Mr. Coo Coo

I saw Mr. Kaufman's film yesterday, Synecdoche, New York, and while he is not a filmmaker-he is a writer with a good eye-Charlie gives a body something to chew on.
The main character, one Caden Cotard, is played very, very well by Phillip Seymour Hoffman. This character is ill, he is well, he struggles, and of course is confounded with everything that goes his way. Sounds dull, doesn't it? Charlie Kaufman is one of the very few Americans working in the Reality milieu; it is sloppy, occasionally unhappy work. However, for those of us who can relate, these sorts of films are little dreams. It's nice to see that someone other than yourself can be very strange.

I Hate November

I hate November. Everything seems so off to me, and that's just not right. I cannot read an entire book, I refuse to feed or clean my house and family, I am not amused with red leaves. Late fall in Oklahoma is also dry, windy, and surprisingly bleak. I'm just going to have to be silly for a little bit, if only to alleviate my fucking ennui.
1. Laughing Babies. Give me the baby!
Baby coveting aside, this little dude is totally going to grow to be the guy at the party who laughs at all of your jokes. I love that guy.
2. Mozart's Concerto #22. The happiest song I've ever heard.
3. Summer Nights. What did you do this summer, Sandy? Shoo Ba Ba Bop!
4. The Dali Lama. This speech is called the Nobel Lecture.

The realisation that we are all basically the same human beings, who seek happiness and try to avoid suffering, is very helpful in developing a sense of brotherhood and sisterhood; a warm feeling of love and compassion for others. This, in turn, is essential if we are to survive in this ever shrinking world we live in. For if we each selfishly pursue only what we believe to be in our own interest, without caring about the needs of others, we not only may end up harming others but also ourselves. This fact has become very clear during the course of this century. We know that to wage a nuclear war today, for example, would be a form of suicide; or that by polluting the air or the oceans, in order to achieve some short-term benefit, we are destroying the very basis for our survival. As interdependents, therefore, we have no other choice than to develop what I call a sense of universal responsibility.

Today, we are truly a global family.

5 The I Has Series. This picture tickles my funny bone. Don't judge!

Oh God No

They are making a sequel to Boondock Saints. Boondock Saints, or BS, is a terrible movie. It's pure shit. Somehow people have fallen in love with it, and for the life of me I can't tell why. OK, William Defoe is really funny, but he wasn't supposed to be. The Saints themselves are not marching in, they're stupid and violent. But for God's sake do not get into a conversation with anyone at anytime about this film because they will take you down. They will riddle you with quotes and poses as though it's source is the BIBLE. And now there is a new one. Below, my favorite scene from BS, a scene in which I almost choked on my Dr. Pepper out of pure astonishment. Fire fight! Fire fight! Fire fight!


Around 1:15 William, after conducting his imaginary bullet-ridden maelstorm, randomly shoots his own gun in the air. This is a great idea. I'm pretending to conduct unicorns and rainbows in concerto with Hello Kitty; where's my 9mm?

On a completely different note-do not wear media outlet garments in public. This attracts the crazies in a startling way. Of course, it is hard to deny the power of their yarn beanies and complete lack of sense. Mike, you are too nice. I loved the "type of sand" line.

This might possibly make up for the Scooby-Doo masturbation scene

Dare I hope? It's been some long and hard years since a little bell heralded the presence of Mr. Kevin Smith (1994, Clerks-fun movie). I won't even watch half of the shit-and I do mean poop, merde, caca, fecal matter, excrement, etc.-that he has made since. But there is a porno comedy film coming your way, and it looks mildly less retarded than, say, everything but Clerks. Here's the special R rated trailer:

Seth Rogan is the anti-sex symbol yet there is something about him. What? Why? I don't know who Blondie is, but look! The Traci Lords! There is the cute boy Drew Barrymore used to date-also the Mac Man-and Darrel from the Office. And Jay without Silent Bob. Remarkable. Of course, it is only a trailer, and a sweet Motown song is involved. My opinions after viewing may vary. But Kevin, I shall see your incidental sex romp film. You have my 8.50.

Like I Love You

It's gotta be a tough gig to be an actor...no, seriously it must. First they've gotta play pretend all the time and they've always gotta get it right, but they don't always have (nor should they) the say in who they get to play with. Whenever chemistry is there on screen it's like peeking into a window an actually seeing some people do some stuff. Like, Real People Really Doing Things Together. They can be performing mundane or trivial pursuits; they can be sad or scary or naughty or completely inspiring and an adoring audience (moi) will love them forever. Not so much if they can't muster up even the tiniest spark. Nothing...and you're professionals? The following is a list of couples who just can't seem to get it up.

