The related portion of this video starts at the 2:45 mark.
Happy Superb Owl!
(With acknowledgement of the artwork of Takeshita Kenji.)
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Feb 3, 2013
Freebie Flicks: Jerry Maquire (1996)
The related portion of this video starts at the 2:45 mark.
Happy Superb Owl!
(With acknowledgement of the artwork of Takeshita Kenji.)
Nov 26, 2012
Politics, when the lights go down
Those who know me well can confirm that I'm by nature averse to conflict, and if I had to make a list of my biggest character flaws, it would be a guaranteed contender for number one. It's a reflex that roots itself in all manner of circumstance to nearly equal disastrous effect. Trying to look inside oneself and discover where one's behavioral traits come from is to get lost in the vortex of memories, nurture, and nature, and more, and through much I've learned (mostly recently, and perhaps only through negative reinforcement) that too much self-awareness is usually a bad thing and the only way to progress, sometimes, is to do exactly what you absolutely do not want to do, however you were raised be damned. Passive aggression is like a bad drug from which one only experiences withdrawal, and in my life experience, the majority of the people who are victim to it are the ones who needn't be so apologetic in the first place. Simply put, we're too fucking nice, which has a way of being cruel in the long run. I've a ways to go yet as far as my own standards and expectations are concerned, but it's already been a most empowering thing to kick obsessive self-effation to the curb.
Which is a very long-winded way of introducing the topic of dealing with rude people in movie theaters. These kinds of folks weren't unbeknownst to me growing up, when I certainly went to the movies less but still with regular frequency, but as of late (say, the past three or four years) has been reaching nearly epidemic levels. There remains guilt for a few of my offenses: the cell phone I forgot to turn off before The King's Speech, the outward mocking of films I felt deserved such intrusions, etc. Although I'm not yet old enough to be considered a worthy applicant for the title of Film Critic by a certain New York writer who himself aspires to the rank of the gadfly, I feel much older, and yet my eyes are open and I cannot simply chalk this up to the younger generations, although a significant chunk of the pie chart they almost certainly compromise.
Need I even mention the rise of cell phones, what with those evil little screens popping up during everything from Skyfall to the one-day rerelease of The Godfather. I can't pretend to have been perfect in this, or nearly any other, regard, but I make it a point to either step out if my phone beckons or reach far enough under an adjacent seat so as to extinguish the glow from patrons behind me, even if it's just a matter of checking the time. Lax theater owners who tolerate this nonsense because, well, they depend on priveledged (or financially shortsighted) kids to pay the bills and haven't thus far minded (or minded enough) their scaring away of other demographics should also be held accountable. I'm not intending on exploring this topic for ultimate causes and solutions; I'm just trying to justify the broad conclusion that there seem to be more assholes in the world now than a few years ago without seeming like one myself.
The latest example of this rampant assholism came this past Saturday evening at a 10:20 pm showing of Lincoln, my second time seeing the film, currently in the running as my favorite in a very competitive year. My brother Alex, who had not seen it yet, was along for the ride. For whatever reason, I was not excessively bothered by the frequent, semi-hushed chatters taking place a row down from us on the opposite side of the moderately sized theater, but I was rather persistently aware of them (and they effect they were having on my brother) enough to both regret not saying anything about it up front and appreciate the theater employee who came in to re-announce the no cell phone/talking policy about halfway through the film, with reassurance that offenders would be escorted out. For most of the rest of the duration of the film, they as-of-yet-unseen offenders stayed within the lines of acceptable theater behavior. Most.
As I've discussed in the past, the end of a movie is usually the best part, or most important, and especially so in a good one, and the final five or six minutes of Lincoln is already very close to my heart. And so it was with volcanic heat that my rage escalated as the same pair of ignoramuses began talking, quite constantly and almost casually and with no awareness or consideration of their surroundings whatsoever during those final five or six minutes, and during which time my brother was noticably distracted. When the film was over and the credits were rolling, we looked at each other, and then at them, like velociraptors might silently communicate whilst planning an attack. What follows is a recreation of the exchange that followed. As you read this, imagine the offenders in question as pudgy forty or fiftysomethings who might give Hobbits a bad name by mere association (the lights were still dimmed so I didn't get a closer reading on their features). Minus my initiating comments and the small chorus of praise, this series of events was relayed to me by my brother, though I overheard bits and pieces.
I'm don't even want to begin unpacking the brainless political jab this doofus managed to come up with (see the Season 1 episode of Louie, "Bully," for a similarly simpleminded partisan association), as I'll have to first get into the disgrace that is our current two party system before all manner of basic courteosy and etiquette that should smack of common sense to, I hope, the majority of people reading this. The fact that this absurd exchange took place during a film about a master of public and political relations underscores a certain elegant brutality in the whole affair.
