My Top Ten Films From 2015

1. Carol  (Haynes)
2. The Revenant  (Inarritu)
3. Tangerine  (Baker)
4. The Martian  (Scott)
5. Room  (Abrahamson)
6. Spotlight  (McCarthy)
7. Clouds of Sils Maria  (Assayas)
8. Star Wars: The Force Awaken  (Abrams)
9. Love & Mercy  (Pohlad)
10. Dope  (Famuyiwa)

Honorable Mention: Phoenix (Petzold),  Le Meraviglie (Rohrwacher), Timbuktu (Sissako), The Hateful Eight (Tarantino), The End of the Tour (Ponsoldt),  Brooklyn (Crowly).

Best Actress: Brie Larson (Room). Shout outs to Cate Blanchett (Carol) Rooney Mara (Carol) and Daisy Ridley (Star Wars: The Force Awakens)
Best Actor: Leonardo DiCaprio (The Revenant). Shout outs to Steve Carell (The Big Short),  Jason Segel (End of the Tour)  Johnny Depp (Black Mass)
Best Supporting Actress: Kristen Stewart (Clouds of Sills Maria). Shout out to Jennifer Jason Leigh (The Hateful Eight)
Best Supporting Actor: John Cusack (Love & Mercy). Shout out to Thomas Hardy (The Revenant)

Briles Makes a Phone Call

Tired, alone, sullen, yet oddly hopeful. Briles Rembrandt couldn’t make sense of his feelings, let alone of life. There was the gun on the table but as much as he looked at it he knew he would never use it. Hell, BR (as his friends called him) knew it was even loaded.

Looking across the long table towards the mirror on the wall he watched himself shrug. He also saw that there was a mustard stain on his corduroy jacket. Nothing seemed to be as it should be in BR’s world. Beatrice had left him, ostensibly because of his prolonged bouts of melancholia. But BR suspected that she had met someone else. BR was no great lover and he was no longer glib or charming. His wit remained, he thought, but as likely as not it was used as a dagger to inflict little bits of pain.

No that wouldn't due at all, BR thought. You don’t use a dagger for little bits of pain. He’d have to work on that bit. Before he could think it through the telephone rang. It was within arm’s reach but BR thought it impolite to answer quickly, plus it could smack of desperation. He gave it three rings.

“You all right?” asked a voice.

“No, he barked. Then, “who is this?”

“For god’s sakes Briles you don’t recognize my goddamned voice? We only broke up four days ago.” It was Beatrice, she never called him BR.

“We didn’t break up. That implies that it was mutual. You dumped me. Pfft. Over. Your idea. Strictly yours. Not mine.”

“Okay have it your way. So anyway, how are you?”

BR’s head swam. He looked to his left at the calendar. November 1978. Was that right? Seemed like it should be earlier, or later. Suddenly BR wasn’t sure if this was November and if it was 1978. He recited his social security number in his head. That always worked to prove his sanity to himself.

“Briles, you’re not answering. I know you’re still there.”

“What’s today?”

“Today is the 16th.”

“Yeah but what month and year.”

“Okay Briles, now you’re scaring me.”

“Just tell me.”

“November. 1978. The goddamned 16th of the month. What do you want it to be? Have you been drinking? You know you shouldn’t drink.”

“Ahh lay off it for once, willya? No, I haven’t been drinking.” That was a lie. BR had been drinking, though not all that much and only to try to offset his melancholia.

“Should I come over?” Beatrice’s voice exuded concern for her ex-boyfriend. To BR it sounded like he could fashion a reconciliation out of her visit.

“Yeah, that would be great if you could.”

“Hmmm, all right. I’ll be there in ten minutes. And I better not see that stupid goddamned gun or any booze in the house.” She hung up.

BR finally got out of the stiff wooden chair. His body ached. He hid the gun in the fridge in a salad crisper, under a head of romaine.  Then he brushed his teeth and combed his hair. He dabbed some cold water on the mustard stain.

Beatrice pulled up in the gravely driveway. She came in. “Do you have to keep this house so goddamned cold?” she demanded. BR never got used to how much Beatrice cussed, especially saying ‘goddamned’ all the time. “Hiya Bee,” he said.

“So what’s the matter with you, Briles?” Beatrice frowned as she asked the question, then she sat heavily on his lumpy sofa.

“Ya know how I get, only it’s been worse recently. To be honest some of it I’m sure has to do with you and you dumping me and I don’t say that to make you feel guilty.” BR paused and looked carefully at his ex. She was staring intently at him, frowning. He continued. “I haven't been drinking. Oh I had a beer when we got the newspaper out yesterday but that was all, I swear. I’m just. I’m just struggling is all. I got my story in the last issue and it hardly needed any editing and I’m damn near finished with next week’s piece already. I’m fine in a lot of respects. I just get real sad and kind of mixed up sometimes. Like I had trouble believing the, you know that this is the year and month it is. My mind kind of fuzzes out. I guess, no I know, it happens more, or only when I’m in a mental funk. So that’s kind of that, I guess.”

Beatrice sat regarding BR for a few seconds, letting silence fill the room. There was a shout from outside and from another direction a car horn honked. Then the silence was back. BR finally sat back down in the wooden chair. He looked at his lap.

“Ya know Briles, I don’t feel guilty. I do think maybe, and I emphasize the word maybe, I was hasty about breaking things off with you. It’s just that we were going nowhere as a couple. And this wasn’t all on you. Sometimes people change. I dunno, maybe I wasn’t patient. Maybe I could….Now see you got my thinking all muddled too.”

There was more silence. BR couldn’t think of what the right thing to say was so he winced, he looked up, he looked back at his lap, he sighed.

“Briles, I don’t want to have to mother you. I can’t be in a position of looking after you, I’ve got my own needs. If I could be sure you’d be mostly okay and you could give me some attention then I’d be happy to get right back together. But the way you are now, I just don’t know. I loved you. I guess I still do in a way and always will. Can you understand all this?”

BR wasn’t understanding much of anything but his instincts took over and he was soon saying the right things. Soothing words that would give Beatrice Chapman some confidence that he would be all right. BR promised to get some counseling, stay off the booze and be sure to always check in on her needs. A promise.

Beatrice believed him. Mostly because she wanted to. For all his faults (and Beatrice more than anyone knew that they were legion) BR was a gentle, sweet guy with a world of talent. He was intelligent and could be fun. All he needed was a little TLC and Beatrice was more than capable of doling it out without turning into a raging codependent like her mother had been for that poor excuse of a husband and father that they had lived with until….Beatrice shook that thought away and got up. She put her hands under BR’s head and lifting that sweet old face up she kissed him long and hard on the lips. A tear fell from BR’s right eye.

