Tread softly, stranger: Here there be spoylers.

Every February, I get immensely frustrated right after the Academy Award nominations are announced, because invariably I've only seen the barest minimum of the films up for awards. The older I get, the less money we seem to have for moviegoing, and much of the time we'll just shrug and say, "It'll come out on DVD." So, although I love films and always want to hotly debate the Academy's choices, I know that I'm just speaking entirely out of my hat about the vast majority of them.

Still, that's never stopped me from having opinions, nevertheless.

So as long as we all know that I could be completely wrong, let me offer some of my thoughts about our latest crop of nominees, a la Bill Murray. I love ya, now get outta here.

******

Best Picture. Oh, why not start with the top and work your way down. We all know the list has been expanded this year, which is a farce, because I guarantee you that the winner will come from one of the five flicks also nominated for Best Director [more on that category below]. So amazingly, I've actually seen two of the nominees this time round: Inglourious Basterds, which my spellchecker hates, and Up. Of those two, I'd pick Up, because it succeeds on its own terms far more successfully than Basterds does. Sadly, the latter is merely second-rate Tarantino.

I don't think either of those two will take the top prize, though, even though Basterds did nab the coveted Best Director nom. So let's look at the other eight: Avatar, The Blind Side, District 9, An Education, The Hurt Locker, Precious..., A Serious Man, and Up In The Air. Now granted, while I haven't seen these, I've read a lot of reviews and about them extensively, so cut me some slack.

The Blind Side is a film I have zero interest in seeing. It's one of those feel-good movies like Rocky which have been done to death, and it's patronizing to boot. Yes, I know it's based on a true story (I love that "based on". That means they can change whatever the flip they want and still claim it's truth.), but the underlying suggestion is that all black kids can achieve their dreams...as long as they have a supportive rich white underwriter and guide to get them there. Uck. No thanks. I have to believe this film benefited both from the tons of money it made and the expanded BP category. Similarly, District 9 never would've had a chance in hell without those ten slots to fill. Yeah, it looks like fun, and it's a metaphor for all the troubles of South Africa and all that, but basically it's a film about space aliens. Y'know, people, if you'd wanted another SF film in there, why not Star Trek? Fun, thoughtful, and made a ton of money. Oh well. The Coen brothers' film is too lightweight to have a shot, especially after winning No Country For Old Men last year, and no one's seen An Education, which is a shame since it looks interesting [based on a true story, heh heh, about a woman's underage love affair with a rotter in England].

The four other serious contenders for BP are Avatar, The Hurt Locker, Precious and Up In The Air. I have a theory about the last choice: The closer a film is to the actual lives of Academy members, the less likely it is to be chosen. Which film do you think hits closest to home: ten-foot tall blue aliens, a pseudodocumentary-styled look at the Iraq war, a drama about a poor black girl with two illegitimate kids, or a semi-comedy about a guy who fires people for a living? Pity. I'd really like to see Up In The Air, since it was filmed in St. Louis and it looks like an intelligent, thought-provoking, and funny film. It hasn't a prayer.

So now we have three. I desperately want to believe that Precious was nominated as a comedy, but I don't think so. Still, I can't take it seriously merely from the trailer and the summaries I've read. Here's a main character who:

A. Is fat;
B. Is pregnant;
C. Already has one child
          1. who has Down's syndrome;
D. Has been sexually abused by her father (or stepfather) who's fathered the two babies;
E. Has been sexually and otherwise abused by her mother;
F. Who gets AIDS. In the Eighties, which means basically she's dead in a year or two.

I mean, come on. I read an excellent novel just a year or so ago about a black teenage girl who babysat for another teenage girl who has two kids, is on welfare and is still in high school and who's out on her own. She had the deck stacked against her, but she pulled through--and believably. Precious isn't a drama so much as a soap opera. I did find the parody trailer of the film reenacted by two young white actors who loved the film a scream, however. That pointed out just how ludicrous the whole thing is, excellent performances notwithstanding.

So now we're down to Avatar and The Hurt Locker. If for no other reason than the fact that these films were directed by ex-spouses, one of them's bound to win. Hollywood loves inside dramas like that. Me, I'm rooting for Kathryn Bigelow. Her film, from all I've heard, is suspenseful, intense, realistic (although the strategical tactics have been criticized, to be fair), and gets right inside the mind of the main character, who disables bombs for a career. Avatar, on the other hand, apart from the piles of money it's raked in (but it's still only sold about 70 million seats, far fewer than Titanic) and some apparently incredible SFX, has a cliched plot and characters (no screenplay or acting noms, you'll note) and tepid reviews as far as the story goes. When a film's defenders fall back on saying things like, "Yeah, the story's not that great, but the effects--wow!", I know I can give a film a miss. So I'm rooting for The Hurt Locker, made for a fraction of the budget of Cameron's spectacular. Avatar will probably sweep the technical awards, and I wish it all the best in those categories.

[I would like to point out that Titanic had a true-life drama going for it despite its tepid love story, which I think is what gave it all its heaps of awards.]

Phew. Enough of BP. Onward.

Best Actor. Well, we've got Jeff Bridges, George Clooney, Colin Firth, Morgan Freeman and Jeremy Renner. Bridges is predicted to walk off with the statue, and I wish him well, because he was apparently marvelous in Crazy Heart even though the film apparently wasn't so great. He deserves it for his entire career; he was incredible in The Last Picture Show and Tucker. I think it's a shame for Clooney and Firth, since they both seem to have done quite well in Air and A Single Man (a story of a British guy passing during the Sixties; Brian Epstein could relate). I wish that Renner could win for his role in The Hurt Locker, since he's supposed to be stunning, but I think Bridges will walk off with the sympathy vote.

Best Actress. Sandra Bullock, Helen Mirren, Carey Mulligan, Gabourey Sidibe, Meryl Streep. Well, Streep's not going to win for playing Julia Child. If Bullock wins for The Blind Side, I will throw something at my TV. Helen Mirren already won for The Queen a couple years back, and no one's seen Mulligan's film, An Education. That leaves Sidibe for Precious, and although I hate the plot of that flick, from all I understand she deserves the award.

Best Supporting Actor. Matt Damon, Woody Harrelson, Christopher Plummer, Stanley Tucci, Christoph Waltz. Waltz is apparently a lock for his marvelously slinky evil Nazi in Inglorious Basterds. He was one of the best things about that film, so I'll go for it. I hope Tucci doesn't win for The Lovely Bones, because I find that whole novel and film repellent, for reasons I shan't go into now.

Best Supporting Actress. Penelope Cruz, Vera Farmiga, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Anna Kendrick, Mo'Nique. Amazing that Up In The Air has two noms (Farmiga and Kendrick), but they'll cancel each other out. Gyllenhaal hasn't a chance, and Cruz was nominated for a musical, which kills her shot. Mo'Nique will get it for Precious, even though from what I could tell she hammed up her role unmercifully.

Best Director. James Cameron, Kathryn Bigelow, Quentin Tarantino, Lee Daniels, Jason Reitman (Ivan's son!). For the reasons outlined under BP, I'm going for Bigelow, one of Hollywood's few female directors. Daniels might get it since he's black--I know how that sounds, but sometimes the Academy does things like that--but I'm hoping they'll stick it to Cameron and crown his ex-wife the winner.

Adapted Screenplay. District 9, An Education, In The Loop, Precious..., Up In The Air. Again, if Precious wins, my TV will be in danger. I'm hoping for Up In The Air, but I could live with An Education. I know nothing about Loop.

Original Screenplay. The Hurt Locker, Inglourious Basterds, The Messenger, A Serious Man, Up. Oh, I would be so tickled if Up won--it had a marvelous story that made me laugh AND cry--but it won't. I'm just guessing it'll be The Hurt Locker, but Tarantino might steal this category. Still, IB was substandard Tarantino.

Enough for today. A few more thoughts tomorrow, perhaps. Thanks for listening to my unsubstantiated opinions.
 

Satire and humor today, all you listeners out there. Part of what I spent my Christmas dough on was the DVD-ROM, Absolutely MAD. Yes, I am a closet William Gaines fan, I must admit. I discovered MAD magazine in 1971 and kept up with it faithfully until I went off to college, at which point I no longer had enough spare time on my hands to keep up with it. Or maybe I just decided I was too sophisticated for MAD. Probably the latter.

At any rate, for the paltry sum of twenty-five dollars plus tax, you can get 53 years of MAD magazine on this DVD-ROM, and it is well worth the price. MAD was the best satirical comic/humor mag to ever come down the pike. Cracked and Crazy didn't even come close. MAD was at the forefront of both political and cultural humor and satire.

