Sarah does her best to avoid eye contact with the pine cone-sized bug sizing up which child looks tastiest.
Originally uploaded by emaggie
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Sarah does her best to avoid eye contact with the pine cone-sized bug sizing up which child looks tastiest.
Sarah does her best to avoid eye contact with the pine cone-sized bug sizing up which child looks tastiest.
Originally uploaded by emaggie
Friday, July 09, 2010
Swapping spies for better stories
I haven't gotten much of a charge from the whole prisoner swap with Russia story. Sure, it's a throwback to an era that still has plenty of tasty juice to squeeze. Especially when the current and ongoing big story (runaway underwater oil volcano) is being increasingly ignored. And it adds to the foreign policy narrative about the Obama administration that I think is being lost amidst the fusillade of exploding turd bombs - namely, that we're seriously updating some old accounts starting with Israel and Russia, providing a platform for the decade ahead. Still, something about this story feels so small as to not merit any heat and light at all.
Instead, I'd recommend digging back into the genre of international spy novels that are trying to update the Cold War mindset that provided such rich material for decades. I won't claim a deep knowledge of what's out there. But I did just finish "The Tourist" by Olen Steinhauer - my rating is a slow-building, strong B. It employs a very smart Cold War throwback mentality to flesh out post-9/11 internal and external spy agency conflicts. I'm going to read Steinhauer's sequel this week ("The Nearest Exit"). So rather than following the spy swap on the tarmac in Vienna, read some old-fashioned, well-written fiction that brings history right up into the present. Who knows. We just may learn something far deeper than who the Rooskie hottie really is along the way.
We're off to Santa Barbara for a week, as of tomorrow morning. That will allow plenty of time for movies, family, reading and maybe even a trip to Disneyland. We may even bring Maya. Hope your own plans have plenty of cool wind in the sails today. Rock on.
Instead, I'd recommend digging back into the genre of international spy novels that are trying to update the Cold War mindset that provided such rich material for decades. I won't claim a deep knowledge of what's out there. But I did just finish "The Tourist" by Olen Steinhauer - my rating is a slow-building, strong B. It employs a very smart Cold War throwback mentality to flesh out post-9/11 internal and external spy agency conflicts. I'm going to read Steinhauer's sequel this week ("The Nearest Exit"). So rather than following the spy swap on the tarmac in Vienna, read some old-fashioned, well-written fiction that brings history right up into the present. Who knows. We just may learn something far deeper than who the Rooskie hottie really is along the way.
We're off to Santa Barbara for a week, as of tomorrow morning. That will allow plenty of time for movies, family, reading and maybe even a trip to Disneyland. We may even bring Maya. Hope your own plans have plenty of cool wind in the sails today. Rock on.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
Louis and Lindsay - now there's a couple that would work
I was reminded by the first handful of minutes of today's "Fresh Air with Terry Gross" interview that I just love, love, love Louis C.K. He's not everyone's cup of tea. His shows are of very mixed quality, "Pootie Tang" lives on less as a movie than as a brilliant title, and now that he's divorced...well, there goes a ton of the best material he had to offer. Right? Um, nope. He's still hilarious, even if now waxing on about being divorced and then waxing off how much of a screw-up he is as a 40-something self-deprecating schlub. No one is better on the generally horrible late night talk shows than him. Hell, I even watched him on Leno a few weeks ago. If somebody can figure out a way to get me to watch Leno, he's frickin' Einstein. Given the tenor and nuance of Louis C.K.'s comedy, that just might be true. I've watched the first two episodes of his new sitcom ("Louie" on FX) - my rating is an underwhelmed but ever hopeful C. But the poker game opening of the second episode is stellar. Here's hoping the trajectory is continuing way up.
Anyone who writes anything today on the internets is apparently required by law to say something about Lindsay Lohan's 90-day jail sentence for being a bad parolee. She's such a continuing flaming cartwheel that I just can't go there. Instead, I must compliment the young woman on some seriously cool penmanship - check out the close-up of her notes that are meant to focus your eye on her snarky body art. Seriously. That's some cool amalgam handwriting. I'd love to have an expert dissect it for me. Very expressive, dangerously narcissistic, mature beyond her years envelope-pusher - I might guess. But that makes me no better than TMZ, so I'll fall back to my original position and politely move on.
Seattle's gone summery today. It feels like we're all on vacation in another dimension. I give it 48 hours before everyone starts bitching about the heat. Rock on.
Anyone who writes anything today on the internets is apparently required by law to say something about Lindsay Lohan's 90-day jail sentence for being a bad parolee. She's such a continuing flaming cartwheel that I just can't go there. Instead, I must compliment the young woman on some seriously cool penmanship - check out the close-up of her notes that are meant to focus your eye on her snarky body art. Seriously. That's some cool amalgam handwriting. I'd love to have an expert dissect it for me. Very expressive, dangerously narcissistic, mature beyond her years envelope-pusher - I might guess. But that makes me no better than TMZ, so I'll fall back to my original position and politely move on.
Seattle's gone summery today. It feels like we're all on vacation in another dimension. I give it 48 hours before everyone starts bitching about the heat. Rock on.
Friday, July 02, 2010
Bathtime/Summertime Storytelling
Even though the summertime temps haven't kicked Seattle's damp, unprepared tuchus (yet), summertime activities as they orbit around Maya are very much underway. Soccer is key. And her desire to properly jump rope provides an almost daily look inside her competitive mind. But of all the new summertime activities that seem to crop up daily, none surprised me more than her desire for a daily story telling exercise. Granted this has nothing to do with summertime in particular - hopefully, telling stories is a year-round activity. Still, it was only a few days ago that I got assigned to do the original stories after a few weeks of Sarah pulling that duty. It coincides with bath time, which requires a story to be told tub-side with the glare of the bathroom lights serving as an open-mike spotlight. I've just gotten started, but I've happened upon an age-old parental epiphany. Making up stories that your kid enjoys ROCKS. Maybe there's a future in it. Not that I'm looking to be Jamie Lee Curtis. After all, I'd hate to see some small measure of success writing children's stories morph into becoming a spokesperson for dubious ass-curative yogurt. I'm talking more about a healthy way of bonding with the youngin', and maybe recording said stories to pass along sometime and somewhere to be determined. My first soccer-themed story was met with raves, as was Part One of the next still gestating story dealing with a magic beach. I don't know how long I can keep up this version of the ActiveStoryteller Challenge. But it's a new summertime development that has me feeling rather sunshiny.Hope your holidaze celebrations include equal parts grillin' and chillin', sans illin'. Rock on.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
A "Passage" worth reading
I finished Justin Cronin's novel "The Passage" yesterday, to coincide with his sole Seattle bookstore signing. That pairing gives me a chance to comment on both - the work and the marketing. The more time I spend looking into the marketing and selling of the book, the more I see the business-side as an artisanal sausage-making job. A whole lot more mystery still goes into properly writing and crafting the reason for the selling. But they're obviously both part of the gig.
Most importantly, "The Passage" is a grand, impressive hunk of work. My rating - a hard-earned A-minus. The plot is apocalyptic, the monsters are unleashed by our own stupidity, and they are quite a bundle of trouble. But the heroes are why you'd choose to come along for a nearly 800-page ride. The writing is lyrical in places, the action is described with lean, strong prose, and you come to know his characters almost immediately. All those things are incredibly tough to do, but Cronin just piles it on and on until you don't want this volume to leave it where you know it must be lain as you near the approaching back cover. Which leads to my only reason for not ticking up my rating that last notch - this big ol' hunk of dead tree is just the first of three grandly planned books. Cronin said last night that the next two will be published in the summers of 2012 and 2014. Accordingly, the ending of this book seems like a bit too much of a cliffhanger. The resolution will not allow the book to stand alone. So for anyone that reads it, likes it very much, but just wants to move on to feast upon the millions of other writers out there...well, they're going to be disappointed. Call it obligatory fiction. Once you start, you just can't stop. That being said (and it is far from the most important thing to say about this giant kegger of a brain party), this novel will find a massive audience of eager fans. I asked Cronin whether he was already encountering people quoting back to him the mythology he's created (perhaps too cleverly I termed them "gestational Trekkies", even though my geek side knows they prefer "Trekkers"). He answered with the joking question of "what have you heard" and followed through with a colleague's comment about painful doctoral dissertations to come on the world he's created. Let's hope not. I know he was joking. But people will certainly squish and squeeze this work to fit their own contorted desire to attribute far grander provenance to something that is basically just a well-written story meant to entertain readers. Vampire fans are probably good people, too. I'll just be damned if I want to listen to them talk smack about greater truths to be drawn from such activity.
