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Movie Recommendation of the Week: The Social Network

2010-09-25T12:26:00.000-07:00

It always starts with a girl doesn't it?

How much is an idea worth? How about a kernel of an idea? What about a friendship? Those are just a few of the questions asked and to some degree answered in David Fincher’s new film, The Social Network, a quasi-historical account of the founding of Facebook.

I was skeptical when I first heard about this project for a number of reasons. First of all these events barely qualify as capital “H”-history since they happened just seven years ago and the true impact of Facebook remains unknown (although there is an interesting scene where Mark Zuckerberg, the company’s anti-hero founder, is attending a lecture given by Bill Gates where he talks about the challenges of creating BASIC and you realize that in the internet age, Microsoft hails from an entirely different epoch than Facebook; the difference between the two isn’t so much Ford and Toyota as it is the horse-drawn carriage and BMW). Second: how do you effectively dramatize a bunch of kids coding in their dorm rooms and sniping at each other through lawyers over intellectual property theft? The answer in cheeky hindsight is that you get Aaron Sorkin to script it and David Fincher to direct.

Somehow this was more compelling than watching a guy age backwards--go figure.

Sorkin, perhaps best known for his work on the much lauded The West Wing (which I’ve never seen--an admission liable to get my liberal-pass revoked), springboarding from Ben Mezrich’s book, “The Accidental Billionaires” has crafted a beast of a script. All the characters speak with the type of wit and humor that generally comes to us long after a conversation has ended if ever. He sort of inverts the rule of less is more: why say in five words what you can say in fifty? Most of the actors employ a rapid fire "blink-and-you'll-miss-it" delivery that keeps the film humming. This technique gives the movie a kinetic verve that's quite impressive to behold (keep an ear out during the first meeting with Sean Parker: pure fireworks).

The opening scene is the aural equivalent of Saving Private Ryan's brutal Omaha Beach invasion. Jesse Eisenberg as Mark Zuckerberg hanging out with his soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend speaks with growing ardency about the infamous Harvard Final clubs, places that only allow the elite-est of the elite. It soon escalates into a verbal sparring match that culminates in both sides launching volleys of insecurity-seeking missiles. Later that night, the jilted Zuckerberg in a drunken hissy-fit creates a website that inadvertently leads to the creation of Facebook.

The film's perspective comes mainly from Eduardo Saverin, the somewhat hapless but well-intentioned co-founder of Facebook played with dewy-eyed innocence by Andrew Garfield. We watch as he gets slowly excised from the increasingly lucrative enterprise after providing the seed money for Zuckerberg to get it off the ground. If the film has a weakness, it's that it doesn't really take the time to establish how close he and Zuckerberg were before impending fame and fortune tore them apart. From the outset Zuckerberg just treats him with so much passive-aggressive vindictiveness, we wonder why Saverin is friends with such an obvious tool.

Granted there are ungodly sums of money involved in the dispute, but the film does an excellent job of conveying the idea that it wasn't ultimately about the money. After a certain point, tacking on zeroes becomes like gaining the high score in a video game: you’re just looking to distance yourself from the competition and leave them in awe of your prowess. None of the film’s characters' great-grandchildren will ever have to worry about money, specifically the litigants who felt Zuckerberg screwed them over.

No what these people are fighting over is something beyond money. Zuckerberg believes he’s invented something that will profoundly impact life in the 21st century. He’s not thinking jackpot; he’s thinking legacy: Gates, Rockefeller, Ford, Vanderbilt, men who left an imprint on the world. He starts off as a kid determined to infiltrate the exclusive social circles of the world’s most prestigious university. Mark wants entree into the inner sanctum of the wealthy scions and aristocratic jocks for reasons never fully explored (validation? recognition? coolest parties?). As he begins to realize the potential of Facebook, he sets his sights higher, much higher.

Jesse Eisenberg deserves a ton of accolades for his portrayal of Zuckerberg. He just looks physically tight as if he finds the world itself a constricting and discomforting place. He only ever relaxes when sitting in front of a computer monitor. You believe him as this awkward genius who despite his verbal dexterity is unable to connect with people in a normal way. The cast is uniformly excellent, especially Armie Hammer who with some technical wizardry plays...ah, I don't wanna spoil it, but it's a nifty trick.

The real revelation here is Justin Timberlake. While he’s never embarrassed himself on screen (he had some decent turns in Alpha Dog and Black Snake Moan, not to mention his stints on SNL), he’s also never threatened to hijack an entire movie as he does with his portrayal of Napster co-founder Sean Parker, the erstwhile Silicon Valley prodigy turned flameout. Timberlake delivers an atropine shot to the film every time he’s on screen. His Sean Parker is possessed of an almost preternatural charisma that ropes in the audience as much as it does Mark Zuckerberg. As my friend said on the way out, "One day this guy is going to win an Oscar." In the words of Antoine Dodson, "You can run and tell that!"

Of course you can't do a movie about Facebook without showing it. Kudos to the filmmakers for how smoothly they managed to integrate it into the film. There are a few scenes that rang pretty authentic to me like this exchange:
"How come your status is single on Facebook?"
"What? That's what it was when I started and I don't know how to change it!"
"You're telling me you're the CFO of Facebook and you don't know how to change your status?"
"Yes, you should look at that as a sign of trust that I'd even admit that to you!"

At its core, The Social Network is about class and the upheaval the Zuckerbergs of the world are creating in the upper stratosphere. He doesn't just represent "new money," but a sort of regime change. There's a particularly cutting line of dialogue in the film where Zuckerberg is telling his lawyer that the blue blood twins who are suing him are only doing so because, "for the first time in their lives, things aren't going the way they want them to." Individuals like Mark Zuckerberg and Bill Gates, Sergei Brinn and Larry Page--they are the new masters of the universe. They control the gates now and they're letting they're friends inside. And the old elite can't stand it. At least that's what the movie seems to drive at.

The Social Network makes a perfect bookend with another film about American capitalism: P.T. Anderson's There Will Be Blood. In Anderson's film the ferocious oilman Daniel Plainview embodied the ruthless spirit of early 20th century capitalism. Zuckerberg isn't the 21st-century equivalent of Plainview, at least not in this film. But as depicted on screen, he does embody a new class of entrepreneur, one for whom ideas are the most valuable commodity one can possess. After all, the difference in form and function between say Myspace and Facebook is a matter of degree, but one is worth about ten times the other.

It should be noted that the real-life Zuckerberg is probably a far more fascinating character than the fictionalized one. Here's a kid who at twenty-three had a cold enough pokerface to not even bat an eyelash when Microsoft's Steve Ballmer offered $15 billion dollars for his company in 2007. One day I hope to see a movie about that guy. Until then, The Social Network will more than suffice.

Extraneous thought, tangentially related: As a Facebook user, I kept thinking how the application had become a part of my life and that of my friends. I’m still not sure what it is. It’s as pervasive as the cell phone at this point and has probably done more to shift an entire generation’s views on privacy than anything else. When people talk about Facebook, it's an organic thing integrated into their lives like television or Starbucks. Several times in the movie, Zuckerberg and company talk about how they've invented this "cool thing," but have no idea what it will/can become. I think we're all still trying to find that out.

A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again (with Apologies to DFW)

2010-09-05T17:45:00.000-07:00

A few months ago a close friend of mine asked if I’d be willing to join him and a small group on an expedition to Mount Kilimanjaro. At the time I only had a passing familiarity with the place. I knew Kilimanjaro was in Africa, but I had no idea where. Discovering it was in Tanzania didn’t really help since outside of maybe a dozen countries the continent was an unsolved jigsaw to me.

International geography like history is one of those subjects we get exposed to before we might find it really interesting or useful and then we're never directed towards it again. Thinking about it, I’m rather embarrassed at how limited my knowledge is regarding where things are located in the world. Looking at a map of the region, I'd completely forgotten the Indian Ocean existed. Figure I need to spend some time with my old friend Carmen Sandiego.

I’m a bit lackadaisical when it comes to preparing for trips so, despite having several months lead time, I didn’t get the bulk of the recommended equipment until two days before I left. A bit of advice for anyone interested in mountaineering: it ain’t a cheap hobby. Kheiry, our trip's organizer, provided a novella-length checklist, a procrastinator's nightmare.

I’m indebted (in gratitude and coin) to the wonderful salespeople at Tent and Trails in lower Manhattan. Their assistance was indispensable. They made sure I had everything I needed down to the skivvies (tagline of the brand I bought, Ex-Officio: "17 countries, 6 weeks, 1 pair of underwear"--the clerk made a point to let me know these were under no circumstances returnable; apparently this had been an issue in the past).

After I filled the third basket, I stopped mentally calculating the damage, but the cashier told me to take a deep breath and brace myself before I looked at the receipt. As has been noted, beware all enterprises that require new clothes.

From Prada's 2011 Darque Continent Collection

The trip’s biggest selling point was that it would provide my first foray into Africa. I've thought of going many times, but the continent is so vast that I had no idea where to start. Kilimanjaro solved that problem for me quite nicely.

The trip would go a long way towards chiseling away the stubborn idea of Africa as a monolithic entity. It's never been a collection of homogeneous nations, but we often discuss it that way ("The problem with Africa..."); I've found myself falling prey to that tendency in the past. My visits to Beirut and Dubai helped break that habit with respect to the Middle East; I figured a trip to Tanzania would have a similar effect.

Stepping onto the tarmac at Kili International Airport the first thing I noticed was the quiet. Transported a million miles from a single electronic billboard, there were no herds of passengers simultaneously scrambling for their cellphones, no talking heads incessantly droning on from flatscreens, no skyscrapers illuminating the skyline in the distance. The constant assault on the senses that city dwellers become inured to after a while had ceased. Instead darkness and calm spread in every direction. It was like coming off a drug.

From the moment the immigration agent saw my passport, I heard a question that would arise countless times:
“What part of Africa are you from?”
“No, I’m from America.”
“Oh, what part of Africa are your parents from?”
“Um, Detroit?”

I tried to explain the origin of my name in the simplest terms. I’m not sure it made sense to them. Whenever I struck up conversation with one of the tour guides, he would always have a puzzled look on his face after I told him I had no family in Africa as far as I knew. That line was bifurcated a few centuries ago.

I explained that I'd have to do genetic testing to trace the tree back that far. Slave owners weren’t the best bookkeepers unfortunately. If it was too expensive, one guide told me I'd be better off using the money for another vacation perhaps to the West coast of Africa; I at least might run into somebody who looks like me. The guides also tried to parse the meaning of my name and came up with “No people.” In Swahili: “Si” – no, “Watu” – people. I found this mildly perturbing.

I will spare readers the details about how comfortable our group became discussing the particulars of certain bodily functions. I’ll just say we spent an inordinate amount of time discussing the regularity, color and consistency of our “ones” and “twos”—usually over meals. And it seemed perfectly natural like talking about how things were going at work. The wilderness does strange things to a person.

What follows are observations, thoughts and reflections on the climb and my trips into the city of Moshi afterward. If nothing else, I hope the pictures are interesting.

Day One – Dressed to Kili – Camp Simba, elev. 2650m

All hail the porter! Earth's mightiest heroes!

We spent more time driving than hiking the first day. Kheiry had chosen the Rongai route which would require five-and-a-half days to summit the mountain and one day to get back down. In order to get to this route, we had to start on the side of the mountain near the Kenyan border, a four-hour drive. The long drive allowed us to get acquainted with the Kilimanjaro community.

Villages sprawled across the lower region of the mountain. We passed countless homes, shops and schools. All the shops had the exact same sign--a young caramel-skinned woman with wavy hair in profile swigging a Coke. The names varied, but every store used that same sign. I really wanted to go to the store that sold those signs. Human traffic streamed up and down the sides of the roads as we drove past, mainly school children in color-coordinated uniforms and women carrying impossibly balanced cargo on their heads: bushels of corn, clothes, wood, supplies, etc.

One of my companions decided to shout “Jambo!” (‘hello’ in Swahili) in an amiable manner at all the people we passed. He got about a 90% response rate complete with waves and smiles. I hate to generalize about an entire country of people but I have to say, Tanzanians, in my admittedly limited experience, are some of the most unfailingly polite and genuinely helpful individuals I’ve ever met. They do expect tourists to tip for pretty much everything imaginable, but even in this the people I dealt with were never pushy or overly aggressive.

Camping was not a part of my upbringing. The last time I’d been in a tent was probably during middle school when my friends would sleep over in the summer. We’d tuck a sheet into the plastic frame of my box fan, turn it on and voila! instant tent. I have no recollection of ever sleeping outdoors in the wilderness, not even in the backyard.

In the city you might briefly mistake the wing-lights from an outbound plane for a star, but out in the wild you're beneath a canopy of brilliant constellations. Sure New York can be magnificent, but our relatively blank skies are still a sharp reminder of how tightly cocooned we are. There is something oddly comforting about sleeping outdoors. One of my travel mates said we'd miss it when we got back. I could see that.

Presidential Suite @ the Kili Hilton

Our chief guide looked to be in his late twenties, early thirties. His name was Joseph, but he went by Photo. This nickname came from his profession before he was a guide. He made a living taking pictures at weddings and graduations. I never asked if he still did photography as a hobby. “6:45, we will wake you up. 7:15, warm water for washing. 7:30, breakfast. 8:00, finish packing. 8:30, we get moving.” He would repeat this list to us every morning.

If someone tried to force him to skip ahead, he’d balk, staring at you silently for a moment before restarting his list from the beginning. His monotone recitation reminded me of the automated voice-recording we used to call in order to get the time. After a while it became one of those things that was simultaneously endearing and nerve-wracking.

Mawenzi peak, 3 days travel time

Day Two – A Time To Kili – Second Cave Camp, elev. 3450m

Day two set the routine for the trip: get up early, eat breakfast, hike for roughly three to four hours. Arrive at a new camp, eat lunch, hike to higher altitude for acclimatization purposes, eat dinner around 6-6:30, attempt to sleep by 8 or 9 at the latest. That may seem early, but your body is so exhausted you’ll want to collapse right after dinner. The biggest difficulty was forcing ourselves to stay up a bit later so we didn't wake up restless in the tar black pre-dawn. Thank god for Uno.

We'd come during the dry season. Our feet kicked up billowing clouds of reddish-brown dust as we hiked along the trail. You couldn't avoid the stuff. By the end of the day, I felt powdered head-to-toe like a doughnut. I could taste the grit in my mouth and my nose turned into a coal mine. I would have gladly donned one of those white masks the germaphobes wear when there's an exotic flu outbreak.

The first day we walked through rainforest, but by the second day the landscape had become far more rugged with sparser vegetation and lots of rocks. We were entering the desert portion of our trip which meant...even more dust. Yay.

Nice camo

Day Three – Kili Me Softly – Camp Kikelelwa, elev. 3600m

I felt a cold coming on. My nose was quickly becoming a faucet and a source of constant aggravation. We trekked through the alpine desert, much of the terrain blanketed in a thick mist. As we pressed on, the fog lifted and the contours of the mountain became visible. The vistas were magnificent with valleys and peaks stretching as far as the eye could see.

One of the first phrases we learned in Swahili was "pole, pole" (pronounced po-lay, po-lay) which means "slowly, slowly." It was our guides' favorite phrase and apparently a national catchphrase as I saw it on a bunch of merchandise later. Our hikes were always to go "pole, pole" for two reasons. The first was that they didn't want us to exhaust ourselves since we'd be hiking for more than a quarter of the day. The second was that we had to give the porters time to get ahead of us and set up camp.

The porters would always overtake us at the outset of our hikes. They moved effortlessly somehow mounted with a ton of provisions and equipment. Most of the men had been up the mountain more than eighty times. They had grown up around the mountain so they were pretty acclimated to the altitude and all of its various terrains. Here I was in expensive hiking boots and some of these guys were wearing trainers. Unbelievable.

Day Four – Brokeblack Mountain – Mawenzi Tarn Hut, elev. 4330m

The head cold was taking its toll. During the second hike for acclimatization, I found myself a bit wobbly and generally depleted. All I wanted to do was sleep. One of the guides named Kareem had taken to looking after me; he kept me from falling on the way back, taking me by the hand and guiding me over some of the steeper embankments. Being sick on a mountain combines all kinds of awful. I wanted a hot shower and a bed with a comforter and a shot of Nyquil.

The jagged peaks of Mawenzi were climbable at some point, but the rock was too porous to withstand the repeated use of more invasive mountain-climbing gear. The Tanzanian government has prohibited climbers from even attempting to climb past a certain point for some years now. I hope this allows the peaks to be preserved for many decades to come. They are quite breathtaking.

The intrepid Dr. B

The one thing I was quite thankful for was the food. Every day we received three square meals. Breakfast usually consisted of a healthy variety of fruits: mango, tangerines, oranges, watermelon, etc. followed by fried eggs and sausage with piles of toast. We also got porridge which everybody else thought was too watery, but I quite enjoyed. Reminded me of Malt-o-Meal. Almost every day we got a hot lunch: fried fish, chicken, stew, rice, beef and a host of other dishes.

Every dinner began with a surprisingly delicious soup. I had no clue there was a such thing as cucumber soup or that it could actually taste amazing. I usually had three or four bowls of whatever the soup du jour happened to be. A couple of times we got the national dish, a "vegetarian" stew (as Kareem hilariously described it once) with plantains, potatoes and beef. Other nights it was pasta with meat skewers or rice with a rich meat sauce. I ate better on the mountain than I had in months.

Day Five – Through the Black Gates of Mordor – Kibo Hut, elev. 4700m

The previous night I made the mistake of taking a half-dose of Diamox, the drug used to treat acute mountain sickness. I hadn’t been experiencing any negative effects from the altitude, but somebody recommended it as a preventative measure. I’d also taken a Thera-flu-like medication to help me sleep through the night without waking up to constantly clear my sinuses.

I didn’t realize the Diamox was a diuretic which completely defeated the purpose of the other medication. I ended up scrambling out of the tent no less than three times that night in the freezing cold to relieve myself. Suffice it to say, this did not help my condition. Lucky for me there would be only one hike scheduled for the day—Kibo Hut, the highest elevation we’d be stationed at before the ascent to the summit of Kili. One three-hour hike I could manage. Once we arrived I could rest, at least for a few hours. We were scheduled to begin our ascent around 11:30pm.

Kheiry gave us a final talk during dinner about the summit climb. He explained that the height we were ascending to (nearly 6,000m) would trigger unpredictable physical responses. The oxygen levels are significantly lower and you’ll feel your body working that much harder. So far, I’d only noticed an increased heart-rate. Symptoms to look out for included nausea, dizziness, vomiting and shortness of breath. Kheiry let it be known that this would be ten times harder than any physical endeavor we’d ever undertaken, mentally and physically.

Statistically speaking, one or more our band of seven wouldn’t make the peak (40% of people don’t summit Kili). More straight talk than pep. Reminded me of those medical school dramatizations where they tell everybody to look to their left and right, because one of them wouldn't make it through. Photo was a bit more encouraging explaining that due to the longer acclimatization we’d undertaken and the fact that we’d all made it this far boded well for an attempt to reach the summit. He did mention that puking three times was within the realm of acceptable; beyond three though and they might escort you back down the mountain. Three times?

We were roused from our various states of rest at a quarter to eleven. I’d been dressed since dinner, so I didn’t have much to do. It was less cold than I anticipated, but that could have been the tremendous amount of layering I’d done. I had on a windbreaker, a soft down shell, a fleece, a long-sleeved shirt, a polyester t-shirt and a thermal top along with windbreaker pants, hiking pants, thermal bottoms, liner socks, extra-thick socks, a balaclava, a skullcap, and thick-padded gloves. I felt like a Russian nesting doll.

The full moon illuminated the mountainside. We wouldn’t need our headlamps. The shimmering blue and gray surface was made up of a material called scree: a mixture of crushed and pulverized rock. During the day, the scree has a sand-like consistency making it very difficult to traverse vertically. The scree freezes in the frigid night clime, making it compact and easier to gain traction. With each measured step you could hear the stuff crunch beneath your boots as you zigzagged your way up the mountain.

It would take about six hours. The whole time I looked at my feet and the boots of the person ahead of me. You couldn’t really look anywhere else lest you trip over an errant rock or miss a turn. Also if you stopped to look up, you could get discouraged as the mountain seemed to extend forever into the sky. The trail of headlamps snaking their way towards the top above and below us was quite mesmerizing though.

Day Six - Last Night a DJ Saved My Life – Summit, Uhuru Peak, elev. 5895m

I’m not sure how everybody else dealt with the monotony of the climb, but I thank Steve Jobs for my sanity. I created a playlist of a few hundred songs on my Nano; I figured I’d run out of mountain before I ran out of music. I plowed through a few Radiohead and Nirvana albums, mellowing things out with a bit of Tricky and Bjork later on.

When we had just one hour left to go and I felt myself mentally and physically ready to succumb to the rigor of what we were trying to do, I knew I could only turn to one man for help: Gucci Mane. Who else could generate enough mind-obliterating ignorance to annihilate my ability to form coherent thought? I needed to be on total auto-pilot.

Sunrise on the roof of Africa

We reached Gillman's Point, the penultimate summit at 6:00a.m. roughly, right on schedule. Kareem acted as a human crutch, pushing and prodding me to the first checkpoint. Each time my step felt unsure, he was there to brace me and guide me upwards and onwards. The hour-and-a-half trek to Uhuru, the true summit, I gutted out with Kheiry and Kareem at my side. We were the first three from our group to make it to the tip-top.

When we finally reached the summit at Uhuru, I dropped my poles and turned to hug Kareem. He seemed as happy for me as I was. My eyes welled with tears and I was overwhelmed. I told Kheiry that I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to punch him or kiss him.

I am not a religious man. So I've never quite understood the idea of feeling humbled yet elated in the presence of a higher power. Yet I felt something very akin to that when we reached the summit. Standing on the top of the mountain, it started making perfect sense.

Perhaps it was the combination of exhaustion, relief and the lack of oxygen, but I was overcome with a profound sense of joy and humility that brought me near to tears several times. The world felt so enormous and I felt so small and fragile. I thought to myself no matter how insignificant I may be in the scheme of it all, I'm still a part of all of this somehow and that left me speechless. It's not every day you have a profound experience.

The scene was surreal. Around me people were either smiling deliriously with tears in their eyes or looking as though they’d just been dragged from the grave. I also passed a few people retching their guts out. How terrible that must be since you still have to climb down the mountain to get your body back to normal. I wanted to go over and tell them as long as that wasn't the fourth time, they'd be okay.

It’s practically another world up there. You see glaciers banded with brilliant hues of blue and white in the near distance and on the other side a vast crater reminiscent of Mars. Kili is a dormant volcano and the whole time I'm glancing down the side of the rim thinking how easy it would be for me to tumble down the side. If this were in America, they'd have to install handrails to avoid lawsuits.

The glaciers used to be even more massive, but global warming...

The descent proved to actually be fun as we literally slalomed down the face of the mountain, our feet gliding over the scree rock. In the distance clouds of dust from other climbers headed down billowed up. I still had to stop every twenty or so minutes to catch my breath. Kareem kept admonishing me not to sleep as I would close my eyes for the briefest of moments when we sat down to break. By the time I made it back to camp it was 10:00a.m. It took about two hours to get down. I peeled off my boots and fell asleep before my head hit the packed sleeping bag that served as my makeshift pillow.

Me and Kareem - "There goes my hero!/He's ordi-na-ree!"

Day Seven – Harombo Camp, elev. 3700m

Seven hours of trekking lied between us and civilization. The descent took us through terrain we’d not experienced yet on the trip. The tropical rainforest was unlike the one from the beginning of the hike. On both sides of the trail there was lush dense forest with all kinds of colorful flowers that begged to be admired. There were also a series of small waterfalls scattered along the way. I wish I hadn't been so tired coming down or else I would have taken more time to document it all. As it was, I could only think: "Just a couple of hours until running water..."

Hey, hey we're the Monkees!

Day 8-9 - The Quiet American

After bidding my companions a bittersweet farewell as they departed for the recovery portion of the trip in nearby Zanzibar, I made my way into town to get a feel for Moshi. It was a leisurely half-hour walk from the resort complex to the city proper. All I had to do was follow the train tracks. There was a road, but the dust was too much. Every now and again a truck or van would come tearing up the unpaved road creating a cloud that blotted out everything. You couldn't escape the stuff.

Once in town, I suppressed my natural impulse to haggle with the shopkeepers as if I were back home shopping on Canal Street. Sure you could get a merchant to knock off a few thousand shillings from the first price offered, but what they end up losing far outweighs the paltry savings I earn. A few extra dollars stay in my pocket, but it may mean eating well for a week or more to the family of the merchant.

During my first trip into Moshi, a man named George took it upon himself to escort me around with the stipulation that I check out his curio shop. George was a clean cut, congenial young man perhaps in his mid-twenties. He spoke very fluent English. He told me about the obstacles towards owning his own tour business, particularly the cost of the license: $2,000 USD. When you adjust for the cost of living, that'd be like having to shell out fifty grand.

He was planning on becoming a guide; porter work was too strenuous and paid practically nothing. As we crossed a busy street, he joked that the traffic laws were different in Moshi than from the states. As in they don’t seem to have any. I think Lebanese drivers would fare well.

The main marketplace

George was of great assistance and I did return the favor by making a few purchases in his shop. He told me things were progressing in the country, but there was still a long way to go. Politically things were fairly stable. There were no internecine religious or tribal struggles threatening to tear the country apart. And they didn't have pirates.

They just needed to industrialize more so that they weren't so dependent on tourism. After we concluded our business, he asked if he could friend me on Facebook. God, I love technology. It's changing the world in ways we can't even comprehend right now.


