JMPP

This afternoon, I was discussing Maggie Gyllenhaal with a friend. I explained that, though she's got an interesting look and I think she's very talented, I just don't find her that attractive. I don't think she's ugly by any stretch, but she just has kind of a weird chipmunk face that doesn't do it for me. In fact, I'm fairly surprised that she manages to get as much work as she does, considering the myriad, more traditionally beautiful actresses with whom she competes for plum roles.

My friend shot back at me the standard response issued whenever men discuss celebrity female's attractivity. "If Maggie Gyllenhaal liked you, you'd be into her, man."

This is blindingly obvious. Of course I'd sex up Maggie Gyllenhaal if she was into me. I don't get to have sex with all that many different girls. So anyone without an oozing skin condition or severe halitosis who is under the age of 65 earns at the very least my consideration. If they appear to have bathed that day, the deal is pretty much sealed.

It's not a fair standard, whether I would have sex with a given celebrity. We're talking about an emotionless comparison. I don't think Maggie Gylenhaal, speaking strictly on the issue of physical appearance, is as good-looking as the majority of Hollywood starlets.

I should say that no standard is 100% fair when discussing things like human attraction. It's purposefully a mystery to us why we're attracted to certain people and not others. For example, I'm similarly not interested in looking at naked Paris Hilton, although most other males in the universe appear fascinated by the subject. To me, she resembles one of those insectst that disguises itself as a tree branch - all brown spindly legs and nothing more. Plus, I already mentioned that rule I have about bathing.

I'm always amused by people who try to "understand" why they are attracted to certain individuals, who try to turn dating and love into some sort of an alternative job search. Which brings me to my actual intended topic, this very very sad, lonely blog post by a libertarian named Jacqueline Mackie Paisley Passey. I'm pretty sure that's one too many names. Was her mother Ms. Mackie-Paisley and her father Mr. Passey? Or is her middle name Mackie Paisley? Because that's a horrible middle name to give a child.

Over the past month (since I left Terrence) I’ve received several offers of dates and relationships from various men who read this blog. I’m not looking for a new boyfriend right now but it seems I should clarify what it is I look for in a man when I am, which will hopefully stem the flow of offers from guys who really don’t have it.

Yes, she's publishing a list of reasons why her readers aren't good enough to date her. How lovely.

To my mind, this is one of those essential gender differences - most even remotely attractive women have to get used to being hit on all the time, whereas only the most attractive men will have to deal with this problem regularly. A lot of women, I have observed, kind of develop an ego after a few years of receiving random compliments and come-ons from men. They forget that almost all women - even some bag ladies - get this kind of male attention. Men are extremely horny, and most of them are not particularly discriminating. I do not excuse myself from these generalizations.

But that doesn't mean you are the hottest woman on the planet, or that you hold some special super-secret power over all of mankind or (and this one is key) that you have any unique wisdom to impart to mankind. It just means some guys find you kind of hot and want to get in your pants, and you have to either accept their advances or repel them using any creative means at your disposal. That's it.

I am a very high-quality woman. I know that sounds arrogant, but let’s consider the facts:

Yes, let's...

I’m slim (whereas 62% of American women age 20 to 74 are overweight)

Reowr.

I’m attractive (my new picture has been rated more attractive than 86% of the women on Hot or Not -- and the women who upload their pictures are a self-selected sample that is probably already biased towards being more attractive than the general female population)

It's interesting that she boldly states "I'm attractive" and then offers a website survey based on a single, small photo as "evidence" of this fact. Is attraction something that can be proved with hard data? Isn't it still up to me if I find her attractive? (I do, kind of, based on the picture, and I'd definitely have sex with her. It would probably be angry sex, but that's often the best kind.)

I’m relatively young (whereas 82% of American adult women are over 30 years old)

Hey, enjoy that for a few more years.

I’m intelligent (IQ tested at 145 when I was a child, which is 3 standard deviations above the mean -- higher than 99.85% of the population. Even if I’ve gotten dumber as I’ve aged I’m probably still at least a 130, which is higher than 97.5% of the population.)

See, here's where Jacqueline's whole system starts to break down. Does anyone here think childhood IQ correlates in any meaningful way to eligibility for dating in one's late 20's? But beyond that point, can you imagine sitting down a writing a blog post in which you list all the great qualities you have that would make people want to date you? And even if you can imagine that, can you imagine starting with your weight, then your Hot or Not score, then your childhood IQ?

To me, that says that Jackie knows she doesn't have a lot of actually attractive qualities, so she has to fall back on the old standbys - good lookin' and smart! Trying to "prove it" through "evidence" just indicates a paritcularly unattractive quality - insecurity.

I’m educated (whereas 77% of American women do not have bachelor’s degrees)

I tend to be attracted to smart women. I once broke up with a girl whom I found physically attractive because her taste in music and film was pedestrian and she wasn't well-read. (I can't deal with someone who doesn't get any of my references. At least 30% is pretty much mandatory.) But I'm not attracted to their degrees. Most of the time, I don't even know if they have a degree when I first become attracted to someone. It's their actual intelligence. You know, the kind you discern from talking with them?

I have my financial shit together (no debt, perfect credit history, 6+ months living expenses saved, adequate insurance, self employed)

Adequate insurance...What an incurable romantic!

I have a strong libido and love having sex (my lover *never* has to beg, unless it’s for me to let him get some sleep!)

I can't really argue with this one. What's the point of going out with a girl who's making you beg for sex? I can enjoy not having sex alone at any time, and it's a lot cheaper, less time consuming and not at all stressful.

Most of my interests tend to be more popular with men than women: science fiction, libertarianism, blogging, politics, economics, guns, gambling, etc.

I think I'm starting to get a feel for Jacqueline's personality a bit better...She's one of these women who always wants to "hang around with the guys." She doesn't have a lot of friends who are girls, because "girls are all catty bitches" and she doesn't get along with them. Thus this particularly macho, aggressive, male "I'm going to stick it to all these pathetic dudes who won't get off my jock" article. I suspect all this arrogance and attitude really covers the fact that Jacqueline feels insecure about her relationships with men, particularly in the wake of this most recent breakup.

Don't believe me? Consider this...That's the end of her list! Those are the qualities Jackie thinks make her attractive to men. Let's review. She's thin. She looks good according to the random, anonymous weirdos at Hot or Not. She had a high IQ the last time she was tested, as a kid. She has a bachelor's degree. She's not in debt. She likes to fuck. She's a nerd who likes card games.

Anyone else getting seriously turned on?

Given that self-improvement is an ongoing project of mine this list will continue to grow (I’m currently working on adding bilingual, very physically fit, well-traveled, higher income, and fantastic cook to the list). So even when “relatively young” (an important criteria for most men) drops off that list, I should have added enough other things that my overall dating market value should remain the same or even improve.

Oh, man, I am so right about this...I totally have this girl's number. Just read it as if it's her inner monologue. "In a few years, I'll be more physically fit and better traveled and super-rich and then all the guys will really want me! If other people can't handle it, well, they're just jealous of my awesomeness! Back away, fans in my readership! You're totally not good enough for the goddess. Okay, now back to blogging..."

The above list explains why I typically receive 50-100 (sometimes more) responses whenever I post personal ads. This is in addition to getting hit on almost every time I go out alone (and all that those men know about me is that they like the way I look, they don’t even know about all the other qualities I have that make me more appealing than most other women).

Can you imagine? These guys are hitting on her merely because of the way she looks. They don't even know she's all about libertarianism!

See what I mean about this being sad? Jackie writes a post about breaking up with her boyfriend. A couple of nerdy weirdos who read her blog start to send her creepy e-mails asking her out. Her response? Just ignore the nerdy weirdos? Play it classy and let them down easy, never mentioning it to the wider audience for fear of embarrassing someone?

Of course not! Obviously, you should write a long post about why they're not good enough for you because you're so thin and how you get 100 offers every time you post a personal ad!

A desperate need for acceptance unintentionally revealed like this just hits a chord with me. This woman actually feels like her post - this rambling tribute to her fragile ego - is doing others a genuine service, letting them know that she is out of their league.

So, I have a *lot* of choices of men who want to date me. Given that, of course I choose to date only the highest quality men -- men who are also fit, attractive, intelligent, educated, financially successful, etc. I’m attracted to men from any race and a wide age range (21 to 50 or so) so the pool of men who meet those requirements is quite large, which allows me to add all sorts of additional restrictions if I want -- must be atheist, must be libertarian, must not want (more) children, must be financially independent or self-employed and available for frequent world travel, etc.

Do you think she's ever just met someone and enjoyed their company? Ever? In her life? Or will a superficial outlook just never allow for such a chance encounter? I'm thinking she applies this mathematical guideline every time she meets someone of the opposite sex. "Hey, this individual meets 8 or my 9 proscribed guidelines! Perhaps we should have a blood test done, exchange 401k documentation and then move this relationship into Phase 2.3!"

Also, considering that only 3% of Americans actually self-identify as "atheists," I'd say that's really cutting down the eligible field. Why not limit yourself to only the ambidexterous or albinos while you're at it?

Some people scoffed at the long list of requirements in my personal ad last year. Yet in less than two weeks I found five men who met my listed requirements and wanted a relationship with me. If I were to put more time and effort into looking I could probably find hundreds of high-quality men who both met my standards and were interested in dating me too. I can be picky.

