When I finished with The Perfect Getaway, I went right outside to the box office and bought a ticket for Bandslam. It seemed like a good way to bookend a very tense horror movie.
I figured this would be a mindless teen movie. Yes, it was a teen movie, but it was anything but mindless. I really liked this movie, and you will too if you like to see teenagers singing on the big screen.
There was so much about this movie that felt fresh. First off, we start with a "loser" hero who is tormented at his school by bullies. But then we switch gears. He goes to a new school, and actually makes some friends, some of whom are popular. Unlike most teen heroes, he is actually on a path already towards manhood. It was enjoyable to watch his story unfold. He is strong, but also frail in a teenage way. It reminded me of most of the real teenagers I have known, including myself back in the day.
In a lot of ways, this is the "anti" High School Musical, without taking away from that successful genre. Vanessa Hudgens does her part by playing a character that is very different from her character in that series.
I was cheering at the climax of this movie (well, I was almost alone in the theater), and I had a huge smile on my face when I left. It left me a good mood for the rest of the entire day.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
The Perfect Getaway
To catch up on a few other movies, I went up to my favorite multiplex in the DC area, which is the Egyptian 24 in the Arundel Mills Mall just south of Baltimore. It's a grandiose palace in a grandiose shopping center.
When I bought a ticket for The Perfect Getaway, I was under the impression that it was a romantic comedy for which I'd seen trailers. As I watched the previews before the movie, the trailer I was thinking of came on, and I realized I had no idea what movie I was about to see.
This was actually a very good thing, because it turns out to be a horror movie, set in Hawaii. I hardly want to talk about it, because I had such a good time seeing it in ignorance. It surprised me at every time and kept me riveted. Even though I suspected the big twist, it nevertheless worked very well.
No ancient curses. No ghosts. Mild bloodshed, but lots of really, juicy tension. That's all I have to say. If you like horror, this is one of the more enjoyable movies of the year so far.
Plenty of self-reference about horror movies, in a Postmodern way, because of the characters is a screenwriter. But it works in this case.
When I bought a ticket for The Perfect Getaway, I was under the impression that it was a romantic comedy for which I'd seen trailers. As I watched the previews before the movie, the trailer I was thinking of came on, and I realized I had no idea what movie I was about to see.
This was actually a very good thing, because it turns out to be a horror movie, set in Hawaii. I hardly want to talk about it, because I had such a good time seeing it in ignorance. It surprised me at every time and kept me riveted. Even though I suspected the big twist, it nevertheless worked very well.
No ancient curses. No ghosts. Mild bloodshed, but lots of really, juicy tension. That's all I have to say. If you like horror, this is one of the more enjoyable movies of the year so far.
Plenty of self-reference about horror movies, in a Postmodern way, because of the characters is a screenwriter. But it works in this case.
Julie and Julia
When I got back from Georgetown, I got off the metro in Silver Spring and walked a few blocks up the street to the gorgeous AFI Silver Theater, the flagship theater of the American Film Institute. I had visited it last fall when I was here, but I had seen Miracle at St. Anna there, which I counted as one of my biggest disappointments of the year. I figured Julie and Julia would give me a chance to redeem that experience, and it mostly did. It definitely is one of the more enjoyable movies of the summer, if not one of the better ones.
The acting is superb on the part of Streep and Adams (teamed up once again). Streep disappears into her role as Julia Child utterly.
The story is rather unique in that it is actually two completely different stories, taking place decades apart, which have no explicit connection to each other. This was actually quite a fresh way of approaching the narrative, and I thought it worked pretty well.
I could write a lot of good things about this movie, including the direction by Nora Ephron. On the narrative level, it came a little bit apart in the Third Act. This is probably because the story was so lighthearted and fun, that it seemed like the writers almost had to invent somewhat phony difficulties for the characters to encounter (especially Adams' Julie). For some reason, her husband no longer likes her weird project. It came out of the blue. The big crisis was that someone cancels a dinner invitation?
And in the end, we get no real resolution of the Julie-Julia connection (because in real life Julia Child died before there could be one). But it feels a little awkward. I wish they could have found a little bit better way to end both stories that came completeness to how fun the movie was to watch.
And it was fun, especially if you like food. A lot of really good fun scenes. Yum. Makes me hungry.
The acting is superb on the part of Streep and Adams (teamed up once again). Streep disappears into her role as Julia Child utterly.
The story is rather unique in that it is actually two completely different stories, taking place decades apart, which have no explicit connection to each other. This was actually quite a fresh way of approaching the narrative, and I thought it worked pretty well.
I could write a lot of good things about this movie, including the direction by Nora Ephron. On the narrative level, it came a little bit apart in the Third Act. This is probably because the story was so lighthearted and fun, that it seemed like the writers almost had to invent somewhat phony difficulties for the characters to encounter (especially Adams' Julie). For some reason, her husband no longer likes her weird project. It came out of the blue. The big crisis was that someone cancels a dinner invitation?
And in the end, we get no real resolution of the Julie-Julia connection (because in real life Julia Child died before there could be one). But it feels a little awkward. I wish they could have found a little bit better way to end both stories that came completeness to how fun the movie was to watch.
And it was fun, especially if you like food. A lot of really good fun scenes. Yum. Makes me hungry.
Post Grad
My ex-wife and I used to watch Gilmore Girls back in the day, and I developed a soft spot for Alexis Bledel that makes me cut her slack in whatever she appears.
She needed a little bit of it in Post Grad, which looked to be a fun romantic comedy about a woman (Bledel) who graduates from college with a humanities degree and not only gets shut out of her dream job, but can't find any work at all.
The set-up was done well, but the narrative felt a little herky-jerky, with some obvious "gags" to drive to the plot, such as running over a pet cat (big minus in my book for cat-killing humor). A subplot involving a romantic revival to her love interest sorts of starts up, and then just vanishes when the guy decides to leave the country (how convenient for the story). The cast was enjoyable to watch, but it left me a little dry and feeling manipulated with the Little Miss Sunshine type cutesy way it tried to resolve the story lines. Where the hell did she really get that ice cream truck?
I saw this at the Loew's Theater on K Street in Georgetown. Back in 1984 I worked for a few weeks at movie theater in Georgetown, and I thought this was it, but it turns out the one I worked at was on Jefferson Street, just a block away, and no longer exists. This multiplex is beautiful and new. Definitely an improvement since 1984.
She needed a little bit of it in Post Grad, which looked to be a fun romantic comedy about a woman (Bledel) who graduates from college with a humanities degree and not only gets shut out of her dream job, but can't find any work at all.
The set-up was done well, but the narrative felt a little herky-jerky, with some obvious "gags" to drive to the plot, such as running over a pet cat (big minus in my book for cat-killing humor). A subplot involving a romantic revival to her love interest sorts of starts up, and then just vanishes when the guy decides to leave the country (how convenient for the story). The cast was enjoyable to watch, but it left me a little dry and feeling manipulated with the Little Miss Sunshine type cutesy way it tried to resolve the story lines. Where the hell did she really get that ice cream truck?
I saw this at the Loew's Theater on K Street in Georgetown. Back in 1984 I worked for a few weeks at movie theater in Georgetown, and I thought this was it, but it turns out the one I worked at was on Jefferson Street, just a block away, and no longer exists. This multiplex is beautiful and new. Definitely an improvement since 1984.
G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra
Went back to the Powder Mill AMC to see this, because it is easy to get to, and it has a nice parking lot with plenty of spaces. Was nearly alone in the theater for a weekday matinee.
Well, G.I. Joe: the Rise of Cobra was actually better than I expected, but only because I was expecting it to be on the level of Transformers 2: The Revenge of the Fallen. The "New World Order" NATO superpolice military police was definitely offputting in a big way, but the story was actually engaging and the special effects were enough to keep me from really losing interest.
But I knew when I was getting when in the middle of a huge futuristic firefight, a hoverplane lands and out of steps a leather-clad female warrior with flowing hair. Right then I knew this was a "sexual inversion fantasy," in which kick-ass busty women run around thrilling their male counterparts.
That's exactly what happens. The back story of the movie, told in flashbacks, goes something like this: an American special forces officer, on the eve of deployment on a dangerous mission, proposes to his beautiful girlfriend. She accepts, then adds the condition that he must protect her little brother (also in his unit) on the mission. He accepts her condition, which weakens him as a hero. A hero, upon proposing, must insist on yes or no, without conditions such as these.
What follows is predictable: the little brother gets killed. The hero, ashamed, is unable to face his girlfriend and doesn't even attend the funeral. In response, his girlfriend becomes a kick ass warrior herself winds up joining a group of evil marauders who are intent on destroying the world. Talk about female rage arising from male weakness! Here it is in spades.
The dialogue among the special forces is packed with references to sexual denigration, with the idea that the men have become feminized. That's very on the spot. We have mindless chest-thumping violence that arising from male weakness.
Another love story sideplot involves a love-bitten starry-eyed male soldier and a hardbitten unemotional female soldier. The inversion lives on! And so do the crummy movies they make from them.
Well, not as crummy as others. Not completely unenjoyable, as I said. An obvious sequel on the way.
Well, G.I. Joe: the Rise of Cobra was actually better than I expected, but only because I was expecting it to be on the level of Transformers 2: The Revenge of the Fallen. The "New World Order" NATO superpolice military police was definitely offputting in a big way, but the story was actually engaging and the special effects were enough to keep me from really losing interest.
But I knew when I was getting when in the middle of a huge futuristic firefight, a hoverplane lands and out of steps a leather-clad female warrior with flowing hair. Right then I knew this was a "sexual inversion fantasy," in which kick-ass busty women run around thrilling their male counterparts.
That's exactly what happens. The back story of the movie, told in flashbacks, goes something like this: an American special forces officer, on the eve of deployment on a dangerous mission, proposes to his beautiful girlfriend. She accepts, then adds the condition that he must protect her little brother (also in his unit) on the mission. He accepts her condition, which weakens him as a hero. A hero, upon proposing, must insist on yes or no, without conditions such as these.