Chinese Grocery. The name is just to differentiate it from other grocery stores.

Walking back to the resort, I took note of the surrounding neighborhoods. The houses had painted concrete walls, topped with corrugated tin roofs, brown with rust and dirt. They didn't seem to be shanties exactly although I did spy a number of ramshackle houses that looked susceptible to a strong gust of wind.

The only distressing thing was watching the children play barefoot in the dirt. They seemed oblivious and happy, but it just looked like abject poverty to me. I think about the resentment African immigrants in the states sometimes seem to have towards African-Americans descended from slaves. There is a sense that we've wasted the opportunities a country as rich as America has afforded us. Of course this elides a great deal, but if I came from a place with living conditions such as those in Moshi, I'd probably feel the same way.

Sandals made from used tires

When I first arrived, one of my traveling companions asked if I felt a connection to the land. I can't say I felt a kinship with the land or its people. That would be too strong a word, although there is a vague sense of recognition. Instead I'm struck with a strong desire to know the history of the place.

There is so much I don't know. What was the continent like before the Europeans divvied the place up? Everyone knows Egypt, but what of the dozens of other countries. Were they even countries or are most artificial creations like Iraq, disparate groups bound together with the stroke of a cartographer's pen? I don't even know where to begin. I suppose that's the next expedition I'll need to embark on.

Sweet Dreams are Made of This

2010-08-01T05:38:00.000-07:00

Time to wake up, Mr. Cobb

The other night I dreamt that I was at Madison Square Garden attending a Coldplay (?!) concert. I found myself in line at a concession stand buying a hero. The total came to something like $18.25 (without a drink or fries!) and I gave the cashier a twenty. She told me that she didn’t have any change, so I started to take my order and head off. Then it struck me that on second thought I should just stick around until she served enough customers to get my dollar and change I was still owed. She didn’t take too kindly to this and became progressively more irritated as I kept hanging around. Of course I became more exasperated because I couldn’t understand her aggravation with me. I was owed the money after all. At some point I just decided to cut my losses and walk away before I missed any more of the beatific crooning of Chris Martin. Troubling stuff.

I only mention this to bring up a point about dreams: they can oftentimes be prosaic, comprised of the most banal details. Dreams don't have to be weird (although the more pedestrian the dream, the more perplexed I am by it). An obvious point no doubt, but I raise it because one of the bigger criticisms of Christopher Nolan's new film, Inception, is that he just doesn't get dreams. Sure he can explain concepts like dream-state temporal compression and the logistics of "inception", but he doesn't get that like dreams are strange, man.

Click pic to enlargify

I think the films detractors would have loved to see this material in the hands of say a David Lynch, Terry Gilliam or even David Cronenberg: all directors who embrace the fantastic, illogical and downright creepy aspects of the world both in and out of dreams. Nolan is too much of a structuralist to allow his dreamscapes to get messy. He's not one to color outside the lines. Some have a problem with that and to be fair it's completely understandable. Yet that strikes me as an argument that refuses to address the film on its own terms.

I don’t think Nolan set out to make a treatise on the metaphysics of dreams or a meditation about the nature of reality. The film lacks enough ambiguous space for that to happen. More likely he endeavored to make a mature high-concept action film with some radical visuals. Nolan, best known for shepherding the triumphant revival of the Batman franchise is one of the most respected commercial directors working. His films are rigorously plotted and demand the viewers full attention. In short, he makes entertainment for grown-ups. Inception, harks back to the days when movies like Total Recall, Robocop and Aliens were standard summer fare. These were all smart action films that didn't pander to the lowest common denominator in order to inflate box office receipts. Sitting in a screening of Transformers 2, I had doubts whether such films would ever exist again in the mainstream. I'm grateful that Inception even exists to be honest.

At its core, Inception is a heist film with a sci-fi skin graft. To compound the conceit, the object of value isn't being stolen, but implanted deep inside the mark's subconscious. If I were sitting in a bar and someone described Inception's plot, I'd probably be telling them how brilliant they were. As far as high-concepts go, this definitely gets an “A” for effort. I applaud the studio for having the stones to put a couple hundred million dollars behind Nolan's vision. Even with DiCaprio starring, on paper it doesn't exactly scream box office smash. Nolan's ambition is unassailable. It’s the execution where one finds room to quibble.

Click pic to embiggen

The film spends an inordinate amount of time setting up the third act. I can't say I was ever bored, but it raises the ante for the resolution of the main subplot, a subplot that doesn't have enough emotional resonance for the audience to be truly invested. That wasn't much of an issue for me, because I enjoyed spending time with Nolan's characters despite their lack of depth. They reminded me of a more brainy and serious version of the Ocean 11's crew. One thing I'm starting to notice about Nolan's characters through all his work is that there is a "what you see is what you get"-quality that has started to become problematic. Ambiguity in a character creates space for tension. Inception would have been greatly enhanced if the characters were a bit tougher to read.

Another gripe is that Nolan could have employed the soundtrack more judiciously. The score, constantly welling up in the background, doesn’t seem to complement the on-screen action so much as attempt to engineer an emotional response from the audience. Music pretty much always works this way in film, but when it’s as blatant as it is in Inception, it translates to flop sweat. It's as if the director doesn’t trust that his material is strong enough to stand alone. There is one clever little bit with respect to the music which involves Edith Piaf's "Non, je ne regrette rien" and a portentous music cue that wells up occasionally throughout the film. Nolan is a clever little devil, I'll give him that.

Nolan approaches his material deathly serious. This has been great for the Batman films since they had veered beyond the point of self-parody under Schumacher. Still, I feel a bit of levity would have gone a long way in Inception. The few moments we do get make the team feel more realized and less like vessels for Nolan's intricate plot. Also I wish he’d cast someone else in the lead. DiCaprio is a decent enough actor given the right role (I found him pretty convincing in The Departed). Here he’s supposed to be conveying a man who’s been left debilitated by loss, emotionally compromised, a man who no longer trusts himself but still tries to project confidence and control. I think a Clive Owen or Ralph Fiennes, even Colin Farrell would have been more suited for such a part. DiCaprio is thirty-five, but his face still has a callowness that betrays any attempt at evincing the world-weariness that the story calls for. He just comes across as deeply annoyed or at best aloof most times. That said, he's not shabby in the role; he's just miscast.

The rest of the cast includes a couple of Nolan regulars, Michael Caine and Cilian Murphy. Murphy does great work here as the ambivalent scion of a dying energy magnate. His character's denouement ends up being the most effective in the film. Joseph Gordon-Levitt, the guy who everybody should be hailing as the next great actor of his generation, does quality work here as DiCaprio's right-hand man. Tom Hardy finds room to give his character a bit of soul despite being saddled with as much expository dialogue as anyone else. Nolan knows how to cast a film. It's just that the film ends up feeling less than the sum of its parts.

I don't want to sound as if I didn't like the film. I thoroughly enjoyed it actually. I'd rank it between The Prestige and The Dark Knight. It's not the mind-f##% the first trailers seemed to promise, but it is a mature action film that takes great pains to respect its audience. There's no shame in that.

So…how do you find Beirut?

2010-07-17T00:45:00.000-07:00

Downtown Beirut

I have heard this question from almost every Lebanese person with whom I’ve talked to on my two visits to Lebanon. They ask in the nervous manner of an amateur chef inquiring about a meal he has just prepared for you. They await your response with what is sometimes literally breathless anticipation. There is a deep-seated self-consciousness about how foreigners perceive their country. This is a generalization to be sure, but I’ve made this observation to a number of Lebanese. They've all agreed with it to some degree. Relax, I feel like saying. You’ve got a lovely country. Please, breathe easy.

The wedding reception. Restaurant @ Le Gray Hotel

I suppose the anxiety is warranted considering most American (if not most Western) views of Beirut are grossly distorted. The name Beirut conjures images of the city circa 1984. That Beirut is preserved in amber, engulfed in perpetual civil war. People in the states, when I tell them I’m headed to there, invariably ask, “Is it safe?” Their minds no doubt conjuring visions of men running from building to bullet-pockmarked building armed with Kalashnikovs, avoiding mortar fire. It’s lamentable that we’ve been at war in the Middle East coming upon a decade and most of us Yanks couldn’t pick out Iraq on a map let alone be bothered to understand the basic regional dynamics.

After-hours party at BO18

Granted I’ve made my visits here under the best of circumstances: accommodations in a nice apartment in the solidly middle-class Hamra district near the university, all expenses pretty much covered by my maddeningly gracious hosts, but I find the city incredibly hospitable. Everyone I've met has made me think the Lebanese are a naturally gregarious bunch. You step foot in a place and find yourself amidst strangers offering smiles and warm embraces, eager to chat me up about anything and everything from the World Cup to local politics.

Baalbek

It probably doesn’t hurt that some of the most beautiful natural landscapes you’ll ever come across surround you. Does wonders for the disposition I imagine. From the picturesque Mediterranean to the verdant mountains and valleys, the scenery is often arresting; you’re compelled to stop and let your eyes drink it all in. I’m told Beirut is one of the top vacation spots in the Middle East. I’ve no reason to doubt it.

Despite the vast expanses of land visible all around, the actual urban landscape is densely packed. Streets feel crowded with vehicles. A dearth of sidewalks means pedestrians and moving cars are always in uncomfortable proximity to one another. The traffic would fray the nerves of anyone unaccustomed to vehicular anarchy. Many times I saw autos packed like clown cars with people spilling out of the top or a van with plastic deck chairs for seats.

Lebanese celebrate German win over England

Motorcycles and mopeds are ubiquitous, but helmet use is practically non-existent from what I’ve seen. It’s funny how as an American this jumps out at me right away and I find myself having a strong paternalistic reaction. I found this simultaneously amusing and horrifying. Out of morbid curiosity I’d like to analyze Beirut’s traffic accident and fatality statistics in order to see how they compare to more conventionally regulated cities. Despite the loosely organized chaos of the streets, I never felt unsafe, but then I was usually in a very big truck.

Nasrallah threatening to attack Israel. Big bark for such a tiny dog.

The term “third world” has fallen out of fashion, replaced with the far less patronizing “developing nation”-tag. Lebanon feels like the quintessential developing nation. Downtown Beirut seems as vibrant and cosmopolitan as any medium-sized Western city or perhaps even Tel-Aviv. You’ll find Nike and Prada stores next to chic hotels and boutiques. There are numerous billboards advertising luxury condominiums and commercial developments aplenty. But this affluence is concentrated in small pockets around the city. Poverty remains pervasive. Ramshackle housing, rolling blackouts and a neglected infrastructure are the reality for most Lebanese. Coupled with an anemic labor market and a frequently dysfunctional government, it’s clear why those who can leave ultimately do.

Sky Bar. Surprisingly not full of d-bags

As my host has said on several occasions, there are four times as many Lebanese living outside of Lebanon as within. This diaspora has arguably been a net positive for the Lebanese people, but it has undoubtedly caused the country to suffer. The brain drain in Beirut reminds me of what’s happening in Detroit and other industrial dinosaurs trying to claw a foothold into the 21st century. In the case of Lebanon, it seems to be a combination of things: a weak government dogged by systemic corruption, a standard of living that can’t compete with Beirut’s more enticing Western neighbors and external interference from the likes of Syria and Iran. This pressure has immeasurably impeded the maturity of the nation. Frustration regarding this reality is never far from the surface of most Lebanese.

I have often heard young, educated and driven Lebanese expats speak of the growing ambivalence they feel towards their country. They have a sincere and deep-rooted desire to return for myriad reasons. What stops them is a lack of agency. They feel unable to effect significant change in the country especially in a place where political assassinations are commonplace. Still, there is a strong sense of pride among the expat community and if things settled down, I could see many resettling. I would bet on an organic democracy emerging in Beirut within the next couple of decades. The soil is still just a bit too hard for it now, but when I look around it just feels inevitable.

Despite all this, there are things about the country that come as a pleasant surprise. From what I’m told Beirut has a very low incidence of crime such as assault, theft, murder and rape. This is surprising for a number of reasons. The first is that there is no real police presence on the streets. You don’t see beat cops patrolling neighborhoods. You will see the random odd soldier manning an equally random and odd checkpoint. The second is that Lebanon is not a country under Islamic rule. The penal system is far less severe compared with that of some of its neighbors. They don’t have anything like Iran’s Basij wandering the streets, looking over everyone’s shoulder.

In many respects, Lebanese society feels exceptionally free. I tend to think the freer the place, the more susceptible it is to violence, but Beirut cuts against that theory. I’ve also heard that during the civil war, the streets were still relatively safe as long as you stayed away from the hot zones. Apparently there wasn’t much spillover into civilian life (aside of course from living in a literal warzone and all that entails).

Recently, there has been an effort to raise the visibility of the police. In the last few years, the sight of an actual cop car has become more commonplace. I don’t think they actually patrol or work a beat, but they seem to be moving in that direction. We even got to experience the inaugural implementation of some sort of traffic regulation when my friend was hit with a ticket for not wearing a seat belt at a highway checkpoint (where ironically another driver used the road's shoulder to circumvented said checkpoint altogether and didn't get so much as a stern look). This would have been unheard of a few years ago. We're talking about a place where traffic lights are more of a suggestion than a directive. It's encouraging to those of us who believe you need a government to enforce laws as "live and let live" only gets you so far.

Desecrating ruins. That's just how we roll.

I almost managed to stay out of trouble this time. No unauthorized mosque photos causing platoons of Hezbollah soldiers to descend on us. Instead I tried to take a picture of a military convoy truck much to the chagrin of the people I was riding with. The soldiers didn't seem to mind as I'm told a few of them waved at the camera as I took the photo. Unfortunately, their superiors weren't as gracious. We were pulled over and questioned for a few minutes while a baby-faced soldier cursed me in Arabic. I showed the officer in charge the offending photo and he made it clear that I was to delete it. Once I did, they let us go with only a warning not to go around snapping photos of the military.

"When in Rome" I suppose, but it still struck me as odd considering that soldiers and armored vehicles are pretty ubiquitous in the city and it's not even clear why. They're the equivalent of mall security. To make it worse, it seems in order to get a uniform you must have all traces of levity excised from your personality. These guys are utterly humorless. At least the Hezbollah guy smiled while he was interrogating us. And he let me keep my picture.

Are We Having Fun Yet?

2010-06-20T17:53:00.000-07:00

Las Vegas, NV – An hour removed from landing at McCarran International Airport, I am sitting in what is frequently regarded (at least by the locals) as the world’s best strip club. I have joined some friends who arrived a couple hours earlier. We are seated in an area reserved for bottle service patrons, an elevated section fenced off from the rest of the club. A half-dozen used glasses ring half-empty carafes of vodka and fruit juice. The group is buzzing and there is lots of demonstrative backslapping. Howls of laughter are barely audible over the din of hard rock coursing through the place. A pneumatic platinum blonde dancer slinks down a pole on a small circular stage just a few feet from us. A scene couldn’t scream “Vegas” any louder.

I plop down on a velvety couch facing the rest of the club. I admit to finding the inverted social dynamic of strip clubs intriguing. All the girls play by Sadie Hawkins rules. At least ostensibly they do. Like everything else in this city, you’re still coming out of pocket. It’s not as if the girls are risking anything when they approach a guy. Still, I have watched dancers get upset when their dance solicitations get rejected. Maybe in some ways that rejection is even worse than a guy approaching a girl in a normal club. It’s hard for somebody to be implicitly told that they are physically unattractive no matter what the circumstances.

Next to me is a girl who goes by the name Aria*. Aria is not a dancer--at least not tonight. Her face is as perfectly sculpted as a Greco-Roman statue and roughly as warm. I decide to chat her up anyway. I introduce myself and her blank face reproduces the pre-programmed smile of a perfume girl at Macy’s . She is from San Diego which she claims to miss terribly. But Vegas is where the money is. She has offered to procure girls for some gentlemen who are acquaintances of my friends. The rate is $1,000 per hour. This is what she does. She is a fixer, a party girl: a species by no means unique to Las Vegas, merely more prevalent. She gets things people need: girls, drugs, instant entrée into the best clubs. Aria‘s got whatever you need.

After some breezy conversation, Aria excuses herself to conduct business. She is working after all. I am left to wonder how she got started in her career. I’m guessing someone scouted her after observing her in a club or something. Asked her if she wanted to make some easy money just offering to hook deep-pocketed men up with long-armed girls. Was it much of a moral quandary for her? Did she worry about her parents asking about how she afforded her lifestyle? What about relationships? Was she able to maintain a significant other? What were her tax returns like?

I won’t see Aria for the remainder of the trip. I feel a tinge of disappointment about that.

Strip clubs like nature abhor a vacuum. Eventually a couple of other girls insist on keeping us company. I tell one girl that I am treating my friend to a dance and she goes over to sit on his lap. I explain to the other girl that I don’t like dances. I haven’t for a while. Not so much for moral reasons, but a stubborn immunity to the effects. My brain is unable to detach what the girls are doing from the fact that money has facilitated this transaction as opposed to say my disarming charm. The cash nullifies the gratification. So I hand her a few twenties and tell her I’ll compensate her for her time.

We talk while her friend grinds my friend into submission. She tells me about how they both fly out to Vegas when they want to make some quick money. They are from the tri-state area and usually work at one of the large clubs near the Westside Highway. This is fairly common among dancers. Many come from LA and San Diego for the weekend. I ask her how it works and she explains that the girls pay a flat fee to work, usually $100-150/night depending on the weekend. For dances, they keep whatever they make. If a girl and her clientele use the VIP section or one of the more private and insanely expensive ($500/hour) rooms, the club takes a percentage. On a good weekend she says she’ll clear maybe $5,000. And that’s not even the real money.

She says that she doesn’t offer “take-out service,” but many of the girls (including her companion) do. If I had to hazard a guess I would say maybe 70% of these girls are pros. On any given night in this club there are usually over 100 girls working. I ask her what kind of money they make for extra-curricular activities. She points to one of the girls engaged in a lap dance, a life-size Barbie. “My homegirl working over there? She charges $2,500 an hour.” Surely that can’t be right, I scoff. A man with the means to pay that kind of money, wouldn’t he be able to just go pick up a girl? Obviously these sort of profligate transactions happen. I mean New York’s former governor is perhaps the most famous John of all time for doing just that. She waves off my incredulity. “They do it because they can. They like being able to get what they want right now, right here.” Still, I can’t really wrap my head around it. I just envision having the wickedest case of buyer’s remorse ever.

I would guess the enhanced women outnumber the natural girls at least 4:1. It’s disturbing how much (bad) plastic surgery is being regularly showcased here. But the girls wouldn’t do it if it didn’t increase the bottom line. I’m no proponent of breast augmentation, but I would think optimally a woman should only go one cup-size up from her natural physique. Anything more and her body isn’t equipped to handle the bulk. These girls completely stomp on that rule and seem to be adding three or four cup sizes to their natural frames. The result: skin stretched taut across the breast plate with two bocce balls straining underneath. It confounds me that anyone finds this attractive.

A number of songs later, I tell her that I’ve let the meter run long enough and thank her for her time. The two girls discuss how much longer they intend to stay in terms of dollars: “How much more you wanna make tonight?” “I’m at fourteen-hundred. So like five more dances?” I’m impressed at how they’ve compartmentalized their work.

My friends and I are all still on New York time and it’s after three in the morning. We are exhausted, but not sleepy. Everything in this city conspires to decouple you from your internal clock. Unless you’re outside you never have any idea what time it actually is. The city is one giant sensory deprivation chamber. I can’t believe I have three more days of this.

*name changed to protect the innocent

100% Medically Accurate!

2010-05-09T16:36:00.001-07:00

I didn't have high expectations going into Tom Six's "The Human Centipede". The trailer seemed to give away the film's macabre punch line. I figured it would be your run-of-the-mill low budget, poorly-acted, unintentionally hilarious horror film, albeit one with a novel but thoroughly demented premise. After viewing the film, I was shocked for a number of reasons.

Herr Doktor

Foremost, it's actually a decent and for a few stretches good movie. German actor Dieter Laser anchors the film with his portrayal of the Mengele-like Dr. Heiter. In every scene his lunacy percolates under the surface like a fever. From his unblinking gaze to his slow and deliberate movements, his demeanor screams "I am not sane." Well that and his fetish for stitching mammals together via their gastro-intestinal tracts.

As ripe for pornographic exploitation as the film's premise is, I was happily surprised at how restrained the film turned out to be. There is blood and viscera, but the film never crosses into "Two Girls, One Cup"-level scatological licentiousness. In fact, the one scene where the logistics of the "human centipede" are depicted, any revulsion is generated from the viewer's own imagination. But that seems to be the lesson that most good horror moviemakers have learned: what I conjure in my head whether in anticipation or as it happens is infinitely scarier and more disturbing than what you can show me on-screen.

I've seen some reviews categorize the film as "torture porn," along the lines of Eli Roth's "Hostel" or any number of chop-the-girl-up-in-creative-ways flicks that have come into fashion lately. I'd disagree that "The Human Centipede" falls into this category. There is misogyny, fetishism of violence and a general nihilistic misanthropy-thing going on, but these all seem like expressions of the antagonist's insanity than a cynical ploy from the director. Director Tom Six seems more interested in ramping up the anxiety in his audience to unbearable levels and for the most part he succeeds.

The movie starts out in typical genre fashion with two girls stranded in the woods who come across an eccentric loner. There is subtle humor in the opening scenes. It stems from the soon-to-be-victims being utterly unperceptive to the signals that their host is unbalanced. Six does a good job of disarming the viewer here. The tonal shift is jarring after herr doctor captures his prey and the audience finds itself on edge from there on out.

Six then proceeds to guide us through some heretofore unrevealed circle of Hell and strands us there. The post-modern austerity of Dr. Heiter's home makes for a perfect mousetrap with its seemingly endless identical doors and antiseptic white walls. The audience is left feeling perpetually mortified and helpless as our protagonists try their best to persevere their collective nightmare. Don't look for a ladder at the end either.

Trust me. You don't wanna know.

The films biggest missteps are the leaps in logic that the characters undertake which many horror films succumb to; at a few pivotal junctures, the characters behave in a way that blinkers reason in order to advance the plot (sort of like how lazy rom-com screenwriters rely on the "big misunderstanding" almost without fail in the second act). This dunderheadedness doesn't break the film, but it does detract from what is otherwise a well-crafted psychological torture film.

The film is subtitled "First Sequence" and according to IMDB, the sequel will be out next year. I can't imagine revisiting the universe that director Tom Six has created with this film and most likely won't. However, this one will earn (well-deserved) cult status and will probably be a midnight staple at art houses for years to come. I'm not sure what conclusions one should draw about humanity from this.

(P.S. - I am don't know what's more shocking about this film: the fact that director Tom Six conceived the idea of surgically chaining humans together like linking logs or that nobody thought of it before.)

Engine, Engine No. 9...

2010-04-09T16:07:00.000-07:00

I am currently riding the Acela, the fastest train in the U.S., from NYC to DC. The trip will take approximately 2hrs 45mins to cover a little over two-hundred miles. Last November, during my visit to Spain, I rode several trains, one being the high-speed rail between Madrid and Barcelona. That trip interestingly enough takes roughly the same amount of time as the NYC-D.C. Amtrak trip. However, the distance between Madrid and Barcelona is a bit over three-hundred miles. What gives?

Well of course there are myriad reasons why the U.S. lags behind not just Europe but Asia also. Our love of car culture and collective aversion to robust public funding for things that promote the general welfare (education, transportation, health care...) being chief among them.

Still, it's incredibly embarrassing to note how different train travel is in other industrialized nations. Slate recently had an article detailing how difficult it can be to navigate one's way through Penn Station. Although I've been through Penn countless times, it's rarely to use the railway. I was annoyed at how vague and insufficient the directions were throughout the station. And when you finally get where you're going there's no indication of it. Nothing that loudly broadcasts, "You're at Amtrak!"

How is it that I was able to find my way (easily) through every train station in Spain and Portugal despite speaking absolutely none of either native language? Why is it that for Amtrak the arrival and departure tracks aren't posted until 10-15 minutes before they happen? Why does Penn Station make you feel as if you're wandering around the rebel base on Hoth from Empire? It's all dingy corridors with pipes running every which way. It's not as if we don't have elegant transportation hubs (Grand Central, natch). Why do we just accept such a half-assed barely utilitarian structure? I guess for the same reason we accept higher MTA fares for ever-deteriorating service. Mein gott!

Well at least the Acela comes with free internet (that doesn't allow video or audio streaming; hey look I'm in 1994! The AOL Experience is back! 'You've got mail!'). Ugh...

Why NYC Remains the Coolest City in the Milky Way

2010-03-07T09:53:00.000-08:00

Hey Jude Times Square Subway Station from 39forks on Vimeo.

Lost In The Cerulean Glow Yet Again

2009-11-23T14:24:00.000-08:00

I don't know how long the creators of Glee can keep this up, and I really don't care. All I know is that this show has become irresistible to me in the same way Mad Men and The Wire did.

The conceit of the show, a high school dramedy interspersed with musical numbers, seems a bit cheesy on paper, but the execution is almost flawless. The surprise is that it never feels like a gimmick. The writers of this show deserve a ridiculous amount of props for the deft incorporation of show-tunes, standards and pop music.

The characters are well-written and avoid the stock characterizations of so many high school-themed shows. The humor doesn't feel forced and doesn't demean the characters. It ranges from subtle to lol-funny. It reminds me a lot of...Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It's one of those shows that just seems to "get" high school. All the angst, the pressure, the obliviousness, the solipsism...it's all there.

Did I mention Jane Lynch? You should watch the show for her alone. It's criminal that this woman isn't more widely recognized. From her work in Christopher Guest's films to Judd Apatow movies, she kills, every time.

