I watched "The Fantastic Mr. Fox" at long last, and enjoyed it, almost despite it being a West Anderson movie. I say that because Anderson's made a career out of dishing out a certain type of ambiance in his works -- trying out-Salinger Salinger, is how I typically put it. Not so much with "Bottle Rocket," but from "Rushmore" onward, he ladles that kind of quirkily patrician kind of world that conjures up the Glass Family that so occupied Salinger. J.D. Salinger's taut style of writing certainly influenced me in the 90s, when I read most of his books, but to see it served up onscreen (albeit somewhat adulterated by way of Anderson) is, somehow, I don't know -- arch?
He must be a fun and/or indulgent director, as he has his usual band of actors who appear eager to work with him again and again (Tim Burton has that same quality).
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=spCknVcaSHg
Anyway, "...Fox" is fun and enjoyable because while you can't for a moment ignore that it's a Wes Anderson movie, the stop-motion and Roald Dahl source material for it renders it palatable and charming. For example, having George Clooney voice Mr. Fox might seem questionable, since the man is so busy being (or trying to be) Cary Grant Lite that he can't occupy any scene without derailing it -- but since it was just his voice, it lets the character of Mr. Fox come through more than it otherwise would have. Quite the opposite with Bill Murray as the Mr. Badger -- I love Bill Murray, but he kind of overwhelms his character a bit -- you can just SEE Murray in the character so much, which amuses me. Bill Murray is so Bill Murray that even as just a voice, he possesses anything he touches.
The plot of the movie pits the Foxes against three farmers, and it escalates through the course of the story (and, I think, drags a bit in the third act -- I found myself getting a bit fidgety, and being surprised that it's only 87 minutes long -- it felt a bit longer owing to that third act). But it's dryly funny and clever and cute and is a cool effort. My boys loved it and wanted to watch it again and again. I think Anderson was smart to avoid lapsing completely into self-parody with it -- the venue change let him do his thing without it appearing that he was doing his same old thing (and yet, yes, he was doing his same old thing, but I didn't care, because I enjoyed the movie a great deal). The power of stop-motion puppetry! Never, ever underestimate the power of puppets, where kids are concerned!
Oh, and I can instantly irk B1 just by imitating Mr. Fox's call-sign that he does (you can hear it at :04 in the trailer linked above). I do it and he says (in this admonishing, irritated tone) "Dadddddyy. Don't. Do. That!"
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Fauxthenticity
I was pleased to see "fauxthenticity" published. Another word of mine added to the dyslexicon!
Movie: Drag Me To Hell
I watched "Drag Me To Hell" last night (no, not a documentary of my life of the past ten years, although the title does make me think of that) -- and it was fun. I watched the unrated version. I mean, it's GROSS, but it's so over-the-top that you can only laugh at it. Sam Raimi seems to channel "Evil Dead 2" in a big way with it, that kind of madcap, hyperkinetic horror (or is it simply his directing style?) that is Raimi's trademark.
It's quite a contrast from "The House of the Devil," which was far more serious, and was more quietly and earnestly horrific (and with a much-smaller budget), whereas DMTH was just having a good time delivering the shock and awe kind of stuff.
As intended, I sympathized with the cutie Alison Lohman in the role of Christine Brown, hapless loan officer at a bank who denies an old Gypsy woman a loan and gets cursed for her troubles. Things go from bad to worse for her, leading to all sorts of embarrassments and woes.
The diminutive Lohman carried off her role very well, and she literally goes through hell in the course of the movie, which adheres to classic horror tropes throughout. Her boyfriend, Apple pitchman-turned-guy-trying-to-be-a-regular actor, Jason Hill, does his part, although he's always distracting to me. I always think "Hey, Apple Guy!" I'm sure he hates that, but that's what he gets.
Anyway, the movie has some genuinely horrific/gross moments in it, but plenty of laughably scary-dumb moments in it, too (not laughing at per se, so much as laughing with -- I mean, when a would-be sacrificial goat gets demon-possessed and starts spouting demon-speak, what can you do BUT laugh?) Clearly, while wanting to deliver a straightforward horror romp, Raimi and company didn't take themselves TOO seriously. When the little kitten's in the scene, you know what's going to happen -- indeed, I said "Here, Kitty Kitty" almost the same moment Lohman's character did.
