I've been ranting about Oklahoma politics forever, but here's a chance for whoever is interested to get someone else's viewpoint on the idiocy of lawmakers there. Enjoy.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/06/30/oklahoma-republicans-read_n_223074.html
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Calling All Ghostbusters
There are things that go bump in the night at our house. The front bathroom sink has a chip in the porcelain where something appears to have fallen or been dropped. We were in bed and heard the crash on the night that it happened and got up to find no one skulking around in the dark, and no object lying in or near the sink to account for the damage. The doors were all still locked, the alarm still turned on. That was a few months ago. Since then, the night sounds have become such a common occurrence that we barely notice them. My partner snores like a banshee and I sleep with ear plugs, although I sometimes still hear the other noises that sound like someone is either throwing a party in the living room or trying to dismantle the place.
But now there's a little added extra something that seems to have been thrown in for our displeasure. Now things are disappearing. I don't mean the couch or a coffee table or the television set (god forbid!). Not yet. First it was an old pair of sandals that I rarely wore anyway, so it wasn't a big deal. I figured they must have made their way to the dumpster at some point, probably courtesy of my partner. Then, there was a book that I was reading. When my partner lost the first pair of glasses, I thought that he must have inadvertantly carried them to work, or to the car, even though he only wears these particular glasses to watch television and they never leave the house. So, we looked and looked and didn't find the glasses, and I still figured he'd somehow managed to lose them. A little later, I bought a journal to keep my thoughts (such as they are) in. I'd only written a few entries when that disappeared off the table next to my bed. By this time, I was beginning to get a little irritated. I knew where I'd placed the journal but searched the house again anyway. By the time my partner's second pair of television-watching glasses disappeared, I was fed up. I saw him take off the glasses and set them on the dresser when he went to bed, so I know exactly where they were. This time, he accused me of absent-mindedly picking up his glasses and putting them somewhere. So, a fight ensued and I told him to give the place a thorough going-over and when he was finished, I'd do the same thing. So we looked. And we looked and we looked. Underneath beds, beneath stacks of folded tee-shirts, underwear, and socks on shelves and in various drawers. The dirty clothes hamper, the microwave, the refrigerator, the washer, the dryer. In every closet, behind every couch and dresser, inside toilet tanks. The glasses were nowhere to be found. This is not a simple case of absent mindedness. We have searched the house up one side and down the other. All these things--two pairs of glasses, a journal, a pair of sandals, a book--are gone. As if they never existed! So, what I'm wondering is this: what the hell is going on around here? Who are these noisy party people who keep taking our stuff? How do they get in and what do they want? Most importantly, how do I get rid of them? Because, really, they've worn out their welcome and I'm ready for them to catch the first train back to Boo-ville or wherever it is they come from.
Where's a good Ghostbuster when you need one?
But now there's a little added extra something that seems to have been thrown in for our displeasure. Now things are disappearing. I don't mean the couch or a coffee table or the television set (god forbid!). Not yet. First it was an old pair of sandals that I rarely wore anyway, so it wasn't a big deal. I figured they must have made their way to the dumpster at some point, probably courtesy of my partner. Then, there was a book that I was reading. When my partner lost the first pair of glasses, I thought that he must have inadvertantly carried them to work, or to the car, even though he only wears these particular glasses to watch television and they never leave the house. So, we looked and looked and didn't find the glasses, and I still figured he'd somehow managed to lose them. A little later, I bought a journal to keep my thoughts (such as they are) in. I'd only written a few entries when that disappeared off the table next to my bed. By this time, I was beginning to get a little irritated. I knew where I'd placed the journal but searched the house again anyway. By the time my partner's second pair of television-watching glasses disappeared, I was fed up. I saw him take off the glasses and set them on the dresser when he went to bed, so I know exactly where they were. This time, he accused me of absent-mindedly picking up his glasses and putting them somewhere. So, a fight ensued and I told him to give the place a thorough going-over and when he was finished, I'd do the same thing. So we looked. And we looked and we looked. Underneath beds, beneath stacks of folded tee-shirts, underwear, and socks on shelves and in various drawers. The dirty clothes hamper, the microwave, the refrigerator, the washer, the dryer. In every closet, behind every couch and dresser, inside toilet tanks. The glasses were nowhere to be found. This is not a simple case of absent mindedness. We have searched the house up one side and down the other. All these things--two pairs of glasses, a journal, a pair of sandals, a book--are gone. As if they never existed! So, what I'm wondering is this: what the hell is going on around here? Who are these noisy party people who keep taking our stuff? How do they get in and what do they want? Most importantly, how do I get rid of them? Because, really, they've worn out their welcome and I'm ready for them to catch the first train back to Boo-ville or wherever it is they come from.
Where's a good Ghostbuster when you need one?