Now, I'm not trying to say that people shouldn't be picky. I'm picky and I have next to no romantic prospects whatsoever! If anything, I think people in general are not picky enough. Most people strike me as so desperate to be involved in a relationship, they will cling to almost anyone they meet who is willing and looks good, no matter how incompatible they might be together.

What I object to is not so much the message of Jacqueline's post. Some women do begin to select potential mates based on elements beyond pure attractiveness and personality after a while, because they want to find someone to marry in order to start a family. (Notice I say "some." While this obviously includes Jacqueline, it doesn't include all women, despite popular misconceptions. I know several women circling 30 with little to no outspoken desire to settle down and make babies. Not a majority. But several.)

No, it's her tone that's all wrong, that betrays her at every turn. It's the use of the phrase "high-quality men" to indicate those individuals she finds attractive. It's offensive and rude and indicates a larger distaste for men in general. (Only if they rise above typical maleness in these ways are they "high-quality." All others are simply the sobriquet "men.") As I am not particularly attracted to Jacqueline as a mate (I said I would sleep with her, not date her), does that make her a less-than-high-quality female?

So, although I am not looking for a new boyfriend right now -- I am waiting until October, after I’ve decided where I want to live -- those are the factors that I (and many other women) keep in mind when assessing potential romantic relationships. Just having some interests in common is *far* from enough.

Thank God all women don't think this way, despite what Jacqueline may imply, or I might have to take that sheepherding job up on Brokeback Mountain after all. "Okay, so, I'll decide where I want to live then find some male to keep around of sufficiently lean body mass with at least a Master's Degree...Then I think I'll go buy some drapes!"

I realize that some of you will find this post depressing because you’ll realize that you don’t qualify as a high quality man and thus won’t be able to get a high quality woman. You have a few options:

Actually, Jack, that's not at all why I find this post depressing. I adjusted mentally to the fact that I'm not terrifically desirable some time ago. It no longer has the power to unsettle me. I think most people over the age of 21 or so are this way. Imagine the ego to think that a rejection from her will have such tremendous power to devastate young men.

But, please, JMPP, enlighten me with your wisdom:

Lower your standards and stop pursuing women who are out of your league. There are lots of fat single mothers out there who can’t find dates either.

Disgusting. What a wretched human being.

Notice this is primarily addressed to men who have written her recently asking for a date. The cruelty she bestows! The hatred she has for people who have done nothing but express fondness and respect. She's "out of their league." They'd be better off with (ugh) "fat single mothers."

Man, you nerds can have this one...This is a women only the Marquis de Sade and Alfred Hitchcock could love. Her body's 70% ice water.

Look in the developing world. If you’re literate with a home computer and an internet connection you are very wealthy compared to the rest of the world. Citizenship or legal permanent residency in a rich country makes you more attractive to women in poorer countries. Your value on the dating market is thus much higher there.

Is that supposed to be funny? We can deduce from this paragraph that she finds the mail-order bride market and international sex slave trade either viable or hilarious.

Self-improvement! I used to be a fat unattractive college dropout who couldn’t get her life together. Now I’m thin, attractive, and successfully self-employed after graduating. You can make yourself over into a higher-quality man capable of winning a higher-quality woman too.

It is so fucking hard to be right all the time. What did I say? "This aggression seems to be masking some sort of insecurity..." What does Jackie come up with? "I used to be a fat unattractive college dropout."

Dingdingdingdingdingdingding! We have a winner!

Jackie, guess what? Inside, you're still that fat unattractive college dropout. A couple of degrees and some cardiovascular exercize has done nothing to heal your psychic wounds! That's why you need to go online and tell strangers about how great you are and brag about how men fawn all over you!

Thanks to everyone who e-mailed or commented their offers, it's nice to feel wanted.

You have a funny way of showing it.

Although I'm not looking for a new relationship right now (don't worry, I'll blog about it when I am), hopefully this post gave those of you who are interested a better idea of your chances in the future.

It sure has!

Chances of my visiting Jacqueline's blog again in the future: 0%

Silent Hill

Where do these video game adaptations keep going wrong? It seems like moving from an action-oriented video game into an action film should be an easy transition - fill in some of the narrative and logical gaps, make the characters a bit more compelling and you're ready to go. Frequently, the video games are already based on old movies to begin with, making the change-over even more intuitive. How could Jan de Bont possibly fuck up Tomb Raider, in other words, when the original game was just a rip-off of Indiana Jones?

As with theatrical adaptations, movies inspired by video games retain too much of the imprint of their former medium to work successfully as films. Whether it's out of respect to the fans of the source material or just a lack of imagination I'm not sure, but filmmakers tend to simply replicate the events of the game in movie form. How is remaking a video game but removing the defining aspect of gameplay - interactivity - supposed to enhance the experience?

Eventually, I'm quite certain someone will come along and direct the hell out of a video game adaptation, producing a movie that's satisfying completely on its own merits. For about the first ten minutes of Silent Hill, it feels like Christophe Gans might be the first director to cross the invisible barrier between redoing games as movies and genuine filmmaking. But then, just like the titular town, everything goes straight to hell.



Gans introduces the viewer to the eerie ghost town of Silent Hill in a beautifully rendered, nearly silent sequence. For maybe the first time, a game environment is rendered on the screen cinematically, in this case an ashen gray dystopia that appears to have once been a small, quiet town. Better yet, Gans focuses on these early, haunting sequences solely on developing an unsettling, otherworldly atmosphere. There are no big scare moments, no sudden revelations and no pointless, expository introductions. Just a desperate woman wandering around some lonely ruins looking for a girl who has suddenly vanished.

Rose Da Silva (Radha Mitchell) has come to abandoned, hidden Silent Hill to cure her adopted daughter of night terrors. Sharon (Jodelle Ferland) screams in her sleep about the place, clearly the site of some horrifying past tragedy. Unfortunately, moments after arriving in Silent Hill, Rose loses Sharon in the murky fog. The, the demons appear.

Once it transforms from a creepy psychological thriller into a monster movie, Silent Hill can't help but lose some of its air of trippy mystery. After all, an abandoned town where peculiar, inexplicable things happen is always going to be more scary than an abandoned town filled with standard movie monsters. But as if the transition into a more conventional type of storytelling weren't painful enough, Gans and screenwriter Roger Avary essentially give up on even trying to make the story of Silent Hill work as a movie. We get monsters, Rose starts to run away, she meets up with a few other characters, and the rest of the film alternates side-scrolling action sequences with scenes directly lifted from the video game's interstitial exposition.

It comes to feel very much like watching your friend play the game "Silent Hill," but not playing yourself because you only have one controller.



How pointless and lazy is the bulk of Silent Hill? There are several scenes featuring characters looking at maps, laying out their planned routes, which are then superimposed on the screen as in a player's guide. More than one sequence finds Rose jumping between platforms while other characters yell directions at her. "Up! Right! Okay now go forward! Stop! Left right left right a b a b start!"

I have never played the game, so I'm not 100% sure what ws changed and what was kept, but I will say that the actual storyline behind the game isn't really that interesting. As a setting, the town works terrifically on screen. Cinematographer Dan Laustsen (who previously shot Gans' great-looking-but-lame Brotherhood of the Wolf) bathes the town in glassy milk-white during the "daytime" scenes and a sickly yellow-black during the dark times, when the demons appear.

But as a narrative, there's just not enough going on to make Rose's journey compelling. We find out some secrets about Sharon's background and about the Wicker Man-esque cult that operates out of the town's crumbling church, but Avary brings none of the innovative and disturbing style than Gans gives the visuals to his screenplay. Even Sean Bean, playing Sharon's adopted father, can't manage to inject any life into this turgid mess. (If the movies follow the story of the games, his character will dominate the potential sequel, but he's given almost othing to do this time around.)

Essentially, filmmakers adapting video games are given a choice. Either film the actions of the game's playable characters in as straightforward a manner as possible or change the game fundamentally to work as a movie while keeping the defining essentials intact. Hollywood seems to be working from the assumption than video game fans want the former - they don't want to go see a movie that's loosely based on a game they have played, but a film that's recognizably a direct port of the game, allowing them to relive the play experience without moving or concentrating.

Perhaps this really is what fans want to see. I know a lot of people claim to enjoy Doom, which I found absolutely unbearable and pointless as a movie. (Also as a game, but that's an argument for a different post). I think fans like these movies because they are already fans, because it's a property in which they have developed a keen interest and no one is giving them the option of seeing the worlds of these games really exploded on to the big screen properly. Just once, it would be nice to get a real filmmaker to tackle one of these games and see if it can't work as something more than a non-interactive gaming simulation.

Synchronized Treadmilling

First off, you should all watch this music video by OK Go. It's an alright song, but the video's the best I've seen in a while. It must have taken forever to get exactly right. (Hat tip: Rising Hegemon)



One more item that deserves your attention. Wikiality, the new version of Wikipedia inspired by "The Colbert Report," is now online. Because any site that has a longer entry on "truthiness" than on "Lutherans" has its priorities straight.