I knew where it was all going, but enjoyed the ride, all the same. It's curious for me to contrast this movie with the other one (it's kind of like contrasting the apocalyptic movies "2012" and "The Road" -- while ostensibly dealing with the same subject matter, one is lighthearted and gleeful, the latter is as serious as a heart attack).
Gettin' down and dirty with Alison Lohman.
Which one did I like better? I don't know. This one was more FUN, if that makes any sense, although in terms of delivering creepiness and a generally horrific vibe, "The House..." may have delivered more out-and-out chills.
It's quite a contrast from "The House of the Devil," which was far more serious, and was more quietly and earnestly horrific (and with a much-smaller budget), whereas DMTH was just having a good time delivering the shock and awe kind of stuff.
As intended, I sympathized with the cutie Alison Lohman in the role of Christine Brown, hapless loan officer at a bank who denies an old Gypsy woman a loan and gets cursed for her troubles. Things go from bad to worse for her, leading to all sorts of embarrassments and woes.
The diminutive Lohman carried off her role very well, and she literally goes through hell in the course of the movie, which adheres to classic horror tropes throughout. Her boyfriend, Apple pitchman-turned-guy-trying-to-be-a-regular actor, Jason Hill, does his part, although he's always distracting to me. I always think "Hey, Apple Guy!" I'm sure he hates that, but that's what he gets.
Anyway, the movie has some genuinely horrific/gross moments in it, but plenty of laughably scary-dumb moments in it, too (not laughing at per se, so much as laughing with -- I mean, when a would-be sacrificial goat gets demon-possessed and starts spouting demon-speak, what can you do BUT laugh?) Clearly, while wanting to deliver a straightforward horror romp, Raimi and company didn't take themselves TOO seriously. When the little kitten's in the scene, you know what's going to happen -- indeed, I said "Here, Kitty Kitty" almost the same moment Lohman's character did.
I knew where it was all going, but enjoyed the ride, all the same. It's curious for me to contrast this movie with the other one (it's kind of like contrasting the apocalyptic movies "2012" and "The Road" -- while ostensibly dealing with the same subject matter, one is lighthearted and gleeful, the latter is as serious as a heart attack).
Gettin' down and dirty with Alison Lohman.Which one did I like better? I don't know. This one was more FUN, if that makes any sense, although in terms of delivering creepiness and a generally horrific vibe, "The House..." may have delivered more out-and-out chills.
Drink: Fair & Balanced
I had a dream last night where I invented a cocktail called a "Fair & Balanced" -- in mockery of Fox News and company. In the dream, I was talking with some mainstream journalists, and we were mocking how crappy Fox News was, and I came up with the Fair & Balanced as a cocktail in mockery of them, which the journalists began guzzling. While I'm pleased that my twisted brain comes up with drink recipes in its sleep, unfortunately, I can't remember the whole recipe!
Fair & Balanced
Purple Kool-Aid
Seven-Up
1 shot of vodka
1 shot of Chambord
3 dashes of bitters
Served in a Collins glass, over plenty of ice.
The whole point of it was that it was an unfair and unbalanced cocktail, but I can't remember what made it so.
Fair & Balanced
Purple Kool-Aid
Seven-Up
1 shot of vodka
1 shot of Chambord
3 dashes of bitters
Served in a Collins glass, over plenty of ice.
The whole point of it was that it was an unfair and unbalanced cocktail, but I can't remember what made it so.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Movie: The House of the Devil
I watched "The House of the Devil" the other night, and liked it well enough. An indie horror flick, very self-consciously crafted to appear to have been shot in, say, the mid-80s, with the simplest of touches -- characters' hairstyles, the mom jeans, the rotary dial telephones, the big Walkman -- and it looks very much like it could've been a movie of that time.
It delivered some good atmosphere and some startling moments, although I felt that too much time was spent creating the mood and when things get out of hand, they get out of hand almost too quickly for it to really work properly, in terms of pacing, like going from too little to too much all at once.
Also, the meta-factoid at the beginning basically throws any proper suspense out the window -- not having context for what was happening might've made it work better on the face of things.
As an exercise in cinematic style (e.g., simulating an 80s horror movie), they definitely hit all the marks properly. As a horror movie itself, I don't know if it'll qualify as a classic of the genre.