Which draws me what may seem far afield to mention a story I read this morning about Harper Lee - the reclusive author of "To Kill A Mockingbird". Some enterprising Brit got her to agree to an extremely rare interview just prior to the 50th anniversary of her only book's publication. The profile is fascinating. Mainly because it shows that Harper Lee is just a person. One whose sole offering of brilliance has become something far grander that she surely ever expected. It might have stifled her. Drove her to drink. Pushed her into the full Salinger. What was done with the lessons of her novel, however, seems to me to be the most fascinating. By unleashing a conversation that you merely whisper to a reader, you don't know what they're going to then do with it. That is the beauty and the power of the job. And it can be an unruly bitch. Maybe that sounds vague and half-baked. But it makes sense to me.
So to finish up what I'd said earlier about seeing the marketing and selling of a book as an important thing to observe from Cronin's book, I can offer the smallest bits of anecdotal insight. For my own benefit, probably, since I learn something from every author I meet. I asked Cronin if he has the same agent for these books as he had for his two prior well-received but very modestly sold novels. I was pleased to hear that he stuck with that person. Somebody's got a nice place in the Hamptons this summer, if you know what I mean. Aside from that, reading for an audience of readers is performance. And all the little details mean a ton to the sort of folks that show up at these for fun. Like how you notate your signature (Cronin chose his own creation from "The Passage" that served him well in both places - "All eyes."). And how much you read (he went on a bit too long as observed by a crowd shifting in the seats well before he'd finished). And whether you have personal connections with the crowd (a past student from Rice University where he's still on faculty came to ask a question, and Cronin remembered him by name). In the end, I suppose the trick is to encourage folks to not only buy the book. You want people to talk about it and tell others that they should look into it. Duh. Because Justin Cronin ain't going anywhere near Harper Lee territory - he'll be out there talking about this book and the movies Ridley Scott is prepping to make from them and the books to come for the next handful of years. Along the way, we'll get to know a lot more about his monsters and the war humankind will fight against them. And how he got to writing this story as a way to bond with his 8-year-old daughter while she rode her bike alongside him running, meant to showcase a girl who saves the world. And whether humanity can once again be metaphorically forgiven for doing what we always do.
Wherever this trilogy goes, I think you should join in. Unless you plan to write some sort of bad goth term paper on it. In which case, you should read "To Kill A Mockingbird" and get outside for an afternoon. Trust me, it will do you some good. In either case.
Most importantly, "The Passage" is a grand, impressive hunk of work. My rating - a hard-earned A-minus. The plot is apocalyptic, the monsters are unleashed by our own stupidity, and they are quite a bundle of trouble. But the heroes are why you'd choose to come along for a nearly 800-page ride. The writing is lyrical in places, the action is described with lean, strong prose, and you come to know his characters almost immediately. All those things are incredibly tough to do, but Cronin just piles it on and on until you don't want this volume to leave it where you know it must be lain as you near the approaching back cover. Which leads to my only reason for not ticking up my rating that last notch - this big ol' hunk of dead tree is just the first of three grandly planned books. Cronin said last night that the next two will be published in the summers of 2012 and 2014. Accordingly, the ending of this book seems like a bit too much of a cliffhanger. The resolution will not allow the book to stand alone. So for anyone that reads it, likes it very much, but just wants to move on to feast upon the millions of other writers out there...well, they're going to be disappointed. Call it obligatory fiction. Once you start, you just can't stop. That being said (and it is far from the most important thing to say about this giant kegger of a brain party), this novel will find a massive audience of eager fans. I asked Cronin whether he was already encountering people quoting back to him the mythology he's created (perhaps too cleverly I termed them "gestational Trekkies", even though my geek side knows they prefer "Trekkers"). He answered with the joking question of "what have you heard" and followed through with a colleague's comment about painful doctoral dissertations to come on the world he's created. Let's hope not. I know he was joking. But people will certainly squish and squeeze this work to fit their own contorted desire to attribute far grander provenance to something that is basically just a well-written story meant to entertain readers. Vampire fans are probably good people, too. I'll just be damned if I want to listen to them talk smack about greater truths to be drawn from such activity.
Which draws me what may seem far afield to mention a story I read this morning about Harper Lee - the reclusive author of "To Kill A Mockingbird". Some enterprising Brit got her to agree to an extremely rare interview just prior to the 50th anniversary of her only book's publication. The profile is fascinating. Mainly because it shows that Harper Lee is just a person. One whose sole offering of brilliance has become something far grander that she surely ever expected. It might have stifled her. Drove her to drink. Pushed her into the full Salinger. What was done with the lessons of her novel, however, seems to me to be the most fascinating. By unleashing a conversation that you merely whisper to a reader, you don't know what they're going to then do with it. That is the beauty and the power of the job. And it can be an unruly bitch. Maybe that sounds vague and half-baked. But it makes sense to me.
So to finish up what I'd said earlier about seeing the marketing and selling of a book as an important thing to observe from Cronin's book, I can offer the smallest bits of anecdotal insight. For my own benefit, probably, since I learn something from every author I meet. I asked Cronin if he has the same agent for these books as he had for his two prior well-received but very modestly sold novels. I was pleased to hear that he stuck with that person. Somebody's got a nice place in the Hamptons this summer, if you know what I mean. Aside from that, reading for an audience of readers is performance. And all the little details mean a ton to the sort of folks that show up at these for fun. Like how you notate your signature (Cronin chose his own creation from "The Passage" that served him well in both places - "All eyes."). And how much you read (he went on a bit too long as observed by a crowd shifting in the seats well before he'd finished). And whether you have personal connections with the crowd (a past student from Rice University where he's still on faculty came to ask a question, and Cronin remembered him by name). In the end, I suppose the trick is to encourage folks to not only buy the book. You want people to talk about it and tell others that they should look into it. Duh. Because Justin Cronin ain't going anywhere near Harper Lee territory - he'll be out there talking about this book and the movies Ridley Scott is prepping to make from them and the books to come for the next handful of years. Along the way, we'll get to know a lot more about his monsters and the war humankind will fight against them. And how he got to writing this story as a way to bond with his 8-year-old daughter while she rode her bike alongside him running, meant to showcase a girl who saves the world. And whether humanity can once again be metaphorically forgiven for doing what we always do.
Wherever this trilogy goes, I think you should join in. Unless you plan to write some sort of bad goth term paper on it. In which case, you should read "To Kill A Mockingbird" and get outside for an afternoon. Trust me, it will do you some good. In either case.
Monday, June 28, 2010
A story about much more than toys, conceived and told with childlike glee
Piling on the accolades for "Toy Story 3" may seem like a waste of good adjectives. Touching. Heartfelt. Family-riffic. But I won't dispute that they all apply. My rating after seeing it Saturday with kids and other adults in tow - a deserved full A. It is, without a doubt in my mind, a perfect movie. Aside from all the obvious emotional and intellectual plaudits, I must add a few that might get lost in the mix of blubbering and self-identification experienced by kids and adults alike. Foremost, the storytelling is brilliant in its efficiency. A few lines of dialogue and well-crafted animation sequences here accomplish more than even the most masterful filmmaker could muster (the scene where Mrs. Potato Head uses her detached eye to see that the toys being taken to the dump was a tragic mistake is what earned this compliment from me). And secondly, the animation has improved to the degree where the facial features of the "human" characters are more expressive than real actors. I mean that. "Toy Story 3" introduces Bonnie, a beautifully creative young girl, and re-introduces Andy, the boy who is now headed off to college and whose decisions of what to do with the toys in that light form the cohesion in the storyline of the movie. Giving anything away would be infinitely lame. Harping on the intensity of certain scenes for very young children would be unfair given the overall arc of the film. But missing this movie, would be the real shame. It's just that damn good.On a very different level, the new album from art rock weirdo Ariel Pink (and his backing band, Haunted Graffiti) is a hard thing to recommend. It's dressed up, formerly low-fidelity artiness. You need to be a major music geek to even care about this dood's ascendancy. But if you appreciate challenging new music that inspires conversation and strongly held opinions, this album will whet an appetite. I even recommend a pairing with the decidedly hard to pigeonhole funk parade debut album by Janelle Monae discovered from the orbit of Outkast around Atlanta. Both "Before Today" and "The Archandroid" earn the same rating from me - slightly uneasy C-pluses. Someday I may like them. But for now, it feels like music appreciation by way of a long forced march through unfamiliar terrain. If you have entirely different opinions of both albums, I won't be surprised in the least.
Hope your own playthings give you many more years of pleasure going forward from today. Rock on.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Can we talk? About something else for a minute?
There doesn't seem to be much oxygen left in the public chamber to support discussion of anything besides McChrystal's self-immolation (blame it on his moronic one meal a day diet maybe). Or Team USA's truly thrilling extra time goal against Algeria. So I'll just take a little gulp and offer the following double endorsement.
