When Harry Met Sally Part Deux

OK, so I may or may not be a little intoxicated at the moment. Fine. I am. But that's not going to stop me from making my daily post. It might stop me from making an ovelry amusing or overly interesting post, but it won't stop me from posting. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Intoxicated. Anyway, to fulfill my daily postdom, here is a video of what "When Harry Met Sally" would be like if they did a sequel. They're not drunk. I don't think. If it doesn't work or it plays something completely different, try clicking here and see if it's there. If it doesn't, I really can't help you. I'm drunk, remember?

When Harry Met Sally 2 with Billy Crystal & Helen Mirren from Billy Crystal

Film Review: Pariah

In my initial, mostly mental draft of this review, I began with a long paragraph about my declining interest in mainstream--Hollywood--and a good deal of independent US cinema, but on rereading it, I decided to forgo the rant and instead focus on one aspect of it, which is to say, the mainstream and a good deal of queer American moviemaking. As with the broader US film mainstream, in far too many US queer cinema, the stories represent a narrow spectrum, in multiple ways; they traffic in stereotypes; and almost never do I see anything produced calling itself queer cinema that that reflects the diversity of lives I know, including anyone like me in them. To give one example, I'll cite the Oscar-nominated film The Kids Are Alright (2010), which received considerable praise, especially for its fine performances (especially by Annette Bening), but I had to ask after having watched it, who were these women? I know they exist, but what about the millions of lesbians who aren't upper-middle-class, asset-rich, highly educated, asset-rich, homeowners, white? What about all the women and transwomen whose main concern isn't a faltering relationship caused by the appearance of a sperm donor but how they'll put food on the table, keep their jobs if they have them, deal with difficult or unyielding family members, survive?  What about the lesbians who aren't coupled up, with attractive children who could easily step out of a Gap ad, who despite the societal and cultural changes are still treated like outlaws and pariahs?

Considering what's rarely shown or depicted, I was very happy to go with C to see Pariah, Dee Rees' Sundance Film Festival favorite from last year, which was playing at this year's Film Society of Lincoln Center New Directors/New Films Festival in New York. I had not seen the 2007 short, which garned a great deal of acclaim, but I had read a little about the film to know its contours. Alike (Adepero Oduye), pronounced Ah-LEE-kay, is a 16-year-old African-American lesbian living in Brooklyn with her middle-class family and partially in the closet, partially out. In, as Alike, to the degree possible when at home, because of her emotionally smothering, doctrinaire, religious mother Audrey (Kim Wayans) and her loving but emotionally distant father, an NYPD detective, Arthur (Charles Parnell). Out, as "Lee," when at school and with her closest friend, Laura (Pernell Whitaker, who also gives a superb perform), an aggressive who's been thrown out of her home, dropped out of school, and is now living with her older sister.  The story, which reprises elements of many a coming-out tale's plots, nevertheless feels fresh because of the acting, the setting, the focus of the story itself.  I cannot think of hardly any non-documentary features I have seen, at least in the last 15 years, that spends even a short period of time exploring the life of a black lesbian/queer woman, young, old or otherwise, or even that portrays the dynamics of queer life within the framework of a contemporary urban middle-class or working-class family, particularly one comprising people of color. (Quinceañera does this, admirably in my perspective, for a Latino family.)

As is the case with the coming-out plot, we know what's on the way, at least in part. Alike is going to encounter resistance from her mother, there'll be a showdown, that love is closer than she imagines, and...well, I won't spoil things. But let's just say that despite the traumas she experiences, the film is about more than just coming into queerness; it's about coming into selfhood, sexually, emotionally, culturally, spiritually. By the end, this kid is alright--and on her way to a womanhood she's creating for herself. Rees, who wrote and directed Pariah, manages to throw in a few twists, including a comic-that-turns-heartbreaking plot point involving Audrey's attempts to have her daughter associate with a friend's daughter, a more "feminine" acting--read as straight--bohemian schoolmate named Bina (Aasha Davis).  Rees also captures the lingo, the milieu, so authoritatively that from the opening sequence I never doubted her choices.  Yet Pariah doesn't unfold like a documentary, or as a sociological or anthropological lesson. I didn't feel as if I were a tourist or voyeur in this world (and I say this while acknowledging many points of personal connection and identification with the story).  Rees's script succeeds as a story, with narrative complexity, proceeding assuredly towards its minor and major climaxes, and in the process draws us fully into Lee's life, her world, her head. Her journey of self-awareness and empowerment, of not accepting society's--or her mother's--branding of her as a "pariah," of becoming who she will be, ultimately affected me deeply and wanting more, of her life, and from this writer-director.

Technically the film was as accomplished as any I have seen in a while. Bradford Young's cinematography, in every light, whether in the corner store, on the pier, in the women's club, at school, draws the beauty from these faces in a way that's sadly too rare, especially Lee's, her dark brown eyes and complexion almost glowing with pain and possibility. Compositionally the frames shot within Lee's home convey a sense of claustrophobia; we feel that Audrey, unhappy and lonesome at being physically forsaken by her husband, rattled and enraged by her eldest daughter's sexuality, has created a cocoon that is suffocating everyone involved. Every time we step outside, the sense of freedom becomes palpable, the effect crystallized in the scene towards the film's end involving Lee and her father on the roof of the building where Laura and her sister live.  Yet another moment of compositional achievement occurs when Rees shows us Laura's mother, peering at the top of the stairs through her house's barely cracked door, at her daughter she cannot bring herself even to speak to, let alone accept, as Laura climbs and then descends the stairs, pleading, imploring, trying to share her major accomplishment with a woman who can barely suffer to acknowledge her.

