Friday, September 25, 2009

Quick Takes 2: Electric Boogaloo

The movies have piled up again. Thanks to the events of summer and a frantic start to the fall semester, I haven't had time to write much about the various movies I've seen. So here, briefly, are some remembrances of films past.


Adam stars Hugh Dancy as a young man with Asperger's Syndrome who must learn to live on his own after his father passes away. He falls in love with his upstairs neighbor, Beth (Rose Byrne), and slowly begins to find his way in society, haltingly and unsuccessfully most of the time, though. I can't say that I particularly enjoyed this film, because except for the inclusion of the Asperger's Syndrome, there's nothing really new here. It's a quirky independent movie with quirky independent character types. You're likely seen this film before, just with a different issue that what Adam has. Dancy is good, much better than, say, Dustin Hoffman was in Rain Man. Where Hoffman was all gestures and tics as an autistic adult, Dancy is very subtle and sweet (really). However, I'm not sure that his performance is truly substantial enough to recommend watching the entire film.


All About Steve was a waste of time and money, frankly. I went with a friend because, as he put it, "it looks funny from the trailer." Whatever jokes were in this film must have all appeared in the trailer. Sandra Bullock--who needs some career advice and fast--plays a woman who creates crossword puzzles for a living (well, as much a living as you can have living at home with your parents and making a little money from crosswords). She goes on a date with a local TV cameraman, the vastly underused Bradley Cooper, and thinks they are destined to be together after he tries to brush her off too politely. She has a little trouble with reality, I suppose. Thomas Haden Church is a lot of fun to watch as the reporter Cooper works with regularly, but he seems to be in his own movie at times. Avoid this film at all costs unless you want to see how a movie turns the incident of a dozen deaf children falling into a well into comic fodder.


District 9 was one of my favorite movies of the summer. An alien spaceship gets stuck over South Africa, and rather than exterminate the aliens, the government decides to restrict them to one slum area, the District 9 of the title. A government agent, played by Sharlto Copley, shows up with the troops to help relocate the aliens, many of whom do not want to leave. One, in particular, wants to stay because he thinks he has almost found the secret to reviving the engine of the mothership. Through an odd series of events, the agent becomes infected with an alien chemical and begins turning into one of the "prawns," as the aliens are known. Yes, I realize the allegory is pretty heavy-handed for those of us trained to find allegory, but I have a sense that most of the people leaving the theater never caught on to the racial and ethnic politics underpinning this film. I'm not always a fan of science fiction movies, but District 9 is compelling, particularly for the performance of Copley as the frantic human trying to make some short of connection with the aliens with whom he now shares DNA and for the documentary style the film makers have used here. The visual effects blend smoothly into the hand-held camera work to make us feel like we are witnessing an actual news story.


(500) Days of Summer has two things working in its favor. It has a clever structure, going back and forth in time to show different days in a relationship between a young man and woman who work in the same office where greeting cards are created. And it has Joseph Gordon-Levitt as the male lead. Otherwise, if you put the story elements in chronological order, you'd have a fairly pedestrian love plot and a really vicious portrayal of a young woman named Summer (Zooey Deschanel) who breaks, seemingly maliciously, the heart of Gordon-Levitt's Tom. I've admired Gordon-Levitt's work in Mysterious Skin and Brick, and he's very good in this film as well. Too bad the film doesn't really rise to the level of his performance. It's just too mean to its female lead to make you fall in love with it.


Inglourious Basterds was the most fun I've had at the movies all year. Quentin Tarantino's latest film is an intriguing experiment in alternative history. What if Hitler and the highest ranking Nazis were killed before the end of the war? The movie takes place primarily in Occupied France and features a gange of pretty ruthless Nazi hunters led by Brad Pitt as Lt. Aldo Raine. Pitt seems to be having a blast in this role, and it's good to see him enjoying acting (more so than he did in that tiring The Curious Case of Benjamin Button). To attempt to summarize a Tarantino movie is really a fruitless exercise, so let me concentrate on two aspects of the movie. The first is the acting of Christoph Waltz as Col. Hans Landa. What a find this guy is. Multi-lingual and hugely talented, he's spellbinding whenever he's on the screen. The rest of the cast, including director Eli Roth as one of Raines' crew, are uniformly good too. And then there's the music. Does anyone have a better ear for music than Tarantino? In particular, his use of David Bowie's "Putting Out Fire" from the movie Cat People was brilliant. That scene alone should put an Oscar in Tarantino's hands next year. I wish more filmmakers were as audacious as Tarantino. We'd get to see a lot more interesting movies if they were.