Michael Jackson Died Last Week
Michael Jackson died last week. Before that, Farrah Fawcett and Ed McMahon passed. And afterwards, Billy Mayes, the television pitchman for thousands of products, went to sleep and never woke up. Meanwhile, the government in Iran issued harsh repurcussions against protesters who took to the streets following the "re-election" of the much-reviled Ahmadinejad. Bernie Madoff got 150 years for relieving investors of hundreds of millions of dollars in a Ponzi scheme that spanned decades. And the Supreme Court ruled in favor of white, New Haven firefighters who claimed that they were victims of reverse discrimination after being denied promotions based on a test that they passed and African Americans failed. Uh, what? You pass a promotions exam and aren't promoted because you passed the test and somebody else doesn't? Good for the Supreme Court for showing some balls. There is still racism in this country but it works both ways. Things are still far from equal but cheating people out of well-deserved promotions to satisfy appearances or a sense of political correctness only intensifies misunderstandings and anger, while widening the racial gap. The new nominee to the Supreme Court, Sonia Sotameyer, was one of the original judges ruling against the firefighters in the lower courts. I think that, if elected to the Supreme Court, she'll interpret the law based on her personal experiences, and while she'll undoubtedly try and be impartial, I just don't believe she's the right person for the job. But, I hope that a suitable replacement is found soon, and that he or she is more open-minded than some of the justices currently serving (ummm, like maybe Scalia), regardless of race or gender.
The rain has temporarily stopped and I am ending this rambling missive and going to the gym.
The rain has temporarily stopped and I am ending this rambling missive and going to the gym.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The State of the Onion
1) As trumpeted in last night's ABC evening news, PETA is up in arms because President Obama killed a fly during a televised interview yesterday.
2) The media is working overtime because Kate Gosselin (of Jon & Kate) was seen spanking one of her kids in public.
3) The Sarah Palin/David Letterman smackdown is getting as much press coverage as the demonstrations in Iran.
And you think I'm crazy?
2) The media is working overtime because Kate Gosselin (of Jon & Kate) was seen spanking one of her kids in public.
3) The Sarah Palin/David Letterman smackdown is getting as much press coverage as the demonstrations in Iran.
And you think I'm crazy?
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Speidi's and Snakes
Yes, I know, I suck. I swore that I'd be better at posting to this blog and that was back in March. Haven't been back here since then. So, to get everyone up to speed, the cat died, my dog died, I had a camera capsule stuck in my ass (okay, somewhere in my small intestine) for eight weeks until it mysteriously vanished on the day a brand new procedure was about to be performed in an effort to remove it, the theater is having summer down-time so I'm currently unemployed, I have an elusive bleed somewhere in my body that medical science has so far been unable to identify, co-payments on medical bills are flooding in and I'm going to need a federal bail-out just to cover the expenses, and oh yes, things between the partner and myself have gotten mighty dicey (read: unbearable) lately. So, excuse me if I've been a little preoccupied. I realize that I'm lucky that I have food on the table and a roof over my head and that I haven't yet slipped into some sort of health-crisis death-mode oblivion, but cut me some slack okay? I'm not feelin' the love so I'm a little bit edgy. Deal with it.
In other news, I do have a new web page on an online site: http://www.examiner.com/x-13657-West-Palm-Beach-Indie-Film-Examiner. I'm pretty excited about this since it seems to generate a little more traffic than this blog does.
Lately I've found myself watching stuff on TV that I never dreamed I'd be watching. Like "Make Me a Supermodel", for instance. But even that seems like "Masterpiece Theater" compared to "John and Kate + Eight" and "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me the Fuck Out of Here!". Alright, I only saw a couple of minutes of "Celebrity" but those two minutes with Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag could have been spent more productively if I'd, oh I don't know, poked out my eyes with a butter knife. Jesus, what a pair of talentless, thankless non-entities. They are not celebrities. Jon and Kate, on the other hand, seem like Brad and Angelina by comparison. Okay, that's a stretch, I know that. How about we substitute the Pitt's with the Flintstones. That any better? Jon does bear a passing resemblence to Fred, especially now that he's gotten his hair plugs. Poor clueless Kate. I wonder if Jon's really screwing around on her? I wonder why I even care? Then there's "Expedition: Africa" on the History Channel, which I either really love or really hate, I haven't quite made up my mind yet. The lone woman on the expedition was tooling around out in the bush taking a piss one morning and a cobra sidled over near her, reared up, and spat at the camera, leaving a shmear of viscous, oozing snake poison on the lens. Urrrggghhhhh!
What's really bugging me this week is the recent election in Iran, which was undoubtedly fixed. I mean, I was sure that it would be. Now those poor Iranians have to put up with that imbecilic lunatic Ahmadinejad for four more years, or however the hell long his term is going to last. Is he a little bit like the Peter Sellers character in "Being There", where certain people mistake his idiocyncracies for genius? And oh boy, North Korea. They're threatening to go nuclear in a big way if we keep pissing them off. Do they really think that cutting their nose off to spite their face is going to improve the situation? Maybe we could just send over Spencer and Heidi (Speidi) in exchange for Laura Ling and Euna Lee. There'd be no more threats of a nuclear holocaust because Speidi would bore them all to death.