13 (Tzameti)

Georgian director Géla Babluani makes his feature debut with 13 (Tzameti), a powerful, lean thriller about poverty, fear and exploitation. This French-Georgian co-production from 2005 is one of those movies that will be difficult to describe without giving anything away. It develops slowly, with relatively assured confidence for a first-time director, holding off for as long as possible in revealing the grim secret at its core. A movie that's as much about the element of surprise as anything else, 13 (Tzameti) should really be experienced cold, so I'll try to dance around the big twists as much as possible.



A young man struggling to earn any money he can be taking on odd jobs, Sébastien (George Babluani) finds himself in the employ of a heroin-addled old man. While he's fixing the guy's roof, he overhears some strange conversations. There's an envelope coming in the mail. It will include a ticket. The old man is to take a train to Paris and await further instructions. Whatever this strange assignment is, it will pay handsomely.

When the junkie dies suddenly (as junkies occasionally do), Sébastien takes his place, hoping for a big payday to help support his needy family. What he finds at the other end of that ticket is a degrading experience of horror and subjugation in which his misery will provide entertainment for a cabal of old rich men. I don't want to reveal any of the gruesome secrets Babluani has in store, but comparisons to Eli Roth's Hostel are not totally unwarranted.

Babluani makes some key choices that ratchet up the film's suspense factor considerably. The stark black and white cinematography, heavy on elongated intimate takes and close-ups, always pulls away at the last second before things get really gory. But it constantly threatens not to, as if Babluani's teasing the viewer. Will I remember to look away this time, or force you to bear witness to the grisly aftermath of this violent act. (Repeated inserts of a light bulb going on and off become almost unbearable by the film's end).

Likewise, the decision to go almost entirely without a score adds considerably to the final impact. Sequences of extreme emotional intensity, which generally would be accompanied by a swelling crescendo on the soundtrack, pass by in eerie silence. Gun shots, in particular, reverberate with greater emphasis because of the film's still, quiet atmosphere.

The concise directness of Babluani's film eventually works in his favor. This is not a complex story. Sébastien goes on a mysterious quest and things go extremely awry. He finds himself accidentally plunged into a very real nightmare from which there seems to be no hope of escape. From that point, things pretty much unfold as expected, albeit with some highly effective sequecnes of suspense along the way.

I suppose it's not really a complaint, as I kind of admired the single-mindedness with which Babluani approaches the thriller genre, but still...there's a strong classist/Marxist bent to the material that I would have liked to see explored a bit more. Like Eli Roth's Hostel, Tzameti eventually finds its way around to an allegorical critique of capitalism. (I hope I'm not giving too much away.)

Money is thrown at Sébastien and he becomes little more than a pawn, assigned a number and enlisted into the forcible service of a rich, powerful and unconcerned older man. The kind of financial desperation he faces at the film's opening is the ideal set-up for exploitation - he can be bought, and cheaply, because the only other option is homelessness and starvation. (A brief scene in which he's informed he won't be paid for the work he has already done on the roof captures the despair of the bankrupt with remarkable efficiency.)

As in Roth's film, the notion of human beings as chattle comes up repeatedly in Tzameti. These people are paid to do a job and essentially cease to be human begins. They transform into property, to be traded and bartered over, to be bought and sold. Babluani seems to see this metamorphasis as an essential facet of the modern world, intrinsic within human nature. By the end of his film, the exploited themselves have even adopted this ideology. They bring these attitudes along with them even after their service comes to an end. Second-class citizenry, then, is not just about being subjugated, but also indoctrinated, convinced that your station in life is permanent and self-defining.

Babluani extends the capitalist metaphor in some interesting ways. Sébastien's captors, who compel him into service through the threat of violence, seem indignant that he is not more thankful for their generosity. One even expects to be tipped afterwards for his efforts. Also notable is that other participants besides Sébastien has consented to take part in the project, desiring the chance at a fortune above their own safety. Babluani favors striking portraits shot in tight close-ups, studying the weary contours of the unfotunate' faces in harsh lighting and extreme angles reminiscent of the silent films of Dreyer.

Tzameti could develop some of these ideas a bit more. It takes too long to get going, spending a lot of time on the roofing job and the residents of the junkie's house for no good reason. Likewise, a 15 minute or so coda leads to an unfortunately predictable and unsatisfying conclusion. (There's only a few ways the film could possibly end). Roth, through his use of brothel/torture chamber metaphors, managed to fill Hostel with some interesting ideas about the nature of prostitution and exploitation in addition to the blood and guts. Tzameti, likewise, seems to have insights beyond its clever, twisting narrative. They just tend to get lost along the way as the focus remains squarely on ratching up the intensity and suspense. Still, this is bound to be one of the year's best and most promising debut films.

Is Joe Scarborough an Idiot?

Short answer: Yes.

Long answer:

It has taken Joe Scarborough six years to finally come to grips with the fact that his President is functionally retarded. Six long (long!) years. I'm glad he's finally come around. It's just too bad for Joe that, even on the rare occasion when he's on the correct side of an issue, he still has to come off as such a clueless asshole blowhard fuckwit.

Let's take a look together (shall we?) at Joe's latest missive, a brief post at Arianna Huffington's place. It's charmingly titled Is Bush an Idiot? So far, I got no complaints.

Once he actually begins writing, however...

The greatest political gift a politician can receive from enemies is the gift of being underestimated.

That and a lavish golf vacation, sure. And a free limo ride "with benefits." And lucrative pharmaceutical contracts for one's significant other. But, yeah, after all those things, the greatest political gift a politician can receive is the gift of being underestimated.

Eisenhower was supposedly a dope who frittered away his time on golf courses.

Was Eisenhower considered a dope? Wasn't he a highly regarded general when he took office? I've heard the "Eisenhower wasted a lot of time playing golf" line, but not the dope line. That doesn't mean it's not true. I wasn't alive back then. How the hell would I know?

Chevy Chase portrayed Gerald Ford as a bumbling, accident-prone commander-in-chief in countless SNL skits.

Gerald Ford fell over a lot. True. That is a true fact. Don't believe me?



He ain't down there searching for explosive liquids!

Obviously when a major public figure has an obvious flaw, like klutziness, comedians are going to mock them for it. Of course Chevy Chase exaggerated Ford's stumbly awkwardness. It's a comedy sketch!

Most egregiously, Joe makes it sound like Chevy Chase made that up out of nowhere. "Hmm...What would be a good way to secretly communicate my radical far-left agenda to the masses? I know, I'll pretend I'm the president and tumble over, then identify for the audience the time, my location and the day of the week!"

I think Joe's trying to demonstrate that Republican presidents have been historically mocked. I don't know what this is supposed to prove. I'd grant that every Republican president ever has been cruelly mocked in the popular culture. Every Democratic president, also. Every public figure, pretty much. So the hell what?

Ronald Reagan was branded a lightweight for years and described as a confused old fool in Tip O’Neill’s autobiography.

I believe it was that great social philosopher Stephen Colbert who said "we all know that facts have a strong liberal bias." Joe's unfortunatley running into that truism repeatedly during his introduction. (Or is it a trutheism?) Ronald Reagan was branded a lightweight because he was (1) a movie star who entered politics based largely on name recognition and personal charisma and (2) suffering from the beginning stages of Alzheimer's Disease during much of his tenure as president.

Though the language is unfortunate, during the majority of that second term, he really was a confused old fool. If Joe's point is that popular conceptions about presidents were largely accurate, he's doing quite well. Actually, maybe that is his point...

For the past six years George W. Bush has been the target of ridicule from liberal circles. But now, instead of laughing at Democrats’ ill-directed arrogance, Republicans are quietly joining the left in questioning the President’s intellectual prowess.

As I often like to do when reading right-wing blather, let me draw your attention to the subtle nuances in Joe's language. Liberals have "targeted" GWB for "ridicule," causing Republicans to "laugh" at their "arrogance." Conservatives, on the other hand, have begun to "quietly" join in the act of "questioning" the president's "intellectual prowess." As always, anything conservatives do is carefully considered and rational, whereas everyone on the left is a raving looney incapable of processing even a straightforward question like "is the President really really dumb?"

Man, Joe Scarborough is a huge asshole. Huge.

The biggest knock on Bush’s brain is his lack of intellectual curiosity. Former administration officials still close to the White House will tell you Mr. Bush detests dissent, embraces a narrow world view and is intellectually incurious.

Worse for this White House is the fact that George W. Bush has daily smackdowns with the English language and the English language usually wins.

All of that is true. But some of us have been saying it for six years! It took Joe six years to actually begin listening to what the president said and considering it from a perspective other than "sycophantic toady." You sense that if GWB were just a little bit smarter - still stupid enough to nearly choke to death on a pretzel, but not quite stupid enough to give the German Chancellor a neck massage during a diplomatic summit - Joe would be fine with it. He can tolerate following in lockstep behind a tyrant of below-average intelligence. But when mere stupidity morphs into drooling witless idiocy, well, that's where he draws the line.

Friends and foes alike agree that George W. Bush is one political figure who gets worse with age. Look back at his performance as Texas governor and you will see a funny, self-assured public figure who inspires confidence. But these days, the mere opening of Mr. Bush’s mouth makes many GOP loyalists shake in their tasseled loafers.

