fruits of my creative labors. I also feel compelled to start on another such project soonest. Meanwhile I want to resume my studies of French. All this has left me with little time to blog though I've squeezed in some time recently for watching films which, as my legion of readers know (both of us), is the primary subject of my posts.

I've been thinking of just declaring that I'm on hiatus from blogging, but aside from the fact that no on would care I'm not sure what it would actually mean. I'm liable to pop in at any time and write about a new release I've recently enjoyed or an old one I've discovered or re-visited. I've had a few ideas for those list type posts that some people have enjoyed in the past but I generally feel that they're more in the manner of work than they are products of my fertile (fecund?) imagination. So we'll see. I'm just letting people who are interested know why I've been posted so sporadically of late and why prospects are for more of the same in the months to come.

I suppose it would be good and proper to employ some of the time I've set aside to be here to discuss a few of the films I've enjoyed of late. So here goes.

Band of Outsiders (1964). I once wrote that I didn't think I could like anyone who didn't care for The Big Sleep (1946). I could just about say the same thing about this film. So yes I love it. It's of course from Jean Luc-Godard who has shown an amazing capacity to make both great and terrible films. This is clearly in the former category. What exuberant, quirky fun. How utterly senseless and sensible. You can watch the film while in any mood or to create any mood. It's overcast Sixties Paris with a trio of young anti heroes planning or not so much planning a heist. And doing a dance together, out of nowhere, mind you, that is one of my favorite film scenes ever.

La Dolce Vita (1960). Federico Fellini made about six or seven of my favorite films of all time including this. There are maybe two or three other directors ever who would have dared make such a rich, sumptutious, potpurri of a film. You put Marcello Mastroianni as the lead, as cool as anyone this side of Steve McQueen has ever been and surround him with the good, the bad and the beautiful. Swedish film stars, kids seeing the Virgin Mary, the goddammned paparazzi, whores and pimps, the filthy rich and Steiner. What a mystery are Steiner and the cause of his fate. Bravo, Federico, bravo!

Saturday Night Fever (1977). Confession: I used to love going to discos. Here's why: I had fun. The music was awful if you sat down and listened to it ("do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight") but when you'd had a few and were with a pretty young thing on the dance floor, it was one helluva a good time. To tell you the truth SNF only touches on it. Anyone who revisits the film after a long time or sees it for the first time, seems to say the same thing: I was suprised at how dark it is. Really. While you get John Travolta and partner boogying to the strains of the Bee Gees (and the dancing really is top notch), you've also got same damn depressing "real life" type of scenarios playing out. A slightly better script and a few improvements in casting could have made this one of the great films of all time. As it is, SNF is a film that ages quite well and is worth repeat viewings -- and not just for the dancing.

I'm running out of time. The second season series premier of Boardwalk Empire is starting soon. Oldest daughter and I finally caught up to the first season on On Demand last month and were both enthralled. I had a recent post called Believe it Or Not Television is Not a Complete And Total Wasteland and I give 50 Examples to this Dubious Claim. Boardwalk Empire is a 51st. I do want to give shout outs to some of the other movies I've enjoyed of late:

Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989) from the master himself, Woody Allen. Here is a film that is deadly serious and quite funny. It has the cheek to be about a lot of things and of enough depth that college philosophy classes show it. Jules et Jim (1962) from Francois Truffuat is important enough to me to be in my DVD library. My impulse after my most recent viewing was to start it all over again. Melvin and Howard (1980) I saw for the first time since its initial release and can recommend as a kind of slice of Americana. It's the mostly true story of the man who claimed to be in a will Howard Hughes' trustees mysteriously left him. Hughes had left him a bundle for a random act of kindness. Jonathan Demme directed in one of his earlier efforts, Jason Robards had a memorable cameo as Hughes, and Mary Steenburgen's then 26 year old bare and perfect caboose is on display for a few seconds and I've remembered those seconds fondly lo these three decades. I also watched another Fellini film, I Vitelloni (1953) that I only liked a lot the first time I saw it and loved this time. Also I recently breezed through the novel The Sportswriter by Richard Ford and can't recommed it enough. I'm now reading the Pultizer Prize winning sequel, Independence Day. Yes, I always have time to read.

See ya on the flip side.

Ziggy Played Space Alien Jamming Good with Humans and the Bizarre From the Earth

2011-09-11T18:11:00.000-07:00

I've been missing The Man Who Fell to Earth (1976) for 35 years. Until today. Somehow it got another brief theatrical release so I got to see it on the big screen. In a theater replete with pop corn munchers, talkers and chair kickers. Well.

Despite the film's presence on this planet for all these years I'd managed to accumulate virtually no knowledge about it. Except: David Bowie plays a bloke from another planet who walks the Earth in human form. Just a few days ago I read that he was an alcoholic alien. But of course.

So I went in fairly cold. And I write this without having poured through the plethora of reviews, critiques and comments that the film has engendered these past three and half decades. This then is my thinking on the just-viewed movie without influence from other voices. Goodie.

Isn't it odd that we try to quantify the experience of watching a film? Give it a 7 out of 10 on IMDB. Three stars of five on Netflix. Tell a friend that a film was terrible or okay or good or a classic with the bare minimum of additional comment. A word, a number to sum up two hours of cinema. Still it can be and is done. But in the case of TMWFTE, I could no more assign it a number or phrase than I could the feeling of pulling a muscle during love making.

I really li-lo-ha-dis-?-!-@-#-hmm-ed the movie.

For one thing it jerks about like a spastic howler monkey. It is deep and profound and silly and trite and beautiful and amateurish and avant garde and hey there's a spider on the wall. I was bored at times and enthralled at others and I guess -- no, I know -- there's far worse things one can say about a movie.

The Man Who took to a tumble from another planet and landed on this one is a curious piece of 1970's cinema. It has some of the classic Seventies elements such as paranoia and you can't trust THE MAN. It is particularly odd as science fiction, being so liberal with science that it thumbs its nose at it. The fiction it's got down to a science, if you'll excuse me saying so.

The Seventies, you know, were the high water mark of American cinema. There was experimentation yes but it was remarkably restrained andsuccessful and trend setting. Experimental movies have a tendency to be unwatchable for those who aren't addicted to narcotics. TMWFTE is forever dipping its toe into experimental waters but never really takes the plunge. And at the same time it gets mawkish trumpeting the virtues of family in other solar systems, particularly in comparison with corporatized America and its decadent TV soaked culture.

There are, for that matter, some pretty strong sentiments expressed about TV. But I'll be damned if I could make heads or tails out of them.

But.

The faller to Earth was played by David Bowie, a rock star among rock stars, a bit of casting that was inspired. I mean risky. That is to say catastrophic. He was as good a choice as any for a film that was saying ten things at once. That he did not go on to enjoy a critically acclaimed career as a thespian says everything and nothing about his performance, strange as it was, in TMWFTE. Yes he had other film roles but this was the rock star as alien. Beat that.

This is just one of the imponderables about movie that mixed in our alien's ability to see into the past seemingly for the hell of it. There was also stuff about elevators, gin, religion (I know, right?) and a horny prof.

You know I can't even tell if any of the sex or nudity was gratuitous, although I'm damn sure I could have done without seeing Rip Torn's pecker. Buck Henry was in the film too but remained fully clothed at all times. Candy Clark was quite naked. So let's see we had a cast that featured Rip, Buck and Candy. Sounds like a porno movie.

I generally don't like doing plot summaries, you can always look it up on IMDb which I link to every film I mention. A plot summary of THWFTE would seem utterly ridiculous anyway. Alien trapped on Earth, starts a corporation that builds a space ship but....

Never mind.

The Man Who Fell to Earth is kind of like Blade Runner (1982) for tripped out hippies who've been listening the Dead all day. The Man Who Fell to Earth is is like ET (1982) replacing cutsie with Bowie, Drew Barrymore with a slattern and a John Williams score with what you hear while driving to Idaho. The Man Who Fell to Earth is like Shadows (1959) if John Cassevetes was an acid head.

It's as much about mood and feeling and reaction as it is about plot. More so even. It's as if Terrance Malick and Jackson Pollack co-directed a movie.

It may be an allegory about Jesus or it may be that director Nicholas Roeg just got drunk in the editing room and had at it.

I liked the film. What, you couldn't tell?

Let Us Remember

2011-09-11T09:29:00.000-07:00

On this, the 10th anniversary of the terrorist attacks on U.S. soil, there is much to remember, in addition to those innocent Americans who lost their lives on that terrible day.

Let us remember the tens of thousands of innocent civilians in Iraq and Afghanistan who have died as a result of U.S. military action in those countries.

Let us remember the billions of dollars and incalculable resources in time and energy the U.S. has squandered on a futile war on terror.

Let us remember the loss of American lives in this war as well as those Americans who have been maimed and suffered traumatic psychological damage, in some cases leading to suicide.

Let us remember the increase in hatred towards the U.S. spawned throughout the Arab and Muslim worlds as a result of this war.

Let us remember this from Pakistani journalist and author Ahmed Rashid: Perhaps the greatest promise made after Sept. 11 by President George W. Bush and the British prime minister, Tony Blair, was that the West would no longer tolerate failed and failing states or extremism. Today there are more failed states than ever; Al Qaeda’s message has spread to Europe, Africa and the American mainland; and every religion and culture is producing its own extremists, whether in sympathy with Islamism or in reaction to it (witness the recent massacre in Norway).

Let us remember that the ultimate act of patriotism need not be serving in the military. Patriotic also are those who heal, cure, teach, aid, support and enrich the lives of their fellow citizens, particularly those who live in unfortunate circumstances.

Let us remember that wrapping oneself in the flag is not patriotism but showmanship that does not serve what that flag symbolizes.

Let us remember that the United States is not now nor has it ever been "the greatest country in the world" but just one nation among many.

Let us remember the violations of basic American rights that have been enacted as law in the United States in the wake of the terror attacks, not to mention the countless inconveniences.

Let us remember that one of the basic precepts of the United States is religious freedom and that this is no more a Christian nation than it is a Jewish or Muslim one.

Let us remember that September 21 has been declared an international day of peace.

I close now with this from writer, interviewer, comedian, wit and blogger Dick Cavett:

Have you, perchance, decided — as I have — not to spend the weekend re-wallowing in 9/11 with the media? Aside from allowing Saint Rudolph, former tenant of Gracie Mansion, to trumpet once again his self-inflated heroism on that nightmare day, the worst feature of this relentlessly repeated carnival of bitter sights and memories is that it glamorizes the terrorists.

How they must enjoy tuning into our festival of their spectacular accomplishments, cheering when the second plane hits and high-fiving when the falling towers are given full-color international showcasing for the 10th time.

Who wants this? Surveys show people want to forget it, or at least not have it thrust down their throats from all over the dial annually. It can’t have to do with that nauseating buzz-word “closure.” There is no closure to great tragedies. Ask the woman on a call-in show who said how she resents all this ballyhooing every year of the worst day of her life: “My mother died there that day. I’m forced to go through her funeral again every year.”

Is all this stuff a ratings bonanza? Who in the media could be that heartless?

The Indefatigable Wendy and Some of the Days of Her Life

2011-09-06T21:53:00.000-07:00

I forgot what I was going to look up on the internet awhile ago so I walked away. Suddenly -- there was free time -- it was later. Just like that. Had I known to snap my finger, I would have. Swear to God.

But there it is. A part of your day. We all have them. We have days and we have parts to them. Moments. Some are incandescent. Others pile up like so much debris. So much is too much but all of it is never enough when the waning hours of your life start slipping away. Saw my dad struggle to hold on to those last magic moments of life.

There's your word. Life. Hard to let go of but hard to hang on to. Hard to know to understand to decide on to work out to sort through and my God to appreciate. But we should. So trivial sayings abound and give comfort like a warm day spent idling in the garden not really reading that book or hearing the birds sing or the CD player or the smelling the flowers just there. Without a care. The warmth so cool.

There are days within a film called Wendy and Lucy (2008). None of which include explosions or chases or sexual acts (gratuitous or otherwise) or conspiracies or mysteries. Or.

There is a young woman name of Wendy who for reasons unknown to us is heading from her Indiana home to a job in Alaska. She is with her dog Lucy. They are stuck in Portland, Oregon because Wendy's car has gone kaput. Cars do that. Best laid plans laid to waste.

Some people have a vision of a cruel God who laughs when people make plans. Why would God do that? If God wanted a chuckle isn't Fox News enough? I ask you.

Wendy is not well to do. Movies are simplified when the protagonist is wealthy or comes a cross a wealthy person who would like to help, or to marry or stake. Or when wealth is come across. But outside of the film world it is pretty rare for instant wealth to happen along. In this movie...however....someone at some point gives Wendy $7. Yeah, that ought to do her.

This is an authentic indy type of film which means there is the potential that it will be to bleak to bear. It isn't. Let us thank Michelle Williams who plays Wendy. Really she is too pretty to play what is supposed to be a very plain looking woman. But good acting and an absence of make up or showering or changing clothes can do wonders for that too sexy little number you want to palm off as ordinary.

Yeah so Wendy she's in a fix. Money is leaking away, the car's in bad shape, and Lucy disappears. But she abides. My does she. These are the winners in life. Those plucky folks who persevere, persist and plug away. Indefatigable. That's her all right.

I like the simplicity and honesty and directness that Kelly Reichardt employed in making this movie. No miss fancy pants stuff. No one "acted." I mean people don't "act" as a rule in life. They just are. Wendy and Lucy is full of people who just are. There are also no plot contrivances. Things happen. La de dah. Sometimes things don't happen. Yup.

I recently had a day that included watching this picture. It felt less like watching a movie and more like watching someone from afar. Intimate. Vittorio De Sica would have appreciated this film.

It's not a cozy story. Not like a TV show. Not like a romp in the park. Not everything is so cuddly and fun. That doesn't mean it isn't worth being with, experiencing. There's a lot in life that we should look at and remember and treasure for what it tells us about who we are.

Anyway, I don't know why not.

Happy Freddie Mercury's Birthday Everyone!

2011-09-06T18:05:00.000-07:00

He would have been 65 today.

It's Kind of a Really Good Movie

2011-09-04T18:47:00.000-07:00

Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide,
No escape from reality
Open your eyes, Look up to the skies and see,
I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy,
Because I'm easy come, easy go, Little high, little
low,
Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to
me, to
me
- From Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen

You trying to tell me that those people in suits I ride into San Francisco with every day, the ones who walk into tall buildings and ride elevators and sit at desks all day and go to meetings and check emails and wolf down lunches and talk on the phone and write memos and attend more meetings and then go back to their suburban homes to eat plastic meals and watch TV that those people are the sane ones?

Do you further mean to tell me that the people who plan wars that result in death and maiming and mental anguish and widows and orphans and cost billions of dollars that those people are sane too?

And you expect me to believe that those men who run for president and say things like creationism is as valid as evolution and that two people who love each other should be barred from marrying because they are of the same gender and that corporations should decide for themselves if they want to pollute our air and water that those people are sane?

I see people sitting on street corners in ragged smelly clothes without a penny to their name and they mumble things I can't understand nor could most people but those are the crazy ones.

Sanity is subjective.

Totally.

Yeah there can be kind of a glamour to "mental problems" especially among the young. You know that whole suicide is romantic bullsh*t. And then the vibe about drugs to treat depression and other "ISSUES" that can be some craziness that serves to line the pockets of pharmaceutical companies. But, dig, anyone who hasn't had to "see someone" about their stresses or fears or anxieties is someone I don't trust. If you've had it all under control you're whole life you haven't been paying attention. Seriously man all you've got to do is to take a peak into your psyche and it will totally freak you out. But then if you're lucky they'll be some really bodacious clarity to groove on and that's a good thing. Damn good. Plus if you have the slightest awareness of what goes on all over this planet you'll have a deuce of a time holding onto your wigs and keys. It's crazy out there, man and to deal with it with any kind of awareness will stir some demons within or your just mentally dead. So says I.

But if you want to pretend your fine...go ahead. That insistence on sanity will ultimately drive you bat sh*t crazy. No lie.

So I was really taken by this film It's Kind of a Funny Story (2010) because it's set in the psychiatric wing of a hospital. Our young hero Craig (Keir Gilchrist) gets his 16 year old self admitted because he's self aware enough to be suicidal. He's got all this dad imposed pressure and societal pressure and the worst kind too -- self imposed. Gotta stay ahead of the pack, got to be able to get in to a "good college" set yourself up from there for the good job, the good life, the nice memorial service. That's some more crazy thinking but you do know that it locks up a lot of young minds. Oh not incidentally he's at that age where (s-e-x) becomes molto importante. And check this out: his crush (Zoe Kravitz, bet you've heard of her mom and dad) is his best friend's girl. Ouch. That whole dating and romance and losing virginity deal is another mind f*ck. Like anyone needs another when they are in high school. Or anywhere else in life.

There are characters on this ward like Bobby who is played by Zach Galifianakis whose name is even harder to spell than say. Like a lot of people who started in comedy, Zach G is a very good actor who has channeled the genius of his comedy into drama (though the guy he plays gives us a lot of winks and giggles). Many of Craig's other fellow patients are further out of touch with reality. It's really cool and quite healthy to stray as far as is safe from reality but if you're gone to long or wander too far it can be hard getting back. That's why some LSD users are no good to anyone anymore.

We know that Craig is a bit of all right because none of these people freak him out. He doesn't condescend and you know "sympathize with their plight." No. Craig accepts them at face value. Good on ya, son.

There is boy meets girl element in the story but at least its set in a mental ward. The girl is Naomi (Emma Roberts) who reminds me of so many troubled teens I've seen and known. But the kind who you know are going to sort it out. I was frankly worried about the cute girl element of the story but Ms. Roberts pulled it off nicely. Scars help, man.

At first Craig does kind of freak and want out but once he's told he must stay the minimum five days he goes with the flow. (There's a trip, deciding when to hop aboard the flow and ride and when to book.)

The movie was co-directed and co-written by Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck. Had I realized this sooner I'd have seen the movie much sooner, like in theaters, because I'm a fan of two previous films of theirs' Half Nelson (2006) and Sugar (2008). They did a nice job here because they respected the characters and while there are a few yuks they didn't play it for laughs. This is not a comedy, not a love story -- no schmaltz. It's a very honest coming of age story. One helluva lot of people come of age through dances with insanity and perhaps more should.

It's the kind of a story that could have made for a "charming" movie. That would have been okay but there are enough already of the charming, empty films. There is a basic honesty in the film and how it explores the utter madness of living in a world where the legally sane are so damn nuts. We don't see some of the real consequences and behaviors of the supposedly insane but that's not what the movie was trying to do.

Finally It's Kind of about choices. How crazy it is to deny ourselves them. March in lockstep in a direction long ago mapped out. Not exploring, not risk tasking but following the herd. This is what leads to real madness. That's what happened to Craig. He realized that his own inexorable march to oblivion in a world where wars rage continuously and the economy is in tatters is not something he's happy with. Gotta make change, bro.

So maybe it'll work out for him. it's a step and that it's an important thing in life. To take steps. To not is crazy.

Sometimes Just a Notion is Great, Especially in Art

2011-08-28T18:31:00.000-07:00

There was a day spent at a beach that felt all pink. It looked that way too. There were puffy white clouds with pinkish tints and pink cherubs running about worrying their Moms to death. The waves crashed against the breakers sending up a pink hued froth. Seagulls swooped for crumbs and swallowed them down their pink mouths. Kisses were stolen and responded to with giggles and playful slaps and return smooches that all felt as pink as the day. It was just like that and I can't tell you why. It just was.

I was talking to a friend one day and said that perhaps there's someone living in Belgium who, if he were born in the States could have been the greatest quarterback ever. I added that maybe there was someone born in the 16th century who if he had been born 600 years later would have become a more renowned basketball player than Michael Jordan. My friend said how that with such and so considerations, and because of this and that and the other and due to other arcane factors, my supposition just didn't hold water.

In other words he got all literal on me. Soaked in facts and details and science he was being realistic. Yawn. I very much would want a doctor who was about to perform surgery on me to maintain a similar philosophy to work. Mathematical certainty has a very important place in our society. Such rigor is essential in many fields. But it can sure screw up a good story. Or haven't you ever heard the words: "that would never happen." But it did. Right there in Dickens' David Copperfield there were all manner of events and coincidences that defy the laws of probability. Despite or perhaps because of this, Copperfield is great literature, great art and great fun.

I do not use logic nor do I parse when experiencing art, especially perhaps films. One of my favorite movies of all time in Antonino's L'Eclisse (1962). I loved it from my first viewing and yet had not a clue what the director was saying. Nor did I care. Later viewings would sort that out, I just felt good seeing it.

