Think, McFly, Think!

Ah, Crispin Glover. He's best known to all you plebians as George McFly from Robert Zemeckis' rightfully beloved teen-sci-fi-comedy classic Back to the Future. But Glover's actually had an extensive career, both in music and in filmdom. I particularly enjoyed him as the title character in 2003's woefully underseen Bartleby, but he's also quite good in the somewhat more popular films Willard and, of course, Charlie's Angels.

I even wrote Mr. Glover a letter last year. Not even an e-mail, mind you, but a personal letter. He never wrote me back.

I wrote him because of an interview I'd read with him in the Onion A/V Club. He lamented that America lacked a truly undergroud, counter-culture movement in film. He's interested in avant-garde filmmaking and surrealism and abstract visual art, you see, and feels that, while there's plenty of room for American filmmakers to explore a variety of themes and storytelling styles, there isn't really an audience or a group of filmmakers passionate about truly experimental filmmaking.

And I fully agree. In fact, at the time I read this interview, I had just completed my own Bunuel-inspired surreal script (titled "Evil Will Prevail"). I was upset myself that no one seemed interested in producing my script, even though all who read it agreed that it was interesting, well-written and strikingly different.

But the purpose of this post is not to toot my own horn or brag about my phenomenal writing skills. You people come to this blog often enough, I'm assuming, to know better than that. I'm simply informing you of some background on this topic before I get to the exciting news:

Glover has apparently finished work on his first feature film as a writer/director (not to mention producer/star). He's credited by his full name, by the way: Crispin Hellion Glover.

The film is entitled What Is It?, and just as he promised in that interview long ago, it seems to star people with Down Syndrome and make no discernable sense. I can't wait.

And I encourage you to view the trailer here. That is, if you don't mind seeing weird naked people climb out of holes set to atonal semi-music and shrieking. In fact, it kind of reminds me of Ileana Douglas' student film Mirror Father Mirror from Ghost World. And I mean that in the best way possible.

Cronos

I'm a big fan of Guillermo del Toro's American work. Well, most of it. Blade 2 and Hellboy are two of the strongest comic book movies we've yet seen from this current onslaught. Mimic proved pretty forgettable, after all.

I think it's that del Toro's not afraid of dealing with Big Themes in silly genre movies. Hellboy, in particular, doesn't shy away from a romantic sub-plot or a touching father-son story arc, even though it's about a giant red demon who fights Lovecraftian monsters for a secretive government agency.

And Cronos, the Mexican vampire film that introduced Del Toro on the international scene, focuses on the tender bond between an aging antiques dealer and his grandchild. When it's not following the moves of bloody clockwork scarabs granting eternal life.




See, that's a scarab attaching itself to someone's bald head. It will then insert that scorpion-like needle into the victim and add some sort of toxin or whatever to the blood, rendering that person essentially into a vampire. Once you've been stung, your body grows younger and stronger and more virile. But, you know, you kind of develop a thirst for human blood. Still a pretty good deal, no?

So, anyway, this antiques dealer, Jesus Gris (Federico Luppi) finds this scarab hidden inside an archangel statue someone has left in his store. We know, because of a brief prologue, that it's the handiwork of a 16th Century alchemist, and that its use carries with it a terrible curse.

Gris, a hardcore Catholic who wants no part of eternal life, is accidentally stabbed by the mechanized insect, and thus begins his transformation from kindly old man to ghoul. In one truly terrific sequence, a drop of blood left on a bathroom floor by a man with a nosebleed drives Gris insane with temptation.

And through this entire ordeal, young Aurora (Tamara Shanath), Gris' granddaughter and best friend, follows him along dutifully. She's privy to both the good and bad of Gris' condition, and never judges him or reacts in fear.

Oh, and also, there's an elderly insane millionaire (Claudio Brook) after the Cronos device for his own self-preservation. He's sent his goon newphew Angel (Ron Perlman) to steal it from Gris, leading to a violent confrontation, in which the old man dies. But now that he's been stung by the Cronos device, is he really dead?

More of the plot, I will abstain from mentioning. It gets horrifying but not terribly bloody, with Gris slowly deteriorating, and losing control of his violent, fiendish impulses. In the end, of course, he must make a choice between remaining on Earth forever as a blood-thirsty monster, or taking the noble way out and dying for the sake of his loved ones. I won't say which he chooses, but...duh...

Del Toro once again demonstrates his mastery in this film of mise-en-scene and lighting. The sets look great, and the specific objects, such as the archangel statue or the scarab itself, are crafted with remarkable attention to detail, giving the movie a lived-in, realistic quality most monster features lack.

Cronos was, at the time of its production, the most expensive Mexican film of all time, and while it wouldn't stand the scrutiny of a blockbuster American horror film, it has a very professional look and a tremendous amount of verve, style and best of all, humor. Though, as I stated above, Del Toro refuses to make his story ridiculous or his characters less than vitally believable, he infuses the film with a tremendous amount of personality. Ron Perlman, who would later star in Del Toro's terrific Hellboy (and who is best known to international cinema fans as the star of Jeunet's City of Lost Children), turns in a charming, witty turn as Angel de la Guardia, obsessed with his appearance even as his nose gets repeatedly broken.

But the centerpiece here is the love story between Jesus and Aurora. His love for her propels the salvation of his immortal soul, and her love for him allows her to care for her grandfather even after his disgusting metamorphosis. The tone is just right, aided in particular by subtle work from the young actress Shanath, who never goes into the sunkeneyed, coached demeanor of most young performers dealing with weighty material.