The documentary "Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work" is an extremely worthwhile piece of storytelling. Actually, aside from "Exit Through The Gift Shop" (which I'm increasingly convinced was actually an elaborate ruse on Banksy's part) this is the best documentary I've seen this year. My rating - a solid B-plus. I'm not just now jumping on the bandwagon of loving Joan Rivers. As someone who listened to comedy albums on cassette over and over and over again in my childhood, I grew up with an early appreciation of her timing (always just a beat too quick for the punchline to add to the shock of her subjects). But seeing her work both on stage and off in this documentary is fascinating. See this movie. If for no other reason than to see how she handles what could have been a disastrous confrontation while performing at an Indian casino in Northern Wisconsin, of all places.
I don't speak of it much, but I really do love video games. Once again, that goes way back to childhood. Don't play 'em much these days. Don't like a ton of them. But the game "Red Dead Redemption" by the folks who brought us "Grand Theft Auto" is the most layered, engaging, well-conceived world. It's set in the not-so-old West. The gameplaying is great. Yet the interstitial stuff (a temperance "moving picture" show you can pay a few bucks to enter amidst all the other delightful distractions was a favorite I came across a few days ago)...well, there's more fun to be found on this platform than in anything I've seen on TV in ages. My rating - an upwardly mobile A-minus, only because I'm just part way into the game. If you are anything of a gamer, buy it. Now.
Hope your own distractions are worthy, yet far from insubordinate today. Rock on.
The documentary "Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work" is an extremely worthwhile piece of storytelling. Actually, aside from "Exit Through The Gift Shop" (which I'm increasingly convinced was actually an elaborate ruse on Banksy's part) this is the best documentary I've seen this year. My rating - a solid B-plus. I'm not just now jumping on the bandwagon of loving Joan Rivers. As someone who listened to comedy albums on cassette over and over and over again in my childhood, I grew up with an early appreciation of her timing (always just a beat too quick for the punchline to add to the shock of her subjects). But seeing her work both on stage and off in this documentary is fascinating. See this movie. If for no other reason than to see how she handles what could have been a disastrous confrontation while performing at an Indian casino in Northern Wisconsin, of all places.
I don't speak of it much, but I really do love video games. Once again, that goes way back to childhood. Don't play 'em much these days. Don't like a ton of them. But the game "Red Dead Redemption" by the folks who brought us "Grand Theft Auto" is the most layered, engaging, well-conceived world. It's set in the not-so-old West. The gameplaying is great. Yet the interstitial stuff (a temperance "moving picture" show you can pay a few bucks to enter amidst all the other delightful distractions was a favorite I came across a few days ago)...well, there's more fun to be found on this platform than in anything I've seen on TV in ages. My rating - an upwardly mobile A-minus, only because I'm just part way into the game. If you are anything of a gamer, buy it. Now.
Hope your own distractions are worthy, yet far from insubordinate today. Rock on.
Friday, June 18, 2010
World Cup fever claims another victim.
Maya's really all about getting along on the pitch. No killer instinct in this kid. Yet. But she digs the gear, for sure.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Oil exploration - a massive FAIL that calls for all kinds of revisions
We all should step back occasionally and make revisions. It ain't easy when it comes to certain things (hello, novelists). But in the wake of President Obama's Oval Office speech to the Nation, I'm thinking about a required revision I should have undertaken weeks ago. Of course it's all related to the massive underwater oil volcano still erupting in the Gulf of Mexico. Plainly stated, I was wrong when I gave Obama props for his long-range plans to open up offshore oil exploration. And by revising the logic behind my earlier support for that political judgment call, I hope this brief mea culpa makes its way up the media foodchain to the President's desk. I'm not expecting too much. Just remember how my little bitchy fit about Williams-Sonoma paid off.
Obama's speech last night was a massive failure. I think it just shows how out of their element his team is when dealing with an actual evolving crisis that they didn't inherit. Obama wants to out-think this mess and out-straight-talk it - you can see and hear it dripping from every phrase he turns. But he just plain doesn't say anything and his masterful cadences have begun to grate on even his more ardent supporters. As a result, we're rudderless as the news gets exponentially worse every day. Looking forward, the first hurricane that churns through the Gulf will upgrade the shitestorm of this underground septic tank leak into an exploding outhouse that sets the woodpile and outlying buildings on fire. Or the rough equivalent. What Obama does and says the next few weeks will set the tone for the entire summer. So last night's speech was WAY too late and WAY too vague. Move on and don't look back. Because you had an off night with a really poorly written speech is now being kicked sideways by everyone this side of the World Cup.
This takes me back to the point I'd made at the end of March. I thought that Obama was making a smart advance move in opening up the possibility of more exploration. And in so doing, I thought he could eliminate the possibility of the GOP gaining ground in terms of energy policy which figured to be the next political battleground after financial reform. What I (along with just about everyone else - even those that are paid to be keyed up on this stuff) didn't realize was that we can't drill safely. Not at the depths we need to explore at for the foreseeable future. Our regulatory oversight is horrible, the industry is arrogant, and we've got no money in escrow as a Nation to handle the costs if something goes wrong. Allowing further exploration right now is just unconscionable. Whether or not I should have seen that in March is beside the point - I was commenting on political points of expediency. And I was way off my rocker wrong. My apologies.
Maybe you're wondering why I'm bothering to get this out there. Bloggers are people too, is my excuse. And like many of my fellow citizens, I'm trying to figure out what to do about the disaster in the Gulf. I've never even been to the beaches in Florida or off the coast of North Carolina. Those are among the places that eventually will be soiled by all this. So I'm just clearing my own conscience, with the equivalent of a small drop in the ocean of questions and failures we are all seeing form off the summer shore. Sadly, that's about the only spill I'm able to deal with for the time being.
Obama's speech last night was a massive failure. I think it just shows how out of their element his team is when dealing with an actual evolving crisis that they didn't inherit. Obama wants to out-think this mess and out-straight-talk it - you can see and hear it dripping from every phrase he turns. But he just plain doesn't say anything and his masterful cadences have begun to grate on even his more ardent supporters. As a result, we're rudderless as the news gets exponentially worse every day. Looking forward, the first hurricane that churns through the Gulf will upgrade the shitestorm of this underground septic tank leak into an exploding outhouse that sets the woodpile and outlying buildings on fire. Or the rough equivalent. What Obama does and says the next few weeks will set the tone for the entire summer. So last night's speech was WAY too late and WAY too vague. Move on and don't look back. Because you had an off night with a really poorly written speech is now being kicked sideways by everyone this side of the World Cup.
This takes me back to the point I'd made at the end of March. I thought that Obama was making a smart advance move in opening up the possibility of more exploration. And in so doing, I thought he could eliminate the possibility of the GOP gaining ground in terms of energy policy which figured to be the next political battleground after financial reform. What I (along with just about everyone else - even those that are paid to be keyed up on this stuff) didn't realize was that we can't drill safely. Not at the depths we need to explore at for the foreseeable future. Our regulatory oversight is horrible, the industry is arrogant, and we've got no money in escrow as a Nation to handle the costs if something goes wrong. Allowing further exploration right now is just unconscionable. Whether or not I should have seen that in March is beside the point - I was commenting on political points of expediency. And I was way off my rocker wrong. My apologies.
Maybe you're wondering why I'm bothering to get this out there. Bloggers are people too, is my excuse. And like many of my fellow citizens, I'm trying to figure out what to do about the disaster in the Gulf. I've never even been to the beaches in Florida or off the coast of North Carolina. Those are among the places that eventually will be soiled by all this. So I'm just clearing my own conscience, with the equivalent of a small drop in the ocean of questions and failures we are all seeing form off the summer shore. Sadly, that's about the only spill I'm able to deal with for the time being.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Lisbeth Salander and 1950s Russian jazz - two worthy acquired tastes
If you've been in an airport recently, you've seen the overwhelming amount of Stieg Larsson books out there. His Millennium Trilogy has been a massive hit throughout Europe, and the crossover to the American market is really only beginning (film adaptations of the already produced Swedish films are in the hopper). But rare indeed are the reviews that really credit without dissecting too much what I think is the inherent genius of the books. There's just a whole lotta there there. So without giving anything away, I'll offer up a straight shot, no sugar or milk.
With the publication of "The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets Nest" we're looking at the last of Larsson's work. Don't even get duped by the whispered promise of a half-finished novel on his laptop when he up and died from a heart attack (although some pile of words claiming to be "inspired by Stieg Larsson" will surely be released someday). Concentrate on this triptych of books, all centered on a vast array of Swedes. Everyone drinks way too much coffee, sleeps like crap, and shares a reserve of withheld secrets that would drive more extroverted people positively bonkers. The plot moves vast distances, but the abundance of details and precise dialogue drives many people to distraction. I don't speak Swedish nor do I have any experience with Swedish literature. But the little I know and love (fading memories of Ingmar Bergman films, Stellar Skarsgaard in the original "Insomnia") leads me to think that Larsson leans very much true toward the serious, powerful storyteller character of Swedish insight. My rating of the collected Millenium Trilogy - a hard-earned B. If you only read "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo", do yourself a favor and finish it off the massive bundle. You'll be much happier that way, I promise.
