Movie: L'Enfant

Just flat out excellent. Such superior instincts, acting and story.
Reminds me of the purity and simplicity of the neorealists. Had seen
La Promesse by the Dardenne's years ago when it came out and was not
equally impressed. Perhaps I've changed, should see it again. This
was the inspiration I so needed after a long time away.

the bare minimum

in the medical profession, is that you cannot later be blamed for

my problem with the internet

I think Alain de Botton has made me see it. you're longing to noticed
and read in all you write. the problem is your writing has no
privacy; therefore you censor yourself with the imagined impressions
of others. nothing can be more damaging to maintaining the live vivid
connection. your darkest ugliest thoughts, your most giddy exuberant
observations of beauty--all get shorn off in this process. I think
it's a kind of strangulation of art and insight. There has to be a
way to write, easily and from anywhere, that will collect and protect
the work while not simultaneously purveying it to the world. God but
this observations rings true, as does his insights into Proust's
attitude toward friendships, toward speaking of onesself to others, to
revising one's thoughts--the compression of time and revision in the
creation of the author's voice, to the fidelity toward books, writing,
expression. how proust can change your life indeed; how this book can.

good vibe people

some people make it their m.o. to work at making others feel good. it's just what they do. they tend to have a lot of friends.

You Complete Me

I always thought this was an original phrase when I saw Jerry Maguire
when it came out years ago, but actually, no, it's from Joni
Mitchell's "Court & Spark"... still a good movie, but kind of insipid
around the edges in retrospect like a lot of Cameron Crowe. Kind of
like somethign sweet you gobble up and regret. Vanilla Sky was the
same way. In Jerry M I always think about how the jazz enthusiast is
labelled as a nerd in the movie, presumably because he doesn't
understand rock n roll. funny, because jazz has indisputably more of
a claim to authenticity than pop rock--it betrays a chip on the
shoulder of rock (or this filmmaker) a weird insecurity. maybe that
character was in his groupie film, can't remember.

Leonard Lopate and NAC Screening

After recording VO at Quentin's with Mora McClean from AAI and a woman
named Celia from Mozambique (the voice), got to hear all of Rebecca's
Lopate appearance on podcast. Smashing success. She really did well,
even though Lopate himself wasn't really on the ball. Then we came
back and headed out to the screening at the National Arts Club--a real
NY couple. Screening was very satisfying. First time I'd seen the
film in many a moon, and thought it moved well. Also today we heard,
gulp, that One Mile Road may be back on the market. Need to find out
more tomorrow from Alison. It seems that just as things are
normalizing, big upheavals like this occur. We'll see! Irena
babysat the kids, a first for us to ever have a babysitter, if you can
believe it, in 8 years! Of course the kids loved it and Irena loved
them. & She was surprised to be paid!

Weybridge

losing that property still gives me the worst pangs... I feel as
though we raised the bar so high nothing will satisfy that doesn't
beat its charm and possibilities.

At the Carrousel

Took the kids to the Coop this morning to shop. Got there 8am, really
too late to enjoy the early morning calm. Sevi likes going these days
because she brings along her wallet and wants to get snacks. She
ended up with Pirate's Booty. We took the new used pink stroller,
which she feels awkward on, and Hart raced ahead kicking methodically
on his little scooter. Still only 85% convinced he'll stop at a
street corner. After the Coop and returning home, went to work,
picked up Hart from Rebecca at John Jay after swim class, brought him
back, fed him a croissant sandwich with turkey avocado and mayo, after
half of which he announced he wanted to nap. Reb and Sevi came home,
I went back to work. Returned from work at 4:30, made everyone a
green smoothie from kale, apple, some grapes, a banana and some
squeezed lemon. Intriguing how something about this combination
evokes the taste of cinnamon. Sevi and Hart mostly blew bubbles in,
then we all went across the park to the Carrousel for the bday party
of Isabella, a little friend of Hart's from last year at Brooklyn Free
Space. After some slight alienation not really knowing many people--
and being told by the soft grey haired Italian guy who runs it that we
weren't part of the private party - for which he later apologized sort
of - we rode the Caroussel, found some noisemakers, kicked a ball, and
walked home just as night was falling. Before leaving, struck up
conversation with Isabella's dad, who started a failed nightclub in
Red Hook, called the Hook, now in real estate. I thought he might
help us locate a defunct gas station somewhere on the outskirts
suitable for the PSEC (Park Slope Ethanol Coop) fuel station. He
seemed interested. (Richard T. Burke - Ideal Properties Group rburke@idealpropertiesgroup.com
718-840-2757)

