Thursday, December 30, 2010

Clarification from the Last Post

Yeah, I also like some of those movies from that blog. Mostly Doctor Zhivago. Ivanhoe is all right. Top Gun-- eh.

Part of critiquing cinema is being able to find the faults and/or absurd things about any movie, even the good ones.

The common thread running through Zhivago-- before the Revolution starts, after the various romantic difficulties have worked themselves out-- is Omar Sharif's mustache. :)

Monday, December 27, 2010

A Little Humor for the New Year

There's something I've always wanted to do. I've wanted to engage myself as a writer of those little summaries for movies on cable TV. I think I'd be fairly good at it, immodest as it may sound. I've spent so much of my life in the glow of the screen that it's had two effects on me: (1) turned me into a huge celluloid nerd and (2) given me the gift to know when a summary misses the mark.

So here's a sampling of my proposed work. I think you'll find these are more accurate than those you'll see in the actual listings.

Independence Day (1996) Will Smith gets mad and shoots some aliens.

Scarface (1983) Al Pacino gets mad and shoots everyone in sight.

Hello, Dolly! (1969) Two and a half hours of your life you'll never get back.

The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965) Ha! Fooled ya!

Ivanhoe (1952) People who talk funnily fight over some guy with a lion's heart, and presumably the ears of a bunny.

Driving Miss Daisy (1989)
Morgan Freeman challenges Jessica Tandy to the sanctified "act-off."

All the President's Men (1976) A brutal indictment of '70s politics, but mostly of '70s hair.

Rocky (1976) The life story of the world's luckiest punching bag.

Alice in Wonderland (2009) Like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory with a rabbit.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2006) Like Alice in Wonderland with unnaturally white teeth.

Top Gun (1986) Story of the forbidden love between a man, a plane, and his wingman. And something about Kelly McGillis.

The Sound of Music (1965) The Austrian Partridge Family fight the Nazis with the power... of showstopping musical numbers!

Doctor Zhivago (1965) Omar Sharif grows a mustache... again.

The Last Airbender (2010) A once-revered filmmaker hits rock bottom after an eight-year descent.


And to everyone in my life-- especially those who are going through difficult times right now-- I just want you to understand that I honestly and irrevocably love you.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

The Answer To Everything!

A brief message to the protesters who think the tumultuous personal strife suffered by the late Elizabeth Edwards-- including her death-- is all the result of God's anger over an accepting stance on same-sex marriage. And remember, these are the same folks who protest at soldiers' funerals.

Ahem. Protesters:

Is that your answer to everything? God hates gays, so He makes innocent people suffer? Is that really how you picture God? Vengeful and unflinching, inflicting pain on anyone even if they never committed the sin he's supposedly punishing?

Doesn't God love everyone? Didn't Christ on the cross-- which may be one of the most painful, humiliating experiences ever devised by man's twisted imagination-- turn his voice to heaven to ask God to forgive his torturers? Is that the kind of thing done by a god who smites anyone over any sin?

Most importantly of all: why must you add to the suffering of the already-beleaguered, people you claim have already been punished by God? If that's right, isn't punishment by God enough agony for them?

Personally, I don't believe God would have a problem with same-sex marriage. But I respect that people do have such an opinion. The thing is, most people who think that don't insist on using death and other senseless tragedy as a soap box for sending a message.

Friday, December 3, 2010

Call Me a Scrooge, But....

Why, you may ask (if you knew what I was listening to right now), am I listening to Miklos Rozsa's Sodom and Gomorrah soundtrack instead of immersing myself in Christmas music as the rest of the civilized world seems to have done?

A) Because Miklos Rozsa was one of the most phenomenal geniuses ever to inhabit the planet and even his score for that notoriously cruddy shambles of a screen spectacle is a glorious work of art, further reinforcing my belief that a Rozsa score could have improved even a modern joke like Transformers.

B) Because I'm already sick of it.

Christmas music has been slithering around the airwaves since early November, and I am burned out. After all, how many times can you hear "Rudolph" and "Frosty" and "White Christmas" and (shudder) "The Christmas Shoes" before you want to scream at the top of your lungs?

We of the Pacific Northwest are further graced (although disgraced may be more accurate) with the kind of regional hogwash that would make Giorgio Moroder cringe. Examples: "Christmas in the Northwest," a shamelessly emotional ballad celebrating the joys of living in a snowless but evergreen state, replete with an instrumental, string-dominated reprise of the chorus and a mention of God giving us a gift and wrapping it in... you guessed it, green; and a song whose title I believe is something like "Seattle's Latte Land," an irritating retread of "Winter Wonderland" that further reinforces the stereotype that all Seattleites are pretentious, coffee-guzzling elitists with an unhealthy appreciation for cutesy music.

I can actually, at times, enjoy the music of this festive season as much as the next guy. I absolutely love me some "harking" and "conspiring" by a "fire". But after a zillion not-too-different versions of the same old songs (local spoofs notwithstanding), enough is enough.

Here's a brief Christmas playlist that I've found serves as an effective antidote, at least temporarily, to the Xmas OD.

  • A Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack by Vince Guaraldi-- Dominated by Guaraldi's now-iconic (but then unknown) music such as "Linus and Lucy" and the elegant, wondrous "Christmastime is Here," this soundtrack only sparingly relies on the old favorites. And old Chuck's holiday specials are so legendary now that no amount of airtime overload could rip it from its beloved place in all our hearts. The soundtrack CD is a must even for jazz haters like myself.
  • The Nightmare Before Christmas soundtrack by Danny Elfman-- "What's This," "Kidnap the Sandy Claws," etc. Not many movies can claim to be multi-seasonal (Holiday Inn and Miracle on 34th Street are the only others that come even close in my book) and not many Christmas CDs offer boxes filled with poxes as a gift suggestion.
  • Bob Rivers' Twisted Christmas Albums-- The cultural-lampoon smorgasbord that gave us such unforgettable gems as "Walkin' Round in Women's Underwear," "Chipmunks Roasting on an Open Fire" (Melvinnnnnn!) and "The Restroom Door Said Gentlemen." Need I say more?
  • "Road to Bethlehem/The Nativity" from King of Kings/"Star of Bethlehem/Adoration of the Magi" from Ben-Hur by Miklos Rozsa-- If you know me (or have read the upper spiel on this post), you saw this one or something like it coming. But not many composers get the chance to score the same scenario for two different movies. Those that do usually don't succeed like Rozsa. "Nativity" captures more of the weariness, joy, and uncertainty of Christ's birth; "Star" and "Magi" are more awed and reverent, yet they both sound vaguely similar. Certainly no one ever wrote more beautiful music for Christ than Rozsa, and if these offerings aren't enough to convince you, check out also: the King of Kings theme, the Christ theme from Ben-Hur, and "Quo Vadis Domine" from Quo Vadis.
So no, Sodom and Gomorrah isn't exactly Christmas-like. But the next time I hear "The Twelve Days of You-Know-What" I'm going to scream like a banshee who's just been kicked south of the equator.

Friday, October 29, 2010

No Such Thing As "Too Low to Go On"

This is a bad time in my life. A lot of people said 2009 would probably be the worst year of our lives, but in reality, I think it had a lot of highs. Another happy, healthy baby was added to my always-extending pantheon of nieces and nephews. I graduated high school, which (not to sound too proud) was a pretty big accomplishment for me.

But 2010 is shaping up to be pretty bad. Last year, people were planning on saying, "At least I survived 2009!" I plan to say, "At least I survived 2010." The cruel irony that Peter Hyams and Arthur C. Clarke's 2010 happens to be one of my all-time favorite movies is not lost on me.

Particularly this month, things just aren't really right in my world. And I'm not talking about myself because apart from being unnaturally lonely (and it feels great to type that out) and unhealthily stressed out about a college that's messing with me like a shark toddler plays with toy chum, I'm pretty much OK. It would be nice if my problems could go away (in fact, I'll be eternally grateful to anyone who happens to have a magic button or wand laying around).

But I'm more concerned about the people who are important to me. About their baby drama. About their economic woes. About their clinical depression (and there's a lot of that in the air, which is not cool). About the fact that many of the people I know and hold dear are struggling so hard and there's really nothing I can do to help them.

About the recent (but no longer new) glut of bullying-related gay suicides. I don't know anyone directly affected by it, but it should be on everybody's minds. Fortunately, Dan Savage and other incredible people have put together the It Gets Better Project with the goal of helping prevent other similar tragedies. It's horrible enough when external violence claims a life for such a stupid reason. It doesn't need to get any more horrible.

Aaaaaand to top it all off, it's election season. Which means that the airwaves (both on radio and television), phone lines, and mailboxes are inundated with the additional negativity of hack politicians trying to drag their opponents down with them. Like we needed the extra stress! (My theory: if mudslinging were banned, nobody would ever run for public office.)

The point in all this is that life works itself out in the end. It's how I can still have hope for myself, and how I still have hope for all of you. I'm an optimist, no matter how negative I skew at times. I have a friend who likes to point out how depressing some of the movies I like are. She sees Tommy as a story about a traumatized child whose life ends in despair after losing everything and everyone he holds dear. I see it as a movie about a boy who is actually cured of being deaf, dumb and blind and comes out of the horrible tragedies life throws his way battered, yes, but a wiser person. I know someone else who insists Camelot is horribly depressing because two best friends go to war when one friend betrays the other with the other's wife. I see it as a story about a man whose optimism and love help him to create a fantastic dream-- that fails, yes, but in the end, his optimism and love help him realize that there is a future as long as we remember the past. I suppose one could also see Carousel as a story about a layabout wifebeater who somehow ends up in heaven and whose widow never moves on with her life-- I see it as the quintessential tale of redemption and family love, and there is nothing downbeat about that ending on the seashore after the graduation.