The conscious effort to engage conflict has been a positive force in my life of late, although not always. A close friend of mine who thought I wouldn't mind her friends talking during a late-night showing of Dracula (a movie I'm not even particularly fond of) was taken aback when I essentially lost it after the screening (I'm amazed I didn't swear, although I did say that I wanted to - not that I would - punch the primary offender in the mouth), the experience not much aided by the fact that I loathed her best friend from the first time I met her and thus found her infantile quips and impatient foot tapping and scab-picking all the more infuriating for interrupting a movie that depends on silence to work at all. Similarly, I probably overreacted when I yelled at the young girl (and her enabling mother) who was on her cell phone throughout, and then constantly during the last few minutes, of Titanic (which I'd never seen theatrically before its 3D re-release), or the enabling father who allowed his daughter to use her phone throughout most of The Wizard of Oz, etc. But I remain convinced it's better than not reacting at all.
Which is a very long-winded way of introducing the topic of dealing with rude people in movie theaters. These kinds of folks weren't unbeknownst to me growing up, when I certainly went to the movies less but still with regular frequency, but as of late (say, the past three or four years) has been reaching nearly epidemic levels. There remains guilt for a few of my offenses: the cell phone I forgot to turn off before The King's Speech, the outward mocking of films I felt deserved such intrusions, etc. Although I'm not yet old enough to be considered a worthy applicant for the title of Film Critic by a certain New York writer who himself aspires to the rank of the gadfly, I feel much older, and yet my eyes are open and I cannot simply chalk this up to the younger generations, although a significant chunk of the pie chart they almost certainly compromise.
Need I even mention the rise of cell phones, what with those evil little screens popping up during everything from Skyfall to the one-day rerelease of The Godfather. I can't pretend to have been perfect in this, or nearly any other, regard, but I make it a point to either step out if my phone beckons or reach far enough under an adjacent seat so as to extinguish the glow from patrons behind me, even if it's just a matter of checking the time. Lax theater owners who tolerate this nonsense because, well, they depend on priveledged (or financially shortsighted) kids to pay the bills and haven't thus far minded (or minded enough) their scaring away of other demographics should also be held accountable. I'm not intending on exploring this topic for ultimate causes and solutions; I'm just trying to justify the broad conclusion that there seem to be more assholes in the world now than a few years ago without seeming like one myself.
The latest example of this rampant assholism came this past Saturday evening at a 10:20 pm showing of Lincoln, my second time seeing the film, currently in the running as my favorite in a very competitive year. My brother Alex, who had not seen it yet, was along for the ride. For whatever reason, I was not excessively bothered by the frequent, semi-hushed chatters taking place a row down from us on the opposite side of the moderately sized theater, but I was rather persistently aware of them (and they effect they were having on my brother) enough to both regret not saying anything about it up front and appreciate the theater employee who came in to re-announce the no cell phone/talking policy about halfway through the film, with reassurance that offenders would be escorted out. For most of the rest of the duration of the film, they as-of-yet-unseen offenders stayed within the lines of acceptable theater behavior. Most.
As I've discussed in the past, the end of a movie is usually the best part, or most important, and especially so in a good one, and the final five or six minutes of Lincoln is already very close to my heart. And so it was with volcanic heat that my rage escalated as the same pair of ignoramuses began talking, quite constantly and almost casually and with no awareness or consideration of their surroundings whatsoever during those final five or six minutes, and during which time my brother was noticably distracted. When the film was over and the credits were rolling, we looked at each other, and then at them, like velociraptors might silently communicate whilst planning an attack. What follows is a recreation of the exchange that followed. As you read this, imagine the offenders in question as pudgy forty or fiftysomethings who might give Hobbits a bad name by mere association (the lights were still dimmed so I didn't get a closer reading on their features). Minus my initiating comments and the small chorus of praise, this series of events was relayed to me by my brother, though I overheard bits and pieces.
Me (across about fifteen feet and so the bulk of the auditorium could hear): Next time stay at home in front of the stupid box if you can't keep you mouth shut.I suppose it bears mentioning that, while typing this at the public library, someone's cell phone not only went off, but they answered it, with zero response from the librarians on duty, despite it being expressly forbidden. Like the three offenders at a recent screening of Trouble with the Curve, this person was also elderly. This reinforces my developing thesis that perhaps it isn't just a greater abundance of assholes, but the greater tolerance of their behavior. I'm very much liberal (go figure), and usually willing to give people the benefit of the doubt and second and third chances and whatnot, but this is not a step in the right direction.