This, likewise, is true. I don't neccessarily think he was a lot smarter back then, but he was certainly more composed, self-assured and poised. For an idea of what Joe's talking about, check out this brief video showing the dramatic change in Bush's demeanor and speaking style over the past 10 years.



The makers of the video feel that the change is due to early-onset senility. I'm not certain that they prove this is any meaningful way. But it's certainly fascinating to see how the guy has come apart over the last six years. I suppose in some ways it's a kind of karmic justice - he wasted the early part of his life, spent his few capable adult years running America into the ground and will have a long, slow, painful descent into elderly batshit insanitude. Not quite as satisfying as seeing him tried in the Hague, but it's probably the best we're going to get.

So does it matter in the end whether our president is articulate and intelligent?

Joe misses the real message by a country mile. This isn't just about being articulate. The guy is stupid. That means, someone is making decisions for him. Who? Don't people have a right to know? People have jokingly called this The Cheney Administration for years. But I sense there's a lot of truth behind that joke. Even though all of his policies have failed, he's clearly incapable of devising any kind of policy whatsoever. You can tell because he can never explain himself with any kind of clarity.

"Mr. President, why did we invade Iraq?"

"Well, you see, I was out decideriderading one day...I mean to say, everyone loves freedom...Mothers want to raise their children...And you gotta be free...And freedom isn't free...So we got to...We're spreading freedom...And that's why they hate us...I looked into my heart...We're building schools...You gotta...Freedom's on the march."

"Mr. President, why do you oppose the use of stem cells in research when they're just going to be destroyed anyway?"

"Well, you see...God's gift of life...They got these snowflake babies...Morals and ethics and little baby Jesus...You gotta protect...There's the sanctity of...Look at little Jenny here...Would you want to, uh, I mean to say, you wouldn't stab her repeatedly in the eye...Really, it's the same issue."

"Mr. President, what did you have for breakfast this morning?"

"Well, you see...I like waffles but I didn't...Didn't have time for...It's hard work to be President...I had to go for a bike ride and...Don't really like scones even though Tony Blair told me they was good...Just wanted a muffin...You know what? I'm not too sure on this one. Let me check with my staff and get back to ya."

That doesn't just mean he's bad at expressing himself. It means the man who's supposed to be in charge doesn't really know what's going on and isn't curious enough to find out. That has to matter to you, Joe. Right?

You bet your life, it does.

Oh, good.

I’m not saying we need to elect a dork like Michael Dukakis, who famously spent vacations at the beach reading books on Swedish land use or was so overwhelmed with the details of the old SALT treaties that he would sulk off to bed depressed.

Shit, Joe. We were all in agreement there for a second, and it was real nice, and then you just had to go and fucking ruin it with this same old anti-intellectual garbage.

What is so wrong with a guy who wants to be president reading fucking books? We're taking about the president here. A little bit of nerdy bookishness can good for someone who's going to have an important and complex job. Cause, interesting thing about people who read a lot of books. They tend to learn about things and get smarter. It's amazing, I know, but somehow it actually works.

Michael Dukakis was actually kind of a dork. I don't really object to the use of that phrase (although it is kind of demeaning, and not the sort of thing Joe would ever say about a Republican dork, like the President's father). It's just this implication that the President must be Joe Cool. Fonzie wouldn't be a good choice for president because he spends all his time worrying about looking cool and thus doesn't have the chance to consider important international and domestic affairs. Joe's a grown man, but he's really still focused on electing Class Presidents and Prom Kings, not actual leadership.

But when America is fighting a global war on terror where the battle is for hearts and minds instead of beachheads and landing strips, we need a leader who can explain to friend and foe alike why America is in Iraq, why we keep sending arms to Israel and why liberal democracy really is preferable to Islamic fascism.

Right now, George W. Bush is not that leader.

Dude, no one is that leader. I mean, I'm glad you're soured on this moron in the White House (finally!), but to think that someone more charismatic is going to be able to sell Iraqis on inter-sect subjugation compounded by American dominance is to live in a fantasy world of make-believe. Joe might as well recommend that we appoint Willy Wonka and Peter Pan as impartial negotiators and hold a peace summit 20,000 leagues under the sea.

This is the sort of stuff that makes me despair for the future of our nation. And our world. These guys are never going to get it. They will just keep recycling the same tired rhetoric for 1,000 years if no one steps up to stop them. It's always 6 more months and one more election. We're always turning a corner and preparing for victory. Our only real concerns are the traitorous American media and hippie peaceniks. It's always time to get tough, let those guys know we really mean business and stop catering to the weak pacifists among us.

Our leader does not need to explain to the Iraqi people why they are being kidnapped, tortured and murdered by Americans more effectively. He needs to stop the war. Right fucking now. Joe, you fucking asshole. It's amazing. Even when he's completely right, he's still completely wrong.

TV on the Radio in the Distance

Take a look at TV on the Radio's fall tour dates, courtesy of my absolute #1 favorite music blog, I Guess I'm Floating. They totally suck:

9/14 Republic, New Orleans, LA
9/15 Gypsy Tea Room & Ballroom, Dallas, TX
9/16 Zilker Park, Austin, TX
9/17 Emo's, Austin, TX
9/19 Fox Theatre, Boulder, CO
9/24 Hollywood Bowl, Los Angeles, CA
9/25 Soma, San Diego, CA
9/26 Glass House, Pomona, CA
9/27 Soho Restaurant & Music Club, Santa Barbara, CA
9/29 The Library, Sacramento, CA
9/30 Shoreline Amphitheater, Mountain View, CA
10/02 Wonder Ballroom, Portland, OR
10/03 Commodore Ballroom, Vancouver, BC Canada
10/04 Showbox, Seattle, WA
10/07 Playmakers, Fargo, ND
10/08 First Avenue, Minneapolis, MN
10/09 Metro, Chicago, IL
10/10 St. Andrews Hall, Detroit, MI
10/12 Opera House, Toronto, ON Canada
10/13 Le National, Montreal, Canada
10/14 Paradise, Boston, MA
10/17 Irving Plaza, New York, NY
10/18 Irving Plaza, New York, NY
10/20 Sonar Lounge, Baltimore, MD
10/21 Starlight Lounge, Philadelphia, PA

The goddamn Hollywood Bowl? I had no idea so many people were into TVoTR at this point. A few years ago, right before the first LP Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes came out, I caught the band in a completely epic, awesome and highly intimate show at the Echo. (I'll be there again September 30th for the Silversun Pickups).

That's a tiny ass space, not more than an empty room with a bar and a few tables and a slightly-raised stage. A capacity of a few hundred at the most.

Their only album since then, the incredible Return to Cookie Mountain, is probably my favorite of the year so far. These guys are a really terrific band with a completely different sound from anyone else out tehre. It's moody, atmospheric, strange music that falls somewhere between indie rock, industrial and hip-hop. I liked the first full album a lot, but it was really (I had assumed) their first EP, Young Liars, that had won over the majority of their fans. Apparently, a lot of people have discovered these guys this year.

Which is great. I mean, good for them. I'm glad their songs are finding listeners, and they're about 100,000 times more talented than the other "buzzy" bands this year. (Attention Wolfmother: You guys blow. Your lead singer's white guy afro looks ridiculous. Get your furry mother off me.)

But I don't want to see TV on the Radio at the Hollywood Bowl. It's bad enough I have to go there for Belle and Sebastian and Radiohead. Can't these bands just stop attracting capacity crowds? I despise the Hollywood Bowl. Not just the experience of seeing shows there. I hate the entire institution, the building and grounds themselves. A small part of me wishes one of these lazy Los Angeles terrorist cells that hasn't gotten of its jihadist ass for 10 minutes to blow something up in five years would just decimate the Hollywood goddamn Bowl already so I could see shows in venues where you can actually get a decent view of the stage for less than the price of an NFL franchise. But only a small part.

The Bowl just has so many downsides. There's nowhere to park. Even if you overpay for lot parking (we're talking $20), it's only located way down Highland, so you still have to walk forever DIRECTLY UP A LARGE HILL to get to the venue. When I lived in Hollywood, I could take a train from near my apartment to somewhat near the Bowl and just walk the rest of the way, which is what I did for Radiohead in 2003. Now, I just have to drive to Hollywood and Highland and then bend over.

Then, once you've hired your trained Sherpas and navigated up the street to the actual front gate, there's the matter of fighting the teeming, impatient masses packed into an exceedingly small area to get inside and then find your seat. If you've hauled in provisions for the intense journey, the Bowl allows you to bring them inside, but if you plan on buying any food or beverages in the venue...well, I hope you've sold a yacht recently or something. That or you consider Robert De Niro's gangster roll from Goodfellas to be "walking around money."

Plus, there are very few quality seats at the Hollywood Bowl. It's enormous, and most of the seats are flat, uncomfortable benches located several miles from the actual stage. I couldn't see Radiohead at all when I went to that show. We weren't in the back exactly, but we were fairly far away. Occasionally, I would make out a jittery, spastic blot in the middle distance and assume that was Thom Yorke doing his trademark mid-song twitching. A few years later, seeing AIR and Stereolab backed by a section of the LA Philharmonic, I had significantly better seats...but still couldn't see particularly well.

