Tommy, Clint, and One More Book.

1. Briefly: Rescue Me, Season 2.
"Tommy! Baby and me want you to bring us some more Soup-y!"
"That better be the baby talking, because if it's you I'm gonna come over there and punch you in the face."

(in the middle of heated argument inside illegally sublet apartment where they must keep their voices down, Sheila writes furiously on a piece of paper) "YOU'RE AN ASS HOLE."
(Tommy writes back) "DUH!"

And no matter how silly and ridiculous Sheila is with all her whining, her silly-crazy dynamic with Tommy makes me laugh and she's literally a million times better than bitch-face (Harper) Janet.

2. Film vs. Book: The Bridges of Madison County.

Book by Robert James Waller, 1992. I'm not really going to say much about the book (other than it's not very good). Stephen King mentioned that it was bad in On Writing, and I agree that it is. I think the guy had a good idea for a story but completely cheesed the hell out of its writing, even for 1992: "The  watermelon was perfect. The beer was cold. The evening was blue. Francesca Johnson was forty-five years old, and Hank Snow sang a train song on KMA, Shenandoah, Iowa." (grimace).

Film directed by Clint Eastwood, 1995.
Written by Richard LaGravenes (screenplay)
starring: Clint Eastwood, Meryl Streep

"Photographer Robert Kincaid wanders into the life of housewife Francesca Johnson, for four days in the 1960s." (IMDB).

Now granted, this film is extremely cheesy. There are some scenes that are really hard to stomach, mostly involving the daughter and son reading the confessional notebooks, and some of the dialogue, even from Eastwood is a little . . . dorky. But there are some really nice, sentimental things that happen, too, and when compared to the novel, this film resonates. First off, I don't think that Meryl has ever looked prettier; secondly, Eastwood's Kincaid was like everyone he's ever played and no one he's ever played. A bit quiet, very subtle, but vulnerable. "I didn't want to need you." "Why?" "Because I can't have you!" Each time he came near Francesca (Streep), she wavered, or stammered, or held her breath, completely enchanted by him. I loved that; believe me, I've been there.  When she finally puts her hand on his shoulder after nearly two days' worth of obvious tension, it's amazing. The scene of him standing in the rain (yes, this is uncharacteristically sappy) turns me into a water works *every* time. It's almost too much, despite the fact that denied love in narratives is probably my favorite thing in the world.

So the film is worth seeing, definitely, but I think that even Sawyer would have pitched the book into the ocean, even with nothing else to read. (sorry).

3. Film and Literature: An Introduction and Reader, 1999, by Timothy Corrigan.
I think I picked this up at Half-Price last time I was there (getting Donald's gift card); it's a textbook, which is to say that it's not entertaining reading but scholarly reading mostly about film theory. Some people I went to school with really dug film theory; I really did not. Most of it is horribly long, hideously wordy (this from me, who loves words!), and *s u p e r* boring, times a million if it's been translated from French. I get the same feeling reading film theory that I do reading film reviews in City Pages, as in, HOW SMART DOES ONE NEED TO BE IN ORDER TO MAKE FILMS SOUND THIS LAME? If the word(s) post-modern comes up in a film review, sorry, I'm out.


My favorite chapters were on "Critical borders and boundaries;" themes, narratives, elements of style, and genres (15 pages). Out of the theorists (149 pages), only Eisenstein (whom I was forced to read, many times in school) didn't make me want to stick needles in my eyes. Kristin Thompson had an article in there toward the end, and I like her well enough (she's authored several film textbooks that are cool), but all in all this was just too theory-y. And call me immature, but I really only bought this because Emma and Clueless were pictured on the front cover---yeah, they each got about five lines worth of press inside:

"Does the fact that Cher knows Hamlet not via the presupposed Shakespearean original but only via Mel Gibson's role in Zeffirelli's movie signify her cultural illiteracy---or her literacy? Or does this exchange perhaps point us away from any presumptive original, be it Jane Austen's or Shakespeare's, and direct us instead toward a focus on just its mediating package, what might be called the Hollywoodization of Shakespeare in the 1990s?"

What a pisser.

Scorpio rivals Bobby Peru in gross factor: Dirty Harry.