Also, interesting moment of tension when some kids (outside the
enclosure around this "private" bday party) accidentally broke a beer
bottle, and a little kid nervously tried to make light of it by
picking up the dangling broken glass stuck together by the label. A
parent leapt up and cautioned him not to do it. The kid's own parent sauntered
over and barked at the kid. Something about the barrier was awful and
added to the tension. I was thinking to myself how appalling the
whole idea of the "ownership society" was in light of the misery and
tension exemplified here. We will all sooner or later be dead, and
this unpleasantness was a stain on the day.

Apples gone

While Rebecca prepared for her Leonard Lopate interview, I took the
kids over to David & Francesca's on this pleasant fairly cool and
sunny Saturday. With Sarah, David, Sevi Hart and I lashed a ladder to
the Jeep and drove to the tree on 18th Street and 8th ave. Not one
apple to be seen. So we drove over to the tree on Eastern Parkway.
Barely any, not worth getting out of the car. So we drove to Prospect
Place right down the street from 121, where we picked a half bushel of
the tree bearing lumpy mutants, many with rotten spots. Pretty
pathetic. Over by 14th street we went out to a Spanish-American
restaurant, then we brought Sarah back with us for the balance of the
day while David and Francesca drove out of the city to a party. At a
block party on 2nd Street I ran into Kris Sandine and spouse, who sold
me a pink scooter for $3 which is appropriate for Sevi. Not as simpe
as Hart's yet not as tippy as standard-issue Razor model. Ran into
Bob Axelrod who was setting up tempura painting for kids, and his
spouse Eva Zelig, who was selling tchotchkes. We all went to the Pi
playground, where Sevi and Sarah amused themselves stealing my brown
fishing hat and Hart rode the scooter. Came back here for a dinner of
leftovers. David Simpson came over to pick up some kefir grains I had
split off for him, and to give me the tapes of the Ethanol Coop he
shot earlier in the week. Went over to my cluttered office at work and
finished the film on Romare Bearden's "Southern Sensibility". Will
try to get in the habit of describing days.

Milton on being called a "feminine" writer

keep recalling this from John Guillory's class on Milton:

"Would that their assininity were as easily shed as my femininity."

the economy has come a cropper

Movie: Tropic Thunder

Just as Apocalypse Now mimicked the chaos and waste and
wrongheadedness of the Vietnam War in a way that charmed America by
making it feel that it was being searching and introspective about
itself in a way that could still redound to its greatness, Tropic
Thunder mimicks the waste and extravagance of the Vietnam war movie
genre in a way that's supposed to make us laugh and appreciate how
much better we are to recognize the tragic destructive waste of energy
in a product catering only to fools. The problem with both Apocalypse
Now and Tropic Thunder is that they each get sucked into their own
conceit, the former at the expense of dramatic meaning, the latter at
the expense of satiric meaning. Apocalypse Now becomes a war and a
waste. Tropic Thunder becomes a film catering to fools. Much as I
liked Robert Downey Jr. and even Ben Stiller as fun to watch, (Tom
Cruise was not particularly fun to watch. Pathetic how you can dress
him up but he still can't act any other way than his high octane Tom
Cruise persona), the film was like a forced 2 hour laugh track with
explosions. Funny to me about 5% of the time. Which may be a
measure of how far out of the grip of mainstream film concerns I have
drifted. I still get the in-jokes (most of them I think anyway) but
the pleasures of recognition are hollow and depressing.