Felt good seeing it. Why? Why describe a kiss or an orange sherbet?

Yes, there is a point at which you express why something is so wonderful. But never strain yourself. Please!

I recently read Kesey's Sometimes a Great Notion and by God I could find you some themes there. But I'd druther not. Really, I just liked the words and the characters and the way people talked and a lot of what they said felt real. I related to Lee Stamper in a lot of ways in others I didn't. What of it? The book was a fabulous time. It was one of those deals where afterward everything else I picked up to read seemed amateurish. I then watched the film version, released in 1970, which I'd seen previously, a lifetime ago.

Guess what I did?

I didn't compare the two. I just watched the film and thought it was good in a whole different way. Hell, you get to see Henry Fonda and Paul Newman occupying space in the same movie. Beat that! There was also a lot of the Oregon coastal countryside. I've spent a lot of time there and can attest to its beauty. Nice seeing it with a story occupying it's trees and rivers and such. I wasn't gaga over the film or anything but I sure enjoyed the time I spent looking at it. Instead of letting it's omissions from the book get under my skin, I felt glad to be reminded of the novel.

I'm all in favor of general themes, feelings, impressions and suggestions. They're more sensual than the cold hard facts.

A movie has got to feel good. So does a novel. You knew that about music, I'm sure. People will love a song well before learning the lyrics. Dissect it later, if at all. Movie, same thing.

All too often movies are released for the sole purpose of making money. They're pretty obvious. They have formulas. They are cynical. They don't feel good. Least not to some of us. I think they feel good to a whole lot of people because they fit those comfortable formulas. They don't push or prod or ask us any questions. Sometimes they try really hard to be liked and don't have an identity. Movies should have identities. (It just occurred to me that some people are like that. They lose their real selves to be popular. And perhaps they even are popular at a superficial level. But they lose whoever it is they are and we miss the unique experience of getting to know them. We meet their veneer and are impressed at their dazzling ability to make small talk.)

I think of said all I've got to say on this topic for now. I don't have a space or word limit for my posts. This is really nice because I can't write just a little bit or go on and on and on as I see fit. Anyway, the length of any writing should be just enough to say what needs be said. Ya know, what feels right.

I sure hope it doesn't seem gratuitous that add this clip that says what I mean better than I did. It's from The Virgin Spring (1960) directed by Ingmar Bergamn.

I Think I Write, I Write About Thinking I Think About Writing and Black Swan is Prominent in the Ensuing Words

2011-08-20T17:38:00.000-07:00

Crescendo

It all begins with a single word. And it's your choice. Every time.

I walked down to the local high end bookstore but it smacked of desperation. So I barely browsed before making my way back home.

Earlier I'd watched Black Swan (2010) which I'd previously seen in theaters right after it's release. I wrote about back it then and I have kindly linked this sentence to that post. Neither oldest daughter nor the wife would watch Black Swan with me. I couldn't even dig up the cat, who you think would at least give it a chance, but I guess she too had heard things.....Maybe I should ask them all why they don't want to ever see it. Maybe not. The little woman generally likes the same type of films I do. (Given that she is taller than I am, if she is in fact the little woman I must be the tiny man.)

I just had a thought....There, it passed.

But seriously, what if this post is some reader's introduction to my blog. They'd likely never come back. Actually that wouldn't make them any different then all the other poor saps who've chanced upon my musings. Amusing.

At one point in the Black Swan there's a knock at the door and Barbara Hershey says: "Who could that be?" That's a question that is posed far more often in films and on television than it is in...well, I was going to say "real life" but I hate referring to anything as "real life" as much as I do calling any part of our existence the "real world." It's all real. People in college are always being told about going out into the "real world" as if a university is the set of some Disney film and they're Peter Pan or Tinker Bell. It's all real, I tell ya, every second.

Obsessed characters often make for terrific films. As in Black Swan. Or Zodiac (2007) or Vertigo (1958) or JFK (1991). After all who wants to watch a film starring a perfectly happy well balanced individual who manages work, family and a hobby in perfect harmony? Obsessive personalities are often creative geniuses, or great athletes or detectives or of course total lunatics. In films you can have a combination genius and lunatic for a most heady brew. It has been said that there is a fine line between genius and insanity. I suppose. But there is just as fine line between raving mediocrity and insanity. Hell no, there isn't, there's no line at all.

I liked Black Swan again. I made the choice going into viewing number two that I wasn't going to look for meaning in it. Sometimes some people (me for instance) spend too much time analyzing a film. The experience derived from spending the hour and forty minutes should suffice. If you find your mind continually drifting back to the movie, I'd say that's a very good thing indeed. But you needn't force it. That is making artificial the organic experience of cinema. I was sitting in a theater once and a person behind me asked the gent she was with what he had thought of Dreamgirls (2006). He replied: "I don't know I haven't finished deconstructing it yet." Oh my, was all I could think. Oh my, oh my.

Darren Aronofsky directed Black Swan. He's a man whose film I'd not seen until last December. Having now viewed them all I am a fan. If you're reading this Darren -- and why wouldn't you be -- I'm sure that sentence has made it all worthwhile. He does not rely on half measures to tell stories. But he never crosses the line that do so many directors who subsume the story within their own ego or technical mastery. Peter Jackson comes to mind. He's the bloke who took the King Kong story and turned into a video game for 14 year olds.

Natalie Portman won the Best Actress Oscar for Black Swan. I thought Jennifer Lawrence in Winter's Bone (2010) was far more deserving, but whenever someone has been known to put in a lot of training and weight reduction or gain into a role they get serious extra credit with the academy.

Again I was really impressed with Mila Kunis. (That's of pic of her in the film to the left of this sentence.) Besides being a real dish she's a damn good actress and did as much as possible with her role. My ex celebrity crush Winona Ryder got a lot of mileage out of her role as the washed up ballet star too. And since I'm saying such nice things about performers.... Vincent Cassel was (please feel free to insert your own laudatory adjective).

It's foggy, breezy and cool outside (inside there is no breeze or fog and the temperature is quite comfortable). I find this weather condusive to reading, film watching, writing and chasing my poor beleagured wife around the house. It's also nice for drinking tea and feeling quite all right about the world which I do right now. I'm not doing summersaults or popping champage corks, but the world seems a nice enough place to live in. What a wonderful alternative to say Venus or Neptune, neither of which serve ice cream or show movies or have soccer games or Mila Kunis.

Ya know, I just can't figure out whether words are vastly overrated or underrated. Hmm.

Separating Justice and Law in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance

2011-08-15T22:14:00.000-07:00

There's a starman waiting in the sky
He'd like to come and meet usBut he thinks he'd blow our mindsThere's a starman waiting in the skyHe's told us not to blow itCause he knows it's all worthwhile- From Starman by David Bowie

Justice is a concept, really. The law can be written and defined and debated but justice is an ideal that is not always served by enacting or enforcing laws. Some people get away with murder, literally and figuratively. This makes us ache. Some people will employ extra legal measures before or after the fact. It's a slippery slope when individuals "take the law into their own hands." Those hands become dirty. Sometimes.

Eighteenth and 19th century Americans saw themselves as good people bringing civilization to a savage land. This was at the heart of Manifest Destiny and the "taming" of the West. They made the same law that they brought. They defined and enforced it. Yet curiously and clearly justice was not always served. The history of America's western expansion is, as the cliche goes, written in blood. Fair enough, but the blood of so many innocents and on so many occasions done within the law and well outside any concept of justice.

There's a movie that does a superior job of exploring this whole idea. It was directed by John Ford and is called The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962). Yes it's a good old western starring John Wayne and James Stewart with a supporting cast including Strother Martin, Lee Van Cleef and Andy Devine, none a stranger to the genre. It also features Lee Marvin as the title character. He is walking, talking evil, right down to his whip and six gun.

But this is a film that has deep meanings and I do not refer merely to the famous "print the legend" line or its explanations.

Stewart plays the lawyer, Ransom Stoddard, who moves out West with high and noble ideals but a stunning naivete about life in the territories. He reckons that law trumps violence and criminals and should be the basis for correcting injustice. But the law can't and won't get its hands on Valance who reeks havoc at will, often in service of rich land owners who are trying to stymie statehood for their own gain. There there is Tom Doniphan (Wayne) who is as good a man as Stoddard but ten times tougher. He has no illusions about the capacity of the law to serve justice in the face of Valance and his ilk.

What we have here is a fascinating dichotomy. At stake is the struggle between the rule of law and frontier justice. One is the basis of a civilized society and the child of high ideals. The other claims reality on its side, it has its principle the idea of fighting fire with fire. Stoddard and Doniphan are allies concurrent with being bitter enemies and rivals. They are very different sides to the coin of the realm. Oh yes, they are also in love with the same girl (Vera Miles).

One could read ambiguity into the resolution of this film. But that supposes a full color world in which all answers come in black and white. When we meet him years later, the man of the law is a former Senator, Governor, Ambassador to England and now again is a Senator. He's long been married to the girl. But what propelled him to this lofty status? Was it his erudition and grasp of the law? They helped. But it is the gunning down of an evil man that set his course. Ironically, a slaying he did not actually commit.

The man of the gun has died forgotten and as the movie begins and ends, is in a simple wood coffin, stripped even of his boots.

What are we to take from this story? Well as with any other tale we are at liberty to see what we choose. Certainly TMWSLV is widely open to interpretation. For many it's just a ripping good yarn from the Old West, replete with colorful characters. I wrote about it as such three years ago. But for those looking for deeper meanings they are there. The ascendancy of the lawyer over the gunmen as the closing of the frontier is evident, as is the enduring power of myth. There is certainly a serious question raised about how the West, or for that matter, any wilds are won. The point of a gun? The rule of law? The victory of justice no matter the method? Certainly many answers lie in between the questions.

The great man said: justice delayed is justice denied. And he said this in the name of fighting unjust laws. So perhaps it really comes down to morality and seeing to the primacy of a group conscience over the tyranny of the minority.

It's not just another old Western, is it?

Trippin' With Some Far Out Cats -- Kesey and Isherwood in Documentaries

2011-08-07T20:04:00.000-07:00

Love lost, such a cost,

Give me things

that don't get lost.

Like a coin that won't get tossed

Rolling home to you.

From 'Old Man' by Neil Young

A long strange trip. Life is. We hold these memories to be self evident that all people are created and then up and die some day and yes...so it goes. Papa there it is.

Yesterday was documentary day for me in that I saw two of them. One in the theater one off Netflix Instant. Both in the instant theater of my mind, man. One was a recent release being seen by me for the first time. T'other was a film I saw when it hit theaters -- bam! -- three years ago. Second go round, this was, brother. Very different stories but both centered around a favorite author...of mine!

Mine!

Magic Trip (FAR OUT!!) is about the incredible journey of the Merry Pranksters. You've got to understand that the Sixties (PEACE) did not begin on January 1, 1960 any more than your adulthood starts on the day of your 18th birthday. Arbitrary stuff I can do without. Out with. See the Fifties didn't end until Kennedy was assassinated in November 1963. Till then it was Leave it Beaver America. There was a brief purgatory for the era thing until early '64 when The Beatles (YEAH YEAH YEAH) hit American shores -- bam! -- and a few months later when the Pranksters hit the road, going all Jack Kerouac on America's ass. (TRIPPIN'!)

The Pranksters were led by author Ken Kesey (One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and Sometimes a Great Notion). Kesey in turn was led by LSD and that trip was part of the Prankster trip because taking LSD is called taking a trip. Or dropping acid. Work with me here people.

The Pranksters were all about.....uh, something, I'm sure. Maybe love, acceptance. Nahhhhhhhhhhh!!! More like freedom. Enlightenment. Grooving (GROOVY!) on love and life and all the wonders of doin' your own thing and to hell with corporate button downed Amerika and all that jazz.

Magic Trip uses a teensy bit of the 40 hours of footage shot -- bam! -- on the Prankster trip and a little bit of their audio recordings which were not in sync with the film -- damn it all. The Pranksters were on this converted school bus that they painted all psychedelic and named Further (like, what else are you going to call it and say have I finally found my voice?). The Pranksters included a bunch of people you likely never heard of unless you read The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test by Tom Wolfe. Except of course for Kesey and the man who manically drove the bus east, Neal Cassady. Yeah the one and the same who was the inspiration for the character of Dean Moriarty in On the Road. That was one wild ride, I mean being Cassady. Being around Cassady. Hell's bells watching him is a ride and half. He was known to take hits -- bam! -- of speed now and again and again and again. And brother he could and would and did talk and talk and talk and it was like so totally rapid fire and stream of or really river of consciousness and went all over the map and under it and in it and you get the picture sure.

So the documentary shows footage and you hear later interviews of the Pransketers and see other scenes of America circa the early Sixties when all these changes were exploding -- bam! -- all the hell over the culture that would have reverberations that are still reverberating. So cool. And you do know they really popularized the whole acid dropping (that's taking LSD, you square) thing along with Timothy Leary who was -- dig this -- too straight laced for them. So in some of the movie you see them on acid and how do you convey that? They did a really good job, take it from my mind (it's such a mind mind that has me searching for my heart of old and I'm getting gold or words to the effect).

Yeah I liked the movie. What's not to like? This was the era that defined so many of us of the baby boom -- --boom! -- and made us what we aren't today. Defining moments and all that rock and roll and protests and peace movements and liberation fronts and love and awakenings and long hair and sex (mmmmmmmmm).

Then last night it was Chris and Don. A Love Story(2008) which the love story of my life who is my wife had not seen but like I said I had. This centers around the love between two men (Gay maybe?) Don Bachardy the still living artist and Christopher Isherwood the late great author. First time I saw the film in question I'd never read anything of his. In the past six months I've pretty much poured through every novel he penned. Yes, I'm a fan. So this time maybe I appreciated the movie a tad more, but just a tad. Really the love story is what's all about and to a lesser extent the amazing lives they led and the people (My God the PEOPLE!!) they met and hung out with. If you're interested you might check out what I wrote about the film after I first saw it. But actually I liked it more the second time because it's so damn good. Gooooood.

This time I really tripped off the fact (you ever trip off facts?) that this is movie that some of those sexual bigots who claim a God hates some his children because they lay with people of their own gender, that those assh*les should see this. Is it not love? Not the Newt Gingrich get divorced twice and cheat on your wife on her death bed kind of love but the kind with real commitment and honesty and caring for one another kind of love. You watch this and you still hate these people or their love and you are one f*cked up person. Seriously.

Other thing: this is a superbly constructed documentary. One of the best.

Isherwood and Kesey. Kesey and Isherwood. Writers extraordinaire. Very different lives and milieus and backgrounds and tastes. Vive la difference. I don't get liking just one type of anything. Gimme genres aplenty. Types and styles. Give me Isherwood and Kesey and I'll have some F Scott and Dostoevsky and how about some Kerouac and if you don't mind a bit of Flaubert. Don't forget my poetry too. Ginsberg, Eliot, Neruda, Giovanni please. Cheers.

Point is....Oh do I really need a point? It was just a lovely day. More exposure to great minds and that I don't mind. Off doing their own things. Committed to their art and all and by God aren't we glad to have reminders of why all the pain and suffering is endurable for the moments of artistic vision, truth and clarity. Bam!

At Long Last Another Edition of Riku Writes Odds and Ends (Despite the Recent Court Order Asking that I Cease and Desist Odding and Ending)

2011-07-26T22:25:00.000-07:00

Last night the better half and I watched In the Loop (2009). It was my second viewing of the film. I really enjoyed it (again) but found it depressing (again). It is so seemingly dead on in showing how a coalition of countries can publicly position itself for war. ITL seems to be a template for the Iraq War (remember that?) though Iraq is never mentioned. There are those government bureaucrats who help war happen, not out of any philosophical bent, but because its their job. They are doing what higher ups want. People will generally just go about "doing their job" without due consideration whether it's sweeping floors, designing brochures or beating the drums for war. Indeed, how often have you heard soldiers talk about "having a job to do." Methinks I'll explore this topic more later....

I read a comment on related to the tragedy of last week in Norway in which a person proudly stated that he practiced "carry and conceal." As the name implies this means carrying a gun hidden somewhere on your person. The commenter was suggesting that wherever he traveled no crazed gunmen would carry out multiple shootings. That simply does not go far enough for me. I carry around a bazooka. If some lunatic gets ahold of a tank I'll be prepared. You're welcome in advance.....

Every now and again, for kicks and giggles I'll read some of the nonsense in my spam folder. I love this one that I got today:

Good day and how are you today?
There is information I think might interest you. I am Mr.Silas Wiah,
I work with Barclays Bank. First of all, I do not know if I am talking
to the right person, But I will like you to confirm if you are the owner
of this email ID. Already I have your name and details in our file in
the office,but somehow I am not comfortable and too sure that I am
communicating with the right owner of this email.
That is why I did not mention your Name, if you can prove that you are
the owner of this email ID, then I will furnish you with the information
that I have for you, when I am convinced I am talking to the right
person and will proceed with you.
I am taking this preventive measure because I do not want to talk to the
wrong person because of the sensitivity of the information regarding the
issue.
Other details will be forwarded to you as soon as I am convinced that I
am communicating with the right person.
Mr. Silas Wiah

Ya know what, I'm getting the impression that Silas here wants to make damn sure he is communicating with "the right person." I wonder if I'm said "right person"? If so, Silas has some information for me. Golly, I hope it'll make me rich.....

I used to be in a heavy metal band called Purple Scrotum that played exclusively in on the Andes Mountain Range. (Please be aware of the fact that I am not now nor have I ever been in a band of any sort and made that bit up. Hell, I don't even like heavy metal.) We mostly played weddings but got occasional club gigs and bar mitzvah....

Guess what I've been getting from Netflix. No guess again.....Cold. Colder. Okay, okay a hint, it's a TV series from the Sixties. No, not even close. Give up? Try looking at the photo. Right! The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour. Much of the humor holds up. As you may not be aware they were very topical and controversial for their time taking on as they did nothing less than the U.S. president with their pointed humor and satire. And the guests they got! Everyone from Bette Davis and James Mason to The Who and Buffalo Springfield. I am disappointed that the episodes have been edited. What, you couldn't show us all 60 minutes? Sheesh! The show, the Brothers and Tom in particular frequently butted heads with censors and this ultimately lead to the show's premature cancellation. One might consider them TV show martyrs of the Sixties....

People have been been calling, emailing, tweeting and faxing me with their heartfelt thanks that I've been posting a lot less recently. Thanks, I guess. I started a new teaching gig in San Francisco. My students are wonderful, fantastic, terrific, young people from all over the world who get to learn the King's English from a wonderful staff and oh by the way me too. Great fun but along with a long term writing assignment, keeping me hopping....

The sad by product of my busy work schedule is that I've had to quit the Crimean War Re-Enactors club that I was so much enjoying....

As I write these words it is only five more days until Shark Week. Adding to my excitement is the fact that a former student of mine, Andy Samberg, from my early years as a middle school teacher, is hosting the fun for the Discovery Channel. Andy, as I hop you know is an SNL regular and a film star.....

I thank you for your kind attention. This blog relies on donations from readers like you to continue the kind of quality film commentary that you've yet to see here. (Even I'm not sure what that means).

The Author on Long Ago Trips and a Book He's Reading and a Movie That's Coming Out

2011-07-23T18:10:00.000-07:00

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

How I wonder what you are.

Up above the world so high,

Like a diamond in the sky.

From an English Nursery Rhyme

Mind gone, watching me and my mates from a distance. Back now, firmly tucked in with my physical being. Seriously tripping. Freaking out some picnickers whose gathering we walk through with my declaration that "I'm back, I'm back." We keep walking in and around and among the park.....Look at the trees, they're growing before my eyes, then shrinking again. Wow.

No, I'm not high, I am...experiencing...an....altered...state....of...........consciousness. Pyscho-Del-Ick! (Here's an interesting part of the deal: the present tense I'm is in high school. So this is like decades ago that I'm, is, are, doing this to my brain. Or is/was my brain doing this to me? Or is the world doing it to me and my brain. Or. Did it ever really happen. (NO question mark.) Or is life all an illusion. (No question mark.) And did I just blow your mind? (Doubt it. But I blew mine.)

One pill makes you larger

And one pill makes you small

And the ones that mother gives you

Don't do anything at all

Go ask Alice

When she's ten feet tall

- From the song White Rabbit by the Jefferson Airplane

Less than a year before I been laughed at in a social living class when I asked what the difference was between LSD and acid. Now I was on it which is them which is like look at all the colors and the hills are rolling and my God this is weird. No, really weird, like the definition of the word and I love....stuff. This is reality and fantasy at the same time and everything is different that's always be the same and there is only now no then or later and this now is so frickin' intense and beautiful and I see the whole world as like super real and a cartoon and none of these apparent contradictions bother me as my consciousness streams like rivers and oh my God. Far out.