It started a little slow with its first few issues; it wasn't all that funny, at least to me, and it seemed Gaines at first was trying for a blend of humor and straight horror. Wisely, he decided to concentrate on humor, and MAD improved with leaps and bounds. Its first issues were quite different from the current format, resembling more of a comic than the present incarnation. Still, these satires were gems, breaking conventions both in the artwork and in all sorts of humor, from satirical to self-referential. Many of the parodies are still funny even if you're unfamiliar, as I am, with most of the original programs.

In 1955, MAD switched to a more "adult" format more closely resembling the one of today. They still had some kinks to iron out--a lot of written stories and fewer comics--but the satire and humor remained. The era I discovered them in, which of course is their most brilliant era,

According to MAD's art director, the magazine was at its best "whenever you first started reading it."

, featured a number of golden satires on Watergate, Richard Nixon, the Vietnam War and, of course, The Exorcist for good measure. I still remember with fondness MAD's "Gilbert and Sullivan: The White House Follies of 1972", featuring musical parodies of G&S tunes sung by Nixon and his cronies. Another gem was their take on "My Fair Lady" from a feminist point of view, with Burt Reynolds as the hapless macho man to be reformed by Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan. "No man can ban the plan Friedan began!"

The only flaw with this DVD-ROM (which includes all the material up through 2005) is that it will probably take me the rest of my life to read through it all. But when I get bored, I can always turn to Saturday Night Live. As we older fogies know, the current show is a pale imitation of the original, which seems less groundbreaking now than it did then but is still cutting-edge comedy and satire. Well, most of the time.

I just got SNL's third season for a low, low price on DVD, and I've been reliving fond memories of staying up late Saturday nights to watch Dan Ackroyd, John Belushi, Jane Curtain, Garrett Morris, Bill Murray, Laraine Newman and Gilda Radner make me laugh until my sides hurt. Even my kids are enjoying it, although the most topical jokes go over their heads, of course. There are some things that don't age, though, such as the Coneheads, Steve Martin's screamingly funny stand-up acts, Belushi's Samurai and the Olympia Cafe ("Cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger!"). The show has a rawness to it, even today; you can see the shadows of boom mikes and the background slides twitching and the occasional slip-up, which just makes it all the more interesting. Knowing what was happening behind the scenes makes it interesting, too, like the time Chevy hosted the show and Bill Murray got into a fight with him backstage minutes before airtime.

My favorite SNL moment, apart from the immortal Charles Rocket being the first person to deliberately utter that f-word on live TV (it's not on this set), was a musical one. Elvis Costello got up to the mike, began singing "Less Than Zero", got one or two lines in and then began waving his arms, shouting, "Stop, stop! We can't do this." Then he turned to the band, uttered "Radio, Radio", and they began playing an unrehearsed number. Backstage, the censor was going nuts, screaming, "Cut him off! Cut him off!" (He hadn't heard the song in question, which isn't obscene but is quite appropriate lyrically.) The engineer gambled that it would be all right and kept the mikes on, but he had his finger on the button just in care.

That kind of edginess is what I loved about the original SNL.
 

Same as the old blog....

I changed the title because it came to my attention some time ago that someone else had an item entitled "Pure and Easy", with the same descriptive line. Worse, she's a friend of mine. She never said anything, but that made me feel as if I stole the idea from her even though I honestly hadn't known. So I thought about it a while, and finally hit on the perfect Who song to change it to. (I love the Who, if you hadn't guessed.) As far as I know, none of my friends has a book or folder named "Guitar And Pen".

So. Still the same discourse on music, writing, art, films, what have you as long as it's creative. Just a new title. Hope you like it!
 

I'm turning over a different sort of review, but I need to spend some time on research before I begin. So today let me just give you a few capsule reviews.

Star Trek [2009]: My God, I realized I completely forgot about this one in the previous entry "2009: Personal highlights" . The most fun I had at the movies all last year; pure delight. The plot was the usual time-travel conundrum, handled in as believable a fashion as you could want from such a premise. The special effects were splenderiforous, and the direction competent, albeit a trifle bizarre with all the camera flares present. That's not what made the film. What made the film was the skill of the new actors (and the writers) in finding the heart of the Trek characters. I actually like Chris Pine's Kirk better than Shatner's, at least for now. Zachary Quinto absolutely nailed Mr. Spock. Karl Urban was a scream as McCoy. The others weren't far behind, although it took me some time to get used to Chekov with curly hair. Not a misfire in the bunch. Plus, Eric Bana made a marvelously sympathetic (and good-looking) villain, and Nimoy's important cameo almost brought a tear to my eye. Fantastic. If you're a Trekker and you don't like this reboot, then you're a humorless old fart whom I want nothing to do with. Bring on the sequel!

Sherlock Holmes. I liked and hated it at the same time. It's not a Sherlock Holmes film, insofar as Holmes does very little deducting, and he doesn't play fair with the audience when he does. As an action-adventure film set in steampunk Victorian England, it's not bad. I didn't really engage with the characters, though, even though Downey and Jude Law do their best as Holmes and Watson. There are also a few gigantic plot holes, and events are quite predictable. Still, a nice ending fight scene on the (unfinished) Tower Bridge.

Inglourious Basterds. Finally caught up with this on DVD. From Tarantino, it's a major disappointment. The story offers almost no surprises and is too indulgent to be that much fun, except on the visceral level of "Take that, you damn Nazis!!" The dialogue, which is my favorite element in QT's best films, lacks wit and spark. On the plus side, Brad Pitt did a marvelous job as the leader of the Basterds, with Eli Roth helping him chew scenery. There's a Mexican-standoff styled scene which is quite suspenseful. And the bad guys get theirs in the end. Worth a rental, I guess, but it's nowhere near Reservoir Dogs or the seminal Pulp Fiction.

Oh, and my spouse saw Avatar. He said I didn't miss much, unless I wanted to see a comedy. He's spent the last few days recounting all the plot holes to me and laughing his head off. Oh well....

Keep watching this space!
 

I hate Top Ten lists. They always leave out so much. Besides, I see so few movies and read so few bestsellers that I couldn't begin to compile intelligent lists.

Still, there were some things that really delighted me this year, and I'd love to share that list with you with some capsule reviews. Occasionally I previously shared my enthusiasm in this blog; when such was the case, I'll link to the original entry. Going in reverse order of my finds.

*******

Brothers. This is an unassuming film that leaves you with a lot to discuss at the end. Do not be fooled by the trailer: This is not a typical soap opera, and many of the things I expected to happen didn't. Tobey Maguire is incredible as a Marine who is captured by Afghan rebels and forced to do something horrible to survive. (This is not a spoiler, as the trailer makes it clear he does survive.) Jake Gyllenhall and Natalie Portman do a fine job in their roles, and the two actors who play the daughters are completely believable. This movie has a lot to say about post-traumatic stress disorder and is well worth the ticket price.

Under the Dome, Stephen King. This isn't his best book; in fact, Duma Key, the one preceding it, is much better. But Dome is a solid piece of epic entertainment which gives you a lot to think about. With a vast set of characters and some of King's more scientifically grounded premises, it ensures that you'll keep turning the pages--all 1,000+ of them. (Some criticized the ending, but if you accept the book's central premise of what is causing the Dome, I think you'll be able to accept the last chapter or two.)

Adventureland. One of the two sweetest films I saw all year. "It's just my life" 

The Beatles remasters. Holy heck, I've been raving about them most of the year, I know. Here's the thing, though: they sound great. Clear as crystal. It gave me a whole new appreciation for just how damn incredible that group was, from start to finish. The stereo masters are a must. If you're as in love with the Fabs as I am, the mono box is most DEFINITELY a must, even if you have to hock something to get it. Marvelousness.

Up. Definitely Pixar's greatest film since Finding Nemo and maybe their best since Toy Story. The opening sequence made me cry. The ending made me happy. It's rare that a film goes from one emotion to the next. I can't say much that the critics haven't said, but the animation is gorgeous, the characters believable and funny, and the plot interesting. Most definitely for all ages.

Dog Day Afternoon. No, it's not a new movie, but I'd never seen it before. It was fantastic. Not only was it funny as hell, it was also suspenseful and touching. Pacino, as the head bank robber, became Sonny. (This film was based on an actual incident, believe it or not.) What I loved most was that the film presented two gay men as real people, not horrific mincing stereotypes. Highly recommended.

Pinocchio. Classic Disney, looking even better with remastering. "Prove yourself brave, truthful, and unselfish" 

Watchmen. NOT the movie; the novel. "Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?" 