Movie: Vicky Christina Barcelona

Loved it. Was much more engaging than the last several of Woody's that
I've seen. One constant in his work all the way back through the
comedies, with the possible exception of the standouts Annie Hall and
Manhattan, is that people are conceived of as types. In this, very
much like Match Point, there are the bifurcated yuppy success story
types squirrelled away in their wealth and smugness, and there are the
self destructive artist types. While this was such a send-up,
unapologetically milking the cliches for all they're worth, and played
with true panache, it worked great as a human comedy. But no one ever
really breaks out of the "type" mold, so while it was wonderfully
unpredictable for me, the second it was over you could see how it was
basically written backwards from the ending that had to follow from
all the natures of the characters so simplistically described. Again,
no problem here in comedy, but to me it's the tendency that prevents
Woody Allen from ever succeeding, as in totally succeeding, in drama,
meaning pushing it to new artistic heights rather than fulfilling
expectations. It's what doomed the promise of Little Children for me
too. It can never be Shakespeare, it can never be Tolstoy because
there is no spark of true individuality in the characters that makes
them outlive the story, transcend the world.

Kevin's Palin-Drome

All I saw's Sarah harass Wasilla...

Palin-drome

live evil

your taking on

Your taking on the troubles of the next hundred years
Is a conceit.
You'll be gone.
It's a way not to be.
But put money on it.
You'll be dead.
So sit one moment in the present.
Enjoy the river as it flows
And don't fret at the warm wet breeze.
Everyone will take on their portion of the trouble.
You take on your little piece and don't be greedy
Or afraid.

Mosquito Bites

Papa: Hart, do you like mosquito bites?
Hart: No. But they love themselves.

a head of state instead of hate

Haiku: I press the button

I press the button
Nearest the cup like she says
And indignity swirls away

Haiku - Head sticks to seat back

Head sticks to seat back
Of the dentist office chair
Ok...a bald spot.

Movie: Lars and the Real Girl

Very good. Script was excellent, Ryan Gosling excellent. Everything
about it just right. Maybe a little muddled toward the end, but still
a nice original and fresh piece of work, never dull, always playing
against expectations. Flirts with becoming psycho drama briefly a la
Ordinary People, but these are just red herrings to keep you
focussed. The whole thing was shaping up to the heartwrenching climax
of sister-in-law having baby slash crisis...and then that was avoided
too. I suppose the criticism that might be lodged is that it was
largely excellent in its avoidance of pitfalls and could have been
more positively brilliant, but this is really nitpicking. The whole
capture of a reality where the community is so accepting and helpful
toward Lars--this is something that was so novel and interesting, and
something I can't remember seeing in another film. very smart and
deeply felt film.

Movie: The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Confessing that I did miss a bit due to sleep, I still was
underwhelmed. Admirable at least that it's unconventional, yet not
somehow very original. Would have liked to see Werner Herzog make the
movie, someone with more edgy panache. Schnabel can be mediocre.
Seems to condescend to the medium.

Movie: A Little Night Music

As much as I'd come to love listening to the music in my ripe middle
age, did I deplore the missteps elisions and dated cheesiness of this
movie. Cutting "Liasons" so clearly and awkwardly from the final cut
was the final indignity. A little nightmare...

Movie: Cloverfield

Shakicam made me nauseated. The formulaic plotting did little to
relieve that.

snippet

"do I get to be a creative lamb, a little baby who just pleas for understanding in compensation for all of my ugly behavior because after all I have the gift!"

the answer be no.

built from guilt

Vomiting

The bride had such a good time at the reception that she vomited and passed out in the getaway car. Very cool. That's the way it should be, unbridled delight and vomiting in the presence of people who love you and don't judge.

fat

stores stuff which your body can't manage to break down and digest. a protective mechanism to get the foreign and toxic stuff away from your functioning? is this why, as digestion gets less efficient as we age, people put on fat more readily

Bad Day

1) Sarah Schenck disregarded by explicit quote of 10 days ago and now
thinks I am charging too much to edit - $400/day....
2) These people who want a wedding videographer, that I have debased
myself into accepting, are now being choosy and won't hire me--the
humiliation
3) We have no assurance that Hart will get into the Children's School,
whereas if he'd just been a general ed kid he'd be in.
4) Barack Obama's getting dragged over the coals by his crazy pastor
and now people are saying his nomination isn't assured at all.

Ugghh....bad bad day, and I'm newly 44 with no accomplishments...

Lewis Hyde's "The Gift"

unties the knot for the first time.