And it's not just line of sight that's nice at a big concert for which you are spending $60 or more. It's live music. The whole point is to feel like you're in the same space as the musicians. That they are playing for your benefit. Being at the Hollywood Bowl is only slightly more intimate than watching a performance on television. In fact, watching a live performance on one of the High Definition channels on our TV is actually mroe intimate than being in the back of the Hollywood Bowl.

It turns out, they're opening for Massive Attack, hence the need for the large venue. I know I've missed a tour or two of theirs recently, as I've been going to less concerts. But I'll have to catch them next time they breeze through town on their own, because it will probably be the last time I can see them while remaining Staples Center-free.

R.I.P. Bruno Kirby

Bruno Kirby has one hilarious scene in my favorite comedy of all time, This is Spinal Tap, as an enthusiastic limo driver and Rat Pack fan. Remember? "Have any of you ever read Yes I Can by Sammy Davis Jr.? It should have been called Yes I Can, if Frank Sinatra Says It's Okay. Frank called the shots for all those guys."

There's a long and gloried history of limo drivers in the movies - from Argyle in Die Hard all the way to Dom Irrera in Big Lebowski - and even if he had achieved nothing else, this would be sufficient.

Among other memorable roles, Kirby will always be remembered as young Clamenza in Godfather 2, so this is a man with a secure legacy. He died of leukemia yesterday at the tender age of 57.



Bruno Kirby was one of those character actors with a famous face whose name a lot of people didn't know. Almost everyone has seen him - he's been in some big hit movies - but would your average Joe on the street be able to come up with the name "Bruno Kirby" if pressed?

Sometimes, I think this might be the worst possible kind of celebrity. You're getting approached and recognized all the time by assholes in public, so you get the whole downside of fame, but you don't really command the big salaries or the high-profile projects that an A-list star would expect. I always think of Alvy Singer in Annie Hall; Kirby had that "how do I know you?" kind of fame.

It wasn't for a lack of parts. The guy worked an awful lot, right up until his death as it turns out. (He had appeared recently on "Entourage.") Early in his career, in 1973, he appeared in Disney's Superdad, featuring soon-to-be-tragically-and-freakishly-murdered "Hogans Heroes" vet Bob Crane. You can find out more about this fascinating, grisly chapter in television history by watching Paul Schrader's hilarious ode to sexual addiction Auto Focus.

Tbogg helpfully points out that Kirby played "Man Greasing Up his Fist In Club" in William Friedkin's bizarre gay slasher Al Pacino vehicle Cruising. Kirby is shockingly actually credited for the film, despite his central role. I mean, can you imagine that movie without the man greasing up his fist in that club? The whole second half falls apart!

Kirby also made some movies where his character earned a name, not just a description of his favorite method of lubricant application. He's terrific as Albert Brooks' best friend in Modern Romance, a welcome respite from 90 minutes of Albert Brooks sitting alone in his apartment feeling sorry for himself. He plays a key role in Bill Murray's overlooked Hunter Thompson adaptation, Where the Buffalo Roam. He fits in snugly with the ensemble casts of hit comedies like When Harry Met Sally, The Freshman, Tin Men and City Slickers.

Kirby's specialty was playing tough guys who were actually really sensitive and vulnerable behind their macho facades. He primarily made comedies, but even in dramatic films, the goofy good-natured guy within would pop out on occasion. In one of the best moments in the overall brilliant Donnie Brasco, Michael Madsen's Mafia boss smacks him in the mouth when a joke about stealing parking meters hits too close to home. Sure, Kirby's believable as a gangster, but he's still the sweet, likable gangster.

I suspect his two roles that everyone will remember are Clemenza in Godfather 2 (pictured above) and 2nd. Lieutenant Hauk in Good Morning Vietnam. Levinson's Vietnam dramedy is not the greatest movie. You all know my feelings on Robin Williams in general by now. But Kirby has the best role in the whole movie and really makes the most out of it. His flummoxed hardass is infinitely more funny than Williams' endless jabbering, to my mind. It's rare that the villain in a film will also serve as the comic relief, but Kirby pulled it off.

Anyway, not much more to say. It's sad to see the guy go so young.

Lemming

The Gettys have an older couple to their house for dinner at the opening of Lemming, Dominik Moll's strange thriller from last year. Inventor and designer Alain (Laurent Lucas) and his fetching wife Bénédicte (Charlotte Gainsbourg) appear content, affectionate towards one another and hopeful for the future, having just moved to a spacious new home in the South of France. Their dinner guests, Alain's boss Richard Pollack (André Dussollier) and his wife Alice (Charlotte Rampling), are the exact opposite - angry, shrill and unable to sit peacefully next to one another through a single salad course.

Gradually, through machinations both everyday and supernatural, the older couple's marriage will unravel the younger couple's. Somewhere in between the blissful happiness of the Gettys and the venomous hostility of the Pollacks, Moll seems to suggest, the truth lies.

Moll's films revolve around irrational behavior and unpredictability. Interpersonal dramas that slowly develop into psychological horror, including the masterful Hitchcockian thriller With a Friend Like Harry, Moll's movies confront us with an almost elemental fear. What if the people around you quite simply ceased to make sense? What if their personal motives became inscrutible? When we all rely on colleagues, friends, family members and neighbors to conduct the business of our lives, we come to depend on certain unspoken understandings, certain social contracts that, when violated, can make us feel betrayed, alienated and frightened.

In With a Friend Like Harry, Moll presents a platonic friend as nemesis. Kind of a dramatic twist on What About Bob?, a seemingly-normal acquaintance begins to develop an unhealthy obsession with the protagonist's family, inserting himself forcibly into the "sacred" world of the man's home. Now, in Lemming, Moll tackles the even more complex morass of marriage, dissecting it as an institution with a critical lens that's bitter but, eventually, finds room for optimisim. This is one of the most fascinating, ingenious and difficult films that I have seen all year.



Two peculiar things happen after that initial dinner party that change the Gettys lives forever. First, the very unhappy and highly eccentric Alice Pollack becomes fixated on the young marrieds, showing up at the house unexpectedly to interrogate Bénédicte and at the office to try and seduce Alain. Second, the titular rodent, a Scandanavian species making a rare appearance in France, is found clogging up the plumbing below the kitchen sink.

Surely the two events are related somehow, and Moll spends a good deal of the film extending and enhancing this central metaphor. Certainly, Alice is very very unhappy, quite possibly willing to take her own life, and lemmings are famous for traveling great distances in order to drown themselves. Nicholas Chevalier (Jacques Bonnaffé), a small mammal expert, informs Bénédicte that lemmings are not really suicidal, despite what the legends say, but in actuality drown because they lack the strength to cross large bodies of water during migration. They're not bent on self-destruction; they merely die from fatigue.

Similarly, the Pollacks marriage has crumbled into an enterprise defined mainly through exertion. At the dinner party that opens the film, Alice informs her hosts that her husband regularly cheats on her with whores. She later confesses to Alain that Richard attempted to kill her many years before. She only stays with him, she protests, because she wants to see him die. Perhaps her descent into rage and madness resembles the incomplete voyage of the lemmings. She has not set out to bring her life to an end, but merely expires from the labor of pretending to love a man she despises.

Though it's overall a far more promising relationship, the Gettys union is not without cracks and fissures. Alain, whose work involves the development of a remote-controlled flying webcam allowing homeowners to look in on their dwellings via computer, seems to have an unhealthy taste for voyeurism. (Later, he'll use the camera to spy on a couple in flagrante through their front windows).

The Gettys marriage, in many ways, is defined by perpetual scrutiny. (In this way, Lemming occasionally resembles Michel Hanecke's thriller from last year, Cache.) After the lemming incident, a video camera is sent in to inspect their pipes, with Moll's camera gliding gently above the viscous brown sewage towards a grim, uncertain destination. Additionally, the Gettys are carefully observed by the Pollacks during and after the first dinner party - Alice mocks them as a "model" couple and declares Bénédicte "pathetic" while Richard openly admits to sizing up Alain's wife. Eventually, the Gettys willingness to reveal themselves will be taken advantage of when a supernatural force invades the serenity of their home and even their minds.

Borrowing a conceit from Ingmar Bergman's Persona, Moll eventually gives the movie over completely to allegorical fantasy. Beyond simply mirroring some of her atittude and circumstances, Bénédicte actually seems to transform into Alice at a certain point (apparently after spending the night in a guest room where Alice had been). The ambiguity of the first 90 minutes or so, in which Moll suggests some surreal goings-on but keeps the action potentially grounded in reality, gives way to Lynchian dream logic that removes the story from the realm of the possible and thus blunts some of the final impact. It's enough, I would think, to subtley infer the "possession" storyline, making the film more singular, broadly applied and unsettling.

Like Lynch in his best work, Moll relies heavily on changes in color to highlight a scene's emotional subtext or to alter the tone and mood. The early stages, in which the Gettys merrily live and play in good cheer, are bright and warm, brilliant sunny days set in earth tones. Once the lemming comes out of the sink, a rat-like creature that at first appears dead but soon jerks back to life, Moll vascillates between light sequences and long scenes shot in cold, steely blues.