Electric Arguments, by The Fireman. I got it for Christmas 2008, but it spent most of the first part of the year on repeat on my iPod. "Nothing too much, just out of sight" 

*******

Oh, I'd like to point out that 2010 is the LAST year of the decade, NOT the first of a new decade. We still have one more year to go (less a day). Let's hope it shows us the way back up, since the Aughts were pretty Awful.
 

It's A Wonderful Life. A Christmas Carol. Two stories that have become almost legendary Christmas tales. The former, of course, the film by Frank Capra; the latter adapted many times for the screen from the novella by nineteenth-century wunderkind and reformer Charles Dickens. Both of them concern men whose lives are changed by a spiritual intervention, of course. Apart from that, however, I find them both interesting ways of looking at different ends of an unhappy individual life.

A Christmas Carol tells of the mean miser Ebenezer Scrooge, who despises Christmas and those who celebrate it and whose heart is two sizes too small (to misquote Dr. Seuss). Although his partner Jacob Marley died seven years prior, Scrooge has no indication of the path which he treads until he is visited by Marley's Ghost. He warns Scrooge that he is destined for an eternity of hellish penitence unless he repents, and that he will be haunted by three Spirits who will show him the error of his ways. Scrooge is then visited by the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Yet To Come, and through them his perspective is altered.

The one question Dickens never satisfactorily answers, however, is how Scrooge got to be as he is. There are hints of an obsession with money, but what caused it to develop? How could it have grown so strong that he fell out of love with his fiancee and closed his heart to warmth and affection? Dickens hints that young Scrooge's school life was unhappy, but this hardly seems justification for the tremendous shift in his personality between his apprenticeship to Fezziwig and his later self.

Let's move to Capra's film and take a look at a warmer character, George Bailey of Bailey's Building and Loan, a beloved personage in Bedford Falls, New York. George, especially as played by Jimmy Stewart, seems a true saint of a man. He's dedicated to improving his town and bettering his customers' lives by loaning them the money they need to buy houses, much to the disgust of his nemesis, town banker Mr. Potter. When there's a rush on the bank, Bailey uses his honeymoon money to fund his business and keep its doors from closing (without seeming to have any self-interest in the process). Time and time again, he forgoes his own wishes--college, world travel, a comfortable life--to help others. Truly a paragon.

But there is a darker side to George Bailey. He seethes, inwardly and sometimes outwardly, about the sacrifices he's required to make. He resents Bedford Falls for holding him back, and his family for tying him down. He slowly grows angrier and angrier, until a crisis to the building and loan, caused by his uncle Billy's misfortune in losing the deposits, causes him to explode. He shouts at his children on Christmas Eve, breaks models he's had for years, and storms out of the house in a fit of despondency. Eventually he ends up on a bridge, bent on suicide. That's when Clarence, an angel, intervenes, and gives him a vision of what Bedford Falls would be like if he had never existed.

What fascinates me about these films is the connection I see between Scrooge and Bailey. The former is miserly with his money, and the latter with his spirit. Bailey cannot see that his life is full of good and happiness; he only sees the opportunities lost. Even though he seems to be a giving man, he has not fully given of himself. This makes him in as much need of redemption as Scrooge.

Scrooge, of course, is changed both by seeing the miserliness of his spirit examined both by Past and Present Spirits and by the vision of the future which might be in which he dies unloved and unmourned. In contrast, Bailey sees a vision that never could be, an "alternate history" with life as it would be if he had not been present to influence it. The world without George Bailey is dominated by the mean banker Potter (quite Scrooge-like himself): obsessed with money, uncaring of people, cold and with many people worse off. Like A Christmas Carol, It's A Wonderful Life's turning point takes place in a graveyard. Scrooge is given a vision of his own tombstone, while George sees that of his brother. Both men are devastated, and vow to change. At that point, both resume their former lives, with a rush of relief and happiness. The scenes in each film in which they frolic about crying and laughing always make me laugh through tears.

Many people don't care for Capra's vision of humanity in It's A Wonderful Life. They say that Bailey makes too many sacrifices, and that Bedford Falls is trapped in a pastoral vision that is narrow and exclusive. There is some point to these charges. I think, however, that the central idea of both Life and Carol is to show a man with blinders the error of his ways. Ebenezer Scrooge and George Bailey, though at first quite different in appearance, are really brothers in sin under the skin. Thanks to Dickens and Capra, however, they are given a second chance.
 

Today is the thirty-ninth anniversary of the greatest album John Lennon ever recorded: John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band. It was his first true solo album, and it still hits you like a crack over the head, or a Primal Scream, as it were.

John and Yoko got into Primal Scream therapy around the same time the Beatles broke up and they kicked the heroin habit. They claimed it helped them a lot. I don't know if the effects lasted, but it produced two fantastic records (yes, Yoko's version is great, too, but it's a different kettle of fish). John wrote a batch of songs dealing with his unhappiness and anger toward his parents, the world, God, Beatles fans, and almost everyone else. He also slowed down occasionally to let some of his tender feelings out.

Phil Spector coproduced this record, which is amazing considering its sound. No "Wall of Sound" production a la All Things Must Pass here: most of the tracks feature only Lennon's guitar or piano, Klaus Voormann's bass playing and Ringo's drums. Minimalist music, which as one critic said, doesn't cut; it bites.

"Mother" was the initial single, which flopped, but it's a powerful confessional. The rhythm is tight and slow, and John plays piano chords and sings over the top with anguish in his voice. When he lets loose with screams on the fade-out, it sends chills down your spine.

Other standout tracks include the (in)famous "Working Class Hero", in which John plays solo acoustic and criticizes with the f-word for all to hear. "Love" is the most gorgeous track, on which Phil Spector plays piano quite delicately; but even here, you can hear pain behind the soft vocal. "Look At Me" came from the White Album era, and it's a lovely piece in the vein of "Julia". "Who am I supposed to be?" John asks plaintively.

"Well, Well, Well" is probably the closest to Yoko's work John's gotten musically: it has a full chorus of screams on "WELLLLLL!!" over a fast, hard-driving rock beat. The playing of the ensemble is amazing. John has only played better guitar on Yoko's records.

"God" is the real stunner. With Billy Preston on soulful piano, Lennon goes into a catalog of people he no longer believes in, ranging from Kennedy to Buddah to Elvis and finishing up with, of course, the Beatles. "I just believe in me...Yoko and me...and that's reality." It capped an entire era, warning us that there was no going back. The almost demo track, "My Mummy's Dead", sung to the tune of "Three Blind Mine", will really creep you out.

If you can only buy one album by John Lennon, this is the one you should get. Most people will find Imagine or Double Fantasy easier to take. But John never got more direct and personal than he did here.


 

Art criticism has a popular long-standing theme. We've all heard it before, and depending on how old you are, you usually come down on one side of the line or the other. It boils down to this:

It's all been done before. Nothing new is any good.

Case in point: The New York Times, with this article: http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/11/24/the-end-of-music/

Now, I find it very difficult to answer Mr. Branca, since I know little or nothing about modern classical music. You can surely believe, though, that I've heard the same argument put forth concerning rock and roll. It's been kicking around since at least the Fifties. In fact, I was so certain that rock was dead and not coming back in 1992 that I began writing a novel about its demise. However, Nirvana and the whole Seattle scene sprang up as I was working on it, so I knew its time hadn't come yet.

I have mixed feelings about the you-can't-really-do-anything-new idea. On the one hand, I certainly don't believe that new artists, be they classical, rock, country, jazz or whatever (this goes for art, too) have absolutely nothing to bring to the table. Rock has gone underground, but it's not dead by a long shot. On the popular side, you have the bands like Nickelback (God save us) to show the way. If you prefer something with more stamina, you can tune in to the college stations and catch Wilco, Andrew Bird, Arcade Fire, Regina Spektor, Death Cab for Cutie and a whole bunch of twenty-first-century artists who are making marvelous music.

There is something to be said for older music, though. Recently I checked out Elvis's My Aim Is True from the local library, an album I'd never heard except for the hits from it. What a debut record. Mr. Costello really lets loose on that record, with some of his most focused and biting lyrics. (Did you know the backup band is the News minus Huey Lewis? Go figure.) And, you know, as much as I like today's stuff, it sometimes pales in comparison to an album like this.

I have to be fair, though. The same year Elvis's debut came out, a whole lot of schlock came out with it (ABBA, anyone? Gag.). Time filters out all the crap and leaves the diamonds behind. So it shall surely be with the current scene. If we're still hearing Ms. Spears and Beyonce on the radio twenty years hence, I will be quite surprised. Could happen, though. Madonna's still hanging around (and I actually kind of like her earlier stuff).

