Absolutely fascinating. “A Man For All Seasons” in reverse, you could say. We’ll never know how much is true (I’m sure Tony Blair does not do his own dishes) but as a work of probable fiction it is pretty damned perfect. Helen Mirren deserves every bit of praise she is getting for this role — it is an impossible task and somehow she’s pulled it off. The supporting cast (and the script) ain’t too shabby either. I mean — how do you build such tension around a film based on whether someone will or will not “make a showing of grief”???? Especially when you know the answer!! Also (and this is key): funny.
A very impressive and fun piece of quality entertainment. There was a moment or two when this film teetered on the edge of presenting something profound about identity or loyalty. But it never quite gets there. It’s no matter, cause — woah! that dude just got his head bashed in, and — yow! Jack Nicholson is doing something wacky! One couldn’t argue, either, that the film isn’t a good 20 or 30 minutes too long. But what to cut, really? All the performances are fantastic (I think Wahlberg steals a lot of his scenes) and, in essence, it’s just a cop movie, so why not just have fun? You won’t be bored, but you might periodically wonder “why do I care about this?” Of special note: all title sequences should have the Dropkick Murphys on the soundtrack. And just how tough do these clowns think they are with their dopey accent and calling their ‘hood “Southie?”
Kim and Rob are probably not having the best of honeymoons out there in Hawaii right now. Even though we haven’t heard from them, we’re assuming they are okay. Just annoyed.
Philip Roth’s early 90s “confession” about his conflicts with a deranged cancer patient named Philip Roth promoting a reverse-Zionist philosophy has more than enough whimsical meta-textuality to keep this reader happy. You don’t have to be familiar with Roth and his body of work to read this book but, as the crusty old Jews in this novel who schlep around the King David Hotel in Jerusalem or Barney Greengrass on the Upper West Side would say, it doesn’t hoit! Familiarity with Israeli history is more of a necessity. If names like Eichman, Demjanjuk, Sabra and Shatila, Netanyahu, Kahane, Sharon and others don’t mean much to you, you might find yourself scratching your head a bit. Some knowledge of the work of Edward Said wouldn’t hurt either. Like so many of Roth’s books, there are strange passages where Roth feels the need to sum up what he’s told you so far (why does he always do this?) but there are also the perfectly observed scenes of desperate human behavior. No one writes angry like Philip Roth – this time the anger is devoted in equal measure to “the Middle East conflict” and the ridiculousness of individuals who think their devoted involvement is the missing key to solving this conflict. Very entertaining.
Here’s what I’ve been listening to all week:
Daniel Lanois’ “Shine” is, frankly, never too far from constant rotation. It is, I’m willing to say, one of the all time greatest CDs in history.
Anyone who says they don’t like the White Stripes is lying.
Kathy McCarty is the one over the closing credits of “Before Sunrise.”
Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony is no joke.
Zappa’s 1988 concerts. Read more about this one.
This is what you find when you putz around on the internet.
It’s almost 5. I’m gonna be late.
1/2
A bit of a comedown right after Mirror, Mirror, this episode is fun, but kind’ve a disaster. Flowers that shoot darts for no reason, a race of sexless adults in idiotic wigs praying to a lizard-rock-computer that is draining the Enterprise of its power. . . slowly. . .and for no reason I could discern. Highlights, though, include Mr. Spock being extra-special Jew-y in his wisenheimer inability to give a straight answer. Also, Kirk is told that the people of this planet worship Vaal (rhymes with fall) and he immediately retorts “Take me to Vaal” (rhymes with Sal.) Wasn’t *anybody* working continuity on this show? Chekov has a girlfriend in this episode (Lt. Landon) who, if I may be so bold, gives Uhura and 7 of 9 a solid run for comeliest woman ever on Trek. She was played by a woman named Celeste Yarnall, now an author of books on cat care. You can read more about her and even contact her here
I don’t know too much about the intracasies Rye vs. Bourbon vs. Scotch vs. Irish vs. Canadian vs. anything else. . .but I know that the autumn chill and a glass of this stuff made for a very nice marriage last night at the Brooklyn command center of the Luny-verse. Okay, more than one glass. More on Michter’s history here.
Hi Everyone!
The blog is close to 3 years old. . .time for some new clothes.
There’ll be some new whistles and bells coming in the not-too-distant future.
