QUICK NOTES: Ballast, d. Lance Hammer

In my gentle opinion, every film I watch merits a write-up.  Perhaps it isn't the academic dissection of a great film, or the study of a film in its chronological context, but still, I believe, and please disagree with me (everyone else seems to), that ever film warrants discussion.  Yes, this discussion may just for me to better place the film within the vast filmic storage unit that is my brain, but perhaps a brief write-up will get you excited, stray your opinion, turn you on to a burst of cinema you'd have blindly passed in the street.

Or maybe it's just because I love to write about film.

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The Film: Ballast 
The Director: Lance Hammer

The Hype:  Quite honestly, I can't recall as to where or when or why I've heard about this film.  A roommate (two roommates actually) had mentioned it in passing, but somewhere amongst the stunning disorganization of my life, it must've slipped my mind.  That said, Ballast swept and mopped the award shows in 2008, and when it serendipitously fell in my possession I dove right in.

The Truth:  Filmed in beautiful desolation of the Mississippi Delta, Ballast focuses on the relationship between a depressed twin (Michael J. Smith Jr.), his nephew (JimMyron Ross) and sister-in-law (Marlee) in the wake of his brother's suicide.  The Mississippi Delta is a stark and dangerous seeming place for a bored teenager to be running amok, and with the help of a group of non-actors, director Lance Hammer brings this harsh reality to life in a poetic, yet stunningly realistic manner.

I was most impressed with Michael J. Smith Jr.'s portrayal of the obviously intelligent yet numbingly depressed twin Lawrence.  There's a deep set softness in the character, a sort bumbling naivete, hardened by a sharp edge of lonely anger against the world.  The film follows Lawrence as he's forced, at gunpoint even, to re-enter the life of a woman, and her child, who hate him, and Hammer show's us the world with out reserving any judgment.  These characters are immensely broken and attempting to survive in a world that continues to pile on the misery, and this film isn't about their redemption or their success, it's just about them, and the small period of life in which we get to view them.

Final Thoughts:  As I get older and view more films, I find more and more enjoyment in these weighty character studies.  I've grown bored with big budget (as any aging film fan should) and this sort of quiet, tense look in to a whole different way of living was both gorgeous and fascinating.

QUICK NOTES: Drag Me To Hell, d. Sam Raimi

I'm trying to up the ante in terms of the films I watch in general right now and as much as I'd love to write huge, Sanders-sized reviews about each and all, well I just can't. Thus, I'm retooling Quick Notes in to just exactly what their moniker begs: quick reviews of all the films I'm watching. I'll be doing my full reviews of new movies, and films that I love still, I just want to write about as much film as possible and this seems the very best way.

Think we can all handle that?

Lets get started then.

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The Film: Drag Me To Hell

The Director: Sam Raimi

The Hype:

You know, everyone's been saying that this is Sam Raimi's return to form. That the abysmal (literally terrible) Spider-Man 3 freed Raimi from his long lease on shittiness, and that Drag Me To Hell was his re-immersion in to the gooey gore of his beloved Evil Dead series.

The Truth:

I blame Allison Lohman for all of my dislike for this film. It's a pretty decent little adventure-horror flick. Christine Brown (Allison Lohman) gets cursed by a gypsy and she has three days to figure out how to expel the curse or the Lamia will, ahem, drag her to Hell. There's a lot of upchucked liquids in the film, a lot of creepy practical effects, and pretty healthy dosage of Allison Lohman getting smashed in to things, which all allude to a Sam Raimi film, but something is certainly lacking.

I've never been able to understand why people are so obsessed with Allison Lohman. I find her extremely one-note, and that one note is typically a sort of bland, naivete. In Drag Me To Hell she's cardboard, flat and unemotional and this is a film about campy-emotions. Big chills and big thrills and with Lohman in the driving seat, they just don't work.

Final Thoughts:

I'm hoping this is Raimi ramping up, recovering even, from the big studio pie-fingering of the Spider-Man films. That this is just a taste of what's to come and in the years to follow we'll be seeing some truly classic horror films from Mr. Raimi.

A new, ahem, companion and ANTICHRIST

The path of Criterion can be a lonely one my friends. A long, somber march down a treeless vista filled with pretentious art films and thirty five hour Japanese epics. Sadly, not every person I know wants to spend their sun-filled summer afternoon curled up in bed watching The Rock (108) for the second time. Not every person I know wants to spend another evening in the darkened halls of the Castro Theatre perusing the newest touring film from Janus. Not every person I know will sit and listen while I describe the release schedule for the next six and a half months of Criterion.

Except for one, the one I love: Alex Healy, my first and only companion in this Criterion Quest.

A few things about Alex Healy, I think you should know:

1. She prefers to be referred to as a, ahem, Criterion Conquistador. She will often times say things like, "The Criterion Conquistador strikes again!".

2. I will refer to her as my Criterion Companion, much to her dismay.

3. Alex believes the name Criterion Crusade is much better than Criterion Quest. This is something we disagree on. I've swallowed her in to the fold as so she won't branch of her own, and create another, more better Criterion-based website entitled so.

4. Alex wants to write a review of one of the films ... in WingDings. This is still being discussed.

5. Alex has stolen the most recent Criterion film and is now finished with it, putting herself one film ahead of me. Cheeky bastard.

That's what you should know about my Criterion Companion, Alex Healy. The Robin to my Batman, the Han Solo to my Luke Skywalker.

Welcome to the team.

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The Film: Antichrist
The Director: Lars Von Trier (The Element of Crime (80), Europa (454))

The Experience: Three lost souls, perched around a laptop, having their minds irrevocably scarred.

Something Interesting: This film is almost nothing but interesting. I'd say I recommend it, but Jesus Christ, this film will live inside a painful part of your brain from the moment it ends until the moment you end. It is as shocking and disturbing to watch as any film I've ever seen. I punch myself in the face daily for not getting to the theatre while it was cutting a swath across the country. It's just that kind of movie.

Quick Notes:

1. Wow.

I don't even know where to start with this picture. Lars Von Trier is a consistently challenging filmmaker. Dredging deep in to the dark areas of our subconscious to pull out some real gems of depravity. His films I've seen in the past are challenging not only in their content but also in their execution, films like Dogville and Manderlay, Breaking the Waves and Dancer In The Dark, these are movies that transcend the simple art of disturbing the viewer. These are films that dig in to the brain, challenging not only what we're seeing, but what we believe in, whom we might root for. These are films that ask what is good and what is evil and how might we deal with it?

And Antichrist is Von Trier's disturbing masterpiece. A masterpiece amongst masterpieces.

2. Wow.

From start to finish, this film pummels you with creepiness. I don't want to say a single thing about this film, because even if there is a good possibility that this film has already been ruined for you, I don't want to play any part in it. As this film about a couple in the woods unfolds painstaking scene by painstaking scene, you'll worry about the dull roar your heart is making. You'll worry that when, ahem, "Chaos Reigns" that you won't be able to make it through it. You'll cover your eyes, you'll quiver, you'll yell out, because this film is that good at fucking withy our head. Days after I watched it, I'm still talking about it and when I talk about the juicy bits, I'm still feeling a little bit queasy. And that merits a second WOW.

3. Wow.

I don't know if there's two more hateable characters in existence, at least two characters that help to populate the film. But Willem Dafoe and Charlotte Gainsbourg, certainly get close. There's tragedy in this film, and we feel for the participants in said tragedy, and at first you think Willem Dafoe is a creep ('cause he is) and you hope and pray that Charlotte Gainsbourg might find release from his meddling. But as the film progresses as the layers are peeled back your gaze shifts and your hoping Willem Dafoe can find a way out, and you're scared each and every time Charlotte Gainsbourg steps on screen. And as the final images roll and Willem Dafoe's almost euphoric face fills the screen, you can't help but hate them both. And that's great filmmaking.