All I can say to Mr. Branca is, don't give up. Movie soundtracks are probably the future of classical composers. Look at Max Steiner and his work, or Bernard Herrmann. They won't be forgotten. I'm betting on Alan Silvestri, the guy who did the music for Back To The Future and so much of Zemekis's work, to be remembered, too. And John Williams. Time will tell.

(BTW--who is finding this blog from outside WDC? I'm getting most of my audience from unknown sources. Glad you like it.)
 

I will spend a good part of today making pies for our dinner tonight. I've been requested to make two: apple and pumpkin. Part of me rebels at confining myself to two such traditional recipes. "Why not apple-blueberry?" I asked; that's one of my favorites. "Or lemon meraingue?" (I can't spell it, but I love it, and it's a personal challenge since I've only made it once.)

No. Nothing will do but apple and pumpkin.

Sigh. So I'll make the traditional pies, and it'll all be good because I love apple, anyway. Still, pie-making is one of the great loves of my life. This is ironic since for the first twenty-some years of my life, I didn't much care for pie and never baked any. It was too hard. Cakes were much tastier, and easier.

One thing you learn upon marriage, however, is that sometimes you just want to learn new things to make your spouse happy. My particular spouse loves pie. Especially fruit pies. Homemade, not the boxed kind, although he'll eat that in a pinch. So he did his best to teach me to make pies, and that really means learning to make crusts. Any fool can whip up the filling without too much trouble. It's the crusts that are the challenge.

I know what most of you are thinking: Why not just buy a pre-made crust? It's so much easier. Because pre-made crusts taste like cardboard. A homemade crust is flaky and melts in your mouth. It's crunchy but not tough. It gives the pie texture and a solid base for the sweetness of the filling. It's marvelous, and something that must be learned. No one makes a perfect homemade crust for her first pie.

I certainly didn't. My first crusts were either tough or soggy. But I persisted. I mixed the flour and salt, then cut in the shortening, using two knives back and forth to divide it into pea-sized lumps until my hands ached. Then the water, a tablespoon at a time, mixing it in to the flour with a fork and pushing the resulting dough to the side of the bowl. Finally, I got a crust that looked horrible--rolling it out was still a battle, and the top had patches where I'd applied bits of dough to cover the holes--but it tasted amazing. That was the beginning.

I learned tricks, like refrigerating the water to make it nice and cold. Even better is to use milk--skim or whole, depending on how decadent you're feeling. That gives the crust even more flavor. Using butter-flavored Crisco also makes it divine, but regular will do in a pinch. I don't use lard. Too much fat. Not that pie crust is a healthy thing under any circumstances.

The filling, as I said, isn't nearly as difficult, but it can be time-consuming. Peeling all the apples and slicing them, for instance. Or pitting cherries for a cherry pie. I admit, I tend to fold there and use the canned cherries, but I'm not a big cherry pie fan. Pumpkin, too, requires the canned pumpkin. We tried to make a pumpkin pie from scratch once. Ugh. Never again. It was awful. Chocolate pies are easy--just use pudding--but only one family member really likes them. Maybe someday I'll make one from scratch. Wow. Talk about calorie consumption. Lemon pies are tough, not because of the lemon, but the white stuff on top which I can't spell. If you don't whip the egg whites just right, it melts into a shapeless white liquid all over the pie. Not good.

I'd include a pie recipe, but since they're all copyrighted, I don't feel right about copying them. But for great reading and pie recipes, I recommend this book:

American Pie: Slices of Life (and Pie) from America's Back Roads, by Pascale Le Draoulec. She's a French native who moved to the States and discovered the glory of pie, so much so that she drove around the country gathering recipes. Great tales, although I wanted to slap her when she tried to crash a family's Thanksgiving and didn't take the hint that she wasn't welcome. I guess that's the kind of persistence that gains the real finds.

To you Americans, have a happy Thanksgiving. Let me leave you with a poem I composed last year which I call Easy as WHAT?!

It surely isn't pie,
That's the world's biggest lie.
Takes an hour and a half
During which you never laugh.
At first, you think, "This isn't hard."
You get the flour and the lard,
Apples, spices, sugar, pans.
You make out all your plans.
Mix the sugar and the spice--
So far, seems pretty nice.
Wash the apples, then start peeling,
Now you begin to hit the ceiling.
Takes forever and a day
To get one apple peeled away.
But you've got three more to go,
So you struggle to and fro,
An apple slips, you clutch it tight,
Then you get an awful fright
When it almost hits the floor.
It's not "easy", that's for sure.
You take the peeler and start peeling,
Almost ready to hit the ceiling.
Before you know it, the peeler slips,
The blood then slowly drips
And you've got to rinse it off,
Get a Band-Aid, then you cough,
Rinse the apple, grab the knife,
And start slicing for dear life.
Before you're done, you're wounded thrice;
No, it isn't very nice.
At last the filling's done--but wait!
You've got the pie crust to create.
Flour and salt--OK; then cut in
The lard; don't slice too thin.
A spoon at a time comes milk.
Blend it in as smooth as silk.
Not too much, or it's too tough!
Crumbly? Then it's not enough.
It's a fine line 'twixt great and rotten.
Wait a second! You've forgotten.
Roll it out with lots of flour
Or it'll stick with glue-like power.
Although your back's now breaking
From the time this all is taking,
Get it in the tin--that's good.
Never looks the way it should.
Filling in, then crust on top.
You forgot the butter! Stop!
Take the top off and insert it,
Put it back on though you've hurt it.
Straighten it any way you can.
No, this wasn't in your plan.
Think you're done? Just the foundation!
Brush milk on your creation,
Sprinkle sugar, cut some slits.
Even though it gives you fits,
Heat the oven and insert.
Breathe a sigh; inspect the dirt.
An end to all your toil--
Look out! You forgot the foil!
Around the edge it goes,
Now an end to all your woes.
But it's time to clean the kitchen,
With no end to all your bitchin'.
No, pie sure isn't easy.
In fact, it makes my stomach queasy.
Still, the end result is tasty.
It's a worthwhile type of pastry.
 

Some time ago, I posted this survey on Writing.Com:

ID: 1577836   (Rated: 13+) Title: Body Image Perception  Description: How do you perceive the human form, male and female? By: Lynn McKenzie

If you haven't already participated, feel free to offer your opinions. You can even do it anonymously, if you're shy.

I was genuinely curious to know what people thought of nude male and female bodies--whether they believed them beautiful or repulsive. My own experience gave me the indication that many more people thought of women as beautiful and men as slightly disgusting, but I personally didn't (and don't) believe that to be true. So I set up the survey to see if people's perception of body image seemed to be affected by their sexual orientation. In my opening summary, I stated:

I am interested in finding out what people think of the naked human figure, both male and female, and whether or not this relates to their sexual orientation. I'm not simply asking whether or not you're attracted to a man or woman; I want to know if you think an idealized figure of a man or a woman is artistically beautiful/handsome or ugly, or neither.

The results I've received so far have been eye-opening in some ways. Here are some statistics:

Far more women have responded than men--12 to 6 so far. I'm unsure as to why, except that women far outnumber men here on WDC. I'd love to hear from more men.

The overwhelming majority of respondents were straight--14. 3 were bisexual, and 1 identified as asexual (unattracted to either sex). No members responded who identified themselves as gay. Again, I'm unsure about the reason for this. If there's anyone out there who identifies as gay, please give my survey a chance--I'd love to hear from you.

Most people found both men and women attractive, but women won easily over men. 9 respondents thought men handsome, whereas 13 of them found women beautiful. This did not surprise me.

Almost no one thought men or women ugly. HOWEVER, men did get 1 vote for ugliness, whereas no one thought women were ugly. Sigh. More on that later.

A surprising number--at least, it surprised me--of people thought men and women were neither beautiful nor ugly. 8 votes for men being neither, 5 for women. I tried to stress that I was looking for the "ideal" form, but a fair number of people, particularly in the case of men, seemed to reject the idea that there could be an ideal form.

Straight women seemed to have no problem in general finding women attractive, but straight men (5 of the 6 men fell into this category) had a much harder time considering men handsome. Only one man of the six found men to be handsome; all but one of the rest found men neither handsome nor ugly. The one "ugly" vote for men came from a straight guy. I actually expected more.

Another surprise, and disappointment for me, was how many women found guys to be neither handsome nor ugly. Seven women of the 12 voted for "handsome". This really opened my eyes to the fact that women aren't really going by looks as much as other things, perhaps.

