Month: October 2003 (Page 4 of 7)

How long has it been since I’ve urged you to visit lies.com? It’s one of my daily stops for political news and views in these insane times, and if it’s not one of yours, you should give it a try immediately. John Callender does an outstanding job of bringing together links with common-sense commentary – the site is one of the yardsticks I use to judge my own stuff.

I love the site so much I just bought my very own lies.com coffee mug. You should too.

Mystic River

This movie, a sort of neighborhood revenge fantasy, has been getting glowing notices. So I’m swimming against the tide yet again when I tell you it stank on ice.

There’s some good acting, if you can get past the “I want to thank the Academy” taint most of the emoting has, especially from a grimacing Sean Penn as the reformed-but-not-really father of a murdered teenage daughter.

But the dialogue is alternately tedious and laughable – some of the worst in years, especially in a “prestige production” like this one. Also, characters go wildly out of character for no reason, and its ultimate extreme amorality is jarring in a movie that asks you to care for a group of damaged boy-men (with Kevin Bacon and Tim Robbins as the other points of the triangle).

To me, the fawning reviews for this movie are a classic case of being taken in by the markers a movie puts forth, without actually watching the movie. It’s directed by Clint Eastwood! It has Sean Penn! It’s about childhood trauma! It’s atmospheric! So it must be good. That’s the only explanation I can come up with for all the positive reviews for an overlong teeth-gnasher with about as much suspense as an episode of “Murder She Wrote.”

After a guy deflected a foul ball in the Cubs/Marlins game Tuesday night, he had to be escorted out of the stadium by security. Then, police had to guard his house. Then, the Chicago Sun-Times printed the man’s name, employer and alma mater, assuring that he will most likely have to change his name and move to Guam.

We live in a sick, sick society.

“The person who’s in charge is me.”

It took a while, but George W. Bush is finally imploding. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. (thanks to John Callender of lies.com for the link) Reading this story, I got the mental image of Bush’s forehead veins growing more and more prominent, his face redder and redder, until his head just exploded, like in “Scanners.” All I know is, something’s gotta give.

All the latest news (infighting, leaks, musical chairs, evangelical generals, the Kay non-report, Halliburton, and on and on) has me deeply ambivalent. As I said in an e-mail to John C. after he sent me the above link, on the one hand this stuff has me on the edge of my seat, excitedly wondering what the next massive blunder will be.

But on the other hand, it has me melancholy that fundamentally, the President could still stab a six-year-old girl on national television and virtually no one would care.

Margaret Cho has a weblog. This is a very good thing.

Intolerable Cruelty

This movie exists almost completely at the edges. The main story of divorce and prenuptial agreements is broad and predictable, despite all the “twists.” But being a Coen brothers movie, there’s all kinds of stuff going on in the margins that’s fantastic – little throwaway lines, visual jokes, peripheral characters. There’s also quite a few big laughs, especially if your sense of humor is as off-center as mine.

Award this movie should win at the next Oscars:
Best use of “Pilates instructor” as a punchline.

The biggest surprise here is George Clooney, who does amazingly well with the broad comedy of hotshot divorce attorney Miles Massey. He grabs onto the part like a bulldog and never lets go, never pulls back from the edge. He’s still not much of an actor overall, but not everyone could pull off this part, either. He can get a laugh with just a shift of his eyes.

Another plus: Catherine Zeta-Jones wasn’t quite the pop culture kryptonite she usually is for me. And that’s saying something.

My favorite character is Massey’s adoring law partner, Wrigley. He has a huge unrequited crush on Clooney’s Miles, and it plays out in some funny and sweet exchanges between the two that probably most people will miss. Maybe I just identify with Wrigley, since I have a crush on Clooney too.

Recommended.

Roses are red…

So no one seems to care that the Leader of the Free World can’t find a coherent sentence with two hands and a flashlight. (“That’s what speechwriters are for! He’s much better in person! Really!”) I give up on that one – although the people who are pushing for declaring English as America’s national language might want to teach it to the President first.

In the Orwellian world we find ourselves living in, apparently we have to pretend that the President is a combination fighter pilot, cowboy, and orator. But do we also have to pretend he’s a poet? (via MetaFilter) The Missouri Review’s answer is, thankfully, no.

I’m quite proud to say that I’ve been linked by my new favorite political site, “Sweet Jesus, I Hate Bill O’Reilly.” In addition to having one of those “so great I wish I’d thought of it” weblog titles, there’s some extremely entertaining debunking of the always-needs-debunking O’Reilly. Go there now! (tm Miguel)

Kill Bill, Vol. 1

Quentin Tarantino’s movies have always been about style over substance. I think “Pulp Fiction” is brilliant, but it’s a sugar rush, not a character study.

And if “Pulp Fiction” is like eating a package of Twinkies, “Kill Bill” is like pouring 40 Pixie Stix straight down your throat. It’s gorgeous, the music is fun, the action is non-stop, Uma Thurman kicks serious ass – but it doesn’t leave a lot behind. You stumble out of the theater with a smile on your face, but a little unsure how it got there.

That’s not to say I’m not looking forward to Vol. 2. I am. I love elephant ears at the county fair; that doesn’t mean I want to eat them every day.

Related story…
Every year around this time, I get a terrible craving for candy corn. I run into Shopko or wherever, my hands practically shaking with anticipation, and leave with the prize. Then I open the bag and greedily eat a couple handfuls.

Immediately, I feel queasy and can’t even *look* at candy corn, until the next year when it happens again.

Award “Kill Bill” should win at the next Oscars:

Best Use of “Kaboom” Cereal in a Motion Picture

Was it just me, or did anyone else sense a possible Weiss/Sydney romance brewing on “Alias” tonight? If so, I applaud hard. She can do better than that hatchet-faced pseudo-pretty-boy Vaughn, if you ask me.