I'll finish off this year's SIFF reviews with the last and best film I saw. "Hipsters" is a Russian film, set in 1955 amidst the gray anonymity of Soviet control, using a blinding array of colorful, beautiful characters to spin a story about rebellion. 20 years ago, this movie with this contrarian history of internal rebellion absolutely couldn't have been made. "Hipsters" swept the Russian homegrown equivalent of last year's Oscars. The director (Valery Todorovsky) was in Seattle for the screening I saw to answer questions from an audience that was largely Russian, including the grandmotherly woman sitting next to me laughing ahead in time as I tried to catch-up reading the subtitles. Oh, and it's a musical. Just plain great, too. My rating - a solid B-plus, down from a possible A-level because it loses focus often enough to be noticeable. But find a screening - it will be at the Best of SIFF screenings here in Seattle next weekend. Otherwise, good luck finding an art house theatre that shows contemporary Russian musicals against a backdrop of Soviet oppression. Shouldn't be hard.
With the publication of "The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets Nest" we're looking at the last of Larsson's work. Don't even get duped by the whispered promise of a half-finished novel on his laptop when he up and died from a heart attack (although some pile of words claiming to be "inspired by Stieg Larsson" will surely be released someday). Concentrate on this triptych of books, all centered on a vast array of Swedes. Everyone drinks way too much coffee, sleeps like crap, and shares a reserve of withheld secrets that would drive more extroverted people positively bonkers. The plot moves vast distances, but the abundance of details and precise dialogue drives many people to distraction. I don't speak Swedish nor do I have any experience with Swedish literature. But the little I know and love (fading memories of Ingmar Bergman films, Stellar Skarsgaard in the original "Insomnia") leads me to think that Larsson leans very much true toward the serious, powerful storyteller character of Swedish insight. My rating of the collected Millenium Trilogy - a hard-earned B. If you only read "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo", do yourself a favor and finish it off the massive bundle. You'll be much happier that way, I promise.
I'll finish off this year's SIFF reviews with the last and best film I saw. "Hipsters" is a Russian film, set in 1955 amidst the gray anonymity of Soviet control, using a blinding array of colorful, beautiful characters to spin a story about rebellion. 20 years ago, this movie with this contrarian history of internal rebellion absolutely couldn't have been made. "Hipsters" swept the Russian homegrown equivalent of last year's Oscars. The director (Valery Todorovsky) was in Seattle for the screening I saw to answer questions from an audience that was largely Russian, including the grandmotherly woman sitting next to me laughing ahead in time as I tried to catch-up reading the subtitles. Oh, and it's a musical. Just plain great, too. My rating - a solid B-plus, down from a possible A-level because it loses focus often enough to be noticeable. But find a screening - it will be at the Best of SIFF screenings here in Seattle next weekend. Otherwise, good luck finding an art house theatre that shows contemporary Russian musicals against a backdrop of Soviet oppression. Shouldn't be hard.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Who's a happy preschool grad?
Maya had a largely ceremonial, entirely entertaining preschool graduation, er, "completion" ceremony last night. The line-up of paparazzi was overwhelming. But the kids didn't seem to mind. Since I spent most of my time with a video camera in hand, I'll just offer up before and after pics here. Rest assured - Maya had fun along the way and is ready for the next stage. Even if we're only talking about summer camps and all the varied stimulation that comes from that form of escapism. Rock on.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Get fired up about "Monogamy"
Although few critics will admit it, the "job" is hackery. Especially when it comes to movies. I certainly include myself in this over-generalization. Because all critics seize on small things. And we all can be swayed by things as small as a random couple of dickheads sitting within earshot. That's why criticism aggregation like what you see at Rotten Tomatoes serves a quantitative purpose. But when you're talking about new movies showing at film festivals, you're out there in untracked snow. A few misdirections or untimely distractions and the result can look like shite. That's where I've been wading out into the massive programming schedule of SIFF. I'm glad to be striding about, somewhat randomly. But given all the unmitigated crap I'd been seeing, I was losing my interest in going further in that direction.
Then, I saw something I really liked.
The movie worth mentioning is "Monogamy". The director, Dana Adam Shapiro, answered questions after last night's screening. Dood seemed unpretentious, comfortable and a few degrees cooler than most of those spinning their wheels trying to dissect his film. My take is pretty straight forward. The stars are recognizable and fantastic (Chris Messina and Rashida Jones). The supporting cast is natural and likable. The story wants to be edgy, but it comes broadcast from far, far away like 20th Century border radio for those that knew where to turn their dials. A jaunty version of New York jumps around the action (not really vice versa) throughout. The take away? It's the best thing I've seen at SIFF, so far. Not that I've seen a ton. Still, this movie got my swerve back on. There is a reason to go to screenings and feel confident that I won't need to pull all my punches afterward - movies like this are lurking out there. A movie I'll give a solid B-plus rating.
Then again, what do I know. Or any other amateur critic, for that matter. Enough to know that I'm psyched to work my way through a handful more screenings before SIFF runs the credits on Sunday. Rock on.
Then, I saw something I really liked.
The movie worth mentioning is "Monogamy". The director, Dana Adam Shapiro, answered questions after last night's screening. Dood seemed unpretentious, comfortable and a few degrees cooler than most of those spinning their wheels trying to dissect his film. My take is pretty straight forward. The stars are recognizable and fantastic (Chris Messina and Rashida Jones). The supporting cast is natural and likable. The story wants to be edgy, but it comes broadcast from far, far away like 20th Century border radio for those that knew where to turn their dials. A jaunty version of New York jumps around the action (not really vice versa) throughout. The take away? It's the best thing I've seen at SIFF, so far. Not that I've seen a ton. Still, this movie got my swerve back on. There is a reason to go to screenings and feel confident that I won't need to pull all my punches afterward - movies like this are lurking out there. A movie I'll give a solid B-plus rating.
Then again, what do I know. Or any other amateur critic, for that matter. Enough to know that I'm psyched to work my way through a handful more screenings before SIFF runs the credits on Sunday. Rock on.
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
Clearing the dreck
My absolutely horrible SIFF choices continue. So to maybe clean my palette, I'll let you live the awfulness vicariously.
The documentary "8: The Mormon Proposition" was the best of the bunch. My rating - a pretty flat C. I totally agree with the desire to show how nefarious the Mormons were (and will be) when it came to funding the anti-gay marriage referendum on California's 2008 fall election ballot. The crowd at the Egyptian Theatre couldn't have been more fabulous. But preaching to the choir does not an inspiring sermon make. Sorry.
The micro-budget Seattle feature "Perfect 10" premiered with all of the cast and the co-director/writer/producers present at SIFF Cinema's theatre in the Seattle Center. They had a decent crowd and everyone was all smiles and encouraging pats on the back. The story is about a chubby chaser, and the woman desirous of said chasing. More or less. I'm a total dick for being realistically harsh because this movie was like a poorly acted, weirdly shot student film with about as many laughs as an episode of "The King of Queens". Still, my rating is a solid D. The beauty of it, however, shows that SIFF surely encourages local productions and probably provides expertise to assist through the whole process. I only hope they encourage ones that challenge the viewer a bit more. Or at least don't make us feel sad leaving the theatre if we intend to say what we really thought.
Much easier to throw under the bus is the sci-fi belly flop "Splice" - it was at SIFF before opening in theatres last weekend. Because of family logistics, I couldn't do SIFF screenings last night. But I could catch this sad little thriller at the Oaktree 6 off Aurora Avenue (the most bleak with extra zazz multiplex in Seattle). My rating is another solid D. I imagine Adrian Brody bringing his Oscar with him to the set every day, hoping that might justify the choices he continues to make - both on and off screen. Both he and Sarah Polley are much better than this.
Luckily for me, "Splice" is also a Joel Silver production. So after a short respite from excusing this sort of movie, I'm back to calling out the guy for what he is - a modern Jabba the Hut who will finance just about anything salacious or soul destroying. Speaking of which, I'd like to pitch an idea for a script, Joel. Picture this - "The Stuff" meets "Wedding Crashers". With zombies. Or maybe Amazon women. No, not women from Amazon.com. The archers. Look, just call me. I'm still working on the story boards and sorta spitballing here. But it's gonna be huge. Babe.
The documentary "8: The Mormon Proposition" was the best of the bunch. My rating - a pretty flat C. I totally agree with the desire to show how nefarious the Mormons were (and will be) when it came to funding the anti-gay marriage referendum on California's 2008 fall election ballot. The crowd at the Egyptian Theatre couldn't have been more fabulous. But preaching to the choir does not an inspiring sermon make. Sorry.