Julie & Julia features two great performances from two great actresses. It's no surprise that Meryl Streep is at the peak of her considerable acting talent portraying chef Julia Child. Streep has such a joy that radiates through her in this part. How she's able to give one standout performance after another is a testament to her skill. She's quickly surpassing many of the greats (Davis, Garbo, Hepburn) in my esteem. The other performance, though, is equally good, and that's the one that has been most criticized. Amy Adams plays a bureaucrat who decides to cook all of the recipes in Child's book during one year. Adams is meant to represent a certain type of person in her generation: self-absorbed, prone to emotional outbursts if things go wrong. I think she nails the part and allows us to see the contrast between her Julie and Streep's Julia (and to see the many, many traits they have in common). A quick shout-out for Stanley Tucci as Child's husband Paul. If all of us had spouses that supportive and, frankly, that randy, we'd all be as happy as Child was.


Ponyo is an absolute delight. It's an animated film by the Japanese master Hayao Miyazaki (of Spirited Away and Howl's Moving Castle and My Neighbor Totoro fame), and it is just glorious in its use of color and action. The title character is a goldfish who meets by accident a little boy named Sosuke. So enamored does Ponyo become with him that she transforms into a little girl with wild red hair and a wild attitude to match. I mean, it's not every little girl who can run on top of the waves of a tsunami, but Ponyo can. She gains her powers from her father, Fujimoto, who is sort of a wizard trying to protect the sea creatures from the ill effects of mankind, and her mother, who is a sort of goddess of the sea. I know that all sounds strange, but this movie is so charming that you find yourself accepting the most remarkable of events as being possible. I'd have a tough time choosing between this film and Up as the best animated feature of the year so far. They are both such masterpieces and worth a second or third or even fourth viewing.

Saying Goodbye to the Bros

It started innocently enough. I came home from work one afternoon last month and found posted on the neighbors' door a notice that they had not yet paid that month's rent. My complex, as you may remember, does not believe in delicacy. The amount of rent due and the names of the tenants are prominently displayed for everyone on this floor to see. Perhaps the owners are trying to use shame as a means of getting their money.

Apparently, one of the Bros Next Door came home and removed that notice. It was certainly gone the next morning when I left for work. I'll be honest. I hadn't realized that they had already started moving out. I didn't notice that the noise level had subsided a great deal. It had been quieter, but it took additional events to clue me in.

A couple of weeks ago, September 8, to be specific, I came home to find a "Notice of Failure to Return Possession of Apartment" taped to the apartment door. The Bros seem to have left without returning the keys to the apartment. It must have been a very abrupt move since I don't recall hearing any noise (as I usually do when people move out from next door). The Bros were supposed to have returned the keys on September 2, and the notice was there to warn them to "surrender" the keys or face criminal prosecution.

Guess what? Nothing happened.

Last week, a new notice appeared. This one came not from the apartment complex but from the Sheriff's Department instead. I told you they don't mess around here. This one was labeled "Notice to Vacate," and it gave the Bros a week to get their stuff and move out and return the keys or else. This is, of course, all visible to everyone in the hallway, so now I'm probably known as the guy with the bad neighbors. Frankly, given the craziness that has gone on next door, I'd be surprised if I haven't been know that way for years.

Guess what? The Bros did nothing again.

Just this week, on the door knob next door, hung the "Notice of Eviction." Given that the Bros haven't taken any action in a month, that gives ownership of the contents of the apartment to the owners of the complex. To be honest, I think there's still some stuff in there. You can see objects in the window of the apartment, but I have no way of knowing what all the apartment owners are going to take into their possession. What happens to that stuff, anyway? Is there a big yard sale?

I realize that the apartment owners are going through with all of the legal steps necessary to evict the Bros. I just don't think they realize that the Bros are apparently long gone. I hope this takes months to resolve and involves the court system and testimony and people hauling out possessions in black plastic bags. The longer it takes, the quieter this floor will be.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Ted Kennedy and My Love of Literature

It was the summer of 1980, and I was about to become a high school senior. I was too young to vote in the presidential election that year, but I had hopes that Jimmy Carter would be re-elected. That's not what happened, of course, and our country has been on a very strange course of events since then.

I watched the Democratic National Convention that year, the first one I had watched with any sense of political awareness. Senator Ted Kennedy had to give a concession speech, but of course, it turned out to be one of the most eloquent speeches ever given and hardly a concession at all.

I remember reading Time or Newsweek the following week in order to find out where he got the quote that he cites a few minutes into this clip. It's from the poem "Ulysses" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, and it's become one of my favorite poems over the years. I frequently teach it, and I always love rereading it.

Almost a year after he delivered this speech, I used the same lines from the poem as a part of my high school graduation speech. I was the salutatorian, having missed being the valedictorian by 0.6 points (not that I'm still bitter after all these years, mind you). I like to think that Kennedy inspired me that night at the Democratic National Convention. Due in part to him and his work, I not only became a lover of poetry but also a long-time liberal.

