A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood 
seen @ Kew Gardens Cinemas, Kew Gardens, Queens, NY

Well, I used up all of my Mr. Rogers material when talking about Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, and I’ve talked about Tom Hanks in depth before, too, so I guess I’ll cut to the chase. A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood was directed by Marielle Heller, who also did the Melissa McCarthy drama from last year, Can You Ever Forgive Me? Whereas Neighbor was strictly about the life of TV children’s show host Fred Rogers, Neighborhood approaches the man from the perspective of Esquire journalist Tom Junod, renamed here “Lloyd Vogel.” Normally a hard-hitting, combative writer, he’s assigned to write a puff piece on Mr. Rogers for a special issue devoted to heroes. It comes at a time of change and great turmoil for him—which Mr. Rogers can’t help wanting to fix.

It should come as no surprise that Hanks is perfect as Mr. Rogers: the voice, the manner, even the singing, but the bulk of the film belongs to Matthew Rhys as “Lloyd.” It makes sense; his is the more dramatic story arc, and he was quite good. He’s cynical at first as to whether or not Mr. Rogers is for real; then, when Mr. Rogers probes his defenses, he’s confused and vulnerable, until the personal issues he has involving his family spill out. Heller wisely avoids the big cathartic moment, but she does mix reality with the world of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood at one point in a scene meant to dramatize “Lloyd’s” fractured state of mind.

Overall, Neighborhood the dramatic movie is a nice complement to Neighbor the documentary. Really liked how Mr. Rogers’ tiny, artificial landscape from the show’s opening credits is expanded to include the whole city of Pittsburgh, plus New York.

I briefly talked to an older dude on the way out of the auditorium about the movie and Mr. Rogers in particular. He has four adopted kids, grown now. He wasn’t all that familiar with the TV show, but he really dug this movie. I imagine Hanks was the bigger draw for him, rather than Hanks-as-Mister-Rogers.

The Talk of the Town

The Talk of the Town
seen @ Greater Astoria Historical Society, Astoria, Queens NY

I've written about a number of George Stevens movies here, but I haven't talked much about the man himself. Thanks to Mark Harris' book Five Came Back, we know Stevens was one of several prominent Hollywood directors who documented World War 2.

He chose to go to war. He enlisted after completing The More The Merrier in 1943 and considered himself retired from film at 38. The things he saw in battle changed him profoundly. His post-war films, as a result, were more somber and reflectful than his fluffier pre-war work. To quote Harris in Five:

...Stevens hoped, more than anything, to find a project that reflected his changed understanding of the world. "Our films should tell the truth and not pat us on the back," he said that year [1946]. Otherwise, he asked, "isn't there the slight chance that we might be revealing America as it is not? Would that be encouraging us in our delusions about ourselves?"

He had already begun to take a step in that direction in 1942 when he made The Talk of the Town. Cary Grant is a political activist framed for arson. During his trial, he escapes and hides out at childhood pal Jean Arthur's place, but she's renting it out for the summer to law professor Ronald Colman. Eventually, Grant and Arthur conspire to get Colman involved in Grant's case to clear his name, as well as to learn more about the world beyond his law books.

There's a very Capraesque quality to the story, in which themes of the dangers of demagoguery and mob justice abound in what's a romantic comedy at heart. Stevens and Capra were colleagues at Columbia, so perhaps that's unsurprising.

Stevens was notorious for his taciturn nature on the set, yet he also drove his actors to plumb the depths of their talent. A quote from him in Five sums it up: "I have often humbled actors, creating stories that will bring a kind of humility out of them, rather than letting them come forth on the screen in their established aura." That explains Grant's Oscar-nominated performance in Penny Serenade. In Talk, he's cast again in an unexpected role, that of a political agitator, verbally jousting with Colman at first before befriending him. Arthur is once again at her lovable, scatterbrained best, but over a decade later, Stevens would get a gentle, touching dramatic performance out of her in Shane.

I saw Talk with Sandi last Saturday at the Greater Astoria Historical Society, an organization devoted to chronicling and preserving the long history of Astoria and the surrounding neighborhoods. They also show old movies from time to time. Their offices include a gallery filled with photos, assorted memorabilia and artifacts from the area. Astoria was settled in 1659, so there's plenty of history to explore. I know the Society mostly through my friend Rich, who's a staff member. He was there briefly. We talked for a bit. I've gone on guided tours led by him through parts of Astoria. 