*********************************************************************************
Briles Rembrandt was 24 years old and a full time newspaper reporter for a college town’s alternative weekly. Beatrice Chapman was the same age and was the assistant manager of a locally owned bookstore. The two had met two years before and had fallen in love within a few weeks of their first date. They never moved in together and never discussed marriage but were mostly inseparable during mutual off hours, that is until BR seemed to mentally and emotionally fade away from Beatrice. This happened as he suffered more and longer bouts of wistfulness, what he, perhaps incorrectly, called melancholia. Worse, he tried to self medicate with liquor or weed. Beatrice had not, as BR suspected, met anyone else nor was she particularly interested in doing so. She was still emotionally attached to Briles and if they’d stayed apart it would have been weeks if not months before she dated again.

That November night in 1978 Beatrice did not sleep with BR. She wanted to. It always felt safe and comfortable sleeping beside him, despite, or maybe in part because of, his snoring. But they’d only just broken up and quickly gotten back together. She wanted to take things slowly for a bit and make sure that neither was acting impulsively, especially Briles who was emotionally vulnerable. For his part Briles understood completely. He hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in awhile and with him and Beatrice seemingly back together he believed that tonight sleep would come. And it did. Briles slept soundly for nine hours. Nonetheless Briles woke up the next morning in a deep state of depression. He thought about Beatrice, he thought about his work, he thought about his health, he thought about all the things he had to be happy about. Briles thought of all the blessings life had given him and he thought about how bright his future was. But he was depressed all the same. Life seemed awful and meaningless and it felt like there was no chance he would feel good again. Ever.

It occurred to Briles that if he felt this bad when everything was fine, life would be utterly unbearable if there was something to actually be depressed about. This made him feel even worse. Briles had never known such depression. He’d had blue moods, or, as he called them, bouts of melancholia, but nothing like this in which happiness seemed utterly unknowable. Now he could not eat, he was not interested in showering or shaving, he had not the energy nor will to go to work, he couldn’t even bring himself to call Beatrice or a family member or a friend. Instead he thought about the gun in the salad crisper under the head of romaine lettuce. But there were no bullets, never had been. His father had given him the gun as a going way “gift” before college. The first thing Briles had one with it was take out all the bullets and throw them away. He’d kept the gun as a conversation piece and also to wave at an intruder should one ever appear. He’d never told a sole that it wasn’t loaded. He liked the illusion of having a loaded gun, if not the fact of one.

But his thinking about the gun gave Briles pause. Surely he had to do something. After all he was on the verge of contemplating suicide, which was the first step in actually doing it. Action had to be taken. Briles literally shook his head, then picked up the phone. He held it for awhile before being able to muster the energy and the will to dial.

“Hello."

“Beatrice.”

“Oh hi Briles, you sleep well?”

“Yeah but…”

“But what?”

“I’m feeling kind of…”

“My god Briles you sound awful. What’s the matter?

“I’m so depressed. Worse than ever before, like the inside of my head is black, like…”

“Okay listen Briles, you’ve got to call someone, a professional. I’m not due at the store for another two hours. I’ll come by and help you contact someone. You’ll get through this, I promise. Just hang tight. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

“Okay…thanks.”

Fifteen minutes later Beatrice arrived. When she walked in the house BR started sobbing uncontrollably. It was a mixture of the depression and a great relief, relief at seeing another human face. Beatrice pulled BR to the sofa and held him until he finished crying. It was then that she realized that she loved him, loved him in a deeper more profound way than she’d ever realized. Briles could feel that love too, it didn't relieve his depression but a sense of hope broke through the pain.
When Briles stopped sobbing he felt better, still depressed, but without the sharp edge. It was as if an excruciating pain had been replaced by a dull ache.

Later that day Briles met with a psychiatrist who prescribed him medication and scheduled him for regular visits. Briles knew that he would get better. So did Beatrice. As it turned out they were right although he still had struggles and dark moods he was learning to cope and finally making an effort to be a true partner to Beatrice.

One month later Briles came across the gun in the salad crisper under a badly decayed head of romaine lettuce. He threw the gun and the lettuce away. Then for good measure tossed the crisper. New beginnings.

Freshman Year When I Lived and Learned

I went off to college at Chico State in the late Summer of 1971. The university is located in the bucolic town of Chico. This small city (about 40,000 at the time) is nestled in the top of the Sacramento Valley. It was a far cry from my hometown of Berkeley, especially the Berkeley of the late1960s that I grew up in.

In Berkeley I felt like I was living in the center of the universe and that people from anywhere else in the world must be hopelessly backwards. I was, in other words, a 17 year old snob when I came to this hick town (albeit a town I was to fall in love with and call home for most of the next ten years). I’d chosen Chico State because at the time it had one of the four top soccer programs in California. The others on that list were UCLA, USF and San Jose State. I was not interested in going to LA or staying in the Bay Area, so Chico won by default.

There was but little question in my mind that I would take the little berg by storm. I was a soccer superstar (especially by my own estimation) a ladykiller and — again because of where I came from — a sophisticate. My ego was boundless.

My first day in Chico the temperature soared to 107 degrees. Mind you Berkeley never saw heat to match it. There were only occasional instances of the thermometer passing 80. I was young and would get used to the heat. I was in town a few weeks before school started trying out for the soccer team -- which I had no trouble making. This meant two-a-day practices and mountain camp and running wind sprints after scrimmaging in the brutal heat. I was soon in excellent physical condition. Though  I made the team, my cockiness made me few friends among teammates and none among the coaches. Somehow I had forgotten the concept of team play and reckoned that as I was me I deserved special treatment.

Finally the dorms opened and I moved in. I shared a room with three other freshmen. One was from LA, another from conservative Orange County and the last from a small valley town. Their last names were Lee, Erickson, and Peterson. Pretty dull stuff and with the exception of the chap from the big city they were pretty dull lads. Those same two dullards were also bigots. Naive me had grown up thinking that all racists lived in the South, at least among young people. Yes there were some bigots among my father’s work friends and our relatives but they were all “old” people. I was shocked to find modern day people my own age hailing from California who harbored prejudices against African Americans. I gamely tried to get along with them but had little in common with either and within a few months we weren’t on speaking terms. I finally got a new room assignment.