If there were any off notes, they came in two places. The first, relatively minor, was in Rees's depiction of Lee's interaction with her high-school English teacher, Mrs. Alvarado (Zabryna Guevara). These moments felt more like echoes of what I'd seen onscreen before multiple times, and I wished that Rees could have offered a bit more texture, a bit more complication. Speaking from direct knowledge here, having taught poetry to inner-city high school students, including young women like Lee, I wished we might have seen the teacher, Lee and her classmates wrestling a bit more with what might lie just on the other side of her poetry, of what she was still unable to put on the page, or what was there without her fulling seeing it. One other less-successful aspect of the film, a bit larger, was the depiction of Lee's mother, Audrey. I felt I knew what Rees was after, who Audrey was, but between the concision required in filmic characterization and Wayans' limitations as an actress, she was perhaps the least succcessful character.  More than balancing her out, however, are the other characters, particularly Oduye, who completely inhabits and realizes Alike-Lee, but also Stewart as Laura, whose unspoken desire is palpable even before she reveals it, and Parnell as the father who doesn't reject his daughter, but can only partially grasp what she's going through.

Whenever I come across a film like this, I feel a surge of hope that it will be the beginning of many such works, but I know the reality is quite different. Nevertheless, I hope Rees continues on her path, and that all involved, including producer Nekisa Cooper and the executive producers, who include Spike Lee, can figure out a way to bring more of the rich tapestry of stories, especially those about people of color, queer people, and queer people of color, to the screen. And please, more films to showcase Oduye and these other talented actors! Then the kids--the children--will be on the road to being truly alright.

What's He Pointing At?

There is not crap on TV on Saturday nights. Well, there is crap on TV. Lots of it. But there isn't any crap worth watching (for the most part) on Saturday nights. Sometimes you can hope for a good movie, but for the most part, it's crap. And last night I ended up settling on watching Back to the Future III. Not crap by any means. I did notice something a little weird, though.

At the end, when Doc and Clara come back to 1985 with their two boys, Jules and Verne, they're talking with Marty and Jennifer. And as Doc is yammering on about how no one's future is set in stone just yet (unless you're Lindsay Lohan and in that case, you're pretty much screwed) and it is what you make it, one of the boys makes this odd hand gesture toward his penis. That's right. Toward his penis. It was sort of like a 'come hither' gesture followed by very distinctive pointing. And if you've ever seen Back to the Future III then you know that it has absolutely nothing to do with a penis whatsoever! The video of it is below. I'm open to suggestions as to what the what was going on there.

You Can't Review What You Haven't Seen

I am constantly amazed by the incredible myriad of idiocy that I have to choose from every day in order to write something in this little box. And for today, from the file of "Who Thinks This Is A Good Idea?" and under the sub-heading "Who Thought Up This S*** In The First Place" we have this: Movie reviews by people who have not seen the movie.

I kid you not. I am not dry shaving you. This is a real thing. I was checking out Fandango.com yesterday because I wanted to read the reviews for the newly released Mars Needs Moms. Regardless of what the reviews turned out to be, I had planned on seeing this movie because it is based on the book by the incredibly amazing and insanely talented, not to mention rather the witty and quick with a quip Berkeley Breathed. If you're unfamiliar with Mr. Breathed's work, I suggest you stop whatever you're doing right now and wonder what you've really accomplished in your life up to this point. The answer should be "Not nearly enough, as I have missed out on the awesome humor and keen insight of the Bloom County comic strips and the subsequent Sunday strips, Outland and Opus." In short, your life has been wasted. But there's still time to save it! (Not much time, really, but I try to be optimistic in situations like these.)

So there I am at Fandango and I click on the Reviews tab. As I began to read, I noticed that some of the reviews were strangely opinionated. So much so that it was if they hadn't seen the movie at all. And that is when I discovered that they hadn't. See, Fandango let's you review movies if you haven't seen them. I have absolutely NO idea why that would be. I am open to suggestions, however. What good does someone's opinion of something that they've never seen do for me? Not a thing, I'm thinking. But let's look at some of the reviews by people who have never seen it and see if I'm wrong. Maybe there IS something to be learned from people merely giving an opinion based on pure speculation gained from doing nothing. (There won't be, but play along, will ya? I need to draw this post out a little bit.)

Let's see...oh! Here we go. Here's one that reads: "I am so excited about this movie! It is going to be hilarious!! I love the book, so this should be epic!!! Yay! :) " Um, OK? Yeah, I loved the book too, but that doesn't mean anything. You know what other books I loved? The Cat In The Hat. The Firm. How The Grinch Stole Christmas. The DaVinci Code. Were they epic? Hardly. Were they hilarious? Kind of, but they weren't supposed to be, so that really wasn't a selling point. What boggles me ever more is that four out of six people found this "review" to be helpful. Helpful? In what way?! She hasn't seen it yet! She's merely excited! THAT is "helpful" to some folks? For cryin' out loud...(Then again, four out of nine people found a review that simply read "No no no!" to be helpful, so I think it's fair to say that we're beyond help at this point.)

Next we have: "Havent seen it yet but i just no its going to be tbe biggest peice of crap anyone is ever going to see so dont watch it." This individual is apparently a cinematic clairvoyant. Too bad that all of the studios can't just hire him to look at a poster of a movie that they've made and give his opinion on the degree to which it will be a piece of crap. (ie, Big, bigger or, in this case, biggest.) And if he says that he can no that it will be such a sizeable piece of poo without having watched it, who are we to not heed his warnings?

Here is more speculation, only this time, it appears to come from a child. "I think it'll be a so so movie. I think the idea is a little too crazy, but I think people will enjoy it. It'll be good for moms because the kids ( about my age ) will learn to obey their moms. For the kids, I think they will love it for it's humor. I'm not completely sure about that, but I'll just have to go to find out!!!!" Really? You think the idea of a kid having to go to Mars to save his mother who has been kidnapped by Martians is a little too crazy, do you? Interesting. I'd never thought of that. (This is really wearing me out more than I had anticipated.)