Lately, Sandi has been paying attention to the treatment of servants in old Hollywood movies. Rex Ingram, the head demon in Cabin in the Sky, plays Colman's valet, whom Colman almost treats as an equal, asking him advice on women and such. Ingram gets strangely emotional when, at one point, Colman shaves his beard, which Grant and Arthur mock as a sign of fuddy-duddy-ness and intellectual intransigence. Stevens gives Ingram a long close-up, in fact. Sandi was unsure whether or not his tears were meant as comedy. Was he sad or happy for Colman? I was unsure myself. I would've guessed it was meant as humor, but it didn't seem to play that way. Odd moment.

Afterwards, we met and had coffee with the only other person to attend the screening (who stayed, anyway), an old Romanian woman named Cleopatra, if you can believe that. She was nice. She's into fitness. She practices yoga and tai chi. I went back with Sandi to her place, we had dinner and watched Doctor Who.

Silence

Silence
seen @ AMC Loews Lincoln Square 13, New York NY

The day I left my apartment to go see Silence, a woman got on the elevator with me. I had never seen her before. It was a cold day, and we were both bundled up pretty good. For no reason I can think of, she said, "It can't be too bad out there." I shook my head, agreeing with her, not wanting to get into an idle chat about the weather. Then she said something like, "Jesus never gives us more than we can handle," which led to a few more statements about how Jesus is great and so forth.

She looked at me as if expecting me to agree, but of course I would do no such thing. I said nothing. Too many times in the past, I had let myself get drawn into theological debates with Jesus freaks. They always end up the same way; at an impasse. The worst part is, I didn't say or do anything that would prompt her to start proselytizing. Then again, people like her rarely need a reason.

Near the subway, there were more like her. Most of the time, the religious types I see in this part of town fall into one of three categories: the loud, militant black Jews; the quieter, yet ubiquitous Jehovah's Witnesses; and the solitary, fire-and-brimstone Bible-thumpers. This fourth group appears every now and then. They set up booths called "prayer stations," they dress in bright red vests, and almost without exception, they're white. The sight of them in a black neighborhood gives off an impression not unlike that of 19th-century missionaries in Africa, saving the heathen darkies for Jesus while bringing malaria and other brand new diseases.

I realize these people see it as their duty, their holy calling, to spread the word of God. In a fair world, they would realize not everyone is interested in what they have to say; that some people would not only prefer to be left alone by them, but their very presence is resented. As long as these people believe they're "right" and everyone else is "wrong," however, they're not likely to change.

It was in such a frame of mind that I saw Martin Scorsese's new movie, which I went into completely ignorant of what it was about. I had decided I'd pick one movie this season which I'd see with no advance knowledge. I chose Silence. All I knew was Scorsese had made it, which is certainly enough of an enticement on its own. Whatever he makes is almost always worth a look.

So imagine my surprise when I realized the film continued the thematic path I seemed to be on that day. Andrew Garfield is a 17th-century Portuguese priest. He and fellow priest Adam Driver travel to Japan to search for their missing mentor, Liam Neeson, who has appeared to have turned on the faith. They encounter a number of converted natives, but they also get heavy resistance to Catholicism, and they suffer persecution for their faith.

It was difficult for me to sympathize with Garfield's character. I probably wouldn't have in other circumstances, but because of the woman in the elevator, I was even more predisposed to not care too much whether or not Garfield found other Catholics in Japan. Nothing justifies the violence inflicted on him and others like him, but I found myself understanding, at least, why it happened. Indeed, Garfield struck me as incredibly naïve to the reality of his surroundings. Neeson sets Garfield straight once they meet, and soon he's faced with the same choice Neeson faced.

Absolution is a recurring theme in the movie. One character sees the act as a kind of Get Out of Jail Free Card: yes, he did this bad thing, but if Garfield forgives him, he figures, everything will be okay. Then he does the bad thing again and restarts the cycle. If the concept of sin hadn't been introduced to his culture to begin with - something they never asked for - chances are he might not have suffered as much as he does throughout the movie, but no one brings that up.

I still found Silence thought-provoking. I could see why the director of The Last Temptation of Christ and Kundun would be drawn to this material, based on a novel Scorsese had been wanting to adapt ever since he made Temptation.

If I had known all about Silence beforehand, would I have gone to see it when I did? Eh... maybe not. I might have taken my time, gone to see other movies first, maybe even waited to see if it got any Oscar love (it probably will). Scorsese's name alone was enough to get me to see this movie. That's a powerful thing. It shouldn't be taken for granted.

The Sheik/The Son of the Sheik

The Sheik
YouTube viewing

The Son of the Sheik
seen @ Celebrate Brooklyn, Prospect Park, Brooklyn NY

So what was the big deal about Rudolph Valentino? It's hard to imagine how big he was during his brief life as a silent film star, because apparently he was HUGE - like Brad Pitt in his prime, Justin Bieber, Beatles-in-'64 huge. And it's not even like he was that great an actor. Acting was kinda beside the point for someone like him.