What follows is predictable: the little brother gets killed. The hero, ashamed, is unable to face his girlfriend and doesn't even attend the funeral. In response, his girlfriend becomes a kick ass warrior herself winds up joining a group of evil marauders who are intent on destroying the world. Talk about female rage arising from male weakness! Here it is in spades.
The dialogue among the special forces is packed with references to sexual denigration, with the idea that the men have become feminized. That's very on the spot. We have mindless chest-thumping violence that arising from male weakness.
Another love story sideplot involves a love-bitten starry-eyed male soldier and a hardbitten unemotional female soldier. The inversion lives on! And so do the crummy movies they make from them.
Well, not as crummy as others. Not completely unenjoyable, as I said. An obvious sequel on the way.
District 9
My friend and host Howard wanted to see this, as did Seth, one of his housemates here in Silver Spring. I was pleased to have a whole group of six us to go to the nice fancy Regal multiplex in downtown Silver Spring, with escalators and multiple floors, and stadium seating.
There's been a lot of good talk about District 9, and I would probably echo much of it. I liked the way the story was told, even though I don't usually enjoy "alien" movies much anymore, because I think the genre is so overdone. I enjoyed the way the narrative started out as a documentary, but then switched over to omniscient viewpoint part of the way through, giving a heterogeneous feel to the plot.
It didn't blow me away, as it did some other people, but it was one of the better movies of the summer. Very good special effects, and social commentary (which is what good sci-fi should do).
There's been a lot of good talk about District 9, and I would probably echo much of it. I liked the way the story was told, even though I don't usually enjoy "alien" movies much anymore, because I think the genre is so overdone. I enjoyed the way the narrative started out as a documentary, but then switched over to omniscient viewpoint part of the way through, giving a heterogeneous feel to the plot.
It didn't blow me away, as it did some other people, but it was one of the better movies of the summer. Very good special effects, and social commentary (which is what good sci-fi should do).
Orphan
(OK these are gonna be shotgun reviews. I gotta get back on the road today)
I've come to think of American horror as dead. Either it's a crummy and soulless remake of an old slasher "classic," or its a remake of an Asian movie (sometimes OK), or its just full of lots of supernatural bullshit. I had no faith that Orphan would be any different, but I was wrong.
Saw this in Silver Spring at the AMC on Powder Mill Road. Right away there was something about it I liked, and I liked it all the way through. It felt fresh and creepy. No ancient curses. No demonic possessions. No ghosts. Just pure naturalistic horror. I saw the twist coming a mile away, and I still liked it. Some of the best uses of black light in recent Hollywood cinema.
I've come to think of American horror as dead. Either it's a crummy and soulless remake of an old slasher "classic," or its a remake of an Asian movie (sometimes OK), or its just full of lots of supernatural bullshit. I had no faith that Orphan would be any different, but I was wrong.
Saw this in Silver Spring at the AMC on Powder Mill Road. Right away there was something about it I liked, and I liked it all the way through. It felt fresh and creepy. No ancient curses. No demonic possessions. No ghosts. Just pure naturalistic horror. I saw the twist coming a mile away, and I still liked it. Some of the best uses of black light in recent Hollywood cinema.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Two weeks in Maryland---and finally some movies again!
It's Friday afternoon, and as I write this, I've been staying at Howard's place in Silver Spring for two weeks. It has been a very fun time. He and his girlfriend Mia are consummate hosts, and I have only the highest praise for them for putting up with me for so long.
Ironically the first thing we did upon getting into town was head off on a camping trip. We wound up at Assateague State Park on the Maryland ocean shore, where I rode on a Catamaran sailboat for the first time in my life. Our campsite was mobbed by wild ponies, which is considered a normal thing at the park.
I also got to witness a "penning competition," where Mia (who is quite a horseback rider) competed to round up numbered cattle into a pen. I told people I was rooting for the cows.
There has been all manner of fun, including a visit into DC, on Thursday of this week, where I went to the National Zoo for the first time in twenty years. I used to love DC, but I have very hard time stomaching being there anymore. The zoo, however, was very nice and relaxing. It seems that the presence of the animals there made it somewhat civilized compared to the rest of the city.
And yes, as the title suggests, I finally did get to catch up slighty on my movies (although not as much as I thought I would be able). Since I'm taking off tomorrow for the next leg of this road trip, I need to catch up on my write-ups. I'm going to attempt to do that over the next twelve hours or so. I have told myself they will be only abbreviated write-ups, but knowing me, I'll wind up shooting my mouth off again. I can't help myself.
Ironically the first thing we did upon getting into town was head off on a camping trip. We wound up at Assateague State Park on the Maryland ocean shore, where I rode on a Catamaran sailboat for the first time in my life. Our campsite was mobbed by wild ponies, which is considered a normal thing at the park.
I also got to witness a "penning competition," where Mia (who is quite a horseback rider) competed to round up numbered cattle into a pen. I told people I was rooting for the cows.
There has been all manner of fun, including a visit into DC, on Thursday of this week, where I went to the National Zoo for the first time in twenty years. I used to love DC, but I have very hard time stomaching being there anymore. The zoo, however, was very nice and relaxing. It seems that the presence of the animals there made it somewhat civilized compared to the rest of the city.
And yes, as the title suggests, I finally did get to catch up slighty on my movies (although not as much as I thought I would be able). Since I'm taking off tomorrow for the next leg of this road trip, I need to catch up on my write-ups. I'm going to attempt to do that over the next twelve hours or so. I have told myself they will be only abbreviated write-ups, but knowing me, I'll wind up shooting my mouth off again. I can't help myself.
To the mouth of the great river,and swirling around the Chesapeake
After my visit to Old Conrad's grave, I got back on the main highway and headed back to Harrisburg, passing through Hershey on a blistering hot afternoon. As I passed the famous factory, all I could think about was all that delicious chocolate melting on the highway.
Harrisburg was a mess of afternoon traffic, and I was relieved to finally get on the sideroads along the river that led southward into Maryland. I had thought that the best river scenery was behind me at this point, but I was wrong. As it cuts through the rolling hills of this area, the river nevertheless gouges a beautiful ancient canyon that furnishes some awesome overlooks. I was particularly impressed by the town of Columbia, Pa., which, according to a historical plaque there, came within one vote in Congress of becoming the national capital.
Near the Maryland border, the river passes through an area of crazily fractured rock formations called the Indian Steps. Out west this would probably be a national park.
As the sun was setting, I finally crossed the famous Mason-Dixon line into Maryland, where the river almost immediately jetisons itself into the northern end of Chesapeake Bay. I stopped into the town of Perry at the mouth and took some pictures as the sun set, standing beside a colonial inn that was a favorite of George Washington when he passed through this area on the way to Philadelphia and New York.
There was just enough sunlight left in the day to stop in the touristy town of North East for some groceries, and then to make it to Elk Neck State Park to find a campsite. In Maryland, I discovered, they demand your ID and run in through some computer system, I think. The printer was down and it was about twenty minutes for the ranger to finally print out my camp pass and let me into the park, for the princely sum of twenty-seven bucks.
It wouldn't have been so bad, but it turns out the bathrooms, and the park as whole, were infested with all manner of spiders. It took me over a week to recover from the bites I received there. Moreover, there were frequent ranger patrols in the campround, and perhaps because I checked in late, the ranger kept stopping at my site to eye me suspiciously in the dark. I was glad this was the last night of camping for this leg of the trip.
In the morning I woke to a scenic view of the Elk River, which is just an estuarial inlet off the Chesapeake. I learned from a historical marker that this is where the British fleet landed to unload the army to attack Philadelphia during the Revolutionary War.
It was a cloudy but muggy day. I meandered down the Delmarva Peninsula, stopping in the town of Chesapeake City, Md., which is not really on the bay of the name, but is rather on the old Chesapeake and Delaware Canal. I paid a very splendid visit to the free canal museum run by the Army Corps of Engineers, and learned that the canal was first proposed in the late Seventeenth Century.
In the afternoon, I travelled through the flat farmlands of the eastern shore of Maryland, winding down until I got to Kent Island, where I crossed the bay on the mighty Bay Bridge for the first time ever. This landed me in Annapolis, where I toured the Maryland state capitol (of course).
Maryland's capitol is very different than Pennsylvania. As the oldest continually functioning statehouse in the country, it is tiny by contemporary standards, and rather inconspicuous in the center of town. Of course it is charming and quaint in a colonial way.
Annapolis had some fun memories for me. Twenty-six years ago, when I was a freshman at Georgetown, I borrowed a friend's bicycle and took over on a Saturday night, traveling all night from DC to Annapolis on the backroads. It was perhaps the opening act in a long series of crazy travels, and was something I wouldn't dream of doing today.
But it was a powerful experience, and I still remember coming over the bridge south of town as the sun rose on Sunday morning. This visit, I had to negotiate crummy post-work traffic, but I managed to make it back to the same bridge, for sentimental reasons. I noticed that the area around it has built quite built up over the last few decades.
As the afternoon grew long and hot, I left the site of my old memory and zigzagged through the backroads of rural Maryland until I at last got to my destination---the house (and artists studio) of my friend Howard in Silver Spring, just north of DC. He lives there with his girlfriend Mia and her brother Seth. I'd visited them last Halloween, on my way to New England, and thus this was a return visit as I went back west. It was good to see them again, and good to be off the road for the first time in two weeks.
Harrisburg was a mess of afternoon traffic, and I was relieved to finally get on the sideroads along the river that led southward into Maryland. I had thought that the best river scenery was behind me at this point, but I was wrong. As it cuts through the rolling hills of this area, the river nevertheless gouges a beautiful ancient canyon that furnishes some awesome overlooks. I was particularly impressed by the town of Columbia, Pa., which, according to a historical plaque there, came within one vote in Congress of becoming the national capital.
Near the Maryland border, the river passes through an area of crazily fractured rock formations called the Indian Steps. Out west this would probably be a national park.