From someone who seems to have just barely mastered the English language (and perhaps, even more recently, his way around a keyboard): "Don't go. This movie doesn't look that good to watch. I mean, I've seen many cartoons and most are good. I just don't think this one will be as good." Lots of cartoons are good. Some cartoons are bad. This one doesn't look good. Well, it doesn't look as good. Well, it doesn't look that good. To watch, of course. Maybe it's good if you're not watching it. But this looks bad. (Isn't this review kind of like saying, "I've had food. Most food is good. But that food doesn't look like it will be good food. Don't eat it. Even if you think it looks like something you'd like. It could be bad food that you won't like.") Never mind that it's not really a cartoon. I'm just thankful that no one found that 'review' to be useful.

And finally, from the Ironic Chastising Department: "People are funny. They write a bad review or rate a movie bad when they haven't even seen it.. Who writes a bad review based off the movie poster you're just an idiot. Go see the movie then you're allowed to say something. I'm sure this movie will be good and I'm sure the rating will change when people actually go watch it." Go to the movie and then say something. But make sure that you write your 'review' telling people that you're sure it will be good before you go see it. Yeah, sure. That makes sense.

Really, I didn't care what the reviews were, as I was going to see it regardless because I can't imagine not seeing anything that Berkeley Breathed does. (To say that I am a huge fan of the man would not even do my fandom justice. I met him for the first time just a couple of years go and I almost cried. OK, I cried a little bit in line while I was waiting. But I managed to compose myself by the time I got up there, lest he thought I was the star-struck moron that I was trying so desperately to hide.) But I was just amazed that reviews for something that someone hasn't even watched are allowed on a movie site. I could see if it were someone's two-bit blog or some crap like that. (In case you were wondering, this blog is clearly at least three-bit, so don't start expecting inane movie reviews to be popping up any time soon.) But on a site that is supposed to be giving information, not speculation, about movies? I find it asinine and annoying. And you can expect my full review of Mars Needs Moms after I've seen it.

Could You Please Keep It Down?

I don't like it any more than anyone else does when people make noise in a movie theater. What is wrong with those people? Why is it so hard for them to be quiet when they're in a big room filled with a bunch of other people being quiet? I mean, being quiet is pretty easy. You just sit there and don't talk and you've done it! You're quiet! It's the making noise that takes some effort. Granted, not a lot of effort, especially if everyone else is being quiet, but some effort. So, why not just be quiet? And if someone does ask you to be quiet, just do it. Simply stop the offending behavior and watch the movie. Please, whatever you do, do not resolve the issue by shooting and killing the person who was offended. That's really not going to help much.

According to our friends across the pond at The Guardian, a couple of folks at a cinema in Latvia had an encounter after one of the patrons was accused of eating his popcorn too loudly. I am not quite sure how that's possible. Popcorn isn't exactly the loudest of all of the concessions offered. Then again, some people are just pure ruffians when it comes to eating. They'd be much better off just snapping on a feed bag. Might even be quieter. Who knows?

Apparently, "The assailant, 27, reportedly had a brief argument with the man, aged 43, who was sitting next to him during a screening of Black Swan". Two guys, at the movies, watching Black Swan? Were their wives or girlfriends with them? I'm just saying. If they were each there alone, then maybe it was an unwelcomed advance gone horribly awry. Stranger things have happened. Like what happened next, for instance.

It seems that the 27-year old didn't take too kindly to the 43-year old telling him to keep his popcorn chomping down. So when the movie was over, the 27-year old pulled out a "legally registered firearm" and shot the 43-year old dead as can be. After that, he just stood around and waited to be arrested (which he was). I find it amusing that he waited until the end of the movie. It's like he was thinking, "I am going to kill that guy, but first? I need to know what's up with these little ballerinas." Very strange. Not as strange as killing the guy, but strange none the less. Note to self: Don't go to the movies in Latvia.

What Next?

I love it when this stuff just practically writes itself. So, I was reading an article over there at People.com about Natalie Portman and her latest movie, Black Swan. It's some sort of a ballerina thriller, whatever that is supposed to mean. (I wouldn't have thought that was even possible before this movie and since I haven't seen it yet, I'm still not convinced.) They quote the recently knocked up Ms. Portman as saying, "Everyone was so worried about who was going to want to see this movie...I remember them being like, 'How do you get guys to a ballet movie? How do you get girls to a thriller?' And the answer is a lesbian scene. Everyone wants to see that."

I can't say I really disagree with her on that one. Who doesn't like a couple of chicks making out? Every guy I know finds it completely enthralling. And I, myself, find it very enjoyable. But it turns out that every guy and myself are not representative of the commenters over there at People.com. And we are certainly not representative of one specific commenter.

Allow me to share with you the comments of a one Patricia Eation. Ms Eation commented "Sick, sick, sick. Portman needs to revise her statement to read, "only the sick minded loves a lesbian sex scene". Have the "gays" taken over the entertainment industry? Next they'll be gay rappers! Bottom line, STOP trying to force a twisted choice of couples on everyone. I will never accept a behavior that God hates". Wait. What now?

Gay rappers?! What the hell does that even mean? How is it that a couple of fictional ballerinas end up making out in a movie will lead to rappers being gay? I'm failing to see the connection, but I'm finding it absolutely hilarious. Gay rappers. OK, then. (I also don't know why she has "gays" in quotation marks. Is she implying that if Hollywood had, in fact, been overtaken by homosexuals, they would be fake homosexuals, thus necessitating the usage of quotes around 'gays'? I don't get that at all. But I find gay rappers to be so absolutely hysterical so I'm going to overlook it.)

I'm going to try to work that into conversation whenever a topic comes up that folks find simply unbelievable. I'm just going to slowly shake my head and say, "I know. I can't believe it. Next thing you know, there'll be gay rappers." It's going to be great. I've needed a new project for a while now. And I believe I've found it!