In short, this show will own your @$$ for 43 minutes each week less commercials and you will enjoy every second.

Day Eight: All Good Things...

2009-11-21T15:07:00.001-08:00

Puerta del Sol in the morning

My last afternoon in Madrid, I checked out the Royal Palace and a few other sights in the area. I tried to get my train ticket situation straightened out to no avail. It will have to wait until I’m stateside. So far that's been the only thing that didn't go according to plan and ironically it's the one thing I actually tried to plan in advance. See how that works?

The Royal Palace and the adjacent Almudena Cathedral are definitely worth checking out. I'm a bit cathedral-ed out at this point, but you know. The palace is maybe the length of two football fields and as regal as one would expect a palace to be. It's actually quite an elegant structure. Perhaps one of the nicest I've seen in Spain. I would take a tour sometime, but I'm a bit pressed for time as it stands. Gives me something to look forward to next time. Adios, Espana!

The Royal Palace as seen from the Opera House

The Invisible Man chillaxing

Almudena Cathedral, only completed in 1993

A view of the courtyard

A view of the Royal Palace

Other observations about Europe:
Spain is in a deep recession with unemployment in the high double digits, but it’s hard to gather from the places I visited. The people didn’t seem subdued and businesses seemed to be thriving with activity. Obviously my observations were limited from both a time and scope perspective. I’d be interested to know more about why the Spanish economy in particular is faltering so. Did they have a similar issue with real estate? A housing bubble? I'm sure it's also related to the interconnectivity of the EU's economy as a whole.

I saw this one kid on the train who I figure had to be from New York. His steez was just too NYC. He had the baggy jeans sagging so that the backside looked like he was wearing denim parachute pants and he had on a baseball cap with the brim flexed so straight that you could balance a tea cup on it. Do they do that anywhere outside of NYC? Did he just pick that up from watching music videos? I can only speculate. Still made me think how important a development it was to be able to transmit video and audio signals almost anywhere in the world. Physical boundaries really don't mean much, do they?

It's been Real, Spain.

Day Seven: Barcelona Finale/Madrid Redux

2009-11-21T13:55:00.000-08:00

Gaudi's Parc Guell

I wanted to get in a few more “must-sees” before I left, so I checked out Parc Guell. As with many other attractions, I attempted to hoof it. The sign off the Metro points you in the general direction and then it gets a bit dicey. I almost gave up trying to find the place as the signs for motorists that seemed to guide towards the park had me going in circles. Eventually I just broke out the map and figured it out myself. Again, I probably could have just asked somebody, but that would have made too much sense. Still, doing it on my own felt like a minor achievement.

The park seems quite popular with tourists and locals alike. Seems like a nice place to go jogging. The sandy plateau offers expansive views of the city below. Lots of interesting structures including a couple of unused homes Gaudi designed. I could have spent an entire afternoon just lounging at the park. The weather was absolutely perfect. I'm not one usually swayed by how temperate the climate is in a particular locale, but I could get used to this.

Also made my way for a tour of Casa Batlo. Not only did Barcelona produce the greatest artist in the history of Creation, but also its greatest architect (excluding of course the Divine Architect, which Gaudi himself would have been first to concede). It’s a nice house. But seriously, I wonder why the modern architecture of today is so boring. Where are the disciples of Gaudi? How come his stuff didn’t catch on? Too impractical? Costly?

Gaudi's Casa Batllo during the day

Then it was back to catch the rail to Madrid for the final leg of my trip.

Back in Madrid I made my way to the Reina Sofia which meant I would end up seeing two of the trinity (the missing museum being the Thyssen-Bornemisza which contains a few works by Caravaggio and Dali). The Reina Sofia is most famous for housing Guernica, often considered Picasso’s greatest work. I have seen pictures of it before, but seeing it at actual scale is an entirely different experience. I couldn’t fill a Post-It with what I know about Guernica. In fact you could sum it up in one line: “Picasso’s Guernica has something to do with the Spanish Civil War…or something.” Now this might be accurate, but it also masks an even greater ignorance; namely, I know absolutely nothing about the Spanish Civil War. Wait, actually I could offer a bit of a tidbit: “Franco?” See, that’s not even affirmative. It’s a timid response and frankly all I’m capable of even somewhat committing to. Here’s a question that I can’t answer that kind of nags: If I’d not been told that Guernica was (arguably) the most important piece of artwork of the 20th century, what would I think of it? See, I can’t answer that and it annoys me. You can’t put your finger on the scale that way by declaring such things, because then I feel sort of forced into one opinion or another. It’s kind of like when a friend gives you music from his favorite group and then asks, “So these guys are the best ever right?” What do you say to that?

I will say that I circled back to Guernica maybe three or four times, each time scanning it for longer periods of time. But was I continually absorbing it because I wanted to feel I was giving the right amount of time its advertised greatness deserved or did I really think it was great? I'm leaning towards the latter.

The rest of the evening became a search for a reasonably priced dinner. I found a spot that was offering a three-course meal for 8.50 euros, so I took a chance. Wasn’t half-bad. Although the paella mixta had one scrawny prawn in it and a tiny mussel, plus something that resembled a neck bone or a tail bone of some indeterminate animal. The second course was serviceable and the dessert, a chocolate sponge cake was actually quite good. All-in-all, not bad for the price.

On my way back to the hotel, I stumbled across a small red light district. I kept seeing all these women dressed in mico-mini skirts, legs balanced atop five-inch stilettos and black leather jackets opened to reveal bustieres. I thought for a moment, "Wow, Spanish women are really fashion-forward..." then I realized what was going on. It was funny that this was just five minutes from the main tourist drag, Puerta del Sol, but I guess that makes sense.

Get HBO on the line. Got an idea for a show...

I felt bad that Madrid had gotten somewhat short-shrift in my visit to the Iberian peninsula, but I still got to see quite a bit and in the morning I would round it out with a trip to the Royal Palace. Also, it's not as if it's going anywhere. I plan on returning, armed with a decent vocabulary...or a translator.

Day Six: Barcelona Day 2

2009-11-20T15:35:00.000-08:00

La Sagrada Familia, scheduled completion date: 2026. 2026!!! WTF?!?

Tried to take in as much of the city as I could today. Started off at the attraction closest to the hotel, the Sagrada Familia. If I’d have known I was going to pay $11 euros to see a half-finished cathedral, I might have had second thoughts. No offense, but you actually charge for this? Kidding!--halfway. It’s more interesting to read the history of the place. Gaudi with whom I only had a passing familiarity prior to this trip was apparently completely devoted to finishing the cathedral to the point of monomania. The story is equally harrowing, noble and pathetic. Once I get past the technical proficiency of the structure, I’m left a bit cold. I think it’s the Catholic iconography that tends to bore me. I get irritated at the self-aggrandizement passing as sanctity. There is something galling about walking into an already opulent church steeped in decadence and seeing a kiosk asking you to donate money in order to help finance more gilded altars. Besides that, I think I prefer the clean lines and uncluttered facades of secular monuments. Give me the Guggenheim (any one of them) over this kind of structure any day.

The view from inside

The next hour I spent looking for the Museo de Picasso. I’ve poured over books of his works many times, but I believe I’ve only seen a few of his actual paintings. There may have been an exhibit at the MoMa years ago. I ended up overshooting the mark and found myself in the marina. I took the opportunity to take in the aquarium. The largest tank with the sharks and this huge sun fish was worth the price of admission ($17 euros…yikes). Took a snapshot of a really old submarine. Kept thinking of the Ringo-led Beatles song for about the next hour.

"We all live in a..."

Sun fish...one ugly mutha

Finally stumbled upon the museum I was looking for. The output of some artists is just overwhelming. I wonder how many pieces Picasso created. It must number well into the thousands if you include every doodle, every sketch. I need to pick up a very good biography of the man.
I finally got to see the oft-mentioned “Blue Period” of the greatest artist that ever bestrode God’s green (as per the museum's hagiography scattered throughout never lets you forget). The gallery ends right at the cusp of his emergence as a Cubist master and the works and style so many people associate with Picasso. His early stuff was quite good. I don’t know how it’s considered in the art world today, but I especially like the use of color in his portraiture. He really seemed to capture his subjects’ moods.

From there I wandered around until I found yet another cathedral (I don’t even want to imagine what Italy must be like). This happened to be near the central shopping district. Took in a few of those sights and inadvertently snapped a few pics of a few well-known Gaudi buildings. They were pretty hard to ignore. Something struck me while walking through the area: American cities with a few notable exceptions (New Orleans and D.C. come to mind) are aesthetically dull things. Even New York, the greatest city mankind has ever conceived (if for the ingeniously simple use of a numbered grid with prominent street signs alone!), is frankly an ugly place compared to any of the cities I’ve seen on this trip. One of the best things NYC has to offer, Central Park, while invaluable from a utilitarian point of view, just isn’t all that visually arresting.

Gaudi's Casa Batllo

After a brief repose at the hotel, I headed back out to La Rambla and walked all the way down to the pier. I got a free pass to what was billed as a “New York Style”-party at a local nightclub. How could I resist? I wanted to see what exactly the party people of Barcelona thought New York-style was. Turns out to be pretty New York. Well a certain kind of New York actually. You had the same burly door guys deciding who could get in and when. Bottle service was de rigueur if you wanted priority. The music was pretty much what you’d hear in any club in NYC on a Saturday night. Lots of hip-hop, then a bit of house later on. People dance the same in Europe; no real surprise there. Most doing the same awkward two-step many casual partygoers favor. I had to leave after about 45 minutes because the smoke was just too much. Even before the smoking ban in NYC, the pervasiveness of smoking wasn’t that high in clubs. Nowhere like here where everybody seemed to light up, especially the women. Maybe that's how they stay so thin. That and the high-cost of eating.

Day Cinco: Lisbon/Barcelona, Days 3/1

2009-11-20T15:16:00.001-08:00

View from my hotel

I spent the morning searching for a few things to take back with me. Went to what the travel guide billed as the best port wine shop in Portugal, a place called Napoleao. The clerk spoke perfect English. She told me that English is the second language of the Portuguese and French is the third. She also said something that I had to check out later which is that Portuguese is one of the most widely spoken languages in the world, rivaling Spanish and English. I’m surprised by that. I figured Portuguese to be a pretty niche language when you take Brazil out of the equation. But when you take into account Brazil and parts of Africa, she might be right. (Ed. note: checked this out. Portuguese is not the most widely spoken Romance language; that would be Spanish with 358MM speakers. Portuguese is a respectable 3rd with 150MM speakers [figures per wikipedia, natch].) She said Lisbon is a very simple place. They have many of the prestige stores that signal to a traveler that he is in a world-class city like Rolex, D&G, Hermes and Old Navy, but she claimed the locals don’t patronize them. She also told me there were a lot of Brazilians in Portugal who come on holiday and outstay their visas in order to find work and stay on a more permanent basis. She didn’t sound too pleased about this. Another tidbit she shared was that they don’t re-dub movies into Portuguese, so they get exposed to English from a very young age. As I said her English was almost flawless.

Rossio in the morning

The trip to the airport was relatively uneventful save for the fact that I had to dash back to the check-in counter when I realized you can’t store alcohol in your carry-on. Damn you, Al Qaeda. I loved the fact that I could book an inexpensive flight to the other side of the Iberian peninsula for a relative pittance. Compare that to the states where a last minute flight will cost you at least one vital organ. I’ve never understood that.

Adeus to all that

Barcelona was not what I expected. I don’t know what I expected though. Maybe skyscrapers with flamenco dancers out front. I’m not sure exactly. On the cab ride into the city (I tried to figure out what bus would deposit me at the Metro, but I got frustrated and just said eff it, I’ll take a cab.), I was a bit surprised to see very few high-rise complexes.

View from the Barcelo Sants Hotel located conveniently above the train and Metro station

Not only was the dread absent-street sign problem an issue again, but in Barcelona all the streets come to octagonal intersections. I’m not sure if this has any utilitarian benefit. Increased parking capacity wouldn’t be right, because you’re just truncating useable street real estate. Does make for an interesting quirk though.

Interior of the Paco Meralgo

After settling into the hotel, I looked up a few restaurant options for dinner. I settled on Paco Meralgo, a tapas bar that had gotten high-marks from a few sites. The place was fairly busy, but my waiter tried to be as attentive as he could. Although his English was spotty, we understood each other enough so that he could recommend some dishes according to my tastes. I had a cod salad prepared with finely diced tomatoes. He told me it was very representative of traditional Catalonian cuisine. I also had an assortment of sausages which was hit and miss. I’m more a fan of the pancetta if I have to eat pork. I also had an amazing lightly seared tuna filet with soy sauce that I shouldn’t have eaten. Only bottom-feeders from here on out.

Day 4: Portugal Pt. Dois

2009-11-20T13:36:00.000-08:00

Se, oldest church in Lisbon

I was out early and decided to trek up to Castelo de Sao Jorge. It resides up in the hills and the structure is visible from almost anywhere in the city. On the way up, I encountered the cathedral, Se. It’s the oldest church in Lisboa, constructed in the early 12th century. Service was in session when I entered. Good to see they were still getting use out of the place. The vaulted ceilings were a good four stories high, maybe more. The place felt absolutely cavernous inside.

I continued on up the hill towards the castle. The neighborhood was very full of interesting architectural details. Almost every apartment had some kind of distinct tile work. There wasn’t a modern building in sight. That’s not a criticism. The castle itself felt more like a fort. It wasn’t small, but there really wasn’t an inside to explore. You could just wander the courtyard and along the walls. The views were expansive, allowing you to take in almost the entire city all the way down to the shore.

The next destination, Igreja da Madre de Deus, was about a mile and a half from the castle. I figured I’d walk the doggies. I find the best way to really learn a place is to walk it. There was no subway stop that would have gotten me closer which was fine. I wanted to actually see as much of the country as possible. The weather was growing increasingly ominous with gray clouds rolling on the horizon. I hoped it wouldn’t be too bad since the weather had been fairly mild up until then.

I wish the guidebook had been more clear on the fact that the church was connected to the Museu Nacional do Azulejo. I walked past the place like three times. The museum didn’t sound too enticing as it is the National Tile Museum. A museum dedicated to the subject makes sense considering how integral tile-making is in Portuguese architecture. I finally figured out the museum’s relationship to the church after a frustrating detour through what looked like a rougher section of town. The tile museum turned out to be interesting in its own right. There are still artists who utilize the medium which I'd never really thought about before. Still the main attraction was the church with its elaborately gilded walls and altars. The decor makes the tastes of an Arab oil sheik seem restrained in contrast.

Rain began to fall steadily by the time I finished exploring the church. I would have ventured out to another well-known site, Mosteiro dos Jeronimos, but visibility had diminished greatly and the light was far from ideal for picture taking. So instead I let things subside and headed over to Bairra Alto again to find dinner. This time wandering up a narrow back alley. An older Portuguese woman, the sleeves of her shirt rolled up, smoking a cigarette motioned for me to come inside her restaurant. “Real Portuguese food, right here. Come in.” I’m always a sucker for salesmanship. Don't make me feel like you're doing me a favor allowing me to eat in your establishment. First rule of any good restauranteur, I believe.

The place was quaint. Felt like a place the locals actually ate at. I had a skewer of cuttlefish, octopus and shrimp. It was excellent. I can’t remember when I last had cuttlefish. It’s not a common dish on the NY restaurant scene, at least I don’t think so. It seemed like something very authentic. Plus I felt good to be eating responsibly. Nothing endangered on my plate.

The rain continued unabated so I retired back to the hotel. Felt like I got a lot out of the day.

It Just Feels So Wrong

2009-11-17T05:02:00.000-08:00

There are some really good ideas that we should steal immediately from the Europeans. For instance, many countries in the EU have adopted credit card pin numbers. I've wondered for years why the credit card companies back home don't require this. Wouldn't that cut down on fraud like 90% overnight? I imagine they fear push-back from the merchants since it would require new machinery, but wouldn't it even be worth it to just subsidize it for them? Seems like a no-brainer, no?

One thing I find a bit baffling here though is that when you pay by credit card, there is no line for a tip. You have to pay that by cash. I wonder if that is also to squelch any possibility of fraud. Seems a bit much and can be a hassle at times. I like to conserve cash for things that invariably require it like taxis and cafes.

Last night I ate at a wonderful tapas place I got a heads-up on via the internets. It was called Paco Meralgo, located about a mile from my hotel. I managed to navigate the streets okay, despite the infamous tiny placards the Euros are so fond of. The waitstaff was courteous and accommodating and the food was great, so of course I wanted to leave a tip. Unfortunately, there was no place on the receipt for one and I was fresh out of cash. I kept trying to tell the waiter who'd assisted me that I'd be back once I found an ATM. He assured me it was no issue. I was persistent and left to hunt down a machine. On my way, I came across a loose ten-dollar euro note on the ground. I beamed at my good fortune and scooped it up. I returned to the restaurant and triumphantly slapped it down on the counter. The guy laughed a bit and shook my hand. I think he thought I was a bit nuts.

I'll have to do some research as to why tipping is viewed with such seeming indifference over here. Are waiters paid more? Obviously they don't work off tips, but what's the trade-off? An inquiring mind wants to know...

This Is Why We're Fat

2009-11-16T11:10:00.001-08:00

One thing I've noticed about Europe is that the serving sizes are conspicuously smaller than back home. This isn't exactly a shocker, but it is noticeable when you first experience it, especially with beverages (alcohol excepted). Browsing the soft drink section most Americans would think they were looking at kids' drinks. The serving sizes are at least 25%-33% smaller. I might as well be buying a Hi-C juice box.

I probably would be on solid ground to figure that Europeans have a much lower diabetes rate than we do, but from what I understand obesity is rising around the globe. Still, it's interesting to note that I also don't see the hyper-saturation of convenience stores in the places I've visited. And fast-food in the American sense is virtually non-existent. Consumerism in general seems dialed-down a few levels.

What's wrong with these people?

Woman standing outside the American Embassy in downtown Lisbon

Unrelated: Walked into a cafe in Lisbon and "We Are The World" was playing on the radio. Bunch of dirty friggin' hippies on this continent.

Day Three: Hill Street Blues

2009-11-15T17:16:00.000-08:00

I arrived in Portugal early Saturday morning. I'm not even sure why I wanted to come here. I know absolutely nothing about the place save for that its inhabitants were supposedly decent sailors (Vasco Da Gama was Clyde Drexler to Columbus's Jordan). The station, Santa Apolonia, was nowhere near as nice as the one in Madrid or even Sevilla. It was pretty bare bones, but still architecturally nice if simple. I was hoping to find a locker where I could put my duffel before leaving out to explore the city. Alas, there were none and I was left to schlep around with the 50lb beast digging into my shoulder. Did I mention there were hills? Lots and lots of hills. All roads that didn’t lead around the coast led up. Up, up and further up. Take the above picture and imagine navigating that for a few hours. That was my introduction to Lisboa.

I mentioned before that there was a bit of a hitch in my flawless planning. Thanks to some quick hustling and my pal, Visa, I managed to circumvent the problem or at least postpone dealing with it. It all started with a...

Train snafu! Note to self: In the future, make sure to check the dates on your tickets before you leave. I specifically told the agent that I needed a ticket for 11/13 leaving Madrid Friday evening at 10:25. I didn’t notice but the ticket was for 11/11! I should have been more thorough, but that is the hazard of doing things last minute. I got to the train station with ten minutes to spare and ended up having to buy an entirely new ticket. The ticketing agent stamped my ticket unused and said customer service would deal with it. Considering that I bought the exact same ticket for the next day, I’m hoping when I get back to the states that I can get a refund or at the very least a voucher for future rail travel. We’ll see.

If I’d have just stuck with my original plan to buy the tickets when I got there, I’d have been just fine a.) and I would have save myself a $20 “handling” fee b.). I mean I’m not traveling in the thick of tourist season. And even if the tickets had been sold out, I would have just taken the (cheaper) flight option. Live and learn.

I’m glad I went ahead and bought the new ticket. The overnight rail experience feels decidedly old school. These days most people wouldn’t bother with a 9-10 hour trip that could be done in a quarter of the time. Not too mention the fact that it's ironically more expensive than flying. Yet there are people who still do it. I can't imagine they're all aerophobic or medically restricted. I'd like to think they're just romantics too.

There is something soothing about listening to a locomotive. I love the hypnotic rumble of the churning wheels. It's not like the dull roar of a jet engine which you just want to drown out. I didn't even bother with my headphones. The accommodations were modest even though it was first-class. Two fold-out bunk beds with a ladder that folded into the wall. Felt like being in a mobile flop house, albeit a well-kempt one. The bed had a thin beige wool blanket like something they might give you in the army...or jail. The mattress was slightly smaller than twin-sized. It barely fit my 6-ft frame. My feet kept coming to rest on the end of the metal frame. Still it was relatively comfortable. Much more so than trying to get a good night’s rest in an actual seat. I was happy that the conductor spoke pretty good English. He kept me posted on everything.

I was excited to experience my first meal in a dining car. It wasn't exactly the Orient Express, but that's alright. Breakfast was a serving of bacon and eggs with assorted breads. I even had a cup of coffee. I never drink coffee. I guess I was feeling European that morning.

So I guess what I'm saying is that if you get a chance, take the train. It's just better. Except when it's Amtrak. Can we get high-speed rail already? Sheesh...

Back to Lisboa...

The first thing I noticed walking the streets was that the sidewalks aren't paved, but tiled. It gives all the streets a unique look and feel. It's as if doing whatever was most efficient wasn't even a consideration. I suppose it's also about heritage and cultural identity. Still, they must be a pain to maintain, but it would be heresy for any urban planner to think about modernizing. As it stands the streets are far more beautiful than any I've ever encountered back home.

Once I stumbled my way into the main square, things got much better. I found Rossio by happenstance after wandering aimlessly through the narrow streets of what I came to learn was the Alfama district. I kept stopping at various cafes to see if they had an internet connection since I had yet to book accommodations for my stay. Finally, I just went to an actual hotel, one that was mentioned in my guidebook as a reasonably-priced option. It's the Heritage Av Liberdade. They were booked for the night, but had an opening for the next which I promptly took. I ended up finding a cheaper if less charming place almost directly across the street from it. So that worked out.

I didn't realize the population of Lisbon was so small; there's only 550,000 people who call the place home. I keep seeing a lot of old ladies in stockings and black walking shoes with scarves around their heads. There are a lot of older men too who look as if they've spent their whole lives working the docks. This should not be surprising as it is the consummate port town.

After settling into my hotel, I took to the streets again in search of an authentic Portuguese meal. I ran into two English girls who allowed me to tag along with them to the Bairro Alto district which had some good restaurants. I ended up at a quaint little seafood place that had a multi-language menu which was nice. I ordered one of the local favorites: salted codfish and potatoes. I also had an octopus salad with tentacle-pieces as wide around as a dill pickle. I think before that I'd only had baby octopus. Not a bad seafood option I have to say. The cod was a bit oilier than what I was used to. Gave it a heartier taste. I'm sure the Portuguese have no problem getting their Omega-3s.

There was a big soccer match going on as well. Portugal was facing Bosnia Herzegovina in a World Cup Qualifier. (This explained all the dudes I saw walking around earlier wearing "Bosnia Forever" t-shirts.) Apparently there was some drama because Cristiano Ronaldo was not playing due to a minor injury. I guess it would be the equivalent of Lebron or Kobe sitting out of a regular season game deciding if your team goes to the playoffs. I watched it up to the point where Portugal scored and it cut away to an apathetic Ronaldo fiddling with his cellphone. I imagine he was busy ensuring that the correct number of supermodels would be waiting aboard his private jet for his trip back to Madrid.

Portugal ended up winning the match, but the after party was a wash, literally, as the rain started coming down much heavier. I had wanted to check out the nightlife, but it would have been dicey to try and negotiate my way around a bunch of slippery tiled inclined streets. I ended up at a cafe near my hotel where a local band was doing a few covers. I caught a nice version of Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely." And then I called it a night.

21-Effing-Euros?!?!?!?

2009-11-14T08:23:00.000-08:00

Loção de Deus

I purchased this at a local pharmacy in downtown Lisbon. Didn't bother looking at the price. I mean, it's lotion right? Sure it gets pricey in the States, but what could the damage be? Twenty-one-effing-euros, that's what it could be! Insane. That's 31 U.S. dollars. Thirty-one dollars. What is this stuff made with? Stem-cells from a newborn angel? Maybe, maybe that could justify the price. We could erase the entire U.S. trade deficit if we just sold this stuff.

Of course I was too embarrassed to look up "I'm a cheap bastard." in Portuguese and just get something else. No, I'm a proud rich American. It's just money. So I bought three bottles just to show the world we still totally own it.

Day Two: I heard I could find a pretty good barber around here?

2009-11-14T04:12:00.000-08:00

After a minor (almost big) ordeal, I am in Lisbon. It has taken me three hours to find a place with internet access. This is an old city. As far as I can tell (and this isn't a bad thing), there isn't a Starbucks in the whole town. Plus, I've only seen one, ONE McDonalds! For some reason, I find this extraordinary. Trying to find an internet-capable cafe here has been like trying to find
~~a virgin in a brothel~~ water in the Sahara. Anyways, I'll get back to Portugal later. For now, Sevilla...

The robustness of public transportation in Europe has not been exaggerated. I was able to take a train from Madrid to Sevilla (distance approximately 330mi) round-trip for less than it would cost to take the Acela from NYC to D.C.(225mi) and in less time. That's a damned shame, America.

You can even take a train to Missouri. Your move, Amtrak.

