Halloween is coming

(picture of Ema Johnson courtesy of Jo Johnson)

that is all.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm a Cook

Gather 'round little ones. I've just purchased www.lilhateful.com.

Google, you make me feel, mi-ghi-ty real.

No, really, we'll watch a movie now and post about it. Although last night I did watch Life of Brian again, but there's no need to review it. But it reminded me of how my parents told us we could never see it because it was blasphemous and now they can quote whole sections of it.

It's..............

Sorry, haven't watched a movie since we sent back The Wrestler because we've been watching the Monty Python documentary every night on IFC. It's sometimes interesting and sometimes really, really irritating --- because who really gives a f*** what Russell Brand has to say? He's totally clueless and covers it up with a lot of useless noise and wild gesturing, like "I'm going to say something! Something really pertinent! Because I know it! I know ... um ... yeah, so ... about me --- HA HA HA." But Steve Coogan does a perfect Piranha Brothers sketch and I would never have guessed that Eric Idle was the one to organize everything. (That Michael Palin is a very nice person is not so big of a shock.)

Anyway, in the second segment they ask a list of comedians to name their favorite sketch from the show and they falter ---- edited faltering I think, because the cousin/roommate and I came up with one right away:



"I told you to lay off the beans, you whore!"

My Cat, Veda

I just want everyone to know this in case some day in the aliens drop down and erase my blog.

Veda, my Siamese cat, used to have 3 soft red balls that she would throw in the air and chase around the living room. One by one, the balls disappeared. When we moved last year and pulled the futon away from the wall, we found this:

All three red balls in a triangle. I showed it to friends, so it's somewhat documented, but we had a good laugh (beer was involved in the moving process) and blew it off.

Here, at the new house, the balls have again disappeared, so she has new ones: a blue one, a yellow one, and a rolled up bit of plastic in the shape of a miniature mouse. This morning we had this in the hallway:

Blue to mouse to yellow to blue.

The pictures aren't all that great because I haven't figured out how to make them great because I suck at it (I shrunk it while drawing in the lines -- whatever), but you get the idea.

Conclusion: She's cute as a little old button, but Veda is clearly not of this earf.

A Movie Nearly Every Night: The Wrestler

The Wrestler (2008)
Dir: Darren Aronofsky
Starring: Mickey Rourke, Marisa Tomei, Evan Rachel Wood

The Ram vs. The Ayatollah -- Sunday SUNDAY Sunday

Photo courtesy of Fox/Searchlight Pictures

Mom and I used to go to a little library book sale in Lake Arrowhead every Labor Day. I'd mill around the fiction tables in the S section (Stevenson, Stendahl, Sterne...) and listen to housewives paw through the rainbow-colored Danielle Steele books trying to remember which ones they'd read: "The story sounds familiar, but I don't know..." They'd flip through the pages and it would all look like something they'd seen before, but they just weren't sure.

That's how I felt watching The Wrestler. It all happens just the way you'd expect it to happen, to the point where I really thought I might have seen it before: he's not going to do that -- hmpf, yeah, I guess he is. Marisa Tomei manages to take it out off the broken record whenever she's in it, like she knows that her character is cliched, but she's going to do it one better. She's interesting. Not so lucky Evan Rachel Wood who plays the Ram's hysterical dramatic daughter. One minute soft - one minute crying and yelling - the torture of being the neglected child ... yah yah yah.

But, it's true, Mickey Rourke is amazing. He looks like hell, but there's a good actor in there somewhere, and he plays it the way he's supposed to play it, but he makes you want to break into him a little bit more. He's not an asshole and he's not a good guy. I liked him.

I used to think Mickey was hot in the Diner days. You get to see his a** in this, and, actually, it was a little troubling. Then he put a needle in it. This is now one of those movie images, like Warren Oates having a towel fight with Ernest Borgnine in a steam room in The Wild Bunch, that I will never get out of my head.

Thanks. Thanks a lot.

A Movie Nearly Every Night: Star Wars

Star Wars (1977)
Director: George Lucas
Starring: don't act like you don't know

Head in sharp irritating sinus+neuralgic pain for the past 3 days, which has put a damper on movie analysis (including the long-play essay on Poltergeist ... honestly, Filmtank, I'm working on it). What do you watch when your head hurts? Well, unless you own a lot of Winona Ryder movies (which we don't ... odd) you put on something comfortable and safe, like Star Wars.

It's a silly fairy tale --- bad guys in black; good guys in white; guys somewhere in between in brown --- but, by the same coin, it's also not a challenge to tired gray cells. It's like putting on slippers and a Snuggie. And, like any decent movie worthy of analysis, each time I watch it I find something new to love, like this scene:

Obi Wan has just done the impressive disabling of the tractor beam and is sneaking out. He's going to use the Force, but he doesn't really need to because these guys aren't paying attention to him anyway:

Stormtrooper 1: You seen that new VT 16?
Stormtrooper 2: Yeah, some [unintelligible] guys were telling me about it. They say it's ... quite fancy.