The micro-budget Seattle feature "Perfect 10" premiered with all of the cast and the co-director/writer/producers present at SIFF Cinema's theatre in the Seattle Center. They had a decent crowd and everyone was all smiles and encouraging pats on the back. The story is about a chubby chaser, and the woman desirous of said chasing. More or less. I'm a total dick for being realistically harsh because this movie was like a poorly acted, weirdly shot student film with about as many laughs as an episode of "The King of Queens". Still, my rating is a solid D. The beauty of it, however, shows that SIFF surely encourages local productions and probably provides expertise to assist through the whole process. I only hope they encourage ones that challenge the viewer a bit more. Or at least don't make us feel sad leaving the theatre if we intend to say what we really thought.
Much easier to throw under the bus is the sci-fi belly flop "Splice" - it was at SIFF before opening in theatres last weekend. Because of family logistics, I couldn't do SIFF screenings last night. But I could catch this sad little thriller at the Oaktree 6 off Aurora Avenue (the most bleak with extra zazz multiplex in Seattle). My rating is another solid D. I imagine Adrian Brody bringing his Oscar with him to the set every day, hoping that might justify the choices he continues to make - both on and off screen. Both he and Sarah Polley are much better than this.
Luckily for me, "Splice" is also a Joel Silver production. So after a short respite from excusing this sort of movie, I'm back to calling out the guy for what he is - a modern Jabba the Hut who will finance just about anything salacious or soul destroying. Speaking of which, I'd like to pitch an idea for a script, Joel. Picture this - "The Stuff" meets "Wedding Crashers". With zombies. Or maybe Amazon women. No, not women from Amazon.com. The archers. Look, just call me. I'm still working on the story boards and sorta spitballing here. But it's gonna be huge. Babe.
Saturday, June 05, 2010
The things you can learn on the swing
Santa Barbara. I love this place. Somewhere along the way between the thick as wet cotton fog bank in the early morning and the diamond edge clear, still as resting hummingbird wings late afternoon, this particular Saturday was exactly the sort of day I love here. Not without sadness, mind you.
A member of the family was memorialized today. Dorothy. Momoo. Grandma. Dot. Whatever you called her, she lived a strong, long, beautiful life. 96 years. On her terms. I wasn't a blood relative. But I married into the respect and love everyone had for her. Which I shared. If you'll permit me, I must tell one quick story.
Maya was the only kid at the memorial, held in the community where Momoo lived the last number of years of her life. I counted 109 people, but a few might have come or gone around the time of that count. When the speeches were over, the mingling began. And it was just as Momoo had requested. Sometime amidst that activity, Maya made her way to a bench swing with some relatives and family friends. After a while, people wanted to return to the action. Not Maya - a bench swing on a nice day is a glorious thing, after all. Two residents that had attended the ceremony wanted to stay for a turn, Maya wanted to push. After a while, the three of them returned to the party. The unbelievably sweet couple then made a point of coming up to me to say that Maya had described in great detail our family - birthdays listed by date, who was how old, that sort of thing. When she got to the point of mentioning Momoo, she told the couple on the swing that "and then Momoo decided to die" (a very true assessment of the way her long life ended after a short illness). At which time, Maya began to cry. The couple described to me how Maya seemed in control, but was nonetheless touched by the emotion of that realization. The man (Ramon) told me that he then asked Maya if he could cry along with her. She said he could. Eventually, they stopped and swung some more.
I don't know how to teach a child about losing a loved one. Like any other parent, I do not welcome that responsibility. Yet today, my daughter taught me a great many things. About grace and innocence. Beauty and growth. Loss and love. I like to think she got more than a bit of that from Dorothy. And that it will live on. Have a good weekend from us all here.
A member of the family was memorialized today. Dorothy. Momoo. Grandma. Dot. Whatever you called her, she lived a strong, long, beautiful life. 96 years. On her terms. I wasn't a blood relative. But I married into the respect and love everyone had for her. Which I shared. If you'll permit me, I must tell one quick story.
Maya was the only kid at the memorial, held in the community where Momoo lived the last number of years of her life. I counted 109 people, but a few might have come or gone around the time of that count. When the speeches were over, the mingling began. And it was just as Momoo had requested. Sometime amidst that activity, Maya made her way to a bench swing with some relatives and family friends. After a while, people wanted to return to the action. Not Maya - a bench swing on a nice day is a glorious thing, after all. Two residents that had attended the ceremony wanted to stay for a turn, Maya wanted to push. After a while, the three of them returned to the party. The unbelievably sweet couple then made a point of coming up to me to say that Maya had described in great detail our family - birthdays listed by date, who was how old, that sort of thing. When she got to the point of mentioning Momoo, she told the couple on the swing that "and then Momoo decided to die" (a very true assessment of the way her long life ended after a short illness). At which time, Maya began to cry. The couple described to me how Maya seemed in control, but was nonetheless touched by the emotion of that realization. The man (Ramon) told me that he then asked Maya if he could cry along with her. She said he could. Eventually, they stopped and swung some more.
I don't know how to teach a child about losing a loved one. Like any other parent, I do not welcome that responsibility. Yet today, my daughter taught me a great many things. About grace and innocence. Beauty and growth. Loss and love. I like to think she got more than a bit of that from Dorothy. And that it will live on. Have a good weekend from us all here.
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
Sometimes, standards are meant to be lowered
The Memorial Day weekend here in Seattle was as gray as BP's cafeteria banter. Although a glorious Monday afternoon and evening was enough to tempt us with what's surely to come. We needed to stick around town, so what better way to mix it up than to see some movies at SIFF, right? Wrong. I chose like a blind squirrel looking for tasty treats in a huge, barren parking lot. Anything that might have been a nut turned out to be a rock or a moldy cigar butt or part of a human finger. Well, actually it wasn't that bad. But I did see some dreck. So I'll keep my movie reviews short. Including the one surprise that rounded it out Monday afternoon.
The documentary "Gerrymandering" was a back-up choice. My rating is a completely bored D. Nice filmmaker. He seemed like he wanted to buy everyone a latte afterward. The Guvernator of Cullyforneeya was drawn into the "story" as the hero. I sat near some people trying to laugh politely at non-existent jokes. Gerrymandering is actually meant to be pronounced "Gary-mandering". And scene.
The Aussie slice of life comedy "My Year Without Sex" was advertised as a crowd pleaser. About a brain aneurysm. And abstinence. And a lovable, horny minister. I sat between a cute grandma who was seeing her first film of the festival ("I'm easy," she told me beforehand, with no irony whatsoever) and a young software programmer trying to chat up his too-hot-for-him date who didn't put away her iPhone. My rating - a very mean D. I'm the meanie, mind you - the movie itself is quite nice, albeit dull. Still, barely a rental.
Following that and because Maya had an ongoing playdate that freed us up, Sarah and I were going to catch something as a late matinee. "We" chose badly (my idea). VERY badly. "MacGruber" (not at SIFF, but street cred lightyears away at the metroplex close to U-Dub). I took the whole irony of "so bad it will be good" too far. It was awful. We full up and walked out after almost an hour. Which should have earned us combat pay. My rating is a rare but deserved F. Never see this movie. But then "we" did something inspired (Sarah's idea). We caught two bad movies for the price of one. "Prince of Persia" had started just 10 minutes after "MacGruber". By the time we sat down, who knows what amount of hooey had been already spun to set up the remaining action. Jake Gyllenhaal's long, sweaty hair deserved its own trailer. The princessy chick has these inexplicable freckles that totally work (her name is Gemma Arterton, which sounds like a mistake). Aside from constant action scenes blurring past, it's all close-ups. The movie would probably earn a rating of, at best, C-minus. But since it was the best movie I saw all weekend, I'm inflating this one. I'll give it a...well, still a C-minus (I am a professional bound by a code or something, after all). Yet to think that "Prince of Persia" reinstilled my hopefulness when it comes to movies is a rare twist of logic, indeed. Thank you, Joel Silver. And with that said, I must now go take a karma shower.
Hope your own hits vastly outweigh the intolerable misses today. Rock on.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Untangling the meaning of "Restrepo"
It's tough to do justice to the documentary I saw at SIFF last night - "Restrepo". Not because it was great or awful - it was neither of those things. In fact, my rating is a somewhat uneasy B. Coupled with a strong recommendation that you see it when it comes out in an art-house sized release this July. I'm more flummoxed by what this documentary could have been. And maybe should have been. As it is, I think this movie will appeal to two margins - the strongly anti-war and the proudly pro-soldier. Some people surely can belong to both margins. My point is that a vast middle won't find what they're looking for in this documentary.
