Modern Masterpiece: The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford

Andrew Dominik's The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford is, like James himself, a brooding, uneasy and captivating film. Melancholy landscapes of wind-swept Midwestern wheat fields are spelled by moments of tense, brutal violence. An unsettling score from Nick Cave and Warren Ellis meanders between shots, providing much of the gravity and suffocating sense of impending doom that hangs over every scene. The film draws comparisons to Terrence Malick's 1978 masterpiece Days of Heaven, and the similarities in tone are striking. The omniscient voice-over, the impeccable landscapes, the somber, detached characters prone to ruthless violence one moment and tears the next. In the midst of all this, Brad Pitt as Jesse James and Casey Affleck as Robert Ford give the best performances of their careers. Those hoping to see a polished, traditional Western may be disappointed by the poetry and pacing of this 160-minute character study, but those with a bit of patience will be handsomely rewarded.    

The film takes place in 1882, with Jesse James 34 years old and approaching the end of his days as a train robber. For their final job, Jesse and his brother Frank assemble a rag-tag gang of petty thieves and unsavory characters. Neither of these, 19 year old Robert Ford still desperately attempts to ingratiate himself with his idol Jesse James. At the behest of his brother Frank, Jesse allows Bob to tag along on this final robbery attempt. After parting ways following the crime, the paths of Bob and Jesse begin to intertwine with increasing intensity as Jesse's paranoia emboldens him to find and kill members of the gang lest they kill him first for the huge bounty on his head.

Brad Pitt is riveting as James, playing the outlaw with a nuance and sadness he's rarely shown before. James is not the ruthless mastermind he once was, but he is not above lapsing into moments of brutality to assert his dominance. More than anything, Jesse appears to be consumed by paranoia which is tempered by his desperate attempts to maintain his devil-may-care facade. Casey Affleck's Robert Ford is an insecure and defensive young man, who is both thrilled and repulsed to be in the presence of his hero. His obsession with James manifests itself in many ways disquieting ways, from a thorough mental list of the things they have in common to fantasizing himself with Jesse's bullet wounds and amputated middle finger. James responds this admiration with a chess match of disgust and paternal care, whose pendulum swings higher with every scene. Those who dismiss Jesse's death as anticlimactic have missed the point entirely, and are better served by watching the film again from the start. It stands up with the unglamorous tone of the film and the nature of the two men.

The final 10 minutes are as affecting an epilogue as I can remember, speaking to the very nature of fame and infamy and the fine line separating the two. Sometimes you seem destined for fame and wake up infamous, other times you rob trains and murder without remorse and become the stuff of legends. While I will concede that James and Ford aren't the kindred spirits Bob believes them to be, they also aren't nearly as different as Jesse hopes they are.

Old Song Review: Bob Dylan - Tonight I'll Be Staying Here With You

This song has been in the queue for a while so I'm sorry to just be getting to it now. For the sake of expediency I'm going to truncate the title in this post to Tonight.

Bob Dylan seems to be a controversial singer-songwriter. Many hate his scratchy voice and [some] preachy/protest songs but I think the haters don't know what they're talking about. Dylan has some fantastic music out there and some of it, in many ways, serves as the soundtrack for an important period in contemporary history. Maybe someday your blog host will review one of his albums but I just wanted to talk about one song:

Tonight was released in 1969 at the height of the hippie era. My parents and their friends mostly claim that 1968 was the best year of the 60's (and sometimes their lives) but I would have no idea. It seems like the 60's were a ton of fun but they also produced all these baby-boomers who are now keeping their jobs (instead of giving them to me) and starting to suck up all the social security. At least they came up with some really great music. Tonight is part of the Nashville Skyline album, Dylan's 9th.

As with the other songs I review in this column part of what got my attention is the story. I'm glad I was touched by a happier song this time as the last two have been overwhelmingly melancholy. Tonight is about
relinquishing yourself to love (or at least to lust . . .).

If you haven't heard this song but have listened to some of Dylan's work you'll be happy to know that Tonight was recorded fairly early in Dylan's career, before his voice got really scratchy and gravelly. Don't get me wrong, I love some of his later work and I like his voice in general, but Bob is more mellifluous in Tonight than in many other recording later in his career. With the inclusion of the blues guitar at the bridge, Tonight is really a great song and just makes you want to sway or bob your head slowly from side to side.

The story is basically of this traveler with plans to leave his lover one night. It seems like the affair isn't some long term thing but almost that the traveler has become stuck in place. There are almost wafts of Siren imagery from the Odyssey. But I don't take the same message from Tonight as I do from Ulysses' story. It's not about getting beguiled by beautiful women, but succumbing to love. This song to me is all about resignation. He's giving up trying to fight the feeling and I can just see this traveler, if not actually throwing his suitcase out the window, at least dropping it in the middle of the floor as he rushes across the room into his lovers' arms. Sam Cooke apparently once explained the future to Bobby Womack (in reference to Dylan's voice): "it's not going to be about how pretty the voice is. It's going to be about believing that the voice is telling the truth." The quality of Dylan's voice may be of some controversy to the uninitiated, but if you've ever had the feeling of the traveler, you know this song to be True.