1. Pam and Jim, The Office. If you didn't know, these two are supposed to be you and me if we worked at The Office. We're goofy, and honest, and forthright and so in....not love. Pam and Jim have more report with the camera than they do together. They look like a couple of High School theater kids who totally do not hang out together after school. A let down because office romances are hot.
2. Jack and Wendy Torrance, The Shining. I suppose that one would have to have a little distance from their spouse, maybe even a total disregard for that person's well being if one were going to willingly sign up for a tour of duty in the scariest haunted hotel in the world. That would make sense. Because these two, when they are together, can't even convincingly feign interest. It's like watching one of those Animal Planet shows where they try to the the boy panda to bang the girl panda. They're not feeling it, I can tell. Give me the bat!
3. McCain and Palin or hell, Obama and Biden for that matter. Maybe they are not actors, but that doesn't excuse them from trying. Ain't none of these a Clinton and Gore.

Fall in New England

As the summer comes to an end and the clouds roll in and the leaves fall down, it's time once again to bid adieu to warmth and light and bug spray and bonjour to the cold and dark and woolen. Let's look at some film's from the beautiful country of Northeast America in preparation of the long winter ahead. Maybe have some brownies, too. Why not?

10. Groundhog Day.
Bill Murray is the funniest, most redemptive jerk on the planet. A personal favorite.
9. Baby Boom
Watch the scene where she tells James Spader that this is her office and then answers the phone for him. It is the bravest "It's for you!" ever.
8. Misery
This the crock pot of urban myth. Slow and soupy and horrifying.
7. The Legend of Sleepy Hallow
Johnny Depp as the skirmish dweeb detetive in colonial upstate New York. Oh, and a headless horseman. Vive le Burton!
6. The Iron Giant
Goddamn sad kids movie.
5. Good Will Hunting
Cute! Informative!
4. Halloween
Spoooooooooooookieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
3. The Scarlet Letter
Turgid. Sentamental. Gary Oldman Flava Saver a la 1666.
2. Dumb and Dumber
"Just when I thought you couldn't get any dumber, you go and do something like this... and totally redeem yourself!"
1. The Witches of Eastwick
The unholy trificta of late 80's glamour with Jack Nickolson and black magic. Pure New England smaltz.

Yea! Opera!!

Oh, boy. This looks good.


It's the all singing, trashy lingerie wearing Crow. It's either gonna be absolutely great or absolute shit. Yea!

Beautiful. Unethical. Yawn.

In an alternate universe Bruce Wayne might have had a chance for a normal, happy life. His childhood is gilded by his parents adoration and bottomless pockets. As a man, Bruce wakes up, he eats his truffle omelet in the limo on the way to open a couple of non-profits, he makes love to Giselle Buchon, and goes to sleep. Rinse and repeat for 80 years, and then he's off to the big penthouse in the sky. Unfortunately, in this world, little Brucy is a billionare manic despressive unhinged by his parents murder. Pair that with a inclination for vigilantism and you've got a moody, self-absorbed, dime-store philosopher with a penchant for rubbery roundhouse kicks: Batman. What exactly am I to love about this superhero again? What exactly separates him from criminals? Oh, yeah. His Christ complex. His money.

This movie is so long, so conceited, so violent, and ultimately really boring. Apparently Batman has issues with Batman, Gotham is sinking into corruption, and a psycho clown with dry mouth is making a strong case for the Chaos Theory. A smart-alec slouchy twit called Rachel Dawes has captured Batman and Harvey Dent into one of the least believable love triangles: no chemistry whatsoever. Rachel? Button up your shirt, dear. You are not Vicky Vale.

More people blown to bits, or bashed, or thrown through glass, or shot than I can count. A gun is held to a kid's head by a man with half of his head burned off. I am supposed to be comfortable with the film's zero moral responsibility, zero ethical responsibility regarding human life but why? If you believe the filmmakers, The Dark Knight is about the randomness of violence and the courage of a man to stand up to evil and fight for all of us. Call me crazy, but I think you can point out all of the flaws of humanity without perpetuating them yourself. How about not even writing or filming this sort of degrading, sleazy nonsense at all?