Cronos is a bit slower and more simplistic than Del Toro's The Devil's Backbone, also filmed in Mexico with a similar crew (and Federico Luppi in another terrific role). I prefer that later film's allegorical ghost story to this film's melodramatic vampire tale. But both movies share a dramatic sensibility that's both more engaging and more mature than standard horror fare, making Del Toro one of the most important names in the genre at this point.

Pen Island!

What's the best place on the Internet to find custom-made pens? Why, Pen Island, of course! But, they should have rethought their choice of URL...

http://www.penisland.net/

Oh, guys...Come on...

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After about two minutes of research, I have deduced that the site is a hoax. There's far too much obvious innuendo in the copy for it to be real. Well played, though, Internet pranksters!

He Likes Killing People Because It Is So Much Fun

Aint It Cool News reports that David Fincher will helm an upcoming film about the Zodiac killer. This is one of those meetings of director and material that's almost too perfect to work out well. With Seven, Fincher's already crafted one of the defining films of the entire serial killer genre. Why the urge to return to such similar material, particularly now that his popularity has increased, post-Fight Club.

Anyway, the film will be based on two separate books about the Zodiac by Robert Graysmith, the same guy who wrote the book Paul Schrader turned into Auto Focus, a ridiculously entertaining comedy about the depraved friendship between Bob Crane and John Carpenter (not that John Carpenter!) I hope that the Fincher film is much better than Auto Focus, but that retains some of that film's morbid, sarcastic sensibility.

Any news is good news as concerns a new Fincher film, I say. Let's hope this one actually gets made, unlike the last 10 or 12 projects he's started working on.

Little Mikey Powell, The Kid

Mike Powell, son of Fmr. Secretary of State and five-time Cable Ace Award winner Colin Powell, will retire as FCC Chairman. Thank God. And not just because of his horrific crusade against the free speech of Howard Stern and other radio and television personalities.

But because of all of his disastrous policies. The deregulation and favoritism extended to massive media conglomerates has significantly weakened the power of the American media. I have to look to the independent or European press to find out any real information about American foreign and domestic policy. It's a travesty that policies allow companies to maintain this level of a strangehold on the our national airwaves, and Powell and his cronies are largely responsible.

Here's Howard Stern's official statement from today's radio show, which I have copied over from his website:

"Michael Powell resigning is a great thing because he did not deserve the job in the first place. He was appointed because of his father. Michael Powell was no more qualified, perhaps less qualified, than the other members of the FCC and had no right to be there. It was strictly patronage and a pay off…And what does Michael Powell do when he gets to be head of the FCC? He squanders every opportunity! A billion dollars in tax payers money that was targeted for inner city schools and poor school systems so that computers could be place in the schools, squandered under Powell. To make matters worse Michael Powell then said let's put all the power into the hands of a couple of companies with radio and television. And lo and behold, all the politicians were against him. And in order to win favor with politicians, he went against his own statements about how the market place should determine what is said on the airwaves, that sponsors and listeners will determine what should be on the airwaves. He kowtowed and went ahead and started fining me unbelievable amounts of money….And that made him the hero of the religious right and the liberal left, who were all looking to win favor with the public by making it look like they were cleaning up the airwaves….Michael Powell's legacy: Appointment by his father, a billion dollars squandered of the tax payers money, ruining the first amendment, going back on his own words about how the market place should determine. Putting the radio stations in the hands of the few…and he forced radio stations, blackmailed radio stations into bowing to his will by telling them secretly, you are not going to any court! You are going to have your licenses held up! Shame on him! Shame on the FCC! Thank God he's gone, but God help us with what's next."

Extraordinarily Petty Theft

This is my second gossipy celebrity item in as many days. This blog definitely needs more culture. I should go see an opera or something.

But, actually, I'm bringing it up not to humiliate the celebrity in question, but to question whether or not this celebrity should even feel humiliated. (Everybody got that? Good.)

I'll be less vague. Paris Hilton is being "investigated" after an alleged incident in which she threw some change at a newsstand employee before taking a copy of her bootlegged porno tape One Night in Paris. What happened was, Ms. Hilton went to the West Hollywood newsstand to buy some magazines, saw that they were selling the pornographic video she made with Rick Solomon (which she claims to have never intended for public consumption) and got angry.

So, she threw about 80 cents at the guy behind the counter, grabbed a copy of the video and took off.

Most mature thing she could have done in this situation? Probably not. I mean, that guy working at the newsstand probably doesn't give a shit what porn they're selling one way or the other. I personally work at a video store that rents out One Night in Paris, and wouldn't appreciate an heiress/reality TV stars showing up at my place of business to lob quarters at me.

But does this extremely minor incident really deserve front page of Yahoo treatment? And look at the headline!

Hilton Investigated in Alleged Petty Theft

I mean, granted, the get the word "petty" in there, but it still makes it sound like she deviously stole something, and not that she had words with a magazine salesmen before making off with a porno video starring herself.

Also, do you think it upsets Nikki Hilton that her sister can now be referred to be simply the last name "Hilton," and everyone still knows who they mean? It used to be, not too long ago, a headline would have said "Hilton Sister Investigated"...or "Paris Hilton". But she's become such a juggernaut of fame that just the last name will now suffice. Poor Nikki's been left behind.

Stop Motion Zombies

That's about all that's required to get me excited about a movie. "What? There are stop-motion animated zombies chasing Johnny Depp? Yeah, okay, I'll see that 9 times minimum."