My first few months of college were comprised of soccer practice, classes and a hint of studying. I’d gotten by in high school with the barest amount of schoolwork done outside of class so reckoned I could continue skating by. I got to know some people in the dorms and soon had friends. When soccer season ended, my routine radically changed. It was now classes, drinking and parties, with the latter two usually in combination. There was also marijuana and of course girls. I had fun. A lot of fun.

Somehow I managed to pass some classes and headed into my second semester. I continued to pay little attention to my classes and a lot of attention to girls and getting high. I stumbled through off season soccer practices, often too hungover to play very well. The soccer team made a trip to Hawaii for a tournament.  A few days before we arrived the drinking age in the 50th state was lowered to 18, an age I had only just reached. For the first time in our lives many of us were able to drink legally. We took full advantage. Meanwhile on the field we were heavy favorites but struggled to win matches. At one point during the tournament our coach assembled the team and gave us a lecture about drinking to access. He said: "if you can't enjoy Hawaii without getting drunk you're alcoholic." We later repeated the line while laughing over drinks.

Of course I met a girl, a tourist, with whom I had a fling until her boyfriend joined her on the vacation.  C'set la vie. One night I decided to give tequila a try. The consequence was that I woke up next morning on the floor with a lamp as my pillow. I'd stolen a sign from in front of sandwich shop. You'd think I'd have learned from this experience but I had many more such nights to come in the next dozen years.

My freshman year was highlighted by Pioneer Week. This was an annual Chico tradition that was capped off by a big parade. It actually spread out over two weeks and amounted to an extended debauch. People came literally from all over the country. The city was overrun with young drunk people walking the streets at all hours (fast food restaurants stayed open 24 hours to take advantage). There were parties from sunup to sundown to supplement the many during the night. Not surprisingly with so many people invading the town and so much drugs and alcohol being consumed there was bound to be trouble. Two years later that happened as a woman was raped and murdered. Over time Pioneer Week was scaled further and further back until eventually it became a very tame Pioneer Day which was literally one day long. By this time its probably down to Pioneer Nano Second.

The most prominent type of festivity, not only during Pioneer Week but throughout the school year, was the kegger. This could be held in a house or in a large field. Fraternity houses were a common site for keggers. Usually most of the carousing took place outdoors. As a result they were easy to "crash" therefore one could drink copiously for free. Even if there as an honest invitee one was usually expected to chip in no more than a dollar or two. As you might imagine a kegger consisted of a keg of beer or in some cases two, three or more. (It has been joked that Chico State grads get hired for jobs because someone will be needed at company picnics to tap the keg.) I was unabashed in my love of keggers. It was a great opportunity to indulge in my two favorite activities: drinking and chasing women. The latter was made easier, of course, by the flow of beer. Also there was often a fair amount of marijuana to be smoked and bottles of hard liquor circulating. One might even find cocaine in use.

I ended my freshman having passed a few classes and not having taken my studies seriously at all. My skills as a soccer player had not improved as they should have. Life was one big party to me. I was young, healthy, happy, handsome and had developed a great fondness for liquor. I went home for the summer -- the last time I would ever do so -- and played a lot of soccer and drank a lot of booze. Freshman year was over.

Knife in the Back, Reflection in the Mirror

Out of the corner of my eye I caught my reflection in a full length mirror that was propped up against the wall. There was a knife protruding from my back, nearly in the middle. My hands were reaching around in a desperate attempt to extract it and my face was terror stricken. Death seemed imminent and panic had already set in. But I’m getting ahead of the story.

Ten years before I (Chester Sculpin) was sitting in my kitchen encouraging my two young sons — Ovid and Virgil — to be the type of men who worked to change the world. Be a captain of industry, I said, or a scientist, or a politician, or an economist or great thinker, but be someone of importance. Strive for greatness and settle for no less. Those were my words exactly and I remember it as if this all took place today.

I recall that I smelled of after shave, having spilled a bit as I applied it shortly before my chat with the boys. I didn’t mind so much, it was a manly smell and it seemed to add gravitas to my manly sentiments. Ovid and Virgil — 11 and 9 respectively at the time, were enthralled by my words. I suppose the keenness of their interest had something to do with the fact that I was so seldom around and when I was it was for such short periods of time. Typically times when I was quite tired. You see I worked for a big company with plants all over the country and was charged with inspections and reports to the home office which was right here in Alexandria, Virginia.

Ovid and Virgil worshipped me, or so I thought, not having always been in tune with the boys I can’t say with any degree of certainty and later events would contradict that claim but I certainly felt at the time and for years before and after that they had placed me on a very high pedestal. I can further assert with confidence that they held their mother, my wife, Eloise, in quite low regard. The poor dear was a heavy drinker and never too bright to begin with. The alcohol further dulled an already dull brain. Frankly, I’d married Eloise for her looks, she’d been a beauty and despite motherhood and excess liquor consumption and approaching middle age, she kept her looks. You had to admire her for that. Eloise was also a wonder between the sheets. You can take that from someone who knows. You see I was not exactly faithful, spending all that time on the road like I did. Oh there was never anything serious, just a lot of one night stands and a few birds I saw fairly regular. Anyway getting around as I did made me able to compare and Eloise was the best in bed. Later I found out that during our marriage I wasn’t the only one who got to enjoy her talents. Yeah she slept around too. There was a couple of fellas she had affairs with, sometimes pleasuring them in our bed. Well I guess I can’t be too upset given my own shenanigans.

So this conversation I had with the boys really has stuck in my mind because both of them reminded me of it from time to time. They were whiz bang students in high school and got accepted to top notch schools. Ovid to Georgia Tech and Virgil to Harvard. Yeah, Harvard. Each of them told me as he went off to college that he aimed to make something special of himself just like I’d advised. Boy was I a proud poppa. When the youngest, that is Virgil, left, it was just me and Eloise at home and to top that off I’d been given new duties which kept me off the road and at home base full time. Which meant seven days a week Eloise and I were together.

At first it was okay. For one thing we got to enjoy bedroom activities on a nightly basis. But after awhile Eloise started getting on my nerves and me on hers. Plus I saw just how much she was drinking and it made me a little sick. Sure enough we started arguing about this or that. There was never anything serious but the arguments got real nasty. Eventually we — almost simultaneously as it worked out — found about each others infidelities.