Of the three bisexual respondents, none found men handsome, and only one thought women beautiful. Interesting.

The respondent who identified as asexual found neither men nor women handsome or ugly. This indicates to me that the sexual response probably is functioning to some extent in our perception.

I don't want to share the comments I got since the respondents might not appreciate it, but I will say that a fair number of people chose not to amplify on their answers. Of the ones who did, they tended to note the differences between men's harder bodies and women's more rounded and softer musculature.

In closing, I just want to throw in my own opinion that both men and women are simply gorgeous. I think people get more easily embarrassed by male nudity than female, perhaps due to their awareness of the penis so plainly visible, denoting men's sexuality to a much greater extent than women's. Still, there is nothing repellent about a naked man in my eyes. The Greeks certainly didn't think so, nor the Renaissance artists. Look at this image and then try to tell me it's not breathtakingly beautiful:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_%28Michelangelo%29

And to give women equal time, this one:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venus_of_Urbino

(Unfortunately, that's not the best reproduction out there, but you can find others.)

These images, to me, would encapsulate my "ideal" male and female naked figures. There are others just as wonderful, but people need to open their eyes and not fear the nudity. God made us this way. Celebrate.
 

Should have done it last week, but a classic poem is classic any time of year. Today I'll take a look at one of Edgar Allan Poe's finest works, "The Raven". Although many of us are at least familiar with the croaked chorus of "Nevermore", I doubt many people nowadays really understand the entire poem, or even try to. As an English major, I consider the art of translating poetry into understandable meaning a challenge. Here's to it. My comments are in italics.

*******

The poem's structure is trochaic octometer; eight feet per line. The rhyming structure is AA,B,CC,CB,B,B with the internal rhymes in each line. The "B" rhyme is always "Nevermore".


Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore —

"Forgotten lore" indicates something such as the dark arts, which makes us think of spirits in this context, perhaps. If we don't now, we soon will.

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visiter,"

This is not a typo. Spelling has changed since 1848.

                    I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —
          Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

December, of course, is when the days are at their shortest. Traditionally it was associated with dark magic.

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

If it's not clear (and it wasn't when I first read this poem), Poe's talking about the embers of the fire glowing upon the wood of the floor's planks.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;

"Morning", in other words; the next day--

                    — vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow —

He's reading, trying to forget his suffering.

                    sorrow for the lost Lenore —

Poe wrote a couple of other poems mentioning "Lenore". Was it a code word for a woman whom he loved, perhaps?

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
          Nameless here for evermore.

The italics on "here" really send a chill down my spine each time I read this.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

The window curtains, fluttering in the breeze. Purple is a color associated with royalty, and with death.

Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door —
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; —
This it is and nothing more."

Haven't we all done that? Said to ourselves, "It's just the radiator" to some strange sound?

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"—

What he means is that he wasn't sure he heard someone rapping.

                    here I opened wide the door; ——
          Darkness there and nothing more.

If you've seen the famous Halloween Simpsons episode, you remember that Bart asks rhetorically, "You know what would be scarier than nothing? Anything!" I respectfully disagree. This heightens the tension.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

You may have noticed the alliteration with phrases like "Doubting, dreaming dreams" and "entreating entrance". Some critics don't like it. I think it works well.

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" —
          Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is,

What that is there.

                    and this mystery explore —
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
          'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance

Deferential respect.

          made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien

Manner.

          of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —
Perched upon a bust of Pallas

Pallas Athene being the goddess of wisdom.

                    just above my chamber door —
          Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

In other words, the Raven is serious, and this makes the narrator smile.

"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,

The bird is not a coward.

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore —
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"

Pluto is the god of the Underworld, or death.

                    Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

Never again; never. Perhaps some of these seem obvious, but believe me, they all add up to a mess of misunderstandings, which is why I'm explaining them each.

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
          With such name as "Nevermore."

He's amazed that the bird can speak, but he doesn't attach any meaning to its reply. This will soon change.

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered —
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before —
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
          Then the bird said "Nevermore."

This is when the narrator begins to believe that the raven is not just croaking without meaning. He interprets this to mean that the bird will never leave him.

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore —
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
          Of 'Never — nevermore'."

In other words, it means nothing. The bird just learned this word from a previous owner who was so melancholy that "Nevermore" was his constant refrain.

But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore —
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
          Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

He's sitting before the raven, trying to understand what it means.

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
          She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Once again, his thoughts turn to Lenore and how he misses her.

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

Seraphim are messagers from God, the highest order of angels. They come with the scent of myrrh, perhaps, which again signifies death.

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite — respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;

Nepenthe was a drug to induce forgetfulness. The narrator claims that the angels have sent the raven to give him respite and relief from his memories. "Quaff" is to drink.

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
          Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! —
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

The Tempter would be the devil; a tempest a storm.

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted —
On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore —
Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!"

The balm of Gilead is mentioned in Jeremiah as a cure for all ills. The narrator's pleading to know if he will ever be healed of his grief.

          Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

This repetition is deadly and harrowing to read. We want the narrator to find peace, but the raven manifestly denies the possibility.

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore —
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

This seems to refer to the Garden of Eden.

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
          Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting —
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
          Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
          Shall be lifted — nevermore!

To hear James Earl Jones read that last stanza in The Simpsons Halloween Special is truly to hear the full horror of the narrator's fate. To sit beneath the bird's shadow, his soul in agony, thinking of his lost Lenore forever.
 

Godel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid, Douglas R. Hofstader. © 1979 by Basic Books, Inc.

******

Kurt Godel was a twentieth-century Austrian mathematician who proved that all systems of mathematics which are consistent will include undecidable propositions. M.C. Escher was a twentieth-century Dutch artist whose lithographs play with our preconceptions of reality. Johann Sebastian Bach was a seventeenth-century German baroque composer and organist whose works broke ground technically and artistically.

What do these three men have in common? That is the theme of Hofstader's book, a masterpiece of modern philosophy which won the Pulitzer Prize.

Hofstader, a specialist in artificial intelligence, deals with a number of concepts in GEB: mathematics, computers and computer programs, music, Epimenides' paradox ("This sentence is false", a key concept in Godel's Theorem), our perception of intelligence, logic, Zen, molecular biology, translation and many other passing fancies, all of which he ties together brilliantly. Summarizing this book is nearly impossible, but it's an interesting and delightful journey throughout.

Of particular interest to mathematically challenged readers are the Dialogues interspersed with the narrative, which help illustrate the many points Hofstader makes. Most of these Dialogues feature Achilles and a Tortoise, who converse about various ideas in an interesting and amusing fashion. For instance, the first Dialogue uses these two characters and Zeno (a Greek philosopher) to explain why Achilles can never beat the Tortoise in a footrace. (Basically, since he has to cover the distance each moment that the Tortoise continues to move, he can never actually reach the Tortoise.) The second Dialogue, by Lewis Carroll, uses logic to explain why logic can't be used to prove anything. It's all intriguing and thought-provoking, although some may argue that it's just silly. My own feeling is that anything that provokes discussion can never be silly.

I must admit that there are large chunks of this book which I don't fully understand. Hofstader deals with some difficult concepts, and although he does his best to make them clear, they're of such a difficulty level that they remain fuzzy. However, the more I read, the more I understand--and this book was written to be read again and again.

I apologize; I hoped to write a better review of GEB, but it encompasses so much and does it so intelligently that I can't hope to give you more than a glimpse into its beauty. Highly recommended for everyone, even if much of it may seem obscure at first. Take your time. Read slowly. Enjoy.
 

I'm blowing my own horn today.

I had the idea for this story some time ago. I entered a difficult contest, "WYRM's Gauntlet--off season" , knowing that if I made it all the way to the finals that I'd have to write two stories. One had to be "spec fic", or some form of fantasy/science fiction/horror story. The second could be any genre.

Knowing going in that I'd have to write stories, I had a couple of ideas in mind for the spec fic story. Both of them, strangely enough, were inspired by my latest collections of Beatles music. You can find the first here, which I adapted to suit the prompt: "Living In Stereo" . Lest you think I may have cheated, let me reassure you that I didn't begin actually writing the story until the prompt was posted. As I said, I had two stories in mind, and I just chose to write the one which fit better with the prompt. It worked; I got to the next round.

Now I'm in the finals, and therefore I had one final story to write. I considered penning the next installment in my secret agent series (Jonathan Black, who has a folder all his own in my port if you're interested), but I didn't think that would go over well with this group. They're all fantasy lovers, you see. So I decided to use my other spec fic idea.