4. Wow.

Halfway through this film, my Criterion Companion, JM, and I started to worry that maybe the hype was too much. That the discussions about the painful bludgeoning this film imparts on your cinematic receptors was overwrought and that we we're about to be disappointed (blissfully so). Let yourself think that, let yourself think that the hype is too much and that this film won't leave you jelly like at the end of the day. This film is seriously disturbing. There is imagery in this film that will punch you in the mouth, steal your wallet and leave you an alley full of homeless pedophiles. It is that sick and twisted. Be excited, be prepared.

5. Wow.

What's amazing about Antichrist is that at the end of the film it isn't just revulsion and shock you feel, but the need to discuss. Why does this film exist? Is this a film about misogyny? Who is Lars Von Trier? Is their point behind the mayhem? What is that point? And so on and so forth. This is a film to see with others, for many a reasons, but mostly so you'll have a sounding board to throw out ideas, 'cause they'll be flowing.

Final Thoughts: Best movie I've seen this year. Handedly.

A doomful prophesy and CAT DANCERS

We thought we'd cured it Joe, but gosh darn it's back again.

I have a theory, a rant, hell, a doom-laden bit of prediction that's been clinking about my tin brainpan for a bit. And, well, I thought who better to infuse with my fears and hypochondric insecurities, then you the gentle-minded readers of Criterion Quest.

Thus, a rant:

I'm sick. I've been sick for weeks. Everyone I talk to is either getting sick or is "on the mend." I hear people talking about their varied "cold-like" symptoms disappearing and then jumping right back. Alex has been on-and-off sick with a variety of lung-laden diseases for months now. My house feels a bit like the cheeriest tuberculosis ward you've ever stepped in to.

And everybody's just blaming it on the "flu season." Well, I'm calling foul: I think this flu season is dead. I think humanity is on a sickness-based spiral in to the afterlife.

Oh I know, Old Man Sanders is up on his soap box again, twiddling his beard and predicting the end times, but seriously, take a look around. Doesn't it seem like we've all been sick, that we are all still sick, and that we (you, me, the entire world) have been this way for as long as we can remember? When's the last time there wasn't some super-flu cutting down children and old folk? I can barely remember. Doesn't it seem like the time between when Dr. So-and-So is telling you to get a flu vaccination is getting shorter and shorter? Yup, indeed, that's because flu season is dead and gone my feeble friends - this is just how it's going to be.

That nagging cough, that stuffed up nose and a bit of tiredness in the middle of the day, that's called sickness. But you know how usually that sickness, those symptoms, they disappear after a while as your body gets better, well that's not an option anymore. We've weakened ourselves people with shitty diets and chemically based food products and pharmaceuticals and pollution and on and on, and in true Darwinian fashion, the natural world has taken advantage of this. You thought our societies doom was going to be melting ice caps and 300-foot tidal waves? Guess again, folk, we're just slowly, but surely going to keep being sick, and then sicker. And as we keep telling ourselves that this is just a "season" and we keep pumping ourselves full of medicine to keep the illness "at bay" we're going to get weaker and weaker over such a slow period of time that it won't even see noticeable. Until one day we all look up and we're just a nation/world/civilization of feeble folk, barely able to take care of ourselves, waiting for whatever's next to just swoop on in and pick us off. Evolution's a stone-cold killer folks and I think our collective jugulars are sprawled on the chopping block.

Or maybe I've just been slightly sickly for the last month and need an overblown description to give me hope that this wheezy cough has greater meaning.

Or maybe I just like to ramble.

And now, Cat Dancers.

The Film: Cat Dancers

The Director: Harris Fishman

What Is It?: The story of the world's greatest dancing cat performance act, Cat Dancers, and their, surprisingly tragic end.

The Experience: Alex and I wanted to get some cheery films for our T-Day Weekend, instead we ended up with the depressingly subpar Bruno and this not-so-zany film about erotic trysts, imprisoned cats, very sad people, and grisly grisly deaths. At least our cornish game hen was tasty.

Something Interesting: Ligers, though fascinating, are actually the inbreeds of the wild cat world. Because of their cross-breeding they can't breed and share the oft times conflicting traits of a tiger and lion (should I swim? should I hang out solo? should I have a pride?). Thought you might want to know.

Quick Notes:

1. This is not your average tale of cat dancing.

Cat dancing, for you the horrifyingly unknowing, is the practice of training wild cats to, ahem, "dance" with you, i.e., perform with you in a mock circus. This applies to jaguars, tigers, panthers, etc. Ron and Joy Holiday were world-famous dancers (and nude photo celebrities) who in their second stage of life turned towards the dangerous world of cat dancing. Cat Dancers follows the ups, downs, and really awful demise of this supposedly world famous trio of cat-waltzing folk. And where you'd think this film would just be your sort of Home Movie look at a quirky subset of people, it is not. It is story of love, lust, immense heartbreak and grisly death. A snapshot of sadness unlike any you've seen previously. I can almost assure of this. Alex and I, expecting sequined outfits and immense zaniness, sat in dumb-shocked horror trying to get a hold on this horrific tale unfolding before us. And it just keeps getting more and more shocking. Cat Dancers is not smile-laden pick-me-up we thought it to be, and I warn you, don't ingest it as such.

2. Florida?

I think a three-way-love-affair between a family of cat dancers who almost entirely meet their untimely demises at the claws of a near-retarded white tiger named Jupiter can only happen in Florida. I sometimes just want to buy a camera and go to the first town in Florida, talk to the first family I meet, film there lives for one week, edit it, send it to the Academy and win seven Oscars. Florida, you are the haven for strange.

3. Ron Holiday.

Ron Holiday, the narrator and only survivor of Cat Dancers, is as interesting a character as any you'll see in movies right now. On one side he's exactly what you'd think, a slightly gay Floridian who loves wild cats, lives by himself with three dogs (yes, the cat dancer himself now owns dogs) and glues his hair on in the morning. A man who prides himself on sequined gladiator outfits and can catch a jaguar in mid-leap. On the other this is a man who's clearly lost everything that meant anything to him - his wife, his lover, his beautiful cats - and his ability to keep on moving on is both inspirational and terrifying. When asked at one point in the film, "Have you been to move past this tragedy?" He breaks in to angry tears, barely able to choke out the fact that he'll never move past this, only figure out a way to keep living, any way possible. Sure, this is a story about wacky people, Florida's local celebrities, that danced with cats, but more so this is about life and what it dishes out regardless of who we are or what we do.

4. Just how famous were these Cat Dancers?

Sentimentality aside, there's a lot of talk about how famous the Cat Dancers (Ron, Joy and Chuck) were but Alex and I were both completely unaware of this cat dancing trio before viewing this film. They talk about their huge performances, but every piece of video footage seems to have been filmed in either a high school gym or a backyard. They claim to be number twos to Siegfried and Roy's number one, but on what Las Vegas stage did these leather clad cat-tangoers perform upon? Seems skeptical to me, but Jesus, I didn't even know cat dancing was a tangible profession until two weeks ago.

Final Thoughts: After a few weeks thought I've come to think that this is a pretty amazing documentary. A sneaky bit of sadness that creeps up when you're waiting for sequin-inspired giggles. Humanity on display folk, in all its amazing weirdness.

Thursday: Audition

Strange facts and QUICK NOTES: 500 DAYS OF SUMMER

I can't come up with any sort of coherent thought pattern to formulate in to a blog, so I thought I would just pull the old shotgun trigger and spray your faces with some idea buckshot.

Here we go:

1. Being sick sucks. Oh I know, you all know that. "Boo hoo, Noah's sick. All he does is complain and shirk his blog." But seriously, it does, and what sucks even more is being sick ... with a mustache. Take all of that sickness that you hate: the snot, the hack, the low energy and add a mustache and you have a hellish experience. Why you might ask? Why does a hair caterpillar perched atop your upper lip up the miserable qualities of sickness? Nose blowing. Your average upper lip, bereft of hair, is pretty safe in a nose-blowing situation. That ooey goodness clogged within your nostrils doesn't have a foothold and just slides away in to a hankie. Add a mustache though and you have a veritable forest for that slimy goodness to hide within. All of sudden your not just blowing your nose once, you're taking another five or ten minutes to wipe the gooey goods from your face. A customer walks in to a coffee shop and where you might have once been able to just toss the napkin and move on, now you awkwardly stand there wiping the tubules of snot from your face. And don't get me started on coughing and sneezing, 'cause that always brings up something and its bound to get tangled in some of the brown straw sprouting from my face. C'mon Sickness Lord, just let me get better.