My friends and I talked quite freely as we tripped. Subjects were intensly focused on with razor precision then vanished into the ethos as we skimmed along the rest of human thought that our 16 year old brains were capable of and the colors, man.

We drank wine too. Where did we get it? I wonder all these years later. Probably Mooney stole it. He was also stealing us booze. He died of a drug overdose at age 18. Other friend was Matt. He totally fried his brains on drugs. Last time I talked with him he seemed destined for the looney bin. I was an athlete doing all this stuff. A dyad. Or a schizo. Or really, really confused. Or not, I could never decide. I did all this pyschodelic stuff within one year and quit it forever. Lots of other drugs to come but no more of this mind bending. I didn't mind the bend of the mind, just didn't want to risk the break. Brain opened to new ideas all right. Pandora's box and all. Lid not going back on. But that last trip was a total bummer and I wasn't risking that again.

This all came back because I'm finally reading Tom Wolfe's The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. Took me dozens of years to be able to get this close to the Lysergic acid diethylamide again. And this is only reading about other dudes doing it. And check it out, yesterday I come to find out that there's a movie about the Merry Pranksters, those carefree lads and lasses the book follows, coming out in like two weeks. It's called Magic Trip and it's a documentary and it uses footage from the Pranskters' trip and here, just look at the trailer:

So this should be in ter est ing. Talk about the Sixties -- which I totally have, man -- that was a like a really big chunk of it. Turning ON. Seeing the world through a different pair of eyes, though ones that were in your own head...somehow. Wow. Brain spinning, looking out through your ear hole into the mouse hole and seeing the whole of it all. Not that you could ever explain it. But live it? Hell yes! And you saw all the phoniness and the bullsh*t and the f*cking war in Vietnam which was like the total worst thing ever. The opposite about what WE were all about. It was dudes dying and killing when this is a time people should be loving and living and being. To be. The verb. The m*therf*cking adjective: to be! That whole war scene was like the old dudes in suits in Washington and their cocktails and their old worn out values totally bumming this new trip and....

We were out to change the world and one way to do was to change our brain because old style 1950's brains DID NOT WORK. Square was just the beginning of it. We wanted no points, no edges at all. To be round like the tepee. Live like the Indi -- I mean Native Americans. They were cool, like the Black people and the queers and even the really old hip people and anyone really who wanted a newer better world. Man.

So where was I? There was a frequent question of the Sixties, exceeded only by, where am I? Also up there were: who am I? and who was I? But we were trying. Sometimes misguided. Sometimes selfish. Sometimes the other side of addiction leading to death like Mooney's or brain immolation like Matt's, but hey scramble eggs sometimes, ya know?

It was an effort to get away from straight. I'll defend it all my days. We were creative. We were thoughtful. We wanted nothing more than equality, love and peace. Argue with those. We also strongly suggested that people dig deep into their own brains and shovel out some of the crap that accumulates there. Be who YOU are not some version that fits in with some fantasy of what you think you're expected to be. Honesty. A move towards honesty.

Honesty.

"Everything in everybody's life is...significant. And everybody is alert, watching for the meanings. And the vibrations. There is no end of vibrations." - From The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test by Tom Wolfe.

You can take some pretty twisty paths to get there but hey man, the journey is half the fun right? Or should I say the...trip? Yeah, I really should.

I'm supposed to sum up now. Wrap up. Yeah. This post is over but the mind goes and goes. Even when you sleep it dreams. Wow to have waking access to your dream life that would be so cool. But I should say something profound. Or maybe not. Maybe just tell you I do not endorse EXPERIMENTING with psychedelics. It's dangerous, man. Then again so is mountain climbing in Winter or surfing in shark infested waters or driving a car or opening your front door. Pick your poisons, carefully.

I can't recommend what I did but I'm glad I did it because it was for me. Whoever I am. Still not sure...but the trip finding out is like nine tenths of the fun, with our without drugs. Dig.

The Front, A Film About Doing the Right Thing

2011-07-17T22:09:00.000-07:00

I don't necessarily believe in evil, but I do know that humans can conspire to do horrible things to one another. Often these people have great power, they can even be governments. In such instances it is incumbent upon good people to, individually and in groups, rise in opposition. Classic examples include the solo effort of Rosa Parks and the group that was behind her, the Civil Rights Movement. Simply put, bravery is required.

That is the simple but eloquently told tale within director Martin Ritt's film The Front (1976). It is an obvious sort of film that wears its ambitions on its sleeves. Nothing wrong with that. It takes on McCarthyism, an easy target but one worth battering away. Something so odious as blacklisting and insisting that people name names deserves a good going over every now and again, no matter how far in the rear view mirror the 1950's become. It was a shameful period in American history that would be far too easy to see repeated.

The Front is about a nobody named Howard Prince who works as a cashier and bookie. A bookie who can't always cover his bets and frequently has to borrow money from his successful brother. Prince is played by Woody Allen, who had already made a name for himself as a director and was just a year away from shooting into the stratosphere with Annie Hall (1977).

Prince has a friend, Alfred Miller (Michael Murphy) who is a recently blacklisted writer. When Miller asks his pal to "front" for him and put his name on TV scripts for 10% of the profits, Prince doesn't hesitate. After all they're friends. Eventually Prince picks up two more blacklisted clients. For Prince this is simply good business and helping some guys out. He does not seem to have a political bone in his body. What does he know from politics?

In working with the TV show, Prince finds a lover, Florence (Andrea Marcovicci) and another friend, a comic actor named Hecky Brown (Zero Mostel) who is in the process of being blacklisted because of his inadequacies at naming names. It is through these two that Prince ultimately develops that most valuable and vexing inner voice, the conscience.

It is terribly easy to be apathetic, to be in the large "no opinion" camp. It not only makes life safe, but easy as well. After all, self-interest will keep a person atop what one needs to be aware of in order to survive and prosper. All that stuff and nonsense about "getting involved" or "taking a stand" or -- God forbid -- making a sacrifice, that's for the other guy. The majority of us who have formulated strong views on any topic are far too busy to risk anything by actually doing anything.

Hecky's last words to Prince are a warning: "Take care of yourself, the waters are full of sharks." It's when those sharks circle us, when we look them in the eye and see them devour those around us, that we suddenly take a keen interest in doing more than treading water.

The fate of Hecky, and the nagging morality of Florence, and the lot of those he fronts for, begin to gnaw away at Howard's tough exterior. And when he is finally called before one of those committees that is trying to purify America by rooting out what it considers Communist influence (i.e. lefties of all kind) it is then that Prince becomes a full blown hero. And he does it quite eloquently by telling them: "Fellas... I don't recognize the right of this committee to ask me these kind of questions. And furthermore, you can all go fuck yourselves."

Howard Prince became successful by pretending to be someone else. He paid off debts, bought family members gifts, picked up the check at dinner, moved into a nice apartment, and traveled in more refined circles. By virtue of being a nobody he was able to become somebody. Materialistically he may not have had it all, but it was plenty what he had. But ultimately he gained something more valuable -- himself. There's a lot to be gained by giving it all up in the name of a greater good. For one thing it's a quick route to self esteem. The real kind. People often fantasize about telling the boss to go screw, but imagine doing it to further a belief, a cause. And not just taking on an employer but your own government when it is treading on people's rights.

The Front was written, directed, produced and included in its cast (notably Mr. Mostel) a number of people from the entertainment world who had themselves been blacklisted. The anger that must have lingered, the indignity, was channeled into an excellent motion picture. They made a movie about how supposedly well intentioned men subverted the and skirted around and ignored the U.S. Constitution and in so doing damaged careers and even ruined lives. They centered the story around one man who started the story not giving a damn and went on to be a hero of the cause. Allen, by the way, gave an excellent performance. Today I watched The Front for maybe the fifth or sixth time. It gets better with each viewing. Ritt let the story speak for itself. He had a strong script and a good cast. Best of all he had an important theme centered around a critical period in American history. The film's been around for 35 years and shows no signs of age.

The Front opens and closes with Frank Sinatra's lovely rendition of Young at Heart. It's one of those deals where I'm not sure what they mean by using a particular piece of music, but readily acknowledge that it sure feels right. Here are the lyrics.

Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you

If you're young at heart

For it's hard, you will find, to be narrow of mind

If you're young at heart

You can go to extremes with impossible schemes

You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams

And life gets more exciting with each passing day

And love is either in your heart or on it's way

Don't you know that it's worth every treasure on earth

To be young at heart

For as rich as you are it's much better by far

To be young at heart

And if you should survive to 105

Look at all you'll derive out of being alive

Then here is the best part, you have a head start

If you are among the very young at heart

And if you should survive to 105

Look at all you'll derive out of being alive

Then here is the best part, you have a head start

If you are among the very young at heart

You Can Watch a Classic Film, a Great One or Just One That's A Helluva Lot of Fun, I Offer Ten Examples of the Latter

2011-07-12T18:27:00.000-07:00

There are only so many films that a given cinephile will rank among the greatest of all time. Unlike in, say, choosing a life partner, you can afford to occasionally select a film that you know going in is just for fun. However there is a hard and fast rule about just- for-fun films, they still have to be good. No need you wasting your time with rubbish. While there are few classics, there are enough fun films to keep you from knowingly dipping into the real stinkers.

Just-for-funs are generally light hearted fare. They may feature some belly laughs, toe tapping songs or exciting chase scenes, but they don't challenge you intellectually. There are some films that would seem to qualify as just for fun films that I don't consider as such. This would be a picture like Duck Soup (1933) which I hold in such high esteem that is more than just for fun -- it's sacred. In a similar vein Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), Bride of Frankenstein (1935) and Cabaret (1972) are too important to qualify.

When I watch a just-for-fun film I need a gentle comfy experience, not something I'm going to be awed by. After all a body can only take so much lobster, occasionally one just wants a tuna sandwich. So now that I've beaten this point into the ground, I present ten examples of movies I watch....all together now: JUST FOR FUN!

High Society (1956). On the one hand its a musical remake of The Philadelphia Story (1940) that pales in comparison to the real Mccoy. On the other hand its got Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Louis Armstrong, Grace Kelly and Celeste Holm in the cast. Plus you get Sinatra and Crosby crooning. Their duet of Cole Porter's "Did You Evah?" makes it worthwhile to sit through the rest of the picture. This is such an light and airy film that you swear it can float away. But it is the very definition of what the posting is all about -- fun.

Follow the Fleet (1936). Really, any Astaire and Rogers film could qualify. They are all about fun and nothing else. The character development (such as it isn't) and the stories (as heavy as a 1950's sit com) are all just props around Fred and Ginger's dancing. And when they danced to a song it stayed danced to. I offer Follow the Fleet because the story (with Fred in the Navy) is particularly weightless and it has my favorite all time dance number done to the song "Let's Face the Music and Dance."

Dr. No (1962). Last Summer oldest daughter and I watched all the Sean Connery James Bond films (I refuse to acknowledge the others). Truly any one of them would qualify for this list but why not start with the first one? (However if you want the best of the lot I'd suggest From Russia With Love (1963)). The story lines of the Bond films strain credulity beyond the breaking point, the special effects look silly, but their is stronger emphasis on character development then you see today. And besides, it's Sean Connery for crying out loud.

The Jerk (1979). Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a stupid movie. True, true. But it is also a very funny one. Any film that starts with Steve Martin saying, "I was born a poor black child" is announcing itself as being stupid. And funny. It would be silly to describe The Jerk so I'll just leave you with this soliloquy from it: I know we've only known each other four weeks and three days, but to me it seems like nine weeks and five days. The first day seemed like a week and the second day seemed like five days. And the third day seemed like a week again and the fourth day seemed like eight days. And the fifth day you went to see your mother and that seemed just like a day, and then you came back and later on the sixth day, in the evening, when we saw each other, that started seeming like two days, so in the evening it seemed like two days spilling over into the next day and that started seeming like four days, so at the end of the sixth day on into the seventh day, it seemed like a total of five days. And the sixth day seemed like a week and a half. I have it written down, but I can show it to you tomorrow if you want to see it.

Catch Me if You Can (2002). Leonardo DiCaprio has surprised many of us by emerging as a serious acting presence, but in CMIYC he's more the adorable scamp. Steven Spielberg directed this true story of one the great young con artists of any generation. Tom Hanks is the FBI agent in hot pursuit and he's wonderful too. It's a perfectly charming story and while meaty at two hours and twenty minutes, positively flies by.

After the Thin Man (1936). You'll note the presence of several sequels on this list, they almost never measure up to the original but as in the case of ATTM they're often okay. There were several Thin Man sequels and though I wouldn't swear to it I think they get progressively worse. In any event, this is the second of the series and it's good fun. Nick (William Powell) Nora (Myrna Loy) and Asta are in San Francisco. The story commences on New Year's Eve and don't you know it our heroes can't enjoy their homecoming without a murder needing investigation. There are suspects aplenty including one portrayed by a young actor named James Stewart (whatever became of the lad?). With Powell and Loy leading the way, and tippling away, these stories are always a delight.

Battleground (1949). Ladies and gentlemen I gave you the quintessential World War II film of the immediate post war period. It is also one of the best. This is good ole G.I. Joe at the Battle of the Bulge fighting Nazis and the elements. You have the wonderful stew of a bunch of different sort of Yanks being thrown together and fighting the good fight. There is the camaraderie, the squabbles, the sad death of buddies and heroic deeds. Battleground doesn't flinch at violence as many war films of its era did, but there's not blood and brain matter spewing every which way like in recent cinema. William Wellman directed so you know its good.

The Town (2010). Last year Ben Affleck wrote, directed and star in this wonderful heist film. Jon Hamm played the FBI agent pursuing our anti heros. Rebecca Hall and Blake Lively played the love interests and it is a testimony to Affleck's wisdom that he cast these two lovelies opposite himself. Hall has appeared in and greatly enhanced several films in the past few years. The Town is an improbable story but believable enough to make the action, romance and tension genuine fun. So, yeah, this is a fun movie worth a second look.

Aliens (1986). This is the sequel to the classic Alien (1979) from director Ridley Scott. It pains me to include a film directed by the odious James Cameron, but this is a lot of gory fun. While the original was more a Gothic horror film than sci fi thriller, this is played just for thrills and of those there are plenty. Sigourney Weaver is back and this time she is more the prototypical action figure than the gallant hero of the first film.

Rio Grande (1950). John Ford cranked out countless Westerns and its hard to find a bad one in the lot. Rio Grande is not among his best but it'll do. There is the wonderful teaming of John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara a few years before The Quiet Man (1952). Also much of Ford's usual players were in the cast including Harey Carey Jr., Victor McLaglen and a young Ben Johnson. Oh yes, there are Apaches on the warpath, battle scenes, laughs, beautiful scenery and another Ford tip of the cap to the cavalry.

Hey everybody, this was my 600th Post!!! In lieu of gifts please send money.

"We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!" Norma Desmond Presumably Referencing "The Passion of Joan of Arc"

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

There's too much talking in talking pictures. Some films, His Girl Friday (1940) comes to mind, are rich in wonderful, witty dialogue. But most movies made these past 80 years feature far more extraneous and not incidentally cliched conversation. Shut up already.

That's one of the reasons why it is such an absolute joy to watch Carl Theodor Dreyer's The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928) which was made right at the end of the silent era. No one before or since, and I include the likes of Chaplin and Bergman, ever utilized faces better than Dreyer did. We also see here perhaps the finest example of German expressionistic film.

In the Passion of Joan of Arc we mostly see the face of Maria Falconetti who was a noted stage actress both before and after the film. In fact she never appeared on screen again. Why not quit while your ahead? It's a performance that has been called the greatest ever and I'm not prepared to argue against it. In any case she owes a lot to Dreyer who knew how to frame a host, especially one of a face, like Michael Jordan knew hitting jump shots. But she brought a lot to the film, telling us so much, with nary a word. Faces!

Passion is a fascinating film because it is so depressing. And not. It is, like all great works of art, ultimately uplifting and exciting and thus exhilarating. Of course Joan of Arc was the quintessential martyr and viewed as such her story is anything but depressing. There have been numerous versions of her story told on film, many replete with action hero type battle scenes, and none carries the emotional wallop of Dreyer's telling. And his is mostly comprised of the trial.

All these wonderful shots of faces and they are all sans make up. Often shown in extreme close up, shot from below, cut away from and back to quickly and lit in grays rather than sharp black and whites.

In fact there is an often disorienting style in the setting up of shots that serves to emphasize the madness, for Joan especially, of the entire proceedings. It's interesting to note the detail of the sets and how important they are to the picture, yet what a secondary role they play to the faces.

It all comes together for an amazing film. It seems counterintuitive to use words to describe The Passion, it is better seen then described. You can watch on You Tube, Hulu Plus or Nextflix or, of course rent it.

Faces!

Believe It Or Not Television is Not a Complete and Total Wasteland, I Give 50 Examples to Support this Dubious Claim

2011-07-06T23:06:00.000-07:00

I'm not exactly sure what the percentage is, maybe 75%, maybe 90 maybe 99%, but surely the overwhelming majority of what is show on TV represents the waste material of our culture. It's not even recyclable.

There is no better example than what is laughingly referred to as reality TV. Whose reality? Certainly no one who lives in the world outside of television. TV is worse than it was 20 years ago or 40 years ago or in its infancy, primarily because there are so many more hours to fill what with hundreds of channels. There's always been junk on TV, now there is an endless variety of it.

I don't know if there are enough ideas out there to fill all the programming time even if the most creative minds in the world were dedicated to it. So we get dozens upon dozens of rip offs, copycats, remakes, rehashes, and never-should-have-beens.

I have just as hard a time to find something good to watch today as I did when I was a kid. And back in my youth (when dinasours roamed the Earth) we had but five TV stations to choose from. Cable TV was a few years away.

I suppose we should all be thankful that there is so very little for the discerning viewer to sit through on the idiot box. Imagine if TV programming was light years better? We'd have so much less time for such activities as reading, exercise and the age old custom of talking.

But if one sifts through television from it's birth until today, it is possible to find good uses for it. That is, shows or offerings that are actually worth the time. You know, not just place holders, something to have on when you're folding laundry or suffering from the flu or are too tired to do your own thinking. Shows to actually watch and be entertained or edified by. Even both. Here are 50 shows or reasons that I do not quite equate TV with staring into a garbage can. Other than the first three, I do not offer them in any particular order.

1. Movies. I refer of course to the unedited kind not interrupted by commercial. Something unavailable when I was a child.

2. Live sports. It's hard to watch your favorite team in action on the radio. Easy with a TV.

3. Monty Python's Flying Circus

4. The Twilight Zone

5. Seinfeld

6. The Sopranos

7. Dick Cavett

8. The Daily Show

9. The Colbert Report

10. The Jack Benny Program

11. You Bet Your Life

12. Live footage of breaking news

13. Late Show with David Letterman

14. The Simpsons

15. The Honeymooners

16. The Black Adder

17. The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour

18. PBS

19. Bill Moyers

20. The Bob Newhart Show

21. Mary Tyler Moore

22. Foyle's War

23. Comedy Specials

24. Roots

25. Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In

26. Documentaries

27. Extras

28. The Andy Griffith Show

29. Doc Martin

30. The Odd Couple

31. Bugs Bunny and other classic cartoons

32. Have Gun Will Travel

33. Fawlty Towers

34. Band of Brothers

35. Taxi

36. Columbo

37. 30 Rock

38. Edward R. Murrow

39. The Larry Sanders Show

40. Saturday Night Live

41. Lonesome Dove

42. Sgt. Bilko

43. That Was The Week That Was

44. Shark Week!

45. Crazy Like a Fox

46. Steve Allen

47. The Rockford Files

48. Burns and Allen

49. The Dick Van Dyke Show

50. Walter Cronkite

Guido, Lenny, Alvy and Charlie: Four Characters, Four Films More Than Four Thoughts

2011-07-05T19:52:00.000-07:00

I was on line at the pharmacy today re-filling the buckets of medications I have to take in order not to see polka dot hippopotami dancing on my walls. I patronize a small locally owned establishment that compensates in with charm for what it lacks in supplies on hand. Today there was a woman in front of me just about having a hissy fit because her prescription wasn't ready. She'd been waiting for seconds on end but to her they were eons. It seemed that the pharmacists had to wait for approval from the insurance company before coughing up her drugs, so to speak. The way I heard them explain it made perfect sense to me. But she was in a state of mind that I've found myself dwelling in. It's the one were your position seems perfectly logical and irrefutable and any delay in getting your goods and or services is an affront. Angry lady stomped off somewhere to make an angry cell phone call which in all likelihood would not have done a wit to improve her lot. As we all know patience is a virtue and when my turn came and had nearly went I was thanked for mine. That's rather odd considering that generally speaking I am about as patient as a hungry mutt listening to the can opener whirr. But I happened not to be in a hurry and my pills were ready and anyway that "lady" in front of me had set an example of how not to behave.