Yes, these examples are all from movies. You should know how I operate by now. But you know-- no low is too low. Life is bowl-parabolic in nature. It may dip, but it always turns back upwards. Always.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Anarchy in the Streets

Just today, I was walking. You know, being a pedestrian and that? Well, let me reaffirm one of my long-held observations about traffic: you can't be an aggressive walker. Many people choose to be aggressive drivers, but that's because they have big, powerful automobiles at their command. But if you want to be an aggressive walker, your days are pretty much numbered because some drivers will do anything to save a few seconds.

Well, I was crossing the street not far from where I live. It's a three-way stoplight: west, east, and south, with clearly marked, lit crosswalks. Since traffic rarely comes from the south, it's hard to cross from north to south-- it requires a lot of waiting, usually. But that's okay. What's not okay to me as a walker (and a human being with common sense) are all the people who don't realize that, since it's not forbidden by a sign, right turners at this light coming from the south are allowed to take their turn even though they have a red light provided there is no traffic coming. I can't stand waiting for the light and seeing this person (who, apparently, doesn't know driving laws as well as some of us who don't have licenses) wait, pulled completely forward past the near crosswalk and virtually into the potentially approaching traffic, for a green light to take their turn even though they've had countless opportunities to turn. You see, usually what happens in these scenarios is, I get my walk light and they get a green at the same time, and they seem to expect to be able to turn first-- even though the pedestrian has the right of way. I've been honked at, sworn at, and who knows what else at this crosswalk because I know that their green will last a good twenty seconds or so after my light is completely gone, so I go first because (a) it's my right and (b) I'm not at all slow when I cross the street, so they don't have to wait much longer anyway.

Well, today it happened again. Same crosswalk. Honk and all. Only today, the story is slightly different because I encountered this driver a second time, pulling out of a driveway that had no traffic light. He was in a truck, ready to turn right across two lanes of traffic (on a fairly busy street-- a right turn and a turnaround probably would have been quicker). As could be expected, he was pulled completely out into the bike lane, interfering with pedestrians' ability to cross because we would either have to walk around his truck or step out onto the street to get past. I didn't realize it was the same truck at first, but when the passenger took the time and effort to flip me off on the rebound, I knew fate had struck once more. Obviously, my adherence to what I thought was a well-known and perfectly reasonable law caused these people so much inconvenience and irritation that they carried a grudge, and possibly still do. (I should also explain that I'm wearing a bright, fairly distinctive shirt right now.)

Once again, I feel like I'm expected to be at the mercy of impatient, possibly reckless motorists just because I don't have a way to transport myself right now except for my own two legs and the local transit systems. Somehow the hierarchy of traffic has toppled, with vehicles at the top of the pyramid, crushing cyclists, who in turn are spinning their wheels over pedestrians. But the fact is fairly simple. The only vehicle I own right now is myself. I'm a human being. A slightly overweight human being, to be sure, but if I walked into a car (which would be fairly amusing to see) it really wouldn't cause any damage. Cars "walking" into human beings, however, can cause anything from a broken bone to an ended life. So, yes, unfortunately, that does require paying attention. (Walkers have to pay attention, too.) And being patient. And realizing that traffic laws are there for a reason.

No, I'm not the kind of person who is offended by every middle finger thrown his way. But in this case, it's just another depressing reminder that taking a walk is taking your life into your hands.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

The Movie That [Should Have] Started a Revolution

Okay, the title is a bit of an overreaction. Either that or it needs clarification: I'm not talking about an actual gunpowder-and-guts revolution like that little tiff we had with King George, nor the strong surge of noncooperation that freed India from the British. I'm talking about a cultural revolution-- a swift, sudden, and mass re-wiring of the way we view our fellow human beings.

The reason I watch movies so often is not because I mistake them for real life, nor because I prefer the simulated human interactions therein to those with real people. Neither of those items hold true for me. I watch movies for a number of complex reasons, the pertinent one of the day being that it always amazes me the way some films can either galvanize and polarize the public... or simply be allowed to be relegated to the status of "cute, moderately successful and perfectly harmless message movie." For instance, Spartacus ignited a war over censorship that raged on into the early 90s; David Lean's Doctor Zhivago, on the other hand, became little more than a 200-minute sleeping pill with a repetitive score and some requisite themes about individuality and the strength of the human heart.

The movie I'm about to discuss, unfortunately, has become a disciple of the Zhivago tradition. The difference: it's actually worth three and a half hours (although it lasts less than half of that time) and should have become something big. But, being an independent comedy, let's face it, it never had a chance.

Today's movie, class, is called Were the World Mine. Simply put (if you can put it simply), it tells of the bizarre events that transpire when a far-out English teacher decides to put on a production of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream... at the all-boys high school where she works. She casts a reluctant but shockingly talented guy named Timothy in the role of Puck. Timothy-- being gay-- has been abused by his schoolmates for years, and the play invites more and more trauma into his life, particularly from the school rugby team (yes, rugby) and its alarmingly macho coach, who is not pleased with the thought of the rugby players playing the likes of fairies and girls. Meanwhile, Timothy gets fed up with all the attitude, and finds, between the lines of the play's text, the recipe for Cupid's Love Juice, which, when sprayed on someone's eyes, causes them to fall in love with the first person they see.

Timothy sprays it on everyone, starting with the entire rugby team, who are soon pairing off like jackrabbits; the rugby coach, who develops a burning passion for the principal; the principal's creepy, cosmetic-hawking wife, who becomes unnaturally enamored of Timothy's bewildered mother, etc. One girl's would-be boyfriend ends up pining for Puck while not one, but two, cheerleaders are trying to catch her eye. Most of the students' parents, however, seem to have missed the memo, demanding that the English teacher be fired and the play be canceled. The teacher seeks out Timothy, who's gotten what he wanted but caused a dangerous mix-up, and must set things straight (no pun intended) at the play, which will, in fact, go on.

The point is that Were the World Mine raises not just one, but a handful of issues that are very important. The most important is the fear and ostracism that gay teenagers face, from both the adults they should trust and the peers with whom they should be friends. This is a situation that must be remedied immediately. In some cases, it can contribute to teen suicide; but it's still reprehensible in less dire circumstances. It's amazing how people are willing to start throwing stones at perceived sinners, even though Jesus expressly forbade it. And adolescence is torturous enough without teens having an extra helping of pain and insult heaped on them. Contrary to popular belief, homosexuality is no more a choice than humanity. Well, genetic humanity, at any rate.

Less critically, the movie calls foul on high schools that emphasize athletics and demand preferential treatment over the arts. I'm not saying either deserves more than the other. A reasonable society should accomodate both. The arts are a part of our culture's past as well as its future; athletics, on the flipside, promotes health and (in the ideal conditions) healthy competition. I don't believe a country with such a high obesity rate can afford to abandon physical education, but if that's all our schools take pride in, we'll have a very fit, but very illiterate, nation.

Sadly, no one watched the movie. Well, okay, a lot of people did-- it was a festival flick, and a very popular one, at that. But given that there are no (fiery) explosions and it's not a remake of a slasher flick, it never got the wide exposure our society so richly needed it to get. So watch it! Spread the word! Share it with everyone you know! No matter what your political leaning, this is a crucial movie. If more modern films were like this, we'd get an added bonus: we might occasionally have something worthwhile to see at the theater! (No offense to Toy Story 3 or Fantastic Mr. Fox.)

Sunday, September 12, 2010

He Who Is Tired Of Sarcasm Is Tired Of Life

Such a man would have sat in front of a blank computer screen for about five minutes without thinking of anything sad about the world to comment on. He would be so dull and run-down that he would insert all kinds of extraneous and redundant words into his blog post and capitalize every single letter in his title line.

It isn't that the week has been uneventful. I mean, for crying out loud, I wrote about music last week, didn't I? Old music. Music that you've probably never heard from movies you've probably never seen because I have extremely personalized tastes... but I digress. That isn't the topic for this week. But when I logged on to my home site and saw the so-called "news" and its top headline-- Lady Gaga's showstopping outfit for the VMAs-- I was suddenly hit with a soul-crushing wave of sheer... inertia. The world has gone beyond what I want to imagine it as, so I know longer try to imagine (or rather fathom) it.

I mean, you would think that nine years after the barbarity and tragedy of 9/11, people finally would have realized that Americans need to accept one another and stand together as one country. But instead of the wonderful, heart-swelling sense of national oneness I felt even at the age of ten after the events of that day, I would say that, in terms of interpersonal relations and cultural consciousness, we're at an even worse place. In a nation where we were once so afraid of Communists that we ostracized anyone who fit our stereotype of what a Communist should be (primarily those of Russian descent), only the names and stereotypes have changed. Now we shun all Muslims because of a minority among their numbers who are more vocal and who menace us. Gay marriage is still illegal in most states, and gay parents are viewed as incompetent. After 9/11, our priorities should have been thus. 1: the heartbreaking exercise of cleanup. That was dealt with with resolve, stamina, and heroism. 2: the swift, furious, and precise pursuit of those responsible. We all know how that one worked out. But at least we gave it a shot (however far from the bullseye). Not like 3: securing the same freedoms of marriage, parenthood, and recognition for everyone. Making sure that a widow/widower/orphan of such a day wouldn't be denied key information because of something so trivial as "legal relationship" if-- and may every force of divinity and nature forgive me for the inevitable thought we've all had-- something like that should ever happen again.

But nine years later, I still see the same hateful rhetoric being spewed out to keep these rights from others. It is important to note that I realize that not every opponent of gay marriage is hateful. But what can I say? Everyone is equal. And I used to think what made this country so great was its sense of (forgive the sexist word) brotherhood. But I no longer see that.