In her book Silent Stars, Jeanine Basinger attempts to justify the Valentino madness that seized movie audiences in the 20s:

...Valentino was an ordinary Italian boy from an ordinary background, but when he came to Hollywood and stepped in front of the camera, he took on an air of mystery that fascinated everyone, even those who despised him. Valentino's mysterious quality hinted at several different things; throughout his career, people speculated on whether he was superficial or deep, kind or cruel, stupid or smart, male or female. He might be anything, anything at all. That was his gift and what made him a star.

He goes through most of The Sheik looking like this.

First of all, The Sheik is a lousy damn movie, but not necessarily because of Valentino. Agnes Ayres' character brings everything that happens down on her own head because she is the epitome of privilege. She insults Valentino's Sheik and his entire culture (calling them "savages"), she sneaks into a private gathering of the Sheik and his pals simply because she's insulted that she can't attend, and to top it off, she pulls a gun on the Sheik when she's found out, which in the real world would be cause for an international incident - and all because of her superior, xenophobic attitude. 

But that's not the worst part. Later, after the Sheik has kidnapped her and taken her to his desert hideaway, Stockholm Syndrome sets in and we're meant to feel sorry for her because Sheiky won't admit his love for her. I just found her absolutely repulsive. Oh, and I just LOVE the part near the very end when we discover that Sheiky's not really Arabic after all - he's a Brit who was raised Arabic! Miscegenation is averted! Hooray! Valentino was kinda funny, in an unintentional, campy way, of course - Basinger notes that had he lived to the sound era, he might have found a second life doing comedy.

But let's get back to Ayres' character, Diana. People forget that The Sheik was based on a novel written by a woman, and thus, the Sheik was originally created from a female perspective. Basinger points out that Valentino represented some kind of female fantasy of the time period:

...When Valentino's image is analyzed today, he is usually described as androgynous. However, he is not like a Marlene Dietrich, who clearly understood the term and definitely played with sexuality for a dual appeal. Valentino is from a less knowing, more innocent decade, and his films forthrightly present him as a Latin Lover for women... who wanted to escape the bounds of a constricting society that gave only men sexual freedom. He is not a hip, cutting-edge, bisexual figure but a creature out of a romance novel. He is there to rip bodices.

On the surface, I can buy that, I guess, but Diana doesn't come across as repressed. Early on, she turns down a marriage proposal because she calls marriage "the end of independence," and Eurocentric imperialist attitude aside, she's no Victorian prude; she defies her brother's wishes by making an expedition into the desert with only a local to guide her and has no fear of what may happen to her. The way the Sheik is presented, it's as if he's there to teach her a lesson, to restrain her in some manner, which would seem to be at odds with the purposes of the Diana character. At least, that's how I saw it.

The Son of the Sheik was similar, yet it was pretty different as well. For one thing, Vilma Banky was sexier. For another, it's more of an action film than the first Sheik - there are way more fight scenes. I knew Valentino played both Sheik and Sheik Junior, but I didn't realize until I saw it how big a role the former would be. I suppose Original Sheik kinda seems like the same character, though without having seen him through the passage of time, it's hard to tell - even with the brief flashback to the first movie. And the special effect of seeing Valentino, as Sheiky, put his arm around himself, as Junior, was pulled off well.

Junior falls for Banky's character, but he's led to believe that she deceived him in order for him to be captured by the bad guys, but when he demands the truth from her, threatening her life, we can't tell whether she's begging for mercy or insisting that it's a lie and that she always loved him. She's not given a title card to indicate exactly what she's saying, and it looks like she could be going either way. Perhaps this was intentional on the part of the filmmakers, but somehow I doubt it. A movie like this isn't exactly known for its subtle plot turns.

At least I had the music of the Alloy Orchestra to go with Sheik 2. Once again, Celebrate Brooklyn brought their favorite band back to Prospect Park to provide the music for another silent film, and once again, they were marvelous. I sat next to this older couple who were seeing the band for the first time, though they had seen the movie before. They were big film fans. In fact, they run a website where they sell Art Deco paraphernalia, and among their product includes some classic film related material. They gave me a catalog.

QWFF 2015 Day 5: One of those days

This was a crappy day. I had to wake up at seven in the morning on a Saturday just so I could go to Starbucks to write, because Starbucks on the weekend is always crazy packed with people and it's next to impossible to get a table. I missed breakfast (a tea and a pastry doesn't really cut it) so I went to a bagel shop right before heading back to the Secret Theater for a 12:30 show. It was one I had never been to before, and I neglected to check if their grilled chicken sandwich comes with mustard, which I don't like...