All of this in some way perhaps serves as a preface for a discussion of the four film characters I've hung out with the past few days. Except perhaps that their imperfections were infinitely more entertaining than the aforementioned customer. They are a film director, a piano player and a couple of comics. One is fully intended to depict a real human being who once walked this Earth, two others represent the movie's directors and indeed one is played by the director. The other is entirely a work of fiction, so far as I know. They are all in superior films, three of which are among my favorites of all time. None of this quartet of gentlemen are perfect. Perfection being exceedingly boring and nothing either to cause laughter or insights.

Guido Anselmi (Marcello Mastroianni) is a great film director. Women adore him, enough to keep several guys content. He has it all and it ain't enough. He's not so much the main character of Federico Fellini's 8 1/2 (1963) as he is the film itself. To what degree his character and his struggles mirror those of Fellini I cannot say. Oh hell yes I can: to a certain degree.

The film itself comes under the masterpiece category. It's one of those movies that has a mind of its own -- a brilliant mind -- and goes where it pleases, how it pleases. Fellini was like that. Guido is a man who has it all and doesn't seem to want any of it. Well, maybe he does, you see he can't quite make up his damn mind. Duller minds would want to grab him by the neck and scream sense into his ear. At least try to cajole him into making the picture he's working on. But he's not happy, except that he is. He's a wonderfully tortured soul who knows how to have a good time (principally with the ladies) while "suffering." That's my kind of angst sufferer. Plus the guy fantasizes about a harem comprised of the women in life. That's entertainment!

Lenny Bruce was a real honest to goodness guy and it's a dirty rotten shame that so few people recognize his name. He broke boundaries, knocked down barriers and blazed trails. In part through the public use of profanity but mainly because he was a comedian who spoke his mind. Lenny Bruce got laughs while riffing on current events and decrying social injustices. He was George Carlin before George Carlin was and Carlin would have been the first to tell you that. Bob Fosse directed the bio pic Lenny (1974) with Dustin Hoffman in the title role. (Watch the film then consider the fact that Hoffman didn't win the Best Actor Oscar and it'll tell you all you need to know about the validity of the Academy Awards.) Lenny Bruce was only 40 when he died. His impact on American society was a huge part of the Sixties Cultural Revolution. Dig it.
Like Allen Ginsberg before him he faced obscenity charges for using forbidden words in public. Unlike Ginsberg, he had a series of legal battles and was not routinely winning them at the time of his death. Ahh yes, his death. Heroin. The list of great artists who have been struck down in their prime, or for that matter before it, because of drugs or booze or both is sadly quite long. Lenny Bruce among them.

I'd not seen the film in a long time and was struck (figuratively and right across the mouth) at how powerfully and accurately it tells Bruce's story. Kudos to the late Bob Fosse and to the thankfully still present Mr. Hoffman. We do not see Lenny Bruce as a larger than life figure (whatever the hell that means) but as a comic who courageously decides to tell the truth. He broke the tradition of comedians who went for easy, comfortable laughs. He evoked laughter by touching upon some of the elemental truths of human nature and the nature of American hypocrisy. That this can be done is taken for granted in a time when The Daily Show and Colbert Report combine hilarity with truth telling. Bruce helped make it happen. If only he had stayed away from the junk....

Some movies never get old. You never tire of them. They always make you laugh. For this they are the embodiment of the word "classic." Case in point Woody Allen's Annie Hall (1977). Allen is essentially playing himself, which is to say the character of Alvy Singer is wise and witty, with an emphasis on the latter. Alvy is smitten with the title character (Diane Keaton in an Oscar winning performance) and who wouldn't be? This is a modern love story that cheerfully avoids romance cliches. Alvy is the anti-romantic lead. A bumbling, fumbling, paranoid, jealous, narcissistic boyfriend. Let's add the two p's: pithy and pathos. Pith and pathotic? He's twice married and like Allen himself it seems he'll never find the perfect woman for him. His imperfections are too numerous and help to bring out the worst in the women he woos. Being too smart for your own good, being too self aware for your good, being too introspective for your own good, those are qualities that I can relate to. Me, I blindly stumbled into a relationship with the love of my life. Alvy, as the movie ends, not so lucky.

It's a debatable point, but Allen may have been his most Alleneseque as Alvy Singer. Some would argue that playing yourself is cheap and easy. Some are wrong. Doing your usual schtick is no great chore but presenting it within the framework of a narrative, albeit a comic one, is no mean feat. Alvy is adorable in part because he is not only riddled with flaws but is the first to acknowledge more than half of them. Utterly charming.

There was a period in film when the silent, stoic type of hero was all the rage. Men of few words who guarded their thoughts and feelings closely and buried their personal histories deeply. For an example see Charlie Kohler nee Edouard Saroyan (Charles Aznavour) in Francois Truffaut's second great film (and my favorite) Shoot the Piano Player (1960). Charlie is the titular pianist.

He plies his trade in a modest little Parisian establishment where he is the headliner. But he has a past in which greater fame under a different name were enjoyed. But in discovering the price of his sudden fame a tragedy occurs and Charlie escapes into anonymity. He is flushed out by love and a sibling who operates well below the law. Charlie is not to blame for sad circumstances that befall him. In fact he proves clever, passionate and oft times agreeable, belying his own often wooden exterior. But how innocent are any of us in the fates that befall us? A different path here or there, a stronger plea or evocation, the slightest change in demeanor, can alter circumstances.

Perhaps the guarded and reserved would enjoy more fortuitous circumstances if more often willing to force the action. Still, Charlie has his music and there is always the hope of a new love.

Life Not Simple, The Movie Blood Simple, You Get Two Posts in One! Simple!

2011-06-30T08:37:00.000-07:00

Life is perplexing.

Today I saw a friendly old acquaintance at the gym who, for reasons I cannot fathom, proceeded to act like a total jerk. Minutes later I ran into another old friend who I hadn't seen in three years and he was perfectly charming. You're up, you're down. Good day, bad day. Bad encounter, nice encounter. Rain, sun. The best prediction is the one you never make.

On the bus home from the gym most seats were occupied by university students here for the Summer session. For the most part they were quiet, head in a book or texting, or day dreaming. But there was also a couple of high school age kids. A male and female. The female in particular had no sense of volume control. She could be heard loud and clear all over the bus and likely outside of it as well. This despite the fact that her companion sat across from her.

As many young people do, she referred to her fellow females as "bitches." Not as a insult but as a generic term for women. I'm so old that I remember when bitch was a derogatory term. In the same way, she and her friend referred to all males as, niggers, again as a generic and not as an insult. Here I have elected to use all the word’s letter rather than put an asterisk in place of the letter "i." I have also spelled it out instead of typing: "the n word." You see, the young couple in question said the whole word without an asterisk. And they did not say "n words" but niggers.

Yes, nigger is an offensive term. But this business about not even dare speaking it in any context whatsoever has gone too far and gone on long enough. Mind you, I do not advocate white people using it publicly, except of course in the context of an example such as: "the racist called all black people niggers." I don't believe it should be treated as if it had magic powers and will turn Caucasians who utter into pillars of salt. I further believe that "faggot" is extremely offensive and should be avoided at all costs too. But let's not start saying "the f word." For that matter I do not like it when men say "bitch" in reference to female humans. I could list many other words that I find highly objectionable as well as phrases, sentences, paragraphs and entire books. But I also find censorship extremely offensive. Cultural as well as governmental and self.

Words have a lot of power. But we shouldn't live in fear of any single one of them. Being sensitive is fine. Being paranoid not.

Here's a thought: let's rely on common courtesy in the use of language. Let's consider other people's feelings. The schmoe I saw earlier today didn't use common courtesy in speaking with me in that he clearly didn’t care how I would feel about what he said. Offending someone else is fine when its in the furtherance of a cause or idea. If you are offended by my suggesting that continuing the Bush tax cuts for the wealthiest Americans is tantamount to declaring war on the poor, that's okay. I was expressing a sincere opinion on a political issue. I'm offended by 90% of what the Tea Party says but don't believe that they should silenced for saying it. It's when comments are gratuitous and serve no point that they are rude and objectionable. Just as violence in films is not bad in and of itself unless it is gratuitous.

What's so confounding about life is how it comes around and bites or caresses you regardless of what you're doing. In the gym, standing on a corner, on the bus. There are always people about who intentionally or otherwise brighten or darken your day or just cause you to think and feel and thus grow. The old phrase I used to hear was that you have to take things in stride. It's not only trite but suggests that nothing should stay your inexorable march towards wherever. I'm of the opinion that you should not take everything in stride. You should stop and slap some things right in the face. Others you should stop and hug. (I mean figuratively in both instances although hugging is a good thing.) Still others should cause you to ruminate. It's not so all fired important to continue in a straight line all the time.

All of this leads me to the film of the day I enjoyed after returning to my humble abode. (I know I took long enough to get to it.) Blood Simple (1984) the Coen Brothers' first feature. I hadn't seen it since it's initial run which by math is over a quarter of century ago. So this was basically a new movie to me.

Here we have people who have all kinna stuff happening to them. Whether they brought in on themselves or not is a separate point. They're being cuckolded, followed, getting shot at, shot to death, shot not quite to death, stealing money, having it stolen, leaving behind incriminating evidence and of course being buried alive (don't you just hate that?).

One person, Marty (Dan Hedaya) sets everything in motion when he correctly suspects that his wife Abby (Frances MacDormand) is cheating on him. His pursuit of vengeance leads him to hire a private detective (M. Emmett Walsh) whose dark sense of humor is the heart and soul of Blood Simple. He's a cackler, he's a schemer, he's as cuddly as a the lazy old crocodile.

Thing is, people in this movie keep following the natural course of events. They see something like a dying man and don't ask questions. They assume (when you assume you make an ass out of you and me, or so I've been told). In fact you can see Blood Simple is all about people taking things in stride and going on with what seems the next logical step. There's not a hint of philosophizing by the characters which allows us an audience to do that for them. These are people with total tunnel vision and an annoying single mindedness in the pursuit of the simple.

Blood Simple has been called "dark" and a "dark comedy." Fine if you want to put labels on it those two will do. But it’s also a study of human nature. No, most people are not willing to take another human being's life. But most people respond to the situations in something like what the characters in Blood Simple do. There's a lot of self preservation going on. Trying to stay out of jail, stay alive and get rich.

It's interesting to me that there's not a single cop, lawyer or other authority type figure in the film. Instead there are the consciences, or the lack thereof, of the players. They police themselves and set their own rules and create their own moral structure. People will often do that in absence of a real authority and with predictable results.

Blood Simple also foretold the cinematic style of the Coen Brothers. Much of what we've seen in their films of the last 25 years is in on display here and for that alone its well worth seeing. One example is the beginning of the film which recalls the beginning of No Country For Old Men (2007). Shots of the Texas countryside with a character from the film speaking philosophically in voice over. In Blood Simple it's Walsh.

A Coens picture is always going to avoid cliches. It is always going to smart without consciously trying to be. So many films today try to impress audiences with the important point they're getting across or their interesting story telling techniques. There's practically a little man in the corner of the screen saying over and over: see how we did that, isn't that clever? While the Coens just creatively tell the story. No whistles and bells unless there's a scene calling for a whistle blower and bell ringer.

There's plenty of blood in Blood Simple but it was always felt like it was there because someone was bleeding not because we needed to be shocked or grossed out. It is a story that asks not to take it in stride. Sure we can go through life and films excepting everything at face value and challenging nothing. But we can also wonder at the complexity of it all and try to sort out how to best place ourselves within the scheme of things. How can we, as fellow travelers, best navigate through our lives enriching or at least not hurting, the journeys of others.

I opened this post by saying that life is perplexing. For me the best crossword puzzles are the ones that cause me to scratch my head. Easy can be boring. Same with movies. Of course we have to bring our own thinking and experience to films and to situations in life. That's the fun of it.

Beginners is About Love, Death and Beginning (Of Course)

2011-06-26T16:53:00.000-07:00

There were a lot of hallways in the new film Beginners. Hallways are lonely places if you stop in them. They offer nothing in and of themselves. Except of course if you move through them in which case they are paths to rooms or apartments. Some place new, different. Or someplace familiar, home. At the end of hallways there are usually doors. Doors are impediments. They can stop you from entering. But open, they allow you into that room or apartment. Doors are funny that way.

Director Mike Mills may not have been consciously showing a lot of hallways or doors. Hell, maybe I'm alone among all the people who've seen the movie in noticing them. But I did.

Beginners is an easy film to relate to if you are a certain age. Like the age when you're parents are leaving you forever. That's what's happening to Oliver (Ewan McGregor) as we learn right at the beginning of the of the movie. His dad Hal (Christopher Plummer) has gone to the hereafter. We do get to know Hal through the course of the movie through flashbacks. We learn that when his wife of 44 years (Oliver's Mom) died, he came out and plunged headfirst into the gay community. This plunging included getting himself a boyfriend. Why not?

Oliver is quite likable. Hal is likable. Hals' dog Arthur is adorable. He becomes Oliver's dog. He's a Jack Russell. We get to know some of his thoughts through subtitles. Cute. Then there's Anna (Melanie Laurent) who is likable, adorable, and altogether quite fetching. She becomes Oliver's girlfriend. Life is good.

Beginners is one of those movies that defy easy description. That's a good sign. Movies that can be summed up in a sentence are often not about a whole lot. Beginners is about a whole lot. Like how parents eventually die. I went through that with my dear old dad a few years ago. There is an intense feeling at the time that this is part of the natural order of things. There is also the intense feeling of death's permanence. I kept telling my father what a great dad he had been. It was easy to say because he was fabulous. I was reminded of that as we watch Oliver coping with his father's cancer which is in stage four (when his dad claims to be getting better, he tells dad there is no stage five). There's also the heartbreaking stuff of going through a parent's belongings. My big brother shared that chore with me. Still....

Let's be clear though, Beginners is not a sad film. Not at all. For one thing there is the wonderful relationship between father and son. There is the joy of a life well lived. And there's also a love story mixed in.

Love stories are a staple of films. They are quite often poorly done. Not here. There is cuteness, piquancy and giggles, but there are the genuine struggles that thinking people can go through when they prepare to commit fully to another human being. How love ever works out is a miracle given all the obstacles. But it does happen. Thankfully.

Arthur (remember he's the dog) has a significant role in the film too. He's not there just to be cute. If you see the movie (you should, really) contrast his behavior, his love, to that of the humans.

Of course this is a move about beginnings. Hence the title. Hal begins life anew at 75 as a gay man. Oliver and Anna try to begin a love affair. They've failed in previous attempts with others. Beginning is harder than continuing and a lot harder than stopping or never starting. Try beginning something some time and you'll see what I mean.

Often you begin by going down a hallway and then opening a door. Sometimes this is literal. Other times this is figurative. I don't know that there were really all that many shots of hallways and doors in Beginners. But its what I noticed. I took that away from the film. Matter of fact, I took a lot away from seeing it. I should think most people would.

(Director/writer based the film on his own experiences. The truth of his experience probably informed it in a very, very positive way. See this recent article from Berkeleyside.)

"We Have Heard the Chimes at Midnight" And Then Collapsed on an Idaho Road

2011-06-25T23:23:00.000-07:00

Thank you William Shakespeare for inspiring the film I watched earlier today, My Own Private Idaho (1991). I know you didn't have young hustlers living in the America circa 1990 in mind when you wrote Henry IV Part I Henry V Part II and Henry V. And gay sex was probably not in your first draft. But dude....This adaptation totally worked.

Yeah the idea of a young man about to inherit position and wealth. Soon to abandon old friends and old ways (in this case of drugs, of thievery of prostitution) turning his back (literally!) on old friends -- sorry Falstaff. All here! Gus Van Sandt adapted, adopted and directed.

Keanu Reeves and River Phoenix (he became the late River Phoenix way too early) starred. And it was good what they did (if I count the number of times I've liked Reeves in a movie it won't take but a second).

My Own Private Idaho is a remarkably sad, happy story which means it tells some truths about life. I really like that in a story, a movie. Don't you Shakespeare? I knew you would.

You see there are young man who prostitute themselves -- one who looks from hell and back for his mom -- they cuss, steal, laugh, cry and try to figure out what the deal is with this thing called life. And there are people who make 180 degree turns in their lives. And one who has narcolepsy that totally screws with him. Yeah people collapse on lonely roads too. Loneliness. Life can be incredibly lonely at stretches for people. Even when they're among friends. Weird, huh?

People say stuff like this to each other: "Why, you wouldn't even look at a clock unless hours were lines of coke, dials looked like the signs of gay bars, or time itself was a fair hustler in black leather." That was Scott Favor (Reeves) talking. And people also express this type of sentiment: "I've been tasting roads my whole life." Maybe not in those words but that kind of notion which was said in this story by Mike Waters (Phoenix).

I've noticed that people can be really profound when they talk the truth about things they know. You go to a 12 step meeting where people are struggling with their demons or just trying to sort out the day-to-day and you hear some seriously honest, eloquent stuff. "I'm a connoisseur of roads. I've been tasting roads my whole life. This road will never end. It probably goes all around the world." That's Mike again and that's more stuff about roads which as you can guess he spends a lot of time on and are like a metaphor and all for a lot of what he's dealing with like looking for his mom which is really also looking for who he is and I don't care that this is a run-on sentence because sometimes it just has to be that way. My point being that sometimes rules are superseded by what is needed at the time. That's a point a lot of people don't get. The characters in My Own Private Idaho do, however. Because for better or for worse they are alive. There's a lot of walking dead in the world.

I was comfortable watching the people in this film because, like I said, they were being real and also because (and here I pause and ask you to do the same).....Van Sandt did a really beautiful job of telling the story. The shots down lonely roads were easy, but kudos for not screwing them up. The scene set ups, the frames of faces and people talking, really nice. The whole feel of the film was a wonderful melding of artsy and real. Plus it had the language of Shakespeare. There were a few lines literally lifted from the aforementioned plays (like in the title of this post) but that's not what I mean. The language came from the combination of truth and beauty in the words and the story construction. Also, like the great bard, there was a depth to the story.

Also, My Own Private Idaho has love in it. The great director John Cassavetes said he wouldn't make a story without love as the central element. People digging around within themselves trying to sort out who their loves are and why and if and when and what to say about it, that's life at it's most basic. Yeah we eat, sleep and all that other stuff, but by God we also spend a lot of time wrestling with love (what the hell is it, anyway?). It's a helluva thing and gets to all of us regardless of present circumstance. Mike has a wonderful/terrible time exploring his love for Scott and does it aloud in conversation with him in an amazing fireside conversation. It's just the kind of stuff that separates superior film from crap.

This is a movie that goes ahead and says something. Maybe you didn't like it, or can't relate, but you've got to credit films that dig deep. They find real kind of stories with real kind of people in them dealing with real kind of situations. Then they try to find a way to tell it that will make it accessible but also challenge us. I'm all for it and am sorely sorry it's the kind of storytelling so rare in Hollywood.

Okay so Shakespeare if you're in a place that you can check this movie out, do so. Then again, its been out for 20 years so you probably have already. What did ya think? See what an incredible variety of stories your stories inspire? You should be proud, man. Seriously.

So You Want to Start Watching Woody Allen Films, an Introduction

2011-06-20T23:51:00.000-07:00

So You Want to Start Watching _______is an occasional feature here at Riku Writes. It is a guide to anyone unfamiliar with a particular star, director, genre, or time period in films. After a brief introduction, I will provide a sampling of films to watch. Although I will always strive to include the best possible films for each chapter in the series, I will also look to present representative work. I'll say a little bit about each film, all of which will be provided in chronological order. This is the third of the series. In the first I provided an introduction to the films of Humphrey Bogart the second was an intro to screwball comedies in the third I introduced films of the 1970s next was an introduction to Westerns and the most recent focused on Alfred Hitchcock.

With the recent release of Woody Allen's latest film, Midnight in Paris, to critical acclaim, I thought it a good time to suggest some of the master's movies to anyone unfamiliar with his work. Even if you have a basic familiarity with Allen, you've probably missed a few of his films here and there, after all, he's made a boatload (and whatta boat!).