Several other people throughout the theater: Agreed! Yes! Thank you!
Male sub-Hobbit: Fuck you. (Or some derivative.)
Alex: Excuse me?
Male sub-Hobbit: You're excused.
Alex: No, excuse me, because I'm his brother and I feel the same way.
Male sub-Hobbit: You probably voted for Obama.
I'm don't even want to begin unpacking the brainless political jab this doofus managed to come up with (see the Season 1 episode of Louie, "Bully," for a similarly simpleminded partisan association), as I'll have to first get into the disgrace that is our current two party system before all manner of basic courteosy and etiquette that should smack of common sense to, I hope, the majority of people reading this. The fact that this absurd exchange took place during a film about a master of public and political relations underscores a certain elegant brutality in the whole affair.
The conscious effort to engage conflict has been a positive force in my life of late, although not always. A close friend of mine who thought I wouldn't mind her friends talking during a late-night showing of Dracula (a movie I'm not even particularly fond of) was taken aback when I essentially lost it after the screening (I'm amazed I didn't swear, although I did say that I wanted to - not that I would - punch the primary offender in the mouth), the experience not much aided by the fact that I loathed her best friend from the first time I met her and thus found her infantile quips and impatient foot tapping and scab-picking all the more infuriating for interrupting a movie that depends on silence to work at all. Similarly, I probably overreacted when I yelled at the young girl (and her enabling mother) who was on her cell phone throughout, and then constantly during the last few minutes, of Titanic (which I'd never seen theatrically before its 3D re-release), or the enabling father who allowed his daughter to use her phone throughout most of The Wizard of Oz, etc. But I remain convinced it's better than not reacting at all.
Mar 30, 2012
May 7, 2011
Viewing Log #7
Certified Copy (Abbas Kiarostami, 2010). As intoxicating, seductive and sensual as it is mysterious and elusive, Certified Copy is that rare gem that confirms film's capability of magic. This is some meta-level narrative tinkering going on here, and though I'm certain that repeated viewings will clarify certain aspects as much as they might further blur their borders, even on first encounter, it's so absorbing a work of such obvious mastery on all levels that one comes away immediately certain that the medium has just clicked up another notch. Forget a plot explanation, which would be especially frivolous in this case; it's an emotional song, a pastiche of dynamic feelings and relationships (the characters, the filmmaker, the audience) so quixotic that trying to pin it down would be downright distasteful. Juliette Binoche's performance is possibly the best in a prodigious career. Add this one to your desert island list. [Rating: A]
Even the Rain (Icíar Bollaín, 2010). Yeah, sure, it's kind of obvious in theme, but there struck me as being more than enough feeling and sincerity present in Paul Laverty's script to circumvent a potentially problematic self-aware structure (it's a movie about power relations that's also about a movie about power relations). Appropriately dedicated to Howard Zinn, the film wears its liberal virtues on its sleeves and never condescends, even if it hand-holds just a bit. Its biggest strengths lie in its characters, which are believably dynamic and more than just mouthpieces, which seems harder and harder to come by these days. Arthouse for the NPR crowd. [Rating: B]
Source Code (Duncan Jones, 2011). Moon was the first movie I ever watched on Blu-ray, and it was glorious in all the non-technical ways, too. That film's dreamy Kubrickian tone is replaced by crackerjack glee in Jones' directorial follow-up Source Code, which tackles an initially routine Groundhog Day by The Matrix scenario with wit, intelligence, tangible empathy and just a dash of irreverence (and a very, very cute Michelle Monaghan). Jake Gyllenhaal (finally returning to the thoughtful sci-fi genre) is a soldier in a virtual reality simulation program in which he must find an enemy bomber fast enough that said enemy can be thwarted in reality, where he is expected to strike again. The simulation lasts eight minutes, and at the end of every eight minutes, he blows up. To divulge more would be cruel, except to say that the movie doesn't pull its punches, which are deep and lead to a sly kind of nirvana; what we ultimately see may not be as simple as it at first seems. [Rating: B+]
American: The Bill Hicks Story (Matt Harlock, Paul Thomas, 2009). Gracefully walking the line between fan-friendly greatest hits package and newcomer-friendly biopic, The Bill Hicks Story is a sufficient condensation of the rich, albeit short career and life of one of the great comedians of recent decades. A fan of Hicks' comedy since freshman year in college, I was ready to slam a film that didn't do him justice, which is not to say hero worship was on my list of desirables, either. Less about the man than the man's journey, American is made with obvious love for the late comedian, but also honesty about his choices, detailing the man's drug and alcohol addictions with a stern matter-of-factness that neither condemns nor approves. (Speaking as a fan, his staunch defense of smoking - he died of cancer - is particularly irksome.) His material - subversive, angry, hopeful, sometimes conflicting but always empowered and empowering - is presented in concentrated dashes, and serves as an excellent sampler package of some of his best material (a favorite: his demonstration of the ultimate commercial). Interviews and animations - often in the form of photographs digitally manipulated in a fashion that's cute without being syrupy or overwhelming - make up the majority of the film, which proves visually engaging and distinctive without demanding much of the eyes. If anything, the film could be longer, but perhaps such abruptness is appropriate for a film about a landmark life cut short. [Rating: B+]
Mar 20, 2010
Feb 11, 2010
Snowy thoughts
Being at ground zero of all those lines of cold, this already-brilliant fuck you to "peek-a-boo-ologists" became perfectly sublime.