For the nugget of backgound, Sebastian Junger (who also wrote the book "War" based on this experience) and Tim Hetherington spent big chunks of time embedded with the US Army in the Korengal Valley, Afghanistan. This movie is a straight up cinema verite` experience - digital video shot while in combat and just plain dickin' around with the soldiers in their precarious base of operations there. With some post-action interviews shot on the American base in Italy weaved in to provide the narrative skeleton. In the action footage, you see all the junk included - dirty camera lenses, manic shooting while running around looking for safety amidst the din of activity, lots of far-from-eloquent profanity splattering off the walls in the heat of action or the cold boredom of inaction. You see some poignancy in the reactions to lives lost (this was the deadliest area in all of Afghanistan for American forces). But I found myself teetering on the edge of my seat waiting for...something else. Something like a moral. Maybe the point is that one wouldn't be, shouldn't be delivered by these men. They're meant to out there, doing the job and not asking the larger questions. But isn't that why we have combat journalists? If they don't ask those questions or disseminate at least the framework for judgment given the context, isn't it all just a bunch of tough guy posturing? There is no answer to that. And maybe I'm a cliche` - someone looking for a kernel of answer to a question that no one can pose. But I think that question is out there. War? What is it good for.
"Restrepo" (named for one of the Privates killed in action and the subsequent name of the forward base of operations in "The Kop") is important. I'm just not yet sure why. Maybe it's a karmic pairing in my mind with Memorial Day weekend. And the concern that a vast middle of the American population doesn't even know why they've got Monday off. If you're in Seattle, there's another showing today (3:45 @ Harvard Exit). Definitely worth a viewing and the conversation that will result afterward.
For the nugget of backgound, Sebastian Junger (who also wrote the book "War" based on this experience) and Tim Hetherington spent big chunks of time embedded with the US Army in the Korengal Valley, Afghanistan. This movie is a straight up cinema verite` experience - digital video shot while in combat and just plain dickin' around with the soldiers in their precarious base of operations there. With some post-action interviews shot on the American base in Italy weaved in to provide the narrative skeleton. In the action footage, you see all the junk included - dirty camera lenses, manic shooting while running around looking for safety amidst the din of activity, lots of far-from-eloquent profanity splattering off the walls in the heat of action or the cold boredom of inaction. You see some poignancy in the reactions to lives lost (this was the deadliest area in all of Afghanistan for American forces). But I found myself teetering on the edge of my seat waiting for...something else. Something like a moral. Maybe the point is that one wouldn't be, shouldn't be delivered by these men. They're meant to out there, doing the job and not asking the larger questions. But isn't that why we have combat journalists? If they don't ask those questions or disseminate at least the framework for judgment given the context, isn't it all just a bunch of tough guy posturing? There is no answer to that. And maybe I'm a cliche` - someone looking for a kernel of answer to a question that no one can pose. But I think that question is out there. War? What is it good for.
"Restrepo" (named for one of the Privates killed in action and the subsequent name of the forward base of operations in "The Kop") is important. I'm just not yet sure why. Maybe it's a karmic pairing in my mind with Memorial Day weekend. And the concern that a vast middle of the American population doesn't even know why they've got Monday off. If you're in Seattle, there's another showing today (3:45 @ Harvard Exit). Definitely worth a viewing and the conversation that will result afterward.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Good "Subversive" fun
There exist those rare, successful bloggers that have turned their small "f" fame into book deals. They are by far the exception to the rule. And now, thanks to David Goodwillie, there is a novel about a blogger who achieves something else along those lines. Don't worry - no spoilers here. But I do need to say a few things about this very good novel - "American Subversive" - in the course of backing up my review. First of all my rating - a very entertained B-plus. More importantly, I want to suggest that anyone wanting to blow through an otherwise safe, secure, unaffected summer day give this entertaining read a deserved looksie. I don't know Goodwillie. If I did, the first thing I'd do is question him about his family name. But aside from the easy joke, I would also love to pick his brain about writing a book that is so current, so spot on, and so damn ahead of the ever arching cultural curve. If this book was a futures market bet, he'd have hit it right on the money. The basic set-up can be pulled from the book jacket - blogger, domestic terrorist, intertwined destinies. The point of my appreciation is how he pulled together such a smooth flowing thriller that feels like it was written on the fly in the past month. But with buckets of polish. If you go for such reads, this one's a slam dunk. Especially if you've wasted time blogging (paid or otherwise) or planned to attack the State (you know who you are).
I saw another SIFF film last night @ the Neptune. It's actually a collection of mini documentaries filmed by Seattle filmmaker John Jeffcoat to be included in Lynn Shelton's new season of the MTV series "$5 Cover" (this summer will focus on Seattle). It was truly cool. The crowd was not huge, but there were plenty of film geeks and bands scattered throughout (I saw two of the women from the Tea Cozies - one of the featured bands - sitting near the back on my way out). I felt comfortably half my age watching all the featured bands doing what musicians do behind the scene - talking about how they work, what they love, and showing how their interactions influence their performances. Or at least that's what I took from it all. I wholeheartedly recommend what Jeffcoat's done. Especially when you hear how he filmed all the HD footage with an unobtrusive Canon SLR and a kit he could fit into his backpack. If you're a film geek, you know what I mean. But if you're not - or even if you're not that connected to music being made and performed here in Seattle - it's a compelling mix of personalities. My rating - a surprised high-quality B.
Hope your own snippets of life are worth some big screen time today. Rock on.
I saw another SIFF film last night @ the Neptune. It's actually a collection of mini documentaries filmed by Seattle filmmaker John Jeffcoat to be included in Lynn Shelton's new season of the MTV series "$5 Cover" (this summer will focus on Seattle). It was truly cool. The crowd was not huge, but there were plenty of film geeks and bands scattered throughout (I saw two of the women from the Tea Cozies - one of the featured bands - sitting near the back on my way out). I felt comfortably half my age watching all the featured bands doing what musicians do behind the scene - talking about how they work, what they love, and showing how their interactions influence their performances. Or at least that's what I took from it all. I wholeheartedly recommend what Jeffcoat's done. Especially when you hear how he filmed all the HD footage with an unobtrusive Canon SLR and a kit he could fit into his backpack. If you're a film geek, you know what I mean. But if you're not - or even if you're not that connected to music being made and performed here in Seattle - it's a compelling mix of personalities. My rating - a surprised high-quality B.
Hope your own snippets of life are worth some big screen time today. Rock on.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Wading into the SIFF, needing to wash off that Hollywood oiliness
The Seattle Int'l Film Festival (SIFF) is underway, and this is the year I've promised myself some steady (albeit very selective) viewing. I started off last night with a skiing/mountain climbing/triumph of the spirit/blah blah blah documentary - "Mount St. Elias". It was imposingly beautiful, shot in lavish overstatement, chock full of gratuitous Red Bull products placement, and a total piece of self-absorbed crap. My rating - a very harsh C-minus. The storyline is all about trying to ski an impossibly tough 18,000 vertical feet from the summit all the way to sea level. Yawn. The alpinists were impossible to warm up to. But the mere fact that I was surrounded by a very appreciate film festival crowd totally eager and wanting to chat it up - whatever the subject - made it all worthwhile.
On the other hand, big budget bunk didn't exactly caress my movie-going rump a few weeks back. Namely, "Iron Man 2" was a waste of time and as unoriginal as another GOP "Contract With America". Unfortunately, I think this movie was bland and undeserving enough to actually start taking the sheen off Robert Downey Jr. Or to do so once again. The good news is that, of course, everyone looks good and there are light moments. Still, what a sad follow-up to the utterly lovable original. My rating - a flat C. I'll need to look elsewhere for the hotness this summer, obviously. Hence, more SIFF to come.
Hope your own Festival line-up also gives you plenty of selections to pick through today. Rock on.
On the other hand, big budget bunk didn't exactly caress my movie-going rump a few weeks back. Namely, "Iron Man 2" was a waste of time and as unoriginal as another GOP "Contract With America". Unfortunately, I think this movie was bland and undeserving enough to actually start taking the sheen off Robert Downey Jr. Or to do so once again. The good news is that, of course, everyone looks good and there are light moments. Still, what a sad follow-up to the utterly lovable original. My rating - a flat C. I'll need to look elsewhere for the hotness this summer, obviously. Hence, more SIFF to come.
Hope your own Festival line-up also gives you plenty of selections to pick through today. Rock on.
Friday, May 21, 2010
And the Macaulay Culkin goes to...
The National came out with one of the most-anticipated albums of the summer just a week ago. "High Violet" was meant to take them to the next level. They came across as a most writerly band in a NYTimes Sunday Magazine profile a few week's back, where they were described as constantly re-writing and mixing their multi-layered songs. The result? A slow burn that I'm afraid may never generate much heat. Record store geeks will still love them. But they certainly won't cross over into big love from the masses with this effort. If they were a 1980s John Hughes movie, they would be "Weird Science". My rating - a flat C.