Non-Torturous Jailhouse Movies

If you're in jail, it's not supposed to be fun. It's not supposed to be enjoyable. You're not supposed to be having a good time. So if you're not thrilled with the television programming that your particular place of incarceration is providing you with, please do not write letters to your local news source and complain. James Poulin, I'm talking to you.

According to something called TCPalm, Mr. Poulin, who has spent the last "...four years awaiting trial for driving-under-the-influence manslaughter", wrote to something called Florida Today complaining of "torture". Now, normally, claims of torture would be taken quite seriously. But when you realize that Mr. Poulin's definition of "torture" is that at the Brevard County Detention Center, where he is currently a resident, the "...inmates are forced to watch the same movies over and over and it is taking a toll." Wait a minute. Movies? What the...?

Correct. According to Mr. Poulin, the Sheriff of Brevard County, a one Jack Parker "...gathered up a bunch of old (movies) he had laying around and played them over and over for the next year," Poulin wrote to Florida Today. "I have seen 'Black Hawk Down,' 'Pearl Harbor,' 'Saving Private Ryan' and 'Battle Front' hundreds of times each, sometimes two or three times a day. . . " Um...OK. Hmm. Anything else?

Of course there's something else! He's an inmate who is bitching about what is on TV! You think it's going to stop there without some sort of ridiculous comparison to something that doesn't even make sense? Of course not! He includes "Like the old Chinese water torture, the inescapable sounds of these movies over and over works on nerves and psyche." Hey, could someone actually perform the old Chinese water torture on this guy and see how he likes his movies then? Or better yet, just waterboard the moron. I'm sure that he'll want to watch nothing but 'Saving Private Ryan' all day, every day in lieu of being waterboarded.

In case you were wondering, Mr. Poulin has been in jail since 2007 "...for allegedly driving and crashing his car while intoxicated, an accident that killed his female passenger." What's the hold up? Well, from what I can tell, he is the hold up. "There have been 14 motions for continuances in his case and six federal lawsuits against the jail, all of which have been dismissed." OK. I've got it now. As if it wasn't clear before, now I'm relatively sure that this guy, aside from being a cretin, is just a pain in the ass. And the same sentiments go for his lawyer, a one Assistant Public Defender Randy Moore. Mr. Moore said that "...the continuances are a strategy." I see. I'm guessing that Mr. Moore and Mr. Poulin get along just swell together. What a scumbag.

You know, having to watch the movies that he's "subjected" to over and over doesn't seem that bad. It's not like they were being subjected to anything with Jennifer Aniston in it or something like that

Mel Gibson's Horrible PR

Mel Gibson must have the worst PR people on the planet. I'm not kidding. They're horrible and he should fire them immediately. Then again, if he's so clueless that he doesn't understand the logistics of staging somewhat of a comeback after a general dislike amongst the public due to fairly harsh anti-Semitic rants after being arrested for drunk driving, then maybe it's not his PR folks and maybe it's just because he's an a-hole.

Let me just recap a few key moments in the Mel Gibson story before going on to the ridiculousness that is him being unable to grasp that people aren't quite over the whole thing just yet. Here's what happened: Back on Julyl 28, 2006, ol' Mel was arrested for DUI. He wasn't as drunk as you'd think, given his behavior which was seemingly unending swearing and cursing and a string of anti-Semitic statements which, according to TMZ consisted of, among other gems "F*****g Jews... The Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world." Gibson then asked the deputy, "Are you a Jew?" My favorite part was when he asked a female officer "What do you think you're looking at, sugar tits?" Priceless.

He did issue a statement afterwards which consisted of, among other apologies, "I acted like a person completely out of control when I was arrested, and said things that I do not believe to be true and which are despicable. I am deeply ashamed of everything I said. Also, I take this opportunity to apologize to the deputies involved for my belligerent behavior." He also included that "I have battled with the disease of alcoholism for all of my adult life and profoundly regret my horrific relapse. I apologize for any behavior unbecoming of me in my inebriated state and have already taken necessary steps to ensure my return to health." Fair enough.

Gibson subsequently did whatever he was supposed to do in the eyes of the court and got his record expunged. That was only four years ago. Who knew that you could get your record expunged so quickly? Not me. I thought that stuff had to be on there for a minimum amount of time that I thought that time would have surely been longer than four years. You have to buy special insurance after you've had a DUI for seven years, but you can make it like it never happened after four? Interesting. Do you still have to buy the insurance? Never mind. I digress.

So, fast forward to present day where the world is waiting upon the release of Gibson's first movie since his drunken anti-Jew tirade in Malibu. Something called Edge of Darkness. Now, when you're making movies that cost a gazillion dollars, that means that you have to have at least a gazillion dollars worth of people watching the damn thing in order to make a profit. Or, at the very least, in order to commandeer the sort of salary that you do in the future. Bottom line: Mel Gibson wants people to see his movie. He also wants them to forget about everything else in the world besides his movie. That would include your life, his life and certainly his past.

Over there at CNN we learn of Gibson being interviewed by a one Dean Richards of Chicago's WGN-TV. Richards asks Gibson if he thinks that the public is ready to accept him back into their movie going lives again. Gibson appears to be perplexed by the question and actually had the audacity to ask him what he is referring to specifically. Oh, come on! Are you serious?! What in the world could he be referring to specifically?! His new cat? I don't think so!

He then gives a response that makes him sound like he just got done filming Point Break or something (it's a surfing movie, just in case you couldn't place the reference there). He says, "That's been almost four years, dude. I've moved on. But I guess you haven't." Did he just call him "dude"? I think he did. That's an odd choice of words for someone who, by my account, should be rather humble. This country isn't all that forgiving of any kind of racism, real or perceived.