Dirty Harry, 1971, directed by Don Siegel. "A San Francisco cop with little regard for rules (but who always gets results) tries to track down a serial killer who snipes at random victims."

Back in about 1989, my dad took us to some old video store in Willmar that was going out of business. They sold beta tapes; we had a beta VCR. I think Charlie and I each got to pick out a few movies and my dad got himself a box full. Of course it was a fight once we got home over whose film was going in first, and having paid for all of them, Dewey won. He chose this film, and while I wasn't exactly excited about watching it, I did. And loved it. And begged to watch all the sequels (which were also purchased that night). My mother was less than thrilled about this. I think she hates Dirty Harry (or anything with Clint Eastwood) just slightly less than she hates The Blues Brothers, which was another one Dewey, Charlie, and I absolutely loved. . . I'll give my mother credit, we probably made her crazy with all the ridiculous stuff we watched over the years. She picked Sophie's Choice and Terms of Endearment for her choices in the beta box that evening, btw.

Anyway. There are really only two things I'm going to say about this film, other than how much I love it. 

1. When this film came up in school, it was in an American Studies class (not Folwell Hall, surprise, surprise) and it was held as the most definitive example of Right-wing politics invading Hollywood for its time (1971). I sat in that class completely mesmerized, thinking, Jesus H, how did I miss all this? I mean, are you sure? The mayor, yes, was a clueless douche. Overly liberal? I don't know. Scorpio's peace sign belt buckle? Whoopee. Obviously he was not a spokesperson for the San Francisco Hippy movement as HE WAS KILLING PEOPLE FROM ROOFTOPS. AND RAPING 15 YEAR OLD GIRLS. I think the hippies would have passed on him, honestly. Harry's big gun a symbol? Yeah, whatever. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. And Scorpio was a goddamned criminal. End of story.

2. Speaking of Scorpio. Whoever they got to write this guy deserves an award for creating the most disgusting character, pretty much ever. It would be a good fifteen years before Lynch and Dafoe brought Bobby Peru into the running, but bloody hell, man! All the smiling and giggling and cackling . . .  "I just wanted you to know something, I've changed my mind! I'm going to let her die!" Said HAPPILY, about Ann Mary Deacon, rotting in the sewer, as if it's amusing! This guy was shittin' awful! It was almost painful how long it took for Harry to just finally end him. Like in 24, with some of those evil villains, the ones you're just praying will meet up with Bauer off the grid? It was fitting that Harry waited until Scorpio thought he had gotten the drop on him before pulling the trigger. Regrettably, it did not take his head "clean off." 

You tried to kill me! 

My favorite moments are Harry's first step onto the scene at the first murder (scowl, always the scowl), and the tossing of his badge into the river after he shoots Scorpio. And pretty much every line he utters during the whole film. . . 70s gold, man, 70s gold.

Shutter Island, Scorcese, Boxing, Eastwood.

I know that normally when I talk about films in this place, I usually just blather on about what they meant to me emotionally, not really focusing on much other than my perceptions, my experiences as related to media items, my moods, my needs as a viewer, etc., etc. But, as it turns out, I do know a thing or two about cinema.

I thought Shutter Island was good. But here's the thing. I think it was an okay story (for Scorcese, who usually makes films from GREAT stories) but that it was done wonderfully, so the film was good, even if the story was a little ho-hum and full of trickery at the end. I for one never see these things coming like so many others do, so I guess I always lose the figure-out-the-twist-quickest game.

The music was terrifying. The entire boat ride to that place was terrifying; I didn't want them to get off. The creepy music got worse once they got there, all I remember were these deep, jarring minor chords, together with the look of the inmates. . . I was very goose-bumpy. It was all very claustrophobic and dank. Even Ghandi looked crazy most of the time. Once the security went out and they started roaming around on the grounds? I had to shut it off and try again the next night, it was seriously THAT creepy. I like that Marty was able to freak me out a little, normally I just lay back and enjoy a severe beating or rock out with the good tunes and that's the end of it. I also enjoy how Leonardo DiCaprio seems to have grown up so much; he hardly annoys me at all anymore!

(this, to the left, is what I meant by "look of the inmates." Seriously?)