As the sun was setting, I finally crossed the famous Mason-Dixon line into Maryland, where the river almost immediately jetisons itself into the northern end of Chesapeake Bay. I stopped into the town of Perry at the mouth and took some pictures as the sun set, standing beside a colonial inn that was a favorite of George Washington when he passed through this area on the way to Philadelphia and New York.
There was just enough sunlight left in the day to stop in the touristy town of North East for some groceries, and then to make it to Elk Neck State Park to find a campsite. In Maryland, I discovered, they demand your ID and run in through some computer system, I think. The printer was down and it was about twenty minutes for the ranger to finally print out my camp pass and let me into the park, for the princely sum of twenty-seven bucks.
It wouldn't have been so bad, but it turns out the bathrooms, and the park as whole, were infested with all manner of spiders. It took me over a week to recover from the bites I received there. Moreover, there were frequent ranger patrols in the campround, and perhaps because I checked in late, the ranger kept stopping at my site to eye me suspiciously in the dark. I was glad this was the last night of camping for this leg of the trip.
In the morning I woke to a scenic view of the Elk River, which is just an estuarial inlet off the Chesapeake. I learned from a historical marker that this is where the British fleet landed to unload the army to attack Philadelphia during the Revolutionary War.
It was a cloudy but muggy day. I meandered down the Delmarva Peninsula, stopping in the town of Chesapeake City, Md., which is not really on the bay of the name, but is rather on the old Chesapeake and Delaware Canal. I paid a very splendid visit to the free canal museum run by the Army Corps of Engineers, and learned that the canal was first proposed in the late Seventeenth Century.
In the afternoon, I travelled through the flat farmlands of the eastern shore of Maryland, winding down until I got to Kent Island, where I crossed the bay on the mighty Bay Bridge for the first time ever. This landed me in Annapolis, where I toured the Maryland state capitol (of course).
Maryland's capitol is very different than Pennsylvania. As the oldest continually functioning statehouse in the country, it is tiny by contemporary standards, and rather inconspicuous in the center of town. Of course it is charming and quaint in a colonial way.
Annapolis had some fun memories for me. Twenty-six years ago, when I was a freshman at Georgetown, I borrowed a friend's bicycle and took over on a Saturday night, traveling all night from DC to Annapolis on the backroads. It was perhaps the opening act in a long series of crazy travels, and was something I wouldn't dream of doing today.
But it was a powerful experience, and I still remember coming over the bridge south of town as the sun rose on Sunday morning. This visit, I had to negotiate crummy post-work traffic, but I managed to make it back to the same bridge, for sentimental reasons. I noticed that the area around it has built quite built up over the last few decades.
As the afternoon grew long and hot, I left the site of my old memory and zigzagged through the backroads of rural Maryland until I at last got to my destination---the house (and artists studio) of my friend Howard in Silver Spring, just north of DC. He lives there with his girlfriend Mia and her brother Seth. I'd visited them last Halloween, on my way to New England, and thus this was a return visit as I went back west. It was good to see them again, and good to be off the road for the first time in two weeks.
Down the might Susquehanna, to the resting place of my illustrious ancestor
From Ithaca I headed south to the Pennsylvania border. My plan was to follow the valley of the Susquehanna River until I reached Chesapeake Bay. It would take me across Pennsylvania from north to south, without passing through any of the largest cities in the state. It felt like an interesting way of seeing Pennsylvania.
I didn't plan to follow the river exactly (as I did the Ohio River last fall), but rather loosely skipping down its watershed at my leisure. First I passed Elmira, New York, where I took a picture of the Ernie Davis statue. I figured it was mandatory, given last fall's release of the The Express. I tried to find Mark Twain's house there, but the highways were all torn up, and I wound up circling through downtown Elmira so many times in the heat of the day that I began to joke to myself that I was never going to get out of town.
But I did, and within a few minutes I was across the border in the Keystone State. I continued southward until I got to Williamsport on the West Branch of the Susquehanna. I never know what a city is going to be like until I arrive, and Williamsport turns out to be one of the those faded river communities that seems like a ghost of its former self, at least in the downtown area. The most interesting thing was the large masonic hall. I'm fascinated by the architeture of masonic halls and have built a rather large photographic collection of them from my travels across the country.
In the afternoon I traveled up the valley of the West Branch along the Interstate, exiting to set up camp at Black Moshannon State Park, named after a little tributary of the West Branch. It was nice and forested there. In New England, I'd gotten used to state parks having mechanical gates, guards, and access codes to enter, and even to showing my ID to check in (bah!). At Black Moshannon, there was only an unmanned info center with honor envelopes to register. I felt like I was on the edge of the west once again. It felt good. There was a wonderful little camp store for groceries.
In the morning I drove the short distance into State College, where I parked in a downtown parking garage and spent the entire morning on a self-guided walking tour of the Penn State campus. It was quite fun, especially the football stadium (of course) and the nearby "Dairy of Distinction." It turns out that Penn State makes it own ice cream and milk products and sells them at a creamery on campus. My kind of university!
There was a independent theater across from campus showing The Brothers Bloom, one of the movies I missed seeing while I was in Europe. But it wasn't showing until the evening, and I was unwilling to stay an entire day in State College, so I passed on it again.
From State College, I zizsagged back eastward through a region called the Penn Valley, which is marked as a scenic route in my atlas, and turns out to be a gentle region of pleasant farms and Amish country in between ridges of the Appalachians.
By mid afternoon, I made it to Lewisport on the West Branch, which is a nice little river town with boutiques, no doubt from the presence of Bucknell University, which I drove through while I was there. I also walked across the Susquehanna on the bridge there. I figure if you're going to tour a river valley, you need to cros the river as a pedestrian at least once.
The route south of Lewisport turned out to be one of the most scenic parts of my trip, rivalling the Upper Delaware, although in a different way. I took the smaller road on the eastern shore and a few miles south of Lewisport reached the forks of the Susquehanna at Northumberland. There is a state park where you can see the forks, and where a famous Iroquois sachem is buried. I lingered there in the park drawing in the majesty of the confluence of the branches of the river in the sparkling summer sun.
Southward, the road tracks the river closely, rising on bluffs and then passing through small towns on the river bank that were once ports back a hundred years ago (like the little town of Dalmatia, Pennsylvania, which was my favorite).
A few miles further south, one finds the last remaining ferry across the Susquehanna. It turns out to be rustic sterwheel paddleboat (!). Normally I would seize the opportunity to take it, but it cost five bucks each way, and I wanted to continue southward on the east side of the river. I resolved that if I ever cross Pennyslvania on another trip, I will detour to take the ferry in order to cross the river.
That evening I camped right on the river bank, at a boater's campground in the town of Duncannon, just south of the mouth of the Juniata River. It was only twelve bucks, and it was very rustic, the kind of place I would recommend only to seasoned tent travelers like me. But the view was unbeatable. I had a iolsated sight with a view downriver where the river enters the canyon-like narrows of the Appalachians. During the evening, a snowy egret waded in the shallows near my tent site to keep me company.
In the morning, my route took me south through the narrows, where the road and the river emerge from the front ridge of the mountains onto the rolling plains of southeastern Pennsylvania. Here one finds Harrisburg, the state capital, and the largest city on my swing through the state.
For such a large state, Pennsylvania has an amazingly sleepy capital. It was very easy to find a parking spot near the capitol on a weekday morning.
But the capitol itself is magnificent. You can't tell from the outside, but the inside, constructed in the first decade of the Twentieth Century and modeled after Michelangelo's design of St. Peter's, is one of the most ornate and beautiful statehouses I have yet visited. I spent an hour there, since that is how much money I put in the parking meter, but I wished I could have stayed longer.
From Harrisburg I could have continued downriver, but at this point, I had a special visit to make that was off the river route, and even out of the watershed of the river. First I detoured slightly back upstream thorugh the narrows, then cut along Swatara Creek eastward behind the front ridge of the mountains, emerging onto the plains again in the "Swatara Gap" near Tower City.
My objective was special and personal, namely a historic site that is the homestead and resting place of Conrad Weiser, my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather (give or take a great), He was German immigrant in colonial America. My grandmother was Lorene Weiser.
Weiser was an amazing man. Not only was a leader and founder of the German community in that area of Pennsylvania (called the Tulpehocken, after a creek there), but he negotiated nearly every treaty with the Indians during the mid Eighteenth Century. He learned and spoke the native languages, and made close and lasting contacts with the Iroquois chieftains of that day, who trusted him and gave him an Iroquois name. Born in 1690, he died in 1760, after which relations between the English colonists and the Iroquois went downhill fast. It is interesting to speculate what might have happened if he had lived longer than 66 years.
For some reason, I had never made the pilgrimmage to his homestead near the small town of Womelsdorf just west of Reading (a city which he founded and platted). It never seemed like the convenient thing to do. But I knew that coming down the Susquehanna valley, it was absolutely time to do so. As I came through the Swatara Gap, there were numerous historical markers indicating the route that Weiser had taken while visiting the Iroquois homeland in western New York on various missions.
It turns out that nearly everything around Womelsdorf is named after Weiser, including the main highway, and even the Tru-Value hardware store. The state historic site was very easy to find.
Unfortunately, as I discovered upon arriving on a Wednesday afternoon, it was open only on the weekends. The visitor center was locked up tight. Nevertheless I was able to stroll the grounds of the ample park, which was designed by Frederick Olmstead, who also designed Central Park in New York City.
Thus I was able to visit his gravesite and the monuments erected to him. I took plenty of snapshots and even used his headstone to balance my camera to take a picture of myself there. I figured old Conrad wouldn't mind, especially since I actually once took the time to learn some Iroquois language and used it five years ago while traveling through the reservation west of Buffalo (I made a girl at a gas station there grin very wide by saying "thank you" in Iroquois).
I made a Facebook photo essay of my visit to the Weiser homestead. Here is a link to it.