And that would be even without a kickass trailer like this one. The movie is Tim Burton's Corpse Bride, opening this coming Halloween everywhere, provided, you know, the world hasn't been blown up by then or something. Hey, we just kicked off Term #2, folks! What will happen? I don't know!

There are only a few movies that have me this hyped up this year. I'm considerably more excited about a follow-up to Nightmare Before Christmas than, say, oh, just for an example, Episode III.

Also, I should have included David Cronenberg's upcoming History of Violence in my Most Anticipated Films list, by the way. It's n adaptation of a graphic novel about a family man who commits a murder in self-defense, starring Viggo Mortensen and Ed Harris.

The Coachella Valley and the Carrot Festival Therein

Anyone recognize the quote? Yes, it's Bugs Bunny from the classic short Bully for Bugs. You know, the one where he burrows into the bullfighting ring, and becomes a matador briefly?

Usually in Bugs Bunny cartoons, he's tunneling to the beach (often Pismo, although sometimes Miami Beach) for a vacation. But on this occasion, he was attempting to go to the Coachella Valley Carrot Festival. Of course, he still neglected to make that left turn at Albaquerque.

I bring this choice piece of 50's animation up because I just received an e-mail from Ticketmaster urging me to buy Coachella Music and Art Festival tickets early this year. And every time I hear the phrase Coachella Festival, I think of that prescient Bugs Bunny cartoon from years ago.

I went to Coachella last year (the music one, not the carrots...I don't really like carrots). It was a blast, as you may have read about in my Best Concerts rundown. Bands included Radiohead, The Pixies, The Flaming Lips, Beck, Broken Social Scene and ...And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead.

But the line-up for this year's show hasn't even been announced yet. Do Ticketmaster and the organizers of Coachella really expect me to trust them enough to shell out $120 in advance for tickets to a mystery concert? I'm sure some people are snatching those babies up even as we speak, but I'll wait to hear who will actually be playing the concert, thank you very much.

I mean, if Coachella was amazing every year, I could sort of see just trusting them sight unseen. But some years are definitely bigger than others. I mean, I'd have been pretty peeved to pay all that money and go some year when the Red Hot Chili Peppers are headlining, you know? Unless they play that great "Under the Bridge" song...then it's okay.

Women Make the Darndest Allegations

By now, you may have heard about the allegations of sexual misconduct being brought against Bill Cosby by a Canadian woman. Like most people of my generation, I suspect, I hope this is not true. Not because I can't appreciate the comic possibilities inherent in a man associated with family-friendly entertainment being accused of placing a woman's hand on his genitals. But because I grew up watching and enjoying the comedy of Bill Cosby, particularly his concert film Bill Cosby: Himself, and I would hate to have to reconsider his legacy in light of charges of perversion.

But I also have a hard time believing that a woman would just randomly come forward and make this sort of accusation. You'd have to be a real simpleton to trump up a charge like this against a known celebrity as a money-making scheme. Sure, you might get a legal settlement out of it, but your life is pretty much over. Look at Kobe's accuser, or the family of the child accusing Michael Jackson of malfeasance.

Plus, the reaction from the Cosby camp has been odd. In addition to cancelling a "town hall meeting" and a trio of comedy performances, Bill's attorney offered this statement:

He would not discuss the specifics of the allegation — which he called "utterly preposterous" — but said it amounts to, at the most, "inappropriate touching."

No charges have been brought against Cosby. Phillips said the accuser, who lives in Canada, knows Cosby and the alleged incident in question happened about a year ago.

First of all, this guy is a high-powered lawyer. He should know better than to make a statement like that first sentence. I learned in high school debate that, to offer effective argumentation, you don't provide two separate, incongruous explanations. So, you would say, "These allegations are preposterous" or "These allegations refer to an incident that was, at worst, inappropriate touching." You would under no circumstances say "This incident didn't happen, but if it did, it would only have been a case of inappropriate touching." This is confusing, and kind of gives away your whole argument anyway. If it didn't happen, what does the exact nature of the fictional crime matter?

Also, if the alleged victim knows Cosby, this makes it even less likely that they are making up some wild story in an attempt to extort money from him. If it was blackmail, the whole idea would be to keep the story out of the papers in exchange for money, right? It wouldn't make much sense to go blabbing to the media before getting paid.

But, really, I have no idea. We'll have to just wait and see how the story develops. It's not like Bill O'Reilly or something, where you just know the guy is a guilty scumbag. I mean, come on, folks, admit it. You knew something wasn't right with Billy O long before his producer came out and confirmed your worst fears.

The Man Who Fell to Earth

Nicolas Roeg movies are weird. All of them. Well, all the ones I've seen, which includes Don't Look Now, Walkabout, The Witches and Performance. But this space oddity from 1976 is definitely the weirdest of them all, a trippy experimental sci-fi drama with an odd sense of humor and a lack of narrative cohesion, telling the story of an alien isolated by his own success at blending in to human society.



In perhaps the most appropriate casting of all time, David Bowie plays that alien. It's a completely natural performance, perhaps because in 1976, David Bowie actually believed himself to be an alien. It's all there on the albums, people!

A lot of the outer space mythology that would occupy Bowie's attention and music during this time weaves itself through Man Who Fell to Earth, and not just Aladdin Sane's wig. The movie even includes a wailing, glam-rock soundtrack, though its spaced-out psychedelia doesn't hold a candle to actual David Bowie music of the period...Why didn't he just do a soundtrack album himself?