I don't know if this was deliberate on the part of the director or not, but there's a lot of eating in the movie -- it kind of draws attention to itself, like business for the characters to do. It becomes a little distracting, all the nibbling that goes on. Maybe they wanted the characters to have more to do than just, say, smoke (which some of them do, too). Not sure. But it was a little distracting for me.
Also, the overall conceit of the story was less than I'd hoped for, and the payoff didn't quite deliver for me. Like they ended at both a good and a bad point, saying more by showing less, but also kind of copping out (just because of the rushed elements of horror in it making the payoff feel perhaps a bit contrived).
Greta Gerwig (one of my indie film crushes, right up there with Parker Posey) is in it, in a small role as the protagonist's friend.
It delivered some good atmosphere and some startling moments, although I felt that too much time was spent creating the mood and when things get out of hand, they get out of hand almost too quickly for it to really work properly, in terms of pacing, like going from too little to too much all at once.
Also, the meta-factoid at the beginning basically throws any proper suspense out the window -- not having context for what was happening might've made it work better on the face of things.
As an exercise in cinematic style (e.g., simulating an 80s horror movie), they definitely hit all the marks properly. As a horror movie itself, I don't know if it'll qualify as a classic of the genre.
I don't know if this was deliberate on the part of the director or not, but there's a lot of eating in the movie -- it kind of draws attention to itself, like business for the characters to do. It becomes a little distracting, all the nibbling that goes on. Maybe they wanted the characters to have more to do than just, say, smoke (which some of them do, too). Not sure. But it was a little distracting for me.
Also, the overall conceit of the story was less than I'd hoped for, and the payoff didn't quite deliver for me. Like they ended at both a good and a bad point, saying more by showing less, but also kind of copping out (just because of the rushed elements of horror in it making the payoff feel perhaps a bit contrived).
Greta Gerwig (one of my indie film crushes, right up there with Parker Posey) is in it, in a small role as the protagonist's friend.
Cynical, Cyclical
Sometimes B1 will ask me about something, and I'm torn between giving him the officially accepted(tm) notion of something, and my own cynical take on it. On one hand, I think he shouldn't be burdened with cynicism as a child; but, on the other hand, the alternative is, what, being naive and taking it on the chin?
My life experience to date has made me pretty cynical, I guess. Which is weird, because I still believe in love, in romantic notions -- it's just that I see so little of it around me day-to-day that I think I perhaps adopted cynicism as a kind of armor against the world. It's ironic to me how cynicism attained a negative connotation, and when it did. It walked hand in hand with the advent of industrialism and modernity. Before then, the classic (and accurate) concept of the Cynics was retained. What changed in the world in the 19th century to lead to a negative view of the Cynics?
It's almost like how "conspiracy theorist" evolved as a catch-all term to invalidate a contrary position on something. Like someone can dismiss you by saying "Oh, you're just so cynical" -- without actually addressing what you're talking or thinking about.
Saying something like "It's not what you know, it's who you know" gets you branded as a cynic, even though, in practice, more often than not, it's fucking true.
Anyway, B1 is so sweet, he has this conception of how the world works, and when things don't go his way, he's very reflective about it in a sweet and innocent way -- he reads the best in people (something, sadly, I don't do -- I've been told often enough that I read the worst in people) -- and when people fail him, he tries to figure it out in a kind and rational way, whereas my (ooh!) cynical impulse is to blow it off as a typical result of how people behave toward one another.
For now, I just let him form his own conclusions about things without seasoning them with my cynicism -- for now, B1 can detect my sarcasm rather well and will say "You're just being sarcastic, Daddy." He doesn't yet know that I'm damned cynical, too -- and that I don't think that's a bad thing, either.
There is the way the world works, and the way the world should work, and those ways seldom cross -- and worse, people often fail to acknowledge or admit that this is how the world is actually working. I see that and feel a good deal of pathos.
It's not an easy path to be an open-hearted cynic, let me tell you! My heart isn't hardened by the world, although it should be, given various things I've encountered in my day. I stay young at heart, even while my cynical instincts are always saying "See? I toldja so, Stooopid."
