Maybe I was wrong

After I hit "publish" on my last post, I approached Honey and asked him if there was any book or work of art that changed his life. Without hesitation, he answered that a symphonic poem (whose title I can't recall) changed his life, and also gave me the title of a book that did, as well. The music wasn't earth-shaking, for him, but did measurably shape the way he thought about music. The novel was eye-opening for him and, according to him, changed his perception of life. Though, he admitted that I'd caught him at a moment of clarity and had I asked him the same thing after a long day of work, he'd've probably grunted and responded in non-sensical monosyllabic neologisms. When I told him I couldn't think of any work of art or book that changed my life, or measurably changed my thinking, he called me out.

"Annie changed your thinking," he responded, half in disbelief.

Because I'm a reflexive contrarian, I immediately dismissed his assertion, but he pushed it. "Before you saw Annie, you probably thought orphans were scary, or being an orphan was scary. But when you saw how all the orphans got to sing and do flips and have adventures, you got to thinking, 'maybe not having any parents isn't so bad.'" I don't think about it as having a profound influence on my thinking, he argued, because I was exposed to it at such a young age.

Score a point for Honey. Though, I contend that Annie's influence on my perception of life had less to do with her family situation and more to do with her will and resilience. And even Annie had her moments of self-doubt, which is kind of reassuring. Remember when she was hanging from the drawbridge by her fingernails and Punjab is attempting a helicopter rescue? In addition to Annie's optimism, I think that movie taught me that virtually every moment in life deserves a musical number. (Stop cringing Darla!) I'm not sure I would've deduced this with just any musical. Possibly, but damn Annie has spunk. I still wanna be her when I grow up. (Just look at my profile pic!)

So, I've been thinking this week about other works of art and books that changed my life. It's still hard for me to say any of these have been explosive revelations - most are small - but here goes nothin':

A Human Being Died That Night: A South African Story of Forgiveness - Pumla Gobodo Madikizela. I read this en route to, and during a vacation in, South Africa, 5 years ago. (One of the most inspiring travels of my life. How I long to return.) It's a moving memoir of torture and the post-Apartheid Truth and Reconciliation Commissions. Forgiveness was a huge theme in the commissions, and also in the book (hence the subtitle). However, this book was the first time I'd encountered the idea that forgiveness may not always be spiritually appropriate. Not forgiving is the opposite of what I was raised to believe. However, after I read this book, I sympathized with the notion more and no longer believe it is something every wronged person should necessarily do. Nor do I believe that it is always necessary to healing a wound.

Gandhi (directed by Richard Attenborough). Also released in the summer of 1982, this movie was probably almost as influential to my childhood as Annie. Dad took me to see it, I'm sure, because he wanted me to see a dramatization of the moral ideals he aimed to instill in us. What he didn't expect was that his 6-year-old daughter would not only sit through a 3-hour movie, but that she would fall in love with it and ask to see it again and again. (Thrice that summer, that I can recall.) Like Annie, this was so long ago, I can't recall the immediate impact. But I'm positive my aversion to institutionalized violence was influenced greatly by this movie. Additionally, because I enjoyed the story of Gandhi so much, and Dad revered him as an agent of goodness, it probably nudged me toward disallowing religious dogma to be the sole definer of my perception of, and relationship with, God. If God could use a Hindu like Gandhi to do Christlike work, then I couldn't believe he'd be punished in Hell just because he wasn't a Christian.

The Theater and Its Double - Antonin Artaud. Artaud wrote that theater's mission should be to evoke public catharsis. I agreed whole-heartedly when I read it as a 19-year-old theater student, and thought that ethic should also underscore religious worship. Might we be a kinder society if we had public spaces where we could meet and lather ourselves into a sob? It's hard to hate people when you see them a their most vulnerable and pitiful. It's also hard to dominate someone when you allow yourself to be seen vulnerable and pitiful. I still agree that catharsis, or at least perception-challenging, should be the main mission of theater. I'm more interested in storytelling these days - which originally lured me to the stage - but the higher notion of catharsis still informs my experience in a theater.

Sunday in the Park with George - Stephen Sondheim. This is one of those subtler life-changers; it's like a lover whom I discovered I loved only after years of platonic friendship. Joss Whedon, on Fresh Air yesterday, captured it best when he said that the first act of Sunday in the Park is about the burden of being a genius and the second act is about the burden of not being a genius. The first act of this musical deals with the drive of George Seurat as he works on his most famous painting, "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte." The second act focuses on his possible (and fictional) direct descendant, George, a modern/performance artist, about a century later. I suspect most artists, when we're (dare I include myself?) in "the groove" of our endeavor, can identify with the first act George. But it's the second act that speaks to me more. Specifically, the duet "Move On." There's an exchange of lines between the descendant George and Dot that always rips at my heart -

George: I've nothing to say ...
Dot: You have many things ...
George: Well, nothing that's not been said
Dot: Said by you, though, George.

I suspect every artist feels this at some time or another. How can one person have anything insightful to add to the many comments on life that have already been produced? Is it even worth opening our mouths if we're anything short of blinding geniuses? But Dot encourages him. It's worth saying something because we're saying it. Later she sings, "Stop worrying if your vision is new/ Let others make that decision, they usually do!" How many times have I gotten the note from a director that I'm too much in my head, editing myself as I perform? I need to listen to Dot! It has changed my life, subtly, in that I've stopped thinking that just because I'm a middle-class white girl from a stable, loving family in a rich, democratic country, I have nothing of insight to add. I certainly need to produce more than I currently am, but we all have stories to tell and perspectives to share. Mine isn't any less important just because it's closer to "norm."

So there you have it: a few works that have changed my perception of life. I was wrong. Thanks for calling me out, Honey.

I'm closing with video from a performance from the 1984 run of Sunday in the Park with George. It's Bernadette Peters - of whom I was afraid until I was a teenager, because of her role in Annie - and Mandy Patinkin singing "Move On." I prefer the performance we saw several years ago with Raul Esparza and Melissa Errico; her voice was warmer and he didn't seem as broad. But I can't find video of that. The song ends around minute marker number 5. Enjoy!

3BT: Early "Voting," Soundtrack, Complacent Canine

In the spirit of Clare; some things that I noticed yesterday:

1. On a mid-day trip to 7-11, I caught a cardboard merchandise stand near the door. "Cast Your Vote '08," it pitches. I can choose to buy non-campaign endorsed keychains, buttons, bumperstickers and the like for either Obama or McCain. As you can see from the photo on the right, Obama's merchandise was all sold out. McCain's merchandise still had plenty to offer. It re-affirms my hope that we'll have a sincere change of leadership next week.

2. On my walk to 7-11, I plugged into my iPod to find I'd left it not on shuffle, as per usual, but on the Amelie soundtrack. I walked deliberately slowly down the blocks from my office to the store so that I could soak up the music. The capricious cold breezes and cool grey sky were completely opposed to the warm, semi-nostalgic light that bathes virtually every scene in that movie. Nonetheless, when the music began, I felt suddenly awakened to the world around me ... a little like the title heroine.

3. Babydog had to have a bath last night. Apparently on her walk yesterday, she decided to roll around in a pile of some other dog's poop, and our dog-walker discovered what enticed her too late. She managed to wipe off and gently clean the bulk of it, but Babydog still had some smudged in her fur, and she stunk. She hates being bathed and will wriggle away as much as possible. But last night, she dutifully stood in the bathtub as I focused the shower sprayer on her. With soaked fur looking like feathers, she looks up at me as if to say, "Is this what you want? Fine. See if I care. It was worth it!"

Leonard Cohen and The Perils of Being a Preacher's Progeny

I tried to find a soundfile to embed, but alas, I couldn't. So I posted this video, which I really only want you to listen to. The sound is grainy, clearly an old LP, but I actually kind of like that.

