Today I ventured into downtown Portland for business, which turned out to be a highly successful trip. Afterward, I was in such a good mood I wandered around the city a little and decided to drop by to see an old friend who works at Powell's Books as a cashier. His name is Nick Z.
His primary vocation is a playwright, as it happens. Four yeas ago, the last time I was in Oregon before this recent trip, I went down to Salem to see a production of one of his shows at our mutual alma mater, where he was an artist in residence.
At Powell's, I saw him at the checkout counter and snuck up beside him, hanging on the stair rail a few feet away. Finally he saw me, grinning like Puck. That got a big smile and laugh out of him.
He couldn't take a break from his work right then, so our conversation lasted only a few minutes. I told him I was only in town for the day, before heading back to Colorado for now. But I promised I'd be back soon and have drinks with him and his lovely wife.
In our abbreviated conversation he told me something funny that resonated with my new direction in life.
He said that he had been working on a new play over the last week, and that one of the characters was named Matthew. He said that whenever he typed that name into Microsoft Word, the program tried to automatically convert the name into my email address.
I don't know how I could possibly be in a better mood than I am right now, but that really put the cherry on top of it all.
See you soon, Nick! First round is on me.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Cowgirl Heaven @ the Wildish Theater
seen in: Springfield, Oregon, two nights ago.
So yes, I'm really in Oregon (again, for the second time on this trip). I spent the last three nights in a motel in Eugene across from campus. I had come back up to Oregon for the second time on this trip after getting a call from a guy in Portland who works for an educational publishing company, about possibly doing some contract work for them. It's exactly the kind of thing I was looking to do. I took three days to drive up from Fresno, and camped in view of Mt. Shasta on the way. It was a much better trip than the one through Nevada a couple weeks before.
It was weird being back in Oregon again, of course, but the difference this time compared to just last month felt like heaven compared to hell. Like night and day.
Eugene surprised me. Frankly I'd come to think that I wasn't capable of living in Oregon, that there was no place that appealed to me. Whenever I told people I was going there, and might relocate there, they would say, "Oh, Portland is nice, I hear." I would tell them that I don't like Portland much. It makes me feel lonely and isolated. I prefer smaller towns and cities, but none in the Portland area made me feel comfortable at all. I drove through a couple of them, but I am giving a wide berth to one of them for now, out of respect for a good friend.
But Eugene, well, that's a place I decided I could actually live. When I was here a couple weeks ago, I had stopped in Eugene and found myself checking my email at a Starbucks at the corner of Broadway and Pearl. How ironic, I thought. Where have I heard of that intersection before?
I'd only spent one night in Eugene, in 1993 during a road trip. It didn't much appeal to me then. But things change. I felt almost instantly at home there, even if it is still for now second best in my heart to another college town I won't mention. I loved walking around the city and the campus, even though at times I felt the sympathetic pain of a good friend's bad memory from that place. I tried to think of happier things, like playing go. After a day it worked, and I was even able to finish the first chapter of my manuscript in my motel room. This morning I didn't want to leave and drive north on I-5. But work calls---gotta make a living.
Of course one of the first things I did was put into motion my plan to start attending community theater again. I picked up a copy of the weekly newspaper and scouted for some possibilities. Fortunately I hit the jackpot. On Saturday night there was a one-time encore performance of Cowgirl Heaven, a little musical I'd never heard of. It was playing across the river in Springfield. It's about five women who work the rodeo circuit in the 1920's, a time when it was almost unheard of for women to perform stunt work. It had about ten interesting musical numbers, following their lives and careers, starting in Pendleton and going all around the country, even to New York.
The Wildish Theater is very nice, with plenty of comfortable seats. As I like to, I sat by myself in one of the upper rows, higher even that the crew running the lights along the side.
As I was watching the performance, I couldn't help think of how, on Saturday night, if I were out seeing a movie by myself, I would leave the theater after the credits had rolled (as I ALWAYS do---it's part of the movie, after all) but would feel tremendously lonely going back to my room.
But in the Wildish, I felt connected to everyone in audience. It was a truly shared experience with everyone there, and everyone on stage. I can't believe it took me this long to rediscover this. The best fifteen bucks I ever spent.
Rick kept insisting in Fresno that I find an audition for a show and try out. I told him that for now I just wanted to be an audience member and a blogger about theater, but after a couple days, I relented and told him I'd give it a go, if and when an opportunity came up.
So yes, I'm really in Oregon (again, for the second time on this trip). I spent the last three nights in a motel in Eugene across from campus. I had come back up to Oregon for the second time on this trip after getting a call from a guy in Portland who works for an educational publishing company, about possibly doing some contract work for them. It's exactly the kind of thing I was looking to do. I took three days to drive up from Fresno, and camped in view of Mt. Shasta on the way. It was a much better trip than the one through Nevada a couple weeks before.
It was weird being back in Oregon again, of course, but the difference this time compared to just last month felt like heaven compared to hell. Like night and day.
Eugene surprised me. Frankly I'd come to think that I wasn't capable of living in Oregon, that there was no place that appealed to me. Whenever I told people I was going there, and might relocate there, they would say, "Oh, Portland is nice, I hear." I would tell them that I don't like Portland much. It makes me feel lonely and isolated. I prefer smaller towns and cities, but none in the Portland area made me feel comfortable at all. I drove through a couple of them, but I am giving a wide berth to one of them for now, out of respect for a good friend.
But Eugene, well, that's a place I decided I could actually live. When I was here a couple weeks ago, I had stopped in Eugene and found myself checking my email at a Starbucks at the corner of Broadway and Pearl. How ironic, I thought. Where have I heard of that intersection before?
I'd only spent one night in Eugene, in 1993 during a road trip. It didn't much appeal to me then. But things change. I felt almost instantly at home there, even if it is still for now second best in my heart to another college town I won't mention. I loved walking around the city and the campus, even though at times I felt the sympathetic pain of a good friend's bad memory from that place. I tried to think of happier things, like playing go. After a day it worked, and I was even able to finish the first chapter of my manuscript in my motel room. This morning I didn't want to leave and drive north on I-5. But work calls---gotta make a living.
Of course one of the first things I did was put into motion my plan to start attending community theater again. I picked up a copy of the weekly newspaper and scouted for some possibilities. Fortunately I hit the jackpot. On Saturday night there was a one-time encore performance of Cowgirl Heaven, a little musical I'd never heard of. It was playing across the river in Springfield. It's about five women who work the rodeo circuit in the 1920's, a time when it was almost unheard of for women to perform stunt work. It had about ten interesting musical numbers, following their lives and careers, starting in Pendleton and going all around the country, even to New York.
The Wildish Theater is very nice, with plenty of comfortable seats. As I like to, I sat by myself in one of the upper rows, higher even that the crew running the lights along the side.
As I was watching the performance, I couldn't help think of how, on Saturday night, if I were out seeing a movie by myself, I would leave the theater after the credits had rolled (as I ALWAYS do---it's part of the movie, after all) but would feel tremendously lonely going back to my room.
But in the Wildish, I felt connected to everyone in audience. It was a truly shared experience with everyone there, and everyone on stage. I can't believe it took me this long to rediscover this. The best fifteen bucks I ever spent.
Rick kept insisting in Fresno that I find an audition for a show and try out. I told him that for now I just wanted to be an audience member and a blogger about theater, but after a couple days, I relented and told him I'd give it a go, if and when an opportunity came up.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Crest Theatre, Fresno
One thing that amazes me is how resilient old movie houses are. They may change form, and serve completely different purposes, but as architecture, they are amazingly stable. I've seen re-incarnated in almost every form, but with the marquee and the exterior barely altered. There is just something so compelling about them. I've learned that unless the movie theater is completely demolished, it is possible to renovate into anything. I'm aware of a few old theaters that have indeed been torn down and it is always sad to me. In particular case, the theater site has simply become a parking lot.
The Crest Theater here in Fresno has undergone a fairly common renovation as a live music venue. That's my friend Rick walking in front. We were walking around downtown Fresno when I saw the Crest and said "I have to take a picture of that!" Since he's now an actor, I figured he wouldn't mind being caught in this candid shot I took from across the street. My camera card is filled with photographs of old theaters like this, often taken while I'm sitting at a stoplight at a small town, desperately trying to get the shot before the light changed. Maybe I'll dig some more out like this.
