Vindication? Or, That the Umbrella is Anti-Social
February 9, 2010
I’m continually harangued for my belief that umbrellas are both anti-social and dangerous…but this seems to prove my point perfectly.
Yes, you might argue that this is not representative of most Umbrellas. But I would say that in its exaggeration it reveals the true essential nature of an Umbrella as a retreat from humanity and its environs.
Whither the NFL?
February 9, 2010
As a contrarian and New Yorker I have to take issue with much of the post-Super Bowl chatter that I’ve heard. Though there was a decent narrative (local wunderkind Peyton Manning takes on his hometown team, a franchise representing a beleaguered city) I do not believe it was a great game. The NFL has continuously approved rule changes that favor the passing game. Not only does this cheapen certain benchmarks (10 NFL QB’s threw for 4,000 plus yards this season) it brings a great imbalance to the game.
I have great respect for Drew Brees’ efficiency and the highly cerebral approach and rigorous preparation of Peyton Manning. I also recognize that there great skill is required to protect these passers as well as these offensive linemen do. Quick: think about the number of sacks and relative pressure in this Super Bowl; now compare that to how the Giants rattled Tom Brady’s cage two years prior.
But getting quick leads on opponents because of big passing plays leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Watching a team march down the field consuming yardage and game clock like a pack of ravenous animals is true victory. It is disheartening for a defense to be pushed backwards – it requires a psychological victory that the passing game simply does not. While I recognize that Peyton Manning has revolutionized the position and I have tremendous respect for his ability to process, analyze and disect a defense in roughly 40 seconds, I’m not as impressed by the fact that “there’s no defense for a perfect throw”. Watching a 300 guard pull block or a big halfback get out to the next level and take on a middle linebacker is not as aesthetically pleasing to the untrained eye, but it’s what football’s always been about to me.
“Smart bombs” and aerial bombing campaigns do not give us actual victory or any real sense of a “mission accomplished”. Territorial acquisition is control.
The Nearly-Music City Miracle
February 8, 2010
This blogger’s sports-loving girlfriend was a mere 13 years old when the Tennessee Titans won the AFC wildcard game against the Buffalo Bills in 2000. With 16 seconds left on the clock, the possible greatest arrangement of men in the South since Second Bull Run ran a play that would lead them all the way to the Superbowl (where a controversial carpetbagging official would rob the Titans of a victory). The dizzying lateral passes zig-zagged the ball up the field, and my girlfriend–the entire state of Tennessee, really–watched in amazement as the spectacle of football way exceeded her expectations.
She fell in love with football that afternoon, and ten years later I took her to see The Blind Side, the movie that wildly exceeded all expectations. She remained unsurprised: “It’s about football and the South–what could be bad?” I, however, despite my best intentions to thoroughly loathe this film, found myself not only enjoying it but actually admiring its approach to the “New South.” The racial tensions outlined in The Blind Side are much more complex than are generally acknowledged in Hollywood. Indeed, the differences between the wealthier, educated Southerners and their red-neck counterparts are nearly always overlooked by the “triumph of integration” feel-good films usually put out by the machine.
Should Sandra Bullock win Best Actress? Maybe. Meryl Streep’s had enough (and really, how do you go from Sophie’s Choice to Julie and Julia? Or the Devil Wears Prada?), and Bullock succeeded admirably at making believable a caricature of a Southern belle. Is it Best Picture worthy? No. But as Lost Causes go, this one is fairly entertaining.
Altered States in the (William) Hurt Locker
February 6, 2010
The problem of movies relying on visual effects is not only that it causes the movie to age rapidly, but that it becomes excessive, a crutch in place of story and acting. After all, productions don’t have infinite budgets. A dollar invested in the effects is a dollar not invested in the script. This is the problem with Avatar. The first ninety minutes are disorienting and immersive: we ar
e being guided into Pandora in much the same way as Jake Sully. He becomes our Avatar for new experiences and new possibilities, for a new type of filmmaking.
And then the movie gets conventional and boring. Our eyes adjust to Pandora and we watch Sam Worthington strain to act under the motion capture suit before the plot devolves into a series of large, predictable, action sequences. Perhaps they’re filmed better than most, but that’s hardly the exciting, new world we were promised.
This is an even bigger problem in Altered States (1980). I’m now officially at risk of turning this into a William Hurt blog, but it’s worth mentioning his film debut. There are some truly unshakable parts in this movie, but the director, Ken Russel, overwhelms the story through his excessively psychedelic visuals.
The plot of the movie is both strong and weak: a scientist doing research on schizophrenics as a window on different understandings of consciousness becomes interested in sensory deprivation as a way of understanding the mystical experience. So far so good; there are some logical jumps here, but nothing too far out.
This part of the movie is grounded in the world of the scientists and the physical world is terrific. The set design is quietly terrifying: there’s nothing that’s too strange and out of place, but it’s discomfiting. The sensory deprivation chamber looks horrifying at the same time as it’s completely mundane. Everything is grimy. William Hurt, speaking to us from his chamber, does some great voice acting.
Then it gets ridiculous. Read the rest of this entry »
Another From the Dustbin – Odd Things About Similing
February 5, 2010
Following the lead of the good rabbi doktor, I present to you a piece previously written -
Odd Things About Smiling
I am in my bathroom at home, the one I share with my brother. Before me, spread out like an altar, lies my sink and counter space. The surfaces are white, and I think Formica, the type, which makes it so you can never quite clean off all the little beard hairs, which drives your latent OCD nuts. Beneath the sink and beside the drawers is a small cabinet, one used to keeping things we no longer use. In it, lie scattered, impractical cups from my childhood. They have holes on the side and the bottom and a spout, and they all have faces.
I am in the bath, and I am six years old. I do my best to palpate the shampoo into my improbable hair, and my father brings the cup to the side of the tub. As soon as he fills the yellow cup with slightly-too-hot water, it descends in streams through the bottom holes of the vessel. They continue to descend, in rivulets down my face, carrying away the lovingly applied shampoo from my head and hair. The commercials tell you that it is ok to laugh and giggle and open your eyes wide to the miracle of cranial laundering. But they lie. Even when the “safe” shampoo gets in your eyes, it stings. My father brings the green cup to the side of the tub, the one with a hole where his mouth should be. As soon as it fills with water, the clear liquid flows in a constant, giving stream. My eyes sting and tear, but I persist in smiling nonetheless, marveling at its pure gift.
Above the sink and counters and beside my memories is the mirror. Read the rest of this entry »