I am a preacher's kid. Before I get into the meat of this post, please allow me to address your first set of questions: No, my home life was not like that of the chick in Footloose! Nor was I a rebellious, booz-swilling, drug-addled, leg-spreading hellian. Nor was I (or am I) a white-gloved, goody two-shoes. I was just a kid who lived in a home with a dog and parents who loved her and her brother. I was brought us up in a religious household and my parents encouraged introspection and inquiry, and mercy toward others, so I've always been personally baffled by the constrictive Footloose model. (Though that more closely mirrors the preacher-kid [PK] upbringing my mom had.)

Peril #1: Having to swat off stereotypes superglued to you and to your family. (Do doctors', cops' or military members' kids get the same "knowing" wink and tongue-click that PKs get? Ugh. Letting it go.) Peril #2: If you're female, you are concerned that you might end up marrying a preacher. Why? Because your mom was a PK, or your grandmother, or someone close in the family line. It seems to be genetic. I had several PK friends in high school and college, and they all had that fear. Nothing against ministers - most of us were very comfortable in church, loved other ministers and repected our minister parents (some were mothers, of course) - but the tendency for preachers' daughters to marry back into the ministry unnerved us. Not only is it an itinerant lifestyle - a few years in Texas, a few in Oregon, etc - like a military family, but we know first hand the social pressure of expectations on ministers' families and the wives, specifically. They're mini-First Ladies, whether they like it or not or are good at it or not; especially in small communities. My peers and I were children of feminism. We didn't want to be shoe-horned.

There are more, I'm sure. Like people suppose you to be able to quote and accept the Bible front to back or conversely that you totally reject religion (the adult version of the PK stereotypes). But the peril that I stumbled upon recently was actually rather benign. And yes, it tarries back to the simple video embedded above.

Most preachers I know draw heavily upon pop-culture for their sermon references. Our last minister loved to reference Ann Lamott, who Darla recommended I read to help me better my writing. The minister of the church where Honey and I met and married frequently referenced Emily Dickinson, upon whose works he wrote his doctoral dissertation. One of Honey's favorite religion professors - also a retired minister - would open his semester with a class screening of Star Wars. My dad is partial to dropping Bob Dylan references. In fact, he has a sermon in his repetoire, "I Was So Much Older Then, I'm Younger Than That Now," though I can't recall what the theological tie-in theme is.

When you grow up hearing movie scenes, song or poetry lyrics and literary themes framed in terms of biblical or theological analogies, or in terms of modern parable, it's easy to kind of find them everywhere. And sometimes, there are moments that just coalesce and I think, "Dang, this is a sermon analogy begging to happen." This is the benign peril of which I write.

A few months ago, in advance of the release of the lastest Indiana Jones movie, Honey and I rewatched the first three. Toward the end of the movie, Indy and his father are escaping the crumbling temple where the grail has been kept for eons. The hot blond Nazi has just fallen into a widening crevasse, and now Indy is in the same danger. His father, who refuses to call him Indiana, now clings to Indy, trying to lift him out of the crevasse. "Henry, let it go!" he pleads. Indy ignores him, blinded by sudden greed, trying to reach for the grail just beyond his grasp. Then his father calmly calls, "Indiana." The trance is broken. Indy relents and is pulled to safety. Immediately, the voice of Leonard Cohen sprung into my head singing, "love calls you by your name." Then two seconds later, I thought, "Man, there has to be a sermon in here."

Now, I can't think of that scene, nor listen to that song without thinking that they are begging to be weaved into a sermon. Perilous!

I rarely fixate on song lyrics (it can take me years of hearing a song over and over before it really strikes me what the artist is conveying), but what I love about "Love Calls You By Your Name" is that it seems to bring quiet mercy to moments of vulnerability in spaces narrow and vast: "between the windmill and the grain/ between the traitor and her pain." At least that's what I hear. And I've always been touched that Dr. Jones the elder humbled himself to the name that his son recognized. I can't think of an exact scripture reference that this could tie in to; the bible is full of naming and calling issues (Sarai became Sarah; Gabriel pretty much tells Mary what she's gonna call her baby; God calls Samuel out in the night; the still small voice). I think ceremonial re-naming is still something done in Judaism, on occasion. But frankly, it seems like this could be used in several sermons. Love calls you by your name. God is love. God calls you when and where you are vulnerable and most in need of mercy ... I don't know.

But that's my peril. Benign; but it itches. The upshot of this is that I've since introduced my dad to Leonard Cohen. As my dad is the one who trained my musical palate to favor yarn-spinning and story-tellers, I'm a little surprised that he wasn't more familiar with him, beyond the ubiquitous "Hallelujiah." Especially since they're both baby boomers! But he likes him and I have a feeling is going to seek him out more. Maybe I'll get him some CDs for Christmas.

Since this is my 200th post, and since you've been so nice to read this far, I figure I'll give a little more media. Enjoy the mixtape I made for Dad ... who just got electricity back TODAY, two weeks after Ike blew through (WOOHOO!), and who will be facing open heart surgery in another 3 weeks. Yipes. Here's love calling out to him!

Wow! I can never watch that fantastic piece of cinema again!

This evening I was driving home, listening to a Pandora "quick mix" on my phone. "Hoppipolla" came on. It was the music played behind the Children of Men trailer a few years ago and it set my mind on a cinematic drift. Specifically, trying to recall what movies do I never want to see again? I do want to see Children of Men again sometime, but Honey tells me I shouldn't.

Allow me to explain, briefly. Honey saw Children of Men sometime last year. He highly recommended it. Said it was really stirring and urged me to see it so we could talk about it. So, a few months later, when he was out of town, I rented it and watched. With the company of a few beers (and a playful dog). "So what did you think?" he asked eagerly when he got home. I told him I liked it, but I wanted to see it again to really soak it in. Then I told him I was kinda buzzy when I watched it. "You were drunk?! You need to watch it again sober. If you were sober, you would never want to see that movie again! Watch it again - no beer! - and then we can talk!" It's been probably 9 months since that conversation. I have yet to sit down and try again. But that conversation - and the idea of a negative visceral reaction to a film - was brought back by the simple piano plunks of Sigur Ros.

So what movies can I never watch again, because my reaction was so visceral?

In no particular order, here are a few that come to mind:

1. A Clockwork Orange. A guy I was "messing around with" when I was freshman in college had this movie. We started the evening with several wine coolers (shut up, I was 18) and a viewing of Pink Floyd's The Wall and moved onto this classic later in the night. I have never had a stomach for cruelty in film or on the page. When Malcolm and his thugs invaded the home of the couple and rape the wife in front of the husband, I felt violated, myself. I felt like something had been taken from me. Not my innocence, but a part of my soul, maybe. Maybe my disgust at the scene was partly because I was watching this movie as the only woman in a room full of boys - all of us drunk - who just raved about how great this movie is. Seriously? Doesn't make me feel particularly great - or safe. I know, I know. Clockwork Orange is supposed to be about the relationship between violence and entertainment and moral authority and corruption and yadda, yadda, yadda ... Fine. I got that. Doesn't mean I can ever stomach it again. Rape in cinema? Hurtful. Rape while disabling the victim's partner? Wrenching.

2. Pan's Labyrinth. I really loved this movie. I can't ever watch it again, but I loved it. The fantasy. The beauty in the grotesque. The personal mythology. The Spanish language. Extraordinary soundtrack. (Couldn't shake the lullabye for months.) Yea!! I actually tried watching this again. Honey had rented it. I went downstairs while he had it on, caught about 3 minutes of it and had to go back upstairs. Again: the cruelty. And the cruelty in this film was particularly brutal. A son killed in front of his father - not shot, or anything simple and clean; bludgeoned. Routine torture. Self-surgery. Probably more rape; I blocked a lot of it from my memory. Icky and tragic stuff. And the world that the little girl creates for herself (or maybe really exists) is only marginally better than the hell in which she lives outside her imagination. Technically beautiful film. Eats your heart. Honey agrees that it's a movie he can never watch again. To be honest, I haven't found anyone who's said they can, or have.