I didn't have time to eat it anyway, because the goddamn 7 train took its sweet time heading to Queensboro Plaza (construction work again, as usual), so I had to hurry to get to the Secret Theater on time only to find out that the show started late, so I didn't need to hurry in the first place. Anyway, I was fighting fatigue during the second movie. There was a cellphone user in the row behind me, but she was just barely outside of my peripheral vision, so all I had to do was lean forward in my seat to ignore her, which had the added benefit of keeping me awake, so that actually worked out alright, so there's that... but then I found out I couldn't get my schedule to match up with the person I wanted to interview.

So I walked from the Secret Theater to 35th Street and wrote up yesterday's post at the Panera Bread, thinking that the next block at the Museum of the Moving Image was at 4:30 when it actually started at 4. I got to see one movie, at least. But then! - as I left MOMI, this chick walks up to me and says she lost her ATM card and she wants to see a QWFF movie and can she borrow my press badge to get inside? I swear to god! I might've felt pity for her if she had come from out of town just to see QWFF, but no, she lived in Astoria. I told her I didn't think her half-assed plan would work.

On top of all that, I didn't go to the party that night because I was too damn tired.

Waiting for QWFF screenings... or for the Mad Men exhibit?

But hey, at least it stopped snowing! In fact, you can't even tell there was snow yesterday. I'd say 90-95 percent of it is gone now. 

So yeah, I'm afraid I only saw three movies yesterday - but here they are:

- TNT: Tago Nang Tago.  An undocumented Phillipine immigrant, struggling with his future, makes a questionable decision to improve his lot in life. The title, loosely translated, means "constantly hiding," and indeed, the protagonist of this story feels like he's a fugitive, worried not only about the law but about members of his own family turning him in. It's an important story, it's a timely story, but it's also a story told with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

- Asintado. Set in the Phillipines, this one's about a teenager who falls in with the wrong crowd and makes a mistake that could cost him his life. This takes place during a festival that commemorates the time during WW2 when the populace were saved from the Japanese through what they believe was the intervention of St. John the Baptist. A riveting story. The acting was very good, especially the actress who played the teenage boy's mother.

- El Mal Trato. A tale of an abused husband - yes, husband - whose opportunity for payback comes through pure chance. Obviously, one rarely, if ever, sees this kind of story, especially in America, which explains why this film is from Chile. I missed the first few minutes, and at the time I had thought I was coming in at the beginning of the block when it was actually the end. Either way, I'm glad I saw this, even if I did have to sit in the nostril seats. More of a psychological thriller than a domestic drama, especially in the use of cinematography.

A good festival overall, though there weren't as many films that blew me away as in past years. It happens. Still glad I went, as always.

---------------
Previously:
Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4

Dear White People

Dear White People
seen @ Kew Gardens Cinemas, Kew Gardens, Queens, NY
10.28.14

First of all, I wanna say upfront how grateful I am that the Kew Gardens is showing Dear White People. I was prepared to see this in the city if I had to - the Kew gets a lot of indie films, but they don't get everything - but seeing it in Queens, at a reasonable price (read: single digits) means a lot to me. They even put it in Theater 3, the main auditorium, which is the biggest one they have.

Now, when the movie started, I was the only person there.

It was a mid-afternoon showing, on a Tuesday, where all-day admission is $8, and there are usually a fair amount of people at the Kew on a Tuesday, especially during the first week of a new release. And it must be said: Kew Gardens is a very white neighborhood. Draw your own conclusions. 

None of this is the theater's fault. They did their job. 

I've talked about this before, but it really bears repeating: it's regrettable, to say the least, that movie theaters in black neighborhoods in this town don't do more to support black-themed independent movies. Black folks don't go to art house theaters in large numbers, so when a movie like this comes along, they won't get to see it, and they need to.

Regardless, this was everything I expected and more. Don't be put off by the provocative title! Equal parts funny and insightful, with characters that explore this so-called post-racial society from many relevant angles - media stereotyping, language and who gets to use it; upward mobility; to name a few - all within the context of higher education. The Spike Lee comparisons are apt, but I also detected influences from Wes Anderson, John Landis and Stanley Kubrick, whom writer/director Justin Simien has said is a favorite of his.

There are a handful of moments where the cast faces the camera directly, and though the fourth wall is never broken, the audience is, by implication, part of the story. It's as if Simien is using his film to engage in a conversation with the audience, and insisting that you not dismiss his perspective.