The clip also speaks to me because it confirms a pet peeve I had and previously chalked up to my being naturally too harsh-- here, my want to complain about people who know virtually nothing about, say, global warming, being allowed to speak as if (the same goes for any topic). Charles Schulz penned for his Peanuts creation, "I love humanity, it's the people I can't stand". I think that says it, even if it's skimpy on the anger. Once a science major and long a science enthusiast, I know my fair share of things about how our world works, and though meteorology always struck me as the most technically boring of the sciences, global warming was a thing unto itself to know about (like the hole in the ozone layer). Such broad scientific knowledge has served me well in the movies, like Magnolia. But to know what's out there, from the diversity of life to the corners of known creation to a basic understanding of the laws of physics, is to be prepared as an active human in any walk of legitimate life.
You stupid fucking cow-eyed sloths. Why would you gamble the well-being of your bed of existence - i.e. Earth - on short-term financial reward? Why with even the slightest chance (add greedy to that tirade). Greedy indeed, with no thought for their children's children (which, I'll be getting to, there need to be less of). Global warming disrupts the entire planetary system, and, in our projected unfolding reality, ultimately locks North America in another ice age, amongst other unpleasantries (even the shitty Day After Tomorrow at least got that much right). Then there's pollution in general, the exploding population (tests for parents, NOW, you do good, you get to have a second; make these law), the ceaseless growth of a global society reliant on finite resources. No kids for me, thanks, though I will be responsible enough to send my superior DNA into the future via time capsule so that my spawn can emerge from the population-thinning chaos surely about to ensue, unharmed.
Thank you to the woman on Aramingo Avenue last Saturday, who withdrew her pedestrian crosswalk right-of-way and allowed the car to make a right turn, further allowing three more cars (mine being the last) to make the green. You were the best thing about that day.
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The clip also speaks to me because it confirms a pet peeve I had and previously chalked up to my being naturally too harsh-- here, my want to complain about people who know virtually nothing about, say, global warming, being allowed to speak as if (the same goes for any topic). Charles Schulz penned for his Peanuts creation, "I love humanity, it's the people I can't stand". I think that says it, even if it's skimpy on the anger. Once a science major and long a science enthusiast, I know my fair share of things about how our world works, and though meteorology always struck me as the most technically boring of the sciences, global warming was a thing unto itself to know about (like the hole in the ozone layer). Such broad scientific knowledge has served me well in the movies, like Magnolia. But to know what's out there, from the diversity of life to the corners of known creation to a basic understanding of the laws of physics, is to be prepared as an active human in any walk of legitimate life.
You stupid fucking cow-eyed sloths. Why would you gamble the well-being of your bed of existence - i.e. Earth - on short-term financial reward? Why with even the slightest chance (add greedy to that tirade). Greedy indeed, with no thought for their children's children (which, I'll be getting to, there need to be less of). Global warming disrupts the entire planetary system, and, in our projected unfolding reality, ultimately locks North America in another ice age, amongst other unpleasantries (even the shitty Day After Tomorrow at least got that much right). Then there's pollution in general, the exploding population (tests for parents, NOW, you do good, you get to have a second; make these law), the ceaseless growth of a global society reliant on finite resources. No kids for me, thanks, though I will be responsible enough to send my superior DNA into the future via time capsule so that my spawn can emerge from the population-thinning chaos surely about to ensue, unharmed.Thank you to the woman on Aramingo Avenue last Saturday, who withdrew her pedestrian crosswalk right-of-way and allowed the car to make a right turn, further allowing three more cars (mine being the last) to make the green. You were the best thing about that day.
Dec 31, 2009
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