Richards then tried to elaborate a bit and get more of an answer out of Mel by asking him if he thought that the public had moved on (just as much as Mel had, apparently). Mel replied with, "Well, I certainly hope so. That was a while back, and I've done all the necessary mea culpas, so ... let's move on, dude." Again with the dude. Interesting. And not the least bit apologetic for his behavior, either. Huh.

But wait! There's more! Richards thanks him for his time. Gibson chugs down the last of his coffee or whatever it was that he was drinking. They both say goodbye. Gibson still has a live mike on him. Richards can still hear him (and so can everyone else). Gibson says clearly and directly, "A**hole." Nice.

You know what, Mel? You don't get to decide when this is over. You don't! The public does. You don't get to decide when people are supposed to stop asking you about this thing. You don't. You don't get to go out there and make a gazillion dollars off of your movies and not think that people might want to know what kind of a person that you are before they watch your movies. Granted, I don't know how many people actually make the determination about what movie they're going to see by their level of like or dislike for the star. And your being so flippant about it shows that you don't give a fat rat's ass about continuing to be apologetic about it. And it's going to make folks question whether or not you really were ever apologetic in the first place.

I'm not saying that someone should have to go through the rest of their life having to apologize for one thing that they might have done in the middle of an extremely drunken stupor. (If that were the case, all I'd be doing is apologizing.) But I am saying that if you're a public figure and your paycheck depends on whether or not the public likes you, I suggest that you make the public like you and if that means apologizing until we're all sick of hearing it, then that's what it means.

Now, if Mel had any decent PR folks, they would have told him to answer those questions with something along the lines of "You know, every time I am asked that question or every time that comes up, I am horrified at my behavior all over again. It haunts me every time I think of it and I'm continuing to work on things every day to make sure that I'm never in such a situation again where I behave in such an atrocious manner ever again." THAT would be good. (I'm for hire, by the way. Inquire within.)

Mel can choose to handle it the way that he is choosing to do so. That's fine. He shouldn't expect a whole hell of a lot of public sympathy if that's the way he's going to go, however. And calling the reporter an a-hole? Well, that's just uncool, dude. But what's even more uncool is not even being able to man up and say that's what you did. Granted, I'm not so sure that, in his situation, that he would be able to admit it, but I'd prefer he stay quiet about it, as opposed to the current lie that he is telling which is that his "a-hole" comment was not directed at Richards, but was rather directed at
"...Gibson's publicist Alan Nierob... who was "pulling faces" (at Gibson) during the interview." Oh, please.

Is that the best you can do? Seriously? And Mel came out and said that? Oh, wait. No, no he didn't. It was his jackass PR guy, that Alan Nierob, who said that on Gibson's behalf. Well. That explains everything, doesn't it? This is not going to get any better for Mel Gibson with ol' Nimrod Nierob at the helm. And I can almost guarantee that any interviews after this point that Mel Gibson does will definitely contain questions about "the incident". Seriously, who wouldn't be interviewing Mel Gibson from this point on and NOT be able to ask him about it just to see what he comes up with? (And for God's sake, those of you who do interview him, make sure that his mike is live for at least a good 30 seconds after the interview is over. I'm pretty sure there's some good stuff to be had there!)

The video of Gibson calling Dean Richards an a-hole is below. Enjoy!

Regresado

"More soon" turned into "nearly a month later." (Maybe I should retitle this blog "Notes from the Underground" or "Another Frequency".) I think this is the longest I've paused in my blogging since I began other than during this past summer, when I was ill, but that involved multiple surgeries and pain medication, while this hiatus has been the result of one of the rougher academic years I've had in a while. Winter quarter classes did officially end on Friday, and I already miss teaching the two I had, though the upcoming raft of revised short stories and final papers will ensure that I'll be in contact with the students at least for the next few weeks. But classes are never the issue....

***

For my literature class this quarter, I asked students to send me short commentaries from the critical journals they have been keeping. I posted these commentaries to a blog, Thinking Aesthetics (on Wordpress).

If any J's Theater readers have the time, please do browse through these short entries, and offer any short responses that you can. The students have posted on perception, Kant, Hegel, Winckelmann, horror, sentimentality, and pornography, with more to be posted soon.

I've tried the class blog format once before, but it's still a work in progress for me. Please note that the leap in topics is a result of the class's foci, not an desultoriness on the part of the students.

***

Back around February 20, right after my "More Soon" post, I'd planned to jot down some thoughts about the first month of President Barack Obama's tenure, but there was so much else to do, and...the result was silence. (I couldn't even manage to post quotes or poems or photos, things I've done in the past--my brain was just shutting down.) As we are approaching the two-month mark, however, I felt I ought to offer some thoughts before I looked up and half a year had passed.

It strikes me that Barack Obama has been consistently pragmatic, with moments of boldness and of caution coming in alternating fashion; on some issues, such as the immediate halting of the Bush administration's last minute environmental rule changes and his upcoming 2010-11 ten-year-budget scenario, which hews to his campaign promises in many ways (on health care, on taxes, etc.), and decelerating the discursive battle with Russia, he's show true progressiveness. On the successful but inadequate stimulus bill, his administration's move to try some of the Guantánamo and other "terrorist" detainees in federal courts while still holding on to some of the Bush policies that created these problems, and the piecemeal approach to releasing the Bush administration's outrageous "legal" memoranda that legimated torture, illegal spying and other unconstitutional lawlessness, and the draw-down of US troops from Iraq, he's proved to be cautious and Clintonian. On the relentless denial of the necessity of "nationalizing" the giant failed banks and his financial team's overall approach, his adherence to Bush's "state secrets" policies, and his failure to speak out forcefully for some nominees (like Hilda Solís or Charles Freeman), he's demonstrated not only a lack of will, but a bit of cravenness as well. On other issues, such as the Israeli-Palestinian crisis, the US's relations with Cuba and more broadly with other hemispheric neighbors, and the "drug war," the verdict is out.