2. In a hilarious turn of events I spent almost an hour and a half last night wearing only a pair of light blue boxer briefs and tweed Toms, in the space behind my refrigerator, cleaning up rotting food and stepping on cockroaches. Big, fat, nasty cockroaches, that squooshed on to my shoes and never seemed to die. I've never really lived in a real city before (Seattle lovers I apologize) and seemingly real cities involve cockroaches, and after we'd realized that these buggers were taking over the kitchen, inch by inch, we take militant action and thus I ended up, bleach spray and cockroach killers wielded in each hand, near-naked battling their spiny forces. I gagged, several times.

The Film: 500 Days of Summer
The Director: Marc Webb

What Is It?: The uber-hyped romantic comedy by hotshot new director Marc Webb. You could fit the term "disappointing" in their, but I won't say where.

The Experience: Alex and I watched this film on the plane back from New York and I must say that without the pressurized air and confinement of the tubular cabin holding me down, I would've made it through perhaps five minutes of this film.

Something Interestin': Wow, I couldn't imagine there was anything terribly interesting to be found in the shadowy halls of this film, and I was right. The best I could find? That Zooey Deschanel's is named after the titular character in J.D. Salinger's Franny & Zooey. How, yawn, trite.

Quick Notes:

1. It's a sub-par romantic comedy wrapped in a trendy package.

That note seems to explain itself. This movie starts off with a bang, a collection of quirky visuals that make you think, "Ooooh, this film is going to be quirky and exciting." For five minutes you think that, five glorious moments. And then, splat, down it falls, and all of sudden you're watching each and every shitty rom-com of the last forty years, just tied up with the bow of visual chicanery. Director Marc Webb was and is a music video director and his emphasis on style over substance makes this quite evident. You tricked me once Webb, it won't happen again.

2. My crush on Zooey Deschanel gone.

A huge fault in this movie is telling everyone how amazing Summer (Zooey Deschanel) is, but never showing why. Every terribly written man-child in this film gets a stiff-one for Summer, but never once does Webb or Deschanel make it clear why. Sure, she's a looker (though her hair takes on a sort of helmet-like quality that was off-putting to Alex and I both) but her personality is such dead-weight that it makes Joseph Gordon-Levitt's character seem like more of a love-lorn chump than need be. I also worry that Deschanel's inability to play anything but this sort of always-stoned hot lady bodes exceptionally terribly for her ability to do anything but get type-cast.

3. This movie was really well hyped, but why?

I'm so confused about this film's response. Everyone was just crawling all over each other to say how much they loved this film and how visionary Marc Webb was in terms of his visual usage and blah blah blah. Then you watch the film and you realize that the film barely crawls its way past the mediocre mark and all of sudden it's confusion and shame while you're trying to figure out what the world of critique is coming to.

4. I hate shallow music allusions.

This film is full of trite, shallow allusions to the amazing music the two main characters love, and that's it. They just love this music and instead of it having any sort of theme-related importance or even an important part in their relationship, it's just a bunch of sonic crap thrown in to the film to help make them seem cooler. I don't want my "cool" friends to just talk about how good music is, I want it to mean something to them. And in this, a real shit-savvy piece of junk if you ask me, none of these people care at all.

Final Thoughts: Terrible. I hate each and all who helped trick me in to watching this. Alexandra Healy, I'll speak for you, hate's you as well.

Thursday: Good Hair

1 year, 8 months, and QUICK NOTES: THE CRUISE.

The first of the month always brings about some fairly, perhaps relatively, substantial dates. And yes, I understand, the acknowledgment of anniversaries, be them year or month, is considered faux pas in the "cool set", but that's okay. I'm a big sappy ball of snotty goo seventy-five percent of my life anyway, so turning it up a notch a few times a year just comes with the territory. I'll try to keep it to a dull roar though.

Some events of great import that rear their heads upon the first of each month:

1. It's the anniversary of my move to SF. Exactly eight months ago my brother and I, a jumbly ball of anxiety crammed in to a 1996 Honda Civic, cruised across the Golden Gate Bridge en route to our new homes and our new lives. These past 8 months have been challenging and at times rough, but also the happiest of my life. Each day presents something new and wonderful and I find this strange amalgam of a city to be as inspirational as any I've ever set foot in. I've had two jobs in this city (one in a hellish tourist void, the other a tiny hole of community and industry), four different roommates, one Civil War (thanks to two of those roommates), one therapist (a first for me), an unlimited supply of ideas, an unlimited supply of unfinished projects, a small handful of people that I've come to love and appreciate, less than 5 purchased books (I have a problem, this is a big deal), I've loved and lost one goldenrod single-speed bicycle, and that's the just the tip of the iceberg. But most importantly ...

2. I've spent exactly one year with the most special of ladies, the absolute love of my life, Alexandra Healy. One year ago, I staggered home from a grueling mid-shift and stumbled in to what would seem like a brief amazing, impossible, encounter with a girl who lived 816 miles away from me, an encounter that would blossom, through coincidence and a lot of texting, in to something absolutely beautiful. Everyone always tells you all the grim and gory details of living with the person you love, but they never tell you the most important thing: how fucking awesome it is. How you get to wake up each and every morning and right there next to you is the person you hold dearest in the world. How each night before you fade off to sleep you get to wrap an arm around their mid-section and talk about the day. How when you're sick they'll put you in crappy track pants and read you Amy Bender short stories. How you'll always have someone who'll hold your face against their chest when you're sad, and often times even when you're not. How you'll get to explore the person you were and are becoming. How you'll find someone else in this frequently bland world who wants to spend their Thanksgiving watching Cat Dancers and cooking cornish game hens. How hearing the door open will always snap your neck like a whip because it might be them coming home. How all of this can leave you nauseous, elated, ebullient, crackling with nerves, dry-mouthed, shit-faced, teary-eyed, breathless, tense, aroused, exhausted, and on and on. No one ever tells you that, but after spending a year (8 months of it in the same room) with the person I've come to love so exceptionally much, I feel as if I can tell you now. One year. Somebody, somewhere, pop a bottle of champagne.

The Movie: The Cruise
The Director: Bennett Miller (Capote)

What Is It?: A low budget documentary about Timothy "Speed" Levitch, a double-decker tour guide in New York. Basically an hour and half of some of the most intelligent ranting you've ever witnessed.

The Experience: Alex has been talking about this short, shaky little documentary for as long as I've been dating her and after a trip to the Rotten Apple, it became almost mandatory that we supplement our usually voracious documentary fix with this flighty bit of profile. We devoured it, unusually, in a single sitting.

Something Interestin': Director Bennett Miller followed up this film, seemingly shot on his Mom's Super-8 while drunk, with the Oscar-nominated Capote.

Something Else Interestin': Subject Timothy Levitch isn't just the subject of this film, he's also played Puggler the Punk Rock Juggler in something referred to as Xavier: Renegade Angel.

Quick Notes:

1. I suspect deeper issues.

Timothy "Speed" Levitch is assumedly as brilliant as you can get. You can see it in the frantic wave of his hands, the speed-talking, the sort of aloof wandering through the city he loves so dearly, the rattling off of facts as if they were known by any and all, and especially you can see it in the way he seems to have some sort of unending bag of ideas that he's able to reach in to at any point and pull free. It's incredible, but what's even more interesting is what seems to lurk underneath. The frantic charm of Levitch is offset by almost uncontrollable bursts of emotion (anger, sadness, frustration) throwing his usually eccentric and lovable tirades in to a more manic light. Who knows what lies beneath the skin of Levitch, but I'll say this, I knew a fella just like Speed Levitch, and he spent a night in the pokey because in a more manic state he broke in to the Federal Building downtown to try to stop an assassination plot against the President. Just saying.