This got me thinking of what I consider to be good cinema. Stephen King wrote in "Low Men in Yellow Coats" about how there are books with good stories, books with good words (or storytelling) and some books that have both, and that we should try to read all kinds. I feel like that with films, too, and I think mostly, Scorcese is a winning ticket. When you watch Scorcese, you're not just watching a story on film, you're usually watching an homage to really any decent Italian Noir director (Visconte, Rossellini, De Sica, Goddard). You know how John Favreau claimed in Swingers that Tarantino "rips everything off from Scorcese," ? Well, Scorcese did a fair share of ripping off from these guys, not that I mind, of course. Watch anything they've done and you'll agree.

Onto boxing (and back to my emotional needs, of course)

I have no interest in the sport whatsoever. I mean, if I had to choose between boxing and ultimate fighting, I think I'd probably choose boxing, but that's the best I can say about it. When I worked at Blockbuster back in the late 90s, there was a kid there who loved Martin Scorcese. We chatted a lot. I was a bit mainstream for him, but once I proved I knew how to do a DeNiro kick and that I knew who The Well-Dressed Gentleman was, he thought I was all right (and this is surprisingly common with people I meet most of the time. They think I'm some sort of mini-van driving, procreating freak but then they flip out when I can actually do something cool, like sing "Anything Goes" in Chinese, ala opening scene in Temple of Doom.) He was shocked and horrified, however, when I neglected to list Raging Bull in my top five favorites. I hadn't even seen it yet, so I had to grab it and man up if I was going to be any sort of film scholar, I guess. I was skeptical because of the not liking boxing thing, but guess what, IT WAS AMAZING. It was a great story, it was wonderfully acted by DeNiro, Pesci, and Moriarty, but really, I think the filmmaking made the film.

In Million Dollar Baby, however, it was mostly about the story. It was smartly done, some nice film stuff (grainy slow down just before she gets her ultimate smack down from the German troll? very cool), and the acting was good. I'm sure I've uttered a few unnecessarily negative remarks about former 90210 actresses winning Oscars in the past, but Hilary Swank did just fine. It's a different kind of acting than acting crazy (Ellen Burstyn), doing accents (Meryl Streep, Krystof Hadek) or generally being someone very much unlike you, the actor, but it's a lot of doing, which is impressive, too. I don't think it was a stretch for DeNiro to have acted many of those fight scenes or arguments with Pesci and Moriarty, but it was probably a lot of hard work to have half his work on the film be done in tip-top muscular fitness, and the other half as a big old fatty. I think this was probably the same for Hilary Swank. The being-acting was the easy part, the doing-acting was what won her the statue---and the doing was amazing (she was RIPPED! She actually did those boxing moves! She can really hit a speed bag!) I was quite impressed. And that stool in the ring? Wow. Like I said, I'm slow when it comes to stuff like that, but I did not see that coming at all!

This is getting a bit long-winded, and I'm sorry, so I'll wrap it up soon, I promise, but I can't talk about any of this without adding my two cents about Clint Eastwood, one of my favorite, favorite guys. He does in this film what he does best, which is to play the man he always plays. The man he always plays is very close to my heart because it's more or less a spot-on impersonation of my old man. My dad could be gruff. He wouldn't talk to anyone he didn't like. He was crabby a lot. Once my grandmother (his mother-in-law) asked him why he was always so short with her; he said,

"Because I don't like you." He could be very blunt, my dad.

To see Clint Eastwood, in acting roles, together with a younger daughter type will always bring back these memories, however flawed they are and however flawed he was, of Dewey. I watched my first Eastwood film with him (Dirty Harry). I defended Robert Kincaid over Thanksgiving dinner when my aunt was doggin' him (Bridges of Madison County). I get teared up at the scene where Tyne Daly, the 70s precursor to Maggie Fitzgerald, gets shot in The Enforcer; "Harry, oh, I messed up," she says, Harry kneels down next to her, "No, you did just fine, babe."

That always severe and annoyed look on his face, and the way something ALWAYS melts it. . . just crushes me, every time. The greatest things, for me, in Million Dollar Baby were the bagpiper processional to her fight with the German Troll ("I got you some pipers") and the *SMILE* on his face when she belted that bitch almost to the mat. He never smiles!