LCD Soundsystem just came out with "This Is Happening" earlier this week. James Murphy is LCD Soundsystem, no matter what else is going on there. He says he's done after this album, and I believe him. Is it a classic? Time will tell. On many levels, it feels like everything we've heard before - great dance moves mixed with enough brains to make it look like a very complete package. There are great moments. But in the end, this album is Jake from "Sixteen Candles" soon to head off into obscurity to make furniture and be missed by all sorts of people that will struggle for the reasons why. My rating - a very minor B.
Much more interesting, Sleigh Bells came out of nowhere with "Treats" last week. They are a duo, loud, fresh as dew, in your face and smarter than they deserve to be at this stage in their lives. No one has really figured them out yet, and I believe they are just messing with us thus far. It never seems to work to predict how a band will develop down the road, but they have everything they need to be insanely big. There's just something vaguely familiar and cool going on with them, even though they're utterly new. In other words, they are the Ferris Bueller of this summer's big intros. My rating - a strong B-plus, maybe heading north with more listens.
So there you have it - a Gen X cliche` forcibly contorted to yet another try at cultural relevance. Hope your own cartwheels actually get you somewhere today. Rock on.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Drawing pictures of characters that make you throw up in your mouth just a little
"Game Change" by John Heilemann and Mark Halperin is that truly rare political journalism book - one that is good enough to stand on the writing alone. But in this case there is also a great deal of well-crafted narrative there. Obviously. The stunning thing about "Game Change" for me is that while they don't craft new character profiles (everyone already knows the personalities of Obama, the Clintons, the Edwards, McCain, and Palin), they absolutely NAIL the air in the room around them. You can see and feel what they're like. That's great reporting. Any political junkie in your life that hasn't read this must be instructed to do so immediately. For all the journalism that I read, I'll nonetheless admit that this book shaped my view of all those players more than anything I've read since 2007. My rating - a strong A-minus.
"The Imperfectionists" by Tom Rachman is the sort of novel I generally love. Hot, topical, smart, full of characters that surprise and impress. I tore through it, compared to my usual limp while being too easily distracted by a half dozen other things I'm reading. It's not long, and the writing for a first novel is, without a doubt, impressive. It reminded me of Colson Whitehead's first book ("The Intuitionist"). That's a double-edged sword. Because in both cases, I wanted desperately to see what they'd do next, while not being especially thrilled with the way I felt after this book was done. For completely different reasons, mind you. Rachman paints a vivid, cleverly formatted picture of a dying newspaper and the largely horrible people that orbit around that institution's rotting core. Early on, I was knocked flat and happy by how well he drew his characters - introduced and covered deeply in each section, then dropped completely unless by incidental references in other sections. Then I began to hate how cynical the pictures were that he'd painted. Eventually I wanted to tell him to knock it off. At the end, I tossed the book aside and muttered something not especially nice about the time spent getting dicked around. So I can't recommend it. I give it a C-rating. If only judged by the quality of the writing, I'd give him at least a B-plus. But the people he draws - oh gawd, that's at best a high-D. Which I feel sort of bad about, because I was rooting for this author big time going in.
Hope your own double-sided coin is good either way today. Rock on.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Maya jammin' with the buskers.
We did our best to support the University District Street Fair over the past weekend. To add some description to the claim, here's a few pics. If you're disappointed that my posts are getting a bit spare, feel free to hop on over to my running blog (daily kvetching on training for a marathon and all things going through my mind while doing so). Or the massive waste of time that is my weekly contribution to the long-dead-but-not-buried Seattle PI (where I write about Northeast Seattle or whatever I may find worth wasting electronic newsprint on any given Monday). Regardless, thanks for checking in. Rock on.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Sarah puts those years on the court to use at long last as a Coach.
Sarah's puts those years on the court to use at long last as a Coach.
Originally uploaded by emaggie
Maya looks to scare off our backyard moss with unorthodox methods.
We've got lots of growth back there. Some of it even growing as intended.
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Sizing up the ol' Chrome Peacock once more (cough!)
Coffee. I've always been a big fan. Well, maybe not when I was a teenager. But I got all excited about coffee in college. From that point on, I've taken pains to parse and improve my coffee intake. I won't go to certain nutso extremes (civet crap coffee being the most extreme recent example I've seen bandied about). What I use to brew it up, though, has always been a topic of improvement and refinement.
That's why I'm flummoxed and nonetheless excited this morning after getting my manual La Pavoni out of the shop. I bought it online from Italy a decade ago. It's had some issues over the years, mainly from overuse. But when it's been at the top of its form, it sits in the center of our kitchen and I commune with it a few times daily. That's why when those "issues" require a professional's help, I'm a bit off my game. A french press works fine when necessary - I still use one extra-large pot that I bought 15 years ago. But who am I kidding. I need my baby back. Which is what I got yesterday. Some new parts were required (one lever pin and the associated roller). The piston had slipped again (happened years ago for the first time - akin to functional sciatica that will never fully go away without major surgery). The real change is that this local repair guy (Home Espresso Repair on Phinney Ridge) seemed to have reset enough things so that it feels utterly different when pulling a shot. As if your spouse went in for a medical check-up, but came home a few inches shorter, smelled different, developed an ability to speak Portugese and became a raging nymphomaniac. So things are a bit different, to say the least. I like the way it's working. And my love affair with coffee is rekindled.
Hope your own appliances give back some good lovin' today. Rock on.
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Bank on this dude's brainy art
Hope your own school bus is leaving on time today. Rock on.
Friday, April 30, 2010
The new Arizona Tea - now with more over-processed white sugar
I'd be an incomplete version of myself if I didn't at least weigh in on Arizona's immigration bill. It would surely be easy to scoff at the stupidity of that bill's timing and intent. It is, after all, one of the stupidest bits of legislation I've ever seen come down the pike. I can't see how it isn't undercut or gutted entirely by the lawsuits already mounting. But for me, one aspect remains largely forgotten in the discussion. In a best case scenario, who wins? Did the bill's sponsors envision a reduction in Arizona's budget for services that are somehow available to illegal immigrants? Did someone expect an atmosphere of intolerance would scare immigrants away, sending them to the other border states and erecting a metaphorical border the length of not only Arizona's southern desert, but those American borders to the east, west and north? I don't have anything to base this on other than gut instinct and way too much time spent listening to the blather on all sides, but I do have a best case scenario theory. Arizona wanted to draw the population of Tea Partiers there, to buy the overbuilt suburbs of Phoenix (one of the worst real estate markets in the country). They wanted to draw the Tea Party to hold an anti-Burning Man and similar caravan events for Euro-America. The problem is that summer's basically here. Arizona sucks this time of year. Maybe some of their more short-sighted residents wanted to make that a year-round thing. That, after all, would make about as much sense as anything I've heard.
Hope your own questions are answered in the asking today. Rock on.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Introducing my new tipsheet meant to rival the exposure of "Playbook" - reprinted clippings of Penthouse Forum articles from 1978-83
Amidst all the standard Spring flings, I've been diggin' a few new things. Most of all, The Tallest Man on Earth. Don't be afraid, he's actually quite normal-sized. He (Kristian Mattson) is Swedish, though, which can be unsettling for some. He gets lots of music geek buzz and all sorts of comparison reviews that say he sounds like Bob Dylan. Yeah sure, that's in the sound. But there's something else masterful, infectious and just downright surprising in his music. I don't think I've played a new album more often in the first week after buying it than his latest ("Wild Hunt"). Sarah and Maya agree. This guy's something special. My rating for this album - a solid A. Check it out.
I need to also weigh in on the NYTimes Sunday Magazine profile of Mike Allen's "Playbook" obsessive political news/media insider shtick that runs daily on the Politico. I was an early adopter, especially since I'd been reading Mikey's work for years at the WashPost and the NYTimes. "Playbook" is just a newer iteration of the sort of tipsheet compendiums so many others have been doing for years (The Hotline, ABC's The Note, lots of others without the buzz - I just noticed that Seattle's Publicola does a good, short "Morning Fizz"). Does "Playbook" have influence because so many people are reading it? Probably. Is this worth thousands upon thousands of words in a magazine piece that goes absolutely nowhere? Nope. Insiders love this crap. I'm no insider. This article isn't worthy of fish wrap, to be totally unfair. But, admittedly, I still skim through the "Playbook" most mornings. I'm so meta.
More interesting for me in that same issue of the NYTimes was the profile of the band, The National. I just love what a writerly example of highly skilled and nuanced musicians they represent - editing and remixing and riffing up until the last minute before release on their new album ("High Violet"). I really look forward to that release next week. Mmm, dork dork dork. I'm sure I'll review it here, so feel free to check back. Why the hell not - won't cost you a thing.