Although Obama's chosen avatar is Abraham Lincoln, and the daily tide of news underlines how badly we need a contemporary version of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, so far he has operated like a combination of John F. Kennedy, Dwight Eisenhower and Bill Clinton. The youthfulness, vigor and clarity is Kennedyesque; the watered-down progressivism is Eisenhowerian; and the occasional double-talk and accommodation of GOP frames and talking-points verges on being Clintonian. In other words, he is tacking most closely, at least as I see it, to Ronald Reagan (though in reverse in terms of partisanship). This isn't the worst we could expect, but seriously, the president has got to take bold steps when necessary, despite GOP/MSM criticism, the timidity of Democrats in Congress and the party apparatus, and even public opposition when it arises.

On a symbolic level, his tenure so far has been exciting and energizing. In addition to the country being able to wake up every day and realize that we have a black president, we also can note Obama's seriousness, his engaging manner, and his candor, which we haven't witnessed in decades. He also comes across as real, especially whenever he leaves the White House, and fairly sincere. Someone enamored of his own ego, but also willing to admit his faults when he must. He isn't play-acting in the way that we had to endure from his predecessor; no fake ranches, no pseudo-cowboy swagger, and no lies wrapped as linguistic rebuses that only right-wing fanatics could resolve. Also energizing is his ability to change his plans as the circumstances demand; this fact, which he has demonstrated repeatedly so far, should encourage anyone that no matter how the next few years turn out, he and we will not stagger down we had. But there is a stubbornness, or inertia that appears at times to creep into the picture. Take the ongoing resistance of his chief financial officers, Timothy Geithner and Larry Summers, to change course. Their repeated shopping of a flawed plan as the economy devolves can only dismay, even if you aren't regularly reading the informed pleas from Paul Krugman and the dire prognostications of Nouriel Roubini. Yes, we could have predicted some intransigence given that Geithner is tied to Wall Street and was a party to its failed policies, and Summers's previous Treasury tenure exemplied a deregulatory approach whose assumptions have proved disastrous. But they work for someone who, as I noted above, is not rigid. So WE really have to make sure he hears that a change of course is necessary, right away--and it must come from us, the people who voted for him, since the mainstream media show they're incapable even of grasping basic tax policy, let alone the mathematics of a spending bill ($7.7 billion out of $410 billion is less than 2%, yet how often have you heard even a single talking head note this, and the ones who babble on Sunday morning talk shows are the worst). But this is nothing new. At least now we have someone in office who, with adequate pressure, will listen. But the pressure must be there, because it's becoming clear that the voices whispering and yelling into his and his administration's ears unfortunately do not have the country's--that is, the vast majority of the country's, and world's--best interests at heart.

***

I watched the Oscars a few weeks ago, the entire broadcast, despite having seen only one of the films--The Visitor--that received a nomination. I still haven't seen Milk, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Slumdog Millionaire, Resurrection Road, Doubt, Vicky Cristina Barcelona, or most of the other films that merited some academy recognition, though I do hope to catch Milk and The Wrestler, along with a few other films like Madea Goes to Prison and The Watchmen soon. But I did catch Laurent Cantet's The Class--which was nominated for an Oscar and didn't win one--the other night, and will try to post a review of it in the next few days. I highly recommend it.

***

On a lighter note, I watched the World Baseball Classic matchup between the Dominican Republic and the Netherlands. In addition to being a beauty fest, it initially appeared as if, despite two first in errors by Dominican shortstop and Tampa Bay Rays star Hanley Ramírez, it would be a romp by Quisqueya. It turned out, however, to be a closely fought game that the Netherlands team, made up mostly of Caribbean players from Curacao, Aruba, and the rest of the Dutch Antilles, won, 3-2 over the Dominicans, who came back the next day to wallop Panama 9-0. I still think DR is the team to beat in Pool D, which also includes Puerto Rico. The USA won its first two games, a squeaker 6-5 over Canada (which lost to a Major League-packed team of Italian Americans, i.e., Italy, in its second game) and then a romp over Venezuela 15-6, and appears to be the team to beat in Pool C. Japan appeared to be the team to beat in Pool A, defeating China 14-0 and Korea 14-2, but Korea won the second contest and thus the pool, by a 1-0 score. In the final pool, B, Cuba and Australia look like the likely winners, though Mexico could pull out a qualification, but its team lost 17-7 to Australia, not a good sign.


Team USA after their victory over Canada (Frank Gunn/AP)

José Reyes and Nelson Cruz celebrating after their win over Panama (Fernando Llano/AP)

Korea's Kyung Oan Park hitting against Japan (Andrew Malana/MLB.com)

Reviews: Persepolis, 4 Weeks, The Longing

I've been meaning to write a review of Persepolis for a week now, so here are few thoughts about most of the films I've seen of late. Reading the archives of this site, I cannot believe how many movies I used to go to or watch in a given week, but then I used to write a lot more and read for pleasure as well....

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Two weeks ago, I saw Persepolis (2007, Vincent Paronnaud and Marjanie Satrapi, directors, based on the novels by Satrapi), the very faithful film adaptation of Marjane Satrapi's acclaimed graphic novels, Persepolis 1-4, which appeared from 2000 to 2003 in their original French, and then in translation as Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood (2003) and Persepolis 2: The Story of Return (2004), both from Pantheon. A good friend of mine, Phoebe M., originally recommended the first English translation, and I quickly fell in love with it, incorporating it into a literature course I taught a few years back. The books together narrate the unfolding of Satrapi's childhood and adolescence against the backdrop of political and social upheavals that occurred in her native Iran from the late 1977s, the last years of the Western-oriented and supported, authoritarian Shah, Mohammed Reza Pahlavi, through his fall and exile, which culminated in the Islamic Revolution of 1979-1980, and the subsequent, brutal 8-year Iran-Iraq War, launched by Saddam Hussein with the backing of then US-president Ronald Reagan and VP George H. W. Bush. (Reagan's administration later engaged in an illegal arms trade with Iran to fund the Nicaraguan contras, which exploded as the Iran Contra scandal, but none of this is part of Satrapi's interest or focus.)