Less than two years after Virgil left for college, my wife of 23 years and I were splitsville. Eloise let me keep the house and she moved into a swanky apartment near downtown where she could drink and be a tramp in peace. I was pretty lonely rattling around the house by myself, although I didn’t miss Eloise one bit. I start tomcatting around, having fun going out on the town and dating again. The only bad experience was when my date and I saw Eloise and her date at a restaurant. We gave each other the stink eye.

The boys seemed nonplussed by the separation. The oldest, Ovid, said he saw it coming and Virgil didn't say anything, I suppose because he was too absorbed in his studies all the time. He was a go-getter that one, just like I’d encouraged him to be.

Eventually the divorce went through and it was all pretty smooth. Eloise had a fair amount of dough she’d inherited from her folks so she didn’t try to take more than her fair share. The only loose end was the house which I was going to put on the market. What did I need with such a big place? She’d get a quarter of the take, as would I and the boys would each get a quarter too.

Anyway the house sold pretty quick and that leads me to today when I was starting to move my things to a small cottage I’d bought a few blocks away. I’d showered and shaved right after getting up and splashed on some aftershave of a type I hadn’t used in awhile, the same brand I’d been wearing when I had that talk with the boys I earlier mentioned. Don’t ask me how I remember but I do, those olfactory senses don’t let you down. So as I was chowing down the breakfast I’d fixed myself (eggs sunny side up and ham) I thought about how I’d sat in this very spot over a decade ago giving my pitch to the boys about making something of themselves, something special. A tear actually worked its way down my cheek at the memory. Odd for me because I’m not prone to the waterworks. Anyway I wiped it off, finished my coffee and had just got up from the table when someone came busting through the kitchen door hopping mad.

“Where are they?” he hollered at me. Of course I was stunned. All at once I was asking who and what he was doing and he’d better get out and that I was calling the cops. Then he punched me in the gut. This was a big guy, a black fella, must have been 6’5” maybe 250 pounds and strong as an ox. The punch in the gut floored me. I had no idea what was going on but figured there had to be a mistake and that he’d realize it soon enough and take off and I’d either forget the whole thing or call the cops.

“I said where are they?” he demanded. When I got my breath back I promised him I didn't know who he meant. “Virgil and Ovid!” he shouted. Well now I was stunned and shocked and scared and I don’t know what else. He was looking for my boys!

“Listen fella those are my sons and sure they grew up here and all but they live in totally different states now. I haven’t seen either in months. Whattaya want with them?” Now I felt curious as much as anything else. What the heck could this man want with my boys?

“The cocaine they sold me in Texas were not pure. And I paid top motherfucking price.Yeah, I know they’re supposed to be at there colleges, but neither one is. Both places I was told they’d come home. Now where are they?”

Okay so the guy somehow thought my boys were drug dealers. There was a big mistake made somewhere. Had to be. Neither of my sons had ever had anything more than a beer or glass of wine. I was sure of that. But the real shock for me was seconds away. The big fella had just given me a kick in the ribs when I heard the front door open. There were the footsteps of two people walking around the house, they eventually came towards the kitchen. The door opened. I looked up and saw my sons.

“Otis! What the hell are you doing here?” Virgil said.

Ovid asked, “Dad what are you doing on the floor?”

Well I got up and sat on a chair while this fella Otis and my sons argued about drugs. I could tell from the conversation that Virgil and Ovid had sold drugs to Otis and it seemed that they were regular drug dealers who’d sold to him and others before and they even spoke of their “reputations.”
Now I really wanted to cry, not just a tear or two but full out balling. They talked like I wasn't even there. My sons. They’d made something of themselves all right. Criminals. Lousy drug dealers at that. It hurt worse that they were so open about it with me sitting right there.

After awhile the argument got pretty heated and Otis started to threaten them. My boys didn’t seem at all scared which is one thing I can credit them for. Then this Otis fella takes a knife out of his pocket and steps toward the boys. “Now Otis,” Virgil said. “You know you’re not going to try to stab us. We outnumber you and both of us are pretty quick.”

So what Otis did was he grabbed me by the color and held me up. “You’re right,” he said. “So here’s the thing. You don’t hand over the money I paid for those weak ass drugs and I stab your dear old dad.”

“You wouldn’t,” said Ovid.

“Would, will.”

“He’s bluffing dad, don’t worry,” Virgil assured me. Then Otis let me go but as he did he stuck a knife in my back. Then my sons took off running with Otis in hot pursuit.

Now I’m lying on the floor with the life seeping out of me. I keep seeing what I looked like in the mirror struggling to reach out. I keep wondering what happened to my sons, how they became drug dealers, how I was so easily fooled, how my life is ending in disaster. What the hell did I do wrong? Was it my fault or their mothers? Were there signs I missed? Was I away too often? All these questions swirling around my head with no time to get answers.

The pain has lessened in the last few minutes and images are getting fuzzier. My hearing too is not as sharp. I can hear a clock tick and I can hear a bird

I've Seen a Lot of Films Recently, My Thoughts on Some of Them Follow -- Also My Annual Top Ten will be Delayed One Week

Tis the season to go to movies and with time off from work to watch some in the comfort of one's home. These things I have done. What follows is thoughts (mine only, I have no access to anyone else's thinking) regarding some of these motion pictures. I also must plead for your patience as my annual top ten list of films -- which normally appears on our near the first of the year -- will be appearing one week later. I know this grieves you enormously, but I trust you to be strong.

Just today I joined trillions of other people in the galaxy and went to see the latest installment of the Star Wars saga, Star Wars: The Force Awakens. This may come as something of a surprise to regular readers of this blog (both of us) as I generally eschew movies in the action/adventure/scifi category. However I've always liked the original three films of the franchise and partially to test that fondness the missus and I watched them all (in order of course) on Thanksgiving last. They held up. As I was given to understand that this latest offering is in the spirit of the originals and was being hailed by critics I had no second thoughts about seeing this iteration of the storied saga.

I was pleased. Charming and witty and full of fun and rife with interesting characters. Good vs. evil with the latter being represented by The First Order, a group that only Dick Cheney could love (he probably does, you know). I was particularly taken by Daisy Ridley, a relative newcomer, who I'm sure literally millions if not tens of millions of men are currently in love with. She's not just a beauty but a damn good actress and perfect as the female heroine. Oscar Isaac further established that he is a big time movie star with his appearance and yes it was nice to see some of the originals in the cast as well, namely Carrie Fischer, Harrison Ford, Mark Hamill and the two robots and the wookiee. I shouldn't forget another newcomer, John Boyega who looks to be destined for stardom. Count me in for the sequel but don't expect me to show up to any of the other garbage that was featured in the previews which was a lot of the action/adventure/scifi  rot that I abhor. Star Wars is the exception that makes the rule for me.