Before I actually began writing, my daughter and I attended a Regina Spektor concert. It was marvelous. She's a singer/songwriter/pianist with tons of talent and a quirky sense of humor. So for the encore, she played her song "Samson" solo on piano. And at the line "Beneath the stars came falling", the stage came up in a galaxy of stars over the backdrop and piano and walls. It was gorgeous. I knew I'd found my title, even if it's a little off topic.

If you're interested, I'd love reviews. I like it. I think it has a marvelous sense of wonder.

ID: 1604127   (Rated: ASR) Title: Beneath The Stars Came Falling  Description: A meeting of minds. Thanx to Regina Spektor for the title. By: Lynn McKenzie

(Oh yes--I have to turn it in Monday, October 12th, at 10 PM EDT. So if you could review it before then, it'd help. )
 

Adventureland, 2009, Jesse Eisenberg and Kristen Stewart. Directed and written by Greg Mottola. Rated R for drug use, profanity.

*******

This is one of those movies that moves right into my heart and curls up for a long stay. Set in 1987, which is probably a good part of the reason why I love it so, Adventureland is a story that talks about young people without making fun of them or idolizing them. Its hero, James Brennan (Eisenberg), has just graduated from Oberlin with a degree in Comparative Literature and Renaissance Studies, which doesn't help him get a summer job when his plans to tour Europe fall through. He ends up taking a job at the local amusement park in Pittsburgh, Adventureland, a family-oriented place which is not of particularly high quality. There he meets Em (Stewart), an intelligent and beautiful girl who seems to like him, but has family and relationship issues. The rest of the movie follows their relationship over the summer and is a typical coming-of-age story. What isn't typical are the characters.

James is a young man who's a virgin, but actually wants to fall in love with a girl before he has sex with her. Not that he doesn't have a sex drive; he's quite attracted to both Em and the gorgeously sexy Lisa P., who works in rides. But he's thoughtful, considerate and unaggressive, all of which make him unusual in today's typical comedy. His friend Joel is also intelligent, with a cynical wit which makes him one of the funniest characters in the film; but he realizes his own limitations with girls:

"I'm not a good-looking guy, and I'm poor. Girls aren't going to go near me when there's all these...yuppies around."

Every character in this film is outstanding in a different way. James' "best friend", Frigo, routinely punches James in the groin when leaving him and is a complete and total jerk. Connell, the maintenance guy who looks a lot like James Dean and who has a way with young women, is completely manipulative and phony, yet cares about his mother and comes away as worthy of our pity. Lisa P., at first the typical sexy stupid easy lay, turns out to be not as easy as we think, and is surprisingly nice. Bobby and Paulette, who run the park, are a scream as people who cut every corner to do everything they can to avoid having to give out "a giant-ass panda"; but Bobby comes through in a clinch for James when a customer is chasing him with murder on his mind. James and Em's parents, though in small roles and not terribly sympathetic, manage to stand out and act like real people instead of stereotypes for the most part. Stewart as Em is particularly brilliant; she's vulnerable, likeable, sarcastic and confused, but in the end, although she makes some bad choices, her love for James wins out. Stewart should get out of the Twilight series as fast as she can and stick to roles like this. She probably won't, which is a pity.

This is a comedy without big bellylaughs, but it has a sharp, quiet wit and love for its characters which really make it special. The dialogue is a scream. I long to quote you lines of it, but I don't want to spoil them for you. Just trust me when I say people with a brain will love it.

I loved the Eighties setting, of course, but my teenage daughter loved the film just as much because it's true to the way young people act and think. Yes, there are jokes about sex and even a few about bodily functions, and way too much marijuana use for my taste. Still, for the most part, the film's tasteful and achingly sweet. And the music is well-chosen, and incredible, of course. Any film opening with "Bastards of Young" and going on to Husker Du, Lou Reed and the Velvets, Nick Lowe, Expose, Wang Chung, Falco and INXS has to be brilliant.

I worked at Six Flags over Mid-America in high school, the summer of '79. I worked in Games, just like James and Em. I announced the same horse race game that James does his best to "take it up to 10" when he's announcing the winner. We would stand around and talk to each other and drink free Dr. Peppers every hour to keep us from getting dehydrated and play the jukebox and mime playing guitar and singing to "Fire Lake" and "Don't Bring Me Down" and "You May Be Right". Ah, the music. I loved that summer. The pay sucked and the costumes were ridiculous, but at least the games weren't rigged. And sometimes people even won those giant-ass pandas.

A highly recommended film if you're young, or were once young, or ever worked in an amusement park.


 

You may or may not be aware that the Beatles have just remastered their entire catalog for the first time on CD. They're still not on iTunes, but you can get brilliant sounding silver discs through Amazon, Best Buy, Target or that quaintest of relics, your local music store. Are there any of those left? It seems doubtful.

Yes, friends, the Beatles were of a different era, one where albums consisting of collections of songs were the predominant sellers and cherry-picking your favorite tunes was an impossibility. Although with the Fabs, most of their songs were released as singles...but the real fans knew the albums were fantastic. And the remasters are definitely worth buying if you are more than a casual fan. Students of rock will pick up Sgt. Pepper, the White Album and Abbey Road, of course. I've actually heard a couple of people calling themselves music fans who say they have no interest in anything before Pepper. Good God! Wake up, folks. The Beatles' early work has twice the energy of some of their later material and a lot more fun.

Confession time. My favorite Beatles album is one you've never heard of. Yes, I love Pepper and the White Album and Abbey Road and Revolver and Rubber Soul. And they're all better than this album. But my all-time favorite Beatles album, and one of the first remasters I bought, is...

...Beatles For Sale. From 1964. The only song you know from it is most likely "Eight Days A Week".

Why is it my favorite? Probably because it contains some of the first Beatles songs I heard. But the album as a whole has this aura of cheery melancholy which draws me in, every time. It's got lots of rockabilly guitars and semi-acoustic like electric strumming and harmonies out the wazoo and lyrics tinged by ennui and semi-despair. It's amazing.

Track by track:

"No Reply", Lennon. His first story song, about discovering that his girl is two-timing him. The "I saw the light" crashes in like thunder. Minor-key and awesome.

"I'm A Loser", Lennon. Even more amazing than the first track, a rocking Dylan-like number with harmonica and some of the sharpest guitar I've ever heard. John sounds about an inch from committing suicide. "Beneath this mask I am wearing a frown."

"Baby's In Black", Lennon (and McCartney). This is just weird, about a girl who can't forget her former deceased lover, so she dresses in black. You need to find someone less goth, guys. Country like crazy, and a "waltz", as John described it in concert.

"Rock And Roll Music", John. The Beatles rock Chuck Berry into the ground, with help from George Martin on piano. Love it.

"I'll Follow The Sun", McCartney. Eh. A slow ballad written in 1960 and dragged out to fill up space. It's OK, and fits the somber mood, but it ain't a classic. George's guitar solo is rather unimpressive, to say the least (consisting of four notes); he must not have thought much of it, either.

"Mr. Moonlight", John. Hands down my least favorite Beatles song. It's a cover, thank God. They just screwed up the arrangement with that cheesy Hammond organ and Arabian drum. Oh well. The outtake on Anthology is better.

"Kansas City/Hey Hey Hey Hey!", Paul. Back on track with this Little Richard number caught in one take. Scream it, Paul!

"Eight Days A Week", Lennon/McCartney. Features a fade-in, something new back then. A cute piece of pop, but hardly the best song on here. It seems much too sunny with all the other material.

"Words Of Love", John/Paul. Their only Buddy Holly cover, it's just as great as the original. What harmonies. What guitar work. And Ringo plays packing case. Ummm.

"Honey Don't", Ringo. A Carl Perkins cover, it showcases his melancholy rockabilly side. Good job, Ring. "Ah, rock on George for Ringo one time!"

"Every Little Thing", Lennon (I think). Kind of a nothing tune, really, but it does have tympani on it which is cool. Another sad song, although lyrically you wouldn't know it. The way John sings "Yes I know I'm the lucky guy" sounds like he doesn't believe it at all.

"I Don't Want To Spoil The Party", Lennon. Back on form with this downer rockabilly number. Again, marvelous guitar work by George and lovely harmonies from Paul. "Though tonight she's made me sad/I still love her...I've had a drink or two and I don't care..." Sticks right in my heart.

"What You're Doing", McCartney. The coolest thing about this is the drum riff swiped from "Be My Baby" and the guitar riff throughout. I do like the way Paul sings "Why should it be so much to ask of you/What you're doing to me", though.