Girlfriend & Senator

something about that dynamic of holding a hearing for an old girlfriend

Movie: In the Valley of Elah

After assiduously watching Million Dollar Baby, Flags of our Fathers,
Letters from Iwo Jima, and hearing an interview with Paul Haggis (who
wrote them all) lamenting this film's nosedive at the box office, my
interest was piqued. My expectation that it was going to be some top
down intrigue potboiler ascribing evil to the brass in Iraq was
pleasantly disappointed. By the end, when you find out his fellow
soldiers murdered the son, it has the strange and almost unprecedented
(in my memory) effect of making the whole ostensible motive of the
plot a red herring. These guys died in Iraq. Back stateside they
just thrashed around like hungry ghosts and keeping up appearances.
Very effective and actually about something real and unadorned that is
happening now. I don't feel that it was amped up for Hollywood
purposes very much at all. The performance Tommy Lee Jones turned in
just grows in the memory. So much inner stuff conveyed so well. Shot
for shot the directing was serviceable and unflashy which is a
testament to a lot of knowingness from Haggis, who hasn't directed
much. The film redeems him from what I see as an embarrassment in
Crash. (think I wrote some notes about that at the time).

I am tired

I am tired
I am bored
I am a nice girl
Drowning in a sea of petitions

Movie: Little Children (second time)

Without looking back at my entry upon seeing it in the theatre, I think I liked it less this second time (on DVD).  The forcings of the plot seemed more inexcusable, although I did see that it has these fable-like trappings that try to pave the way for that.  At the time I think I saw it as almost perfection in some way verging more toward the real, but that may have been a bit myopic.  The ending still seems kind of touching but also ridiculous to the point of undermining.  Don't know if I made the Kubrick connection before on the narration, a very Barry Lyndon-ish choice of voice and manner in which to comment and move story forward.   Interesting how I remembered the torrid romance parts but they take up surprisingly tiny screen time.  Everything advances by alternation of scenes, with the pedophile subplot coming in to advance and stand for passage of time for the lovers relationship.  Interesting that once they get their clothes off, they are unclothed for the next several scenes as we return to them, though time has passed.  I think the feeling of childish evasion of the real challenges of their lives came across better this time, probably because I'm not so myopic and escapist on that subject a year or so hence as I remember being.  Still, the point she makes about Mme Bovary's hunger is compelling, even as this movie ultimately stops short of condoning it.  It basically puts human emotions (of the destructive kind) back in the box at the end, as a kind of resolution.  interesting but leaves you with a bit of a sigh.

 

Weston trailer on BlipTV

John Jay Video

Movie: My Kid Could Paint That

Came away feeling a lot of respect for the sincerity of the filmmaker,
which is very odd, given that the thing you admire him for is for
apparently going with his instinct and turning against the subjects of
his film. But it is persuasive, and seemingly not so manipulative,
when you see the paintings Marla has been documented doing versus some
of the earlier work. What's missing, and what might cloud the case of
the filmmaker, is a clear temporal understanding of work she did
subsequent to the supposedly vindicating work "Ocean" (the one that
fails to convince the filmmakers, and me as a viewer, and even the
wife of the prospective buyer who is clearly shown being kind of
browbeaten into choosing it.) Did she do similarly accomplished work
subsequent to it (while not being filmed?). A fascinating element of
this film is the realist painter/promoter who goes from saying Marla's
work is genius, to at the nadir of the period she is discredited
following the 60 minutes expose, revealing that he has no feeling or
insight into this work, only into the power of marketing, to then
rally and begin proclaiming her genius again on the upswing. The
father comes across as seriously, increasingly duplicitous, which is
also fascinating, because it's understandable that certain people
under suspicion "would" behave that way. He always seems caught in an
echo-chamber of awareness. The mother on the other hand is this self-
righteous beacon of truth, self-proclaimed shy and constantly
reiterating that she wished none of this had ever happened, and yet
she is actually the real expert before camera because she makes her
case so persuasively you feel horrible questioning it. But question
it the filmmaker does, and won't let go of the suspicion. While I
found the paintings sort of interesting and allowed some of the
passionate commentary to make the case felt, I found the gambit of the
filmmakers most fascinating, and the fact that they do come off as
somehow objective judges, despite their even throwing in the NY Times
writer's making us aware of inherent fiction in all documentary film.
It's actually a very calculating work that anticipates the viewer in
the manner of the best suspense film (although the film certainly has
no literally high suspense in its structure. Still, the doubts are
planted, their role held up to the mirror, their judgments made, and
they acquit themselves of any wrongdoing essentially...and you're WITH
them. It comes across as a very ingenuous treatment and the family
comes across by the end as the antagonists. Can't remember a film
with a similar dynamic. "Capturing the Friedmans" comes to mind as
perhaps a similar genre of the "judgment documentary" but I remember
(probably wrote about it at the time, look it up) that it's structural
omissions were pretty blatant to produce the verdict that it did (even
if you felt you would have agreed with it in any case,
hypothetically). Here it all seems right out in the open, unless what
hit the editing room floor were interviews, say, with the father
coming out with reasoned arguments or other such things that would
have heightened the ambiguity, but for whatever reason (truth or
skilled filmmaking) I just tend to doubt these exist. You get a
feeling for the rectitude of the filmmaker that seems to relegate that
to unlikelihood.

