A Movie Nearly Every Night: Grease

Grease (1978)
Dir: Randal Kleiser (yeah, what's he done for us lately?)
Starring: John Travolta, Olivia Neutron-Bomb, Stockard Channing, Jeff Conaway

The chicks will what???

Wow, what a lot of surprises. I forgot this movie had a beginning at the beach. For the past 30 years I've only watched it on television and usually starting at the girls' night when Marty Marachino is writing her love letters to her marines. Danny and Sandy meet at the beach ... oh yeah ... (heh -- her name is Sandy and they met at the beach hee hee hee)

On Bluray it was very pretty. I could almost see my old apartment in Los Feliz through the smog at the end (Whoo! John Marshall High School rules!).

So, let's face it, this movie is meant to inspire nostalgia, and it does. I wasn't alive in the '50's, but I was in 1978 and I sat on the couch in my pink Snuggie sipping Amareto and watched this movie that reminded me of junior high and made me feel like an adult all at the same time. It was a lot more adult than I thought. Kenickie's condom breaks because he bought it in the 7th grade?!? No wonder Rizzo thought she was up the pole. But they imply that a lot of sleeping around went on ("Cha Cha" the best dancer at St. Bernadette's with the worst reputation; Rizzo singing that at least she's not a tease), but Kenickie clearly hasn't had any action since he was 12. So did Rizzo and Danny have a "thing" and what was it? Doesn't seem like they went all the way. Or they did and it only took 15 minutes? It's crazy that we watched this as kids.

Which brings me to the Bluray sound: Like everyone else in 1978 we had the soundtrack, but I didn't really pay attention to it. Not like now. You hear everything on Bluray. Did those girls on stage at Sowers Middle School know that they were singing about a "pussy wagon" when they recreated Greased Lightning at the talent show? Not that it would make any more sense to them than "four barrel quads" and "chrome plated rods" but what about this: "With new pistons, plugs and shocks, I can get off my rocks."

Dude.

Anyway, always a pleasure to see Joan Blondell and Edd "Kookie" Byrnes. Kookie, Kookie lend me your comb...

A Movie Nearly Every Night: Children of Men

Children of Men (2006)
Dir: Alfonso Cuaron
Starring: Clive Owen, Julianne Moore, Clare-Hope Ashitey and the ubiquitous Michael Caine

Photo courtesy of k-punk.abstractdynamics.org

We had to watch it over 2 nights because it was making us manic and nervous. In fact, we started it on Sunday and just got through it tonight, which gives us a night off and I still had to talk the cousin/roommate into putting it back on --- not because it's bad, but because we weren't sure we could take it anymore.

The flu pandemic of 2008? Infertility for 20 years? Homeland Security putting immigrants into cages? Maybe it's the future and maybe it's the present exploded into extreme possibilities. There are plenty of people like Theo (Clive Owen) around now, going through the motions with their coffee and hippie escapist friends, trying to forget the past in a troubling and useless present. Sure, maybe things aren't to this point yet, and maybe they never will be, but what punches you in the gut is how close we are to it in mentality if not actuality.

That and when Theo is looking at his cousin's fancy works of art that have been looted from countries going into the toilet (Picasso's Guernica hangs on the wall) and says "A hundred years from now there won't be one sad fuck to look at any of this." Cahhhhhhhhhhh jaysis it killed me.

I cried like a little girl.

"We all come out like it's Halloween!"

It all started with pumpkin carving and media, featuring a classic episode of Starsky & Hutch...

John Saxon loves you. A lot.

... and some actual carving of pumpkins.

We call the big one Blighty

In preparation for Friday, we watched a little Star Trek on Bluray...

Carving table and Spock preparing to mind-meld with the pizza monster in the background

... because it was a Sci-Fi theme this year. Our hostess was The Corpse Bride.

Our host was Khan.


Which made things a little difficult when the cousin/roommate showed up as Kirk.

Kiiiiiiiiiiiiiirk --- KHAN!

I was a red shirt -- nameless, first to die, etc... My space-age backup is Leela (Professor Fransworth is in the background).

What Sci-Fi theme is complete without The Matrix? I think we all agreed that this was the best costume of the night.

There were cocktails that tasted like Kool-Aid, which led to my all but tipping the punch bowl into my mouth, only to find out from The Corpse Bride that she kept getting distracted while adding the vodka so she wasn't sure how much was in it.

By midnight, things were not pretty.