The story follows a fairly typical sci-fi pattern for the first half-hour or so, before completely skipping the rails and going its own way. Bowie's alien falls to Earth, taking the name of Thomas Newton, and quickly heads to New York to find a good patent lawyer. He does, in the form of Oliver Farnsworth (Buck Henry), and thus begins his own corporation, World Enterprises, to sell his fantastic, space-age inventions.

And, just like that, he's a multi-millionaire head of a major corporation, married to the sweet but simple Mary-Lou. Roeg doesn't bother giving us time to "get to know" Thomas, keeping him completely distant and inscrutable. Of course, this is the idea. He's an alien, unable to relate to humanity in any real way, and the more he ingratiates himself into human society, the more of an outsider he comes to seem.

Once the money's been earned, Thomas reveals his plans to Mary-Lou and a scientist named Bryce (Rip Torn) - his planet suffers from a horrific drought, and he must build a spacecraft to fly water back to them from Earth.

This is a very silly plan, and for reasons not fully explained in the film, Thomas never actually carries it out. We see a few flashbacks to his home world, where he left a wife and two children languishing in a barren desert wasteland via a small, Star Wars-looking sand vehicle. But he seems rather content to remain on Earth, enjoying his vast fortune, and after revealing his true nature to Mary-Lou, there no longer seems to be much reason for him to make the risky, uncertain voyage back across the stars.

Like in his previous films, Roeg's really making use of the conventions of a genre to suit his particular purpose. Just as Don't Look Now borrows the tools of horror films without really going for scares, Man Who Fell to Earth seems a bit bored with telling an actual science-fiction story. The big questions behind Thomas' journey - how he got to Earth, how he plans to get back, his feelings towards humanity, his understanding of the mysteries of existence - are repeatedly pushed aside for experimental montages and kinky sex scenes.

So many strange ideas are brought up in the film, only to go unexplored. The narrative spans decades, as World Enterprises builds an international reputation only to sputter out, and as Mary-Lou ages, leaving Thomas and coming back to him and leaving again. But Thomas never ages. And as he's increasingly seduced by vice, from alcohol to sex to greed, Thomas begins to seem more human, and even better able to relate to humanity. After a symbolic final tragedy, rendering Thomas ultimately unable to return to his home planet, the movie kind of peters out without offering up any real insights into these many issues. Unlike most great sci-fi, it's more concerned with intimate human stories than big metaphysical questions.

But what is present in the movie is interesting enough. Roeg's especailly concerned with time, pushing through Thomas' life at an erratic clip, focusing in only where he pleases. At one point, Thomas appears to pierce the fabric of space-time itself, rocketing his car back 100 years to a time when settlers pushed across the wind-swept landscape of his New Mexico home. Like much else in the film, nothing more is done with this concept. Roeg throws it in almost as an afterthought, allowing for the flavor of science-fiction without really making a genre film.

Roeg's insights into the relationship between sex and violence are intriguing as always. One love scene finds Rip Torn throwing his lover around and taking her picture in a variety of prone positions. And in one of the most peculiar love scenes in a major motion picture ever, Thomas and Mary-Lou cavort with a blank-loaded pistol while making extraordinarily messy alien love.

The Man Who Fell to Earth is a difficult film to follow, and an even more difficult film to penetrate. As many ideas and facets as I was able to connect, there are many other whole sequences that still didn't quite seem to fit. An investigation into Thomas by government agents, including a series of cruel experiments, came out of nowhere and didn't really lead to anything conclusive. And though the connection between Thomas' strange behavior and that of another famous corporate mogul, Howard Hughes, is made, it's not followed up on.

Oh, and television plays a major thematic role in the film (Thomas watches several TV's at once; he claims to have learned about Earth initially from television broadcasts; Farnsworth's name is probably a reference to Philo Farnsworth, inventor of the television; at one point, Bryce even spots Thomas on television in a World Enterprises commercial). But what is Roeg getting at here? That TV is alienating people from one another, that technology splits us apart and keeps us stationary? Or that watching television (and any kind of art) is a poor way to understand human nature? Or something else entirely?

I'd have a hard time recommending this film to any casual movie-goer. Unlike Don't Look Now, which is a long but very rewarding piece of entertainment, Man Who Fell to Earth is a odd bird. Roeg fans and those who enjoy dense, peculiar 70's films will find a lot to savor here, however, and I managed to enjoy it for what it was. Dated or no, a thoughtful, well-shot movie with David Bowie is a thoughtful, well-shot movie with David Bowie.

Many Consider It the Classiest 90 Minutes of Television Anywhere in America

Just wanted to issue a last-minute reminder for anyone wasting their time reading blogs on the West Coast...Tonight is the season-premiere of one of my favorite shows, "The Apprentice." It's not quite the best reality on TV. That title goes to a little girl I like to call Ashlee Simpson. But it is a great show, very involving and addicting. Between this and "American Idol," looks like there's no need for me to get a social life in the forseeable future.

This season, they're mixing it up a bit. Instead of a team of men vs. a team of women, it's people with Ivy League graduate degrees vs. people with high school educations. What a fantastic idea. It works because you breed distrust between the two teams before the game even begins. The grad students will feel like they're being judged for getting a top-flight education and not working their way up the ladder, and the high school grads will feel like everyone thinks they're stupid or ignorant. Brilliant!

Somehow, Trump's managed to turn his near-universal reputation for being a rich, pompous asshole into a career as a beloved television personality. There's something to be said for that, no matter how ridiculous he seems on camera.

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Okay, just finished watching the show, and predictably, it was terrific. Looks to be another great season.