The ticket agent looked at me as if I was crazy when I told her I wanted to come back the same day. She was like, "You know this cost $120 euros, right?" I nodded and said it was just a day-trip. She didn't recognize the word. I futzed around with my phrasebook for a moment before I decided to drop it. We both smiled politely and went about our business.

The train ride was quite pleasant. There was even a movie, Flash of Genius with Greg Kinnear. I didn’t listen but how many scenes can one take of Greg Kinnear looking forlornly at cars passing by using his "intermittent windshield wipers"-idea the Big Three purloined from him? The answer: one. The plot makes for a great wikipedia entry, but a feature length film? Not so much. But I digress.

I arrived in Sevilla after a smooth two-and-a half hour train ride. I spent an hour wandering around what I assumed to be the city's residential area. I hadn’t bothered doing much recon. That would have been antithetical to the spirit of "winging it". Plus if I found myself pressed for time, I could always ask somebody.

Random apartment complex in residential Sevilla

Sevilla has a calm, rustic air about it. It wears its city clothes very loosely. It's passably modern with mostly mid- to low-rise buildings. It reminds me of suburban Michigan: farmland gussied up with strip malls and hotels. I get the occasional protracted stare which is somewhat odd considering they do have an African population (of what size I’m not sure). Much like their New York brethren they seem to be mainly street merchants, hustling the latest in designer knock-off watches, garments and DVDs.

Hustling is universal

Walking around I saw a lot of backpacks and teenagers; school had just let out. The kids are as fashionable as their New York counterparts. But so are the women and men. You don’t see too many sloppily dressed people in general. Also the people look mostly healthy. Not a lot of obesity but not entirely absent either.

The dedication to public transportation including the accommodation of cyclists, is admirable. I can see NYC adopting some of these measures. We’ve already increased the amount of bike lanes back home. Now if Bloomberg can resurrect congestion pricing and the MTA can pull itself from the brink of insolvency, we might continue to see progress. Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of cars on the streets here. Mostly compacts, with a few mid-size sedans peppered throughout. What I don’t see are SUVs. Not a one. Not even so much as a Range Rover.

Self-service bike rental stations are all over the place.

After wandering a bit I came across a bridge/overpass at the apex of which I could see what looked like a minaret. I kept walking and eventually came to the tourist section of Sevilla. A mix of cobblestone streets and narrow alleyways spread out before me. Negotiating the windy passageways was fascinating, because people actually lived there. There were all kinds tell-tale signs like laundry hanging from clotheslines, open windows and what I assumed were "For Rent"-signs. The neighborhood was chocked full of restaurants and souvenir shops literally around every corner. It was a perfectly balmy day; high sixties, low seventies maybe. Turns out I came at the best time of year.

I eventually stumbled upon Catedral de Santa María de la Sede. The level of detail is impressive to say the least. Unfortunately, I couldn't go inside due to renovations being done. On a side note, I allowed myself to get hustled out of a few euros by some gypsies selling palm readings. I didn't feel too bad, because I had spent so little on my trip so far. Plus, she had really poor dental health, so maybe my handful of euros will help correct that.

The other buildings were as impressive as I head been lead to believe. A seamless mix of Islamic, Christian and Spanish architecture. However, and this seems to happen often with me, I wasn’t blown away. I blame this squarely on the continued improvements in photography and the ubiquity of great photography on the internet.

Even if I haven’t sought them out, I have seen these pictures or images quite similar literally thousands of times.

Imagine traveling in the late 1700’s or early nineteenth century. All you had was word of mouth. Descriptions were all orally communicated. Obviously I wouldn’t want to be traveling in the nineteenth century (my people did quite a bit of it back then; all one-way), but I envy the sense of discovery travelers must have felt. All that’s gone now.

It seems as if almost everything on Earth, even at the depths of the ocean, has been photographed a million times and those images disseminated and viewed exponentially. This has been a blessing for the millions of people who are unable or unwilling to seek out these places in person, but it has been a curse for those with any sense of adventure (perhaps this overstates the case--it’s been a curse for me, inveterate internet surfer that I am).

My emotional response to seeing the "exotic" borders on anhedonic. I feel like if I were able to travel in space and see like Jupiter up close, I'd say, "Yeah, that's Jupiter. Just like those Hubbell pics. Yup...can we go home now?" Oh don't be such a jaded bastard, you prick--I have to remind myself.

So I don’t fancy being a photo-documenting turista so much. If I had my druthers, I'd delve into a bit of urban anthropology. I would rather sit at a café and engage the locals about politics and world events, but my inability to speak the language pretty much seals off that avenue. I want to take Spanish when I return to the states. I want to at least be able to use more than the handful of Spanish words I learned in my formative years watching Sesame Street (Big Bird taught me how to ask for water in espanol: “Agua, por favor”). End digression...

Looking at some of the other places in Andalucia, I realize I could spend an entire season here and see something new each day. I’d love to visit Granada, Malaga, Cordoba and Cadiz, not to mention Bilbao or Pamplona up north. And everything's so easy to get to...

"Lo siento, no puedo levantaria...'

2009-11-12T08:00:00.000-08:00

As I walk around Madrid, I find myself wanting to apologize to everyone for not speaking Espanol. Two years of Latin and two years of Japanese, but not even one semester of our sister language. Looking at signs and billboards reminds me how weird it must feel to be illiterate. It’s not like going to Chinatown where the utter foreignness of the alphabet just makes it sort of recede into the overall background. No, when I look at signs written in foreign Romance languages, I feel kind of…stupid. It’s like, “Man, I feel like I should know what that means.”

I’ve gone into a couple of stores and after making stilted one-word, caveman-like grunts in what I think approximates Spanish, the people quickly switch to English, no matter how broken or minimal. They really try to accommodate my inherent arrogant-American ignorance. Gracias mi amigos.

A few observations about the place: just like Toronto, I could eat off the subway tracks here if pressed (WTH is wrong with New Yorkers that our subways look like they’re connected to the garbage disposals of the apartments above ground?); going to the fx kiosk is demoralizing--I changed a few hundred bucks and I swear that netted me like twenty euros and a handful of peppermints (although this did prompt me to try public transportation from the airport which turned out to be a great idea--two euros and no hassling with a cabbie who might try to stretch a fare); this city seems like it was designed by a blind drunkard (these streets are not linear!); also what do the Spaniards have against street signs? You have to look up on the sides of the corner buildings for these tiny placards. Would it hurt to put a pole in the ground with a metal sign attached? Your streets ain’t that pretty, amigo.

Booked this for $100 US the day before. Not bad. Heart of the city, too.

After wandering the streets for a number of hours trying to find my hotel (which was fine since by the time I got there, I only had to wait fifteen minutes for my room), I rested for a few hours and now I’m off to do some more exploring. I think I’ll check out the Prado before it closes tonight. Later!

P.S. - The title of this post comes from my extremely handy and entertaining Spanish phrasebook. It really does its best to give you the appropriate words for any given situation you might find yourself. According to the book, the title translates as: "I'm sorry, I can't get it up." Pity the poor bastard who has to pull that one out. Hiyo!

Stop Making My Brain Cry!

2009-11-07T19:27:00.000-08:00

"Why did I get married, too?"? Wow. Has this sentence ever been uttered in the fifteen-hundred year history of the English language? I understand what's being attempted here and it is 110% FAIL. Tyler Perry's films need to be taken behind the woodshed and put down with a shotgun. It's enough to make you want to tackle filmgoers as they walk to the ticket kiosk, grab them by the lapels and scream, "No! For the love of all that is holy, don't buy another ticket to this man's offal!" Alas, his movies continue to filch audiences of money and dignity. His television work is the only thing that makes his cinematic oeuvre seem competent. Sure, I'm a snob, but you wouldn't get mad at Ruth Reichl for telling you that eating dog food isn't the best gustatory choice for you to make.

We can do better people. We have to. Every dollar this earns at the box office will erode my faith in humanity ever so slightly...

Movie Recommendation of the Week

2009-10-11T19:33:00.000-07:00

THIS MOVIE WILL EFF YOU UP FOR LIFE! Sorry, I always loved that tag-line. It's from one of the gonzo adverts in the under-appreciated Dudley Moore vehicle Crazy People. I became curious to see this film after I got wind of its unconventional promotional campaign. The website asked fans to demand the movie get distribution in their town via an on-line petition. I bit and lo and behold the movie got itself into regular rotation at a few theaters.

I can say that clicking through the petition's links was time well spent. The film is a gem. I applaud the director Oren Peli on performing a remarkable feat of guerilla filmmaking.

The story behind this film is almost as good as the movie itself. Shot for a ridiculously miniscule amount of money ($15K), director/writer Oren Peli made the film in his own house over a one week period (plus a year of prepping his house for the shoot). Peli also had no formal film school training (according to wikipedia). I'll just copy and paste the rest of the story from the wiki:

After the film was finished, Peli signed with the Creative Artists Agency. They screened the movie in 2007 at the Screamfest Horror Film Festival and, as a result, began to give away DVDs to anybody who would be willing to distribute it. It didn't see a spotlight until 2007 when Miramax Films Senior Executive Jason Blum and his producing partner, Steven Schneider, viewed the movie for themselves. Working with Blum, Peli edited the film down so that it ran tighter and smoother but more problems arose: Sundance Film Festival would not accept the film and even though the Slamdance Film Festival did, no distributor picked up the movie for major distribution.

In 2008, the DVD ended up at DreamWorks and was viewed by Production Executive Ashley Brooks. Brooks was so impressed by the movie that she "pestered" her boss, Production Chief Adam Goodman, every day to see the film until he eventually saw it. Goodman, in turn, brought it to his boss, Studio Chief Stacey Snider. They were impressed by the film as well and handed the DVD to Steven Spielberg, who took it home to watch.

In a strange twist, Spielberg allegedly returned to DreamWorks the next day with the DVD in a "garbage bag" because he thought the DVD was "haunted". According to Spielberg, minutes after he viewed the film, his bedroom doors "locked by themselves" and he couldn't get out without calling in a locksmith.[8][9] Despite this, Spielberg loved the movie and helped to greenlight a remake to be produced by Jason Blum and directed by Oren Peli again. "They didn't know what to do with [the movie]," Blum stated about the remake, adding that they just wanted to be "in business" with Peli.

The original deal for the movie stipulated that Oren Peli would direct and that the DVD would have the original film included with it so the public would get an idea of what the original film was about. However, during contract negotiations, Blum and Peli negotiated a one-time screening into the contract to see how a real audience would react to the original film. As part of the deal, Adam Goodman invited several screenwriters to the screening so that they could get an idea about what to write and see what should be added and subtracted to the remake's script.

During the screening, viewers began to walk out of the theater. Goodman was afraid that he made the wrong decision and that the screening was a bomb until he learned (in a twist reminiscent of the famous screening of 1979's Alien) that the viewers were actually truly frightened by the film. It was at this point that Goodman canned all thoughts of a Hollywood remake and decided to release Peli's version of the film.[8]
The film was supposed to be released in 2008 but was delayed further because of the rift between DreamWorks and Paramount Pictures. While the movie was stuck in limbo, Oren Peli and Jason Blum screened the film for international buyers at a theater in Santa Monica along with a sold-out crowd mostly of teenagers. This further cemented the film's reputation and Peli and Blum sold the international rights to 52 different countries.

The buzz generated by this and the positive word-of-mouth finally pushed Adam Goodman (who took over as Paramount's main exec) to release the film on the fall schedule.

I read a lot of reviews touting how downright scary the movie is. I unfortunately didn't find that to be the case, but it was a really funny film with some effective creep-out scenes. The conceit of the film (that we're just watching discovered amateur video; in this case a normal South Californian couple, one of whom happens to have a lifelong demonic tormentor) isn't new. The Blair Witch Project most famously utilized this gimmick to stellar results (nearly $250 million worldwide plus ancillary sales). Now a lot of people have come to view that film in a negative light. I for one was genuinely freaked the hell out by that movie. (I used to deliver papers and my route took me through the backwoods of Ann Arbor; good times.) I think that the backlash in that case was due to people exclaiming how "$#!t your pants"-scary TBWP was. So, I can understand people's reaction once they actually saw it. It can be a bit of a letdown if you're expecting the next The Exorcist. So I'll just say this movie has some good scares in it, but it's really just thoroughly entertaining.

The acting never takes you out of the film. You might call it amateurish, but it honestly just felt like two normal people dealing with a rapidly deteriorating situation. The screenplay only strikes a couple of false notes (I didn't really buy the reason they keep staying in the house), but I love the slow burn it employs. The one scene that keeps getting repeated numerous times (the fixed-angle shot of the couple sleeping) becomes more and more intense as the "paranormal activity" continues to build. The film knows how to work an audience. It also relies on the one truth that any horror-master worth his salt knows: the human mind will conjure things far scarier than anything you can actually show.

The real joy of this film comes in watching it with a crowd (one highly saturated with teenage girls would be optimal). I usually don't like unsolicited crowd participation, but in this case a good crowd really heightens the effect. I can honestly say I've never seen a crowd react so viscerally to on-screen proceedings. People were screaming, yelling at the screen and literally jumping out of their seats. It turned out to be contagious. Even though I wasn't really frightened, I did get the jumpsies.

So go to a midnight screening and for once embrace the teenagers. I knew they would come in handy some day.

Glenn Greenwald, You're My Hero

2009-09-30T20:15:00.000-07:00

Notice how MSNBC puts their thumb on the scale in this segment showing footage of Iran test-firing rockets ad nauseam. Then the host has the nerve to tell Glenn at the end of the segment not to cast aspersions on the other TV pundits, since no one explicitly calls Iran an evil regime.

We spend more on defense than every nation on Earth combined. We are currently at war in two predominately Muslim countries. Our most favored ally in the region has recently launched major offenses against Lebanon and occupied territory in Gaza. And as Glenn points out, they refuse to let the IAEA inspect their nuclear facilities or arsenal. But of course, Iran is the aggressor. Iran poses the existential threat. Their behavior is just bat $#!t insane, right?

To quote Jack, "Go sell crazy somewhere else; we're all stocked up here."

Justice is very, very patient (plus, AP in action!)

2009-09-27T07:48:00.001-07:00

Roman Polanski is about to get his. You cain't run from the law fer'ever, partner.

I liked The Pianist as much as anybody else, but you can't just drug and sodomize 13-year old girls and go about your merry way. Book him, Dano!

Snagged this from the AP. Looks like an IM exchange posted as a story. Odd (click to enlarge):

(Unexpected) Movie Recommendation of the Month

2009-09-26T21:13:00.000-07:00

Dreamworks take note: this is how you make an animated film that competes with Pixar (or at least doesn't embarrass itself trying). I had no intention to see this movie, but my girlfriend is a 1st-grade teacher, so I guess it was inevitable. I was not in the greatest mood either after having to trek down to the lobby twice in order to get the prerequisite 3-D glasses necessary to watch the movie without developing a migraine. Our ticket-taker neglected to hand them to us despite the box being directly behind her and the theater not being particularly busy. Then when I came back downstairs sans ticket, she told me I needed the ticket in order to get the glasses. You know because people like taking cheap 3-D glasses for no reason save for how kewl they look. Why must it always be so difficult?

Anyways, the film managed to lighten my mood considerably. Bill Hader provides the voice of Flint, the somewhat hapless inventor in the small town/island of Swallow Falls (located under the 'A' in 'Atlantic Ocean' on the map). I didn't even realize it was Hader until the credits. Between this and his dead-on James Carville on SNL a while back, he's really starting to impress me. (Another note to Dreamworks: actually employ voice talent based on talent, and not just how famous the actual voice is, mmkay?) James Caan voices Tim, Flint's Luddite father who spends most of the film disapproving of Flint's work with his demonstrative furrowed brow. The film also employs the under-appreciated comedic talents of Anna Faris (if she were a guy she'd be as successful as Seth Rogen by now; there is no justice!). Plus there's Andy Samberg, Bruce Campbell and Mr. T (!). Really impressive line-up to say the least.

The plot is pretty straight-forward with Flint inventing a device that turns water into food and accidentally launching it into the atmosphere. This in turn makes Swallow Falls the most sought after tourist destination in the world. Of course things go awry as the machine goes haywire from over-use. The movie takes its time to flesh out the relationships between the characters, especially the one between Flint and his father which is central to the film. We also get a nice romantic angle with Faris's somewhat ditzy (but secretly brainy) Sam Sparks. One of the most memorable scenes involves a reversal of the cliched "girl takes off glasses and lets down her hair, turns out to be stunning"-routine seen in countless stories since Hans Christian Anderson picked up a pen.

The movie does get all action-adventure-y in the 3rd act, but I didn't mind. It didn't feel as if the transition was unwarranted. It fit with the story well enough. Also I liked how most of Flint's past failed inventions popped up again for a bit of redemption. Some real thought went into this project. This adaptation couldn't really rely on the book for its narrative or so I've been told. So much credit to the creative team behind the film (I loved how the film opens with the credit "A film by a lot of people").

Let's be clear: this does not match up to Pixar in top gear (i.e. Wall-E, Nemo, Up or Ratatouille). But it's miles beyond the execrable Shrek sequels. I'd put it right up there with Toy Story 2, maybe a bit above. Definitely above say Cars. Either way, Sony should definitely be proud of this. It won't do anywhere near as well as the Ice Age franchise (I guess you can't compete with prehistoric mammals, who knew?), but artistically this is revelatory for a non-Pixar film. Expectations have been raised.

TIFF '09 Day Quattro

2009-09-20T12:37:00.001-07:00

Fun Fact: Corn Pops in Canada is a completely different product than Corn Pops in the states. I found this out late one night after a Midnight Madness screening. I bought one of those single-serve cereal bowls and much to my surprise found a cereal with a completely different texture and taste. The domestic version of Corn Pops is more of a air-puffed sweet nugget with a popcorn-like lightness and consistency. The Canadian version has the look and feel of a glossy sugar-coated Kix pellet. It's not bad, but I much prefer the American version. Perhaps I should submit this information to a travelogue.

But I digress. So what munificent bounty did the final day of movie-watching yield? Let's see...

The Men Who Stare At Goats – I feel as if I should have enjoyed this movie more than I did. It’s smartly written and really well-acted. Yet, I found it only intermittently funny and somewhat scattershot. Ewan McGregor, George Clooney, Jeff Bridges and Kevin Spacey. You couldn’t really ask for a better cast. There were a few meta-jokes involving discussions of Jedi Knights that were pretty funny.

McGregor plays a small college-town journalist (Ann Arbor!) who heads out to Iraq to experience war, find purpose and perhaps win back his ex-wife (she leaves him for his editor in a slightly amusing subplot). Instead he meets Clooney who is an ex-special operations soldier trained in "psychic warfare." At first McGregor's Bob Wilton dismisses him as a nut, but slowly he begins to buy into some of what Clooney's eccentric Lyn Cassady is selling. It's sort of a road movie as we follow the pair across the Iraqi desert on what Cassady swears is a super-secret mission. We also get flashbacks to his training under Jeff Bridges' New Age-y Bill Django who somehow gets the military to fund his bizarre operation. The film reminded me of Three Kings with its subversive take on the military. The final act ties the film to one of the most controversial political issues of the day, torture, but it doesn't really spend to much time dwelling on its revelations. It's understandable since that would have made it an entirely different film. Still it would have been nice if they would have gone deeper into that territory. Still recommended.

Valhalla Rising – The dude from Adam’s Apples (nifty film that I can’t recommend highly enough) and Casino Royale plays One-eye (most likely an incarnation of Odin; thanks to Neil Gaiman I know more than I probably should about Norse gods), a mute warrior who is really handy with a hand-axe. I was unfamiliar with the director’s work, but he’s fairly established. The film has a lot of slow-motion camerawork accompanied by ominous and portentous music, but not much really happens. It actually reminded me of Aguirre the Wrath of God, the Werner Herzog film set in the Amazon with an inimitable Klaus Kinsky performance. Man that guy was intense. Anyways, this film is all about atmosphere and it does have a haunted feel to it. I just wish there'd have been more of a narrative going on. As it stands you get an interesting depiction of Christian Vikings (does that make sense?) coming to the New World and getting their arses handed to them.

The Warrior and the Wolf – This movie should have been called The Warrior and the Rapist. The film has an odd three act structure in that none of the acts feel interrelated. We start with the story of a reluctant soldier, a gentle soul who’d rather tend to his flock than fight in a war. A general has taken a liking to him and keeps trying to convince him to join his army. The guy finally agrees and becomes an officer, I think. There are so many flashbacks and flash-forwards, it's hard to keep up.

We then shift to the reluctant military officer leading the (apparently fatally wounded) general's troops home from the front lines after a defeat at the hands of some unnamed enemy (they look like Mongols). On the way, the troops hold up for the winter in a Harran village (the Harran's are depicted as a kind of primitive tribe living in the mountains). The guy finds a Harran woman played by Maggie Q living in a secret passage in the hut. After he catches her the first time, they struggle for a bit until he sees some of her exposed leg and then pounces. And when I say pounce, I mean it. She resists, but he forces himself on her and towards the end of his transgression, she starts to relent. (You know how it is, sometimes these b!tc#es don’t know what they want ‘til you give it to ‘em. Am I right? Hunh, hunh?) The scene didn’t sit very well with me to say the least. If it had just been him taking her against her will, then okay, within the context of the time period and the circumstances it’s deplorable but realistic. My issue was that she falls in love with him after the fourth or fifth time this happens. And this scene replays itself numerous times in the same lurid fashion. I noticed several walkouts and I can only assume they had the same objections as I did.

The third act is short and somewhat surreal. The general who seemed to die at the end of the first act returns only to have some of his men killed by wolves (wolves who happen to be his old lieutenant and his raped-into-submission-lover). Then the general tries to kill the wolves and the former soldier-turned-wolf can’t fight back because it’s his old friend, but the general ends up dying anyway as the she-wolf eviscerates him when he attacks her lover. I would have been interested to talk to Maggie Q about her decision to take this role. I also would have liked to talk to the director about his choice to depict such a thoroughly repulsive love story. I wouldn’t have been surprised if these questions were raised during the Q&A, but I just didn’t have the patience to stick around once the lights went up. Not recommended.

So all in all, it was a pretty good year at TIFF. I would have liked to stay longer as there were some great films showing later in the week, but most will be out eventually so no real loss. As always, the city was beautiful and welcoming. My only complaint is that the dollar just keeps getting weaker. They were actually doing me a favor accepting U.S. currency on a 1-1 basis. Wow.

TIFF '09 Day San

2009-09-19T15:50:00.000-07:00

The City of Life and Death – You know you’re in for a downer of a movie when one of the most sympathetic characters is a Nazi. Lu Chuan’s The City of Life and Death depicts one of the most sensitive episodes in modern Asian history, the fall of Nanking.

Americans hear very little about the Pacific Theater until our own involvement following the bombing of Pearl Harbor in 1941. Prior to the film, I was vaguely familiar with Sino-Japanese relations during the early 20th century. I knew they'd fought but not the specifics of those wars. I’d heard the phrase “the rape of Nanking” on occasion and perhaps had read a brief bit on it, but not enough to prepare me for this film. The film opens with the Japanese siege of Nanking as thousands of Chinese soldiers begin to abandon the lost city. A small contingent stays behind to mount one final wave of resistance against the advancing Japanese. After a brief but valiant effort, the remaining Chinese soldiers are rounded up and summarily executed. These executions are shown in brutal detail and are all harrowing to watch. Live burnings and burials, repeated bayonetting, mowing down thousands with heavy machine gun fire, you name it. The Japanese seemed to revel in how many ways they could liquidate their captives. After the remnants of the Chinese army are disposed of, the Japanese soldiers begin indiscriminately killing civilians, mostly men, some children. Then things get really bad.

A group of international aide workers (its never really clear who they work for—the patches on their arms seemed to suggest the Red Cross) has gathered many of the city’s remaining residents in a “safe zone” under the protection of a Nazi businessman, John Rabe (historical figure). The trouble begins when Japanese soldiers begin raping young girls inside the “safe zone.” The military leaders initially apologize for the offense, but you soon realize not only are they insincere, but they have perhaps encouraged their soldiers to behave in such a way.

It only gets worse as they begin demanding women be turned over to act as “comfort women” for the Japanese soldiers. There is one Japanese serviceman with a shred of conscience whom we follow through the film, Kadokawa. He seems to be the only honorable Japanese person in the film (there's also a Japanese prostitute whom he falls in love with who is a pretty blameless if pathetic character). Even so, the director took criticism for showing any sympathetic Japanese characters. It’s like having a sympathetic Nazi in a Holocaust movie. (I don’t believe there was one in Schindler’s List). Not saying this is necessary, but it makes the movie more bearable for the viewer to at least indulge in the speculation that there were soldiers who actively disapproved of what was going on. It was also a brave choice on the director’s part.

The movie does not hold back in showing the atrocities of the Japanese army. Many of the events depicted were grounded in fact and the recollection of survivors so I don’t doubt the authenticity (interesting to note that just like Holocaust deniers, there are "Rape of Nanking"-deniers as well). It’s a lot to absorb though. It’s the kind of film that gives me doubts about humanity. Whenever I see films that depict some of the darkest moments in modern human history such as the Holocaust or Rwandan genocide, I just wonder: “how can people act this way?” It raises the uncomfortable idea that within all of us is the capacity to rape or murder or dehumanize another person almost completely. It’s really quite frightening. Other things I left the movie eager to find out about were: how did the Chinese end up revering Lenin, what caused the Sino-Japanese War and how did the Chinese lose so badly? Highly recommended.