As I wrote of Allen in my review of Midnight: I've loved this guy since I was a kid and he was a comic. When he started directing, I instantly adored his films, and not just his earlier funnier ones. When he got serious I was on board. He writes them, directs them, occasionally appears them.

I love enough of Allen's films that a personal top ten would not only be easy to compile but I could in fact manage a top twenty without breaking a sweat, as you'll see below.

Allen is a prolific filmmaker who has averaged a film a year for the past 40 years. In addition to directing he also writes the screenplays and often, though not so much recently, stars. Allen's primary directorial influences are clearly Ingmar Bergman and Federico Fellini. You could do a lot worse, in fact, I'd defy you to do any better. But he's also influenced by his own comic background which included writing for Sid Caeser, the New Yorker and for his own comedy act. Allen is largely self-taught which is to say he studied at the feet of the master. He is true renaissance man. In addition to his film work, Allen is an accomplished playwright, author and clarinet player.

Allen does not talk down to his audience. He respects our intelligence even if many of us don't respect our own. Allen's typical audience is educated, urban, liberal and perhaps middle aged. He is very popular in Europe, particularly France. His films have never been huge money makers, but Allen has a loyal audience and has done all right for himself and the studios and producers who've backed him. With only a few exceptions, even his films with serious themes are laced with large doses of humor. And with only a few exceptions his comedies are heavily spiced with thought-provoking themes. Most Woody Allen films receive positive critical acclaim and he's done all right in terms of awards though they don't interest him. He's had numerous actors gain Oscar nominations for work in his films with several winning the statuette.

Most of Allen's film feature bed-hopping adulterers, such philanderers making for more interesting cinema fare than the chaste. Allen does not play well among the deeply religious. He has also explored murder, morality and the very nature of life itself. Like Bergman and Fellini, he has never shrunk from big topics.

Seemingly every actor of note has appeared in a Woody. Unlike many long time directors he has not had a regular ensemble cast. Though for a time Diane Keaton played his female lead and then for a longer period Mia Farrow. In addition to some of the names you'll see below, his stars have included Penelope Cruz, Javier Bardem, Anthony Hopkins, Sean Penn, Hugh Jackman, Marion Cotillard, Jose Ferrer, Will Ferrell, Jim Broadbent, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Ewan McGregor, Collin Farrell, Charlize Theron and Gena Rowlands. To name just a few. Seriously, there are a lot more.

I offer here a mere sampling of his films as a starter set for the Allen novice. I tried to offer a variety of types spread relatively evenly over the past 40 years. In some cases I've previously written about the film and offer a link to that post. Also the reader may be interested in my post on some of the best one liners from Allen films.

Bananas (1971). Some will undoubtedly disagree with my assertion that this is the best of Allen's early comedies, but there is no arguing that it is representative of Allen's initial directing stage. It is played strictly for laughs and of those there are plenty. Allen stars as Fielding Melish a bit of nebbish (a horny one) who gets caught up in a Cuba-like country with a Castro-like revolutionary. You can read some social commentary in Bananas, but in a film in which Howard Cosell interviews a post-coital couple as if they'd just completed a boxing match, the emphasis is clearly on laughs.

Love and Death (1975). I believe that, though this is straight comedy, it represents the start of Allen's transition into more serious fare. While the overall theme is light, there is foretelling of some of the deeper themes to come in Allen's works (note the word "Death" in the title). Set in Russia during the Napoleonic wars, L&D is as wise as it is witty. Here's an earlier post I wrote about the film.

Manhattan (1979). My favorite Allen film and one of my top ten of all time from any director. I have struggled with writing about it before and will again. It simply is too perfect for me to find the right words for. Shot in glorious black and white, Manhattan is a love letter to New York. It is also screamingly funny. Allen co-stars with Diane Keaton.

Zelig (1983). Not like any other film done by Allen or for that matter anyone else. It is the king of faux documentaries, purporting to be the story of a man (Zelig, played by Allen) who changes personality and even physical appearance to conform to those around him. In the presence of a psychiatrist he is a psychiatrist, in the presence of an African American, he becomes an African American. I wrote this about Zelig a few years ago.

Hannah and Her Sisters (1986). Michael Caine won a best supporting actor for his portrayal of the philandering husband of Hannah (Mia Farrow). Her sisters are portrayed by Barbara Hershey, with whom Caine's character has an affair, and Dianne Weist. Allen features as an ex of Hannah and the world's greatest hypochondriac who goes through the world's greatest mid-life crisis after a cancer scare. It is a typically grand ensemble Allen cast (Carrie Fisher, Sam Waterston, Maureen O'Sullivan, Lloyd Nolan and Max Von Sydow also appear) with a lot going on. Much of the action is quite funny and much is thought provoking and much a bit of both.

Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989). A film widely shown in philosophy classes, C&M brilliantly asks some very profound moral questions. Martin Landau is wonderful as a respected opthamologsit who ponders having a bothersome lover killed. Waterston is a rabbi and patient of Landau who is going blind. Allen appears as a documentarian assigned to make a film about an arrogant film producer played by Allan Alda. Mia Farrow, who by this time was appearing in all of Allen's films, is the love interest. C&M is the highlight and finale of the rich 15 year period starting with Love & Death, in which Allen made most of what I consider his best films.

Manhattan Murder Mystery (1993). Allen's first post-Farrow film is exactly what the title suggests. Allen co-stars with his old friend Diane Keaton. Also along for the ride are Angelica Huston and Alan Alda. Allen and Keaton are a married couple who suspect that their neighbor is guilty of foul play. There are laughs aplenty and the nagging questions: Did he do the deed? Will they find him out? Are they in danger? Maybe to all three. Will the audience giggle all the way? Definitely.

Everyone Says I Love You (1996). This is the one and thus far only Woody Allen musical. That's right, he did a musical. The cast is all-star featuring Alda, Drew Barrymore, Tim Roth, Edward Norton, Goldie Hawn, Julia Roberts and a pubescent Natalie Portman. The settings include New York, Vienna and Paris. You will not hear the greatest voices ever recorded but you will have a fun time with the songs and the non-stop laughs. It'll keep a perpetual smile on your face.

Small Time Crooks (2000). I include this pure comedy because it is criminally neglected. Here we have the teaming of Allen and British comic actress Tracy Ullman. They formed a not surprisingly great duo. STC is based on Larceny Inc. (1942) starring Edward G. Robinson. In both cases a gang of crooks start a business close to a bank so that they can tunnel into the vault. And in both films the businesses prosper. In STC, with, as they say, hilarious consequences.

Match Point (2005). This is one of the few Allen films to be devoid of humor. It is an elegant look at a young man, Chris (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers) who through hard work and marrying well, mostly the latter, gets it all. But he is a man who believes it is more important to be lucky than good. He's going to need luck when he starts an affair with a gorgeous blonde (Scarlett Johansson) who is the ex fiance of his brother-in-law. She wants, expects, demands that he leave his wife. As in a number of Allen films a murder of convenience is planned. There are no good guys here. No hero. No justice. But there is a beautifully told story, that, like a lot of Allen's best, will get you thinking.

Okay, so here are my top 20 Allen films, in order: 1) Manhattan, 2) Annie Hall (1977), 3) Crimes and Misdemeanors, 4) Broadway Danny Rose (1984), 5) Zelig, 6) Hannah and Her Sisters, 7) Midnight in Paris, 8) The Purple Rose of Cairo (1985), 9) Match Point, 10) Radio Days (1987), 11) Vicky Cristina Barcelona (2008), 12) Bananas, 13) Stardust Memories (1980), 14) Manhattan Murder Mystery, 15) Bullets Over Broadway (1994), 16) Love and Death, 17) Cassandra's Dream (2007),18) Take the Money and Run (1969) and 20) Scoop (2006).

In The Last Picture Show -- It's Not What Happens to Sonny, But How He Responds To It

2011-06-19T09:19:00.000-07:00

He breaks up with his girlfriend.
He has an affair with the coach's wife.
His mentor dies suddenly.
His best friend puts his eye out in a fight.
Another friend is killed by a truck.
He is dumped by the most beautiful girl in town, who has just ben using him anyway.
He returns to see the older woman, she's enraged because he ignored her for three months.
Through joy, tears, heartache, understanding and pain, he preserves.
At the end of the story he is left in a dead end mid Texas town. A recent high school graduate who owns the local pool hall but has to work on an oil rig to keep it open. He has no girl, no discernible prospects, no way out. But he'll be fine.

He is Sonny Crawford (Timothy Bottoms), the centerpiece of Peter Bogdanovich's incredible film, The Last Picture Show (1971).

As Ma Joad says in The Grapes of Wrath (1940): But we keep a'comin'. We're the people that live. They can't wipe us out; they can't lick us. We'll go on forever, Pa, 'cause we're the people.

The Last Picture Show featured an extraordinary array of acting talent. Four of its cast members were nominated for Supporting Actor Oscars, two won. The winners were Cloris Leachman and Ben Johnson and the nominees Jeff Bridges and Ellen Burstyn. The cast also boasted Eileen Brennan, Cybil Shepherd, Randy Quaid, Clu Gulager and Sam Bottoms (Timothy's brother).

But Sonny is the character who proves the old adage that it's not what happens to us that is important, but how we respond to it. There is a conceit in this country that the ability to pick one's self up, dust one's self off and start all over again is a uniquely American quality. Or even that it is emblematic of hearty small town Americans. People in all parts of this country and the world as a whole have the ability to roll with the punches and take a knock down with being knocked out. In any case, Sonny personifies this quality.

But more than this Sonny is the type of character who dwells in many films and many actual towns and communities. Sonny lives within the eye of the storm. He is not endowed with special talents nor encumbered by debilitating defects of mind or body. No great deeds does he perform, no terrible crimes does he commit. But neither is he ordinary. Far from blending into the crowd, he seems to embody it.

Bogdanovich and Larry McMurtry wrote the screenplay based on McCurty's novel of the same name. The story is set in Nowheresville, Texas from November 1951 to October 1952. The year in the life of a town, specifically members of its high school senior class. Like many a small town there is little to do and what is done becomes everyone's business. Sonny's affair with the older woman (Leachman) goes from gossip to common knowledge in the blink of an eye. There is a lot of sleeping around in such towns, providing as it does a relief of boredom and the marriages that so many rush into in dull places. Marriage gives a sense of empowerment to the newlyweds and escape from stifling home lives. So that they may ultimately create their own stifling domestic atmosphere.

Ennui is the currency in such towns. Relief can be found for some in church, others require football games, booze or a roll in the hay. There is also the picture show. The town kingpin is Sam the Lion (Johnson) who owns the pool hall, cafe and aforementioned picture show. He is wise, kind, respected and has taken Sonny under his wing. Sonny in turn looks after Billy (Sam Bottoms) a younger lad who doesn't utter a word and is generally considered a dim wit. So yes, there's Sonny in the middle.

Sonny's best friend is handsome and popular Duane (Bridges) whose girlfriend is the town's beauty, Jacy (Shepherd). When they break up, Sonny is ultimately caught -- where else? -- in the middle.

He's been, essentially, in the middle of a marriage too. He's in the middle of a gang that enrages Sam by getting Billy laid by the town whore, who slaps poor Billy when he spills his seed all over her.

But Sonny, even when beaten up by Duane and smashed in the eye with a beer bottle, does not play the victim. People who fall easily into the victim role are boring and unproductive in stories and whatever the hell real life is. Sonny don't play that.

Sonny does nothing in broad strokes, like so many "characters." Sonny is no shrinking violet either. He is doer. He is always there. The best in the "common" person who knows good and well the meaning of the word quit, but is not a practitioner. And in ensemble film like The Last Picture Show he is indispensable. The strength of Bottoms' performance is that he is an evident figure whose resilience shines as other actors are appropriately spicier. He is the one who we, as an audience, our drawn to, unknowingly. Our sympathies lie with him because he is us. He is the center that our extremes gravitate to.

Sonny is the people and he keeps a comin'.

Professors in Film, The Good, The Great and the Wacky

2011-06-17T13:19:00.000-07:00

With school out and many of you done with college or preparing to head there or holding frond memories of your days at university, this seems an appropriate time to reflect on the academic center of college life -- the professor.

I had college professors who could have marketed themselves as non addictive cures for insomnia. It would be impossible for me to forget the prof who stated in the middle of a lecture that a rock communicates to us. He posited that by its failure to communicate it was in fact telling us that it could not communicate. The mind boggles.

Fortunately I also had professors who were at once thoroughly entertaining, enlightening and inspiring. To such an extent that I've become convinced that these three qualities are intertwined. Some of my professors were among the most influential people in my life and it was a privilege to be spell bound by them.

As a public school teacher I exhorted my young chargers to strive for admittance into a university. I contended that, while earning a degree was important, the real treat would be to learn and that in many cases they'd be doing so at the figurative feet of masterful teachers. This would not be the little dog and pony show that I put on. This would be enthralling lectures from experts in their fields.

Many professors, whether among the great or the pathetic, are what we call in this culture, "real characters." That is to say that they distinguish themselves from your ordinary Joe or Josephine with eccentric or dynamic behavior. They are thus ideal fodder for films. I humbly submit the following ten film characters as emblematic of the variety of interesting professors that show up in films. My only restriction was that those selected must have appeared in an outstanding movie. I am disappointed that no female characters made the list. I will not shoulder the blame for this, instead pointing out that even today females are under represented among tenured university faculty and this is reflected in films.

Alan Bates as Ben Butley in Butley (1974). Okay so he wasn't particularly keen on tutorials. His office was a reflection of his personal life, a mess. Still he was what they call a character. Passionate about...well himself, anyway. Interesting bloke and that's what you really want in a professor, eh?

Colin Firth as George in A Single Man (2009). I found the one lecture we got to witness of his quite interesting. Here's a man of obvious intellect, clearly well read and learned. Oh sure he's got a wondering eye and a weakness for some of his cuter students. Who's perfect?

Donald Sutherland as Dave Jennings in Animal House (1978). Perhaps possessive of some questionable morals what with the sleeping with a student , not to mention getting stoned with several students. But a compelling figure in front of the classroom and certainly able to relate to today's students.

Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981). Strongsuit: A sense of adventure. Weakness: Frequent absences. It's quite obvious from what little we see of him before a classroom that the chicks dig him. But most importantly, imagine the stories the guy could tell!

Richard Burton as George in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966). Okay so he's spineless in the face of his wife's rage. Okay so he's a bit of a lush. You hear that deep stentorian voice? I wanna hear him lecture.

Henry Fonda as Tommy Turner in The Male Animal (1942). A man of principal, a strong believer in academic freedom and allowing students to think for themselves. Unafraid of taking on the powers that be. Simply put one of the most commendable film professors ever.

Groucho Marx as Professor Quincy Adams Wagstaff in Horse Feathers (1932). I don't know about the rest of you lot but I like a teacher with a sense of humor. That being the case you can't possibly top Professor Wagstaff. I believe he had a PHd in madcap antics.

Michael Douglas as Professor Grady Tripp in Wonder Boys (2000). Another prof not above getting stoned with a student. Again we have an iconoclast. And again someone who gives favored students the personal touch. Plus with friends like Terry Crabtree (Robert Downey Jr.) he's going to be a hoot to hang out with.

Edward Everett Horton as Professor Nick Potter in Holiday (1938). How to describe him? How about whatever word is the antonym to pompous? Clearly a cerebral but fun-loving bloke. Anyone who influenced and was friends with Johnny Case (Cary Grant) is better than okay.

Michael Stuhlbarg as Larry Gopnik in A Serious Man (2009). I'm no good at any form of math but if I were to learn it, it would be at the feet of the likes of Gopnik. He is clearly a sincere and very nice man who is continually being dealt unfair blows by the fates. But like any good teacher he shows up every day. And oh yes, he's a man of integrity, no bribes will he take.

Thy Will Be Done, Malick's Tree of Life, With a Cast Including God

2011-06-15T18:06:00.000-07:00

Dear me.

There are films that try to say something. Try to be important. Aim for significance. There are earnest attempts to utilize cinema as a means of edifying and enlightening. Yes, there are ambitious film makers who seek to make films of high artistic merit. Then there's Terrance Malick's The Tree of Life.

With God appearing as himself, herself, self. At least I assume that was the real deal. Had me convinced.

There is within Tree of Life large spaces in which my mind wondered away to areas totally unrelated to the film or its themes. Then again when your theme is life itself I suppose its impossible to be off topic.

Tree of Life is not without stretches that will induce yawns from the most high brow intellectual on your block. But when a movie also has you contemplating parenthood, childhood, death, and the beginning of life on Earth...well, you can forgive the occasional slow stretch. For that matter, perhaps such breaks are needed. This is, after all, awfully heady fare.

Mundane details about the film include the fact that the "story" such as it is, is set in 1950's Waco, Texas, but also at the Big Bang, primordial ooze and present day and somewhere in between all places. Heaven? Brad Pitt is the stern father of three lads in their pre teens who walked right off of a Norman Rockwell painting. Jessica Chastain is the mom. I did not know her before but will not soon forget this amazing actress. Sean Penn is the present day incarnation of the oldest boy. His scenes, by the way, made little sense to me but were so rich with significance and beauty of some kind that I cannot explain, that I'll be making my own meaning of them.

Much of what happens in the film is garden variety growing up. But as told by Malick in the Tree of Life, we see that every move we make is rich with the meaning of life and our place in the universe. It really is.

Early in the film the mother's voice whispers (there is a lot of whispering voice over) that we can go the way of nature or the way of grace. Nature is an unforgiving master that giveth and taketh away. Grace however....

So there is yin and yang. There is God as a forever presence, but not of the Old Testament variety angrily imposing His will. There is a search for meaning and no easy answers to be found in a book. Discovery must come through the living and the asking. Through the developing and understanding of nature and grace. Journeys of self discovery, we see, take us to the roots of humankind and existence itself.

Yes it is all very deep. But Malick's gift is to provide us with a very rich stew that lies lightly as we digest it all. It is a film that does not require your imagination at all, just a mind opened to allowing come what may. Let the visions, the scenes, the symbols, the characters flow into your conscience. I do not know how on Earth the DVD will be divided into chapter. The Tree of Life is like a river.

I don't know if it takes remarkable courage to make such a film or just a conviction that one should aim big. Malick is clearly an ambitious director and that's not news. Would that there were more of his kind. And more movies that dared to be about the something.

Paris Texas is a Movie that Happens While We're Busy Making Other Plans

2011-06-11T18:32:00.000-07:00

I'm always shorter than people expect I'll be. Do I write or sound tall? Or taller, at least?
But I'm sturdy (hurdy gurdy) and deceptively strong. Like a tequila sunrise. But that's not what you're here for, is it? None of this is. You want the juice. The fix. My great con of film blogging. You want a hit of 100 proof Riku Writes movie prattle. The kind you can contemplate those long lonely nights in front of the flickering image....

He walks silent through the landscape of the film. Not a word is spoken for nearly half an hour of film time. Like a ghost. An angel. Spectral and gaunt. Kind of cool. King of spooky. His name is Travis (not Bickle) and he's played by Harry Dean Stanton in Paris, Texas (1984).

His square-dealing, straight-as-an-arrow, middle-class, suburban brother Walt (Dean Stockwell) retrieves him from the south Texas frontier – where he has collapsed – and takes him home. Home to L.A. and Walt's wife, who is French, and son – who is really the son of Travis.

It's a strange, moody, beautiful story. Wim Wenders directed and he's certainly strange and moody if not particularly beautiful.

I ran into this movie today. Smack dab into it. Like ramming my head into a low door jamb. Thud. But it didn't hurt. Felt kinda good, actually.

What do we make of Travis? He was gone for four years, and when he finally talks won't say where to or why that four-year gap exists. He's got a wife he's not seen in four years. Meanwhile their child Hunter has lived a little over half his life. With Walt and Ann.

You know what Travis does the first night in his brother's house? Not sleep. No, that's ordinary stuff. He polishes all the shoes in the house and lays 'em all out in order on the outdoor terrace. Because.

Travis and Hunter have some catching up to do but that's not going to be easy. One being not yet eight years old; the other being laconic. Probably should be laconic with a capital L. I'm just saying.

Walt, by the way, has his own company making and erecting billboards. Of course. Travis says he really likes his billboards. Walt points out that he's not the only person in the world makin' em. Cute!

Anyhoo, Travis is a tortured soul (not sole as in feet, let's not get carried away with the whole shoe business). I mean. he's been wondering or some damn thing for awhile now and has just re-emerged. He's no good-time Charley.