Jean-Marc Fabre's cinematography reaches its pinnacle in a beautiful, eerie scene at a lake house. Alain awakes to find himself alone, his wife having left in the car for an unknown destination. Everything is drenched in a deep blue, as if he's awoken already at the bottom of the sea with the expired lemmings, unable to remain afloat from the intense strain of it all. It's a haunting image, a rich blue sun setting over a cartoonishly-saturated ocean, alien and almost frightening.

And I do mean frightening. Much like the aforementioned Mr. Lynch's films, Lemming veers quickly between the thought-provoking and the scary. Though Moll doesn't stoop to actual "scare shots," he does make use of the kind of musical crescendos and all-concealing shadows that permeate horror filmmaking. The only difference is that, rather than monsters or serial murderers skulking around every corner, the characters are pursued by familiar faces, faces that once represented love and acceptance and have only recently curled up into angry snarls.

When Alice shows up at the Gettys house to confront Bénédicte (about what it's not quite clear), she asks the younger woman if she fears the future, when her relationship with her husband will inevitably sour. With his surprisingly optimistic ending, Moll seems to disagree with Alice's hardened outlook, suggesting that some couples can avoid the pratfalls that turned the Pollack's marriage into a soul-sucking prison of despair. The Gettys, then, are those rare lemmings with the strength to push across the rushing waters that claim so many of their bretheren. Is it worth even posing the most obvious question? Why they bother to try and cross the uncrossable river in the first place?

Well, Camus Can Do...But Sartre is Smart-ra

Two "Simpsons" references in one day. Neeeeeeeeeeeeerd!

(Three "Simpsons" references in one day...)

Anyway, our President went and read hisself a book during his vacation, it seems. I guess, after finally finishing that one about the goat, he was ready to move on to something more meaty, because he chose Albert Camus' The Stranger.

I'm kind of divided on this. On the one hand, the President read something. That's terrific. Reading comprehension is one of the most important skills a president can have. I mean, if Bush had been a more avid reader in the months before 9/11, maybe he would have read one of those memos that kept whizzing by his desk with ominous titles referencing known terrorists. I think it was something like...Bin Laden determined to attack inside U.S.?

And he didn't just read a book, he read a difficult one. And one that's not even gooey or religious or a bestseller. I would have expected, if Bush was going to let everyone know he read a book, it would be from the Left Behind series. Or The Way of the Peaceful Warrior. Or that financial bestseller...what was it called?...Rich Dad, Egregiously Super-Rich Dad?

Still, I have reservations. Mainly, I don't believe that Bush actually read a book, which I think in all honesty is a task beyond his mental capabilities. He can't string together a complete, rational sentence. If you met someone on the street who spoke in the halting, awkward manner of our president, you'd give him a quarter on the condition that he please not spend it on malt liquor.

All we know is that Bush had quoted Camus in a speech and then Tony Snow claimed Bush read The Stranger while on vacation.

US President George W. Bush quoted French existential writer Albert Camus to European leaders a year and a half ago, and now he's read one of his most famous works: "The Stranger."

White House spokesman Tony Snow said Friday that Bush, here on his Texas ranch enjoying a 10-day vacation from Washington, had made quick work of the Algerian-born writer's 1946 novel -- in English.

The US president, often spoofed as an intellectual lightweight, quoted Camus in a February 21, 2005 speech in Brussels praising the US-Europe alliance and urging other nations to help Washington spread democracy in the world.

"We know there are many obstacles, and we know the road is long. Albert Camus said that 'freedom is a long-distance race.' We're in that race for the duration," Bush said in those remarks.

Let me just say how proud I am to live in a nation where it's international news when the president reads a book they make kids read in high school. "This just in! U.S. President not illiterate! Capable of processing main ideas behind important 20th Century works of fiction! News Flash! 80% of adult Americans report ability to dress themselves! Incidents involving ndividuals urinating on themselves are way down, incidents of simultaneous gum chewing and walking are way up!"

Should we be concerned that the President is reading the works of the French Existentialists? I know that Sartre said he was never depressed a day in his life, but I wouldn't mind our President having a somewhat less bleak worldview. We're talking about a book in which the protagonist learns that the world is cold and indifferent to humankind, and thus our individual actions only matter to ourselves and how we perceive them.

Creepy for a guy with his finger on the button, no? I mean, if Bush were an intelligent guy capable of nuanced thought, I wouldn't have any problem with this at all. Camus' ideas have validity and it's a great book. But Bush is easily influenced and superficial. Would he understand the subtextual philosophies of the novel or just think it's okay to kill Arabs as long as you feel bad afterwards?

I haven't seen anyone mention yet that the plot of this particular novel concerns a white man shooting an Arab man several times in cold blood. I believe The Cure summed it up best in their song named for the novel:

I'm alive/
I'm dead/
I'm a stranger/
Killing an Arab

He's sentenced to die for shooting an Algerian after a fight on the beach and learns prior to his execution to accept the hopelessness of his struggle and to truly come to terms with his own mortality. I want the war president reading something much, much happier than this.

Don't they have any John Grishams in the White House library? Actually, those are all about brilliant young attorneys making good in the world by using their pluck and intellect...So maybe something more relatable. Elmore Leonard and Carl Hiassen? They both write about inept criminals, which sounds about right in terms of relatability...

I just don't think it's true, is all. I don't believe the whole story. I think they want to make it seem like he's not a doofus so they're doing something obvious and lying about his reading habits. I mean, Tony Snow saying something is pretty much evidence that it's bullshit. I'm thinking that might even hold up in court.

"Your honor, Tony Snow said my client's guilty. And then Thomas Friedman indicated that he might agree, but it would take 6 months to be sure."

"Not guilty!"

A Brief Confessional

So here was the dilemma. Last night, I had some guests over, including a few friends who are in LA for a few days from out of town. At around midnight, after a few hours of catching up, people decided they wanted to hit one of the local bars. I declined for two reasons.

First, I had to wake up early this morning to open the video store, which is unpleasant enough without additional hangover-related discomfort. Secondly, alcohol has not been sitting well with me lately. Last weekend, I went to Orange County to have a meal with my family and wound up getting a headache from two mild whiskey and ginger ales. I've kind of made an informal decision to avoid the sauce for a few weeks, hoping the problem goes away on its own.

So anyway, I was not going to go. It turns out, one of my friends also didn't want to go to the bar. So it was suggested that he hang out in my apartment for a few hours while everyone else drank, then they could come pick him up post-revelry and go home. (This had the additional benefit of providing for a designated, though sleepy, driver).

The thing is...I kind of wanted to go to bed. And my roommates probably wanted to hang out in the front room, the location of the big television, without a passed-out guy splaid out in there. So I made this objection known, and plans were changed.

I have seriously been troubled by this experience all day today. In the cold light of the following morning, I came to realize that my actions inadvertedly made it appear that I didn't want to have my friend in my apartment for a few hours. I was, in a manner of speaking, actually kicking him out, without using those particular words. In the end, it was an awkward social encounter. Not a bad or unpleasant or hostile one, but just awkward or unforutnate, which I late came to regret.

It's a crappy feeling. I don't want to call the guys and apologize, because it's not really that big a deal. In fact, I think hashing it over and trying to belatedly explain myself would only make the entire affair seem more significant, thus making me look worse. So I'm just stuck with feeling like a dick for turning away out-of-town friends, which is something you really ought not to do if you just have to wake up early to open a video store. In retrospect, the big thing to do would be to stop being a baby and just go get a drink with everybody, because who knows when we'll all be together again. It's too bad I only feel this way the next day, when the social event in question is already over.

Really, it all relates back to my increasingly anti-social attitude over the past few years. I notice that, as I get older, I just become more and more of a loner. A creepy loner, you might even say, if you weren't feeling charitable.

There was a time when I hated to be in my apartment alone for extended periods of time. I really enjoyed living in my own apartment, by myself, but not because I wanted to be stuck in there all the time alone. Really, it gave me an excuse to get out more and do stuff, because there was never anything going on at home.

Now, I crave alone time. To paraphrase a classic "Simpsons" line, hanging out in my room with a couple of DVD's, a pot of coffee and some combustible vegetation sounds more fun than a weekend with Batman. My urge to randomly call up a friend to grab dinner somewhere, to take a walk down to the music store or the movie theater, to check out a local bar to which I've never been, has dropped violently over the last few years. As in, I never feel like doing these things as much as I feel like going home, grabbing a quick bite, watching something for an hour and passing the fuck out.

I'm way too young to be this much of a loser already. (Although I've always been something of a prodigy when it comes to loserdom.) So I have panicky episodes like last night and today, in which I turn down a prime opportunity to go out and be social and then spend the next day feeling like a lame dumbass.

It's Terrorism Fever...Catch It!

Anyone else think that this whole foiled terrorist plot may be just so much election year hype? Was some plot foiled by British intelligence? It certainly seems so. But would you put it past our media to trump up some relatively minor bust in order to make the War on Terra seem more effective?

Now, I'd like to stress that I don't think our government or Tony Blair's neccessarily concocted this whole terrorist story. Mainly because they're not that clever. Bush can't manage to discuss foreign policy and eat at the same time, let alone propagandizing a false tragedy for the purposes of electoral fraud.