2. Makes you feel like a filmmaker.

The fact that Bennett Miller, Oscar-nominated director, made this film on the streets of New York for less than it costs James Cameron to wipe his ass is inspiring. The fact that the film is basically a series of close-ups on Timothy Levitch shot on grainy black and white film in the always scenic streets of New York is inspiring. The fact that all it takes is a modicum of skill, an amazing subject, and a borrowed camera to make something of worth, hell, that's inspiring. This is the kind of film, bereft of special effects or computer graphics or even lighting, that slaps you around a little bit, gets your creative juices breaking down the dam of Hollywood that always seems so ominous.

Final Thoughts: A great little picture. I could watch five or six volumes of Levitch just shooting the shit. Maybe he should have a talk show ... or maybe not.

Tomorrow: 500 Days of Summer

My dislike of bathroom signs and QUICK NOTES: HAROLD & MAUDE

Alright, so I've got some beef with traditional, man/woman bathroom signs and I've been chewing on it for a while and after a slightly uncomfortable incident at a rest stop fifteen minutes north of SF, I thought I'd vent. Because hell, I love to vent.

My reasons for hating traditional man/woman bathroom signs:

1. First off, man/woman is a passe terms these days people. There's a lot of variance happening in well, the minds and bodies of a lot of folk the world over. Throwing up a sign that handily divides bathrooms between those with penises and those with a vagina makes a bold statement that the only people using these bathrooms are those who are men with penises or women with a vagina. That gender and genitalia are so easily paired in these days of transgender is egregious. In all ways we are a speedily evolving culture and I think the frontline push in many ways is a more gender neutral way of looking at things. A way of assessing people not by who they fuck or what they have hanging in their shorts, but by who they are and how they live their lives. A sign on every bathroom door that declares one can or cannot enter based on the junk, or lack thereof, between their legs stodgily rebukes that forward momentum, and I for one think it needs to change a bit.

2. Bathroom signs annoy me because they create a subconscious fear that I can't use one or the other. I hate walking up to a pair of bathrooms adorned with male/female signs, finding the male bathroom closed, and not feeling comfortable entering in to the ladies' bathroom because, well, it's marked only for women. For those who've never ventured in to the dangerous reaches of the opposing sex's lavatory I'll tell you this: aside from a trough or a few stalls, it's all the same, a bunch of places to seat your toosh and let the good times roll. It is ridiculous that an unused bathroom sits next to one with a line, and just because I have a peiner, means I can't pop in. Why can't we all just get along? Understandably there is a few cultural (nee gender) norms that make it seemingly uncomfortable to pinch one off in the presence of the opposite sex, but we can get over this people. We can exist in a world where bathrooms are bathrooms regardless of if you sit or stand to take a pee. C'mon!

And that's what I got. Maybe I should start a petition or something. Who's with me?

The Movie: Harold & Maude
The Director: Hal Ashby (Being There, Shampoo)

The Experience: I've been meaning to watch this movie for ages. Hal Ashby is a bit of a legend from the 1970s and my ex-girlfriend claimed this was her favorite movie. Almost in a rebellious, "oh yeah" sort of way I avoided ever watching this film. But, Alex was curious after reading the book, and I thought, "Probably time to get over myself."

Something Interesting: Ruth Gordon, the fine actress who plays Maude, never actually drives the hearse in the car, as she never actually learned to drive. The whole rig is being towed each and every time.

Quick Notes:

1. What a Maude!

My goodness, Ruth Gordon might be the sexiest octogenarian I've ever seen. I mean it isn't that I find Gordon attractive in a physical way (or maybe I do, it takes a while for the brain to get used to the idea of being aroused by a woman 50 years its senior) there's just something about her character and the vulnerability she shows in the role that had me one eyebrowed up for the majority of the film. It's an incredible feat, by both Hal Ashby and Gordon, that they managed to make it totally viable that a strange, young man like Harold (Bud Cort) would fall in love with this woman so much older than him. She's a fox, through and through.

2. Bud Cort, super creepy?

Before doing a bit more research on this film, I found myself watching Cort's performance and thinking that this strange, pasty-faced, drug-voiced child couldn't be the result of actual acting. No, rather that Bud Cort himself was actually this strange. A kid you'd find burning ants, or flashing school children, and not be terribly surprised. Indeed, I've never watched another film starring Bud Cort (is there any?) but I imagined this to be him in real life. A little research in the can and it seems that Cort was a bit more proactive in his pursuit of a career and this starring role was not exactly a fluke. Rather, he listed Robert Altman (bless his soul) as a mentor and I've read stories that paint him as a bit of a filmic diva (such as the one where he wanted Greta Garbo to play Maude...). Nonetheless, this is an all-encompassing performance and I'm shocked that it doesn't spill over in to his real life.

3. God bless the 1970s.

Be it this film or any of the other ground-breaking bits of narrative that flowed like honey in the 1970s, it was a fan-fucking-tastic time to be a filmmaker operating within a studio. What other time period would let you play the love affair between an 80 year old and a 20 year old so straight? If this film was made this year, it'd star the Wayan Brothers and there'd be jokes about wrinkly vaginas and dick cobwebs. Thank you 1970s, if you were more corporeal I'd hug the shit out of you.

Final Thoughts: Rightly a classic. I'm going to start watching Hal Ashby's other films right now. I mean not RIGHT now, but soon enough.

Friday: 500 Days of Summer

Surreal world and QUICK NOTES: OBJECTIFIED

I've been a little anti-past lately, what with threatening Facebook messages about ten year reunion planning peppering my inbox.

But, also strangely thanks to Facebook, I got news yesterday that my high school sweetheart, the one, the only Katy "Fucking" Browning was just recently engaged to a good friend of mine Nathan Stoltenberg.

A few reactions:

1. Awesome. Nathan Stoltenberg (though I don't stay in touch well enough because, well, I'm shitty at those types of things) is a man I've loved like a distant relative for a long while. Be it fantasy books, hip-hop, blunts, ping-pong tourneys in the midst of tragic break-ups, little league baseball, or Ford SHO's, I feel like Stoltenberg and I have shared some memories and the fact the he's getting married to the one, the only, Katy Browning , just plasters a toothy grin on my face.

2. Surreal. Not only is my ten-year high school reunion hurtling down the shoot towards me, but now these two fantastic folk are tying the knot? I've known both these kids since I was in elementary school, when I was still wearing collared galaxy shirts and glasses that wrapped around my oddly shaped ears. Life's changed drastically for me, and for everyone in the last year or so, and I got to admit, it spins me for a loop to know such old chums are finally leaping in to the marriage ring.

3. Age. Yup, I'm, you're, we all are getting old. I was pondering just the other day when my friends, notoriously slow on the marriage tip, were going to start throwing rings on fingers, and then popping out wee ones, and hell, look what I get for wondering. Is this the first rock in the marriage avalanche?

It's as if I can feel the grey hairs starting to fill in the Hair Phoenix.

Regardless, congrats Nate and Katy, I hope your wedding has an open bar.

---

The Movie: Objectified (2009)
The Director: Gary Hustwit (Helvetica)

The Experience: Alex is a sneaky monkey and every time I'd leave the room for longer than five minutes, I'd come back and she'd have watched another ten minutes. Thus my experience with this fantastic film was in spurts and stops with a few gaping holes in between.

Something Interestin': This is the second film in a proposed trilogy. Hustwit's first was Helvetica, about the beloved typefont and there's been rumors that his third film will focus on the always fascinating subject of architecture. I, for one, am on the edge of my seat in anticipation.

Quick Notes:

1. What a mood. There's a real simple, elegance to this little film about industrial design and it's importance in our lives. It's a very clean, melodic film, packed with beautiful imagery. All of this should be, as Hustwit is interviewing designers of products. If the film were a shambly mess, I'd be suspect. It's not though, oh no, it's streamlined, short, and a true joy to watch.

2. A subject you never thought was interesting, made interesting. It's what great documentaries do my friends, make the mundane seem fascinating and Hustwit has done just that. Industrial design isn't something we think about all the time, but it's constantly with us. Every thing we touch or sit on or read or interact with has been, to one degree or another, "designed" and, in most occasions, not without some thought put in to it. The world of objects is a hyper-reality constantly battering against us (much like the fonts of Helvetica) and to hear some of the top industrial designers in the world discuss their ideas makes just sitting in a hip little coffee shop seem all the more interesting. Every thing has concept behind it ladies and gentlemen, and this film helps to see what some of those concepts might be.