Triage – Why isn’t Colin Farrell more appreciated as an actor? The guy is good. Really good. Triage tells the story of a couple of war photographers capturing the escalating hostilities in Kurdistan between Kurdish rebels and Iraqi forces. Farrell's Mark wants to go deeper into the front lines of the war, while his best friend and fellow photojournalist, David (Jamie Sives doing a great job communicating how war can get to even the non-combatants) is ready to bounce altogether (his wife is expecting their first child). Bad things happen, but we don't find out exactly what until much later in the film. The movie does a great job of evoking a sense of foreboding in the audience. We know this can't end well when Mark returns home without David after the two get separated in Kurdistan. In the meantime we watch as Farrell's character continues to show the debilitating effects of war on the human psyche. Enter Christopher Lee as the retired psychoanalyst who helps Farrell and us get to the bottom of the mystery and his growing misery. I also loved this film because Christopher Lee gets to remind us that a.) he’s still alive and b.) he’s a hell of an actor. I hope this film gets distribution stateside. It's not going to be many people's first choice for a night at the movies, but it's worth two hours of your time.

Survival of the Dead – I think George Romero needs to take a break from making zombie movies. I think this is his sixth one? The ideas are just getting threadbare at this point. And if I have to sit through yet another zombie movie where somebody gets infected and we have to watch while the person slowly deteriorates and has to be ‘Old Yeller'ed’, blecch. This one takes place mostly on an island as a group of military deserters turned bandits take sides in a feud between two old Irish clans. The basis of the feud not only seems irrelevant, but halfway through the film one side seems to abandon the principles that lead to the fighting to begin with. I just stopped caring after a while. I thought Diary of the Dead had its moments and was an interesting angle with the whole ‘new media’ stuff. This just feels like a lark.

TIFF '09 Day Deux

2009-09-16T20:30:00.000-07:00

One of the little things that I always notice when I'm in Toronto is the pedestrian crossing signal. The Lite-Brite man looks so confident in his stride, no hint of the slight trepidation apparent in the posture of his American counterpart. I finally figured out why that is: universal health care! You see, the Canuck doesn't care if he gets hit by some reckless driver. There's no chance he'll lose his house or face financial ruin due to exorbitant medical costs. Of course he can walk across the street with that cocksure strut. Pinko bastard...

Ahem, back to the films, yes?

Day 2 of the festival was pretty light viewing, only two films.

The first was a Filipino film, an earnest little movie called If I Knew What You Said about a rebellious young girl who reluctantly befriends a deaf kid at a camp. The film feels competently shot most of the time. It looks like it was shot on DV which added to the somewhat amateurish feel of the production. Actually it felt like something that might play as an ABC Afterschool Special. There was an interesting part showing how the deaf kids learned to dance to music they couldn't technically hear. Also I found myself intrigued at how easily the characters went back and forth from Tagalog to English. Other than that, I couldn't really recommend it. Still glad I saw it though.

Daybreakers, the second Midnight Madness film turned out to be much better than I ever expected. I'd watched the Spierig brothers first film, Undead on the dearly departed Monsters HD. It was decent enough with a dash of quirky humor. Didn't really give any clue that they would be capable of this.

The world of Daybreakers is one where vampires outnumber the human population to the point where the vampires fear humans may go extinct. This is causing the dominant vampire society (which is practically identical to our own w/r/t social/economic structures) to become unstable. It's also causing undo stress to our protagonist, Ethan Hawke, who is working nights and pulling all-dayers in order to perfect a blood substitute. Hawke's vampire hematologist also has a conscience and refuses to taste human blood, preferring to sustain himself on animals instead. He not only wants to find a blood substitute but save humankind from being cattle. Of course, there are others who have different plans. Sam Neill gives a great turn as the corporate reptile employing Hawke who wants to preserve not only the vampire way of life but his own economic fortunes.

What so impressed me about the film was all the little details that the Spierig brothers managed to cram into the picture. Their vampire world doesn't feel so much like a fantastical concoction as the natural and plausible result of their deceptively clever scenario. I sat there never doubting the world they'd created. The film doesn't overdo it on the action, nor does it try to shoehorn in any unnecessary love interests. It just handles its business.

Oh, and I forgot to mention it has a kick-@$$ Willem Dafoe element to it.

Every time I think the vampire genre is dead, that there's no more juice in that turnip, something like Daybreakers happens. I'm not complaining. I'll probably pay to see this again.

Toronto: TIFF Day 1

2009-09-11T08:29:00.001-07:00

Back in the USSR! (Sorry, been hearing Beatles music everywhere with the new Rock Band and everything I suppose.) I was reading this profile of Michael Ignatieff in The New Yorker and the author gave an elegant analogy that perfectly articulated the philosophy of Canada, the beliefs I have such an affinity towards: "No man is an island, and rules made for imaginary islands ignore the fragile ecology of the actual archipelago. We are people who live in communities and our sense of who we are derives from what the people around us are like." Take that Libertarianism!

Oh yeah, I'm supposed to be talking about films.

This year I have ten, maybe twelve films I plan to see. This is pretty light for me, about half of the usual. Still this should be enough to slake my cinema jones for a while. It's been a quiet movie-going year for me. The best film I've seen all year was Let The Right One In and that came out last year. So I'm looking for Toronto to be a barometer as to how '09 will end. The pre-fest buzz has been good, but we'll see how things shake out. Either way, there's always Mad Men.

Thursday began with a plane ride where I got the chance to listen to a gaggle of journalists talk shop. Film criticism seems like a nice gig if you can get it, but I can't say I found their world too enticing. I'd much rather stay on this side of the wall. Movies are a passion, but I wouldn't want to think of viewing films as work. Saps all the fun out of the entire enterprise. I will say you'd be hard-pressed to find a chef with a set of knives sharper than a film critic's.

I ended up seeing two films today. The first was Pedro Almodovar's Broken Embraces starring Penelope Cruz. It's only the third film I've seen by him (the other two were Volver and Talk to Her). I really enjoy the worlds Almodovar creates. You could watch his characters interact with each other for hours. They are all fairly layered; their motivations complex. Even the bad guys aren't really all that bad; they're just human.

Penelope Cruz gives a good performance as the woman who makes a deal with a devil of sorts (who you really can't blame save for one incident) and tries to renege for a chance at true love. Lluis Homar has a more challenging role which he executes with aplomb. His Mateo Blanco is the portrait of a man humbled by loss but not broken. Almodovar imbues him with a wry sense of humor that I especially enjoyed. The plot is full of more twists than a soap opera; it has melodrama entwined in its DNA. And there's nothing wrong with that. The film toys with being absurd at times, but Almodovar is very assured here. He knows exactly how to string us along. I found myself enthralled from the opening frame through to the credits.

I was also happy that the film didn't feel constrained by genre. It presents itself as a mystery--a murder mystery to be exact. But that's not what it delivers and I was actually grateful for that. Such a structure presents life as some puzzle that can be solved--event X happens because of action Y--when real life is usually far more random and more maddening. Almodovar's films all seem to capture the messiness of life--especially when it comes to love. Highly recommended.

The second film was Jennifer's Body, the second screenplay from Juno-scribe, Diablo Cody. The film stars most notably Megan Fox who gets to do more than just straddle motorcycles in demeaning sexpot poses (thanks again, Michael Bay!). If you didn't care for Juno's chock-full-of-pop-refs-and-elaborate-putdowns dialogue, then you should just avoid this film altogether. Horror junkies will not find a fix here. The scares are tepid and the gore if not exactly restrained, then unremarkable. Still I enjoyed the flick. I laughed enough at some of the so-hip-it-hurts dialogue. I like Cody's sense of humor. I mean the plot alone is genius: mediocre alt-rock band tries to sacrifice a virgin to Satan so they can be somebodies "like the lead singer from Maroon 5"; only she's impure and becomes a half-demon feasting on the high school boys.

Amanda Seyfried and Adam Brody give solid performances. Seyfried plays the mousy "Needy" who slowly learns the truth about her best friend and has to overcome her fierce loyalty to end the carnage. Brody's part is short but sweet as a wannabe rockstar, virgin-sacrificing tool. Megan Fox gives a workmanlike performance that doesn't really make me suspect any great things will come from her as an actress in the future, but doesn't make me write her off altogether either. On a side note, she's super-skinny in person, I hope she's healthy at least; I hate that this is what Hollywood puts out as the quintessence of beauty . The star of this film though is the script. It's Juno with bloodletting (minus the heart as well) which isn't a bad thing. It's about what I expected to be honest. Diablo Cody catches a lot of flack for her work, but I like her self-creation and knack for publicity. How many screenwriters are known by name in Hollywood these days? So bully for her I say.

So far, so good. Two solid films to open the festival. There is nothing like watching a movie with a festival crowd. If regular crowds were like it, I'd go to the movies a lot more often. No crying babies, no talking during the movie, no cellphones, no texting...just sitting back and enjoying the show. The way it should always be.

Movie Recommendation of the Month

2009-07-21T00:16:00.000-07:00

Why does the vampire myth endure? Vampires or something approximating them have been with us since before the advent of Christ. Putting vampires on film is almost as old as the motion pictures themselves. The archetype for the modern vampire is of course Bram Stoker’s Dracula, a book I should probably read someday. Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles facilitated my earliest and deepest forays into vampire lore. Before she became born-again, Rice was one of my favorite writers. She could spin a tale replete with its own intricate mythology that left you marveling at the breadth and depth of it all. She was my J.K. Rowling. Interview with a Vampire, The Vampire Lestat and Queen of the Damned were some of my favorite books as a teenager. After college I got hip to Buffy the Vampire Slayer (second greatest show of all time behind The Wire; I can prove this empirically), but after the first two seasons that really wasn’t much about vampires. But I digress.

Back to the question: why do vampires still intrigue us? For my money, vampires are the perfect monster. In most incarnations they are always just slightly inhuman in appearance, many times too perfect, ageless and unchanging. You could write a dissertation on the symbolic importance of blood and drinking blood and then you throw sex into the mix. Oy. The vampire can represent almost anything you want and that’s what makes it such a great template to work with. As long as you adhere to a few rules, you can write a vampire story that’s a metaphor for whatever the heck you want.

Enter “Let the Right One In”, a Swedish vampire movie about the horrors of adolescence, the beguiling nature of love and of course preying on humans. Oskar a delicate blond boy in both features and temperament spends his days getting bullied at school and his nights fantasizing about revenge upon his tormentors. Eli is the strange girl who has just moved next door and has a habit of hanging out on the frozen bars of the Jungle Jim in her pajamas oblivious to the cold. After a couple of awkward interactions, the two become fast friends. The movie’s plot isn’t especially suspenseful or thrilling (although there are genuine heartbeat-raising moments). What drew me in was the relationship between Oskar and Eli. It felt so natural. The child-actors do an excellent job. Oskar's vulnerability masked beneath his aloofness and Eli's loneliness buried just beneath her lone wolf posturing are both communicated beautifully.

The movie does set-up some interesting mysteries. Who is the man who seems to be Eli’s father? Does Eli truly love Oskar? Is she capable? Her character is morally ambiguous. She seems to have some compunction about killing, but then she just lets other people do it for her. She’s more than capable of securing her own food and perhaps doing a much better job of it, so why the need for a surrogate? How old is she? At one point she states, “I am twelve. But I’ve been twelve for a long, long time.” One wonders is she still emotionally twelve as well? It is clear that she manipulates Oskar, but how different is this from any other twelve year old? Also the question of sexuality is left lingering as Eli tells Oskar more than once that she is not a girl. Does she just mean that she is a vampire and therefore lacks gender or is "she" really a "he"? The movie lets this go unresolved even teasing us with a shot in the film that leaves the question even more open-ended (apparently in the novel upon which the movie is based, this point is made explicitly clear). There is also an abundance of ambiguous sexuality going on. Almost every male character is at some point implied to be gay or at least bisexual. It’s an odd touch but one that creates an undercurrent that colors how viewers interpret the film.

The cinematography enhances the film even further: drab utilitarian structures that make up the scenery all set against the stark snow and ice backdrop plus the alternating sun-bleached and purple midnight skies, all of it creates a sort of sensory deprivation for the viewer. Taken altogether, it's unlike any horror film I've ever seen. I'm not sure that's even the proper designation.

Much to my chagrin, an American remake is in the works. I can only imagine that they'll butcher the film, removing some of the more subversive elements to make it more palatable for American audiences. Do yourself a favor and just rent the DVD. Also respect the actors: watch it with the subtitles.

It Takes a Lot of Effort to Make It Look So Effortless

2009-07-20T20:25:00.000-07:00

Pixar continues to evolve. I really expected a letdown after the masterful Wall-E. I would have forgiven Pixar if Up had been a lesser film. But no these guys refuse to relent. Here's the most successful U.S. animation studio both commercially and artistically of the new century and they are still willing to try things that their rivals wouldn't even begin to think about. What other studio would be brazen enough to attempt to include (let alone integrate into a single project) the following in what is ostensibly a kid’s film: a septuagenarian hero; a scene depicting a woman’s infertility and her subsequent emotional recovery from said; a funeral? Exactly what is Up? A kid's film about loss, letting go and embracing non-traditional ideas of family. Yeah, maybe Dreamworks will touch on some of these themes in Shrek 4.

Even if the film turned out to be a disaster, I'd give them props for the attempt. Luckily, it's nowhere near that. Instead it's a minor masterpiece with some of the most sumptuous visuals ever seen in a computer-animated film. It doesn't even need the state-of-the-art visuals, because these guys just know how to tell a story. Almost from the opening sequence, you can tell how much the creators care about their creations. There's more character development in the first five minutes of Up than in the entire bloated two-and-a-half plus hours of TF2. The film never resorts to cheap scatological humor which is rare these days for, well, almost any film with comedy in it, animated or otherwise. It earns its moments. Sure it's emotionally manipulative, but all works of fiction are. That's the point. It's just with the best ones, you don't notice.

Still for all the accolades critics have almost universally heaped upon Pixar, I still think they have room to grow. I don't think they've made a film that matches the limitless inventiveness and bravura display of imagination embodied in Princess Mononoke and Spirited Away. But that's a good thing. It gives me something to look forward to.

Dey Took Arr Jurbs!!!

2009-07-20T18:24:00.000-07:00

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Why does MSNBC still employ this man? I understand the ratings chase, but there has to be a line. Rachel should be ashamed to ever let this man on her show again. He's an out-and-out racist. He adds nothing to the debate. He is neither a provocateur nor someone who argues in good faith. There is no discourse to be had when your guest refuses to at least acknowledge the validity of Sotomayor's educational achievements (No, Mr. Buchanan, they do not just "hand out" summa cum laude to just anybody). How is he raising the level of discourse espousing views that would garner applause at an Aryan Nation rally? Forget how factually deficient his comments are; the man is the most transparent, irrefutably racist commentator working in MSM today. Buchanan is nothing more than a bigoted demagogue; however, we've known this for some time now.

My anger is squarely aimed at the MSNBC producers and Rachel Maddow. They know he's going to just say something probably inflammatory and at the very least embarrassing. Perhaps he's just the harmless crazy old man Maddow likes to set him up as. Still, why not invite a conservative voice that isn't a walking, talking anachronism? Raise the bar. It isn't that difficult.

Buchanan's much loved 'base':

Urinetown

2009-07-20T17:49:00.000-07:00

Two urine-related posts in a row! Sweet.

This morning while riding the train, I noticed a man holding a glass bottle. It was a Voss "Artesian" water container; the one that goes for upwards of $10 in some of the city's unbearably posh nightspots. Sloshing around inside the container was a translucent yellow liquid that I'm 95% sure was urine. I was a bit incredulous at first, but all signs pointed to this being the case. First the color was just too familiar. Apple juice usually has a darker tinge, some gradation of amber. It wasn't florescent enough to be Gatorade or some other sports drink/sugar water concoction. Also there was condensate inside the glass, indicating that, whatever the liquid was, it had given off some kind of heat.

Nope, there was no doubt in my mind, the guy had urine in the glass. So naturally all I could think was WTF? Seriously, man: WTF? Put it in a plastic bag at least. That's a friggin' biohazard, a code-red-"28 Days Later"-incident waiting to happen. What if the train were to come to a sudden stop? What if it slipped? What if his hand got bumped? What on earth was this guy thinking? It just made no sense. And then I wondered: where exactly is this fellow off to? Doctor's office? Drug test for a job? What situation would require production of an off-site sample? He looked like a normal guy. Not homeless or otherwise perturbed. He was just a guy riding the subway...clutching a cylinder of urine. I pray it was at least his own.

The city never ceases to amaze...or disgust.

Illustrations of Hood Pathology

2009-07-20T17:24:00.000-07:00

Quite often I'll walk past the garbage bins in front of my building and get the bum's rush courtesy of the overwhelming ammonia smell of urine. I always wonder, "Who is peeing in the trash?" I always hope that it's maybe stray cats or some other animal, but I know it's probably some dude.

Well the other night I came home from a party sometime in the early morning and saw some dude who most likely lives in my building, taking a whiz right in the garbage bin area. He couldn't be bothered to go upstairs to his apartment. Nor could he bother to use a tree or perhaps the sewage drain in the street. No, he had to pee in a heavily trafficked common area. Why? I guess for the same reason you have the pervasive "piss in the elevator"-phenomenon found in low-income housing complexes; the same reason I find less vigilant dog-curbing in my neighborhood; the same reason people flagrantly toss food wrappers and other debris on the sidewalks of the neighborhood they live in. I see it as a lack of self-respect. If you don't value the environment that you inhabit, then you don't much value yourself. That's of course much too simplistic a view, but I think there is a grain of truth in it.

Movie Recommendation--Sorta

2009-07-20T17:03:00.000-07:00

Hancock is not a good movie, per se. I do think it's an interesting failure worth viewing. The film starts off well enough with an interesting premise that gets explored for roughly a half-hour before the plot throws a curve-ball. It could have worked, but the movie tries to shoehorn everything into 90 minutes, thus giving short shrift to the complexities of the situation as presented.

One of the mysteries the movie puts out there is the origin of Hancock. As an amnesiac, Will Smith's anti-hero (if you can even call him that) struggles with questions of identity. Great, I can roll with that. When we finally find out who he is, the why's and wherefore's, I was a bit surprised at the subtext the writer weaved into it. It was bold, but that also made it problematic. The issue with Hancock's origin reveal is that the film isn't constructed in a way to support the weight of it. Nothing that precedes it suggests that the film will aspire to anything more than your typical lightweight action flick. I actually found Charlize Theron's monologue in which she explained Hancock to himself quite moving, but it belonged in a better movie.

I hear a sequel is a possibility. Perhaps the creative team involved can make good on the potential the concept holds.

Michael Bay is the Future

2009-07-20T09:00:00.000-07:00

At the time of this post, Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen has grossed approximately ~~$310~~ $364 million dollars domestically and an additional ~~$326~~ $383 million dollars in foreign box office. Less than a month into its run, that puts it at ~~#26~~ #13 and ~~#36~~ #28 for all-time unadjusted gross, domestic and worldwide respectively. It will undoubtedly move up a number of slots before its run is completed. It’s ~~plausible~~ inevitable the film ~~could~~ will break into the top ten, domestically speaking. I’ve concluded from this that Michael Bay’s career may be the strongest case against democracy the world has ever known.

Michael Bay. He is the proverbial scorpion on the back of the frog. He makes us complicit in the death of our own good taste. Bay acts as a pop cultural Satan who gets us to lower our standards just a tiny fraction each time out. And what do we do? We drop a few more coins in his palm and smiling glassy-eyed ask him to do it again.

I remember going to see Armageddon over a decade ago at the behest of a friend who was a great admirer of both Bad Boys and The Rock. After the film he turned to me with a grin and started laughing almost with tears in his eyes and then summed up his feelings on that film with a slew of invectives. I'll admit I thought the film was serviceable with a few moments of inspired lunacy (space madness? lifetime income tax exemptions?). Little did I know I was only encouraging Bay to continue. Years later I had the misfortune of watching Bad Boys 2 which I found not just crude in its execution but racially offensive which is no minor feat since one of the leads was Will Smith (I'm recalling the scene where this kid comes to take Martin Lawrence's daughter out on a date--Roger Ebert makes special note of it in his review). I caught his film The Island on DVD, I think. I found it to be his least offensive film. It was nonetheless a mediocre effort marred with Bay’s signature desultory chases and explosions. The man doesn't seem to strive to make films so much as cinematic energy drinks.

I don’t mean to say he is without talent. He at the very least has an eye. You could take stills from a number of his films that would rival the work of Annie Leibovitz. Bay is an auteur without question. I would call his particular style Brutalism (apologies to any architects). He assails the viewer with a wearying combination of visual and aural concussive bursts. Some viewers find this stimulating, exhilarating even. In small doses I find it tolerable, but extended beyond say an hour, I just find it exhausting. I become numb to whatever is unfolding on the screen trying to pass for a story. His characters have no internal complexity. His films often lack internal logic and flout the external variety. Apologists often say he's just making fun movies. But that's just it: His movies are not fun.

Amos and Andy in the 21st Century

Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen finds Bay at his absolute most indulgent worst. I went in with the lowest expectations for the movie and somehow it managed to undercut even that. I knew I was in for an interminable experience when the first words I heard Optimus Prime utter were: "Punk @$$ Decepticons." It would only go downhill from there. The film is an endurance test and I almost failed. I could have walked out and felt no shame (the only other movie I ever almost walked out on was Rush Hour 2; Brett Ratner is bar none America’s worst working director).

The film is super-saturated with action sequences, which is to be expected, but the bulk of them are completely unintelligible from a visual or logistic point of view. Imagine watching action scenes from The Bourne Identity, but replace Matt Damon with ILM’s hyper-articulated (and downright ugly) CGI robots. I defy anyone to make sense of 90% of the fight-scenes in this movie. At some point it’s just random bits of ornate metal smashing into each other and splintering into more pieces. No attempt is made to imbue any of these creations with character or soul. That goes for both organic and inorganic creatures in this film. The result is action that fails to resonate at all; it's a paradoxically inert spectacle.

I was disappointed to find the screenwriting team responsible for the new Star Trek also penned this dreck. I found that film immensely enjoyable and smartly designed. There is no point rehashing the plot of TF2, because it’s utterly meaningless to the proceedings. The dialogue as noted above is at turns offensive, vapid and cliché (in many some cases a combination of all three). And the less said about the two Sambo-bots: Mudflap and Skids, the better. I will just note how disappointed I am that Steven Spielberg’s name is on this flick. It would seem he had no issue with a film that prominently features two Gremlin-faced, simian-looking, jive-talking, foul-mouthed robots (one sporting a gold tooth, no less) both of whom are apparently illiterate. I hold this against Spielberg even more so than the surprisingly flaccid and disappointing Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

So all this terrible dialogue, frivolous plotting, and incoherent action rumbles along for over two-and-a-half hours, daring the audience to revolt against it. Yet, at the end of the screening I attended on opening day, people actually applauded. I was dumbfounded. I understand art is subjective, but some things are just inarguable. How anyone in the audience felt a connection to anything that transpired on that screen is beyond me.

The only way I can explain it is that the film is pornography for the action-junkie set. It arrives at its goal in the most artless and brutal way possible. I wonder if people who enjoyed this movie felt shame afterwards? God, I hope so.

Of course Bay is not the sole villain here. He is merely the most successful. The past decade has been commercially ruled by Jerry Bruckheimer, producer of the bloated and boring Pirates of the Caribbean sequels, the derivative National Treasure films and his mind-numbingly repetitive television work. Bruckheimer and his ilk, the Stephen Sommers' (who will inflict more pain on our cortices this summer with GI Joe) and McG's of the world, hold the reins. This is the entertainment we flock to and I just don't understand it. We've created a generation that thinks Terminator 2 is a better film than Terminator; that Jaws is boring (yes, somebody actually argued this to me); that Transformers 2 should get a pass because it's got cool effects. Aesthetics in a bare-fisted, knockdown brawl against good story-telling--and it's been no contest. Films like Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen are sins against Creation. And the sooner the movie-going public at large recognizes this, the sooner our redemption can begin. Please, WTFU.

And this sums up everything I've been trying to say:

Being a Maverick Means Never Having to Say You're Sorry

2009-07-12T09:00:00.000-07:00

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"You have sustained personal torture, personal attack, political attack, investigation," Gregory said. "You have never resigned from anything. Is it consistent with your qualities of leadership to resign an elected post like this?"

"Sure," the senator said.

"It is?"

(BTW, it would be so nice if our media superstars had just a hint of testicular fortitude)

Here's my thing: We know you're full of $#!t, you know you're full of $#!t. Why continue to bull$#!t us? Just offer the mea culpa and try to salvage your legacy just a bit. We know you have to be steaming on the inside that this woman has cemented you as a politician with the worst judgment in history. Why is it so hard to say: "You know what? I messed up. She was totally unqualified and I took a gamble that was wholly inappropriate. I'm sorry." Why, John? Is there a 'mercy rule' we can invoke for the GOP? The slide towards irrelevancy continues unabated.

The He-Man Woman Hater's Club Circa 2009

2009-05-16T08:41:00.000-07:00

I direct you here. It is a long interview, but well worth your while. The interviewee is Elizabeth Warren, chair of the Congressional Oversight Panel "charged with the job of reviewing the state of the markets, current regulatory system, and the Treasury Department's management of the Troubled Asset Relief Program" (as per Wikipedia). Ms. Warren is a law professor at Harvard University. For over three decades she has researched the shifting landscape of our economy and its effects on the middle-class, written several books and authored dozens of academic papers. The interviewer is Adam Davidson, co-host of NPR's Planet Money, a nifty show that aims to demystify some of the more technical and esoteric concepts in the financial industry such as complex derivatives and credit spreads for the lay person.