Noted the use of Nino Rota from 8 1/2 and elsewhere particularly when
looking at paintings, taken from the moment where Guido visits the
ghosts of his parents near the catacombs? Music so dear to me.
Also, coincidentally some Orff from Schulwerke, from which Badlands
also borrowed. Clearly a filmmaker at work...

The film was very uneven in look but that didn't really matter. Some
stuff I can tell was definitely Nelson (the good stuff) while some
other was just on the fly arbitrary camera.

Anthony Minghella RIP

Was sad to learn that Anthony Minghella died today. While I just
couldn't stand The English Patient, after seeing "Truly Madly Deeply"
an early film he both wrote and directed, I felt here was a unique
sensibility. I got a lot out of that film.

Movie: Michael Clayton

Inspired genre piece. A bit of a temporal confusion for me about when
the flashforward ended at the beginning, but not a biggy. All scenes
tight and suspenseful. Like a good genre piece, however, the elements
were pretty bare, there to serve, but not so much intrinsically
whole. Tilda Swinton was the put-upon villain, Tom Wilkinson the
amazingly good lawyer who couldn't take it anymore (a la Network) and
the evil handiwork was deftly carried out. But the plaintiffs, some
rube dairy folk were just so clearly the necessary elements in the
story that they failed to convince. Likewise Clooney's kid. More
convincing performance and treatment than most, but still just not
part of an alive whole. Have a hard time watching Sydney Pollack act,
although he sure exudes being a nice guy no matter how world-weary and
compromised he's supposed to be, so I guess the casting could have
been worse. Liked the actor who played the cop brother, and in
particular the contrition shot near the end, where he communicated so
much in one shot (after having basically damned his brother, as he had
their third brother, in the previous scene). The end in the cab
playing over the credits recalled the end of the Graduate for me
(Hoffman and bride in the bus) but somehow with a lot less going on.
It seemed almost a task Clooney wasn't up to. Without an ensemble to
play against he's sort of out of tricks.

Bartleby the Cabbie

note to self. write this.

etymology of "deliberation"

"from freedom"

the genius died

the genius died
mediocrity mourns
over its sandwich
with spasms of survivor's guilt
and beatific tears easing
penetration

Internet to Me as I was to Frodo

a psychic distraction from the ability to herd, organize, focus

cataclysm

looking for work in the Department of Cataclysm Relief

no sweets for a month

period.

"I am the energy"

It may be an attribute of one kind of cultural upbringing to instill
the belief that a person "is the energy" be it love, vitality,
creativity etc. This might conduce to fierce loyalties on display to
the very idea of that identity. It may also blind a person so
instilled with a free and flexible perception of the world around him/
her. Among cultures that shy away from such identifications, prizing
the non-identification with energy in favor of a watchful
sensuousness, a self-abnegating from all roles but that of the
witness, there may be a corresponding tendency to lose the moral
compass, a rudderless if vibrant perception.