Final Thoughts: Hustwit's a refreshing new voice in documentary cinema. I poo-pooed his first film a long while ago, but I blame the viewing experience. All-a-tingly to see what Hustwit does next.

Tuesday: Fucking a, The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (102)

What the fuck and CLUE.

I went to the symphony today for an early morning pre-show rehearsal. It was quite symphonic and though I fell asleep for a brief bit of each and every song, they were some of the most tuneful naps I've ever taken.

Then I walked outside and my bike, the appropriately named Mrs. and Ms. Cheesepiener was gone.

I'm sitting here in sort of baffled bit of confounded anger and I thought I'd share some of my thoughts:

1. This makes me the most angry not because of the actual bike being gone (though that makes me angry as well) but more so because of the huge inconvenience of it all. Not only do I now have to go through the pains of purchasing a new bike (without the convenience of bike transportation) but for the next indefinite period of time I have to get around with out my semi-beloved bike. This means a step sideways in to the wide world of public transportation. A wide world I was happily no longer a part of.

2. I'm also sad. It's like losing a pet or a friend - I didn't get to say goodbye or get a last ride. Some jerk just thought to himself, "I like that poorly locked bike, I'll take it." And that's it. Mr. and Mrs. Cheese Peiner, I hope whomever has you is taking care of you. Sadly you're probably just getting stripped in an Oakland chop-shop.

3. The hilarious part of this story is that JM, my roommate and symphony impetus, had his bike literally locked to mine. They cut this lock and then took my bike, leaving his behind. I mean, my bike was a shiny goldenrod and had stupid TREK emblazoned across it, but there has to be humor in the fact that one bike was just left. C'mon thief, it's a recession, you've got to get every last pennies worth.

4. Part of me wants to skulk about the city, looking for Mr. and Mrs. Cheese Peiner and the culprit who swiped him/her and then jump out from behind a wall and spear-tackle the shit out of them. The other, more dominant side, just wants to sit on my bed and stew, as I've been doing for the last hour. I'm better at stewing than spear-tackling. No joke.

5. Keep Mr. and Mrs. Cheese Peiner in your thoughts. Sure, he/she had a shoddy chain, no derailer tag, and a tendency to not work at the most inopportune moments, but sweet Jesus he/she was my first and I'll always look back fondly on him/her.

The Movie: Clue (1985)
The Director: Jonathan Lynn (My Cousin Vinny, The Whole Nine Yards, etc.)

Something Interesting: This film was written by John Landis, one-time hero of comedy. He fell out of favor years later, and perhaps this aborted fetus was a tingling premonition of that.

Something Else Interesting: The three-ending gimmick I bitch about later in this column was actually only included on the video version. Every theatre got one distinct ending. I don't know how this makes me feel. Probably angry, but I blame my loss for that.

My Thoughts:

I'm glad I'm writing about Clue today, as I thought it was a steaming pile, and I'm in just the mood to write absolutely nothing nice.

Alex and I threw on Clue two weeks ago to get a few ideas for what ended up being pretty stunning Clue-oriented Halloween costumes. No ideas were gleaned, but a lot of vitriol was spilled on this messy 80s remake of a, sigh, board game.

1. A lesson never learned.

There's a lot of talk about upcoming board game adaptations in Hollywood right now, and please, Mr. Hollywood and all your big-suited lawyer friends, take a look at Clue and see where you're headed. This is a shoddily thrown together murder mystery that tosses in a few lead pipes a noose and a character named "Mr. Body" and calls it an adaptation. Board games are meant to be played, not to be seen on screen, and this is why. You're just pulling together loose threads hoping that a film comes out. How come you can't just make a murder mystery set in a mansion instead of Clue: The Movie? Instead of the upcoming Battleship: The Movie, why doesn't Peter Berg just make a new naval action movie? 'Cause Hollywood is full of lazy people who love money and that sort of thing is just run-of-the-mill these days.

2. Is this a cult film?

People love this movie. Seriously, love it. Which makes me think that the definition of "cult film" has to have the phrases "seriously unlovable film" and "doddering morons" included within. As this is a terrible movie and the idea of seeing it over and over again honestly makes my skin crawl a bit. I might actually stray away from "cult films" from now on, just in fear that I'll stumble across a film like this again.

3. Why is it so bad?

When the best parts of your film are Tim Curry stepping in dog-poo and Christopher Lloyd - something is very, very wrong. Nearly everything about this film falls short of watchable, let alone good. The costume designs are dated to the point you think you're watching bad, gay, opera. The acting is arch in the gag-reflexing way, not the fun campy way. And the plot, a mish-mash of every stupid murder mystery ever to grace the screen does nothing, even failing to have a proper ending, instead relying on the three-ending trick.

I'm sorry I watched this film. At least my costume is good.

Mr. and Mrs. Cheese Peiner, 2009-2009.

Thursday: Vengeance.

Blank and QUICK NOTES: A SERIOUS MAN

My brain is a bit blank this morning. No witty asides or exciting commentary at the world at large

Thus it's a good day to write up one of my least enjoyable experiences of a well put together film.


The Movie: A Serious Man
The Director(s): Joel & Ethan Coen (No Country For Old Men, Raising Arizona, etc.)

Somethin' Interesting: Never before in my entire life have I left a film so wracked by anxiety. Sure, it might just be that I'm an Anxious Alan these days, but lordy, lordy was a crackling ball of nervous energy.

Somethin' Else Interesting: As we rode out of the theatre, the final apocalyptic scenes ringing in our heads, the city of San Francisco was almost deadly quiet. Every car was stopped and all that could be heard was some lunkhead screaming and The Blue Angels careening overhead. I believe the word is, "eerie".

Quick Notes:

1. One strange cast.

The Coen's made two movies packed with stars in the last year or so (the amazing No Country and the hilarious Burn After Reading) and then, well, they made this. A film about Jews in Minneapolis that stars no one bigger than Richard Kind, the mensch from Michael Fox's Spin City. I appreciate no director on the planet more than these two, true artists that take their gained clout and make daring and original movies that no one else can.

2. Do Jews like this better?

There's been a lot of talk about A Serious Man and the fact that critics have been describing it as "too Jewish". Sure, it sounds like an awful description, but honestly this film is set amongst the deeply Jewish community of, uh, someplace in Minneapolis in the 1960s. The themes and plot of the story are rooted heavily in Jewish culture, as are the characters and even the language. Is it a terrible thing to refer to the film as "Jewish" when the plot follows that of Job, a main character in The Torah? Maybe. My question actually is as a Jewish person, that I am not, is more enjoyment gleaned from this film? Do the Jewish themes and phrases resonate more? Being a Gentile am I missing out?

3. Anxiety.

I said this up top, but oh my, oh miso, did this film get my gall up. At the moment, one wracked by anxiety, I couldn't say I enjoyed the film, but as I've pulled farther away from it this anxiety was wrought from me by the sheer genius filmmaking of two of the best working in the business. Every scene, every shot, every moment, every musical cue is perfect in this film, and that perfection is aimed at notching up the level of anxiety for the main character, and the audience, as much as possible. You feel it building and building and building and you hope for a pressure release, which comes, but in the last moments The Coens, those geniuses of cinema, seal the cap again. I left nearly breathless with nerves. As did my roommate Lindzilla. We both just sat at home and stewed in anxiety, barely able to muster a "good" or "bad" about A Serious Man.

4. Just like a Lebowski

Give this film a chance. Let it sit in your brain for a few days. Let the Roger Deakin cinematography and the character and world building of The Coens settle in. You'll love this film, perhaps even brave the wilds of anxiety to view it again.

Final Thoughts: Another near perfect entry in to the shockingly good filmography of the brother's Coen. I can't recommend those with anxiety issues the experience of watching this film, but a weekend of near throw-ups is worth it, to me, when a film is this good.

Friday: Clue

A big old bag of films and QUICK NOTES: THE DEVIL AND DANIEL JOHNSTON

I'm on a film watching bender right now.