Marathon Sports

After a protracted negotiation at Sam's Boston Marathon Fundraiser, I managed to swap my Wine Gift Basket for a Blue Moon, a new coil bike lock and a $100 Gift Certificate to Marathon Sports. So what if BSC was drunk, I was drunk too. Tell it to the judge. Drunken negotiations are the best kind of negotiations because the peaks and valleys of normal haggling become exponentially higher (and lower). Instead of honing on a compromise, things usually unravel into someone walking off after asking for something completely ridiculous. All is not lost, since drunk people don't hold grudges/remember things very well. The trick to bargaining with a drunk person is to distract and confuse. Know their weaknesses. In my case, I knew BSC was a serious oenophile. I parried her inquiries at first, pretending to be enthralled by the gift basket, but I was biding my time. 20 minutes later, she had bought me another Blue Moon, she had somehow finagled her friend's bike lock and the transaction was complete.

Today I went to Marathon Sports between Porter and Harvard Squares on my bike to get some new running shoes. Apparently you should only put 300-500 miles on a pair of shoes before sending them out to pasture. I put a cool 1,000 on my New Balance's, and the only reason I stopped using them is because my toe started falling out. Suffice to say I had a lot to learn from running professionals.

After locking up my bike (with my new lock), I sauntered into Marathon Sports and was greeted by a nice woman who told me about their 'Gait Analysis'. I don't think it was called gait analysis, probably something nicer like 'Stride', but I was a little disoriented from riding in traffic for the first time this year. She said I had a 'normal' walk, which I took as a compliment. If she had said anything else I probably would have felt like I had wasted 24 years of my life with insufficient footwear. Imagine what my life would have been like! That's like finding out you had superpowers on your deathbed. Sort of.    

She then brought my a pair of Asics (11.5) and then made me run awkwardly in them down Mass Ave. They felt nice, but kind of pinched my Achilles. She said that was because of the Memory Foam. I thought that was silly to have in a shoe and asked for another pair. She brought my 3 more pairs and generally left me to my own devices. I walked around outside and came back in and asked to try on the nifty Gray/Neon Green Nike's. She said they didn't have a lot of cushioning and were a 'lighter' shoe like that was a bad thing. I just thought they looked cool. Sure enough, I tried them on and they felt like I was running in Crocs (just kidding I've never worn Crocs). She was right, and I decided to defer to her expertise. I decided on a pair of Nike Moto 7's.

They conveniently have a nice little compartment in the insole for a Nike+ chip. Marathon Sports conveniently  have Nike+ Chip accessories right next to the register. I don't own in iPod (ugh), so I bought this:

It tracks your mileage, pace and calories burned and is '95%' accurate. Since any distance I foresee myself running will not be dramatically affected by being off by 5%, I couldn't resist. AND the Sportband plugs into your computer to track all of this FOR you! All of this came to $34 after the gift certificate and a 15% coupon (thanks SS). I can't wait to run tomorrow.

Easter Candy

How Christ's resurrection became associated with rabbits with baskets and hidden eggs I will never understand. Was it conniving Hershey executives in the 19th century to push their chocolate agenda through the spring sales lull? Was it a big poultry/PAAS alliance trying to make Americans who would nary eat a hard-boiled egg decide to boil, dye, decorate and consume a dozen in a single day? Whatever precipitated this 'holiday', the truth is that I eat more candy this day than I do the rest of the year combined. I don't even particularly like candy, but Easter candy is another matter entirely. I feel it is my duty to rank familiar Easter candy so that you can form a solid gameplan. They are ranked from delicious to vile. 

Note: Too many companies put pastel colors on their wrapper and call it 'EASTER CANDY!!11'. They will not receive proper billing here. I LOVE Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, but seriously Reese's? Pink foil wrappers don't fool anyone. Have some self-respect. Also, if you just make your candy 'egg-shaped' and don't change anything else, that's lame too. 

 

1. Cadbury Mini Eggs

THESE are the reason I go home for Easter (well, you know what I mean). They are SO delicious, and the complete opposite of their evil twin, Cadbury Creme Eggs (more on them later). If I were to die on Easter (don't worry, I'd be back in 3 days like JC), I would want to go drowning in a sea of Cadbury Mini Eggs (see above).

DISTANT DISTANT 2. Jelly Beans

I don't know if Jelly Beans are technically an 'Easter' candy, but I enjoy them in moderation. I'm not freakish about my beans either and separate them by color, flavor or however else the voices tell you. They are tangy and fruity and generally enjoyable. Just make sure you don't get the Bertie Bott's every flavor beans. Those are DANGEROUS. Or hilarious, if you have a sense of humor and gullible siblings.  