That's probably going to be it for today. I'm uncommonly bitchy and am going to set off to the kitchen in search of food. Perhaps I'll return tomorrow, or later this week, or I might just run away to Dublin and learn to twirl the fire baton. See you in church.
In other news, I do have a new web page on an online site: http://www.examiner.com/x-13657-West-Palm-Beach-Indie-Film-Examiner. I'm pretty excited about this since it seems to generate a little more traffic than this blog does.
Lately I've found myself watching stuff on TV that I never dreamed I'd be watching. Like "Make Me a Supermodel", for instance. But even that seems like "Masterpiece Theater" compared to "John and Kate + Eight" and "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me the Fuck Out of Here!". Alright, I only saw a couple of minutes of "Celebrity" but those two minutes with Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag could have been spent more productively if I'd, oh I don't know, poked out my eyes with a butter knife. Jesus, what a pair of talentless, thankless non-entities. They are not celebrities. Jon and Kate, on the other hand, seem like Brad and Angelina by comparison. Okay, that's a stretch, I know that. How about we substitute the Pitt's with the Flintstones. That any better? Jon does bear a passing resemblence to Fred, especially now that he's gotten his hair plugs. Poor clueless Kate. I wonder if Jon's really screwing around on her? I wonder why I even care? Then there's "Expedition: Africa" on the History Channel, which I either really love or really hate, I haven't quite made up my mind yet. The lone woman on the expedition was tooling around out in the bush taking a piss one morning and a cobra sidled over near her, reared up, and spat at the camera, leaving a shmear of viscous, oozing snake poison on the lens. Urrrggghhhhh!
What's really bugging me this week is the recent election in Iran, which was undoubtedly fixed. I mean, I was sure that it would be. Now those poor Iranians have to put up with that imbecilic lunatic Ahmadinejad for four more years, or however the hell long his term is going to last. Is he a little bit like the Peter Sellers character in "Being There", where certain people mistake his idiocyncracies for genius? And oh boy, North Korea. They're threatening to go nuclear in a big way if we keep pissing them off. Do they really think that cutting their nose off to spite their face is going to improve the situation? Maybe we could just send over Spencer and Heidi (Speidi) in exchange for Laura Ling and Euna Lee. There'd be no more threats of a nuclear holocaust because Speidi would bore them all to death.
That's probably going to be it for today. I'm uncommonly bitchy and am going to set off to the kitchen in search of food. Perhaps I'll return tomorrow, or later this week, or I might just run away to Dublin and learn to twirl the fire baton. See you in church.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Steves Can't Dance
The two Steves lived to shlepp another day on last night's "Dancing With the Stars" while former Bond girl, Denise Richards, was sent packing, in another dubious, viewer-induced outcome that further sank the show to the level of "America's Funniest Home Videos", host Tom Bergeron's other cringe-worthy turd-blossom of a project. To be fair, both Steves sustained dancing injuries in recent weeks, but their antics, while amusing at first, have quickly become yawn inducing, unfunny, and unwatchable. Denise Richards and last weeks castoff, Belinda Carlisle, can dance circles around these guys; the Steves even make last season's beloved Cloris Leachman look like Cyd Charisse on the dance floor. To be honest, I don't know why I'm complaining. I don't even like this show, but somehow I've gotten suckered into watching it, season after season. And who are the "voters" anyway, the ones who keep bringing back the likes of Steve Wosniak and Steve-O? One senses that they're the same people who made Seth Rogen a star, and worship at the shrine of frat boy smirkiness and mediocrity. So far, that naked shower guy from the "Sex and the City" movie is holding up in the number one position, and I hope he wins. He's hot, he's graceful, and he can actually dance.
Last night was also the final night of the "Jeopardy" championship and it was a nail-biter, as smarmy, know-it-all Larissa seemed poised to polish the floor with deadpan Dan and personable Aaron. As they headed into Final Jeopardy, Alex Trebek pursed his lips and asked which British king was the last of the same name NOT to be born on foreign soil--or something like that, it just flew over my head. Aaron correctly guessed that George was the answer, confirmed by Alex as "George II". Then, Dan prepared to show us his answer, and in my mind I was chainsmoking because that look on his face was not promising, and yet "George" popped up on his little screen, so I breathed a sigh of relief. "And how much did you wager, Dan?" Alex asked, as Dan revealed that he had wagered only $7,000, when he should have bet it all (something like $16,000) to come close to beating Larissa, who undoubtedly had the answer and wouldn't balk at betting everything (over $20,000). But somehow, Larissa didn't know the answer, and she hadn't bet everything (good thing for her), and Dan wound up winning the Jeopardy trophy and $250,000. Which all should have made me very happy, except that Larissa looked so downcast and like she was about to cry at any moment, so that any joy I would have savored was lost in an inexplicable wave of sympathy for a contestant that I had come to despise. Go figure.