3. Schindler's List. Confession. I have actually seen this movie more than once. Twice. But can you take a wild guess as to why I don't want to see it again? Cruelty! The second and last time I saw it was over a decade ago. It was on broadcast TV, no commercials, and maybe no editing. (I'm blanking on that, to be honest.) I guess this is one of those that I don't necessarily want to see again, but it's so gripping and frankly, culturally and historically important, that I would again. Like when we have kids, I won't hesitate to show them this when they're mature enough to grasp it all. [Sidebar: Growing up, my parents were fairly strict about rated-R films. We weren't allowed to see them before age 17. Schindler's List was one of the few exceptions. I was 16, my brother was 12. My folks sensed that this was bigger than the MPAA. I remember it being important for them that we saw it. Like when Dad took me to see Ghandi when I was six. Sub sidebar: That same year, The Secret of NIMH, an animated - though dark - flick about mice. NIMH terrified me. Dad had to take me about 3 times before I could handle it. In the end, I loved it. Ghandi, a 4-hour ouevre stuffed with strife and violence, was apparently just right for my 6-year-old movie palate. That one, I dragged Dad to thrice! What kind of mind is that?]

... okay, I've totally digressed at this point. I can't think of any other films, at this point, that I'd rather not see again, based on a negative visceral reaction. Anything turn your tummy?

3BT: Beating Wii, Bach and Bender

I know I've been off the horn for a while. Not only have I not posted for a few weeks, I've been bad about visiting other blogs. I owe visits and comments to Joe, Pearl and Sonnjea, I recall off the top of my head. But tonight I write just to get something posted, and because yesterday gave me a few items to make the day lovely. So, the beautiful things:

1. A few weeks ago, I got a Wii Fit for my birthday. I know I'm out of shape and could stand to lose a few pounds, so I wasn't surprised by the what the scale and BMI measurement feature of the Fit told me. (Still within the healthy range, but on the high end of both.) What did surprise me was the "real age" function of the Fit. It evaluates your weight, BMI and your balance and from there comes up with a "real age" for you. I am in my early 30s, according to my birth certificate. Wii Fit told me I was 42. I was quite disheartened. But I've been using it more and improving my balance a little, I guess, because Tuesday morning, Wii told me my new "real age" was 27! WOOHOO! I have conquered the balance board!

2. Yesterday morning, I was driving into work, feeling good about being 27, but not really looking forward to dealing with the challenging client I had waiting for me. Feeling stressed, I switched my radio dial to the local classical station. It was playing Bach's "Sleepers Awake," which is an immediate salve to my stressed out mind! It's a soft blanket. I hear it and immediately I'm driving in the mountains of Northern New Mexico (my soul's second home) with my family under the bright sky dappled with the leaves of Aspen trees. It really is a welcoming piece, even with the swelling brass, it's unpretentious - at least to me. I needed it and didn't know I needed it until fate placed it at the right place at the right time. Like God's little "chill out" postcard.

3. Getting to watch the new Futurama movie! (Poster w/ title above.) Honey pre-ordered it and it arrived yesterday. We wasted no time popping in the disc and seeing what Fry, Bender, Leela and the crew have been up to since Bender's Big Score. I liked this one better than the last. Without giving too much away, I'll just say that there really was a Flying Spaghetti Monster.

D'oh! Apparently, I need to add captions

Yesterday, I mentioned that upon discovering a childhood photo of my husband, I noticed his resemblance to Thomas Sangster, the little boy who played Sam in Love Actually. I included a photo of the young actor to give you an idea of what Honey looked like as a boy. Apparently a couple of y'all thought that was a photo of my husband.
First, I laughed my ass off. Then I felt badly that I wasn't clear about the photo. Honey laughed his ass off, too and suggested I actually post the photo. Apparently he's a little less concerned about anonymity than I am. (Happy, Jordan?)
In any event, there he is, to the left, my husband at age 11. Granted, he's not Sangster's doppelganger. Sangster has very brown, very round eyes. And Honey has blue, almond shaped eyes. (Mmm - almonds. slobber, slobber.) But their impish smirks are similar, I think. And similar hair cuts. But who really cares? I just wanted to clear up the confusion. There, to the left is the boy who grew into my husband. There, to the right - if scanning the Net, looking for his photo is any indication - is a boy who is a fixation for Brit film fans and wierdo old men. (shudder.)

Friday Film Flim Flam

Technically, it's still Thursday night. But I'm gonna have a crazy-ass hectic weekend, so I thought I'd just blither blather tonight.
Oh! First off, I'm very proud of myself because I finally got myself a blog reader, so I don't have to open each of your lovely blogs to see if you've posted anything. Now, my lovely RSS feed - or whatever the hell kinda web voyeur it is - will tell me when you've updated your page, saving me valuable time and hair-pulling. I would complain about some folks' foot-dragging, but frankly, I'm so prone to being remiss that I have no room to criticize. So, yea me! I joined the year 2005! ... it still might take me several days to comment on your posts, though. I put the "pro" in procrastination.

I love Tina Fey. I really love her. Honey and I finally saw Baby Mama tonight. (He really loves her, too.) She's fucking smart and her humor both hits me like a laser guided bullet, even when I don't know it and it's everything I wish mine was. She blends awkwardness and arcane references like perfect buttercream icing. And she's sexy and her sexiness is directly related to her intelligence.

In the past, Honey and I have agreed that had he and I never really hit it off, and more importantly, never married, he - the techy introvert - would be that guy who spends all his free-time online, gaming, cracking code and almost never emerging for anything other than work. Probably wouldn't play sports, like he does now, or do many other "social" things. (Yes, he is online a lot.) He has long told me that I would basically be Liz Lemon from 30 Rock: a comedy writer prone to public self-embarassment who dates a string of losers. We would both live off of frozen dinners. Though he'd probably eat Kashi because he could afford it, and is not cheap like me. I'd totally be eating the Healthy Choice kids meals - they have brownies! And he's right. (I'm already an expert at public self-embarassment.)



"I'm not against fun. I went up on my roof yesterday!" ... words that will probably come from my own mouth in a few months' time. And yes, were I single, and a young hottie wanted me, I'd feel exactly this weird.

Sorry for the tangent. I am gonna talk about Baby Mama. The reason for that preceding paragraph (and clip) was because it's not just Liz Lemon. Watching the movie tonight, I was struck by how much the two leads were basically dueling parts of my own personality: the slobby free-spirit who wants more in life, but has no clue how to get it, and the sophisticated, career-concerned woman who is ultimately a dork. It was particularly evident in the club scene. Tina Fey voguing, thinking she looks cool while Amy Poehler steals shots and other drinks when Fey isn't looking.

I really liked that Greg Kinnear was the romantic interest. After years of ambivalence, I've given in and like him. (Brief follow up to that post: I did see Auto Focus, finally. It was creepy.) It was a pleasant surprise to see Steve Martin. It was nice to see that he could do caricature and still make me laugh. Sometimes he can overwhelm me.

The film started off kind of slow, but really picked up about 15 minutes in - I guess around the top of the second act. Then it was classic Fey. Until the last act. That's my biggest beef so far. Particularly the ending. I could forgive the comedy film conventions that would never happen in real life: the contrived relationship between the women, the birthing coach with a speech impediment, the good friendship with the doorman. But the big confession, and how the parties dealt with it felt like rigid film formula - even with the snappy dialog. The courtroom scene injected calculated high fructose corn syruppy sap (snappy sap, but sap just the same) that I could've gotten from any old "insert-genre-here" movie. It was rote and kind of heartbreaking for that reason alone. The movie ends with each woman getting what she wants. (I'm trying not to let any spoilers slip.) What I was hoping for was that resolution might have come with one or both women finding that they have what they want, or that they create a mutually agreeable situation, not that accident hands them happy fates. I think that's what I loved about Juno, another fertility movie - nobody really got what they wanted from the beginning, but they learned to love what came about in the end as best they could. I'm not sure how I would've written this ending, though.