3. Chocolate Bunnies

When I saw Chocolate Bunnies, I mean a real C-H-O-C-O-L-A-T-E Bunny. Good chocolate, preferably with some peanut butter/caramel, but for the love of GOD, good chocolate. Not a hollow, crumbly, waxy, I-have-to-chew-this-for-30-seconds-to-taste-it bunny. If it comes in a box and sits in an imprint on a white plastic tray, you can keep it. If it says Russell Stover or Palmer's on it, I hope you have the receipt. 

4. Robin Eggs

I think I like these. At least a little bit. They are made by Whoppers, so they probably taste like Whoppers. I like Whoppers to a point, and that point is probably a 'handful'. After that I wonder why I am eating astronaut candy and look around to see if there are any Cadbury Mini Eggs left I can steal out of my sister's basket. This is mostly here to buffer the good candy from the TERRIBLE candy. 

5. Cadbury Creme Eggs

So what if I chose an unflattering picture of a Cadbury Creme Egg. That is exactly what you are eating. You are eating that terrible hollow chocolate which has been impregnated with a sugary goo. It's like a real raw egg! Isn't that fun?! No, it's an abomination. If you like Cadbury Creme Eggs we probably won't get along. You probably also eat frosting out of the container. 

6. Peeps

If you thought I was harsh on Cadbury Creme Eggs, here's where I pull out the big guns. Peeps and ZERO redeeming qualities. They are the Twinkies and the Spam and the Pork Rinds of Easter Candy. Do me a favor for a second. Cover up the eye of the peep in the picture. What does it look like to you? Yes, you're right, a fluorescent turd. And that's exactly how it tastes. I feel like renouncing my membership to the human race whenever a person says they love Peeps. I usually ask them if they are new to this planet. You know how Just Born  (what an apt name, as those are the only people who like your candy) probably thought of the idea for Peeps? They dropped a half-melted Marshmallow in the sand. Just think about that next time you bite into one.  

IFF Boston

With April two days away, it's almost that time of year again. By 'that time' I mean the week in late April when New England film geeks converge upon Boston to see films they would otherwise be waiting months or traveling to Sundance or Toronto to see. 2010 marks the 8th annual Independent Film Festival Boston, and it's remarkable to see how this rag-tag festival has blossomed into an beloved 8-day blitzkrieg. Looking at the sparse list of films from 2003, I struggle to recognize any of the titles. These days, they host Q&A's with big-name actors and directors, and are frequently the East-Coast premiere for films coming out of other Festivals like Sundance and SXSW.

I first attended the festival in 2008 when I unknowingly gave the head honcho (or one of them) of the festival a ride home from an Arlington Gas Station. He graciously gave me two all-access passes as a thank-you, and I wasted no time in spending the lion's share of the next few days bouncing around the many screens of the Somerville Theatre, not especially interested in what was playing. Last year I made a huge list and was able catch many films that ended up becoming critical and commercial darlings later that year. Looking down the 2009 list, many of the films that seemed completely obscure at the time, are now Oscar-nominees. 500 Days of Summer, The Brother's Bloom, In The Loop, Big Fan, Food Inc, Bronson all played at IFFBoston, months before any sort of proper release. The question surrounding IFFBoston isn't whether there will be good films there, but which ones are the best and how will I be able find time to see them all? To save you the trouble, I've pored over the list of nearly 100 narrative/documentary/short films and picked the ones with the best word of mouth. There are Spanish Thrillers, Korean Westerns, Kevin Kline as an escort, and of course, a healthy dose of documentaries. The full list is here. I've attached links to clips/trailers/articles/whatever I could find whenever possible.

The Freebie

In Katie Aselton’s directorial debut, a young couple (Dax Shepard and Aselton) consents to permit each other one night of freedom from their monogamous relationship.

The Extra Man

In this urbane comedy, Paul Dano and Kevin Kline play writers who sideline as escorts for wealthy widowed socialites.

Winter's Bone

Ree desperately searches for her father, whose disappearance after posting bail risks her losing their Ozark home. Stars John Hawkes (Deadwood, Lost).

Cyrus

Mark and Jay Duplass’s hilarious new comedy about the battle for one woman’s affections, starring John C. Reilly, Jonah Hill, Catherine Keener and Marisa Tomei.

The Killer Inside Me

Casey Affleck portrays a Texas deputy sheriff whose dormant violent tendencies resurface. Directed by Michael Winterbottom.

Cell 211

In this Goya Award-winning suspense thriller from Spain, a rookie guard is trapped inside a prison during a riot and must pretend he is a prisoner to survive.

The Good, The Bad and The Weird

In this frenetic, high-octane Korean Western, three Outlaws in 1930s Manchuria attempt to recover a map to buried treasure.

I Am Love

The wife of an Italian industrial magnate (Tilda Swinton) embarks on a dangerous affair in this sumptuous film.

Solitary Man

Michael Douglas portrays a used car magnate whose personal demons dismantle his life.