A few days ago I saw Carol, directed by Todd Haynes, and it was sumptuous to behold. A visual feast highlighted by co-stars Cate Blanchett and Rooney Mara (another young actress who is easy on the eyes). I'd like to see it again in a theater. While I'm sure I'd enjoy Carol on DVD, its was made for the big screen. The colors, the close ups, the set design the costumes and the magnificent set pieces are breathtaking. Ms. Blanchett is the titular character, a married woman with a small daughter who falls for a shopgirl during the Christmas season. (The story is set in the early Fifties when people didn't even speak of same sex love.)  Love and trouble ensue.

I watched The Furies (1950) for the first time via DVD. Anthony Mann directed and my favorite leading lady Barbara Stanwyck starred and here she was as beautiful a 43 year old as one will ever see. Walter Huston, in his final film, plays her father and Wendell Corey is her on again off again love interest. It's amazing that as much as I know about cinema, the film only recently came to my attention. It is a powerful story of love, family, money and greed set in the New Mexico of the 1870s.
It has to rank among the top 20 or so Westerns I've ever seen. While Carol caused me to put some Douglas Sirk films (he was an obvious inspiration for Haynes) on my Netflix queue, The Furies had me adding Anthony Mann's work.

It's hard to say much about Tarantino's The Hateful Eight without including spoilers. It is the manner in which the film plays out that is to me the main talking point. As I mentioned in an earlier post I was fortunate enough to see it in the 70mm format and it was gorgeous though later gory to look at. I don't mind violence in films assuming that it's there as party of the story but it wasn't death, blood or gunplay that bothered me. I did feel that after a promising start it seemed that Tarantino ran out of ideas and took the easy way out. It's a shame too because he had a wonderful cast and had created a fascinating world in which a potentially compelling story was taking place.

Love & Mercy and Dope were too films that I'd missed in theaters earlier in the year and just caught up with on DVD. I enjoyed both immensely. The former tells parts of the Brian Wilson story, he having been the driving force behind the Beach Boys and their unique sound. Wilson's story is made for the screen given his mental and emotional struggles and the battle for his soul waged by a greedy man and a loving woman. Paul Dano played the younger Wilson and John Cusack was the older Wilson.

Dope is about three geeky high school seniors -- though one in particular is featured -- two are black one is Indian and one of the trio is a lesbian. They go to an inner city school where a nerd's life is never easy. They have a series of adventures in which they find, drugs, romance, criminals, money, strength and maturity and most of all courage. Rick Famuyiwa directed and Shameik Moore stars. One hopes for even more from them in the future. Zoe Kravitz and Chanel Iman also feature.

Among my Christmas bounty was the Criterion release of Moonrise Kingdom (2012) -- my second favorite Wes Anderson film (Rushmore (1998) is first). Anderson is a storyteller par excellence with a unique visual style. He creates unforgettable characters who take themselves and the mundane quite seriously. Situations are fraught with irony, pathos, wit and subtlety. You never see characters laugh, they just do and do and do and do. No one is terribly competent but everyone is sincere and earnest. It is the consistency of the characters and their methodical approaches to life that let the humor and -- not at all incidentally -- the truth to shine through. My god I love this movie.

Speaking of movies I love, Woody Allen's Radio Days (1987). Here's a film that never gets old. It has become something of a New Year's Eve staple of mine, largely because it ends on a New Year's Eve as 1944 is ushered in. Radio Days is one of the best nostalgia films ever made -- if not the best -- although it is so much more than that. Few films have ever evoked a time as well as this one brings us the early 1940s in America. It is especially good at revealing an era in which radio -- not the TV or internet -- was the technology that ruled the home. Like many timeless films it is rich with great songs that are especially effective in the context in which we see them. Of course Radio Days also boasts a slew of wonderful characters who blend in with the sounds and sights like breathing, talking, laughing parts of the scenery. Sublime.

One other film I wanted to discuss before I let you go (you're still with me aren't you?) is...well I can't decide. Maybe Hitchcock/Truffaut, the wonderful new documentary that ostensibly is about the latter's interviews with the former but is really about the greatness of Hitch but even more so is about film itself. Or I could write about Holiday (1938) the wonderful George Cukor film starring Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn. It's such a strong poke at the pompous upper class and such a great love story. Or I could write about Robert Altman's 3 Women (1977) his Persona (1966) like story of...I believe there are three women highlighted. It might be the best movie in Altman's storied career. I could also say a few words about The Big Short which shows how a very few financial wheeler dealers saw the burst of the housing bubble in 2008 coming and bet against the banks and won big. Or I could write about Polanksi's Chinatown (1974) or I could stop right here and make a cup of tea. Yeah, I think that's what I'll do.

Lloyd Grows Up

First of all there was his name — Lloyd. It was a stupid name for a kid to have and he knew it better than anyone. His schoolmates all had names like Jason and Cole and Decklin and Josh and Peter and Zach. Of course everyone one of them was either taller or more athletic and better looking and cooler and always knew what to say to girls and teachers and other adults. Lloyd got tongue tied talking to pretty much anybody. That is if he could think of anything to say in the first place. Oh he thought of a lot to say to people before and after, but never while they were there. So Lloyd kept quiet as much as possible.

The thing was though, Lloyd was smarter than anyone else. He wasn't bragging — because he never said it to anyone — he understood math problems like instantly. Science experiments were a snap. He loved history and always read beyond the assignments to learn more. And in English, well he just breezed through the stories and books they were given and would write essays twice as long as he was assigned and in half the time. Lloyd took French too and was practically fluent after only two years. The only trouble Lloyd has was in PE — he was awful, although he always tried his hardest. Lloyd also had trouble socially. For example everyone hung out in their cliques at lunch time or at least with a friend or two. Everyone was socializing or doing sports or playing cards or something. But not Lloyd. He sat off by himself. He’d eat the lunch his mom packed and then read a book. All by himself.

No one seemed to mind. No one paid Lloyd any attention. It was like he wasn’t even there. Sometimes a ball would bounce over to where Lloyd was sitting and he’d weakly throw it back. That was pretty much it. There was a girl named Jenna who sometimes would sit down next to him  and ask for help on a math problem. She was probably the second smartest person in the school — after Lloyd — and like him was among the five 8th graders who went to the high school for advanced algebra. Jenna was really nice and kind of cute but she only ever talked to Lloyd about math problems and he was glad to help but he never tried to talk to her about anything else, not that she would be interested anyway. Lloyd guessed that Jenna was popular. Of course Lloyd guessed everyone but him was popular.