I didn't plan to follow the river exactly (as I did the Ohio River last fall), but rather loosely skipping down its watershed at my leisure. First I passed Elmira, New York, where I took a picture of the Ernie Davis statue. I figured it was mandatory, given last fall's release of the The Express. I tried to find Mark Twain's house there, but the highways were all torn up, and I wound up circling through downtown Elmira so many times in the heat of the day that I began to joke to myself that I was never going to get out of town.
But I did, and within a few minutes I was across the border in the Keystone State. I continued southward until I got to Williamsport on the West Branch of the Susquehanna. I never know what a city is going to be like until I arrive, and Williamsport turns out to be one of the those faded river communities that seems like a ghost of its former self, at least in the downtown area. The most interesting thing was the large masonic hall. I'm fascinated by the architeture of masonic halls and have built a rather large photographic collection of them from my travels across the country.
In the afternoon I traveled up the valley of the West Branch along the Interstate, exiting to set up camp at Black Moshannon State Park, named after a little tributary of the West Branch. It was nice and forested there. In New England, I'd gotten used to state parks having mechanical gates, guards, and access codes to enter, and even to showing my ID to check in (bah!). At Black Moshannon, there was only an unmanned info center with honor envelopes to register. I felt like I was on the edge of the west once again. It felt good. There was a wonderful little camp store for groceries.
In the morning I drove the short distance into State College, where I parked in a downtown parking garage and spent the entire morning on a self-guided walking tour of the Penn State campus. It was quite fun, especially the football stadium (of course) and the nearby "Dairy of Distinction." It turns out that Penn State makes it own ice cream and milk products and sells them at a creamery on campus. My kind of university!
There was a independent theater across from campus showing The Brothers Bloom, one of the movies I missed seeing while I was in Europe. But it wasn't showing until the evening, and I was unwilling to stay an entire day in State College, so I passed on it again.
From State College, I zizsagged back eastward through a region called the Penn Valley, which is marked as a scenic route in my atlas, and turns out to be a gentle region of pleasant farms and Amish country in between ridges of the Appalachians.
By mid afternoon, I made it to Lewisport on the West Branch, which is a nice little river town with boutiques, no doubt from the presence of Bucknell University, which I drove through while I was there. I also walked across the Susquehanna on the bridge there. I figure if you're going to tour a river valley, you need to cros the river as a pedestrian at least once.
The route south of Lewisport turned out to be one of the most scenic parts of my trip, rivalling the Upper Delaware, although in a different way. I took the smaller road on the eastern shore and a few miles south of Lewisport reached the forks of the Susquehanna at Northumberland. There is a state park where you can see the forks, and where a famous Iroquois sachem is buried. I lingered there in the park drawing in the majesty of the confluence of the branches of the river in the sparkling summer sun.
Southward, the road tracks the river closely, rising on bluffs and then passing through small towns on the river bank that were once ports back a hundred years ago (like the little town of Dalmatia, Pennsylvania, which was my favorite).
A few miles further south, one finds the last remaining ferry across the Susquehanna. It turns out to be rustic sterwheel paddleboat (!). Normally I would seize the opportunity to take it, but it cost five bucks each way, and I wanted to continue southward on the east side of the river. I resolved that if I ever cross Pennyslvania on another trip, I will detour to take the ferry in order to cross the river.
That evening I camped right on the river bank, at a boater's campground in the town of Duncannon, just south of the mouth of the Juniata River. It was only twelve bucks, and it was very rustic, the kind of place I would recommend only to seasoned tent travelers like me. But the view was unbeatable. I had a iolsated sight with a view downriver where the river enters the canyon-like narrows of the Appalachians. During the evening, a snowy egret waded in the shallows near my tent site to keep me company.
In the morning, my route took me south through the narrows, where the road and the river emerge from the front ridge of the mountains onto the rolling plains of southeastern Pennsylvania. Here one finds Harrisburg, the state capital, and the largest city on my swing through the state.
For such a large state, Pennsylvania has an amazingly sleepy capital. It was very easy to find a parking spot near the capitol on a weekday morning.
But the capitol itself is magnificent. You can't tell from the outside, but the inside, constructed in the first decade of the Twentieth Century and modeled after Michelangelo's design of St. Peter's, is one of the most ornate and beautiful statehouses I have yet visited. I spent an hour there, since that is how much money I put in the parking meter, but I wished I could have stayed longer.
From Harrisburg I could have continued downriver, but at this point, I had a special visit to make that was off the river route, and even out of the watershed of the river. First I detoured slightly back upstream thorugh the narrows, then cut along Swatara Creek eastward behind the front ridge of the mountains, emerging onto the plains again in the "Swatara Gap" near Tower City.
My objective was special and personal, namely a historic site that is the homestead and resting place of Conrad Weiser, my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather (give or take a great), He was German immigrant in colonial America. My grandmother was Lorene Weiser.
Weiser was an amazing man. Not only was a leader and founder of the German community in that area of Pennsylvania (called the Tulpehocken, after a creek there), but he negotiated nearly every treaty with the Indians during the mid Eighteenth Century. He learned and spoke the native languages, and made close and lasting contacts with the Iroquois chieftains of that day, who trusted him and gave him an Iroquois name. Born in 1690, he died in 1760, after which relations between the English colonists and the Iroquois went downhill fast. It is interesting to speculate what might have happened if he had lived longer than 66 years.
For some reason, I had never made the pilgrimmage to his homestead near the small town of Womelsdorf just west of Reading (a city which he founded and platted). It never seemed like the convenient thing to do. But I knew that coming down the Susquehanna valley, it was absolutely time to do so. As I came through the Swatara Gap, there were numerous historical markers indicating the route that Weiser had taken while visiting the Iroquois homeland in western New York on various missions.
It turns out that nearly everything around Womelsdorf is named after Weiser, including the main highway, and even the Tru-Value hardware store. The state historic site was very easy to find.
Unfortunately, as I discovered upon arriving on a Wednesday afternoon, it was open only on the weekends. The visitor center was locked up tight. Nevertheless I was able to stroll the grounds of the ample park, which was designed by Frederick Olmstead, who also designed Central Park in New York City.
Thus I was able to visit his gravesite and the monuments erected to him. I took plenty of snapshots and even used his headstone to balance my camera to take a picture of myself there. I figured old Conrad wouldn't mind, especially since I actually once took the time to learn some Iroquois language and used it five years ago while traveling through the reservation west of Buffalo (I made a girl at a gas station there grin very wide by saying "thank you" in Iroquois).
I made a Facebook photo essay of my visit to the Weiser homestead. Here is a link to it.
My Anti-Woodstock, and a Communion with Mr. Feynman
When I woke up in the morning at the Motel 6 in Binghamton, the skies were blue and bright. The storms had completely passed. It would be a good day for driving.
I'd been to Binghamton before, but I spent a couple hours in the early morning exploring the city again, thinking of it as my entry point into western New York, an area that has come to increasingly fascinate me as the incubator of many interesting strains in American history. Not for nothing that Rod Serling was born in Binghamton.
In the late morning I headed north towards what I called my "Anti-Woodstock." It was only a couple days until the anniversary of the great music festival, and I had toyed with the idea of going through Bethel, but somehow it had fallen off my agenda. Instead my goal was the tiny hamlet of Richford, on the road between Binghamton and Ithaca.
I didn't know what I would find there of interest, but I knew I had to at least see what it looked like now, and get a glimpse of the terrain and how it felt.
But it turned out to be more interesting than I though. As I neared the small town, I passed a sign that read "Michigan Hill Road" (map). The name leapt out at me, and I slammed on my brakes and turned around. It was a dirt road that took me off the main highway over one of the rolling green hills. I was perfectly content to think I had found what I was looking for, and I was about to turn around, when I saw the sign at the crossroads for "Rockefeller Road."
This had to be it. It took me down the hill, across a small creek, and hundred yards later there was the marker I was looking for. It was small information sign below a little roof, placed there not by the federal government, or New York State, but by the county. Without much fanfare it marked the birthplace and the boyhood home of arguably the most wealthy man who ever lived, and the godfather of much of the economics and politics of the 20th Century---John Davison Rockefeller. The inconspicuous nature of it was exactly what I would have expected.
I was thrilled to have found it. I knew there would be nothing else besides the sign, and the rotting foundation in the woods, so I turned around and went back to main highway, snapping many pictures along the way with my digital camera.
About a half hour later I was in Ithaca for the first time. I like exploring college campuses, so I parked on the hill near Cornell, fed the meter with quarters, and spent a good hour walking round the old section, getting an eyefull of both of the gorges that flank the campus, and of the Finger Lake below, all the while thinking of Richard Feynman, Carl Sagan, Kurt Vonnegut, and Nelson Rockefeller (for various reasons).
It was a pleasant visit.
I'd been to Binghamton before, but I spent a couple hours in the early morning exploring the city again, thinking of it as my entry point into western New York, an area that has come to increasingly fascinate me as the incubator of many interesting strains in American history. Not for nothing that Rod Serling was born in Binghamton.
In the late morning I headed north towards what I called my "Anti-Woodstock." It was only a couple days until the anniversary of the great music festival, and I had toyed with the idea of going through Bethel, but somehow it had fallen off my agenda. Instead my goal was the tiny hamlet of Richford, on the road between Binghamton and Ithaca.
I didn't know what I would find there of interest, but I knew I had to at least see what it looked like now, and get a glimpse of the terrain and how it felt.
But it turned out to be more interesting than I though. As I neared the small town, I passed a sign that read "Michigan Hill Road" (map). The name leapt out at me, and I slammed on my brakes and turned around. It was a dirt road that took me off the main highway over one of the rolling green hills. I was perfectly content to think I had found what I was looking for, and I was about to turn around, when I saw the sign at the crossroads for "Rockefeller Road."
This had to be it. It took me down the hill, across a small creek, and hundred yards later there was the marker I was looking for. It was small information sign below a little roof, placed there not by the federal government, or New York State, but by the county. Without much fanfare it marked the birthplace and the boyhood home of arguably the most wealthy man who ever lived, and the godfather of much of the economics and politics of the 20th Century---John Davison Rockefeller. The inconspicuous nature of it was exactly what I would have expected.