So about twenty minutes into the film, someone else entered the auditorium, which shocked the hell out of me. At the end, when the lights came up again, I saw that this was an older woman, in her sixties at least, and black. I couldn't resist coming up to her and asking what she thought. She seemed to like the film, though she said something about how she hoped this didn't reflect reality too much. One look at the images in the closing credits should answer that question (he said, trying to avoid spoilers). Perhaps she didn't notice. I almost didn't!

Grand Illusion

The World War I in Classic Film Blogathon observes the centennial of the first World War through the films based on or inspired by it, hosted by Movies Silently and Silent-ology. For a complete list of participating blogs, visit the links at either site.

Grand Illusion
seen @ "Films on the Green Festival," Pier 1, Riverside Park, New York, NY
7.18.14

When I was in college, I took an art class whose specific name I don't remember, but I certainly recall the teacher. Julie was perhaps my favorite college instructor, partly because she was such a cool person, but also because she encouraged us to think outside the box when it came to our art, and to try things we wouldn't ordinarily do.

In the second half of the class, in the spring, our assignment for the whole semester was to make an art book - a booklet of whatever size featuring original artwork which may or may not have a theme. (See here and here for examples.) This was a new concept to me, and though she didn't say otherwise, I thought she meant a graphic novel, so that's what I did. After wracking my brain for ideas, I came up with a story set during World War 1. Why? Like I said, Julie encouraged us to think big. Even though I had never written a war story of any kind before, nor did I have any experience with drawing things like biplanes or tanks or guns (all of which had to be period- and place-specific), I took a shot.

No, I won't go into detail about it because looking back on it now, the end product is pretty damn embarrassing. I will say a few things about it: I lucked out in finding a photo book on WW1 in a used bookstore, which was of tremendous value. Still have it, in fact. I put myself and a bunch of my friends in the story as characters, which they got a kick out of. And Julie liked my finished book (which I bound myself as well) enough to give me a passing grade. Still, if I were to do it again, it would look very different.

The WW1 movies I've seen almost never get into the politics of the conflict. They tend to just plop you down into the middle of the war and assume you understand why it's going on in the first place. World War 2 movies, on the other hand, tend to be different. It's easy to see why Hollywood, and indeed, the European film industry as well, returns to WW2 time and again, even today. For one thing, it's still within living memory for some. More importantly, though, there are clearer-cut good guys and bad guys. When the Pearl Harbor centennial comes around in 2041, I have no doubt that it'll be a major event that every American will reflect on to one degree or another. The generation who grew up with WW1, by contrast, is gone, and the name Franz Ferdinand is arguably better known today as that of a rock band.

Still, the movies we got out of WW1 are good, and few are better than Grand Illusion. For one thing, Erich von Stroheim gets to speak three different languages, which is pretty boss. It may seem quaint, the way it depicts German officers having such respect and even admiration for their French counterparts, even though they're on opposite sides of the conflict, but I think it says something about the common humanity they share. It's so easy to make the enemy out to be unworthy of mercy or sympathy, especially when they come from another culture.

And of course, for those of us removed from the fighting, it's an aspect of military culture we rarely get to see - at least, not while the fighting's still going on. I'm reminded, as I write this, of a documentary that I saw earlier this year, The Second Meeting, in which two soldiers on opposite sides meet in civilian life years after they met in combat. Once again, war is incapable of obscuring the things we all share, on both sides of the battlefield.

It was a huge crowd, or at least it felt like one, at Riverside Park's Pier 1 on the night I saw the movie, back in July. The pier is comparatively skinny, and everyone was seated close together, which certainly made it seem like there was lots of people. They ran out of seats at one point and the latecomers simply sat down on the concrete, maybe 20-30 feet behind the seated audience at least. It wasn't as windy that night as it was last year, when I went there to see Gold Diggers of 1933, but the weather out on the Hudson River was still cool and pleasant.

The woman seated next to me told me that she and her husband (I think he was her husband, anyway) came without knowing what movie was playing. I had to tell her! They were an older couple, perhaps in their 50s or 60s. They had heard that movies were being shown at Riverside and decided to come down for a lark. I had never heard of anybody doing anything like that before, though now that I think about it, I'll bet it may happen more often than I imagine. Still, I thought it was quite a leap of faith on their part. I mean, the movie could've been Manos: The Hands of Fate for all they knew!

She had a bit of a problem seeing the subtitles in the beginning. She switched seats with hubby but that didn't seem to help. I was sitting on the aisle, and I thought about letting her switch with me, but then she whipped out her cell phone and started texting somebody, and as soon as I saw that, I thought, the hell with it. Let her suffer! They both ended up moving forward when space opened up, so I never found out what she thought of the movie. Oh well.