Documentaries

The Oath

The story of two brothers-in-law, close to Osama bin Laden and Al-Qaeda, and their very different outcomes post 9/11.

Casino Jack and the United States of Money

Alex Gibney (TAXI TO THE DARK SIDE) investigates lobbyist Jack Abramoff and his trail of lies and deceit.

Jean-Michel Basquat: The Radiant Child

Portrait of the short life of celebrated Neo-Expressionist artist Jean-Michel Basquiat

Saturday Night

James Franco (PINEAPPLE EXPRESS) makes his directorial debut with this behind-the-scenes look at the making of an episode of Saturday Night Live.

Marwencol

A man deals with being savagely beaten by creating beautiful photographs of G.I. Joe and Barbie dolls to narrate his fantasy life.

Do It Again

Boston Globe writer Geoff Edgers fights an uphill battle to reunite the Kinks.

IFF Boston is April 21st-28th. 

Cook-Off

In the spirit of friendly competition, we regularly have 'cook-offs' at my place of employment. They are a lot of fun, although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't miffed that I haven't won yet. At my behest, the theme of our latest competition is 'Appetizers'. For you to understand my perspective, let me briefly recap our four previous installments:

-About a year ago we had a Chili Cook-Off. I was a judge. Chili allowed for artistic freedom while still being married to the agreed upon concept of Chili. That is unless you are JD and you use tofu and your dish adopts the color and consistency of spackle. I was a judge. MT won. I did not vote for her. Her chili tasted like taco-seasoning, but I digress. There are sourer grapes to come.

-The second episode was an 'Apple-Pie' Bake-Off. Pie was a very loose qualifier (as there were several crisps) but everyone agreed that store-bought crusts were inexcusable. MT won again. Again, I did not vote for her. I don't even remember her pie, but I think it used applesauce or had no top crust or had some other unsettling attribute that blasphemed Apple Pie as I knew it.

-For the third competition, we maintained the baking theme, this time setting our sights on Chocolate Chip Cookies. After judging twice and viewing the pratfalls of others, I felt confident in my decision to make Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies. It was October and they were delicious. The ribbon was as good as mine (of course, MT opting out also helped matters). As I've already alluded to, I did not win. The reason for this is two-fold. One, because the judges for this competition were simpletons with an irrational fear of pumpkin. And two, because people cannot follow simple rules. Chocolate Chip Cookie means a Cookie with Chocolate Chips. Not a chocolate chunk brownie (yes MB now I agree brownies aren't cookies). Not a sugar cookie with Rolo's pressed into the top. I lost to both.

-The fourth and most recent foray was a Soup-Off. I pulled out all the stops and made a delicious Mulligatawny Soup. With MT and J-Fo also entering the fold, an epic showdown was brewing. I was a bit apprehensive about choosing soup as a theme, fearing that it was too broad a category and it would be difficult to compare and contrast them. But I decided I would make the best soup I could make, and if some fool wanted to get cute and make a Butternut Squash Soup, that was their prerogative, but he wouldn't stand a chance. I placed second to who else but MT. She won rave reviews for her meat-lovers soup. It was spicy beyond belief (and surely loaded with MSG) but people ATE IT UP. Judges attempted to console me, saying 'If yours was spicier, it would have won', but the damage was done. MT laughed all the while, taking pictures with her fancy camera.

So this brings me to the appetizer cook-off. I know MT can make a mean egg-roll and will probably win again, but that's not the point. How can you compare a Jalapeno popper to Crab Rangoon? Spinach and Artichoke dip to Cocktail Weenies? It's just silly. People can't be asked to judge such disparate dishes. I recommended Macaroni and Cheese or Homemade Salsa, two familiar concepts with a lot of room for creativity, but no, it was appetizers. As of now I am still boycotting the contest, but if I do enter, I can guarantee two things. It will be incredibly spicy and I will not follow any rules.

On Repeat: Drake-Over

You probably know Drake. He started as an angsty teen on the Canadian middle-school drama Degrassi and was on the traditional fizzle track of a child star. And then a funny thing happened. He released his So Far Gone mixtape in January 2009 and absolutely exploded. It didn't hurt that Lil Wayne and Bun B offered their services on a few tracks, but the fact remained, Drake did with his So Far Gone mixtape what most rappers aspire their entire career to realize. It spawned 2 Top 20 singles (Successful and Best I Ever Had) and a new hip-hop juggernaut was born. His affiliation with Lil Wayne's Young Money troupe resulted in 2 MORE Top 10 singles (Bed Rock and Every Girl) and in less than 12 months, Drake had gone from obscure Toronto actor to being offered a verse on Forever with the 3 biggest rap artists of the decade (Sorry Hov): Lil Wayne, Eminem and Kanye West. Talk about a whirlwind.