Conversely, I did like the aesthetics of it all. Very Dakar Noir meets Bauhaus. Good lighting, nice sounds. And I liked Alfred. Such a wise and giving servant. I wish I had one.

I hereby go on record and state that I do not like the new Batman movies. I believe that they are superficial, dull, and engage the viewer in base and primitive stories. They take themselves far too seriously. For my Batman dollar, I'd rather watch this any day.

The Tide is High

Saturday, the 24th, was a day full of surprises.
In the morning, my mother and I hosted a garage sale in my front yard, something that I don't do. I'm not against garage sales, but I do feel as though I'm poking through a strangers' underwear drawer at their behest. My husband loves garages sales, and so does my mom so on that stormy and cool morning my cast off undies, so to speak, were on proud display in my front yard. Tulsans are quite vociferous in their appetite for these sales; I've never seen a town so in love with them. It's as though an ebb of used baby toys, paperbacks, lamps, prom dresses, marbles and other once loved items slides back and forth across the town, and the same objects are sold again and again. These sales also transports the buyer and the seller to the ancient marketplaces. There are no ticket prices. Each item is assessed on the spot according to the appearance of the potential buyer and the game begins. Thank god this is a novelty form of purchase; most people are better at it than me.

That afternoon, after we loaded what we didn't sell into the pickup and deposited it at Goodwill, my mom and I drew ourselves long across the couches and watched a tornado on TV. As the elder son was with his father, and the younger was taking his nap, we were free to watch whatever we pleased, and after surfing for a moment we came to a rest on CNN of all things. They were broadcasting live a tornado that was sweeping across Oklahoma less than one hundred miles away from me. I wasn't concerned that the storm was going to reach us. The storm was too black and swollen to cover the distance between us. What it did instead was put on quite a show for half an hour. Up and down went funnels of all shapes and sizes, touching down prairie mostly save one pig farm. There were no fatalities, human or hog.

In the evening my mother took the boys out for a night on the town, and my husband and I took our garage sale monies and did the same. Our diner was a dismal failure, a textbook case of bad management, Cisco goods, and bad seating. We were buoyed by the fact that, if our food arrived in time, we were going to see the new Indiana Jones movie and related our memories of the series over an empty table. In record speed we ate and drank and paid for all of it, had a quick smoke, and made it in time for the film. I don't think I'm spoiling anything for anyone by stating that the film is a disappointment from beginning to end. I am still reeling from the mediocrity of it. My question: if a bridge is supposed to carry you from one side to the other, and the other side looks, acts, and seems predestined to bore, why cross it at all?

At the end of the episode we were completely sober. Leaving the theater we went directly to our dive and commenced to rectify the problem. While doing so, a flock of girls flew in, one after another, in their 80's inspired mall finery. After much noise and booze out they flew again, and so did we. It was the end to a strangely electric day. Maybe it was atmospheric, or maybe it was the act of doing something completely out of character, but I feel as though I've taken a small step forward somehow. And that is exceptional.

Did Ozzy See This Coming?

Iron Man in a no holds barred Dick Flick. Lets get the particulars out of the way first: lots of explosions? Check. Lots of expensive cars/airplanes/motorcycles/implausible crime fighting suits? Check. Lots of time spent in the machine shop? Check. Caviler attitude outside/vulnerable and lonely inside? Check. Lots of girls/no women? Check. Hero wins at the end of the day? You bet!

Iron Man is actually Tony Stark, a genius weapons designer, billionaire, and apparent ladies man. He's a smart ass fast talking winner until his "fun-Vee" is struck by enemy fire in Afghanistan and he is taken prisoner by a generic Taliban sort of militants. Guess what? They want him to build a weapon for them, but Tony has a little change of heart in captivity thanks to his fellow captive, a generic Middle Eastern professor sort. Instead of building a bomb, he makes his Iron Man suit and he escapes. Once home again, Tony renounces the weapons trade and sets about perfecting his suit in order to really put the whoop ass on those bad guys. But wait, the real head of the evil sect is none other than his own comrade in business, Evil Dude (or Evil Duderino, if you're not into brevity). More betrayals, explosions, and of course Tony wins the war and the girl at the end. Fade to heavy metal song that might have the same title as the film.