The interview begins well enough as Davidson lets Warren explain what her panel does and how it came about. Perhaps five minutes in, he begins breaking the cardinal rule of interviewing and makes the interview about himself and his views. It's not bad to pose challenging questions to the subject of your interview, but he starts attacking the very existence of her committee. From there Davidson adopts an adversarial posture throughout the rest of the interview. He thinks her viewpoint (which both agree is not a centrist one) is invalid. He does not consider her "serious."

Mr. Davidson's tone even deteriorates into condescension at times. Despite his claim that he's projecting his anger at Harry Reid and Nancy Pelosi on Warren and that she is not the true target of his ire, it is quite clear that he does not respect her as an intellectual. A number of times Warren attempts to bring a calmer tone, but Davidson insists on ratcheting things up further at one point stating "I want to make you madder." (Ms. Warren would have been well within her right to defenestrate Mr. Davidson at that point if it were possible.) Warren to her immense credit responds passionately but keeps her arguments both lucid and cogent. (That's the trick you see: make your opponent seem unhinged and irrational so that their views can be discounted.) Here is a key exchange a bit past the hour mark:

DAVIDSON: The American families are not -- These issues of crucial, the essential need for credit intermediation are as close to accepted principles among every serious thinker on this topic. The view that the American family, that you hold very powerfully, is fully under assault and that there is -- and we can get into that -- that is not accepted broad wisdom.

ELIZABETH WARREN: Whoa--wait, wait. Remind me who it is who thinks that wages have not stagnated, that unemployment is not up, that debt levels are not up, that savings are not down, that the net worth of the American household just in the last eighteen months has shrunk by twenty percent. I'm sorry those are Federal Reserve numbers. This is not a question of 'your numbers, my numbers'. We're not making this up. We didn't get these out of a Cracker Jack box. These are numbers that anyone who reads the numbers, they're there.

DAVIDSON: We're in a severe recession.

WARREN: Well so what is the part that is controversial? Everybody thinks, that means it's good? That you can make your payments? I don't know what world you live in here. The default rates are rising. That means the income is not there. The credit will not work in a system like that. We have to think about all of the parts.

DAVIDSON: But that view is--I talk to a lot a lot a lot of left, right, center, neutral economists [and] you are the only person I've talked to in a year-and-a-half of covering this crisis who has a view that we have two equally acute crises: a financial markets crisis and a household debt crisis that is equally acute in the same timing way. I literally don't know who else I can talk to support that view.

WARREN: You know I don't know what to say at that point. The numbers are the numbers. The fun--

DAVIDSON [interrupting]: And you are uniquely right.

WARREN: The fun stuff is to look at the big banks and how we've moved around billions of dollars there.

DAVIDSON: Nobody's trying to have fun. What are you talking about? We are talking about a system that the basic plumbing is dying. And maybe they approached it right. A lot of people, probably more people, think they've approached it wrong, the administration. This isn't about the administration actually what I'm saying. I literally don't know anyone other than you who has that view, and you are the person [snicker] who went to Congress to oversee it and you are presenting a very, very narrow view to the American people.

WARREN: I'm sorry. That is not a narrow view. What you are saying is that it is the broad view to think only about trying to save the banks [Davidson sputters] and say Hey! the American economy will recover at some point and we'll worry about the families [Davidson talking over]. I think that is the narrow view and I think I have the broad view. The broad view is that these two things are connected to each other. And the notion [DAVIDSON: And are equally acute? And are equally acute?] that you can save the banking system while the American economy goes down the tubes is just foolish.

Davidson continues to pursue his "serious people aren't advocating such a position"-argument, implying that Professor Warren doesn't deserve a seat at the table. The gist of his argument is that this financial crisis is so acute that the focus should be squarely on the banks. He completely divorces any real-world implications in the way the bailout is undertaken. At one point he says, "nobody cares about this." I suppose the 8.9% of unemployed Americans, the 40 or so million without any health insurance, the majority of the workforce that have seen their wages stagnate for the past two decades, those on the wrong end of the ever-widening wealth gap, I suppose their voices don't matter in any "serious" conversation.

The idea that somehow people outside of banking and finance should have no say, as Warren points out, is absolutely ludicrous. Yet this is how our media tends to think. When the red lights are flashing, there is no time for introspection. Just get out of the way and let the professionals handle it. There was no serious push-back against the war in Iraq because the country was in a state of emergency; no push-back against torture because we were in crisis-mode; no push-back against the egregious erosion of the civil liberties of our own citizens because these were (and continue to be one assumes) desperate times. And anyone who tries to slow that train, obviously has an agenda. Obviously.

I encourage people to listen to the full interview. It is perfectly illustrative of how our media operates. Everything must be viewed through the lens of partisanship. Meanwhile the media is the objective centrist that never takes sides. Everything comes down to how one can be categorized and their opinion subsequently marginalized. Oh she can't be taken seriously because she has such liberal-partisan views! There is no way we should question how the TARP is being utilized or what the banks are doing, we're in a crisis people! Oh we can't listen to people asking for the rule of law to be upheld and torture-architects to be punished because they're on a partisan witch-hunt. We can't criminalize policies that were, uh, criminal. We can't ask our rulers, I mean politicians and CEOs, to explain themselves or hold themselves to the same laws that we do. That's just comical.

People like Davidson whether consciously or not see themselves as elites. They see the world as divided into the serious and the unreasonable who ask for things like "transparency" and "accountability." They look at people arguing for such things as a source of theater but nothing more. The elite don't have an agenda other than preserving the status quo. They believe they always know what's best even if they go about things haphazardly. Davidson believes that Paulson, Geithner, et al, despite mistakes they may have made are really the smartest guys in the room with the best intentions. So what if tens of billions may have been misappropriated or some of the money can't be accounted for at all or if the American public got a raw deal or that the individuals most responsible for creating this mess are cloistered away behind closed doors making the decisions for all of us. Just hand us the check and keep your mouth shut. These people know what's best for us and if you question that, you are not serious.

What's Wrong With This Picture?

2009-03-09T18:56:00.000-07:00

When I first heard that “Watchmen” was finally getting the greenlight and that Zack Snyder fresh off the commercial success of “300” would helm the project, ambivalence was the only feeling I could muster. “300” wasn’t a completely unpleasant way to spend a couple of hours. I respected it more for its technical accomplishments than anything else (visually, Snyder produced champagne with beer money). “Dawn of the Dead” I loathed on general principle. You don’t need to remake the best zombie movie ever IMNSHO. And the "innovative" idea to have agile zombies was just spit in George Romero's eye. It wasn’t especially original either, since Danny Boyle did it (better) in the uneven but solid “28 Days Later”. So suffice to say, I didn’t have much confidence that Snyder could transition the source material into a self-contained fully-realized piece of cinema that could stand on its own two legs. The first crop of trailers further deepened my skepticism. Would we get three hours of brutal slo-mo action sequences, perhaps another goofy slo-mo sex scene? Um, yes and yes.

I don’t think there is anything inherently “unfilmable” about "Watchmen". I read Alan Moore’s deconstructionist take on the superhero perhaps a decade ago. There is no doubt that it is a canonical text in the comic book world; it has a place reserved in the pantheon next to Frank Miller’s "The Dark Knight Returns", Gaiman’s "The Sandman" and Garth Ennis’s "Preacher". These works were the foundation of the contemporary comic book. The source material deserves every bit of respect that it's received. "Watchmen" sprawls over twelve issues and spins a wide narrative web; the book's tangents go on tangents. This might seem daunting, but the story has a very clear through-line. It is essentially a detective story told by the paranoid ~~borderline~~ psychotic Rorschach. It has a clearly delineated three-act structure. The book takes the scenic route to get where it's going and I wouldn't want it any other way, but the film doesn't have that luxury nor should it.

The biggest issue Snyder has is that he’s far too reverential towards the source text. Hell, Cecil DeMille took more artistic license with the Ten Commandments than Snyder does with Moore’s "Watchmen." The most glaring issue is that transferring entire swaths of dialogue from the graphic novel does not a good screenplay make. As Anthony Lane points out in his New Yorker review (his review sucks, btw; I don’t know why he or Denby for that matter even review films; they both seem like they hate movies for the most part)--you can’t have characters (even right-wing nutjobs like Rorschach) spouting lines like: “The city screams like an abattoir full of retarded children.” Yes that’s from the original text, but that doesn’t make it, you know, good.

The second major issue is that Snyder fails to capture the mood almost entirely. I’m more forgiving here, because his task was so awesome. How to capture the existential dread of the mid-eighties at the zenith of the cold war and nuclear posturing on both sides of the Iron Curtain? I remember being subjected to fear-mongering propaganda like “The Day After” which is to this day one of the scariest films I’ve ever seen. There are still images seared into my brain decades later like the poor dog digging up the kitchen floor in a vain search for food after the family had abandoned it for the basement shelter post nuclear holocaust. Damn you, Reagan!

Watchmen is set during this period and we see these scenes where tactical decisions are made and the Doomsday Clock moves closer to midnight, but we don’t feel it. We’re as detached from the ordinary citizens as Dr. Manhattan. We don’t spend enough time with the alternate world to really grasp what’s going on. One minute Dan and Laurie are having a nice dinner in a restaurant, the next people are rioting in the streets. Why? If people are rioting, why is Nixon serving a third term? Is America supposed to be a fascist nation? It’s not really clear. It's also not clear what this Watchmen group represents. We're given a couple of flashbacks to photo shoots of team pictures and a couple of Watchmen dispersing a riot, but that's all. There's no sense as to what the Watchmen meant to the world or even to each other. For the unconverted the proceedings on the screen must be terribly bewildering and/or numbingly boring. Why should anyone care about these characters? Not just the superheroes, but anyone? The film doesn't even try to answer that.

To make matters worse, the acting save for a few characters is uniformly atrocious. It’s as if they got Hollywood money to make the flick and populated it with actors that would be mediocre in a Sci-Fi Channel original movie. Malin Akerman who plays the Silk Spectre II seems lost from the very first scene and never recovers; unfortunately she gets probably the second most screen time after the superb Jackie Earle Haley (more on him later). Matthew Goode as Ozymandias comes across as the world’s most obnoxious prick as opposed to the smartest man (which might be fine in another film, but it's a complete mischaracterization of the graphic novel version). I found the Comedian’s performance to be uneven, but again the bad dialogue kneecaps him (see: Vietnam bar scene). Physically (with the exception of Goode's Ozymandias--too scrawny) the characters are three-dimensional doppelgangers of their print counerparts. Sure Patrick Wilson's Dan/Nite Owl could have been a bit paunchier, but he pulls off "middle-aged schlub" quite well. He and Jackie Earle Haley give the movie some desperately needed heart and humanity.

Some positives on the acting: Billy Crudup does about as much as one can do with Dr. Manhattan considering his performance is comprised mainly of voice over (still his few "in the flesh" bits manage to sell the tragedy of Dr. Manhattan with just a handful of scenes). Matt Frewer pops up in a minor but important role; made me smile to see good ol' Max Headroom on the big screen. Carla Cuggino as Sally Jupiter enlivens things in her few scenes, but I kept thinking why not let her play Silk Specter and just get an actual old lady to play Sally? On a related note, all the aging makeup is terrible. And the prosthetics for the actor playing Nixon are distractingly bad. No one got an inkling how bad this stuff looked from the dailies? Jeez. Anyway, Patrick Wilson as the somewhat pathetic Dan manages to create a character the audience can really invest in. Dan/Nite Owl actually comes across as a complex fully-fleshed out character as opposed to the other characters who are given a great deal of expositional baggage, but still feel rather one-dimensional.

Jackie Earl Haley as Rorschach manages to avoid that fate seemingly through force of will. As I mentioned before, he's saddled with some of the most ham-fisted dialogue in the movie, but for the most part he makes it work. He easily monopolizes the movies best scenes including the prison sequence (I still don't understand why there was a riot) and his confrontation with Dr. Manhattan at the film's end. His performance equals Ledger's turn as Joker in terms of truly capturing the essence of a well- established literary character on the screen. I'd honestly sit through the film again (on DVD) just to watch his portrayal of the schizophrenic love child of Philip Marlowe and William F. Buckley.

The word is that Zack Snyder has an extended cut that adds on at least an additional half-hour to the movie. I suspect that cut will be even worse. If I could tell the "visionary director of 300" (as the trailers dramatically intone) one thing, it'd be that what's missing from the film is not more elaborate subplots; what's missing is a vision.

A few notes: unless you’re filming an episode of The Red Shoe Diaries, a slow-motion love scene is completely risible; Tears for Fears "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" should never be used without irony in a film; gratuitous explicit violence is not inherently more real or potent than tastefully cutting away and leaving something to the imagination.

Final note: The one place Snyder does show some inventiveness is the new ending. It works. In fact it works better than Moore's original ending. If it were a better film, I'd be writing about the film's subversive commentary on religion. If it were a better film. Too bad.

"And While You're Shaking My Right Hand, I'll Stab You With the Left"

2009-02-10T04:00:00.000-08:00

Last night as I listened to Obama's press conference, I found myself rejoicing in the idea of having a president who might actually meet the demands of the office in both temperament and intellect.

It had been so long since the man standing behind that podium inspired confidence in me that I'd forgotten what it felt like. Obama's words were direct and his answers contained only a minimal amount of evasiveness. I was so relieved, overjoyed almost. Then I read this and the euphoria dissipated. In light of Mr. Obama's FISA vote as a senator, I guess this shouldn't be too much of a surprise.

The most egregious behavior the Bush Administration sanctioned and encouraged will continue to be a stain on this country and no amount of "looking forward" will change that. Whether or not abuses happen at the highest levels of government should not be dependent upon how honorable the people in office are. Our laws mean nothing if they don't apply to everybody and I don't think there is any hyperbole in saying that. The President failed a huge test yesterday. I doubt the MSM will cover it either. They'll be too busy dissecting last night's press conference. Meanwhile, the real news will be relegated to a blurb on page three. And so it goes...

"Your Heartbeat Sound Like Sasquatch Feet"

2009-01-24T12:01:00.000-08:00

"The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed (and hence clamorous to be led to safety) by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary."-H. L. Mencken

One of President Obama's first acts in office was to sign an Executive order to close the detention facility at Guantanamo Bay. Two days later the New York Times publishes an article about a former Gitmo detainee, Said Ali al-Shihri who reportedly rejoined Al-Qaeda and has become a "deputy leader" for "Al-Qaeda's Yemeni branch." (I use quotes in this instance because the article in no way provides any context--what constitutes the Yemeni branch? It could be a three-man terror cell for all we know. And considering that we seem to kill the "number two" Al-Qaeda operative every six months, what does it even mean to be the deputy leader?) Interesting timing, no? In the article, al-Shihri is linked to the bombing of a U.S. embassy in Yemen that occurred last September (he'd been released into Saudi custody a year prior). The Pentagon claims there are a large number of former detainees who have returned to the battlefield. Corroborating evidence of this ranges from thin to non-existent. Similar AP articles have circulated on most major news sites such as the Yahoo front page, MSNBC and CNN. The Times followed up Sunday with a roundtable of sorts talking about how this article highlights the "challenges" Obama faces in closing Gitmo. To paraphrase Donald Sutherland's character in JFK: "Who benefits?" I'm not suggesting there is a conspiracy of any kind here; what I think is obvious is that there is a concerted effort to undermine Mr. Obama's unassailable decision to close Guantanamo. It is also obvious that as it was with the Iraq War, the MSM is an all too willing accomplice in this endeavor.

There is no debate here. Guantanamo is a blight on America's international reputation; what has gone on there is demonstrably illegal and the Bush apologists' claims of how useful the facility has been have been thoroughly debunked. If the case of al-Shihri shows us anything, it is how counter-productive the policies and methods of the previous regime have proven. What outcome do we expect from imprisoning and in some cases torturing individuals for years on end without allowing even the hint of due process? We should be no more surprised at this than we are about the recidivism rate in our domestic prison system.

This is just the latest propaganda salvo from the remaining neoconservative stalwarts and hard-right Republicans in their attempts to justify and prolong the Bush policies of the years since 9/11. These are the same individuals who have demonized whistleblowers like Russell Tice for exposing the criminality of the former administration. Tice was the source for the New York Times article that detailed the illegal wiretapping program the Bush administration implemented (the same one Democratic senators Feinstein and Rockefeller gave their blessing to). He was on Countdown where he detailed more NSA abuses via illegal wiretaps. Recall this is the same illegal wiretapping activity our Congress granted the nation's largest telecommunication companies such as AT&T and Verizon immunity for this past summer (the same companies that claimed to be doing their "patriotic duty"; the same companies that lavished millions on the DNC back in August less than three months after the FISA Amendment was passed). Yet all this has been framed in the MSM as a debate about policy; the "we shouldn't criminalize policy differences"-line has become the Beltway mantra (President Obama has unfortunately if understandably echoed the same sentiment with his "we want to look forward"-stance). In the words of Bill Clinton: "This whole thing is the biggest fairy tale I've ever seen." We refuse to prosecute these injustices and thus allow those who would further perpetuate them to legitimize their position. Then these feckless demagogues use fear to galvanize the public against what is clearly just and moral.

The other insidious narrative they've tried to insert into the debate is that it will be somehow unsafe to warehouse the Gitmo detainees on American soil. Of course this is utter bull. This nation incarcerates more of its citizens than any other on the planet, so I think we're pretty good at it. Yet, straight-faced some Republican Congressional members assert Americans will somehow be endangered and subjected to higher risks of terrorist attacks should we house them stateside. Why do we keep treating these prisoners as if they're supervillains? As bad as 9/11 was, we've lost five times as many people per year to conventional domestic homicide. The ADX Florence supermax facility in Colorado currently holds the following notable convicts: Omar Abdel-Rahman, Zacarias Moussaoui, Jose Padilla, Ramzi Yousef and homegrown domestic terrorist Terry Nichols. Some of these men have been in U.S. custody for over a decade. Last time I checked we haven't had to repel any brazen rescue attempts from Osama bin Laden and his flying air fortress. I guess we should expect this level of argument from a side that thinks "24" is admissible evidence in an intellectually honest debate.

Thomas Jefferson once said: "Eternal vigilance is the price of freedom." It saddens and angers me that it is our own government employing the scare tactics and fear-mongering designed to deprive of us of that freedom which we must guard against.

OMG! They Killed Freddie! You Bastards!

2009-01-23T03:19:00.000-08:00

So I come home from a typical long day at the office, looking for a little mindless entertainment to zone out to for an hour or so only to find my world thrown into disarray. We're watching an uninteresting NBA match-up (Lakers versus the woeful Wizards), when I ask my brother to turn to the Monsters HD channel. "Can't do it," he says. I look at him puzzled. "It's off the air. Not there anymore." Incredulous, I demand the remote and begin scanning through Comcast's HD channels. Lo and behold, he's right. It's gone. Finito. Kaput. WTF, Comcast?! I quickly head on-line to figure out what's going on only to discover the devastating truth: all the Voom HD channels were decommissioned as of Jan. 20th; Comcast announced this decision back in December, but I'd completely missed it. I hope they're happy. They just lost a customer.

Monsters HD was the only fully-dedicated horror channel, broadcasting uncut, unedited, commercial-free horror films from the black-and-white schlock of the fifties to the glorious Hammer films of the seventies and up to the mass-produced slasher franchises of the eighties and nineties. It was simply the greatest channel ever. Every film was given a beautiful 1080i full high-definition transfer. Sure they had a relatively small library, but it was rich, diverse and growing.

The station knew how to work what they had. There were werewolf marathons (The Howling and its various sequels, An American Werewolf in London, Ginger Snaps); zombie marathons (Night of the Living Dead and numerous sequels/spin-offs, Dead Alive--a gore masterpiece from Peter Jackson, Undead--a zombie flick from down under); marathons for the big Three: Friday the 13th, Halloween and A Nightmare on Elmstreet. And I watched (and re-watched) them all constantly! Thanks to Monsters HD, I probably watched Friday the 13th III-VIII a half-dozen times each. There was nothing better than coming home after a long Friday and just vegging-out on Jason Vorhees until two in the morning. I am in mourning.

To add insult to injury, to throw lye on my tear-stained cheeks, to further take a crap in my oatmeal, the geniuses at Comcast then decide to replace the Voom HD channel suite (which also included an all-Kung-fu channel, a live music performance channel, an anime channel and an oddly addictive video game channel--imagine watching someone playing PS3 on your HD TV for hours; I don't even play video games much anymore, yet it drew me in on occasion) with all premium HD channels such as HBO HD and Showtime HD. So basically I'm paying the same for less. They're crazy if they think I'm going to pony up more lucre for those stations. I've no use for HBO or Showtime in the age of Netflix. I do have a use for random horror movies 24/7.

As I understand it, the writing was on the wall for the Comcast-owned Voom HD when Dish Network unceremoniously dropped the package (they wanted a la carte, Comcast said: "all [15] or none"). Comcast couldn't justify the expense, I'm sure they'll claim, of broadcasting the package only on their cable network. I had managed to avoid getting screwed over by James Dolan unlike the millions of Knicks fans who I privately chuckled at as he drove the franchise to dizzying new lows. Now the joke's on me. How could I have ever trusted such a man? A pox upon your empire, Mr. Dolan! You've completely 'harshed' my post-inauguration euphoria.

Knowing is Half the Battle

2008-11-02T17:54:00.000-08:00

Just a few more days...

Back on the Scene, Crispy and Clean

2008-10-25T21:34:00.000-07:00

Number three on my list of "Person(s) I'd Most Like to Have a Three-hour Dinner With." New song from Bjork, Nattura. Backing 'vocals' from Thom Yorke. The phrenetic drum pattern takes a minute to get used to, but it has an almost hypnotic quality to it. I dig it. I'm honestly at the point with Bjork that if I don't like something, I believe the issue must be with me.

Hopefully this means a new album is on the horizon. Video is a fan-generated piece, an interesting amalgam of many of her previous works. I'd highly recommend checking out her full video collection, especially Bachelorette.

I think Iceland is really the lost land of Faerie.

Joe Biden in Bizarro World

2008-10-25T20:04:00.000-07:00

I don't know how BIden manages to keep his calm talking to this creature. You're seriously going to ask the question: "Is Barack Obama a Marxist?"? DIAF. Seriously, DIAF.

Wow...just...wow.

2008-10-23T20:54:00.000-07:00

Really? The word 'shameless' seems inadequate. Who are these people?

I Haven't Seen America This Happy Since Bird Beat Magic in the '84 Finals

2008-10-05T12:43:00.000-07:00

Can we let it go now?

Not the Way I'd Go About Lodging A Protest...

2008-08-23T10:13:00.000-07:00

Photo and caption taken from the AP: Cuba's Angel Valodia Matos, left, kicks match referee Sweden's Chakir Chelbat in the face during a bronze medal match against Kazakhstan's Arman Chilmanov in the men's taekwondo +80 kilogram class at the Beijing 2008 Olympics in Beijing, Saturday, Aug. 23, 2008. Matos attacked the official, throwing punches and kicks, after being declared the loser in his bronze medal match.

Mr. Matos and his coach, both unrepentant, were banned for life from the sport. Well at least you'll always have the infamy.

When Internet Memes Collide!!!

2008-08-15T19:15:00.000-07:00

You got your peanut butter in my chocolate!

Did I Mention Coldplay Sucks?

2008-08-15T18:52:00.000-07:00

In a city of the future
It is difficult to concentrate
Meet the boss, meet the wife
Everybody's happy
Everyone is made for life
In a city of the future
It is difficult to find a little space
I'm too busy to see you
You're too busy to wait
But I'm OK, how are you?
Thanks for asking, thanks for asking
I'm OK, how are you? I hope you're OK too

Every one one of those days
When the sky is California blue
With a beautiful bombshell
I throw myself into my work
I’m too lazy I’ve been kidding myself for so long
I'm OK, how are you?
Thanks for asking, thanks for asking
I'm OK, how are you?
I hope you're OK too

-Palo Alto, Airbag/How Am I Driving EP

A couple of weekends ago, I attended the All Points West festival. Radiohead headlined. I arrived fairly late in the day and only got a chance to see a pretty impressive Roots performance before the main event. Black Thought and ?uestlove along with their ever-changing but always tight band are single-handedly legitimizing (large venue) live hip-hop. I've seen Radiohead a few times now, and I get excited the way you would when an old friend comes to town. The concert didn’t rank in my top five live music experiences, but it was still sublime. Don’t get me wrong, I sang along with practically every song and worked myself into a dancing frenzy for a good part of the set.

The problem is that New York Radiohead fans tend to be so passive. If the band only had OK Computer under their belts then I’d understand, but the last few albums have had some really good grooves on them full of jams with compelling bass lines (e.g., I Might Be Wrong, National Anthem, The Gloaming). I think frontman Thom Yorke agrees, because he frequently breaks out into his own spastic dances for a number of songs. If he can do it, so can you. It's that element that really propels a rock concert to the upper stratosphere for me. It's why Bjork at Coney Island in '03 and practically every Flaming Lips show remain the gold standard.

I hadn’t checked the setlists too closely from the previous shows on their North American tour, so I was surprised they played In Rainbows in its entirety. Bold move. Not many groups have a fanbase that would let them get away with such a feat. I wasn’t bothered since I think the album is their most fully realized work since Kid A. Radiohead is such a cohesive unit; the set feels very polished if a bit rigid. Still they manage to at least appear to enjoy what they're doing up there. Thom doesn't banter much, but the crowd eats up every little quip ("This is dedicated to the Kings of Leon. If we were that good-looking, we'd be famous."). I'm glad he survived OK Computer.