Made me feel kind of sorry for them when the Death Star blew up.

A Movie Nearly Every Night: Agatha Christie Double Feature

Death on the Nile (1978)
Dir: John Guillermin
Starring: Peter Ustinov, Mia Farrow, Bette Davis, Maggie Smith

Evil Under the Sun (1982)
Dir: Guy Hamilton
Starring: Peter Ustinov, Diana Rigg, Maggie Smith, James Mason

The murders are somewhat silly and borderline impossible (really, no nail varnish on Simon's hands to give him away? That stuff doesn't just come off, ya know), but taking a photo idea out of The Sartorialist and subject idea from my good friend Archival Clothing, I've found that these movies were fantastic for clothes shopping.

Death on the Nile. Communist, dutiful daughter, drunk author or paid companion -- here at Agatha Christie Fine Fashions have clothes to fit every character.

Death on the Nile. Gentlemen in impeccable tuxedos; ladies in demure chiffon or gaudy Edward Gorey

Death on the Nile. Close up of the Gorey details.

Death on the Nile. I imagine in my later years I will be one of these women, depending on how my fortunes go: Wealthy senior with a habit of stealing jewelry (Bette Davis) or spinster paid companion (Maggie Smith). The comforting thought is that you can look good either way.

Death on the Nile. Evening wear for the best couple on the boat with more of crazy, but fabulous, drunk Salome Otterbourne (Angela Lansbury) in the background.

Death on the Nile. Lounge wear for wealthy thieves.

Death on the Nile. Davis detail -- even wealthy thieves get a little risque. Her collar allows a peak at the black slip (which matches her hat and collar) underneath the sophisticated bone-white top. You want that bit of ventilation when you're on the Nile.

Evil Under the Sun. Polka-dot hostess with the mostest. Those are bumpy beads pasted onto the jacket. I really like the daring mix of patterns as well. Maggie Smith is a role model yet again.

Evil Under the Sun. Evening wear as modeled by obnoxious actress Arlena Marshall (Diana Rigg). Don't bother shopping for this one. It only looks good on Arlena. She'll tell you so.

Evil Under the Sun. Close up of Arlena's matching turban, also pasted with beads. Rex Brewster (Roddy McDowell) looks on in a lovely 3 piece tuxedo.

Evil Under the Sun. Wonderful Wonder Bread beachwear for Arlena and snappy sailor duds for Rex. One day I will have cuffs like that on a beach robe. One day...

Evil Under the Sun. One of Arlena's more somber beach outfits. The sunglasses are especially appealing.

Evil Under the Sun. Apparently Peter Ustinov designed Hercule Poirot's beach attire. Well done, Sir Peter.

Unshun. Reshun.

Facebook blows. That is all.

It's not all. I'm adding to this today (10/9). I have not been able to access my Facebook account since last Saturday. I get this:

Sorry, due to site maintenance your account is unavailable at this time.

It used to say to try back in a few hours. Now at least they're giving me this:

We are currently experiencing an extended site maintenance issue that is preventing some users from accessing their accounts or Pages they may administer. Rest assured that your account has not been deleted or compromised. Your original account will be restored as soon as possible so there is no need to create a new one. We sincerely apologize for any inconvenience you've encountered while attempting to log in to Facebook during this time.

Yes, day 7 of no contact with my account. My brother has left for Indonesia, my friend is undergoing chemo -- and they're both updating their Facebook page to keep people informed of their progress. Me? I have no idea what's going on. Can't call the brother. Don't want to bother the friend.

I only logged into the damn thing last January. I can't believe how important it's become. But, more than that, I can't believe that this online-only company is completely unable to fix a data/systems issue in 7 days! Why do we trust them with our personal information?

It's a mystery.

A Movie Nearly Every Night: Petey Wheatstraw

Petey Wheatstraw (The Devil's Son-In-Law) (1977)
Dir: Cliff Roquemore
Starring: Rudy Ray Moore, Jimmy Lynch, Leroy & Skillet, Ebony Wright

Oh man, oh man ... this was recommended a long time ago by Reverend Dick and it finally came through Netflix. So happy.

There is no philosophizing here. There is no deeper meaning. There is only one man's journey from kung fu child to comedian to, yes, becoming the devil's son in-law. It's a strange trip in many, many, many ways and I've decided that no picture or two pictures or three will do this motion picture the justice it deserves. T'anks God for YouTube:

(from seat850c)

This scene actually troubled me a little. He's using the devil's cane to save the first kid (which irritates the devil later: "That boy was MINE") and then gets randomly pummled by some other kid in, what are those? Are those Asics Onitsuka Tigers? Righteous. And he makes the little one cry by trying to comb his hair.

Petey Wheatstraw: Good man? Bad man?

