A Movie Nearly Every Night: My Name Is Khan

My Name Is Khan (2010)
Dir. Karan Johar
Starring: Shahrukh Khan, Kajol

"It's pronounced Hctkhan. Use the epiglottis."

So, it's been about 2 years since we started to seriously watch a wide selection of Bollywood cinema. We've watched the "Vijay films" of Amitabh Bachchan, the poetic magic naturalism of Guru Dutt, and the splashy fantasy musicals of Farah Khan. As different as they seem on the outside, these films have a common-base in melodrama. Things don't just happen here, they swing around in circles, roll in on a dolly or dance up to the camera in slow motion, usually in time to music. There's some vague basis in realism, but it's more like a bubble that grows out of realism and expands out into implausible until it pops back down to start all over again.

Given all that, I thought I was ready for My Name Is Khan. After all, it's Shahrukh and Kajol; it's Karan Johar, which means it comes out of a Yash Raj romantic films background, and I've seen a lot of those: Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995), Kal Ho Naa Ho (2003), Veer-Zaara (2004). I expected this to be no different -- big, romantic, dramatic, lovely to look at -- and it's not different, essentially, in those ways, but what makes it difficult to get into is that it's filmed almost entirely in the U.S., a real U.S., not like that nutty, strangely clean version of New York of Kal Ho Naa Ho. This has dusty roads, the real San Francisco Bay and real American actors ... and they suck a bit.

Rizvan's Muslim prayer among the American Christians.
Who's unhappy? We're unhappy.

Bollywood bubble-style melodrama takes some getting used to in realistic American settings because when it gets to the fake towns built on fake stages with fake people in them it's hard to make adjustments. And, yes, the American actors are reminiscent of kids in a high school theater arts class (what do I do with my hands?) and they're incredibly wooden. Did they not use a casting director?

So it took a good hour to force myself into a comfortable space with My Name Is Khan. Wait, no ... that can't happen ... or maybe it could, but ... erm ... geez ... I don't know! How the hell do I read this movie anyway?

Injecting some realism.
The circled news-ticker playing off of Shahrukh Khan's
detainment at Newark last year

Now, I love Shahrukh. You know I do. And I know what Asperger's Syndrome is. But putting Shahrukh Khan together with Asperger's is like giving whiskey to the ... well, let's just say that he plays it less functional and more autistic than most Asperger people I know. But, this isn't a movie about most people I know. He's going to take it to 11, people, and it's silly to think otherwise. It's Rain Man performing in La Boheme.

However, that said, comparing it to his other films, Shahrukh is actually pretty impressive as Rizvan. He's got to do the whole movie without the use of the point-and-drag hand gesture (watch him in songs if you want to know what I'm talking about; it's in all of them) or the misty-eyed romantic sighing and weeping and making impassioned speeches that are trademarks of his performances and something I've not only come to expect, but have also looked forward to seeing in his movies. But in this, even at 11, he plays it fairly conservative. I mean, it's big compared to say, Russell Crowe, but conservative for Shahrukh. Swapping out his acting like that definitely gets the A for effort.

No eye-contact. No eye-contact. No eye-contact.

So take realism out of the equation. Remove the real U.S. from the cinema U.S. Ignore the fact that Obama doesn't look like Obama and isn't named, although George W. Bush looks like George W. Bush and is named, or that it somehow spans 8 years without kids growing up or Mandira changing her style (she doesn't have Asperger's, so what the fish?). And he walks around the country for 2 years? He "goes out the back way" from a Federal building? Yeah, no, let it flow over you without barriers, allow in the big melodrama and the implausible, and you'll have a much better time with it.

Rizvan leaves Faketown, U.S.A. There are good people here.

A Whole Lotta Money That's Ready to Burn

Well, this should have been an indication right here.

My designated taxi station at the airport

Spent 2 days in Vegas doing work stuff and it was an okay trip apart from the fact that it was in Vegas. If it had been in Phoenix or Tulsa, it would have been a little better. I know, I know --- I love Vegas, I do, but when you go there by yourself you realize pretty quickly how dirty and irritating the town really is.