One thing kind of bothered me, though...Despite his own educational background, Trump seems willing to play into the bizarre American strain of anti-intellectualism we've seen developing over the last few years. The show tonight was fiercely anti-collegiate.

A team of high school graduates was accepted to the contest who earn, per capita, three times the salaries of the college graduate team. This is not an accident, or coincidence, as it was presented to be on the show. These people are meticulously vetted before Trump, producer Mark Burnett and NBC put them on television. They purposefully selected a team of high-achieving high school students to make this faux-dramatic point. I could easily find a team of successful high school grads and a team of successful college grads who make 5 times as much. You know?

But beyond that, none of the college students was shown making a single crack about people without a proper education. But the high school team (known as "Net Worth Corporation"...ugh...) was displayed over and over again rebuking their opponents for "wasting time in college." When maverick idiot Danny encouraged his teammates to write a song with him, the Net Worthians sneered. One member requested that, rather than "Team High School," they be referred to as the "wealthier team." And, in the most gauche speech I've seen on television in a while, team leader John encouraged his fast food staff to work extra-super-hard to show them snobby college kids up the street what for. Has he no shame?

So, this kind of anti-intellectualism always rubs me the wrong way. Probably because I have a Master's Degree that I don't use. But also because I follow the culture, and it saddens me to see younger people embracing the idea that dropping out of school is always the right choice, that an education doesn't help anyone succeed. Sure, exceptional people with drive and motivation will find a way to succeed, with or without a degree, but that doesn't mean we don't want a population that is educated, aware and intelligent. I mean, duh.

Iran: The Ultimate Red State

I should stop reading the columnists in the New York Times. After David Brooks' nonsensical column about the media, God and tsunamis, I promised myself I'd stop taking these morons seriously. But now Tom Friedman's gone and pissed me off again.

He's writing a column basically making fun of Europe for not loving that adorable George W. Bush. Sure, he pretends to write a fair column about the lack of popularity of our President throughout the so-called Old World (alert the media!) He even gets in a few cracks at the administration before all is said and done

But check out this quote:

The logic of the Europeans' position is that they should now be anti-American, not just anti-Bush, but most Europeans don't seem to want to go there. They know America is more complex. So there is a vague hope in the air that when Mr. Bush visits Europe next month, he'll come bearing an olive branch that will enable both sides to at least pretend to hold this loveless marriage together for the sake of the kids.

What's the implication here? That Europeans are fickle, and if our President goes over there and makes nice, they'll run back to him with open arms, returning his sweet embrace? The European community has every reason to be upset with this administration. We started a war without sufficient cause and lied about it. We pulled out of international treaties that had taken decades to set up, and most of these treaties fall apart without our support (as we're the largest post-industrial economy in the world by a massive amount). We're right now in Congress defending our right to torture people we suspect of being terrorists.

Why shouldn't Europeans have the right to hate America? Shouldn't their consideration of us as a people depend in some way on how we behave? Right now, I hate Americans. Not the ideals that we stand for as a nation, and not the individual people that I know and love and live amongst. I don't hate my community. But I hate the way Americans behave socially and politically (especially politically). And I'm one of us. Who the hell is Friedman to chide Europeans for their distaste for the President, or recommend how he can make them like him better. He should do the right thing for once in his fucking life, that would probably help his case.

And then, there's this abysmal, insulting, horribly destructive final section:

Funnily enough, the one country on this side of the ocean that would have elected Mr. Bush is not in Europe, but the Middle East: it's Iran, where many young people apparently hunger for Mr. Bush to remove their despotic leaders, the way he did in Iraq.

An Oxford student who had just returned from research in Iran told me that young Iranians were "loving anything their government hates," such as Mr. Bush, "and hating anything their government loves." Tehran is festooned in "Down With America" graffiti, the student said, but when he tried to take pictures of it, the Iranian students he was with urged him not to. They said it was just put there by their government and was not how most Iranians felt.

Iran, he said, is the ultimate "red state." Go figure.

Funnily enough, this is not funny at all. A nation of people so desperate for liberation from their vile, repressive theocratic government that they would welcome the chaos of invasion and civil war is not an amusing bon mot to be tossed out for shits and giggles in a political commentary.

Why doesn't Friedman treat this more seriously? What's with his flip "they hate anything the government likes" angle. Is he genuinely reducing the political opinions of an entire nation of people as mere contrariness?

And then, calling Iran a "red state," saying they "support Mr. Bush." It's damaging, it's damaging to the discourse. Because simple-minded people will read this and believe this fool. And then, in a few years, when G. W. wants to invade Iran, and says "the people there want America to invade," they'll think, "Oh, yeah, that's right...I read it in the New York Times."

Just like what happened the last time around, to that other country that's right fucking next to Iran and is spelled almost exactly the same.

Okay, I'm going to stop talking about this now before I have a massive coronary.

On Being Generally Mean-Spirited

A while back, I wrote a post about my least favorite movies of 2005. Although, to be fair, I hadn't seen Catwoman or The Forgotten yet.

In that post, I wrote the following line:

"I fucking hate you, Zach Braff. I hope you get cancer."

At the time, I did not give it a second thought. Now, I don't really really hope Zach Braff gets cancer. I mean, I've never met the guy, and cancer's pretty painful. Unless everyone with cancer is just faking it and laying it on a bit thick, you know, for the attention.

Not that I'm suggesting they're really doing this. But still, I think if I had cancer, even if it didn't hurt, I'd probably pretend that it did. I mean, hey, I've got freaking cancer here, if ever there was a time to milk your fellow human beings for sympathy, this is it.