I like Robert Downey, Jr. a lot and he does a great job in his role. He's believable, likable, and he can pull of the jack ass with a heart of gold like no one else. Jeff Bridges plays the bad guy well enough, but I (or he) might never get past Lebowski. Gweneth is the dead weight as the trusty assistant who harbours the not so secret crush on her employer. My question is, why didn't they get someone more likable? Didn't she win an Oscar at some point? Bad, bad acting.
All in all, I might watch this again on USA when it pops up there in 1-2 years. The cinematography was good, the edits well paced, the sound was not too over the top. It has Charlie Chaplin in fight mode! Retro glamour! Excellent Saturday afternoon fare.

10 Movies That Made Me Cry, But Shouldn't Have

I'm an easy crier. Sometimes it's good to cry (like funerals, or diamond commercials) and other times it's just stupid. Here is a list of the top ten movies that made me cry, and I'm really, really embarrassed by it.
1. Love, Actually. Point of tears: the entire last fifteen minutes of the film.
I loved Four Weddings and a Funeral. I had a little Hugh Grant crush at the time. I looked up Georges Sand in my Encyclopedia Britannica after Impromptu just to see if those crazy kids made it (they didn't). Love, Actually doesn't have enough Hugh in it. What it does have is Liam Nielson reenacting the Titanic "Jack! I'm Flying!" scene with his son. I wept loudly from sheer frustration, choking on the words "I don't like this movie!!!". I might have thrown up a little too. A cry of hysteria.
2. Coyote Ugly. Point of tears: When the girls dance on the bar for the first time.
I was 26 when I caught this on cable. I thought to myself, "God, I am glad that's not me. Look at those shallow, deluded girls. Caught up in the misogyny machine and they're too stupid to know it...although it does look fun. I could do that....but I can't dance. Also, I'm too old. I'm OLD!!!!! TOO OLD FOR BAR DANCING IF I COULD DANCE!!!!" I then had a good, long cry as Tyra Banks danced to Pour Some Sugar on Me.
3. The Last Temptation of Christ. Point of tears: when Jesus and the Apostles enter Jerusalem. As an ex-Christian, I am familiar with the story of Jesus, beginning to end. As an ex-Baptist, I was to find salvation in the Blood of the Lamb. Needless to say, that arrangement didn't really pan out for me, but I hold a great deal of respect for Jesus's work. Anyway, watching this joyous entrance to the city where he meets his fate, with a soundtrack provided by Peter Gabriel, creates in me that rarefied happy/sad cry.
4. The New World. Point of tears: the opening sequence. I love, love, love Terrence Malick. He is my favorite Texan. His movies aren't for everyone, though. He can say too little, his edits are not quickly made, his characters are not extraordinary. But his imagery is poetic, and this film, his rendition of the Captain Smith/Pocahontas love affair, encompasses so much more than just two lovebirds. A beautiful film, and a wonder-filled cry.
5. Far and Away. Point of tears: Tom Cruise's death. Now, I'm not one for achey-breaky hearts. I'd rather roll my eyes and blow smoke into their corny faces. But this one came around at the right time and had all of the right elements: Opie directed it, Oklahoma is the prize, and OMG it's true love. She brings him back to life! What can I say? Everyone has a favorite flavor of candy. A cry of relief.
6. Superman Returns. Point of tears: the opening sequence. What is it with me and titles? A cry of welcome.
7. Star Wars: Episode III-Revenge of the Sith. Point of tears: Anakin/ Obi-Wan's battle.
I've seen every Star Wars film in the theaters save the first. My point? I have a vested relationship with this franchise, and dammit I was glad to see the end. A cry of exhaustion.
8.Every Single Disney Movie Ever Made. Point of tears: any/all transitions. When Aerial looked up at her father as she turned into a human at the end of a Little Mermaid? When Abu was knocked unconscious when he and Aladdin were banished into the snow? When Jessie the Yodeling Cowgirl remembers the good times with her owner, set to a song sung by Sarah McLachlan? Yes. All yes. Cries of yesterdays, and tomorrow.
9. Brokeback Mountain. Point of tears: Ennis clutches Jacks old shirt. This movie got tied up into so many different knots. It's a monolith now. But when I saw it, before it became a standard, it was sort of a simple film. The last ten minutes are hard on a body. A cry of sorrow.
10. Apollo 13. Point of tears: when they blasted off. I have no idea why I began to cry when these astronauts were rocketed into space. Maybe it was because they all wanted so badly, and it's nice to see someones dreams come true. Of course, we know they're in for a bad ride, so maybe the gladness is tempered with foreboding? A cry of forbearance.