Yep, that's a corn cob tobacco pipe. I smoked it. I felt it the next day, you betcha.

For more photos check out Wuh Haecker's Flickr link on the right. Eventually I will post ours on the Mine link. (I'll get around to it. I will.)

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.

A Movie Nearly Every Night: Saturday Night Fever

Saturday Night Fever (1977)
Director: John Badham
Starring: John Travolta, Karen Lynn Gorney, Barry Miller

let's throw those heels on the table and see whose is bigger

The story is pretty simple -- Brooklyn kid trying to break out of his dull existence through dancing at the disco -- but that simplicity and the infamous disco explosion that came out of this movie can almost overshadow the seriousness of what's going on. I mean, honestly, it's easy to laugh at the clothes and the dancing and everything that came out of the hype that still surrounds it, but it's also very touching and real, and when they all get on the dance floor in that big group and dance to "Night Fever" I cried.

Here I am/Prayin' for this moment to last/Livin' on the music, so fine

What have they got outside of the disco? If Tony's house is any example, it's unpleasant. His parents snipe at one another ("You never used to hit me ... at least not in front of the kids," his dad says) and the only one everyone admires is Father Frank, who isn't there. When he comes back, no one knows what to do, so they just sit there, dead on the couch.

the collar doesn't really go with the hair

His friends are only out to make it with girls, drink, fight -- knock up their girlfriends who like communion wafers and then not know what to do because they don't love them enough to marry them. And poor Annette, with her married sisters, who can neither be a good girl nor a c*nt, because neither one will get her any kind of respect from the guys she grew up with (and, according to Tony, she can't be both) -- what's out there for her but to get knocked up by someone like Joey or Double J and end up married and miserable?

"There are ways of killing yourself without killing yourself," he says. It's what he's doing every day in Brooklyn. He's only alive in the disco; the rest of the time he's just "staying alive," marking time, waiting until Saturday to come around again so he can forget that regardless of how he feels about everyone else, he's always going to be looked upon as part of a group of animals. Even Stephanie doesn't know what to make of him at first because he's just another guy from Brooklyn. Is he interesting and intelligent? She doesn't know, maybe, then she thinks about it and says yes, maybe, she doesn't know, maybe.

my friends are liars ... my life ... f**k, what now

But Tony is different and, okay, you can say Travolta has dumb expressions on his face, and if you want to judge him the way Stephanie does, it's easy and it's expected. That's how others see him, so that's how we see him, but that's only at first glance, the simple glance, the "disco movie" glance. If you look again, there's always more going on with Tony. He's always thinking about his future --- whether that's the next Saturday or the next 20 years. Unlike his friends who are out for the quick f**k in the car, Tony always wants more, and he thinks it's attainable until he watches the Puerto Rican dancers beat him at the disco. That's when the darkness really settles.

Up until that point he thought he had a chance, that he wasn't one of the gang, and his first reaction is to give up. He violenty tries to "make it" with Stephanie, fails and realizes that going back, being like the other guys in his neighborhood, isn't an option. He's spent 19 years building himself into something else and it's no use to be what others think he is. It's not honest.

He realizes that he's going to have to work a lot harder to get what he wants, and that means getting out of Brooklyn.

A Movie Nearly Every Night: The Dirty Dozen

The Dirty Dozen (1967)
Director: Robert Aldrich
Starring: Lee Marvin, Ernest Borgnine, Charles Bronson, Jim Brown, John Cassavetes

"No, SIR, I will not be shaving, SIR"

So there's pure entertainment, there's the message movie, and there's something that falls somewhere in-between and that would be The Dirty Dozen.

War is hell -- check. But rebellion is cool -- check.

If you believe Sleepless in Seattle, this is a boy movie in the same way that An Affair to Remember is a girl movie, but I'm a girl and I don't really like An Affair to Remember and once this goes on I can't stop watching it. It's like when I discovered that The Three Musketeers were really kind of cool even though it was a boy book. I don't want to be a musketeer, but I wouldn't mind dating one. I feel the same way about boy movies, even ones where the guys don't bathe for a few weeks. I like watching guys do their guy things. That's pretty simple, right?

I also like John Cassavetes. He's intense and crazy and says whatever comes into his head and he's totally inspired as Victor Franco, so much that it's hard to believe he did this movie just to get money to make his own films. There's a lot of love for Franco coming out of Cassavetes, and this makes him a magnet for the audience. Sure, maybe you sort of care that Posey is going to "learn letters," but what you really want to know is: What is Franco going to do next?