It's not my messiah complex

It's your failure to shed your disciple complex

Consumer Sphinx

will thwart the commercial interests' trying to find out what he buys
let them milk a stone

About the age when

literal immortality becomes the preoccupation of the well-enough off

Flag of Our Fathers

Repetitive and chock full of hackneyed scenes. But mostly just
repetitive without changing and shedding much new light. Yes, it was the
commodification of heros and warfare, and yes it slighted the
individuals and their anguish and belittled the meaning of their
brotherhood. You get that in the first 5 minutes, and then it just
keeps hammering. Some good filmmaking, but lacking a sense of scene
and the all important sense of geography for something like this. See
Full Metal Jacket or Thin Red Line for studies in how to really
involve a spectator in the precise geography of what's at stake
happening in real time. This was mostly flashbacks looking for
effects to serve the above theme, so it lacked the immediacy it was
striving for. It was always looking backward. It didn't live in the
moment, as it must.

Genre #2

Genre says, don't identify, don't mingle in that confusion of
identifying with each and every character. Instead, play Mini Golf,
where each tee is circumscribed and includes a satisfying gimmick to
reward you. Or say, a scheme of this ball knocks mechanistically into
that ball and wow, we RECOGNIZE the result and are rewarded for our
judgment, or maybe a little titillated by the surprise of having not
guessed exactly. Genre is the exponent of manipulation as the M.O. of
the world. That statement of Hart Crane that I keep returning to:
"There is the world dimensional/ For those untwisted by the/ Love of
things irreconcilable." This is a quote inscrutable to the lover of
genre.

A Field Guide to Rubber Bands

Sevi wanted to stop and pick up gritty rubber bands off the damp
sidewalk this morning, in order to give them to Frank Adams, who's
collecting them. I said identifying what kind they were (i.e. wild
vs. domesticated, exotic etc) was important, and for that we'd need
the Field Guide.

In politics as in much else

it's the moment to moment story that shapes reality, not the story as
seen from above. We leap from reality to reality, most of us lacking
any sense of proportion. That misprision swelled by sheer numbers
wins the day.

Skit - Salt & Pepper in the Water

Skit in which a couple insists that the waiter keeps doing ridiculous
things to their water glasses, like adding fresh pepper, grated cheese
etc.

Irony, as commonly understood

equals straddling
bet hedging
a second home
stri-angulation
i pretend to be obtuse
so you don't think me so
I outmaneuver
Circumscribe you
Anything you think
I was there first &
my fire is ash cold
You will never find
the island
I have repaired to.

Face like a sock

Face like a sock pulled on not quite right

His eyes said

you will not corner the market on vitality
his jaws sinewed

Genre

I guess it can be helpful and comforting, like some a comfy club of
friends,
but I see it mostly as a blindfold against the sky

Fiction writer as generalist

to the extent that the fiction writer is a generalist, he/she is our
savior.

correction: the quick brown fox jumpS over the lazy dog

the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog  - much better

Begin forwarded message:

From: schmebble <kburget@gmail.com>

Date: January 19, 2008 11:00:48 AM EST

To: kevin@waltzing.org

Subject: [LOAM] the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog

all 26 ltrs of alphabet

--
Posted By schmebble to LOAM at 1/19/2008 11:00:00 AM

the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog

all 26 ltrs of alphabet

Eleanor Rigby

All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
It just struck me today, they come from T.S. Eliot. He's the source
of inspiration for this song. Never put that together before.

Reagan as Race-baiter

The Conscience of a Liberal (Paul Krugman)
- Clipping Loc. 1158-63 | Added on Sunday, December 30, 2007, 01:44 PM

movement inevitably brought itself a much wider range of enemies.
Enterprising politicians took notice. Ronald Reagan, who had opposed
the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Act—calling the latter
"humiliating to the South"—ran for governor of California in part on
a promise to repeal the state's fair housing act. "If an individual
wants to discriminate against Negroes or others in selling or renting
his house," Reagan said, "he has a right to do so." Above all,
public perception of the civil rights movement became entangled with
the rising tide of urban disorder—a linkage that served to
legitimate and harden resistance to further civil rights progress.