My life experience to date has made me pretty cynical, I guess. Which is weird, because I still believe in love, in romantic notions -- it's just that I see so little of it around me day-to-day that I think I perhaps adopted cynicism as a kind of armor against the world. It's ironic to me how cynicism attained a negative connotation, and when it did. It walked hand in hand with the advent of industrialism and modernity. Before then, the classic (and accurate) concept of the Cynics was retained. What changed in the world in the 19th century to lead to a negative view of the Cynics?
It's almost like how "conspiracy theorist" evolved as a catch-all term to invalidate a contrary position on something. Like someone can dismiss you by saying "Oh, you're just so cynical" -- without actually addressing what you're talking or thinking about.
Saying something like "It's not what you know, it's who you know" gets you branded as a cynic, even though, in practice, more often than not, it's fucking true.
Anyway, B1 is so sweet, he has this conception of how the world works, and when things don't go his way, he's very reflective about it in a sweet and innocent way -- he reads the best in people (something, sadly, I don't do -- I've been told often enough that I read the worst in people) -- and when people fail him, he tries to figure it out in a kind and rational way, whereas my (ooh!) cynical impulse is to blow it off as a typical result of how people behave toward one another.
For now, I just let him form his own conclusions about things without seasoning them with my cynicism -- for now, B1 can detect my sarcasm rather well and will say "You're just being sarcastic, Daddy." He doesn't yet know that I'm damned cynical, too -- and that I don't think that's a bad thing, either.
There is the way the world works, and the way the world should work, and those ways seldom cross -- and worse, people often fail to acknowledge or admit that this is how the world is actually working. I see that and feel a good deal of pathos.
It's not an easy path to be an open-hearted cynic, let me tell you! My heart isn't hardened by the world, although it should be, given various things I've encountered in my day. I stay young at heart, even while my cynical instincts are always saying "See? I toldja so, Stooopid."
Upchuck Truck
I get parent points for last night, for quick thinking while on Emergency Puke Patrol. B1 was a little pukey last night from what I think is the flu (the real flu, mind you, not "stomach flu"). All the coughing I think makes his tummy sensitive. Anyway, he's on the top bunk, and I'm on the bottom bunk, and I'm hearing him coughing (I'd given him cough medicine earlier, but it hadn't kicked in, yet), and I hear him kind of gag, and I'm like "Are you gonna puke, Buddy?" and he's like "Yeah." But I can tell that he's not gonna make it down the bunk in time to reach the bathroom (and Exene's in there showering, anyway), so I snag a plastic dump truck that's in reach and I hand it up in time for B1 to hurl in it. He fills it up nicely, and I'm like "Whew." (because I know B1 would likely just lean over the side and puke over it in a pinch). So, I tell him "Hold the truck; keep it level and steady." and then I ran and got some paper towels and a mixing bowl and he swabbed his face with the towels and I swapped out the dump truck for a mixing bowl. Then I cleaned out the dump truck in the kitchen sink, grateful that the truck had a solid bed in the back, therefore leakproof. Whew! I cleaned it out and sterilized it and left it on the kitchen floor.
The next morning, B2 came in and said "Heyyy, what's my dump truck doing in here?" and I said "Oh, I think the pixies must've taken it for a spin." and He looked around suspiciously, said "Pixies?"
I do feel like writing the company and thanking them for the quality toy dump truck, which proved very good at handling the pukeload of an 8-year-old.
The next morning, B2 came in and said "Heyyy, what's my dump truck doing in here?" and I said "Oh, I think the pixies must've taken it for a spin." and He looked around suspiciously, said "Pixies?"
I do feel like writing the company and thanking them for the quality toy dump truck, which proved very good at handling the pukeload of an 8-year-old.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Transcribed
Alright, so I finished transcribing the screenplay. It's currently 99 pages long, and I've got over a month until the deadline, so I'm well ahead of schedule. Next up, printing it out and reading through it, and then tightening it up and revising as required, then blocking it out and judging the pacing, all of that kind of stuff. Then I'll let some folks read it, see if they like it, try to incorporate their feedback in as timely a fashion as I can, and get it submitted before the June 3 deadline.
I really, really hope I win! Need some good luck for a change!
I really, really hope I win! Need some good luck for a change!
Where's the fun?