But anyway, I don't really want Zach Braff to come down with a nasty case of leukemia. To me, "I hope you get cancer" is a rhetorical device, colorful language to adequately describe the depth of my disregard for Braff's non-opus Garden State. It's just like if you watched Ghost World and then turned to your friend and said, "I love Scarlett Johansson." You don't really. You don't know Scarlett Johansson (unless you actually do know Scarlett Johansson, in which case, I hate you and I hope you get cancer).

But my point is, you don't even have any concept for what she's like, other than that she's really hot and a great actress. It's a turn of phrase. In that same way, it does me no good if Zach Braff's prostate swells up to the size of a grapefruit. I just hated his movie.

So, Jimmy, the guy who left the comment deeply offended about my Braffian cancer curse, I'm sorry to hurt your feelings, or to imply that having cancer doesn't suck. I know it does, and I'm glad you're feeling better. I'm sorry you didn't like the blog. I'll try to do better next time.

Hello? Is This Thing On?

I look at that hit counter far too often. I try not to, because I tell myself I don't really care how many people visit the blog or what stories they read or whatever. But this isn't true. I do care, even though I try not to. So I look at that hit counter at least once a day.

And I've noticed over the past few days, this blog has become an echo chamber. I think 5 people have visited thus far today, which is low even by newbie Inertia standards. So, is there anybody out there? Why hast thou all forsaken me?

I know yesterday was heavy on the film reviews, but I've fallen behind and wanted to catch up. I've actually been watching a lot of different stuff as well, like Million Dollar Baby (which is good!). So many films, so little time, you know?

So, anyway, if you have a specific reason you think people are jumping blog, so to speak, why not leave it in the comments section below? I can always use some constructive criticism.

Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring

Okay, I've learned a valuable lesson. I should not ever try to post a Best of the Year list of movies before February at the earliest. There's just no way to see all the worthwhile films accredited to a year by December 31st. I've already had to mentally do some re-jiggering after seeing the incredible The Woodsman earlier this week. I'm seeing Million Dollar Baby soon, and that could very well find a place on the list. And I've just seen Kim Ki-duk's awe-inspiring masterpiece Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring, which basically trumps Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow for a spot in the Top Ten, as much as I loved that film's CG robot smash-em-ups.



Juvenile though my tastes often seem, I'm actually going with the serene Buddhist monk movie over Jude Law Battling the Nazi Robots. I've impressed even myself.

No, seriously, many reviews I've seen have made this film sound like an art house chore, like the kind of film you see so that you can later tell your friends you saw a movie about monks that was in Korean and didn't feature a single Chingy song on the soundtrack.

But Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring (hereafter SSFWS) moves right along like any other enjoyable piece of entertainment. There's a lot of depth to the narrative, of course, but it's not a film that requires intense concentration to enjoy. It's simply a beautifully rendered, exquisitely photographed, and delicately moving story about one man's development from troubled youth to chastened adult to wizened elder.

And it's not just a catchy title! The film really does consist of four main vignettes, each set in one of the seasons, with a brief coda set back in the spring. And this format allows Ki-duk to not only skip around in time as he pleases, focusing in on the most significant, salient events in the monk's life, but also provides the film with a splendid visual motif. As the seasons change, so does the main character, whose destiny, along with that of his Master, seems peculiarly tied to the lush valley landscape (amazingly photographed by Dong-hyeon Baek).

The monk and his master live on a floating monastery in the middle of a lake. I'm not sure if any surroundings actually exist like this in present-day Korea (when the film is set), but I certainly hope they do. The setting is phenomenally realized, with the faded greens of the treetops off-setting the murky blues of the river, all set around a drifting temple.

In the opening sequence, we see the monk as a child, tormenting small animals by tying them to rocks. He takes strange delight in watching a fish, a frog and a snake struggle under the weight of the burden, and doesn't think twice about his cruelty until he is caught by his master. His punishment consists of searching for and freeing all the animals with a large stone tied to his own back. This will be the format for all of the vignettes - the young pupil behaves rashly or without proper consideration, he is reprimanded sternly but fairly by his master, and in fulfilling some sort of meaningful task, learns a valuable lesson bringing him closer to the sage enlightenment of his elder.

Of course, the monk's transgressions will only get worse as he ages, and Ki-duk doesn't shy away from making his protagonist considerably unlikable during certain portions of the story. But just as the older monk sees through his missteps to the worthwhile man underneath, Ki-duk invites us not to judge the young man, but to search his story for meaning in our own lives.

I will not go into the further goings-on of the plot, because specific narrative is hardly the point of this film. In some ways, it's the ideal foreign film for people who usually dislike "movies with subtitles." There's very little dialogue, and the narrative drifts along languidly, like the small boat the characters pilot across the lake to the rocky shores across the way. Save any cultural references or historical allusions I may have missed, the film likely plays very similar to Korean and American audiences, which only enhances its themes of mutual understanding and unspoken bonds.

Like a Zen koan, the simplicity of the storytelling disguises the reservoir of possible meanings and interpretations lying just under the surface. Ki-duk fills the corners of his story with mystery and intrigue, allowing us only so much access to the inner lives of his characters and the circumstances which surround their world.

What Ki-duk clearly brings with him is a reverence for Buddhist philosophy, particularly the ideas of repetition. His film is structured around repeated occurances, moments, imagery and music. The pitch-perfect score reminded me of some of Phillip Glass' work for films like Koyaanisqatsi, but obviously with native Korean instruments. You know, the repetitive, minimalist thing.