Goodbye to a Decade of Pain
In Fresno, I was able to spend a lot of time catching up with my old friend and hearing the story of how he came to wind up on stage. It wasn't his first choice. He had tried to break into movies, like many foIk, and had found it impossible.
"Real actors don't need cameras pointed at them," I told him. I told him that I admired his determination, but there is no way in the world I would ever want to try to break into the film industry. It just doesn't appeal to me at all.
Of course this is quite ironic, given how much I wrote about movies over the last couple years (over 200,000 words, the last time I estimated). But to me it was never about trying to become part of the movie industry. It was something far deeper and more important in my life. If I could summarize, I would say this: in 2004 I left New York City and separated from my wife. For the next two years, I was pretty much depressed and broken, for reasons that I could not even understand at the time, but which have become clear to me in great detail. I wound up living much of that time in a friend's basement apartment, but also being completely cut off from her. It was very strange.
During that time I grew to become extremely angry at the world, for my situation, and for what I saw as the absurdity that the entire world had become. In June 2006, I became so disgusted at the television, and all the things people were saying on the news channels, that I thought I couldn't watch tv or read the news anymore. At that moment, for some reason, I flipped the channel over to Turner Classic Movies and pretty much left it on there for the next two years straight without changing channels. My job let me work at home and I would leave the television on, playing a whole day of old movies one after another.
In college I had taken a film class, during my last semester at Willamette, but I hadn't really taken it seriously as a study of contemporary art. Watching TCM not only gave me the film education i never had, but it also taught me what I saw as the real history of the 20th Century. It was like being immersed in a time machine. After a while I began to feel as if I were living in 1948. I began to understand how much America had changed, especially the rules about how men and women interact. It was a tremendous change in me, to see contemporary culture in that light. I could see how much destruction had been wrought by these changes.
Before I started my viewing, I could hardly watch any old black and white movie from the 1930s. After two years I could easily watch three 1930s movies in a row. I learned about actors, actresses, directors, producers ,etc., I never knew about it. I came to see the library of classic Hollywood movies as an enormous treasure bequeathed to us. I even fell in love with Ginger Rogers (I blew a kiss to a picture of her in a storefront last night on my way to see a community theater production).
It was great fortification. It changed me. It gave me a sense of honor I never had, and what it means to be a man. I realized how I had been so wrong in so many things in my life. It made me feel sorry for our culture today, and all the destroyed lives and discarded wisdom.
It was nearly impossible for me to see new movies in theaters during that time. "It's like surfacing in a water and taking a giant gulp of sewage on the surface," I once said. Yet even then I knew that there was a reason why the Classical world was destroyed. "The Classical world had enormous structure," I said. "But it was also a prison." That's why there are so many movies where people wind up having to go to jail at the end, because the Classical rules dictated such.On the other hand, Postmodernity (contemporary movie) supposedly had no rules but it was a sewer.
Just when I thought my life would go on forever like that, in June 2008, a whole raft of things about my life suddenly changed. First off, the company I was working for went bust, so I lost my job. Also my friend from whom I was renting the apartment moved out of the upstairs, and I had no desire to stay there any longer. Also a close friend, with whom I had been trying to write a screenplay and had been working with nearly every day for two years, was suddenly diagnosed with leukemia. Also my ex-wife, with whom I had been friends since our divorce, suddenly cut off all contact with me (I learned last week from Rick that she got remarried not long after that. I'm happy for her and am at peace with all that. I was happy to leave our marriage).
In any case, I was suddenly in a new place in life. I decided that I would travel for a while. Without TCM, there were no more classic movies. Instead I decided to start to go see movies in theaters again. Like all things I do, it became an obsession, one that carried me over the next two years as I travelled around the country in my car, and over to Europe. It was tremendous fun while I was doing it, even as it was very lonely. I went to nearly every movie all by myself. Writing about them here on my blog helped me sustain myself, and feel as if I were connecting to other people while doing it.
But it couldn't last. It took it's toll on me, to be exposed to so much of the culture of Postmodernity so deeply. It was like drinking poison and trying to synthesize it in my body. After a while, it caught up to me.
All the time I was travelling I was also battling tremendous demons. I was chasing ghosts of monsters all over the country and the world. Many of the places I went to were because I was trying to track down the remnants of certain historical individuals, most of them long dead, whom I had come to see as the architects of the disaster that had overtaken our country and the world. At one point my quest saw me in a quiet graveyard in suburban Connecticut, throwing a symbolic folding shovel down on the grave of someone who died in 1972 and screaming at the air. I was battling huge monsters---world-size ones. Only my leukemia-stricken friend knew the whole story of what I was doing. I felt all alone, as if it were up to me to save the world, and restore something that had been lost. I thought that there was no one else in the world who could help me, because I alone knew the identities of the monsters. It was me against the world.
Finally in 2010 I couldn't take it anymore and various reasons suffered an emotional collapse and withdraw. I couldn't go on battling these monsters by myself. I couldn't see movies anymore. Last fall I made one last stab at compiling the notes of the things I had learned, so I could the story of what I had learned to others. I was fairly successful at this. Then in November my grandfather passed away. Somehow it released a whole flood of emotions that had been pent up.
The last ten months have been among the most emotionally chaotic in my life, trying to synthesize all the emotions I have experiences over the last few years, and trying to get past the struggle with the monsters I mentioned. But the good part is that now, ten years after the giant tragedy that changed all our lives, I have come to feel free of so much of the monsters that are still imprisoning the rest of the country. I see the tributes and memorials on Facebook and on television and I know how trapped so many people are. I had to go on and try to slay the largest dragons that mankind that ever produced, but somehow i feel free.
But it can't stop here. As my Thor, my leukemia-stricken friend who has now fully recovered, told me. "You HAVE to write this up. You HAVE to find a way to express this through art. You have a duty..." He wasn't saying anything I didn't already know. He was just repeating my words and thoughts back to me.
For much of this year, I have been struggling with how to find a way forward. I was at a loss. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. But somehow over the last two weeks, I have felt the dawning of a new day, a new way forward. This is what I'll be writing about here I guess.
Two nights ago in my motel room I finished the first chapter of a manuscript I've known I had to write for a long time. Artistic expression is the only way forward for me. It's the only thing that keeps the pain at bay. It's the only thing that feels like healing.
So here I go.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Stalag 17 @ Second Space aka My Great Revelation about My Life and the Direction for Me
Seen in Fresno, on Sept. 1,2,3
If there was one thing about Fresno that really changed my life, it was the discovery, or rather rediscovery of something that has been missing from life, which is live theater.
One of the reasons I went there was to see my friend make his stage debut in a local theater production there of Stalag 17, the play that the movie was based on. He had never been on stage before in life. The production had debuted in mid August. I was only planning to see the Thursday show but I wound up going on Friday and Saturday night as well.
Rick played Sgt. Reed, the big-mouthed American prisoner whose indiscretion winds up causing all sorts of problems and driving the plot. I told Rick that it was quite ironic, given certain things in my life recently. It's funny how theater works that way, and directly connect with you.
After three nights I was practically an understudy. Everyone in the cast knew me. The cast even liked hanging out on the hood of my classic BMW behind the theater (everybody loves my car).
Frankly it's the reason I'm blogging again. Years ago I was in theater, and when I was there, I found it to be my family, the refuge for me against the crushing isolation and loneliness of the rest of the world. All through high school I was in productions, but for some reason, in college, I thought I was supposed to do other things, so I was only in one production in college and have never been on stage since then.
Rick was adamant that I give it a try again, and I promised him that I would, not because I have some great yen for people to clap for me, but for many other reasons, the primary one being that I know this is where I am supposed to find my family again, in whatever form. Somehow I've known this, but have resisted it. But now I know I am ready for it again. Heck, maybe I'll do it in Fresno.
I am planning to write a lot about this, right here on my blog. If you followed me in the past and read any of my posts, know that all of a sudden I have a lot to say about a lot of things, and want to share them. Also, I realize that some people have commented on my posts but I did not do a very good job of replying. I wasn't in a position emotionally to respond I think, for various reasons, while I was working through certain emotions. But now I feel free again and for starters I've gone back and made few replies to comments people have made. If you have made any, you might double check if you are in the mood to do so.