Highlights included a great version of The Bends, Bangers and Mash, No Suprises, Fake Plastic Trees (30,000 people singing in unison: "And if I could be/who you wanted/And if I could be/who you wanted/All the time/All the time...un-hunnnnhhhh"), and Weird Fishes. They opened with a beautiful rendition of Reckoner that showed off the best instrument in the group's formidable arsenal, Thom's at times ethereal falsetto. They book-ended the set (second encore--digression: perhaps we should just do away with the "encore" since it's pretty much an expected part of the setlist at this point; people didn't even bother clapping all that hard the second time) with Idioteque, a song from Kid A that showed the band at their (so far) creative peak.

How to Win [Buy] Friends and [Peddle] Influence People

2008-08-03T21:30:00.000-07:00

Below is an excerpt from another great Bill Moyers Journal story. This one deals with the Jack Abramoff lobbying scandal from a few years back. At least Abramoff was punished (actually more like scolded--5 years in minimum security? Dudes in my neighborhood get more than that for getting caught with more than a few ounces). The scourge of super-lobbyists isn't anathema to our political system; it is our political system. As Thomas Frank notes in an interview with Moyer: "It's not the apples, it's the trees themselves." Does that overstate things? C'mon man:

BILL MOYERS: In the mid-1990s, Russia was like something out of the Wild West.

MICHAEL WALLER: These Russian gangster capitalists had a lot of money, and they didn't care which political party they got involved with. Whether - when it was the Democrats running the White House, they did it with the Democrats, and when they wanted to work with the Republicans in Congress, then they'd buy a Republican, or rent a Republican here and there.

BILL MOYERS: A plum ripe for Abramoff's picking. This time, he registered as a lobbyist for a mysterious company based in the Bahamas connected to a Russian oil and gas giant called Naftasib.

BILL MOYERS: Naftasib - with its headquarters in this unmarked building in the heart of Moscow - was a major supplier to the Russian military. It also advertised the close ties between its Vice President and Russian military intelligence.

MICHAEL WALLER: So, here you have an instructor at Russian Military Intelligence Academy who is one of the top two people in a very sketchy, deceptive-looking, influence operation in Washington where it's hiring people to identify lawmakers and staffers for free trips to Russia, in hotels that were still equipped the way the KGB had always equipped the hotels. This is not an educational exchange program. This is not a pure person-to-person, understanding-type program. This is potentially a very serious operation.

BILL MOYERS: On the fifth of August, 1997, Tom DeLay and Ed Buckham, DeLay's Chief of Staff who had recently set up the U.S. Family Network, left for a six-day visit to Moscow. Abramoff joined them there. DeLay's official report claimed the trip was sponsored by the very same non-profit that paid for his golf vacation in Scotland. In Russia, they were hosted at a lavish dinner and shown around town by the two top Naftasib executives.

JEFFREY SMITH: The oil executives were excited at the possibility that Tom DeLay could help open doors for them in Washington, and they wanted to reward him in some way, and so they asked a colleague of Abramoff's, you know, what would happen if the DeLays woke up one day and found a luxurious car, like a BMW or a Mercedes on their driveway. And the colleague of Abramoff said, "Well, that would be illegal. This shows a motive and desire by the Russians to reward the DeLays in one way or another for work that they expected him to do for them.

BILL MOYERS: Nine months later, the U.S. Family Network received a wire transfer from a London law firm, now defunct, that the Washington Post has connected to the Naftasib bosses. The amount: one million dollars. Pastor Chris Geeslin questioned Ed Buckham.

REV. CHRIS GEESLIN: He kind of looked at me with some disdain, and he said, "You know where the large money has come from, don't you?" And I said, "No, I have no idea." And he said, "Well let me tell you, this is how it works in Washington." He said, "That money came from Russian oil barons." And I, you know, I just couldn't believe it.

BILL MOYERS: One million dollars was an astounding sum. But consider the timing: it arrived just as Washington was beginning to debate legislation critical to Russia and its collapsing economy. Congress was being asked to resupply the International Monetary Fund, the I.M.F., with taxpayer money that would be used to help bail out the Russian economy and oligarchs like the Naftasib bosses.

BILL MOYERS: Long a critic of the IMF, Tom DeLay had disparaged the pending legislation. "The IMF is bailing out the bankrupt," he said. But by the time the vote came, he had a change of heart and supported the legislation he had scorned.

The world's greatest hustle. But of course, we musn't look back or dredge up the past. Just keep looking forward. How do you like those blinders? Not too tight around the temples are they?

Worst. Ad. Ever.

2008-08-01T22:28:00.000-07:00

I thought this was a joke, but this is a real John McCain ad. This is complete bush league. Totally ineffective. "Yeah, you're like the most popular human on the planet, and people are really drawn to you and you've inspired people across the globe, but...um, are you really ready for a job that requires people to put their utmost faith and confidence in you?" Epic Fail. I half expect John McCain to blurt out: "Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!!!"

Jack Bauer says, "Stop whining"

2008-07-26T14:16:00.000-07:00

Bill Moyers interviews Jane Mayer, author of The Dark Side: THE INSIDE STORY OF HOW THE WAR ON TERROR TURNED INTO A WAR ON AMERICAN IDEALS

A couple of excerpts below. Emphasis added, mine.

BILL MOYERS: Who were some of the other conservative heroes, as you call them, in your book?

JANE MAYER: A lot of them are lawyers. And they were people inside the Justice Department who, one of whom, and I can't name this one in particular, said when he looked around at some of the White House meetings - he was in where they were authorizing the President, literally, to torture people - if he thought that was necessary, he said, "I can't, I could not believe these lunatics had taken over the country." And I am not talking about someone who is a liberal Democrat. I'm talking about a very conservative member of this Administration. And there was a-

BILL MOYERS: Your source?

JANE MAYER: My source.

BILL MOYERS: And, yet, when these conservatives - as you write in your book - when these conservatives spoke up, Cheney and company retaliated against their own men.

JANE MAYER: People told me, "You can't imagine what it was like inside the White House during this period." There was such an atmosphere of intimidation. And when the lawyers, some of these lawyers tried to stand up to this later, they felt so endangered in some ways that, at one point, two of the top lawyers from the Justice Department developed this system of talking in codes to each other because they thought they might be being wiretapped. And they even felt-

BILL MOYERS: By their own government.

JANE MAYER: By their own government. They felt like they might be kind of weirdly in physical danger. They were actually scared to stand up to Vice President Cheney.

***

BILL MOYERS: What do you think the country would gain or lose from pursuing war crimes?

JANE MAYER: Well, you know, I think that it could be very toxic in some ways to hold people as criminals who were doing what they thought was right for the country. But, at the same time, I have to say I think that we need accountability in this country in order to make sure that people abide by the laws. And I can tell you when I interview people at the CIA, a number of people said that they didn't want to get involved in this because they thought there'd be criminal repercussions. So, if there never are any criminal repercussions, I'm not sure where that leaves us.

***

"Do as I say, not as I do", said Uncle Sam to the rest of the world.

"And then he said 'Goonie-goo-goo'"

2008-07-19T13:11:00.000-07:00

After an informal survey of friends and colleagues, I’d say that I’m definitely in the minority of finding this cartoon successful as satire. I saw the image Sunday night on Drudge Report before the issue hit the newsstands and my immediate response was a knowing smile. I understood the artist’s intentions and found the artwork mildly amusing.

Putting an ear to the streets the next day, I heard quite a lot of vitriol and admonishment aimed at editor David Remnick and The New Yorker. Hearing how the cover provoked such a visceral response in some was a bit surprising. I didn’t find it offensive, not to Obama, not to blacks and not to Muslims. I just thought it was satire. If you looked up 'liberal magazine' in the dictionary, it'd say: 'see: The New Yorker'. So it never crossed my mind for an instant that this was some kind of dig at Obama.

I’ve heard some fairly cogent responses as to why it was ineffective satire. The most persuasive argument was that the image was too close to mimicry (indeed, but considering the absurdity of the allegations, it's hard to figure how much room there is left to exaggerate things). Fair enough. The only thing I didn't agree with was this defensive hand-wringing suggesting that the left-wing media better behave itself lest we surrender yet another presidential election. If there are voters out there who will look at the New Yorker cover and go, "Yup, I knew it.", chances are they weren't voting for Obama to begin with. As I've said before, this country gets the elected officials it deserves.

Last thought: instead of being outraged, I wish the Obama camp would have used this to bring up the much more widespread problem of Islamophobia in the U.S. Alas, I don’t think that’s somewhere any public official wants to go right now. Unless you’re working from the fringe of politics, some battles just aren’t prudent to engage in. As I get older and start really paying attention to how these things work, the more likely I find myself thinking about living out my final days in the Siberian tundra.

P.S. - I am curious as to what a successful satire of Obama as Islamo-Manchurian Candidate would look like.

Barry Carcetti For President

2008-07-11T15:53:00.000-07:00

So, remind me again why I'm supposed to be so excited about Mr. Obama's presidency?

Just to recap the last couple of months in which Obama:

-tried to court the Evangelicals with a proposed extension/expansion of Bush’s faith-based initiatives program. Oh, but he wants to put in anti-discrimination policies for anybody using federal funds. Yeah, that’s tenable. “Faith-based”-organizations, mainly churches, are already tax-free entities. Let them raise their own funds. Why my tax dollars should go towards organizations whose policies/beliefs I disagree with is beyond me.

-delivered a hawkish speech to AIPAC; back in May he gave a very thoughtful and somewhat nuanced interview with Jeffery Goldberg over at Atlantic Monthly. Sure there was some overt pandering which makes sense given the apparent uncertainty Jewish-American voters have about him, but he came across as fair-minded and willing to engage in actual debate. In contrast, the speech he gave at AIPAC would make you think he had a double-jointed spine.

Alright, he’s a politician and, as Crazy Uncle Wright said, he does what politicians do. I get that. However, if you compare this to how he engages with his black constituency, it makes a fellow feel a bit uneasy. Obama feels comfortable addressing our collective shortcomings (obviously to the chagrin of Jesse "Castrate'em" Jackson") as fathers, brothers and sons, yet he can't do the same when speaking about Israel’s missteps vis-à-vis the Palestinians? He goes so far as to say "Jerusalem will remain the capital of Israel and it must remain undivided." Is he campaigning for president of the United States or membership in Likud?

-voted for the FISA "compromise" - exactly what was the compromise here? I defy anyone to explain it. Anyone who sees this bill as a compromise seems disingenuous or uninformed. If you have the time, I’d highly recommend reading some of Glenn Greenwald’s extensive dissection and analysis of what this new FISA amendment actually entails.

Let's be clear: this “compromise” leaves the 4th amendment riddled with buckshot. It doesn’t curtail the executive branch’s snooping power; to the contrary: it legitimizes it and expands its breadth. As explained in this article, it's not as if the government (read: NSA) has a room full of guys with headphones on monitoring calls. Nah, this is more like something out of The Matrix. They have supercomputers that are able to snag and sift through terabytes of information and flag keywords and phrases in a nanosecond. They take this culled data and archive it indefinitely in a database. The telecoms who provide unfettered access in clear violation of our rights as private citizens then stand up and say: “Hey we were just doing our patriotic duty when called upon by the President.” Bull. Does anyone believe for a second that these companies didn't do what was in the best interest of the shareholders and the bottom line? How much in government contracts does AT&T have? How big is their K Street office? This isn't conspiracy theory, just an acknowledgment of the quid pro quo ethos of our political system.

So our brave Democrat-controlled Congress just voted retroactive immunity for crimes (and make no mistake, these were felony acts) that we will neither know nor ever be allowed to know the full extent of. Not only that but we're saying: hey, you broke the law and you can continue to do so into the indefinite future. We just got sold out. It’s so egregious, yet this seems to be eliciting at most a shoulder shrug from most corners, and anybody who calls attention to it is being branded a left-wing extremist. I don’t think the people of Wisconsin are in the habit of electing extremists though, so maybe you’ll listen to this guy:

Understand the extent of this: the White House-directed NSA has the authority and capability to warehouse all forms of electronic communication between the U.S. and any foreign location; email, text-messages, phone calls, faxes, voicemails--you name it, they can access it. They can do this whether or not it is demonstrably related to terrorism. They can do this whether or not there is a demonstrable threat to national security. Yeah, no room for abuse there.

Seriously, who am I voting for? If he can't stand up for something so obvious, what will he stand up for? This is the type of leadership that will reform our nightmarish market driven healthcare system? Hey, we might not stand up to the telecomm lobby, but we'll stand up to the AMA and Insurance lobby? This is the administration that will rein in Wall Street? Give me a f#$#ing break. To borrow a quote from Bubba: “This whole thing is the biggest fairytale I’ve ever seen.”

But Obama gets us out of Iraq! Right. Just from a logistic point of view, it seems we'd be out of there regardless of who was in charge. The war is too costly and our army is stretched to its limits. We have 160K troops currently deployed in Iraq plus an additional 25K in Afghanistan. Both candidates will withdraw troops and both will leave a sizable U.S. presence. You can bank on that.

I was never an Obama-maniac, but I was enthusiastic about the prospect of his presidency. Right now, I’m finding it more difficult to call up such enthusiasm. All’s I wanted was a guy who was going to adhere to principle and not allow special interest and the Republicans to bully him. This was the big difference between Clinton and Obama. He seemed rooted in something that went beyond calculating how well a decision would poll. His stance against a gas tax holiday seemed to be further proof of this. He's not the other guy, and I’ll still punch his name come November. It’s just sad to realize that right now, that’s all I can look forward to: him not being the other guy (BTW isn't this the same murky platform that lost Kerry the election in '04? Well, that and those lunatic Swift-boat vets and that goofy wind-surfing photo). It falls so short of what seemed possible just a few months ago.

Last seen readying the duct tape and bat.

The Dark Knight Returns

2008-07-08T19:37:00.000-07:00

I imagine if I ran into Chris Nolan and asked him about a random Batman comic book storyline from the eighties or nineties, he'd be able to converse about it for hours. This man knows Batman about as well as anybody. He expresses his respect and love for the character in practically every frame of his follow-up to 2005's Batman Begins. What Frank Miller did for Batman and comic books, Chris Nolan has done in his medium. The Dark Knight should satiate even the most demanding fan. More than that, it should satisfy even those unfamiliar with the source material. It's not just a damn fine comic book film; it's a great piece of cinema.

Nolan the Director

Nolan doesn't so much expand his vision of Gotham as much as he fills it in. He populates it with a colorful bunch of characters and he gives them room to breathe. You believe in the world of Batman, because the actors sell it. Everybody in this film turns in top-notch work. Michael Caine and Morgan Freeman are their usual sublime selves. Gary Oldman continues to contribute some of his best work as the doggedly honest cop, Lt. Gordon. Maggie Gyllenhaal brings the needed emotional heft to the role of Rachel Dawes. Many considered Katie Holmes who played Rachel in the first film to be one of that film's weak spots. I don't disagree, but you realize she was miscast; she was too young to play the role. Gyllenhaal is much more believable as the conflicted love interest in this film; she actually seems tough enough to be a resident of Gotham whereas Holmes seemed woefully out of place.

Then there's Aaron Eckhart, an actor whose work I've enjoyed since In the Company of Men. He brings just the right blend of humanity, idealism and cockiness to the role of District Attorney Harvey Dent. He's the films "white knight", but he doesn't come off as one-dimensional. Instead he's the parallel of Batman, except he crusades in the light of day. The film is explicit about such symbolism, but it's not as overbearing as the first film was about the idea of fear.

Though Bale spends a much greater portion of the film behind the mask than in the last, he still manages to show you how distinct Bruce Wayne is from Batman and not just through the usual aloof playboy routine. To be sure, that's in there (usually providing much needed levity in a few spots), but Bale develops layers to the character as he exposes how dependent Wayne has become on the Batman persona, how much it has enveloped him. But I didn't expect any less. Bale is probably my favorite actor right now. He's as eccentric as Depp when it comes to selecting roles (in the last few years he's played a Vietnam P.O.W., an unemployed veteran with a homicidal streak, and a warped magician; he's John Connor in the upcoming Terminator 4 for godsake!).

Oh yeah, Heath Ledger is in this film, too

Man, I don't even know where to begin with The Joker. The first time you see him, there's this sound that I thought was just background noise, but then after a couple more appearances, I realized it was his "theme music". And after that, my response almost became Pavlovian. When I heard it, my guard went up in an instant. You soon realize, this is a character that will literally do anything at anytime. He seems dangerous even when locked in a cell, denuded of weapons. He'll have you laughing for a moment and in the next breath gasping at his brutality. Even the way he taunts his victims becomes this sort of warped joke.

The obvious question: Is it better than Nicholson's? Yes. Why? Because it scared the crap out of me. And that's what the Joker was always supposed to do. If your only experience with the Joker is Cesar Romero on the affable but hokey 1960s television show or Jack Nicholson's iconic performance in the 1989 Burton film, then you're in for a shock/treat. This is the Joker in his purest form, the way Dennis O'Neil, Alan Moore and Frank Miller envisioned him. This is the Joker who murdered Commissioner Gordon's wife and left his daughter a paraplegic in the comic books. This is the Joker who killed the Jason Todd iteration of Robin. He is psychotic and never for a moment do you think he is anything less than real. He's a nightmare made material. The Joker is chaos in the flesh, a counterpoint to Batman's rigid authoritarianism. Yeah, I read a lot of Batman comics. And either Ledger did too or Nolan really drilled this role into him. It's every bit as iconic as Nicholson's; actually it's more so because you don't really "see" Ledger, only The Joker.

The film clocks in at 152 minutes. It never feels indulgent, but it does leave you worn at the end. Nolan takes his time in telling the story and I applaud him for it. In too many films in the genre, the dramatic scenes feel like placeholders for the action sequences. Don't get me wrong, the action sequences in The Dark Knight are nothing less than spectacular (which is saying something considering how many comic book inspired action films have flooded the market as of late). What makes them work even better though is that they work in service of the story and not vice versa. The most impressive aspect of the movie to me was the tension that Nolan creates in the film. There are scenes that literally had me on the edge of my seat. There is a pervasive sense of dread that permeates the entire movie. The film certainly lives up to its moniker. This is the movie that all subsequent comic book films will be measured against.

I don't know where the franchise goes from here. As long as it remains in Nolan's hands, I'm willing to follow.

Yes, He's the Best Rapper in the Current Hip-Hop Era...

2008-07-01T21:26:00.000-07:00

...but it's sort of like being one of the last emperors of ancient Rome. Generational bias to be sure, but I don't think anyone would argue that hip-hop will see a more fertile creative period than the late eighties to mid-nineties in its future.

Over a decade ago, back in my MTV-watching days, I remember seeing videos for a crew calling itself The Hot Boys. The group consisted of members Juvenile, B.G., Young Turk and Lil' Wayne. I laughed at what seemed like a bunch of backwater ostensible rap artists sporting the de rigueur thug aesthetic--wife beaters, shiny watches and baggy jeans. They had supplanted Master P's god-awful No Limit as the new face of the South. I figured they couldn't be much worse than "The Ice Cream Man" and his ilk. So on the strength of Juvenile's quirky hit song "Ha", I purchased his solo LP, "400 Degrees." I gave it a few spins. Then I proceeded to buy every release these guys put out.

Southern rap acts (with the exception of groups like Outkast) are often derided for the simplicity of their lyrics and song composition. I tend to attribute that to the fact that Southern hip-hop is sort of still in its adolescence. For years, the only notable things coming out of the South were the Geto Boys and Too Short (Luke and 2 Live Crew were always more affiliated with the booty bass scene, hip-hop's cheeky cousin). Now the South is coming into its own with the likes of artists like T.I. and Ludacris who can drop one-liners with the best of them. None of the Hot Boys would ever be mistaken for a cajun Rakim, but the group does have a notable musical legacy. This is thanks in large part to one man: Mannie Fresh, producer for the bulk of Cash Money's output in its nascent years. Fresh is one of the most under-appreciated producers in hip-hop history. Largely eschewing easily recognizable samples, Mannie Fresh crafted some of the most kinetic and idiosyncratic beats this side of Timbaland. Fresh gets frenetic with the primordial elements of rap: snares, high-hats and the thump of the 808 percolate at 120 bpm. You can hear his signature sound in the hit songs that defined and established the label: B.G.'s "Cash Money Is A Army", Juvenile's "Ha" and "Back that Azz Up", and Lil Wayne's "The Block is Hot" (BTW, the video for Juvenile's "Ha" is almost like a cultural artifact with its portraits of life in the wards of New Orleans in the late nineties; worth seeking out on YouTube). Granted many of the songs were lyrically execrable (especially those on any Big Tymers--a group comprised of Baby and Mannie Fresh--record), but the beats never disappointed.

So jump ahead ten years and Lil Wayne is the last Hot Boy standing (all the others having left the label, Cash Money Records, due to alleged financial improprieties by the co-founder of Cash Money Records, Bryan "Baby" Williams--infamous for his platinum dental work). I'd been aware of a growing groundswell of support championing 'Weezy Wee' (as he sometimes refers to himself) as the next greatest thing in hip-hop. Apparently he appeared on every third rap and r&b record released over the last few years. Prolific? Undoubtedly. Great? I was skeptical to say the least until I listened to a freestyle he did called "Dough is What I Got" on which he rapped over Jay-Z's first official un-retirement track, the oddly tepid "Show Me What You Got." The old guard (Jay-Z, Nas, Wu-Tang, etc.) had recently been lamenting in the press the perceived slow death of hip-hop in the last few years (ironically, the same death knell sounded in the late nineties during that generation's ascendancy). "Dough is What I Got" served as a rebuttal of sorts with Weezy launching a salvo directly at Jigga himself ("When it comes down to this recording/I must be Lebron James if he's Jordan"). After he threw down the gauntlet, the pressure for Lil Wayne to deliver a record on par with previous crown-claiming albums such as Paid in Full, Illmatic, Life After Death and Vol. 2 Hard Knock Life increased exponentially.

Is the Carter III the greatest thing since yogurt with fruit on the bottom? Well, not exactly. It's still serves as pretty solid testimony to his dominance over the current field of contestants.

What makes Lil Wayne so appealing? He's a singular personality in a genre full of clones, wannabes and interchangeable voices. It comes down to his charisma and inventiveness, his willingness to attempt things that might fail (e.g. his fondness for riff-heavy guitar-backed tracks). You get the sense that when he steps in the studio, he just follows whatever impulse enters his mind. This is simultaneously his greatest strength and weakness. Take a song like "A Milli"--simple driving beat, repetitive sampled hook; he takes it and runs roughshod over the track with an at times haphazard flow, creating something that feels both ephemeral and classic in the same breath. Then he'll follow that up with a fairly derivative track like "Got Money" that wears its pop aspirations on its sleeve (but again, he miraculously saves even that effort with a few playful lines, specifically his riff on Rhianna's ubiquitous "Umbrella" song). He carries the album the way Will Smith is able to carry a movie with a mediocre script (*cough*I Am Legend*cough*).

The Carter III suffers from the same maladies as many contemporary rap albums: too much filler, too many guest stars, inconsistent production. Still it manages to overcome these faults on enough occasions to make it a worthwhile purchase (or if you prefer ala carte, I'd recommend between 8-10 of the albums 18 tracks). I don't know how long the reign of Wayne will be, but I'm not mad about it.

On a side note: I'm not sure what to make of Wayne's Zapp-like obsession with voice modulation. I swear at least a third of the tracks on his new album use Auto Tune.

Tracks worth a listen, or two:

A Milli

Dr. Carter - concept song about him literally saving hip-hop

Phone Home -Wayne expands on his "I'm a Martian" conceit

Tie My Hands - moving piece about the aftermath of Katrina

Mrs. Officer - gives a new meaning to a classic NWA song

Lollipop - infectious melody, showcases Wayne's eccentricity perfectly

Lollipop Remix - ft. Kanye who's much less annoying on other people's albums

Movie Recommendation of the Year (So Far, Or At Least Until July 18th)

2008-06-30T20:12:00.001-07:00

I'm pretty much in awe of Pixar at this point. Forget the commercial success of their films. In the last decade plus, they've turned out a level of quality cinema that rivals the output of any studio you could mention. They're so far beyond their competitors that it's no longer a competition. I'm speaking not only in terms of story quality but somehow technology as well. Wall-E is the best looking computer-animated film I've ever seen.

A lot of critics have talked about the brilliance of the film's opening act, but this makes it seem as if the movie falls off in the latter parts. It doesn't. Not one iota. Andrew Stanton, the film's writer/director, doesn't sacrifice the poignancy of the early scenes with the ending's unbridled optimism. It felt like a natural conclusion to me. Stanton knows how to craft a tale. He showed that with Finding Nemo and cements it with Wall-E.

Everyone at Pixar knows the key to a great story and that's character development. Every film they make is character driven. Compare this to Dreamworks' most successful franchise: Shrek. The initial Shrek was a character driven story and by far the best of the series. After Shrek, the series devolved into a loose collection of pop culture references and sight gags held together by an extremely thin story. There was no growth of the core characters from one movie to the next. The creators way of expanding the story was to literally add more stock characters. And the result has been an unmemorable (and depressingly high-grossing) series of disposable celluloid candy.

Wall-E is equal parts love story and environmental cautionary tale. Stanton never lets either aspect overpower the other and that keeps the film from being too sentimental or pedantic. The social satire is fairly barbed for a kids' movie, but I loved it for being somewhat daring in that respect. It accomplishes what I think Mike Judge was trying to do with his little-seen film, Idiocracy, a film that had similar ideas and roughly the same message, but went about delivering it in a much more blunt (and subsequently less funny) manner.

Wall-E is the best film released theatrically so far this year. It's also one of the best things Pixar has ever done. I still give Ratatouille the slight edge in that respect. I'm admittedly biased towards Brad Bird, but considering the difficulty of turning a movie that deals with the intricacies of running a restaurant's kitchen into something entertaining to an audience, let alone a predominately child audience, I have to give his project a slightly higher props. Still, Andrew Stanton and his team have crafted a work worthy of Disney or Miyazaki. I can't pay a higher compliment.