-------------------
Other WW1 movies:
Sergeant York
All Quiet on the Western Front
Wings
War Horse

Under the Skin

Under the Skin
seen @ Brooklyn Academy of Music, Brooklyn, NY
4.22.14

A Twitter friend recently described a brief encounter in which some dude on the street verbally harassed her - you know, saying how "hot" she was while passing by in his car, that sort of thing. It's the kind of incident that happens to many young women, only in this particular case, it happened back when the weather was colder and she was wearing a thick coat. She was able to put it in perspective, though; she tweeted that whenever a guy does this, it's not about looks, it's about being a woman alone.

I thought of that as I watched Under the Skin yesterday, an amazing movie that's difficult to describe. It's a singular visual and auditory experience unlike anything else I've seen this year, but if there was one idea that resonated with me as I watched, it was the notion of aloneness, of isolation. Scarlett Johansson's character is alone in a sense, being an extraterrestrial among humans (though she does have at least one accomplice), as are the young men she ensnares for some nefarious yet unexplained purpose.

Something about being alone, however, stuck out for me, and not just because it figures into the plot. I think it has something to do with how one is perceived when they're alone as opposed to being with others, as alluded to in the example of my Twitter friend. Johansson's unnamed character emulates humanity well: she dresses like a human, drives a car like one, and talks to people like one, and no one suspects any different, even though it's all a lie - skin deep, you could say. Her looks are important; she uses seduction to lure the young men into her trap. The fact that she's alone makes her less threatening.

I'm constantly aware of how strangers perceive me when I'm alone. My size gets me a lotta "big man" remarks, particularly from homeless people who want money, but from other strangers as well. I don't like it. It makes me feel self-conscious. I mean, these people probably think they're putting me at ease by saying that, but in fact it's just the opposite. Whenever I'm traveling somewhere, be it by bus or train or just walking, I wanna be left alone. In a city the size of New York, though, that's difficult, because there's always somebody hustling you for something (and being black, I get hustled harder by other black people).

Also, when I'm alone, I can come across as being very dour. I know this because sooner or later, there's somebody urging me to smile for whatever reason, especially when I don't feel like smiling. A recent example: my sister Lynne and her husband are musicians, and I was working the door at one of their band's live shows in the city, taking tickets. I didn't particularly wanna be there that night, but I promised her I would, so I did. Many, if not all, of the audience were friends of hers, and a number of them were the type that acts overly familiar with you, even if you're a total stranger. 

I certainly wasn't interested in having conversations with anyone; I just tried to do my job, but what I thought was dispassionate professionalism struck this one woman as being dour, so she urged me to smile. My instinct was to bash her head in for being so goddamn presumptuous, but I couldn't embarrass Lynne, so I made a fake grin, which seemed to satisfy this lady.

Being alone makes you more vulnerable to other people's perceptions, which you can't control. They think they know you, they think they can be your friend, they think they can scam you, they think they have some proprietary right to your time (or worse, your body), and while their ulterior motives may be totally benign and harmless, you never know when someone will lure you back to their place for what you think will be sex only to sink into some kinda liquid-y goo and have your insides sucked out.

I found Skin fascinating but very disturbing as well. I don't want to get into the major Plot Twist that changes the nature of Johansson's character and the movie as well, because it's something you absolutely need to experience first-hand. I will say, though, that it ties into the concept of isolation, but from a different angle. (I think I know what really happened, though - as opposed to what appeared to happen. If you've seen it and you wanna talk about it, save it for the comments.)

ScarJo has come a hell of a long way. It's nice to know that she's still willing to take roles as unique as this now that she's a legitimate star. She's never been sexier than she is here, but oddly enough, her nude scenes here aren't quite sexual. She takes a detached approach to her fabulous body in Skin because it's as alien to her (in more ways than one, if my theory on the Twist is correct) as this world. She's not so much acting as being.

The score is also an important factor in Skin. In places, it's not so much music as it is ambient sound, especially in the 2001-esque beginning, where you're not quite sure what it is you're seeing or hearing (I thought it was ScarJo's character trying to learn English).

All is Lost

SPOILERS

Gold Diggers of 1933

Gold Diggers of 1933
seen @ "Summer On the Hudson Movies Under the Stars," Pier 1, Riverside Park, New York, NY
7.10.13

I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that the Great Depression wasn't a lot of fun to live through. We've all seen pictures, read stories, about American life in the 1930s; how the federal government, led by President Franklin Roosevelt, went to extraordinary lengths to revive the nation's economy after the stock market crash of 1929. It doesn't look all that appealing. Small wonder, then, that Hollywood sought to lift people's spirits through movies, especially now that they had sound to go with images.