I've got a Netflix queue stacked to the brim and a bag full of films that I've just started to dig in to.

What am I watching right now? Here, let me tell you.

1. Clue

I'm halfway through this film and I'm struggling. It's a sort of badly shot, cheeky take on a, sigh, board game. Tim Curry is in it, Christopher Lloyd is in it (whatever happened to him?), and a host of other slightly famous people of the 1980s, but it just doesn't click. It's too stupidly campy. But as I am unable to not finish watching a movie, I will plow through this flick and then lambaste it with aplomb.

2. The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (102)

One of my favorite Criterion films of all time (meaning one of the ten or twenty that I'd seen prior to starting my quest). Weird and French and surreal and full of attractive Franchies and boggling ideas. Luis Bunuel you are my French Surrealist hero.

3. The Short Films of Grant Munroe

Canadians are strange and odd characters. Garbed in denim and chock full of accent. Strangely enough, I've never really thought about what was going in Canadian film (hell Canadian anything) in the 1940s - 1970s, and damn it, I'm sad I haven't. Grant Munroe was a short animator who made a ton of films for the National Board of Canada. Their short and animated and usually have some sort of subversive message, and they're pretty amazing. His Christmas bit is one of the sweetest least aggravating bits of holiday sentiment I've ever seen.

4. Vernon, Florida

Errol Morris, this is the last film of yours I've seen. I'm almost sad to choke it down with unrestrained glee. But I'll be okay.

5. Road House

The Days of Swayze will grace this website soon. Your mind it will be blown.

Seriously I have FIVE movies in my greasy hands right now, plus Netflix Instant, plus online television shows, plus the lingering need for a, sigh, social life.

---


The Movie: The Devil and Daniel Johnston
The Director: Jeff Feuerzeig (Half Japanese: The Band That Would Be King)

Something Interestin': Daniel Johnston's, er, mental issues, were a lot greater than a lot thought. Crashin' planes, screamin' about Jesus - this guy is as nuts as he was talented.

Quick Notes:

1. Who is this director?

This is really one of the best documentaries on music, or anything, that I've ever seen. It's a delicious blend of animation, music, reenactments, film, and interviews that, as far as I can tell, accurately portrays the life and times of the musical genius that is Daniel Johnston. And my question is: who the fuck is the man behind the camera? Seriously, this is some real gifted filmmaking, and all I can find that he's worked on is another documentary about the band Half Japanese. It's shocking, but Jeff Feezelbub, or whatever, is a name I'll be looking out for.

2. Daniel Johnston's still got it.

You see Daniel Johnston at the end of the film, living in a tiny town with his quickly aging parents, playing in a punk rock band with a bunch of semi-trashy locals. I at least worried, immensely that maybe this large, slow-speaking version of the Daniel Johnston I'd come to know and love might not be able to eek out those heart felt bits of emotionally lyricism he was so well known for. Don't you worry folk, I heard a live recording of his from SXSW last year and nearly cried. Just as beautiful, just as heartfelt. I thank Daniel Johnston's army of Devil-hating ducks for keeping him safe.

3. A vast amount of source material.

As amazing as the direction of this film is, it couldn't have been possible if the decidedly nutty Daniel Johnston hadn't recorded literally his entire life. There's pictures and cuts of film and audio recordings that seriously expose not only every part of every bit of his life, but the deep set emotions he was feeling at the time. It's a little eerie, as if Daniel Johnston was setting the groundwork for an amazing film about his life.

Final Thoughts: I'd never heard Daniel Johnston before this film. You don't need too. He himself, from birth to present, is a fascinating subject, and this film an amazing portrayal of the talent and madness that defines him.

Friday: A Serious Man

A brief encounter and QUICK NOTES: ZOMBIELAND

This happened to me yesterday:

I work in a coffee shop that has two windows that each and every morning I open. Since my coffee shop is in a part of town that could be considered "sketchy" by rich, white people, we have grates over our window.

Yesterday, 'round 9:30, a man approached the open window, carrying one presumably half full large can of 211 Steel Reserve, and a brown bag, where an un-opened 211 Steel Reserve can awaited him.

Our conversation:

Man: Am I a good person?
Me: Uh, sure, you're a good person.
Man: Tell me I'm a good person.
Me: You're a good person.
Man: Say it louder!
Me: YOU'RE A GOOD PERSON!

He then proceeded to stagger across the street and get arrested. I only wished I had yelled, "You are not truly a good person, you have befuddled me!"

Alas, I did not.

The Movie: Zombieland
The Director: Ruben Fleischer

Something Interestin': The Swayz himself was originally signed to star in this film. The cancer that got him in the end, also forced him out of shooting.

Something Else Interestin': Not only was Woody Harrelson arrested for possession of weed on this film, it was also his biggest grossing of all time. One of these things is surprising.

Quick Notes:

1. The Wonder Years: Zombie Edition

I read on IMDB that this film was originally imagined as a TV show, and I'm glad it didn't ever take that route as it's pretty much just a quirky, new-age Wonder Years with zombies instead of cheeky older brothers. The voiceovers, the nebbish high schooler, the long lusting over girls obviously too attractive for our main character - Fred Savage I believe you have a law suit.

2. Jesse Eisenstein

Like Michael Cera but prickly. I want to hug Michael Cera in all his awkward geekiness. But Jesse Eisenstein? Yikes, at best I want him to stay away from my imaginary children. At worst, he might get a shank in the knee for his smugness. I mean I don't want to kill him, just ruin his sports career.

3. Slo-Mo Liquid

There is more liquid spattered about screen in super slo-mo in the first two and half minutes of this film than possibly any other in film history. Blood, coke, milk, water - if it's liquid, it's getting a slo-mo shower. I can only hope it was intentional. If not, Mr. Fleischer you need to see someone about a dangerous obsession.

4. Emma Stone, comic?

I sort of love how Emma Stone (Superbad) is hurtling herself down the path of comedy. I feel as if there's this tendency today for young, attractive Hollywood actors (of the female persuasion) to jump in to period dramas and edgy thrillers. Which is sad, as we're lacking in the future generations of funny ladies. If Emma Stone is the start of a new generation though, hell, I think we're okay.

5. Woody Harrelson, big timer.

My friend Hyok once smoked weed with Woody Harrelson at a frat house in Seattle, Washington. Afterwards they went to play basketball (Hyok was a magic man) but stoned Woody got spoked by an angry weed-hater and had to bail. I still think he should be famous.

Final Thoughts: This is a good, not great movie. Zombies have been stuffed down our throats lately, and it's nice to see a gore-fest that wears it's influences (Shaun of the Dead) and good intentions on its sleeve. Harrelson steals the show, but cold-as-ice Eisenberg and warm-as-puppies Emma Stone have some moments too. I don't know who invited that Breslin lass from Little Ms. Sunshine, she's topping 14 and that awkward stage isn't doing much for her. I recommend it for a matinee show, a drive-in, something that gives you the chance to imbibe a six-pack with a good chum first.

Thursday: The Devil and Daniel Johnston

Fucking 10 year reunion and QUICK NOTES: SHAUN OF THE DEAD.

Let me confess something: nearly ten years ago, in my senior year of high school, I was, sigh, the Senior Class President. It didn't mean much then (nor does it mean anything now), I was just a figurehead for the class, that sometimes awkwardly spoke in front of the school and spent half an hour a week on television reporting what sport teams had won and so on and so forth. It was a good time, and I thought when I tossed my pointy hat in to the air come graduation time, that my responsibilities were over.

I was wrong. Rumors that I was supposed to organize our ten year reunion had floated about when I was in office, but I was 18 and imagined these to be ramblings of over-eager high school kids.

I was wrong. In the last month I've received exactly three emails from said over-eager, now grown up high school kids, inquiring as to what I have planned for the, sigh, ten year reunion. In high school when my friends would joke about it, I'd tell them that I'd fake my death, or pick one of the over eager kids to take my place. Now, with emails piling up around my shoulders, demanding me to "pick a theme" and informing me that "places are filling up" and "2010 isn't that far away" I'm literally ready to pen my fake death letter.