So that is that. There will be more inconsequential tears over silly moments, no doubt. But even I can't tell where or when at this point. Try not to point and laugh.

The City of Persians

When I run across a woman's testament of her time of trial, and it is done with heart, humor, and style, I love her very much. Marjane Satrapi is an artist and a writer; she weaves a beautiful yet troubling portrait of life in her native Iran. Persepolis is a lovely film and one of the few that grants us a glimpse into the lives of those who have lived in Iran. It begins, of course, when she is a child and as a little girl she is fascinated with martyrdom, blood, integrity. As she grows into a woman, she is less inclined towards state imposed ideals. Little Marjane just wants to rock. She is sent away from her family and her homeland into the world of the Germans where she discovers the life of the modern Westerner. Terror is behind her it seems. But wait, here is love, freedom, vulgarity! Marjane is completly open, like a wound, in these recounts. Soon she goes back to Iran to only find the same avenue open to her again. Leave, or die.
Satrapi's artwork is beautifully spare yet ornate. The pervasive intertwining of the atmospheric Western charcoal with the Persian geometrical patterns are fused in a way rarely seen. Persepolis is a winning film; a funny, human, gravely animated story that lingers like jasmine. Plus, she sings like me.

Columbine, Per se Notum

I was in college when the tragedy of Columbine happened, and I suppose I thought the distance between myself and HS safely cocooned me against living/dying in that kind of horror. I thought to myself as I watched the kids scramble out of windows (and I know this is selfish), "Thank God I'm not there." It didn't occur to me that one day I'd be working in a school, or that I would have children going to school, or indeed that school-my haven-could be my undoing. Filmmaker and auteur Gus van Sant was brave enough to make a film about Columbine. Watching Elephant is like watching the Titanic sink from the safety of the lifeboats.

Elephant won the Palme d' Or in 2003, and is typical of many van Sant films. They have to do with Americanisms, youth, and expectations; couple this with a broad spectrum of misfits and you get the idea that his style is a wee outre. In this film we're in a nameless, gargantuan HS filled with faceless students going to class, talking in the halls, eating in the cafeteria, etc. Now and again we meet and get to know a handful of kids; there is the Jock and His Girlfriend, the Nerd, the Furies, the Artists, and the Get-Along Kid who knows them all. The camera floats behind them in long, long takes as we listen in and watch them as though we are babysitters, or predators. Inconsequential sequences stall in slow motion, only to speed back up to normal. We watch them in a deja vu loop, their stories break continuity again and again as we follow another character only to see the kid we were just watching from the other point of view. Slowly all of the random lines stop appearing as chaos and become rote pattern. The outsiders to this calculation are our murderers; two gangly boys largely ignored save bullying. Of course, the Titanic sinks and what had become comfortingly familiar twists into terror with the first shot.

Gus van Sant is a brilliant but not infallible filmmaker. There is a cold detachment maintained at all times from true engagement with the characters; I didn't cry for them as they died. But I was shocked and appalled. I marveled at the boy's lack of mercy, and how quickly the mundane became monstrous. Thank God I wasn't there, I thought again.

Rom-Com-Drom's

Last Friday night I stayed up late (midnight!), and because my husband and children were asleep I had control of the TV. I was a little surprised by the offerings, but then again I was into the whiskey and the heady combination went to my head and I had an epiphany. Friday night is Girls' Night on cable. Jennifer Lopez, Sandra Bullock, the Squinty Eyed One who plays Bridget Jones, and their men (nice/assholish Texans, Brits, and other assorted types), also girly 80's movies like Footloose and Ferris Bueller! Girls in love! Girls locating identity! Girls!
In general I avoid the romantic-comedy-dramas-musicale that is the Chick Flick. I don't get, but then again I hated being a 14 year old girl. I hated mooning and pining under clouds of Aquanet. I did not practice french kissing on the doorknob. I did not participate in singalongs. But I am female, and then, as now, I find myself...sighing over love. Gross!
All of this introspection made me recount my own beloved girly shows. The movies where I liked the females, liked the males, and yes, I swooned. Did I want to marry (i.e. the country girls' admission of sexual desire) any of these dudes? No. Well, except one...or seven. Anyway, observe this clip from one of my favorite chick flicks:
Stupid Ashley! Ashley is stupid. Scarlett is wild. She is indomitable, except when it comes to her emotions, and then she's a mess. I never got the Ashley thing until my own Ashley, so to speak, and you can bet that I didn't throw away my Rhett over him. Lesson learned: a tree that does not bend breaks in the wind.
I also really like a good cry now and then. If you can watch this film without tearing up, you are without a soul. Sorry.