There are so many repeated images, I stopped trying to recall them all for review purposes. The animals to whom the monk is cruel during the opening scenes are revisited occasionally, particularly when the monk faces his own trials and challenges. Statues of the Buddha, especially one taken by the monk during one of his several trips away from the monastery, play an integral part of the story. And even individual images seem to hold intricate mysteries merely because of their undeniable, odd beauty. A red cloth floats down a recently-thawed stream. A woman with a covered face carries a baby across a frozen lake. A man does calligrophy on a wooden dock with the tail of a white cat. I could go on, but there's no point. The storytelling is almost entirely visual - the film must be viewed to be appreciated at all.

So, I'll leave you merely with an entreaty to watch this film. It's availble now for rent or purchase in fine DVD stores everywhere. I'll be updating my Best of the Year list to include some of the films I've seen recently, so be on the lookout for this title, which is certain to make the list in some capacity.

If You're Already President, Why Do You Need To Get Inaugurated Again?

Seriously, why do we even bother with this? It's a totally meaningless ceremony. G. Dubs is already fucking President. Nothing will change after this ritual. Yet we're spending weeks talking about it and $40 million pulling it off. It's like the Jerry Lewis Telethon or something.

So, if you want to weep about how messed up this country is, check out this list from Salon.com of the costs of the inauguration, and some other statistics to give you some level of comparison. Oh dear...

$40 million: Cost of Bush inaugural ball festivities, not counting security costs.

$20,000: Cost of yellow roses purchased for inaugural festivities by D.C.'s Ritz Carlton.

200: Number of Humvees outfitted with top-of-the-line armor for troops in Iraq that could have been purchased with the amount of money blown on the inauguration.

$10,000: Price of an inaugural package at the Fairmont Hotel, which includes a Beluga caviar and Dom Perignon reception, a chauffeured Rolls Royce and two actors posing as "faux" Secret Service agents, complete with black sunglasses and cufflink walkie-talkies.

22 million: Number of children in regions devastated by the tsunami who could have received vaccinations and preventive health care with the amount of money spent on the inauguration.

1,160,000: Number of girls who could be sent to school for a year in Afghanistan with the amount of money lavished on the inauguration.

$15,000: The down payment to rent a fur coat paid by one gala attendee who didn't want the hassle of schlepping her own through the airport.

2,500: Number of U.S. troops used to stand guard as President Bush takes his oath of office.

26,000: Number of Kevlar vests for U.S. soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan that could be purchased for $40 million.

Being a twisted drugged-out wannabe cowboy who somehow got elected President twice: priceless

Ready to Die

My friend Jason sent me some troubling news. It seems up-and-coming Montreal rock stars The Unicorns have broken up after recording one album. That's a real shame, because that one album, Who Will Cut Our Hair When We're Gone, is fucking brilliant. It's like this sing-songy, bizarre, humorous indie-pop confection about death and decay. And the songs have really neat keyboard lines and lyrics about Biggie Smalls and drifting out to sea.

And, yeah, they also had an EP, but that only had two new songs on it. And only one of them was any good.

I listened to little else during the third quarter of 2003, though, and saw two Unicorns shows during their trips to Los Angeles. I must say, neither of the shows was terribly impressive. The band basically came off as a bunch of snots who thought they were too cool to play in Los Angeles for Americans, and for some bizarre reason the venues were overloaded with frat boys, even though there was nary a Nickelback cover to be heard and the beer selection at the Echo always leaves me unsatisfied.

How are you going to break up after one album? At least McLusky had a couple of albums. Hell, even Axl Rose managed to keep his bandmates around for a bloated two-disc concept album before they ditched his ass. As much as I dig their music, these Unicorns guys are starting to seem like real jerks.

If Stern's Not Enough Reason To Get Sirius...

Oh, man, this is incredibly excellent. I can't wait until the end of this year, when I'll subscribe to Sirius and be able to listen to quality talk radio like this.

Anyway, on the Mike Signorile show on Sirius satellite radio, he totally made a complete ass out of noted anti-gay crusader, Alabama Sheriff Mac Holcomb. Holcomb, you see, posted on his website that, speaking as a sheriff, he thinks homosexuality is an abomination. What does this have to do with being a sheriff, you may ask? Well, it's cause...um, he was just...the government has the...cause sodomy...um...okay, nothing, but he sure don't like what with them gay homosexuals. Ya know, folks?

Here's a key excerpt from Sheriff Holcomb's website:

I was raised in era, the 1940's as a child and the 1950's as a teenager, which I remember with great affection. During this era, love of God, family, and country abounded. Men were men and women were women and there was no mistaking which was which. Both were proud of their individual roles. Homosexuality was very queer and a despicable act… an abomination. During this era, those parents that owned televisions didn't have to worry that their children might be subjected to filth on television such as nudity, the use of God's name in vain, and other profanity because it was unheard of. Parents could allow their children to go to a movie without having to screen it first because the good guy always wore the white hats. There was no question who the "Good Guy" was. Even the "Bad Guy" in the movie didn't use foul language. During this era our nation had a conscience including the television and movie industry.

He's a smart one, yesirree. He wrote this in advance, and still managed to ramble and start talking about "good guys in white hats." Can you imagine talking to this guy, when he doesn't have hours to prepare his remarks, like on a website? It's like Grandpa Simpson!

But I digress. The Last Midnight has a transcript of the entire radio interview (thanks to Atrios for the link!)

I'm going to clip out the juiciest excerpts for you, faithful Inertia readers. Cause I'm a swell guy like that...