Understandably, the hype surrounding his 'proper' debut album has been deafening. The brilliance/heel of hip-hop is that its artists never rest on their laurels. Even if they are locked up 10 hours a day working out an album, they never fail to pop-up with guest verses or scrape together a mixtape. However, by doing this, artists run the risk of over-exposure or worse, a drying of their creative wells. You can't fault them for striking while the iron is hot. So when Drake released 'Over', the first single off his debut album, a fair number of people were  bracing themselves for disappointment. Oh ye of little faith.

'Over' showcases why Drake is such a unique hip-hop commodity. He has an incredibly versatile voice that allows him to ride a complex beat one minute and then sing the entire hook himself. This is a scary development. Before Drake, hip-hop hooks were almost exclusively the domain of R&B mercenaries. On 'Over', Drake makes it abundantly clear that he has the chops to handle both. The song opens audaciously into the chorus, Drake's voice sounding so full you almost think it's autotuned. The fluttery violins and introspective opening lines are quickly revealed as a red herring (the first time those drums come in never fail to give me goosebumps) and Drake lurches headstrong into verse. While not his most engaging lyrics (the MJ and Ebert references are a little lame), his confidence and delivery are as contagious and convincing as ever.

Comedy Half-Lives

Unlike dramatic actors who seem to get better with age, the careers of comedic actors have notoriously steep arcs. They rise through the comedy ranks (SNL), strike gold with a low-brow box-office smash (See: Dumb and Dumber, Trading Places, The Jerk), coast on this creative energy, and before you know it, are making Cheaper By The Dozen 2 and Norbit. Sometimes their careers are revitalized by a dramatic role (See: Punchdrunk Love, The Truman Show, Good Will Hunting), but their comedy is never the same. It's like some 'funny' switch they can't reach gets caught on someones sleeve and turned off forever. The funnier they are, the further they fall. Chevy Chase should not be playing the voice of Cho-Cho in The Karate Dog. He made Fletch for chrissake!  So many brilliant comedians have fallen victim to this trajectory that I was beginning to think that it was a simple inevitability. It's just unconscionable. That is, until Bill Murray.

Bill Murray is the beacon of light in the ghost town of washed up comedians. He is the ultimate acting chameleon, bringing his subtle wit and reserved sarcasm to every role he plays, regardless of its tenor. He is so memorable in his roles that it is virtually impossible to envision anyone else playing Peter Venkman or Mr. Blume. He is so beloved, that even urban legends regarding him are hilarious (and usually true). Yes, he accosts people and tells them, 'no one will ever believe you'. Yes, he crashes random NYC house parties. And just this week, the following footage turned up from last weeks SXSW Festival in Austin, TX.


    
Yes, that is Bill Murray bartending. Sure he made Garfield (and the sequel), but at least he owned up to it in Zombieland. I'm sure Eddie Murphy still stands by Meet Dave as misunderstood societal critique. Bill Murray gives hope to the Andy Sambergs and the Michael Ceras. You don't necessarily have to 'evolve' to stay alive in Hollywood, as long as you exercise a little restraint and keep a competent agent on your payroll. Also, It helps to be funny to begin with (I'm talking to you Dane Cook).

Abridged Entry!

Forgive me this short blog entry but TBC is tonight and I am ill-prepared. I am leading our discussion of Elmore Leonard's 'Rum Punch' and I have just realized that the book doesn't lend itself to much discussion. I'll see what I can do. We are also choosing a new set of books tonight, this is very exciting. Here are the books I will be recommending:

The Yiddish Policeman's Union - Michael Chabon 

Rob already recommended this months ago, but whatever. I'm going to take all the credit if we choose it. Here's the long-winded synopsis:

For sixty years, Jewish refugees and their descendants have prospered in the Federal District of Sitka, a "temporary" safe haven created in the wake of revelations of the Holocaust and the shocking 1948 collapse of the fledgling state of Israel. Proud, grateful, and longing to be American, the Jews of the Sitka District have created their own little world in the Alaskan panhandle, a vibrant, gritty, soulful, and complex frontier city that moves to the music of Yiddish. For sixty years they have been left alone, neglected and half-forgotten in a backwater of history. Now the District is set to revert to Alaskan control, and their dream is coming to an end: once again the tides of history threaten to sweep them up and carry them off into the unknown.

But homicide detective Meyer Landsman of the District Police has enough problems without worrying about the upcoming Reversion. His life is a shambles, his marriage a wreck, his career a disaster. He and his half-Tlingit partner, Berko Shemets, can't catch a break in any of their outstanding cases. Landsman's new supervisor is the love of his life—and also his worst nightmare. And in the cheap hotel where he has washed up, someone has just committed a murder—right under Landsman's nose. Out of habit, obligation, and a mysterious sense that it somehow offers him a shot at redeeming himself, Landsman begins to investigate the killing of his neighbor, a former chess prodigy. But when word comes down from on high that the case is to be dropped immediately, Landsman soon finds himself contending with all the powerful forces of faith, obsession, hopefulness, evil, and salvation that are his heritage—and with the unfinished business of his marriage to Bina Gelbfish, the one person who understands his darkest fears.