I stayed at Planet Hollywood and from the minute you step into the building you're bombarded with deafening pumping techno downstairs or, for some weird reason, classic rock in the conference center. Friends, you haven't heard "Crimson and Clover" until you've heard it echo through an empty restroom. Combine the noise with a continental breakfast of low-protein food and you begin to suspect that you're being brainwashed and sucked into a cult run by Powers Booth. "Have more bread. We all love you. Keep playing the slots. We all love you. Double down."

The rooms are apparently all movie-related and -- More. Bad. Luck. -- I get one dedicated to Nine Months (1995). That's right, the movie Hugh Grant was making when he got popped for getting a pop from Divine Brown.

Some dried up wreath, no explanation -- It's a prop? It's Gothic decor?

Oh, and the television didn't work until the second day (the day I was checking out, which is when I lost the WiFi). So, yeah, maybe I wanted to do some gambling -- hell, it's Vegas, right? -- but what are my chances with this kind of starter? So Wednesday night I figure, screw it, I'll just take a bath and go to bed. Why f--k with fate? Besides it's a nice tub: deep, looks comfy...

sorry ... the flash? it di'n't go

But, oh, uh ... is that Joan Cusack and Tom Arnold looking down at you?


Yeah, so maybe I just went to bed the first night. Thank God they didn't look down on the toilet.

I did manage to get some gambling in on Thursday night. I was a little buzzed from matching the boss on drinks so I didn't really care about luck, therefore I won $50. Then I lost $25 of it pretty quickly the next morning when I was sober, coffee'd-up and paying attention.

This is Vegas.

Vegas business casual:
Von Trapp family play-clothes-from-curtains skirt,
almost-matching cardi and Archival Clothing musette.

It's a Dry Heat

Sorry, slow in posting because it's summer. Did I mention I was going to Vegas? It's been getting up in the 90's here lately, which isn't bad, but it sucks to have still linger on 84 when you go to bed. In Vegas it's supposed to be 108 - did I mention I was going to Vegas? Anyway, at least nothing has melted this year and it was possible to walk around the Lane County Fair without sunscreen. Speaking of, I guess I won't have much pool time in Vegas with all the business stuff to do, but that means I don't have to pay for trip so it balances out somewhere even though the odds are always on the house.

Oh, did I mention? I'm going to Vegas.

Walking the Earf Like Cane

"His active little crutch was heard upon the floor, and back came Tiny Tim before another word was spoken..."

How to Go Cheap On a Cane
(for those who don't really want to use one)

If your hip is killing you and you decide you can't wait to order a nice cane with a fancy handle (fashionablecanes.com) so you look more like Dame May Whitty than Dr. House, you can find cheap but serviceable canes at your neighborhood Albertsons. However if you choose to buy a super market cane, you will need to super adjust it if you have super short legs.


This is clearly much too long or the user is much too short. Since you can't raise the user, you've got to lower the cane.


Careful measuring needs to be done along with math and other stuff. I recommend having a cousin/roommate who can do fractions and use large power tools.



The finished product should come up to wrist height with your arm bent at a 20 degree angle. On normal people, the cane will measure about half of the user's height.


Please note: Some cats may be suspicious of your cane. Some dogs may want to hump it.


If you have any other questions or concerns, please consult your monkey nurse.

Happy Caning!

I envy you

Last night, after some really tasty, exceptionally strong vodka blueberries I thought of this:



I may have posted it before. Sorry.

Or not sorry actually. Not in the least bit sorry.

"Broken but not dead, Your Lordship"

Again, Rob Roy is not on Bluray because why??

Friday was the Zometa infusion and I drank about 120 ounces of water before going in and then continued drinking water afterward (with the addition of 2 yummy watermelon champagne cocktails). Thursday night we walked the track and prepared for the weekend with some club soda, pretzels and a box of cherry Pop Tarts provided by my dear friends. Maybe that's why this time everything went well.