Seriously, maybe I'm shirking responsibility (seemingly most people know about this Senior Class President runs-the-reunion responsibility), but c'mon, when I was 18 I was more excited about losing my virginity then thinking about the fact that I was signing up to orchestrate the ten year. All of sudden all of the social responsibility I'd so happily jettisoned in the years following high school is resting on my shoulders once again, and I'm nothing more than angered.

I'm already penning the letter, "Dear Shorewood High School, this is the Prime Minister of Zimbabwe and I'm sorry to inform you that Noah Sanders disappeared in to a puddle of quicksand late last night. He will no longer be able to fulfill his role as 10 Year Reunion Coordinator. So sorry."

Sounds good right?

Alex and I watched Shaun of the Dead for the nth time while I was wiling away my days in Seattle. And I thought you might like to hear my opinions on it.

1. This is a great zombie film, and a great debut film all its on. Lets break the number one down in two a's and b's.

a. It's a great film because it's edited sharply, is immaculately written, and plays within the confines of geeky cinema, but isn't afraid to poke fun or venture outside of it to really gouge out some nice emotional performances. It's also paced in a sort of slow, wonderful way that coincides nicely with the speed that the zombies are moving at. As if the "arghing" trudge of the living dead is the same speed at which Shaun (Simon Pegg) is learning to emote and be a grown up man. I also love the way the film uses the idea of "zombie" to sort of peg culture down. We're all zombies in some way, and though it make take a cataclysmic world disaster to shake us out of it, we need to be shaken.

b. It's a great zombie film. This is classic zombie cinema. Slow moving creatures that love brains and die only with the removal of their brains trudging about eating stupid Brits - brilliant. Even more brilliant because of the way director Edgar Wright builds up to it. He uses these long shots of Shaun on his way to work that change just a bit each time. As the zombie attack grows in size, the streets become emptier, and our befuddled, aloof protagonist can't recognize until it's actually in his backyard clawing at his face. The way the zombie attack creeps in to the film, through half seen newscasts and disappearing citizens gets me every time.

2. The film could use a little trimming at the end, but I think this might be just be my fascination with the build-up in films like this. I love seeing the zombies slowly appear at the edges of the frame, just as I love seeing the superhero learn about his powers. Sure, it's great to see the climax and the finish and the hero finally overcoming his fears, but I'm a build-up man, and the final moments of this film seem a little long to me.

Great film though, can't wait to watch Hot Fuzz again, and can barely contain my excitement in seeing Scott Pilgrim Saves The World.

Drooling, you might say.

Thursday: The Devil and Daniel Johnston

Nick Hornby is screwing me and QUICK NOTES: UP THE YANGTZE

Nick Hornby, as much as I love this foul-mouthed Brit, is fucking me. And I'm not particularly happy about it.

The story so far:

I bought a collection of Nick Hornby's The Believer columns in a hard back selection titled The Polysyllabic Spree. It was a wonderful book that followed Hornsby has he bought and read a shocking number of books each week. The collection was about the love of reading, and why we read, and what we find interesting as people. I was stunned by how good it was and wrote many letters proclaiming Nick Hornby as my new deity. None were answered.

Two weeks ago I was in that gem you N'orwesterners call Seattle, trolling the 826 Store (a space theme! I highly recommend a spin in the "teleportation room" with a special someone) for laser guns, when I stumbled upon two other collections of Nick Hornsby's amazing column. One, Housekeeping vs. The Dirt and another who's name I cannot remember. I was excited and even though I've set boundaries for my purchasing of books (boundaries that are slowly wearing away) I purchased Housekeeping and, jauntily, raced home to read it.

My problem: I'm pretty sure I already own this book. I'm almost positive that the sheisters at The Believer have simply taken the first half of The Polysyllabic Spree placed it in to an adorable, thin paper back and sold it, without warning as a completely different book. Thus, screwing me out of another fourteen dollars. And as I've continued to read the book (hey it's a good read, and even on a second venture I'm still enjoying the heck out of it) I keep hitting bits that just seem a wee too familiar. A chunk of book about a hooker and a blowjob, pretty sure I've read it. The animated slice from Marjane Sartrapi's Persepoli, certainly seen it somewhere.

I'll be honest, I haven't dug in to the collection to check on this swindle, one, because I'm lazy, and two, because I'm sad that this is certainly the case and that yet again I've thrown a heap of money down a hole. That said, be warned readers, The Believer, magic as they seem, are cheap, snake-oil salesman and if you've already read The Polysyllabic Spree you've already read this.

I'm hoping that, as in the past, my rant against The Believer will somehow end up on Dave Eggers front desk, and he'll arrive at my house with an armful of amazing books for me to devour. C'mon Dave, you take my 14 bones without even a grimace of remorse, a life long subscription to The Believer would do wonders to ease my aching fiscal bones.

Just saying.

We watch a lot of documentaries in this house. Alex is obsessed, and I'm perfectly happy to indulge her love as I've been hoovering these bits of informative glee for years. I snatched Up The Yangtze as I was bit obsessed with China late last year, and I'd been curious as to just what was happening with the damming of the Three Gorges and so on and so forth. I wanted to feel educated and perhaps shed a tear over some human interest.

Instead, I made these quick notes:

1. China, lively and crowded as it is, seems a deeply depressing place. Smoggy, amoral, on the verge of Westernization in a way that only seems ready to damage the individuals of this massive country. The characters in this film, residents of various social classes in a tiny, bizarrely lit town on the Yangtze river, seem vacant in a way I've never seen before. The little girl, who lives in a shack on the river, wants nothing more than to be on a cruise boat, washing dishes for some of the most atrocious white people you've ever seen. The older boy, a rich kid from the city, sees the cruise boat as his first step to international stardom. That's the future kids look forward to when you live in a river town. China, I blame you.

2. Up The Yangtze was a little too much narrative and not enough documentary. It's bookended as some sort of journey for the director (a sniveling voice we only hear) to rediscover his heritage, but his voice disappears and instead we're joined up with these two new members of this strange cruise phenomenon. But every shot is just a little too perfect. Every emotional moment just a bit too on the nose. It seems as if the director, Yung Chang, wanted a certain story and did a bit of shaping to get his footage there. Sketchy if you ask me.

3. This is a depressing story, and thus the film is almost too depressing. It seems as if Yang Chung is trying to show that the Three Gorge's Dam project is hurting everyone, but I feel like everybody already knows that this environmental travesty is destroying, well, most things. Thus, we have a film that showcases two lives sucked in to the Dam's wake, but we don't see a solution to prevent this in the future. The film ends, and all we can think is "China is fucked" and I'm not particularly excited to be reminded of that.

4. I wouldn't call this a great film. It has beautiful shots, especially the opening sequence in the shipyard, but Chung doesn't have enough of a big idea, and what we get is just a reminder that China does a lot of bad things, all the time. And, hell, who doesn't already know that?

Wednesday: Shaun of the Dead

I can't drink anymore and QUICK NOTES: AWAY WE GO.

I had maybe six drinks last night over the course of five or so hours. Few beers, a shot of whiskey, just about nothing compared to my drinking of the past.

This morning I woke up at 5:30 due to my bladder's need for release, wracked with headache, stomach nauseous, almost unable to move. My head, the poor thing, still feels a bit like it might just implode.

This wasn't a late night or a giant binge of booze, just a few drinks with friends and some lovely DJing by my good friend Whiskey Pete. But alack, my head, it throbs, my stomach, it cries.

It's like my body is trying to tell me, quite forcefully may I add, that my days of heavy drinking have come to an end. Strangely, I've been thinking a lot lately about how drinking has become less of an activity for me, how going to bars has lost its appeal, how more than a few drinks in an evening does nothing but make me clumsier, more sensitive, more jumbly in my emotional movements.

Guess my fleshy parts wanted Captain Brain to get the message a bit quicker.

Not to say I'm done with drinking in all ways, but heavy drinking, this might be toodles.

Have been watching a load of films as of late, and sadly been too distracted/busy to really dig in to my thoughts on them. Lets call this ketchup, and I'm squeezing it right now.