If there was one thing about Fresno that really changed my life, it was the discovery, or rather rediscovery of something that has been missing from life, which is live theater.
One of the reasons I went there was to see my friend make his stage debut in a local theater production there of Stalag 17, the play that the movie was based on. He had never been on stage before in life. The production had debuted in mid August. I was only planning to see the Thursday show but I wound up going on Friday and Saturday night as well.
Rick played Sgt. Reed, the big-mouthed American prisoner whose indiscretion winds up causing all sorts of problems and driving the plot. I told Rick that it was quite ironic, given certain things in my life recently. It's funny how theater works that way, and directly connect with you.
After three nights I was practically an understudy. Everyone in the cast knew me. The cast even liked hanging out on the hood of my classic BMW behind the theater (everybody loves my car).
Frankly it's the reason I'm blogging again. Years ago I was in theater, and when I was there, I found it to be my family, the refuge for me against the crushing isolation and loneliness of the rest of the world. All through high school I was in productions, but for some reason, in college, I thought I was supposed to do other things, so I was only in one production in college and have never been on stage since then.
Rick was adamant that I give it a try again, and I promised him that I would, not because I have some great yen for people to clap for me, but for many other reasons, the primary one being that I know this is where I am supposed to find my family again, in whatever form. Somehow I've known this, but have resisted it. But now I know I am ready for it again. Heck, maybe I'll do it in Fresno.
I am planning to write a lot about this, right here on my blog. If you followed me in the past and read any of my posts, know that all of a sudden I have a lot to say about a lot of things, and want to share them. Also, I realize that some people have commented on my posts but I did not do a very good job of replying. I wasn't in a position emotionally to respond I think, for various reasons, while I was working through certain emotions. But now I feel free again and for starters I've gone back and made few replies to comments people have made. If you have made any, you might double check if you are in the mood to do so.
Fresno loves me!
I never expected to feel so welcome and alive in this place, but after a week's stay here, I feel like a new man. Most of it due to my hosts, Carolyn W. and my good friend Rick, whom I hadn't seen in years. It was an awesome reunion, so much so that I even feel like blogging again, even though I haven't seen any movies lately. I think I want to blog about other things now, and I'm starting off by saying how much I love Fresno back.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Mars Needs Moms
seen at: Cinema Saver 6, this evening.
It had been at least a months since I was at the Cinema Saver, but I recognized Danae, the young woman with glasses who worked the ticket concession, and who chatted with me after I saw
This I reminded her of that when I saw her, and then confessed that today I was going in a different direction, towards the movie that was supposedly the latest "worst movie ever." Or at least I'd heard that it got bad reviews. Danae, however, said she hadn't seen it yet, but it was getting good reactions from the audiences coming out of it.
What an interesting film this was! I found myself towards the end drifting into thoughts regarding the various definitions of feminism. When a movie inspires such philosophic discussions, it can't be all bad.
Danae was gone from the lobby by the time I came out, but the next time I see her, I'll say that Mars Needs Moms was an extremely lucid commentary on the contemporary American family paradigm, perhaps uncomfortably so.
Why is it so lucid? Because it very boldy portrays the shadow scenario that we all know to which we are moving: the world post-men. It is a Martian place in which all the men are enfeebled. All the males in this movie are highly debilitated in some way. Among the humans, one is boy child searching for his lost mother, another is a grown man stuck in permanent adolescent at a computer screen, and the third and last is an absent dad (appearing only briefly in two scenes) making a lame-sounding stereotypical excuse for missing a flight. The Martian men are confined below the surface as a miseducated primitive beast-type, "as dumb as rocks," in the words of one of the human men.
All necessary functions of this world are taken over by the women, since women along possess the raw intelligence to run things. Men simply aren't capable of such worldly competence anymore, except for their sole remaining skill of playing video games and/or hacking computer networks.
Yet the movie is kind to the weaker sex (us males) in suggesting that we are capable of more, if only given the chance. It also suggests that women have been enslaved. This last part is the one that probably really pissed off the wrong people. The head villainness looks a bit like a shriveled Hillary Clinton in certain angles.
And we can't have that, can we? NO STRONG AND POWERFUL WOMAN MUST NEVER BE MOCKED LIKE THAT---EVER!!!!!!
If the central struggle of this story had been anything else than "boy-man quest to save his mother" (soooooooo boooring....) I would have liked it better.
It had been at least a months since I was at the Cinema Saver, but I recognized Danae, the young woman with glasses who worked the ticket concession, and who chatted with me after I saw
Megaminda couple months ago. We both liked that movie, and I had enjoyed discussing it with her.
This I reminded her of that when I saw her, and then confessed that today I was going in a different direction, towards the movie that was supposedly the latest "worst movie ever." Or at least I'd heard that it got bad reviews. Danae, however, said she hadn't seen it yet, but it was getting good reactions from the audiences coming out of it.
What an interesting film this was! I found myself towards the end drifting into thoughts regarding the various definitions of feminism. When a movie inspires such philosophic discussions, it can't be all bad.
Danae was gone from the lobby by the time I came out, but the next time I see her, I'll say that Mars Needs Moms was an extremely lucid commentary on the contemporary American family paradigm, perhaps uncomfortably so.
Why is it so lucid? Because it very boldy portrays the shadow scenario that we all know to which we are moving: the world post-men. It is a Martian place in which all the men are enfeebled. All the males in this movie are highly debilitated in some way. Among the humans, one is boy child searching for his lost mother, another is a grown man stuck in permanent adolescent at a computer screen, and the third and last is an absent dad (appearing only briefly in two scenes) making a lame-sounding stereotypical excuse for missing a flight. The Martian men are confined below the surface as a miseducated primitive beast-type, "as dumb as rocks," in the words of one of the human men.
All necessary functions of this world are taken over by the women, since women along possess the raw intelligence to run things. Men simply aren't capable of such worldly competence anymore, except for their sole remaining skill of playing video games and/or hacking computer networks.
Yet the movie is kind to the weaker sex (us males) in suggesting that we are capable of more, if only given the chance. It also suggests that women have been enslaved. This last part is the one that probably really pissed off the wrong people. The head villainness looks a bit like a shriveled Hillary Clinton in certain angles.
And we can't have that, can we? NO STRONG AND POWERFUL WOMAN MUST NEVER BE MOCKED LIKE THAT---EVER!!!!!!
If the central struggle of this story had been anything else than "boy-man quest to save his mother" (soooooooo boooring....) I would have liked it better.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
United Artists Twin Peaks Mall
What I saw here: Where the Wild Things Are, October 2009.
As of today I'm shifting the focus of my blog from being primarily film-centric to being both film- and theater-centric, with an emphasis on the latter. In some ways, I've felt that seeing all these movies was simply an excuse to go into as many different movie theaters as possible.
In that spirit, I'm kicking off the new year with a post about what I think is the oldest existing movie theater along the Front Range north of Denver. The theater itself a multiplex of the Regal chain, and is inside the ancient but still operating Twin Peaks Mall in Longmont.
I was there over a year ago after returning to Colorado from being away for year. It was one of the first places I visited as part of an ongoing project of visiting all the movie theaters in this area. Until last year, I'd never been inside, even though I'd driven by it countless times on the route between Fort Collins and Boulder. It was always a pleasant sight to see back in the old days, because it meant you were almost at the turnoff onto the highway.
At the time the theater lobby and the coridors down to the auditoriums were festooned with all the promos for the upcoming Alice in Wonderland movie. It was almost like going into a cave, passing under the hanging banners. It was quite a tickling experience.
Yesterday I stopped to take this photograph while I was at a coffee shop on the other side of the street. I wasn't quite in the mood for a movie, but I crossed the street and the parking lot, and entered by the south end of the mall.
The place is nearly deserted, but I've come to learn to love such types of aging shopping centers as I've traveled around the country in recent years. The fact that the cinema is still operating inside is a good sign for the future.
Still there was a poignancy about seeing such a structure nearly vacant. I walked over the ancient tiles in the floor of the mall, in patterns of green, blue, and gold, and wondered about the decades of folk who had walked on it. Now most of the stores inside are empty. Yet there is life. People hang out there, even in a nearly empty food court, as if it's a town square. I chatted with the young woman at the ear piercing pagoda. She told me that the holidays had been fairly good.