Reisman (Lee Marvin) taunts Posey while
Franco (John Cassavetes) cheers from the sidelines

Not that the others are slacking. Even Ralph Meeker makes the most of his short role as the psychiatrist ("You've got one religious maniac, one malignant dwarf, two near-idiots --- and the rest I don't even wanna think about"), and George Kennedy is so amazingly low-key that it's hard to believe this was made the same year he was huffing about "Lucille" in Cool Hand Luke.

But aside from Franco, the one you really care about is Jefferson, played by Jim Brown. He's the only one who seems normal. Even Bronson has some issues and he's something of a post anyway, so, by using the wanting-to-date-a-musketeer standard, Bronson's Wladislaw isn't quite making it. (and Telly Savalas? Maggott?? Are you kidding?) But Jefferson is intelligent, calm, dependable and when you need a guy to ditch grenades down into air vents filled with gasoline, he's your man.

"Blow it, Jefferson!"

It's not a perfect movie by any stretch. You know, maybe it doesn't really make sense that hookers would want to dance with stinky soldiers or that blowing up a chateau of Nazis is going to help the war effort. But it's a good night's fun.

Why I went to Journalism school

Today's Eurosport headline:
Ferrari could dump Raikkonen
+
this picture:

+
this lead:
Team president Kimi Raikkonen has said that Kimi Raikkonen is not assured of racing for Ferrari next season

= editor's day off.

Yeah, no, he's not the president. I was worried about the headline until I got to the page and read the story. No fact checking? No facts to check.

He's on the podium in that shot, by the way, so it doesn't really fit -- Ferrari will drop a winning driver? There aren't pictures of him not giving a %^#@ out there? You bet there are. If I can Google one, Eurosport can. But, more than that, coupled with the headline, it implies an emotion that I just don't think he's going to have if "dumped" by his team, especially since he's been publicly shopping other careers for the past year and a half. What I suspect the photo is actually capturing is (a) a need for sleep; (b) a hangover; (c) a hot day at Spa after just getting out of a 110-degree race car; or (d) all of the above.

A (Hindi) Movie Nearly Every Night: Seeta Aur Geeta

Seeta Aur Geeta (1972)
Director: Ramesh Sippy
Starring: Hema Malini, Dharmendra, Sanjeev Kumar, Manorama

Geeta (Hema Malini) being cute as a button

The quality isn't always great and they sometimes lack the basics of film scholar-aesthetics, but the more I watch of Hindi cinema the more I'm starting to really love the essence of it. Unlike Hollywood, which seems to want to distance itself from its core beginnings of fiction and fun, Bollywood has captured and maintained one of the most basic functions of film: Escapism. Rather than drop $8 and sit down to watch what I can see outside for free, I like seeing something completely outside of reality. Hollywood, since the 1950s, and maybe in small, independent productions before then, has been pushing itself away from that tradition with the idea that film is a mirror on society. Honestly, it's as though we've gone back to the morality plays of the dark ages. Here is what we are and what we should/could/would be.

Just as an example, there are these movies out now (usually with Emma Thompson, but in the case of Dan in Real Life, with Steve Carell), which have single people of a certain age finding that Special Someone usually by luck (good or bad) and realizing that this person is their soul-mate. My mom likes these movies because it gives her hope that I won't be single my entire life. I don't like these movies because I think they're a Disney-fication of hope. Dan in Real Life is not a bad movie, but essentially it's a message-movie: There's someone out there, middle-age people. You'll find them. What if I don't? Then you've lied to me. Or maybe I just not a good enough person -- psychological play from entertainment? Why? Hindi cinema, on the other hand, doesn't preach, doesn't promise and therefore doesn't lie.

Solid Bollywood spectacle cinema doesn't give you expectations outside of its reality (Satyajit Ray ... well, that's a whole other topic.). You walk out of the world and into the movie, and for 3 hours you are somewhere else entirely, I don't care what's happening on screen. The characters could be mafia dons and there's still time for a song and dance. Bad things happen and good things sometimes come of it, sometimes not, but it's total, complete, 100% fiction. I don't know what it's like where you live, but in my town (and my town is weird) people don't stop in the street and sing about their feelings. I don't know that it really happens all that often in Mumbai, but it does in the movies. But it's not going to preach to you. You can be a good person or a bad person, you can be violent and shoot down the bad guys or you can be the bad guy, it doesn't matter. This isn't really happening. It's a shadow-show on the wall. It's a book with pretty pictures that entertains you for a few hours.