In the film as in the book, Satrapi introduces us to her upper-bourgeois progressive, left-leaning family, including her liberated and often funny but deeply wise grandmother, widowed as a result of the Shah's machinations, her politically connected father, her mother, and other family members who initially embraced the Shah's overthrow only to find themselves in the crosshairs of the new regime, which grew increasingly severe, as the external threat (of war) combined with its internal, societal obsession with a puritanical understanding of faith and practice. Satrapi conveys the normalcy she as a upper-middle-class child is able to establish amidst this turmoil, which results in teenage rebellion and resistance fueled, in part, by Western culture in the form of punk rock music. (As a child of privilege (her mother is a descendent of the 19th century Shah, Satrapi naturalizes her own class and subject position, and one of the things I wanted to know about both in the book and the movie was how Iranian women and girls of other classes, especially the working-class and poor, experienced this period.) Eventually, her parents become so worried about her outspokenness that they send her off at age 14 to Vienna, Austria, where she develops tenuous friendships and hungers for the stability of home. She returns, marries, divorces, and then sets off again for Europe, this time wiser and surer of herself and her abilities, but also tempered by a deeper understanding and love of her troubled country. The genius of the graphic novels lies in Satrapi's imagery, which manages to be simultaneously pared down, both in color and formal terms, and richly evocative, in the the skillful narration of what is essentially a straightforward, moving memoir, and, in the seamless melding of the two.

The film, as I note above, almost directly mirrors the books, so the real novelty lies in the black-and-white animation, which removes the competitive and productive tension all graphic novels generate between the words as a conventional narrative text and the imagery, which often tells a parallel and sometimes different story, in favor of what is essentially a superbly rendered animated film for adults. Major French actors, including Catherine Deneuve (Mrs. Satrapi), Chiara Mastroianni (adult Marjane) and Simon Abkarian (Mr. Satrapi) provide the voices, and there's never a moment when the film flags or falters. A colleague who also saw the film mentioned that she wished there'd been something else, new, added, but for me, the transformation, which entailed considerable artistry in maintaining all that was best in the books while translating it into cinematic terms, succeeded tremendously. I'd read that the initial plans to dub the film with English-speaking actors has been dropped, but I hope that it occurs, not because I want to lose La Deneuve's dulcet tones, but because I think an English-language version may be more likely to reach many people in the US who know little to nothing about Iran and fail to see people like Satrapi's family (or Azar Nafisi's, whose Reading Lolita in Tehran offers a similarly personal though divergent take on the same era), whose humanity, whose very being, gets lost in fear-laden political abstractions.

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A few nights ago I saw 4 Weeks, 3 Months, 2 Days, the new and heralded film by Romanian director Cristian Mungiu. I'd been told that the film had moments of real horror, which I mistook for a "horror film," but after seeing it, I realized that the horror is ethical in nature, and definitely present, in both the theme and the plot. What's more, this is one of the most truthful and thought-provoking films I've ever seen in a while, and it treats the topic of abortion with the complexity it deserves, rather than the false choices and cop-outs (Juno, Knocked Up, etc.) that Hollywood is so fond of. I'd add that 4 Weeks could stand as one powerful though extremely disturbing response to anyone who wants to ban or severely limit abortions, birth control medications, or RU-486 and similar drugs but has not considered or refuses to consider the implications.

The scenario in brief is this: during the latter days of the Ceaucescu Communist dictatorship in Romania, a female college student, Gabita Dragut (Laura Vasiliu), with the aid of her much more outgoing and self-assured roommate friend, Otilia (Annamaria Marinca, above, RevisionCinema.com) seeks an abortion, which is criminalized. Ceaucescu fetishized childbearing and punished both the pregnant woman and the abortionist, as well as anyone assisting them, if they were caught. The pregnant young woman is no icon or heroine, but a passive-aggressive, manipulative, dissembling mess, which becomes quite important when we learn the awful ramifications of her approach to acquiring and then trying to deal with an unspeakably sleazy male abortionist, Viorel "Bebe," aka Mr. Bebe (Vlad Ivanov). Mungiu first presents Bebe as reasonable, almost sympathetic (he takes time to look after his mother, though the scene shows his harsh edges which, to my viewing, only augured trouble) and, given the circumstances, almost professional. But then he makes a shocking demand that only underlines the extreme vulnerability of the young women, and cruelty of the system they're living in and under. Yet from this point forward we witness in Otilia a fierce determination that sits beside an almost unvoiceable disgust and horror, a disgust at what she has been forced to submit to, at what she's allowed to occur, at what her boyfriend, whose snobbish urbane family casually treats her like a country bumpkin, cannot even begin to fathom, despite his obvious love for her. There's also disgust, verging on rage, that merges not with sympathy for, but with empathy--which it can only be, as she is as deeply implicated and involved in what transpires--with Gabita, and the ensuing portion of the film, whose details I cannot reveal, shows Otilia operating almost by sheer force of will, and pushes the notions of ethics and empathy to a near breaking-point. The acting by the leads is excellent, but Marinca especially burns a hole in the screen with her ferocity and determination, while Vasiliu's pusillanimous neediness raises your hackles as it's meant to. This is acting.