There's a small cluster of still-operating mall-type businesses on the south end, including a few chain clothing stores. There's even a stage theater company there (link)---quite a surprise.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Happy 2011!
Flagstaff Mountain, Boulder. 11:52 p.m. New Year's Eve.
The forecast was for five below. I came wrapped in my subzero gear and used my trekking poles to reach the star. It was a vigorous climb. I took this photo next to a tree, then walked out to enjoy the view. I couldn't believe that no one else was there.
Only a few minutes before midnight a group of jolly college kids piled out of a car on the road below. I could hear their voices and they stumbled up the mountain in the snow, their feet slipping. I knew they'd never get where I was, without poles. They stopped at the lowest metal pole of the star, and huddled around it drinking champagne. Most of them didn't see me standing on the slope above them.
A few minutes after midnight, I started to descend. I slipped in my boots and slid about fifty feet in perfect powder down to a tree (the where I took this picture) which gently stopped me, just on the level where the kids were huddled.
They were blown away by the spectacle of me gliding right into their midst. They dubbed me an "extreme skier" and invited me to share their champagne. I made a traverse to them and drank right out of the bottle with them, toasting the new year with them.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Tangled
Seen at: AMC Promenade in Westminster, Sunday evening.
I was delighted to accept my sister's invitation to see this with her daughters while I was staying down in Westminster at their house over Christmas.
Neither of us was looking forward to it that much as a movie. The trailer had looked atrocious. But thankfully, like so many trailers, it misrepresented the nature of the story.
Alice---of course I thought of you, not just because of the particular angular letter in the name of the main character, or because it's about a young woman held prisoner for eighteen years (seriously, really?), or because of her huge emerald eyes that remind me of a pair of contacts you once owned. It was all of those things, and more. Perhaps I just see you everywhere lately.
The story is more of a family reunion (girl reunited with parents) than a love story, and thus it was a bit deficiency. The romantic hero didn't really win her at the end. He wasn't put through enough trials. For example, there is no scene in the movie in which the hero thinks he has lost her entirely. It is in that black moment that we learn that he will do anything to get her back. That is how true love is tested.
In any case, it worked on enough levels to not be offensive. On the way home in the van, with the girls zonked out in their car seats, I told my sister about the movie. We both liked it better than we thought. We both agreed that the horse stole the show (second movie in a row for me). The idea that hero and horse are at odds with each other through much of this story says a lot about our culture. Horses are physical manifestations of human virtues. In this case the horse embodies the dogged unswerving tenacity that the hero lacks. For the hero to be a true hero, one who wins the heroine fully as his true love, the hero and horse have to be united. He must be as tenacious as the horse was, in this movie.
I also told my sister that I loved the idea that a man's hand can be healed by touching the hair of his true love. That's very romantic. But her true healing power doesn't come from her hair. That's not enough to bring him back to life. Instead it's her tears of mercy that do it, even if her hair has turned brown---or any other color for that matter.
I was delighted to accept my sister's invitation to see this with her daughters while I was staying down in Westminster at their house over Christmas.
Neither of us was looking forward to it that much as a movie. The trailer had looked atrocious. But thankfully, like so many trailers, it misrepresented the nature of the story.
Alice---of course I thought of you, not just because of the particular angular letter in the name of the main character, or because it's about a young woman held prisoner for eighteen years (seriously, really?), or because of her huge emerald eyes that remind me of a pair of contacts you once owned. It was all of those things, and more. Perhaps I just see you everywhere lately.
The story is more of a family reunion (girl reunited with parents) than a love story, and thus it was a bit deficiency. The romantic hero didn't really win her at the end. He wasn't put through enough trials. For example, there is no scene in the movie in which the hero thinks he has lost her entirely. It is in that black moment that we learn that he will do anything to get her back. That is how true love is tested.
In any case, it worked on enough levels to not be offensive. On the way home in the van, with the girls zonked out in their car seats, I told my sister about the movie. We both liked it better than we thought. We both agreed that the horse stole the show (second movie in a row for me). The idea that hero and horse are at odds with each other through much of this story says a lot about our culture. Horses are physical manifestations of human virtues. In this case the horse embodies the dogged unswerving tenacity that the hero lacks. For the hero to be a true hero, one who wins the heroine fully as his true love, the hero and horse have to be united. He must be as tenacious as the horse was, in this movie.
I also told my sister that I loved the idea that a man's hand can be healed by touching the hair of his true love. That's very romantic. But her true healing power doesn't come from her hair. That's not enough to bring him back to life. Instead it's her tears of mercy that do it, even if her hair has turned brown---or any other color for that matter.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Secretariat
Seen at: Cinema Saver 6, last night.
Alice---thought of you while seeing this movie, for obvious reasons, if you ever see it.
The movie unfortunately is rather dreadful---an amateur screenplay and textbook clumsy direction. You can really see the cast straining at the lines they are having to say. It's rather reactionary and cloying in the not-good sort of way, while simultaneously endorsing the worst of postmodernism.
The most interesting scenes were the close-ups of the horses themselves. They should have done more of that, I think---made the whole movie from the horse's point of view.
Nevertheless, I rooted for this movie. I remember the headline from the Triple Crown horse race that summer in banner type on the front page of the Des Moines Register. And that photo of that one horse, all alone, gallopping across the finish line to victory. Thirty one lengths---The number always stuck in my mind.
That's the way I thought of the world back then, that I was living in a perfect time, when the greatest of everything was happening, and that the wildest kinds of magic were possible, and that there was no reason I couldn't be a part of it too.
And the epilogue---that was freaking hilarious---snow angel hilarious.
Alice---thought of you while seeing this movie, for obvious reasons, if you ever see it.
The movie unfortunately is rather dreadful---an amateur screenplay and textbook clumsy direction. You can really see the cast straining at the lines they are having to say. It's rather reactionary and cloying in the not-good sort of way, while simultaneously endorsing the worst of postmodernism.
The most interesting scenes were the close-ups of the horses themselves. They should have done more of that, I think---made the whole movie from the horse's point of view.
Nevertheless, I rooted for this movie. I remember the headline from the Triple Crown horse race that summer in banner type on the front page of the Des Moines Register. And that photo of that one horse, all alone, gallopping across the finish line to victory. Thirty one lengths---The number always stuck in my mind.
That's the way I thought of the world back then, that I was living in a perfect time, when the greatest of everything was happening, and that the wildest kinds of magic were possible, and that there was no reason I couldn't be a part of it too.
And the epilogue---that was freaking hilarious---snow angel hilarious.
Despicable Me
seen at: Cinema Saver 6, about seven weeks ago, I think...
Smitty---has it really been less than two months since we saw this together? Then you went and did what?
So glad you had a great visit out to Coop and Betty's. Too bad about the cell phone. But you saw what mine looked like. I took your cosmic hint and got a new one too.
We both liked Despicable Me, as I remember. Wasn't that a good movie? Suprisingly so. I thought the trailers were dreadful, but it turned out they highlighted the worst part of the movie. The rest was almost charming.
Definite surprise of the year for me.
So glad you're back in town. What do you want to see next?
Smitty---has it really been less than two months since we saw this together? Then you went and did what?
So glad you had a great visit out to Coop and Betty's. Too bad about the cell phone. But you saw what mine looked like. I took your cosmic hint and got a new one too.
We both liked Despicable Me, as I remember. Wasn't that a good movie? Suprisingly so. I thought the trailers were dreadful, but it turned out they highlighted the worst part of the movie. The rest was almost charming.
Definite surprise of the year for me.
So glad you're back in town. What do you want to see next?
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Metropolis (restored version)
Seen at: Lyric Cinema Cafe, last month.
When I mentioned that this was coming to the Lyric, my dad said he really wanted to go. So for the second time in a year, I found myself going to a movie with him. I even got to introduce him to Ben, who was working the counter that night.
On the way there, my dad mentioned that the restored version was considered to have a very strong Nazi message. I had seen the old American recut version on TCM a few years back and thought it was a masterpiece. I wondered just how a re-editing could make it a Nazi movie.
After the movie was over, on the way home, we both agreed that there was no question what made this a Nazi movie.