My comparison to Juno is kind of unfair. Baby Mama is a buddy movie or an odd couple movie, more aptly; that's where the humor stems from - that, and infertility, which is a riot (take a good look at John Hodgman's mug). Juno is ... another genre that my brain is too tired to conjure up right now. Nonetheless, each week on 30 Rock, Fey doesn't let her character win in her personal (and often in her professional) life and we love her all the more for that. I would have preferred that she save the nice bow to wrap another movie up with. I don't think this one was it.

Filmstuffs Friday

Okay, I know I said I would start adding new mixtapes each Friday, but I thought about and decided to move the mixtapes to Monday. Why? Better alliteration: "Mixtape Monday/Music Monday" and "Film Friday/Filmstuffs Friday" just sounds better.

Today, since I'm excited to go home even for a measley 25 hours, I thought I'd add some clips from movies I like that are filmed in (and usually based in) Texas.

CLOAK AND DAGGER - old lady at Alamo

It's probably been over 20 years since I've seen this movie. I was 14 before I ever went to the Alamo. I was so disappointed that it was way smaller than it looks movies. I loved this movie as a kid, but I can't remember much of it, now.

TRUE STORIES - "Hey Now"

This is one of my favorite movies. I love that David Byrne set the movie during the Texas Sesquicentennial - a whole year of crazy celebration in the state, ignored by everyone outside the state except Prince Charlie, apparently. This movie has everything I love: lonely characters, wierdos in general, lots of bright colors, suburban satire and musical numbers. This scene comes near the top of the film.

RUSHMORE - trailer

Filmed at Saint John's School in Houston. Pretty part of the city. I think my brother used to play lacrosse against them. I like Wes Anderson. Haven't seen this one in a decade. Need to revisit that!

NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN - trailer

Had to include this one. It was filmed in my old stomping grounds and for as dark and bleak as this film was, I thrilled everytime I recognized a mountain or vista. I was also just really impressed how well this movie captured the reticent West Texas man.

I feel like there's another clip I wanted to add, but I can't remember it right now. Eh.

Any movies filmed in your hometown/state that you like? It's always fun to spot a landmark.

Movie Monday

YOUNG AT HEART


I've seen this trailer at least 3 or 4 times in the last two months. I don't know if it's in my area yet (it's theatrical release is currently limited). That means it'll probably be a Netflix rental for me. But I am eager to see this. How much fun to have old people sing music beyond their generation; how challenging and life-affirming. I can't watch this trailer without crying - so I know I'll need to have a kleenex box handy when I do see it.

The video below is of a member of that group singing Coldplay's "Fix You." That song is one I like to play when I need a want to be swallowed by a warm blanket and need a catharsis. I heard this version yesterday on NPR. He's not in the theatrical documentary. This singer breathes with the aid of an oxygen machine. According to the youtube summary, this was to be a duet, but his partner died leading up to this performance. If you don't at least fight back tears, you may have no soul.

Fred Knittle singing "Fix You"


In other news, we saw I Am Legend this weekend. It's one of those movies I'm sure I'll eventually forget. Nonetheless, it filled the purpose we had for it: mindless scariness. If you have any desire to see it, note there are spoilers below.

What I liked:

• good, faithful, happy dog;
• monsters around the corner - made me scream even when I knew it was coming
• Will Smith - c'mon! he's like a high school buddy by now
• that the cure for cancer turns those few it doesn't kill into vampires
• Emma Thompson's cameo at the top of the movie
• deer hunting in Manhattan
• Manhattan being reclaimed by nature; reminded me to add that book that that guy wrote about what Earth would look like if we were to vanish today to my Amazon list. What's that book called again? Anyone?
  

What I didn't like:

• dog got infected, had to be put down (screw you, screenwriter!)
• that his family is killed in front of him
• that a soldier utters famous last words before they die: "Don't worry, colonel, I'll guard them with my life," or something to that effect. (screw you, screenwriter!)
  
• that it took a successful medical trial of a vaccine on 10,009 humans to decide they had the cure for cancer, but the successful trial of the anti-vampire vaccine on only ONE human to decide he had a cure for vampirism. Even I know that's bad science.
• the underdeveloped butterfly as metaphor theme
• the pedestrian choice of a butterfly as metaphor
• that according to the posters still up in Times Square at the time of the outbreak, Legally Blonde is still on broadway at Christmastime 2009

I'm hoping to see my girlfriend Tina Fey's newest, Baby Mama, next weekend:

I loved Mean Girls and 30 Rock is 'bout the best thing on network TV these days, so I can't wait for this!

Got any other movie-night suggestions for next week?

Movie Monday

So I'm kinda ripping off Joe's Video Monday, except that I want to make today's post about movies I saw during the week or want to see soon, not just videos.

To begin with: a few words on a movie Honey and I saw this weekend, The Departed. There are three key aspects to this movie which (mostly) make Molly reach for whatever the hell is next in her Netflix cue, even if it's The Wedding Planner (which for the record, it never would be): the mob/organized crime as the subject, gratuitous/bloody violence and Jack (choke on your smirk) Nicholson. However, this movie was frakkin' awesome! I think I was largely drawn in by the rapid-fire dialogue, for which I'm a sucker, but the performances - even from that one-note, shriveled, squinty ho'bag - were pretty damn good. It kept me on my toes and though it's 2 1/2 hours, it flew by.

Anyway, I spent a little time yesterday on Apple's trailer site, as I am wont to do on weekend afternoons. Here are a few I found which caught my eye. Don't necessarily want to see them all, but the caught my attention.

THE FALL

First of all, this looks lush. A big yippee in my book. Secondly, it's fairy-tail-istic which is another yippee. I worry that this may end up suffering from the Across the Universe effect, though. That is, I really want to see it because the set and costume design seduce me, but that it ends up getting a tepid reaction from critics and audiences, so my desire is cooled, even though it may end up being the best bloody film ever. (I hear such mixed things about ATU. My biggest hesitation is that a Beatles musical ... egh ... if you don't knock it out of the park, you probably shouldn't even pick up the bat. Anyone know anything?) Also, anyone know the music playing in this trailer? I know I recognize it, but I can't recall the composer or title.

WHO'S YOUR MONKEY

With that title, how could I not watch it? Aside from suffering the common movie malady of being a trailer that reveals too much (ooh! I'll call them trailer trollops!), this movie just looks terrible. It looks like it wants to be Very Bad Things, but will be a very bad version of it. Another tip-off that it's going to suck is that they chose to use a Don LaFontaine sound-alike. A bad sound-alike, at that. If Don himself was beyond their budget, they should've chosen to tease the trailer with clips and text. Boo. Way to make me not want to see a monkey! Bastards.

THEN SHE FOUND ME

I do not want to see this. Looks contrived and silly. I'm not a huge fan of Helen Hunt, and the idea of seeing something she directed is a little less appealing to me than seeing her act. However, she's a 45 year old actress playing a woman 5 or 6 years her junior. And guess what? She's got actual wrinkles! I can't help but love her for not trying to look 25. Way to fuck the Hollywood female standard, Helen! Just seeing her looking her age makes me feel better about being a woman who looks her own age!

What's Molly Dreaming Now? Edition 5

First of all, my apologies to Joe and Honey. Apparently both men felt misled by the title of my last post. For the record, "orgasm" referred to the video I embedded.

Honey wanted to know if I was blogging about our sex life again. Again?! When did I start? ... so I've decided that must be what his poorly-hidden secret wife blogs about. At least I hope it's his secret wife; I'd be heartbroken if it were someone else entirely!

So, sorry boys. Maybe next time. Onto today's post!

I had a fantastically strange dream two nights ago that I really wanted to blog about immediately upon waking. Unfortunately, I got distracted by a project I had begun the night before. But it was completely fun, diversionary project, so not a huge loss. All that is to say, I'm going to try to recall it as best as I can, because I thought it was an interesting one as my funky dreamlife goes.