P.S.: Sure we could argue about the irony of a movie with a strong environmental/anti-consumerism message being distributed by a company that has reaped tens of billions off of Happy Meal tie-ins and will undoubtedly reap more from sundry promotional knickknacks related to this film, but that'd be no fun.

Finals Post-Mortem

2008-06-18T04:08:00.000-07:00

The '07-'08 Lakers are the worst team to make the Finals since, well, the '06-'07 Cavaliers. The only difference is that it took the Finals to expose the Lakers while everybody knew last year that Cleveland was a joke from the outset.

Pau Gasol makes Dirk Nowitzki look like Charles Oakley.

Lamar Odom spent four of six games doing a Carmen Sandiego impression. For chrissakes man, you're the third option! You've got no pressure. Take a deep breath and just play next time.

The Lakers' defining image of this year's Finals should be Sasha Vujacic petulantly swatting away the hand of someone trying to pat him on the back as the Celts were unraveling the Lakers thread by thread in game 4.

The '07-'08 Celtics are the first (and I don't mean this in a bad way) mercenary team to make the "Big Three" formula work. Remember the '96-'97 Rockets? '03-'04 Lakers?

Boston's Big Three wouldn't seem to have enough collective ego to fill a Gatorade bottle. How can you hate these guys? How can you even mildly dislike them? And this is coming from a lifelong Pistons fan.

Rajon Rondo shook off his rep and made himself a legit NBA starting point. Yeah, he still makes indefensible decisions, but once he develops a consistent shot to go along with his speed and harassing defense, he'll be a force. Remember a few years ago, people were talking about trading Tony Parker. Takes a few years for most players to fully develop as NBA PGs.

In a perfect world, the first two rounds of the playoffs would be best-of-five and there would never be more than a two-day layoff between games (and that would only be to travel between coasts). Since that won't happen, I'll settle for the games starting at 8:00 EST. I guarantee the only people who saw the end of game 6 were Bostonians and sports writers. Stern, you're killing the league chasing a few extra advertising dollars. C'mon, I'll even take 8:30!

In DC comics, they had this thing called Crisis on Infinite Earths years and years ago. One of the outcomes was a re-written history of Superman. The pre-Crisis Superman could do stuff like balance the Earth on his pinky finger while drinking a fifth of vodka. Post-Crisis Superman, while still the strongest character in the DC universe was considerably less 'super.' (He was able to be killed after all.) In my geek-oriented mind, this is the perfect analogy for Jordan and Kobe. Jordan did things (the flu-game for example) that nobody should be able to do. You never doubted for a second after the '91 Finals that a Jordan-led team would go anything less than the distance. He could have won 10 titles if he so chose. Despite his inexplicable performance in this year's Finals, I still think Kobe is the best player in the NBA. Nonetheless, he'll be spending the next couple of years trying to rehabilitate his on-court image. Who'd have thought that considering the NBA's spin masters' Herculean attempt to transform The Mamba into the NBA's greatest teammate and family man? There is a contemporary athlete who compares favorably to Jordan; he just happens to play golf and not roundball.

Seriously, I'm expecting Kobe to hold another press conference. Teary-eyed, he'd explain his execrable Finals performance while a stone-faced, steely-eyed Jack Nicholson icily sat next to him.

Also in my dreamworld, Barkley and Bill Walton would do the color-commentary for the Finals. Throw Magic in there just for extra comedic effect.

You Can't Get There from Here

2008-05-31T05:11:00.000-07:00

So, it ends the way I think most Pistons fans expected it would end. Not the series per se, but the "If It Ain't Rough, It Ain't Right"-era. I can't even say I'm all that sad. For the last four years, life as a Pistons fan has been full of nothing but frustration.

The Pistons have the best overall level of talent of any team in the league excepting only the Spurs perhaps. Yet each of the past four seasons, we've watched them fall to teams that quite simply wanted it more. Last year it was the Cavs, the year before that the Spurs and prior to that the Heat. Two of those three lost series are completely inexcusable.

I grew up watching the Pistons in the 'Bad Boys'-era and that kind of set the standard for what I expect from a Pistons team. I expect a team that come playoff time leaves everything out there on the court, every game--every single game. When the Pistons lost to the Celtics in '88, it was heartbreaking not only for the team, but the fans. You saw the pain on those guys faces. You saw how badly they wanted it. And as a fan, it made you want it too. The next year when Isaiah finally led us past the Celtics, we lost another heartbreaker to the 'Showtime' Lakers. These were my formative experiences with not only the Pistons, but pro-basketball itself. I rooted for a team back then that played as if the fate of the free world depended on boxing out properly or getting back on defense. I cheered a group of guys that even if they didn't win, you absolutely knew without a doubt that they'd played as if each game were the last 48 minutes of basketball that would ever matter.

Suffice it to say, today's Pistons haven't lived up to that legacy. I don't blame Joe Dumars who has been an exemplary GM over his eight-year tenure (note: Darko was a respectable gamble and even if we'd gotten Carmelo, I don't think the Pistons would have been appreciably better due to his attitude and off-court issues; Bosh would have been nice though...). I don't blame Flip Saunders either. There's nothing wrong with the Pistons' 'X'-es and 'O'-es. He's just not the type of coach who can impose his will and temperament on a team. I do wonder if Larry Brown would have had more success had he not felt that wanderlust well up in his heart. Maybe he could have stopped the team from believing too much of its own press.

The blame for the latest collapse falls squarely on the players' shoulders. Let's start with 'Sheed. I really felt he should have been traded after his inexcusable meltdown last season in the Cavs series. I don't care what he gives you on the court; he's a liability. He probably should have gotten his seventh technical last night and the mandatory one-game suspension that goes along with it (obviously a moot point now). I can't fathom how the significance of his foul situation doesn't alter how he carries himself on the court. That shows a total disregard for the team, the coach and the fans. And that's been his M.O. for a while now. I don't care if his game is all-world. It does a team no good if you can't rely on him when it really matters. Last night's offensive woes I can forgive, but antagonizing the refs? Inexcusable. The Pistons lost last night and Rasheed was a big part of that. Billups shouldn't be guarding KG, because our most talented big man can't keep his head in the game.

Rip, McDyess, Stuckey and Maxiell all get passes in my book. Rip slumps from time-to-time, but that's the life of a pure shooter. He runs his man ragged with endless screen-and-rolls and curls and loops; I get dizzy just watching the guy. I've never seen any of the other guys dog-it on a nightly basis. I was so impressed with the play of Stuckey and Maxiell. These guys have the composure of 10-year vets. Two solid pieces for the next iteration of the team I think we can safely assume. McDyess is like a figure from Greek-tragedy. Once an all-star forward whose game has changed to accommodate his diminished athleticism, he found the perfect role on a team with enough talent to get him to the promised land. Except nobody around him seems to want it half as much as he does.

That leaves Billups and Prince. Prince's problem isn't attitude so much as consistency and decision-making. He's always tenacious on defense, but he seems to slump too often offensively when he has the option of adjusting his game. I don't need him to be 'Melo, but you should be able to pencil '15' into his box score every night. He's typically a defensive mismatch for whoever the opposing team puts on him-- too quick for most forwards and too long for most guards. He's got time though. Chauncey I reserve my biggest criticism for. Unlike Wallace, Chaunce is mentally stable. He's a top-five point guard not just in the East, but in the league period. If the team seems to take games off, it's because the floor general lets it. You've got one of the best technically proficient SGs in the league, two Fs that can create their own shots against practically anybody and a bench that most of the league envies. How do you let your team come out so flat in game 3 against Boston? Too often these Pistons seem to look at their wins as 'cushions'--or reasons not to worry too much. Too often I've watched the team go on autopilot. 'Zeke never let that happen, especially not in the playoffs. Is it fair to compare Chaunce to arguably the greatest undersized-point in history? Not entirely, but despite what he lacks in the skills department, Chauncey has no excuse for the gulf between the two when it comes to having heart.

It's almost as if the worst thing that ever happened to the Pistons was the '04 championship. It must break the old team's heart to watch. Here these guys are squandering the prime years of their basketball careers for whatever reason. The Bad Boys spent those same years battling the Celtics and Lakers to the bitter and bloody end seemingly every game. Their end came at the hands of His Airness and the ascendancy of the greatest team in the modern era. That Pistons fans could all live with. Watching Rasheed Wallace sulk, curse out the cameraman before throwing a towel over the lens while the Pistons blow a 10-point lead and another prime championship run opportunity, well that's just too rough for me.

Hitting the Links

2008-05-14T15:41:00.000-07:00

Overseas on vacation in Dubai, but still can't help sticking a finger in the soup:

Nothing unreasonable or inflammatory here, right? Right?

Obama on Israel

Guess not, but then again these people are professionals:

The Right on Obama on Israel

I can respect that:

McCain Divests

Not so sure I can respect that, Mr. NYT Bigshot (that clip is scary):

Down boy!

Cultural Artifact C-198P - Category: Decline of American Empire

2008-04-21T21:40:00.000-07:00

Blackhole sun, won't you come.

Oh Snap! You Got Served, B-Rock!

2008-04-12T16:00:00.000-07:00

This is becoming so tiresome.

Does Obama really have to defend himself for articulating the obvious? People in the Rustbelt are bitter because they’ve been economically disenfranchised for nearly three decades now. This is somehow slanderous and/or elitist? What? Oh, that’s right: HRC completed her law degree via a correspondence course and spent her nascent legal career doing pro-bono work for unwed mothers working in sweatshops. Nope, wait: she graduated from Yale and worked for a white shoe law firm. Yet somehow she understands the working-class better than fellow Ivy-leaguer Obama? You can almost hear the machinery in her head clicking as she cranks out this disingenuous drivel.

I feel like Roddy Rowdy Piper once he gets the sunglasses in “They Live"; can’t anybody else see through this $#!t? Didn’t the Dems lose the White House and Congress precisely for the reasons Obama stated? Didn’t these “optimistic” working-class people turn to Bush whose basic platform was: “Hey, I’m a decent guy, just like you! And I don’t cheat on my wife, because I love Jesus!” Are you really going to tell me Americans aren’t angry about the ramifications of globalization? Really? And Obama’s out of touch?

All respect I ever had for the Clintons has completely evaporated. The needle’s going into the red in that respect; I’m actually starting to loathe both of them. Man, I cannot wait until August.

Spin it Back: Appreciating the Golden (Not-Really-That) Oldies

2008-04-03T17:36:00.000-07:00

I've purchased maybe one full-fledged hip-hop album in the past five years I think, the thoroughly satisfying debut album, "Below the Heavens" from a duo named Blu and Exile. I guess I should count the last two Kanye albums, but those are just empty calories--the music equivalent of summer tent-pole movies. I don't know if I ever thought hip-hop would necessarily grow with me, but it pains me to find how much it's regressed and remained stagnant for the last I don't know decade and a half?

I'm not about to go off on a "$#!t was way tighter in my day!"-rant, but for the record it was. There's no subjectivity applicable here. It just was. Anyways, I recently picked up "Blowout Comb" the second and sadly last LP of new material from the Digable Planets. I owned the album when it first came out in '94 and gave it a few spins before burying it in my burgeoning record collection in favor of exploring the strange sounds of the newly emerged Wu-Tang Clan.

Unfortunately, the disc was also a casualty of a car break-in many years later (why take somebody's music of all things? Stereo, fine. Whatever you can find! But stealing music is like stealing memories--some things are just irreplaceable.) Now nearly fifteen years later through the magic of iTunes, I've been reunited with Butterfly, Doodlebug and Ladybug Mecca. I have to say, the album's aged really well. The heavily jazz-oriented production along with the trio's mellow deliveries meld into one fluid groove over the album's thirteen tracks. In retrospect this may have been one of the last great records of hip-hop's Golden Age (1987, period beginning with Eric B. and Rakim's "Paid in Full"-1995, period ending with Raekwon's "Only Built 4 Cuban Linx"). The hip-hop landscape was so diverse in that period. And the quality was uniform coast-to-coast. Random groups would just drop solid albums out of nowhere (Heltah Skeltah, Boogiemonsters, Goodie Mob, Lords of the Underground, Das EFX, Black Moon, Pharcyde...).

Uh, oh. Let me stop. I'm headed down Nostalgia Ave. Alright, so today's music isn't so bad. Timbaland gets crazy praise for his inventiveness and seemingly inexhaustible supply of infectious compositions. As much as I'm loathe to admit, Lil Wayne could very well be the best rapper around--and that's not meant to be a backhanded compliment. I'll admit that much. Now get off my lawn.

Lyrics from Digable Planet's "La Femme Fetal" off their first LP Reachin'...
it was 8:49 on a beautiful 9th day of july
there was not a cloud to speak of so the orange sun hung
lonely in the sky
i was laying prone in my cabby home
listening to fine nappy jackie and his jazzcat's horn
sliding in a tape of bird on verve when suddenly rang my phone
hello butterfly , a voice said
slip on some duds comb out your fro and slide on down to my pad
the vibe here is very pleasant and i truly request your presence
a problem of great magnitude has arose
and as we speak it grows
damn, what could it be i thought
a juice i bought and rolled on down to her spot
seeing bros i know slapping fives i arrived and pressed G-5
and there was nikki
lookin some kind of sad with tears fallin from her eyes
she sat me down
and dug my frown and began to run it down
"you remember my boyfriend sid that fly kid who i love
well our love was often a verb and spontaneity has brought a third
but do to our youth and economic state we wish to terminate
about this we don't feel great , but baby that's how it is
but the feds have dissed me
they ignore and dismiss
and the pro-lifers harass me outside the clinic
and call me a murderer, now that's hate
so needless to say we're in a mental state of debate"
hey beautiful bird i said digging her somber mood
the fascists are some heavy dudes
they don't really give a damn about life
they just don't want a woman to
control her body or have the right to choose
but baby that ain't nothin'
they just want a male finger on the button
because if you say war they will send them to die by the score
aborting mission should be your volition
but if souter and thomas have their way
you'll be standing in line unable to get welfare while they'll be out
hunting and fishing
it has always been around it will always have a niche
but they'll make it a privilege not a right
accessible only to the rich
hey, pro-lifers should dig themselves
cause life doesn't stop after birth
and to a child born to the unprepared
it might even just get worse
the situation would surely change if they were to find themselves in it
supporters of the h-bomb and fire-bombing clinics
what type of shit is that? orwellian in fact
if roe v wade was overturned would not the desire remain intact
leaving young girls to risk their healths
and doctors to botch and watch as they kill themselves
now i hate to sound macabre
but hey, isn't it my job
to lay it on the masses and get them off their asses
to fight against these fascists
so whatever you decide make that move with pride
sid will be there
and so will i
an insect til i die
rhythms and sounds
spinning around
confrontations
across the nation
your block
my block
dreadlocks
what a shock
land of the free - but not me
not me
not me
not me
not me
not me
not me
not me
not me
not me

Needless to say, you should pick them up if you don't own either album. Later!

At Least the Baltimore City Tourism Board is Happy

2008-03-17T21:40:00.000-07:00

I recently “marathon-ed” my way through the fifth and final season of David Simon’s “The Wire.” I watched episodes 3-10 (8.5 hours) in about a thirteen-hour period, stopping only for bathroom breaks. I am now barred from watching any televised media for at least 6-months. My brain has reached its supersaturation point. No mas.

David Simon and HBO (even if they short-changed him a few episodes in the final season) deserve a standing ovation for producing a series that examined arguably the greatest tragedy of late twentieth century America: the decline of the inner city. Throughout its run, despite tackling unwieldy issues such the drug war, municipal politics and public education, the show never came across as pedantic or exploitative. The writers created a painstakingly detailed and realistic portrait of a decaying metropolis. The show was often thought-provoking and never less than entertaining. It must be noted too that this show was perhaps the most important dramatic series for African-Americans since Roots. How many prime time dramas with a predominately African-American cast have there been? There are no less than two dozen black characters worthy of discussion from the show’s five season run. I can’t think of any series that has ever come close--not even Good Times.

The fourth season of The Wire eclipsed anything I have ever seen in American television and I don’t think it was necessary for the last season to try and top that. That’s not really what The Wire was about. Season 5 was about bringing everything full circle, completing the various cycles we’ve seen over these seven years. Simon and his crew have examined all the major facets of a city’s infrastructure from inside and out. Some might feel the show ends up being too steeped in cynicism, but it seems Simon only wants to spur reflection on how/why this has been allowed to happen. In our apathy and detachment, we're all just as culpable as the drug dealers and corrupt pols. Maybe that's too harsh. I'm not so sure though. The Baltimore he depicts could just as easily be Detroit or East New York or South Central or any number of places that get routinely neglected. So what's to be done? I guess stick it out like Mr. Prezbo.

So what about Season 5? Well, all I'll say is that in the end the finale feels quite satisfying. In fact, the last four episodes all contain some of the most memorable highlights of the entire series as the fates of some long-standing favorites play out. It is odd that the newspaper subplot feels so unsatisfying considering David Simon was a newspaper man for fifteen years. Maybe the material was just too close to his heart. Reading around, it seems he had quite the ax to grind with his former employers. Simon's defense of the Baltimore Sun storyline makes perfect sense from an academic perspective. I get what he's saying. It's almost impossible to disagree with him. The problem is that it's just not dramatically compelling. This is unfortunate, but it doesn't detract from the overall impact of the series. Heck, I watched it for five consecutive hours at one point, so it couldn't have been that bad.

Looking back, it's amazing HBO ever put this show on the air in the first place. So encourage them to take more chances with this kind of material. I hope this series finds the success it deserves on the home video market. I've done my part. You do yours.

My man Bobby Drake raves about this place...

2008-03-02T22:05:00.000-08:00

Call me crazy, but I really want to make a trek to the Ice Hotel in Kiruna, Sweden. It's located 200km north of the Arctic Circle. Each year they build it with ice that is "harvested" from the Torne river. Also the proprietors invite a diverse group of artists to come and design the interior of the hotel (completely from ice, natch). What a unique experience it must be. Who cares if the average temperature is 20 degrees Celsius (which is warm compared to the below freezing exterior temps)? Considering the extraordinary lengths the creators of this place have to go through each season, the cost per night for the suites and regular rooms are surprisingly reasonable ($900/$600 respectively). I figure it'd be worth dropping a few grand to fly to Sweden, stay a night in the Ice Hotel and a few days in the adjacent normal hotel.

Check'em out on the web: The Ice Hotel.

"I win for me! FOR ME!"

2008-03-01T11:33:00.001-08:00

Man, I feel bad for big Yao. Seems like every year he gets better and then catastrophe strikes. This is his third season-ending injury in as many years. He's averaged over 20ppg and over 10 boards for the last three years and seems to only be getting better. He's inarguably the best player over 7'2" to ever play the game (Need we even compare him to the likes of Shawn "Lurch" Bradley [7'6"], Manute Bol [7'7"] or Gheorghe Muresan [7'7"]?). Only Ralph Sampson showed comparable skill, but injuries cut his career short. With three leg/foot injuries in such a short time and his massive frame, you have to wonder if he's not headed down the same path.

Yao has the potential to be up there with Olajuwon and Shaq as modern great centers, if he can stay healthy. This is what's so frustrating about his commitment to play for China in the Beijing games. He should be up on the shelf resting until the pre-season rolls around. No question about that. Yet as soon as it was announced that he'd developed a stress fracture in his foot, the Chinese were on the phone like, "But you're still playing, right? Right?" It's insane. Wouldn't China benefit more if Yao has a successful decade long career in the NBA than if he plays this summer especially when their chances of grabbing gold are just slightly better than North Korea's? Maybe this is a part of the current Five-year Plan. What maroons.

Yao, for the sake of your career and China's basketball future, you need to defect. We'll get the CIA to get your parents out. Don't sweat it.

The Great American (Televised) Novel

2008-02-16T11:03:00.000-08:00

So I've finished the first four seasons of The Wire and I'll probably be cozying up to anybody with HBO On-Demand so that I can watch the final season. I've never watched a show where I was more invested in the characters and the ebb and flow of their lives. Producer/writer David Simon has shot to the very top of my "people I'd like to have a three-hour lunch with"-list.

Season Four was such an accurate portrayal of the issues facing our public education system from the classroom all the way up to the city council chambers. The story-line never struck a false chord or overplayed its hand. How the creators of this show managed to juggle three major plot threads plus innumerable subplots boggles the mind when you actually begin mapping the various plot progressions in your head. Not one uninteresting narrative thread among the bunch.

Through four seasons The Wire has mined nearly every aspect of the modern urban metropolis. What began as a show about the seemingly intractable drug trade in our inner-cities, has grown to encompass politics, education, our transitioning economy and (currently) the media. The show doesn't sermonize: it merely lays out the issues and gives views from a few different perspectives. And it's not just that the show subverts your expectations of what the characters do, what choices they make, etc.; there is genuine depth to even the minor characters. The show never makes things easy. I love it.

This isn't just great television; it's thought-provoking television. I've refrained from talking about specifics until I've finished watching the whole thing. All I can do now is suggest anyone who hasn't do himself a favor and check out The Wire.

"I missed, I missed the bus/And that is something that I'll never, ever, ever do again..."-Mac Daddy (or possibly Daddy Mac)

2008-02-02T11:47:00.000-08:00

I hate good television. People always complain about how much crap there is on TV. Too many reality shows. Too much celebrity faux-journalism. Too many pundits. Just too much junk in general. Well that's true. I stopped regularly watching television probably seven years ago. I haven't followed any currently running show during its original broadcast since maybe the first season of Survivor. Don't get me wrong. I've seen plenty: four-and-a-half seasons of 24, a couple of seasons of The Sopranos, Battlestar Galactica, all but the last season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Curb Your Enthusiasm. This is by no means an exhaustive list. And that's the problem: despite the torrents of offal that clog the airwaves and cable lines, there are still a ton of good, even great shows out there. I didn't stop watching because there was nothing good on. It was just the opposite.

Relapse. I just watched twenty-five hours of The Wire in less than a week. And a few minutes after I post this, I'll be headed to Virgin Megastore to cop the next twenty-five. I can barely look at myself while I shave in the mirror. Damn you, David Simon. Damn you and your crew for being as brilliant as the f@#ing sun.

The show deserves every accolade thrown its way. Over the years, I'd read about how the producers of the show were left in limbo at the end of season after season wondering if HBO would re-up. Watching the show, you can understand why it never took off the way The Sopranos did, but it doesn't stop you from shaking your head and thinking how criminal it is that this show isn't as popular as say your average episode of CSI: Topeka. (Note: I can't watch Law and Order, CSI or any of their infinite spawn. I just don't get enjoyment out of watching procedurals on a regular basis. It's like the way my grandmother used to watch Murder, She Wrote. Every episode is the exact same, only the players change.) Two seasons in and the show has one of the most diverse and rich ensembles of individuals you could ever hope to find on one screen. Creator David Simon likened the show to a novel. He's dead on. That's exactly what it's like. It's unreal how deftly the show's writers negotiate the various plot threads running through each season. It never relies on cheap melodrama or explosive violence to keep the audience invested. Most impressive is how The Wire creates this morally complex universe where the motivations on both sides are never as straightforward as they initially seem. The further into the series you get, the deeper into the characters it takes you.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go make a quick run. See you in twenty-five hours or so.

Rent it, buy it, download it. Whatever it takes. Just watch the darn show.

Yeah, I'm about five years late, but what else is new?

"It kind of looks like Godzilla without fur."

2008-01-23T19:01:00.000-08:00

That beautiful quote comes from a co-worker of mine describing the Cloverfield monster a couple of days before I got to see the movie. Having seen it now, I guess that is as apt a description as any. I remember seeing the trailer for Cloverfield during a screening of Transformers this past summer. I turned to my friend Matt and said, "That is one of the best trailers I've ever seen." It showed you just enough to make a genre-whore salivate. Flash-forward six months and I'm hearing that the movie doesn't live up to the hype. I felt a bit disappointed since very few things are capable of living up to the onerous hype these deft modern marketing campaigns generate. "Oh well," I thought, "I'll still see it anyways." Lucky for me that I did.

Cloverfield delivers the goods as advertised.

It's not Godzilla-meets-Blair Witch. First of all, Blair Witch works completely as a total mind-f@!k. Your imagination generates every scare in that picture. I still think it stands as one of the most innovative pieces of horror I've ever seen. While Cloverfield (for the most part) keeps reveal-shots fleeting, it still shows you something. Still, the film doesn't really linger on the monster for any significant amount of time until the end. The camerawork takes a minute to acclimate to, but it does manage to amp up the tension. You feel like what you're watching could actually be happening. And anyone familiar with Manhattan will love all the little touches of authenticity (it's a blast trying to figure out exactly what neighborhood the protagonists are in during any given scene). I wanted to personally congratulate the filmmakers for making the movie on a budget of only $25 million. I can't wait to check out the DVD and find out how they did it.

The film is a brisk hour and change. I couldn't complain about the length, because it told its story efficiently and I was entertained every step of the way. The characters while not memorable are certainly believable and the actors never detract from what's happening on screen. The whole production just feels well executed. Even though you only produced it, this effort almost makes up for Mission Impossible 3, Mr. Abrams. Almost.

Apparently producer J.J. Abrams (Lost and Alias) got the idea to do this movie after a trip to Japan. He wondered why we didn't have an iconic mutant monster of our own in the States (King Kong is too cute for his tastes). So he dreamt up Cloverfield. Whether or not the unnamed beast in the flick will ever attain such status will be up to audiences. Either way, the film is a welcome addition to the club.