The key to understanding it is to realize that we have essentially been fed a load of malarkey about what Nazism was about. We've been conned into thinking it was all about anti-Semitism, which in fact was a side issue in the main philosophy of the Third Reich.
Metropolis had to be lost and destroyed in its original version, I think, because it shows what the real philosophy of Nazism was about, especially in regard to the bloodline-based hierarchical and authoritative organization of society. It is the part of Nazism that survived the war intact, and was proffered to us as the New International Order after World War II. In order words, this movie shows how even though Germany lost the war, the Nazis triumphed.
But other than that, it's a brilliant movie. One of the greatest masterpieces of all time. It was a pleasure to watch every scene. My father thought it was "overly theatrical" like an old movie. I had to tell him that was part of German Expressionism at the time---the exaggerated sets and gestures, as well as the lingering camera shots.
I'd see it again and again, even if I get cold chills seeing the older Federson and his henchmen, who provided the textbook lesson in how to act like a Nazi for many members in the audience. The reason this is not an American movie is simple---the bad guys suffer no downfall. There's no revolution at the end. It turns out they were the good guys after all. They just needed to realize that it takes an upper-class scion of a powerful family to save us all. Gee, where have I heard that before?
When I mentioned that this was coming to the Lyric, my dad said he really wanted to go. So for the second time in a year, I found myself going to a movie with him. I even got to introduce him to Ben, who was working the counter that night.
On the way there, my dad mentioned that the restored version was considered to have a very strong Nazi message. I had seen the old American recut version on TCM a few years back and thought it was a masterpiece. I wondered just how a re-editing could make it a Nazi movie.
After the movie was over, on the way home, we both agreed that there was no question what made this a Nazi movie.
The key to understanding it is to realize that we have essentially been fed a load of malarkey about what Nazism was about. We've been conned into thinking it was all about anti-Semitism, which in fact was a side issue in the main philosophy of the Third Reich.
Metropolis had to be lost and destroyed in its original version, I think, because it shows what the real philosophy of Nazism was about, especially in regard to the bloodline-based hierarchical and authoritative organization of society. It is the part of Nazism that survived the war intact, and was proffered to us as the New International Order after World War II. In order words, this movie shows how even though Germany lost the war, the Nazis triumphed.
But other than that, it's a brilliant movie. One of the greatest masterpieces of all time. It was a pleasure to watch every scene. My father thought it was "overly theatrical" like an old movie. I had to tell him that was part of German Expressionism at the time---the exaggerated sets and gestures, as well as the lingering camera shots.
I'd see it again and again, even if I get cold chills seeing the older Federson and his henchmen, who provided the textbook lesson in how to act like a Nazi for many members in the audience. The reason this is not an American movie is simple---the bad guys suffer no downfall. There's no revolution at the end. It turns out they were the good guys after all. They just needed to realize that it takes an upper-class scion of a powerful family to save us all. Gee, where have I heard that before?
Angelina Jolie as the New Role Model
Sure got a big kick out of this TED talk, as one might imagine. Towards the end, it degenerates into a celebration of almost everything about postmodern pop culture that I have come to find as disgusting as drinking sewer water.
AJ as the new James Bond, indeed---a soulless psychopathic agent of the global elite, remorsely killing to keep the powerful in their powerful places. My ideal woman---NOT!
Well, to be fair, I should have thought of that before I spent 200,000 years oppressing and enslaving the women of the world!
AJ as the new James Bond, indeed---a soulless psychopathic agent of the global elite, remorsely killing to keep the powerful in their powerful places. My ideal woman---NOT!
Well, to be fair, I should have thought of that before I spent 200,000 years oppressing and enslaving the women of the world!
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Salt
Seen at: Cinema Saver 6, about three weeks ago.
Any of my Facebook friends will already know what I thought of this one. I usually don't mention movies there (for one thing, I haven't seen that many of them lately), but I made an exception in this particular case.
Indeed, I surprised myself. Over the last two years there were so many times I just wanted to walk out of a movie, but until now I always restrained myself, telling myself that if I started to do that, I might walk out of half of the ones I was going to.
But everyone has his/her limits, and Salt pushed me over the line finally.
So sad---I was looking forward to it for months, and waited until it got to the two-dollar theater. Over the summer, it was one of two Hollywood releases (the other being Inception) that I thought might have a chance. I was even willing to give Angelina Jolie another chance.
Inception crashed and burned for me during Act Three. It could have been a good story, but it collapsed utterly at the end (Ben agreed with me that it failed to advance the "false reality" genre even an inch).
Salt, on the other hand, had me churning in my seat from the opening scene---featuring AJ gettting waterboarded in a North Korean prison. What the hell is this, South Park in 2005? Even the promise of a generous role for Liev Schreiber couldn't kindle my interest.
I could have weathered that opening piece of merde, but it just got worse very quickly. The minute I realized that Jolie and Schreiber were CIA agents, and this was going to be another movie where "romantic, heroic CIA agents save the world" as I said in my FB post, it was all I could do not to throw something at the screen. Good thing I didn't have a tomato with me. Pardon my French, but I just don't have time to watch this kind of bullshit anymore.
It doesn't matter to me what the story is---probably something about a "rogue, bad" agent that has to be put down. It's too late for that---way too late. Anything short of a full indictment for that nest of wretched America-killers just doesn't cut it for me now.
Jolie just struck out in my book for the last time. She's on my banned-forever list of movie actors. Go find something else to do, Ms. Jolie, preferably not helping a bunch of rich assholes depopulate Africa so they can turn it into their private game park, like they want to. You suck, Angelina.
Still at this point, I remained in my seat. What finally had me fleeing to exit was a story premise at about minute twenty. Lee Harvey Oswald was a Soviet agent all along, you see...
We don't have time anymore for diversionary revisionary fantasies about what happened in Dallas in 1963. Nothing short of full sunlight matters now. There is too much at stake. Given the recent important disclosures about the JFK case, and what they actually mean, this was beyond insulting. It borders on treason.
I sprung from my seat and uncontrollably yelled "bullshit!" at the screen and stormed up the aisle. For the six or seven other patrons in the auditorium, I suspect I gave them more entertainment than they got from the rest of the movie.
It was the first movie I'd walked out of since my ex-wife and I abandoned The English Patient in Austin in the mid 1990s. I'd rather sit through that twice over before seeing ten more minutes of Jolie's ghastly, snarky smirk in Salt.
But what door have I opened now? Can I possibly force myself to sit through these turkeys anymore. Well, it is Thanksgiving season, at least. And the restored Metropolis is at the Lyric...
By the way, I was quite surprised at the response to my status update on FB. I went away from the screen for a hour and came back to find four "likes" to my post, all from female friends. Seems I'm not the only one who feels this way about these kinds of movies.
Verdict: I'd say burn all the prints, but probably good to keep this one around as reference for just how bad Hollywood got, before it all imploded.
Any of my Facebook friends will already know what I thought of this one. I usually don't mention movies there (for one thing, I haven't seen that many of them lately), but I made an exception in this particular case.
Indeed, I surprised myself. Over the last two years there were so many times I just wanted to walk out of a movie, but until now I always restrained myself, telling myself that if I started to do that, I might walk out of half of the ones I was going to.
But everyone has his/her limits, and Salt pushed me over the line finally.
So sad---I was looking forward to it for months, and waited until it got to the two-dollar theater. Over the summer, it was one of two Hollywood releases (the other being Inception) that I thought might have a chance. I was even willing to give Angelina Jolie another chance.
Inception crashed and burned for me during Act Three. It could have been a good story, but it collapsed utterly at the end (Ben agreed with me that it failed to advance the "false reality" genre even an inch).
Salt, on the other hand, had me churning in my seat from the opening scene---featuring AJ gettting waterboarded in a North Korean prison. What the hell is this, South Park in 2005? Even the promise of a generous role for Liev Schreiber couldn't kindle my interest.
I could have weathered that opening piece of merde, but it just got worse very quickly. The minute I realized that Jolie and Schreiber were CIA agents, and this was going to be another movie where "romantic, heroic CIA agents save the world" as I said in my FB post, it was all I could do not to throw something at the screen. Good thing I didn't have a tomato with me. Pardon my French, but I just don't have time to watch this kind of bullshit anymore.