But ya know what he finally decides to do? Find the boy's mother. And to take the lad with him in the search. Why, that's kidnapping, you insist. Yeah, in real life, but this is a story. A parable even. Don't go all literal on it. Travis is just liable to walk off into the desert again like he kept trying to do at the beginning of the film. (Hey! I forgot to mention that the reason the movie is named Paris, Texas is cause Travis owns some property in said city, or town or whatever....Or maybe it's because Travis was conceived there, or...hell you decide for yourself. Truthfully, it might not be all that important, I don't know.)

Let's skip ahead shall we? There are some scenes I found really awkward. Such as when Travis is talking into the window-side of a window mirror (they call em two-way mirrors) but.... On the other side is his wife (Natasha Kinski). Eventually it goes from really awkward to quite beautiful and you just might be ready to sob or something. I don't know you so I can't say.

Then other stuff that seems suitable enough to the story happens and it ends. The film, I mean.

I really like the choices of how Paris, Texas begins and ends. I mean, where do you start a story and where do you say this is where we stop it? That's a tough decision. They got it right in this particular story (written by Sam Shepard). Where you start and end determines what's in the middle, if ya think about it. And it sure-fire colors how you view the whole story. Ultimately, it's better with some stories not to chop 'em up into pieces, chapters, parts. But look at them like a river. Just flows. Travis kinda flows through the story. There's a steadiness and relentlessness about him. I think.

I just think a lot about Travis. He's so meandering and purposeful – if that makes sense, but I don't guess it does and that's okay. How easy is it to always make sense to other people when you're describing art? I mean it's simple enough if you deal in trivialities and clichés. Maybe next time. Paris, Texas doesn't lend itself to trivialities or clichés. I like that in a movie. Don't you?

Travis is endless and indestructible. And oh so vulnerable. (Got it!)

But I was making a point about this Travis fella. He's lived, by God. Which means some really grand times and some pretty deep lows. (I don't trust a guy says he's had a nice smooth life. He's either a liar or an empty suit.) But ya know he don't just live in the angst. He walks through it. In it. Among it. Makes it poetic. I like that. I also like the way Wenders told this story. It's really pretty to look at for one thing. And the soundtrack works like a charm. I really like Stanton, of course, but I also really admire how Stockwell played the straight up and down counterpoint. You haven't got much of a film if the supporting players are just props and not like real, living people themselves.

I'm sure glad I didn't see this film until 27 years after its release. Cause today -- this day, this place, this mood -- I was ready for it. I got my plunk in the head and was seeing stars but it felt good and those stars was pretty.

You do your thing, Travis. You're alright.

Someone Should Write a Book About the Making of Zabriske Point (But Not Me)

2011-06-10T16:57:00.000-07:00

Someone should write a book about the making of Zabriskie Point (1970)
And its aftermath
But not me
Of course they'd probably have to watch the film
Several times
That's asking a lot
The great Italian director, Michelangelo Antonioni directed Zabriskie Point
You're right
It was not as good as L'Eclisse or L'Aventurra or La Notte
Or Red Desert
Or Blow Up
Hey not even in the same league
Was Zabriskie Point his low point as a director?
The person who writes the book might have an opinion
Strange film
Supposed to capture the spirit of revolution
Of the 1960's
Didn't
Even though Kathleen Cleaver (a real live Black Panther) was in it
And there was a cool opening scene with her and others
Talking about it (revolution)
There were protests and bombs and shootings too
In Zabriskie Point
But then it got weird,
Man
Maybe the book someone would write
But not me, like I said,

would focus a lot on the two main actors
Both of whom were lousy actors
First time actors
Almost last time actors
The woman dropped out of UC Berkeley to be in the film
(Go Bears!)
Her name was Daria Halprin
In fact it still is, for she yet lives
The dude was played by Mark Frechette
He does not yet live
He only lived another 5 years after the film
Died in prison
Was there for a bank robbery
Here's what he said about the robbery:
"There was no way to stop what was going to happen. We just reached the point where all that the three of us really wanted to do was hold up a bank. And besides, standing there with a gun, cleaning out a teller's cage - that's about as fuckin' honest as you can get, man!"
Told you someone should write a book about the making of Zabriskie Point
(But not me)
He died while lifting weights
150 pounds fell on his throat
Hey, this book practically writes itself!
Both Daria and Mark joined a commune
(In real life, not in the movie)
Which in itself is an interesting story
She was only in one other film
But did marry Dennis Hopper
She later founded the Tamalpa Institute
You probably didn't know that it, according to its website:
"Offers classes and workshops for the public throughout the year and a comprehensive training program in movement-based expressive arts education and therapy for people who wish to incorporate embodied creativity through the arts into their personal lives and professional practices..."
Now you know!
The book
(which I won't write)
could have a lot of interesting stuff about how Antonioni cast the film
(I mean Zabriskie Point, of course)
And the many hassles during production
Like people being really pissed off about it's anti American message
Right wing groups protesting
A grand jury investigating -- crazy man, crazy
Also stuff about how MGM tried to cut a lot of scenes from the film
Don't forget the about weird orgy scene
I should say the WEIRD orgy scene
(Actually, to be fair, can you make an orgy scene that seems totally normal?)
And the exploding stuff at the end
Which is actually pretty cool
And the fact that Rod Taylor and G.D. Spradlin were in it
Oh and the reaction to the film
The word mixed comes to mind but details please future author
(Who isn't me)
Not to mention the lives of the players afterwards

(Be sure to check out the You Tube clip I've posted)
Lot of the book
(which I reiterate, I won't write)
should be about Antonioni traveling around the U.S.
His "research" his whole thought process, or as much as can be told
Just as a film Zabriske Point...not so good
But as piece of radical 60's Americana, kind of interesting
As a story about particular people involved in a...let us say
wild and wooly project...really really interesting
Potentially fascinating
It would make a great book
(But not by me)

A Piece of My Mind (Not That I Can Spare It) About Four Recent News Stories

2011-06-07T17:25:00.000-07:00

Okay check out this headline: "Shooting That Killed 3-month-old was Case of Mistaken Identity, Police Say." I don't even know how to get my mind around this one. What, they killed the wrong infant? I don't mean to sound flippant about this but it is utterly mind blowing. Did someone say to the assassin afterwards "Not that three month old, ya dummy!" There's never a right anyone to kill -- but a baby? Not only do you kill a baby but it's the wrong one? I recall some of the lamentations of Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones) in No Country For Old Men (2007). As Ed Tom would say, you can't make this stuff up, I dare you to try. No, the baby wasn't really the target, the family with which he was in a car, was. Still the assailant killed a baby. By the way, there's been an arrest in the case. Of a 17 year old. For heaven's sake he was a baby not all that long ago himself. God have mercy on us all.

There was an opinion piece in Saturday's New York Times called When Teachers Talk Out of School. In sum it's about how some teachers have gotten in very hot water, even canned, for making disparaging comments about students on blogs, Facebook and the like. One first grade teacher likened her job to being a "warden" overseeing "future criminals." Another was suspended for referring to her high school students as “rude, disengaged, lazy whiners” and “frightfully dim.” Having been in the teaching biz for 20 odd years (and by God they were mostly quite odd) I can attest to the fact that teachers make these kind of comments to one another about their students all the time. All the time. But this well meaning Times story about cases of teacher's 1st Amendment Rights and how bad mouthing students isn't so covered, is a classic case of burying the lead. Why are teachers so continually frustrated and angered by their young charges? What social conditions are in place that make aberrant, rude and manic student behavior so common place? And where is the situation the worst? Urban schools? Are many of the offenders African American, or is poverty a more common link? Which teachers are more frustrated? White teachers? White teachers of Black students? What solutions are there to this very serious, very real social problem? Just for starters I'd say getting rid of standardized testing and focusing on the daily discipline issues that stunt education is for more critical than the sideshow of what teachers say and where the venting takes place.

Speaking of distractions...How about the whole Anthony Weiner crotch photos story? First of all I'd like to address my fellow males: Seriously, stop sending pictures of your (fill in one of various synonyms for penis here) to women. It is utterly infantile and you're giving us all a bad name. Any woman who's interested in such a photo is surely someone you should steer clear of anyway. Second of all to everyone, but of course mostly men, if you do something incredibly stupid and get caught you've got an immediate decision to make that you need to stick with. Either confess all immediately or deny until your dying breath. As they say in 12 step programs, half measures avail us nothing. The lie, the cover up, is usually worse than the deed. But really what's most important to me about the (seriously there is no pun intended) Weiner story, is that it's not that important. Good God the media spends (wastes) way too much time on sex scandals, divorces, affairs and drunken rampages. They are rarely very significant stories and those that are get way more play than they deserve. How about spending half the time you do on story's like Weiner's groin pic on the criminal manner in which corporations, big business and super wealthy individuals get around paying tens of millions of dollars in taxes -- every f*cking year. That's just one of the kind of stories that gets neglected while the sexy stuff is spread out all over TV and the web. Shameful.

I close with the lighter side of the news. Those running jokes, Sarah Palin and Michelle Bachman, made the news with their unique interpretations of two events in U.S. history. Palin said this of Paul Revere's famous ride: He who warned, uh, the British that they weren’t going to be taking away our arms – uh - by ringing those bells and – um - makin’ sure as he’s riding his horse through town to send those warnin’ shots and bells that – uh - we were going to be secure and we were going to be free. Hey, at least she had the right war. As any school kid knows, Revere was alerting the rebels, not the Brits. And this from Bachman: What I love about New Hampshire and what we have in common is our extreme love for liberty. Your the state where the shot was heard around the world in Lexington and Concord. Boy the tourist industry in Massachusetts has some nerve claiming those battles happened in their state. I know comics everywhere hope these two towering intellects will stay in the presidential race long past their expiration dates. Priceless.

Better Than Noon in Tulsa -- Woody's Back!

2011-06-05T20:58:00.000-07:00

Passion is real. Romance, maybe. Time travel, sadly not.

I've loved this guy since I was a kid and he was a comic. When he started directing, I instantly adored his films, and not just his earlier funnier ones. When he got serious I was on board. He writes them, directs them, occasionally appears them. He is Woody Allen and his latest film is Midnight in Paris. I believe it will be my favorite of his works from the last 20 years. Tres, tres bien.

The main character, Gil (Owen Wilson) is a writer who loves Paris and romanticizes the past, particularly Paris in the Twenties. Buddy, that's me all over. But this lucky stiff gets to visit that magical era which saw the Lost Generation write and compose and drink and cavort and talk in the City of Lights.

Thus the cast of characters in Woody's 41st feature film includes Hemingway and Fitzergald (love those guys) and Picasso (I'm a fan) Cole Porter (dig him) and Luis Bunuel (I've just started watching and loving his films!). There's also Salvador Dali, Gertrude Stein, Alice B. Toklas and the wild and wacky Zelda Fitzgerald.

Folks, the casting was perfect. Kathy Bates, for one, was born to play Stein. Casting familiar historical figures is a dicey proposition as its go easy to go wrong (Gwen Stefani as Jean Harlow in the Aviator anyone) but Allen and his crew nailed it and the actors came through marvelously.

On the subject of the cast, Marion Cotillard is utterly enchanting and Rachael McAdams and Michael Sheen play less than desirable folks to perfection. Oh yes, you also get Carla Bruni whose real life husband is some big mucky muck in France. As Porter might croon: Midnight in Paris is dee-lightful and dee-lovely. Hey, how can a movie set in Paris not be?

Question: is love a real, tangible experience, or is it a name we've given to feelings that are ultimately incomprehensible and ethereal? And if it is real how can we be sure that an individual experience of it is genuine and not just a desire to let ourselves go into a feeling? Movies have done a lot playing with love. Distorting, simplifying, trivializing. The instant and forever love of cinema is more a convenience for storytelling than something we're likely to experience.

Then there is love of a place. Many of us, for instance, have fallen in love with Paris. It is like a lover who is both the most beautiful and the wisest we've ever met. It's impossible to conceive of a better one. Places are less likely to let us down then people. Cities like Paris, with a reverence for the past and the vibrancy of modern times, are a good example of why this is so.

There is also a love of past eras, usually in particular places. Some people feel they were born in the wrong time period. They are being silly. I should say, we are being silly. But rationality in the face of love is to be assiduously avoided. We're not very well going to go back to those times so its a pretty harmless conceit.

I cannot adequately express my great frustration that I cannot time travel. This missing skill set has frustrated me all my life. Reading about Paris or Berlin in the Twenties is like reading about sex. It cannot compare with the real thing. We are left to rely on our imaginations. Artists like Woody Allen are a great help.

Midnight in Paris addresses love in its many forms. The longing in particular. For a person a city or an era. And our powerlessness in the face of love. We are so often at the mercy of fate or, even worse, another person, if we are to fully realize the object of our desire. But it also explores the notion of belief and surrendering to that belief. That's powerful stuff. You'll see if you see the movie, see.

What a great fortune to live here and now and to be able to see really special films like Midnight in Paris. I'm sure I'm not alone in feeling it was made specifically for me. (Woody: How did you know?) I now can't wait to get back to Paris. I want to re-read all my Hemingway and Fitzgerald and continue watching Bunuel films. I want to live here and now where movies can speak to me, can validate FEELINGS and move me to respond to the inner artist.

As to a plot summary of Midnight in Paris...haven't I told you enough? I don't think too much, little more than I knew going in. See for yourself. Maybe you'll find love.

(This post is dedicated to my wife with whom I saw Midnight in Paris and with whom I'd like to spend many midnights in Paris...reading Hemingway and listening to Cole Porter and....)

Films That Exist Outside of Themselves, Such as Vivre Sa Vie

2011-06-03T16:59:00.000-07:00

These are the words I'm going to use to start this post. They sprung organically from my brain and appear here unedited. I'll not go back and change them. I did not plan what I was going to write. Stream of consciousness blogging. I've done it before. You get a sentence in your head and then...blast off.

Vivre Sa Vie (1962) begins with the camera focused on a woman's face in profile. Some music is playing. Then it stops. Then the woman is facing the camera. The music starts and stops again. It is the face of the main character of the film (Nana) played by Anna Karina, then 22 years old. She is quite fetching. Her face is a prominent feature of this film directed by her then lover, Jean Luc Godard.

When the credits finish we see the woman at the counter of a cafe talking with a man. But we see them from behind. There is a lot of natural ambient cafe noise in the background. This is just the first of several scenes in cafes in which there is a lot of such background sound. It is never disruptive, instead giving the film a natural feel.

Vivre Sa Vie is a film that rode the crest of the New Wave of French cinema. It assiduously avoided cliche. Unusual circumstances, like a gangland slaying, are part of a natural tapestry of life told in soft focus black and white. There is the unusual. Like 12 chapter titles cryptically foretelling future events. There is also a spontaneous amateur solo dance number performed by Nana, reminiscent of a similar scene a later Godard film, Band of Outsiders (1964). In both cases a jukebox provides the soundtrack.

There is also a very matter of fact detailing of the life of Paris prostitute, a profession that Nana joins. It is told in the form of a Q and A between Nana and her pimp-to-be. The fact of prostitution is shown without judgment. It is not sorted, glamorous or immoral. It just is. Things are like that.

We also follow Nana into a movie theater where she watches Carl Dreyer's The Passion of Joan of Arc (1928). It is a tribute to that silent classic. It is a tribute to the faces oftwo actresses: Karina and Maria Falconetti (Joan). Whether it pertains to the story of Nana is a topic open to the interpretation of the viewer. Similarly there is a cafe scene in which Nana has a long philosophical chat with an old man who is in fact, according to the credits, the philosopher. Here's an example of their conversation:

Nana - Shouldn't love be the only truth? The Philosopher - For that, love would always have to be true. It fits in with the rest of the story in that anything can happen in life and often does.

There is an ending to Vivre Sa Vie that can be viewed by turns as fitting, depressing or merely there. I see it as the third of those options. This is not strictly speaking a movie that finishes its story off. Many great films don't end in our minds, they exist outside of the silver screen, or TV screen or computer screen. I do not refer here to the phenomenon of memorable moments or scenes or lines in movies. I instead speak to the manner in which some movies go on living in our heads after we've seen them. They have asked questions of us or presented ideas that ask our further exploration. Movies that breath.

A movie like Vivre Sa Vie is a party that is always there. It is a meaningful discussion that we can pick up again later. It is that painting we keep coming back to. The poem we read over and over again.

Godard made several films, likes this one, that I love dearly. He's made others that I thought stunk to the heavens. It happens. When his films work -- for me -- they are sincere efforts at being casual. Robust joy done cooly. They have faces (you always must have faces). And a face doesn't get much better than Karina's. It's not just beautiful (those eyes!) but expressive. Even when in complete repose. But the best example of "the face" is the scene in which she's being interrogated by the police, it's as if she is the only person you've ever cared about it.

These types of films that Godard made have stayed made. And we live with them, happily ever after....

Life is Full of Pain and Suffering But The Best in Cinema Offers Help

2011-05-31T22:03:00.000-07:00

God there's a lot of pain associated with living. There's everything from existential angst to constipation. Various forms of misery afflict even the luckiest, healthiest and happiest among us. Some people often say "it's always something." Actually it isn't "always" but often enough it is something. How some of us dodge the worst of it most of our lives is nothing short of a miracle.

There's so much beauty and so much joy and so many truths to be unlocked and so many divine moments of clarity to savor. But there's also a seemingly inordinate amount of horror that surrounds us. There are some people who can wallow in their ignorance and indifference and pretend that everything is fine. But a lot of us are keenly aware, perhaps too keenly, that senseless violence and unimaginable suffering are everywhere. At any moment we could become the victim mentioned in tomorrow morning's newspaper. The innocent bystander struck down. What is that officials always says at such moments? "We are deeply saddened by this senseless tragedy." Here's an example:

Guilty verdict in slaying of slow escalator rider

Jaxon Van Derbeken, Chronicle Staff Writer

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

(05-31) 17:09 PDT SAN FRANCISCO -- A San Francisco jury convicted a 19-year-old man of second-degree murder Tuesday for fatally shooting a man at the Metreon complex after complaining he was clogging an escalator.
Christopher Canon, of San Francisco, was 15 at the time of the Nov. 11, 2007, killing of 18-year-old Michael Price Jr. of Oakland, and was charged as an adult. He faces a sentence of 40 years to life.
Assistant District Attorney Kin Tong said Canon shot Price four times with a handgun after the two argued over whether Price was moving too slowly on the escalator.
An earlier trial ended with the jury hung between first- and second-degree murder.
Canon's attorney, David Simerly, argued that video taken by a security camera at the shopping and entertainment complex at Fourth and Mission streets showed that Price had been the aggressor in the dispute. He said Canon had simply been defending himself.
"He's not standing there, he's attacking," Simerly said of Price.
Simerly also argued that Canon had been too young at the time of the crime to understand the consequences of his actions and be guilty of murder.
"It's just wrong, massively wrong," Simerly said of the verdict. "I'm stunned."
Sentencing is scheduled for July 8 before Superior Court Judge Anne-Christine Massullo.

Two lives over and done with. Not to mention the effect on their families and friends. It's the type of event that scars the survivors.

Last week a 15 year old girl rode her bike to near the Golden Gate Bridge. She parked her bike, walked to the bridge and the leapt to her death. I defy you to make sense out of that to her family and friends.

The world at times seems utterly insane. Not only do people go around beating and shooting each other, they verbally assault and threaten one another. Some people do it as a matter of course. Meanwhile many of our more privileged citizenry live for the pursuit of more. More than they need. More wealth. More power. Greed run amuck. Some have even made a virtue of greed, which by its very definition is the selfish desire for excess. This while turning to a deaf ear to social problems that are the brew in so much pain.

It's easy for me to pontificate from the safety of a blog. I'm sitting here at the computer in my nice comfortable house in a nice neighborhood with nice music playing on my nice stereo while I type. Don't think I don't realize how fortunate I am. I've spent over 20 years in urban public schools and understand just how much fortune has smiled upon me. I never take that for granted. I also know good and well that it can all come crashing down in a second. I had a friend my age who was as healthy as me and far more productive who was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Two years later he was dead. There's have been about a dozen former students of mine who were killed by gunfire before turning 25.

But the older I get the less sense I can make of some of what I see, know and hear of. I know I'm not the only one who's frustrated with the way the world is today. Sometimes it makes me angry. I'm pretty good about keeping it from depressing me but it can still give me a short term case of melancholia.