No throwing up. No headache. Nothin'. Honestly, when I got out of bed yesterday morning I felt better than I had in a long time. I didn't even have pain in my hip! I was walking upright, eating food, keeping food down -- what the hell was going on? Apparently there's no predicting anything anymore. Think things will be good, they're bad. Think things will be bad, they're good. Whaddya do?

So we walked a mile on the track yesterday and I pulled weeds today. Might as well get things done, yeah?

Oh, I still had the Pop Tarts.

A Movie Nearly Every Night: Never Say Never Again

Never Say Never Again (1983)
Dir. Irvin Kershner
Starring: Sean Connery, Kim Basinger, Klaus Maria Brandauer, Barbara Carrera

"Let's shee, it goesh 1 and 2 and schwing and schtep and..."

The cousin/roommate and I like to watch James Bond movies -- I was going to say "occasionally" but really it's all the time. If they're on television we get hypnotized into watching, and we have them on dvd and Bluray and pop one in whenever there's nothing on TV. He likes On Her Majesty's Secret Service. I prefer You Only Live Twice, but really, there's not a Bond movie we don't like ... oh ... except maybe The Spy Who Loved Me. (I confess a guilty attraction to Octopussy ... I like the circus, okay?)

So when Never Say Never Again came out on Bluray, the c/r bought it right away. I wasn't so sure. As kids we'd gone to see it as a "family event" with dinner in Los Angeles and a trip to Mann's Chinese Theatre, but even then it seemed kind of crass and lacking.

Bond plays for control of the U.S. ... shocking

So I turn to the cousin/roommate to help me with this post, because I'm just not sure I can give it up for the return of Sean.

"I made you all wet.""Yes, but my martini is still dry." ba boom

Honestly, did they drive a dump-truck full of money up to his house or did he lose a bet or what? Connery's a complete post in this movie. - Yeah. Well, he left on very poor terms with Cubby Broccoli. Part of it ... Let's just say he didn't really have a whole lot of loyalty toward the old production. - So he sabotaged this with wooden acting? - I don't know how anybody could read that script without getting depressed because it's really horrible. But I guess he needed the money and he did it. It didn't seem like such a travesty when I saw it first as a kid, but it sure does now. - Good thing the supporting people are around to make it worthwhile.

"The power of Christ compels you to act, kitty."

Max Von Sydow's in it about 5 minutes and look at how he works that cat. He's giving everything to the job, no matter how small. - Actually, I think Blofeld has a smaller part in the original Thunderball. All he does is chastise an employee, kill another and pet his cat. - They definitely made it a bigger part for Max in this re-tread. - Oh yeah. But he was coming off stuff like Flash Gordon, so it was almost like a step up for him.

Confidentially, Sean, I'm intentionally taking up the entire frame.
Hard cheese for you, old man.

We didn't even know who Mr. Bean was back then. - I think this is is first role. It's definitely the first time I'd ever seen him, but he left an impression. - The schtick is definitely there.

"Fatima Blush" in a hat with dagger accents. Wicked.

Barbara Carrera's awesome. She looks like someone you could spend time with at the bar. - So much could be said about poor Barbara. This and Lone Wolf McQuade were the only 2 significant films of her career. She was a Playboy centerfold, did these 2 movies and then dropped off the face of the earth. - Well, she did Dallas later, but I think the real star of the movie is Klaus Maria Brandauer.

He's kind of cute, kind of jolly, kind of evil

No. - Yes! - Klaus? - He's an awesome Bond villain. He's sort of nice most of the time -- his yacht crew likes him anyway -- and he has charity functions for children and then he kills people. - No way, Barbara Carrera steals the show. - Come on, as Bond villains go he's great: he's got the mysterious foreign accent, he's suave, he dresses well, he has a yacht. - That's his strong point is his yacht. Otherwise he's kind of a wanker because he likes to watch Kim Basinger through two-way glass and he's into video games. He's kind of a Euro-nerd.

Play for the rest of the world and your future career...