It doesn't matter to me what the story is---probably something about a "rogue, bad" agent that has to be put down. It's too late for that---way too late. Anything short of a full indictment for that nest of wretched America-killers just doesn't cut it for me now.
Jolie just struck out in my book for the last time. She's on my banned-forever list of movie actors. Go find something else to do, Ms. Jolie, preferably not helping a bunch of rich assholes depopulate Africa so they can turn it into their private game park, like they want to. You suck, Angelina.
Still at this point, I remained in my seat. What finally had me fleeing to exit was a story premise at about minute twenty. Lee Harvey Oswald was a Soviet agent all along, you see...
We don't have time anymore for diversionary revisionary fantasies about what happened in Dallas in 1963. Nothing short of full sunlight matters now. There is too much at stake. Given the recent important disclosures about the JFK case, and what they actually mean, this was beyond insulting. It borders on treason.
I sprung from my seat and uncontrollably yelled "bullshit!" at the screen and stormed up the aisle. For the six or seven other patrons in the auditorium, I suspect I gave them more entertainment than they got from the rest of the movie.
It was the first movie I'd walked out of since my ex-wife and I abandoned The English Patient in Austin in the mid 1990s. I'd rather sit through that twice over before seeing ten more minutes of Jolie's ghastly, snarky smirk in Salt.
But what door have I opened now? Can I possibly force myself to sit through these turkeys anymore. Well, it is Thanksgiving season, at least. And the restored Metropolis is at the Lyric...
By the way, I was quite surprised at the response to my status update on FB. I went away from the screen for a hour and came back to find four "likes" to my post, all from female friends. Seems I'm not the only one who feels this way about these kinds of movies.
Verdict: I'd say burn all the prints, but probably good to keep this one around as reference for just how bad Hollywood got, before it all imploded.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Twilight Saga: Eclipse
Seen at Cinema Saver 6, about six weeks ago (on its last possible showing before it left town).
Pretty much had to see this installment, because I'd seen the first two as part of my "see everything" project.
I was not offended by the first two movies. They were empty of any real substance, but the first one took advantage of the spookiness of the Pacific Northwest in a unique way (at least, since First Blood (1981)). The second one had a similar romantic sheen because of the scenes set in Tuscany.
This one made me understand just how awful the books of this series must be. I could barely stomach listening to much of the early dialogue, and had to curl up and not look at the screen at times, it was so wretchedly juvenile. It was on par with the corniest short melodramas that came out Edison's studio a hundred years ago. Has Hollywood really lost that much of its storytelling ability?
The direction and editing is as clumsy as the worst of recent Hollywood films, quite surprisingly so, given the marquee status of the franchise. Yet the cinematography ironically is superior to the first two films, and we get some gorgeous shots of Kristin Stewart trying out her hand at advanced eye-acting in close ups.
The last half hour of the film perked up my interest a tad. It was a novel-enough take on a battle royale between super vampires and a team of other such vampires aided by werewolves. You've got my attention, at least, and I was far more entertained than I was in the dreadful collapse at the end of Inception. It almost made sitting through the dialog of the first ninety minutes worth it.
Pretty much had to see this installment, because I'd seen the first two as part of my "see everything" project.
I was not offended by the first two movies. They were empty of any real substance, but the first one took advantage of the spookiness of the Pacific Northwest in a unique way (at least, since First Blood (1981)). The second one had a similar romantic sheen because of the scenes set in Tuscany.
This one made me understand just how awful the books of this series must be. I could barely stomach listening to much of the early dialogue, and had to curl up and not look at the screen at times, it was so wretchedly juvenile. It was on par with the corniest short melodramas that came out Edison's studio a hundred years ago. Has Hollywood really lost that much of its storytelling ability?
The direction and editing is as clumsy as the worst of recent Hollywood films, quite surprisingly so, given the marquee status of the franchise. Yet the cinematography ironically is superior to the first two films, and we get some gorgeous shots of Kristin Stewart trying out her hand at advanced eye-acting in close ups.
The last half hour of the film perked up my interest a tad. It was a novel-enough take on a battle royale between super vampires and a team of other such vampires aided by werewolves. You've got my attention, at least, and I was far more entertained than I was in the dreadful collapse at the end of Inception. It almost made sitting through the dialog of the first ninety minutes worth it.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Winter's Bone
Seen at: Lyric Cinema Cafe, Thurs. Sept. 8 at 6:00 pm
People were talking this movie a lot, and the concept---neorealistic suspense in the Ozarks made with local actors---was intriguing, but still I waited until the last showing at the Lryic before it left. Too bad. It would have been good to have been able to recommend it before it left.
As I went into this movie, I was musing on a theory of movie narrative I've been toying with. It goes like this:
Every movie has a climax. At the moment of the climax, the main character or characters typically are forced to make a decision regarding an action. If we only saw that moment of the movie, that particular decision by that character might seem bizarre or incomprehensible. The purpose of the movie narrative is to bring us from complete ignorance about the character to a sympathetic understanding of the motivations of that character at the climax. It does this by taking the viewer through a series of emotional states that accompany revelations about the character(s).
Superior movies tend to be the ones that provide solid and satisfying emotional insight into climax-decisions that would be otherwise completely outside our understanding, were it not for insight engendered by the emotional journey of the narrative.
I tested my theory in Winter's Bone. I wondered what the "climax decision" of the main character would be. In this case the protagonist is a seventeen year-old girl taking care of her siblings in their house in the hills of southwestern Missouri and immediately facing the threat of losing her house and land, unless she can locate her absent father and convince him to show up to a court date.
What is the decision she is forced to make at the climax? Well that would be a spoiler, and there's no good in spoiling this movie. But let's just say it was an auspicious start for my new theory.
Winter's Bone advances horror, suspense, and mystery in tangible ways. It is somewhat in the subject-matter genre of the The Blair Witch Project (1999), but without the POV style, and with a much more sophisticated story. We've come a long way since then.
The story is fresh and unpredictable. There's even a cool dream sequence (cf. Inception), used in exactly the way you would want a dream sequence used. The heroine is awesome in her heroism. She embodies the real struggle of Americans right now in a way that Hollywood is flat out ignoring.
I'll throw my wager in with those saying this is going to win Best Picture next March. Given the last two winners, it's hard to see Hollywood not recognizing when it has been bested.
People were talking this movie a lot, and the concept---neorealistic suspense in the Ozarks made with local actors---was intriguing, but still I waited until the last showing at the Lryic before it left. Too bad. It would have been good to have been able to recommend it before it left.
As I went into this movie, I was musing on a theory of movie narrative I've been toying with. It goes like this:
Every movie has a climax. At the moment of the climax, the main character or characters typically are forced to make a decision regarding an action. If we only saw that moment of the movie, that particular decision by that character might seem bizarre or incomprehensible. The purpose of the movie narrative is to bring us from complete ignorance about the character to a sympathetic understanding of the motivations of that character at the climax. It does this by taking the viewer through a series of emotional states that accompany revelations about the character(s).
Superior movies tend to be the ones that provide solid and satisfying emotional insight into climax-decisions that would be otherwise completely outside our understanding, were it not for insight engendered by the emotional journey of the narrative.
I tested my theory in Winter's Bone. I wondered what the "climax decision" of the main character would be. In this case the protagonist is a seventeen year-old girl taking care of her siblings in their house in the hills of southwestern Missouri and immediately facing the threat of losing her house and land, unless she can locate her absent father and convince him to show up to a court date.
What is the decision she is forced to make at the climax? Well that would be a spoiler, and there's no good in spoiling this movie. But let's just say it was an auspicious start for my new theory.
Winter's Bone advances horror, suspense, and mystery in tangible ways. It is somewhat in the subject-matter genre of the The Blair Witch Project (1999), but without the POV style, and with a much more sophisticated story. We've come a long way since then.
The story is fresh and unpredictable. There's even a cool dream sequence (cf. Inception), used in exactly the way you would want a dream sequence used. The heroine is awesome in her heroism. She embodies the real struggle of Americans right now in a way that Hollywood is flat out ignoring.