Friends, what does it matter as long as you look good doin' it

A Movie Nearly Every Night: Man Hunt

Man Hunt (1941)
Director: Fritz Lang
Starring: Walter Pidgeon, Joan Bennett, George Sanders, John Carradine

Well, would you?

Big game hunter with some time on your hands in Bavaria ... why not? It's 1939. You know who this guy is. No one likes him -- well, a lot of Germans like him, but most people think he's got crazy ideas and is amassing enough power to carry them out. You've got a pretty good bead on him. Are you going to pull the trigger?

Alan Thorndike (Walter Pidgeon) does, but there's no bullet. He thinks better of it and slides a shell into the chamber, but doesn't get in the shot before the Gestapo takes him in to get grilled by Nazi interrogator Quive-Smith (George Sanders). Shot in fantastic evil key lighting, just a tip of it to highlight his monocle, Quive-Smith calls bullshit (or the Nazi equivalent) on Thorndike's excuse that it was just "a sporting stalk" and gives Thorndike the option of release if he signs a confession stating that the British government put him up to assassination.

Menacing Quive-Smith interrogates shadowy Thorndike

Of course, Thorndike is, he is, an E-e-e-e-EEEEE-nglish-mannnnn, so he won't sign. Quive-Smith allows him the opportunity for an "accident" and Thorndike uses it as a chance to escape. He gets back to England, but even there, in the relative safety of his own country, he's hunted down by Quive-Smith and other sundry Nazis, some with more persistence than others.

"Mr. Jones" follows Thorndike underground

There's a lot of Fritz-design in this story --- the close up of dogs nipping at Thorndike's (somewhat distant but implied) rear-end as he escapes Nazi Germany, Quive-Smith's monocle, long shots of deep spaces and great geometric balance --- but there are also a lot of interesting ideas about patriotism and bravery, that could only come from a guy who stands on the outside looking in. If this had been an English film, it would have been much different: everyone would be doing their part, everyone would be true to their Allied and proper government. But it's an American film by a German director and while there's a noisy jingo ending tacked on to the film, there are still a lot of questions raised about who is doing the hunting and why.

We start with Thorndike stalking Hitler, but he's not really going to kill him -- or is he? He puts a shell in the chamber, but is that right or wrong? If it's as right as we think it is, why does he try to hide it? Why doesn't he brave-English come right out and say "Yes, I wanted to take a shot at Hitler"? Then, when he gets back to England, he's pursued through the docks and the underground -- working class locations, although he's clearly a wealthy man with no profession and a lot of leisure time for stalking big game around the world. So he's hunted in his habitat, like an elephant or a lion, but he's out of his element within that habitat, like a tiger in Africa. Not only that, but apparantly the other animals on the safari may help you and they may be looking out for their own skin. Is Jerry (Joan Bennett) helping him or herself? She cries because he won't sleep with her even though she doesn't know anything about him. Could she be one of the Nazis? That arrow in the hat is really obvious. What about Thorndike's wealthy diplomat brother (Frederick Worlock)? He's actually makes things worse for his brother and doesn't seem to care what happens to him or the country.

Thorndike himself is something of an enigma. We don't know if he's brave or foolhardy. But when they catch up to him, when the big game is cornered --- not a shot in the open, not a chance for escape, but well and truly trapped --- that's when we see what he's really made of.

By the way, was Walter Pidgeon ever young?

Fritz lowers the space, squeezes Thorndike into this hole with only an air vent to provide lighting and Thorndike cracks. I've never seen Walter Pidgeon really let loose before and it's shocking. This isn't Mr. Miniver or Mr. Gruffydd or any of the stoic, solid Englishmen he usually played. This is more Ray Milland's territory and if it had been Ray maybe it would have lost it's edge a little. With Walter Pidgeon each time his voice breaks or his body bends with the weight of his frantic shouting you feel it shutter through you. As hunter, he's somewhat confident; as prey with nowhere to go he's a crazy mess.

Does this mean that unless we're winning we're not really brave? We have ingenuity, but first we have hysteria? Maybe that's why the ending was tacked on after all. Maybe it's the studio's way of saying that after you go through hell you find that courage to face the front again ... or maybe you just reach a point where you don't care anymore.

A Movie Nearly Every Night: The Fifth Element

The Fifth Element (1997)
Director: Luc "Film My Fetish" Besson
Starring: Bruce Willis, Gary Oldman, Ian Holm, Milla Jovovich

No pictures. No review except to say that this was the God-awful worst movie I've ever seen. No, really, it beats Dead of Winter, which I would have walked out on except that I saw it drunk and it seemed better just to stay seated so I wouldn't throw up in the aisle. It beats Gangs of New York, which I did walk out on because I wasn't drunk and had only paid $1.50 to see it.

Number 1, top of the charts, 100%, grade A shite.

Oh yeah, and we watched it on Bluray. Dude. When pretty colors can't save you, nothing can.