"Everybody's Trying To Be My Baby", George. One more Carl Perkins cover so we don't forget our lead guitarist. They drenched his voice in echo for some weird reason. Astounding guitar work, natch.

And there you have it. Those first three songs and "Party" are four of my favorite Beatles songs. Not the best, not the worst. Just the ones that are my special loves.

And now I have them in stereo again, after all these years. Thanks, guys.
 

"Hello, this is Wanda Ellsworth with your Arts and Entertainment News. Our top story tonight: A major rennovation of Leonardo DaVinci's The Last Supper is now in the works to be unveiled sometime next year. Frank Noitall, the Milano curator in charge of the project, stated, "We feel it could look much better than it does now. We're redoing the painting to restore the integrity of the work according to what DaVinci would have wanted." When asked how he knew DaVinci's intentions, Noitall declined to comment.

"In a related story, replacement arms are being attached to the Venus de Milo, and Michaelangelo's Last Judgement will be completely recolored according to modern preferences."

Film at eleven.

There's been a lot of complaining about the new Beatles remasters, coming to your local record store (but not iTunes) on September 9th. Some want more bonus tracks. Some wish the mono versions had been included on the stereo albums, which I can agree with from my pocketbook's standpoint. But the major complaint about the remasters seems to be that they haven't been remixed--that is, the original balance and placement of the instruments and vocals has been left unaltered from the albums' original release on CD.

The attitude that the Beatles' recordings don't sound "good enough" in terms of twenty-first-century technology frustrates me no end, for a number of reasons. First of all, who arbitrarily decided that today's standards are the perfect blueprint for how recordings "should" sound? The public at large? A bunch of recording engineers? Producers? Record execs who want to sell more songs? I've been hearing a lot of static about modern-day recordings which are so compressed to make the sound louder that they've turned the resulting mixes into a bunch of noise. Sometimes you can't even hear the vocals without a lot of buzz, as I've found to my dismay on a few recent purchases. This is not what I want for the Beatles.

Apart from that, I actually like the stereo separation on most of their records (save the first two, which were never meant to be released in stereo, anyway). On "A Day In The Life", you can actually hear John's voice drift across the channels. Sounds marvelous in headphones. Very psychedelic. Other examples of stereo used intelligently include "Magical Mystery Tour", "The Fool on the Hill" and "Tomorrow Never Knows". These mixes don't need "improvement" by moving everything into the center and turning up the bass and drums. It would ruin the original intention.

My final argument is that experiments in remixing have already been tried. To my ears, they've not been successful; quite the contrary. Paul's double-tracked vocal on "Eleanor Rigby" got completely screwed up in the 1999 remix for Yellow Submarine Songtrack. Ditto George's vocal in "Only A Northern Song". The reason for this is that the Fabs recorded everything in four-track, and then often mixed that down to one track so that three more tracks could be used for overdubs, and so on. Trying to remix by going back to the original tapes vastly increases the likelihood of a tape going out of sync and creating results like the above.

Remember, too, that when you remix, you change what's discernable to the ear. If you increase the bass, you're going to make it harder to hear the guitars. If you bring out a piano part, you're going to muffle the vocals. And so on. The Beatles' recordings are like paintings; we've grown familiar with their sound over the years. If it's changed, it will be just like changing the hues in Michelangelo's paintings.

Bottom line: Leave those tapes alone, except for the remasters. You don't screw with Art.
 

I'll admit, I have very little experience with today's young adult (henceforward referred to as YA) literature. I use the word quite loosely. Based on the books that my teenage daughter has taken out of the library, and my occasional browsing there, the vast majority of books in this category are pretty bad. My all-time favorite was the one about the girl with the brother who thought he should have been a girl, too. Sure, happens all the time in my neighborhood.

Most YA books have plots about teens falling in love and having sex and getting pregnant or getting their girlfriends pregnant, or taking drugs, or cutting themselves, or having some sort of intense, life-threatening problem. Granted, teens do have these problems, and I'm not trying to say that these books should be censored or forbidden. But do most of them? I don't think so. Not like the situations in these books. Holy hell. They make soap operas seem like kindergarten.

I don't remember what I read when I was a teenager, with the exception of the classic just-say-no tome, Go Ask Alice. When I first read it, I thought, "Wow. Drugs are really bad. I'm not ever taking them." When I got older--like, by college--I read it again and thought, "Wow. What an obvious piece of moralistic, cautionary fiction." It's still entertaining in that light, but I sure wouldn't recommend it to my daughter. She's much more sophisticated than I was, and she'd see through it immediately.

Why do YA books always have to be moralizing about things, anyway? Boring, and fruitless. Maybe that's why most of them are so horrible. The only piece of YA literature I can think of offhand is The Catcher In The Rye. I'm not so sure that's aimed at teens, anyway. But it's excellent.

The following aren't really YA books, but pre-teen. They've stayed in my memory far longer than all the ones aimed at teens, however. Time hasn't dated them, either.

A Wrinkle In Time, Madeline L'Engle. This story succeeds on so many levels: as science fiction, as philosophy, as a tale of families and love. L'Engle's later stories in the series slowly descend into New Age treacle, but this one will stand forever. A classic struggle between Good and Evil, with a main character, Meg, who is far more realistic than your average YA heroine.

The Long Secret, Louise Fitzhugh. The sequel to the immortal Harriet the Spy, which I suspect inspired every female writer here over a certain age (ahem). This book breaks a lot more boundaries, though, discussing menstruation, divorce, and religious faith fully six years before that overrated "classic" by Blume, Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret. It does it better, too.

A Bridge To Terabithia, Katherine Patterson. Confession time: I didn't read this until I had a child who had to read it in grade school. Doesn't matter. I would recommend this to every child of eleven or twelve that I know. It deals with friendship and has a nonsexual and nonromantic relationship between a preteen boy and girl, quite beautifully. Something happens midway through that shocked me far more than all the drug-taking and sex in the YA novels. Because I cared about the main characters, it had a great deal of impact. This book will make you cry, but you should read it.

The Gift of Magic, Lois Duncan. Duncan kind of went nuts later on in writing the sort of garbage horror novels for teens that I despise (e.g., I Know What You Did Last Summer), but this book deals with the paranormal in what is almost a believable way. Again, it's because you care about the characters that this story has an impact. Nancy has ESP and precognition, but it's handled tastefully and with a minimum of outsized drama. I liked it that she wanted to keep this gift hidden, and that her brother and sister also had unusual gifts, although more mundane. She, too, is dealing with a family divorce, and her struggles in adapting to her new situation make an interesting and touching story.

I wish more YA books could deal with teen problems without sensationalizing them. If you know of any that you'd recommend as a cut above the average, I'd love to try them. I'd hate to think that teens have so little to choose from in their particular genre.
 

House M.D.. TV series, 2004-present.

I am still trying to figure out just why I love this television show so much.

OK, so this won't be one of this blog's deepest entries, and perhaps it's stretching the definition of Art to include something so immired emmired inmired enmired stuck in pop culture as a Fox TV show. I might argue that The Simpsons, since it's lasted so much longer, is closer to Art than this.

Who cares. Anything that stirs emotions is worthy of examination. House M.D. certainly qualifies in that respect.

Some background. The show deals with the trials and tribulations of Dr. Gregory House, whom everyone, even his closest friends, simply addresses by his surname. He's a brilliant misanthrope who weekly meets a new challenging medical case which no other doctor can solve. After about fifty minutes and three commercial breaks, House comes up with the solution. Most of the time. Sometimes he's too late. But I've watched four seasons of the show, and I can't remember a single episode where he was flat out wrong. Feel free to correct me if I'm mistaken.

House is based on Sherlock Holmes, and the series definitely stresses the mystery aspect. I find it a challenge to find a solution before House and his medical team do. (Does?) Anyway, it's impossible since I'm not a licensed physician, but I'm enough of an aficionado to be able to at least make a stab in the general direction most of the time. Once I actually came up with the solution minutes before House. I felt so proud. So perhaps it's the medical and mystery aspects which enthrall me. I don't think that's all of it, however.

House is a fascinating character. In real life, he would be fired in about a week, no matter how brilliant he was. He sneers at patients, alienates them and acts as if they're lying idiots. The lying part is often true; the idiot part is only in comparison to House's brain. Everyone seems like an idiot next to him. Then again, he pops Vicodin every ten minutes or so and only has one close friend. Socially, perhaps he's a victim of Asperger's, although I don't think this possibility has yet been raised. Anyway, he's arrogant, obnoxious, sarcastic and thoroughly detestable...and yet I love him. Hugh Laurie, the former British comedian, is responsible for this miracle. What a talented man. I never would've known he wasn't American.