Thank you, Senator Kennedy, for all of your work on behalf of those less fortunate, those who have been ostracized, those for whom government no longer seems to care.

Hair

Two weeks ago, I had my stylist cut off almost all of my hair. I have developed a bald spot on the crown of my head, and it was getting larger and larger, so I decided it was time to get rid of all of my hair. I asked him to shave my head, but he said he didn't have the equipment to do that. Instead, he promised to cut it very short and then let me shave off what was left. When he finished, I decided I liked the buzz cut look and kept it. I have maybe a quarter-inch growth, and that might just be the length I keep it.

By the way, while I was in the chair, my stylist began by cutting shorter and shorter on the sides, keeping the top longer. He cut it so that I had a short mohawk for a few minutes, but I thought I looked too much like Travis Bickle to keep it that way. Off the rest of it came. Since then, I've had a lot of people say how much they like the shorter 'do, and some who just say that it's a big change. I must admit that I've let go of a lot of vanity now that I have no hair to trouble with any longer. I enjoy this short haircut more than any I've had in decades.

I will admit that I have always had a complicated relationship with my hair. It has never been easy for me to maintain. When I was younger, I suffered the indignity of having a flat top like every other little boy around my age. We even had buzz cuts for a while then although none were quite as short as my hair is now. I remembered hating School Picture Day because I'd be stuck with photos of me with that flat top. It wasn't even long enough to need "product," as my stylist says. My grandmother tried to get me to use this stuff called Butch Hair Wax (I know, the irony of it all), but it never seemed to help. By the way, I think I destroyed all of those photos of my elementary years a while back. I just couldn't face looking at that kid's awful hair any longer.

My grandmother, bless her, tried all kinds of things to help me. She bought something called "hair trainer" from Avon or Luzier or Watkins or some door-to-door peddler. It was a waste of her money. My hair couldn't be trained. It just would hang limp whenever I tried to do anything with it. I couldn't even get the cowlick or two that I had to lie flat with the trainer stuff. My brother's hair would respond to almost everything she or my mother tried but not mine.

I was in junior high before my hair was allowed to grow out a bit. And, as soon as they allowed me (sometime in high school) to decide how long to grow my hair, I practically turned into a hippie. My bangs were so long that I would have to push the hair out of my eyes sometimes just to be able to read. I eventually cut it a bit shorter when I got to college, but I always seemed to prefer it to be a bit long. Oddly enough, my hair was still pretty long when I got my senior year photo taken at the university. The way our photos were lit made it look like I had a halo behind my head, leading to what my mother has always referred to as my "Jesus picture."

I have had almost everything done to my hair over the years except for coloring it. I had a "body wave" for a couple of years in high school. That's what they called "permanents" for men at the time, and a lot of guys did it at the time (even though most of us wound up looking like large poodles). It didn't really help me until the first time I got it cut. Then it would look good for a couple of weeks until the "wave" would grow out. I have also had it cut with almost everything, including a straight razor. If you want to know pain, have someone use a straight razor to slice off your hair. I have had it short and long. I once got the same haircut that Arnold had in the Terminator movies. I never had a mullet, thankfully, but it has frequently been long enough to have one.

I've used mousse (remember that stuff?), gel, pomade, even hairspray for a while. I tended to favor Garnier Fructis Fiber Gum Putty in recent years because it was sticky enough to hold my hair in place but not so sticky that it looked like I had clumped a lot of product on my head. I've had dozens of stylists over the years before I found my current one. They've tried everything they could to help me, all to no avail. One of them did reveal to me that I had hair the same texture of the hair of most Native Americans. I do have some Chickasaw heritage in there somewhere, I guess, but I didn't know it would manifest itself in my hair. (His first job after getting his cosmetology license was cutting hair on a reservation. That's how he knew.)

In recent years, it's gotten gradually shorter as my stylist has tried to keep me from looking too much like a bald guy. I tried to keep what hair I had for as long as possible, but nothing seemed to help. No ointments or pills kept the bald spot from getting larger, and there are side effects to the pills that a man should never want to have happen to him. I never wanted to do a comb-over because they look so silly and obvious, and I think getting hair plugs is an extreme sign of vanity even though I know some people who have had the procedure done. I also know some guys who just comb their hair straight back to cover the spot, but that too seems like an act of desperation. So a buzz cut it is.

I will admit to missing my longer hair. I had a good thick pelt there for a long time. I should have appreciated it more than I did, I suppose, despite all of the grief it gave me over the years. However, you can't imagine how much easier the maintenance is. I've shaved (no pun intended) at least half an hour out of my morning ritual. No more fussing with my hair. I just towel it off, and I'm ready to go. Maybe I should have gotten this buzz cut years ago. Think of all of the agony I might have avoided if I had.