Queen Amidala/Natalie Portman. I jumping between first and third person in this one. Sometimes I was Amidala as portrayed by Ms. Portman, and sometimes I was watching her in this adventure. I was in danger. In a shack. I was being hunted, stalked, really. And who was after me? OBI-WAN KENOBI! Not the hot, young Ewan McGregor Obi-wan, the old Alec Guinness Obi-wan. (Let's be clear, Ewan McGregor stalking me would not be terrifying at all - or unwelcome, for that matter.) But here I was Amidala/Portman, in a shack by a road and the doors wouldn't lock properly and people would kind of come in and out to check on me and the whole time I felt like I had to catch my breath because I was never sure if it was my assailant. They would bring word of him, or would tell me they were returning shortly. For my part, I would lie on the floor of this crummy two and a half room shelter, and keep my eye on the window facing the front. This was where Obi-wan was sure to appear.

The windows were large, taking up a huge portion of the wall. The shack was on the side of a rural mountain road, like just off the shoulder. The road curved off toward the north. From the window I could see the bend in the road and the gravel shoulder and a cluster of trees at the bend. I would get up off the floor occasionally and check the doors. They would shut and semi-latch, but not lock. I had to hold them against the wind. Outdoors, it was beautiful - about as beautiful a day you could ask for: 80 degrees, sunny, the grass was dappled with the shadow of the trees' leaves. Inside, the shack was three shades of grey occasionally accented with a mud-colored table or cabinet. It was chilly inside, and the floors were covered in dust. It was filthy and depressing inside - Dickensian, almost - and beautiful outside. I kept trying to decide when I would sneak out the back of the house, to escape Obi-wan. For some reason, I thought it prudent if I saw him coming toward me, first.

Then some visitor - Anikin, maybe? - alerted me that Obi-wan was on his way, and he'd stop at nothing to kill me. He knows my thoughts. There is no place where I could hide from him. At this point, I seem to remember jumping to third person and seeing Natalie Portman; I was hovering over her. She was Amidala, but dressed more like Padme. (Just rent the frakking movie, Virginia Gal, it'll make a ton of more sense!) Then, somehow, Padme had escaped. She/I was on a bus - like a school bus - riding into ShangHai. Though it was definitely a school bus, the seats were arranged more like an airplane. As we drove into ShangHai, it became clear to me that Obi-wan was going to attack me on this ride. I was back in first person now, sitting in a window seat. The bus began to fill with smog. Not LA smog, not Mexico City smog (which is formidable, let me tell you), but vengeful, wicked ShangHai smog that was doing the bidding of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The smog was so thick that I couldn't see the bus driver or the first few rows of the bus, and I was only in the middle of the bus. I knew it was Obi-wan, after only me. Slowly, all the other passengers dissipated. Hanging from the roof of the bus was a leather trunk-like compartment. It resembled the emergency raft roof hatches on some airplanes, but was much more primitive. It unlatched and drifting down from it, towards me, was Obi-wan, like the angel of death. Alec Guinness in his brown cloak floating toward me like Voldemort before he had his body. I had been breathing deeply for a spell, while the smog had been rolling in. I was having some sort of asthma attack. As Guinness approached (wow, actually, a Guinness sounds really good right now), I jumped to third person and watched as he wrapped his hands around Natalie Portman's throat. She was scared and gasping.

I know the dream went on longer than that, and that I and Padme/Amidala/Portman survived, but I can't remember it. I just know that Obi-wan was neither conquered nor sated. And I woke up both scared and excited.

So, what do you think this all means? Background/caveats: I did watch the last half of "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" Monday night because TiVo thought we'd like it and captured it. But I have no idea where the rest of this came from. Thoughts?

Three Beautiful Things

1. This five-minute oscar-nominated animated short film. I'll buy it on iTunes once I remember our login.



2. Returning to the stage last night, and despite being out of practice, having a good show.

3. The gentle late winter rain of the last 24 hours.

Oscar!

It's been two days since my favorite annual television indulgence. And I have to say, this year produced some nice moments. Below are a few of my favorites in no particular order (and lets see if my attempts to embed video work!):

• seeing someone I've worked with before in the background on the red carpet (try to guess which one it is - not that I'd tell you, anyway.)
  
• Jon Stewart seemed much more at ease this time around than last
• A) that "Falling Slowly," from Once, a song that has haunted me for months, won for best song, despite how much I bloody loved "That's How You Know" from Enchanted; B) that Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova seemed truly excited and humbled; C) that Jon Stewart is such an awesome guy, he worked it out so that Marketa could come out and deliver her full acceptance speech after the commercial break (that moment reminded me how much I liked the movie, want to get to know The Frames better, and that I really want to spend more than just a long weekend in Ireland sometime.)

• seeing Amy Adams sing live. I've really liked her since Junebug, and she's growing on me. Maybe I've just got a girl-crush on her because Honey does. I think I really respect an actor more who is well-rounded. She's not just a pretty face in Hollywood. She's multi-talented.
• that a girlfriend I called after the best supporting actor award wanted me to translate the last few phrases of Javier Bardem's speech.
• that Cate Blanchett was visibly excited when Tilda Swinton and Marion Cotillard beat her out in the actress categories. My screen goddess Cate was nominated for both supporting and lead and got neither. But if you watched her reactions on the nominee cam, she was the only nom who was visibly excited that her competitors beat her out. I love that because it shows me she is an actor who realizes what she does is art, not ego.
• that Tilda Swinton (who I've had a crush on since Orlando) was whomperjawed when she won. And that Marion Cotillard, despite being the only good thing about La Vie en Rose (hell, she MADE that movie), and despite mopping up every award along the way, was still humbled and overwhelmed that she won.

• that Diablo Cody won for best original screenplay. AY-MEN! I can't even begin to describe how much I loved Juno. Plus, I love the Cinderella story of the blogger turned overnight sensation screenwriter. (Yes, Honey, I have plotted out a short to write and I will write it soon.) I loved that she wore a cheetah-print dress; that she was caught off-guard by her win; that it looked like she felt so undeserving of the success; that she choked up when thanking her family. I just really liked that moment.
• The Coen sweep. I love the Coen brothers. I've probably mentioned it before. Of their library, there's only one movie of theirs I've not liked. Though to be fair, I still haven't seen Ladykillers. Nonetheless, I think No Country for Old Men may be their dark masterpiece. It was flawless. About as flawless a movie as I've seen in quite a while. For as much as I loved Juno and really wanted it to win, it had a speedbump or two. No Country was smooth, eerie as hell sailing from lights down to lights up.
  
• Better transitions and presentations this year than last. John Travolta waltzing across the stage with dancers from the "So Close" number to the podium; Jon Stewart and Jamia Nash playing Wii tennis when the commercial break was over; Jonah Hill and Seth Rogen selling the scripted banter about Halle Berry vs. Dame Judi Dench a lot better than virtually any of the pro-duos do; Armed Service members in Iraq presenting best documentary short via satellite. I enjoyed when Ellen hosted (was that last year or '05), but I think the transitions this year were better.
• watching the loved ones of the No Country crowd when the Coens would go up for awards. Something I love is when a cast and crew really gel; you can tell they love each other when their people win. Though McAvoy and Ronan were the only Atonement cast (that I saw) in attendance, they thrilled at the awards their film got and you could see it in the way they strained to touch their winners on their way to the podium. When No Country was announced best picture, the cast all stood and hugged each other. It reminded me of the Crash cast from two years past. That cast practically had a cuddle party in the seats. But what I loved most was that the camera, when not on the brothers themselves, was trained on Frances McDormand, Oscar-winning wife of Joel (and another goddess in my cine-pantheon). Her face was red, her eyes moist and you could tell she was sitting on a gusher. She's been making movies with her husband for about 25 years, and to see her face, you can tell that she's his greatest cheerleader. I like them as a couple: shy director, fierce bad-ass actress. Plus, the one Hollywood experience I've had to date involved them, and she was so bloody nice and approachable. Hell, when I was quietly reading my book on set, she brought her husband over to me to meet me. I've never forgotten her kindness to me that summer, so I'm always happy when she and her husband do well.
• lastly: that none of the performance award winners were American. Not that I pay that much attention to that, but I know VA Gal does. And each year she likes to rant about the xenophobia of the bald, gold statuette. (Despite recent memory wins by Helen Mirren, Rachel Weisz, Cate Blanchett, Roberto Benigni, Geoffery Rush, Russel Crowe, Jim Broadbent, Charlize Theron, Nicole Kidman, Juliet Binoche, Judi Dench and Catherine Zeta-Jones to name a few.) So the fact that Europeans took home the gold in each of the four acting categories made me think: ha, ha, Virginia Gal! Where's your soapbox now? ;)
  

The Second Coming of My Screen Goddess

Honey and I just spent this lovely, lazy Sunday afternoon and evening watching movies. It was great. Finally got to see The Queen. Helen Mirren is wonderful and as if I wasn't already happy that such a talented (and non-20something cutie) actress got the Oscar this year, having seen her performance, I think it was a hands-down win.