Lloyd had no conception about what the future might bring beyond going to high school and then to a top university. He was neither excited nor worried about his life. Lloyd just took each day as it came, breezed through his school work, dutifully performed his chores at home and tried to ignore how lonely he was. He was an only child so Lloyd’s only companionship came from his parents. Dad was an economics professor and mom wrote books and articles about art history. They were busy people but always managed to give Lloyd a lot of their time, which often meant trips to museums, short nature hikes, and vacations in Europe during the summer. They also watched old movies together, which somehow Lloyd enjoyed most of all. He had an aunt and uncle who lived nearby but their two children were much older than Lloyd and he found them patronizing — a word that had recently joined his already impressive vocabulary. There was one living grandparent on each side of his family but they both lived far away.

It was during the first week of Lloyd’s two week Christmas vacation that his life changed. Afterwards Lloyd realized that it was inevitable that something dramatic would happen. After all he’d lived just a month shy of 14 years with nothing out of the ordinary happening. He was due. Lloyd had gone Christmas shopping downtown. For Lloyd this meant buying three presents, one each for mom, dad and his grandmother who was flying in from back east. He was browsing in a clothing store when he saw Jenna. This terrified Lloyd. He never ever knew what to say to any of his classmates when he saw them outside of school least of all a girl and especially a cute one. The fact that he had a relationship at all with her (and that just being discussing math problems) somehow made it worse.
Sure enough Jenna saw him and she immediately broke into a big smile and said, “hi.” Then she walked over to Lloyd who muttered, “hello Jenna.”

“So I guess you’re Christmas shopping too or you wouldn’t be in this store, huh?”

“Yeah. Um…I’m looking for someone, I mean something -- for my mom or grandma.”

“I thought you were Jewish and didn't celebrate Christmas.”

“Umm. No we’re not Jewish or even Christian or anything but we do celery I mean celebrate the holiday.”

“Say,” Jenna said her countenance expressing excitement. “I could help you! Being a female I’m probably better than you are at picking gifts for other females. No offense.”

Lloyd was not offended. In fact, Lloyd was finally relaxing in the presence of another person and a girl at that. “None taken. I’d be gl hap glad and happy for some help. If it’s no trouble.”

That settled, Jenna squired Lloyd around the store and helped him select a gift for his mother. She then took him to two other stores where she helped him find a gift for his father and then his grandmother. All the while they chatted freely about school and then movies and travel and food with Lloyd getting more and more comfortable. Lloyd was completely engaged in talking to and being with Jenna. It was not until she excused herself to use the restroom that he reflected on how happy he was and how easy talking to Jenna was. Lloyd was practically giddy. When Jenna emerged from the restroom his joy was further compounded when she suggested they go the Burger Barn for lunch. This was practically a date! When they ended up at table by the window that afforded a view of the downtown boulevard Lloyd mused on the fact that maybe someone would see him "out with" Jenna. This both excited and frightened him. He imagined how impressed others would be but also worried that he’d be asked 1,000 questions. Lloyd had taken a huge step today but was sure that he was nowhere near ready for lengthy conversations with curious schoolmates, especially if it invoked a lengthy q and a.

Lloyd was munching on his burger and listening to Jenna discuss her brother’s high school experiences when for some reason a taxi cab parking across the street caught his attention. Lloyd watched as a woman got out of the cab and was mildly surprised when it turned out to be his mother. Before he could consider whether he should get her attention, he saw a man also get of of the taxi. It was not a person he recognized. Lloyd could feel himself frown in concentration. Then he watched as his mother kissed the man. On the lips. For several seconds. Next his mother and the man walked off in opposite directions but Lloyd noticed that they both looked back at one point and exchanged coquettish waves.

Lloyd could not finish his burger.

“What’s the matter? Did you see something strange?” Jenna was genuinely curious.

“I just saw my mother kissing another man.” Lloyd said it automatically, robotically and seconds later as silence filled the air, he could not believe that he had uttered those words.

The two young teenagers sat in dead silence until Jenna said, “oh my god, Lloyd, that has got to be so weird for you. I’m…sorry.”

Lloyd looked Jenna straight in the eye. “I probably shouldn’t have said that it’s just, just that I was so stunned.”

“Do you want to talk about it ‘cause if you do we could but if you totally don’t want to talk about it we could not or if you want to be alone or — ”

“It’s okay. I don’t need to talk about it and you don’t have to go. But we are done shopping so I guess you want to go home or something.”

“Let’s go to a movie!” Jenna exclaimed.

And they did.

Movies always took Lloyd’s mind of things. He had no problem escaping into the story, but on this occasion his attention was half on the film — which wasn’t that great — and half on his mother. Lloyd found that he was both upset and accepting. He’d always been comforted by the fact that he came from a happy home so this incident suggested that perhaps it wasn’t happy as he imagined and that it might break up someday, perhaps even before he was off to college. But Lloyd also felt something new. Determination. Lloyd had just been given his first good hard slap in the face by life and he wasn’t going to let it get him down. If life was going to mete out a little undeserved punishment from time to time by gosh he was just going to absorb the blow and move on. He remembered what his current history teacher, Mr. Tricamo said recently, “it’s not what happens to you that is important, but how you respond to it.” Lloyd was a changed young man simply because something unforeseen had happened.

After the movie Lloyd and Jenna walked toward their homes. When it came time to part Jenna said, “I had a really nice time with your Lloyd. Maybe we can hang out again soon.”

Lloyd said, “I had a nice time too and thanks for your help and suggesting lunch and then the movie. I’d like it if we could get together again.” Lloyd had never spoken so long and so eloquently (by his standards) to a girl before. He thought about his mother and got a little angry but shook the thought away, then he leaned forward and gave Jenna a small peck on the cheek. She responded by giving him a small peck (though not as small) on his cheek.

Walking the last two blocks home Lloyd sung a Christmas carol out loud. No one was at home when Lloyd arrived. He sat down and turned on the TV. Lloyd clasped his hands behind his head, leaned back and smiled.