And, of course, I saw bits and pieces of President Obama's press conference, and you know, I realize that reporters have to ask tough questions, and I realize that we are in desperate times, what with the robber barons and their sinking of our economy, the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan, not to mention the brewing, festering, nasty cauldron of ill will certain Republicans are generating as they attempt to derail this young administration at every turn. And what about the atrocities happening right next door in Mexico, threatening at any moment to spill over into our own living rooms here in the USA? But, for god's sake, the President has been in office for 64 fucking days, do you hear that CNN, Wall Street Journal, Fox News Network, Republican pundits and senators? That's sixty-four fucking days. Say it aloud. Give him time. Stop being so pessimistic and overzealous and goddamned partisan. If you're truly concerned about the future of the country and not just posing and playing to a dwindling audience, give the President and his people time, cooperation, and a little bit of fucking respect. It's been said a million times, but face it, it did take Bush and his "team" slightly longer than 64 days to fuck things up royally, and he was actually given quite a lot of leeway in the first few years of his reign, thanks to 9/11.
I just read the comment from my friend, John, in Oklahoma City, that linked to a blog revealing that gay-baiting hatemonger Anita Bryant and her husband have set up offices in OKC's Bricktown district. Well, unfortunately that doesn't surprise me. As I've said before, Oklahoma provides the perfect environment for the cheerleaders of hate to thrive, and Bryant, being far too long out of the public eye (and having failed in her career), appears to have come home to rejuvenate her campaign against the gay community. I'm just not sure how much longer Bryant and her ilk will be successful. I sense a change coming in Oklahoma, even though it is late, and even though it is coming on the heels of greater change elsewhere. Anita Bryant gives a very public face to the foe that has demonized and attempted to destroy gays throughout recent history, and like the battle Bryant waged in Florida in the 1970's, it will almost surely play out again in Oklahoma in the 2000's. I hope that the gay community in Oklahoma is cohesive enough and strong enough to defeat Bryant and her many allies (a formidable presence represented by the numerous politico-religious groups ingrained in Oklahoma lawmaking). Oh, and just for the record, to anyone not familiar with J.C. Watts, former OU football star, Repub House flunkie, and aspiring Oklahoma governor: yes, he's African-American, but, make no mistake, he has more in common with GW Bush than he does with Barack Obama, and I include IQ in that assessment. Think about it.
Last night was also the final night of the "Jeopardy" championship and it was a nail-biter, as smarmy, know-it-all Larissa seemed poised to polish the floor with deadpan Dan and personable Aaron. As they headed into Final Jeopardy, Alex Trebek pursed his lips and asked which British king was the last of the same name NOT to be born on foreign soil--or something like that, it just flew over my head. Aaron correctly guessed that George was the answer, confirmed by Alex as "George II". Then, Dan prepared to show us his answer, and in my mind I was chainsmoking because that look on his face was not promising, and yet "George" popped up on his little screen, so I breathed a sigh of relief. "And how much did you wager, Dan?" Alex asked, as Dan revealed that he had wagered only $7,000, when he should have bet it all (something like $16,000) to come close to beating Larissa, who undoubtedly had the answer and wouldn't balk at betting everything (over $20,000). But somehow, Larissa didn't know the answer, and she hadn't bet everything (good thing for her), and Dan wound up winning the Jeopardy trophy and $250,000. Which all should have made me very happy, except that Larissa looked so downcast and like she was about to cry at any moment, so that any joy I would have savored was lost in an inexplicable wave of sympathy for a contestant that I had come to despise. Go figure.
And, of course, I saw bits and pieces of President Obama's press conference, and you know, I realize that reporters have to ask tough questions, and I realize that we are in desperate times, what with the robber barons and their sinking of our economy, the conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan, not to mention the brewing, festering, nasty cauldron of ill will certain Republicans are generating as they attempt to derail this young administration at every turn. And what about the atrocities happening right next door in Mexico, threatening at any moment to spill over into our own living rooms here in the USA? But, for god's sake, the President has been in office for 64 fucking days, do you hear that CNN, Wall Street Journal, Fox News Network, Republican pundits and senators? That's sixty-four fucking days. Say it aloud. Give him time. Stop being so pessimistic and overzealous and goddamned partisan. If you're truly concerned about the future of the country and not just posing and playing to a dwindling audience, give the President and his people time, cooperation, and a little bit of fucking respect. It's been said a million times, but face it, it did take Bush and his "team" slightly longer than 64 days to fuck things up royally, and he was actually given quite a lot of leeway in the first few years of his reign, thanks to 9/11.