The reality is simply this. The legality of marriage is a civil concept, not a religious one. Why else would (heterosexual) civil ceremonies be as valid under U.S. law as spiritual ones? The federal or state governments both lack the authority to use such a broad criteria as gender to deny the civil benefits of marriage. Each individual religion can deal with the issue as it will, at least in my opinion, because just as the government can't deny the right to marry, neither can it deny the right to worship as an individual or religious body sees fit, however personally we may disagree with their teachings. That's that "First Amendment" thing we've been hearing about... which, incidentally, makes it possible for me to ramble on in my second overly long post in a week.

Sexual, religious, and familial morals are not to be enforced or judged by the state. One person's civil rights-- be they the right to marry or the right to micromanage the institution by establishing gender rules for it-- are not up for a vote.

And what do I say to a person who would tell a child that their home life is abnormal and their parents are living in sin? I would say this: what kind of horrible person says something like that to a child? Or about a child?

Another grand truth: there is no normal home life. We were all raised under different circumstances. The so-called "traditional family" also didn't exist until one group or another tried to corral everyone under the same, highly exclusive moral umbrella. But the thing people invoke when they say "traditional family"-- the idea of a number of kids raised by a married mother and father-- will continue until the world has ended.

Two people have only the power to cheapen their own marriage, not the whole institution. But if the cheapening of marriage was possible... it's already happened. Look to rock stars, pop stars, movie stars, professional athletes, and certain other mouthy hypocrites when you assign blame.

As two people can cheapen a marriage, so too can they cause it to appreciate. Remember that, too. I've seen my share of unhappily married couples, but I've also seen plenty that work very hard and love each other very much. That's a good thing, no matter whether your towels say "His & Hers" or "Hers & Hers."

To reiterate-- leave civil marriage open to all. You can't tell me a Britney Spears husband-du-jour is less damaging to the institution than a lifelong menu of husband and husband/wife and wife baguette. (I don't know why gay marriage is a baguette; a croissant, if you will, or perhaps an eclair; maybe less fancy, like a cinnamon raisin bagel. Hold on a minute, I'm kind of hungry.)

This has been an experiment in unfocused writing (in case you couldn't tell, har-har-har). I started going with one thing, and I just wanted to see where I'd wind up. The results tell me I'll be hawking equal rights until I die.

No classic arts news to report this time around, although I will say for the thousandth time: Exorcist II: The Heretic is not that bad.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Why This Nineteen-Year-Old Thinks They Don't Make 'Em Like They Used To

So I was listening to the "Epic Film Scores of Miklos Rozsa" the other day. It is by far one of the best albums ever conceived, fourteen epic film score tracks (four from Ben-Hur [1959], three from El Cid [1961], three from Quo Vadis [1951], and four from King of Kings [1961]) plus, as a bonus, Rozsa's twelve-minute concerto from Spellbound. The music inspired me to see the only one of those four epics I'd never seen before, King of Kings. And a thought hit me like a ton of bricks and a ton of feathers while I was trying to figure out whether or not the actress who played Mary actually said her own lines.

King of Kings... is not a great movie. It's probably not even a good movie. Films about the life of Christ are as numerous as those loaves on the Mount (after the multiplication, of course), and tend to fall into a predictable pattern: Jesus is a long-haired white guy who performs miracles, is persecuted, then betrayed, then crucified, and ultimately resurrected. Of course that's the way the story has to be told, and it is a very good story at that (although the movie, The Greatest Story Ever Told, was a giant crock; at least this one is better). But after all, how many times can you watch the Nativity, then the miracles, then the Last Supper, then the Garden of Gethsemane, then the trial, then Golgotha, then (in many versions) the third day? I've counted, thus far, eight, including one rock opera and one interpretive version set in early-1970s New York. But while King of Kings goes beyond the scope of most Christ stories-- it begins with General Pompey, who was hunted down and killed thirty years before Christ was born-- and includes more of the "teen years" of Christ's life than we ever learned in Sunday school (yes, I went to Sunday school for several years), it's still the same story. Jesus is born in a stable; spirited to Egypt to save his life from Herod's order and so forth. And the key role is played by Jeffrey Hunter-- yes, Captain Christopher Pike from the original Star Trek-- and even though this movie was five years before that show, and even though he's decked out in Jesus' long-haired white boy costume, you really can't avoid thinking, "Great boar of Samoa! It's Captain Pike!"

But, at long last, we come to my epiphany, received after a few hours of looping the movie's mystical, solemn theme music.

It's nothing religious, though I know some people are apt to have religious experiences while watching or reading Biblical stories. It's purely the envy (yes, a sin, I know) of a nineteen-year-old guy who has survived the cinematic indignity of going to a theatre and seeing that the most popular films are the likes of Get Him To the Greek, Legally Blonde, and Transformers.

The point: where is the music in these dreadful nightmares of cultural degradation?

All film music these days has pretty much been reduced to either generic, percussive "stock music" (in movies like Pirates of the Caribbean, Gladiator, and Transformers) or playlists of popular songs by shallow, popular artists. Occasionally, you do have a film that has its own unique sound (such as Alexander and Avatar) but, walking away from them, there's nothing you remember. And your feeling or appreciation of the movie has not been helped by the music, which means the music no longer serves its purpose.

So here's my question, or really more of a collage of same: Is it laziness? Whether moviegoers are too lazy to get invested in something that doesn't explode or so-called "composers" are too lazy to write anything that does, is that the reason for this latest alarming downward trend? Or are today's composers intimidated by the quality of the work of artists like Rozsa, Alex North, Dimitri Tiomkin, Alfred Newman, Jerry Goldsmith, and even the more contemporary John Williams (what is he up to now, by the way?), with the result that the field has reached a point of utter, existential stagnation?

I'm guessing the former. And another note: this puts fans of my favorite musical genre at a significant disadvantage. Most music lovers get to discover new music. But there's nothing coming out these days that people like me would be interested in!

This is a long post, and I promise it's almost over. I just have to go back for a second to my mention of the film El Cid. Have you seen it? Charlton Heston plays Rodrigo Diaz of Vivar (also known as the Cid), a heroic historical Spaniard who fought to unite the people of Spain-- Christians and Muslims, Moors-- against the invading Moors from Africa. All in all, it's a great movie. There is, however, one glaring flaw in it. The leader of the African Moors, Ben Yusuf (Herbert Lom, Clouseau's self-flagellating boss from the Pink Panther films), is a purely evil character. He has no depth, no nuance, and no motivation (beyond, apparently, being a Muslim) for wanting to destroy the Christians of Spain. Most of the film's other Muslims have a similar attitude, with the exception of the "good Muslims," those who join forces with the Cid for the greater good of Spain, who do seem to be fairly well-rounded characters. But from all the stories in the news lately, I can't help thinking that most people in this country are getting their ideas of Muslims from Lom's portrayal of Ben Yusuf. The entire religion is being painted with a mind-bogglingly wide brush as evil Satanic terrorists. By the same logic, one could call Christians a bunch of torturous, goose-stepping, book-burning, stubborn scum, judging solely from the events of small groups of them in times of history like the Holocaust and the Spanish Inquisition.

But no religion is so simple that it can be defined by the actions of its extremist fringe, and no human being is so simple that they can be defined by the actions of others of similar-- though perhaps still widely diverging-- religious beliefs.

Sigh... where have all the Rozsas gone?

Sunday, August 29, 2010

I Will Say This... And No More

I do not like Glenn Beck. Ideological differences aside (and they are huge), I still can find nothing about him worth respecting. I do not like his smug, superior voice, which puts unnecessary emphasis on every single word. I do not like his conceited smile. I do not like people who fill other people's heads with fear in an effort to control them and obtain their support.

He insists "progressivism" is a disease. Well, Beck Man, I got news for you. Progressivism is how women in this country got the vote and how people of all colors can vote without having to submit to a "literacy test." Progressives control the flow of American destiny. When we really do have justice for everyone (cough cough gay marriage cough) we can finally say that progress has worked. What's so wrong about every law-abiding American having the same rights? According to Beck, it's cancerous to believe such a thing.

So I'd like to maintain a safe distance from Beck and all his venomous, hateful rhetoric that disguises prejudice and arrogance as the will of God. Let me ask you a question. Doesn't God have compassion for all people? God doesn't hate. God doesn't hold grudges, or care about opinion polls. God knows whether President Obama is a Muslim or a Christian (not that it really matters), and whether he was really born in the United States (and haven't we moved past that by now?!).

So enough already! If you've got nothing but violent hate and festering anecdotes, don't pass it off as fact. Glenn Beck doesn't need to reclaim America's honor-- he needs to claim some common sense!

An Important Aside to Xander Candor Readers and Perusers: Please don't forget to vote in Xander Candor's poll every month. The current poll (which you should be able to find at the top left of the blog) runs all through September. I look forward to your answers!

Sunday, August 15, 2010

FAQ

In perusing the comments you readers leave on my blog, I occasionally discover questions you ask me that I, initially, wasn't too sure how to answer. Should I leave a comment on the post in reply? No-- good chance you wouldn't see it. Should I go to your own individual blog and leave a message in the interest of "reciprocity"? No-- not as easy to refer back to prior comments.

Finally, I settled on a method. I realized I've been fortunate enough to have people who actually read my random (and very leftist) ramblings from time to time. So I want to thank anyone who reads Xander Candor-- remember, without my readers, I'm just a crazy guy with a keypad and access to the internet. So thank you! And from time to time, I shall produce an "FAQ" post to not only answer questions, but also address some of the more interesting non-interrogative points.

Following my first "Worst Movies of All Time" list, I was asked how I first saw Twilight by a reader (you know who you are-- hi!) who, apparently, was a big fan of the books and refused to watch the movies. The A to that Q: I was being visited by a certain sister who decided to watch it. She had a certain infant son at the time, and without the crib, when his naptime rolled around, he had to be held by someone. That someone was his uncle. So for two hours, the nephew was asleep and I was stuck while that certain sister watched for the very first time Twilight. People holding sleeping babies, understandably, have very little mobility.