At once a gripping whodunit, a love story, an homage to 1940s noir, and an exploration of the mysteries of exile and redemption, The Yiddish Policemen's Union is a novel only Michael Chabon could have written.

Heat: An Amateur's Adventures as Kitchen Slave, Line Cook, Pasta-Maker, and Apprentice to a Dante-Quoting Butcher in Tuscany - Bill Buford

Heat is Buford's account of working for free in the kitchen of Babbo, a New York restaurant owned by Chef Mario Batali. Buford's premise is that he considered himself to be a capable home cook and wondered if he had the skill to work in a busy restaurant kitchen. He met Batali at a dinner party and asked him if he would take on Buford as his "kitchen bitch"

East of Eden - John Steinbeck

Set in the rich farmland of California’s Salinas Valley, this sprawling and often brutal novel follows the intertwined destinies of two families - the Trasks and the Hamiltons - whose generations helplessly reenact the fall of Adam and Eve and the poisonous rivalry of Cain and Abel. Adam Trask came to California from the East to farm and raise his family on the new, rich land. But the birth of his twins, Cal and Aron, brings his wife to the brink of madness, and Adam is left alone to raise his boys to manhood. One boy thrives, nurtured by the love of all those around him; the other grows up in loneliness, enveloped by a mysterious darkness.

Classic Movie Round-Up

As I noted in a blog post a week or so ago, the month (or two) immediately following the Oscars is a barren landscape of terrible movies. I've used this as an opportunity to catch up on some 'Classic' movies that have never breached my peripheral. I have a pretty solid handle on movies made in the last 10 years, but my film knowledge outside of that can best be described as an 'affront to cinema'. Here are some brief reviews of the films I've had a chance to catch up on recently:

The Apartment (1960)

Held in pretty high esteem in film circles, this is director Billy Wilder's follow-up to 1959's Some Like It Hot. Billed as Comedy-Drama, it definitely leans heavily towards the drama and features some pretty racy material for something to come out in 1960. The premise involves CC Baxter (Jack Lemmon) loaning out his apartment to his philandering superiors with the hope that he will get promoted as a result. A love triangle of sorts starts between Baxter, his personnel director Mr. Sheldrake and his girlfriend, elevator operator Fran Kubelik (Shirley MacLaine). Rather than use this as an opportunity for a screwball romance, Wilder opts for a much darker tone. It works by and large, but is unexpected from someone who had previously directed one of the best comedies of all time. Lemmon tries very hard to be a lovable schmuck here, and it shows. I don't think he has the everyman quality or the acting chops to carry the plot alone. He is great in Some Like It Hot however. Shirley MacLaine however, gives Natalie Portman and Zooey Deschanel a run for their money as she plays the original manic-pixie-dreamgirl here.

His Girl Friday (1940)

Barely 90 minutes long, His Girl Friday is as densely a packed film as I can remember and is the screwball comedy that I've been looking for. The plot features Cary Grant as newspaper editor Walter Burns who devises an elaborate scheme to win back his ex-wife Hildy Johnson (Rosalind Russell) who is soon to be married. The phrase 'chaos ensues' is an understatement. The film has the dialogue of a Quentin Tarantino movie and the plot twists of a Dan Brown novel (ugh) packed into a blithe and trim 90 minute feature. At some points it was exhausting to try and keep up, but it was always enthralling. Most of this excitement stemmed from the electric chemistry between Grant and Russell. I wasn't surprised to learn that director Howard Hawkes encouraged ad-libbing on the set, as many of the lines are delivered so deftly and naturally that I had trouble imagining them being put to paper. It may not fulfill the benchmarks of a masterpiece, but it was a lot of fun, and that's impressive for a film released 70 years ago.

King Of Comedy (1982)

Recommended by J-Fo himself, King of Comedy is Martin Scorsese's dark, comedic follow-up to Raging Bull and features Robert De Niro as aspiring comedian Rupert Pupkin. Much like his turn as Travis Bickle 6 years earlier, De Niro plays Pupkin as a seemingly affable but completely delusional man, one who constantly blurs the line between his dreams and reality. Whether he does it to get attention or because he sincerely believes these events happened is unclear, but for my money he is more unnerving than Bickle. He is obsessed with TV personality Jerry Langford (Jerry Lewis) and after speaking with him briefly, misinterprets small talk as genuine interest and sets off a dizzying series of events. Scorsese masterfully paints Pupkin as more naive than dangerous, never allowing us write him off as insane or hope for his demise. Rather, we simply hope he realizes the error of his ways and can salvage some semblance of dignity.

H.R. 3962

If you are remotely interested in the topic of Health Care reform, you've probably already read a handful of articles about the H.R. 3962, the Health Care Bill which passed the House of Representatives yesterday evening, but please spare me a few more paragraphs.