Lesson Learned: Broken hearts cannot be healed. I forget I'm watching a movie with this one. God, that scene is so sad. There should be disclaimers before this film; Warning! Some viewers will have their hearts is torn from their chests while crying until the point of collapse. Discretion is advised.
On the other hand, I enjoy a good romp in the hay. Much is banked on the chemistry of the lead characters; sometimes it is there but most of the time it's off or simply not present. To ensure a quality sex scene-they are making love, you know-the actors have to yearn for it. Like these two, for example.
Close your eyes...gagon. Gagon. Lesson learned: Spaghetti arms!
To be a girl means that deep down inside of you (some more than others) there is a love for conspicuous consumption. I really like the idea of spending a ton of money on myself. In the movies, there are one of two ways characters placed in this situation can go: bitchy or playful. Either way is good for me, so long as they buy outrageous things.
Good times. Lesson learned? Spending money is fun, but can be hazardous to your health.
Last but not least there is just good, old fashioned fun. It's good for the spirit to see something happy and free, even if it's make believe.
Lesson Learned: Sing loud, sing proud.

The Other Boleyn Girl

I like Anne Boleyn. I always like an ambitious girl, and after all this one died when she was only 27, so a girl she remains. I could care less if she was a bitch, or manipulative, or uncaring, or selfish. So what? One girl, one story. But, this particular girl led an interesting life, one whose actions are still felt hundreds of years later, and I would feel, were I the filmmakers, somewhat remiss in shrouding Anne in gossip and innuendo. Then again, I was only a member of the audience. And I got up and walked out! Laughing!

I experienced a fairly heady bodice-ripping phase in my literary adventures. Velvet and pearls thrown askance in passion is nice. This film is very velvet and pearls. Very candlelit love making to the sovereign on taffeta stuff. I know my way around this genre, and The Other Boleyn Girl came up lacking. I would venture that the filmmakers involved should at least focused on character development as they did costume development, but I am not in the business of selling films.

A word about the lead actresses. This is a silly film, one filled to the gills with stupid, ancient rumors. It preys upon the feminine weakness for beauty and righteousness, the same way some male films prey on violence and revenge. These are young women, Natalie and Scarlett, who can know their motives? The elder actors are making boat payments, some of the younger are trying to be seen (Jim Sturgess! Jude!) But I did get up and walk out laughing, and it was because of the incest thing. I know how Anne began, was crowned, and ended; all else is English/Spanish nonsense. Anne was not stupid, she did not throw it all away nor was she perverted. It was not a fluke that her daughter was one of the greatest monarchs that little island ever knew. So now, as then, money talks and Annie walks. May peace be on you Anne Boleyn, even if you would have stepped on my neck to be the Queen.

Juno

Yeah, I'm not feeling this one.
It is a great script, great actors, well directed, good sets, sounds (though not the soundtrack-what the hell are kids listening to these days?!). Jennifer Garner surprised me by the depth she was able to give her character. And I love Allison Janney in whatever she does. She could be performing a recitation of Word Origins: An Exploration and History of Words and Language and I would be spellbound. J.K. Simmons played Juno's dad very well. Jason Bateman-my crush from 1988 resurfaced when watching your performance! Yea!
But I don't like hipster doofuses and Juno is a hipster doofus. I have a hard time liking a movie when I don't like the main character and, um, I didn't like little Juno. She's too....or not enough....she's got a tobacco pipe. She's an obnoxious 16 year old knocked up girl who, fortunately, is surrounded by an idyllic support system. The whole thing is just too pat. There are far too many cute little quotes from Juno, but how could there not be when this is yet another teen movie written by a thirty year old. Oh how wise this child is! How brave! How funny! Well, yeah, "Diablo Cody" is twice as old as Juno. There is something disingenuous about this little movie, and I think that maybe it tries too hard to be cool.
I admit, I had a few tears. A few laughs. I'm glad that everyone in the film acted like human beings and not weirdo Hollywood humanoid concoctions. They just spoke to each other in a strange and affected manner, which really isn't that bad of a critique; they say that sort of stuff about Shakespeare.
Apparently there is some "Juno Backlash" out and about on the webs. I wish to distinguish myself in that I recommend this movie even if I won't see again myself. It's cute and well told. Like my neighbor said, it makes you believe in the goodness of life. It's just too hep for my blood, homeskillet.