I was thrilled to have found it. I knew there would be nothing else besides the sign, and the rotting foundation in the woods, so I turned around and went back to main highway, snapping many pictures along the way with my digital camera.
About a half hour later I was in Ithaca for the first time. I like exploring college campuses, so I parked on the hill near Cornell, fed the meter with quarters, and spent a good hour walking round the old section, getting an eyefull of both of the gorges that flank the campus, and of the Finger Lake below, all the while thinking of Richard Feynman, Carl Sagan, Kurt Vonnegut, and Nelson Rockefeller (for various reasons).
It was a pleasant visit.
(500) Days of Summer
The movie I chose to see at the Regal Cinemas in Binghamton was (500) Days of Summer, which had heard much about, and which I was very much eager to see. It didn't disappoint me.
At first I thought it was going to be cloyingly unwatchable, but thankfully wrong. The intention of the movie was possibly to make the ultimate story of the Weak Postmodern Man, the stereotypical "average" American young male, in his post-college years, who has no real ability to talk to women whom he desires, and who feels at the mercy of fate and luck when it comes to romance. The young man here (Tom, played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt) meets a young woman named Summer (played by by Zooey Deschanel).
The "500" of the title refers to the length of their relationship, from their first encounter until the ultimate end. We learn at the very beginning of the movie that it is probably not going to be a "happy" romantic ending for the two of them as a couple, and the story fulfills this.
Thus we get to see all the "mistakes" that Tom makes along the way as the Weak Postmodern Man. This is what makes the story rise to being the "ultimate" cinematic statement of this type of character and this type of dysfunctional contemporary romance, one that attempts to dissect and analyze every phase of "how things go wrong," at least from the male point of view (at first I typed "Postermodern Man" while writing this).
The Postmodern inversion of sexual roles is in full force in the story, which gave the story a lot of power. To wit, there are two characters, one male and one female. One is career-driven and not interested in romance. The other has no clear career ambitions in the workplace but is really looking for love and romance. Which is the man and which is the woman? I'm sure I don't have to tell you which one.
This inversion is punctuated explicity in several points, including a scene in a diner that appears in the trailer, in which Summer tells Tom that they are like Sid and Nancy (it's always explicity Postmodern for characters in a movie to compare themselves to characters inan other movie). Tom protests that he is nothing like Sid, and Summer replies, "No, I'm Sid," to which Tom replies "So that makes me Nancy!"
Yes, Tom, you are Nancy Boy, a trait you share with millions of other young men your age walking around in our country, and increasingly all of the Western World. That's the point of the movie.
His redemption will arrive not thorugh "finding the perfect romance" but in the old-time classical way: by finding his true path as a man in life.
The cascade of heartbreak we encounter with Tom is bearable, and fresh, because of the manner of the storytelling which is very nonlinear. We skip around in time a lot, with the "day" being indicated by a number in parentheses at the beginning a particular scene.
Actually, it's not as nonlinear as might appear. Like a true epic, it actually beings in media res, then skips back to the very beginning, and ends at the very end (right after day 500). In between, everything in chopped up in time. Thus it is more appropriate to say that we have a classical structure overlaid by nonlinear narrative---the form here follows the function very well.
Increasingly movies such as this, which do not simply accept the Weak Postmodern Man and the Sexual Inversion as given, but play around with them, and help enlighten us about them, are among my favorite of Hollywood films. I Love You, Beth Cooper fell somewhat into this category as well, as an attempt to create the "ulimate" story in this category. I like them both, for different reasons.
Zooey Deschanel really pulled this off very well, by the way. I'm now a fan.
At first I thought it was going to be cloyingly unwatchable, but thankfully wrong. The intention of the movie was possibly to make the ultimate story of the Weak Postmodern Man, the stereotypical "average" American young male, in his post-college years, who has no real ability to talk to women whom he desires, and who feels at the mercy of fate and luck when it comes to romance. The young man here (Tom, played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt) meets a young woman named Summer (played by by Zooey Deschanel).
The "500" of the title refers to the length of their relationship, from their first encounter until the ultimate end. We learn at the very beginning of the movie that it is probably not going to be a "happy" romantic ending for the two of them as a couple, and the story fulfills this.
Thus we get to see all the "mistakes" that Tom makes along the way as the Weak Postmodern Man. This is what makes the story rise to being the "ultimate" cinematic statement of this type of character and this type of dysfunctional contemporary romance, one that attempts to dissect and analyze every phase of "how things go wrong," at least from the male point of view (at first I typed "Postermodern Man" while writing this).
The Postmodern inversion of sexual roles is in full force in the story, which gave the story a lot of power. To wit, there are two characters, one male and one female. One is career-driven and not interested in romance. The other has no clear career ambitions in the workplace but is really looking for love and romance. Which is the man and which is the woman? I'm sure I don't have to tell you which one.
This inversion is punctuated explicity in several points, including a scene in a diner that appears in the trailer, in which Summer tells Tom that they are like Sid and Nancy (it's always explicity Postmodern for characters in a movie to compare themselves to characters inan other movie). Tom protests that he is nothing like Sid, and Summer replies, "No, I'm Sid," to which Tom replies "So that makes me Nancy!"
Yes, Tom, you are Nancy Boy, a trait you share with millions of other young men your age walking around in our country, and increasingly all of the Western World. That's the point of the movie.
His redemption will arrive not thorugh "finding the perfect romance" but in the old-time classical way: by finding his true path as a man in life.
The cascade of heartbreak we encounter with Tom is bearable, and fresh, because of the manner of the storytelling which is very nonlinear. We skip around in time a lot, with the "day" being indicated by a number in parentheses at the beginning a particular scene.
Actually, it's not as nonlinear as might appear. Like a true epic, it actually beings in media res, then skips back to the very beginning, and ends at the very end (right after day 500). In between, everything in chopped up in time. Thus it is more appropriate to say that we have a classical structure overlaid by nonlinear narrative---the form here follows the function very well.
Increasingly movies such as this, which do not simply accept the Weak Postmodern Man and the Sexual Inversion as given, but play around with them, and help enlighten us about them, are among my favorite of Hollywood films. I Love You, Beth Cooper fell somewhat into this category as well, as an attempt to create the "ulimate" story in this category. I like them both, for different reasons.
Zooey Deschanel really pulled this off very well, by the way. I'm now a fan.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Up the Delaware and Backwards in Time
The night in the New Jersey campground, like I said, was rainy. In the morning my tent was quite wet, and I had to place it unfolded in my trunk, with the technique I've learned, in order to dry it out as I drove through the day.
I thought the day might dry up as it went on, but it remained foggy and a drizzly the entire morning and afternoon. Nevertheless it turned out to be a magnificent day of travel, one of those ones I will remember vividly for a long time, the kind that makes road travel all worth it.
First off I headed just a few miles up to the road to Port Jervis, which is right at the point on the Delaware where New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania come together. I had actually been to the town before several times, including once with my ex-wife when we were married, and also last year when I was on my way to Boston. It was here finally that my route on this trip intersected the one from the last year.
For the third time, I drove downtown and inspected the historic Erie Turntable, where the locomotives of the Erie Railroad were swapped on a giant pivoting section of track. I read the historical information again, and found new things of interest this time. I just can't seem to get enough of history about railroads and canals. I figured if my travels had brought me back here again, there must have been something new to learn there.
After Port Jervis is where the day got really fun. I had driven along many sections of the Delaware River, but never the upper section along the Pennsylvania-New York border. It turns out to be absolutely the most scenic part of the river. Even though it was a misty day, the views of the river canyon from the cliffside roads north of Port Jervis rivaled anything I had seen traveling by car.
Better yet were all the historic sites along this section of the river. It turned into the kind of day I love, where I stop nearly every half and hour to jump and explore another historical site. I especially love things from the colonial era, and the early western expansion into the frontier, and this section of the river was perfect for that.
Among the great things to see there are the oldest example of a wire rope bridge by John Roebling---an aqueduct for a canal over the Delaware River. I also had fun getting a one-person tour Zane Grey's study at his residence along the river. My favorite part was probably the visit to the site of the 1779 Battle of Minisink, where a group of Iroquois and Tories under native leader Joseph Brant ambushed and massacred a group of New York colonial miltia after the former had raided the settlement at Port Jervis.
It wasn't a national or even state historical site, but maintained by Sullivan County. A group of boy scouts was setting up for a cookout when I arrived. Some of them were grumbling that their scoutmaster was making them sweep up the small interpretive center for the battle.
The historical tour of the day culminated in a fun visit to the Fort Delaware colonial museum. I saw a demonstration of colonial blacksmithing, clothing, and the firing of a period cannon (the best part).
By this time it was the mid afternoon and I got out my map to start looking for campsites. I figured on setting up camp at a New York state park somewhere up in the Finger Lakes region.
But that never happened. As I headed up Highway 17 towards Binghamton, a few drops of rain hit my windshield. I thought about how my tent was still damp from the night before, and the idea of setting up an already damp tent while it was raining did not appeal to me.
So I fumbled for my motel guide, and decided that it was still raining when I got to Binghamton, I would check into a motel.
For a while it seemed the rain had disappeared. But it was only a trick. As I passed downton Binghamton on the freeway, the sky suddenly grew very dark, as dark as I have ever seen it in the day time on a summer afternoon. It felt more like an hour after sundown.
Then the heavens opened up and the rain just poured and poured, so that it was almost impossible to drive. I figured this was the sign I was looking for. I was just a mile from the exit I wanted, and within a half hour, I had pulled off and had checked into the local Motel 6, which had a very good rate.
It was my first night indoors in almost two weeks. I wasn't happy about breaking my string of thirteen nights in a row of camping (only one day short of last fall's personal record), but in reality I was glad to be indoors and take a long shower, and relax on a proper bed.
Plus, of course, it gave me a chance to see another movie.
I thought the day might dry up as it went on, but it remained foggy and a drizzly the entire morning and afternoon. Nevertheless it turned out to be a magnificent day of travel, one of those ones I will remember vividly for a long time, the kind that makes road travel all worth it.