Seeta Aur Geeta, by Hollywood standards, is a silly movie, but by Bollywood standards is a big box of wonderful. Twins separated at birth -- one grows up wealthy but unhappy in this nightmare Cinderella-esque house; one is a gypsy street dancer. They switch places and many adventures and situations follow. I won't say I loved every minute of it, because Seeta's wealthy household is brutal at the beginning, but it's worth sticking it out because gypsy Geeta balances the accounts later (hand, belt, boot and ping-pong paddle, that's all I'm sayin'). But for 2-1/2 hours it made me forget about my horrible week at work and living in a nation of narrow-minded jerks barking down healthcare reform.

Friends, sometimes a lie told to combat injustice is worth a thousand truths and here's how we sing it.

And, yes, there is plenty of singing and dancing. They sing about love, they sing about alcohol, they sing about their love of alcohol because it's not real life, thank you. It's the movies.

I kid not

photo courtesy of
farm1.static.flickr.com/163/436620452_883ab0017e.jpg

I wish we hadn't already sent the disc back to Netflix, but this borrowed shot is probably a lot better than anything I would be able to capture from the grainy DVD.

It's more decorative armor than undergarment, I guess, but it kept the bad man off, so done and done.

The Devil's Playground

Sorry, not keeping up on the blog as well as I'm a-pposed to. We did watch another movie over the weekend called Ganga Ki Saugand, but I didn't review it because I wasn't entirely sure what happened in it.

There's this gold-sequined bustier that fits both the love interest and the sister (and then the sister trying to hit on the brother and the weird silver phallic statues that come between them); and this message that violence is bad, but maybe violence is okay if it's good violence, but non-violence is better, but for violent people violence is the only way to solve things, but it's all thanks to the Ganges anyway?

See? I just don't know. It was crazy. We have another Bollywood coming from Netflix today (Seeta Aur Geeta) and maybe it will be better.

Anyway, can't blame it all on The Beatles, although I finally got 100% playing the hard level on "Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds" and that took a lot of practice. But I'm also trying to get through the "nose" section of Tristram Shandy and thinking that maybe John Irving swiped a lot of his style from Sterne. Maybe.

I'm just sayin'.

So idle, but busy at the same time. Go figure.

A Movie Nearly Every Night: Poltergeist

Poltergeist (1982)
Director: Tobe Hooper
Starring: Craig T. Nelson, JoBeth Williams, Beatrice Straight

image courtesy of www.paranomaland.com

I don't have any solid screen shots of this one because it was on Bluray and the cousin/roommate had never seen it before. It was better to let him watch it straight than watch it while fussing with the Nikon. I borrowed the above picture from someone else (http://paranormaland.com/Poltergeistthecurse.html).

Spoiler alert -- although if you haven't seen this yet go rent it now and then read on. It's good. Really good. And here's why:

I've seen this a number of times -- one very memorable time on Halloween with my mom -- and every time I see it there's some new layer to discover. I mean, sure, it's a scary ghost movie and it works that way, but the weird family dynamic and the crazy set design (what's with those stairs?) and the strange ambient sounds just make it so much more than a simple fright flick.

You need a Point A? Start with the obvious birthing of the mother and daughter and work out from there. What's going on with the levels of motherhood -- the mom, the parapsychologist, the medium? What's up with the men? Steven is both a tool that brings about the destruction and a helpless victim of it. The women do everything -- except the teenage daughter whose only purpose seems to be to show that Steven knocked up Diane in high school (mom - 36; daughter - 16) and that they've spent the last 16 years working up to the dream home and the respectable life. But they still roll their own joints, drink and cry a lot, and after the son gets eaten by the tree they leave him standing there alone while they freak out about Carol Anne. What exactly are their priorities? And when the son later rips into that clown, isn't he just doing what his father was unable to do?

There are comments on violence, death and war, generational sexual mistakes, men requiring the use of remote controls and women using the television set controls (why can they just manually change the channel to watch the football game? Why do they have to fight with the remotes?), and really creative uses of light.

Sure, yeah, if you want to get scared, there's plenty of that too. But if you want to make a study of the social structure of a suburban community, I recommend it.

In the end you've got to wonder what the other neighbors are hiding.