In the meantime, I know you're wondering what's up with the lush ginger mane to the left there. Well, I figured I should for once put up a picture of me. But Molly, we can't see your mug. That's right, folks. I still like a modicum of mystery in this tell-all digital world. But I included this picture because I think my hair looks nice and red, here. My hair varies throughout the year, sometimes browner, sometimes blonder, but always red somehow. (I do not color it.) And on the morning this picture was taken, it was feeling particularly like a honeyed orange-almond creme brulee.

But more importantly, I thought I'd use this homage to vanity as a segue into a discovery I made tonight. Apparently, Cate Blanchett is reprising her role as Queen Elizabeth in the upcoming Elizabeth: The Golden Age. I cannot begin to tell you how sauced I am about this! Cate Blanchett, in my estimation, is a goddess among mortal actors. And her performance as the Virgin Queen in 1998's Elizabeth was the moment I fell hopelessly and blissfully in love with her. I firmly believe that when Gwyneth Paltrow won the Oscar over her, when my goddess was nominated for her Elizabeth, what transpired was nothing short of rapacious nepotism and flagrant Hollywood thievery. If Gwynny hadn't been up against the powerhouse that is Blanchett that year, maybe the cornsilk waif should've gotten it. But she wasn't in an easy field; she was up against Cate and Cate blew Gwynny out of the water like so much dynamited trout! I really won't go into a whole lot of detail about why Elizabeth is on my top 5 list (usually at the top), but here are some reasons I'm looking forward to this sequel:

* Wicked beautiful cinematography
* More Cate in a position of authority. God, she nails that stuff!
* The return not only of Cate and Geoffery Rush, but also the original director, Shekhar Kapur. (We'll overlook The Four Feathers, Shekhar.)
* The addition of Clive Owen and Samantha Morton (woo-friggin-hoo!) They so rock, there's no way this is going to be anything but SO-LID!

To satisfy any other Cate-as-Elizabeth lust which you hopefully share, here are some photos. I'm off to bed, to dream of dead-on performances, magnificent cinematography and women who rule!

La Commedia e Finita!

It is finished.

I managed to capture all the signatures I needed and this afternoon, I delivered to my school's library, the requisite two complete copies of my thesis! When the university thesis librarian accepted them, I asked if there was anything left for me to do. (I keep waiting for some other shoe to drop; like a switched baby hidden in Vermont or something crazy.) But she said no. Once they've accepted it, I'm all done. To congratulate myself, I bought a copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (book 6 - yes, I'm a book behind!) and a People magazine that pretends that there are enough varieties in Hollywood female body types to use them as examples of how to flatter any figure. (pfft!) It was a little anti-climactic for me, on campus. But I think that's because I'm not yet allowing myself to fully accept its finality and the relief. That, I'm certain, will change this weekend!

This weekend, my group is taking our performance to a festival I've been meaning to attend for years as an audience member, but I get to make my debut there as a performer! Woohoo!

... and speaking of "Woohoo!" ... one of my motivations to get all my thesis crap completed today was the opening of The Simpsons Movie. Though skeptical that a movie of my favorite show might ruin the show - Hollywood does not have a good track record there - I've been looking forward to this since I saw the first teaser for it in the theaters last summer. I promised myself that if I could get my thesis completed, signed, sealed and delivered by today, I could go see the midnight opening, tonight. And so we did!!

I joke that when (if) we have children, they will think the order of religious adoration and guidance in our household goes something like this: God, Jesus and The Simpsons. They will probably believe that we have somewhere a Gospel of Groening, consisting of the books of Homer, Marge, Bart and Lisa, and including the non-canonized apocryphal texts of Futurama. We had to be in tonight's audience.

GO SEE THIS MOVIE, NOW. Not just because it's good, but because the sooner you see it, the fresher and more appreciative the audience will be. This is definitely a movie worth seeing with a hungry audience. This film would have been okay on its own, but it could not have stood alone without 18 years of stories and culture commentary. You almost have to see it with a full house who genuinely loves each and every one of the characters in Springfield. When the lights went dim and the initial vignette played out and the clouds parted to reveal "The Simpsons" with Elfman's iconic score playing in the background, the crowd - many of whom I'd spotted wearing Simpson's t-shirts - erupted in applause and cheers. The crowd ate up the humor, as well, of course. This was an opportunity for everyone who digs this satirical staple to come together and dig it together.

As Simpson plots go, there was nothing out of the ordinary in this one. That's what made it so good. The stakes were raised higher than they usually are, but the story moved just like any other Simpson's episode. It just ran three times longer than usual. Something I was afraid of was that they would litter the dialogue with profanity and lower the jokes with toilet, T&A lowest common denominator gags. When Hollywood takes TV to the silver screen, you can tell by how readily the studios go gutter how much they really trust the core material. The writers, however, must be given credit for responsibly handling their tone when the restrictions of broadcast regulations were lifted. They definitely crossed the FCC line at least one or twice and they punched a little crasser than usual a few times as well. However, when they did stretch the "good taste" line, they did so sort of tongue and cheek, implying that they couldn't get away with this in broadcast, without being heavy handed and without feeling forced. There's nothing I detest more in a film based on a TV show (or any film, really) than when a character utters language (profane or not) or engages in behavior which is absolutely uncharacteristic of him or her. It's quite clear the studio forces the character to behave in that way to appease the 15 - 23 year old boys in the audience who have no sense of character believability.

There is so much I liked about this movie. I know the critics aren't receiving it well, from the headlines I've read. I'll have to read the reviews later. And I happily admit I have drunk the Kool Aid with the marketing on this. But it's quite willing on my part. I know they're pimping and they know I know what they're up to. There is much I'd love to share about the movie with you, but I don't want to blow anything. I'll just say this: it's essentially a longer version of the Simpsons, but one which is best experienced communally. Go see it as soon as you can. Go with a big crowd who adore the Simpsons. You'll be glad you did.

A Clarification, Two Reviews und Drei Wunschen

One Clarification.
Yesterday after pondering more about my sadness about Hussein's execution, I have decided I know where the bulk of the sadness comes from. And it's entirely selfish. I like warning. I need slightly longer foreshadowing at best. I need the cop to snicker about how he's retiring in a week, so when he gets shot at the top of act one, I'm not surprised. Hussein was convicted and sentenced a month ago, but we only learned of the imminence of his execution 12 hours prior to it. I'm an American. I'm used to people spending years on death row. Maybe that's what I'm umphed about: too short a notice. I couldn't find anything to wear.

Two Reviews. (I'll try to keep both brief.)