As for one of the other comments on that post... well, I simply think Stephenie Meyer needs to go away. I would prefer a secluded island somewhere where the world will never know what she's up to, except perhaps close friends and family members. But any words from this day on that leave her pen (or word processing software, as you will) will immediately be blasted by yours truly as more civilization-killing blandness.

And someone (or someones) keep leaving random snippets of profound statements on the comment posts. I have no idea who you are, but it's always very interesting to read. Thank you.

By the way, if you're not watching Futurama, you should be. It will remind you that there are gifted people working in TV and cinema these days... they're just getting quieter and less numerous.

Thank you for your attention.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Victory at C... California, That Is!

Congratulations, Judge Vaughn Walker. You helped strike a victory for justice, morality and decency this week.

I'm referring, of course, to his decision to overturn California's unnecessary, hateful, overwhelmingly phobic ban on same-sex marriage.

The ban (known on the ballot as Proposition 8) was passed with a 2% majority in the enormous southwestern state back in Aught-8. Of course, by democratic rules, a simple majority was needed. But 2% is a little nebulous, wouldn't you say? So thanks to its powerful backers (entirely religious-conservative, although I'm sure confusion over the wording of the proposition did contribute some) which included apolitical churches and fear-and-hatemongering politicians and pundits, hordes of loving, committed couples were no longer allowed to enter into the same holy sanctity of marriage shared by billions throughout history who were happily and successfully united. Also Henry VIII and Britney Spears.

"Sanctity of marriage" is an abstraction, and in my mind, entirely personal. The institution of marriage, in my opinion, has no universal sanctity when it can be dissolved with a simple phrase as vague as "irreconcilable differences." And not when thousands of couples are drunkenly married in Vegas not knowing their spouses' names. Not when supermodels and "actors/actresses" have new wedded spouses every month. If you ask me, two married people create their own sanctity by their devotion to each other. A marriage isn't automatically better because it's between a man and a woman instead of two men or two women.

This, of course, applies only to civil marriages and marriages performed under faiths that embrace same-sex couples. Obviously, all religions are welcome to set their own standards for who is worthy of marriage. But with that right comes the responsibility not to interfere with those who choose love and equality. And yes, I realize that's a loaded sentence, because I don't believe discrimination against the GLBTQ is any better than discrimination against racial or religious minorities, or against women. Or men, for that matter-- no double standards today, thank you very much.

Quite frankly, the tidal wave sweeping across this country to make way for victory on this issue is the same that previously surged across America and ended slavery and allowed women to vote. It's called progress.

So well done, California. I await the results of the appeals. My advice to the ban proponents: Don't push it, please. Sometimes the world needs to change. This is one such time.

Saturday, July 31, 2010

The Newest Plot by Extremist Wackos Masquerading as Concerned Citizens

I know that title line is a little dramatic, but let's face facts. Extremist nuts on both the left and the right are intent on utterly destroying this nation. This week, we hear from the right.

I read a letter to the editor of the Everett Herald on Monday suggesting that to help balance the state's budget by completely defunding Planned Parenthood. For those of you who don't know, Planned Parenthood is a clinic of sorts that provides all sorts of family planning and sex-ed services, including but not limited to: free STD screenings, contraceptive distribution, and even abortions.

My personal feelings on abortion aside, it is by no means the only service provided by Parenthood. Far more effort and attention are lavished on prevention, including educating people about the risks of sexual activity and all potential repercussions-- including pregnancy. People like the guy who wrote this letter would have us believe that Planned Parenthood is nothing but a baby butcher shop.

What happens when struggling, unwealthy young women and men (as Planned Parenthood serves both) need the kind of advice/counseling/education that they can only get from a place like Parenthood, and they find they can't get it because the platform has been yanked from directly beneath the organization? Contrary to popular fringe-wacko belief, if they can't find the services they need, they won't abstain from the dirty deed. They'll do it without protection and education if necessary. What happens then? Best case scenario, no negative consequences. Or there could be an unplanned pregnancy, which is likely to end in abortion or (billions of times worse!) postnatal abandonment. Or there could be a sexually transmitted disease. Without the kind of services and products that Parenthood provides, that burden may end up falling even harder on (you guessed it) the taxpayer when the party/parties concerned need cheap healthcare or possibly hospital attention due to childbirth.

Believing that abstinence prevails is a foolhardy idea that endangers millions of lives. Human beings seem to have a fair amount of control over their instincts and urges; but in most cases, it's still not enough. Which is why any doctrine (be it religious, political, or purely personal) that preaches abstinence and also condemns the use of contraceptives is a doctrine of death. Next time, the violently hateful people who sit in many positions of authority should try teaching instead of firing off. They might learn something themselves in the process.

Defunding Planned Parenthood is not the act of concerned citizens interested in maintaining the moral purity and low tax prices they've come to cherish. It sends the message that if you want to have sex before marriage, you deserve any ill fortune that befalls you. That's just rhetoric.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Still in the News?!

Several months ago (I believe roughly in the vicinity of September), renowned filmmaker (renowned strictly in cinematic circles) Roman Polanski was apprehended by authorities in connection with a 1977 child-rape case. I blogged about the event when it occurred, likening the media to vultures swooping upon decaying carrion, but also saying it's right and just that Polanski pay for his crime. And quite frankly, child rape is, in my opinion, one of the worst crimes of them all.

Well, people are still talking about it! There was an opinion piece in one of the newspapers recently calling for a boycott of Polanski's films.

You have got to be kidding me.

Let's all agree that the rape was heinous and disgusting. Rape always is. But what bearing does it have on the quality of a movie like Rosemary's Baby, which was released nine years before the crime was committed? Or Polanski's adaptation of Shakespeare's "Scottish play," which was released six years before?

I'm sure that proponents of the boycott will insist that, for instance, Rosemary's Baby reflected early signs of a troubled, potentially violent mind. The film's plot involves a young wife being drugged by her neighbors and dragged unconscious to a Satanic ritual wherein the living devil is conjured up, then proceeds to impregnate her. Disney fare it ain't. But before you boycott it, bear in mind that: (a) it is based on a novel written by Ira Levin, who has no other connection to the director; (b) it's purely fictional; and (c) the whole nine year thing!

Polanski's films exist in a world completely separate of his crime. It is not fair to the hundreds upon hundreds of other artisans who craft a motion picture together to boycott them because of one individual. If you object to Rosemary's Baby, object to the content or the thematic elements. Even object to the tacky 60s styles before the director! Polanski's crimes should be judged as criminal. His films? Purely as cinematic. Take OJ Simpson, for example. The man may be one of the worst actors in history, but that's how I remember his film work. And only how.

Saturday, June 26, 2010

A Point of Clarification

I have recently learned that there are plans to build a mosque on Ground Zero. Naturally, this is very contentious. I happened to have a few thoughts on the matter.

My first comment concerns those who believe the mosque would be an affront to the memories, dreams, and survivors of the holocaust (note the lack of capital letter; this does not refer to the inhuman tragedy of WWII, but to that of September 11). I would say that these people need to understand what they condemn. When humans and other animals are wounded-- when our communities are deliberately attacked in such a wanton, premeditated, brutal, and devastating fashion-- the desire for revenge often overrides reason and intellect. But after almost nine years, are we still at that stage? Still salivating for vengeance and not caring whether the vengeance is misdirected as long as it hits "them"?

What I mean is, the true religion of Islam is one that teaches good, decency, and love. So is Judaism. So is Christianity. These three radically different religions, all born in the same part of the world, are really not so "different" at all. There is a "they" responsible for 9/11. But if you have decided that "they" means "all Muslims," you are wrong. The attack was sanctioned by a minority group of extremists who believed they needed to destroy all their enemies in a whirlwind of fire and blood. That group of extremists is responsible for 9/11.

I am, however, rather curious about why it was decided to build a mosque at Ground Zero. My theory is that the entity/entities who conceived of the idea believed it would be a symbol of peace and understanding. That is a worthy goal, certainly, but it completely ignores the truth of human nature: many humans won't tolerate peace and understanding because they'll take them for signs of weakness. Or because they live in a world removed from the two concepts and would rather see anything different die because it's not the same.

The only alternative to that theory is as sick and twisted as can be imagined considering the circumstances-- that someone thought of the idea directly to cause conflict, knowing full well that the angry and resentful would see it as an insult and a desecration.

In light of these thoughts, I really don't know what to think about this mosque. But I would hate to see one more hateful word spewed, or (infinitely worse) one more life taken because we human beings aren't ready for peace and understanding.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Where Evil Lurks, Part 2: And the Losers Are....

Here we are, dear readers. After much skimming over of lists detailing horrid films it couldn't be narrowed down any more than this. A tie between two films in the same franchise. Appropriately, movies this bad, this devious, and this painful to watch could only be about one character: the Antichrist.

When The Omen (1976) was first conceived, it was a very different movie than it became: tasteless, obvious, and heinously irresponsible. Fortunately writer David Seltzer and director Richard Donner came to focus on the power of faith as a theme rather than the existence of evil, making the original Omen film a staggering story of a man forced to come to terms with the nature of God when confronted with the ultimate challenge to the survival of goodness: the birth of Satan's son. Many Christian groups (including the Vatican) praised the film for helping to bring wayward Christians back to their various churches. But it succeeded with more than just the message: it allowed Fox to recover from a serious financial drought, and some of the profits were used to make George Lucas' most popular film, Star Wars. A sequel was guaranteed.

Sadly, neither Donner nor Seltzer returned for Damien: Omen II (1978).

