Movie Bites

More six-word reviews, with stars (from 0 to 8).

Hello, Dolly: Barbara Streisand: all craft, no art.  (* * *)

Raise the Red Lantern: Confined, the mind devolves.  (******)

Slumdog Millionaire:  The structure wins out.   (*****)

The Cincinnati Kid: Steve McQueen cannot act. (* * *)

Hellboy II: So much paint.  So little color. (* *)

Small Change: Truffaut is smarter than Godard.  (* * * *)

All The Pretty Wombats

I've been reading All The Pretty Horses.  About it, I would say that if you like the following passage--if you find it beautiful and true--you should read the book.  

He rode through La Vega without dismounting, the horse blowing and rolling its eyes at all it saw.  When a truck started up in the street and began to come toward them the animal moaned in despair and tried to turn and he sawed it down almost onto its haunches and patted it and talked constantly to it until the vehicle was past and then they went on again.  Once outside the town he left the road altogether and set off across the immense and ancient lakebed of the bolson.  He crossed a dry gypsum playa where the salt crust stove under the horse's hooves like trodden isinglass and he rode up through white gypsum hills grown with stunted datil and through a pale bajanda crowded with flowers of gypsum like a cavefloor uncovered to the light.  In the shimmering distance trees and jacales stood along the slender bights of greenland pale and serried and half fugitive in the clear morning air.  The horse had a good natural gait and as he rode he talked to it and told it things about that world that were true in his experience and he told it things he thought could be true to see how they would sound if they were said.  He told the horse why he liked it and why he'd chosen it to be his horse and he said that he would allow no harm to come to it. 

I will say, as well, that I had to look up six words in this paragraph (two of which appear in no Spanish or English dictionary I own) and also that if I stopped to look up every word that I didn't know, reading this book, I would probably still be on page 50.  

"I Wasn't Expecting That"

This video clip, of a Welsh phone-salesman singing Puccini's "Nessun Dorma", is one of the more moving things I've seen.  Apparently, he's been an international sensation for more than a year now, so you may already have seen it.  If not, it's absolutely worth your time.  (Watching Simon Cowell's smirk melt away into incredulity is the least of its pleasures.)  I don't know how you can watch it without tearing up. 

Slagging on Sasha

Another inane review from The New Yorker's worst critic, Sasha-Frere Jones.  This one's of No Line On The Horizon, the newest effort (sort of) from U2.  Among the many idiocies contained therein:

"The band has done relatively few cover versions, a tacit acknowledgment that its gift is peculiar and limited...."

"Bono’s voice can sound strained fairly quickly and isn’t in the same league of instruments as that of Michael Stipe or Robert Plant...."

"In a U.K. poll conducted several years ago, the band’s slower, spiritual song “One,” which is so basic it sounds almost like a traditional ballad, was voted the greatest song ever recorded. It isn’t, but it’s a model of simplicity and unfussy positivity...."

"“No Line” works precisely because it doesn’t try too hard to add to the band’s pile of epic moments. This album is a long dinner with old friends, all of whom love each other, most of whom are born talkers, and some of whom hold the floor for too long. Not every anecdote holds up, and some of the food belongs, untouched, on the edge of your plate. But it would be small-minded to leave before the whole warm, rambling night is over."


Where to start? Has the band done few covers because of its "limited" gift or because they happen to be able to write pretty damn good songs by themselves?  (I don't recall the Rolling Stones doing too many covers, or even the Beatles once they'd broken through).  Is "One" (which, for my money, is absolutely their greatest song) a model of "unfussy positivity?" I guess since it's not "fussy," exactly, it could accurately be described as "unfussy"--but in no universe is that the first, or even the fiftieth, most apposite adjective.  As far as its putative "positivity"....maybe we're listening to different songs, Sasha.  The "One" I know is about despair and desolation--about what it's like to want more anything in the world just to give up.  No, the speaker does not give up; hope does endure (mostly).  But the song is not 'positive', and it's certainly not positive when considered within the general context of their music.

What about Bono's voice?  SFS thinks it's worse than Stipe's.  Uhm, really?  I'm not trying to hate on Stipe, who can sing (although a lot of his lyrics are spoken more than sung).  But even if we're talking about the Bono of 2009, I'd say he's still got the better set of pipes.  Go back to, say, 1990, and I'd say he could hold his own against Plant as well.  They have radically different styles, of course, but as anyone who's tried to do a karaoke of "With or Without You" or "Where The Streets Have No Name" can attest, the Bono-man can wail.  (And, as anyone who's heard ME do those songs will also attest, I cannot.)

Finally, there's his assessment of No Line on the Horizon.  It "works" because it doesn't "try too hard" to add to the "pile" of "epic moments." (Note the slight but quintessential New Yorker scorn: neither "pile" nor "epic", as they're used here, are terms of praise.) Well then, Sash, why does it work?  Here we go--because it's 'warm' and 'rambling?'  Really?  Are those qualities we want, or expect, from U2? Is it qualities they deliver? (One out of two's not bad.) The best reason he can give us to listen is to suggest that those who don't are "small-minded." So...you want to convince people to appreciate something by insulting those who don't? Count me persuaded!

Why do they publish this guy?  Somebody?  Anyone?  Off the top of my head, I can think of five friends of mine who could write better pieces.  And let me assure you all: my friends are not that bright.

What The Hell Was That?