First off I headed just a few miles up to the road to Port Jervis, which is right at the point on the Delaware where New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania come together. I had actually been to the town before several times, including once with my ex-wife when we were married, and also last year when I was on my way to Boston. It was here finally that my route on this trip intersected the one from the last year.
For the third time, I drove downtown and inspected the historic Erie Turntable, where the locomotives of the Erie Railroad were swapped on a giant pivoting section of track. I read the historical information again, and found new things of interest this time. I just can't seem to get enough of history about railroads and canals. I figured if my travels had brought me back here again, there must have been something new to learn there.
After Port Jervis is where the day got really fun. I had driven along many sections of the Delaware River, but never the upper section along the Pennsylvania-New York border. It turns out to be absolutely the most scenic part of the river. Even though it was a misty day, the views of the river canyon from the cliffside roads north of Port Jervis rivaled anything I had seen traveling by car.
Better yet were all the historic sites along this section of the river. It turned into the kind of day I love, where I stop nearly every half and hour to jump and explore another historical site. I especially love things from the colonial era, and the early western expansion into the frontier, and this section of the river was perfect for that.
Among the great things to see there are the oldest example of a wire rope bridge by John Roebling---an aqueduct for a canal over the Delaware River. I also had fun getting a one-person tour Zane Grey's study at his residence along the river. My favorite part was probably the visit to the site of the 1779 Battle of Minisink, where a group of Iroquois and Tories under native leader Joseph Brant ambushed and massacred a group of New York colonial miltia after the former had raided the settlement at Port Jervis.
It wasn't a national or even state historical site, but maintained by Sullivan County. A group of boy scouts was setting up for a cookout when I arrived. Some of them were grumbling that their scoutmaster was making them sweep up the small interpretive center for the battle.
The historical tour of the day culminated in a fun visit to the Fort Delaware colonial museum. I saw a demonstration of colonial blacksmithing, clothing, and the firing of a period cannon (the best part).
By this time it was the mid afternoon and I got out my map to start looking for campsites. I figured on setting up camp at a New York state park somewhere up in the Finger Lakes region.
But that never happened. As I headed up Highway 17 towards Binghamton, a few drops of rain hit my windshield. I thought about how my tent was still damp from the night before, and the idea of setting up an already damp tent while it was raining did not appeal to me.
So I fumbled for my motel guide, and decided that it was still raining when I got to Binghamton, I would check into a motel.
For a while it seemed the rain had disappeared. But it was only a trick. As I passed downton Binghamton on the freeway, the sky suddenly grew very dark, as dark as I have ever seen it in the day time on a summer afternoon. It felt more like an hour after sundown.
Then the heavens opened up and the rain just poured and poured, so that it was almost impossible to drive. I figured this was the sign I was looking for. I was just a mile from the exit I wanted, and within a half hour, I had pulled off and had checked into the local Motel 6, which had a very good rate.
It was my first night indoors in almost two weeks. I wasn't happy about breaking my string of thirteen nights in a row of camping (only one day short of last fall's personal record), but in reality I was glad to be indoors and take a long shower, and relax on a proper bed.
Plus, of course, it gave me a chance to see another movie.
Across the Hudson and up to the top of New Jersey
My successful swing in New England having culminated in my trip to Greenwich, Connecticut, I decided to bypass New York City, passing north of the city. When I reached the Hudson, I detoured up to Sleepy Hollow, and wound up driving around the gigantic Rockefeller family compound at Pocantico Hills.
Given the other research I was doing, it was highly appropriate. But silly me, I was under the impression you could actually tour parts of it. I had already decided to spend that ten dollar bill I found in New Haven as admission. But it turns out (of course) that I was thinking of the Vanderbilt mansion, which is much farther north. Not only can't you get in to the Rockefeller Compund, but it is never even identified as such by any sign, even though it is enormous. Things haven't changed much in a hundred years.
Part of me was glad I didn't wind up giving that ten bucks to the Rockefellers. As it was I found a much better use for it. After crossing the Tappan Zee Bridge, I dipped down into the northern edge of New Jersey, to the town of Ringwood, which is the hometown of a good friend of mine.
When I got to the edge of the tiny hamlet, I stumbled on a large festival gathering, which turned out to be a pow-wow of the Ramapough Mountain Indians. My friend had spoken for years about the local "Jackson Whites," as the Indians are known, and now I had the chance to tell him that I had encountered dozens of them.
I used the ten spot to pay my entrance fee. When I got in, I realized it had been absolutely the right thing, especially when I saw the Indian dancers with the skull masks. I can't tell you how ironic that is, given how I found that ten dollar bill.
The highly successful day culminated in a visit to High Point State Park, where you can drive up to the highest point in the state of New Jersey. There's a huge obelisk monument there, and a little concession selling postcards and hot dogs. The day was bright and clear, and you could see for miles across the mountains into New York and Pennsylvania.
That evening turned out to be tricky for finding a campsite in northwestern New Jersey. Because it was a Saturday night, all the state park campgrounds were full, or reserved at least. I drove to several of them which gave me a nice scenic drive through the Kittatiny Mountains along the Delaware River.
But no luck on campgrounds. I had all but given up staying the night in New Jersey (something I wanted to do, because I had never camped in New Jersey), when I stumbled on a private campground along the river just south of Port Jervis, New York and the state line.
It was a somewhat drizzly evening, which turned into a rainy night at the campround---a rather dilapidated place where people lived year-round, but was obviously once a family campground resort decades ago. I'd been cooking on my camp stove for almost two weeks straight, but that night I treated myself to a hamburger at a diner in Port Jervis.
The day had begun with that trip to Greenwich, and had included a detour to the Rockefeller compound, a pow-wow, and a trip to the top of New Jersey. All in all, it was one of the best travel days I had ever had.
Given the other research I was doing, it was highly appropriate. But silly me, I was under the impression you could actually tour parts of it. I had already decided to spend that ten dollar bill I found in New Haven as admission. But it turns out (of course) that I was thinking of the Vanderbilt mansion, which is much farther north. Not only can't you get in to the Rockefeller Compund, but it is never even identified as such by any sign, even though it is enormous. Things haven't changed much in a hundred years.
Part of me was glad I didn't wind up giving that ten bucks to the Rockefellers. As it was I found a much better use for it. After crossing the Tappan Zee Bridge, I dipped down into the northern edge of New Jersey, to the town of Ringwood, which is the hometown of a good friend of mine.
When I got to the edge of the tiny hamlet, I stumbled on a large festival gathering, which turned out to be a pow-wow of the Ramapough Mountain Indians. My friend had spoken for years about the local "Jackson Whites," as the Indians are known, and now I had the chance to tell him that I had encountered dozens of them.
I used the ten spot to pay my entrance fee. When I got in, I realized it had been absolutely the right thing, especially when I saw the Indian dancers with the skull masks. I can't tell you how ironic that is, given how I found that ten dollar bill.
The highly successful day culminated in a visit to High Point State Park, where you can drive up to the highest point in the state of New Jersey. There's a huge obelisk monument there, and a little concession selling postcards and hot dogs. The day was bright and clear, and you could see for miles across the mountains into New York and Pennsylvania.
That evening turned out to be tricky for finding a campsite in northwestern New Jersey. Because it was a Saturday night, all the state park campgrounds were full, or reserved at least. I drove to several of them which gave me a nice scenic drive through the Kittatiny Mountains along the Delaware River.
But no luck on campgrounds. I had all but given up staying the night in New Jersey (something I wanted to do, because I had never camped in New Jersey), when I stumbled on a private campground along the river just south of Port Jervis, New York and the state line.
It was a somewhat drizzly evening, which turned into a rainy night at the campround---a rather dilapidated place where people lived year-round, but was obviously once a family campground resort decades ago. I'd been cooking on my camp stove for almost two weeks straight, but that night I treated myself to a hamburger at a diner in Port Jervis.
The day had begun with that trip to Greenwich, and had included a detour to the Rockefeller compound, a pow-wow, and a trip to the top of New Jersey. All in all, it was one of the best travel days I had ever had.
Down through New England---the dark and light sides
After a week in Maine, I was itching to make some tracks and put some miles behind. After the night at the drive-in, I struck camp, packed up, and drove down to the Maine Turnpike, heading for the New Hampshire border. I stopped at the way at Kennebunkport, where I'd visited before four years ago, but this time I made sure to get some good photographs of a church I was interested in, for the creative writing project I'm pursuing.
At Portsmouth, New Hampshire, I visited the historic site of Fort Constitution State Park, which is where the actual first battle of the American Revolution may have taken place, in late 1774 (Go New Hampshire!). With the "dark" historical places I've been visiting, I have to intersperse them with the "light" ones that remind me of the kind of courage and honor that people once had, and the true uniqueness of the American Experiment.
Then I attempted to swing around Boston one last farewell time. Unfortunately it was the mid afternoon and I got stuck on stop and go traffic on Route 128 (grrrrr) which I swore would never happen again (should have taken the outer beltway on 495 instead). It took over two hours and sweating in crawling traffic to finally get to Milton, on the south side of Boston, in the early evening, where I took more snapshots of another "dark" historical site for my project.
There was just enough light to let me get to Myles Standish State Forest near Plymouth, where I set up camp for the night. It was a very nice and peaceful night. The forest is huge, and almost a bit of wildnerness for that part of Massachusetts.
The next day by objective for my project was Newport, Rhode Island, where I wanted to photograph the grounds of a boarding school there. On my way, I got waylaid by entertaining vists to the Melville sites in New Bedford, Massachusetts, and then by the Lizzie Borden house tour in Falls River. The later is highly recommended for anyone interested in grissly historical events. It was very entertaining. Falls River is one of those down-and-out cities, where the only industry seems to be law enforcement (and the Lizzie Border tour).
My visit to Newport was successful, and I kicked off the day by a long walking tour of downtown Providence. The capitol is awesome, and the college girl at the Roger Williams Historical site provided me a wonderful impromptu map of the sites in the old section of the city. New England cities are sometimes run down (New Bedford, Falls River, Worcester), but Providence is beautiful and thriving.