Set some six or seven years after the original, Damien focuses on the title Antichrist as a whiny pubescent brat played with supreme obnoxiousness by Jonathan Scott-Taylor. It depicts his discovery of his true identity and an attempt (very similar to that in the first film in terms of story structure) to destroy him spearheaded by his wary uncle (William Holden) and (perhaps unwittingly) thwarted by his suspiciously overprotective aunt (Lee Grant). It's formulaic, in other words. It's no spoiler to tell you that Holden's character dies at the end after failing to eliminate Damien. Nor to tell you that anyone who even tries to solve the mystery of his identity meets an untimely end.

But those untimely ends represent what is majorly, glaringly wrong with the film. The original used subtle, virtually bloodless means to dispatch its victims, and the audience never saw it coming. In the sequel, however, the writers ridiculously decided to vamp up the violence and gore. One character falls several stories in an elevator and is subsequently sliced in half by a live cable from the ceiling. Another has his/her eyes picked out by ravens and is subsequently bowled over by a conveniently located, nonchalant semi truck. It's absolutely sick. Sick and unintelligent.

Perhaps worse than the gruesome deaths is the acting. Laborious, budget-busting director Mike Hodges was replaced early on by schedule and budget-friendly Don Taylor, but Taylor was obviously so concerned with finishing the picture on time that he neglected to procure passable performances from his cast-- even the great Holden is listless, lifeless and bored. Even Jerry Goldsmith's music fails, though not as spectacularly. Without a doubt, Damien is the worst sequel of all time.

Remakes, however, are another matter.

The Omen franchise survived through one more theatrical movie (infinitely better than the second), a cheesy and preposterous TV "movie," and an inexplicable NBC pilot that had nothing to do with the real Omen. When 6/6/2006 rolled around (thirty years to the day since the release of the original), Fox once more trotted out one of its most puzzlingly uneven franchises with a remake of the original film, once more written solely by David Seltzer.

Seltzer uses exactly the same plot. Gone, however, are the cheesy 70s haircuts, the subtlety, the fantastic and effective music, and any hint of originality. The deaths are bloodier and one has been completely altered, all done to cater to the moviegoing crowd of the year 2006. Liev Schreiber (a capable enough thespian) stands in the role originated by Gregory Peck and is no substitute. Julia Stiles takes over from the late, incomparable Lee Remick in the role of the mother and wife-- she was in Save the Last Dance, which speaks for itself. Mia Farrow plays the evil nanny once played brilliantly by Billie Whitelaw, and even she is terrible, as are Pete Postlethwaite, Michael Gambon, and that irritating new kid playing five-year-old son-of-sin Damien. Instead of crafting an innovative or at least useful score, as Goldsmith did, Marco Beltrami uses what sounds like modern stock music. And instead of the subtle terror of the original, the "director" uses sudden appearances by mysterious masked figures (which look like they escaped from a bad M. Night Shyamalan flick) to keep the audience on edge.

The point is, how dare they remake a classic like that?! Fortunately, their marketing ploy (6/6/06) didn't work, and the loose excuse for a film will forever stand on its own. Fortunately, we have at least one great Omen movie to look back on and preserve as an American cultural milestone. Next thing you know, they'll be remaking Star Wars.

And that concludes XC's list of the 10 worst movies of all time. Okay, 11, my mistake. If you ever get curious, you can check them out (if you haven't seen them already), but now you've been warned. Heed the omens (hee hee hee) and escape while you still can!

Footnote: The world is a joke, in case you've been following the news, or in case you haven't.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Xander's Film Registry Continued: Where Evil Lurks

Hey, folks. It just occurred to me that this is the 75th post on Xander Candor. That's kind of like a milestone, or so it seems, so I want to do something special for it. On my last Film Registry post, I promised that when I went back to the Registry, I would create its opposite number-- a sort of "hall of shame" (forgive the cliche) in which would dwell the most insipid and poorly executed films of all time, movies to avoid at all costs. I managed to coalesce the overt hideousness in the annals of cinema into a list of eleven-- ten seemed just a tad inadequate, as there is a tie for the #1 spot, which is really no great honor. Let me begin by saying I salute filmmakers with the courage to make nothing out of something. But if you're not trying to make a piece of trash... where do you go wrong anyway? Previous Registry entries have been in chronological order; this list is presented as a countdown. Enjoy the list; avoid the movies.

10) Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (1978)
I thought it would be one of those so-bad-it's-amazing cult wonders, like Howard the Duck and The Apple. But it's not. Every negative word against this "film" is correct and appropriate. Everyone herein renders Beatles tunes fairly capably (the soundtrack is pleasant to hear), but the imagery and personalities are so grating that the music means nothing. The characters live in a bland middle American town called Heartland, USA and lead their bland lives, except for the Lonely Hearts Club Band, who must rescue Heartland from the insidious FVB (Future Villain Band-- the writer was not very clever or subtle). There's a character named Strawberry Fields (guess what her big song is?) and a band called Lucy and the Diamonds. I have always liked Julie Taymor's Across the Universe. But seeing how bad a Beatles jukebox musical could be made me love it even more.

9) Forrest Gump (1994)
Sorry, folks, I don't see the attraction. Tom Hanks is not at fault for the mess that was made of this movie. Otherwise, it's just one big visual gimmick that tries to have heart but instead makes a pastime of awkwardness and discomfort. And at nearly 150 minutes, it somehow manages to feel longer than the three-hour disaster The Fall of the Roman Empire.

8) Somewhere in Time (1980)
I have nothing but respect for the late Christopher Reeve. He was a "Man of Steel" off-screen as well as on, and the best true-life hero Hollywood has ever provided. The biggest mistake of his career? Accepting the male lead in this low-key, visually disorienting adaptation of a talky, incoherent Richard Matheson story in which a man falls in love with a woman decades in the past. It's absolutely hokey and unbelievable, but sadly it more closely follows the pattern of a cheesy romance than a campy one.

7) Romeo + Juliet (1996)
My opinion of Shakespeare's most famous tragedy is negative at best. But while I've never seen a direct adaptation of it I even remotely liked, Baz Luhrmann's DiCaprio/Danes travesty is by far the worst ever. Set in "Verona Beach, California" in the nineties, it features guns called "Swords", Mercutio in high heels, and... Leonardo DiCaprio (enough said). There is also too much color, and the cast acts like they're reading "Dawson's Creek" rather than acting the Bard of Avon.

6) Cabaret (1972)
Occasionally you will see a movie that will make you ask, "Why in the wide, wide universe would I ever have sat through this?" Cabaret is such a movie. Joel Grey is pretty funny as the emcee, but that lead actress (we do not speak her name) seems not only a waste of celluloid, but at times even a waste of... everything. She plays a capricious, frivolous, irritating, frustratingly nonchalant and selfish songbird who demands the world's attention and claws at the spotlight like a feral cat. That's not acting.

5) Transformers (2007)
Or: What's Wrong With 21st-Century Filmmaking. Executive-produced by once-genius Steven Spielberg and directed by the bland Michael Bay, starring the uninspired Shia LeBeouf and the meaningless Megan Fox, it updates the 1980s toy franchise, bringing every element of it into the modern time period... except the ridiculous cartoon voice of Optimus Prime. It's obviously meant to distract us with shiny CGI creations and big explosions while it kills the industry that created such masterpieces as Lawrence of Arabia, Amadeus, East of Eden, and My Fair Lady.

4) Superman Returns (2006)
Everything bad about this movie-- and that's quite a long list-- boils down to one simple fact: Brandon Routh is in no way, shape, or form a suitable replacement for Christopher Reeve. Because there is none. As public as the film franchise's humiliation was at 1987's Superman IV: The Quest for Peace, it should have stopped then forever. While it still had the genius of Reeve at its epicenter. Overlong, mindless, too elaborate and too late.

3) Twilight (2008)
Whew, speaking of mindless. Stephenie Meyer is responsible for this horridly unwelcome pop culture cash cow. As if the books weren't bad enough, they had to be adapted into this cheap, colorless, spineless film series that somehow manages to interest millions upon millions of fans in the "plight" of a criminally underdeveloped character whose sole problem in life is, "I have love problems." There is no emotion in the acting, no intelligence in the plotting, nothing likeable in any of the characters, and that voice-over narration is probably the worst single cinematic misstep since.... I can't think of anything.

2) Titanic (1997)
Ah, Leo-- you've been very bad to us. Shame on you. And you, James Cameron-- I would have expected better of you, Mr. Aliens and The Abyss. The best part of this movie is Kathy Bates... have you any idea how much it pains me to say that? At the center is a laborious and predictable romance between a rich, engaged girl and a poor boy. The sinking of the Titanic is meant merely as a backdrop, but considering the cutting-edge nature of the effects used in the sequence, it's clearly the star of the show. This movie's enduring popularity is yet another insult to the industry.

As for that tie for #1... it's really too bad to sum up concisely. It'll have to have its own post. Tune in next time for a double bill so unspeakably bad, so painfully unlikeable, so gruesomely unentertaining, that it comes after Titanic on a list of bad movies.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

The 3-Strip Process: Changing People's Idiotic Ways

At the beginning of the twentieth century, there was no such thing as color in cinematic films. The miracle of moving images was somewhat muted by the fact that the images were grainy, stringy, and in black-and-white. But, of course, the real world is made up of many colors, not just black and white. Eventually, through innovation and ingenuity, film scientists were able to invent color processes that turned films more realistic and visually complex than they could ever be before. The most lavish and well-maintained style of color-- used on such widely appreciated classics as The Wizard of Oz, Gone With the Wind, and more-- was a three-strip process that coalesced reds, yellows, and blues into the full color spectrum. It provided bright, vivid colors.

What is the point of this, you may ask?

Well, while Hollywood keeps pushing forward with visual innovation (mostly to naught, but they do keep trying), the rest of the world seems to be stuck in black and white.

I'm referring primarily, of course, to the dramatic events in the Middle East in recent weeks-- mainly the continued enforcement of Israel's naval blockade of Gaza... and the recent destruction of a ship allegedly transporting aid into the devastated territory.