Spectacle - whether it's glitzy, glamorous musicals then or computer-generated action flicks today - has always been a strong palliative in Hollywood movies to get us through hard times. For example, I've written before about how I saw Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back the first weekend after 9/11 and how good it felt to laugh again.

On the other hand, I lived in Columbus, Ohio in 2008 when the recession settled in, and while I felt its effects, it didn't necessarily change my choices in entertainment much. I remember seeing films like Incredible Hulk and The Dark Knight, but I also saw much more serious fare like Frozen River and Milk because I knew they were exceptionally good movies. Spectacle didn't really play a factor in those cases. I wasn't looking for a escape from reality so much as I was looking for... if I had to give a name to it... a way to make sense of reality. To better understand why the world was in the shape it was, although this isn't something I would've been able to articulate at the time, I don't think.

Also, things didn't seem quite so hopeless for me in 2008. Barack Obama's presidential campaign was all about restoring hope to the American people, and it's what led to his euphoric victory after eight dreary and devastating years under George W. Bush. I had a skill, my cartooning, which led to a regular gig, and even if it was a poorly-paid one, it kept my spirits up. And I had good friends to lean on, beginning with my roommate. Therefore, I never felt the need to lose myself in the spectacle that the movies provided. Maybe I would've felt differently about them if I had lived through the 1930s, which, after all, was a more extreme state of affairs.

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Which brings us to Gold Diggers of 1933. (They couldn't have just called this "Gold Diggers"? The 1933 part makes me think this was part of a franchise.) What must it have been like to see a movie this gaudy, this lavish, this off-the-wall silly in 1933, especially sitting within an old-school movie palace on a 50-foot screen? Given the times, how spellbinding was it to see beautiful women scantily dressed in outfits made to resemble coins singing a song called "We're In the Money"? What did they make of future superstar Ginger Rogers singing a few verses in friggin' Pig Latin? (I wish I hadn't been spoiled by that scene. Months ago, someone - maybe on the TCM Message Boards, I don't recall - posted a YouTube link to that clip and I watched it, jaw plummeted due south.) Did they notice that those Busby Berkeley-choreographed numbers could never possibly be recreated on any stage, even though it's supposed to be part of a Broadway show within the film's context?

I mean, this is spectacle taken to ludicrous lengths, even by today's standards. One has to admire the audacity that drove director Mervyn LeRoy and choreographer Berkeley to just plain not give a damn and create visuals like these, but I suspect it was the Depression that must have spurred them to be this over-the-top - and yet the movie doesn't completely ignore reality; the final number, a song called "My Forgotten Man," is clearly an acknowledgment of all the forgotten men in society who were victims of the times, yet even this is presented on as grand a scale as the other numbers.

I'm not sure whether Gold Diggers was meant to be hopeful or simple escapist entertainment. I guess it comes across as a little bit of both. I mean, I doubt that I would've walked away from this in 1933 thinking, "Oh boy! If I can trick a rich woman into a loving marriage, all my problems will be solved!" but I definitely would've felt better about life for a little while. Seeing it in 2013, I liked it a lot, as a relic from a long-ago era in American history. I just wish I could better put myself in the mindframe of a 1933 moviegoer. I think it would better help me understand what forces went into making a film like this, which is so distinctive, so unusual, and so very unlike anything made today.

It felt so good seeing this at Riverside Park. When it hasn't been raining (I had been rained out of two other outdoor movies prior to this), it's been sweltering hot here in the big city, and those Hudson River breezes were a welcome relief. It was so breezy, in fact, that the movie organizers had a hard time keeping the inflatable screen up at first. Throughout the film, the wind rippled over the screen, and as a result, it gave the image an almost dream-like quality. You know how sometimes, in old movies, whenever they go into a flashback or a dream, there'll be this effect where the image ripples and shimmers? Watching the film last night was reminiscent of that - and given the subject matter, it wasn't exactly inappropriate.

The film was almost ruined for me by a chattering older couple behind me. They seemed excited to see Gold Diggers, to their credit, and during the opening credits they merrily oohed and aahed at the names of the stars, but once the film began in earnest, I had to ask them to keep it down, and they did. However, towards the end, the woman got on her cell phone to call someone, and she was no longer making an effort to be quiet. The dude next to me shushed them once, and just as I was about to do the same, the two of them got up and left. For all their excitement about seeing the movie, they still ended up leaving early. Still, in all fairness, Riverside Park is far removed from the street, never mind the nearest subway station, and it was getting late.

By contrast, there was an old woman directly behind me who was much nicer. She was clearly dispirited when I returned to my seat as the hostess began to introduce the film, me being so much taller, so I asked her if she could see. She said she could, it was no big deal, but as it turned out, I could barely see from behind the dude in front of me, so I moved to the left into the aisle a little bit. This pleased the old woman behind me, and she thanked me, even though technically I did it more for myself. Afterwards, she thanked me again. Nice way to end the night.