No, I think if anyone planted this story, it's clearly Paramount Pictures and director Oliver Stone. Think about it...The very weekend they're opening the big World Trade Center movie with Nicholas Cage, the world is shocked by another bomb plot hatched by al-Qaida's finest Imagineers. The attack was thwarted yesterday and then World Trade Center opened today. Now that's marketing.

I'm not sure whether some of Stone/Paramount's representatives simply falsified information about a planned attack on U.S. soil or whether they actually attempted to carry out a terrorist action in support of the movie. In either case, I think it's clearly going to far just to sell a film, no matter how important the subject matter.

Still, it's like Lenin said..."I am the walrus." No, that other thing...The one about looking to the person who will benefit most...In this case, Oliver Stone. Not only will interest in this near-trauma probably add $5-$10 million to his opening weekend B.O., it's a surefire concept for the inevitable sequel.

World Trade Center 2: Heathrow

Look for it in theaters, oh, I'd say about Summer 2009. We should all be psychically healed by then, wouldn't you say?

Poseidon

Last night, I saw a double feature at the Egyptian Theater. Two British films, totally unavailable on DVD, that have been all but forgotten by modern audiences. In the case of 1969's Bond rip-off Some Girls Do, the second in a series of films about super-spy and Sean Connery lookalike Hugh Drummond, it's probably for the best. Notable mainly for its gimmick of attractive female servant-robots (parodied in the first Austin Powers film) and its highly ludicrous '60s fashions and designs, the movie rarely rises above the level of nostalgia cheese.

1972's Pulp, a flop upon its initial release, holds up much better. Star Michael Caine and director Mike Hodges, coming off of the cult hit Get Carter, reteamed for this wacky mystery-comedy that's equal parts clever postmodern riff and lowbrow farce. It doesn't always work, but Caine and Mickey Rooney are hilarious and enough of the little background jokes connect to make it worthwhile, particularly for fans of detective fiction.

I'd write a full-length review of these films and the experience of seeing them on the big screen at the Egyptian in Hollywood...but what do you guys care, right? The event's over, so you can't go see them. And they're not on DVD, and probably never will be. So I might as well review something you'll at least have a chance to watch.

Which brings me to Wolfgang Peterson's Poseidon, which you'll all get a chance to watch in a few weeks when it comes out on DVD. Not that you should bother...


An exclusive sneak peek at Warners' can't miss 2007 sequel, Tango's Son & Cash & Goldfarb

The Poseidon Adventure strikes me as a quality selection for a remake. It has a great premise and the original film isn't particularly good. It has a good title, sure, and it's memorable in a way, mainly because Shelly Winters continually makes fun of her own weight problem and Gene Hackman plays a priest having a crisis of faith, both of which are funny. But it's a stupid, pointless film, one of dozens of cheesy, perfunctory '70s disaster films with big ensemble casts yelling at one another inside burning or crumbling superstructures.

Unfortunately, Peterson's new version doesn't fix any of the problems with the original, and in fact adds in some fresh, new problems of its own. It has a few solid sequences of carnage and destruction, lame supporting characters and some of the weakest dialogue of any film I've seen all year. My friend Cory complained about some cheeseball dialogue in Miami Vice. That shit sounds like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead compared with some of the turds Kurt Russell is handed here. There's at least three exchanges that made me want to turn off the DVD player.

It's kind of a shame, because the movie clearly cost an awful lot and a ton of quality craftsmanship has gone into the production. The story of a futuristic ocean liner, capsized mid-ocean by a massive "rogue wave," practically cries out for the generally sure hand of Wolfgang Peterson, whose Das Boot and Perfect Storm occasionally tread similar...please forgive me...waters.

He handles a few bits with aplomb. The initial wave crash and the resulting destruction looks really terrific and sounds even better. Beams being throttled apart, huge windows shattering on impact, bodies flying around through flame-streaked passageways...It's like the final hour of Titanic smooshed together into one five-minute orgy of chaos.

A few other little set pieces come together nicely. The above photo, despite what the hilarious caption indicates, comes from a scene in which Richard Dreyfuss and Freddy Rodriguez hold on for dear life above flaming water. It's intense and wrenching, momentarily capturing some of the claustrophobic, mortal terror of being stuck in an upside-down ship in the mid-Atlantic. It's also shockingly violent for a PG-13 movie. I don't care how many f-bombs are dropped in Find Me Guilty. There's no way that tame courtroom comedy deserves an R rating while this Flaming-Corpse-a-thon squeaks by with a PG-13.

These enjoyable, thrilling momets of spectacle are few and far between. Actually, I have just named both of the scenes in Poseidon that worked for me. The rest is pretty much total garbage. The first 15 minutes consists of bland, poorly-conceived individuals introducing themselves to one another.

"Oh, hello, concerned single mother. I'm lonely gay man and this is my friend, heroic ex-mayor. If some horrifying disaster was to befall this ship, I'd like to think that we'd all try and band together for survival. Possibly finding an individual who knows something about the bowels of such an ocean liner, who might enable us to find a unique, impromptu escape route? Oh, by the way, I have commitment issues. That might come up later if, for any reason, I think I'm about to die. Just thought I'd mention it now so there's no confusion in that unlikely event."

Then, Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas takes the stage to introduce us once again to her big fat humps. She's a national treasure.


Not only is their ship turned upside-down, but the passengers must also contend with the hideous ghoul Davy Jones, intent on imprisoning them all in a lifetime of servitude aboard the Flying Dutchman.

Then, Richard Dreyfuss is hanging out on deck and notices an enormous wave about the crush the vessel in twain. How come nobody noticed this thing before it was visible to the naked eye? Don't they have sonar on this thing? Maybe they used the sonar fund to book Fergie.

The rest of the movie finds Kurt Russell leading his daughter (Emmy Rossum), her boyfriend (um...some guy...), a determined Josh Lucas and a few other passengers through the ship to safety. Mainly, they stand around in small flooding rooms and debate the proper route. Every once in a while, someone dies in horrible pain, frequently on camera. It doesn't really make for a fun time at the movies.

It's mainly boring, what with all the arguing and standing around in knee-high water, so I kept thinking about how this must have been the worst experience in the actor's lives. For months at a time, they're holed up together having instructions barked at them in a thick German accent, standing around for hours in sopping wet clothes on upside-down sets, being periodically doused with cold water. That's pretty much worse than just being a passenger in an upside-down cruise ship. At least the doomed passengers will die of hypothermia after a few hours of exposure.

It's also oddly obsessed with Emmy Rossum's wet breasts. Now, don't get me wrong...They're very nice breasts, particularly when wet. But she bends down right in front of the camera a lot. An awful lot. You feel like nudging Wolfgang when no one else is looking and warning him that he's going to get caught. Considering that she's playing Kurt Russell's daughter, it's kind of an odd choice. I'm not complaining, mind you, but the whole thing strikes me as kind of unseemly. There hasn't been this much teasing PG-13 fripple since we all found out what Jennifer Love Hewitt did last summer.

The whole thing would just work better if there was one character who was funny or engaging. It's not only impossible to care about these random, underdeveloped strangers...It's impossible to even focus on their predicament for a few minutes at a time because they're so crushingly dull. Even actors with a lot of charisma and presence - like Kevin Dillon, who shows up and essentially plays his character from "Entourage" in a few scenes - aren't given anything interesting to say or do. They all just stand around until bits of the set start to fall apart, then they take off running. For an action film, it's entirely static.

The Safety Dance

Here's what George Bush had to say in the aftermath of this whole British liquid bomber fiasco:

President Bush said the foiled plot showed the nation was "at war with Islamic fascists who will use any means to destroy those of us who love freedom, to hurt our nation."

"This country is safer than it was prior to 9/11," Bush said Thursday in Green Bay, Wis. "We've taken a lot of measures to protect the American people, but obviously we're not completely safe. ... It is a mistake to believe there is no threat to the United States of America."

Okay, so there's a lot of just made-up idiotic stuff in this quote, just like every single sentence Bush has ever spoken aloud, ever. In particular, were the 24 men arrested in connection with this plot really "facsists"? Have they written some sort of manifesto I can peruse in order to ascertain the veracity of this claim? What is that based on? Did they have brown shirts on at the time of arrest, perhaps? Did they declare, out of nowhere, a fondness for a nice putsch?

Because I can think of a lot of solid pieces of evidence indicating George Bush's fascist tendencies...Not so much crazy bombing guys. They strike me more as religious zealot assholes than fascists. But, hey, that's me...Maybe they were purging the unfaithful in their own political party while simultaneously fomenting thuggish street violence and issuing propaganda in an attempt to consolidate and centralize their power, and it just hasn't come out yet.

Also, he did that same tired old "they hate us for our freedom" line that was already overused by 9/16. Yeah, sure, they hate us for our freedom. I'm just saying, our bombs and missiles and torture rooms aren't helping.

But let's forget about all the shit that spews out of our President's mouth for a few minutes and focus on one actual real topic of interest that he brought up. Are we safer now than we were before 9/11? Anyone think so?

Why Joe Lieberman Lost...

In two simple paragraphs:

"I'm worried that too many people, both in politics and out, don't appreciate the seriousness of the threat to American security and the evil of the enemy that faces us -- more evil or as evil as Nazism and probably more dangerous than the Soviet communists we fought during the long Cold War," Lieberman said.