But one of the best things about the new look is that you can leave comments live. All you have to do is register once — it is easy and free. Thank you Mr. Muck.
More news to come.
My goodness, that’s a lot of weeping. There’s no question why this is a favorite in the gay community — there are four, count ‘em, four (unhappy, dramatic) women each struggling with secrets about their desires and true selves. None more fascinating than the sexy black teenager who passes for white. Some of the lines are howlers (”Well, I’m going up and up and up – and nobody’s going to pull me down! “) but if you look past that you’ll find that this is a really compelling film. And it looks fabulous!! (Lana Turner’s blue-tinted cat sunglasses at Sandra Dee’s graduation!) I’ve still yet to see the original from the 30s (the one about pancakes!) but I gotta say I enjoyed this.
Oy, so much shouting. Frederic March’s entertaining cartoonish performance as a William Jennings Bryan-type aside, I have to part company with nearly everyone else on earth and say this movie kinda blows. Some of the dialogue is good for its time, I guess . . . but all I heard was a lot of screaming and yelling. And then the ending pussied-out with Spencer Tracy packing up a bible with his Darwin. And suddenly Gene Kelly, whose city-slick observer is meant to stand-in for the audience, is condemned for being cynical. Whatever. He’s the only likeable character in the movie. I never liked Spencer Tracy. Something about Spencer Tracy has always bugged me and always will. There aren’t that many intelligent movies that argue for agnosticism (I can only think of “Contact”) but I just can’t get behind this one too much.
Estela Bravo’s film is not a good documentary; it is basically a campaign piece (if Cuba had elections.) That said, it is entertaining and, at times, enlightening. Entertaining because, shit, Fidel Castro — you don’t come across a better subject than that. Enlightening because, yes, here in the USA there is so much anti-Castro propaganda that many stories have gone untold. I admit that I never really knew how much Cuba and Castro played a part in the post-colonial revolution in Angola and the abolition of apartheid in South Africa. The insanity of our continued blockade is exposed very eloquently by New York’s own Charles Rangel — one of the few vox pops worth listening to. No, the meat of this is just watching footage of Fidel be Fidel. If he were a character in fiction no one would ever buy it.
1/2
I am. . .Apollo! Bum-BUMMMM!! It’s one of the goofiest moments in Trek made even goofier with the borscht belt rebuttal from Mr. Chekov (”And I’m the Tsar of all the Russias!!”) As I’ve mentioned before, it is silly to criticize Trek for looking low budget. . .but this episode looks REALLY low budget. There they are on this tiny stage, facing down Apollo who, lucky for them, dissolves off screen from time to time so Kirk & co. can think up their next move. If you squint you can get a clear vision of the grips smoking cigarettes five feet from the risers on this dopey faux-Hellenic set. Story-wise, there’s a kernel of a cool idea here. Ancient Greece was actually aliens? But it gets all bogged down with Apollo’s high falutin’ talk, nothing is explained, we have another female crew member in love with the baddie (”Space Seed” anyone?) and somehow Mr. Spock on the bridge of an Enterprise clutched in a giant green space-hand with no communications manages to know that Kirk is being held by Apollo. First and only time evidence of Vulcan ESP — or is it just a show rushed into production with no time to ADR-out one word obviously left in from a previous cut?
Without fail, if we put on one of the 10-part BBC Life of Birds DVDs, Goober will wind up planted in front of the tube. It is the only, only, only time he’ll sit in front of the TV like this. Highly entertaining
This is the over-Goober’s-shoulder shot.
I don’t know how everyone at Avery Fisher Hall can just sit there and not bang their head. Lorin Maazel conducting Lynn Harrell through Shostakovich’s Cello Concerto #1 and the New York Philarmonic through Shostakovich’s Symphony #5?!?!? I mean, come on! This stuff is hard-freaking-core.
Spock is horny! And he will kill any man, woman or bowl of Plomeek Soup that gets in his way of predetermined mating (or as we call it, the Vulcan Genital Meld.) By far the most parodied and referenced episode of Trek (I recall, as a very young boy, Howard Stern explaining Robin Quivers’ sporadic dating habits with this episode as an example) and everyone can hum the fight scene music. (If you think you don’t know it, trust me, you do.) Not only does the fight scene music kick ass, the angry, sulking, confused adolescent Spock music with its low, twangy guitar is one of the greatest things ever recorded. And you can hear some of it right here. Doesn’t that make your blood turn to flame???