Look for pictures of Riverside Park to go up on my WSW Facebook page.

Mr. Deeds Goes To Town

Mr. Deeds Goes to Town
seen @ Landmark Loews Jersey Theater, Jersey City, NJ
3.16.13

And now, five things I might do if I inherited $20 million, after paying off bills and taking care of my family, of course:

1. Travel. Duh. I was hanging out with Andi recently and at one point she was describing some more aspects of her trip to Spain to take part in the Camino walk and she said that it's not all that expensive. The more I think about it, the more appealing it sounds to me, and I think I'd like to give it a try someday, though in this particular case, time might be harder to acquire than money. Not sure. Still, this is but one of several places around the world I'd go to - and then, there are also places here in the USA I'd like to visit, such as Austin, Texas (maybe during South by Southwest?).

2. I've had this semi-serious daydream deep, deep, DEEP in the back of my mind for a few years about maybe starting a publishing company - not just for my comics work, but for my friends, too. I first began making comics way back in 1993, and I've met hundreds of other creators, both amateur and professional. For a long time, when I was a regular on the convention circuit, there were a handful of self-published creators whom I always hung out with and maintained close friendships with - talented cartoonists, all, and prolific in terms of their body of work. 

If I had my own publishing company - doesn't have to be anything fancy, either - I just think it would be awesome if I could make books collecting all my pals' work and get them into mainstream bookstores, in addition to the comics shops. It would require clever marketing and strong distribution, so I'd need some help on that score, but with $20 million it probably wouldn't be too hard, especially if I had some cool indie bookstores to support me.

3. I'd make a large donation to the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund.

4. I'd move back to Columbus and buy a house there. Theoretically, I'd want someplace close to the downtown, and there are a couple of neighborhoods on the east side of town that appeal to me. I would get around by bike again (maybe a folding bike this time), so I wouldn't wanna be too far away from everything. Actually, there are a couple of other cities I'd like to live in as well besides Columbus; the point is more GETTING OUT OF NEW YORK rather than moving to Such-and-Such a place.

5. No matter where I lived, though, be it NYC or someplace else, I'd take an old neighborhood movie theater, renovate it, and turn it into a revival house like Film Forum, one deeply connected to the community. It would be outfitted for digital, but I'd insist on 35mm film wherever possible. I'd have the capacity for it, at the very least. I've gone into more detail about this little dream here.

There's simply no way I could be as selfless as Longfellow Deeds in Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, and maybe that's a failing of mine. Sure, I'd do things with my money that would benefit other people - notably my family and friends - but enacting deep, profound social change? I dunno. I tend to subscribe to the credo, "Think globally, act locally." If the small-scale things I do lead to bigger changes, great, but it's the small things that I find easier to manage. Deeds, like many a Frank Capra character, seems too good to be true, but Capra presents this story in such a persuasive manner, as if to say, "Look fellas, it really isn't that hard to be nicer to each other. Here's how." (Capra and the Occupy Wall Street movement would've had much in common, methinks.)

And of course, to Deeds' way of thinking, he doesn't see what he's doing as anything particularly grand; his behavior is simply a result of his small-town upbringing. Yes, I know that that's how we all should strive to be more like, but - I'm sorry - it's hard to imagine, especially when it seems like humanity has, if anything, gotten stupider since Capra's time. Jean Arthur's reporter character is TMZ and Perez Hilton and the New York Post and the National Enquirer in 2013 terms, and if Deeds was around today, he'd probably still be made fun of in much the same way, though I'm sure he'd have his defenders too (Deeds the movie tends to paint the entire media with the same brush).

Ultimately, I think the effort towards becoming better people counts more than the goal itself. We're not perfect and we don't live in a perfect world, and because of that, any effort to live selflessly is going to be a difficult one. (I'm sure you're all thrilled to see me reference Star Trek yet again, but there's a quote from Deep Space Nine that's relevant here: "It's easy to be a saint in paradise.") Look at the way Deeds silently suffers when his competency is called into question. Some people can deal with that better than others. I know I'm no paragon, not by a long shot, and some days it's damn hard to see the humanity in others. Still, I do what I can, when I can. No promises...

...especially when you're surrounded by idiots. I saw Deeds on St. Patrick's weekend, and though the actual holiday was on Sunday, there were plenty of revelers in both Manhattan and Jersey City acting like fools. I swear to you I saw one guy pissing on Sixth Avenue, in plain sight, in the midst of a snowfall. I was tempted to turn around and go home right then and there.