Regardless of how you feel about the provisions within the bill itself, the passage of comprehensive Health Care reform is quite an accomplishment. As Obama said far more articulately than I, many times Congress has been on the precipice of meaningful Health Care reform, and each and every time they have failed to rope the perfect storm of timing, momentum and bipartisanship that is required to push something over the finish line. I know prominent Republicans are poo-pooing the use of Reconciliation to pass the bill (despite the fact that they used this tactic for two rounds of Bush Tax Cuts), but the fact of the matter is that Democrats bent over backwards for the better part of a year to be receptive to Republicans and incorporate their suggestions into the bill. As it stood last night, HR 3962 had over 200 Republican Amendments within it. In the past few months, when Republicans began to circle the rhetoric wagons, it became very clear that they had no interest in any sort of bipartisan solution. They were simply stalling the bill with the hope that they could peel off wavering Democrats one-by-one until the entire thing fell apart. This process culminated in the election of Scott Brown in late January, and Health Care reform seemed dead in the water.

In a rare display of strength and poise, Democrats used this event as a galvanizing force and began a steady, methodical march forward. Most of the credit for this belongs to President Obama, who forced the hand of Republicans and painted them as the "Party of No". By holding a public Q&A with Republican leadership, giving speech after speech and traveling throughout the US, Obama allowed Democrats to regain control. If Republicans wanted to stoke 'Death-Panel' and 'Big-Government' fears, they could do so, but the time for negotiation had come and gone.

Many argued that Obama should have stepped in far sooner to try and smooth over partisan bickering, but like an encouraging father he wanted to see if they could handle it on their own. Of course they couldn't and the already fractured Democratic Party splintered into factions that Obama had to piece back together with Duct tape and paper-clips to get the thing done. It was an ugly, fascinating process, one that showed both the best and the worst parts of Government, but one that ultimately did what a Government should do. Improve the lives of its people. The Health Care bill may be unpopular right now, and there will likely be Democratic casualties in November, but once the frothing Tea Baggers and the talking heads fade away, all the American people will wonder is 'What took so long?'.

Old Song Review: Smith - Baby It's You

Since SS has been derelict in his duty to this blog (yes I do see that half-finished Bob Dylan entry from two weeks ago), I've decided to pick up the baton (no I will not say 'Touch Me To Finish') and keep the Old Song Review series alive. I think it's a really neat idea, and it compliments my 'BEST NEW MUSIC' and 'ON REPEAT' and 'LILWAYNELILWAYNELILWAYNE' entries nicely.  This installment comes from a band called 'Smith' and is their cover of the Burt Bacharach penned 'Baby It's You'. The track reached #5 on the Billboard Top 100 Charts in 1969, after being originally recorded by The Beatles in 1963. I'm a Beatles fan, but there is no comparison after hearing Smith's rendition. Here's the original Beatles version:



It's nice. It sounds like most Beatles songs, with a some nice doo-wop style backing vocals.

Now here's Smith



Back-up vocals are swapped for an organ and a groovy bassline. And those mop-topped teeny-boppers are replaced with Gail McCormack and her soulful pipes. Her voice alone translates the lyrics from a hastily scrawled love letter into a desperate declaration. I don't know about you, but I get chills at 2:36 when she finally lets go and screeches the last few lines.

Of course I can't take credit for discovering this song on my own. It first caught my ear on the incredible soundtrack for Quentin Tarantino's Death Proof. Tarantino is a master of the film soundtrack and constructing iconic scenes from obscure songs. In my opinion, the Death Proof soundtrack is his magnum opus. Every song is pitch perfect in style and application. Only a small clip of 'Baby It's You' is actually featured in Death Proof, but as you can see below, it's more than enough to pique one's interest.

Bike Trail Code of Conduct

If the Minute Man Bike Trail is any indication, there are some fertile-ass people in the Arlington area. Why do I share these sweeping, borderline-offensive sentiments? Because on the first nice weekend of the spring (ie this coming weekend), the Bike Trail looks like tryouts for a children's circus. On such a day, every child in Middlesex county descends onto this 8-foot wide, 10 mile long strip of pavement, and it is hell on earth.

Some may say I'm exaggerating. They have obviously never ridden down the Bike Trail on a Saturday afternoon. If they had, I probably would have heard their "AMEN" from here. I don't particularly mind children, but trying to navigate around children on the bike trail is like playing 'hot potato' with Napalm. I don't have any children (to my knowledge), and I'm sure they are difficult to control, but this is why God invented the 'child-leash'. I understand this isn't practical on a bike, so if you MUST allow your spawn to roam freely on their 10-speed, make sure that they understand simple physics. By simple physics I mean inelastic collisions and the concept of 'proper braking distance'. Translated for the layman, "Make sure they know that if they get in my way I will not stop and I will crush them."

There are 3 types of bike-riding children on the bike trail, they are as follows in order of danger:

The Parasite

This is the best-case scenario when it comes to children on bicycles. The child is strapped in and unable to move. Tom Brady is a smart, courteous man (though he should be wearing a helmet), and he and his son can come on the bike trail any day. Of course, if you've ever seen the 'Daddy and Baby' skit from Jackass, you might think twice if you value your child's life.