So last night we watched The Dark Knight.   Two hours and thirty minutes of torture, sadism, and gratuitous violence, intercut with half-baked, incoherent gibberish about anarchism and man's fallen nature.   

This was a hit, right?  This was the "best Batman ever?"

I kept thinking: why am I watching this?  I don't care what happens to ANY of the characters--whether they live or die; whether Batman violates his one, unbreakable rule; whether they all get turned into giant penguins and hunted down by deranged psychotic polar bears.  It was all the worst aspects of a cartoon combined with all the worst aspects of a live-action 'naturalistic' movie.  Just enough stylization to render the characters two-dimensional, but not enough to distance the viewer from all the violence.   Fight scenes that were simultaneously wonderless and absurd.   It was ridiculous.  More than that, it was insulting.  Humorless, portentous, sophomoric dribble.  I would have walked out if I'd been in a theater.

Also, maybe I have a much lower tolerance for on-screen violence than other people, but did anyone else find it was too much?  Could you imagine taking kids to see that movie?  I felt like I was watching Reservoir Dogs at certain points.  Only, you know, without any writerly or directorial talent shoring it up. 

I don't know.  I guess I'm a grumpy old man.  In the immortal words of Krusty the Klown: "I could have pulled a better film than that out of my...Hey Kids!" 

But maybe I've missed it.  Have I?  Someone who liked this film--and it seems like everyone did--explained to me what I'm missing.  Did it just catch me at a bad moment?   Was Heath Ledger really THAT amazing?  Would anyone ever watch this twice?  If so, why?

It's My Birthday Too, Yeah

Today was a big day for a certain small dog: today Elliot "Bink(ers)" Lake officially turned one year old. It’s been quite a year.  Not only was I radically unprepared to be a dog owner, I was actively unwilling.  Only one person in the world could have overcome my host of reservations.  Luckily—I think—she happens to be my wife.

Bink celebrated his birthday by gnawing--and in some places actually consuming--the border and understitching of our expensive new carpet.  He’s sitting on a chair in the photo above because he’s been given a "Time Out."   He doesn’t look very chastened, does he?  Regret, I think, is not a common emotion for small dogs.  If it were, he might consume a higher percentage of actual food, and a smaller amount of rubber, cardboard, styrofoam, and sundry other organic substances too unpleasant to mention.  He’s a mischevious, rascally, and incredibly joyous little creature.   I can’t believe I ever got along without him.

One of the reasons we chose a Maltese over other dogs was because of their longevity. Apparently, many can live to be fifteen or sixteen years old.  In other words, I’ve got many years of Bink-dom in store for me.   I doubt they’ll be enough.

Added to the Blogroll

Not content to manage and run two internet blogs, my friend John has now begun a third.  Called Second Pass, it's dedicated to shepherdry.  And drag racing.  There may also be some books on there somewhere, I don't know.  Read it.  One day soon the world wide web will be called the world wide John.

Seen and Known

At ASWOBA recently, John linked to a music critic who reviewed songs using no more than six words. (To help clarify he also awarded stars.) I love the idea and intend to use it for movie reviews from now on. Here are thoughts on some of my recent viewings. In the interest of change, my rating system will run from one (worst) to seven (best).

Burn After Reading: Does not add up. (* * *)

Crossroads featuring Def Leppard and Taylor Swift: No one is Def Leppard. Even them.  (****)

Winter Light: The church is bare.  (****)

Pretty Young Things: Fizz only hurts the head.  (* *)

Ninotchka: Communist delight? No.  (* *)

2046: Time is longing. Both are infinite. (****)

A Shift in Emphasis

I have given up online poker. I will have less money but I will gain in time, time and mental clarity. Now I will read. Read and read and read and read. For the last year or two I have not been reading, not enough, not with intensity. Now I will. In the queue: Hunger (K Hamsun); The Way Through Doors (Jesse Ball); Diaires, Vol I (Gide); The Dead Fish Museum (Charles D’Ambrosio); Collected Poems (Alan Dugan); Anglo-Saxon Attitudes (Angus Wilson). Also, screenplays—all and sundry.

Sunday Morning

Elliot scurries from window to window, warily monitoring our backyard.  A squirrel kneels beneath our peach tree, resting.  Elliot is not amused.

"Don't you people realize what is happening out there!?  There are squirrels!  Running rampant!  Something has to be done!"

I nod, chewing on a muffin.  My wife has woken up early to bake them from scratch.  I have woken up more recently.

Outside the squirrel and a playmate streak across the lawn, flaunting their freedom.  Elliot frowns.  It is the frown of an old man, in a block of council flats, watching a group of youths smoke cigarettes on his frontsteps.  "The barbarians draw nigh!" he seems to say.  "Why won't you act?"

In an hour or so, the neighbor's cat will show itself in our driveway, and Elliot, once more brought face to face with his great, inveterate nemesis, will whinny and howl and probably even bark.  The price of comfort is eternal vigilance.  He, at least, understands this.  I am coming to.

"Lovecraftian School Board Member Wants Madness Added To Curriculum"

My friend L sent me this link to a piece from The Onion.  I encourage all of you to read it.  It contains this excellent paragraph:

"Fools!" said West, his clenched fist striking the lectern before him. "We must prepare today's youth for a world whose terrors are etched upon ancient clay tablets recounting the fever-dreams of the other gods—not fill their heads with such trivia as math and English. Our graduates need to know about those who lie beneath the earth, waiting until the stars align so they can return to their rightful place as our masters and wage war against the Elder Things and the shoggoths!"