I just read the comment from my friend, John, in Oklahoma City, that linked to a blog revealing that gay-baiting hatemonger Anita Bryant and her husband have set up offices in OKC's Bricktown district. Well, unfortunately that doesn't surprise me. As I've said before, Oklahoma provides the perfect environment for the cheerleaders of hate to thrive, and Bryant, being far too long out of the public eye (and having failed in her career), appears to have come home to rejuvenate her campaign against the gay community. I'm just not sure how much longer Bryant and her ilk will be successful. I sense a change coming in Oklahoma, even though it is late, and even though it is coming on the heels of greater change elsewhere. Anita Bryant gives a very public face to the foe that has demonized and attempted to destroy gays throughout recent history, and like the battle Bryant waged in Florida in the 1970's, it will almost surely play out again in Oklahoma in the 2000's. I hope that the gay community in Oklahoma is cohesive enough and strong enough to defeat Bryant and her many allies (a formidable presence represented by the numerous politico-religious groups ingrained in Oklahoma lawmaking). Oh, and just for the record, to anyone not familiar with J.C. Watts, former OU football star, Repub House flunkie, and aspiring Oklahoma governor: yes, he's African-American, but, make no mistake, he has more in common with GW Bush than he does with Barack Obama, and I include IQ in that assessment. Think about it.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Ramblings From a Slow Monday
As I've often told friends through the years, I am the world's worst correspondent, which should explain why I have so recklessly neglected my blog for the past couple of months. It's not (a) that I don't have anything to say, or (b) that I'm flat out lazy these days when it comes to writing. Okay, (a) maybe I don't, and (b) maybe I am, but I am pledging, right here, right now, to do better. Honest. No more excuses.
So, what I have been doing for the last couple of months, in addition to not writing on my blog, is not working on my screenplays. The studly, sex-filled epic has stalled out after the fourth draft, so I've had to set that aside for the time being, until I can think of a way to rework it to my satisfaction. The other, about a young mother in peril during the Dust Bowl days in the Oklahoma/Texas Panhandle is in better shape, although completion of the third draft has not been forthcoming.
In essence, life has been happening and I have not deigned to spend time focusing on the things that I should be focusing on. Recently, my sister casually mentioned that she has ADD, a term that I immediately latched onto as the source of my own lack of focus. Of course, it isn't that, not in my case, anyway. It's never that simple, is it? There seems to be a lack of interest lately in the things that I've always loved doing, a general dissatisfaction encompassing everything, a feeling that I'm not where I thought I'd be when I reached this stage of my life. And in all honesty, that's probably the crux of it, the root of the problem, the knowledge that a large part of my life has passed by and I've lived it, even embraced some of it, without really ever understanding it or trying to make it count for something. And now that I'm here, at this certain place in my life, there's this underlying, paralyzing terror, this little voice screaming: What the fuck am I going to do now? Because, you know, it's a little late for me to be pondering what the fuck I'm going to do when I grow up. I'm there, at least in the sense that I'm no longer a kid; but I seem to have grown older without having really grown up. Which really sucks. The only thing I can think of to do is to move forward--I'm going to continue growing older anyway unless, of course, I die, so I'd really like to shake off this creative paralysis and get on with my professional life, and eventually achieve the American Dream. Okay, maybe not achieve the American Dream in terms of having a big house with a white picket fence, and 2.5 kids (how the fuck do they do that, anyway?), but that may not be the standard for American Dreamers anymore. At any rate, I've got to escape this inertia and just get on with it.
The above rambling aside, we went to see the film "Taken" over the weekend. Luc Besson was one of the writers so I expected there to be a lot of action, and I wasn't disappointed. "Taken" is immensely entertaining and instantly forgettable hogwash that, due to the talent involved, is classier and more involving than many films of its ilk. Liam Neeson is cast as the stalwart hero, a former CIA agent whose teenaged daughter (Maggie Grace) is kidnapped by Albanian thugs while on vacation in Paris. Once Neeson is on the bad guys' trail, he becomes a single-minded, deadly nemesis who will stop at nothing to secure the release of his daughter. It's all shaky camerawork filmed in hypervision (ala "The Bourne Ultimatum") an indication that the cameramen need to be in better physical shape than the actors. Neeson's a good performer, but "Taken" does little to stretch his acting chops, or enhance his resume; on the other hand, it's a perfectly respectable, by-the-numbers thriller that he needn't cringe at when the film pops up on TNT--which it inevitably will.