People are so quick to jump to one side or the other. On the one hand, people blindly insist we should sternly condemn Israel for destroying what may have been a strictly peaceful mission. Equally alarmingly, on the other hand, people just as blindly say that Israel is our ally and we should stick by them no matter what.

Both of these mindsets show a bigger mentality of either skimming headlines to glean news or of stubbornly dividing the world into black and white, right and wrong, enemy and friend. Neither of these mentalities are correct. Complex news articles cannot be summed up in a single phrase; and since when are right and wrong absolutes? Shouldn't we be required to apply critical thinking to each specific situation?

Here's what I've discovered about the most recent flare-up in the sizzling Israeli/Palestinian conflict: nothing conclusive. I automatically discount the extreme-right-or-left news outlets. My primary information comes from two local newspapers. These, naturally, say different things every day. Then, of course, I also discount the pundits-- especially, once more, the extremists-- both on the Charles Krauthammer and Eugene Robinson sides of the spectrum. Their job is not to report; it is to state their opinions. Opinions, as is commonly known, are not facts. This seems to leave, aside from the World News sections of the papers, internet research. And guess what happens there? Find one item in favor of one side, and immediately you'll find another that favors the other.

This has gone on for some time.

What remains is for me to say this. I do not condone any sort of violence. War is reprehensible to the utmost. Were it significantly less bloody, it would be childish to the extreme. But we are a race of angry children, feuding over a sandbox we don't actually own. And I know this. To all the people-- that includes you, Helen Thomas!-- who say there's only room for one race in Palestine, read closely.

Thousands of years ago, before the foundation of the Muslim religion, both Arabs and Hebrews lived in Palestine. It was where the Hebrews lived before they were sold into slavery in Egypt. It was where they went when they obtained their freedom. But what's important to remember is that it is holy territory to three different faiths-- faiths that really aren't so different except by labels and minutiae. This is going to cause conflict. It's inevitable. But there is no answer to the question, "Which single group belongs in Palestine?" It's not up to us. As kids, we're told to get along and play nicely. Let's have a little grown-up behavior, shall we?

Until I know for sure Israel was in the wrong, I won't condemn them. Until I know for sure that Hamas wasn't running guns into Gaza, I won't say they did.

And until the situation in Gaza-- the debris and squalor and suffering-- is rectified, I'll stubbornly call, against all odds and all hope, for a little adult behavior and some three-strip dignity.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

You Know What Would Be Amazing?

If hypocrisy would just die and never return to life.

From obnoxious neighbors who crank up their music to "Ramones" level (watch Rock and Roll High School-- it's terrific!) and then insist that the complainants are actually the ones making noise, to bigoted anti-gay activists hiring male prostitutes and claiming they did it for rehabilitation (I mean, please, how very Nights of Cabiria), it's clear, however, that hypocrisy is alive and well.

I know it's an older story, but when I first heard about it a week ago, I thought it was best to let it fade. But a week later, we're still hearing about George Rekers, and, quite frankly, it bears constant reminding.

Why is Rekers so intent on making life miserable for people who, apparently, have more guts than he could ever hope? He helped found the Family Research Council, and it is because of people like him, the intellectual equivalent of Anita Bryant, that American civil rights are decades behind where they should be. But, in many ways, Anita Bryant was better than Rekers because Bryant didn't pretend to be anything she wasn't. (Well, knowingly, anyway. She pretended to be loving rather than hateful.) For all the talk there is about gay people wanting to destroy the kingdom of God and recruit children to their sinful ways, it is, in fact, just the opposite. God's kingdom is, from my humble understanding of faith, a kingdom of love for everyone. Men and women telling people they're evil and will go to Hell for it must be just as evil. Didn't Jesus say something about casting stones?

And, by the way, a note on the section of the Bible that most adamantly proclaims that man lying with man is sinful. It comes from Leviticus-- read it if you have doubts-- which is the book that also declares the eating of some animals-- including pigs and shellfish-- to be abomination. It's also the book that dictates the regulations for animal sacrifice. Hey, bigots-- when was the last time you morally refused to eat shrimp? Or when you slaughtered a lamb to the glory of God?

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Return "Letters to Juliet" to Sender: Remembering a Forgotten Classic

Another victory this week for the Nicholas Sparksian refuse that seems to be getting more and more popular with movie audiences every year: the release of Letters to Juliet, which, from what I've seen and read, is just another overly sentimental dung heap casting a trendy actress (in this case, Amanda Seyfried, from Jennifer's Body-- I hesitate to use that seven-letter "a" word) in some sort of gorgeous foreign locale with a new reworking of the same plot we've seen zillions and zillions of times before.

One definite pro about the film: it casts, as an older couple longing to be reunited, the great Vanessa Redgrave and the... well, Franco Nero. For those of you who have no exposure to the classics, Redgrave and Nero, 43 years ago, starred in a movie about love and longing that was actually good, but one which was eviscerated by critics and passed over by the paying audience.

Now, ladies and gentlemen, I transport you to the year 1967 for your cultural edification. Today's lesson is about Camelot.

Seven years prior, Frederick Loewe and Alan Jay Lerner (My Fair Lady, Brigadoon) had yet another success on Broadway with a quirky re-working of the Arthurian legend, primarily dealing with the Arthur/Guenevere/Lancelot love triangle. While critics weren't thoroughly pleased with it (criticizing mainly the book while lauding the songs), it was quite popular and gave Richard Burton his first and only musical stage role (as King Arthur), and the last for Julie Andrews (Guenevere) before she became a movie star.

So when The Sound of Music was released in 1965, becoming the most successful film up to its time, every studio in Hollywood began looking for a musical of equal scope and depth to surpass its popularity. That includes Warner Brothers, whose notoriously gruff chieftain, Jack Warner, had recently had a huge success of his own with the film version of Lerner and Loewe's My Fair Lady. Believing the songwriting duo had what it took to keep audiences happy, he bet an obscene amount of money on a spectacular adaptation of their Camelot with a revamped script and a more memorable rendition of the score.

Unfortunately for the studio, the public wasn't too impressed with their casting decisions, among other things. Not one face from the original Broadway cast returned. Richard Harris (who later in his life would originate the role of Dumbledore in the Harry Potter films) played the King, Vanessa Redgrave, already an accomplished and beautiful British star, was Guenevere, and relative newcomer Franco Nero (who couldn't sing) was Lancelot.

Nor was the audience happy with the songs that got the axe-- admittedly extraneous but beloved songs like "Before I Gaze at You Again," "Fie on Goodness," and Mordred's only solo, "The Seven Deadly Virtues." Critics harped on the superficial excesses of the film-- the extravagant costumes, the apparently tacky-looking sets, and even, in some cases, the makeup-- then turned around and calling it empty spectacle. Pretty big irony coming from people who never looked past the surface.

And so, like King Arthur himself, Camelot faded into vanished memory, an expensive but unpopular venture. Jack Warner left the studio he helped build, and the only other notable film he ever produced was 1776.

But after the movie musical genre went kaput, there grew in number the legions of wistful fans longing for a return to the dignity and intelligence they represented. Now, dignity and intelligence Camelot has to spare. Harris and Redgrave are incredible in their roles, and Gene Merlino does an excellent job singing for Nero. Lionel Jeffries is hilarious as the goofy Pellinore and Laurence Naismith a fascinating, but scarce, Merlyn. The instrumental sections of the music-- handled by the legendary Alfred Newman-- sound ten times better than those from the stage show. And without the movie, the song "If Ever I Would Leave You" would have died soon after the sixties passed.

My point is, it's incredible that Redgrave and Nero (who are now, apparently, married-- take that, critics who said they had no chemistry on screen) are on the big screen together again. But in a world that already includes this forgotten masterpiece (or near-masterpiece, anyway), why would they stoop so low?

I weep for the future of film... but its past is alive and well as long as we think about movies like this.

Is Elena Kagan A Lesbian?

Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...





Does it matter?!

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

In Case You Didn't Know About This....

Earlier this week I received a reaffirmation of what makes life on this planet we've fouled up worth living.

In case you haven't heard of Erik Martin, allow me to give you a brief summary of his story. Erik Martin is a young and terminally ill boy. But thanks to the Make a Wish Foundation-- who, let's face it, are pretty much the most incredible charity on the face of the Earth-- he's more than that. He is a superhero.

Yes, meet Electron Boy, the daring defender of the depressed. You see, Erik Made a Wish. His Wish was to be a superhero. The Foundation, being amazing like that, decided to grant it. Not only that, they found the most unspeakably awesome way to make this happen! Erik became Electron Boy-- costume and all-- and set out on a trek across Seattle to put evil in its place. With the help of local actors and companies, the narrative played out like the best comic book movie ever made. He got to go around solving mysteries created by his evil archnemesis with the help of his sidekick, Lightning Lad. He got to meet Spider-Man and he got a key to the city. Ah, yes-- remember when the whole "key to the city" thing was a tacky cliche in such movies as Spider-Man 3, Superman III, and Rocky III? This young man actually deserved one.

Of course, this story has been zooming around the Web faster than [insert tacky, overused comic-book analogy of your choice], but I think it bears repetition because the story amazes and inspires me. I'll never forget the bravery of the boy behind Electron Boy's mask, nor those who helped his wish come true.

Even with such atrocities going on in the outside world as war, famine, and all the other evils we've come to deplore, one miracle of human kindness like this and life suddenly seems worth it all.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

It's the Big Piece of Garbage All Over Again

Sometimes I think Futurama can't come back to television quickly enough.

Oh, not because I miss it on a purely entertainment level (although I really do!) but because its bold social commentary is needed now more than ever. And, let's face it, no one pays any attention to a dead TV show. Unless your name is William Shatner.