Since this is a film blog I'll finally get around to saying how much solace I get from movies. A good film can be a rich source of the joy, truth, beauty and even the divine I earlier referred to. For some, films are a kind of escape. I suppose that's the case for me as well but I like to think that I'm not escaping life's realities so much as I am immersing myself in them. However through film I am experiencing in a way that is at once less harmful because it is fictional but is also more illuminating as it provides insight and understanding into the human condition. A film can allow us to experience an emotion in life, a condition, an event or a perspective. We see the world in a different often clearer way through the way the story is told. This allows us to attach meaning to certain realities and come to peace with them or appreciate them.

A love of art and literature in various forms can inform our world view. I've made a serious and somewhat successful effort this calendar year to radically scale back the amount of TV I watch. I now find that over indulging in TV leaves me, if not exactly depressed, empty. Meanwhile movies and books are nutritious and filling. While TV seems to caught me off from thinking, art and literature are stimulants. So too are exercise and meditation. Television tends to de-sensitize us.

One truth that I've become aware of is that the more I learn about any given subject the less I understand. When I taught history I always noticed that when I asked for questions, the best and brightest of my students would have many and those who, for whatever reason, struggled, had none or only the most elementary kind. If you delve into any subject, be it academic, spiritual or philosophical, you'll find exponentially more questions for all the answers you find. That does not make the seeking of answers any less rewarding, quite the contrary. The journey is more important than the destination.

So I'm spending some time these days struggling with why tragedy and misfortune afflict so many of us in such various forms. I've found a lot of what I'm looking for in films. Ingmar Bergman gives one a lot to ponder and I've been pouring through his films since last Fall. I've more recently been exploring Rainer Fassbinder and Michelangelo Antonioni. Last night I enjoyed another Italian director Ermanno Olmi's fantastic film, I Fidanzati (1962). Olmi is better known for Il Posto (1961) but I Fidanzati is, in my mind, every bit its equal. Olmi is foremost a documentarian and brings a strong sense of realism to his fictional work. Like Antonioni and Bergman, Olmi creates compelling stories out of ordinary human drama. They are films that are invitations into character's lives and are photographed (beautifully) in such a way as to allow us to fill in meanings.

Such films can make us more mindful of ourselves and our world. They are clues to unsolvable mysteries. But it is the pursuit of answers that we are enriched, not in a full sense of discovery.

While we cannot begin to solve the woes that plague humankind, we can increase our understanding and insights. We can make our own lot, and that of those around us, more comfortable and meaningful. We can set examples for one another on living productively and happily together. We can find solutions to some vexing problems and share them. We can move forward. To shoot. To jump off a bridge. To give up. To vegetate in front of the TV. All are forms of defeat. But to progress is the greatest good we can do for ourselves and others.

Films can play a part. Yes, they can be diversions, but at a deeper level films can, as a form of art, bring us closer to truths.

"The Traces of Humanity in Men..." Scorsese on Antonioni's L'Eclisse

2011-05-28T20:59:00.000-07:00

I recently saw Antonioni's L'Eclisse (1962) and was profoundly moved by it. In the above clip Martin Scorsese discusses the film, particularly the ending. L'Elcisse stars Monica Vitti and Alain Delon.

This is unconventional story-telling, leaving, as it does, so much space. L'Eclisse is wonderfully uncluttered with dialogue or traditional plot points. It is an invitation into a time and place among a few characters. This is a film that is as beautiful as its two co-stars.

Scorsese's discussion highlights much of what is so special about L'Eclisse.

Movies You May Not Have Seen That I'd Like to Recommend

2011-05-26T19:30:00.000-07:00

Any idiot can recommend a classic or well-known film to watch. Being any idiot myself I've done it dozens of times. But I'd like to step out of my usual idiot role and suggest some movies you are less likely to have seen.

I've selected ten movies, all from different decades with different directors and different stars. None are exactly obscure, but none are regulars on favorite movie lists or are considered classics. Also, all are available on DVD. Most importantly, they're all damn good films that will have appeal to most discerning viewers, and some of you undiscerning viewers as well.

The Circus (1928). Of Charlie Chaplin's later silent era films, this is the one that gets lost in the shuffle. Many who've seen it compare it favorably with The Gold Rush (1925) and a few even prefer it. One would assume that the Little Tramp set loose in a circus would be a recipe for hilarity. One would be correct in this assumption. There is romance, there are chases, there is pathos, the usual Chaplin fare and its all too good for you to have missed it.

The Mayor of Hell (1933). A favorite topic of pre code films like this one was social injustices. In this instance the victimization of the young is explored. James Cagney plays that rare combination of gangster and social crusader, the latter quite by accident. He finds himself in charge of a reform school and gains an interest in it when he falls for the school's activist nurse. In opposition to the corrupt head of the school, our hero supports a program of reform where the inmates run the asylum (to great effect, mind you). Complications ensue. There's a lot going on in this 90 minute film: intrigue, romance and melodrama aplenty. Archie Mayo directed and did a fine job.

The Long Voyage Home (1940). John Ford cranked out a couple of dozen or so excellent films so its no surprise this one is often forgotten. While many of his usual cast including John Wayne is aboard (as a Swede!) this time the setting is a ship rather than the Old West. I only discovered TLVH a year ago and fell head over heels. The opening scene, sans dialogue for a full five minutes, is positively mesmerizing and will suck you into an captivating film. As the son and brother of one-time merchant marines I appreciated its depiction of the sea faring life. You will too.

Sudden Fear (1952). Somebody named David Miller directed this largely forgotten noir. 1952 was when Hollywood was cranking out noirs and here again we have a case of movie that gets overlooked among others of its type. Joan Crawford stars as a newlywed whose younger husband (Jack Palance) is conspiring to off her, with the help of his mistress (Gloria Grahame). The streets of San Francisco are beautifully utilized in the telling of this suspenseful tale. You haven't seen it, have you? Give it a shot, thank me later.

Ride the High Country (1962). A Sam Peckinpah Western before the blood started spewing. This is one of my all time favorites. Joel McCrea and Randolph Scott were aging actors playing aging lawmen at cross purposes as they set out to transport gold through dangerous country. Along the way they are side tracked by a mission to rescue a girl held by some of the nastier villains in filmdom. Mariette Hartley is positively sumptuous as the girl. McCrea and Scott were getting on in years but were in peak form and Peckinpah was as good here as he'd ever be. Here's what I wrote about RTHC a few years ago.

The Friends of Eddie Coyle (1973). With friends like Eddie's got, who needs enemies. Am I right? You wouldn't know if you're among the many who've missed this fine film from director Peter Yates (best known for Bullitt (1968)). Robert Mitchum was, in my opinion, never better than in this performance as the title character, a career criminal looking to avoid another stretch in stir by ratting out his friends. Do they know? Will they "take him out"? It's a superbly told story with many subtleties and strong performances all around. They were making a lot of really good films in the 1970's and this was one of them.

Local Hero (1983). Question: did Burt Lancaster and Peter Reigert ever co-star in a quirky comedy set in Houston Texas and Northern Scotland? Answer: yes and this is it. Local Hero is a criminally neglected film that I couldn't recommend more. Reigert is an American Oil company employee sent to Scotland to buy a village. He falls in love. With the village. His boss, Lancaster, eventually joins him. He too falls in love. And you'll fall in love if you wisely decide to watch Local Hero. Kudos to director Bill Forsyth.

A Bronx Tale (1993). Okay, you've probably seen this one but in case you haven't....Robert DeNiro directed and co-stars along with Chazz Palminteri and Lilo Brancato (who's been in a spot of bother with the law of late). The film is based on Palminteri's play of the same which is based on his childhood experiences. Brancato plays a young man torn between his honest hard-working bus driver father (DeNiro) and the local crime boss (Palminteri). Oh yes, he also falls for an African American schoolmate in a time when such a romance in that area was a no-no. One of the better film scripts ever in a memorable film that every young person in America should see. For that matter youngsters of other countries should see it to as well as us old fogeys.

Notes on a Scandal (2006). Master classes in acting by Cate Blanchett, Judi Dench and Bill Nighy highlight Notes. It is the powerful story of an older teacher (Dench) who befriends a younger married teacher (Blanchett). There's something rather creepy about the older woman and the manner in which she ingratiates herself into her new friend's family. Matters take a dramatic turn when Blanchett's character has an affair -- with a student. Egads! Nighy plays the cuckolded husband. It is a powerful and memorable film. NOAS received four Oscar nominations but won none. Typical.

The American (2010). Only recently in theaters but missed by many. It was a George Clooney vehicle that did not appeal to the masses. The American calls to mind French thrillers of the 1960's in that it was more about characters than action. There is a leisurely pace to this story about a hitman (Clooney) in a small Italian town who finds romance. I thought Clooney was particularly good as a suave but mostly silent, ruminative and meticulous craftsman. His craft was killing, but still.... Italian actress Violante Placido was enchanting as the love interest. Anton Corbjin, from Holland directed.

I Come Clean About Recent Lies I've Told

2011-05-23T19:04:00.000-07:00

Like everyone else I've been known to stretch the truth (that's a euphemism for uttering a falsehood). I've tried over the years to cut down radically on fibbing but there are some situations which practically cry out for a prevarication.

My conscience has been nagging me so I've decided to offer this form of confessional. I'm omitting any mention of the circumstances or who was on the receiving end of the fib. But here they are, lies I've told so far this calendar year. I'm truly sorry for each and every one. No, really.

I already made a donation online.

It was nice meeting you.

I am a retired colonel.

Not only does that dress not make you look fat, you actually look thinner!

I have a background in musical theater.

I appreciate your feedback.

No, I've never actually seen a full episode of Scooby-Doo.

I'd love to get together for lunch sometime.

You look great!

I have classical training.

No, dear, I'm not looking at pictures of Pippa Middleton on the internet.

I am a National Merit Scholar.

If I'm guilty of anything it's of loving you too much.

Those lima beans were delicious!

Martin Scorsese wants me to write his next film.

I did not eat the last cookie!

If there's anything I can do, let me know, I'd love to help.

Of course it's real, I'd never sell anything phony.

I would never lie to you.

I read your blog religiously.

It was great talking to you.

While I am indeed happy to see you that is a banana in my pants.

Sorry I'm late I had to go down to the morgue and identify a body.

Viridiana: A Film About Which I Don't Know What to Say But Will Say it Anyway

2011-05-21T22:58:00.000-07:00

The key to life is to be happy. To seek your shining light. Find whatever meaning you like along the way, but make every effort to discover and spread joy whenever possible.

I've really got to say something. I've just watched this amazing film and right here is this film blog. So naturally I feel obliged to write about it.

It's not easy when you're in the "wow!" phase of having just witnessed something special. You want to process what you've seen and how you feel. Moments, images, scenes, characters, meanings, illusions, allusions maybe even the Aleutians are all swirling around. How then to translate all that into words? Coherent ones in sentences within paragraphs within a theme.

Writing or telling about something wonderful isn't obligatory of course, but it can be a good exercise. It can help you understand how you feel, what moves you and why. Movies are better suited to such occasional discipline because they contain an inherent structure which includes a story and characters. Much is subject to our interpretation and much is clear to one and all. Still in writing about an experience with a film we sometimes face the difficulty of exposure. Digging into ourselves and then sharing what we find. It can seem personal and as in this case for me, it can be difficult to find words for.

Luis Bunuel's Viridiana (1961) is about a prospective nun, the title character, who before taking her final vows that will cut her off from the "outside world" for the rest of her days, pays Uncle a visit. Turns out she bears a striking resemblance to Uncle's late wife, very late as she died on their wedding night. Suffice to say that Uncle (Fernando Rey) becomes obsessed and weirdness ensues. It won't surprise you to learn that Viridiana (Silvia Pinal) never returns to the convent.

Indeed she doesn't leave Uncle's estate. Viridiana does not suffer a crisis of faith. There is a trauma the result of which is that she decides to serve God as a free agent. This primarily consists of providing shelter for the nearby town's homeless and unwashed. Meanwhile the Uncle's son moves in with his girlfriend and....

But you see I'm getting caught up with details. While these details are constructed masterfully by Bunuel (subversively, according to some) to create deeper meanings, they aren't for me to parcel out any further.

Viridiana the character is eminently watchable and both admirable and beautiful, not to mention consistent to her own truths. She is the strong moral center. And yet, Viridiana the film is not kind to Catholicism. But Bunuel was an equal opportunity satirist. He took on anyone with two legs and any group that consisted of humans (I don't know, maybe he had a go at critters in one of his film's too).

Bunuel's camera lingers on feet (you read that right) a few times early in the film. Fetishism perhaps, but also some what I saw as surrealistic foreshadowing (you read that right too). Viridiana is quite intentionally subject to interpretation, a classic example being the famous Last Supper shot (see photo above) at the beggar's banquet. And about that banquet.....What a scene. Lord of the Flies for adults, society's debris loose in the mansion without supervision. Havoc.

Viridiana is yet another unassailable argument on behalf of the beauty of black and white cinema photography as well as a pat on the back to the restorative powers of the good people at Criterion. But mostly it is a testimony to Bunuel, the director and writer of the film. He did the audacious, the scandalous the subversive and made art of it. Viridiana was made and then banned in his native Spain, not seen there until the death of Franco in 1975. Not surprisingly the Catholic church had a hissy fit over the film.

Such is art. It can take people out of their comfort zone and present them with a story and a kind of story telling that is uncomfortable. Light is shined on truths many would rather keep in the dark. For the rest of us, the fact that, in the case of Viridiana, a ruckus was kicked up 50 years ago, is an amusing sidebar.

I've meandered about in trying to say something about this wonderful film, not really scratching the surface of how I reacted to it. Let me try this: through its presentation of a story about a straight forward person in extraordinary circumstances surrounded by unusual characters and by choosing to focus on unique elements of the story, Viridiana was to me a moving cinematic experience. I highly recommend it.

There.

The Zen of Naked Running

2011-05-18T17:54:00.000-07:00

It's anti multi-tasking. When I go to the local YMCA and board the tread mill, I do so sans IPod or newspaper and with the TV screen on the off position. I just run.

I realize this sounds strange, but sometimes I like to do just one thing at a time. Like meditating. I don't check my email, listen to music or run errands, I just meditate.

We have a lot of options today. It is possible to be on the computer with two, three windows open at a time and have the TV on and be talking on the phone too. People today text while doing pretty much anything. People are busy and have no patience with just walking or talking or listening or washing or reading or running. Someone, I'm sure, would like to figure out how to get something else done while sleeping.

This can't be healthy.

You notice how when you get to sporting events there's always something going on during any stop in play? At a hockey game the second the whistle blows rock music blares over the PA system. Between innings at baseball games there are all manner of visuals and sounds emanating from the gigantic scoreboard. There's contests, kiss cams, blooper reels, sing-alongs. We can't just sit and talk or contemplate. Our senses need to be occupied at all times. Who decided this? Does some Big Brother not want us to engage with each other?

Not long ago if you arrived early to a movie theater you could sit and chat with your companion or, if alone, read. Now many theaters have adds running continuously, some even disguised as informational programming.

Young people today have a very difficult time focusing (ask any school teacher). A discussion on one topic is not stimulating enough. Teachers have to integrate modern technology into their lessons to keep young minds from drifting and trouble from brewing. Movies for young people are geared to shorter than ever attention spans. Scenes are short and action is quick. Emphasis is on visuals with the story line and dialogue merely an accompaniment.

Could it be this makes us less mindful? Less sensitive? Less able to really listen to one another and to express ideas? Surely with information and images so readily and quickly accessible, people are far less patient. Minds can't sit still.

Yesterday when I was on the treadmill the guy next to me had the TV on (what genius decided people needed something else to do while exercising?) he was watching the screen but listening to music from his IPod. He didn't seem to be working up a sweat. I only noticed him once I got on my machine. Then I ran. And thought. I thought about everything and nothing. I also became aware of my running. As a seeming paradox to this I soon was oblivious to my running, I was just doing it. About nine minutes in I began to sweat. At various times I was aware of different parts of my body. Sometimes because of a momentary ache or pain. I felt a side ache for a time. Then didn't. I grew quite tired and drenched in sweat. It was wonderful. I was my running.

After 35 minutes I was done. I took a short stroll around the gym to catch my breath then returned to the treadmill and ran another ten minutes. It was the same sort of feeling one gets from jumping back into the swimming pool after having been out for a few minutes.

I used to get a lovely jolt of post exercise endorphins that was a true natural high. Now I get that and a feeling of invincibility, like I've just bathed in the fountain of youth. I can't imagine sullying the whole experience with some sort of external stimuli.

Recently at the ballpark I had a nice long chat about running with my good buddy Paul who is one of the country's top senior runners. As a life long runner he also runs old school. In fact he asserts that music pumping into your ears and perforce your brain is not good for your body as it cuts of message being sent from body to brain. Paul also extols the benefits of, shall we say, natural running, to the mind and spirit. I actually don't think of Paul as a runner as if it were something he did on the side. It would be like thinking of him as someone with two ears. He is his running. I am sometime. He has melded mind, spirit and motion into his being. You can't do that while reading the box scores or updating your facebook page.

Oldest daughter has a friend who runs ten miles every other day and claims that she can't run without music. There is, of course, a difference between can't and won't. Anthropologists have uncovered evidence of ancient civilizations where people ran in the times before portable music even existed. (True many an ancient Greek runner would be accompanied on marathons by a flautist who would run along side him playing directly into said runner's ear. But not everyone could afford that.)

I realize that my little diatribe will have somewhere between little and no influence on readers who currently exercise the new fashioned way. But I would urge people to consider conducting as many of their more enjoyable affairs single mindedly. Sure if you're doing unpleasant chores or, God forbid, work, you might be trying to kill two birds with one stone. But when engaging in a pleasurable activity such as listening to music, recreational reading or running, staying focused and appreciating that moment can be highly beneficial. Actually hear the different notes in the song. Appreciate how the author constructed sentences. Feel your body pushing itself and reaching new levels of endurance.

It's good for you.

Blessed Are the Peacemakers

2011-05-15T18:48:00.000-07:00

The world is a dangerous place fraught with peril as humans attack, beat, main and kill other humans in an endless series of wars and reprisals. Nations and individuals flex their power and boast of their ability to handle themselves in a fight. In virtually all cultures violence remains an acceptable answer to violence. Human evolution has been unable to stem the primal acceptance, even the embrace, of kicking ass and taking names.

While soldiers, fighters and their exploits are celebrated, there are pockets of non violent resistance to the notion that might makes right. Some who call for peace -- damn the costs -- are even members of religions that have and still do perpetuate bloodshed in the name of God. In their purest forms, Christianity and Islam, to name two, extol the virtues of peace and love.

Both religions have been twisted to the point of deformity by fundamentalist factions that stray from true principles and wreak havoc. They are blasphemers of the worst sort.

These issues resonated to me throughout the French film Of Gods and Men (2010), which I saw today. A group of eight Trappist Monks, living in an impoverished part of Algeria are threatened by the growing local presence of Islamist terrorists. They must decide whether to stay, return to France, or perhaps find a temporary safe haven. Most of the film concerns itself with that question.

So imagine a movie about an octet of monks who serve a local community. We see them interacting with the locals -- including the local Muslim clerics -- always in positive ways, especially in providing medical help. We also see the monks at prayer, worship meals, tending their garden and carrying out chores. We also watch them discuss and pray about the central decision of whether they should stay. Director Xavier Beauvois has made an appropriately slow, methodical film that perfectly befits the subject matter and story line. I found it totally compelling.

There was a purity, simplicity and honesty about the men that is utterly refreshing. They are true to themselves, to one another and most importantly their faith. These are men who feel that they have been called to a duty -- by God, no less. This piety provides the framework for their lives and the decisions that they make within it.

Of Gods and Men respects the Algerians as well as the monks and acknowledges the terrible cost of French colonialism to and the consequent blowback. It does not flinch from a few quite necessary scenes of violence. The terrorists and the soldiers are not cartoon characters but men carrying out their own missions as they see them. Fully armed of course.

Beauvois has done two things that are common to many great films: he has focused on the faces of people and taken full advantage of expansive scenery. He has allowed the movie to breath.

There is a certain inevitability to decisions and consequences in Of Gods and Men, which is based on an actual incident in 1996. But the journey in the film is what's most interesting. It is a profound statement about men of peace who, while following God's laws, must, through God's guidance, make their own decisions. I can attest to the fact that you need not be a deeply, or even barely, religious person, to appreciate the film.

I hope against all reason that a lot of people will see it in the U.S. (it has won numerous awards, including at Cannes, BAFTA and the European Film Awards). I further hope, again against all odds, that it will further the notion that peace deserves a chance.

Film Blogger Appreciation Week is Coming!!!!

2011-05-13T20:20:00.000-07:00

Pictured are the official spokes models of Film Blogger Appreciation Week. Left to right Anne Hathaway, Penelope Cruz and Megan Fox.