I'll throw my wager in with those saying this is going to win Best Picture next March. Given the last two winners, it's hard to see Hollywood not recognizing when it has been bested.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Inception
Seen at: Carmike 10, Ft. Collins, at 4:25 p.m. on Sept 10
This was a fun movie-going experience, because I saw it with my dad on his 70th birthday. I bought the tickets, he bought the popcorn. Off the top of my head, the last time I remember seeing a movie with my dad was 1972--and that was with the whole family.
My dad is a hard-core science fiction fan from the early post-World War II days. He has an incredible depth of knowledge about science fiction paperbacks by the great classical writers, and all the pulp of varying quality that came along with it over the years. While I was growing up, those kinds of paperbacks and copies of little Analog magazine filled our house.
After the end of Inception, I was eager to hear what he thought about it. Most of our movie discussions are me just talking about things I've seen by myself.
I offered my cautious entree to get things going, saying that I was "not sure" about it. He concurred. I could see it was a genuine opinion, and he wasn't just following mine.
Over the next couple of hours, it turned into a rout. Then, and over the following afternoon at the celebration my sister held at her house in the north Denver suburbs, we piled thought about thought about why Inception was so bad, and was one of the most disappointing movies I have seen in a long time.
It's so disappointinga movie, and so deceptive about its premises, that I hesitate to open up the catalog of my thoughts again, lest I feel compelled to write a long treatise on it.
Certainly it is solidly in the genre of Hollywood film that emerged in the 1990s centered on the premise that some or all of the primary characters introduced in Act One are either in some sort of alternate reality state and are either unaware of it, or are dead (in which case the characters in flashback are doomed but are not aware of it).
That being said, Inception utterly fails to advance the genre by even an inch. It's a cop-out, a retreat. The twist of the entire movie turns out to be (spoiler........) that there is no twist and the story is completely linear within a world in which lucid shared dreaming exists. The only plot conflict is about a man getting over his deceased wife---nothing else. That I didn't care at all about the characters, who were like video game characters, can be used to support the idea that the entire framing story is thus also a dream state. Ah, that's it. This movie is about the psychological effect of people living their lives by the quest narratives of video games, and missing out on the real world and family. OK, I get it.
Inception reminded me a lot of Shutter Island so much that they seem as variations on the same movie. With Scorcese, I pretty much know that I'm going to hate anything new he puts out, and now I can add Christopher Nolan to the list. I should have known. Inception is also the same movie as The Dark Knight, in that they are both incoherent on a basic level of narrative logic, but in different ways.
The Dark Knight's incoherence is on the level of morality and motivation: it uses the mask of classicism, for example the the prisoner's dilemma that the Joker sets up on the ferry boat, to fool the audience into thinking that the story says something meaningful about Batman's choice at the end of the movie. Inception has a much deeper level of narrative disconnect, almost like the molecular bonds of character structure are being dissolved.
The people who liked this movie--well, I suspect a lot of it is because of the special effects. The last half hour ofInception is amazing long and boring for minutes on end. The too-forced parallel narrative structure of the dream levels each coming to their respective climax had me rolling my eyes. But the anti-gravity scenes in the elevator and hallway were unique and interesting such that they are deserving of an Oscar nomination, and perhaps even a win depending on the eventual competition. But not the score. Please not the score.
My greatest anger against it comes from the movie's utter failure to use it's science fiction premise (lucid, shared dreaming) to say anything meaningful about the reality in which we live right now via our shared culture and media. There isn't the slightest hint of this in the movie, really. It's as if one took The Matrix and drained it of all its connotation. You've got some innovative arm flailings enhanced by CGI to be sure, and pretty much nothing else. Is the metaphorical premise of Inception really that "you can't put an idea in someone's head, it has to come from them." That's the only interesting question about psychological that the movie even attempts to raise. To be sure, this was debated in the context of lucid dreamnaut experiences, but the problem is: this kind of dreaming experience doesn't exist in reality. The only meaningful debate is about what this means in our "real" reality.
So is the movie saying that you can't put ideas into people's heads? Is this really a deep philosophical question or is this just the Postmodern shell of the appearance and trappings of rational inquiry? I think it is the latter.
As far as lucid dreamnaut movies go, put Dreamscape (1984) in your Netflix queue instead. I haven't seen it since it was in the theaters back then, back when I'd walk over from our house on Purdue Road to see flicks at the now-long-gone University Triplex. But I thought it was fun when I saw it, and certain images and scenes have stuck in my head from it since then.
This was a fun movie-going experience, because I saw it with my dad on his 70th birthday. I bought the tickets, he bought the popcorn. Off the top of my head, the last time I remember seeing a movie with my dad was 1972--and that was with the whole family.
My dad is a hard-core science fiction fan from the early post-World War II days. He has an incredible depth of knowledge about science fiction paperbacks by the great classical writers, and all the pulp of varying quality that came along with it over the years. While I was growing up, those kinds of paperbacks and copies of little Analog magazine filled our house.
After the end of Inception, I was eager to hear what he thought about it. Most of our movie discussions are me just talking about things I've seen by myself.
I offered my cautious entree to get things going, saying that I was "not sure" about it. He concurred. I could see it was a genuine opinion, and he wasn't just following mine.
Over the next couple of hours, it turned into a rout. Then, and over the following afternoon at the celebration my sister held at her house in the north Denver suburbs, we piled thought about thought about why Inception was so bad, and was one of the most disappointing movies I have seen in a long time.
It's so disappointinga movie, and so deceptive about its premises, that I hesitate to open up the catalog of my thoughts again, lest I feel compelled to write a long treatise on it.
Certainly it is solidly in the genre of Hollywood film that emerged in the 1990s centered on the premise that some or all of the primary characters introduced in Act One are either in some sort of alternate reality state and are either unaware of it, or are dead (in which case the characters in flashback are doomed but are not aware of it).
That being said, Inception utterly fails to advance the genre by even an inch. It's a cop-out, a retreat. The twist of the entire movie turns out to be (spoiler........) that there is no twist and the story is completely linear within a world in which lucid shared dreaming exists. The only plot conflict is about a man getting over his deceased wife---nothing else. That I didn't care at all about the characters, who were like video game characters, can be used to support the idea that the entire framing story is thus also a dream state. Ah, that's it. This movie is about the psychological effect of people living their lives by the quest narratives of video games, and missing out on the real world and family. OK, I get it.
Inception reminded me a lot of Shutter Island so much that they seem as variations on the same movie. With Scorcese, I pretty much know that I'm going to hate anything new he puts out, and now I can add Christopher Nolan to the list. I should have known. Inception is also the same movie as The Dark Knight, in that they are both incoherent on a basic level of narrative logic, but in different ways.
The Dark Knight's incoherence is on the level of morality and motivation: it uses the mask of classicism, for example the the prisoner's dilemma that the Joker sets up on the ferry boat, to fool the audience into thinking that the story says something meaningful about Batman's choice at the end of the movie. Inception has a much deeper level of narrative disconnect, almost like the molecular bonds of character structure are being dissolved.
The people who liked this movie--well, I suspect a lot of it is because of the special effects. The last half hour ofInception is amazing long and boring for minutes on end. The too-forced parallel narrative structure of the dream levels each coming to their respective climax had me rolling my eyes. But the anti-gravity scenes in the elevator and hallway were unique and interesting such that they are deserving of an Oscar nomination, and perhaps even a win depending on the eventual competition. But not the score. Please not the score.
My greatest anger against it comes from the movie's utter failure to use it's science fiction premise (lucid, shared dreaming) to say anything meaningful about the reality in which we live right now via our shared culture and media. There isn't the slightest hint of this in the movie, really. It's as if one took The Matrix and drained it of all its connotation. You've got some innovative arm flailings enhanced by CGI to be sure, and pretty much nothing else. Is the metaphorical premise of Inception really that "you can't put an idea in someone's head, it has to come from them." That's the only interesting question about psychological that the movie even attempts to raise. To be sure, this was debated in the context of lucid dreamnaut experiences, but the problem is: this kind of dreaming experience doesn't exist in reality. The only meaningful debate is about what this means in our "real" reality.
So is the movie saying that you can't put ideas into people's heads? Is this really a deep philosophical question or is this just the Postmodern shell of the appearance and trappings of rational inquiry? I think it is the latter.
As far as lucid dreamnaut movies go, put Dreamscape (1984) in your Netflix queue instead. I haven't seen it since it was in the theaters back then, back when I'd walk over from our house on Purdue Road to see flicks at the now-long-gone University Triplex. But I thought it was fun when I saw it, and certain images and scenes have stuck in my head from it since then.