Honey and I took in The Holiday, yesterday afternoon. This movie should've been subtitled Where's Franzen's "The Corrections", because at some point I noticed that every scene that included books in the background, included that iconic spine or bookcover subtly placed to tickle the viewer's subconcious. That subliminal commercial aside, this film was a fun, forumulaic jaunt which still managed to seem new-ish. It asked Jack Black to tone his mania down (which he does palatably), Cameron Diaz to play a grown up (something she still needs help with) and Kate Winslet and Jude Law to do what they do best - namely play their default charming characters. Winslet fully invests herself into this performance and brings grace and honesty to a character a lesser actress (Kate Hudson, for instance) would have simply played as a mildly clumsy, less than lovable loser. Diaz plays somewhere between her Charlie's Angels ditz and her catty bride from Very Bad Things. Her performance is overall decent, but there are scenes where you can here the phone ringing when she opens her mouth. It makes me miss the years when she worked harder like she did in Things and The Last Supper. Nonetheless, her character was emotionally repressed enough that even in the few scenes where she checked out, it was believable. Casting Black as a film composer worked well, if for no other reason than we Jack Black fans would love to hear what Black would come up with for an honest-to-goodness film score one of these days. He played at a comfortable pace a la Shallow Hal, but less jokey and we got to see some of his nerdy "tenacity" in the Blockbuster video scene. Scroo-ba-doo-be-doo. Jude Law - sigh. What is there to say? He could play against a box of Cheerios and convince you he was desperately in love with it. His character was total emotional girl-porn: a suave, but slightly dangerous British hottie (hence Law); a book editor; a great father, and he's a widower. Characters like that pass GO and collect $200 from female moviegoers the instant they open their mouthes. I'm not really going to go into the plot because once you know the set up - two broken hearted women from across the Atlantic trade homes at Christmas and find love on the others' shores - you know the plot for the most part. What kept the script refreshing, though was Diaz's character's inability or personal refusal to completely reciprocate and the non-courtship of Black and Winslet. As romantic comedies go, this was one of the best I'd seen in a long time. There are scenes that will continue to replay in my head, so that's good. Honey and I enjoyed it so much, I think we'll buy it and add it to our Christmas Romance Movies list, which right now only includes Love Actually. I guess we'll need to broaden it. We're welcome to any suggestions.

Last night at home, we took in Why We Fight, the 2005 documentary exploration into the fulfillment of the military-industrial complex that Eisenhower warned us against in his departing speech from the Oval Office. It was incredible. Very well crafted. Immensely riveting. These days, I really try to pay attention to crafting of a story as well as to the information in documentaries. The film opens with a NY father describing the events of 9/11 and how they effected his family. We keep going back to him and we learn of his personal loss, his own time spent in VietNam, his support for Johnson and his feeling of betrayal after Tonken. His support for Bush and his feeling of betrayal after Bush admitted Iraq had nothing to do with 9/11. He is Joe America. While writing this post, a friend called me and interrupted. We chatted, and without any knowledge that I had even heard of this movie, her husband yelled over from the passenger seat that I should check out a review he had written for this movie on his site. I LOVE little synchronous coincidences like that. Because he is far more eloquent than I am (I'm positive he wrote this in one draft), I'm going to suggest you read his review. It's a great review of a great documentary and the complex structure of war in modern America.

Und Drei Wunschen.
I learned the other day that the Germans have a tradition of stating wunschen, or futile wishes and curses at the end of the year. So here are mine for you:

1. May you forget to pay your bills for the rest of the year!
2. May you receive no mail for the rest of the year.
3. I hope you forget to take your vitamins for the rest of the year.

So that was my blind foray into another tradition. I won't do that for the rest of the year!

Party safely tonight, all! So long, 2006!

Molly's Movie Review: "Click" it off.

We rented Adam Sandler's latest mal-offering to the world of entertainment tonight, Click.

Let me recount for you the best part of the movie:
It's 25 minutes into the film. Sandler, having just learned his remote control has magical powers, confronts the wierd guy (Christopher Walken) who gave him the device. He suspects he's on some sort of prank reality show a la "Candid Camera." Michael, Sandler's character, supposes the country is having a chuckle at his expense. Walken, in his very flat Walken way says, "Nobody's laughing at you, Michael."

(now for the best part) Honey shouts, "YOU GOT THAT RIGHT!"

I think I laughed out loud in this film a total of 3 times. That includes my laughing at Honey's adlib. And seeing as how I live to laugh, that's saying a lot.

What could have and should have been a fun new twist on It's a Wonderful Life was instead coopted into tired, standard Sandler fare of animal sex jokes and supposed hilarity derived from hearing little kids say the word "shit." Add to that the never-stellar Kate Beckinsale (I'm sorry, how did she get through Serendipity and not convince me that she was in love with John Cusack? How can you not have chemistry with Cusack?), pepper it with completely hollow dialog and sautee it all up with the script that writes itself and what you've got is 108 minutes of schlock worthy of the Hallmark channel.

Click wasn't so bad that we clicked it off, obviously. But it was just short of that dubious distinction. There were some - maybe two or three - redeeming qualities. Sean Astin for one. After teaming with Sandler in 2004's 50 First Dates, I suspect he may be on the path to being his regular foil. But he's just a good actor, period. Henry Winkler and Julie Kavner as Sandler's parents were the other good qualities. But again, they're pretty solid actors. They're good bets no matter how crappy the show.

We considered watching Click in fast forward just so we could get to the resolution a little faster. However, that seemed like it would have been too surreal for a Monday night: watching a movie about controlling life in fast forward in fast forward. Wrap your mind around that one, Paduan! Honey noted that several times you thought it would end and it didn't. "It's like Lord of the Rings! Wrap it up, Peter Jackson!" he finally yelled about 15 minutes from the real ending and smack in the middle of the supposed second ending.

My advice to those out there looking to see this: don't. If you really want to see Sandler doing something good, try Spanglish or Punch Drunk Love. Or hell, even 50 First Dates had more heart than this tripe. Save your eyes and your time. Do a crossword puzzle.

... a quick note. I included in my last post, a photo of some trees ablaze with the colorful leaves of autumn found here on the East Coast. For the record, all I did was copy that image from a website after googling different phrases about autumn foliage and east coast. (I think it came from some Virginia tourism site.) I wasn't sure if y'all thought it was one of mine, originally. I apologize if I gave that impression.

The Repulsive Allure of Greg Kinnear

True story: Not twenty minutes ago, Honey and I just finished watching The Matador. Just now, I was just surfing the web looking for images of Greg Kinnear and my husband, peeking over my shoulder says, "Who the hell is that guy?"

Here's the deal. I don't know what to make of Greg Kinnear. I never seek out movies he's in, but I'm always somehow pleasantly surprised to find that he's in a movie I've happened to rent. (I'm not sure that I've ever seen him on the big silver.) When I see his name flash up on the credits, my first impulse is, "oh shit, this is gonna suck." But invariably he's up and it's okay. He surpasses my expectations.

Greg Kinnear could pretty much never be a leading man, but he's the best middle-class white "everyman" Hollywood has. He's better at it than Tom Hanks - there, I said it - but as far as I'm concerned, could never carry a movie by himself. Granted, it was tried with Auto Focus, and from what I know it didn't really fly. And I suspect it wasn't because people weren't terribly interested in the porn habits of the actor from Hogan's Heroes - though, yeah, you can't deny that kind of anipathy - so much as it was because the lead in the film was our darling, Greg. He's just too damned good as the dry toast nice guy, the world's best second fiddle, a man born to be a foil. Where some actors are chameleons, like my beloved Cate, Greg Kinnear is more like water: he takes the shape of whatever container he's put in, but he's still water, whether a raging ocean or a morning dew drop. Kind of like Bill Pullman. ... y'know: that guy.

I think that's why I'm so torn about him. Part of me wants to hate him for his non-leading-manishness, for his "middle class white guy" in every film tendency. But the other part of me is really quite impressed by how well he commits to his everyman characters. I have yet to see Tom Hanks, America's favorite Everyman, commit the way Greg Kinnear has.

I have to give him props for making Auto Focus, though. I have to give props to any actor who challenges the pigeonhole the industry has given him or her. (With the exception of Julia Roberts. She should have never attempted Mary Reilly. Sorry, doll. Stay away from accent pieces.) I can't remember if I want to see that movie, though: I seem to remember a Fresh Air interview with Kinnear about that movie that creeped me out. It almost doesn't matter. If I rent it, I know I'll be secretly chastising myself for renting a Greg Kinnear movie, and once I watch it, I'll probably be pleasantly surprised by his performance. Oh, the dilemma!