12 Days of Television -- The 12 Best TV Shows I Watched in 2015

Television is largely a wasteland of the inane, the lame and the shame. Endless hours of reality shows that are as close to reality is we are to Jupiter. Loud, obnoxious commercials full of lies and deceptions. Formulaic dramas, unfunny comedies, hateful ill informed talking heads. I could go on. But if one digs deep enough it is possible to discover some hidden gems. Not many mind you. Frankly I don't have a lot of time for TV so I'm very very selective. Most of the best uses for our flat screened beauty is watching sports (and not a lot of that) and films. Here I present 12 TV shows that I happily occupied my time with this past calendar year. You will note that two of the shows on the list have long since ended their original run. The latter has not aired new episodes in over 50 years. Still, all the listed shows provided much needed entertainment and even some insights and cause for intellectual musings. I have not included any one and done specials or straight news shows.

1. The Wire (2002-2008). Yes I know, the show ended seven years ago but I only wised up and started watching in August of this year. I rank it among the best five dramas in TV history and wrote about it a few months ago.
2.  Last Week Tonight with John Oliver. Positively brilliant. Oliver and company have taken what The Daily Show has done so well and ran with it. Through the luxury of only having to appear weekly and being on HBO and thus free of too much silly censorship, they can go deeper and more effectively into issues usually focusing on one a week. They have shown a light on such issues as sex ed in the US, mandatory sentencing, child labor in the fashion industry, patent trolls just to name a few.

3.  The Late Show. First we enjoyed the last few months of the great David Letterman and then after a few months in limbo along came his successor, Stephen Colbert who was made for the late night talk show format just as Dave was. Genius to genius. Laughs aplenty.
4. The Daily Show. Like the Late Show we enjoyed the end of a hosts run with Jon Stewart bowing out in August and saw a worthy replacement come along in the form of Trevor Noah. It would seem many of the writers stayed on board and the show is witty and insightful as ever and still taking down pompous politicians and ridiculous newscasters and commentators. A few "correspondents" like the the wonderful Jessica Williams stayed on and a few new ones came on board such as the hilarious Roy Wood Jr.
5.  Fargo Season 2. Unlike True Detective, Fargo came through with a season two that was every bit the equal of the first one. Writer Noah Hawley never disappoints. There are surprises, there is a great cast (Ted Danson, Patrick Wilson, Kristen Dunst and more.) The violence is unflinching but there is a warm human touch too.
6. Better Call Saul. The highly anticipated spin off from Breaking Bad did not disappoint in no small part because of the great acting chops of star Bob Odenkirk. While the first season seemed largely designed to set up what should be some great stuff to come, it was well worth watching.

7. Orange is the New Black. Season three maintained the same quality as the preceding ones. More emphasis was placed on other characters besides Piper (Taylor Schilling) and the result was just as compelling as what we'd seen before.
8. The Simpsons. More than the new episodes -- which are terrific -- being able to enjoy over 25 seasons of reruns is a year round Christmas gift.
9. Show Me a Hero. This was the HBO six episode series about real events in Yonkers, New York over civil rights housing issues. Oscar Isaac starred and gave a transcendent performance. It was this show that inspired me to watch The Wire, which was made by the same people.
10. The Jinx: The Life and Deaths of Robert Durst. Talk about "as if torn from today's headlines" this was the HBO series on Robert Durst, the multi millionaire who kept getting away with murder. No sooner did the show start airing then Durst was arrested. Just today he was order extradited from New Orleans to California to stand trial for one of the several murders to which he has been linked.

11. You Bet Your Life (1950-1961). You tube has dozens of hours of episodes of the seminal "talk show" hosted by Groucho Marx. Whenever I have had a spare 20 minutes and needed an emotional pick me up, YBL has come through.
12. Brooklyn Nine-Nine. I came for the former student (Andy Samberg) and stayed for the laughs. I love a good sitcom but there are precious few worth even one look these days. Here's one with a wonderful ensemble cast that never stoops to dramatic pablum, always remembering that laughs come first last and in between.

I hope there is more to come from TV in the coming 12 months. Then again I don't. I barely had time for these shows.

Yes, Richard There is a Santa Claus: Christmas and I Through the Years

I recall once in elementary school — it must have been around 4th or 5th grade — our teacher asking the class who believed in Santa Claus. I was one of about four hands that went up and the only male one. I suppose this further served as confirmation for me that Santa was a fictional character. I’m sure I knew by then, but I didn’t accept the truth either before the teacher polled us, or after. I hung on to my belief in Santa through that Christmas season and perhaps another one or two more. I was a determined lad, even in my fantasies. It was to good a story to let go of.

Looking back I’m quite proud of myself for sticking to my faith in the right jolly old elf. There’s enough reality that one has to start dealing with as adolescence approaches, a warm embrace of fantasy is good for the soul. In my case I believe it was also indicative of my rich imagination.

Christmas was a magical time for me. We always had plenty of decorations around the house, centering around a sizable tree. Stocking were hung — by the chimney and with care — and there were Christmas cookies and hot chocolate aplenty. A visit to the downtown department store — Hinks — to sit on Santa’s lap was de rigueur. This of course was back when it was Christmas season and not holiday season. We even had a Christmas tree in our classroom and a Christmas pageant was held at school. Downtown Berkeley was festooned with Christmas decor.

In the 21st century Christmas is inescapable in these parts, but 50 years ago it wasn’t tread around lightly, there was no such phrase as Happy Holidays (or if there was I don’t recall it) and as uncomfortable as it might have made Jews, Muslims and others who ignored or even disdained  Christmas, the holiday was in your face.

That was fine with me. It was a break from the rest of the year. It was different, it was colorful and it came with presents.  I have always been unambiguous in my love for receiving gifts. Mind you I like giving as well, but there is a real excitement — yes, even today — to opening a present. There are typically about 363 days of the year when one doesn’t get to open a present, so I cherish those two or three a year (usually Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and my birthday) when I do.

But mostly there was the magic of the season and that was wholly dependent on there being a Santa Claus who managed to visit tens of millions of homes and deposit gifts under trees using a reindeer drawn sleigh as transportation. I usually left Santa a glass of milk and cookies. The last year I did this I noted in the thank you note that Santa’s handwriting was quite similar to my father’s. I was not suspicious.

The magic has continued to exist. I experienced through my own children and now through the children of my nieces and nephew. Juolupukki pays a call every year to our Christmas Eve gatherings and we all have the honor of sitting on his lap as gifts our distributed.