Stories My Mother Told Me


I recently shared with you a photo of me with my grandfather that was taken just a few years ago. The one above is the first photo of the two of us together, at least the oldest one that anyone can find. I'm just a few months old, and we're on the porch of the "old place." Within the next few months, we would move into the house that I grew up in, my home for the first 18 years of my life. I know this picture is a bit fuzzy, a bit out of focus, but that's how different the talents for picture-taking were in those days.

My mother says that this picture shows just how devoted my grandfather was to me. She claims he doted on me as a baby like no man she had ever seen. I love it when she talks about the time she found him painting the "new house" with me cradled in one arm and holding a paint brush in his free hand. There he was standing on top of a ladder painting a house with a baby of only a few months. She asked him if he thought it was dangerous. His reply was classic Papa: "Aw, that baby's all right." I suspect I was no bigger than you see in the photo above.

Years later, when I began my first real job, as a reporter for a daily newspaper, I needed to find a place to live in Starkville, MS. I had always lived either at the "new house" (they called it that for years after we'd moved in, of course) or with Papa in his home after my grandmother died or in the dorms at school (the university officials preferred the term "residence halls," but as we say in the South, just because your cat had kittens in the oven don't make 'em biscuits). I wanted to go apartment hunting, and he and his wife, my step-grandmother, came with me. I found a little house for rent for $250 a month. (I know. Don't even get me started.) The landlady said she knew she had to rent the place to me when she saw that I had brought my grandparents with me.

I stayed in that little house for about five years before coming to California to attend graduate school. Naturally, Papa came to help me pack everything up and put it in the moving van. He wasn't making the trip to California with me--that was Mom's job--but he wasn't going to let me leave the state without helping. My mother told me that first night of our trip west, when we had finally stopped to rest for the night, that he had been crying as we drove away from the house. Many times over the years, she would remind me that she had never seen him cry over anyone else.

Whenever I would call home, Papa would always ask when I was coming to visit. What I didn't know was that when he and my mother talked on the phone, he would sometimes say to her, "I reckon Joe likes it out there." That was his way of saying that I probably would never move back to the South. Mom knew how that felt herself, having moved to northern Illinois almost forty years ago.

I wasn't his first grandchild. That would be my cousin Debbie, who was born three years earlier than I was, and he'd already had half a dozen or more step-grandchildren from my grandmother's kids (four boys) from her first marriage. I wasn't even the first grandson for long, as my cousin Jamie arrived just seven days after I did. However, I was the only one who lived with him. I think sometimes he considered me to be his son more than his grandson.

I'm feeling a bit sentimental these days. On the night of his wake, after we'd all returned to my uncle's house, we sat around for several hours talking about my grandmother. My uncle's wife said, "She must really be on your mind tonight." And she was. Perhaps sometime I'll post about her. However, Papa's been on mind lately. I know it isn't surprising, but I've been thinking back and remembering all of these stories, particularly the ones my mother has told me about when I was a little boy. I don't remember them, of course, but I do have pictures like this one.

Monday, August 24, 2009

15 Films

Again, the rules from a Facebook posting:

Don't take too long to think about it. Fifteen movies you've seen that will always stick with you. First fifteen you can recall in no more than 15 minutes. Tag 15 friends, including me because I'm interested in seeing what movies my friends choose.

Here is my list:

1. Lawrence of Arabia (still my favorite movie of all time)
2. Star Wars (I was 14 when it came out, the perfect age to love this movie. Still thrilling after all these years)
3. Casablanca (I could watch this film over and over and never tire of it. It's the most perfectly made film)
4. Citizen Kane (I find something new about this movie each time I watch it)
5. Sunset Boulevard (one of the greatest performances by an actress in the history of film. Compelling viewing)
6. Jaws (I could tell you almost every detail of the day I saw this movie--life-altering)
7. The Boys in the Band (sigh. another one of my favorites, now finally on video)
8. Forbidden Games (hardly anyone has seen this, but it's an intense, beautiful movie. A forgotten treasure)
9. La Strada (great film, great performances)
10. 8 1/2 (want your mind blown about what film can achieve? watch this one)
11. The 400 Blows (that final image still haunts me)
12. The Poseidon Adventure (I love popcorn movies, and this was one of my earliest favorites)
13. The Way We Were (I never make it through this movie without crying)
14. The Letter (my god, Davis is spectacular in this one. The opening sequence alone is worth watching it for)
15. Atonement (this movie is so underrated. I think it's just brilliant)

These are the first ones I thought of, but it seems like such a pedestrian list in many ways. Do you know how tough it is for a movie lover to pick only 15 movies, though? I could make this list almost five times as long. I'd have to add Rashomon and Close Encounters of the Third Kind and The Godfather and Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (no, really, I would) and so many others. And Pulp Fiction and Jackie Brown and Reservoir Dogs...

Guess Who?


He's a famous writer. Once his identity is revealed, you'll probably say to yourself, "Of course..."