There's a play at the Caldwell Theatre (where I'm working part-time) called "Dangerous". It's a complete reworking of "Dangerous Liasons", with many (but not all) of the female roles rewritten as males, and set in Weimar Germany, as the Nazis are gaining a foothold. Michael McKeever, a local playwright, wrote the play and has done a fascinating job. "Dangerous" is funny, scary, suspenseful, heart-wrenching, and thought-provoking. There's also full frontal nudity (both male and female) and simulated sex, which always works for me (except in real life, where I'd prefer sex to be unsimulated if possible). Wynn Harmon, a great guy who recently played David Frost in the theater's recent production of "Frost/Nixon" is back on hand as one of the few genuinely nice characters in "Dangerous". A New York actor named David Rudd plays a cad named Alec, the sexual centerpiece of the show, and he's all that and then some! There's a sort of dominant sexuality that he projects that seems to leave his co-stars (and many audience members) woozy with desire. He's a fine actor, too! Actually, there's not a bad performance from any of the cast, and it's well worth the drive up to Boca to see it.
I flew out to visit my family a couple of weeks ago, and spent ten days in the Oklahoma Panhandle area. During that brief time, I was able to experience the gamut of all the unseemly weather that Oklahoma has to offer: tornadoes, hailstorms, dust storms, heat, and frigid cold. Weatherwise, Oklahoma is never boring. And I'll say this: if it weren't for an excruciatingly backasswards political climate there that fosters religious nutwings and high ranking government officials who espouse such "family values" as hate, intolerance, and plain, old ignorance for the masses, I wouldn't mind moving back. I adore being around my family, and miss them terribly, and I also miss the high plains desert surrounding their little town, the spectacular sunsets, and even the alarming weather changes. Alas, until the State of Oklahoma drums out the hatemongers, understands the wisdom of separating church from state, and hauls its ungainly self into the 21st Century--or at least the 20th--I'll have to settle for all-too-infrequent visits.
And, on a final note, speaking of hatemongers, I have two words: Rush Limbaugh. Somebody please take his fat, ugly ass out behind the barn and beat the shit out of him, will you? Please. Somebody? Anybody?
So, what I have been doing for the last couple of months, in addition to not writing on my blog, is not working on my screenplays. The studly, sex-filled epic has stalled out after the fourth draft, so I've had to set that aside for the time being, until I can think of a way to rework it to my satisfaction. The other, about a young mother in peril during the Dust Bowl days in the Oklahoma/Texas Panhandle is in better shape, although completion of the third draft has not been forthcoming.
In essence, life has been happening and I have not deigned to spend time focusing on the things that I should be focusing on. Recently, my sister casually mentioned that she has ADD, a term that I immediately latched onto as the source of my own lack of focus. Of course, it isn't that, not in my case, anyway. It's never that simple, is it? There seems to be a lack of interest lately in the things that I've always loved doing, a general dissatisfaction encompassing everything, a feeling that I'm not where I thought I'd be when I reached this stage of my life. And in all honesty, that's probably the crux of it, the root of the problem, the knowledge that a large part of my life has passed by and I've lived it, even embraced some of it, without really ever understanding it or trying to make it count for something. And now that I'm here, at this certain place in my life, there's this underlying, paralyzing terror, this little voice screaming: What the fuck am I going to do now? Because, you know, it's a little late for me to be pondering what the fuck I'm going to do when I grow up. I'm there, at least in the sense that I'm no longer a kid; but I seem to have grown older without having really grown up. Which really sucks. The only thing I can think of to do is to move forward--I'm going to continue growing older anyway unless, of course, I die, so I'd really like to shake off this creative paralysis and get on with my professional life, and eventually achieve the American Dream. Okay, maybe not achieve the American Dream in terms of having a big house with a white picket fence, and 2.5 kids (how the fuck do they do that, anyway?), but that may not be the standard for American Dreamers anymore. At any rate, I've got to escape this inertia and just get on with it.
The above rambling aside, we went to see the film "Taken" over the weekend. Luc Besson was one of the writers so I expected there to be a lot of action, and I wasn't disappointed. "Taken" is immensely entertaining and instantly forgettable hogwash that, due to the talent involved, is classier and more involving than many films of its ilk. Liam Neeson is cast as the stalwart hero, a former CIA agent whose teenaged daughter (Maggie Grace) is kidnapped by Albanian thugs while on vacation in Paris. Once Neeson is on the bad guys' trail, he becomes a single-minded, deadly nemesis who will stop at nothing to secure the release of his daughter. It's all shaky camerawork filmed in hypervision (ala "The Bourne Ultimatum") an indication that the cameramen need to be in better physical shape than the actors. Neeson's a good performer, but "Taken" does little to stretch his acting chops, or enhance his resume; on the other hand, it's a perfectly respectable, by-the-numbers thriller that he needn't cringe at when the film pops up on TNT--which it inevitably will.