Which brings us to that game, World Domination, the centerpiece of the movie. It's like Oliver Reed and Alan Bates wrestling on the floor in Women in Love, but these guys use Atari as the go-between. - It's just a pissing match. - But it's so serious and Klaus does this pre-joystick ritual before the game starts: waving his hands around, then in, then back out again to take up the sticks.


And then he's got the after-game hand blowing. He's an improvisational genius. It's the best part of the movie.


No, by far the best part of the movie is the rocket jet pack.


It really brings to the forefront how desperate these people were to show off the gadgets that had become such a part of the later Bonds without even having the competency to execute it or Roger Moore, who was a clown and could have pulled it off with that whimsical smile on his face. Instead we have this ... I don't know ... non-plussed, uninvolved Connery.


Honestly, I'd forgotten about the rockets, but then again the only thing I really remembered from seeing this movie originally was the Kim and Klaus spit-bridge.

eeuw

I'm surprised you're putting so much into this poopy Bond.
Well, anyway, it was better than O.K. Connery.

Here's How It Was Supposed to Work

Platelet Count: 38

So the lads are doing their job. Hurrah for them! And this on 0 steroids. We're all back to "normal" there.

Got the MRI results back. Hip fracture? Torn ligament? Nerve pinch -- just tell me it's MS; I figure I'll catch everything that I charity walked for. Feck, I guess that includes AIDS. Great. Well, I do have that autoimmune thing, so we'll count that. All that's missing from the charity walk diseases is MS. Tell me it's MS.

Nope, just the same old cancer -- oh wait! There are new lesions. Let's see ... that's 5 just on the pelvis and 1, 2, 3, ... well, let's just call them "multiple new enhancing lesions" on my lumbar spine. So it's spreading - and this is just on my lower spine. The MRI didn't go up to the spot on my neck or upper spine, so who knows what's happening up there.

So, Bitey is shrinking and the bones spots are spreading. Is this normal? Pfft, honestly, what do I have that's normal? Cancer with ITP has already put me in a lonely place, now I've got half good/half bad responses to treatment. I can shrink one and grow the others, or grow one and shrink the others. Captain Kirk, is there a way to win the Kobayashi Maru?

It's not so bad as all that. It just means we move from treatment 1 to treatment 2. So long arimidex. Hello old friend tamoxifin. I get 2 months of this and if that doesn't work, then I get to worry (just in time for the holidays!) because then I have to move into chemo. With my platelet levels ... I don't want to think about it. So I won't.

Now, why haven't I called you? Why am I positing it here instead? Well, let's try this. You pick up the phone and call someone you love. Go ahead. I'll wait.

Okay, so chances are they've answered "hello" and you'll say "hi/hey/hello, loved one" and they say "how are you?" and then you'll sit there ... and sit there ... and you're trying to figure out how to tell them, but by the time 3 minutes have gone by of this they'll have figured out something's wrong anyway and will ask you "Uh-oh, what's wrong?" and then you'll either blurt it out "thecancerisspreading" or you'll start with a lie "Nothing. I ... it's just ... well ... we went to the doctor today and..." And the whole time you'll feel like you're bringing them down and asking for something --- asking for sympathy, asking for help, asking them to drop everything and fly up and hug you --- and I can't go through that person-to-person. It requires crying about 15 times and it's too much. I don't have enough anti-anxiety medication to cover it.

That said, I was given the task to keep everyone informed and this is painless for you and for me. It is. If you call me you'll see that I'm right. This is still me telling you, just without the irritating crying bits. If you want to call me, well, tonight I'm going out for cocktails (a lot of them) and Friday I'm getting shot up with Zometa, which means Saturday and Sunday I'll be throwing up in the toilet all day. That leaves you Thursday. Or you can drop me a line here or by email. I'm a lot less pathetic in print.

No. Really.