I was astounded but none too surprised to learn of the great gushing oil slick blighting the Gulf Coast. But what's even more astounding is that the thinkers have created quite a few proposals for stopping it, but when it comes to implementing them, they are waiting for.... For what? Embossed invitations? Stone tablets? A creepy drunken robot speaking from the future through a rip in the space-time continuum?

While I agree that taking an action without regard for its consequences is reeeeeeally pretty stupid, I happen to know for a fact that the consequences of this spill are having a cataclysmic impact on a very fragile ecosystem. We all know that news is slow to come, so perhaps even as I write this a plan has been put into action. But considering the age and unfathomable (believe me, no pun intended) size of this disaster, I'd say it's long overdue. Get it through your heads, people. Things happen very fast. If said things are bad-- or, dare I say, calamitous-- amplify that speed estimate by a factor of about fifty. Amplify, and then fix! When the smoke (or, in this case, oil) has cleared, then take the blame for your mistakes. But prepare for that, too. No one is right about everything 100% of the time, and what makes a person intelligent, to some extent, is the willingness to bear responsibility.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

The Unbearable Awesomeness of Being... Jon Stewart

This is just a quick little tidbit to remind us why everyone in the nation should watch The Daily Show on a regular basis.

Last week, Jon Stewart was "rebuked" (as though!) by Fox News for calling them out on obvious hypocrisy. Stewart responded by hiring a gospel choir to suggest, in song, what the hypocrites at Fox News could go do to themselves. In no uncertain terms. Later that week, the gospel choir and their 33%-bleeped three-word song made a reprise on the show, this time directed at people who threaten death over jokes on TV shows, death threats powered by religion. The songs included Stewart doing some of the lamest, and therefore most amazing, dancing ever done by a comedian on national television.

There was one other thing about them, too... what was it? Oh, yeah. They were completely and totally true!!

Stewart has a tempestuous relationship with Fox News because, like every public media outlet/individual in America (and often the world), he calls them out when they do something stupid, hypocritical, blatantly shortsighted, or obnoxious. This is not Stewart being "offensive," for crying out loud! This is Stewart doing the job the (non-comical) media is supposed to do: acting as a watchdog over the government. Unfortunately, the "real" news in this country has somehow received the mistaken memo that their job is to inform the public of Tiger Woods' adultery and to give little anecdotes about huge stories that don't mean anything and don't tell anyone a flip. Yes, I read the newspapers. But what use is a newspaper when its reporters don't report anything I actually need to know? Or, often, can even understand beneath all the layers of meaningless rhetoric and anecdotal statistics?

True, Stewart's humor is often puerile. He did a five-minute-plus riff on Congressman Dick Sweat. But what separates Stewart from the tasteless, ridiculous shows that are puerile for the simple reason of being so (some of which, like Archer, are good; others, like Family Guy, simply nauseating) is this. Underneath all the bleeped language, funny voices, and genital jokes is what we're not getting from the news media.

News.

And a big shoutout to my friends on Brain Logging and Sponsored by Boredom.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

No Questions, No Answers, No Time: A Review

There is a latitude on this Earth that, in summertime, has very, very long hours of daylight and practically no nighttime. This latitude includes Sweden, a Scandinavian nation near Norway and Denmark.

That kind of eternal sunset proves a fantastic metaphor for man's frustrations, a metaphor utilized by Ingmar Bergman in his 1955 film Smiles of a Summer Night (Sommarnattens Leende) and by playwright Hugh Wheeler and composer/lyricist Stephen Sondheim in A Little Night Music, a 1973 English-language musical based on that film.

In 1977, veteran stage director Harold Prince and Vienna's Sascha Film company brought A Little Night Music back to the screen in a low-budget, relatively unsuccessful film that was more or less buried in a film vault for the better part of thirty years. A few years ago, Hen's Tooth Video restored the film negatives and released the movie on disc in the United States. This is a review of that film, which I, as a classic film buff, have recently seen.

I'll begin by stating how much rancor there is out there for the movie version. Instead of a musically gifted lead actress (like the original stage show's Glynis Johns, whom you may recognize as the mother in Mary Poppins), Prince went with Elizabeth Taylor hoping her name would be enough to sell the movie to an audience that hadn't really loved a musical since 1971's Fiddler on the Roof. Needless to say, the name was not enough. But the most drastic change to the structure/story/content is what many people believe robbed the tale of its meaning: the transplant of the setting from ever-sunny Sweden to central-European Austria. Also needless to say, Austria doesn't have the eternal sunset.

And there goes the metaphor.

The song "The Sun Won't Set" has been replaced by a ditty called "Love Takes Time" or something like that, which opens the show with the characters singing about their experiences (or lack thereof) in such issues. The new lyrics are good enough, however, and visually the opening sequence is captivating enough (considering the poor sound and picture quality).

A Little Night Music is the story of a middle-aged (or somewhere thereabouts) actress named Desiree Armfeldt (that's Taylor), who is getting tired of her pedestrian career and her relationship to a married military man. Sounds familiar. Figure in Frederick (in the play, Fredrik) Egerman, the lawyer with whom she was previously involved. Frederick is now married to an 18-year-old virgin named Anne. On top of it all, Frederick has a son, Erich (originally Henrik), who is in love with Anne... which is just a little less bad than it sounds, considering he's actually a year or two older than his stepmother. Desiree is getting tired of the vain, moronic dragoon she's with (and the dragoon's wife, with whom he is entirely honest about the situation, is also getting sick of it) so she hatches a plot to get Frederick back on a weekend in which the Egermans will be invited to her mother's country house. Matters are complicated when the Mittleheims (previously Malcolms), the hilariously stupid dragoon and his emo wife, learn of the invitation and descend on the Armfeldt home that same weekend.

The sense we get right from the start is that only one of the couples really belongs together. As should be expected, things work out in the end, although I won't say how.

On to the specific movie.

Falling under the axe were a surprising number of hit songs from the show-- "Liaisons," "In Praise of Women," "Remember?," "Perpetual Anticipation," "The Miller's Son," and, of course, "The Sun Won't Set." The "Quintet," a group of three women and two men who acted as a kind of Greek chorus for the show, are also gone, grounding the film a little more thoroughly in reality, which is both a blessing and a curse. Returning from the original cast are Hermione Gingold (she sang "I Remember It Well" with Maurice Chevalier in Gigi and fought to ban books in The Music Man) as Desiree's mother, Len Cariou as Frederick, and, best of all, the riotous Laurence Guittard as the Count. Diana Rigg (Miss Piggy's put-upon employer in The Great Muppet Caper and Bond's true love in the hideously boring On Her Majesty's Secret Service) is the Countess, and she is by far the best new addition to the cast. The rest of the cast is unmemorable, especially Taylor. Early in the film, she hurries off stage after a performance saying she couldn't kill the "old cow" (her character) any faster tonight-- I wonder if it's what the real Liz Taylor said after finishing her death scene in Cleopatra.

And the big bone of contention about Taylor is that she was not a singer. Never was, never will be. She had tried out for the lead in 1958's South Pacific movie, but she wouldn't sing. I guess twenty years later it didn't matter as much to her. She's dubbed in "Love Takes Time," but in the uproarious "You Must Meet My Wife" (a highlight of the film, in which she learns of Frederick's bizarre situation) and the famous "Send in the Clowns," it is obviously her own voice... paper-thin and reaching. It's not pleasant.

But look at Sophia Loren in the underrated Man of La Mancha. Her big solo, "Aldonza," is scratchy and waily, but emotionally it's exactly what it should be. Taylor tries boldly to hit the same mark but misses, although barely.

All in all, I would love to see a film of A Little Night Music done right, with the quintet and the complete score and the Swedish setting. As far as I know, the play was recently revived, so there should be renewed interest in it. Of course, it probably won't happen. Ever. Movie musicals have been dead for decades. Occasionally you have a Grease or a Jesus Christ Superstar that does some small or large amount of business. But mostly, it's Rents, horrible versions of strictly theatrical stories, or Sweeney Todds, which, like Night Music, lost too much from the original play to be more than "good."

But since it isn't easy for people to go see a play, movie musicals are great because they allow those who wouldn't normally be able to see them, to see them. I discovered South Pacific, Carousel, La Mancha, Camelot, and many other great musicals through movie versions widely deemed subpar by the critical majority. And for the most part, it's a good system. A Little Night Music: 1977, PG, Sascha-Wien Film/Hen's Tooth Video. 119 minutes. Not perfect, but great, and for exposure to one of the best musicals ever written, a perfect opportunity.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Books Are There to Challenge Us, Not to Be Challenged

While reading through the newspaper this morning, I saw some interesting stories. But the one that really caught my attention-- as in are you freaking kidding me?!-- was about the list of books recently challenged-- books that have been petitioned for removal from schools and libraries.

A while back, I wrote a post about the selective re-editing of Hugh Lofting's Doctor Dolittle stories by two know-nothing revisionist clods. I don't know which is worse-- to challenge/ban a book or to go back and remove the offensive lines. On the one hand: a challenged book still maintains its original structure, but no one enjoys it. On the other hand, a revised book does give a glimpse into the author's style and intent, however diluted that glimpse may be, but it's insulting artistically to take it upon yourself to rewrite literature.

I can't believe this is still an issue!

Correction-- yes I can. And that's the sad part.

Included on the list of challenged books are the Twilight series. I have no special love for those books-- in fact, I think they're pulpy, pretentious trash with lousy, dimwitted narratives and unappealing characters. (Not to criticize.) But if people want to subject themselves to the reason why many people think the novel is a dead art form, let them! If you're offended by the content, don't frooging read it!

Also included: And Tango Makes Three, a children's book about two gay penguins raising an abandoned chick in a public zoo. Now, this is more of a hot-button topic. But to me, this story (which I have never read, but I am familiar with the tale of these icy birds and their unwitting struggle for civil rights) reflects something good: two life forms taking the initiative to raise a baby animal that would have died if not for them. What kind of decent person is opposed to that? Should the chick have committed suicide just so as not to be raised by two queers? Are a man and a woman who beat and harass their child automatically better parents than two women or two men who love and support a child in their care?