Sportif

the thing about people being "kept"; the sportif clothes of Blaike
Hairen (sp subverted) playing soccer that belied his martial arts
bravado_ andd this in so many other spheres - the key to seeing the
thing that is mediating experience , keeping us from an apprehension
of reality in a country hijacked by a rapacious elite

Get the same vibe off Anderson Cooper. This suited-up quality will
keep him from seeing and feeling what's at stake. Brought to mind the
"strong anthropic principle" and my inability to get my mind around
it. That we can even pose the question is all the proof that is
needed of the specificity of our evolution. How can it be so? You
run aground, or into parodies like Pangloss's "Best of All Possible
Worlds" Perhaps not "best" but it's the one we got of which we are
the final exponent.

very very smart

so say the associates of him
but one who at the false summit
could go no higher
called the mountain as very
very high
it's a bit meaningless, isn't it
as if to claim the birdseye
for onesself.
the claim should merely
be "smarter than me,
as far as I can tell"

a lot 'o camels

in Camelot

Dream for Candy

Had a dream in which Sevi was begging to buy candy at a store, two
kinds: Buzzies & Oyster Gods

Movie: There Will Be Blood

Kind of good, kind of grows on me 24 hrs later. A feast of
recognitions, from the manner of titles and opening chords right out
the Shining as homage to Kubrick, to Murnau, to Sherwood Anderson to
Terrence Malick to Cormac McCarthy, to Altman to I don't know, even
Beckett toward the end. It was largely engrossing, nice to begin as
silent film basically for the first 20 min. Daniel Day Lewis
inhabiting as he does, more thoroughly than any actor living I
believe. He even makes someone like Ben Kingsley seem all artifice.
The thing is sort of Emersonian in its take on capitalism.
Plainview's character remains the protagonist throughout and you are
made to understand him from the point of view of the refusal to lie
and to always self-rely, to not be a hypocrite and depend as Eli
Sunday ultimately reveals by the end. (funny by the way how we he
goes crazy sermonizing, his voice sounds like Gene Wilder going crazy
in Young Frankenstein) Yes, no doubt that Eli is the evil to be
avoided and Plainview the exusably evil American thing. Sure he's
ruthless, but brutality aside, it's not actually very condemning of
him. He's not just some silly pastiche of a villain like Day Lewis
played in Gangs of New York. His enterprise is singleminded as any
artist's and therefore self-justified, self-protected. That it
therefore tries to make the action hinge on his reaching out to the
one character that represents a lifeline, the "son" he has cared for--
it's just always a bit more askew and conceptual than I think was
intended. There was a glimmer of a chance at it when Plainview was
put through the ludicrous baptism by Sunday, but it doesn't come off.
The son remains a symbol, not a person, so the conceit never twines
with the emotional intention. By the end, the face-off between
Plainview and Sunday in the bowling alley, while quite a send-up,
remained ultimately allegorical. As in here's where capitalism and
religion are revealed for using eachother and look how we recognize
that legacy here around us today in the US of A. But on an emotional
level it fails, retreats to the abstract in a way that Malick at his
best, Badlands and mostly in Days of Heaven, managed to avoid. Thin
Red Line straddles it mighty precariously and The New World, while
graphically gorgeous is a sarcophagus of refried sentiments. The
coolness does have that fastidious feel of the Kubrick hand--a kind of
detachment in retreat. (For an antidote, could use a strong dose of
Cassavetes, and it would lose all concern with appearing smart and
tough) Still, for what I'm calling shortcomings, the film is perhaps
alone in its championing possibilities in cinema today, in what was a
routine occurrence with Altman and most of the great filmmakers in the
70s. It asks something of you. It does strange inscrutable things
and wants you to pay attention. That cipher of a boy. The great
unsettled disorientation of the scene in which the doctors and others
wrestle to peer into his (presumably destroyed) eardrums. The
crispness of the scenes between Plainview and the men from Standard
Oil; the Altmanesqe sheer presence of those moments where the actors
seem to jump the tracks, go scriptless (again, toward Cassavetes at
its best). This is what can and should be done. Would that I were
doing it... How the hell to get there.

Hearing Jhumpa Lahiri read Mavis Gallant

read some ponderous story about 20 somethings in Spain in the 50s I
thought hey there's one I can cross off my list, maybe two.

A thing that often happens

Pure and admirable artist in some other discipline decides he/she has
some slam dunk idea for a shit movie.

Fly Voltaire!

The Airline with Power in The Best of All Possible Worlds!

the redundancy of confederates

pack of lies

lack of pies