I was amused the other day, getting some cold medicines from CVS for B1 -- in addition to the receipt, I got an additional slip saying "Preventing Teen Cough Medicine Abuse." and I snickered at this, which had the clerk (a 20-something) chuckling, too. I said "Can't abuse that cough syrup, now can we?" and he said "I know, right? Where's the fun in that?"
Boys will be...boys?
I'm home with the boys today -- B1 had a fever last night, a chest something-or-other that had him coughing a fair piece, so I'm keeping an eye on him and taking care of him and his brother today. B2 had his usual preschool stuff to attend to.
I also did the dishes, took out the trash, and am in the process of cleaning the boys' room and looking for new jobbage.
While in the midst of this, I hear squabbling in the other room, B1 crying out, and I see B2 astride his brother, B1 on his stomach, with B2 brandishing the ball peen hammer we use to drive the tent stakes when camping. I always keep it high above B2, out of his reach -- but Exene had put all the camping gear in a box on the floor, where B2 could reach it, and he used it to go after his big brother. Lordy. I managed to intercede before B2 could get more than one clumsy blow on his brother's shoulder, but lordy, lordy.
B2 is so much more of a scrapper than his sweet big brother. B1 is much bigger than his baby brother, but he's also so much kinder and sweeter -- it doesn't occur to him to take a rubber mallet and use it as a weapon.
I'm sure households with lots of girls in them have their own issues, but somehow, a household of boys makes a ball peen hammer bludgeoning likelier, no? I'm just glad I got the hammer from B2 before it really became Hammer Time.
Sheesh. I made B2 take a time out and then come out and give his brother a hug and a kiss and apologize for hitting him.
AND, I put that hammer back where I had it before, hell and gone from B2's diminutive-yet-deadly clutches!
I should also add that B2 loves and idolizes his big brother. He just adores him. But he is also much more of a rough-houser than his big brother, and that comes up from time to time.
I also did the dishes, took out the trash, and am in the process of cleaning the boys' room and looking for new jobbage.
While in the midst of this, I hear squabbling in the other room, B1 crying out, and I see B2 astride his brother, B1 on his stomach, with B2 brandishing the ball peen hammer we use to drive the tent stakes when camping. I always keep it high above B2, out of his reach -- but Exene had put all the camping gear in a box on the floor, where B2 could reach it, and he used it to go after his big brother. Lordy. I managed to intercede before B2 could get more than one clumsy blow on his brother's shoulder, but lordy, lordy.
B2 is so much more of a scrapper than his sweet big brother. B1 is much bigger than his baby brother, but he's also so much kinder and sweeter -- it doesn't occur to him to take a rubber mallet and use it as a weapon.
I'm sure households with lots of girls in them have their own issues, but somehow, a household of boys makes a ball peen hammer bludgeoning likelier, no? I'm just glad I got the hammer from B2 before it really became Hammer Time.
Sheesh. I made B2 take a time out and then come out and give his brother a hug and a kiss and apologize for hitting him.
AND, I put that hammer back where I had it before, hell and gone from B2's diminutive-yet-deadly clutches!
I should also add that B2 loves and idolizes his big brother. He just adores him. But he is also much more of a rough-houser than his big brother, and that comes up from time to time.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
There and Back Again
So, managed to squeak out around five hours of fun time with the Boys yesterday, before the storms came. Exene and I pitched the tent and they played, and meantime, the weather got worse and worse. We managed to join in on the dinner -- where B1 got go mad/upset at Exene trying to make him eat some of the cookout food (chicken, in this case) that he puked up what he had eaten, which annoyed her immensely. Nice going!
As ever, I crossed paths with the dads -- in this case, one of whom (a cop, no less) comes up and shakes my hand, says "I can't remember your name" and I gave it, and then he keeps a grip on my hand and starts walking me over to the mess tent -- of course, I'm no fan of being manhandled (literally) so I pry my hand loose of his (prompting him to go "Whoa, whoa, you can't get away that easily!") and he introduced me to one of the other dads and told me to wrangle up some kids to fill the collapsible water containers they had (there were a half-dozen of those high-capacity ones). First off, if you want me to do something, just fucking ask me -- don't try that bullshit faux-friendly ballbusting power-gaming crap on me with your control-grip policeman's handshake shit. That's just plain rude.