Let's also look at some of the other books that have been challenged and/or banned in the past. Leon Uris' Exodus, for one, a powerful epic about the struggle for Israeli independence. This novel (and, more frequently, the 1960 film it inspired) draws ire from those who claim it vilifies the Palestinian Arabs. Does anyone who makes that claim remember Taha (spoiler alert), the Arab village chieftain who gave his life rather than see innocent Jewish children be slaughtered?

Of course not. And what about William Peter Blatty's The Exorcist? Now I can certainly understand the moral objection to this story: the route to its highly moral core is paved through and through with profanity, startling obscenity, frightening episodes, and the simple idea that pure evil would victimize an innocent twelve-year-old girl. It's not an easy, nor a fun, read. It's a shocker, a thinker, a faith check, and a bone of contention. No one is denying that (except the poor, desensitized children of my generation who find nothing shocking in it and call the harrowing 1973 movie masterpiece a lifeless bore). But at the heart of this story (and I emphasize heart) is the overriding supremacy of a mother's love for her daughter, a love that compels her to take every conceivable action to stop this horrid evil from claiming the young soul. That story could never be told without such a chilling level of horror. But so many allegations made against the book and film-- that they glorify Satanism and encourage child rape-- are not only purely wrong but thoroughly offensive to anyone with a simple grasp of the story's true nature.

I encourage everyone out there to read a book that's been banned. A book that has, in the past, been burned. Because these hateful, closed-minded organizations don't go after meaningless books. I'm not saying that Twilight has meaning (its only purpose is to make teenage girls sigh), but you have to admit that books that teach and challenge are usually targeted as "offensive to morality."

And I also challenge everyone to remember another book that's been banned many times over-- the Bible.

Saturday, April 3, 2010

More Than Just a Chariot Race: Easter Entertainment Picks

Happy Easter, folks! Enjoy your bunnies and Jesus.

As XC's resident film critic (and really, technically, its only resident), just thought I'd recommend a few classic movies to watch to commemorate this rejuvenating time of year... and a few things to stay away from.

Things You Should Watch

  • Ben-Hur (1959)-- Famous for its pre-climactic chariot race, this 222-minute classic (212 without the overture & intermission), features so many more great scenes: a stunning sea battle, a daring attempted prison break, a procession through Rome that involves absolutely no CGI, and Christ scenes that are reverent without being cheesy or regrettable. The great performances by Charlton Heston, Stephen Boyd, Jack Hawkins, and Hugh Griffith only enhance the film, as does the music and the mind-bogglingly wide widescreen photography.
  • Godspell (1973)-- The gospel of St. Matthew comes to 1973 New York in this presumably low-budget cult classic, in which a cast of ten incredibly talented people (including Victor Garber and Carmen Sandiego's Lynne Thigpen) reenact Biblical parables in between weird but no less compelling songs. The choreography is great, and the city incomparably beautiful, even if the hair and costumes are dated (and believe me, they are; America's farthest-right right winger would notice). It all leads up to a powerful reenactment of the Last Supper and an eerie interpretive presentation of the Crucifixion and resurrection.
  • Jesus Christ Superstar (1973)-- Actually filmed on location in Beit Guvrin, Israel, this amusingly retro but no less dramatic rock opera (directed by Fiddler on the Roof's Norman Jewison and co-produced by Grease's Robert Stigwood) features some of the best vocal performances in the history of rock and roll. A few critics say it's disrespectful (most publicly Archie Bunker) but it's actually based directly on the layout of the Gospels and treats Jesus, oddly enough, with the reverence a Christian should expect.

Things You Really Shouldn't:

  • It's the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown (1974)-- Okay, so Charlie Brown is fun, but it should never be dated. With its cheesy 70s music and dreadful voice work, this lesser special does not belong in the same league as the ubiquitous Christmas and Halloween shows. Although the climactic appearance of the Easter Beagle is great fun.
  • The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965)-- Seriously, baaaaaad George Stevens! Misusing the super-wide screen format of Ben-Hur, the widescreen-hating director churned out this overlong, laborious, mind-numbing and waaaaaaay too preachy account of the life of Christ. Max von Sydow plays Jesus, but his eyes are terrifying. And the film is punctuated with dismal, tacky, inappropriate cameos-- most notably, John Wayne.
  • The Silver Chalice (1954)-- Highlight: Paul Newman's film debut. Lowlight: Paul Newman's film debut. This lousy adaptation of a mediocre bestseller is poorly acted, poorly filmed, and hideously designed. Also-- worst. Use. Of. Lorne. Greene. Ever.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

A Reminder

This is a very religious week. In the Jewish faith, this week has seen the Passover celebration marking the occasion when the Hebrew slaves were visited, and spared by, the Angel of Death. Christians celebrate the resurrection of Christ with Easter. Those without organized religious beliefs, or who practice worship of nature for example, celebrate the rebirth of the world with the infancy of spring.

The news has not been particularly secular in recent days, either. A large-scale rehashing of the Catholic Church's "Molest-o-gate" scandal has seen an upswing in all the major news outlets in the US and abroad. Several key members of an apocalyptic Christian fundamentalist militia group has also got people talking. So you have the good aspects of faith (mentioned in paragraph 1) and the bad, and it is crucial to remember both.

Here's what I believe-- not in a religious sense, but in a personal sense. All human beings get the chance to live a just life and cause some good in the world around us. To me, that belief seems like a pretty good candidate for my personal "meaning of life," and I strongly encourage everyone alive to find their own. But no power in the physical universe-- or the spiritual universe-- gives a human being the right to take the life of another. Or to cause harm to another. Now, "causing harm is often accidental"-- harsh words that come out the wrong way, for example-- but to deliberately plan it is inexcusable, even if you don't follow through with your plan. To participate in an action that you know will harm another human being (i.e., child molestation), but resorting to "higher principles" to defend your motive, or insisting that you mean no harm after-the-fact, is bad enough. But when you take the life of another human being, you relinquish your chance to live a just life and do good. No ifs, no ands, no buts.

I have absolutely no sympathy for child molesters, cop killers, rapists, murderers, slavers, and others of the same ilk. The same holds true (and this is particularly important in light of recent events) for those who further victimize victims of natural and unnatural disasters.

Unfortunately, I still have an unshaken faith in the goodness of human nature. But that's really starting to get tested. Let this be a wakeup call to the world, and let this time of year serve as the ideal backdrop.


On a much lighter note-- if you've never seen the cheesy, classic 1956 epic masterpiece The Ten Commandments, I encourage you to help keep a decades-old tradition alive. Saturday night at 8 pm Pacific, ABC will air the 220-minute extravaganza in its entirety (with the exception of the nonessential snippets-- overture, intermission, exit music, and director Cecil B. DeMille's memorable but labored on-screen introduction). So unless you have your own copy, or access to somebody else's, I strongly recommend the Passover tradition (regardless of your personal religious identification). The special effects may look ridiculous now, but they remain magnificent as a representation of Old Hollywood ingenuity, when the term "personal computer" was decades in the future. In spite of the goofy sanctimony and aforementioned cheese, the last movie that even came close to having this amount of class was Return of the King.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

I Know We're Not Supposed to Ask. But Somebody Needs to Start Telling. NOW.

The latest preposterous development in the uphill battle for gay and lesbian patriots to serve in the military without compromising their personal ethics: a suggestion that, if "Don't Ask/Don't Tell" is repealed, GLBT personnel would get their own living space.

The upside? Sometimes it can be totally awesome to have a living space all to yourself. Right? Totally!

But the downside? Well, that would be the implication that led to this suggestion: the belief that all homosexuals are disgusting, unnatural deviants who can't control themselves and will rape anyone who breathes, as long as they're the same sex.

Are you freakin' kidding me, people?! First of all (and these are in no particular order), gays have been serving in the military, secretly, most likely since before the Stamp Act. I'm sure that in the course of that time, there have been some incidents of the kind feared above. But the important thing to remember is that these are completely atypical! Gays and lesbians are (wait for it!) human beings, just like all the other human beings on the planet, with a wonderful little trait called self-control. Common sense clearly dictates that this trait is exercised more often than not in the course of world events.

Second, when people are afraid, their brains start looking for little things to be afraid of. Key example in a non-related case: for the very first time, a six-year-old child goes to sleep without a night light. Naturallly, he or she is very nervous about being immersed in total darkness for the first time since the womb. At this time, anything becomes anything else. A teddy bear stacked in the open closet becomes a hideous monster waiting for the right moment to pounce. Closer to the point, if a straight man or woman is uncomfortable with their sexuality (which happens), they won't want to be left alone with someone who's just said, "Hey, I'm gay." Certainly not without a light on.

That's where the principle of "unit cohesion" comes in (and if I hear that term one more time, I am going to throw myself against a glass door until the world makes some kind of sense). Military brass are afraid that when that paranoia (irrational fear) sinks in, bye-bye to the effectiveness of the team. Well, they're right on that. But the solution is not in segregating gays from straights. That only leads to increasing the feelings of distance and difference. You know what happens when those feelings escalate? Brawls, riots, and, in extreme circumstances, genocide. Don't believe me? Read up on your history.

The secret to improving unit cohesion is to force the paranoid faction to mingle with those they fear. Let all the misconceptions go away and make room for truth. Because as soon as the paranoid people can wrap their frightened, Burt Gummer-y brains around the facts (that gay men and women forcing straight men and women into bed is the exception), this problem will be just another ugly scar on our hideously deformed, scar-addled history.

________________________________
Entertainment expert weighs in: This June, a modern American classic returns to regular life after seven years of cancellation. Watch Futurama, starting in the sixth month on Comedy Central! Somebody finally listened!