Askoa part deux

Yeah, what a shock, he killed a bunch of people and his role as a Buddhist leader through India gets tossed off in a rolling paragraph at the end ("And then Asoka went forth..." and walked the Earf like Caine). Can't blame them really. What's more important: a few more songs or Asoka spreading Buddhism? It's not that hard to figure it out.

Beatles Rockband is lovely to look at. I kept screwing up because I wanted to watch the pretty cartoon in the background, but I think I did my part as an okay George for most of the songs. The cousin/roommate went in for some Expert play as Ringo and survived, although there is a little something inside that urges us to see if Rockband will really allow the Beatles to get booed off the stage. Somehow I couldn't allow it to happen 'though. That's the magic of British pop, friends.

Maybe tonight we'll start the story from the Cavern to Let it Be, but I have to uncross my eyes first. I'm tellin' ya, trying to play and watch the stuff in the background .... man, I thought playing Boston's Smokin' was hard.

A Movie Nearly Every Night: Asoka

Asoka (2001)
Director: Santosh Sivan
Starring: Shah Rukh Khan, Kareena Kapoor, Danny Denzongpa

A somewhat random moment of singing and dance ... I love Hindi cinema

Title change to the blog since Beatles Rock Band arrives tomorrow and that will cut into movie watching, but also because I still haven't finished this one. At this point I'm not even sure when Netflix will be getting it back. It's only 2 hours and 30 minutes, which is short for Bollywood, but it was mom's birthday and we had to go to the market and I'm only an hour and half into it so far and now it's time for bed. I've got another hour, but I'm too old to stick it out tonight. Besides, this first half has given me plenty to go on and I'm pretty sure it'll end in somewhat the same fashion it started in.

See, it's my theory that you can tell the story of any Bollywood film in 5 minutes or less. Actually, if it takes more than 2 minutes, you're just using too many articles and prepositions.

There's this guy, Asoka (Shah Rukh), and he's a prince, and he leaves the kingdom because his half-brother wants to kill him, and he meets this princess, Kaurwaki (Kareena Kapoor), and she's not really a princess, but that's another story, and they get married. Now he's going back to his kingdom because his mother is sick. An hour and a half into it and that's all that's happened. I suspect it will pick up and he will kill some people when he goes home, but if you know your history (and anyone with access to Wikipedia does, come on) you know that he's going to eventually be an emperor and then convert to Buddhism. There's your final hour.

Shah Rukh is lovely and silly and all those things he tends to be in pictures -- and I have no problem with that. If you've got a good schtick you should make it work until the well runs dry. He's got maybe 10 - 12 years left of it, I'd say. Play it out, my man.

Pre-Buddhism Asoka ... he was a violent cheater, but kinda charming

There's singing, dancing, non-kiss love, meaningful stares and plenty of hair swinging. It's everything I expected so far and more.

But, yes, it's a little silly.

A Movie Every Night: La Decima Vittima

La Decima Vittima (The 10th Victim) (1965)
Director: Elio Petri
Starring: Marcello Mastroianni, Ursula Andress

Murder as performance art -- those crazy New Yorkers will watch anything

It's the 21st Century and, if mankind is still alive, he's playing a game called The Big Hunt. Participants are chosen at random from a contestant database to be either the Hunter or the Victim, and you have to be one or the other at least 5 times and survive to win. Caroline Meredith (Ursula Andress -- she's American. No, really) has just finished number 9, number 9, number 9, number 9 and Marcello Mastroianni (playing a guy named Marcello) is on his seventh game when he's picked to be victim number 10. He needs the money having just annulled his wife (still no divorce in Italy??) and had his furniture repossessed.

"If the big hunt had existed in 1940, Hitler would certainly have become a member and there would have been no World War II."

Interesting theory -- so is this a political comment on the state of mankind in the new millennium? Or is it an Utopian vision of modern morality: instead of illegal murder and suicide you can play in the hunt and not only make your life and death an exciting game, but you also get one million dollars if you win number 10. That's right, one millllllllllllllllllllion dollars.

sheep and plaster casts better scurry...

Yeah, maybe it's about that. Maybe it's about kooky interior/exterior decorating and swinging fashion; or maybe it's about the influence of advertising on the lives of everyday people; or maybe it's modern society's need to validate everything through entertainment.

"Don't kill me, Caroline. Without television, wouldn't it be useless?"

Maybe it's about bullet bikinis and the even bigger questions raised by them:

Oh no ... you di'n't ...
you did.

Like where do you load it, and, yeah, come to think of it, how would you pull the trigger?