In the evening I camped at a Rhode Island state park in the northwest corner of the state. For such a small state, I'd been able to enjoy myself a lot during my time there.
The next day was a big day for me---a trip to New Haven, Connecticut, which was a must-see for my project. On the way, I toured the backroads of Connecticut and saw the grave of the famous patriotic general Israel Putnam.
In New Haven, I parked and spent a couple hours touring the Yale campus. My success was completed by finding a ten dollar bill on the sidewalk as I got back to my car. In the hot afternoon, I headed out of town to camp at a state park near Danville. that night the humidity was so thick that it rained inside my tent from the condensation. Yikes.
The following day would be my last in New England, and it was somewhat of a climax of the recent research I'd been doing. My objective was a cemetery in the town of Greenwich, Connecticut, which I located with a little help from Google Maps. I located the grave I was looking for with the help of the woman at the cemetery office. She had to drag out her big registry book to find it, which I found humorous, since I thought it woudl be a well-known grave. It was not at all conspicuous from the road, which is exactly what I expected, given the person I was looking for.
I stayed long enough to scribble messages on the postcards I already had, and to take a humorous and irreverent picture to send them. Sometime it all just seems like a game, if it weren't so damn serious.
At Portsmouth, New Hampshire, I visited the historic site of Fort Constitution State Park, which is where the actual first battle of the American Revolution may have taken place, in late 1774 (Go New Hampshire!). With the "dark" historical places I've been visiting, I have to intersperse them with the "light" ones that remind me of the kind of courage and honor that people once had, and the true uniqueness of the American Experiment.
Then I attempted to swing around Boston one last farewell time. Unfortunately it was the mid afternoon and I got stuck on stop and go traffic on Route 128 (grrrrr) which I swore would never happen again (should have taken the outer beltway on 495 instead). It took over two hours and sweating in crawling traffic to finally get to Milton, on the south side of Boston, in the early evening, where I took more snapshots of another "dark" historical site for my project.
There was just enough light to let me get to Myles Standish State Forest near Plymouth, where I set up camp for the night. It was a very nice and peaceful night. The forest is huge, and almost a bit of wildnerness for that part of Massachusetts.
The next day by objective for my project was Newport, Rhode Island, where I wanted to photograph the grounds of a boarding school there. On my way, I got waylaid by entertaining vists to the Melville sites in New Bedford, Massachusetts, and then by the Lizzie Borden house tour in Falls River. The later is highly recommended for anyone interested in grissly historical events. It was very entertaining. Falls River is one of those down-and-out cities, where the only industry seems to be law enforcement (and the Lizzie Border tour).
My visit to Newport was successful, and I kicked off the day by a long walking tour of downtown Providence. The capitol is awesome, and the college girl at the Roger Williams Historical site provided me a wonderful impromptu map of the sites in the old section of the city. New England cities are sometimes run down (New Bedford, Falls River, Worcester), but Providence is beautiful and thriving.
In the evening I camped at a Rhode Island state park in the northwest corner of the state. For such a small state, I'd been able to enjoy myself a lot during my time there.
The next day was a big day for me---a trip to New Haven, Connecticut, which was a must-see for my project. On the way, I toured the backroads of Connecticut and saw the grave of the famous patriotic general Israel Putnam.
In New Haven, I parked and spent a couple hours touring the Yale campus. My success was completed by finding a ten dollar bill on the sidewalk as I got back to my car. In the hot afternoon, I headed out of town to camp at a state park near Danville. that night the humidity was so thick that it rained inside my tent from the condensation. Yikes.
The following day would be my last in New England, and it was somewhat of a climax of the recent research I'd been doing. My objective was a cemetery in the town of Greenwich, Connecticut, which I located with a little help from Google Maps. I located the grave I was looking for with the help of the woman at the cemetery office. She had to drag out her big registry book to find it, which I found humorous, since I thought it woudl be a well-known grave. It was not at all conspicuous from the road, which is exactly what I expected, given the person I was looking for.
I stayed long enough to scribble messages on the postcards I already had, and to take a humorous and irreverent picture to send them. Sometime it all just seems like a game, if it weren't so damn serious.
Funny People
For my last movie of Campfest 2009, I drove back out into the countryside, actually going past the state park where I was set up, to the town of Bridgton, where I paid seven bucks to get into the twin drive-in there.
As I mentioned, Portland seemed abounding with drive-ins, so it seemed only natural.
It started out as a fun experience. I parked in the third row and scurried over to the snackbar, where I gorged on a double cheeseburger and french fries, accompanied by a large lemonade. I have all but given up all drinks with high fructose corn syrup in them, but for the drive-in I decided to make an exception.
Because I was camping, I had my camp chair with me, as well as my portable radio, so I set up outside my car with the radio tuned to the box office frequency. A trio of teenagers set up next to me, but I didn't mind.
It was all going well, until a family---a teeneager, with two sisters and his mother in the back seat, arrived at show time and set up on the other side. To my complete surprise, they didn't shut off the engine, but kept idling as the movie started. I couldn't stand it, and finally tapped on their window and asked them if they were going to do that during the entire movie. He promptly shut off the engine.
But then fifteen minutes he started again. I tapped again. He whines, "the windows fog up if I don't run the air conditioning." Well, duh. That's why get out. I just yelled at them like an old man, saying if they were going to do that, they should find an isolated spot, and not park next to other people. I resisted the temptation to tell them that with the carbon monoxide and the idling noise, it was basically like saying "fuck you" to the people next to them.
I just gave up and took my chair and portable radio down near the front and watched in confort from there, trying not fume about how fucked up and inconsiderate some people are.
It all seemed to go with the movie in quality.
At first I thought I was going to enjoy Funny People, and then about half an hour into it, I suddenly asked myself, "Wait a minute, I think this movie just might suck."
And it did. It just kept getting worse and worse. When Ebert and Siskel did there television show together, I once heard them talk about how some bad movies are self-incriminating in the dialogue. I thought of this when I heard Seth Rogen say, "this is all like watching a slow motion train wreck." (as my friend Howard has pointed out, watching a low motion train wreck would have been a lot more interesting).
I would nominate this movie for how not to make a movie. I thought it was going to be about a man (Adam Sandler) reconnecting with his lost love. But it wasn't about that. The trailers were very deceptive. What it was really about what how Hollywood and famous people are just assholes, in an unredeemable sense.
It seemed to be Judd Apatow both bragging about the famous people he knows, and at the same time trying to hold himself aloof from it all by saying how it all sucks. By the end, I didn't care what happened to any of the characters. I just wanted it to be over.
So it wasn't the best ending to Campfest, but, hey you take what you can get.
As I mentioned, Portland seemed abounding with drive-ins, so it seemed only natural.
It started out as a fun experience. I parked in the third row and scurried over to the snackbar, where I gorged on a double cheeseburger and french fries, accompanied by a large lemonade. I have all but given up all drinks with high fructose corn syrup in them, but for the drive-in I decided to make an exception.
Because I was camping, I had my camp chair with me, as well as my portable radio, so I set up outside my car with the radio tuned to the box office frequency. A trio of teenagers set up next to me, but I didn't mind.
It was all going well, until a family---a teeneager, with two sisters and his mother in the back seat, arrived at show time and set up on the other side. To my complete surprise, they didn't shut off the engine, but kept idling as the movie started. I couldn't stand it, and finally tapped on their window and asked them if they were going to do that during the entire movie. He promptly shut off the engine.
But then fifteen minutes he started again. I tapped again. He whines, "the windows fog up if I don't run the air conditioning." Well, duh. That's why get out. I just yelled at them like an old man, saying if they were going to do that, they should find an isolated spot, and not park next to other people. I resisted the temptation to tell them that with the carbon monoxide and the idling noise, it was basically like saying "fuck you" to the people next to them.
I just gave up and took my chair and portable radio down near the front and watched in confort from there, trying not fume about how fucked up and inconsiderate some people are.
It all seemed to go with the movie in quality.
At first I thought I was going to enjoy Funny People, and then about half an hour into it, I suddenly asked myself, "Wait a minute, I think this movie just might suck."
And it did. It just kept getting worse and worse. When Ebert and Siskel did there television show together, I once heard them talk about how some bad movies are self-incriminating in the dialogue. I thought of this when I heard Seth Rogen say, "this is all like watching a slow motion train wreck." (as my friend Howard has pointed out, watching a low motion train wreck would have been a lot more interesting).
I would nominate this movie for how not to make a movie. I thought it was going to be about a man (Adam Sandler) reconnecting with his lost love. But it wasn't about that. The trailers were very deceptive. What it was really about what how Hollywood and famous people are just assholes, in an unredeemable sense.
It seemed to be Judd Apatow both bragging about the famous people he knows, and at the same time trying to hold himself aloof from it all by saying how it all sucks. By the end, I didn't care what happened to any of the characters. I just wanted it to be over.
So it wasn't the best ending to Campfest, but, hey you take what you can get.
Moon
Just a few quick comments, as I am falling behind on my blogging, due to so much travelling lately.
From the web sites I visit, especially reddit, I had gleaned that a lot of people liked Moon. I had seen only one trailer for it before seeing it, and knew very little about the plot. That turned out to be good, as I spent a lot of the movie trying to figure out what was going on (in a good way).
The story is about a man (Sam Rockwell) working by himself on the lunar surface, for a mining company. There is a computer that keeps him company (voiced by Kevin Spacey). This immediately brings up comparisons to 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), but since this is not that movie, you have to start wondering: "O.K, obiviously they are not going to go down the same route as Kubrick's movie. But where are they going with this?"
All this wondering about the plot was great fun. There are of course plot twists, but in the third act, I began to wonder if maybe there was another plot twist coming that would be too much---a plot twist too far. At that point I was thinking, "this is a great story, I hope they don't ruin it."