In recent seasons the show has slowly shifted away from the medicine and over towards soap opera. Chase and Cameron (former members of House's team) are sleeping with each other. Foreman is fired, rehired and may get fired again, for all I know. Newer team members Thirteen (that's all we know her by), Kutner and Taub all share their innermost secrets and troubles with each other, House and the audience. Wilson, House's best (and only) friend, has three ex-wives and fights with House about his current girlfriend. Cuddy, the hospital administrator, has a love/hate relationship with House and is trying to get pregnant. It seems a bit much at times. Still, the wit of the dialogue and the spark of the interactions keep me interested, at least so far.

I've always been a sucker for medical dramas, going all the way back to the Sixties with Chad Everett and Medical Center. St. Elsewhere in the Eighties, a precursor of House in many ways, was one of my favorite shows of all time. And M*A*S*H, of course. I await Season Six of House M.D. with great interest. Perhaps this season I'll beat him again to a diagnosis.
 

Throw Mama From The Train is not only a marvelous black comedy and homage/tribute to Alfred Hitchcock's work, it is a film that every writer absolutely must see. Not to learn anything much about writing as a skill, but to have a number of satisfying laughs when one recognizes situations that all serious writers have encountered.

When we first meet the protagonist, Larry, he's seated at his electric typewriter (the film was made in 1987) working on his new novel. Unfortunately, he's stuck on the first sentence. "The night was..." Hot. Humid. Sultry. He can't decide on the right modifier. At that point, my heart went out to him, especially when I learned that his ex-wife had stolen his previous novel and had a tremendous hit with it under her own name. Meanwhile, Owen, an unassuming student in Larry's writing class, is trying to write his novel, but his mother constantly belittles him and humiliates him. He decides that she must die. When Larry, who is trying to help Owen with his mystery novel, directs him to the Hitchcock film Strangers on a Train, all hell breaks loose.

Billy Crystal and Danny Devito shine as the harassed writer and his foil. Larry wants only to be left alone, but is shocked into action when he discovers that Owen has pushed his ex-wife off a yacht in Hawaii. All our sympathies are with the two, particularly because Owen's momma is such an unlikable woman. The late Anne Ramsey really shone in this role, her last, becoming a true monster who seems unslayable.

Some of my favorite writing scenes were in the class. We have Mrs. Hazeltine, who has written a WWII novel but hasn't bothered to do much research. "He pushed the button that made the sub go down," she intones. "Yeah, Dave. We showed those bastards." Another would-be writer, Mr. Pinsky, wants to grace the world with a book tentatively entitled "100 Girls I'd Like To Pork". "It would have pictures. It's a coffee-table book."

Anyone who loves black humor will love this movie. The casting, which includes Rob Reiner and jazz great Branford Marsalis in supporting roles, is inspired. The dialogue is sharp and at times deeply moving, such as when Owen shows Larry his coin collection from his late father. Best of all, the ending is satisfying and true to the tone of the story.

Highly recommended for all you writers out there--or anyone who enjoys a great comedy.


 

Song of the Day: "Childhood", Michael Jackson. See below.

************

The tragedy that is Michael Jackson's life is so heartbreaking that it stands as one of the most compelling arguments I can imagine against child exploitation and abuse. I have absolutely no doubt that Jackson would have been far happier and better adjusted had he been forcibly removed from his family at the age of six and had grown up to become a metalworker on a Detroit production line. The abuse his father put him and his fellow siblings through to become famous was not worth the damage it caused. The fact that he has outlived his son makes me want to charge him with murder, although it would never work.

I am not trying to lionize Michael Jackson. No amount of abuse can justify child molestation, if in fact it did occur. The problem is that we have absolutely no way of knowing now, unless some of Jackson's more famous child friends (such as Sean Lennon and Corey Feldman) come forward and confess. I don't necessarily encourage them to do so, not because I'm concerned about Jackson's image, but because it would be so damaging to them psychologically.

In my heart, although I would never have trusted my son with Jackson, I want to believe that he did not molest children. I suspect that what is much more likely is that he never really matured and sublimated his sex drive to the point where he really could sleep in a bed with boys and not do anything. At the least, though, he was guilty of horrendous judgment, and for that I was appalled at his behavior.

Much of this is beside the point, though. What is the real tragedy is the loss of Jackson's incredible musical talent. As a child, he stunned the world with his voice, stage presence and dancing skill, along with his brothers. "I Want You Back", with its magnificent bass line, would still today merely be a forgettable piece of bubblegum without Jackson's lead vocal, bursting with energy, fire and melodic command. It's obvious from the first verse that he had charisma to burn.

It didn't stop there, however. The Jackson Five had hit after hit that still energize listeners over thirty years later. "ABC", "Never Can Say Goodbye" and "The Love You Save" were all just as marvelous as "I Want You Back". With "I'll Be There", we were treated to a ballad made more poignant by Jackson's delivery and still unmatured voice. When Jackson went solo, it became obvious that he really didn't need his brothers to back him up. "Got To Be There" and his cover of "Rockin' Robin" were delightful, but only Jackson could sing a ballad to a rat with "Ben" and make it endure all these years later.

Jackson really began showing his talent once the Jacksons split from Motown, however. Their single for Epic, "Shake Your Body (Down To The Ground)", is awesome and gave us the first taste of what he could really do given freedom of expression. Ultimately, however, he must have felt tied down by his family, and he split from them more or less permanently to pursue his solo career. Off The Wall, his first real solo record, was both a declaration of independence and a statement that he was a real force to be reckoned with. "Don't Stop ('Til You Get Enough)", like "Shake Your Body", has a groove that just won't quit. "Rock With You" is a wonderful blending of disco and rock guitars in a swinging slow-dance number. "She's Out Of My Life" took a slow ballad and infused enough emotion in it to truly move listeners when it was released, although it became almost a parody in light of Jackson's later tendency to exaggerate his emotional numbers.

Thriller became the record that broke Jackson with a mass audience. If you weren't there, you have no idea of the impression it made. Millions of records sold, but more importantly, Jackson was on everyone's lips as THE major talent of the Eighties. Although "Beat It" with its heavy metal guitars and Eddie Van Halen's solo was credited with breaking Jackson with the rock contingent, it was really "Billie Jean" which broke the color barrier on MTV and got people listening. The famous moonwalk performance on Motown's 25th Anniversary special was just the icing on an incredibly tasty cake. No fewer than seven hit singles came from Thriller, and that's a record that's not likely to be broken given the current state of the music industry.

Unfortunately, this megasuccess seems to have had bad effects on Jackson's already fragile psyche. The stories of his peculiarities multiplied in part due to the backlash effect, and they caused Jackson to retreat even more into his own private world. Although Bad had several hits and in my opinion is a more consistent production effort than Thriller, it didn't sell as well. Future albums, partly because of the controversy over Jackson's private life, went even further downhill artistically and at the cash register. And eventually Jackson became both a joke and a reviled figure, a hermit lost in his own reality, with massive debts piling up due to his inability to mature and take control of his life.

"Childhood" is a song from what I think is his last listenable album, HIStory Vol. II. It's difficult for me to listen to due to Jackson's tendency to over-emote almost to the point of being ridiculous (his famous vocal "hiccups" are something else he overdid to the point of annoyance). By the time the strings finish playing and Jackson's done sobbing through the song, you feel as if you've intruded into far too personal a place. Perhaps that was his point, however. "Childhood" mourns what he never had, and as such, it illustrates his life far better than any autobiography ever could.

Have you seen my Childhood?
I'm searching for the world that I come from
'Cause I've been looking around
In the lost and found of my heart...
No one understands me
They view it as such strange eccentricities...
'Cause I keep kidding around
Like a child, but pardon me...

People say I'm not okay
'Cause I love such elementary things...
It's been my fate to compensate,
for the Childhood I've never known...

Have you seen my Childhood?
I'm searching for that wonder in my youth
Like pirates and adventurous dreams,
Of conquest and kings on the throne...

Before you judge me, try hard to love me,
Look within your heart then ask,
Have you seen my Childhood?
People say I'm strange that way
'Cause I love such elementary things,
It's been my fate to compensate,
For the Childhood I've never known...

Have you seen my Childhood?
I'm searching for that wonder in my youth
Like fantastical stories to share
The dreams I would dare, watch me fly...

Before you judge me, try hard to love me.
The painful youth I've had

Have you seen my Childhood....

RIP, Michael Jackson. May you find peace in the next world.