A Movie Nearly Every Night: The Unintentional Berry Kroeger Double Feature

Gun Crazy (1950)
Dir. Joseph H. Lewis
Starring: Peggy Cummins, John Dall, Berry Kroeger

Man in the Vault (1956)
Dir. Andrew V. McLaglen
Starring: William Campbell, Karen Sharpe, Anita Ekberg, Berry Kroeger

sha-doo-bee, shattered shattered

That's right, Berry as in berry, don't call him Barry. Berry was one of the hardest working character actors in show biz. Sometimes he was credited (Max in The Incredible 2-Headed Transplant); sometimes he wasn't (U.S. Army General in Tora! Tora! Tora!), but he kept working up through the late 70's.

By accident or fate or karma, over the space of only a couple of days I caught two of his more prominent roles: carnival huckster Packett in Gun Crazy and smarmy budget gangster Willis Trent in Man in the Vault.

"You said we could use the pool until you got back."

We originally rented Man in the Vault because it starred William "Squire of Gothos" Campbell as honest-John locksmith Tommy Dancer.

"Dear captain, so many questions. Make the most of an uncertain future."

I had seen part of it on Turner Classic Movies one night when I couldn't sleep and not only was I pleased to recognize the Squire, I also loved the use of a bowling alley as a film noir set. The plot's pretty simple --- will the good guy turn bad to save the girl --- with some kooky twists that aren't especially surprising, but have just enough difference from typical plot patterns to make them interesting.

The "man" actually goes in a vault. I know, weird, huh?

A study in the art of calculated squinting

As Trent, Berry is soft and disturbing. He propositions Tommy for work in a way that ... well, that's like he's propositioning Tommy, and the Squire's got just enough of a lispy voice that between them there's this crazy homo-erotic undertone. After awhile you realize this undertone exists between all of the men in this movie, regardless of how many dames fill the spaces.

One of the "dames"
"That Anita's got a lovely mouth, don't you think?"

John Mitchum as Tommy's bowling pal, Andy, years before linguine made him Dirty Harry's round partner.

It's the interactions between them all -- men and women, men and men, good and bad -- that promotes this from being a typical B-picture to an almost-A. Who cares about the plot? It's what they don't say that counts. You should watch it --

-- although it hardly compares to the mad genius of Gun Crazy.

Peggy Cummins puts one between your eyes.

Talk about sexual undertones! I swear, every time John Dall shoots his gun Peggy Cummins just about jumps on him. So long Production Code! Hello cinema rebellion!

Russ Tamblyn as young Bart.
You'll have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands, teacher.

It starts off with the younger days of Bart Tare (John Dall). He's a good kid. He just likes guns. But he won't kill anything and there's a disturbing prologue to tell you why. After a stint in reform school and the army, Bart comes back and spends a life-changing night at the carnival where he meets Annie Laurie Starr (Peggy Cummins).

Putting down bets - his money, her ring and Berry's job

Berry plays Packett, a carnival caller who works Annie's sharp-shooter show. He's an unsavory character who shares a bad streak with Annie, but it's not enough. Packett can tell early on that he can't compete with Bart. If he could shoot, maybe he'd have a chance, but all he can do is huck the shooter and that's not going to help him hold onto a crazy, violent chick like Annie.

Berry already gets edged out

The carnival shoot-off between Bart and Annie is particularly interesting, especially when they're lighting the match crowns. Annie goes first and misses the last match.

Annie lighting Bart's fire

Bart lights them all and the reaction from Berry is priceless. He knows he's going to eventually lose this one, professionally and sexually.

Berry with some of the worst interior decorating in cinema history

He's broken, drunk, lost without his star/Starr. He can't even stand up straight as she drops him. It's a small role, but pivotal. He's so weak and unstable compared to tall, straight-shooter Bart that you almost feel sorry for him, until he gets back at them later with a desperate, but important public act of revenge.

Unfortunately for Berry, one of the most famous moments of the movie doesn't involve him at all. It's one continuous take as Annie and Bart drive through town looking for a place to park so Bart can hold up a bank. We ride with them for the whole trip, accomplices to the heist, and it's strangely normal since for most of the take they're just looking for a parking space.

It's like riding with your parents (if your parents were bank robbers).