At least twice during the latter portion of the film, which pivots on several moments of rising suspense, I sat in uneasy, sometimes stunned silence. There is a moment where Otilia is wandering through the barely-lit streets of Bucharest, on a mission in the most literal sense, and the screen grows so dark it's almost unclear what's going on, and worse, what might happen, which induces a feeling of dread--pending horror--that's almost visceral. The film's conclusion includes a little joke, like a steam gauge quickly opened, that barely relieves all that has come before it, but it and the plate of food that embodying it serve as objective correlatives to what you eventually surmise: people, in this case women, may get by, may get on with their lives, may even still be able to live and hope and love, with a little or, in this case, a lot of help from their friends, after suffering, even under the harshest circumstances.

In this sense, the film was a provocative thematic companion to Persepolis, and I'm glad I saw them. Both films deserved Oscars tonight, but as of this entry, the first lost in its category, and the second was not nominated at all. I'll say it: typical!

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Though only 2 years old at most, my DVD player finally gave out, so I've been watching rented films on my computer, whose screen its on its last flicker. One film I rented recently, daring my computer not to fail, was Jürgen Brüning's 2003 film, The Longing (Saudade-Sehnsucht). I got it because of the Brazilian them, but I would not recommend this horribly acted, poorly plotted, melodramatic and maudlin wreck to anyone, except that it contains one scene that nearly makes up for the entire rest--waste--of the film. But you have to sit through the rest to get to it, and if you're not interested in depictions of Afrobrazilian gay people, then skip the film completely.

To summarize the plot, three 30-ish German guys are staying at an estate in Paraty (the picturesque historical town southwest of Rio de Janeiro, on the way to São Paulo state and city) belonging to the father of one of them, the spoiled and sulking Cyrus (Tarik Qazi), who is seeking his mother. The other two are a former hiphop (!) musician, Tim (Daniel Bätscher) who also mopes about when not blaring his awful raps, and the tragic blond Erik (Hendrik Schneider), who has lost money on the stock market and complains about being broke. To make money, the trio tape themselves having frolicking and broadcast it on the Net. (I'm not making this up.) They collectively treat the Afrobrazilian maid, Maria (naturally, played by Maria Lucia da Silva Ludwig), an adherent of the syncretic spiritualist faith Macumba (naturally), like she's an idiot, though you quickly learn she and a friend, also Afrobrazilian, hold a mutually dim view of these three. And rightly so. Things unravel from here, at least for Erik, who's involved in a deadly accident on the beach after a near rape (!), then, while in his own fit of guilt and pining, falls in love with an Afrobrazilian telenovela actor, Miguel (Aldri d'Anunciação) who just happens to hanging around a park in downtown Paraty, and, implausibilities of implausibilities, is also the brother of the man that dies in the encounter with Erik. At the funeral, Miguel's mother, played by the (very) famous and ageless Afrobrazilian actress Zezé Motta (star of Xica da Silva and other notable films--she was a replacement for Sonia Braga, who had the great sense to stay far away from this debacle), thinks Erik was her late son's friend and...well, it's just not worth going into. Suffice it say that somehow Maria, after taking Cyrus and Tim to a Macumba ceremony, with they both praise and mock, links up the hiphopper manqué links up with a real local hiphop group (his longing), and aids Cyrus in seeking his vanished mother (his longing). She isn't able to do much for Erik, who traipses after Miguel to Rio, where the telenovela is filmed, out of love.

There are more implausibilities, including a plane crash and so forth, but it's in Rio that the truly interesting scene occurs. Somehow or other, Miguel, who blurts out interesting comments about the plight of Afrobrazilians, decides to attend a meeting of a Black gay group. At this meeting, which is, I remember correctly, male and trans, a fiery young group leader, Fabio (Sérgio Menezes), holds forth on the social, political and cultural marginalization of Black Brazilians, gay Brazilians, and then gay Afrobrazilians. His disquisition is transfixing, and immediately made me wonder whether this was a documentary scene in an otherwise fiction film, or a fictional rendering of a real event. I also wondered whether the director, Brüning, had written his words, whether they were extemporaneous, or improvised, and whether such a speech, and moment, had ever been rendered in a Brazilian film. Of course I wanted to see more about this, which could have been its own documentary, short or feature, and which had the only decent acting in the entire film, but it was over in an eyeblink. Also fascinating was the fact that in the audience are identifical twin drag performers, the Dolly-Twins (Márcio and Marcelo Rodrigues), whose ultra-blasé responses and expressions provide a comical dose of irony, though they do keep listening until Fabio finishes and then jointly give him their "beijos" (kisses) before leaving to prepare for their star turn at a local bathhouse later on. The blond beloved shows up, in about as clumsy an irony as is possible, Fabio mildly reads Miguel, the lovers embrace, and the scene is over. We get no context for the scene except that Miguel is already portrayed as politically aware and that, to the extent that it's possible, he's partially out. But I kept thinking, what led Brüning to cram the scene in this film? Was it a desire to color the other narrative, along with familiarity with a similar group, Quimbanda Dudu, which exists in Bahia, and which is affiliated with Bahia's longstanding, activist organization Grupo Gay da Bahia? Have films of any sort been made about either group, or about Rio's gay rights group Arco Íris (Rainbow), or the ones in São Paulo? And given the rarity of representations of out Afrobrazilian LGBTQs, especially politically conscious ones, in documentary or fiction films, doesn't this warrant greater interest? It manages to queer an already queer film in ways I imagine the director never imagined. Nothing I've read about this film addresses this moment, which verges on breaking the diegetic trajectory of the movie.

In the accompanying documentary on the making of the film, Brüning does say that all his films are flawed, thus explaining the majority of what's on the screen, but with this one he wanted to portray something different about Black Brazilians than we usually see. (In the same documentary, Annunciação says that depictions of gays in Brazilian films are rare, though there are some high profile examples, in films such as Madame Satã, Carandiru, etc.) He certainly does that in this one scene, and it's a shame that he didn't decide to scrap the rest of what surrounds it and build on what I'm assuming is a minor cinematic revelation.