When I was a child we went to my Uncle’s on most Christmas Eves for what were rowdy, joyous affairs in which much alcohol was consumed and my cousins and I ran around acting very much like the kids we were. Christmas morning gifts were opened and then it was off to my grandmother’s for Christmas dinner. This would usually be a more sedate affair but with the goodies Grandma provided and the opening of still more gifts, it was a time to be cherished.

One year we went to Lake Tahoe for the holidays and I got to experience my first white Christmas. Being away from our home and most of the extended family was difficult but the snow made up for it. Plus that was the Christmas when I got a much coveted bee bee gun. I spent the next few days trekking in the nearby woods  shooting down twigs (all while pretending I was at the Battle of the Bulge).

By my late teens and early 20s Christmas was still great fun. Then I was coming home from college and reuniting with family and spiked egg nog and other seasonal boozy drinks were much on my mind and in my blood system. For a period in my life Christmas was another excuse — and in my mind a particularly good one — for imbibing freely.

Christmas has always been about the music, stories, films, and TV specials. It is a holiday that has inspired some classic tales, none better than Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. It’s a book I’ve read numerous times just before December 25th. So often, in fact, that I can recite whole passages. I’ve also enjoyed some of the film versions. As a child it was Mister Magoo’s Christmas Carol (1962) which I loved so much that one year I skipped the previously mentioned school Christmas pageant to stay home and watch it (I sure could have used a DVR in those days). More recently I’ve favored the 1951 cinematic version A Christmas Carol featuring Alastair Sim as Ebenezeer Scrooge.

Christmas is still a wonderful break from the sameness of the rest of the year. I honestly believe that I love it in some ways as much now as I did growing up, the only difference being that I view it as an adult rather than through the mind of a child. The implausibility of there being a Santa Claus has finally sunk in — okay I admit it, the impossibility too. But I love the smell of our tree and the sound of bells ringing and Nat King Cole singing chestnuts roasting on an open fire and convincing my wife she’s standing under invisible mistletoe.

I seriously wish there was a Santa Claus. Besides of course the one that still resides in my heart.

Ho ho ho.

I Start off With the Whole War on Christmas Bit But Discuss a Few Other Topics as well, Worth a Look

This is Joulupukki, the Finnish and one true Santa Claus.

Merry Christmas everyone. Or should I say Happy Holidays? Or does it much matter? People on the political right in this country will tell you that there is a “war on Christmas” in the United States. If so the opposing forces are like the Polish army taking on Germany in 1939. This is no war, its a massacre. Most of the hubbub surrounds the substitution  of Happy Holidays for Merry Christmas. Both sides are a bit silly — okay, more than a bit.

I used to have a boss who was Jewish. At the appropriate time of year I wished him a Happy Hanukkah. A few weeks later on December 23 I was leaving work and headed for my hometown to celebrate Christmas. He of course knew this. He said: “Have a happy holiday.” What? You can’t wish me a Merry Christmas when that is precisely what I’m going to celebrate? I had specifically wished him a Happy Hanukkah. Come on.

My daughters attended a pre school here in Berkeley that was very good in all respects. One thing they did that we liked was acknowledge other cultures’ holidays and traditions. Cinco De Mayo, Chinese New Year, Kwanza. the aforementioned Hanukkah. But when it got close to mid December before putting up a Christmas tree (or as some call it, a holiday tree) they surveyed parents and asked if anyone objected. One parent did. No tree. The tyranny of the minority. They never polled us about any other cultural observation. So there you go.

But a “war” on Christmas? Christmas ain’t going anywhere in the US especially as long as this is a capitalist country. Even in flamingly liberal San Francisco, Christmas decorations are everywhere, Christmas carols are playing in stores, Santa Clauses are ubiquitous, stores are jammed with shoppers and December 25th is still a day off. Some war.

I love Christmas. I did as a little kid (there’s a surprise) and as a teen, as a young adult and now as a not so young adult (I don’t feel old). And yet I am not a Christian. There are many of us who celebrate the holiday while ignoring its tenuous religious roots. (Biblical scholars believe that Jesus was probably born in the Spring and no evidence exists that he was born in December, let alone on the 25th.) In my case, again as for many, it is time to get together with family. Youngest daughter will be coming in from New York and oldest niece from Italy with her mate and young uns. I like the carols, the tree, like geting gifts, love getting them and like the decorations and the food. It is a wonderful break from the rest of the year plus it come at a time when I have two glorious weeks off from work.

There are also a few really good Christmas films such as It’s a Wonderful Life (1946), Christmas in Connecticut (1945), the original Miracle on 34th Street (1947), The Man Who Came to Dinner (1942), Elf (2003), Home Alone (1990) and Home Alone 2 (1992), The Shop Around the Corner (1940), Mon Oncle Antoine (1971) and the Christmas Carol (1951) version with Alistar Sim. There are a lot of really awful Christmas movies too but then again there are a lot of really awful films of all kind.

New for the Christmas season is A Very Murray Christmas a Netflix feature that I quite enjoyed. It's difficult not to like anything that Bill Murray is part of. This is like the old style Christmas TV specials I grew up watching that starred the likes of Dean Martin, Bing Crosby and Andy Williams, but with modern sensibilities. There were a slew of guest stars like George Clooney, Maya Rudolph, Paul Shafer, Rashida Jones and Miley Cyrus. I was particularly impressed with Ms. Cyrus who has a lovely singing voice and is quite a fetching young lady. It's a shame she's made her public persona more about antics, and shocking people and sexual shenanigans. If she focused on the music we could more easily enjoy a major talent. She might also be a success in film work.

Speaking of films. I finally saw The Martian. I was very impressed, particularly given my lowered expectations. It was an intelligent film about intelligent people doing intelligent things but some characters were witty and charming characters as well. Here was an instance in which all the special effects gadgetry was used in the furtherance of telling a story rather than as an end to themselves. It was big budget without chases or battles or cornball antics. Bravo to director Ridley Scott who, for me, has been off his game of late. Matt Damon was tailor made to play the lead.

I also recently finished reading Graham Greene’s The Quiet American and am about to re-watch the film. It is a superb novel and it is remarkably prescient about America’s forthcoming involvement in Viet Nam (you may have heard something about a war there that went disastrously for the USA and caused a major major riff at home). The book was written in the early Fifties even before the French had been defeated and sent packing. I think The Quiet American should be read in American high schools. It’s accessible, historical and intelligent. The book is a master class in writing fiction.

Anyway what I really want to do is wish everyone a safe and joyous Festivus (it's for the rest of us).