There's a play at the Caldwell Theatre (where I'm working part-time) called "Dangerous". It's a complete reworking of "Dangerous Liasons", with many (but not all) of the female roles rewritten as males, and set in Weimar Germany, as the Nazis are gaining a foothold. Michael McKeever, a local playwright, wrote the play and has done a fascinating job. "Dangerous" is funny, scary, suspenseful, heart-wrenching, and thought-provoking. There's also full frontal nudity (both male and female) and simulated sex, which always works for me (except in real life, where I'd prefer sex to be unsimulated if possible). Wynn Harmon, a great guy who recently played David Frost in the theater's recent production of "Frost/Nixon" is back on hand as one of the few genuinely nice characters in "Dangerous". A New York actor named David Rudd plays a cad named Alec, the sexual centerpiece of the show, and he's all that and then some! There's a sort of dominant sexuality that he projects that seems to leave his co-stars (and many audience members) woozy with desire. He's a fine actor, too! Actually, there's not a bad performance from any of the cast, and it's well worth the drive up to Boca to see it.
I flew out to visit my family a couple of weeks ago, and spent ten days in the Oklahoma Panhandle area. During that brief time, I was able to experience the gamut of all the unseemly weather that Oklahoma has to offer: tornadoes, hailstorms, dust storms, heat, and frigid cold. Weatherwise, Oklahoma is never boring. And I'll say this: if it weren't for an excruciatingly backasswards political climate there that fosters religious nutwings and high ranking government officials who espouse such "family values" as hate, intolerance, and plain, old ignorance for the masses, I wouldn't mind moving back. I adore being around my family, and miss them terribly, and I also miss the high plains desert surrounding their little town, the spectacular sunsets, and even the alarming weather changes. Alas, until the State of Oklahoma drums out the hatemongers, understands the wisdom of separating church from state, and hauls its ungainly self into the 21st Century--or at least the 20th--I'll have to settle for all-too-infrequent visits.
And, on a final note, speaking of hatemongers, I have two words: Rush Limbaugh. Somebody please take his fat, ugly ass out behind the barn and beat the shit out of him, will you? Please. Somebody? Anybody?
Monday, January 5, 2009
The Phantom of Rat Bohemia: From My Amazon Review of Dario Argento's "Phantom of the Opera"
Good gawd almighty! That was my first reaction once I'd finished watching Italian horror maestro, Dario Argento's version of the oft-filmed "Phantom of the Opera". I think it's safe to say that there's never been another "Phantom" quite like it. It starts out as a sort of twisted variation on the Tarzan legend, with an abandoned baby in a foreign environment being rescued and raised by the resident wildlife. As most people know, with Tarzan it was apes who did the child-rearing. But it may come as something of a surprise to learn that with the Opera Phantom, it was, er, um, rats who did the parenting. At least according to Argento. Which begs any number of questions, none the least of which are: how did the rats nourish and feed the baby, change his diapers, bathe him, teach him to speak English, and play the piano, for crying out loud? Of course, the rats are telepathic, as is the Phantom, so I guess that could explain it. However, that's only the beginning of a film that goes so far over-the-top that I suspect it's still in orbit.
The gore and violence, a staple of most Argento films, are present, but not in the abundance that might be expected; there's a decapitation and a tongue being ripped out, in a grotesque parody of a French kiss, and a few more nasty deaths but, all things considered, it could have been worse. What's not a staple of Argento films is the graphic sex and nudity, (which I'm normally fine with) that includes a bordello scene in which the Phantom's nemesis, Raoul, lies on a chaise lounge, wrapped only in a towel, sucking on a hookah, while surrounded by a phalanx of nightmarish, Fellini-esque characters, all naked and looking like they stopped by the baths enroute to a "Night of the Living Dead" shoot. When a frisky prostitute takes a nose dive beneath Raoul's towel, he's not pleased--he's saving himself for heroine, Christine--and he shoves her away, with no little show of force. There are two vile, yet somehow Disneyesque ratcatchers, who tool around the sewers beneath the opera house in what looks like a modified dune buggy that snatches up rats and...oh, don't ask. At about the time that the Phantom unbuttoned his shirt and let some of the more amorous rats run across his chest and nipples, I started getting bug-eyed. When he got excited and began undoing his pants to allow them access to his manly business, my hair was standing on end. At that moment, I knew that this movie had gone so far over the mark that it wasn't ever coming back. And yet, I found myself hoping that these sex partner-rats weren't the Phantom's mum and dad, because that would be just...eeeeuuuuwwwww. And then, of course, a little voice rose within me and said they're rats, idiot!