Madame Molly Makes Predictions

Tonight's the night I don one of the few formal dresses that still fits - a red bridesmaid dress - make myself some cheap ripoff of a cocktail (no amaretto in the house? chocolate syrup will do) and coerce Honey to watch at least the first hour of the shallow, self-congragtulatory pretty dresses parade that is the Academy Awards. What can I say? I'm a sucker for pomp and pageantry - I cry at every Olympic opening ceremony, even the ones I don't watch, like this year's. I've tried to inculcate the little girls next door into my annual hollywood-cult ceremony, but aside from the pretty dresses, they don't seem to be that excited about the prospect of stirring music accompanying schmaltzy, weepy thank you speeches. And frankly, the younger one isn't all impressed with the pretty dresses. (She's the one who turned down our invite to the local St. Patty's day parade yesterday on account of there being no promise of chairs, warm weather nor brevity. Her loss. We got CANDY!)

Just like 10,000,000 other people on the web or in the world, I thought I'd make some guesses as to the winners of tonight's botox, saline and collagen sponsored event. Truthfully, I've only seen one of the best picture noms, and two of the best documentary noms. But that's never stopped me before, and also, since I've been getting bags under my eyes for this show since I was 5, I kind of know what the academy likes. (Hint: if you're a woman and over 35, you'd better be nominated for some big time "oh the humanity" role, or else, your night will "just be an honor to be nominated" night. Oscar likes young breasts.) Without further ado, here are my guesses, category at a time:

Best Actor: Phillip Seymour Hoffman. True, I'm making this prediction because he is one of the many actors I'm in love with, but also he's been getting good buzz, he's a little pre-due for it, and Oscar seems to like to reward accent-actors before they're due. Possible win: Joaquin Phoenix; Surprise win: Terrance Howard.

Supporting Actor: Matt Dillon. Crash has to win something, I think it's a good contender for best picture just because again, seems to be popular, but it could be that Academy members wanted to ensure it got something in case the Brokeback juggernaut crushed it. Possible win: Clooney; Surprise win: William Hurt. Super-surprise "we feel guilty about last year" win: Paul Giamatti.

Best Actress: Reese Witherspoon. She's been racking it up elsewhere. Her only real competition is Felicity Huffman. And she's just the right age: 30. Oh, yeah, and she's pretty talented on the whole. Possible win: Felicity Huffman; Surprise win: Judi Dench.

Best Supporting Actress: Michelle Williams. Hers was the one performance that I consistently loved in Brokeback. Heath was great, but I felt Michelle's agony more than his. He carried pain and isolation, but she knew his secret and never confronted him. This is the hardest category for me to call, simply because I have total girl crushes on the other nominees - except for Amy Adams, and that's only because I'm unfamiliar with her work. Each of these actresses have either in the past, or in their nominated roles have proven that they are unwaveringly committed to the action in the scene, to the moment. Even when the movie they're in blows donkey balls. But I think it's Michelle's night. Possible win: Amy Adams; Surprise win: Frances Mc-freakinggoddess-Dormand.

Animated Feature: Wallace and Gromit In the Curse of the Were Rabbit. This was the only of these nominees I saw, but it was genuinely good. And more importantly, it's made the best of 2005 lists of many a critic. As great as I'm sure Corpse Bride was, the only other possibility in this is Howl's Moving Castle, simply because it looks awesome and because the Academy seems to like anime and Miyazaki.

Art Direction: King Kong. Kong is going to get something, but only something technical, so why not this? Plus, I have to admit, Kong was a complete visual treat, from Anne Darrow's cloche hat to the scar above Kong's eye. Though frankly, with the exception of Pride and Prejudice, the others look pretty darn pretty to look at, too. What I've seen of the brit-flick basically looks like soggy bogs and lots of fog. Gee. How romantic.

Cinematography: Brokeback Mountain. Classic beautiful sweeping vistas, always a crowd pleaser. Other possible winner: Goodnight and Good Luck - lots of smoky rooms, and black and white is always nice.

Costume: Memoirs of a Geisha. Period piece, non-western culture - seems to be a winner. Other possibility is Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, they did a good job of making costumes overwhelming where necessary and understated where necessary. Plus, that was a damn cool orthodontic creepy helmet. This is one of my favorite technical categories. I LOVE costume design!

Directing: Ang Lee. He aptly captured the relaxed pace of life in the West and the meditative quality of the outdoors out there, without making it boring. Having never lived my life as a gay cowboy, I can't say if he captured the lonlieness of that, but damn, Ennis' trailer at the end of the movie - if that ain't lonely, what is? Possible win: Paul Haggis; Surprise win: Steven Spielberg.

Documentary Feature: Darwin's Nightmare. Any film about how we're ruining the planet is a good bet, but throw in the aspect of how we're doing that is also perpetuating bloody civil wars in Africa and toss in an adorable young prostitute who we love and who is then brutally murdered, and you've got yourself and Oscar. I'm really eager to see this one. Possible win: Enron - The Smartest Guys in the Room; Surprise win: Murderball (saw it last night - great!)

Documentary Short: God Sleeps in Rwanda. Mostly because Hotel Rwanda didn't win a few years ago. And it's still pretty fresh on Academy voters' minds. Possible win: Mushroom Club. Both movies are about post-war devestation fall out; both Oscar attractive.

Film Editing: Munich. Mostly because it has to win something and I know nothing about editing. Possible win: Crash.

Foreign Language Film: Joyeux Noel. Because in this time of war, we want to believe that for one day, at least, we can set aside our guns and celebrate our commonalities. Possible win: (And I hope this, just because i'm in love with South Africa!) Tsotsi; Surprise win: Pardise Now (but it would be a HUGE surprise.)

Make Up: The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe. It was amazing how they got Liam Neeson to look like a real lion! Possible win: Revenge of the Sith.

Musical Score: Constant Garder. Just because. I've only heard the score from Brokeback. It's good, but it may be too sparse.

Song: "Hard Out Here for a Pimp." Because it's infectious, and the academy is probably ready to trim off some white crusts a little. Heck didn't Eminem win for the song from 8 Mile a few years back? Why not, eh?

Animated Short: The Moon and the Son - An Imagined Conversation. Just taking a random guess here.

Alright, this is getting too long, so I'm going to cut to the chase and give my predictions for the last three ones I like the most:

Best Screenplay Adapted: Brokeback Mountaint. Everyone seems to be so impressed how a feature length movie has stayed pretty darned true to an 11 page story. Possible win: History of Violence.

Best Screenplay Original: Syriana or Crash. Both are critically acclaimed. The former speaks to an angry political sense of a lot of people and academy votres, and the latter is a story about L.A. which academy types have to love. Possible win: The Squid and the Whale; Surprise win: Matchpoint.

BEST PICTURE!!: Brokeback Mountain. It's the one to beat this year. And while Crash may have more actual relevance in the lives of movie viewers and academy voters - My God! Confronting the daily racisms we act like we're over; how dare they?! - the story of a pair of gay cowboys is both on the edge of current phobia breaking and is fairly unexpected in today's age. Gay? Sure. Gay AND a cowboy? Whoa! Further prediction: in 15 years, we'll've had so many gay-"unexpected category" movies that even though homophobia won't be eradicated in the US, but rather subverted the way many racisms are today, any film that confronts the subversion of the still hurtful homophobia will be admired, but will be tossed aside to make way for whatever the cause du jour is. Possible win: Crash. (Frankly, rooting for it, though I haven't seen it.) Surprise win: Any of the remaining 3; particularly Munich. Any film that is blasted by conservative Jewish groups for being anti-semitic and is equally reviled by Arab groups for being anti-Muslim Palestinian is first and foremost a must-see, but also a sure loser. Seems to have a rep as one of those movies that questions the moral legitimacy of too many people to make anyone happy. No easy good guy or bad guy. That means no Oscar.

Have fun watching Jon Stewart swing it tonight!