"If we just pick up like Ned Lamont wants us to do, get out [of Iraq] by a date certain, it will be taken as a tremendous victory by the same people who wanted to blow up these planes in this plot hatched in England. It will strengthen them and they will strike again."

I'm encouraged by Lamont's victory. Maybe Americans are starting to see through this insa,e hollow rhetoric. Maybe we really are turning a corner!

Inside Man & CSA: The Confederate States of America

I saw Inside Man in theaters while visiting Florida this Spring, so I didn't write up my thoughts at the time. Spike Lee's latest is pretty much what you'd expect from the trailers - a sleek, taut and well-directed heist thriller reminiscent of Dog Day Afternoon with some fun, outsized lead performances. His fourth collaboration with star Denzel Washington, this is probably the tightest and most accessible, but it's hardly the best (that would be Malcolm X) or most ambitious.

Having said that, most of the landmarks of the Spike Lee joint remain. We return to the notion of New York as a pressure cooker for social, racial and class tension. Cinematographer Matthew Libatique, in his first collaboration with Lee, essentially creates a brighter version of Malik Hassan Sayeed's work in the director's Clockers - intrusive close-ups, garishly bright colors and, of course, the shot where the guy moves on a conveyor belt towards the camera. As in Clockers or He Got Game or The 25th Hour or Do the Right Thing, past injustices pollute the atmosphere of the present. About halfway through Inside Man, Clive Owen speaks a line that could fit snugly within just about any Spike Lee movie - "Murder will out."



The original twist here is all a matter of perspective. Lee gives us the scenario entirely from a cop's point of view. Generally, he seems to reject the notion of point-of-view entirely. His movies tend to drift between a variety of protagonists, giving the audience insight into everyone's perspective on the events of the story. Do the Right Thing is the most obvious example, zipping through the lives of an entire neighborhood full of angry, opinionated New Yorkers. But shifting attitudes and ambiguities run through all of the man's work.

Inside Man takes a story that's typically presented from one side - a bank robber - and turns it into a story about two cops solving a difficult case. The complexities behind the present crimes become illuminated only when Detectives Keith Frazier (Denzel Washington) and Bill Mitchell (Chiwetel Ejiofor) catch on to them. And it takes a while.

This is not entirely their fault, mind you. Several important factors are working against them. For one, there's the highly intelligent and surprisingly non-violent head of the gang of thieves (Clive Owen), who seems to have more on his mind than stealing away with a few hundred thousand dollars from vault. Then, there's the Chairman of the bank's Board of Directors (Christopher Plummer), a suspicious type who hires a mysterious "fixer" (Jodie Foster) to keep an eye on the escalating situation. Finally, there's the police captain (Willem Dafoe), who has apparently seen a movie like this before and knows it's his job to insist on bursting into the bank and killing everyone.

There are a few secrets revealed on the way to the conclusion which, of course, I will not ruin for you here. They are satisfying but not mind-blowing. In many ways, a movie like this is all about the last 10 minutes, and after two viewings, I kind of feel like Inside Man takes a bit too long to get to an ending that's merely satisfactory. It's a minor complaint overall. I have watched the movie twice and been thoroughly entertained both times. But still, with this sort of a thriller, it's better to save a bit more surprise for the very end. Leave the people wanting more.

Though it's unfortunate from a pacing standpoint, I can understand why Spike took his time wading through the murky backstory before simply wrapping up Inside Man. The "secrets" uncovered during the course of Frazier's investigation, in noirish fashion, relate to the most base kind of corruption. They are compelling enough to warrant a few more pre-credit scenes.

The crimes that have been hidden away in this Manhattan bank seem to run against the entire spirit of the place as presented in Lee's film. We see the diversity of New York. A tense, uneasy diversity, but a mainly peaceful one. What's unearthed is an evil that contradicts this version of reality, the kind of secret that's always hidden away behind vault doors, kept away from the average citizens who watch outside behind police tape.



Spike Lee's name is on the DVD box for CSA: The Confederate States of America, but it's one of those "Presented by..." deals where the filmmaker just let someone put their name on the box and doesn't actually have anything to do with the movie. I rented this independently-produced 2004 oddity not because of the association with Spike Lee, but because it sounded like a funny sort of concept...

What if the South had won the Civil War?

Writer/director Kevin Willmott's CSA approximates an alternate-universe British documentary, chronicling the history of the former United States of America from the immediate antebellum period to the present day. To enhance the effect of watching a real TV program, there are commercial interruptions and network identification spots.

Sounds funny, right? I expected some clever historical references, some redneck jokes and some clever Photoshop-style manipulation effects, like that imagined Iwo Jima above. But then, I didn't really understand Willmott's actual interests and intention. This movie is not at all funny. It is deathly serious and, in its own way, genuinely horrifying.

But perhaps I should explain. Willmott has imagined a world in which the South won the Civil War and therefore slavery remained legal. And remains legal to this day. Obviously, this changes everything about our national history, character, sense of ourselves...Well, everything.

But Willmott doesn't stop there! No, this is not just some takedown of slavery as an institution. He's poitning out how similar this imagined pro-slavery Southern nation would be to our history. Sure, the Emancipation Proclamation "freed the slaves," in other words, but it hardly put an end to prjeudice, hate or black suffering in America.

The film is very angry, very pointed and occasionally hard to take. It's blithe manner is, of course, part of the put-on. We're watching a universe in which slavery is not only legal but a beloved and sacred part of American culture. Of course they don't recoil from calling black men "bucks" or advertising Lo-Jack style collars intended to alert authorities to runaways. But that doesn't make it easier to watch if you happen to be from our version of reality.

What kept me watching was how deviously clever Willmott is at toying with the real history of America. Our encouraching interference in Latin and South American life and politics is mirrored by the (very real) plans for colonizing all of the Americas in the glorious name of the Confederacy. The infamous Watts riots of the 1960's are reconfigured as a modern slave rebellion. And real advertising icons - from Coon Chicken (immortalized in Ghost World) to Niggerhair cigarettes - are updated for contemporary tastes. (With a reminder that some of these characters, like Uncle Ben and Aunt Jemima, have never left us.)

Furthermore, he postulates how our approach to issues of race would come to govern our outlook and behavior as a nation. In World War II, he theorizes, we would have remained officially neutral but friendly with the Nazis. (Fake footage shows Hitler touring Washington D.C.) The Chinese immigrants who flooded West to build the railroads would have been converted forcibly into slave labor. Japanese internment would take on a new and even uglier face.

My favorite touch was an inspired nod to D.W. Griffith's Birth of a Nation, a hazily-recalled celebration of the Ku Klux Klan which obviously would never have come to pass if the South had won the war in the first place. With the South as victor, Griffith's film instead focuses on the plight of poor, sad, nigger-lovin' Abraham Lincoln, sneaking out of the country via Harriet Tubman's Underground Railroad. It's a wonderful comic inversion, and shot just like a real Griffith silent. A great sequence.

In addition to the Spike Lee credit, the DVD box for CSA advertises the film as funny. "Like Jean-Luc Godard directing a script by Dave Chappelle," reads one. I kind of get this, sort of. It's postmodern and experimental, like Godard. And it features sketches poking fun at the idea of slavery, like "Chappelle's Show." But that description makes it sound funny, and I rarely laughed during CSA. Very very rarely. It's savvy and even witty, sure. But not funny. I'll be telling this to people in the video store for weeks, I mgiht as well stress it to you readers out there.

Dr. Tran Visits a Mormon Child

Easily posted streaming videos + Blogger + Apathy - Anything Interesting Besides Joe Lieberman's hilarious defeat = Another YouTube post!

I heard about this from co-worker William down at the Blazer. It's a really funny cartoon that I believe played in one of those Spike + Mike's animation festivals. I give you...Dr. Tran!



In the best entry yet in Stephen Colbert's ongoing series, "Better Know a District," here's Stephen attempting to prove that Washington D.C. is not technically part of the United States. At first, I was skeptical about whether Stephen could turn his O'Reilly parody into an entire show. Now, with "The Daily Show" becoming more silly all the time and "South Park" growing more creepy and less consistent, he's probably got the best half-hour of satirical comedy on television. (Although "Wonder Showzen" continues to impress.)



Tonight, I'm going to see a double-feature at the Egyptian Theater, part of American Cinematheque's annual Mods & Rockers series. The first film, Pulp!, is a detective comedy with Michael Caine. (More about these when I get back tonight, if they're worth writing about, I suppose...)

Here's the trailer for Christopher Nolan's upcoming The Prestige, starring Michael Caine in addition to Christian Bale, Hugh Jackman, Scarlett Johansson and David freaking Bowie. Very excited about this one...



Here's LA band Silversun Pickups playing "Kissing Families." It's a great song from their debut EP last year. The new album, Carnavas, is great too. I picked these guys up from one of the music blogs a month or so ago, and it seems like I'm seeing them mentioned everywhere now. (Local rag CityBeat even gave them a shoutout this past week.)

The video itself is not that exciting, but it's actually easier to post a music video streaming on here than it is an mp3, so you get audio and video!



Finally, an awesome clip from "Mystery Science Theater 3000" in which they watch an old "Gumby" cartoon. I miss this show...