The Sidewinder

This kid is cute, but he is a MENACE. He just graduated from training wheels and thinks he is hot shit. This kid realizes that having a bike means he can leave his parents/his sister/the cops in the dust, and he'll be damned if he touches the brakes. He pedals like Lance Armstrong on speed and has no interest in where he's going as long as it is as fast as possible. This inevitably means that every 3 seconds is punctuated with him realizing that he is about to die and jerking the handlebars the opposite direction. Reckless, but predictable.

The Pigeon

At first glance, the Pigeon appears to be the slower, docile cousin of the Sidewinder. That is until you are 10 feet behind them and they stop and look back at their parents for no reason whatsoever and you have to ride into a bush to spare their life. Sometimes they get off the bike entirely and leave it laying there. Other times they will attempt to walk their bike across the bike path, think better of it, and simply stand and wait. What I'm trying to express here is that they could not be any more unpredictable if they tried. I liken it to trying to catch a pigeon. You've picked your line, you have a bead on them and at the last second they turn the tables on you completely and you look like a fool.

The moral of the story here is never, ever, ever take your child on the bike trail. It looks serene, but then there are people like me who have no interest in leisure and use it as a speedway, and I REALLY don't want your child's blood on my hands (or on my new bike). I am convinced that if I am going to die on my bicycle, it will happen while valiantly trying to avoid some snot-nosed kid on the bike trail who got distracted by a butterfly rather than any combination of errant car door or drunk driver on Mass Ave. Please remember valiant for my epitaph.

On Repeat: Lo-Fi-Fnk

I don't know if the two dudes above are the Swedes responsible for Lo-Fi-Fnk, but they are the first image that came up on a Google Image search of "Lo-Fi-Fnk", and they look exactly how their newest single "Marchin' In" sounds. A couple shirtless dudes in a field of daffodils smoking joints. Happy and relaxed. Spring. Don't believe me? Watch the video for it below and tell me I'm wrong.
 


Boy do those Swedes know how to write a catchy diddy. Forgive me for beating a dead horse, but Gorillaz need to take lessons on song progression from this. A simple piano part, a quiet bongo and some snaps. A bouncy bassline. Beautiful vocals merge effortlessly as other elements enter the frame. The song has a clear build-up and clear peaks and valleys. Repetition is used as a tool rather than a crutch. The song has probably less than 30 words, but it's not about the words. It has probably 30 instruments too, and with sloppier production you could probably pick them all out, but that is of no concern here. Everything just feels natural and comfortable, and I'm not even high. Whoa.

Gorillaz: Plastic Beach

"With great hooks come great responsibility" -Me

When you are Damon Albarn and you have catchy riffs coming out your ears, you need to show a little prudence and make your listeners work for the hook. Ask for their patience, with the assurance that what is coming will be worth the wait. The problem with Gorillaz 3rd studio album Plastic Beach is that nearly everything sounds like a chorus. And when there's no distinction, no bridge, no lull, things get boring. Too many songs fail to build to anything significant, instead feeling like a stew of interesting ideas that fetter out and are simply repeated until the song reaches 3 minutes.


Take, for example, lead single 'Stylo" that I've embedded above. It opens with a wicked synth line and an effective verse from Mos Def, followed by Albarn's vocals and a soulful chorus (or is it?) by Bobby Womack. That brings us to about 2:30. Then what happens? The song virtually repeats itself word-for-word. Bobby Womacks chorus, Albarn's vocals, and Mos Def's verse VERBATIM. In what world is it ok to repeat a rap verse twice in the same song and get away with it? I don't care how catchy everything else is, I don't care how many different ideas are crammed into the track, it's just unacceptable. This isn't unique to this album, heck, Feel Good Inc. followed the exact same formula, repeating verses and choruses until you can't tell the difference and in my opinion distracted from the innovation therein.

Far too many songs on Plastic Beach fall into this trap, and it's a shame because the songs that actually follow a traditional VERSE/CHORUS/VERSE/CHORUS format are really great. Even the most frustrating songs are frustrating because they contain great ideas that are stifled and wasted. I'm not being pretentious here, I love a great pop song as much as the next person, but if you're going to try and get away with repeating parts of a song that aren't the chorus ad nauseum, the song needs to be FAST (See: ANY LADY GAGA SONG). It's easy to cover your flaws this way. Think of it like mooning someone in a rocketship or mooning them in a horse-drawn carriage.

As I alluded to earlier, some songs are able to rise above this mediocrity. 'On Melancholy Hill' is beautiful and focused, 'White Flag' uses verses from Bashy and Kano effectively (and only once!), and 'Some Kind of Nature' is worthy of Lou Reed's participation. But for every one of these, there is a song like 'Sweepstakes' that takes something potentially catchy and drives it so thoroughly into the ground that by the end you wonder how you ever liked it.

Sad, really.