I pour one of the water containers to fill one of the hot water pots they're using for the dishwater. Then, I look at those water containers, and having worked with'em before on my own, I know that they get damned heavy, and because they're collapsible plastic, they're very awkward. Looking around at the kids (all of whom are still eating), I think two things: 1) these containers are likely too awkward and big for the kids to handle -- they're little kids, for fuck's sake, and 2) they're all busy eating, so why don't I just handle it, myself?
I take two at a time and walk'em over to the water pump, and fill them up. They're damned heavy, like 30-40 lbs. full. In no time at all, I have'em hauled up and back. The cook-dad I met saw me hauling the last one back, and he carped "You're SUPPOSED to have the BOYS do that!"
Now I'm really fucking annoyed, thinking "Forgive me for being efficient about it and doing it myself, and letting the kids eat. Is this some sacred function or something? Will the kids become juvenile delinquents now because I got the water, instead of ordering some kids I don't even know around and having them do it?"
So, I'm peeved and I leave the mess tent, having played Water Bearer long enough, and getting carped at for my efforts. Around that time was when B1 puked, although I wasn't there to see it.
Anyway, the weather turned sour (really bad, as I knew it would, judging from that radar), and we took everything down (but not before getting soaked -- I drove the Sienna up and had the Boys wait in there while we took it all down). We got completely soaked, and were glad we didn't try to ride it out, as the wind was really strong.
The boys seemed to have fun in the time they had, although B1 was peevish about the storm cutting short the camping, groused about that a bit. Still, we got home ahead of the storm (just ahead of it -- it kicked up about 10 minutes after we got home), and that was that.
B2 took one of the play-tents we have and set it up in the living room, promptly fell asleep in there. B1 played with a flashlight I'd gotten him at Target.
Onward and upward. I'm taking advantage of still having the rental van to make a grocery store run today.
As ever, I crossed paths with the dads -- in this case, one of whom (a cop, no less) comes up and shakes my hand, says "I can't remember your name" and I gave it, and then he keeps a grip on my hand and starts walking me over to the mess tent -- of course, I'm no fan of being manhandled (literally) so I pry my hand loose of his (prompting him to go "Whoa, whoa, you can't get away that easily!") and he introduced me to one of the other dads and told me to wrangle up some kids to fill the collapsible water containers they had (there were a half-dozen of those high-capacity ones). First off, if you want me to do something, just fucking ask me -- don't try that bullshit faux-friendly ballbusting power-gaming crap on me with your control-grip policeman's handshake shit. That's just plain rude.
I pour one of the water containers to fill one of the hot water pots they're using for the dishwater. Then, I look at those water containers, and having worked with'em before on my own, I know that they get damned heavy, and because they're collapsible plastic, they're very awkward. Looking around at the kids (all of whom are still eating), I think two things: 1) these containers are likely too awkward and big for the kids to handle -- they're little kids, for fuck's sake, and 2) they're all busy eating, so why don't I just handle it, myself?
I take two at a time and walk'em over to the water pump, and fill them up. They're damned heavy, like 30-40 lbs. full. In no time at all, I have'em hauled up and back. The cook-dad I met saw me hauling the last one back, and he carped "You're SUPPOSED to have the BOYS do that!"
Now I'm really fucking annoyed, thinking "Forgive me for being efficient about it and doing it myself, and letting the kids eat. Is this some sacred function or something? Will the kids become juvenile delinquents now because I got the water, instead of ordering some kids I don't even know around and having them do it?"
So, I'm peeved and I leave the mess tent, having played Water Bearer long enough, and getting carped at for my efforts. Around that time was when B1 puked, although I wasn't there to see it.
Anyway, the weather turned sour (really bad, as I knew it would, judging from that radar), and we took everything down (but not before getting soaked -- I drove the Sienna up and had the Boys wait in there while we took it all down). We got completely soaked, and were glad we didn't try to ride it out, as the wind was really strong.
The boys seemed to have fun in the time they had, although B1 was peevish about the storm cutting short the camping, groused about that a bit. Still, we got home ahead of the storm (just ahead of it -- it kicked up about 10 minutes after we got home), and that was that.
B2 took one of the play-tents we have and set it up in the living room, promptly fell asleep in there. B1 played with a flashlight I'd gotten him at Target.
Onward and upward. I'm taking advantage of still having the rental van to make a grocery store run today.
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