Annie has an uncomfortable moment with a cop outside the bank

Not to give away too much, but continuously robbing people can't go well for long and they end up hiding out with Bart's sister, Ruby. She married young, popped out a family of kids, and has led the poor life of a lonely, but honest housewife. She's what Bart might have been if he'd stayed in his small town and Annie has nothing but contempt for her.

Mom, man and moll -- is anyone happy with their choices?

Ruby doesn't have a perfect life, but she's not on the run either, and you can see it working on Bart's conscience and Annie's nerves. The longer they stay with Ruby the worse Annie gets, her bad-side getting the better of her when they have to go on the run again. It's a tense moment for Bart, a good man in a bad situation, and as they go further and further away from the city and into nature, the dichotomy between the gun crazy lovers expands until there's no way out but ... well, you'll see.

I hope you don't expect a happy ending.

"Am I being tortured?"

Tuesday was an ultrasound -- it was supposed to be an ultrasound and an MRI, but someone broke the MRI machine, so I just had the ultrasound. The radiologist told me "You have very dense breasts." What the? What do you say in response to that? It's like when a nurse told me I had interesting veins. Do these things rate a thank you? Anyway, no cancer in the right breast. -whew- It's just "dense" apparently.

Wednesday I had my teeth cleaned. I hadn't been to the dentist since February, so I had to update my medical history. ("Do you have any changes?" "Uh ... maybe.") When the hygienist came out to meet me she stared at me with big moon eyes and then gave me a hug. I don't willingly hug people I know let alone someone I see every 6 months, so that was awkward. She then asked me if I had taken any antibiotics before I came.

What? No, I'm not doing chemo. It's hormone therapy. It's different.
Well, I still need to check with the doctor.
No, really, I have a hyper-active immune system. See, my platelets ... it's a long story, but I don't need antibiotics for a teeth cleaning.
I'll still need to check with the doctor. (quick appraisal) You look pretty good.
Um ... thanks?

She then treated me like I was made of glass and hugged me again when I left. Dude. No. NO.

Thursday the MRI machine was fixed. Back up the story a little: on Tuesday they "reminded" me that I couldn't have any food or liquid for 4 hours before the MRI. When this was originally set up the nurse told me I couldn't wear any make-up, which I thought was pretty amusing since it's an MRI of my pelvis. But he didn't say anything about no food or drink. New nurse had more appropriate information: "We don't want a cloudy bladder getting in the way," she says. Fine. It was at 8am, which meant I went in with no breakfast and no coffee, but it was going to end around 10 so I figured I could wing it.

But the MRI went on forever and at one point, to get my "bones in the right position" they had to tape my right foot at an angle to my left foot. TAPE IT because I couldn't hold it there myself because IT HURT, DAMMIT, which is why I was getting the MRI in the first place.

Evidence of my participation - tape residue stigmata.
Please pay particular attention to the sparkling red nail polish. (Thanks, Hil!)

I swear I was hallucinating. I don't know if I was talking out loud, but I know I was crying because it hurt like a mother-cusser. Why? Why? Why? And they give you earphones, but all you hear is the bang bang bang of the machine and the technician telling you "This one is 3 minutes." As soon as it was over I walked into Starbucks and asked for the elephant-gun sized coffee and downed about 3 Extra-Strength Tylenol.

So what do you do at the end of a week like that? Well, if you're me you're an idiot and agree to do some physical labor for a couple of days and then you go around the track a few times at the local Relay for Life.

This is a photo of the Survivor's Lap. I'm not in it.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, but the reality was a drag. Here are all these people clapping and showing support and all I can think is "Sweet Jesus, look how many people have cancer." My co-worker reminded me that they were all survivors, but I said they shouldn't have to survive anything. This is wrong, so wrong -- and these are just the people who came. What about those who didn't know the relay was this weekend or who were too sick to go?

I just couldn't do the survivor parade. This is not something we should be bonding over. This is something we shouldn't have in the first place. So I put out a candle bag for Kelly (placed in front of a booth that hosted a team of quilters) and we left before I started to cry.

On the plus side, it was a good chance to show off the Archival Clothing musette in a crowded public place.

Survivor? Indeed. This bag is a goer.