Friday May 20 is the first day of the first annual Film Blogger Appreciation Week. This will be a week long celebration of film bloggers who, by their diligence, brilliance, creativity, wit and courage, make the planet Earth a fit place to live.

Imagine a world without film bloggers. It would be a barren hellscape resembling a post apocalyptic zombie-ruled planet. The rivers would flow with blood.*

Thankfully film bloggers are very much a part of and largely responsible for the flourishing, happy Eden that we all live in.**

The edict declaring May 20-26 Film Blogger Appreciation Week was passed unanimously by both houses of the United States Congress (he made that bit up). It was further endorsed by the United Nations (not strictly speaking true) and NATO (again, this is a lie). Proclamations supporting Film Blogger Appreciation Week were also endorsed by Al Qaedea just prior to Osama Bin Laden's death (not really), the British House of Lords (never happened), The Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences (total fabrication), the National Aeronautics and Space Administration (he's just being silly), the International Society of Aboriculture (doubt it) and Amnesty International (oh, please).

Do your bit to honor a film blogger. Take one to lunch or dinner or send a card or give a gift. Better yet, send a film blogger a large amount of money. At least send one a DVD. Write your favorite film blogger and ask what he or she or I want. Give as much as you can. More even. Just think of the invaluable contribution film bloggers make to creating a happier, better universe.

Spread the word Film Blogger Appreciation Week is coming!!!!

* That's a gross exaggeration
** Utterly ridiculous

My Adventure With L'Avventura or How I Went From Disliking to Loving a Film in a Few Short Years

2011-05-10T22:24:00.000-07:00

There I am as a little kid. About nine-years-old actually. I've got my baseball glove and a bat and am heading over to a field not far from my house to play ball with some friends. I've got a wad of chewing gum in my mouth that I'm working on methodically. Not sure what I'm thinking but as I'm not even ten yet so it's probably not about girls. Baseball would be a good guess.

I know, you can't see me. This vision exists in my imagination. I wish I could go back and visit this much younger me. If I could somehow do with it creeping the little guy out, that is. I'd have a lot to say to him/me. Inspirational. Comforting. Informational. Plenty of advice. But I've got to let me grow up on my own.

I've come along way since then. I still love baseball but eschew gum. I still don't think of girls except the two I fathered and the grown up variety, particularly the one I'm married to. Same DNA. Same blonde hair. Considerably older and a tad wiser. My tastes in movies are quite a bit different too.

Now I see another me. Not so many years ago. He's watching Antonioni's L'Avventura (1960). The thing is, he ain't digging it. What's with this guy? In fact he goes over to IMDb and rates it a three on their 1-10 scale. What's with this guy? If I could go back and visit this slightest younger me I'd have one thing to say to him: what the hell's with you? I'm just a little older than that chap and not a whole lot different but evidently my taste in films has changed.

Suffice to say I watched L'Avventura today and loved it. And I'm frankly mystified about what I missed the first time (seemingly the whole thing).

This is actually not unusual. Other films I didn't like the first time I saw them include The Searchers (1956), and The Shop Around the Corner (1940), if you can believe it. Now I revere them.

People change.

Thank God.

Sometimes public opinion not only changes but does so quite rapidly and L'Avventura is a case in point. Audiences and critics howled with derision when it opened (at least I didn't howl, I just yawned then gave it a measly three). But before you could say Michelangelo Antonioni the howls turned to hosannahs. Go figure.

So the point here is that people, in general and individuals, often see the same thing differently the second time they look. In fact, one of the joys of watching a beloved film multiple times is finding something different to appreciate about it.

Flexibility, seeing things from a different angle, hell even flat out changing your mind are strengths in a human being (unless you're running for public office in which case you are never ever supposed to alter your stance on anything). Not seeing anything new in a person, place or work of art is just another term for being brain dead.

L'Avventura is a movie that on the surface doesn't go anywhere or resolve anything. A group of friends sets sail on a four-day pleasure cruise. Central to the story at the outset is a woman traveling with her lover, who may well be her future husband, and her dearest friend. The first stop is an island at which the woman promptly disappears.

For much of the rest of the film the lover and friend look for the lost woman, as do others. But the search and the resolution of it -- or lack thereof -- is not the story. It is what we discover about them, and their class of self-satisfied, vacuous hedonists that is most compelling. They are not the most sympathetic cast of characters you'll ever meet but they make for interesting viewing. Particularly the delicious sexy Monica Vitti who co-stars along with Gabrielle Ferzetti as the searchers who find love in each other's arms. Yes, that's right. In looking for this person so important to them both, they fall for each other. And it's not like this takes place over time, they're at each other with a day of the woman's disappearance.

L'Avventura is also a visually magnificent film. Shot in glorious black and white, the scenes on the island, particularly of a coming storm, are striking. I found L'Avventura a visual delight from start to finish, in fact the very finish of the film is a particularly beautiful shot. As with all great films, the manner in which this story is told is what makes it such a compelling viewing experience.

Why is that we enjoy some books, music or films in one point in our life and not another? Certainly maturity plays a significant role in changing tastes. But I am but a few years older today than when I previously saw L'Avventura. Yet I haven't gone from thinking it okay to liking it, I went from disliking L'Avventura to loving it.

Besides our sensibilities we bring whatever frame of mind we're in to a viewing experience. Maybe the long session of meditation prior to today's vieiwing allowed me to more clearly focus on the story. Perhaps when I saw it before I was in a foul and hyper mood. Certain films we are just not ready for. Maybe some of what I've read and watched and ways in which I've thought of and seen the world have led me to a emotional state ripe for enjoying L'Avventura. Not every such question can be answered for certain, but they are always worth exploring.

Sometimes I have an instinct about giving a film a second chance. I would urge you to re-consider films you didn't like before if you've any reason to believe your experience will be different.

Now I'm seeing again, that nine-year-old version of myself. I wish I could say something to him. I know one thing I'd tell this striking handsome lad: "son, you might want to wait a few years before watching an Italian film called L'Avventura." I doubt he'd need much convincing.

The Enemy Within, Our Fear vs. The Power of Love in a Fascinating Fassbinder Film

2011-05-09T21:36:00.000-07:00

Fear can be a natural instinct that helps alert us to real danger. Fear can also be born of ignorance and lead to prejudicial even racist behavior. The Nazis were scared liked nobody's business. People in the United States have been afraid of immigrants for as long as there's been a United States, hell even before.

This kind of fear is a victory of superstition and lazy thinking over rationality and human kindness. It is group based in that individuals come to think out of this fear as the result of peer pressure rather than from their own reasoning.

Such fear was addressed in Rainer Werner Fassbinder's Ali: Fear Eats the Soul (1974). The title comes from a line spoken by one of the film's two main characters, Ali. It regards the corrosive nature of fear. Irrational fear eats away at the goodness within people, turning them into miserly, hateful and not incidentally soulless individuals. There is hope. Many people are fully capable of sorting things out and experiencing a victory of love, or at least reasonableness, over hate.

AFETS can also be viewed as a most unconventional love story. (It's interesting to note how many really good films feature atypical romances.) Check this out: a 60ish German widow who is, to be kind, no picture postcard, hooks up with a Tunisian immigrant who is several decades her junior. He is ruggedly handsome boasting a strong upper body. Yeah these things happen all the time.

Sometimes a love story works just because it's so damn odd. If a couple is a few years apart or has different taste in music some people might not believe it'll ever work between them. But there's something about a truly odd couple that makes one say: it's so crazy it just might work! And then really root it on. Couples don't get any odder than Emmi Kurowski and El Hidi ben Salem M'Barek Mohammed Mustapha, Ali for short.

Our Emmi is a cleaning woman who seems quite typical for the job. She is probably quite frugal and maybe her late husband (he was Polish) left her something as she lives comfortably enough. Ali is a mechanic who confesses that his life consists principally of working and drinking, not unheard of. His German is halting, as the subtitles adroitly convey. Ali evidently does much of his imbibing at a bar habituated by fellow Arabs, though its run by a buxom German woman. It is the bar where our two lovebirds meet when Emmi comes in one night seeking refuge from the rain.

Watching the progression of their romance is to appreciate the subtlety with which true love can develop. It is not always fireworks. As AFETS demonstrates, Fassbinder could be patient in letting his stories unfold. I'm just coming to the prodigious German director who died in 1982 not yet 38 years old yet the director of dozens of feature films, a couple of TV movies, plays and other assorted artistic accomplishments. Drugs can help keep you busy and then later kill you too young. A few films into my self taught Fassbinder film course, I'm marveling at his sometimes parallel use of a leisurely camera and rapid developments.

Any romance is going to face obstacles, especially if its right smack dab in the middle of a movie. Remarkably, despite their incredibly different backgrounds, Emmi and Ali are making a go of it. It's everyone else that's a problem.

This is where fear has set in. Emmi's co workers, neighbors, and children just don't get it. We get glimpses into their xenophobia before they even learn of the couple. Once they see the duo -- forget about it.

Emmi seems an altogether ordinary woman but the manner in which she stands up to the haters is an example of the uncommon courage that lives within many people. Ali is strong too but occasionally succumbs to various temptations. As couples go they may outwardly be a strange combination, but they face the same sort of dilemmas we all do.

Fassbinder, who in addition to directing, wrote the screenplay, made an interesting choice in having some of chauvinists change their spots. But of course its why some of the change that is the rub -- their own self interest. Sometimes people do the right thing for the wrong reason. It's a start.

Ali: Fear Eats the Soul is a bold film made by a bold filmmaker. It successfully tackles some nasty human behavior and wraps it comfortably within a love story. I'm ready for more Fassbinder....

Kate and Ginger, Ginger and Kate Both are Wonderful Both are Great Watch 'Em Stage Door Make it a Date

2011-05-05T17:55:00.000-07:00

I have decided to retire from professional yodeling effective immediately.

That being said I don't have a whole lot else to say other than to confess that I've never yodeled in my life, professionally or otherwise. It's just that I occasionally like to start a writing with a "grabber." This would be something that "grabs" or "gets" your attention. Here's an example of what would be a good "grabber":

I have come up with the cure for restless leg syndrome.

Pretty good, eh?

Okay so you're now doubt wondering what this is all about and frankly I don't blame you. In fact I'm quite surprised you've read this far. If you haven't read this far then you've missed out on this sentence entirely and it's a doozy.

But I digress....

I recently watched Stage Door (1937) a film directed by Gregory La Cava that boasts the only screen pairing of two legends: Ginger Rogers and Katharine Hepburn. One of them alone makes for a great cast. Put them together and you've got a great cast squared. Seriously, you wouldn't have needed a script or props or a director. These two you could watch sitting and having a chat over tea.

But for Stage Door there were a whole mess of people involved and it damn near got in the way of these two legends. Fortunately one thing that enhanced the film was the supporting cast. It featured a young, cute Lucille Ball; the permanently sardonic Eve Arden, fondling a cat through the whole picture; the incredibly underrated and incredibly interesting Gail Patrick (you don't know here? she played Lombard's nasty sister in another LaCava flick, My Man Godfrey (1936)); that's for starters.

I'm going out on a limb and saying that you've seen Stage Door so don't require a synopsis (synopsis, there's an awkward looking word). If you do require one take two aspirin and call me in the morning, or check the film's IMDb page which is linked at my first mention of the film.

So I wasn't kidding earlier about all the other people involved with making Stage Door nearly interfering with Rogers and Hepburn. Everyone did a fine job and some cases an excellent one. But I've got some real problems with the movie. None of these flaws ruin Stage Door for me but they keep it from being the masterpiece it could have been. However, I'm not going to get all nit picky about it so you can relax.

Anyway what's most compelling is, as I've been harping about, two greats of the silver screen together for the first, last and only time. What I found most interesting was how much more I liked.....Ginger. There was that patrician air to Kate that she came by quite naturally. She was all upper class Yankee elocution and mannered sophistication and clothes that, well they fit on her like plumage. It's all part of why my favorite performance of hers is in Bringing Up Baby (1938) where she gets to play a wacky dame version of herself. You still get the hoity toity Hepburn but this time as goofy as a frog in your uncle's spaghetti.

Hepburn did everything right. Whether the picture was Alice Adams (1935) or The Lion in Winter (1968) she was putting on an acting clinic. Frankly I would find a Hepburn film festival tiresome. If I'm gonna sit through the same actress in a slew of films give me Barbara Stanwyck or Ginger Rogers. Yeah, the same Ginger I've been going on about.

Sometimes I find Ginger too sexy for words. Sometimes I find her absolutely adorable. Sometimes I find her just oh so cute in a non cloying totally endearing way. She was just so damn natural. Every bit herself at all times and yet creating a whole new character. Even when paired with Fred Astaire in those absolutely delightful if quite silly musicals, she was an effortlessly relatable character. She might have been giving Astaire the air in the coldest of ways but still danced up a storm and let Fred worm his way into her heart. She was the cats.

Stage Door has a certain sisterhood is powerful tinge to it. It was made back in the time that women did not have an equal place anywhere in society except Hollywood. Now it's damn near the reverse. Good strong roles from women are in U.S. films are a rarity. Not in the 1930s. The creme de la creme in those days included Bette Davis, Norma Shearer, Joan Crawford, Stanwyck, Rogers and Hepburn.

If a film like Stage Door was made today it would be set in a sorority house with demeaning roles for the women as stereotypes as proscribed by cable television. Yuck!

There are certainly actresses today who are the equal and even perhaps the superior of Kate and Ginger, at the craft of acting. But none can match their star quality. No one today has their screen presence, which is so essential to telling certain types of stories. By not creating strong female pictures we are being denied female stars, in the traditional sense of the word.

If you chance to watch Stage Door soon, watch especially the scenes between Kate and Ginger. In sports when you get to see two superstars its usually because they are in competition. Here you witness a pair of greats in a collaborative effort. I certainly detected no scene-stealing by either. One would guess they had two much respect for the craft to stoop to such nonsense. Watch also their contrasting styles that play so well together and pay great service to the story.

I would guess that someone who had never heard nor seen either of these legends would still be very much drawn to them. They both in their own distinct way embody something of the women of their time. Hepburn was the best of those born of means and Rogers was the quintessential middle class girl who would be equally comfortable dancing in a night club or working as a Rosie the Riveter. Stage Door is a showcase not only for these two distinct stars but an opportunity to see them together. God they were good.

And if there's any footage of the two sitting down for tea and chatting away, put me down for the first DVD.

Just Imagine, That's All I Ask

2011-05-02T20:44:00.000-07:00

In the immediate aftermath of Osama Bin Laden's slaying, I've seen that many commentaries on major news sites have trumpeted the death of this "loser" who "failed" in his mission.

Sadly, I cannot agree. Because of the terrorist attacks he engineered on 11 September 2001, the United States has squandered billions of dollars on a war on terror. (That is to say, there is an undeclared war on a tactic.) This war was not funded by a tax increase and is thus partially responsible for an ongoing economic crisis that has cost hundreds of thousands of Americans their jobs.

The war has claimed the lives of thousands of Americans while many more soldiers have suffered permanent physical injuries including loss of limbs, movement and sight. Still others endure ongoing emotional stress.

Meanwhile tens of thousands of Asians have been killed by American military action. The trauma to the people of Iraq and Afghanistan has been incalculable. Hatred for the U.S. and the recruitment of future terrorists have risen in much of the region. The United States has solidified its reputation as a chest thumping bully who kills flies with shotguns.

Perhaps this was Bin Laden's plan. If so, it worked to perfection. Killing him hardly makes up in the slightest for the damage he has done. It was as if he predicted the incredible over reaction in this country and the consequent costs to U.S. time, resources and money.

Imagine if in in the wake of the terrorist attacks the United States had taken a different approach. Imagine if this great and powerful nation had rejected the impulse to enact military reprisals. Imagine if instead the government invested all the resources that were expended on military actions to honoring the victims by improving our schools, hospitals, infrastructure, health care, parks and boosting funding in scientific and medical research. And now imagine if the U.S. did the same for those same countries it instead bombed and invaded.

Imagine how the world would be today.

Would the U.S. have been perceived as weak for not coming out with guns blazing? Or would it command respect for not resorting to answering violence with violence? Wouldn't it have been a fine example for the rest of the world? Especially the children? Instead there has been more violence and today the death of a single man is celebrated with high fives. I think Bin Laden has been figuratively high-fiving his compatriots for these past nine plus years seeing America's rage in action. What a shock to him if the U.S. had responded peacefully. You might say that the U.S. would then have been seen as weak and vulnerable. But I think it would have been a shining victory of reasonableness over bellicosity exemplifying the best in religious teachings.

I know, I know, you think the whole idea is insane. But look what sane people have done with the world.

One last point. President Obama referred to the men who carried out the killing of Bin Laden as, among other things, patriots. Why is that the strongest expression of patriotism in this society is framed in military terms? It's considered an act of patriotism to join the armed forces. Love of country is expressed as flag waving, saluting, national anthem singing and supporting our troops. In other words, militaristic nationalism. Can't love of country be evidenced by participating in government? Speaking out on issues, voting, voicing concerns. Contributing to charities. Serving one's community? Must patriotism always be a show of force?

Just asking.

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

-John Lennon

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence, and toughness multiplies toughness in a descending spiral of destruction....The chain reaction of evil - hate begetting hate, wars producing more wars - must be broken, or we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation.

- Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Royal Wedding Widower Writes About Various Things With No Promises About the Content Though He Hopes You'll Maybe Giggle

2011-04-28T18:20:00.000-07:00

What are you lookin' at? I suppose you came by to read something about movies. Well I haven't anything to write about movies today. Not in the mood. In fact I don't feel like writing anything at all. Just don't that's all.

Don't look at me like that. I'm not a trained seal, ya know. If you must read something of mine why not go digging through the archives. I've got over 570 posts to chose from. Admittedly some aren't very good. A lot of them are just fluffy little things life fer instance about my favorite films featuring a flatulent flautist (enuff already with those kinna movies Hollywood!).

I was thinking of writing an open letter to Donald Trump. He thinks America should thank him for his efforts that led to President Obama finally showing the long form of his birth certificate. 'Preciate it, Don. A hearty thanks to you and all the others who have created an unnecessary distraction. Trump the Grump also thinks that Obama's birth certificate should be carefully investigated. I agree. it should be investigated as thoroughly as has the birth certificate of every preceding president. The Smithsonian has the fine tooth comb which went over President Eisenhower's birth certificate. I recently read about the going over that President Benjamin Harrison's birth certificate got. Wow!

Trump recently spoke about how well he gets along with "the blacks." I'm not quite sure what to say in response. I've thought of: "atta boy" or "how very broad-minded of you" or "seriously, Don, the blacks?" I also understand that the Trumpster is not so open-minded when it comes to, let us say "the gays." He's against gays getting hitched or even enjoying the benefits of civil unions. Hey buddy, one step at a time, getting along with "the blacks" is enough for now. Take it slow.

Hey speaking of things that'll piss a person off, how about the increasing gulf between the wealthiest and poorest Americans? And how about the maintenance of the Bush tax breaks for the richest 2%? Kind of makes you one to take a sledge hammer and do some damage to some of those idjits who are forever selling a bill of goods to the American public. Kind of makes you want to take that same sledge hammer to the dopes who buy this malarkey. But Dr. King taught us that violence begets violence (not that most Americans pay the slightest bit of attention to what the great man actually said). So we'll have to use our words. Here goes: YOU F*CKING IDIOTS!!!

That outta do it.

I am currently a Royal Wedding widower. The missus has been going gaga over the forthcoming nuptials since before time began. She's in quite a state (California is a helluva place). I think it's wonderful. I love the British and all their pomp and accompanying circumstance. Traditions that do no harm are grand things that help define civilizations and maintain cultures. Events like these bring people together as they enjoy a shared sense of community through the magic of television (the idiot box is good for some things, ya know). Jerry Seinfeld recently popped off about what a load of bunk he thought the whole thing is. I'm generally a fan of the comic. who co-created and starred in the greatest sit com of all time. But he's all wet here. Ya just sound like a sourpuss, Jer.

Hey! You read all the way to the bottom of the post! Or did you start here? Do you do that? Do you read from the bottom up? That's weird. C'set la vie.

(Actually that's not the bottom anymore because I'm adding this paragraph.) If you want I'll write about movies next time. Or a movie. I'm excited to be going to see a film at the Pacific Film Archives on Saturday that I've never seen before: World on a Wire (1973), a film from Rainer Fassbinder that was originally on German TV. I may write about it later. I may write about something else instead. I may write about something before Saturday. I don't know. Quit pressuring me. Sorry I was so short you with. I'm only 5'7".