No Country for the Coen Boys

The country is a funny place. I think a lot of times it scares most people to death; being alone out there surrounded by nothing. What if something happens to you? No one will hear, no one will help, likewise no one will be there to share in your good fortune. Just clouds and sky above, dirt and rocks below. If you're in Texas anyway. I tend to avoid films or books that dramatize the horror vacui people experience in the open country. But I had to see this one.
West Texas is a common metaphor for barren ugliness in Oklahoma. "Well," people will say, "At least it ain't west Texas.". To think that someone would go through the trouble of making a movie out there. And it's as impeccable, sparse and empty as it should be. The air gun? Brilliant. My father is a cattle rancher; I have no illusions as to the fate of his herd. Air guns are (so I've been told, repeatedly) a humane and painless method of destruction. To use this device on humans is diabolical and richly ironic. To be executed in such manner by someone so inscrutable, driven, and fearless as the character of Anton gave me a glimpse of what the cattle must think before they perish. No Country is an engrossing and strange story of Nature, one I will likely not see as often as O Brother or Raising Arizona or even Fargo, but I appreciate that the Coens scooped up a handful of west Texas for us to contemplate before the wind blew it all away.

The Oscars

For the first time in many years, I was able to watch the entirety of the Oscars last night. Some things that struck me:
The Wealth of Foreign Talent. Not a single American actor won any of the four acting categories.
The Disney Regime. Enchanted, Ratatouille and Miley all around.
The Exclusion of Brad. Apparently they didn't have time to include Renfro.
The Exclusion of Whoopi. No comment from the montage makers concerning this slight.*
On the stage, Once again. They cut her speech out and then she comes back on?
Ryan Seacrest. His outfit was silly.
Regis. Too much! Too, too much Reege!
The Bourne Movie. Lots of tech oscars went to this film. I think I'll watch it now.
The Two Dudes From Superbad. Wow, that was bad.
The OCD Coehn Brother. Lots of ear pulling, guy.
Diablo Cody's Day-to-Night Wear. At least it wasn't a red leopard print chemise.
Jack. Why?
The Clothing. Pretty is as pretty blah.
The Montages. Produced before or after the strike as a safety net?
John Travolta's Hair. Wow. Do you think it took two hours to do it?
All in all I had a fun time watching! I love how happy people look when they accept their award, as well as placing bets on obscure entries like Best Sound Editing or Best Costume. Apparently it was a ratings bomb (see above), but I will definitely try to tune in again next year.
*The Academy has apologized for their error.

The Namesake and the Good Body

I stumbled upon The Namesake after watching the trailer of the adaptation by Miss Mira Nair. I think it was before Once: a good movie incidentally. The winner of the Pulitzer Prize, this novel centers on a Bengali family as they adapt, in two generations, to American Life. Reading this novel I am reminded of John Updike; the Rabbit books or maybe S. Clear, erudite and objective, the book offers a glimpse into a world I've seen but never engaged in. The author sculpts her people carefully and slowly and I am curious to see how she concludes their stories. As for the film, I love Nair's palette. Vanity Fair was beautiful and thoughtful, and it gave poor Becky Sharp a little heart.
I found the Good Body completely by accident. The cover alone sold me, as I am a sucker for good humored references to the female form. It is a short book about the authors obsession with her body and other women who attempt to guide her to acceptance. Eve Ensler is best known for her Vagina Monologues and for sitting next to Jane Fonda when the actress said "cunt" on national television. I've never seen the Vagina Monologues. This little text is delightful in it's willingness to dish on our (female) bodies and how we (women) deal with it across the world. It's spirit is kind.

La Vie en Rose

Going into this movie, I was unfamiliar with the life of Edith Piaf. I knew that she was "the" female French singer, that she had a drug problem, but I had little else to go on. What a surprise this film was to me! I loved the nonlinear approach to the storyline, the rich use of colors and textures, but most of all I loved the woman who portrayed Edith. This actress, who is only a year older than myself, disappeared into Edith. There wasn't any Method nonsense, she did not rely on her own personality traits, nor did she flinch from the unattractive or pathetic aspects of the character. Instead this actress somehow allowed Edith's successes, failures, passions and demons her body and voice. It was an amazing performance.
But look! On the poster it says exactly what I just said. I should be a propagandist, huh?