QUICK NOTES: Away We Go

Saw this flick the other night at my new second favorite theater in The Bay - The Red Vic. Was surrounded by a lady I loved, and a group of new friends I've really started to feel comfortable around and let me say, perfect fucking setting.

My thoughts, in exceedingly quick form:

1. Cynics beware. This is not a film for you who detest emotion and light-hearted laughs and touching stories about relationships told via quirky camera work. This is a wear-it-on-your-sleeve blob of well-crafted emotion. I found myself smiling and getting teary and laughing, but if you arrive at this theater with gloom and doom criticism chafing at your britches, you will be dismayed.

2. It's strange watching yourself, even your relationship on screen. My mother had told me previously to viewing Away From Me that the main character Burt (John Krasinski) reminded her of my brother. Perhaps she's getting daft in her old age, but I was stunned to see a character so much like myself (her other son) projected on the silver screen. His mannerisms, his clumsiness, his self-conscious comments, even the way he looked all pointed at me. I thought, as I'm apt to do, that I might just be self-obsessed, but as I was getting up to leave my lovely friend Libi turned to me and said, "Was it weird watching yourself on the screen?" Alex and I spent the next three times picking apart the relationship, the similarities and differences. Very strange indeed.

3. Sam Mendes is usually pretty set in his visual ways. But Away We Go dispels his sort of static camera. At times it works, giving the film a more casual look that fits with the sort of indie aesthetic it's looking for, but at other times this sort of casual feel seems almost amateurish. The shot of Burt and Verona (Maya Rudolph) falling on to the trampoline could've been stolen from any "indie" pic from the early 90s. I almost laughed. Nice to see Mr. Mendes trying something new though huh?

4. I loved, loved this film for 2/3 of it. Thought it was funny and light-hearted and that the main characters were loveable and loosely sculpted enough that I wasn't drowned by sentiment. The film loses it's way en route to Montreal though and it starts to get a bit heavy-handed with observations on relationships and love and life and I found myself cringing a bit. Luckily, the good will built up in the first hour carry the film along, and even though the final moments drag on, I found myself completely recommending the film in the days that followed.

Thursday: Red Dawn

The modern sci-fi classic DISTRICT 9, QUICK NOTE style.

I've been waiting to see District 9 for a few months now. Though I enjoy a movie sans friends, I'm a terrible self-motivator, thus I wait for long after its release to swindle a few friends in to coming along with me. And lucky that I did as District 9, a low-budget film by a first time director, is absolutely a modern sci-fi classic. Perhaps the first of its kind in many many many years.

Here's my QUICK NOTES:

1. Classic fucking film. My father, after viewing the film, text messaged me this "As good as Blade Runner." My dad, and my brother actually, are semi-notorious for hating most films, or at least finding some painful amount of fault in them, and thus the acknowledgment that the film was as good as Blade Runner was a weighty critique. But the man, mustache and all, was one hundred percent right. This is everything you want in science fiction: originality, allegory, amazing technical design, and just the right amount of geek to make things shine a bit.

2. And geeky this film is. The second half of the film is pretty much a mad-scramble/fire fight between a slowly metamorphosizing main character and a squad of gang members and marines. Every gun you've ever seen in a first person shooter (gravity guns, nuclear bomb guns, fireball guns, etc.) that you've wanted to see realized on the big screen - in this movie. About the time you see a robot pick up a big and kill man with it, you know this is a geek film. With that said, it's never too much though. Sure, this is a film made for the sci-fi set, but just about anyone could see it and walk away both happy and challenged by the film. Don't let the fears of a geek film put you off. You'll be sad.

3. Low budget indeed. This film was made for 30 million dollars. In the world of over-spending that is Hollywood, that's the change you find under your mattress. But Neil Blomkamp, the director, uses that money in downright genius ways. The film is edited maniacally, quick cuts between HD and real film, live action and documentary, and though, yes, it does fit right in with the story, it's also there for a reason - to hide the low budget nature of this film. Sometimes (the break-in to the MNU establishment, or a few of the patchy plot smudges) the lean budget shows, but in general this is low-budget at its very very best. Color me impressed.

4. A few holes. Though the plot and pace of this film are amazing. There's a few solid holes, big chunks 'o' glossed over plot development that you can sort of forget about because the plots rocketing along so sharply. They didn't bother me a lot, but I certainly noticed.

5. I'm doing a fine job of not saying anything about the film, because the discovery of well, just about everything is half the fun of this movie.

6. The wife in this film is as one-dimensionally written as any ever. She's just sobs and one-liners. Cut her out.

7. That last shot, with the metal flower, it didn't need to be there. I understand, hammer that point home, but c'mon don't hit the nail toooo hard.

8. I smell sequel, and it's a fragrant odor.

Friday: Crazy Love

Patrick Swayze, 1952 - 2009 and QUICK NOTES on a few films.

The Swayz died yesterday, and quite honestly, I'm pretty sad. I was trying to explain to Alex yesterday that the death of actors that I grew up with makes me profoundly glum. I don't know if it's the actual passing of actors that I know, and sometimes love, or the grim reminder that I'm getting older and my past is starting to fade, but there's a real potent sadness when an actor like Patrick Swayze kicks the bucket.

Swayze was diagnosed with colon cancer a year or so, and from what I've heard the disease is pretty much a death sentence, thus, I was only awaiting the inevitable news. That said, I'm still bummed that my only encounters with the man who made Dirty Dancing amazing, the man who saved Colorado from a Red Dawn, the man who had a kiddie porn dungeon in Donnie Darko, will be ones from the past. He wasn't always the greatest actor, but the man made you smile, you have to admit that.

I'll drink a few for you tonight Big Patrick. You should too.

I've been slackin' on my bloggin', and accrued a few films under my belt in the mean time. Thought I'd slice through 'em real quick with a few snarky comments and even some recommendations.

Let the Quick Notes begin!

Valentino: The Last Emperor dir. Matt Tymauer

I threw this on the Netflix queue as Alex is obsessed with fashion and this account of famed designer Valentino's life peaked her interest. I'm curious about fashion, I like to look nice, and I'm interested in the terminology and design aspects, but a documentary about haute couture and the super rich seemed obnoxious at best. Strangely, I left this film happy with the experience. Director Matt Tymauer captures a lot of things on film here - Valentino's final fashion show, his tumultuous though loving relationship with Giancarlo Giammati, and the child-like emotions of a very rich, semi-powerful man - and manages to force them together in to a pleasant little film. The rich are fucking weird, the world of fashion (especially super high-end fashion) is even weirder, and I never want to be a part of this world. But I do enjoy just a glimpse in to it.

Errol Morris' First Person dir. Errol Morris

We're winding up our obsessive digestion of all things Morris right now, and we had to tromp through a few more discs of his television series First Person in the process. I've reached a point where I shouldn't even be recommending Mr. Morris, as I'm madly in love with him and can't help but gush uncontrollably every time I see anything of his. That said, this is another fascinating collection of interviews with fascinating people. It's low-budget, fairly talky, but man, if the interview with the crime scene cleaner or the large-toothed Mutter Museum lady don't have you engrossed, your brain is a mushy world. Also, the crime scene cleaner reminds e of my mother, if she traded nursing for cleaning up dead bodies.

The Thin Blue Line dir. Errol Morris

This is my favorite Morris film. A brilliant break down of a murder in a small town that is fascinating, gripping, and a downright chilling indictment of the American justice system. The final moments will confuzzle your ears.

Twin Peaks Episode 1 & 2 dir. David Lynch

Been hearing about these for years and finally started digging in. I'm mad because the pilot, which introduces the whole story, just isn't included with the episodes, thus you're propelled in to the town of Twin Peaks with almost no back story. I'm glad because this eyeball of Americana is classic David Lynch. It's a little campy, a lot creepy, and Kyle Maclachlan is at his very very best as Agent Cooper, a ebullient burst of freaky dreams and coffee-lovin'. Can't say I recommend it yet, but I'm certainly enjoying it.

And that's it.

Wednesday: Beastie Boys Video Anthology Pt. 1 (100)