Aside from the rats, there are some pretty good performances, believe it or not. Julian Sands is appropriately weird as the murderous, yet romantic, Phantom of the Opera. I was disturbed that he didn't wear a mask (disfigured or not) but his long, stringy, greasy hair was fairly eerie in itself. As demonstrated in earlier efforts such as "Warlock", Sands is adept at playing haughty, mysterious creeps who are vaguely aristocratic and mostly evil. I think if he had portrayed Lestat in "Interview With the Vampire" (reportedly Anne Rice's original intention), it would have been an entirely different movie; there's a certain sexual ambiguity that Sands projects onscreen that would have been entirely suited to that character (and which Tom Cruise didn't have). Plus, he looks good naked. He'd have made a perfect "Dorian Grey", as well. Argento's daughter, Asia, assays the role of Christine, the sopranic understudy who becomes the object of the titular character's affections. Asia Argento doesn't seem to be sleepwalking so much here as she has in other of her father's films. She's a lively and passionate heroine who is confused by the two men vying for her charms. That she beds down with the Phantom on more than one occasion, further muddles the poor girl. These scenes could have had a genuine erotic power (Argento looks good naked, too) and they are well filmed, but I just kept thinking of what the randy Phantom had been up to with the rats in his pants and...oh brother, I just hope he showered before joining Ms. Argento in bed. As rival, Raoul, Andrea di Stefano looks a little like Prince in "Purple Rain" (only with long, stringy hair--what is it with these guys?)--he's brave, but seemingly addled (perhaps by too much toking on the hookah); by the time, he attempts to save the day, he's moving at a snail's pace through the tunnels beneath the Paris Opera House, looking debauched and disheveled and almost as crazed as the Phantom.
Basically a remake (or re-imagining) of Argento's much better "Opera", "Phantom" is a freaky, beautifully filmed head trip that, in spite of its many difficulties and ludicrous plot developments, has a certain queasy charm that will definitely not appeal to all. Dario Argento is an imaginative creative genius who seems incapable of being reigned in, but what would he be otherwise? I sort of like him like this.
The gore and violence, a staple of most Argento films, are present, but not in the abundance that might be expected; there's a decapitation and a tongue being ripped out, in a grotesque parody of a French kiss, and a few more nasty deaths but, all things considered, it could have been worse. What's not a staple of Argento films is the graphic sex and nudity, (which I'm normally fine with) that includes a bordello scene in which the Phantom's nemesis, Raoul, lies on a chaise lounge, wrapped only in a towel, sucking on a hookah, while surrounded by a phalanx of nightmarish, Fellini-esque characters, all naked and looking like they stopped by the baths enroute to a "Night of the Living Dead" shoot. When a frisky prostitute takes a nose dive beneath Raoul's towel, he's not pleased--he's saving himself for heroine, Christine--and he shoves her away, with no little show of force. There are two vile, yet somehow Disneyesque ratcatchers, who tool around the sewers beneath the opera house in what looks like a modified dune buggy that snatches up rats and...oh, don't ask. At about the time that the Phantom unbuttoned his shirt and let some of the more amorous rats run across his chest and nipples, I started getting bug-eyed. When he got excited and began undoing his pants to allow them access to his manly business, my hair was standing on end. At that moment, I knew that this movie had gone so far over the mark that it wasn't ever coming back. And yet, I found myself hoping that these sex partner-rats weren't the Phantom's mum and dad, because that would be just...eeeeuuuuwwwww. And then, of course, a little voice rose within me and said they're rats, idiot!
Aside from the rats, there are some pretty good performances, believe it or not. Julian Sands is appropriately weird as the murderous, yet romantic, Phantom of the Opera. I was disturbed that he didn't wear a mask (disfigured or not) but his long, stringy, greasy hair was fairly eerie in itself. As demonstrated in earlier efforts such as "Warlock", Sands is adept at playing haughty, mysterious creeps who are vaguely aristocratic and mostly evil. I think if he had portrayed Lestat in "Interview With the Vampire" (reportedly Anne Rice's original intention), it would have been an entirely different movie; there's a certain sexual ambiguity that Sands projects onscreen that would have been entirely suited to that character (and which Tom Cruise didn't have). Plus, he looks good naked. He'd have made a perfect "Dorian Grey", as well. Argento's daughter, Asia, assays the role of Christine, the sopranic understudy who becomes the object of the titular character's affections. Asia Argento doesn't seem to be sleepwalking so much here as she has in other of her father's films. She's a lively and passionate heroine who is confused by the two men vying for her charms. That she beds down with the Phantom on more than one occasion, further muddles the poor girl. These scenes could have had a genuine erotic power (Argento looks good naked, too) and they are well filmed, but I just kept thinking of what the randy Phantom had been up to with the rats in his pants and...oh brother, I just hope he showered before joining Ms. Argento in bed. As rival, Raoul, Andrea di Stefano looks a little like Prince in "Purple Rain" (only with long, stringy hair--what is it with these guys?)--he's brave, but seemingly addled (perhaps by too much toking on the hookah); by the time, he attempts to save the day, he's moving at a snail's pace through the tunnels beneath the Paris Opera House, looking debauched and disheveled and almost as crazed as the Phantom.
Basically a remake (or re-imagining) of Argento's much better "Opera", "Phantom" is a freaky, beautifully filmed head trip that, in spite of its many difficulties and ludicrous plot developments, has a certain queasy charm that will definitely not appeal to all. Dario Argento is an imaginative creative genius who seems incapable of being reigned in, but what would he be otherwise? I sort of like him like this.
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