On the home front, Maya really got a kick out of planting a serious stack of vegetable seed packets this weekend. I have absolutely no confidence in my abilities in that realm, so this one will be up to ol' Momma Nature. And since we hope to be eating all that stuff, I pray to Jeebus that the compost I collected in our bin and then spread is fit for raising such crops. If only we were raising a crop of lawn moss. We'd be rich, beeyatch!
Hope your own playbook has a few tricks worth trying out today. Rock on.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Anticipation is more than half the battle.
One of the oldest tropes in recording the growth of your first born is the "losing baby teeth" pictures. This is actually our first photographic evidence of said cliche`, since Maya's first lost tooth went down the hatch last Friday with breakfast. But in case you wondering just how it went with Tooth #2 in our house, here's an insider's view of yesterday's operation. Rock on.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Finally, someone to pull away that precious title from Jim Belushi
If I've learned anything by moving regularly from the highest of high to the lowest of low brow movies, it is this - Nicholas Cage is the worst living actor on the Planet. Maybe of all time. There was a time when "Raising Arizona" earned him a bit of slack to step away from that pronouncement. But after suffering through a recent Cage double bout of the mental runs, I can no longer afford to give him that much rope. First of all, "Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans" is a complete sewer of dumped cliches and flushed mental hygiene products. I give it a strangely-coveted big phat F rating. Weirdly, it got enough flaky good press that I thought I'd grind through it via Netflix. Big mistake. It's not that it's gritty. It's just bad. And Cage is by far the worst part of it. Given that he's on screen in every single scene save a few interspersed short expositions with even less likable characters, well...you've been warned.
Then I moved onto "Kick-Ass" in the theatre. It's a little "s" success of a movie. There's enough sweetness layered into the silliness to make it entertaining front to back. My rating - a very watchable C-plus. But as much as Nicholas Cage should be hilarious and perfect for the good Dad doing bad things training his assassin daughter, he is just doubly awful. Much of the time he's vamping Batman including the horrible Christian Bale accent from "The Dark Knight". But he slips out of the accent enough while in costume to sound more like Adam West from the 60s TV version, and he doesn't seem in control enough to figure out which persona he's making fun of. He just about ruins every scene he's a part of as a result. There was a time when I maybe liked him as an actor. I'm sorry to say that was a few decades ago and I've officially given up on him. So use that to buck up and do some good work, Nick-o. I doubt you will, but I don't want to be entirely a downer.
In contrast, one recent small movie that stuck with me for like 10 minutes because of the leading actor's performance (in a good way) was "The Ghost Writer". It's not Roman Polanski's best. Or even very close to it - he's got bigger issues than work right now given his extradition and associated legal fight. Still, in "The Ghost Writer" the political-thriller story is overdone and the humorlessness of most of the action made it feel so cold and dated. But Ewan McGregor is fantastic. He adds something to every line and his infectious charm is the perfect counter point to an otherwise downbeat film. He almost single-handedly earns a recommendation for the film. Instead, I'll give it a C-Plus and say wait for the rental. And whatever Ewan's in next, right in line next to me.
Hope your own reviews move you instead way above the mean today. Rock on.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
The new Elliott Bay Book Company on Capitol Hill, as seen from the across the street.
The new Elliott Bay Book Company on Capitol Hill, as seen from the across the street.
Originally uploaded by emaggie
The weirdest thing I noticed - graphic novels are filed in a section named "Graphica" which is also right up front. Pretty sure that's a big change.
"Lobster attack!"
Prepping for Sarah's birthday dinner earlier this week. Two of those pictured above didn't survive the process. The other soon thereafter was no longer freaked out. And quite satisfied.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Sarah wanted to see whether her new haircut could properly withstand gale force headwinds. Success.
Sarah wanted to see whether her new haircut could properly withstand gale force headwinds. Success.
Originally uploaded by emaggie
Wednesday, April 07, 2010
Even though Randy Jackson tries so hard every week to do so...
We spent last weekend in Chicago. It already seems like months ago. I truly admire that city - it's one of those vertical places that just draws your gaze upward more often than not. Included in that short trip was a full-on gorgeous Hindu wedding (bride side), with some strong Jewish themes (groom). Mazeltov for a counterpoint to the Easter Bunny and all the sugary bunk that he brings with him. Also included in the weekend was a long run along the stunning Lake Michigan shore, with the looming buildings of downtown beckoning us forward all the way to and around the beautiful individual draws of the larger Museum District. Round it all out with a chance to visit the Art Institute, which I've only been through a few times. It still lives on as one of my favorite museums in the world. The special Matisse exhibit was interesting, but I'm not a huge fan. I was maybe more inspired by a disdainful walk around the really recent American art rooms. Thank gawd for pretentious artists and the descriptions of their work offered up to explain, for example, a room with bad wallpaper and bags of kitty litter scattered about. Otherwise, how could a rube really laugh with purpose at what would otherwise be impenetrable.
Back here in little ol' Seattle, I had a few larger thoughts that I want to share quickly. First of all, "American Idol" is dead to me. Everyone seems to be saying that the singers this time around are not that impressive. Maybe so. But if you really want to know what happened, I think it boils down to one person. Adam Lambert. He killed "Idol". He killed it with his talent that the viewing public just couldn't handle (hell, he couldn't handle his own talent, as evidenced by what he's done since finishing as the runner-up last year). But, more uncomfortably, Adam Lambert killed "Idol" with his gayness. Gayness that I totally support. I love his gayness. It was liberating and cheesy at the same time. And it just plain pushed the show flailing madly over the proverbial shark chomping below with the lowest of expectations for a new Carrie Underwood, or some sort of Daughtry-type tater. The "Idol" shall intrigue this generally great land no longer. Y'all had a good run. Now go away.
Secondly, I am wondering why no one has come up with the sport of summer biathlon. Seriously. As someone who is getting a huge kick out of running regularly and who misses the Winter Olympics events that no one really cares about for 3 years and 50 weeks in a row - where is the summer version of long distance run/ski/bike/grass-dogsledding and rifle shooting? I'd like to offer free use of the following un-trademarked event name to those persons who will begin promoting it mercilessly - "duablastathon". Either that or "sunandfungunning". Regardless, I'm convinced this one's a winner.
Hope your own random thoughts today also bring to light unidentified societal blindspots. Rock on.
Thursday, April 01, 2010
You Should Run. Too.
We're heading off to Chicago tomorrow for what should be a fun family wedding. Given our muddled American mutt heritage, an Indian wedding on Easter Weekend sounds like the right spice to add to the stew. Especially since I've done such a lousy job on Passover this week. It all started last Friday when I was packing preschool lunch for Maya. She was having a special pre-Passover break seder with her classmates, so a lunch was gilding the lilly. Still, I asked Maya if she wanted a tuna sandwich. She quietly withdrew into her own shell while still seated at the counter for breakfast. When I finally noticed and asked her why she was upset, she told me that bread wasn't allowed for Passover. I corrected direction as best I could and apologized to for not knowing the drill - she's really a good kid who so dearly wants to follow the rules. Oh well. At least I hadn't asked if she wanted a pulled pork sandwhich or a shrimp po' boy.
If you've caught wind of another blog I started last week, I hope you will check back as I look toward some upcoming goals. For those totally unaware, I'm training for a half marathon in little more than a week. And then a full marathon in early October back in Minnysoda (the Twin Cities Marathon on the 3rd). My new project ("You Should Run") is envisioned as a runner's blog that hopefully will add a bit more zazz than just running shtick to the daily posts. Please check it out if you want to track whether this not-so-long-ago big ol' load of a feller can pull it together for a full marathon given another six months of training. Not that it matters, but ages ago I ran my one and only marathon (Seattle in late '96) well enough to qualify for the Boston Marathon. But I trained so poorly and so ruined myself in the process that I had to skip Boston that following Spring. This time around, I'm trying to show that I'm a decade and a half smarter about the grand arc of such an endeavor. I know, I know - silly me.
Hope your own loops are new and tree-lined this weekend. Rock on.
If you've caught wind of another blog I started last week, I hope you will check back as I look toward some upcoming goals. For those totally unaware, I'm training for a half marathon in little more than a week. And then a full marathon in early October back in Minnysoda (the Twin Cities Marathon on the 3rd). My new project ("You Should Run") is envisioned as a runner's blog that hopefully will add a bit more zazz than just running shtick to the daily posts. Please check it out if you want to track whether this not-so-long-ago big ol' load of a feller can pull it together for a full marathon given another six months of training. Not that it matters, but ages ago I ran my one and only marathon (Seattle in late '96) well enough to qualify for the Boston Marathon. But I trained so poorly and so ruined myself in the process that I had to skip Boston that following Spring. This time around, I'm trying to show that I'm a decade and a half smarter about the grand arc of such an endeavor. I know, I know - silly me.
Hope your own loops are new and tree-lined this weekend. Rock on.
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