Oh, and by the way, H means Holcomb and M means Mike Signorile.

M: Aren't you then saying that it should be public policy to view homosexuality according to the Bible?

H: No. Yeah, I think it should be, because I'm a Christian. I'm not a Buddhist or an atheist. Certainly, I was. I've campaigned on family values, which is foreign to all these folks. You know, let me tell you. Your listening audience, if the homosexual element has their way in this chapter[?], all the [unintelligible] that the liberal element does about overpopulation, the state of the Amazon forest, not drilling for oil in Alaska, don't have to worry about that, because if everybody turned homosexual, my friend, there will be no more children. That's-- I would fear that, then the only thing that would inhabit the earth would be the free creatures now that roams the Amazon forest or the ice lands[?] of Alaska.

Oh, man, greatest interview ever. So, lets try to follow the thought process here. If homosexuals get their way, everyone will be gay. And if everyone is gay, then there won't be any more children. And humanity will die out. And the only things that would inhabit the Earth are rainforest animals and caribou? This guy is fucking insane.

H: I don't have to go into it, because apparently most of your audience understands this and are for it, and they know what homosexuals do. Nothing could be more despicable. If there was no God, if there was no Bible-- Even animals don't do this despicable act. If a dog, a male dog, tried this with another male dog, he would probably lose a vital organ.

M: Don't you believe that-- First of all, there are male dogs who do that with one another. There are gay dogs. There are -- Homosexuality exists throughout the animal kingdom.

H: You guys never got dogs in New York we got down here, cause our Southern dogs don't -- male dogs don't do that to one another.

Tears, folks. When I read this paragraph, tears literally began streaming down my face. New York dogs might be gay, but not our Southern dogs! It's like Jerry Falwell and Yosemite Sam had some sort of demon offspring that managed to get itself elected sheriff.

M: Do you believe that this country should be theocratic, that religious leaders should be leading the country?

H: Christian-- Yes, Christians should lead this country, which was founded on Judeo-Christian -- If this is Egypt, Muslims or whatever should lead this -- that country. I wouldn't expect -- I don't think a Christian would be the King of Saudi Arabia! If I was over there and there was a Ten Commandments-- if I was a Muslim and there were a Ten Commandments in Muslim law, then that's where I live.

Okay, you can't top bi-curious New York dogs, but this is very telling. He's repeatedly wrong throughout the interview with his "Judeo-Christian Founding Fathers" nonsense. I don't even think he knows what Judeo-Christian means. If he means religions that believe in the Old Testament, that's Muslims as well. And if he means the religion that most of the Founding Fathers ascribed to, he means Deism or none at all. I think he means "that religion that I believe."

And the fact that he wants America to model its government on Saudi Arabia. A monarchy. A theocratic monarchy. Where Osama bin Laden's from. That's not so good either.

And this is how the interview ends. And why I need Sirius radio:

H: Okay. Do you want to describe what homosexuals do to each other?

M: Are you asking me a question?

H: Yeah. Why don't we just, you know, if it's not such a terrible thing, a despicable thing, just in common language, let's put up here[?] what these gays do to each other.

M: Well, you know what they do, sir? They fuck, just like straight people fuck. That's what they do. Okay? You know, straight people--

H: --All I'm saying is [unintelligible]

M: You know, you put your dick in your wife's vagina and a lot of you Christian conservatives also put your dicks in other women's cunts when you're not -- you know, when you're married, and are hypocritical. So gay people, yeah, they fuck just like you fuck. That's what they do. And for many of them it's an act of love--

[crosstalk]

M: And for others of them, just like many of you heterosexuals, it's an act of sheer pleasure, because we live in a free society.

Wow. That's fantastic stuff. And educational. I know know never to require the services of an Alabama sheriff. Oh, wait, I totally knew that already.

Scooped by Suicide Girls!

Suicide Girls is the semi-porno website featuring all girls that have mutilated their body in some trendy way or another. Many of the Suicide Girls favor tattoos and many favor piercings, and some favor the all-too-rare tattoo and piercing combo! Cause they're dangerous! And they just might commit suicide if you don't look at their naked photos!

But the point of this post is not to make fun of Suicide Girls (although it is really easy...I mean, they sell Suicide Girl-themed skateboard decks on there. But it's not about the merchandising, man! It's a lifestyle...or something!)

The point is that the news section of Suicide Girls (it's the section next to the girls with pubic dreds) has announced that Ricky Gervais will join the writing staff of "The Simpsons." Allow me to repeat that, in case you're not leaping out of your chair to do the Dance of Joy. Ricky Gervais, co-creator and head writer for "The Office," will join the writing team of "The Simpsons."

Check out this quote from Gervais on meeting Matt Groening for the first time:

The pair met for lunch before Wednesday's British Comedy Awards in London, where Groening was given an outstanding contribution award. Gervais and co-writer Stephen Merchant also won a prize for their work on The Office.Having agreed to write the script with executive producer Al Jean, Gervais said he had already completed a first draft. "I bang it down, give it to them, they make it funny and I claim the credit," he said. "I feel like I know Homer. It's a joy."

Now, "The Office" and "The Simpsons" combined represent an unholy juggernaut of comedy. These are two of my favorite shows of all time. The very idea that the talent behind these two shows are getting together is incredibly exciting. "The Simpsons" has been going through a dry patch for a few seasons now...maybe this is just the injection of new talent they need to keep that franchise alive. Or maybe my darkest fears are correct and it has just run its course. We'll find out soon enough!