Friday, September 10, 2010
The Expendables
Seen August 29, afternoon at the Fox 5 in downtown Sterling, Colorado.
A strange way to break a month's fast. A spontaneous three-day road trip last month took me out onto the Eastern Plains---one of my favorite places to drive for hours on end without seeing anyone.
After two days of that, little Sterling seems like an oasis of civilization, a space colony in the midst of a void---cleans motels, a lovely museum well kept up, about the Rural Electrification Project.
The downtown multiplex is a coverted single screen establishment off the main boulevard. I arrived just in time to catch this movie, which I call the It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World of 2010.
Stanley Kramer's 1963 madcap epic was the end of a era, a last hoorah for an entire generation of the cast in many ways. The world was about to change in big ways.
Now, among other things, the action star as we know it is fading into history. There is a sadness among the old men in this movie that there is not a next generation. Cinema has moved on.
But it's much more than that. The mercenaries in the movie somehow know something went really, really wrong with America, and they identify it as stemming from the Serbian War. Very intriguing idea.
It's camp and pretensious on every level, and the action scenes rather bored me at times, but I still liked it for the reasons I've just described.
The finest scene in the film is a short performance by Mickey Roarke, as a hip Austin motorcycle tatoo artist and retried mercenary. He delivers a soliloquy in a close-up while bent into purple light as he concentrates on one of his designs. "We used to stand for something," he says.
I think of his character here as essentially the ghost of his character from The Wrestler, speaking form beyond the grave, mourning the death of the America we all knew and loved, and for which Stallone thought he was fighting, in his own Postmodern way.
I hear ya, brother. I hear ya.
A strange way to break a month's fast. A spontaneous three-day road trip last month took me out onto the Eastern Plains---one of my favorite places to drive for hours on end without seeing anyone.
After two days of that, little Sterling seems like an oasis of civilization, a space colony in the midst of a void---cleans motels, a lovely museum well kept up, about the Rural Electrification Project.
The downtown multiplex is a coverted single screen establishment off the main boulevard. I arrived just in time to catch this movie, which I call the It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World of 2010.
Stanley Kramer's 1963 madcap epic was the end of a era, a last hoorah for an entire generation of the cast in many ways. The world was about to change in big ways.
Now, among other things, the action star as we know it is fading into history. There is a sadness among the old men in this movie that there is not a next generation. Cinema has moved on.
But it's much more than that. The mercenaries in the movie somehow know something went really, really wrong with America, and they identify it as stemming from the Serbian War. Very intriguing idea.
It's camp and pretensious on every level, and the action scenes rather bored me at times, but I still liked it for the reasons I've just described.
The finest scene in the film is a short performance by Mickey Roarke, as a hip Austin motorcycle tatoo artist and retried mercenary. He delivers a soliloquy in a close-up while bent into purple light as he concentrates on one of his designs. "We used to stand for something," he says.
I think of his character here as essentially the ghost of his character from The Wrestler, speaking form beyond the grave, mourning the death of the America we all knew and loved, and for which Stallone thought he was fighting, in his own Postmodern way.
I hear ya, brother. I hear ya.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Banksy's Exit Through the Gift Shop
Seen at: Lyric Cinema Cafe, three weeks ago.
I saw this on the first Friday afternoon showing when it came to Lyric last month. I had just happened to be in the neighborhood, but this meant that I got to screen it with Ben, the Lyric owner, and a few other people.
For most of the time during the movie, I thought it was an interesting documentary on the street art movement, which is NOT graffiti (think posters more than paint) and which is much fascinating that I had thought. There is plenty of valuable archival footage of the creation of various projects by famous street artists.
Toward the end, the story seemed to lag a little, but that was okay. In the lobby, I swapped opinions with Ben, who had almost the same reaction I did.
I went on my way, on my downtown errands, then remembered I had left my reading glasses, so I came back to get them at the theater. Ben was holding them when I walked in. As he handed them to me, we chatted about the movie again, and he asked a simple question regarding a rumor he had heard in connection with the movie, specifically one concerning Banksy's relationship to the artist who is the subject of the movie.
An hour later, we were still sorting it all out, and along the way we both agreed that Exit Through the Gift Shop was an utter masterpiece. We were laughing not only at the movie, but at our own stupid initial reactions to it.
Thank god I forgot my reading glasses that day.
I saw this on the first Friday afternoon showing when it came to Lyric last month. I had just happened to be in the neighborhood, but this meant that I got to screen it with Ben, the Lyric owner, and a few other people.
For most of the time during the movie, I thought it was an interesting documentary on the street art movement, which is NOT graffiti (think posters more than paint) and which is much fascinating that I had thought. There is plenty of valuable archival footage of the creation of various projects by famous street artists.
Toward the end, the story seemed to lag a little, but that was okay. In the lobby, I swapped opinions with Ben, who had almost the same reaction I did.
I went on my way, on my downtown errands, then remembered I had left my reading glasses, so I came back to get them at the theater. Ben was holding them when I walked in. As he handed them to me, we chatted about the movie again, and he asked a simple question regarding a rumor he had heard in connection with the movie, specifically one concerning Banksy's relationship to the artist who is the subject of the movie.
An hour later, we were still sorting it all out, and along the way we both agreed that Exit Through the Gift Shop was an utter masterpiece. We were laughing not only at the movie, but at our own stupid initial reactions to it.
Thank god I forgot my reading glasses that day.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
At the Starbucks laptop table today
"Can the Undead be Role Models?" asks the USA Today on the top of the front page. The Postmodern summer rolls on.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
City Island
Seen at: Lyric Cinema Cafe, 3:30 pm today
After the houselights came up, I was the last one in the number two auditorium at the Lyric. Ben came in to walk through to the projection room. As the last credits rolled, he asked me, "So how was it?"
"My kind of movie," I said. "It's a New York neighborhood-family movie, which I like a lot."
I added that Andy Garcia's performance was superb. "You know how every year the Academy nominates an Indie performance for the acting Oscar. Last year it was Richard Wright."
He knew what I meant. "Well, Garcia could be it for this year."
Then I added that the movie got a little goofy at the end, and got fairly Postmodern when Garcia's character actually goes from being a prison guard to an actor, and Martin Scorcese is explicitly invoked.
The story here has a Postmodern dysfunctional family that is healed by bold Classical honesty and courage. It occurred to me that in Scorcese's earlier films, and also in Saturday Night Fever, the New York Catholic Family that Screams (NYCFTS) was not so much Scorcese showing us a New York phenomenon (witness his own personal upbringing), but rather the Postmodern one, albeit in New York garb and patois. In City Island, it's come full circle---the New York screaming family now looks normal American, because we've all become that, somewhere along the way.
But like I said, some good performances by a great cast, and I learned a few things about the place where I dined on lobster on my 35th Birthday, having visited all five boroughs in one day of fun. The film did not let down any of my memories.
After the houselights came up, I was the last one in the number two auditorium at the Lyric. Ben came in to walk through to the projection room. As the last credits rolled, he asked me, "So how was it?"
"My kind of movie," I said. "It's a New York neighborhood-family movie, which I like a lot."
I added that Andy Garcia's performance was superb. "You know how every year the Academy nominates an Indie performance for the acting Oscar. Last year it was Richard Wright."
He knew what I meant. "Well, Garcia could be it for this year."
Then I added that the movie got a little goofy at the end, and got fairly Postmodern when Garcia's character actually goes from being a prison guard to an actor, and Martin Scorcese is explicitly invoked.
The story here has a Postmodern dysfunctional family that is healed by bold Classical honesty and courage. It occurred to me that in Scorcese's earlier films, and also in Saturday Night Fever, the New York Catholic Family that Screams (NYCFTS) was not so much Scorcese showing us a New York phenomenon (witness his own personal upbringing), but rather the Postmodern one, albeit in New York garb and patois. In City Island, it's come full circle---the New York screaming family now looks normal American, because we've all become that, somewhere along the way.
But like I said, some good performances by a great cast, and I learned a few things about the place where I dined on lobster on my 35th Birthday, having visited all five boroughs in one day of fun. The film did not let down any of my memories.
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