They didn't (they being director/screenwriter Duncan Jones and co-writer Nathan Parker). It was fun. The "too far" plot twist I was fearing did not arrive. The plot twist could have been one of those "let's make it more psychologically and existensially universal" kinds of things. But that would have been trite. By not intoducing the "existensial" plot twist, but keeping a "straight" narrative, it actually became more universal, because it forces one to find the existensial nuggets in the surface level of the story. That's what makes for a superior movie, I think.
It was fresh. Highly recommended if you're in a sci-fi mood.
The auditorium at the Nickelodeon in downtown Portland was nice and cozy, and quite full on a weekday afternoon.
From the web sites I visit, especially reddit, I had gleaned that a lot of people liked Moon. I had seen only one trailer for it before seeing it, and knew very little about the plot. That turned out to be good, as I spent a lot of the movie trying to figure out what was going on (in a good way).
The story is about a man (Sam Rockwell) working by himself on the lunar surface, for a mining company. There is a computer that keeps him company (voiced by Kevin Spacey). This immediately brings up comparisons to 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), but since this is not that movie, you have to start wondering: "O.K, obiviously they are not going to go down the same route as Kubrick's movie. But where are they going with this?"
All this wondering about the plot was great fun. There are of course plot twists, but in the third act, I began to wonder if maybe there was another plot twist coming that would be too much---a plot twist too far. At that point I was thinking, "this is a great story, I hope they don't ruin it."
They didn't (they being director/screenwriter Duncan Jones and co-writer Nathan Parker). It was fun. The "too far" plot twist I was fearing did not arrive. The plot twist could have been one of those "let's make it more psychologically and existensially universal" kinds of things. But that would have been trite. By not intoducing the "existensial" plot twist, but keeping a "straight" narrative, it actually became more universal, because it forces one to find the existensial nuggets in the surface level of the story. That's what makes for a superior movie, I think.
It was fresh. Highly recommended if you're in a sci-fi mood.
The auditorium at the Nickelodeon in downtown Portland was nice and cozy, and quite full on a weekday afternoon.
Friday, August 14, 2009
My Sister's Keeper
This was sitting on my to-see list, left over from Massachusetts, and so I had to track it down in Saco to see it. The Cinemagic was nice and air conditioned on a hot summer afternoon. It was nice to get out of the heat.
I was really, really sure I was going to hate My Sister's Keeper. No scratch that. What I meant is that I was sure that sitting through it was going to be a trial, although I might wind up liking it after I saw it.
As it happened, I was wrong again. Although ten minutes into it, I was squirming in my seat, I really settled in and wound up enjoying this movie a lot. It was a lot better than I expected.
It wasn't the fact that it stars Abigail Breslin that made me wary. I learned last year that she's actually a very good actress, and probably will be so for many years to come. I couldn't see any other actress her age pulling this movie off.
But the possibility of such cloying subject matter really seemed like a red flag. Breslin plays a little girl who was genetically conceived in order to supply body parts and tissues to her chronically ill older sister, who has leukemia. She winds up suing her parents to "gain custody over her own body." It seemed like a perfect mix for a sentimental nightmare of a movie.
But like I said, I was wrong. Much of this had to be the direction of Nick Cassavetes, who has the family talent for telling good stories about, well, families, by letting the camera do much of the work. And Breslin was very good again. Even Cameron Diaz was perfectly cast it seemed. And Alec Baldwin too. Overall, I was a bit ashamed of my wariness about this movie.
It was also much less sentimental than I feared. And there is a big plot twist at the end that makes the story "come out right," in narrative terms---a very good screenplay, co-written by Cassavetes and Jeremy Leven. But like I said, a lesser director could have made this movie utterly unwatchable, given the subject matter. Count me a Nick Cassavetes fan from here on out.
The Ugly Truth
As you might have read, I love low-key shopping center cinemas, for the reason that they provide the feel of just how little you need to make a movie theater. It gives evidence of just how powerful the experience is, all in all, that you don't really need all the bangs and whistles.
Sometimes seeing a movie in one of them is a challenge. This wasn't the case here, although I thought it would be. When I walked into the auditorium for the 7:30 pm show, the place was already half full of teenagers. I felt strangely out of place as the oldster, and took a seat down in the third row. I had a feeling that the kids were all in the area for vacation, since it had the feel of a "camp" movie somehow.
I thought I was going to hate The Ugly Truth, but I didn't. The idea in the title, and in the premise of the movie, is that women want love, whereas men want sex. For the movie to succeed, it must challenge these assumptions in an ironic fashion. That is, the story must evolve such that woman (Katherine Heigl) winds up wanting a physical relationship, whereas the man (Gerard Butler) winds up wanting emotional attachment.
The movie got to that point, all in all, but not in a way that really explores it. I think we are just too wedded to the Postmodern idea to do a full inversion. Still enough was enough to be funny.
The skeleton plot is extremely formulaic. To wit, at the beginning Heigl is a news director at a Sacramento television station. The manager tells her, "We're down in the ratings. We're not a family run station anymore. I'm getting pressure from corporate. If something doesn't change, we'll be cancelled." You could almost write a computer program to spit out these kind of plots.
But thankfully it uses this only as a set-up for the sexual banter part. It was actually quite refreshing to see a "liberated man" (Butler's character) who is not a prisoner to his sexuality. Of course they have to make it turn out that he's actually a "wounded soul" who is only "strong" because of a hurt inner child. But that's Hollywood for you. Everything has to be explained by past hurts.
For a standard romantic comedy, I've seen worse.
On the other hands, the teenagers just loved it, especially the jokes about blow jobs, whenever those came up. The whole audience just erupted in laughter. So as a summer camp movie, it succeeded very well.
Campfest 2009---the official itinerary
So here's the mini film festival itinerary I wound up scraping together while I was camped at Sebago Lake:
The Ugly Truth --- evening of first night, at the Windham Five Star Cinema in North Windham, Maine. This is a lowkey multiplex in a lowkey shopping center in the Lakes Region that I saw as I was driving to set up camp. I backtracked that evening for the first showing of the festival.
My Sister's Keeper --- early afternoon of the second day, at the ultramodern Cinemagic in Saco, Maine. I made a special trip to Saco just to see this while it was still playing.
Moon --- late afternoon of the second day, at the Nickelodeon in downtown Portland. This is a nice urban multiplex in the tourist shopping part of Portland down by the old waterfront. It shows a mixture of current releases and arthouse films. The auditorium was tiny was comfortable.
Funny People --- evening of the second, at the Bridgton Twin Drive-in, in the town of Bridgton, about fifteen miles north of the state park. I had noticed the area around Portland had lots of drive-ins, and the woman who checked me into the park had mentioned this one as a place people go while camping there, so I figured I had to throw this in.
Now let me go through the movies one by one, to give my reactions and comments.
Seven Days in Maine---with a film festival thrown in.
This will go down as one heck of a road trip.
Two and half weeks ago, I left my sister's place outside of Boston and headed up to New Hampshire. After eighteen days on the road, and over three and half thousand miles of driving, I finally arrived...in Maryland.
I never left the Northeastern states. I didn't cross the Maryland border until the night before last. As I told my friend Howard, that must some kind of record. What kind, I don't know.
When I last posted on the blog, I was in a Starbucks just outside Concord, New Hampshire. I'd checked into a private campground and had gone looking for dinner. It was too wet to cook. In fact it poured that night, and I found out my old tent is now a leaking old tent.
The next day I finally made some good mileage, driving north through New Hampshire, through Crawford Notch to Bretton Woods, then headed east into Maine.
I knew I knew I wanted to spend some time in Maine, but I wasn't sure how long. Turns out I spent an entire week there, driving around the state.
On the first day there, crossing the border from New Hampshire, I cut east through the town of Bethel to Dover-Foxcroft. I camped the first night at the state park north of there, called Peaks-Kenny. It was a nice state park, although you had to put quarters in a device to make the showers work.
The next day, I decided just to start heading north. I cut through the isolated wooded roads, where civilization drops off, up past Baxter State Park. I got some great views of Mount Katahdin along the upper Penobscot River. It's the kind of driving I love to do. Maine has sprinkled their highway system with many official roadside picnic areas that are great for pulling off and admiring the scenery.
That night I reached Fort Kent, at the tip top of Maine on the St. John River, which is the Canadian border, which is actually a francophone area to some degree. There were "on parle français içi" signs in a lot of the stores there. I stayed the night at a historic site there that is right in town, and run by a local boy scout troop. It cost all of four bucks. It was awesome.
Having reached the top of Maine, I cut south along the St. John River, exploring the Maine Solar System Model, which I almost forgot about and missed, until I saw Jupiter along the road just south of Presque Isle. I slammed on my brakes and retraced the road back into Presque Isle, which is where the Sun and most of the inner planets are located. I wound up driving the entire model, all the way to the planetoid Eris, which is almost a hundred miles south along Route 1. I reached Bangor by late afternoon and camped at private campground nearby.
In the morning, I headed south to Bar Harbor, which I explored a little bit, finding it to be very very touristy. I bought a weeklong pass for Acadia National Park and checked into the Seawall Campround on Mount Desert Island in the morning. It was my first at Acadia, and I spent the rest of the day exploring the island and the park, which turned out to be rather underwhelming, because it was very foggy. It felt like late fall. That night it rained at the campground, making it a rather less-than-perfect day.
Fortunately the morning was much better and I took another drive around the island and got to see the fantastic sights for which the park is known for.
The rest of that day I spent heading south along the south, through the towns of Camden, Rockland and Bath. It was a nice drive, but given that it was the height of the tourist season, many of the seaside towns were jammed with traffic. I was already missing the northern woods.
By evening I reached Portland. I cruised around it on the Interstate and headed north of the city to Sebago Lake State Park, which is on the the lake of the same name, in the "Lakes Region" of Maine. On checking in, I paid for two nights, which is very rare for me. The reason was that I had decided, while driving to the park, that it would nice to spend a day or so catching up on movies. So right then and there I decided to a "Campfest 2009" Film Festival. In the next day and half, I would see as many movies as possible in the surrounding area.
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